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lomonaaerenTitle: An Ivory Discretion
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this for fun and not profit.
Pairing: Voldemort/Harry, background pairings
Rating: R
Content Notes: AU (Voldemort wins), power imbalance, casual sex, rough sex, mentions of violence and torture
Wordcount: This part 3200
Summary: In a world where Voldemort rules, he runs into the seemingly guileless Harry Potter at a party, and likes what he sees enough to invite Harry to his bed. Harry is enthusiastic about the sex but assumes there is no emotional connection, and tries to maintain his emotional distance from the Dark Lord. This is easier said than done; they keep running into each other, and Voldemort finds himself being seduced as much by Harry’s soul as his body.
Author’s Notes: This is one of my “Songs of Summer” stories that I’m posting between the summer solstice and the first of August. It’s in answer to a request from certifiedwitch; the summary is basically the prompt. It will most likely have three parts.
An Ivory Discretion
Now, the evening is not a waste.
Voldemort slid his hands around the shoulders of the young man he had watched across the room for half an hour and talked to for ten minutes. The man was flushing, his head ducked as though he expected Voldemort to demand an obeisance from him any moment.
Voldemort was indeed interested in obeisance, but not of the kind the man was expecting. He wanted those thighs open for him, that face flushed with passion instead of modesty. He kissed the man—yes, his name was Harry, Harry Potter—hard enough to make him gasp and open his mouth, which advanced at least one of Voldemort’s goals.
“M-my lord—”
“Do not sound as if I will turn on you at any moment,” Voldemort said, and drew the man further against the wall of Malfoy Manor, leaning his back for a moment on the stone. All of his closest followers’ houses were enchanted to respond to his desires. He and Harry whirled through the walls, stones flashing past them like the sides of a Floo, and landed in the middle of the wide, silk-draped bed that Voldemort slept in every night he was here. “I know you want this as much as I do.”
Surface-level Legilimency is sometimes useful for more than getting a headache.
“But—you’re the Dark Lord, I’m just an Auror trainee—”
Harry gasped as Voldemort bit down on his neck. Voldemort urged him backwards, towards the pillows. “And do you see anyone in here I must rule? Anyone you must arrest?”
“N-no.”
Ordinarily, the stammer would have made Voldemort impatient, but it seduced him now, as did everything about Harry. He snapped his fingers, and Harry’s robes whipped off with a clack of undoing buttons and folded themselves on the chair next to the bed. He wore only pants underneath, as Voldemort had hoped. When he snapped his fingers a second time, Harry was stripped of those, as well.
Harry was panting, his legs spreading of their own accord, his dark green eyes becoming deeper still. He arched his neck.
“You’re the Dark Lord, but I had no idea you were so—”
Voldemort bent down and kissed Harry as his magic stripped his own clothes off. He could think of many more entertaining things to do than talk, and he enjoyed leaving the sentence uncompleted.
*
So wild.
Harry had had sex before. He had enjoyed sex before. He just hadn’t had anything like this, this—this strength parting his legs and enchanting lube into his arse. When the Dark Lord’s fingers stretched him open, he gasped, and immediately had to swallow the sound around the man’s tongue.
Oh, Merlin.
The Dark Lord wasn’t handsome, but he was powerful and commanding, and the crackle of magic along Harry’s skin was doing more to seduce him than the Dark Lord’s body. Harry cradled him in his thighs, cradled the Dark Lord’s tongue in his mouth, and got ready to cradle the man’s cock in his arse. He could hardly believe he was here.
What do I—what should I—
The Dark Lord took the choice away from him, pinning Harry’s hands to the pillow above his head with a murmured spell and then sliding into him. Harry arched his back and hissed, but he didn’t get the pain he was expecting. The spells to prepare him had been more thorough than he’d realized.
For a moment, the Dark Lord’s magic went still, lingering around Harry like a drift of animate snow. Harry found himself swallowing nervously.
Then the magic reached out and clung to his skin as with chilled claws, and the Dark Lord began to move.
