Hello everyone!

So, new account, new start... :P
for those of you who have gotten here without having read the rest of the story, or who are confused as to why this isn't written by elfinmyth anymore, I kind of needed the link between my real name and all of my M-rated stories to disappear… so this is my second account for smutty stories, haha. All of my T- and lower rated stoies are still on my old one.

To explain the timeline of this story: it starts in the summer after Haryr's fourth year, and thus Voldemort's resurrection. He has, however, already met the Order after the Tournament. -This caused a lot of confusion :P, sorry -

Disclaimer: -and this is for the rest of the story- I don't own Harry Potter or anything else you might recognise in this story, line lines from AVPM and a part of 'Beneath a moonless sky' from LND.



He was the first person,

To smile at the 'real me'

To be truly accepted by someone

To be able to meet someone's eyes, and share a laugh,

hearts brimming with excitement and joy

Only then did I find out how something I've never noticed before,

could be so precious.

I believe, from the very depth of my being,

that I have made the right choice.
(Kare Kano, Masami Tsuda)

Part I

Harry lay on his bed, not able to sleep because of the pain on his back. Instead, he watched the ceiling, where the shadows of the trees played. He frowned when it suddenly turned black, and fear took over when he saw a shape appear in his room. Whatever it was, to come silently in the night, it wasn't something friendly. He did the only thing he currently could to not immediately attract attention: he clamped his eyes shut and evened his breathing out, pretending to be asleep. He mentally cursed the Dursleys, as he often did, since he couldn't do it aloud. They had, again, locked all his stuff away in the cupboard under the stairs, together with his wand, leaving him practically defenseless.

Soft footsteps sounded on the wooden floor, and he wondered when to expect a green jet of light. At least then it would be over, and he could rest in peace, no longer obligated to fight in a war he never had had a choice in, or a way out of. Still, when he felt the cold wood of a wand sliding down the length of his throat, he had a hard time to not jump up and do something stupid. Strange, after so many times of thinking about killing himself… he almost sighed in relief when it was removed. The bed creaked when a weight sat down on it.

He wondered how much time had gone by. Just when he wanted to open his eyes and see who his visitor was, the weight shifted again as it rose from the bed. Something cool touched his face, tracing his cheek before vanishing. When he finally dared to open his eyes, the room was empty, and the trees in the street threw shadows on his ceiling again. He raised his hand to his face, which was still cold from the touch. "Who?" he whispered, but the only answer he got was the sound of the wind.

He watched as the red, glowing numbers of his clock changed from 00:16 to 00:17 and he groaned. He still hadn't managed to fall asleep, like the day before and the day before that and every other day here at the Dursley's. He rolled on his side, and froze again when the same feeling as the night before washed over the room, a cloak of darkness. During the day, he had believed it to be a dream, or his imagination. Now he wondered how it had been possible to deny something so real. This time the thing, -he wasn't entirely sure it was a person, since its breathing sounds ended in a hiss,- sat down next to him immediately. The cold touched him again after a few minutes of –for Harry uncomfortable- silence, and when it traced his face and hair, he came to the surprising conclusion that it was skin. Fingers perhaps. But how could anyone be that cold?

"Harry…" he almost fainted when the whisper reached his ears, almost too soft to be heard. He knew that voice and his mind began to race as he panicked. But that couldn't be, could it? If that was true, he would be dead already… And what about the wards? And the Order, watching his every move? But there was no mistake anymore when the thing got closer, and he could feel its breath on his face. He wondered if it could hear the rapid beatings of his heart. The constant gush of air on his neck and cheek made him shiver from the cold, together with something else he couldn't place. The hand began to stroke his hair, and somehow he relaxed very slowly before doing the one thing he wouldn't have thought possible regarding the circumstances. He fell asleep under the soft touches and the petting of his hair… He didn't notice when the person vanished, just as the glowing numbers turned to 01:25

Harry paced his room, pondering on the idea to write Dumbledore. He could not take it anymore. A week had gone by now, and every single night his visitor had come. But he could almost hear the headmaster's voice. "Surely it isn't that bad Harry, and if you haven't gotten any physical injuries, then what is the problem? When he had told him about the abuse and starvation at the Dursleys, he had gotten a similar reaction with an added: "Are you sure you aren't making a bigger problem of this than it is? I have seen them and they seemed fine people to me." And that had been that. Ron and Hermione were no option either. They would probably believe him, but they would go to Dumbledore for help. Sirius would do anything to help him, but he couldn't endanger his godfather… No. he would have to solve this on his own.

