Chapter 7
It was clear bright days when the sun was a white hot ball in the sky and the wind was whipping clear, cold air that were some of the most dangerous. Without the protection of clouds, the sun was blinding and the endless expanse of eggshell blue sky on every side was disorienting. Oliver Wood had told Harry that the best thing to do was to squint your eyes into slits and use every chance to make your opponents fly facing into the sun.
Six Deatheaters plummeted towards him. As half-corporeal smoke, they seemed to fly in slow-motion and drift down like feathers as he hurtled upwards on his broomstick. He heard them shouting to each other through the thin, cold air and the words became more distinct as he drew closer and closer. “ …arresto… ” The closest Deatheater was the largest and heedless of his companions’ cries. His thin brown hair splayed out around him as he fell downward like an ugly halo.
When his wand flashed out from his sleeve and his thin lips opened in an indistinct yell, Harry pulled the broomstick hard with his left arm and lunged to the side. The feeling of falling through the air and relying only on the strength of his grip to cling onto his one chance of survival was terrifying and exhilarating. The pain in his arm and leg was gone. He used his arms and his core to pull the broomstick underneath his body and aim again towards the sky.
The five other Deatheaters were moments away from passing him on their way down. They had their wands extended towards him but he knew instinctively from the way they struggled to hold their arms outstretched that any spell they cast wouldn’t hit. He flew directly at them and saw two immediately flee to the side in disorganized panic. His fingers outstretched towards a thin, brown wand held loosely in a black clad glove. He came within inches of it before the Deatheater drew back with a shouted swear and his hand came back empty.
Flying above the six Deatheaters with the sun at his back, he could see the streaks of red, green and yellow light coming at him as they cast their spells but they went wide. Harry gathered up his strength and made his dive.
Again, they scattered in all directions but this time Harry gave chase. The smallest Deatheater was only slightly larger than a child. The black robes were like the massive wings spread out around a skeletal, bat-like body.He had his mind fixed on the wand in the Deatheater’s hand like a snitch, but a snitch didn’t normally fight back.
Harry slammed into the Deatheater and held onto the semi-transparent form with one hand and clutched his broomstick with the other. He slammed his foot into the Deatheater’s weak chest with a leg while long, spider-like fingers wrestled with his in midair. As they struggled, a red light came blasting from down below but hit Harry’s opponent instead of himself. The Deatheater froze midair and Harry was able to wretch the thin, willow branch wand free.
In another moment, a spell was firing past his ear, so close that his hair was ruffled. Harry pulled upward and left the smallest Deatheater locked in place in the cold, blue sky. More spells were coming, but on a fast broomstick and with a wand in his hand he wasn’t as afraid. He fired back with shouts of “Incendio ” and “stupefy” that disappeared into the empty air many feet away from the smokey figures of wizards. He readjusted his position on his broomstick, thinking.
The half-apparated forms of wizards moved much more slowly than a wizard on a broomstick but faster than a hippogriff carrying three people. He aimed the Nimbus 2001 upward and took off with a rush of cold air and the shouts of spells that vanished into the air around him.
The scene above him seemed to be taking place a world away. The hippogriff was a small black dot with desperately flagging wings and the half of a dozen black figures were slowly but surely gaining. He pressed himself flat against the broomstick and quietly begged the broomstick underneath him- faster, faster, please. He felt the broomstick shudder underneath him as though it was pushing itself in response to his pleas.
He drew closer and closer. He could see details of the scene, like the black hair streaming behind a Deatheater witch and Hermione's frightened, desperate expression. The Deatheaters were firing spells one after another at the escaping hippogriff but the uneven up and down flight of the hippogriff’s great wingspan made most of the spells miss. Hermione was doing the work of three talented witches by sitting on the back of the hippogriff, holding tight to Neville and Ron with one hand and sending up blocking spells behind them. No one had yet spotted the broomstick and the boy coming in close behind.
It was difficult to lift to arm up against the force of wind moving past him, but he struggled with his bad arm and pointed the stolen wand at the back of the closest Deatheater. The spell he shouted was lost to the wind and the wand misfired, sending out black sparks that smelt like gunpowder, but still no one looked back. He shouted his spell again and this time the sparks were red and shot forward directly into the back of the nearest Deatheater.
The Deatheater’s rolling, smokey form turned solid, like smoke turned to stone, and its form flew for another moment before it lost momentum and began to fall. For the first time, Harry realized what the spell he had sent off had really done, and his stomach fell at almost the same speed as the black figure hurtling helplessly towards the Earth.
He had no time for contemplation or regret. He had been noticed.
“It’s Harry Potter!” The Deatheater’s shouts were snatched by the wind and half carried back to Harry. “…underneath and…”
Harry flung another spell out. The stolen wand sputtered out a weak red light and Harry had to fling himself to the side to avoid a spell being sent his way. Three Deatheaters had given up the chase of the hippogriff and were flying low. They were casting a spell that sent a glittering net across the sky between them. Harry understood that they had to be under orders not to let the Dark Lord’s last living horcrux fall or die under any circumstances.
A deep recklessness and rage overtook him. He shook the stolen wand hard and aimed ferociously. “Bombardo!” This spell worked. The bomb went off just next to the largest Deatheater who had roared orders to the others. It shook him out of his half-transparent smokey form and sent him and thick drops of blood flying. He was lucky enough to land on the net held aloft by his companions, but the weight of his massive body caused the Deatheaters to drop another twenty feet through the sky.
