Thanks a lot to everyone that is following this fanfic and favourited it. My gratitude to Vladimir Mithrander, God Emperor of Mankind1423, OnlyRoyalBlue, Sparhawk537, cjolde, darknesslight13, pinkypong, Lilac Moons 96, Color o life, Shadowstrider14,Ivykinz888, pinkypong, Charliee Keely Warmer, Lady Saorsie Baldwin, Juli Greenthorne, Kerru, IndigoEye, Live-to-forgive, WickedPan, jabsher12, erikablair, zamik, PinkMusicalCherry, BluC1026, pinkhairedwiz, Reader-anonymous-writer, Vindictive John Dark Fantasy, Fairygirl34, Mila Pink , Elis1412, FanWarrior16, FallenAngells, The Silent Stalker, ObliviousFanatic, alc219 ,WHY (the guest), DarkAnglesan, EJ, Procrasty, mangoarcher1802, Princesa Vampirica, Haraldr, , Shadoween, Lecterhannibal and the guests for reviewing it. Your opinion matters a looooooooooooot to me.
Harry woke up with a start and shot up straight. Deus's soft voice greeted him,
"Relax. Everything's been taken care of."
Harry flopped back on the couch and rested his forearm over his face,
"It wasn't a dream, right?"
Deus made an apologetic sound and spoke,
"I'm afraid not."
Harry gnashed his teeth and sat up straight. He hated it…absolutely hated the fact that he'd let Dumbledore go…that he'd let him leave unscathed. He longed to hurt him as much as he'd hurt him…In fact, he yearned to hurt him a lot worse. He was going to hurt him a lot worse. Dumbledore had no idea who he was dealing with. That day was approaching fast when he'd have Dumbledore chained and at his mercy. He coughed, and Deus spoke,
"Maybe you should go home now."
Harry shook his head but couldn't reply because of the coughing fit that gripped him and rattled him all the way down to the core. Deus sat down beside him and rubbed his back but Harry doubled over and before he knew it, he was coughing out blood. Deus was holding him tight,
Harry closed his eyes. There wasn't a part of him that wasn't hurting. Deus forced the potion down his throat but that didn't help much. He needed a way to survive and he needed it now. He had no idea, how long he just sat there, slumped against Deus's side but when he was feeling normal enough, he stumbled to his feet and spoke,
"I'm going home."
Deus wrapped an arm around his waist,
"You're too weak to be travelling alone."
Harry shook his head,
He wasn't. He could feel himself fading fast and that terrified him. There was no hope in sight. Deus helped him back home, but Voldemort wasn't in the bedroom. Deus walked with him to the study but Voldemort wasn't there either,
"Where is he?"
Deus sat him down in an arm chair and then spoke softly,
"He's burying her or what was left of her."
Harry felt like the ground had slipped from underneath his feet. How could Voldemort bury her despite everything she'd done? She'd stolen his Rabastan. How could Voldemort have forgotten that?
Deus was about to speak when Harry whispered,
Deus vanished, and Harry got up, grabbed a bottle of firewhisky from the bureau and took a swig directly from the bottle. He had no idea how much time had passed when Voldemort finally showed up and spoke,
Harry turned around to face him, tightened his hold on the bottle of Firewhiskey and stepped forward, crowding him,
"You buried her."
Voldemort's crimson turned sad and he whispered,
"I am truly sorry."
Harry threw the firewhisky with a roar, right past Voldemort's head. The bottle smashed against wall, spilling the last of the liquor,
"I don't want your bloody apology"
How could Voldemort just apologize? How could he even believe that a sorry would make everything better. The words slipped past his lips and they sounded hoarse,
"How could you?"
Voldemort raised his hands to touch him, but Harry took a step back. Voldemort held his gaze but let his hands fall. He looked so sad. Harry wanted to go to him. Touch him. Soothe him. But what about the ache inside him? The ache that Voldemort had caused with that action. He tipped his head upward and spoke,
"Leave me alone and go mourn her."
He gave Voldemort his back, slumping over the desk, eyes squeezed tightly closed. Ice gripped his chest, the cold shocking a gasp from him. This was betrayal, shaking his body and rattling his teeth. This was heartbreak, the searing pain that made his entire being curl in on itself. This was pain.
A hand settled on his shoulder and he yanked himself away, but Voldemort caught him. They were fighting, scrambling. Voldemort pulling him, and him struggling to get away from him.
It hurt. It hurt way too much.
Voldemort managed to get him face to face, and fisted his tie, choking him. Harry swung at him, hitting him in the jaw. Then Voldemort's mouth was on him, biting, tongue shoving in. Bringing the taste of blood.
Harry shook at that taste of him, and he opened wider. Wanting more. Asking for it. Voldemort claimed his mouth hard, eating him up, panting as he tore at Harry's clothes, ignoring his shirt and vest in favour of unbuckling his pants and shoving them down his hips.