Harry found himself writhing and wishing he could move more, but that was obviously not what the Dark Lord wished. Every stroke into Harry sent lights skidding across his vision, and made his own magic reach out to the power around him and intertwine with it.
He thought, hazily, that the parting of their magic would be more painful than it would have any right to be.
As if the Dark Lord had heard that, he pulled back and out of Harry. Harry cried out before he could stop himself. “No—no, please—”
He shut his mouth a second later, terrified that he had tried to command the Dark Lord, but the Dark Lord didn’t seem interested in punishing Harry for it. He simply said, “I am rearranging you to be more interesting,” and flipped Harry over. Harry braced for the drive back into his arse, but instead, the Dark Lord unpinned his wrists with a hiss and tugged Harry back against his lap and chest.
Then he sank into Harry, and Harry shivered as the Dark Lord’s cock was suddenly inside him, the Dark Lord’s arm around his chest. The lipless mouth kissed the side of his neck, and the Dark Lord whispered, “Move for me.”
Harry did, lifting his hips hesitantly and sinking back. The Dark Lord hissed in response, so Harry did it again, and again, and again, with increasing confidence.
And pleasure. The Dark Lord’s cock seemed made to fit inside him. Soon Harry tossed his head back and gave himself up completely.
Let him take me for as long as he wants. For as long as he will.
*
From skimming Harry’s mind, and the emotions that were practically dancing around them like fire now, shouting what Harry was feeling into the air, Voldemort knew that Harry was apprehensive about making a mistake.
But he did not have to be. He was warm, and graceful, and deferential enough, and handsome, and—
He was giving Voldemort such pleasure.
Voldemort slid a hand down Harry’s chest and curled it around his cock. Harry gave a hoarse cry, and for a moment, the movement of his hips stuttered. Voldemort pressed a cold hand flat to his back. Harry shuddered and sped up again.
So perfect, without being instructed.
Voldemort knew better than to believe this would happen again. Harry’s responses were intoxicating because this was so new, and he would become less and less perfect with every repetition. Voldemort grew quickly bored with lovers, as he did with advisors, and he had less reason to be careful around lovers and make them believe he was listening to them than he did with advisors. There were always other people lined up to eagerly enter the Dark Lord’s bed.
But he had to admit, he would regret it when Harry’s newness faded. It was so dizzying, to feel the clench around him, the heat, the tightness—
Voldemort let go and came.
Harry followed a moment later, before Voldemort’s hand could even tighten on his cock. He made a frankly embarrassing noise as he sagged forwards, but he didn’t seem to notice or care. His magic fizzed and sparkled around Voldemort like a firework, speaking clearly enough of his bliss.
Voldemort hissed softly and let his mouth linger against the back of Harry’s neck, hands stroking up the young man’s flanks. Yes, he would miss this.
*
Harry opened his eyes, shifted, rolled over, almost went back to sleep, and then sat up with his heart pounding so hard that his chest hurt.
Shit. I slept with the Dark Lord and fell asleep in his bed at Malfoy Manor. Shit.
There was no sign of the Dark Lord, and no lingering warmth or scent on the sheets. However, when Harry rolled over again, he saw a note resting on the pillow next to the one he’d slept on, secured in place with a coiled silver snake pin. Harry snatched it up eagerly.
Dear Harry,
I nearly wished to wake you for another exercise in pleasure together, but even a Dark Lord has duties. My thanks for a pleasant evening, and for the discretion that I am sure you know how to exercise.
He hadn’t written his name or even an X on the parchment, only a squiggle that looked more like a coiled version of the huge serpent that followed him at political gatherings. Harry sighed and let his fingers brush over it for a moment.
He couldn’t be surprised. He couldn’t even really be disappointed. He didn’t understand why the Dark Lord had chosen him in the first place. One magical night was still more than almost anyone got with their ruler.
Harry shook his head and reached for his robes, still folded neatly on the chair where the Dark Lord had magically deposited them. He was going to remember this for a long, long time, and not just for the delicious ache in his arse.
For the cold hands clasping him. For the lipless mouth kissing him. For those red eyes watching him.