Only two Deatheaters remained in the air with the hippogriff, Ron, Hermione, Neville and Harry. Their attention was focused on him. Two spells came at him at once. He had only a moment to realize that they had both aimed well before he threw up his wand and shouted, “ Protego!” He prayed that the stolen wand wouldn’t betray him and it didn’t, at least for the moment.
While they were distracted, Hermione sent a curse at the Deatheater nearest to her that landed true. He stiffened and began to fall towards the net his three already burdened allies were carrying.
With only one opponent to duel and Hermione backing him up, Harry was feeling more confident. He began to cast spell after spell. Half of them ended up sputtering out into the open air, but the Deatheater still had to send up a protective spell every time he saw Harry’s wand moving. If they could finish this Deatheater off, they might just get away with their impossible escape. Once they landed, Hermione could put him into a deep sleep to keep him and them safe from Lord Voldemort’s influence. He wanted to laugh but instead he intensified the speed of the spells he cast, which were materializing successfully more and more often as the thought of freedom spread like a firewhiskey in his veins.
“ Incarcerous!” It was Hermione’s spell that finished him. This Deatheater missed the net below and plummeted downward to his death with his limbs bound in thick ropes. Harry grinned at Hermione but she was pointing behind him and screaming words that disappeared into the open air.
Fear was suddenly in his lungs and making his palms wet with sweat. The world slowed down.
He first saw out of the corner of his eye the huge black cloud spreading behind him, far larger than any of the Deatheaters, and crackling with potent magical energy. Then he saw the long pale fingers clawing inches away from his skin. His hair stood on end and his breath froze in his lungs as the Dark Lord’s menace and power overwhelmed him. When his wide green eyes met Lord Voldemort’s furious, narrowed red eyes, for a disorienting moment he was neither in his own body nor that of the Dark Lord’s, but in both of their bodies at once. He saw his own pale, frightened face framed by wild black hair being tossed about in the wind with nothing but open sky around him, and at the same time, the seething huge storm cloud of dark magic that surrounded the snake-like white face of the Dark Lord.
Harry tried to point the broomstick downward but he didn’t move soon enough. Fingers clamped around the back of his neck. They wrapped around with bruising, inhuman strength and pressed down on his jugular. He brought a hand up to try to wrestle away Lord Voldemort’s grip on him, but as he did so the broomstick held in his slick palm began to fall away. He scrambled desperately for it and only barely managed to keep it locked between his thighs and loosely wrap his fingers the hilt as the Dark Lord’s hold on him tightened.
He shook Harry hard by the scruff of his neck like a disobedient puppy. Harry’s scar exploded with pain as parseltongue thundered in his head. How dare you defy me. The hissed words cut directly into his mind and wiped all of his coherent thoughts away. Wait until you see how I will—
“ Expelliarmus!” A burst of red light slammed into the two figures locked in the air. Lord Voldemort’s hand fell away. Harry felt the wind get punched out of his chest and again had to grope through empty air for one terrifying moment to find the broomstick handle.
He heard Hermione's shrill, frightened voice. “ Protego! Protego!”
The Dark Lord’s spells were wordless and potent. They slammed into the barriers Hermione hastily erected so powerfully that the hippogriff was slammed forward through the sky with each strike. Its silky black wing feathers fell through the air. The golden eyed eagle head opened its beak and shrieked with rage and pain. Harry saw Neville begin to slip off the side and Hermione's desperate lunge to catch him.
In slow motion, he saw Lord Voldemort’s bloodthirsty, triumphant smile and the movement of his wand. “ Avada—“
Harry slammed into him from below. It was like flying into an electrical storm and slamming into a brick wall at the same time. He thought he grabbed hold of an arm but then what he held turned to smoke and burned him as he flew through it. Dark magic rippled across his skin. Hands reached out to grab him and tore at his hair and robes. Harry grabbed blindly and swung his fist back again and again, hoping that he was hitting solid flesh and not incorporeal smoke.
The Nimbus 2001 fell from between his legs and spiraled down hundreds of feet through open air. A hand reached over his glasses and found his forehead. White, searing hot pain made him forget everything. Even the fear of falling through open air left him. He went limp.
”Harry!” He heard the voice calling him from far away. It was a woman’s voice. His mother’s? He opened his eyes slightly and saw rolling hills divided by stone fences hundreds of miles below. An arm was wrapped around his waist and wind blew at his face. His stomach lurched. He heard his name screamed again but this time he knew who was calling him.
The Dark Lord was gaining on the hippogriff. He felt through the bond between them his grief and hatred towards the one who had killed one of his horcruxes. Neville Longbottom. The clumsy, fat half-squib boy who had been the target of countless jokes had parted Nagini’s beautiful head from her body. He was going to bring him back alive and separate pieces of him slowly until there was nothing left but scraps to bury. The other two would die as well. The curly haired, upstart mudblood and the red headed blood traitor simpleton.
Harry bit down on the arm holding him. His teeth dug through thin black robes and found flesh and then the hot, salty taste of blood underneath. He writhed and fought until the arm gave just a little, and then he was falling.
Head over heels through the cold, bright sky with nothing below him but the ground coming ever closer. Terror and exhilaration filled him. The Earth was being filled with more detail. He could see a car traveling on a winding road, a house with smoke coming out of its chimney and a farmer working the field in a tractor. Turning his head up, he could see a huge winged shadow making its way into the distance undisturbed and had to smile.
The smile didn’t last long. Pale fingers dug into his scalp from above and wrenched his head back. Another hand caught him around the neck. The sight of the green rolling hills of summer twisted and warped for a mere second before his body was constricted.
