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Hungry Harry and the Death Eater Dinner

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Harry couldn't recall suffering like this before. He'd thought he was used to hunger; but it wasn't only the lack of food that was getting to him.

It was the tantalizing smells coming from the house next door at all hours, ever since he'd gotten back, that were really the source of his pain.

He'd noticed it the first time on his second night in Privet Drive. Around midnight, the humid Surrey air wafted a mouthwatering odor like cooking meat from nearby. It had to be Number Six, next door -- the house that Petunia said had new owners as of the spring. Apparently they didn't socialize with the rest of the neighbors; Harry's horse-faced aunt complained about them constantly with her gossip group.

To his dismay, the scent had continued to tease at his nose and stomach all day, and all night again; Harry had to work in the garden and forcibly ignore the gnawing in his stomach, on pain of ruining the Dursleys' reputation with their new neighbors. If I'm lucky , Harry thought, the scraps of whatever they're cooking will soon be in their rubbish bins .

It had gotten to that point. He would eat out of their garbage if it meant a taste of whatever that was.

Seven days Harry languished, starving, while the neighbors' feast teased him like a wizarding pinup drawing. On the seventh night, Harry couldn't take it anymore. His head was swimming, and his stomach clenched painfully every time he inhaled through his nose, scenting the food next door.

He wasn't sure if it was magic or just strength that got the bars off his window, this time. Harry set them down carefully on the bed, wary of making too much noise, and dropped down into the garden, rolling when he landed. He'd imagined doing that for years, as part of an imagined escape from Privet Drive; now, he found he didn't care one way or another about going back in the morning, so long as he could eat now.

He opened the gate from the Dursleys' back garden; it slid on silent hinges, freshly oiled. It was pitifully easy getting to the bins beside Number Six's back door, too. They hadn't even bothered to lock the gate. Harry gathered his resolve and steeled himself for sorting through rubbish in order to get to the food scraps that had to be inside the bin --

Only to find them empty. And the back door, miraculously, ajar.

He opened the door, and slipped into the darkened room of the house.

Apparently, Number Six had a similar layout as Number Four, in that the kitchen was in the front. Harry peered down the hallway in search of it, but his attention was diverted by the realization that the smell of food was coming from a different room. No light was coming from the gap under the door; he figured he was safe to open it.

Then he blinked, because he was suddenly in a different room entirely. Was it magic...or was he just dreaming?

Looking around, Harry was promptly certain it was a dream. He was just sleeping at the window, probably, while he wasted away. At this point, he honestly didn't care for waking up. The space he'd walked into was certainly just as airy and open as the scenes in his dreams tended to be, with its high ceiling held up by stone columns. A broad stone fireplace took up one of the longer walls; and two chandeliers hung over a long table of black-looking wood, a Persian rug beneath it, at which were seated at least two dozen people in black robes.

And Voldemort was sitting at the head of the table.

Oh. And they were all looking at him, with varying degrees of confusion.

Harry didn't pay much attention to the faces; he was sure they were all real Death Eaters in the real world, yeah, yeah, but more importantly, there was so much food on the table . It was a feast. A double feast. His feet were carrying him forward, toward the only empty chair and plate, as in a daze.

He barely heard the murmuring from the crowd. His blood was roaring in his ears. Harry nearly fell into the high-backed wooden chair, and was immediately tearing into the food before him -- he restrained himself from pulling a Ron and making a mess, but only barely. He was fairly certain he heard his stomach rumbling as he piled his plate high with roast chicken, potatoes, green beans, and peas. There was even a bread basket . "I'm in heaven," he moaned around a mouthful of buttered bread.

It was so delicious he wished it were more than just a dream. Wished he didn't have to wake up to an empty stomach yet again. Harry didn't look up from his plate until he had run out of food on the plate, and only then did he notice he was sitting next to Voldemort . That he had been sitting beside the man the entire time.

Voldemort was eyeing him with a pensive look, red gaze assessing in the firelight. Harry stared blankly back, eyes a bit unfocused, for a long minute. Then he blinked. "Good evening," Harry offered simply.

Abruptly, he became embarrassed, considering how he'd just barged in. "Er, I hope this seat wasn't being saved for anyone. I've just, er..." He glanced down at his plate. "I've been dreaming about the food in here for a week. They haven't let me eat anything since I got back..." Harry considered that he might be babbling, and promptly shut up. Voldemort narrowed his eyes at him, suspicious, then turned away, choosing to ignore him instead. It was rather like being half-present in a Pensieve memory.

"Your report, Yaxley," the Dark Lord hissed at a blond subordinate nearby, who flinched, having been staring at Harry with open confusion.

