I know that I should be finishing the next chapter of Teddy Bear Troubles… but apparently not.

Harry remembers cowering (and he hates the word but that's what it was) at the base of the grave's statue. He'd been pale and his arm had stung like no other, like it had known the purpose for its injury and was punishing him for letting it happen. Cedric had sat on his heels obediently several feet away because his survival instincts knew what they had been doing. Any wrong move and he would have been dead, and everyone present knew it. The Hufflepuff's grey eyes flickered to Harry in concern every few seconds and Harry had been grateful for it. Anyone else would been expecting him to do something about their situation, expecting him to be the hero. Cedric had worried about him because Cedric had seen him as what he was - a scared fourteen year old boy.

Cedric's protective gaze would have made him feel better, would have comforted him, but his weren't the only grey eyes trained on Harry that night.

He swears later that he'd seen that quicksilver gaze turn red for a mere moment before an unfairly handsome boy had knelt down in front of him with an evil smirk. Harry would peg him around twenty, but he knew that Voldemort - Tom Riddle, his mind whispered at him, a lovely name to go with a lovely face, an angelic appearance - was actually around sixty or seventy. As a long, pale hand with graceful fingers reached out to curl around his neck and gently tug him closer to be inspected, Harry decided that he wasn't surprised he was still so beautiful. He had a feeling that the beauty wouldn't fade, either.

He half expected an old man's voice to come out of Tom Riddle's pink mouth, but it was Tom Riddle's voice, full of Voldemort's evil.

"It's wonderful to see you in person," Tom Riddle had said to him with an almost tender smile. Harry hadn't wanted to analyze that, seeing how the man was still mostly naked - but he was really more preoccupied with how this angelic man, however demonic, looked out of place in his black robe.

"Wish I could say the same," he managed and Tom chuckled without menace - which might have been why he hadn't seen it coming when Tom's hand closed around his throat and he was suddenly choking in an effort to get air.

"Get your hands off of him, you bastard!" Cedric was suddenly crying out, and Tom was giving the order to kill him and Harry jerked forward in desperation. He clung to Tom without really understanding consciously what his body knew that he was offering. His fingers curled into Tom's robe and his eyes were pleading. It didn't register right away that Tom was watching him curiously, his hand held out as a sign to his death eaters to stop.

"What would you give me for his life, Harry?" Of course Tom would understand immediately what he wanted. He was the master of reading people, after all.

The hand released his throat. "Anything," he'd croaked once he'd had enough air. "Please, Tom - don't kill him!" He hadn't realized that he'd called him Tom out loud until the hand on his neck moved to stroke his hair, the other arm coming around to cradle his body.

"Remember now that only you will be allowed to call me by that name," he said in a near coo. "Do you understand what you are offering, Harry? What I want from you?"

He had shaken his head and heard a deep chuckle. Out of the corner of his eye, he checked on Cedric. Terrified, but still alive.

"You are going to be my pet, Harry. My weapon. My consort." Harry had paled, only making Tom's smirk widen. "If you will agree, I will let the boy live, as well as your dear friends. Anyone you want to protect except that old man you worship. In return, you will stay at Hogwarts as my spy, and on most weekends, spend your time with me."

"Why? How could you possibly want me?" Harry's voice had been barely audible.

Tom had just stroked his hair patiently. "I could kill you, if you would prefer that." His voice was nonchalant, but his grip on Harry was tight. "I should, you know. There is a prophesy that says neither of us can live while the other survives - has Dumbledore told you about that? But prophesies become pointless when you don't believe in them. If you want to live, we could disregard it. For your submission to me, you get your life, and the lives of everyone you care about. Isn't that a fair trade?"

Knowing he had one chance to answer, he had nodded.

Two years have passed and Harry finds himself walking quickly and as silently as possible to Professor Snape's chambers. He hadn't expected their relationship to develop much outside of 'my boss says I should treat you with a little respect, so I'm maybe not going to give you a T in my class', but his level of respect for the man has grown over the years with increased contact.

He tugs his invisibility cloak off of his shoulders the second he is safely within Severus's rooms, and the broody man is actually giving him a half smile. "He's getting impatient."

"I had to talk Hermione out of another meet up this weekend at the Three Broomsticks," he answers, shrugging. "Tom can wait, unless he wants to let me go for a few hours to attend." Severus's lips quirk upward and Harry suddenly feels incredibly thankful for his mentor and confidant. Hermione, Ron, Dumbledore – no one knows, save for the Death Eaters, their children, and Cedric, who had remained a good friend. It's often that Harry feels incredibly alone, but knowing that he had those few people at least, there to cover his back – it gives him a moment's comfort.