He and the Dark Lord fell through space and landed on the floor of the Malfoy Manor library. Harry’s forearms took the brunt of the fall. His body had the numbness that always indicated he would soon be aching. He tried to push himself up onto his elbows. A boot slammed into his rib cage and sent him falling back down.
Lord Voldemort loomed above him.
In the gloom of the library, his waxen white face was carved like a furious mask. Already a tall man, he seemed to fill up the room as he came at Harry. His sharpened teeth were barred and his eyes were unblinkingly, furiously focused on the boy clutching his bruised chest. His fingers found Harry’s windpipe and squeezed. Harry’s fingers tried to find a gape to loosen his grip but his hands were iron around his throat.
“After everything I gave to you,” he spat. “I could have lobotomized your feeble mind and broken your knees but I made sure you were healthy. I could have had you bound up and tortured until your mind broke, but I gave you free reign of the manor. Good food and entertainment and your life and the lives of the Weasleys. I spared you,” his fingers dug in tighter and his face was distorted by black spots swimming in Harry’s vision. “After everything you’ve done, I spared you, and you still betrayed me.”
Harry spat in his face. Disgusted, the Dark Lord released his grip to wipe the spittle from his check. Harry wished he would bring his face closer so he could sink his teeth into his pale, waxy face and taste blood.
“There is nothing you could ever do,” he said, the words coming from somewhere deep inside. “That would ever make up for the parents I lost, the childhood I lost, the fighting and the scheming I’ve had to put up with all my life because of you, and the friends and—“
Lord Voldemort cut off his words and his air with a hand reapplied to his windpipe. Harry kicked at him furiously and clawed at his arm. Everything else he wanted to say he shouted in his mind. — people I loved who died because of you. I’ll kill you someday. Even if it kills me too, I’ll kill you. Even if it takes a thousand years.
Their struggle was silent but Harry knew that the Dark Lord had heard him.
Ulfred Graves was a portly man nearing sixty with a protruding stomach and increasingly little hair. He took no more notice of the political changes of the last year than to revel in his muggleborn business rivals shutting down their shops to go into hiding and to enjoy the flow of galleons into his store that his pure blood status allowed. His restaurant dealt in wizarding cuisine. Dragon balls, the red berry of devil’s snare, fire crab meat. He’d been flattered when the Deatheaters approached him to provide the food for the Malfoy wedding and in raptures over the galleons they offered to pay him.
He was dragged into the arena with his hands behind his back and his knees struggling to keep pace with the Deatheaters marching him in. His face was bloodless and his mouth open. The spectators jeered when they saw him. Rocks came pelting down and one landed on his shoulder but he didn’t react. He was the first to see the manticore that was being led in from the other tunnel of the arena.
It had the body of a lion and the thick red tail of a scorpion curled behind its back. Instead of the sleek head of a cat, there was a human head resting within its dark mane. The manticore’s human head had a square jaw with a beard overgrown and matted with blood and dirt. Small dark eyes shrunk back into its skull. Like a beast, it snarled and foamed and snapped at the Deatheaters guiding it with their wands. When the crowd saw it they went wild.
In the top box of the stadium, Voldemort sat on a towering throne of gold leaf and gems that had once belonged to a king. A servant bowed on the ground before him with a bowl of fruit held aloft. He wasn’t allowed to rise until he was dismissed and Voldemort wanted to see how long he could hold such a heavy platter above his head. To his left was Bellatrix Lestrange, her husband Rodolphos, Antonin Dolohov and Alecto Carrow and to his right was the Minister of Magic and members of the Wizengamot.
The trial to convict Ulfred Graves of conspiring with traitors and mud bloods had been short and deeply biased. He was one of five civilians to take the blame for what had happened during the Malfoy wedding. Unlike the other four, he had been completely uninvolved in what had happened, but that wouldn’t save him. The manticore stalked across the stage towards him and the audience laughed as he fell onto his back and staggered into a run to get away.
“The law should take a harder stance towards those who associate with traitors,” one of the Wizengamot members was saying. “Their families shouldn’t be allowed to sit amongst wizards in good standing after allowing one of their own to go so far astray.”
“It would be the Office of Documentation that would take on the task of tracking individuals with such connections. Ms. Budkowski, could you manage putting yourself on a list like that?”
“Certainly.” The old Head of the Documentation office replied sourly. Her eyes were flat as paper and her skin folded in dry rows. “I’ll make sure to put you on as well, as a known associate of Kingsley Shacklebolt.”
Her coworker smiled coldly. “Who amongst us hasn’t had associations with undesirables during our long tenures in office, but they say blood runs thicker than water.”
“No one with unquestionable devotion to the purity of wizard blood like our great Bertha Budkowski could ever be in danger of being suspected of treason,” the young Minister of Sports said with a wavering smile atop his weak chin. “However, to document these security risks…”
“Perhaps in our next parliament session,” the Prime Minister said with a smile. He had Voldemort within the periphery of his vision at all times.
Voldemort was looking down at the spectacle below. The manticore had caught up with the limping wizard. It didn’t use its deadly scorpion tail which hovered eagerly over its back but dug its human teeth into the man’s arm and shook its wild head side to side. Its claws held the man in place beneath it. His screams overwhelmed all other noise in the stands and some of the more queasy audience members looked away.
Voldemort waved his hand and drew Bellatrix closer. She came eagerly and knelt beside his throne with her eyes fixed on him. “How is Draco and Astoria’s marriage progressing?”
“Very well. They are touring the magical sites of the Americas, my lord.”