Harry ignored Yaxley's report, and the ones that followed; he continued to pick more food off the platters nearby, surreptitiously summoning a few more distant plates with a come-hither gesture of his hand when the nearby Death Eaters' attention was elsewhere. Voldemort appeared to notice, and ignore, the use of magic. At one point, he even levitated a wine bottle over to fill up Harry's goblet. "Thank you," Harry murmured. What a dream this was!

More food popped into existence on the table as Harry moved plates around. It wasn't strictly served in courses, apparently, but there was some progression of the dishes from vegetable to poultry to red meat over time. Harry took a break from filling his plate, just in time for an entirely new plate to appear in place of the old one. "Given the presence of our guest," Voldemort announced to the assembled, "I believe this is an opportune moment for the main course. Dig in, hm?"

It looked like a small but well-prepared steak, just the size of Harry's palm. Harry thought he had seen something like it -- with the spiraling lines of glaze around the edges and the decorative herb garnish -- on a cooking show before. What did they call it? Plating?

Some of the Death Eaters were fidgeting in their seats, casting nervous glances at their fellows. Harry breathed deeply of the tantalizing scents coming off the steak. "Oh!" he exclaimed softly, eyes wide and delighted. "It's this that I've been smelling!" He turned to Voldemort, excited. "This will sound terrible, but I was going to hunt through the rubbish bins for it -- it just smells so good ."

He cut a neat portion off with the sharp knife, and set it in his mouth, moaning involuntarily at the burst of flavour on his tongue. " Mmmh . That's so good."

With mixed degrees of obvious anxiety, the Death Eaters picked at their plates, taking bites of various sizes down the table. Voldemort waited until the others had all eaten, before he cut a piece of his steak for himself. His red eyes seemed to be watching Harry, as he took another mouthful, trying not to moan at how delicious it was.

Harry scraped the sauce up with the last bit of the steak, wishing he could get seconds, but it was obviously a single course meal. He sighed, leaning back in his chair again, and flinched at the brush of knuckles on his leg. Voldemort had continued speaking to his followers, by this point; was it an accidental touch? Harry assumed it had been.

His breath hitched as the touch repeated itself -- a hand laid on his knee. He turned a surprised, and somewhat flushed, look on Voldemort, who steadfastly ignored him. The hand remained there, weighing lightly against his trouser leg, for several minutes before it did anything else.

When a long finger inched up his thigh, Harry had to remind himself that it was just a dream. He focused instead on the desserts now appearing on the table; the best of them, the prettiest and richest, seemed to be congregating on Voldemort's end of the table. Harry took advantage of that in order to get several small cakes, candies and fruits on his newest plate, including a miniature treacle tart.

He nearly choked on a bite of the tart when the hand slid up and inward, fingers pressing against the soft spot of his thigh. Voldemort still appeared to be ignoring him. But his left hand was conspicuously at his side.

What was he trying to...?

At the far end of the table, Harry was sure he could hear Bellatrix's simpering voice, albeit faintly. His blood was rushing in his ears again. Whatever she was saying, it was evidently bothering Voldemort, because he was rubbing Harry's thigh more firmly the longer the witch kept talking . Harry bit his lip against the flush crawling up his skin. He was feeling too relaxed after eating his fill; this felt good .

Tentatively, he shifted in his seat, and let his leg splay out to the side. He told himself it was just so the Dark Lord wouldn't have to reach as far. If that long-fingered hand took advantage of the newly exposed area, well…

The hand pulled back, leaving Harry feeling strangely bereft. Until he heard words spoken in Parseltongue, the language only he and Voldemort could understand.

" Come sit in my lap, Harry ," Voldemort hissed under his breath, sparing him a brief red glance. Harry swallowed thickly around the nervous tightness in his throat that those words produced, feeling his cheeks heat. Did he really mean...?

For the first time, he really looked around at the Death Eaters nearby. They were variously looking at their Lord, at one Death Eater speaking further down the table, and at him . Harry glanced over at Voldemort again, feeling wobbly as he got to his feet and moved to sit where he'd been told. From the quiet intake of breath by his ear as he settled into the space between the Dark Lord's legs, he hadn't entirely expected Harry to listen.

The hard...thing... that abruptly pressed against Harry's arse, through the layers of their clothes, sent a jolt through him that made Harry dizzy all over again, in different ways.

He swallowed, again, aware of his heart beating faster, of the wide-eyed looks he was getting from the Death Eaters turned their way. Harry met several of their gazes, for brief snatches of time; it was a much different perspective at the head of the table. He could see the appeal.

There was also the matter of the steak left over on Voldemort's plate. He hadn't partaken in dessert, yet. Harry licked his lips, reaching for the fork and knife to polish it off. It was probably rude of him to steal food off of the man's plate, but he reminded himself this was all a dream anyway.