He crawled in bed, trying to not make any sudden movements. He felt his ribs. None broken… sprained maybe. Harry sighed. He should have known better than to give his uncle an angry retort when being shouted at for ruining Dudley's breakfast. He hadn't even known what he had done to accomplish the criminal act. Maybe Vernon had had a bad day and had wanted someone to direct his anger at… Harry smiled wryly. Now it would do him well to have something cold on his bruised skin, but it was almost eleven 'o clock. Too early yet for him to come.


He felt something, a warm feeling. A safe feeling. He hadn't felt anything like it in a long while. He never felt safe during summer… He knew he was asleep, or partially, but he didn't want to wake up. Didn't want to return back to the world with the beatings and the shouts. But somehow, he could not stay in his nice little dark space. He blinked slowly, and registered a soft green glow. A human shape sat on his bed, bent over him, and he studied the shape through his eyelashes. This was the first time he could actually see his visitor. Voldemort still looked like he had when being reborn in the graveyard, but something about his expression had changed. He was wearing one that Harry had never thought to see on the man's face. It was as if he was worried… There was that glow again, and he concluded, stunned, that his enemy was healing him. He closed his eyes again and let the warm feeling wash over him.

He was disappointed when, shortly after, it stopped. This meant he would be leaving… His heart skipped a beat when he thought of that. Didn't he want Voldemort to leave? But to his own astonishment, the immediate answer no went through his head. This was so fucked up… Should he speak? But no, he couldn't let him know he was awake… On the other hand, if the man had wanted harm to come over him, why heal his injuries? But his decision was already made for him when Voldemort got up.

"You should be fine now… Sleep well Harry."

The whisper made the teen shiver.

Following weeks became routine. He would try to live through the day, waiting for the night to fall. If the Dursleys had hurt him, Voldemort would heal his injuries, although he still hadn't figured out why. There were also various changes since the first nights, mainly regarding his feelings. He no longer felt fear. Instead, it was the sole moment of the day he really looked forward to. The only moment he felt completely at ease. Harry always tried to stay awake, which wasn't that hard to accomplish. He had never slept well. He always came between twelve and one, and stayed for about an hour or two. The only thing Harry regretted was that he couldn't predict the man's reaction if he showed he wasn't asleep. And thus, he pretended, while enjoying the feeling of fingers caressing his skin.

A couple of days ago, the temperature had risen over thirty degrees, and he had slept shirtless. He had decided to do that every night from now on, no matter was temperature, after experiencing heaven when he had received a two- hour long massage on his back. He had pondered on the idea of turning over, but he knew he wouldn't have been able to hide the flush on his face. Regrettable. He sighed and watched his clock before frowning. He was late. He was never late. Had something happened? Or had he lost interest? Harry watched with a knot in his stomach –which shouldn't be there!- how the numbers on his clock sprang to 01:11. eleven minutes late. Harry concluded he wouldn't come anymore, and wrapped the sheets around himself, letting a strange and empty feeling take over.

He was sitting in his room again, his arms wrapped around his knees. He hadn't come in three nights, and Harry was positive he wouldn't be coming back. It had been too good to last. Why should anyone care about him anyway? But then, his head shot up when he felt a familiar darkness surround him. He watched the spot on his left where he always appeared in fascination, and was rewarded when a dark shape became visible. Dark magic heightened the tension in the room, making the air thick. Harry only realised he should have lain down again and pretended to sleep as he met Voldemort's crimson eyes. The magic built up again when the man wanted to disapparate, but Harry found his voice just in time, yelling with a panicked voice, while nearly tumbling from his bed:


The Dark Lord blinked and stopped, staring at him, even more so when Harry softly spoke up.

"Where were you? Yesterday, and the days before that…" he cursed inwardly about how weak and begging his voice sounded.

