“Crucio!” Harry shouted as he threw the curse in Bellatrix’s direction.
Her body fell to the floor with a scream. Harry stopped in front of her fallen form as she stared up at him. He felt nothing but anger. Never had he felt such rage and pain. Sirius was the only godfather he had and so quickly were they separated. He thought of Sirius falling into the veil, trapped in smoke after a lifetime trapped in Azkaban. He wanted to kill her, to kill the disgusting swine that was sniveling below him. Sirius deserved to live more than anyone else. Sirius was his last chance at freedom, of having a family. That was all gone now.
The Gryffindor boy raised his wand. Kill her, kill her, kill her, kill h-
“My dear Harry.”
Harry was immediately brought out of his thoughts, recognizing the smooth and deep voice behind him. He turned around to see the cold-blooded, snake-faced, obsessive psychopath he always saw when he went to sleep at night.
Except this was not one of his nightmares or visions. In his dreams, Harry could only catch glimpses of the Dark Lord and would run the second Voldemort became aware of his presence. He would wake up and try to put the man out of his mind. No, this was real.
Harry sprinted out of the Ministry’s atrium, running down a dark hallway. Heart pumping out of his chest, Harry glanced back to see Voldemort trailing behind him placidly. Voldemort knew the Ministry’s buildings quite well from his followers and smirked to himself as he watched Harry run into a room at the end of the hall. A dead end.
There was no place left to go. Harry didn’t know how to apparate and his magic would have been too drained to try anyway. All he could do was face the dangerous wizard head-on.
“If you're going to kill me, do it now. I don't see much of a point to this whole life thing if Sirius isn’t with me.” Harry yelled, breaths short and loud, tired from running. Voldemort stood stone-faced, hands at his side. His white skin, nearly translucent, contrasted the dark room they had just entered. Harry had aimlessly run into a random room in the Department of Mysteries in hopes of escaping the murderous rage of the snake-man that haunts him.
Looking around he saw that the high walls were black, and the curtains seemed to be a dark red from what little Harry could see. The only light came from a partially broken chandelier above them. The room was bare except for the middle of the room, which had a single piece of furniture, possibly a desk. Maybe this is an office, Harry wondered as he turned to look at his enemy. Voldemort walked towards him as Harry stepped backward, never taking his eyes off the dark wizard. He stopped as he felt his back touch the desk.
“Your godfather isn’t dead,” explained Voldemort, “It was merely Bellatrix playing with illusion magic again.”
“Oh,” Harry replied feeling relieved that his godfather was at least alive and most likely getting help from Remus. Remembering the male in front of him, Harry brusquely spoke. “Well still, if you’re going to try and kill me do it now.”
“I do not wish to kill you my dearest. Not anymore.” Voldemort said calmly and with a soft gaze.
Harry paused, caught off guard by Voldemort’s out-of-character remark and the lack of wrath that was usually present in their interactions.
“You were trying to kill me barely even a few months ago and I’m supposed to just believe your feelings have somehow magically changed?”
“Believe it or not they have changed. Lord Voldemort means what he says.”
“Are you going to at least tell me why?”
Voldemort remained silent as Harry glared at him.
“Of course you won’t.” He exclaimed with a breathy laugh. Harry was used to this. It was why he was in the Department of Mysteries in the first place, wasn't it? “You and Dumbledore are just two peas in a pod huh? You won’t tell me anything and Dumbledore won’t tell me about the prophecy and-”
“He never told you?” Voldemort asked. His voice sounded surprised, but it was hard for Harry to find any hint of shock on his pale and stoic face.
“You think I’m a liar?” Stated Harry as he began to lean back on the dark wooden desk behind him. It was cool to the touch and bare of any papers or other office items. It was low enough that Harry could comfortably push his weight onto it. He thinks I’m a liar, just like the rest of them. He couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed.
Voldemort stepped closer as Harry tried to tilt back. “No.” He whispered softly. “Never.” His tone was delicate and sincere. Harry felt it was reassuring. It was the way a loving husband spoke to his wife, not that Harry would know about that but he could assume.
“Yeah well,” Harry muttered, “You’d be the first.”
Eyeing the ground, Harry became very aware of the shortening distance between him and his enemy. He could feel Voldemort’s breath and the rise and fall of his chest. It was getting increasingly harder to ignore the tension in the small room. It was just the two of them in their own corner of the world. Harry tried to wonder what was going on outside with the Death Eaters and the Order, but his thoughts were too consumed by Voldemort.
