Let the Shadows Write my Love
I wrote this oneshot for Gamma Orionis's OTP Bootcamp Challenge.
In this bootcamp, we were given 50 prompts and we're encouraged to use them (all if we can) writing only about our OTP. As my subscribers know, my OTP is HarryxVoldemort/HPTR/HPLV/HarryMort, whatever you want to call them.
This is my fifth oneshot. Prompt: helpless.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything belonging to Harry Potter. I'm just sprinkling this fandom with my love! ~
This oneshot was inspired by the fanfic called "The Love Accident", written by brainstorm1001. With much patience and a lot of hard work, she wrote two of the longest and most amazing HPLV fanfics ever. If you haven't read them, start with "The Cave Incident", because TLA is the sequel.
12, Grimmauld Place.
Harry Potter, aged seventeen, lied face up on his bed, thinking about the recent events. He, Ron and Hermione were the only ones staying in Grimmauld at the time, and whereas he preferred the privacy of his room – in case he woke up during the night screaming – his best friends slept on the couches in the living room.
Harry smiled at the thought of his friends finally getting closer.
He placed the wand next to his pillow and removed the glasses.
Maybe tonight he'd be spared of nightmares.
He woke up with the nagging feeling that he was being watched.
But there was no one else in his room, right? He had locked it, he had placed silencing wards too and they all seemed intact.
Quickly, he cast a lumos and scanned the dimly lit room. He watched the shadows dance across the walls, the eerie decorations appearing even more menacing. He shuddered.
There was no one else, but the feeling remained.
Harry made it to the door and paused with the hand on the doorknob. This was really silly. With Voldemort in his head, violent and bloody nightmares and in a house belonging to a former Dark family, this is what he chose to worry about?
Shaking his head, he returned to bed and resolved to sleep. It was 3 AM and he was going to wake up at 6:30 anyway, so he might get at least three more hours of sleep.
As he drifted off, a shadow he hadn't noticed slowly made its way across the room to his bed.
"Haaaary Potter..." It whispered.
The next day, Harry and his friends made plans to look for the locket and try to find out who R.A.B. was. Ron, poor soul, was feeling a little bad, being cooped up in the gloomy house all day, and Harry and Hermione suffered the brunt of his irritation.
It wasn't much, but adding his attitude to the rest of their problems made it so hard to get things done. Harry often thought about Sirius and how he had stayed there for a full year, and he didn't want Ron to meet the same fate due to carelessness and stubbornness.
He discussed the situation with Hermione when Ron left them to take a shower, and both agreed the redhead needed to get out for a little while. Hermione agreed to take him to the Burrow for one or two days, under glamors, and Harry agreed he could spend one day alone. He wanted to see the Burrow too, to know if everyone was all right, but he knew that going with them would only serve to paint a big target on their foreheads.
He told them to be careful and saw them to the door.
Ron was practically skipping, and Harry knew he had done the right thing.
Harry slept in his room again, but this time without a locked door and without silencing wards.
He fell asleep more slowly then before, as that eerie feeling wouldn't go away. This time, however, he didn't check the room, because he knew it was all in his head. So he finally fell asleep, unaware of the danger he was in.
The shadow moved across the room once again.
"Incarcerus!" it whispered.
Harry was brought to reality violently, when he felt that he couldn't breathe.
An ice-cold hand was pressing down his windpipe and a heavy body sat on his upper body.
No sound came out.
But he wasn't gagged, so what…?
A Silencio spell, then.
But who had entered his room?
Who would play such a cruel prank on him?
The only one he could think of was Moody, ever warning him about "constant vigilance". Was Moody's ghost haunting the Order's HQ? That would explain the feeling of being watched – and the fact that he hadn't found anything the first day. Ghost could make themselves invisible when they wanted to, right?
But this hand was too solid to belong to a ghost. And the skin he felt was too soft to belong to the old, battered Auror.
