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Rain hammered against the windows of Malfoy Manor, driven sideways by a vicious wind that howled through the grounds. The ancient house stood dark against the storm, its pale stone illuminated only when lightning split the sky.
The front doors opened without a sound.
A solitary figure stepped inside.
Water dripped from the hem of a long black cloak as he crossed the entrance hall. He moved with unhurried confidence, boots clicking softly against the polished floor. The house was silent. No servants appeared. No guards challenged him.
As though he belonged there.
He passed beneath shadowed chandeliers and through corridor after corridor, the storm fading behind thick stone walls. At last he reached a heavy oak door at the end of a secluded passage.
He knocked.
Once.
Twice.
A pause followed.
Then a cold voice drifted from within.
"Enter."
The figure pushed the door open.
The room beyond was dimly lit by a crackling fire. Books lined the walls. A large desk stood before the hearth, and behind it sat Lord Voldemort.
His crimson eyes lifted from the parchment before him.
For the first time in many years, genuine surprise crossed his face.
The visitor reached up and lowered his hood.
Dark hair, rain-soaked and untidy.
Green eyes.
A lightning-bolt scar.
Voldemort stared.
"Harry Potter," he said slowly. "What are you doing here?"
Harry's lips curved into a smile.
Not a friendly smile.
Not even a sane one.
There was something bright and unsettling dancing behind his eyes, a reckless amusement that made him look more dangerous than any wand in his hand.
Water dripped from his hair onto the floor.
"I got bored."
The silence that followed was deafening.
Even the fire seemed to hesitate.
Harry took a few steps forward, hands clasped casually behind his back, as though he were visiting a professor's office rather than the headquarters of the most feared dark wizard in Britain.
Then, with perfect politeness, he added,
"Sir."
Voldemort continued staring.
Of all the possibilities he had considered tonight, Ministry interference, failures from his followers, not once had he imagined Harry Potter simply appearing in his study because he was bored.
The insane gleam in Harry's eyes suggested that, somehow, this explanation was entirely truthful.
And that was perhaps the most alarming thing of all.
Voldemort leaned back in his chair, studying Harry with the careful attention one might give a dangerous animal that had somehow wandered into the room and sat down.
The rain rattled against the windows.
For several long moments, neither spoke.
Then Voldemort said, "So you thought you'd walk into your enemy's home and present yourself to me. What, exactly? To die?"
Harry laughed.
It wasn't a pleasant sound.
"No. Nothing as boring as that."
The smile spreading across his face made Voldemort's eyes narrow. There was an energy to him tonight, restless and sharp, as though he had been wound too tightly and finally snapped.
Harry wandered over to a bookshelf, running his fingers across the spines as if he were browsing in a library.
"I was hoping we could have some fun."
The words hung in the air.
Voldemort's expression remained blank.
Harry turned, leaning casually against the shelves.
"Honestly, Tom, do you know how tedious this war is becoming? Assassination attempts. Prophecies. Secret plots. Dramatic speeches." He made a face. "The originality has really declined."
The use of his name should have been a death sentence.
Instead, Voldemort found himself watching Harry with growing fascination.
"You risked your life to complain about being bored?"
"Well, when you say it like that, it sounds ridiculous."
"It is ridiculous."
Harry shrugged.
"Yet here I am."
Lightning flashed outside.
For an instant, both their faces were thrown into stark relief by white light.
Voldemort folded his hands together.
"And what sort of fun did you have in mind?"
Harry's grin widened.
The look in his eyes suggested he had already thought of several possibilities, none of them sensible.
"That," he said, pushing himself away from the bookshelf, "depends entirely on how adventurous you're feeling tonight."
A dangerous silence settled over the room.
The Dark Lord regarded him steadily.
Harry Potter should have been afraid.
Any reasonable person would have been.
Instead, Harry looked delighted to be there.
As though he had arrived at a party rather than walked alone into the lair of the most feared wizard in Britain.
And somehow, Voldemort was beginning to suspect that throwing him out might be more difficult than killing him.
Harry, for his part, seemed entirely unconcerned by the scrutiny. He had abandoned the bookshelf and was now wandering the study at his leisure, pausing to examine various objects as if he were touring a museum rather than standing in the private chambers of the most feared wizard in Britain.