The entirety of Wizarding Britain has heard about the Dark Lord's formidable consort – though most call him 'the Dark Lord's whore' out of spite – yet none know it's him. Hermione has not even begun to guess. He's sure she had some theory – out shagging some Slytherin, perhaps Draco; who knew.

"Careful, he's been in a bad mood all day," Severus warns him as he's about to step through the green fire. Harry nods once, grateful, and slips in, wincing as he's tugged through fire.

"It's about time." Tom sounds downright sullen with impatience, his silver eyes dark. He's so beautiful it hurts and sometimes, Harry will forget who he is, like so many others. As he's coming forward, letting Tom pull him into his arms, he thinks about all the people Tom Riddle has fooled in his lifetime. An angel in his arms, disguising the devil inside of him.

"I had to deal with Hermione," he answers the unasked question, leaning up to accept the kiss Tom requires upon his arrival every other weekend. "I'm sorry I'm late."

Tom sighs, but his lips are up in an almost smile. He's still pouting. "I suppose I can forgive you this time."

Harry wishes sometimes that he felt more uncomfortable, that this was still strange to him. He still feels the shame, though, every time he wakes up fucked-out and nearly late for his first class on Monday. Sometimes, he has to run back prematurely, a teacher looking for him and he would have to rush through Severus's floo and pretend they were working on potions.

"You look lovely," Harry says quietly, peering up at him and Tom's lips quirk up in spite of the bad mood Severus had claimed he was in. Harry kind of hates the fact that it makes him look even more beautiful.

"Why lovely?" Tom asks him almost teasingly as he unbuttons Harry's robe. "Why not handsome, or cavalier?"

"There's no reason for not using them," he says with a shrug. "They all fit well enough."

"Aren't you complimentary today," Tom chuckles, pressing kisses to his shoulder as he disrobes his young consort. "And quite lovely yourself." In two years, Harry has learned how to put his master in a good mood. Severus's warning had meant very little to him in light of that fact. It doesn't always work, though, and Harry's glad that it seems to have.

Once upon a time Harry would have squirmed as he was stripped nude, but he just stands here now complacently, waiting for Tom to return from where he has moved to examine him. He is lithe and lightly scarred, with subtle muscles and a scar on his forearm, his own version of a dark mark. There is black ink around it, a complex pattern of swirls and, almost hidden, a snake circling his scar from the night of Voldemort's resurrection. The ink is a normal tattoo, because the scar has it's own power. The tattoo is just a reminder of what that scar is.

Tom's silver eyes are gleaming. Harry shivers, knowing that Tom is just as pleased by him, just as excited about having him, as he had been the first night.

"Come here, pet," Tom says, his voice husky. Harry is no longer a virgin, not even close, but the arousal in Tom's voice still manages to make him blush. Combined with his gorgeous face, Harry understands quite clearly that he'd never had a chance. He can't even comprehend how Dumbledore had managed to resist adoring him.

He does as he's told and goes forward, meeting Tom halfway. His lover - his master, owner - is smiling widely now and takes him in his arms, lifting him up. Harry's surprised and put of instinct wraps his legs around Tom's trim waist, letting out a shamefully high squeal when he's swung around and plopped onto the bed.

"I missed you these past two weeks," Tom breathes over his lips, breath hot. Harry trembles and nods. "It's so boring around here. If I'm not in meetings, I'm in and out of the ministry. No one has recognised me and it's dreadfully disappointing. I expected more fun than this."

Harry tries to ignore how they seem more like lovers, like a couple, than what they're supposed to be, a master and his pet. "I'm sorry," he murmurs, breath quick. He wants to tease him, and knows that he could certainly get away with it now, but he's been thinking a lot about his situation lately and the shame of their familiarity has been weighing heavily on him. It's worse that just being the Dark Lord's whore now - he knows little things about Tom and he knows what he likes and sometimes - Merlin knows he would never admit to it - he misses Tom when he's not there with his quick wit and angelic face and fit body. Harry hadn't even thought he was gay when they'd met, but now he's this, a practiced homosexual, the consort of a dark lord.

Of course, rational thought flies out the window at top speed when Tom kisses him fiercely and his arms move around his neck, fingers digging into smooth, pale skin. Tom is between his spread thighs, his body cradling Tom's weight, and it's so incredibly hot.

He's fully naked and Tom is wearing a pair of slacks, but that's easy to fix and Harry, in spite of his shame, is incredibly horny. Another downside is that he is used to regular sex now, which makes it that much easier to be used to this, to expect it - to enjoy it.

Originally, Tom had used spells and charms to prepare him, but Harry prefers the way Tom does it now - manually, taking his time and Harry will never admit how much he loves Tom's fingers inside of him, stretching him, pressing against his prostate teasingly. He rocks against two of Tom's fingers, slick with a lubrication spell, the only spell Tom can stand to use now. Harry pants against Tom's lips and he knows that Tom is getting off on his submission, oh how much he clearly craves it.