An arm wrapped around his waist, stilling his movements. " Allow me ," Voldemort whispered in his ear, sending little shivers down Harry's spine. He stayed frozen in place while the Dark Lord reached over to take hold of the utensils, cutting a piece in a perfect triangle and bringing it up to Harry's lips.

Before the Dark Lord could say something like 'open up', Harry had his mouth on the fork, taking the delicious morsel on his tongue. When he moaned this time, his arse ground up against the man's erection. He turned his head up to look Voldemort in the eyes, and hissed, " Another, please. "

Harry could feel the stares from the others at the table as Voldemort diligently cut another piece and raised it to his lips. Every bite seemed to make the nearest Death Eaters pale further. Harry wondered if it was the act of feeding him, or his involuntary gasps and moans of delight, that bothered them most. All too soon, the plate was completely empty save for a few traces of the sauce.

Voldemort gathered the traces on his fingers and raised them to Harry's mouth, this time. Harry didn't even hesitate before running his tongue over the cool fingertips, sucking the sauce off of them with gusto. He could feel the interested twitch of the Dark Lord's erection against the small of his back as he did it.

When the fingers were clean, Harry turned his gaze upward again. " Can I...can I have some more ?"

There was a heat in Voldemort's gaze, now. Harry could have sworn his snakelike pupils widened at the request. He turned to address the Death Eaters. "Dismissed."

Nearly as one, they got up and fled the room through the far door, not even looking back. Bellatrix seemed most reluctant to leave; just as she reached the door, Voldemort stood from his seat, lifting Harry up with him by the waist, and Vanished the dishes from the table.

A hand on Harry's back -- Voldemort shoved him down onto the table. Bellatrix might have shrieked in the background; Harry barely noticed, so focused was he on the idea of himself being positioned how he was, where he was. "You didn't have dessert," he observed, dizzy with the desire that knotted his stomach.

The hand on his back slid down to where his shirt was tucked into his trousers, and tugged it up, exposing Harry's skin. " Darling boy ," Voldemort laughed softly, " This is my dessert ."

"O-oh." Harry's breath hitched. His cheek, pressed into the polished wood of the table, had gotten very warm indeed. "Oh, yes, please."

He gasped again, shuddering, as hands ran up his sides, then down again; his trousers fell down around his ankles the minute those deft fingers had undone his belt, leaving Harry in just the rucked-up shirt and tight white underpants he'd had on underneath. He moaned, softly as moments earlier, at the gentle but insistent tug of the waistband of those pants down and down to his ankles, and stepped out of them entirely when prompted.

" Brazen, darling boy ," Voldemort murmured against his skin, so close to Harry that he could feel the Dark Lord's body heat against him. " You would take whatever I give you, in this moment, wouldn't you ?" Fingers brushed up his legs, broad hands settling on the cheeks of his arse and squeezing, none too gently.

" Yes ," Harry gasped, " yes, anything ." He was trembling already, just imagining.

" Ah...very nice ," came the appreciative whisper. Harry felt something hot and slippery pour down the crevice, over his hole; it was followed right by the slide of a long finger down and down and over the pucker, pressing just a little against the tight muscle. It felt odd, but so good . Harry couldn't help arching his back a little into it, raising his heels.

" Eager, aren't you ?" Voldemort didn't seem to be complaining about it. " Delightful ..."

The fingertip pressed more firmly now, and breached Harry just as he breathed out. Harry's moan this time was louder, less restrained; he'd never been touched this way, but it felt good, it felt right, it felt like --

" Not enough ," Harry choked out, " I need -- "

" Hush, Harry ," Voldemort whispered against his neck, teeth scraping lightly down the curve of his shoulder. The finger pressed in deeper, until it was in all the way; then it pulled out, just as slowly, and in again. Harry felt like his hips were turning to jelly, his knees wobbling under the shuddering pleasure that spread like hot water over and through him. " I will enjoy my dessert at my own pace. "

" Please ," Harry hissed, clawing at the tabletop. " Please, more -- "

A low, animal growl from Voldemort's throat, just as a second finger joined the first. Harry pressed back against the stretch, the burn of it, his breath coming hot and heavy as Voldemort scissored him open. " Feels so -- Aah!" The fingers brushed up against something that shot electric through Harry, right to his cock. His unattended, throbbing, dripping erection, which he was unable to touch from his current position even if he tried. It would mean pulling away from the fingers and towards the table -- Harry didn't think he could bear separation.

