Chapter 68

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Summary: Madness is not a state of mind. Madness is a place. What happens when Harry stumbles into it and gets trapped there? A Harry Potter version of Alice in Wonderland but a thousand shades darker.

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Harry barely weighed anything and he found it alarming. It definitely wasn't healthy. He gripped his forearm and Harry's head jerked away from his shoulder and he spoke in a low, slurred voice,

"Where are you taking me?"

Harry gazed up at him and he couldn't control what he felt. He was beautiful…more than beautiful…he was absolutely gorgeous. Harry's gaze was heavy lidded, his lips shining with moisture…so damn kissable…He brushed a raven lock away from his face as he imagined all the things he wanted to do to him.

He mentally slapped himself. No, Harry didn't think of him that way. He didn't want him that way. Taking him to Malfoy Manor as The Dark Lord had commanded was his safest bet otherwise he was afraid that he'd act on his desires and lose Harry forever,

"Malfoy Manor."

As soon as he'd said it, Harry shoved away from him and staggered as he fought to maintain his balance. He was about to leap forward and grab him when Harry took another stumbling step backwards,


He could tell by the way Harry was swaying that he was going to fall down soon, so he shot forward and gripped his arm. Harry fought ferociously against his hold and shouted,


He couldn't understand why Harry was so against the prospect of going back to the Manor. People were starting to stop and stare as Harry continued to struggle and shout. He imagined what it looked like and grew red with mortification,

"Harry…relax…I won't take you there…"

A sloppy grin curved Harry's lips as he grew still and he realized he'd done it on purpose…all that struggling and shouting, just so that he could make him yield. He knew he should feel angry at being manipulated like that but he couldn't…He just couldn't feel anything but utter adoration. Harry's head dropped back on his shoulder and he didn't miss the happy sigh that escaped his lips. Hope fluttered to life in his chest. Harry was content with him. Maybe…Just maybe…

He banished the thought before it could take root. Harry would never pick anyone over the Dark Lord. His apartment was just a few streets away and it didn't take him long to get Harry there. He sat him down on the couch and Harry settled into it like he belonged there. He had his eyes closed but his happiness and contentment were apparent. The way his features were relaxed, the lazy smile that was stuck on his lips, his relaxed posture. He knelt down in front of him and began unlacing his boots and pulled them off along with his socks. He could have just vanished them but he needed an excuse to touch him. Once the boots were off. He took out his wand and was about to heal Harry's knuckles when Harry jerked his hands away,

"Don't heal me."

He put away his wand and leaned over him and began unbuttoning his waist coat.

Harry's eyes flickered open and his lips parted,

"Kiss me."

He took a step back and turned away. He couldn't understand how words as simple as that that could fill him with so much joy…so much desire. No…No…No…Harry was drunk. He probably thought that he was The Dark Lord. He wouldn't do it…couldn't do it...Harry's voice shattered all his misconceptions and proved that he wasn't thinking about the Dark Lord,

"Kiss me, Rabi."

Even so, he just couldn't…Harry's judgement was impaired at this moment. What if Harry remembered this and regretted it when he woke up tomorrow? He couldn't lose Harry to his own desires. He just wouldn't. Strengthening his resolve, he turned back around and felt it crumble all over again. Harry's emerald gaze was focused on him and he saw nothing but desire there. He mumbled the order,


And Rabastan felt his body obey despite his heart and mind screaming at him to run. When he was leaning over him, Harry lifted his hand and rested it on the back of his head,


Harry pulled his head down. Rabastan had never felt so weak in the face of attraction. His control was pitiful. He was drawn to Harry like a bee to honey.

Just a kiss, he told himself dazedly, staring at Harry's lips. Just one.

He pressed his lips against Harry's, swallowing the moan threatening to leave his lips. He licked into Harry's mouth, cradling his face in his hands. Harry was wonderfully responsive, his lips and tongue just as hungry, his arms locking around his neck, pulling him closer. Small moans filled the air as they kissed…his or Harry's, Rabastan had no idea. Harry tasted wonderful, the rich flavour of the bianco combined with the taste of Harry's mouth made a potent, intoxicating mix and before he could process what was happening, he was consumed by the desire burning in his chest. He was sucking on Harry's tongue greedily, trying to get as much of that taste as he possibly could and making desperate little sounds. He heard himself whine as Harry pulled away to breathe. He looked up at him expecting regret but Harry just looked dazed and flushed. Rabastan sat down beside him and Harry sighed and rested his head on his shoulder,

"I'm tired…I'm so tired. I want him and I want you."

Rabastan wrapped an arm around Harry's shoulder and watched as his eyelids slid shut.

"Hope I remember this in the morning. I don't want to forget."

Frowning, Rabastan stroked his hair with his fingers and Harry whispered,

"I wish…I wish things were different."

He couldn't help but ask,


Harry didn't respond and he was starting to think that he had fallen asleep when Harry mumbled quietly,

"Do you ever wonder if there are alternate universes? Lives where things are a little different? Maybe in another life…"

His voice got strained and he trailed off. Before long, he was asleep.

Rabastan lifted him carefully and carried him to the bedroom. Harry didn't wake up even when he tucked him into bed. He sat next to him, leaning back against the headboard. His forehead creased, he watched Harry sleep as the nagging feeling in his gut became stronger and stronger. He rose to his feet and traced his fingers over his own lips thoughtfully. Harry hadn't regretted the kiss. He had said he wanted him and he hoped it stayed that way in the morning. He pulled back his sleeve and allowed his finger to hover over the dark mark there. For a moment, he considered not informing him but then he pressed his finger over the Dark Mark. A swish informed him of Voldemort's arrival and he turned around to find him bent over Harry's insentient form.