"Hello, Harry Potter" the voice whispered. "Alone and helpless at last"
And then he knew.
"Vol…de…mort!" he chocked.
The choking hands left his neck. He coughed and spluttered, but he was still tied up and the weight on his torso remained where it was.
A wand was now digging into the hollow of his neck, without pressing too hard; just hard enough for him to know that he was finally about to die.
He though about the wand under his pillow, and his friends who would find him the next day dead and tied up – how pathetic, and all the romantic progress they had made would be shot to hell once Hermione started blaming Ron for his selfishness and herself for deserting Harry, and how unfair this whole situation was. How had Voldemort gotten here anyway?
"Your last thoughts are quite amusing, Harry. As for how I got here – don't tell me you have forgotten about our little connection? I plucked that knowledge right out of your unprotected mind, oh Chosen One"
"So now you're going to kill me?" Harry asked, trying to look braver than he felt.
"And where would the fun in that be?" Harry's breath hitched, these words had been whispered directly into his ear.
"Then what? You came to torture me for fun? You can do it through our connection too"
"Ah, but this makes it more…personal"
A clawed finger set on his scar, and he screamed, but no one could hear. The finger went down his temple, scratched his cheek leaving small a bloody trail behind, and continued down his neck, into the hollow and across his chest.
"Harry Potter" Voldemort whispered. "The Muggle-loving fool once told me there are worse things than death. What I'm about to do to you is one of them"
"But –" Harry started, but a finger on his mouth stopped his question.
Voldemort then took hold of his bindings and hauled him off the bed. He dragged Harry out of the room and off the stairs, letting him bump on each one, hitting and scratching himself. He could practically feel the bruises forming. The Dark Lord finally stopped dragging the now screaming boy once they reached the living room, and he let Harry lie on the floor to briefly catch his breath. Harry's head was spinning and he suddenly had a very bad feeling. He didn't want to know what Voldemort wanted from him. He hoped that Voldemort wouldn't start cutting off fingers or even limbs. He would have welcomed the Cruciatus at this point, but Voldemort's expression was strange.
"There are silencing and locking wards in place and so you can't escape. We're both isolated here until I take down all the wards" Voldemort told him.
No kitchen access meant no knives. Hm…maybe this wouldn't really be so bad after all.
Voldemort's expression changed to a very frightening grin.
"Divesto!" he yelled, pointing his yew wand at Harry.
Harry watched with horror as his clothes disappeared even through his bindings. He really didn't want to think about why he would need to be naked for what Voldemort had in mind.
Harry didn't sleep that night.
He screamed and cried and begged for Voldemort to stop, but the man didn't.
When Voldemort was done, he released the bindings, but Harry didn't run. He had no more strength to do so. He had no desire to do so.
Harry didn't reach for his clothes, his clothes that rested in a neat pile, two arm lengths away from him. Harry didn't even attack Voldemort, as the old wizard expected.
He cradled his legs to his chest into a fetal position. He faced away from Voldemort. His unfocused gaze fell upon a landscape painting and never moved away.
Voldemort sighed and cast a sleeping spell on Harry. He healed Harry's rear tearing and closed all wounds, but left the bruises there for the world to see that he got to their Savior first.
Once he was done, he gathered the small boy into his arms and placed tender kisses all over his face.
Harry wouldn't understand, he reasoned. The only way he could get intimate with the boy he desired was this ugly, disgusting way. He was a sadist; Harry's screams of fear and pain and despair didn't dampen his mood, but he would have preferred the boy willing, thrashing and mewling in pleasure under him. He wasn't stupid, though. That kind of Harry would never come to be. Harry would never love the murderer of his parents.
Voldemort kissed his untouched mouth. He hadn't done it during the "act". Mouth to mouth kisses meant affection, meant something else. He couldn't let Harry suspect his weakness.