It was a pity it would never happen again.
*
“My lord, may I ask whom you are staring at?”
Lucius Malfoy’s voice didn’t usually irritate Lord Voldemort, but it did now, curling around his magical awareness like obsequious slime. He turned his head and answered, “The Auror trainee standing against the wall,” more to watch Lucius blink in confusion and draw his magic back towards himself than anything else.
“My lord?”
“Did you not hear me, Lucius?”
“I—of course, my lord. I am simply wondering—he’s so ordinary.”
“His arse isn’t.”
Lucius shut up. Voldemort laughed inwardly, tracking Harry with his gaze as the young man bowed his head to Lucinda Greengrass and nodded in response to something she’d said. Lucius was an odd sort of prude. He would happily discuss his own sexual exploits, but he thought his lord should be above that kind of thing for some reason.
Voldemort did not intend to be, and the more he could discomfit people who, unlike Harry, were among the most ordinary of mortals, the more he would take the chance.
“Shall I fetch him for you, my lord?”
Lucius was attempting to shake off his frozen expression and prove himself useful. It would have been amusing if Voldemort had not had enough of obeisance for that day. “No. Go away, Lucius.”
Lucius went.
Harry turned at that moment and saw Voldemort. He colored in a lovely rose shade, and dipped his head in a half-bow. And then he turned away and went on talking to Madam Greengrass.
He was trying to be discreet. It was exactly what his lord had requested from him, and it was—charming, yes, that was the word, for him to try and obey Voldemort when Voldemort was openly staring at him and when Harry’s parents were such vehement political opponents of the current regime.
It was so charming that Voldemort made a beckoning motion when Harry happened to glance at him on his way to the food tables.
It would not be the most discreet thing that could happen, but Voldemort had to have Harry again.
*
“Kneel for me.”
Harry had been happy to do it, desire loosening his knees the moment he and Voldemort were in the private room that he apparently kept at the Lestranges’ house. This one was smaller than the one in Malfoy Manor, and the bed covered with blue velvet sheets. But Harry had barely grimaced at it before the Dark Lord had hissed those words, right on the edge of Parseltongue, and he promptly had better things to think about.
“Open your mouth.”
Harry did, gladly and willingly, and the Dark Lord thrust his long, pale cock forwards, coming to rest on Harry’s tongue like a rod of marble.
The hardness of it, the length of it, the way the Dark Lord thrust as if he wanted nothing more than to plug Harry’s throat with it—
Harry closed his eyes and moaned, but it was lost in the thrusts. He went back to sucking the way the Dark Lord hadn’t commanded him to do, because it was abundantly clear what they both wanted, and why should Harry hold back?
“Yes, suck me.”
That was the command, Harry supposed, but it didn’t need to be given, not when the Dark Lord’s hand had already come to rest in Harry’s hair, and his fingers stroked and curled, and Harry was—
Harry was giving himself up to the fantasy of more than he had ever expected to have again.
It was a sloppy, messy process, with Harry gasping desperately through his nose a few times, and choking on the Dark Lord’s thrusts, and feeling as if he would drown in his own mixture of pleasure and pain. He was aware of his own cock, distantly, but it was a twitching in his robes that he didn’t need to touch right now. He just wanted to let go and fly on silent wings of pleasure through the moments of pleasing the Dark Lord, and when his lord came, Harry wanted to swallow as much as he could.
He did have to sag on his knees, coughing and choking a little, as some of the Dark Lord’s seed ran onto the floor. But somehow, Harry didn’t fear getting in trouble for that as he leaned back and looked up into the Dark Lord’s eyes. The Dark Lord ran his fingers, as long and hard as his cock, tipped with nails more like claws, through Harry’s hair.
“You are magnificent.”
Harry smiled at him, and wondered for a moment what he looked like with his mouth dripping and his lips swollen. Whatever it was, it seemed to please the Dark Lord, who drew him close and then pulled him to his feet.
“Against my leg.”