"You're staring."
"I am attempting to determine whether this is a trap."
Harry glanced over his shoulder. "Wouldn't be much of a trap. I literally knocked on the front door."
"That does not make it less suspicious."
"Fair point."
Voldemort's gaze followed him as he crossed in front of the fireplace. The flickering light caught the damp strands of Harry's hair and cast shifting shadows across his face. There was something odd about him tonight. Not merely his presence at the Manor, but the ease with which he carried himself. He looked relaxed. Amused.
As though this entire situation entertained him.
"You seem remarkably comfortable for someone standing alone in the home of his greatest enemy."
Harry's expression brightened.
"There it is again."
"There is what again?"
"That." Harry pointed at him. "The dramatic language. Greatest enemy. Home of darkness. Feared dark lord. You talk like you're narrating a novel."
Voldemort stared.
Harry broke into laughter.
For a moment, the sound filled the room, warm and entirely out of place amongst the dark wood, green flames and storm beyond the windows.
"I am beginning to understand," Voldemort said carefully, "why so many of your professors find you exhausting."
"Oh, they adored me."
"I know that Severus does not for one."
Harry placed a hand over his chest as though wounded.
"Well that's Snape's opinion, I wouldn't think too much of it."
"True."
"I know." Something resembling a smile tugged at Harry's mouth. He drifted closer to the desk, stopping just short of it. Most people instinctively avoided invading Voldemort's space. Harry seemed to possess no such instinct.
Or perhaps he simply ignored it.
Either possibility was troubling.
"Can I ask you something?" Harry said.
"You appear incapable of stopping yourself."
"Has your aura always been this intoxicating or is this a recent development?"
The silence that followed was magnificent.
Even the rain seemed quieter.
Voldemort blinked once.
Slowly.
Harry looked delighted.
"Did you just flirt with me?"
"I believe I did."
"Why?"
Harry considered the question as though it genuinely required thought.
"Well, you've spent years trying to kill me. I thought it would be nice to introduce some variety into the relationship."
The answer was so absurd that Voldemort almost dismissed it outright. Unfortunately, the mischievous glint in Harry's eyes suggested he was being entirely serious.
"Your definition of variety is unusual."
"My definition of variety is excellent."
"It is reckless."
Harry shrugged.
"Those two things overlap more often than you'd think."
Voldemort should have been angry. He should have ordered Harry removed from the Manor, imprisoned, or killed.
Instead he found himself watching the younger wizard with reluctant fascination.
Harry was infuriatingly alive in a way few people were. Every expression flashed across his face without restraint. Every thought seemed to arrive directly at his mouth without encountering any sensible objections along the way.
Most people feared Voldemort enough to become cautious.
Harry, apparently, found the whole thing liberating.
The realization should have been irritating.
Instead it was strangely entertaining.
Harry noticed the shift in his expression immediately.
His grin widened.
"Oh no."
Voldemort narrowed his eyes.
"Oh no what?"
"You're enjoying this."
"I assure you, I am not."
"You absolutely are."
"I am tolerating it."
"That's basically foreplay for you, isn't it?"
The room fell silent once more.
Voldemort stared at him.
Harry stared back.
Neither moved.
Then Harry's grin slowly became impossible to ignore.
Harry had somehow ended up sitting on the edge of Voldemort's desk.
Voldemort disliked that.
He disliked that Harry had moved there without permission.
He disliked that he hadn't immediately ordered him off.
Most of all, he disliked the look on Harry's face.
It was the look Harry wore moments before saying something deeply inadvisable.
"So," Harry said.
"No."
"I haven't asked any proper questions yet."
"You are about to."
Harry looked pleased.
"Fine. Maybe."
Voldemort pinched the bridge of his nose.
The gesture only encouraged him.
"I was just wondering..."
"Dangerous."
"...whether you've ever actually been in love."
The question landed like a stone in still water.
For the first time that evening, Harry managed to surprise him.
Voldemort lowered his hand slowly.
"That is your question?"
"One of them."
"Why?"
Harry shrugged.
"Curiosity."
"I find that difficult to believe."
