Chapter Text
A/N: This is commissioned by Minako1013. Thank you so much for your friendship, generosity and patience.
Please do not repost, recreate or translate.
Summary: Harry thinks that he can change his Minister, and Voldemort just wants to figure Harry out.
Warnings: Sexual content; mild comeplay, dominance kink, slut shaming, dirty talk, anal, fingering, handjobs, mild dub/con (squint and you'll miss it)
Little Numbers
Chapter 1
Un
'I've re-arranged parts of my living room
But time is hard to kill since I met you'
Before anything else, you should probably know that Harry Potter was a little bit drunk.
Sitting on a barstool hunched over his drink with a glassy look in his eyes, Harry looked nothing short of a hot mess. One might think that he had inner turmoil he was attempting to drown out but his thirst for alcohol had simply escalated far too quickly; one drink had turned into two drinks, two drinks had turned into three, and three had turned into... Whatever the amount he had consumed was so far.
On second thought, maybe he had passed 'just being tipsy' a long time ago.
The point was that Harry wasn't a happy drunk – he was the grumpy, resentful kind of drunk, the kind that you'd avoid talking to at parties. He'd turn into that guy who always rambled about whatever frustrated him since it was something he'd always keep bottled up inside when he was sober.
It basically wasn't a pretty thing to behold.
Harry scowled sourly and traced the rim of his glass of Firewhiskey. He could feel the telltale burn in his throat and a haze in his mind. Surely, his voice would slur a bit if he'd speak, too.
But it was a Thursday night, Harry had a long weekend ahead of him so you know what? Fuck it.
'Yeah, fuck it,' Harry murmured to himself as he took another swig from his drink. Being a young, single Auror, a prodigy as most called him, there really shouldn't be a cloud in Harry's sky. He met the occasional asshole, had to take care of some dirty jobs but at the same time he had great parents, a great house, a large amount of money in his vault at Gringotts and all the freedom he could ask for.
So why, you might ask, was young Harry Potter in a sour mood?
It was pretty simple and rather juvenile. In his process of studying the bar he had sauntered into, Harry had spotted the image of the current Minister of Magic on the cover of the Daily Prophet laying carelessly on the counter. Blame it on the alcohol as they say, but Harry had been fine until he had seen that smug look on the man's face. Their Minister had changed the Magical Community radically these past years.
Of course Harry hadn't been old enough to have noted all the changes while they'd actually been happening but his parents most definitely had and although history books oddly had blank pages where there should be information about the days when Voldemort became the Minister, Harry's heard enough to know that the wrong man was ruling the Ministry. Lord Voldemort (arrogant git he was, calling himself a lord) had a huge aversion to Muggles and he did everything he could to keep their worlds seperated. Everyone called him revolutionary – Harry thought he was a racist, pompous ass.
Oh sure, there were some sparce things he had done that had improved daily life as a wizard. Harry did care to hear both sides of a story. He may not look like it right now but he was highly intelligent.
Having heard his own mother rant about how Voldemort was wrong Harry had decided to do his own research. He had carefully studied Voldemort's answers to the questions of news reporters, had watched him in the Ministry whenever he could from a distance. It didn't take a genius to figure out Voldemort's way to the top hadn't been a fair one.
Voldemort just had something dark over him.
But Harry was shit out of luck. As an Auror, prodigy or not, he didn't have a lot to say and if anything, nothing at all. Who was he to judge his Ministry when Harry didn't know a thing about politics? All he knew was that he disagreed with the anti-Muggle rule and although Muggleborns were still accepted (but looked down upon), their families were forced to be kept in the blue about their child's real abilities.
Muggleborns were torn out of their families, their families would be obliviated, and their children would live at Hogwarts until they were old enough to function properly in the Magical Community. Not a single wizard or witch was allowed to put their abilities aside and live as a Muggle.
Harry huffed, remembering how his mother had been sad not to be allowed to contact her sister anymore. Harry didn't like his aunt – she was mean and he didn't understand how someone who had a horseface and a hate against everything that's ''unnatural'' could be related to his mom who was beautiful, kind... But still, he felt bad for his mother.