Harry flushed harder than he had using his mouth as he arched his hips back and began to rub against the Dark Lord’s thigh. But then he closed his eyes and let himself fly through the pleasure again. The thigh between his knees was as hard and thick against him as the cock would have felt inside him. Harry spent himself with a sound between a cry and a gasp, and sagged forwards against the Dark Lord for a timeless moment, as the long nails scratched his scalp and his spine and back down.
“What makes you so enchanting, Harry Potter?”
Harry just shook his head. He didn’t know. He couldn’t even have answered what made the Dark Lord so enchanting.
It wasn’t like Harry coveted the man’s magic or his power. He didn’t want an appointment in the Ministry other than the post as Auror he already had, and he wanted to work his way up from there himself. How could he have claimed to have fairly earned it, otherwise?
But he wanted to be with the Dark Lord for the moment, for the time that this would happen.
“On the bed.”
Harry crawled onto it, wondering what would happen next. He was honestly worn out and didn’t think he would be able to come again even if the Dark Lord cast those spells that would allow him to enter Harry.
Instead, the man, the ruler, whatever he was, crawled onto the bed after him and wrapped Harry in his arms. Harry froze as he lay there, staring up at the ceiling and trying hard not to blink.
“You are tense. Do you not enjoy this?”
“I didn’t anticipate it, my lord, that’s all.”
“Not my lord. Call me Voldemort.”
Harry swallowed. All he could think was that if he told Ron or Hermione about this, they would never believe him.
“All right, my—Voldemort.”
“Yes. I enjoy the way you say that.” One long-fingered hand moved through Harry’s hair again, tangling in the curls, scratching at the oddest places. Harry closed his eyes without even meaning to and leaned nearer. “Tell me what I must do to see you again.”
Harry snapped his eyes open again. He had thought this would be the last time. Why would the Dark Lord want to spend any time with a trainee Auror whose politics made him an uneasy fit for that same Dark Lord’s Ministry?
This isn’t about spending time with you, this is about sex, Harry reminded himself, and found it easy to relax in the Dark Lord’s arms when he thought about that. “Madam Greengrass invited me to the gala at the Ministry next Saturday, Voldemort.”
It still felt unbelievably daring to address the Dark Lord by his name, but he only made a low, pleased sound, and rolled until his incredible eyes were staring at Harry’s face again. “That will not be soon enough.”
Harry took a deep breath, his heart filling his ears with its irregular pounding. “I suppose that—I could leave Auror training early on Tuesday. That’s the night when they hold the dueling practical class and I’m so good at that I get excused from it.”
“You usually stay for it anyway, hmm?”
“I appreciate the extra practice.”
Voldemort lowered his head until his cold breath swept over Harry’s ear. It made Harry shiver quite as much as if it had been warm. “I will ensure that you get extra practice at what matters, if you are to please me.”
Harry hesitated just one moment more. The Dark Lord was against everything his family stood for. His parents hadn’t fought to the death in the end, the way the old Chief Warlock, Albus Dumbledore, had, because the Dark Lord’s power was indomitable and they’d had a young child. But they had filled Harry’s head with stories of how horrible Voldemort was and how everyone with good sense stayed far away from him.
You don’t have more ambition than sense, so you should be fine, Mum had told Harry before he left for Hogwarts, and she had sent a letter filled with both relief and congratulations when he’d owled his parents to tell them that he’d been Sorted into Gryffindor.
But now…
This won’t last long, Harry told himself as he stared into Voldemort’s blazing eyes. Who knows why he’s taken with you right now, but his fancy will blow over as soon as it reaches full bloom. You know all those people that happened with.
That actually made Harry relax a little. It wasn’t like he was going to date the Dark Lord or take on a government position of huge responsibility. He was just going to fuck him, or more accurately get fucked, a few times, and then Voldemort would be on to someone else.
“Yes. Please.”
Voldemort leaned in to nip at Harry’s face with fang-like teeth, and it turned out that neither of them was too tired for a second round. This time, Harry got to appreciate drifting off in Voldemort’s arms, in the same bed, and he closed his eyes with a sleepy smile.
I don’t know what caused this, but I’m going to enjoy it as long as it lasts.
