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Harry P. & Voldemort - Words: 9,309 - Rated: M - English - Humor & Romance - Chapters: 6 - Reviews: 11 - Updated: 23-01-2019 - Published: 07-11-2018 - by Skellington24 (FFN)

Chapter 1: Night of Surprises

(Voldemort P.O.V)

Released from the Cruciatus curse, Rookwood slumped to the floor, pathetic sobs escaping his throat. I could feel the shudders raking through his body as I walked around his miserable form. I ordered him to leave. A small smile slid across my face as he crawled towards the door, he didn't even have the strength left to walk after I'd finished with him. This will teach him never to fail me again. It always did with my Death Eaters.

The door clicked quietly behind him, and I was left alone again. Rookwood was the third death eater I'd tortured in just this one night, and I was still so stressed it almost hurt, and being alone really didn't help. It gave me nothing to think or focus on other than my stress. I knew she'd come, probably before she did, so when Bellatrix knocked politely on the big wooden study door, I wasn't surprised. But I didn't give her permission to enter either.

"My lord," her small voice muttered. "Are you there?"

Of course, she already knew the answer. It was her confusion that led her to ask the questions. Why hadn't I asked her inside? Why did I not want to see her? I honestly believed I knew her better than even her own sister, I definitely used to know her body better. It must have been the twenty-ninth night she'd visited me in a row, but her desperation didn't please me as it used to. Before my return, before the mistake I made back in Godric's Hollow, I craved Bellatrix's body. I would steal her away from her husband frequently, even on her wedding night.

But since then, I've been a different person. I found myself unattracted to her when she was lying beneath me with her body willingly exposed, and her words begging me to touch her… but I didn't want to. Every time she came to me, I wouldn't even accept a gentle caress from her hands, or a soft suck in her mouth, never more. I didn't want more from her anymore. I'd found entertainment in Lucius Malfoy's bed, although he was beginning to bore me. His body was adequate but old, and I wanted more than a body to use. I wanted to worship a young and fresh form, something attractive and responsive, which would enjoy me as I enjoyed them. Which made me sick.

"May I come in my lord?"

Her voice disrupted my thoughts. Anger bubbled in me, and I barked rejection at her, with a threat on the end just to push her further. It frustrated me that she wasn't getting the point. I waited as I heard her footsteps retreat down the hall, thinking of how I could spend my night. My options were few, I could have called for Lucius but the thought was less appealing now I'd begun to think of a younger lover, or gone out into the darkness to torture and kill the first muggle I saw, or even just go to bed alone. But my evening turned in a direction I never thought possible when I saw a tanned hand gripping my study windowsill. An evil smile crept over my face, as my wand rolled between my fingers. I waited patiently for the owner of said hand to climb past my window, waiting so I could surprise them.

Then his face appeared. His green eyes shone through the window, spotting mine and holding my gaze. Harry Potter was watching me. I saw his hand move from the ledge and I pointed my wand at him, the curse ready to fire from my lips. He reached up with an empty hand and turned the window's handle down. Creaking, the window opened, and his voiced carried through the room.

"Would you mind giving me a hand up, I've climbed so far my arms and legs hurt, and I think I'm gonna pass out."

All I could do was stare in shocked silence as he struggled to drag himself over the sill and into my office. He was panting, leaning against the wall, and clutching his head. His eyes opened to meet mine, and there was something there, some hint of something that seemed to me like defeat, blended with his exhaustion. It was strange to see in the eyes of a man who'd just climbed a wall to my study. I stalked around my desk, my head tilted to the side, as my prey watched me.

"Why, Mister Potter, to what do I owe this pleasure?" I sneered.

Potter smiled, light and beyond tired, as he replied. "I want to offer you a deal. You do me a favour, I can stop the rebellion of most of the wizarding world."

This caught my attention. Rage built in me at this unbelieve statement, leading me to grab him by his neck and haul him against the wall behind him. I questioned his deal, calling him out on the obvious bullshit he was trying to sell me. He'd never want a favour from me, nothing I could give him would be as light as the side he was on. And I doubted he could stop most of the rebellion against me, they didn't trust his word that much. I didn't trust his word that much.

A look of content flashed across his face, as my grip tightened, and he said, "I want you to kill me."

Once again, shock struck me dumb, and my grip loosened around his neck. I couldn't process his words, they were unexpected, and I wasn't really sure I'd heard them properly. Slowly, I removed my hand and moved away. It would be best to be cautious because I didn't know what game he was playing. My wand rose reflexively as he started laughing, emeralds shining into rubies.

"How is it hard for you to imagine why I'd want to die?" He smiled, sorrow creeping across his face and turning his laughter to sobs. "All I ever do is fight, and I have to be strong enough to carry the world on my shoulders, and I'm fucking sick of it. It's bullshit. So please…I just want to be free."

That boy shocked me more times that night than anyone ever had. The weirdest thing was how believable it sounded to me, but that didn't mean I trusted him. I could never trust him. His eyes fluttered closed, and I almost didn't catch him as he fell to the floor. Passed out from exhaustion no doubt, as he guessed he would. Although, now I had to decide what to do with him, perhaps fulfil his request? But for some reason, that thought didn't sit right with me. His face was peaceful, beautiful when relaxed unconscious as he was. I decided the only thing would be to let him live, and before I could stop my movements, I was carrying his body out of my study and into my bedchamber.

"Floor or bed?" I thought to myself. The image of Harry Potter waking beside me, half-naked, possibly scared but definitely confused came to mind. That was all I need to make up my mind, as I delicately relieved him of his unnecessary clothes, admiring the view of his youthful skin in his underwear, before positioning him under the covers properly. Covering him with soft black velvet made me less tempted to touch and kiss along his ribs and hips. This was a body worthy of worship, a body I would provide pleasure to, a form I would receive new levels of satisfaction over controlling. Though the term 'lover' sickened me with its fluffiness, it described what he would be to me. Perhaps, if I so require one, he will be my consort.

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