His touch was feather-soft, as if afraid to wake the boy, and he licked the boy's lips a few times, savoring the sweet taste. Harry sighed in his sleep and wrapped his arms around Voldemort. He kissed back, tentatively, and Voldemort felt his heart skip a beat. His face heated up and his stomach fluttered. Blasted butterflies!
Voldemort caressed the boy and kissed him passionately for all his worth, pushing his knees down and laying across Harry's lithe body to get better access to his treasure. His roaming hands caressed Harry's sides, his lower back and his belly tenderly. But it was all right to get one last touch, one last taste to hold on to through the eternity he was going to spend alone.
He kissed down Harry's neck with his eyes closed to retain the sensation better, not noticing Harry open his eyes slowly, looking down in shock.
"Harry, how beautiful you are…" he whispered so tenderly, his bald head now resting on Harry's fast beating heart.
Harry tried to calm down, to slow his speeding heart and breathing pattern as to not alert the Dark Lord just yet. He remembered the pain, the pleasure on the Dark Lord's face, but also his shaking hands and reluctance to look Harry in the eye whule taking him. His pain was gone and Harry finally understood.
He gulped down that nauseating feeling and gently lifted a hand. He placed it on Voldemort's head and moved it in a gentle caress. Voldemort shot up with an alarmed look on his face as he searched Harry's sleepy eyes.
"Voldemort" Harry whispered, reaching out to take the man's hands into his own. "You should have told me"
The Dark Lord looked away but let Harry Potter take hold of his hands.
"Stay with me what's left of tonight?" Harry asked. "My friends won't come until noon"
"Call me Harry. I think we're past that stage now" he said, a bit bitterly.
"Harry" the Dark Lord whispered, hauling the boy up and into his arms. "Harry, Harry, Harry"
"And tell me all you wanted to say"
"This - this would never work! The prophecy-"
"You trust prophecies way too much" Harry interrupted him, placing a finger gently on the cold lipless mouth. "My nights were never mine anyway, Tom". The Dark Lord hissed in anger. "You can still have the nights, if you want to. And the days, should you choose it"
"You know I cannot. I don't agree with what you're doing to this world, and I will not betray them"
Them. His friends. The Order. The dead soldiers. The victims. Voldemort closed his eyes in resignation.
"Then why did you say that I could have your days too, if I chose it?"
"Because a choice always implies that you have to let go of something"
And Voldemort understood what was being asked of him.
"I cannot. It's been too long"
"It's fine. I won't make you do something you don't want to" Harry said, smiling softly.
Morning found the Savior and the Dark Lord sleeping together peacefully in Harry's bed upstairs, under heavy silencing and locking wards placed there by the Dark Lord himself.
Harry hoped that, even if Voldemort's new feelings didn't make him want to give up his plan, he would maybe teach the Dark Lord a little bit of compassion, of humanity – perhaps enough to save those he'd rule over, if they failed with the Horcrux hunt. Harry had always been the Savior, the Sacrifice, so why not indulge the Dark Lord with this weird relationship for a while?
Voldemort contemplated his childhood and teenage days, so far gone. He had been starved, beaten, oppressed, insulted but never had he felt as helpless as tonight, in the arms of the boy he cruelly raped, the boy who accepted him with a weak smile and a warm touch, despite the rest of his body displaying the fear he felt.
Harry Potter, the boy who already changed everything.
I just couldn't write the rape scene.
I can barely write a lemon - and I am aware that after a rape, Harry wouldn't want to have anything to do with Voldemort, but for now this is his Slytherin instinct kicking in (to keep him alive) and his Gryffindor savior complex also telling him to give this to Voldemort, maybe the Dark Lord's humanity can still be restored. This is NOT Harry falling for Voldemort, it's Harry sacrificing himself for what he chooses to believe in. It could be a bust - maybe nothing will change. Or maybe Voldemort will no longer try to kill him. Maybe Harry will develop Stockholm Syndrome. Anything is possible from this point on, just use your imagination!
Because this story will remain a ONESHOT.