Harry brought his hands to Voldemort's crotch, gripping him through his pants, squeezing him. Damn it. He was on fire. Anger and lust burning through him. Voldemort finished opening his own pants and shoved Harry face-first onto the desk,
Hand at his nape, forcing him down.
He went, because he wanted this. Fingers pushed into him. Hard, slamming deep. He convulsed but didn't hide from it. Voldemort's fingers almost left him, and he ground out,
Wet fingers claimed him, fast. Furious. They branded him, inside and out. Voldemort's grip on the tie around Harry' neck, pulling tight, cutting off his breathing as he struggled for air. Struggled. Voldemort liked when he struggled.
The fingers disappeared. Then Voldemort was there, knuckles brushing Harry's hips, smooth blunt head at his hole. He slammed in.
Harry jerked, flailing, arms knocking over the ink well. Everything rattled around as Voldemort claimed him. Fast. Like it was a race. As if they had an expiration date, which they did. As if they were in danger of getting caught. Smack of the skin on skin. Their moans.
Numb fingers gripping the edge of the desk, Harry rocked against him just as hard. Pushing back on him, opening himself up for that cock to sink deep. Then pull out.
Over and over.
The pounding rattled his bones. He kept his eyes closed, feeling everything, tasting it on his tongue. After everything that bitch had done, Voldemort had still cared enough about her to give her a proper burial. She had deserved to rot in the dungeons…Hadn't Voldemort cared about Rabastan one bit?
The thought awakened something awful. He jerked away, and Voldemort pulled out of him, stumbling back. Harry faced him and found Voldemort still wore his clothes, everything on, except for his pants that were around his knees. Eyes wild. Nostrils flared. Lips swollen and cut on the bottom.
Harry walked away stripping as he went, into the bedroom. Not looking back to see if Voldemort followed. He did, Harry felt him, warm and restless at his back. Then his hand went around Harry' neck, gripped the tie. Wrapping it around his fist. Using it to control Harry's movements, bringing them face to face. He'd also undressed, and he stood there in front of Harry. Harry closed his eyes at the sight of him.
A jerk on the tie brought him nose to nose with Voldemort, and Harry' eyes flew open as Voldemort's mouth descended on his again. Taking him again with desperation, every swipe of his tongue stealing away his thoughts.
He couldn't say no. Couldn't turn away. Everything about this was necessary, even the restriction around his neck, denying him an easy breath. Voldemort panted into his mouth, tongue delving deep.
Harry clawed at him, striving to leave his own marks on him. He took two steps and they fell onto the bed, Voldemort on the bottom, Harry on top, writhing. Riding him.
Their cocks pressed together, hips jerking as they rubbed against each other. Voldemort moaned, body vibrating under Harry. He took control, breaking the kiss, lips skating down Voldemort's throat.
Voldemort let go of the tie to cup Harry' nape, fingers dipping into his hair, pulling. Tugging. Harry made his way downward. Biting nipples. Just plain biting. Tasting skin.
He straddled Voldemort, one hand on the other man's chest, the other wrapped around his cock. Bringing it to his entrance. Staring into Voldemort's eyes, eyelids weighted down with lust. With regret and remorse.
He lifted up, rubbing against the cock at his hole, until Voldemort's fingers raked down his front. He sank down on it, cursing, panting,
Voldemort yanked him down, teeth in his chin, palm on his hips as he thrust upward.
Hurt so good. Everything about Voldemort hurt him so damned good. He begged for more. More pain. It was all he knew anymore. All his body understood. Weak from all the sensations bombarding him, he clung to the sheet on either side of Voldemort. The tie tight at his throat cutting into his breathing.
Over and over Voldemort banged into him. Harry cried out with each stroke. Death strokes, because they killed him. Yet he didn't stop loving them. Arching into them, pushing back. Rising up and slamming down.
Until Voldemort caught him around the neck and reversed their positions. Now he was on top, Harry's back pressed into the mattress. Legs in the air. Ass filled again. Body contorted, almost folded in two. Each thrust pushed him into the headboard.
He kept his eyes on Voldemort, because Voldemort kept his crimson eyes on him. That gaze, filled to the brim with darkness, wild lust and the roughest type of hunger, it touched Harry where not even Voldemort's cock could reach. So deep inside, Harry couldn't handle it, not then. He twisted around, flipping onto all fours.
Knees spread wide, torso kissing the mattress. Spine curved and ass pointed to the ceiling,
He didn't do coy. Never had. He wanted to be claimed tonight. Tomorrow was for different things. He recognized the thirst for destruction on slow leak inside him. He'd deal with it tomorrow. Tonight, now, he was Voldemort's. Harry offered himself up on a silver platter. Voldemort took that offering. Slamming deep. Harry threw his head back,
He hissed out his appreciation,
"Just like that."