“They should produce a child soon,” Voldemort said idly. His eyes were on the brutality occurring on the stage and his attention far away. Bellatrix assured him that there would soon be joyful news on that account. He was thinking about the symbol he had drawn on each of their pale forearms. “And Pomona Sprout? Has she broken yet?”
“She has broken enough to be susceptible to legilimency. Avery has sworn he will not end her suffering until every possible bit of information about the Order has come out of her and then he’ll drag it out more to punish her for her treachery.”
Avery himself had not escaped punishment in the aftermath of the wedding. Voldemort hoped he would apply the lessons he’d learned having his skin peeled off his right hand as he educated their prisoner. On Bellatrix’s creamy skin there was her own mark of shame. A pink scar already almost healed through magical ointments went from her the right side of her jaw across to her left cheekbone. Part of her nose would not grow back.
She had been one of the first ones he had punished. Grief had been upon him. He hadn’t known he was still capable of such intensity of emotion, but splitting his soul meant the worst emotions were still available to him. Whenever he thought about the shame his reign had been subjected to by being invaded and taken over by such unworthy mixed blood fools his jaw clenched and his blood rushed. Once, Nagini had been able to soothe him away from such a state, but now nothing made it bearable. He had flogged three servants to death, tortured his Deatheaters, and humiliated Lucius Malfoy but none of it was good enough.
There was one more that still had to be dealt with.
“Bring on the next,” Voldemort said. He was bored already of the dead body being thrashed from side to side and the manticore. “And the acromantula.”
When night had fallen and four more were dead, Voldemort returned to Malfoy manor. He began his preparations for what was to come. Every detail was meticulously set in place. Then he had Harry brought before him.
The boy had been kept for five straight days in a windowless room in the dungeons. Bland vegetable soup, a candle and a bucket for him to use were all that were kept with him. In such circumstances time was impossible to judge. He could only pull his legs in close to keep the dank chill away and think about the punishment that was to come. His clothes were still dirt stained, his hair laid almost flat with grease and his elbows were bloody and his legs bruised. When he met Voldemort’s eyes, his expression was level and unashamed. He had no regret for what he had done but Voldemort knew his stomach was in knots with fear.
“Bath him.” Voldemort commanded icily and Harry was led away.
He summoned a rich dinner for himself. Lamb, artichoke hearts and bread covered in a layer of cheese. A glass of Bordeaux wine that smelled like earth, vinegar and dry book pages but went down with a smooth, warm heat and left the taste of plum in his mouth. He ate slowly as he waited. Finally the boy reappeared. He wore a simple, clean black robe and his hair was once again sticking up at all kinds of undesirable angles.
He was expecting to be tortured. That had occurred to him but once he’d expressed his rage and frustration on more deserving targets he’d come to see that was unnecessary. The boy had been tortured before and not wavered in any of his convictions. As his only remaining horcrux, his body and his mind had to be more carefully managed.
”Sit down, Harry.” Harry sat halfway down the long dining table. In front of him was a small vial filled with white liquid but no food. Silence pooled around them as Voldemort finished his meal. Then finally Voldemort cleaned his mouth and leaned back in his chair. Harry’s eyes were directed straight ahead. Only his profile and his pale neck were visible around the large robes. Still, the Dark Lord took in his appearance with interest and a slightly mocking smile. “Drink the potion.”
Harry hesitated only for a moment. Then he grabbed the small vial and drank it down in one swallow. Voldemort lifted the identical potion sitting next to his wine goblet and drank it as well. It smelt slightly fishy and its texture was thick like full cream, but the taste was medicinal.
“Come with me.” Voldemort said and rose. Harry stumbled as he rose to his own feet but soon trailed behind him. They went to the sitting room of the library. Comfortable armchairs and a sofa surrounded the low burning fire in the great stone arch fireplace. The sun was already going down and casting the world in shades of orange and deepening violet.
”Hands behind your back.” Voldemort said. His voice had the unemotional dryness of a doctor or a prison ward. Harry obeyed and thin binds winded around his wrists and drew the back of his hands close together. The Dark Lord began to assemble the tools he would need. A knife, a towel, an empty vial, an ancient book of sigils and a jar of oil.
”What are you going to do?” Harry’s eyes were on the knife.
Voldemort smiled thinly. “You’ll know soon.”
He didn’t ask Harry to do what he wanted now but drew his wand and pushed him physically where he wanted him to go. Harry resisted instinctually the pulling and pushing but ended up kneeling before a low footrest. It was a thick red velvet with gold tassels hanging off the side. His face was pushed into the lush fabric. His shirt and glasses disappeared with a wave of the elder wand. His bare skin rose in bumps when it came in contact with the cold air. The knife and other utensils floated onto a nearby table and arranged themselves neatly before the Dark Lord, who came to kneel next to the table. Harry twisted his neck to be able to watch Voldemort as he trailed a pale long finger over the sigil recorded in the book.
Minutes passed before the Dark Lord finally said, “Are you familiar with the Rites of Aine?”
”No.”
”I see.” Voldemort said no more. Through their connection, all of Harry’s thoughts and emotions were within easy reach. He was frightened but not alarmed or surprised by the thought of being cut. Voldemort approached with the knife and began by pushing the hair falling just down to Harry’s neck away and revealing the smooth, pale skin underneath. He cleaned and shaved the four inches in diameter where his neck and his shoulders met.
Harry twitched whenever the Dark Lord’s fingertips grazed his skin. He looked straight ahead towards the fireplace determined not to show fear or pain. Behind him, Voldemort was scrutinizing the way his shoulders narrowed down to his waist and how he looked bent over. He pressed his hand between Harry’s shoulder blades and felt all of his muscles tensing.
