Warnings: Sex, though not really explicit
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter
Silently, he crept closer, with Nagini slithering behind him. He stood still and she coiled around him.
"Master…" she hissed. "Do you think this a good idea?"
"Do you think I would have come if I didn't?" he said, irritated, and she ducked her head.
"I apologize master." She hissed softly.
He grunted in reply and spied his victim from behind a tree, intensely watching his supposed arch-nemesis. Ah, Dumbledore will be infuriated, he thought gleefully. Finally, some good would come out of the prophecy, because, no matter how you looked at it, it was a fact that that boy was the only one who could kill him. No-one else could, or would even try. The fools. For what if he wouldn't try to kill the black-haired teenager? Nothing would stop him then from purifying this world. He aimed his wand carefully. He had to do this quickly, without causing a ruckus or evoking a battle.
"Stupefy" he whispered, and a red beam of light struck the Savior of the Wizarding world, Harry Potter
Harry awoke on a bed in a dusky room. It was, as far as he could see, soberly furnished, with neutral colours. It looked quite comfortable, and had a nice temperature. Something was very amiss however, other than the fact that he couldn't remember how he had gotten here, but he couldn't place his finger on what it was. If he could only figure out how he had ended up in this place… The last thing he had been conscious of was that he was walking through the streets after going to the grocery for his Aunt. And then…blank. Once he was fully adapted to the scarce light in the room, he spotted a man in front of the single window, seemingly deep in thoughts. Harry couldn't see much of him however, as his back was turned, and most of him was hidden behind a long, dark cloak. He guessed that, whoever it was, captor or caretaker, he was quite young. His black hair was full still, and the hands that rested on the windowsill were unwrinkled. He noticed however, that the skin was unnaturally pale, if not white. A sudden wave of fear ran through him when a scenario of a Vampire kidnapping him to suck him dry entered his mind. But a deep chuckle broke the silence, and his imagination with it.
"A Vampire? Really Potter, is that the best you can come up with?" a velvety voice asked him, amusement clear.
Before processing that the man had answered his unspoken thoughts, he had already fainted, for the man had turned around and, no matter how different he might look, those vivid red eyes that had haunted his dreams for years were a dead giveaway. Voldemort.
When he came to again, his first instinct was to run, but he quickly found himself unable to leave the bed, because he was shackled to it by iron chains around both of his wrists.
"Now now Potter, I thought you might want to escape, so I took the liberty of hampering your movements." The Dark Lord, who had seated himself in a comfortable looking armchair said.
"What do you want from me?" Harry whispered, terrified.
"Well Harry, you see…it wasn't really beneficial for me if you ran around trying to come up with a plot to kill me, was it? Now you are here, out of my way, there is nothing to stop me. I might have failed to get you at the graveyard, but now, I have you anyways…You might think Dumbledore would offer you more protection with my rebirth… And now there is nothing to stop me from taking over the world, molding it to my vision of perfection."
"Out of your way? So you will finish the job from where you left off three weeks ago?"
To say that Harry was surprised by that statement would be an understatement. "Why…"
"My reasons are my own Potter, but for now, I don't see why I should."
"So…you're just gonna keep me here?" he asked, incredulously. "That's insane! You can't…"
He shut up when a wand was pointed lazily in his direction. He barely registered the spell before a tormenting pain shot through him, from his upper layer of skin to his very core. He wasn't aware of his screams and pleads, but when it stopped, he curled up as well as he could, considering the chains didn't leave much room for movement in his arms.
"Potter. I would suggest not to insult me." Voldemort told him in a calm voice, yet it had a dangerous, commanding undertone. "You must never forget that now, you are completely at my mercy, as you will be for the rest of your pathetic life. In fact, I will probably be the only person you will see from now till your death."
"Then let it come soon." The teen spat, though the fear of being cursed again entered his voice, weakening the venom in it.
"Really? Would you give up your life so quickly? Just…surrender to me?"
Harry balled his fists as the man twisted his words to a reason why he shouldn't prefer death over imprisonment. Because surrender he would not. Never.