"Everything about you is difficult to believe. You're a terrifying dark wizard with a dramatic castle, a snake obsession, and approximately six friends. I naturally have questions."
"They are followers."
"That wasn't a denial."
A flicker of amusement crossed Voldemort's face despite himself.
Harry immediately noticed.
"Oh, now I definitely need the answer."
"You definitely do not."
"Come on."
"No."
Harry leaned forward.
"Not even once?"
"No."
"Not a childhood sweetheart?"
"No."
"A secret crush?"
"No."
"An ill-advised attraction to a handsome enemy?"
Voldemort stared at him.
Harry grinned.
"Worth a try."
"You are impossible."
"So I've been told."
Harry swung one leg idly and tilted his head.
Harry's eyes narrowed as though assembling evidence for a criminal investigation.
Voldemort was suddenly reminded why the boy had made such an effective nuisance for so many years.
The problem was not his power.
It was his persistence.
"You know," Harry said thoughtfully, "I've spent years wondering how much of the mythology is true."
"Mythology."
"The mysterious dark lord. Brilliant. Terrifying. Unknowable."
Harry gestured vaguely.
"Now I'm finding out you get annoyed, roll your eyes, and refuse to discuss your love life."
"I do not roll my eyes."
"You did it ten seconds ago."
"I did not."
"You absolutely did."
Voldemort looked away.
Harry burst out laughing.
"There! Again!"
The sound filled the room.
For a moment, neither of them seemed inclined to stop it.
Eventually Harry's laughter faded into a smile.
His next question was quieter.
Less teasing.
"Do you ever get lonely?"
Voldemort's gaze snapped back to him.
The atmosphere shifted instantly.
The question lacked the playful absurdity of the others.
Harry was still smiling, but there was genuine curiosity beneath it now.
For a long moment, Voldemort said nothing.
The rain battered the windows. The fire crackled softly.
Then he asked, "Why would you want to know that?"
Harry considered.
"Because everybody talks about what you want. Power, Immortality, Conquest, Fear." His eyes met Voldemort's. "Nobody ever talks about what makes you happy."
The room fell silent.
For a long moment after asking the question, Harry simply watched him.
Most people looked away when Voldemort fixed them with that cold, crimson stare. Harry had never been particularly good at behaving like most people. If anything, direct eye contact only seemed to encourage him.
"You want to know what makes me... happy?"
Voldemort had stopped trying to understand why.
The boy, no, the young man, he corrected himself, had spent the entire evening dismantling every expectation attached to their relationship. Harry should have arrived wand drawn, righteous anger blazing in his eyes. Instead he had turned up at Malfoy Manor soaked from the rain and proceeded to interrogate the Dark Lord about his romantic history.
It was absurd.
It was inappropriate.
It was, irritatingly, the most entertaining conversation Voldemort had had in years.
Harry seemed to arrive at a decision.
"Can I tell you something?"
"I suspect you will regardless of my answer."
A grin flickered across Harry's face.
"You're very easy to talk to."
Voldemort actually laughed at that.
Not much. Just a short, disbelieving sound.
Harry looked delighted.
"See? That."
"I have threatened your life on multiple occasions."
"Yes, but you're honest about it."
"I am not convinced that is a desirable quality."
"It is compared to most people."
Harry shifted slightly on the desk, his expression becoming unexpectedly thoughtful.
"You know, everyone acts differently around me because I'm Harry Potter. Everyone acts differently around you because you're Voldemort. Half the time I don't think either of us gets a normal conversation."
The observation caught Voldemort off guard because there was an uncomfortable amount of truth in it.
Harry noticed the hesitation immediately.
"You agree."
"I did not say that."
"You didn't have to."
The fire crackled between them.
For the first time all evening, neither seemed interested in filling the silence.
Harry's gaze drifted over Voldemort's face, studying him with a level of attention that should have been unsettling. Somehow it wasn't. It felt more like curiosity than scrutiny.
"You're not what I expected."
Voldemort arched an eyebrow.
"After years of attempting to kill one another, you are only now reaching that conclusion?"
"I'm serious."
"So am I."
Harry laughed softly.
"I expected someone colder."
"And instead?"