It was rather ironic that Harry would have to meet the snakefaced bastard tomorrow.
Apparently Voldemort had heard about Harry's abilities, and Harry had been sent an invitation to the Minister's office at the Ministry at 10 am sharp to discuss a possible position in Voldemort's inner ranks.
The git could forget it.
Harry wasn't going to be his little puppet and lick his boots like the rest of his loyals did – he refused. He got the job to protect people, to help them, not to harass them. Perhaps this was the real reason why Harry had gone out to get drunk.
Harry sucked on the inside of his cheek and rested his chin in his hand as he glanced around himself. The music was too loud for his tastes and there was a blonde woman with big breasts staring at him. A normal guy would feel in the very least amused but Harry didn't have time to frolic around with people who weren't worth his time, including Lord Voldemort.
Taking a last swig from his Firewhiskey and leaving a few coins on the bar, Harry Potter hiccuped and stepped outside, feeling cold Winter air on his face and breathing it in thankfully.
He apparated into his house in Godric's Hollow, took his clothes off and fell asleep.
Harry Potter woke up at 11 am sharp from a persistent tapping on his window.
Groaning in pain as a head ache struck him, Harry pushed himself up and swayed a little on his feet. He managed to let the owl that had been trying to deliver a letter in, and then ran into the bathroom to puke out which felt like all of his guts. Drinking was definitely not Harry's thing and he was glad it wasn't a habit of his.
Harry groaned and closed his eyes, his face pressing against the toilet bowl for just a moment, enjoying the cold porcelain against his skin. He didn't even realize by then that he had missed his appointment with the Minister, and that the Minister was not a patient man.
But man, did his head hurt.
It was throbbing in fact, and Harry promised himself at that moment that he wasn't going to drink ever again. He rarely did get drunk as he preferred keeping his mind clear and he could be called to the office for emergencies 24 hours a day... But like every teen, Harry was prone to make mistakes every now and then.
Forcing himself up, Harry ran a hand through his messy hair, drank some water and sauntered back into his bedroom. A manilla envelope rested on his pillow and the black owl from before lingered, its unblinking yellow eyes boring into Harry's green eyes.
'What?' Harry asked as though the owl could reply. The owl merely hooted once before it turned and flew out of Harry's window, turning into nothing but a black dot in the distance. Hedwig made a soft noise and ruffled her feathers and Harry made a humming noise to her as if trying to calm her nerves. His eyes were trained on the envelope like he expected it to bite him and he shook his head as he picked it up and started opening it on his way to the kitchen, cursing and nearly tripping over the doorstep.
Harry fumbled to unfold the letter and while he did it, his mind was on some eggs and perhaps toast, a nice tall glass of milk... Noticing he had been holding the letter upside down, Harry flipped it and placed it on the kitchen table, tapping his fingers on the tabletop as he walked towards the fridge. With a gesture of his hand the stove turned on and a pan landed on top of it, and Harry grabbed the butter and some eggs and closed the fridge with his foot.
As he took a knife to cut off a piece of butter, Harry's eyes strayed to the letter. From that distance he could only read the first sentence - Dear mister Potter.
Harry paused, his eyebrows knitting together while the piece of butter levitated to the pan and made a hissing noise as it started to melt. That was odd. None of his relatives would address him like this, nor his friends... Feeling like he had forgotten something, Harry turned back to the pan and cracked a few eggs open. Now, what was it that had gotten him so upset last night? To be honest Harry was not a forgetful person, but when he got drunk he tended to...
Oh. Fuck.
Dropping the eggshells on the kitchen counter, Harry spun around on his feet and snatched the letter off the table, bringing it up to his face and reading it quickly.
It has come to my attention that you failed to show at our scheduled appointment at 10 o'clock sharp this morning and I must daresay this is a rather big disappointment. You have until 12 o'clock to come to my office at the Ministry today, and if you don't show again, I shall send my finest men to fetch you.