"We will see about that." Voldemort chuckled, a sly grin spreading over his face. " Because if you are not willing to bow to me, I will have to break you. Either way, you will succumb to me, my will, my word, my laws and my world."
"You are sick!" Harry yelled, sudden fury getting a hold of him. As a result, he could only gasp and whimper in pain for the next few minutes from the impact of the Cruciatus curse.
"Harry, do I need to remind you to hold your tongue every few minutes?" The Dark Lord asked, raising from his seat and cocking his head to the side to gaze at Harry. "You need to understand that everything you do and say will have consequences Potter. Tell me…do you take it for granted to be fed? Clothed? Having a place to sleep? I could starve you in the dungeons, if you so desire, make you question your own sanity as it slips away from the hunger, cold, loneliness and darkness…would you prefer being broken like that?"
Harry forced his rationality to overpower his feelings. "I would not." He said through his clenched teeth, knowing very well that Voldemort would hold true to his word.
"I thought so." He said smugly. "Now, would you like something to eat?"
Harry was so taken aback by the question that he didn't answer for a few moments. "Y...yes." he stuttered. The red orbs narrowed dangerously. "Please." Harry growled, unwilling.
"Please what?" The Dark Lord said sweetly.
Harry practically trembled with anger now. Somehow, the man could get him from total calmness to seething fury with just a few well-placed words. He answered nonetheless, all the while throwing obscenities at the man in his mind, knowing very well he could hear them. "Please feed me, Sir."
"No, I don't think I will." Voldemort said with a completely blank expression, and Harry wondered whether all the emotions he had displayed till now were artificial, forced. He was, after all, known for having detached himself from his feelings, other than the most basic ones like anger and confusion. On a second thought, he wasn't too sure if the wizard in front of him had ever felt confused either. Just anger then.
"Not solely that." Harry heard, and he didn't even try to comment on the fact that his mind was being assaulted. Again.
"Oh, so you do have feelings? How surprising." Harry snorted. "And why aren't you planning on letting me eat? You told me I could if I asked!"
"I feel amusement, to a certain level... and pleasure." He added, smirking in a way that made Harry think he didn't even want to try to get what he meant with that. "And I never said I would give you food, I only asked if you would want me to...I will feed you eventually however... When you have learned to show me some respect. Sir just doesn't suffice..."
"If you think I will ever call you my Lord you are badly mistaken!" the boy snarled, and Voldemort got a thoughtful expression.
"No, I don't expect that from you...it wouldn't be correct. I am not your lord and I doubt you will ever stand behind me regarding my beliefs. However, as you are my prisoner, I think Master will be fitting. And before you refuse..." he hissed, narrowing his eyes at Harry, who already had opened his mouth to give an angry retort, "Do not make me rethink my decision of keeping you here, healthy." The last sentence was an obvious threat, sugarcoated so it would seem like Harry had any influence on that choice. "Ah, but you have, and that is the whole point. Show me that you can actually act civil, keep quiet and behave, and you will find your stay here a lot more comfortable." Harry snorted in disbelief, and the Dark lord smirked. "Now, let's see if you can behave, or at least pay attention to my warnings." He said, and made two plates of food appear that had Harry's mouth watering just by the sight of it.
Voldemort wordlessly put a plate down on Harry's stomach once he managed to sit upright and slowly unlocked one of the chains. Harry got the strong urge to punch the man in the face until he was unrecognisable, but the hunger stopped him, and he knew he wouldn't come far anyways. For one, the door would surely be warded by some sort of magic, and secondly, Voldemort didn't seem easy to overpower in this form either. So he sighed in defeat and swallowed his pride when the other wizard raised one perfectly arched black eyebrow. "Thank you...Master."
The smug, victorious grin almost made him regret his words. Almost, because a fork was pressed in his free hand and he attacked the delicious food. Once he was finished however, he made another –futile- attempt to make his displeasure clear by throwing the piece of utensils into Voldemort's face. The man plucked it out of the air in front of his face and calmly put it down.