Harry considered the question.
"Instead I think you're lonely."
Voldemort's expression hardened immediately.
Harry winced.
"Right. Sensitive subject."
"An exceptionally poor choice of topic."
"Fair."
Despite that, neither of them moved away.
Harry found himself noticing things he probably shouldn't. The intelligence behind Voldemort's eyes. The dry humour that surfaced occasionally when he forgot to suppress it. The fact that for all his power, there was something oddly isolated about him.
Perhaps that was why Harry had come.
Not because he was bored.
Or not only because he was bored.
Because for years he had been obsessed with defeating Voldemort and suddenly found himself wondering who he was when he wasn't being a monster.
The thought was probably a sign of serious psychological damage.
Harry decided he could live with that.
"You know," he said, smiling slightly, "this is going to sound strange."
"That has never stopped you before."
"True."
He met Voldemort's gaze.
"I think I like you."
The words escaped before he could reconsider them.
For once, Harry was the one surprised.
Voldemort stared at him.
Harry stared back.
Neither appeared entirely certain how they had arrived at this point.
Then Harry laughed under his breath and shook his head.
"Merlin, that sounds insane when I say it out loud."
"It does."
"Glad we're in agreement."
"And yet you said it."
Harry's smile became a little crooked.
"Yeah."
The rain continued to lash against the windows, wrapping the Manor in darkness. The fire cast shifting gold across the room as Harry slid from the desk and took a step closer.
There was no strategy behind it.
No prophecy.
No plan.
Just impulse.
Voldemort watched him approach but made no move to stop him.
Harry tilted his head slightly, as though giving him every opportunity to object.
When no objection came, he closed the remaining distance and pressed a brief kiss against his lips.
It lasted only a moment.
Long enough to happen.
Long enough that neither could pretend it hadn't.
When Harry finally pulled back, he looked remarkably pleased with himself.
"Well," he said, "that answers one question."
Voldemort's eyes narrowed.
"What question?"
Harry's grin returned in full force.
"Whether I'd actually do it."
Voldemort stared at him.
Harry's grin lasted approximately three seconds.
Then he noticed something in Voldemort's expression that made him reconsider whether kissing the most dangerous wizard in Britain had been a particularly clever idea.
The amusement was gone. Not replaced by anger. Something else.
Something far more focused.
"Oh," Harry said.
Voldemort rose from his chair with unhurried grace, his gaze never leaving Harry's face.
"Oh?" he echoed.
Harry took an instinctive step backwards.
It was the first retreat he had made all evening.
Voldemort noticed.
That, somehow, only made the situation worse.
"You have spent the last hour provoking me," he said. "You entered my home uninvited. Questioned me relentlessly. Flirted with me shamelessly."
"When you list it all together it sounds bad."
"It is bad."
Harry laughed nervously. Unfortunately, his heart was beginning to race.
Voldemort stopped directly in front of him.
Close enough that Harry found himself looking slightly upward.
Close enough that retreating again would be embarrassingly obvious.
"So," Voldemort continued, his voice smooth with dangerous amusement, "after all of that, you kissed me."
Harry swallowed. "Technically, yes."
"Technically?"
"Well, we're trying to be accurate."
A faint smile touched Voldemort's lips.
Harry immediately regretted every life choice that had led him here.
Not because he wanted to leave.
Quite the opposite.
"You seem considerably less confident than you were a moment ago."
"I wouldn't say less confident."
"You took a step backwards."
"I was appreciating the room."
"The desk is behind you."
Harry glanced over his shoulder. He was indeed backed up against the desk behind him.
"Right."
Voldemort's smile widened slightly.
The sight was unfairly distracting.
For years Harry had imagined defeating him, fighting him, outsmarting him.
Nobody had prepared him for the possibility that Voldemort smiling might be a genuine threat to his concentration.
"You enjoy this far too much."
"I do."
The admission caught Harry off guard.
Voldemort stepped closer, and Harry suddenly understood that he was no longer controlling the conversation.
A dangerous development.
He wasn't entirely sure he minded.
"You have spent all evening asking questions," Voldemort said. "Demanding answers. Pushing boundaries simply because you wanted to see what would happen."