"So fucking beautiful," Tom growls as his other hand comes up to wrap around Harry's erection, shamefully hard and leaking over Tom's knuckles. "My little pet." His body knows what's happening and clenches greedily.

Tom is impatient and Harry can feel that, feel the hard press of Tom's cock against his thigh. They're rarely this frenzied but he can tell that Tom is worked up over something. His energies are in a whirlwind, their magic crackling. Once upon a time, Harry's magic would have been bound. Now, though, Harry is pretty sure he likes knowing that Harry could try and fend him off, try to kill him, but he doesn't. Instead he cries out like a bitch in heat and burns with need, taking Tom inside of him like he was born to do it.

Harry has never asked about Tom's past sex life, though he imagines that it had been fairly active. He's sure it was a useful tool; he can't imagine many turning him down if he offers sex, can't imagine someone looking down their nose at Tom's body, at those eyes, which are almost better than the sex itself. They're molten silver and they burn like Harry does. Tom is smirking, cool and beautiful as he undoes the buttons on his slacks, collected even as he releases his straining cock. Harry cants his hips upward with a whine, wanting it, needing it. He hates himself but needs it and when Tom smirks that damn smirk that has him glaring and pressing his body against Tom's.

"How badly do you want it?" Tom asks conversationally, head cocked to the side, black curls a halo for his innocent expression. Harry had wanted Tom to suddenly regress to the monster Harry was familiar with desperately for the first several months. He didn't want to think his master was handsome, didn't want have the desire to watch him while he slept - but he'd never gotten his wish and here he was.

"Tom," he keened, expression a pout. "Tom, I want it, you bastard -"

A hand was suddenly around his throat and it's disgusting how the lack of air, the hard press of Tom's body against his as he crushes his pet, turns him on. "Watch your mouth, sweetling." Tom's lips mouth the words against his. He nods fervently and rocks his hips against Tom's crotch. "Little pet, I don't think you understand." The hand on his throat loosens enough so he can take a quick gasp of air. "You don't talk to me like that, little one." Harry nods again. "Show me how you should speak to me, Harry. Flatter me."

"Sweet Tom, kind Tom," Harry babbles immediately in a hoarse voice tight with want. "My master, I'm sorry, Tom!" He's pressing closer, kissing Tom's jaw, the palm pressed to his cheek.


Harry nods jerkily, trying to ignore the throbbing of his erection. "Kind to me. To your pet. You take care of me." He was finding it increasingly difficult to swallow his pride, no matter how true his words are. "You saved my friends, let me live." And Tom is smirking and lining his cock with Harry's entrance and when he presses inside, Harry gasps out the word 'master'.

"That's right," Tom says, thrusting shallowly. His arms comes around Tom's neck again, for leverage, for a grip on his gorgeous master. "My beautiful Harry. The saviour of the wizarding world, with the Dark Lord's cock up his ass. I wonder what your friends would think of you -" Tom's voice halted as he bottomed out, breathing shallowly for a moment. "- now."

His body aches and he's too hot and his belly is tight with tension. Tom's hips snap against his and he meets every thrust eagerly. For a minute he has a fleeting thought of my life shouldn't be like this and he knows that it's a bad thing that he's been conditioned like this - that he's Tom little bitch, and has been since age fourteen.

But Tom's good, so good, and he's warm and his hand is jerking Harry off roughly. They both know this won't last long, but Harry still gives it his all, his hips rolling and meeting Tom thrust for thrust, and he tries to remember what life was like before this was a normal part of it.

He clutches at Tom's hot, slick skin and tenses as his orgasm takes him with a soft cry, Tom is fitting his teeth over his shoulder and biting down as his own orgasm is milked from him.

Harry doesn't dwell on the kiss pressed to his lips, nor how he responds to it, instinctively curling closer to the warmth and safety that his dangerous master represents.

It's weeks later, as Harry is laying in bed late at night with Tom sprawled next to him. A sheet covers his lower half, his curls are everywhere, and for once, is brow is smooth and untroubled. Harry is propped up on an elbow with a quirky half-smile, his own brows furrowed in what feels like guilt and shame but he's trying not to feel it.


He looks up and is jerking the sheets around his naked body in shock a second later when he sees Nymphadora Tonks and Kingsley Shacklebolt in the doorway to his – Tom's – room. Tonks looks like she's been whacked in the head with something very heavy, betrayed and hurt and just plain dumbfounded. Kingsley's expression in completely blank, but his eyes are just as horrified as Tonks's. She looks like she can't believe it, like she'd been trying desperately to deny something proving true.