"Crucio" When the pain finally stopped, he was chained again. "Harry, Harry," the Dark Lord tsked. "I wonder how long it will take for you to learn your place. But I guess it is your life you're throwing away here..." and with that, he got up and opened the door with a complex spell pattern that Harry wouldn't have been able to perform in a hundred years, wand or not. He was utterly and completely trapped, left at the mercy of his enemy. Having nothing else to do, he let himself drift to sleep.
When he awoke, he once more had that feeling that something was off, but now, he could link it to Voldemort's presence. And indeed, the man was in the room again, sitting in the armchair, reading a book that reminded him of what Hermione called 'light reading.' Then, Harry frowned, a question bubbling up out of the depths of his mind, and it seemed stupid to him that he hadn't paid attention to it sooner.
"Can I ask you something?" The man, who gave no indication to have heard him, didn't even do so much as blink as he turned a page. Harry gritted his teeth, swallowing a growl. He really needed to do something about his temper... "Master" he said, his voice full of clearly audible dripping sarcasm. "Can I ask you a question please?"
This time, the older wizard marked his page and closed the book before directing his attention to Harry. "Yes."
"Why doesn't my scar hurt anymore?" he asked, honestly curious.
"Because I didn't wish for it to hurt you anymore. It wouldn't really do to have you read my feelings so easily now, would it?"
"You..." Harry said, utterly abashed by the answer, "So every time it hurt. Every time your anger or even your content was transformed into a head-splitting pain, you actually did that consciously? As in, on purpose?"
"Why yes, yes I did." Voldemort answered nonchalantly, and opened his book again, leaving Harry seething in anger once more. Really, why was he so surprised? He should have known the man would be able to do something like that. It wasn't like he had a heart or anything...
"I hate you!" he yelled.
"As I am very well aware of. But that won't last long, I'm sure..."
"What the hell are you talking about!" Harry bit back, but calmed himself down and rephrased his question when crimson eyes flashed in warning. "I mean, could you explain to me why you think that? Master?" he added in afterthought.
"You see, Harry...when people are left alone, they do not bode well with it. Humans are, leave out the few exceptions, social beings. Without someone to talk to, they slowly become insane, hear voices in their heads, start talking to themselves just to fight the silence, or start laughing about nothing at all, as I have seen often by my prisoners. I am your sanity object Harry...you would do well to remember that. No-one else can enter this room, save a few house-elves, who have the specific instructions not to talk to you. I know you might deny it now, but you will regret it if you decide to insult me so often that I'll decide you are not worth the trouble and give up on you. You do not want to lose my company Harry...you might even become...attached to it...to me..." he smirked, and Harry did not like the expression.
"Never." He declared.
"We will see..." the Dark lord mumbled, and started reading again. Suddenly he sighed and got up. "I have other things to do than listen to your pleasant thoughts." He said, and left Harry alone again.
Silence meant safety, Harry soon learned. If he didn't speak up, nothing stupid would be able to slip past his lips. Strangely enough, Voldemort seemed annoyed at his silent behaviour, and as a consequence, his temper was greater. The nice part was that the occasional visits were shorter than before, so he kept silent, only speaking when spoken too, or sometimes not even that, only answering shortly on the questions the Dark lord threw at him. Today however, Voldemort was in an exceptional bad mood, it seemed.
"Potter!" He suddenly yelled, his eyes flashing with fury, and his lips quirking up in a growl. He stalked towards the bed and slapped the boy across his face, leaving him shocked. "Just...Say something!" he shouted, and Harry wondered if maybe, he was the 'sanity object' of Voldemort instead of the other way around. He frowned at himself when he felt something in his chest...no, that couldn't be pity he felt, right? It left him disgusted with himself, and the other man would have probably cursed him for it, hadn't he been too busy with being angry to notice. "How can you just sit there!" Voldemort hissed.
"Well, it's not like I can move, now can I?" Harry remarked dryly, and instantly bit his tongue for responding. Voldemort however, just sighed in what seemed relief. The world couldn't become much crazier. Why was the man relieved he had spoken to him?
