Metamorphosis
"I am different now." Voldemort stated, and Harry froze, unable to comprehend just what the man was saying at all.
I am different now? Harry wanted to scoff, his face twisting into a scowl as he struggled against his bonds. Harry knew the man was lying, there was simply no way that the most powerful sorcerer could erase the damage he had done--and would continue to do--Harry thought.
Harry had been confined for several months since his capture, but he still retained some sort of agency. He wasn't insane, and if Voldemort thought that he was stupid enough to believe any of the words he said, he was clearly not as intelligent as he thought.
Harry would never give in. This was merely another way to break Harry's own desire to resist, and he refused to be cowed by words wrapped in deceit and dulcet tones.
"Liar!" Harry shouted, jerking against the ropes biting harshly into his arms as Voldemort stepped further into the room, slamming the door shut behind him and vanishing it with a subtle wave of his arm. It reminded Harry then of just how grandiose the room was--of the decadence of the bed he currently lied on and of the tasteful decorations in the room.
It was easily the most lavish place Harry had stayed in in his entire life. Without a doubt, beating the opulence of Malfoy Manor's own rooms. Not that Harry had much opportunity to see those rooms, of course. His greatest concern at the time was getting himself and his friends out alive--leaving little room for Harry to contemplate the furniture.
But now, all Harry could really do was stare at these familiar four walls. The white walls melding perfectly with the emerald color of his sheets and the dark mahogany of the bed frame.
It was all perfectly paired--planned and executed. As if Voldemort himself had hired a designer to ensure that this room was nothing short of perfect.
And wasn't that funny? That Voldemort would hire a designer for a prisoner?
Harry was promptly cut off from his thoughts when Voldemort spoke again, his face lined with frustration.
"For what purpose would I lie to you, Harry?" Voldemort asked, and Harry strained in his bonds for a moment before sneering at the man. He didn't want to talk--content to be left to himself and the walls that sometimes whispered to him before he succumbed to slumber. It should have concerned him that he was hearing voices, but what did Harry care?
Voldemort had brought him the severed heads of his friends on a pike early on in his captivity. There was simply nothing left for him to fight for but for himself. For his own pride and peace of mind.
And perhaps, for the few that he hoped had managed to survive.
"I don't know, I don't think you really need a reason to be a monster." Harry mocked, and Voldemort froze for a second, his red eyes flashing with something Harry could identify as irritation before shuttering the emotion away quickly.
It made Harry grin.
"Did that offend you, Tom? To know that you are a shadow of who you once were? That you are nothing but a creature that preys on the innocent?" Harry laughed when Voldemort stepped further into the room, his magic cackling in the air alerting Harry at just how angered the man was.
"Do not force my ha--"
"Or what?" Harry interrupted, a smirk dancing along his lips when Voldemort stopped beside him on the bed, his stature imposing. But Harry was no longer intimidated. He was more than a bit accustomed to the man's scare tactics. "You're going to kill me? The horror."
Harry was laughing so hard that tears gathered at the corners of his eyes, his chest aching and his throat tight with the force of it.
Harry could admit that he sounded a little unhinged, but again, what did it matter now? The war had been lost and now, all that Harry really had was Voldemort's unwanted company and this room. The same four bloody walls that often whispered to both Harry's dismay and delight.
The monster didn't even allow him the peace of speaking to anyone else. Not even the house elves that conjured his three daily meals were allowed to appear before him.
He was all alone.
"There are things worse than death, Harry Potter." Voldemort began, and Harry could not repress a flinch when one of Voldemort's fingers pressed to the skin of his cheek. The contact no longer triggered their strange connection, but it elicited a strange pleasant feeling in his gut. It was unsettling in its intensity, the heat of it dancing across his skin and spreading through his body like some sort of infectious disease.
But Harry ignored that, knowing well that Voldemort was only doing that to disturb him. Nothing ever came out of such an innocent touch, and Voldemort, for all his monstrosity, never did more that smooth his fingers across his skin.
Curious, but never threatening.
It was the only reprieve Harry had in this world. He doubted he would have much left if the man had decided to do more than simply warn him with such a powerful connection at his command.
"You've already seen to that, My Lord." Harry mocked, before gasping when Voldemort's fingers ran along the curve of his cheek bone, and lower to dig his nails gently against his neck.
Harry faintly wondered if the man could feel just how rapidly his heart was beating--if he could hear the strange thoughts in the back of Harry's mind whispering for more with its strangely familiar lilt. The hissing sounding a lot like--
"No, I have not. I have granted you a better life than you would have lived should I have desired your suffering." Voldemort replied in turn, his touch questing when Harry unconsciously leaned into his prodding hands.
Harry hated this.
"You think this is mercy? That you're doing me a favor by locking me in some gilded cage and giving your little bird some attention?" Harry asked, and then sighing when Voldemort's slid his fingers lower down Harry's neck until it teased at his exposed collar bones--his shirt lying somewhere in the room, neglected.
Discarded by Harry earlier in the evening when he had tried, and ultimately failed, to fall asleep.
"More than you deserve. But I find that I am a changed man." Voldemort's tone was different then, a grin breaking out on his inhuman face setting Harry on edge. Since Harry's capture, the man had barely shown emotion aside from anger and displeasure.
Harry could not recall an instance where it had been anything but--his back bearing the weight of those memories. He had far too many scars on his back from the curses Voldemort had launched at him for mouthing off earlier in his captivity, and it seemed that Voldemort had somehow gained some other strange idea, guessing from the continued trace of Voldemort's nails on his skin.
He shuddered with both revulsion and pleasure when Voldemort moved them lower still, the nail biting into his nipple as it went.