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this for fun and not profit.
Pairing: Voldemort/Harry, background pairings
Rating: R
Content Notes: AU (Voldemort wins), power imbalance, casual sex, rough sex, mentions of violence and torture
Wordcount: This part 3200
Summary: In a world where Voldemort rules, he runs into the seemingly guileless Harry Potter at a party, and likes what he sees enough to invite Harry to his bed. Harry is enthusiastic about the sex but assumes there is no emotional connection, and tries to maintain his emotional distance from the Dark Lord. This is easier said than done; they keep running into each other, and Voldemort finds himself being seduced as much by Harry’s soul as his body.
Author’s Notes: This is one of my “Songs of Summer” stories that I’m posting between the summer solstice and the first of August. It’s in answer to a request from certifiedwitch; the summary is basically the prompt. It will most likely have three parts.
An Ivory Discretion
Now, the evening is not a waste.
Voldemort slid his hands around the shoulders of the young man he had watched across the room for half an hour and talked to for ten minutes. The man was flushing, his head ducked as though he expected Voldemort to demand an obeisance from him any moment.
Voldemort was indeed interested in obeisance, but not of the kind the man was expecting. He wanted those thighs open for him, that face flushed with passion instead of modesty. He kissed the man—yes, his name was Harry, Harry Potter—hard enough to make him gasp and open his mouth, which advanced at least one of Voldemort’s goals.
“M-my lord—”
“Do not sound as if I will turn on you at any moment,” Voldemort said, and drew the man further against the wall of Malfoy Manor, leaning his back for a moment on the stone. All of his closest followers’ houses were enchanted to respond to his desires. He and Harry whirled through the walls, stones flashing past them like the sides of a Floo, and landed in the middle of the wide, silk-draped bed that Voldemort slept in every night he was here. “I know you want this as much as I do.”
Surface-level Legilimency is sometimes useful for more than getting a headache.
“But—you’re the Dark Lord, I’m just an Auror trainee—”
Harry gasped as Voldemort bit down on his neck. Voldemort urged him backwards, towards the pillows. “And do you see anyone in here I must rule? Anyone you must arrest?”
“N-no.”
Ordinarily, the stammer would have made Voldemort impatient, but it seduced him now, as did everything about Harry. He snapped his fingers, and Harry’s robes whipped off with a clack of undoing buttons and folded themselves on the chair next to the bed. He wore only pants underneath, as Voldemort had hoped. When he snapped his fingers a second time, Harry was stripped of those, as well.
Harry was panting, his legs spreading of their own accord, his dark green eyes becoming deeper still. He arched his neck.
“You’re the Dark Lord, but I had no idea you were so—”
Voldemort bent down and kissed Harry as his magic stripped his own clothes off. He could think of many more entertaining things to do than talk, and he enjoyed leaving the sentence uncompleted.
*
So wild.
Harry had had sex before. He had enjoyed sex before. He just hadn’t had anything like this, this—this strength parting his legs and enchanting lube into his arse. When the Dark Lord’s fingers stretched him open, he gasped, and immediately had to swallow the sound around the man’s tongue.
Oh, Merlin.
The Dark Lord wasn’t handsome, but he was powerful and commanding, and the crackle of magic along Harry’s skin was doing more to seduce him than the Dark Lord’s body. Harry cradled him in his thighs, cradled the Dark Lord’s tongue in his mouth, and got ready to cradle the man’s cock in his arse. He could hardly believe he was here.
What do I—what should I—
The Dark Lord took the choice away from him, pinning Harry’s hands to the pillow above his head with a murmured spell and then sliding into him. Harry arched his back and hissed, but he didn’t get the pain he was expecting. The spells to prepare him had been more thorough than he’d realized.
For a moment, the Dark Lord’s magic went still, lingering around Harry like a drift of animate snow. Harry found himself swallowing nervously.
Then the magic reached out and clung to his skin as with chilled claws, and the Dark Lord began to move.