His eyes gleamed in the firelight.
"Now something happens, and suddenly you seem uncertain."
Harry drew himself up.
"I am not uncertain."
"No?"
"No."
"Good."
Voldemort reached up and brushed a damp lock of hair away from Harry's forehead. The gesture was unexpectedly gentle, which somehow made it far more unsettling.
Harry's breath caught.
The smile Voldemort gave him in response was positively infuriating. "You're enjoying this too."
Harry groaned. "Unfortunately."
"Unfortunately?"
"Do not make me explain that."
The rain continued to drum against the windows as they stood there trading looks that would have horrified nearly everyone who knew them.
Eventually Harry shook his head.
"This is completely insane."
"Undoubtedly."
"We've spent years trying to kill each other."
"Also true."
"And neither of us seems particularly concerned about that right now."
Voldemort's expression softened into something almost fond.
Almost.
"That," he said, "may be the most concerning thing you've said all evening."
Harry laughed.
Voldemort watched him with visible suspicion.
"Have you finally lost your mind?"
"Possibly."
Harry pressed a hand against his mouth, trying unsuccessfully to compose himself.
"We're standing in your study having what is apparently the strangest flirtation in British history."
"I was not aware it was a competition."
"It absolutely is."
"And who are we competing against?"
"I don't know. Grindelwald probably set some sort of record."
To Harry's surprise, Voldemort actually smiled.
It was small.
Brief.
Gone almost immediately.
But Harry saw it.
His laughter faded.
The room suddenly felt quieter.
Warmer.
The storm beyond the windows seemed distant now, reduced to a steady rhythm against the glass.
Harry found himself studying Voldemort again.
Not the Dark Lord.
Not the monster from newspaper headlines.
Just the man standing in front of him.
The realization was unsettling.
For years Voldemort had occupied a space in his mind larger than life itself. Every plan, every fear, every loss had eventually traced back to him.
Now he was standing three feet away, looking mildly amused by Harry's inability to stop staring.
"What?"
Harry blinked.
"I wasn't saying anything."
"You were thinking very loudly."
"That's not a thing."
"It is when your face is involved."
Harry rolled his eyes.
"You're annoyingly observant."
"I have survived this long for a reason."
"Yes. Terror. Murder. Political manipulation."
"Observation should also be included on the list."
Harry smiled despite himself.
The conversation had settled into something comfortable.
Dangerously comfortable.
The sort of comfort that only appeared when two people forgot they were supposed to be enemies.
Neither seemed eager to acknowledge it.
Eventually Harry's gaze drifted toward the rain-streaked windows.
"You know, I genuinely didn't have a plan when I came here."
"That does not surprise me."
"It should concern you."
"It does concern me."
Harry laughed.
"I was serious."
Voldemort studied him.
For the first time that evening, there was no humour in his expression.
"What were you looking for?"
The question lingered between them.
Harry opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Then looked away.
That alone was answer enough.
Because throughout the entire night, Harry had met every question head-on. He had joked, flirted, argued, and provoked without hesitation.
This was the first question he genuinely didn't want to answer.
Voldemort noticed immediately.
"Interesting."
"Oh, don't do that."
"Do what?"
"That thing where you sound like you've solved a puzzle."
A faint smile appeared.
"You came here because you were curious."
"Maybe."
"You wanted to see whether the stories were true."
"Partly."
"And?"
Harry sighed.
The sound was heavier than anything he'd expressed all evening.
"And I was horny."
Voldemort's eyes narrowed slightly.
"Horny?"
Harry blushed. "You know sexually frustrated."
The confession escaped before Harry could stop it.
Because saying he was sexually frustrated to Lord Voldemort was not a sentence that should ever have existed.
The corner of Voldemort's mouth twitched.
Harry pointed at him.
"You confessed to being sexually frustrated."
"You make it sound worse."
"I am quite certain that is impossible."
Harry groaned and dropped his head into his hands.
"This was a mistake."
"I warned you that honesty was dangerous."
Harry looked up.
To his annoyance, Voldemort appeared thoroughly entertained.
Then the Dark Lord tilted his head slightly and asked, with infuriating calm,
"So you came to me?"