"I cannot make the entire world my own with the same tactics I had employed here in Britain. Your role as the Boy-Who-Lived is far from finished, and you will see to it that my bid for power is successful." Voldemort continued and Harry gasped when the connection between them sprang to life once more--Voldemort's magic so thick in the air that Harry was afraid he might even choke on it.
"I have all the time in the world to make you yield, Harry Potter. I have already come this far in just a few months, imagine what would come of this in a few more years." Harry melted into Voldemort's touch, his body quivering with disgust and delight when sparks danced up his spine--his back arching further into Voldemort's touch the longer the man tapped at their connection.
Harry's body felt like a live wire--an exposed nerve that continued to coax violent reactions from his body. This was the worst sort of violation--the kind that Harry himself had never experienced before.
It was strange feeling oddly betrayed by this--thinking that this man would never stoop so low as to abuse this connection for gain. And he wanted to laugh at himself then for that silly thought because of course Voldemort would abuse it.
The man would never change--once a monster, always a monster.
And then Harry was crying out, the pleasure across his skin so overwhelming that he could hardly think past the thrumming of his heart, the shortness of his breath, and the texture of Voldemort's hands on his nipple.
The digits light--like feathers dancing across naked skin--but sufficient to allow Voldemort to manipulate their connection as he saw fit.
"Different now. More like you've evolved, Tom. Become more of a monster than you already wer--"
Harry groaned when Voldemort embedded his nails into his skin before slashing them down his chest--the sting and the heat enough to make him see white. The pain did little to ground him--the delicious way that it melded with the heat in his blood causing something in his stomach clench.
A pressure build.
Harry wanted to laugh and cry all at once, but he shoved those emotions back. Unwilling to shatter like glass beneath his gaze.
"Different is a matter of degree, and Lord Voldemort certainly knows this subtlety." Voldemort stated, his eyes dancing with amusement when Harry arched and writhed from the pleasant feelings overtaking his thoughts.
The man's touch stripping him bare and eating away at the hatred curled in Harry's gut.
"And you will be different too. A golden boy no more. The champion of light, erased."
The promise there was as heady as the ecstasy coursing through his veins, and Harry wondered then, with his spine bending and his mouth splitting open, if he would truly survive this unscathed. If he would remain unchanged as he hoped he would.
But those thoughts were overtaken by Voldemort's overwhelming magic--his nails sliding further along his exposed skin to tug at the edge of his checkered boxers.
The fingers both a threat and a promise.
"Is that what you truly think?" Harry began, shuddering when Voldemort's nails traced lightly against the thin material. "That you will break me?"
Harry jerked his hips into Voldemort's hand, unable to resist the way Voldemort's prodded and teased at his connection, the fingers shooting sparks up Harry's spine. Driven mad and near blind at just a simple press of those sharp nails through the thin barrier.
"Certainly. Just look at you." Voldemort explained, a smirk tugging at his lips when he slipped a finger beneath the waistband, and Harry jerked. A sharp breath escaping his lips, unable to repress just how affected he was by Voldemort's touch.
"I've barely touched you at all and you look as if you're about to come undone." Voldemort mocked, his red eyes trapping Harry's own.
"But would you want to? If you've changed as much as you say you have what success is there in breaking me in two? That's something a brute would do." Harry replied, groaning when Voldemort delved his hand further inside to play with the new skin, his fingers questing and his face thoughtful as he did.
"I-It's easy for someone to break someone down. But to make something out from what is already there. Is that not true mastery?" Harry looked away when Voldemort's fingers were suddenly on his cock, his nails scratching from the base down to his leaking head. Harry tried not to lose track of his thoughts--clinging to them as desperately as he could, knowing that he allowed himself to be overwhelmed he'd fail to steer Voldemort away from his dangerous goal.
"Oh? And what is it that you know of mastery, boy?" Voldemort sounded curious, and Harry swallowed first before answering, ignoring just how delicious Voldemort's fingers felt as they continued to play with his skin.
"I know that a true master can make one submit without the need to break their servants. That a Lord is only deserving of his title if he can inspire true loyalty." Harry sighed when Voldemort's touch grew firmer, his hand taking Harry's length entirely into his palm before giving his cock a squeeze. Harry felt like he was going to climax from that alone, his mouth snapping open into a silent scream when Voldemort's magic swelled at the same time.
His power settled into the crevices in Harry's own soul--coaxing at the dormant shard within his own body that wanted to reunite with Voldemort's sliver of a soul.
It drove Harry wild, his eyes fluttering closed for several seconds, before opening them to look up at Voldemort.
"Oh, don't worry. There will be plenty of time for me to show you how wrong you are." Voldemort whispered, the determination alight in his gaze causing Harry smirk internally.
Voldemort had taken the bait.
Good.
And then, before Harry could even properly protest, Voldemort's magic flared and his hand began to move--the friction of his dry palm and Harry's sensitive flesh enough to push Harry over the edge.
Harry came so hard he lost sense of the world around him. His body trembling with the force of his release, his thoughts jumbled.
"This is merely a taste of what I can provide if you should obey." Voldemort hissed, his hand still gripping tightly around Harry's softened cock.
"I thank you for such an...illuminating idea, Harry." Voldemort chuckled, before turning away with a dramatic flare of his robes. The bonds restraining Harry to the bed dissipating just as Voldemort flickered from existence--the only memory that he had even been there at all, the moisture pooling between Harry's thighs.
It was a dangerous game Harry was playing. But the Dark Lord was certainly right about one thing.
Voldemort had changed, and the desire Harry had glimpsed in his eyes was definitely evidence of that.