"You…you knew?" the man said, sounding shocked and tense.

It was the first time he had heard the man's voice, if you didn't count the barely audible whispers. A strange shiver ran down his spine at the sound.

"Yes. I…well, I hardly ever sleep at night." he added softly, ducking his head with a mixture of nervousness and embarrassment when Voldemort came closer. A hand reached out and tipped Harry's head back. He gasped when Voldemort forced him to look him in the eye, surprised by the kindness he found in them. Nothing like the cold, cruel looks he had given Harry at the end of his fourth year.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't know how you would react." The teen answered, biting his lip and ducking his head again. He wasn't used to looking people in their eyes. If he did that to the Dursley's they would beat him because of his 'rudeness'.

Voldemort however, chuckled softly. "What would have been the worst that could happen then?"

After a long silence, Harry finally answered him. "That you would have left and would not have come back."

The hand released him and he closed his eyes, not knowing what would happen now he so clearly expressed his feelings.

"You were afraid of that?" Voldemort asked, sounding surprised.

Harry slowly nodded, and his breathing hitched when the man sat down next to him. "That first night… I came to kill you." He admitted, his eyes and voice solemn.

"I know. I felt your wand at my throat. Why didn't you?"

"I am not sure myself, but I…couldn't. And now, I'm very glad I didn't." He frowned.


"Yesss." he hissed, fingers carding through Harry's black strands. They went down to Harry's face again, stroking it. Harry unconsciously leaned into the touch. "Do you like this?" the man asked. He was clearly amused, but there was also something else in his voice. Was he... pleased?

Harry shuddered at his tone and replied, a bit breathless: "Yes."

He swallowed heavily when the hand ghosted lower, down his throat, and slid on his chest. He was afraid his heart might jump out of it and he got a really weird felling on his skin, which ached to be touched, and not only where Voldemort's hand was lingering now. No, it felt like every part of him wanted to be closer to his former enemy. Former, since there was no way Harry could even think of hurting him. Not after what Voldemort had done for him. Not only had the man healed his injuries, but he had also –though probably without knowing it- made it possible for Harry to sleep in peace every night, and made his life during the day bearable. He closed his eyes again, but could still feel the man's burning gaze on him, watching his every move and expression on his face. –Which no doubt reflected every one of his thoughts.-

Hours went by, in which none of them spoke, because they both knew that sound would only destroy the strange...things between them. Harry didn't know how to name it. He didn't protest however, and just let it all happen, seeing how far it would go, and for how long. The only thing he did was try to get closer to Voldemort, and as long as he didn't hear any complaints from the man, enjoy it. Of course, everything had to end, and finally, -though to Harry's great joy also reluctantly-, Voldemort got up and stroked his cheek one last time before disapparating, only leaving a whispered goodbye.

Harry had feared that the wizard would have stayed away from him after that, maybe thinking that Harry had changed his mind, but his fear turned out to be unfounded when Voldemort appeared the evening after that as well. Harry thought it was nice that he didn't have to pretend to sleep anymore. And also, the man came a bit sooner, and stayed a bit longer. Harry wondered when he slept. Maybe he didn't need sleep at all...

This evening, he had been able to escape the Dursley's a bit later than normally, and when he dragged himself in his room, he was surprised to find a pair of strong arms supporting him, careful to not touch his side, which was Dudley's favorite spot to hit Harry. He groaned when he lay down on the bed and Voldemort pulled his T-shirt off him to examine the bruises that were already beginning to show. Harry sighed in relief when the pain was taken away by the now familiar pale green light of healing spells. He saw the blue on his skin taking on a healthier shade before disappearing completely.

"Why are you letting them do this to you Harry?" Voldemort asked, clearly concerned.

"What could I do? I can't escape this house and my stuff is locked away. It's not like I can hit them… and they also know I am not allowed to use magic out of school..."

"Then come to me." the man said, drawing invisible patterns on the skin of his nape. For a moment he thought about it...Why not?

"Why do you come here every night?" Harry blurted out, and suddenly, he needed to know. Needed to know the reason, needed to know if there was any reason at all, or if he was just playing with him or...or anything. The answer however, surprised him, but wasn't satisfying enough to his tastes.