"True...maybe...It's not like you can escape anyways..." the man murmured, more to himself than to Harry. Harry was shocked when Voldemort pulled out his wand and tapped each chain holding him once. They dissolved, and Harry rubbed his wrists, not knowing what to say.
"Thank you...master." he mumbled, and strange enough, the words seemed to flow out of his mouth without the anger and reluctance they had mere weeks ago. He might as well keep the Dark Lord happy. It was true that Harry couldn't go anywhere. There was no escape route here.
Voldemort smirked, but it lacked something. It seemed strained, tired, and strange feelings of pity seeped through Harry's chest again. Pity for this creature, who had detached himself from the rest of the world...He forced his thoughts to stop when he felt a slight pressure sweeping over the surface of his mind, a sign that the Dark Lord was skimming his thoughts. Instead, he let a question drift to the surface, one he wasn't too sure of if he was allowed to ask aloud. He had noticed that Voldemort reacted much stronger on his spoken thoughts. He had never acted on the insults Harry had thrown at him in his mind either...Maybe he didn't think them valid unless spoken out?
Why do you look as if you can break down any moment? Harry thought, and he knew that it was heard when Voldemort's mouth curled upwards in a wry grin.
"Concerned, Harry?" he huffed, but Harry felt the amusement, and decided not to answer it, but instead glared at the Dark Lord. "Stress...just stress. Taking over the world isn't easy. Nor is keeping your followers in check, especially when they just want to run out and slaughter every muggle they come across..."
"Strange, and here I thought you wanted the same." Harry snorted sarcastically, and cringed in pain after that, regretting his words. The usual Crucio however, stayed out. It had only been a warning.
"Yes, I do want to rid this world of their filth. However, I don't want to do it in a way that will result with this whole world destroyed, except for various rebellion groups scattered throughout the country. When I finally take over, I want most of the changes I wish for this world, already established. I am working on that now, slowly infiltrating the Ministry, placing top agents among the ranks, and changing it from the inside out. Change, not destruction, will be the key..."
Harry got a vague idea that he wanted to say something with that last sentence, but he couldn't really fathom what. Hogwarts maybe? The rest of the wizarding population? Voldemort chuckled, and Harry looked at him oddly.
"I was talking about you as well, Potter. Really, and here I thought you had some intelligence."
Harry did feel stupid, and turned his head away to hide his anger. For no matter what Voldemort might think, he would never change.
"Never? I think that you don't really know who you are up against Harry..."
"No, I know exactly who you are, and how manipulative you can be. And it is for that reason, that I will not bow to you."
"Really? Will you stand up to me?" He sounded amused again, and anger began to rise in the teen. Again.
"I am supposed to, am I not?" he huffed.
"Honestly, Harry? Then why didn't you grab my wand the moment I put it down and imprisoned me, forced me to open the door for you and set yourself free?" the dark wizard said, deadly serious all of sudden. Not waiting for an answer, he took the wand, which he had laid on the bed after freeing the boy from his chains, –and yes, Harry had noticed it when he had done that-, got up and opened the door, leaving Harry behind in utter shock. He could have. And the idea hadn't crossed his mind a single moment. That wasn't so bad, since he didn't think he would have been able to persuade the man to open the door for him even if Harry was in control for a few minutes, but no thoughts of resistance had wormed its way into his head at all, except for the now empty and meaningless: I will never give up. But really, hadn't he already?
It was a relief, to be able to wake up in a normal sleeping position, without anything hindering his movement, like the chains had. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, and never had been so grateful that he could do such a simple task, after weeks of true imprisonment. He wasn't exactly free now either, but still, the range had widened from the bed to a whole room. It was a huge improvement. Not to mention that finally, a house-elf could come to change the sheets. It was just the idea, since he knew that the Dark Lord always cast a cleaning charm on them, just to avoid accidentally touching anything filthy. For a mass-murderer who didn't think twice about getting soaked in blood and filth on a raid, he was oddly obsessed with how clean everything was in his house. Harry didn't think he would be able to find even a spot of dust in the dungeons, if he were ever allowed to get a look there. He knew he wouldn't, but still...the thoughts of shiny dungeons, while the prisoners withered away there, made him strangely giggly. Was he going insane after all?