Their feet were close enough to touch although Harry didn’t dare to reach out. So much for Gryffindor bravery.
Just then, Harry felt some of his hair fall on his face and out of habit he pushed it back with his left hand. Voldemort quickly noticed the words in red that branded Harry’s hand. The man grabbed his hand and held it in front of his face. Harry noticed the grasp was strong yet careful to not cause Harry any discomfort. The last time they touched, Harry nearly fainted from the immense pain; now he wanted to faint for an entirely different reason. No longer did Voldemort’s touch bring pain, but rather warmth. It was odd considering Voldemort’s skin was as cold as ice but Harry found himself leaning into his touch, desperate for more heat. Craving it even.
“Tell me who did this to you,” Voldemort demanded roughly. “Give me a name.” Harry, used to being the receiving end of the man’s anger, looked up into deep crimson eyes. The young boy realized that the man was angry, but not at him. His eyes were alight with rage. Pretty, Harry thought, but then swiftly shook himself out of it. He killed your parents, remember?
“What do you care huh?” Harry taunted. Voldemort’s sudden concern for Harry’s well-being caught him off guard. Harry couldn’t deny that he liked it. “Thought you liked seeing me hurt.”
Voldemort looked at Harry, contemplating what he could say that would be enough for his dearest to realize how important Harry had become to him. His chosen one. His horcrux. His most precious creation. His.
Harry was much too stubborn to be placated with simple promises and pretty words. His dearest desired action more than anything. So action he will get.
“I, Lord Voldemort, who was once known as Tom Marvolo Riddle, vow on my magic to never intentionally bring Harry James Potter physical, mental, or emotional harm. So mote it be.”
Harry’s jaw dropped as he let out a gasp. This was foreign territory to him. For so long he was expected to fight the Dark Lord, they were meant to be enemies. But all of that has crumbled in the last 5 minutes and it was making his head spin like a top. It was overwhelming. Harry found that it was growing harder to resist closing the distance between them.
“I noticed you left out your followers.” Muttered Harry in a soft and somewhat teasing tone.
Voldemort’s mouth twitched upwards forming into what some may say was a smile if they were brave, or foolish, enough to do so. How Voldemort adored Harry’s fire. What he once regarded as an annoyance was now so endearing to him. How could he have missed it?
“My followers do not need to be held under a vow. They know better.”
Harry laughed at that. A breathy and soft laugh that reminded Voldemort of childhood and innocence. How could he have missed so much?
Of course, they were connected. Of course, Harry was his Horcrux. Their union has been preordained by magic Herself. Harry’s blood coursed through his veins the same way his soul intertwined with Harry’s. How was there any doubt that Harry would be so special to him? Magic brought Harry into this world for the sole purpose of being Voldemort’s. They were so similar yet so different. Half-blood orphans with brother wands and the last parselmouths in the world. They were much closer than any loving couple could ever dream or hope of being. Both so beautiful and oh-so powerful.
Powerful. Voldemort thought as he remembered the heavenly display of Harry casting the Cruciatus. Voldemort thought about the church he was forced to attend every Sunday in the orphanage and how the priests spoke about angels and Heaven. He did not believe them then but Harry could convert even the most skeptical of men. If Harry was a god, Voldemort would have been his most devoted apostle. He’d spread his word and gospel around the world, converting the masses to worship the angel that was his chosen.
His Cruciatus was unstable and did not hurt as much as Voldemort’s would have as an experienced wizard, but it was a wonderful attempt. Voldemort wondered if that was the first unforgivable he had dared to cast. How providential it would be that Voldemort would get to witness Harry’s first casting. The start of his corruption.
“Was that your first time?” He asks. “Your first unforgivable?”
Harry’s gaze hardened at Voldemort, anger and a pang of jealousy suddenly taking over his senses. He spoke through gritted teeth.
“Sorry if I hurt your little girlfriend. I really did believe she killed Sirius.”
It was Voldemort’s turn to laugh now. Harry tilted his head in confusion. It comforted the Dark Lord to know his feelings were not as one-sided as he once thought, feeling Harry’s jealousy through their connection.
“Bellatrix has been married to Rodolphus Lestrange for more than two decades now. They are quite devoted to each other. Some may find it enviable.”
So they’re not a thing, thought Harry. Good to know.
“Is that your way of saying you envy them?”