Harry's hand moves to Tom's forearm, shaking him slightly. He's counting on Tom's being a light sleeper, and when he doesn't immediately wake, shakes a bit harder.

"Harry, what are you doing here?" Tonks asks, stepping forward, and Harry feels Tom stir under his touch. "Harry –" She takes another step and Kingsley puts a hand on her shoulder and pulls her back. His expression has gone hard.

"I must say I'm surprised, Mr. Potter, even warned as we were." His voice is flat and Tom's eyes are opening and widening drastically. As he sits up, he moves Harry behind his back as subtly as he can, shielding him from view. Harry goes willingly, hiding himself from view. He doesn't need to hide – he has quite the anonymous reputation when it comes to battle, but he lets Tom protect him because he's too tired to fight, and he won't fight them. He will prove himself to Tom's Death Eaters, he will go on raids when threatened by his master, and he'll fight to protect himself, but he's not going to hurt these people who mean so much to him.

"It's incredibly rude to waltz into someone's home, aurors – let alone their bedroom." Tom's voice is like ice.

"Not when that person is you, he-who-must-not-be-named!" Tonks hisses, her face twisting in anger. "And you have Harry captive! Hermione warned me that he seemed like he was leaving the castle all the time but I never expected him to be here! What are you doing, using the Imperius on him?" Harry winces and presses closer to Tom.

Tom's lips turn upward in a smirk. "Hardly, auror. I'm surprised you figured out my identity – however, you don't quite understand my little pet's position."

"Position – he's a slave! He's –"

"He's the Consort," Kingsley says gravely, and Tonks goes still and pale.

"No," Tonks says, and she looks like she's been stupefied. "No, Harry wouldn't –"

"He's kept me safe," Harry says quietly, pressing his cheek into Tom's shoulder for comfort."

"He's the only thing that endangers you!" Tonks whispers harshly, but her eyes are filling with tears.

"It's too late," Kingsley is saying, and he's pulling his wand. Subtly, Harry reaches under Tom's pillow for his master's, handing it to him without being noticed. He grips his own from under his own pillow tightly. "It's been two years that we've heard about this Consort of his – he's probably already completely dark!"

"You – that's Harry!" Tonks argues, but Harry is looking down in shame and offering no help for her case. And how could he? He sits, cowering behind his owner, fucked-out and unsure of what to do.

"Don't kill them," Harry whispers, and he can hear fighting going on downstairs. Clearly, this was supposed to be a raid, searching to arrest or kill the dark lord. It would put a chink in Tom's plans, but he already had too much influence over the ministry, too many inside men. The game was over – they just didn't know it yet.

Tom nods and when Tonks looks to him in confusion, she has a split second before she's been knocked out on the floor with a strong stunner. Kingsley is harder to take down and manages to throw in an unsuccessful expelliarmus! before Tom knocks him out as well.

He doesn't spare Harry a glance as he levitates the two aurors and puts them against the wall, out of his way, but he speaks and his voice is kind. "Love, you need to get dressed." He's already putting on his robes. "It's time to end this battle before too many of my men are killed." Harry nods, slipping out of bed. "Go straight back to Hogwarts, you hear? I won't have you injured in this."

Harry won't pretend that Tom loves him (even if there is a voice in the back of his head that says that the man who can't love just might), but he does run up for a kiss before he goes through the floo.

He hates himself, and hates himself more for worrying when Tom gives him a wan smile and leaves the room to go end the battle.

Later, Hermione will watch him come into the Gryffindor common room with accusing, fearful eyes and he will look down in shame. She knows somehow, he know she does, and by the way that Ron refuses to look at him, he knows Ron does, too. They were probably the ones to warn the ministry, likely through Dumbledore, and he knows that the battle – the real one, the big one – will commence soon enough.

He knows they don't have a chance, not with him on Tom's side like he is. He wishes he could say that he wasn't, that he wouldn't run to Tom's side (just like the faithful soldier they always wanted him to be, but on the wrong side) during the battle, that he wouldn't take all he knows and use it to defend his master, but he is fully aware that he will without even thinking about it.

He doesn't blame them for their betrayed looks, for the glares sent his way as he goes upstairs to gather his things. The minute he's given the okay, he'll be back in Tom's rooms, permanently, because he can't stay. He's the Dark Lord's Consort, and now everyone knows it.

He goes back to Severus's rooms with his trunk as quickly as he can, avoiding any teachers (especially Dumbledore), and hides there until Tom gives the all-clear, from anyone who would apprehend him like he knows they will. He's one of them now, the opposite side, and Dumbledore might try to get him back on theirs, but they know it won't work, just like he does.

Severus ushers him inside, and he waits.