Suddenly, he felt a wave of nausea overcome him, and he knew it had nothing to do with his last thought, -Voldemort running around with a cleaning brush-, how nauseous that might be. Oh no, not again. He thought, and let himself fall on the bed, avoiding moving after that, in a vain attempt to stop the world from spinning. He groaned, counting how long it had been since the last time. He came on thirty-four days. Not bad. Sometimes, there had been mere days between the attacks of dizzy spells and headaches. He groaned, and let himself sink into blackness, wondering when he would wake up again.
He had strange dreams...whiffs of sound reached him, sometimes yelling at him, sometimes murmuring soft words. He felt cold, smooth hands touching him. Violent sometimes, just like the sounds, but changing just as much over time, becoming soft, gentle strokes. They were too cold, and initially, he wanted to flinch away, but he quickly found himself unable to. He couldn't move. At one point, he stopped caring, if only his his head-splitting pain would stop. It hurt worse than his scar did when Voldemort was angry...And at one point, he even started liking the touches, the caresses being the only thing he could direct his attention to, other than the pain. And so, he struggled through his dreams, unaware of the fact that he fell in and out of consciousness, unaware of the person sitting next to his curled up, shivering form, unaware of the thick tomes that were scattered across the bed, and unaware of the effort the other man in the room put into digging through that pile of books to find out what the hell was wrong with him in the first place.
Harry blinked, his illness having taken on a form of a dull, irritating thudding against the insides of his head. Another shudder went through him, and he knew he was far from better, but it at least he wouldn't black out again now. Carefully, he lifted himself up on an elbow, and looked around the room, surprised to spot a sleeping Dark Lord on the couch, his wand fallen on the floor, and several books around his feet and on his lap. Carefully, so as to not wake him up, he snuck out of the bed and tiptoed towards the sleeping man, holding his breath. He bent down slowly, terrified of the thought that Voldemort was just acting, or could wake up any moment now. His hand froze however, when he actually saw the title of the book lying on the lap of the man. When he looked around, he saw various books, all carrying similar titles. Shame, of all emotions, filled him, and he turned around, climbing in bed again, but not before gazing down at Voldemort, who looked too human at the moment and hesitantly reaching out to touch the face of the man gently.
Harry continued to stare however, trying to muffle his coughs in the sheets, until he saw a red spot on it, and found he was coughing up blood. Damn this. It had begun years ago, and no-one had ever found a cure. He had never been in a Muggle-hospital, since uncle Vernon didn't deem him worthy enough to receive treatment, but even in the Wizarding world, they hadn't found out what exactly it was that he suffered. It would always pass after some time, whether it be hours or days. And it would always, always come back.
He stared at the ceiling, musing over the fact that he could escape…but didn't. It was strange, to just let the chance slip away and yet, he felt completely calm, knowing he would somehow not feel regret later. Some while after that, he heard footsteps dull sounds on the wooden floor and Voldemort came into view, frowning.
"You are awake."
"Indeed I am."
"I was asleep."
"I know, master."
The lips of the Dark Lord twitched. "You could have escaped because of my carelessness. Why didn't you?"
Harry just shrugged. "Nothing makes sense anymore," he mumbled remembering his strange dreams and finally realizing who it had been exactly, who had held him. Voldemort sat down on the bed his eyes trying to bore through Harry's skull and he felt an added pressure in his mind.
"Never give in, was it, Harry?"
"I'll never escape you fully anyway whether you imprison me yourself or if other people do that to protect me. I might as well stay here now you gave me a chance to escape fromthem."
"You want some sort of truce?" the man said, raising an eyebrow. His words could have been interpreted as surprised, yet his face said nothing at all. Harry tried to figure out if he was irritated by it or happy or really surprised but he couldn't. "more a cease-fire." He mumbled and glanced up at Voldemort who nodded slowly.