He watched as Voldemort caressed the bruise on Harry's jaw and then the bruises on his knuckles. His heart jumped to his throat when Voldemort traced his finger over Harry's moist swollen lips and he was certain that he knew…he knew that he had kissed Harry. When Voldemort finally turned to him. His eyes were burning with murderous intent. Voldemort flicked his wand. He figured that Voldemort had cast a privacy charm. In the blink of an eye, he found himself pinned to the wall with his air passage being constricted.

"You kissed him?"

There was no point in lying and he wasn't afraid of death. He nodded his head and screamed out as his mental shield were ripped apart and Voldemort went through his memories of the night. It was over as soon as he had started and he found himself staring into crimson eyes that were filled with a mixture of rage and confusion. The pressure on his throat eased and he drew in a long breath,

"What does he see in you?"

Rabastan felt Voldemort grip his face and turn it at different angles to assess it. He closed his eyes and remained still and silent through the assessment. He didn't know himself what Harry saw in him. Voldemort released his face and spat out the order,

"Open your eyes."

Rabastan obeyed quickly and his breath hitched in his throat as Voldemort's hands trailed down his body. A moan escaped his lips as Voldemort pinched his nipples through the shirt. His hands balled into fists as he fought his arousal. Those crimson eyes were alight with amusement,


He dropped down to the floor immediately. Voldemort vanished his robes and it wasn't difficult to spot the bulge in his pants. He couldn't believe it. Was this some kind of a dream? Was Voldemort really aroused for him…because of him? Or was this because of Harry? Voldemort conjured a chair and after seating himself, cocked up an eyebrow. He knew what was expected of him but…this…it was just too surreal. He was dazed…absolutely disconcerted. He licked his lips nervously and his gaze travelled over to Harry's sleeping form and Voldemort turned his face back towards himself. His eyes fluttered shut as Voldemort trailed a finger down his throat,

"I am beginning to see the appeal, Rabastan."

He was burning up…every part of him was on fire and his body moved of its own accord. Slowly, he opened his eyes and reached for Voldemort's fly. His hands didn't shake as he pulled the zipper down.

The feeling of velvety, warm skin against his hand was something of a shock. Voldemort wasn't wearing anything under his pants. He pulled the warm, pulsing organ out. He didn't know what he had expected. But the hot, hard length twitching in his hand felt and looked nothing like his own. cock. It was so much bigger. So much harder. Hot and oddly pleasant to touch.

He stared at it in fascination. Part of him couldn't believe he had The Dark Lord's cock in his hand. It just seemed so…improper. Obscene. He leaned in and gave the tip of the cock a kittenish lick. Voldemort's breath hitched, and he felt a rush of pleasure.

He licked the cock from the base to the tip, watching greedily for any sign of Voldemort losing his composure. He felt something like satisfaction when Voldemort's body stiffened like a string ready to snap, his pupils were blown, bright against the dark lashes, intent, hungry, heavy-lidded with base need. His face warming, Rabastan circled his tongue around the slippery cock head before slowly taking it into his mouth.

His eyes closed as the pleasure and his feelings grew out of control. Damn it. He hadn't anticipated this. Until a few moments ago, he had only wanted Harry and now…now every particle of his being lusted for Voldemort as well.

He relaxed and took as much of Voldemort's cock into his mouth as he could. Another wave of strange pleasure hit his senses and he shivered. He moaned as a stronger wave of pleasure assaulted his senses, making him dizzy with it, and he needed…he needed…

He started sucking the cock harder. He needed to do it, to satisfy that foreign, unfamiliar want burning in his chest. He sucked the hot length in his mouth harder, needing it, needing…

Hard fingers suddenly buried in his hair and forced him to stop. He whined in protest. No! He wanted…he wanted…

"Open your eyes. Look at me."

He did. Voldemort's eyes were hooded, revealing nothing of his emotions, though his expression was set into tight lines.

"You look stunning with a cock in your mouth. I wonder why I never saw it before."

Voldemort stroked his cheek—his own cock through his cheek. Rabastan felt nearly dizzy with need. He moaned, consumed by the overwhelming need to suck again. Voldemort smiled and looking him in the eye, he cradled his face and started thrusting, using his mouth for his pleasure. Using him.

He opened his mouth wider, greedy, and so, so hungry. His eyes closed again as he lost himself in the slick, obscene sounds of Voldemort's cock thrusting in and out of his mouth. His jaw was aching already and his lips felt sore, but he didn't care; he felt too good to care about anything but Voldemort's cock and the way it filled up his mouth. The need assaulting his senses became worse, and he whined and grabbed Voldemort's thighs, trying to get him deeper into him and then his world shattered, waves upon waves of pleasure hitting his senses as Voldemort's cock erupted in his mouth.

Blinking dazedly as he swallowed the come as best he could. He felt…he felt so intoxicated. Voldemort's softening cock slipped out of his mouth. Licking his lips, he looked up.

Zipping up his pants, Voldemort gave him a crooked grin. If he didn't know better, he'd never guess what Voldemort had been doing just a few moments ago. He rose to his feet and spoke,


Voldemort made his way back to the bed and he rose to his feet on shaking legs. He watched as he leaned down and pressed a kiss to Harry's forehead,

"If he wants you then he shall have you."

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