The third finger only made the ache worse. It rubbed that spot again, bringing Harry dangerously close to the edge, and only stopped when he cried out, " Please, I'm going to --"

Then, Harry was suddenly bereft of all three fingers. The air against his dripping, wet hole felt especially cold, in the few seconds before a wide, blunt, hot thing pressed against it. Harry had begun to imagine this part in his head ahead of time, when he realized where this was all going, but his ideas hadn't prepared him for how good, how right , it felt.

Voldemort didn't wait for him to beg again. Harry heard the sound of him slicking himself up, and then there were two hands on his hips, holding him still as the Dark Lord's length began to push into him.

" I've, aah, never ," Harry's breath stuttered with each thrust, " This is my --"

Soft laughter against Harry's ear. Voldemort panted between words himself, as he replied. " I know. And it is...all the sweeter, for your...inexperience. "

" H...harder ," Harry gasped. " I need. .."

Voldemort licked a hot stripe up the back of Harry's neck, murmuring into the base of his skull. " What do you need, my darling ?" Achingly slowly, he pulled almost all the way out, then thrust in hard and deep. " Hn. .."

" De...deeper ," he panted. " Please, please --"

Voldemort pulled out of him, suddenly, and flipped Harry over onto his back on the table. Now they were staring into each other's eyes, and Harry could not quite help the way his arms reached up for the Dark Lord's shoulders, his legs wrapped around his waist, when  the next thrust drove deeper and harder into him than the previous ones, and struck him right in the sensitive spot, tearing a sound from him that could nearly be labeled a scream.

" Aaah ! T -- Voldemort !" Harry closed his eyes, writhing, squirming, rocking his hips back to meet each thrust as it came. His use of the Dark Lord's name only redoubled the man's efforts; Harry found himself repeating it, louder and louder, as he got closer and closer to the edge.

" What am I going to do with you, Harry ?" Voldemort asked him, kissing down the column of his exposed neck. " You enter my headquarters...sit at my table...hah...eat my food... "

" Anything ," Harry begged, " do anything you want, just -- ah! -- don't stop -- "

" And if I want to...spill inside you ?" He was fucking faster now, getting close, Harry knew, just as he was. " If I want to have you, in my bed, in my -- mmh -- in my study, in my parlor, in my library.. ."

" Yes ," Harry groaned, " I'm -- I'm here, I'm there. Any -- anywhere, oh please please --"

" Come for me, Harry ," the Dark Lord hissed, his voice strained. " Come undone in my arms...mine, mine -- "

" I'm coming ," Harry cried, " I'm -- I'm yours , I'm yours, ah, yes, yes --" His vision was starting to go white around the edges. Harry had at some point forgotten he was supposed to be dreaming; the desperate tightening pull in his stomach could be nothing but real, and he didn't care , this was all he wanted --

" My Harry ," Voldemort snarled, " you will always -- belong to me, now and forever ." With a guttural roar, the sort of sound Harry imagined came from dragons, he thrust in deep once more, in the same moment Harry finally went over the edge in a blaze of what felt like white fire. For a moment, all his senses were reduced to just the feeling of that release, and when he came back to his senses, it was to find himself utterly covered in his seed...and filled with Voldemort's.

The Dark Lord rested on his elbows over him, breathing harshly. He had pulled out of Harry at some point during that insensate minute; hot, sticky fluid dripped out of Harry's arse and onto the floor, an obscenely loud noise in the still silence of the room.

Harry was the first to catch his breath, in the aftermath, lying pleasantly sore and used on the table. He swallowed a few times to wet his throat. "...that was amazing," he grinned, a bit dazed. "Will you...will you be keeping me here?" He'd forgotten about the rest of the world, since sitting down at this table, but now that he remembered, he couldn't imagine going back to the Dursleys' except to get his things. "I'm...I'm yours, aren't I?"

Voldemort smiled down at him, leaning in so their foreheads were touching. " Oh Harry ," he said, " you are mine now and forever. 'Here, there, anywhere', I believe you said ?" A kiss planted to Harry's cheek. " My darling boy ." A kiss under his eye. " My equal ." The corner of his mouth. " I will bring you to our bed, and in the morning, we will retrieve your things from that place. "

He stood up, lifting Harry effortlessly into his arms. Harry looped his arms around the Dark Lord's neck, tucking his head against his shoulder. In the space of a breath, they disappeared and reappeared in a hallway, one that ended in double doors. Harry let Voldemort lay him down on the deep green sheets, casting a spell that seemed to clean him up, and sighed happily as he stripped down out of his flowing dark robes and got into the bed beside him.

" Good night, Voldemort ," Harry whispered, reaching a hand across the bed.

The Dark Lord linked his fingers with Harry's. " Good night, Harry. "

Satisfied red eyes, aglow in the dark, were the last thing Harry saw before he fell asleep.