Until soon,
Your Minister of Magic, Lord Voldemort
Harry glanced at the clock. It was 11:13 now – Harry had no time to take a shower, and he definitely couldn't just not show up either. He understood the underlying message in that letter just fine – you little shit, how dare you be late? You better hurry your scrawny ass here or I will send my biggest guys over to fuck you up and drag your remains to my office – and with a roll of his eyes Harry turned around and ran back up the stairs again after turning off the stove.
Having a hangover sucked enough but having to meet up with that guy... Harry huffed and at his will a comb started running through his hair while he started brushing his teeth, and with a move of his hand his closet opened and he picked out the first articles of clothing he saw.
No wonder he had gotten drunk.
It was 11:33 am sharp when Harry reached the Ministry and he looked like hell.
Dark circles under his eyes, a frown on his face, the lenses of his glasses stained with fingerprints and his shirt buttoned up all wrong, Harry most definitely did not look like he was about to meet an important person.
Harry stepped into the elevator and ignored everyone's curious glances. Harry usually was more composed and looked a lot better than this, granted – he hadn't done this on purpose either. Just the thought of being around Voldemort made Harry want to drink until he couldn't see straight anymore.
Harry usually made sure he looked great. He always wore nice clothing, had his hair tamed for as much as that was possible, and his shoes were always polished. He may not have the age to work at the Ministry (he was only 18) but he would never allow anyone to look down on him for his appearance and short life span.
Harry sighed and took off his glasses, cleaning them with the untucked hem of his shirt as he walked his way to the Minister's office. A couple of Aurors who walked by glanced at him oddly and Harry forced himself to smile as he passed them. He felt like he was the child everyone told him he was, and he hated it.
Harry's done things past his age, has fought and battled alongside world's greatest wizards. It wasn't fair. It just wasn't.
Harry paused as he stood in front of the door of Voldemort's office, closing his eyes tightly and quickly tucking his shirt in his slacks and running a quick hand through his hair. He needed to go home, eat before his stomach would digest itself, take a long, hot bath.
Feeling satisfied when he heard a few joints pop as he stretched his neck and rolled his shoulders, he knocked on the door impatiently.
'Come in,' a silky voice replied from the other side of the door and Harry sighed again. He was just gonna see what the guy wanted, and then he'd go home and get some more sleep... His fingers curled around the doorhandle and he opened the door, his eyes instantly connecting with the red eyes of his Minister. He paused, frowning to himself.
Lord Voldemort was everything Harry had seen in the newspapers – he was pale, had no hair on his head, had a noseless visage and his fingers were long and spidery. But no photograph had captured this man's poise, the intellect in his eyes, the slight curve where his nose ought to be. Harry lingered in the doorway and studied Lord Voldemort and he felt oddly attracted to this abnormal looking man.
'Do take a seat, mister Potter. I am glad you found your way here after all, however late you may be,' Voldemort said as a spidery fingered hand gestured to the armchair in front of his desk, reminding Harry somehow of his visits to Dumbledore's office in his years at Hogwarts. There weren't small trinkets scattered across the room like in Dumbledore's office however – everything was neatly arranged, books put in shelves, curtains black, the chairs' leather polished and the desk made of the finest wood.
Harry took a deep breath and nodded, finding it hard to keep his face straight. This wasn't what he had wanted. He had wanted to hate the man, but somehow his appearance wasn't hateful. It was just... Unique.
And Harry could picture Voldemort manipulating people with that face, too.
Harry sunk down in the chair and blinked the black dots appearing in his vision away. He felt like puking again but he thought that Voldemort wouldn't very much enjoy if Harry would hurl on his fancy rug.
'You do not look your best,' Voldemort stated, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. Harry's face flushed – he felt like Voldemort knew that he'd been shitfaced yesterday and he didn't like it.
'I have seen better days,' Harry admitted with a strain in his voice, never breaking eye contact with those red eyes and then for good measure he added, 'sir.'
Voldemort observed Harry a bit longer before he curtly nodded his head. His hand gestured to two tea cups, which both levitated at his will towards them, and effortlessly settled down on the desk on Harry's side and Voldemort's side. Another gesture made the teapot levitate towards them and Harry watched as Voldemort poured him tea without asking if Harry wanted any. He was setting the mood already – he expected Harry to be obedient and drink it, and to turn it down would be being rude.