"Because I can't stay away."

"That's hardly an answer."

Voldemort laughed on that. "True. The same reason why I haven't killed you, I think. I just don't know. And you? Why didn't you finish me off, or called for the Order's help?"

"Dumbledore wouldn't believe me, and the Order follows him. And I, kill you?… How? Without a wand that is kind of hard to accomplish. Unless I'd shoot you with my gun, but it has only one bullet and it isn't for you—"

In less than a second, he was harshly pushed on the bed and he watched Voldemort's sudden rage-full expression with shock. He wondered how he had figured it out that quickly, but remained impassive, though he was interested why the older wizard would care. It would solve a lot of his problems, no?

"You will not kill yourself!" the Dark Lord said, furious.

"And why not?" Harry answered him in a toneless voice.

"Because it will solve nothing!" he hissed, his voice a strange mixture of anger, desperation, and determination to make Harry see that it was wrong.

"It will for me."

"The easiest way isn't always the best, and it surely isn't the only one!" he continued.

"Really? Harry replied unbelieving. "Did I ever get a choice then?"

"I will not let you." Voldemort growled. Before the boy had any time to protest, or even to try to comprehend what was happening, he pressed Harry close to his chest and apparated.


"What the hell!" the boy exclaimed in shock as the both of them landed in a large garden. "What did you do that for?"

"Well, lately, I seem to do many things in a rush…" Voldemort answered dryly. "It doesn't matter now anymore. What's done is done. I can't bring you back now anyway."

"What do you mean?"

"I apparated Harry, the Order will pick up magic in no time."

"You also healed me magically, and apparated before." Harry pointed out.

"Yes, but I don't have the Trace on me. You do. With side- apparation, your magic is used as well. If they go and investigate it, they will discover my magic that still lingers in your room. The Ministry doesn't have side-apparation included in the Trace, since technically spoken, it are not the children who perform magic, but itis traceable, and I'm quite certain Dumbledore has taken some precautions with you. Modified your Trace or something. I wouldn't put it past him, though it isn't entirely legal."

"How can you know that?"

"I don't. I just don't want to take risks."

"Hmm, it could be the reason why he was informed of my magic so fast when I accidentally used it on my aunt in my third year. Well, that sucks. On the other hand, I am free from the Dursley's here…"

"Do I have to kill them for you?" Voldemort asked, his arm still around Harry's waist.

"No!" the boy exclaimed in shock, and he pulled away, staring at the man in horror, not believing that anyone would be able to make such an offer in a tone that could have been used to talk about the weather.

"Why not?" the man said, sounding truly surprised. "They abused you, did they not?"

"Are you…worried?" Harry said, flabbergasted.

"And what if I am?" he smirked.

Harry gave a startled sound as he was suddenly picked up and cradled against the man's chest. He blushed and put his arms around Voldemort's neck so he couldn't fall.

"I just don't want to cause anyone pain, no matter if they hurt me. And I surely don't approve of killing." Harry muttered

"You're too good for this world." the older man replied, smiling, but also shaking his head in disbelief.

When they reached the Manor, the door swung open of its own accord.

"I love magic." Harry sighed. Voldemort just chuckled at that. Harry was secretly glad the man hadn't needed to put him down to open them. Sure, it wasn't the warmest place possible –far from it-, or the softest, but it was, despite that, quite comfortable.

"Are any of your followers here?" he asked a bit nervous.

"A few, Lucius, Bellatrix, Rodolphus and Wormtail."

"Oh joy, my favorite ones." he mumbled sarcastically.


"I've got a feud with Lucius' son, and thus with himself, Bellatrix is mental and wants to desperately kill my Godfather and a good deal of my friends and Wormtail is… well, Wormtail. Betrayed my parents and stuff. The only one I don't know is Rodolphus, but I've heard he's as insane as his wife…"

"Not really, Rodolphus is quite a nice person if you get to know him. I agree with you on Bellatrix though… she's horrible to have around. But if you can put up with me, surely you can put up with them."

"But you're different."