“Of course not. Lord Voldemort has something much better,”
Studying the older wizard’s face, Harry found Voldemort looking joyful. Harry could only fathom that this ‘something better’ was referring to their connection.
“Why my dear Harry, are you jealous?” Voldemort teased.
“No!” Yes. Absolutely. Unfortunately.
“You shouldn’t be jealous my dearest. Lord Voldemort is all for you. You haunt me just as much as I haunt you.”
The Dark Lord closed the distance between their mouths, joining their lips together in a deep and tender kiss.
Oh. Harry wanted to melt right then and there. He became very aware of how close they had become. Voldemort towered over Harry’s smaller frame as the larger’s hands clutched Harry’s face. It was getting harder to breathe as Voldemort’s tongue ravaged the inside of the boy’s mouth but Harry couldn’t find it in himself to care. He knew what this would look like to anyone who walked in. It was exciting. He wanted more. He wanted to chase this feeling until it disappeared. Their mouths finally separated, only connected by a thin trail of spittle
Voldemort let out a soft exhale as he skimmed through Harry’s mind, uncovering his deepest desires. He could feel Harry’s wants as they merged with his own. And how could the generous Lord Voldemort deny his dearest soul?
He slowly brushed his hand onto Harry’s upper thigh, looking for any signs on Harry’s face that would stop him. All he saw was the pretty pink blush that painted Harry’s cheeks. Voldemort smiled at his horcrux’s bashful expression.
Magically vanishing Harry’s clothes, Harry gasped as the cool air hit his naked skin.
Voldemort looked down and found a gem that had somehow remained a secret despite his obsessive research of the boy. His followers had failed to tell him about this miracle but he’s assured that it was for good reason that he found out now. Magic truly did favor him.
“What a beautiful gift you have brought me, Harry. More evidence that magic has made you for me. She shaped our bodies to fit together perfectly.”
Harry let out a quiet moan as Voldemort palmed his bare cunt. He brought his finger to lightly press on Harry’s clit.
“You’re dripping for me.”
Voldemort languidly stroked Harry’s clit, putting just enough pressure to make him squirm but not enough to get Harry to cum. Harry tried to grind his cunt onto the other’s hand but his body was trapped. He couldn’t stand it any longer.
“Shut up and take what you want already.”
Voldemort didn’t need to be told twice. The older man wasted no time as he inserted two fingers into Harry’s warm and wet pussy. His walls tightened at the intrusion. The older wizard couldn’t help but wonder how Harry’s cunt would stretch out when he finally shoved his cock into the boy. How his cunt’s warmth would feel enveloping Voldemort’s cold cock.
Harry bit his lip to stifle his moans.
That won’t do, thought the Dark Lord.
He went faster, adding a third finger. Pumping in and out as Harry’s breaths turned uneven and shaky trying to hold in his sounds. Reaching out, Harry grabbed Voldemort’s arm in an unsuccessful attempt to try and make him slow down.
This only further fueled Voldemort’s greedy fingers.
“Harry,” Voldemort slipped into parseltongue. “Let me hear you.”
Harry fixed his eyes on the man in front of him, enthralled by the seductive voice. His knees grew weak at the man’s use of parseltongue. Harry knows he should feel ashamed at how lewd his thoughts have become. This was the Dark Lord, the most evil wizard Britain has ever seen, the man who murdered his parents and left him an orphan, the man Harry had been told since birth that he would have to defeat. But all Harry could see was the man that was about to give him his first orgasm, the first and only man to ever see his cunt. And Harry was unabashedly letting him.
The older male brought their foreheads together, desperate for more of his skin on him. Harry’s eyes shone as they teared up and Voldemort wished to keep Harry’s green doe eyes with him forever. Their color was so bright, the same green as the spell that Voldemort once cast at him when he was a baby. He wanted to pluck them out and bring them with him everywhere. One on a necklace, the other, on a matching ring. He would never take them off. But he could never do that. It would no doubt be painful for Harry to part with his eyes, and he has vowed to never bring him harm. A vow he was hellbent on keeping.
He licked the blood off Harry’s chewed lip.
“Please my dearest, my angel.”
Harry was right on the edge. Letting go of his chewed and bloody lip, he began to cry and whimper as he felt himself on the verge of climaxing. Voldemort quickened his pace and began to use his thumb to play with Harry’s clit that had been horribly neglected. He bit and sucked on the boy’s neck making him twitch and squirm as teeth sank into the sensitive spots that craved attention and touch.