But Harry didn't come here to make friends.
'Do you like sugar in your tea, mister Potter?'
'My name is Harry,' Harry stated, feeling himself grow irritated, 'and no, I do not want sugar. You summoned me, sir.'
'Ah, yes, so I did,' Voldemort mused as he dumped three sugarcubes in his tea and stirred it. Harry watched those long fingers – thin, yet strong, moving with almost artificial grace, and his eyes trailed up to Voldemort's wristbone. It stuck out almost harshly, painfully.
Voldemort glanced back up and their eyes connected and Harry felt a chill run down his spine. He instantly set up his Occlumency shields with a frown.
'Sir?' he asked, prompting him, just wanting to go home. He didn't want to be near this man, he just didn't. He hated his wizard supremacy bullshit.
'Harry Potter, half-blood wizard, second best student in all of Hogwarts' history, youngest person to have become an Auror... You must be wondering why I summoned you, which we will get to shortly. At first, I do require you to answer one question – what is the reason behind your tardy behavior?'
Harry licked his lips, and bluntly said, 'I was out getting drunk last night and I got so shitfaced I woke up late. I spent a good fifteen minutes hurling my guts out and then I received your letter, and I hurried to get dressed and here I am. My Lord.'
Voldemort looked at him with an expression of mixed disgust and amusement, and Harry's eyebrow cocked up. There, he said it – he wouldn't treat him any different just because Voldemort had sneaked his way into the Ministry.
'I see eloquency is not a family trait,' Voldemort dryly stated. He sipped from his tea and kept staring at Harry like that, in that way that almost made him seem hungry. Did nothing Harry just say piss him off, at all? Harry sensed the underlying insult but he wisely kept his mouth shut. 'Rest assured Harry, if you had expected that your rather colorful choice of words would ward me off, you are dreadfully wrong. It would be a pity if you make, as you put it, getting shitfaced a habit. That would be a waste of magical talent.'
At that last part Voldemort's eyes narrowed and it made Harry antsy. He felt like he was being blamed for something he did not do and he couldn't get any wiser from Voldemort's odd behavior.
'What did you want to talk about, Voldemort?' Harry demanded impatiently, 'Your letter implied that you care for my physical wellbeing and I could use some rest right now.'
Voldemort licked his lips and Harry decided that yes, from up close, he could see the allure in Voldemort. Fine. Whatever. In a really weird, unusual, semi-creepy way, Voldemort was very beautiful. But the way he spoke like he was an old book got on Harry's nerves and that wasn't going to change any time soon.
'I make you nervous,' Voldemort observed as if having heard Harry's thoughts and Harry scowled. 'How come?'
'You don't make me nervous, what are you talking about?' Harry denied, watching carefully as Voldemort rose from his seat, his movements fluent, like running water, like there was no way for him to possibly trip over his long robes, like all of his movements were well-rehearsed. He watched as his Minister trailed his fingertips over the desk and then had to crane his head up as Voldemort stood next to him.
Then, those fingertips trailed over Harry's jawline and Harry gasped, turning his head away only for Voldemort to grip his chin.
'Do you fear me?'
'I've fought trolls, werewolves and boggarts. Why ever would I be afraid of you?' Harry asked in return, his voice perhaps coming out a bit more breathless than intended. Voldemort's touch was cold and above all, inappropriate. Harry shivered and then cursed himself for having such a human response, to such an inhuman looking man.
'Sometimes, it is humanity you ought to fear most,' Voldemort murmured. His fingertips slid down to Harry's pulse and Harry tried to move away again and this time Voldemort let him, watching Harry with an amused look on his face. 'Your heartbeat is speeding up.'
'Yeah, that happens when a guy is feeling me up,' Harry muttered sourly and then he blinked, not having intended to say that out loud. Much to his surprise, Voldemort chuckled. It was a rich sound, one that Harry enjoyed. It was the careless sound of a man who already had everything expressing his amusement.
'I invited you here to talk to you about a promotion, of some sorts. See it as a proposal.'