Harry found himself writhing and wishing he could move more, but that was obviously not what the Dark Lord wished. Every stroke into Harry sent lights skidding across his vision, and made his own magic reach out to the power around him and intertwine with it.
He thought, hazily, that the parting of their magic would be more painful than it would have any right to be.
As if the Dark Lord had heard that, he pulled back and out of Harry. Harry cried out before he could stop himself. “No—no, please—”
He shut his mouth a second later, terrified that he had tried to command the Dark Lord, but the Dark Lord didn’t seem interested in punishing Harry for it. He simply said, “I am rearranging you to be more interesting,” and flipped Harry over. Harry braced for the drive back into his arse, but instead, the Dark Lord unpinned his wrists with a hiss and tugged Harry back against his lap and chest.
Then he sank into Harry, and Harry shivered as the Dark Lord’s cock was suddenly inside him, the Dark Lord’s arm around his chest. The lipless mouth kissed the side of his neck, and the Dark Lord whispered, “Move for me.”
Harry did, lifting his hips hesitantly and sinking back. The Dark Lord hissed in response, so Harry did it again, and again, and again, with increasing confidence.
And pleasure. The Dark Lord’s cock seemed made to fit inside him. Soon Harry tossed his head back and gave himself up completely.
Let him take me for as long as he wants. For as long as he will.
*
From skimming Harry’s mind, and the emotions that were practically dancing around them like fire now, shouting what Harry was feeling into the air, Voldemort knew that Harry was apprehensive about making a mistake.
But he did not have to be. He was warm, and graceful, and deferential enough, and handsome, and—
He was giving Voldemort such pleasure.
Voldemort slid a hand down Harry’s chest and curled it around his cock. Harry gave a hoarse cry, and for a moment, the movement of his hips stuttered. Voldemort pressed a cold hand flat to his back. Harry shuddered and sped up again.
So perfect, without being instructed.
Voldemort knew better than to believe this would happen again. Harry’s responses were intoxicating because this was so new, and he would become less and less perfect with every repetition. Voldemort grew quickly bored with lovers, as he did with advisors, and he had less reason to be careful around lovers and make them believe he was listening to them than he did with advisors. There were always other people lined up to eagerly enter the Dark Lord’s bed.
But he had to admit, he would regret it when Harry’s newness faded. It was so dizzying, to feel the clench around him, the heat, the tightness—
Voldemort let go and came.
Harry followed a moment later, before Voldemort’s hand could even tighten on his cock. He made a frankly embarrassing noise as he sagged forwards, but he didn’t seem to notice or care. His magic fizzed and sparkled around Voldemort like a firework, speaking clearly enough of his bliss.
Voldemort hissed softly and let his mouth linger against the back of Harry’s neck, hands stroking up the young man’s flanks. Yes, he would miss this.
*
Harry opened his eyes, shifted, rolled over, almost went back to sleep, and then sat up with his heart pounding so hard that his chest hurt.
Shit. I slept with the Dark Lord and fell asleep in his bed at Malfoy Manor. Shit.
There was no sign of the Dark Lord, and no lingering warmth or scent on the sheets. However, when Harry rolled over again, he saw a note resting on the pillow next to the one he’d slept on, secured in place with a coiled silver snake pin. Harry snatched it up eagerly.
Dear Harry,
I nearly wished to wake you for another exercise in pleasure together, but even a Dark Lord has duties. My thanks for a pleasant evening, and for the discretion that I am sure you know how to exercise.
He hadn’t written his name or even an X on the parchment, only a squiggle that looked more like a coiled version of the huge serpent that followed him at political gatherings. Harry sighed and let his fingers brush over it for a moment.
He couldn’t be surprised. He couldn’t even really be disappointed. He didn’t understand why the Dark Lord had chosen him in the first place. One magical night was still more than almost anyone got with their ruler.
Harry shook his head and reached for his robes, still folded neatly on the chair where the Dark Lord had magically deposited them. He was going to remember this for a long, long time, and not just for the delicious ache in his arse.
For the cold hands clasping him. For the lipless mouth kissing him. For those red eyes watching him.
It was a pity it would never happen again.