“Don’t move or I’ll have to make the cut again.”
The knife came down lightly. Every bit of skin was split slowly to create the perfect lines and circles needed, but it was a shallow cut. Blood drew up and flowed to the side in lazy rivets that Voldemort wiped away to be able to see clearly. The sigil was a circle with intersecting lines and ancient Zoroastrian writing. Harry tightened his fists into balls to keep himself from moving. The pain was almost nothing at first but as the long minutes stretched on his skin became more sensitive.
Voldemort adjusted his hand as he worked and in one spot left a smear of blood in the shape of his hand on Harry’s neck. When he once again moved his dark hair out of the way he felt the boy shiver. Experimentally, he let his hand fall on Harry’s waist. His skin was warm, soft and firm. He let his touch linger on the unsuspecting eighteen year old with a surge of smug triumph and lust.
He hadn’t considered fucking Harry until he had bound Draco Malfoy and Astoria Greengrass with the Rites of Aine. It was a sensible plan. Once the Rites were complete, it would eliminate any more danger of his last, valuable horcrux escaping. Sex might complicate the already tense relationship he had with his prisoner but that was a price he was willing to pay.
In his youth, he had had no shortage of partners. At Hogwarts, it was his handsome face, talent, charisma, and natural endowment that had drawn women in. As the years passed and his features became more savage, it was his confidence and power that made many of his followers chase him desperately. He didn’t restrain himself to monogamy and found some of his desire for pain and humiliation was best expressed in the bedroom. Bellatrix had responded particularly well to that treatment. She craved his attention more after he was cruel to her and he liked how desperate she became when he ignored her. Her husband knew of the affair but had enjoyed the humiliation and honor of it as much as his wife.
Over the years, especially as his soul split away, his desire for sex lessened the same way his desire for good food did. His tastes became more extreme as it took more to keep his interest until eventually nothing satisfied him to completion. It humiliated him when he couldn’t perform as well as he once had so he stopped seeking out companions all together. It had been years since he’d last had a partner when his body was destroyed and when he was reborn, as healthy and fit as a teenager, he put his energy into other pursuits.
Now the aphrodisiac was beginning to take effect. His cock was getting hard.
He pretended to still be working on the sigil. He went over what he had already done with the knife and felt Harry shift underneath him. Pain was helping to dampen his arousal but the aphrodisiac was working on him too. Voldemort rose and readjusted his position so he was kneeling directly behind Harry’s spread legs. Heat was gathering in his center and lurid ideas were beginning to form. He wanted to move his hand from Harry’s waist down to the edge of his trousers and find out if the skin underneath them was as soft as what he was touching. He thought about wrapping Harry’s dark hair around his fist and pulling his head back.
He had never taken a man to bed before. The thought of doing so would have disgusted him when he was younger but he had broken far worse taboos over the years. He pressed his hard cock against the curve of Harry’s ass.
”I have to fuck you to finish this.” The Dark Lord said.
Harry looked over his shoulder with a bewildered expression. There was no comprehension or panic yet. Voldemort pressed his cock harder against him and started to undo his belt. Then the words sunk in and Harry’s face went white and then red and then white again. He tried to move away but he was already pressed down with his hands behind his back. All Voldemort had to do was press a hand down between his shoulder blades to maintain control. He got Harry’s belt free and began to pull his trousers down.
”Wait. Wait a second. You can’t,” he said in a rush of words. There was blind, stupid panic in his wide eyes. He fumbled around for a reason why the Dark Lord couldn’t do exactly what he was in the process of doing. He was only just able to hold onto the top of his trousers with his bound hands behind his back. “We… but we’re both men.”
“We’ll manage.” Voldemort knocked Harry’s hand away and observed with interest how his black trousers and underwear had hidden white, firm and round buttocks. Harry struggled and kicked to prevent his trousers from being fully pulled down. It was futile, given that the Dark Lord could have magicked them away, but he liked having to wrestle Harry into position. Harry’s breath was coming fast and shallow. He looked around desperately. Voldemort removed the remainder of his clothes and looked down to admire the view.
The lines of Harry’s ribs could be seen expanding and contracting with his breathing. His hands were balled up into fists. His legs were pressed tightly together and his whole body clenched. He looked back at the Dark Lord pale faced and wide eyed. “Don’t,” he said. “Please.”
He felt Harry’s panic and shame flood him as his legs were pushed further apart and every private part of his body was exposed. Voldemort poured oil into his palm and rubbed it against his hole. When he tried to insert a finger, it was almost too tight to be entered. He forced it in. His backside turned shiny and slick with oil. Soon, he added another finger, stretching it impatiently. His cock was becoming uncomfortably stiff. He pressed it against Harry’s leg experimentally and felt him shiver.
”This will be worse for you if you don’t relax.” He warned as he spread his fingers experimentally and felt Harry tighten once again. He knew it would be painful no matter how they prepared. Torturing Harry wasn’t his goal, but it was an acceptable consequence of what had to happen. “Once the aphrodisiac kicks in you’ll start to feel it too.”
He had always been well-endowed. It pleased him to see his new body didn’t lack what his old one had. The sight of his long, thick cock pressing against that small, delicate and glistening hole was deeply satisfying. A bead of liquid pooled at the head of the shaft. Harry had tightened up to protect himself, so Voldemort pleased himself by rubbing against him, letting him feel the warmth and hardness of it teasing his entrance.