'Promotion? Why me?' Harry instantly asked, 'You have more experienced men, men who've been Aurors for years and have served you loyally for decades -'
'Yes, but they were not brilliant students such as yourself, Harry. They aren't as promising as you are... Nor are they as interesting.' Harry blinked and then he huffed. This certainly was not what he had expected but he was willing to hear Voldemort out.
'And what is your proposal?' Harry asked. Voldemort brushed a strand of hair out of his face and Harry leaned in the opposite direction of Voldemort. He would not deny that the touch felt good, but Harry didn't want to allow Voldemort to fuck around with him.
'Lately activists have been becoming exceedingly bothersome. I would like for you to move into my manor to guard my property. Your monthly pay shall be...' Voldemort paused, and then he added, 'generous.'
'No thank you,' Harry instantly said and Voldemort's nonexistent eyebrows rose, 'I am perfectly content with my current position and the missions I am sent out to complete.'
'Are you turning me down?' Voldemort asked and his expression instantly turned into one that was pure arrogance and anger. Harry had the feeling that Voldemort didn't have a lot of experience with that – most people would undoubtedly drop to their knees and suck on his big toe in gratitude. But not Harry. Harry would not turn into a mere bodyguard after spending years of studying and working hard to become what he had always wanted to, and the thought of being around Voldemort more than he needed to be didn't weigh so well on his mind.
'Yes I am, sir.'
'I always get what I want, young Harry Potter. Who are you to deny me?' Harry watched the motion of Voldemort's lips shaping the words for just a moment before he could feel a cocky smirk play on his face.
'I was not aware that my Minister was a petulant child, Oldemort. I can assure you that I am but a young Auror trying to live a simple life without any complications. I feel like regardless of my answer to your kind invitation, you will continue intruding my personal life.' Harry was pretty sure that he had really pissed him off and he thought that his mom would be proud of him. 'Was that all, my Lord?'
Voldemort glared at him and then when Harry stood up, Voldemort stood so close to Harry that Harry had to step back a bit. It was physical intimidation Voldemort was aiming for - it did not work on Harry. Indeed, Harry had fought creatures scarier than Voldemort. He didn't want to believe that mankind could be scarier than the monsters children fear hide under their beds because mankind could be a very beautiful thing, too. A few rotten apples should never have to ruin everything for the rest.
'I would very much appreciate it if you were to reconsider my offer,' Voldemort stated, his breath fanning over Harry's face like a lover's caress. Harry licked his lips, glanced at Voldemort's, and then he nodded simply to be polite. His comment had been way out of line and even Harry could see that.
'I will. Have a good day, my Lord,' Harry lied. He turned around and he could feel the Minister's eyes boring into his back, all the way through the Ministry.
His tea was left to grow cold and forgotten.
When Harry got home he closed the blinds, kicked off his shoes and went straight to bed. As tired as he had been prior to seeing Voldemort, right now he felt wide awake and his head was spinning with the possibilities and the things that had happened. Not only had he turned down Lord Voldemort, influential politician who could ruin all of Harry's future career moves, he had also insulted him. Harry couldn't bring himself to regret it – his father had raised him to confident, and his mother had raised Harry to be brutally honest. He just didn't know how to feel about it...
And why should Voldemort need a guard to begin with? Wasn't he a great wizard of Dumbledore's level?
Harry sighed and pushed himself back up again. This was supposed to be his day off – he should've been able to enjoy it, but now all he had was a hangover and a Lord Voldemort to worry about. His stomach growled and clenched in a way that made Harry feel funny, and Harry licked his lips.
Maybe he just needed a good meal after all.
The following evening just as Harry got ready eating dinner, there was someone knocking on his door. Harry dumped his plate in the sink, wiped his face with a napkin and smiled, expecting Hermione or Ron, or even his mom and dad.
His face fell when there was a certain Minister at his door.
'Minister Voldemort,' Harry said, trying his best to conceal his irritation, 'What did I do to deserve your presence this time?' Voldemort stared at him with those bloody red eyes again, his serpentine visage relaxed and poised. Harry wished Voldemort would show more emotion but then again, Harry also wished that Voldemort wasn't standing on his doorstep right now.