Just like that Voldemort delivered his strokes. Steady and precise, hitting his gland over and over. Battering him until Harry pitched forward, face in the pillows, cries muffled as Voldemort worked him over.
His to claim. His to torture. His to hurt and torement.
Harry had never ached so good. Never cried out so loud. Never begged so much,
"Deeper. Let me feel it. Let me feel."
Voldemort came down over his back, sweaty front pressed to Harry' back. Mouth on his nape, panting breaths in Harry' ear. One of his hands shoved under Harry and reached up, circling his throat. He tilted his head back, gave Voldemort access as those fingers closed around him. Squeezing. Taking his breath.
His pulse tripped over itself and that fire in his belly roared into an inferno. Flames everywhere as he burned. Breath gone. Darkness rushed in.
Whatever breath he had left, he used it up to speak his name. The fingers eased up and breath came rushing back. He gulped, body jerking as he panted. He really was a sucker for breath play. Voldemort's hips lifted off him. His dick retreated, leaving Harry' clenching ass.
The ragged whisper hurt,
For a second there, he wasn't just talking about Voldemort's departure from his body. Lips pressed to his ear, his temple. Simple, but Harry couldn't stop shaking. Trembling,
"I'm here, Harry. I'm sorry…so sorry."
Voldemort came back to him, wet dick pressing back inside. Slowly. Dragging along his throbbing muscles. Reaching places. He switched it up, going slower, almost tender. Harry contracted around him, and Voldemort grunted. He reared back and drove in.
Yes. He could handle the hard stuff. The rough treatment.
But Voldemort didn't seem to care because he went slowly again. So slow, taking his time to sink deep and roll his hips. Harry pushed back onto him, trying to urge him to go for that bit of rough again.
That wildness. The breakneck, punishing pace again.
But Voldemort kissed his neck. He stretched out on top of Harry, hands sliding down Harry' arms. Fingers reaching for his, clutching him. Harry's breath hitched because he knew he'd break.
Don't do this.
But it was too late. Already too late. Voldemort claimed him in silence. Slowly. Making sure Harry's destruction was complete. Teeth grazed his skin, and without a hand on his cock he exploded. Just like that. Voldemort smothering him with sweaty skin and biting kisses, their fingers twisted around each other.
A pulsing cock thrusting in and out of him.
He came shouting, bucking. Arching off the bed as he spasmed, ass contracting painfully as sticky warmth flooded him.
Voldemort climaxed with him, grunting, fingers painful around him. Harry couldn't stop clenching, and in response Voldemort's shaft jerked inside him. He didn't move when Voldemort finally lifted himself off and pulled out.
There was no reason for him to feel owned, like Voldemort's possession. But he did anyway. He scrambled upright and past Voldemort who watched him with hooded eyes.
In the bathroom he ignored his eyes in the mirror as he splashed water on his face. He should have known. He should have known that the bitch would continue to ruin him even when he'd destroyed her. He picked up something, a soap dish, and threw it across the bathroom. Then he scrubbed a hand over his face. His body was still quaking.
He clenched his muscles, gritting his teeth. He wouldn't stand for this. He coughed and covered his mouth with his hand.
He walked out the bathroom. Voldemort hadn't moved from the bed. He stared at Harry, gaze falling lower to where his cum was probably decorating Harry' legs. He didn't bother to look to confirm that.
Damn, his voice. That sound, coupled with Harry' name, destroyed things. Bloodied things. Voldemort's voice invoked memories of that night he'd spent between him and Rabastan. And even though Voldemort had betrayed Rabastan, he still loved that voice. The way it weakened his knees and stiffened his spine. The way it flayed him open, exposing parts of him no one but Voldemort ever got to see. He showed his enemy his weakness,
"I want to be alone."
He managed not to sound as shattered as he truly was. He fisted his hands at his sides. Hardening himself against another apology,
"I love you, Harry. I am sorry."
Those three words were enough to crumble all his defences. He strode over to the bedroom window, looking out at nothing. Trying not to let his weakness show but it was impossible, and the grief and his weak knees overpowered him to the floor.
But he didn't hit the floor because Voldemort was suddenly there…holding him…hugging him close to his chest and Harry fisted his robes and cried,
"How could you? How could you hurt me like this?"
Voldemort buried his face in his neck and murmured against his skin,
"I was not thinking. Forgive me, Harry. Please…"
Harry closed his eyes and rested his head on Voldemort's shoulder,
"I want her gone from the premises of my home. Feed her remains to sharks or toss them to wolves…do whatever you want but I want her gone permanently and I want her gone in the worst way possible. She doesn't deserve a grave…do you understand me?"
Harry felt Voldemort nod and finally smiled,
"I love you too."