*
“My lord, may I ask whom you are staring at?”
Lucius Malfoy’s voice didn’t usually irritate Lord Voldemort, but it did now, curling around his magical awareness like obsequious slime. He turned his head and answered, “The Auror trainee standing against the wall,” more to watch Lucius blink in confusion and draw his magic back towards himself than anything else.
“My lord?”
“Did you not hear me, Lucius?”
“I—of course, my lord. I am simply wondering—he’s so ordinary.”
“His arse isn’t.”
Lucius shut up. Voldemort laughed inwardly, tracking Harry with his gaze as the young man bowed his head to Lucinda Greengrass and nodded in response to something she’d said. Lucius was an odd sort of prude. He would happily discuss his own sexual exploits, but he thought his lord should be above that kind of thing for some reason.
Voldemort did not intend to be, and the more he could discomfit people who, unlike Harry, were among the most ordinary of mortals, the more he would take the chance.
“Shall I fetch him for you, my lord?”
Lucius was attempting to shake off his frozen expression and prove himself useful. It would have been amusing if Voldemort had not had enough of obeisance for that day. “No. Go away, Lucius.”
Lucius went.
Harry turned at that moment and saw Voldemort. He colored in a lovely rose shade, and dipped his head in a half-bow. And then he turned away and went on talking to Madam Greengrass.
He was trying to be discreet. It was exactly what his lord had requested from him, and it was—charming, yes, that was the word, for him to try and obey Voldemort when Voldemort was openly staring at him and when Harry’s parents were such vehement political opponents of the current regime.
It was so charming that Voldemort made a beckoning motion when Harry happened to glance at him on his way to the food tables.
It would not be the most discreet thing that could happen, but Voldemort had to have Harry again.
*
“Kneel for me.”
Harry had been happy to do it, desire loosening his knees the moment he and Voldemort were in the private room that he apparently kept at the Lestranges’ house. This one was smaller than the one in Malfoy Manor, and the bed covered with blue velvet sheets. But Harry had barely grimaced at it before the Dark Lord had hissed those words, right on the edge of Parseltongue, and he promptly had better things to think about.
“Open your mouth.”
Harry did, gladly and willingly, and the Dark Lord thrust his long, pale cock forwards, coming to rest on Harry’s tongue like a rod of marble.
The hardness of it, the length of it, the way the Dark Lord thrust as if he wanted nothing more than to plug Harry’s throat with it—
Harry closed his eyes and moaned, but it was lost in the thrusts. He went back to sucking the way the Dark Lord hadn’t commanded him to do, because it was abundantly clear what they both wanted, and why should Harry hold back?
“Yes, suck me.”
That was the command, Harry supposed, but it didn’t need to be given, not when the Dark Lord’s hand had already come to rest in Harry’s hair, and his fingers stroked and curled, and Harry was—
Harry was giving himself up to the fantasy of more than he had ever expected to have again.
It was a sloppy, messy process, with Harry gasping desperately through his nose a few times, and choking on the Dark Lord’s thrusts, and feeling as if he would drown in his own mixture of pleasure and pain. He was aware of his own cock, distantly, but it was a twitching in his robes that he didn’t need to touch right now. He just wanted to let go and fly on silent wings of pleasure through the moments of pleasing the Dark Lord, and when his lord came, Harry wanted to swallow as much as he could.
He did have to sag on his knees, coughing and choking a little, as some of the Dark Lord’s seed ran onto the floor. But somehow, Harry didn’t fear getting in trouble for that as he leaned back and looked up into the Dark Lord’s eyes. The Dark Lord ran his fingers, as long and hard as his cock, tipped with nails more like claws, through Harry’s hair.
“You are magnificent.”
Harry smiled at him, and wondered for a moment what he looked like with his mouth dripping and his lips swollen. Whatever it was, it seemed to please the Dark Lord, who drew him close and then pulled him to his feet.
“Against my leg.”