'I came here in an attempt to change your mind, regarding what we discussed earlier,' Voldemort stated. 'May I come in?'
Harry nodded curtly and then he hesitated before realizing he should step to the side to let the man in. Voldemort strode past him in a way that made it seem like he was used to Harry's home already, and he hung up his cloak at the coatrack Luna had carved Harry from a thick Whomping Willow branch that had broken off during a storm.
'Can I offer you anything to drink?' Harry said. Somehow he felt like a stranger in his own home as he watched Voldemort sit down on his couch so easily. Voldemort's eyes paused from where they had been taking in Harry's furniture and then they strayed to meet Harry's.
'No, thank you,' Voldemort replied in a tone that was entirely charming. It was hard to imagine Voldemort as anyone other than the person he was right now, but Harry could imagine that in Voldemort's younger years, he had been very attractive as well. It was like Voldemort was simply born at this age, born to turn the Wizarding Community into what it was today.
'Alright,' Harry murmured blandly. He paused for a bit longer, before he nodded to himself and sat in the comfortable chair across the couch. He mused with the thought that this was kind of like their position in Voldemort's office, with again only a table in between their bodies.
Harry admired Voldemort's long, pale neck, before he licked his lips.
'I appreciate your interest, Voldemort,' Harry started and then said, with much pain to his ego, 'and I apologize for my crude behavior earlier.'
'I accept your apology.' Voldemort looked so out of place on Harry's couch – although Harry made more money than anyone of his age, Harry had taken his father's advice on saving, and had saved money by buying secondhand furniture. Everything was in good state but it was a bit old fashioned.
'Good. But that however doesn't mean that I changed my mind. I have thought of it and I think it was a very gracious offer, one that anyone would die to take, but for now I like my life. I worked hard to get this position and it's something that I wanted since I was a child.' Harry paused, wondering why Voldemort wasn't doing or saying anything, and then he continued, 'Apart from that, you and I have different opinions on how Muggles ought to be treated. It will only be a matter of time before our differences would get in the way and I'd prefer to be on good terms with you.'
It took Harry a lot of effort to say this to Voldemort, namely because he had always disliked him from the beginning. Harry didn't know how or why but slowly he wasn't just seeing Voldemort as the Minister, he started seeing Voldemort as a person, too. A person who wasn't used to anyone saying no to him, a person with long, eloquent fingers, a person with almost otherworldly beauty. He saw a man, a man that was intelligent and would always find a way to get what he wants.
Above all, Harry saw a man he was attracted to and that fucking sucked.
'Do you feel attracted to me, Harry?' Voldemort asked as if he had just read Harry's mind and Harry cursed, his face flushing. He had just penetrated Harry's mind without Harry even noticing – just how skilled was his Minister? And how much had he seen? Harry instantly put up his Occlumency shields to protect his mind from prying red eyes, but he knew it was already a bit too late for that. Voldemort was smirking, and he leaned back in his seat.
'So what if I do? I'm sure you have plenty of others who would love to-' Harry cut himself off with a flush, and the he lamely added, 'Other suitors, I mean.'
Being gay didn't mean anything in the Wizarding Community, hell – why should it when purebloods often married within their own family line? Still, Harry had always been discreet about it, not out of shame, but solely because it wasn't anyone's business.
Voldemort hummed, licking his lips. Harry followed that motion and then he looked Voldemort in the eye again.
'Why are you really here?' Harry asked and Voldemort shrugged, a motion that was far too careless for a man as poised as himself.
'You are a rather interesting person. As you may have realized, I have been studying you...' Voldemort seemed to think for a second and his eyes averted to the thick book laying on the coffee table. Hermione had left the book there last time she had come over. '...Indeed, your existence fascinates me, and it is in my opinion that a man should always surround himself with people who inspire and challenge him.'
'You studied me? Why?'
Voldemort made a motion with his hand as if saying details, details, and instead, he stated, 'I have always found intelligence in any person highly arousing.'
Oh.