"I suppose it doesn't make sense to curse you if you won't try to get away here…and behave." He added in warning. "And don't try anything funny like with that fork because you will find this…cease-fire dissolved very, very quickly."
"I won't, Master." Harry said softly.
"Good now tell me…how do you feel?
Harry was taken aback by both the question and the soft tone it was spoken on and hurried to answer, not wanting to ruin the good mood the Dark Lord was in. His safety wasn't really guaranteed, armistice or not. "I'm still not well but I think the blackouts are over…do you…do you know what it is?"
"You mean you don't?"
"No I…well I went to St. Mungo's but they only figured out it was nothing lethal so they sent me away."
"What an abysmal way of treating a patient." Voldemort huffed. "Ironically enough, my capturing you was your salvation. It is true that you wouldn't have died from it but in a few more years those black-outs would have increased until you would fall into coma without treatment." He continued, frowning. "You are very lucky that I know what it is now, though it probably wouldn't help you a bit if I told you the name…" he grinned.
"You can cure this?" Harry asked, looking up hopefully.
"Not entirely, it is too late for that, but I will be able to halt the process, or even lessen the impact. Completely curing however, no."
"It's a lot better than nothing…but…"
"But why would you go through the trouble?" Harry asked, and nearly slapped himself for it. He was being offered help here, and he was giving Voldemort a doubt? How stupid could he be? The man just gave him a long, scrutinizing look and told him: "That, is my business." Not that that made the teen any more comfortable…
Feeling absolutely humiliated, Harry waited until Voldemort would…turn around or something. When it appeared that that obviously wasn't going to happen anytime soon, he did so himself and began to undress under the burning gaze of the Dark Lord.
"Some privacy please?" he snapped, when he feared that the man even would want to join him in the bathroom just to make sure he wouldn't try to do anything to escape. Why would he? He wasn't that stupid…
"Stupid enough to threaten me with a fork and expect to succeed." Voldemort said, and Harry figured it was both the answer on the question in his mind as the one spoken out. No privacy.
Sighing, he decided to just get it over with and stomped to the bathroom, trying to ignore the man who followed him. Turning on the shower, he impatiently waited until the water would be warm, very well aware of the fact that he was being looked up. After what seemed hours, he gratefully stepped under the stream. Harry froze however, when two pale arms wrapped around his waist in a death grip. He yelped and tried to struggle free, which was absolutely futile. The older wizard was way too strong.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he screamed, but didn't get an answer, that is, not vocally.
The hand that suggestively slid to his inner thigh however, said enough. He turned around in an attempt to stop the man, but after one look, he saw it hadn't been a good idea. He'd thought Voldemort handsome even when his robe had hid most of him, but now he saw the term didn't do him justice. The other was simply gorgeous, and it didn't help that Harry was gay either.
"Well, thank you for the compliment, and as for what I am doing…whatever I want."
That being said, Harry's back was pressed against the cold tiles of the shower and hissed at the feeling. A wicked grin spread on the face of the Dark Lord before he yanked the boy's head back and roughly crashed their mouths together. It was nothing like Harry had expected of his first kiss. No sweet love, but instead a brutish, harsh possessiveness. Harry tried to get some air, but it was futile, Voldemort even tightening his grip more as he struggled. It felt like kissing a predator, utterly rough and assaulting…and yet it was arousing. The other man finally granted him a gulp of air, but now it was Harry who took the initiative, kissing back just as fiercely as he had been before. He didn't really think about what he was doing, just acting on his adrenaline-fueled body.
He tasted blood where Voldemort's teeth had pierced his tongue, and the metallic flavor made him high in combination with both the pain and pleasure inflicted upon him. The Dark Lord chuckled when he broke their kiss, watching Harry. He knew his eyes were glazed over with lust, and that drops of blood stained his cheeks and hands. Absurdly enough, the only thing that annoyed him about the whole situation was that the older man seemed to be in complete control of himself as his eyes drifted over Harry's body. He knew it must be an odd sight, both the malnourishment at the Dursley's and the intensive Quidditch training visible, leaving him with little to no fat, but a fair deal of muscles. Voldemort's hands ghosted over his body while the man smirked at him. All of a sudden, he was released, and the Dark Lord stepped out of the shower, leaving Harry utterly confused.