Finally he forced the tip in. Harry sucked in an agonized breath that he didn’t release for a long time. His knuckles were white and his legs trembled. He was so tight it was uncomfortable for both of them. There was no easy way to slide in and out so Voldemort slowly pushed until he was half inserted and gave those clenching muscles time to adjust to the thickness stretching them out. He placed a hand between Harry’s shoulder and neck and squeezed it reassuringly. He knew the young man was biting down on his lip to keep his pained moans to himself.
After a minute of patience, he began to thrust shallowly back and forth. This was really just teasing himself with what was to come, denying himself the full pleasure of rough and fast thrusting that he wanted to do and letting the tension build.
It was intoxicating to see his former enemy naked, forced to be bent over and impaled. Wizards and witches lit a candle for their young golden hero every night and prayed for his downfall, but he was being fucked by the man they thought he could defeat. Through their occlumency connection he heard the thoughts Harry wanted to keep inside like it was being spoken out loud. This can’t be happening… it hurts… someone help me… His breath came faster and he pushed in deeper, fully inserting himself and hearing now the choked whimpers Harry couldn’t suppress. He did what he’d been thinking about for months and dug his fingers into Harry’s thick black hair and pulled his head back. Tears spilled without permission down the young man’s face.
He took it slowly at first. Harry was still too tense but the oil allowed him to move. He savored the deliberate movement in and out. He knew Harry could feel every inch of him.
When his pleasure began to peak and his patience wore out he thrust faster. He grabbed hold of Harry’s hips and pulled him back as he fucked him. He groaned as he completely pulled out and pushed back in slowly, allowing that little hole to suck on the head of his cock.
He felt the young man’s horror, pain and confusion begin to mingle with pleasure. He reached around and found his cock hard and warm. He started to laugh and stroked it gently.
His voice was low and teasing. “Does that feel good, Harry? Do you want me to keep going?” Keeping back fresh tears, Harry shook his head. Voldemort continued to touch him indulgently until his cock was slick and hot. He hadn’t expected to enjoy a man’s anatomy in any way, but there was something refreshing about how simple and obvious male organs were. There could be no mistaking pleasure or hiding it. He stroked Harry like he would himself.
After a while he began to focus purely on his own pleasure. He moved faster and rougher than before with his hands clamped down on the young man’s hips. Pleasure rushed higher and sweeter with each moment. He wanted it to keep going forever and wanted it to end. He wanted to finish inside his young lover and mark his place, but he also had a goal to accomplish. He pulled out and abused himself roughly with a hand, then he aimed at Harry’s pale backside and twitching hole.
He came hard and spilled over the young man with a groan of ecstasy. White cum splattered his buttocks, back and thighs. It was thick and rolled down the back of his thighs. Pleasure receded slowly.
He collected some of his seed into a vial and mixed it with the essence of unicorn blood, ash of ancient cedar and anise. He collected some of it onto his knife to reinforce the sigil carved on the back of Harry’s neck. Harry struggled when he was touched again but it was easy to hold him down and there wasn’t as much of a need for accuracy, since it was already carved.
Soon the wound was swollen with blood and mixed semen. Voldemort used a cloth to wipe away the excess and admired his handy work. He cleaned up the mess on Harry’s back and then helped him sit up. Harry’s eyes were swollen and his face bloodless. When he was drawn to his feet, he swayed unsteadily and tried to move away from the Dark Lord. Voldemort wrapped an arm around his waist and aparated them away from the library.
The master bedroom of Malfoy manor had been rarely used since its new occupant moved in. The only sign that there was someone living there was the robes that filled the dressers and a book left on the bedside table which were barely visible with only moonlight filtering in through the windows. The decorations and paintings had been moved out leaving the white walls bare except for the most basic furniture. The bed in the center of the great room had an extravagant mahogany frame and a goose feather mattress. He shoved Harry onto it as soon as they arrived. With a wave of his wand, two small candles were lit. Voldemort removed his robes and let them fall onto the floor.
Harry tried to shield himself from view even as he scrambled to move away from the approaching Dark Lord. Voldemort caught his ankle and dragged him back into the center of the bed. There was no hiding his arousal laying naked on his back with his hands bound. His cock arched away from his stomach and was glistening and red. Harry was desperate to put a stop to the reaction but there was no amount of willpower or tricks that could change his body’s natural reactions to both aphrodisiac and stimulation. Even just stroking the soft skin at Harry’s ankle was enough to make him shiver.
The young man’s thoughts flowed through their bond to him like they’d been spoken out loud. I can’t, I won’t, not with him. He was trying to use his hatred and disgust to quell his rising pleasure having no idea as a virgin eighteen year old how intermingled such emotions naturally were. If it were only Harry’s willpower he had to deal with, the Dark Lord might have had to worry.
“Relax,” Voldemort said, trailing a hand over the inside of his thighs. Harry aimed a hard kick at the Dark Lord’s chest, but he caught his foot and forced it upwards as he settled into position between Harry’s spread legs. Face to face he could see every expression of horror, hatred and lust played out on his captive’s face. His face was flushed, his eyebrows furrowed and his mouth was a tight white line. The muscles in his neck strained as he tried to squirm away from Voldemort’s touch. Seeing it provoked Voldemort to want even more of a reaction. He stoked Harry’s soft stomach just out of range of where he most wanted to be touched and teased. “You ought to thank me for this. You didn’t want to spend the rest of your life as a virgin, did you?”