Harry froze.
The question hung in the air.
Voldemort's expression remained perfectly composed, but there was unmistakable amusement in his eyes now.
"You were bored. Restless. Frustrated."
His gaze swept over Harry with deliberate consideration.
"And your solution was to come to Malfoy Manor."
Harry could feel heat creeping up his neck.
"That wasn't exactly the plan."
"No?"
"No."
"Yet here you are."
"Unfortunately."
Voldemort stepped closer.
"Or fortunately."
Harry stared at him.
That was significantly worse.
Because now it sounded like Voldemort was flirting back.
Which was deeply unfair.
Harry had been operating under the assumption that he was the only reckless idiot in the room.
Apparently not.
"You know," Harry said carefully, "when I imagined this conversation, I thought I'd be the one making people uncomfortable."
"And how is that working out for you?"
"Terribly."
For perhaps the first time all evening, Voldemort looked genuinely pleased with himself.
Harry found that far more distracting than it had any right to be.
Voldemort's gaze dropped briefly to Harry's mouth before returning to his eyes.
The movement was small.
Impossible to miss.
Harry's pulse quickened.
Neither of them spoke.
Words felt strangely unnecessary.
Then Voldemort reached up, resting a hand against Harry's jaw.
The gesture was unexpectedly gentle.
His thumb brushed lightly against Harry's skin.
For once, Harry had absolutely nothing clever to say.
The amusement in Voldemort's eyes softened into something warmer, something that made Harry's stomach perform a very alarming flip.
"Speechless," Voldemort murmured.
"Don't get used to it."
"I wasn't planning to."
Harry laughed softly.
The sound faded almost immediately as their eyes met again.
This time neither looked away.
When Voldemort finally once again closed the distance between them, the kiss felt less like a surprise and more like the inevitable conclusion to a conversation that had been building all night.
It was confident and unhurried, carrying all the certainty that Harry himself had lacked. Harry responded instantly, grabbing hold of the front of Voldemort's robes as though anchoring himself.
The storm outside seemed very far away.
When they eventually pulled apart, Harry stared at him for a moment.
Then he shook his head.
"This," he informed him, "is going to make the war incredibly awkward."
Harry gasped just as the Dark Lord brushed his thumb over Harry’s lips. His tongue darted out to lick the digit and Harry watched as the man’s pupils blew wide.
A hand wrapped around the back of Harry’s neck, fingers tangling in his dark hair. It was a grip that commanded stillness. The other hand… the other hand cupped his cheek, then slid down, over his jaw, his throat, and his palm brushed over Harry's nipple through his shirt, and Harry jerked, a sharp, involuntary sound escaping him.
“So responsive,” Voldemort murmured, pleased. His warmth breath against Harry's ear.
His fingers continued down, tracing the outline of Harry's erection through his tight trousers. The sensation was too intense, too direct. Harry cried out.
The Dark Lord growled, grabbing Harry’s wrist and dragging the teen into his bedroom. He shoved Harry onto the bed and climbed on it, crawling over Harry, removing the rest of his clothing with a speed that surprised Harry.
"You only have one chance to say no Harry. Say no now and I will stop.
Harry looked uo at the Dark Lord was towering over him through thick lashes, "Don't stop."
The older man groaned, “Merlin, I’m gonna fuck you so hard."
Harry exhaled sharply. The Dark Lord leaning over him pushing him down on to the bed with one hand and guiding his legs apart with his other.
For a long moment, the Dark Lord stilled, studied him.
Then he raised a hand. Magic stirred in the air.
Harry felt it immediately.
The change was subtle at first, like watching a reflection ripple across water. Features shifted and settled into something different.
Something familiar.
The red eyes vanished. The unnaturally pale skin regained colour. The snake-like features softened and reshaped.
Standing before him was not the Dark Lord of wanted posters and nightmares.
It was Tom Riddle.
A grin slowly spread across Harry's face.
"On the bright side, I don't have to imagine the diary version of you anymore."
The silence that followed was glorious.
Tom simply stared at him.
Harry's grin widened.
"See, most people would keep that thought to themselves."
"Most people possess a functioning sense of self-preservation."
"That's what everyone keeps telling me."