Harry’s body grew hotter and hotter, and the knot in his stomach was beginning to untie. He wanted to run away and stay at the same time. It was too much yet not enough at the same time. Heat encompassed him, the only relief being the icy fingers of the Dark Lord who was marking his neck. It would be a pain to hide the bites the next day.
He threw his head back and let out a whine as Voldemort’s fingers hit that special spot inside of him that set him on fire. It was as if Voldemort had cast a fiendfyre spell into his bloodstream. The ghostly pale man, having noticed Harry’s reaction, began to pay special attention to that area. He pressed his fingers deeper into Harry’s soft walls, moving his fingers and hitting all his nerves and setting them on fire.
Harry had touched himself before but it was never like this. He used to worry that something was wrong with him or that the Potter luck had somehow given him a curse where he couldn’t orgasm. Turns out all he needed was an almost 70-year-old snake-faced megalomaniac to chase him into an unknown room and shove his fingers deep inside his virgin cunt.
“Let me cum, let me cum, please please please.” Harry sobbed and pleaded.
Hearing Harry begging in parseltongue made Voldemort relentless in his speed. He knew Harry would see reason, that he would realize that the only being that could give him what he wanted was Lord Voldemort. Only he could make him happy. Only he could give Harry the family he wanted.
He would have him and Harry would agree to it. They would rule together and get rid of Dumbledore and his meddling. They would be married. There would be no corner of Slytherin Castle that was not desecrated by them. He would have Harry ride his cocks on the stairs. He would finger him in the bath. He would have Harry suck his cocks and keep them warm below his desk. He would put one of his cocks in his pussy and the other in his arse on their marriage bed. He would breed him and fill him with cum until he was sure it would be leaking out of him for days. He would impregnate Harry right in their entryway so Harry would remember it every time they arrived home.
He can see it now. Harry would be his ever-devoted wife and Voldemort the ever-loving husband. The Wizarding World would bow to them and honor them with gifts and praises. The public feared Voldemort. The public loved Harry (despite current events). Together they could unite Wizarding Britain in a way no other wixen ever could. He could taste it on his tongue and it was sweet as honey.
“Voldemort.” Harry breathed out. “Close.”
Voldemort could listen to Harry say his name a million times and never tire of it. He continued his merciless speed as he drove his three fingers as deep as they could go. Harry’s pussy squelched as he sobbed Voldemort’s name. Harry’s hands clutched the back of the man’s dark robes as he scrambled to find something to grab as he grew closer and closer to cumming. Voldemort was a prodigious musician playing Harry’s body as his finely-tuned instrument. Harry’s wanton moans grew louder as did the sounds of Voldemort’s grunts as fingers entered and exited Harry’s pretty pink cunt. Harry’s whole body was trembling and he was mumbling incoherently, too busy being fucked by his supposed arch-nemesis to think of proper words. If anyone from the Order were to walk in now, they probably wouldn’t recognize their chosen one and instead think Voldemort was knuckle-deep in a depraved whore. Harry thought that they actually wouldn’t be too far off.
“Let go my angel,” whispered Voldemort into Harry’s ear. “Let me hear your music.”
Harry screamed as he climaxed. “Voldemort!” He cried out Voldemort’s name like a mantra. He called out to Voldemort the way humans prayed to God. Waves of Harry’s cum soaked Voldemort’s hand and wrist as he continued to pump his fingers into Harry, coaxing more of his orgasm. The scent of sex filled the air. Harry’s toes curled and he began to giggle from the overstimulation. Finally coming down from his high, Voldemort removed his fingers and sucked them clean, enjoying the delectable and rich taste of Harry’s nectar.
The young boy laid down on the desk as Voldemort gently caressed him while his heavy breaths slowed. He peppered small kisses onto his lion-hearted lover’s face. Harry giggled at the tickling feeling while Voldemort moved to sit next to him. They lay there for a couple of minutes, basking in each other’s company. Harry rested his head on Voldemort’s lap and hummed as Voldemort ran his fingers through his dark hair.
Content, was the word Harry thought best described his feelings. Harry felt safer in Voldemort’s arms than he did in any place that he was supposed to call ‘home’. Voldemort smiled as he felt satisfied to finally have the object of his desires in his arms. The lovers were at peace in the afterglow.
“Now,” Voldemort started, “Tell me who marred your hand and you will be rewarded handsomely.”