His breath stopped when Voldemort laughed softly and kissed his temple. He wondered if it was a good moment to faint. After a quick debate with himself though, he decided he could enjoy all this a lot more if he was awake. His mind wouldn't shut up however, contemplating about what it had meant. He had kissed Hermione on her cheek when he was really happy and wanted to thank her, and once even Ron, when he was really enthusiastic because his best friend had risked detention with Snape by getting in a debate with the git about how unfair he was acting towards Harry. And then there was that time when they had won a Quidditch match because of him. This however, seemed different from a friendly kiss...or was that just because he hoped it was? Why the hell did he even hope it was? Argh! He was becoming mad, for sure now.

The man walked up the stairs to the second floor. After a few more corridors, he put Harry down –damn-, and opened a door. The interior was really nice, mainly consisting of wine red and wood colours. Harry watched one particular wall in fascination. There were branches with some sort of blossom painted on it. The leaves and flowers rustled in an invisible wind while little birds flew silently through the branches, and their beaks moved as if they were singing, though no sound was produced.

"It's beautiful." he said in awe.

"This will be your room for the time being. I am glad it is to your liking. I will leave now so you can clean yourself up and change clothing." Harry looked down and came to the embarrassing conclusion he still wore nothing but his pajama trousers. "When you are done, come to me. We need to talk about what to do now."

"Uhm… can that wait till tomorrow? I'm kind of tired still." Harry mumbled as he tried not to sway on his feet.

"Of course." Voldemort said, and gently smiled at him again. He wrapped his arms around the boy and kissed him on his head. Harry swallowed, gathering up courage, and before the man could pull away, kissed him on his cheek. Voldemort looked at him in surprise and stroked his face.

"Goodnight Harry."

"G'night." the teen mumbled, trying to calm down both his breathing and the harsh beats of his heart –failing horribly-. In the end, he just dropped himself on the bed and snuggled under the soft, smooth sheets and blanket, soon falling asleep because of the peaceful atmosphere in the room.


Voldemort paced his rooms, unsure of what to do, which was a very unusual experience for him. He had never needed to deal with something like this. With... with feelings. When he had first snuck into Harry's room, he had had his wand at the ready. Just two whispered words and Potter would have been done for. And then he had come closer, and his determination had faltered before disappearing into nothingness when staring at the face of the sleeping boy. Now he knew Harry hadn't been asleep at all, but still. He had looked so... he didn't even have words for it. Not peaceful, not at all. He had noticed the sheets which had been clutched in Harry's fists, and the slow, but uneven breathing. Not beautiful either with his underfed body, though the teen was rather handsome now he had healed him and added a few nutrition spells. And still... he had had something untouchable that night and every night after that. He could not find it within himself to harm the raven-haired teenager.

He sat down on his bed and put his head in his hands, wondering what he should do about this. He had been shocked when Harry had told him he had been awake, and even more so because the boy hadn't done anything about it. Even seemed to like it... an involuntarily shiver ran down his spine, and he got that strange, longing feeling back. He needed the boy. He didn't know why, but suddenly, he couldn't imagine a world without Harry Potter. Preferably safe in his house, in his arms, in his...

Circe, I can't think about that! He groaned mentally in desperation when realising where his thoughts had been going.

But that thought certainly brought things into perspective. His odd behavior these last weeks for example. His strange fascination with Harry and the dreading feeling that had developed over the weeks, the anticipation which rushed through him every evening, impatiently waiting until it was safe for him to visit Harry, and also the sensations that went through him when he was able to touch that skin, as if he was touching something sacred. One evening, he had been so lost in, so drowned in his feelings that he had stayed until early morning, and still found it hard to let go. There was no denying it. He was addicted to Harry and cared for his wellbeing, although he had absolutely no clue at all as to why he suddenly saw him differently.

It was strange. He had also felt something like this when facing Harry, directly after his resurrection. Not the same, but still an intense feeling. He had assumed it had been hate then, but he knew he had been so wrong about that. What was that saying again? A fine line between love and hate? By Salazar... He needed to speak to Harry. It would have to wait until morning though, pitifully. He wondered if he would be getting any sleep at all tonight.

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Xx GeMerope.