"Well…I'm sure you have a lot to think about." He purred.
When he was gone, Harry slammed his fist against the wall in frustration.
When he entered the bedroom, Voldemort sat in his favorite chair again, seemingly silently daring Harry to begin about what had transpired in the shower. Trying to put up his most submissive voice –and pissing himself off when it came way too easily-, knowing this was the only way to have a chance to get answered at all, he spoke:
"Master…can I ask you why you did that?"
The corner of the man's mouth lifted slightly and his eyes shifted lazily to Harry's form.
"Only if you tell me why you reacted like you did."
The teen opened his mouth and closed it again, at a loss of words. It wasn't like he didn't know, but he didn't even want to admit it to himself, let alone to Voldemort.
"I don't know," he answered in a monotone voice, and flinched when the Dark Lord instantly got up, stalked towards him and closed a hand around his throat, lifting Harry up in the air, while his red orbs flashed in fury.
"Don't. Lie. To me…" he hissed vehemently.
Harry trembled, but didn't deny his statement. Effortless, he was thrown on the bed, barely able to grasp the sheets in reflex to keep himself from rolling over it and land on the floor on the other side.
"Come to me when you are able to cease your stubbornness." Voldemort ordered. He stormed out of the room, shockingly leaving the door wide open.
Cautiously, Harry got up and stepped over the threshold, ready to back away any moment in case there were curses. When he crossed it safely, he stood in the corridor, not having an idea of what to do. He supposed he should escape and run back to the Order, but the mere thought of leaving sent a searing pain through his chest. The problem was that he knew why. Somewhere in between the fights, the silences, the unspoken games, he had fallen for the man. He hated Voldemort. Utterly, completely, but his hatred had crossed the boundary of love. He braced himself, relieved he had finally been able to admit it, even if only to himself, and followed the pain in his scar, which had abruptly returned ever since the Dark Lord had left the room. Harry flinched at the anger and the other, indefinable emotions that blurred together in his head. He softly pushed the door of the room he knew Voldemort to be in, open.
"Harry." The man said, his face turned away. The voice sounded…frightened, if he didn't know better.
"What is this?"
Harry frowned, not understanding the question. "What is what?"
Voldemort got up in a rough motion and faced him. He pushed Harry against the wall and lowered his head so he could stare in the boy's green eyes."What are these… feelings." He said, spitting out the last word as if it was something vile.
Harry, who guessed what was expected of him, closed his eyes and concentrated on the blur in his head and tried to separate the emotions so they were recognizable: similar to feelings he himself had experienced: Hate, fright, anger, aching, longing, missing, need, lust, anticipation, hurt, fear for rejection, jealousy, and the strange urge to protect and be protected. A whole scale of emotions that described their situation perfectly. And together, they got a whole new meaning. In an answer, he tilted his head backwards and brushed his lips against the other's. Voldemort's trembling hands gripped his head, a low moan coming from his throat as he allowed himself to give in. Their mouths moved together, tongues intertwining when the kiss deepened. It was nothing like the first one. It was slower, gentler, but no less intimidating. The kiss was broken slowly and they stared at each other in silence, both knowing it was better if their feelings would not be spoken out aloud. Harry melted in the embrace he was pulled in as Voldemort finally accepted the truth while Harry did the same thing. Silently, he let himself be guided to the bed and undressed, though he never broke their contact. He was taken aback when he was pulled on top of the other man, and was at a loss of what to do. The man chuckled at his expression and rolled them over, straddling his legs.
"Don't tell me you're a virgin, Potter."
Harry bristled at the use of his last name, but knew better than to speak up. Love or not, he was still a prisoner here, although his freedom was now contained in a beautiful cage.
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