For a second, Tom looked torn between exasperation and amusement.
Amusement won.
"Tell me, Harry," he said dryly, "how long have you been carrying that particular thought around?"
Harry considered. "Do you want the honest answer or the answer that preserves my dignity?"
"The honest one."
"Then we're definitely not preserving my dignity."
The Dark Lord laughed despite himself.
Harry's smile softened slightly as he looked at him again.
"No," he said quietly. "I just think it's nice to finally meet the version of you that isn't a memory."
Before the Dark Lord could formulate a response, Harry reached for him.
His hand closed around the front of the Dark Lord’s shirt and he tugged gently.
"You've got to finish what you started, Tom Riddle." He hissed the end in Parseltongue.
Then he pulled him down and kissed him.
This time it felt easier, especially when the Dark Lord’s quickly took control deepening the kiss.
The pairs erections rubbing painfully, sinfully against another through their trousers.
As they parted Harry spoke breathlessly "too many clothes."
He felt magic wrap around him and a sudden gentle breeze across his skin as his clothes disappeared.
Potter reached out to touch the Dark Lord’s chest. “You should know I’m a virgin, sir.”
“Fuck,” The Dark Lord gasped. "I want to make you feel good. Let me make you feel good."
The older mans hand found its way around Harry's cock. Squeezing in a way that caused Harry to arch off the bed, a moan slipping between his lips.
"Tom please"
"Tell me what you want my little lion."
"I need you." Harry bucks his hips up into the mans hand.
"Use your words Harry."
"Please... I need to feel you inside me."
Tom groaned over him, adjusting the angle so his long fingers found their way between Harry's legs.
The older man whispered a spell and Harry felt the cold wet touch of the mans fingers against him. Slight pressure as the tips of the mans finger slowly worked its way into him.
"Merlin, you're so tight. I can't wait to sink my cock in and fuck you hard darling." His finger sunk in deeper as he started to fuck Harry with it.
"I'm going to fuck you until the only thought in that pretty head of yours is how you were meant for me."
The finger pulled back and then Harry felt two fingers enter him with tenderness, immediately beginning to stretch him further than before. His heartbeat doubled.
Harry shuddered and pressed his face deeper into the pillow. He could cum like this alone.
"fuck please, Tom."
The internal stretch was sudden and intense, a burning friction that made Harry’s breath catch in ragged, broken fragments. Too much and too little all at once.
Tom pulled his fingers out, watching as the boys hole remained slightly open from the intrusion.
Harry moaned out at the loss and emptiness he now felt.
Tom did not make him wait long as suddenly the warm blunt tip of the older mans cock was pushing against him.
With one heavy, deliberate thrust, To. drove himself all the way inside.
Harry's eyes rolled back as his body stretched tightly around the thick intrusion. His body stretched beyond what he thought possible.
"Fuck Harry your hole was made for me. You take me so perfectly." Harry looked so beautiful, on his back, a sheen of sweat across his chest, pale skin flushed and marked by Tom's teeth.
Tom slammed into him harder, setting an almost brutal pace that had Harry riding the edge between pain and pleasure.
Tom bend the boys knee allowing him deeper access and with it his cock rams against the boys prostate.
Harry's body feels like a bomb waiting to detonated. The stretch, the pounding, it all seems to much and too little.
"harder", he moans.
The Dark Lord sets a brutal pace and Harry with a loud moan sees stars. His body coming from Tom's cock alone. His cum splatters up his chest.
The tightening of his body grips Tom's cock like a vice sending the older man over the edge too. With a grunt Tom spills his warn cum deep inside the boy, before collapsing down on to him.
Harry feels like the older mans cock twitching within his tight passage, the warm cum finding home within him. The fast beating of their hearts against their chests.
Fuck, I've just slept with the Dark Lord. A sentence Harry never considered ever thinking. A sentence he wouldnt mind repeating again.
Harry lay curled against Tom's side, half draped across him as though he had decided sometime during the night that personal space was entirely optional.
Tom's arm rested around his waist.
Neither of them had spoken for several minutes.
It should have felt strange. Instead it felt dangerously easy.