'You ought to know, Harry, that the more of a challenge you poise, the more I will want you... And the more I will become determined to have you. Come, sit next to me.'
'Why should I -'
'Just indulge me, if only for a second,' Voldemort explained. Harry sighed and stared at Voldemort, at his body, as if trying to see if he had a troll hiding up his sleeve somewhere. When he deemed it safe he stood up and reluctantly sat down next to Voldemort at an appropriate distance.
'You want me,' Harry observed, 'you want me to take that position, or..?'
'Oh Harry, must we really play such games? You are intelligent, I am certain that you can figure it out.' Harry's eyes instantly went to his knee when Voldemort placed a hand on it and a thrill went through him when Voldemort's hand stroked up and down it, in a way that should most definitely make his intentions clear. 'We are two consenting adults, are we not?'
Voldemort's other hand brushed over Harry's cheek and Harry blinked as Voldemort pulled him close, and Harry's heart started pounding ridiculously hard in his chest. He was no virgin – he's had sex before, but he had never had sex without being in love with someone first. Harry knew that this was nothing but physical attraction but he also knew who Voldemort was and what he was capable of. He felt like Voldemort was trying to trick him... Or was Voldemort's desire genuine?
Harry closed his eyes as Voldemort's cold lips pressed against his and he shivered as he felt Voldemort's tongue brush over the seam of his lips seconds later, a startle going through Harry when he realized that Voldemort's tongue was forked. He moaned softly against Voldemort's mouth – Harry loved kissing, above anything else.
But kissing with the enemy?
Harry blinked his eyes open as Voldemort's cold hands ran over his neck, fitting his wide palm over Harry's throat. It was an almost welcome reminder of who he was kissing – Harry pulled away with a gasp and blinked furiously when Voldemort's red eyes bored into his own green eyes.
'I did not consent to that,' Harry said and Voldemort fixed him with a stare.
'I did not remember asking permission for a kiss,' Voldemort dryly stated and Harry sputtered – the sheer audacity of this man to assume Harry would throw himself in his arms! Never mind the fact that for a moment Harry had kissed him back, Voldemort didn't have the right...! Flustered, Harry stood up to gain more distance between the two of them and Voldemort just stared at him with a cocky smirk on his lips. Harry hated that look on his face – Voldemort was many things, but he would not be someone Harry could lose his heart to.
And so what if the physical attraction was there? It didn't mean anything, and Voldemort was so unproffesional for acting out on it.
'You should leave,' Harry stated lamely, just barely holding in all the insults he had come up with for the snake-faced bastard. He folded his arms over his chest and cocked an eyebrow up, prompting Voldemort to stand up and much to his surprise, he did.
'I shall. I am a man who bears many titles, but unwelcome guest shall never be one of them. Let me first say something – in a time not too long ago, it was I, who was the most intelligent student walking the hallways of Hogwarts.'
'Your time has passed,' Harry snapped. Something in his statement appeared to trigger Voldemort's rage – Harry blinked harshly as Voldemort snarled.
'My time shall never pass, I am endless,' Voldemort stated arrogantly, 'you, however, aren't. So listen to me carefully you pitiful, foolish boy – you best not make me your enemy and take my offer.'
Harry knew a threat when he heard one.
'And what happens to your enemies, my Lord?' Harry's voice trembled but it was not in fear. The longer he stayed around Voldemort, the more angry he became. Harry rarely allowed his emotions to get in his way, his Auror training had taught him to be mature and calculating. Something in Voldemort's behavior, in his words and his demeanor, enraged Harry beyond measure.
And somewhere along the line, it aroused him too.
Harry would always be a Gryffindor at heart no matter how many Slytherin traits he possessed, and danger thrilled him. To have it wrapped up right in front of him in the form of a man who posessed such otherworldly beauty... Like a moth drawn to a flame, Harry was drawn to Lord Voldemort.
Harry licked his lips and remembered Voldemort's touch.
'I do hope a charming boy as yourself will never have to find out,' Voldemort stated silkily. Harry's lips quivered as Voldemort traced his fingertips over them and then, Voldemort turned and took his cloak.
He disapparated with a loud pop.