Harry’s only response was his lips curling in a snarl. Voldemort threaded his fingers through his dark hair and pressed his mouth down on top of Harry’s open and startled mouth. It wasn’t a kiss but an invasion of tongue and a reprimand of teeth. When Harry bit back, Voldemort shoved his head to the side and aimed for the pale skin of his throat. His hands kept Harry locked in place tangled in his messy locks as he sucked and licked. His cock pressed against Harry’s with obscene wetness and heat. He took his time and felt Harry’s desire and desperation building as they moved together.
When he pulled away, Harry’s eyes were glazed and half open. His hair was a mess all around him and his bottom lip red from being bitten. Voldemort’s own cock was straining to rub and thrust almost as badly as his young companion’s was, so he took it in hand and spread Harry’s legs open again. He liked looking down at Harry’s face, his pale body laying arched and vulnerable and his hard cock glistening. He trailed his hand along the curve of Harry’s ass until he again found that wet hole. Harry tightened up and squirmed but there was nowhere to go. Voldemort lined himself up and pushed in with a deep sigh of relief and pleasure.
When he opened his eyes again, he saw that Harry’s eyes were squeezed shut in a grimace. His fingers opened and closed helplessly and his arousal was dampened by pain. The Dark Lord held still and stifled his impatience. After a long minute, he drew his head into Harry’s neck and breathed in the mingled earthy, hormonal scent of a young man, the fresh mint of his soap and cum.
Voldemort pressed a kiss to the side of his neck. Harry was relaxing again. He let the young man take his time and moved his mouth from below his ear all the way down to shoulder, nipping and sucking and kissing in turns. He ran his fingers in lazy circles over his chest, his nipples, his stomach and his hipbone. Then he pushed in deeper than he had before and heard Harry’s muffled cry of pain and pleasure.
”There you go,” he said softly, encouragingly. His cock slid in and out with careful patience even as he became desperate to move faster. Their breaths were hot in the space between them and he heard the low, repressed moans of pleasure in Harry’s throat. Their bodies were wet with sweat wherever their skin met. Words were tumbling out of his mouth, indistinct and meaningless. “Just like that, Harry, just like that…”
Harry’s only response was a high and choked moan. His reddened eyes were only half open and lazy with pleasure and his cheekbones were flushed red and pink. Resistance and coherent thoughts were becoming further and further away but still he tried to kick the Dark Lord off in a final attempt not to humiliate himself. Voldemort grabbed both of his legs and pushed them over his shoulders. The angle was better with Harry folded at the waist and he drove down relentlessly into the now tightening and sucking warm heat. He trailed a light finger over Harry’s neglected cock before taking it in hand and stroking it. Harry’s toes curled and he bit his lip again to keep from crying out or begging or screaming. He was close now— they both were.
Stop it, Harry’s eyes did the begging that his mouth couldn’t. Stop this.
Voldemort swallowed his pleas in a deep kiss. His tongue chased after his young companion’s as their pleasure built. He could feel the wetness of Harry’s cock on his stomach and the tightening around his member. His moan or Harry’s filled their mouths and resistance was forgotten.
Harry spilled white cum over his stomach and chest with a muffled whine and his legs twitching. His hole felt like it was sucking the Dark Lord in eagerly. He moaned with his own pleasure and chased the thought of Harry being fucked so good and hard by his cock that he’d whined and twitched and cum until it pushed him over the edge. He made sure he was as deep inside of him as he could be as he filled him with his seed.
He took his time enjoying the afterglow before he pulled out and admired his handiwork. White cum spread over Harry’s firm, tan stomach and chest. His dark hair was more of a mess than it usually was and his neck and shoulder were lined with bite marks. Sobering up with shame, he tried to hide the most private parts of his body from view by bringing his legs together and tilting them to the side, but all it did was give the Dark Lord a better view of the curve of his ass.
He summoned a vial to his hand and collected some of Harry’s seed with a wave of his wand. Ash of a thousand year old cedar tree, unicorn blood and the medicinal smell of anise bound together the final component of the potion that would lock them together for a thousand years. He had carved the identical sigil to Harry’s into his right forearm before he’d sat down to eat. Now he reopened the wound and ignored the blood splattering down onto the white bedsheets as he tattooed himself with his partner’s cum.
Harry sat with his knees drawn up close to his chest looking away from him towards the black window revealing only pinpricks of starlight. If he had looked, he would have had to notice Voldemort’s lust reappearing. He didn’t need to look down to see how his own flesh was betraying him. His voice was low, hoarse and tinged with despair. “Is it done?”
Voldemort cleaned the last of the blood and extra mixture off of his arm. The spell was done. He had the antidote to the aphrodisiac within summoning range. But when he looked at Harry, naked, with his head down and his eyes slightly swollen from tears, a fire began to burn inside of him.
”It doesn’t seem like you’re done.” He said sympathetically. “I can help you.”
”Stay the hell away,” Harry spat. When Voldemort touched his leg, he attempted to squirm away. The Dark Lord pulled him in and put his right hand in the young man’s messy dark hair to keep control over him. Sitting face to face with only a few inches between their aroused bodies, Harry couldn’t bear to look at him directly. Voldemort touched him gently and patiently. He ran the edge of his fingers down Harry’s neck, his back, and his thighs, making him shiver, and squeezed the round muscles of his backside. There wasn’t much he had to do to get Harry ready for another round: the blessing and curse of an eighteen year old.
He used his grip in his hair to maneuver his young partner into straddling his lap. Harry’s legs were weak after what they’d already done and they trembled as he held himself up, just inches above the Dark Lord’s hard cock. His leg muscles were well developed from years of balancing on a broomstick and could stay in a squat for hours if he wasn’t injured or weakened. He refused to sink down onto it. Voldemort watched the way his legs shook with hungry anticipation.