Harry traced idle patterns across Tom's chest, his thoughts drifting further and further away from prophecies, battles and responsibilities.
Eventually he broke the silence.
"Would it be crazy, Tom, if I didn't go back?"
Tom's fingers stilled.
Harry continued before he could answer.
"What if I stayed here with you?"
His voice was quiet now.
Thoughtful.
"What if you hid me away somewhere in this ridiculous manor where nobody could ever find me?"
A faint smile touched his lips.
"What if every morning you left to terrify Britain and every evening you came home to find me waiting for you? Reading for you. My body waiting to worship yours."
Tom lowered his gaze to him.
Harry was staring up at the canopy above the bed as though painting pictures into the darkness.
"What if nothing else mattered?"
The words hung in the air.
"What if we aren't crazy but everyone else is wrong?"
Harry swallowed.
"What if we're meant to understand each other?"
His voice softened further.
"They don't understand us like we do."
For the first time since arriving at the Manor, the humour had disappeared completely.
"They don't know what it's like to be alone."
The admission seemed to surprise even him.
"They don't know what it's like to walk into a world that's already decided who you are before you've had a chance to become anything else."
Tom remained silent.
Harry let out a small laugh.
Not because anything was funny.
Because some truths felt easier when hidden behind a smile.
"You know what the worst part is?"
Tom's arm tightened slightly around him.
"What?"
Harry turned his head.
Met his eyes.
"For the first time in my life, I don't feel lonely."
The room became very still.
Outside, rain whispered against the glass.
Harry's smile faded.
"That's why I don't want to leave."
Tom looked at him for a long moment.
Then he lifted a hand and brushed Harry's hair back from his forehead. That cursed scar glaring back at him.
The gesture was impossibly gentle.
A dangerous thing.
Because Harry could imagine a life built from moments like this.
A life where neither of them had to be symbols. Just people.
The room had fallen silent again.
Harry lay with his head against Tom's chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. It felt absurd that he had found comfort here of all places. Absurd that after years of war, fear and obsession, this was the safest he had felt in his entire life.
Perhaps that was why the question slipped out.
"Are you going to kill me now?"
Tom's arm tightened around him.
"What?"
Harry swallowed.
"If this ends with me dead, maybe now would be the best time."
The words sounded calmer aloud than they felt.
Tom shifted slightly, looking down at him.
Harry forced himself to hold his gaze.
"I mean it."
A faint crease appeared between Tom's brows.
"Why now?"
Harry let out a quiet breath.
"I've spent most of my life waiting for the next disaster. The next fight. The next person to leave."
His eyes drifted towards the fire.
"For the first time, I feel... peaceful."
The admission felt strangely vulnerable.
"I don't think I've ever felt that before."
Tom remained silent.
"If I have to die," Harry continued softly, "then perhaps now would be the best moment. While I'm happy. While I know what it feels like to belong somewhere."
The look Tom gave him was almost unreadable. Almost. Beneath it, Harry could see anger. Not at him. At the idea itself.
Without warning, Tom caught his face between both hands and kissed him.
The kiss stole the rest of Harry's words before they could escape.
When they finally parted, Harry found himself staring.
Tom's forehead rested briefly against his. Harry's heart stumbled. For a long moment neither moved.
Then Tom asked the question that mattered.
"Would you really stay?"
Harry's breath caught.
There was no humour in Tom's expression now.
Harry nodded. "Yes."
The answer came without hesitation.
Tom searched his face as though looking for the lie.
Finding none.
"Even knowing who I am?"
"Tom..."
"Even knowing what I have done?"
Harry reached for him.
"Yes."
The single word seemed to settle something inside him.
Tom closed his eyes briefly.
When he opened them again, there was a strange resolve there.
The sort that changed lives.
"Then swear it."
Harry blinked. "What?"
"Swear upon your magic that you will never deliberately harm me."
The room became very still.
Magic-bound promises were not made lightly.
Tom's gaze never wavered. "And I will swear the same to you."
Harry stared.The implications crashed into him all at once.
Every sensible voice in his head screamed that this was insanity.
Tom seemed to hear those voices too because a faint smile touched his lips. "If this is insanity," he said quietly, "then let it consume us."
Harry laughed.