Harry flushed harder than he had using his mouth as he arched his hips back and began to rub against the Dark Lord’s thigh. But then he closed his eyes and let himself fly through the pleasure again. The thigh between his knees was as hard and thick against him as the cock would have felt inside him. Harry spent himself with a sound between a cry and a gasp, and sagged forwards against the Dark Lord for a timeless moment, as the long nails scratched his scalp and his spine and back down.
“What makes you so enchanting, Harry Potter?”
Harry just shook his head. He didn’t know. He couldn’t even have answered what made the Dark Lord so enchanting.
It wasn’t like Harry coveted the man’s magic or his power. He didn’t want an appointment in the Ministry other than the post as Auror he already had, and he wanted to work his way up from there himself. How could he have claimed to have fairly earned it, otherwise?
But he wanted to be with the Dark Lord for the moment, for the time that this would happen.
“On the bed.”
Harry crawled onto it, wondering what would happen next. He was honestly worn out and didn’t think he would be able to come again even if the Dark Lord cast those spells that would allow him to enter Harry.
Instead, the man, the ruler, whatever he was, crawled onto the bed after him and wrapped Harry in his arms. Harry froze as he lay there, staring up at the ceiling and trying hard not to blink.
“You are tense. Do you not enjoy this?”
“I didn’t anticipate it, my lord, that’s all.”
“Not my lord. Call me Voldemort.”
Harry swallowed. All he could think was that if he told Ron or Hermione about this, they would never believe him.
“All right, my—Voldemort.”
“Yes. I enjoy the way you say that.” One long-fingered hand moved through Harry’s hair again, tangling in the curls, scratching at the oddest places. Harry closed his eyes without even meaning to and leaned nearer. “Tell me what I must do to see you again.”
Harry snapped his eyes open again. He had thought this would be the last time. Why would the Dark Lord want to spend any time with a trainee Auror whose politics made him an uneasy fit for that same Dark Lord’s Ministry?
This isn’t about spending time with you, this is about sex, Harry reminded himself, and found it easy to relax in the Dark Lord’s arms when he thought about that. “Madam Greengrass invited me to the gala at the Ministry next Saturday, Voldemort.”
It still felt unbelievably daring to address the Dark Lord by his name, but he only made a low, pleased sound, and rolled until his incredible eyes were staring at Harry’s face again. “That will not be soon enough.”
Harry took a deep breath, his heart filling his ears with its irregular pounding. “I suppose that—I could leave Auror training early on Tuesday. That’s the night when they hold the dueling practical class and I’m so good at that I get excused from it.”
“You usually stay for it anyway, hmm?”
“I appreciate the extra practice.”
Voldemort lowered his head until his cold breath swept over Harry’s ear. It made Harry shiver quite as much as if it had been warm. “I will ensure that you get extra practice at what matters, if you are to please me.”
Harry hesitated just one moment more. The Dark Lord was against everything his family stood for. His parents hadn’t fought to the death in the end, the way the old Chief Warlock, Albus Dumbledore, had, because the Dark Lord’s power was indomitable and they’d had a young child. But they had filled Harry’s head with stories of how horrible Voldemort was and how everyone with good sense stayed far away from him.
You don’t have more ambition than sense, so you should be fine, Mum had told Harry before he left for Hogwarts, and she had sent a letter filled with both relief and congratulations when he’d owled his parents to tell them that he’d been Sorted into Gryffindor.
But now…
This won’t last long, Harry told himself as he stared into Voldemort’s blazing eyes. Who knows why he’s taken with you right now, but his fancy will blow over as soon as it reaches full bloom. You know all those people that happened with.
That actually made Harry relax a little. It wasn’t like he was going to date the Dark Lord or take on a government position of huge responsibility. He was just going to fuck him, or more accurately get fucked, a few times, and then Voldemort would be on to someone else.
“Yes. Please.”
Voldemort leaned in to nip at Harry’s face with fang-like teeth, and it turned out that neither of them was too tired for a second round. This time, Harry got to appreciate drifting off in Voldemort’s arms, in the same bed, and he closed his eyes with a sleepy smile.
I don’t know what caused this, but I’m going to enjoy it as long as it lasts.