“I never would have thought you could look so obscene.” The Dark Lord said almost to himself in a low voice. He reached out and stroked the young man’s upright cock in his hand. “Harry.”
Harry turned his face away as the trembles went all the way up his body. His hips were grabbed as the Dark Lord sensed his endurance was almost done. When his legs gave out, he was guided so that the thick head brushed against his entrance. He was too tight to be penetrated at first. Then those weak muscles gave way and he sank down to the sound of Voldemort’s moan of pleasure and his own gasp of pain.
Once he was fully penetrated, he had hardly any strength left in his body so the Dark Lord used both hands to lift that sweet, hot tightness up and shove it down again. Harry was more relaxed and better lubricated than he had been the first two times and he hadn’t forgotten the bone melting ecstasy he’d only just gotten a taste of. All the resistance and shame he’d felt began to slip away as he was rocked up and down.
Their chests pressed together, wet with sweat. Harry’s clenched jaw relaxed and he unconsciously began moving in tandem with the Dark Lord’s hands. Smug satisfaction went deep but if he showed it he’d startle Harry out of his pleasure and compliance. Voldemort pressed their mouths together and chased after his tongue until he finally remembered to turn his head away. Eager to move faster, the Dark Lord pulled Harry down on top of him so he was laying ontop of his chest with his cock pressed hard between their bodies. He thrust upwards and pulled Harry’s hips back in tandem. As the movement of his slick hole being thrust into became faster and faster, Harry put his head into Voldemort’s shoulder and bit down to keep from making noise. Soon, they were both moaning and trembling as the movement and the heat between them increased.
Harry clamped down on the Dark Lord’s cock and spilled over his chest as they were both rocked by orgasm. Wet cum spilled outside of his hole as Voldemort kept pushing slowly in and out.
Exhausted, they laid pressed against each other without moving. The only sound left was their ragged breathing.
Finally, Harry squirmed off of him and fell to the side with a grimace of discomfort. Laziness overtook them both. Harry’s eyelashes touched his cheeks as he drifted off with his head rolled back and his arms still bound.
Voldemort was awake and elated. His heart beat a rhythm like a wardrum inside of his chest. His mind was alive with possibilities.
He hadn’t intended to take Harry as a lover once the ritual was complete, but now it seemed like the most obvious thing in the world. He was already completely available, isolated from the rest of the world and bound by his side for at least the rest of his life. Eventually, he would come to welcome and be grateful for the time, attention and lessons the Dark Lord could give him. On top of all of that, there was no disregarding how amusing it was that he was fucking Dumbledore’s star pupil and the hero of the resistance. He touched the side of Harry’s waist and saw his eyebrows furrow.
Thinking about all the things he could do in a thousand years made his cock twitch. The memory of Harry’s half lidded eyes and flushed, overwhelmed face made him hard again. Amidst the dull, tasteless life he’d been living after dividing his soul, he’d forgotten how simple pleasure could be. He gave Harry’s backside a squeeze and saw his eyelids flicker. Quietly, he positioned himself behind his young lover and admired the artless, helpless way he was sprawled out without a thought for the vulnerable image he made. He lined himself up with Harry’s hole and pushed himself in as Harry woke up with a soft noise of discontent.
He bit down at Harry’s neck and took in the smell of his shampoo and sweat. His hole was wet and softer than it had been at the start. When he slid in and out, it made an obscene, slippery noise. He pulled Harry’s hips up until his knees supported him, and pressed down between his shoulder blades so only his lower back and round backside was in the air. He fucked him in that position first in long, slow strokes, and then fast and shallow. He found the angle that hit against Harry’s weakest point and heard the thoughts that he’d never speak out loud. It feels so good… please, please… His moans were muffled against the mattress but louder than they had been before. It was easier for him to become lost in sensation when he didn’t have to see who was fucking him. His cock leaked onto the sheets and begged to be touched. When the Dark Lord slowed down, Harry squirmed impatiently and rocked back against him in small, helpless movements. His rationality and personal rejection of what they were doing was completely lost in each thrust. Soon he was biting down into the pillow and making a mess of the bedsheets.
Harry’s arousal and the sight of his cock sinking into his hole made Voldemort want to draw out the tantalizing scene. He fucked him slowly for a long time. Sometimes he touched him and wrapped his fingers in his dark hair, and sometimes he enjoyed himself selfishly thrusting in and out. Harry became aroused again. He didn’t give him any relief by stroking where he was desperate to be touched but let the pleasure build and linger until it was painful for them both. The moon rose higher and higher in the sky as they came closer and closer to losing control. Harry’s deep, shaking orgasm came over him with a whimper that was half lost in the sheets. The Dark Lord continued with his exhausted, trembling body faster and faster until he couldn’t take it anymore and bruised his young lover’s hips as he held him tight against his groin, as deep inside him as he could be. When he pulled out, Harry was too weak and uncomfortable to move from the position he’d been pushed into.
Only when Voldemort laid down next to him, drained and contented, did he straighten out his spine with a wince. His young partner drifted off to sleep again with his cheek pressed against a pillow. Basking in the rare feeling of contentment, the Dark Lord’s eyes drifted close. In a moment, he would get up, clean up the boy, and send him off to his own bed or have another round with him. He fell asleep as he was still making up his mind with his hand on Harry’s waist. Their skin was warm where it pressed together underneath the blankets. The moonlight cast a silver blue glow through the windows into the room as the constellation Capricorn formed a trine with Leo and the star Vega and a prophecy moved closer to fulfillment.