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Soulmates and Soul Marks. A wizard’s oldest dream. Every witches’ fairytale story.
Once the age of seventeen hits, every wixen gets their soul marks, the likes of which manifest themselves as a handprint covering a body part and flares up with warmth when touched by the intended soulmate.
A soulmate bond makes one powerful. A soulmate bond is two magic so compatible with one another that once reunited, it is inseparable.
It was a whole thing when Ron and Hermione’s marks flared up only a few days after they appeared. They ignored each other for days after, embarrassed that their fights became banters instead. Nowadays it was a funny anecdote to remember and tell.
Harry’s soul mark was on his wrist. A handprint. Wrapped around his wrist, too tightly to withhold any affection.
He wore glamours to hide it.
Ron and Hermione liked to joke that they hadn’t known Harry was the kinky type, but Harry knew they themselves didn’t believe that.
-
Harry was alone. He had to fight Voldemort alone, once more. Voldemort wasn’t even supposed to be here. That wasn't the plan.
When he and his friends infiltrated the ministry, it was with the intent to find what was hidden in the Lestrange vault, potentially the last horcrux, aside nagini and himself. To find what could’ve been a weakness against the Dark Lord and destroy it, once and for all.
Voldemort wasn’t supposed to be here, and yet. Yet here he was, along with his Death Eaters following close behind. It had been a trap all along. He somehow knew they’d come here.
That’s why now, Ron and Hermione were fighting a few feet away from Harry, as he was quickly getting further and further away from them until he could see no one and nothing but Voldemort, surrouded by thick, dark walls in his periphery.
At least Ron and Hermione are safe from Voldemort for now. He just needed to hold on until the aurors arrived.
“Harry,” Voldemort prowled in a low voice, “surrender yourself, and I might consider granting you and your dear friends a painless death.”
“Come now, Tom, you should know by now that I won’t accept any your proposals. Tried that in my first year already, remember?” Harry said, and as he finished, he felt the familiar stinging pain in his scar.
Voldemort really hated to be called Tom, that much he knew. He also hated to be reminded of past failures, Harry being the living embodiment of such. He knew that, too.
And so, the battle resumed. Harry couldn’t figure out where they were fighting anymore, the walls around them stretching unendingly far. But no one was around any longer, so he could afford large-scale and damaging spells from here and there.
Bombarda’s and Protego’s were thrown out from Harry’s side, while wordless and unknown spells flew across from Voldemort’s side, each stronger than the previous.
They spent a few minutes dancing around with spells, as they always did their previous encounters, before the ground beneath their feet finally caved in under the force of one too many spell.
Making them fall, and fall, and fall further into the ministry’s unexplored undergrounds.
The landing wasn’t gentle, if Harry weren’t a wizard, he surely wouldn’t have survived it at all. Needing a few seconds of respite to take in his surroundings, he quickly jolted back to full consciousness, when he realized that his wand hand was empty. His wand, lost.
Though he barely had the time to look around for it before feeling a cold hand grab him by his wrists and yank them over his head, forcing him against the nearest hard surface.
Huh. So Voldemort lost his wand too. But that wasn't important right now, Voldemort was talented in wandless casting as well as wordless ones. And right now, he was pissed and holding Harry too close for comfort. Panic finally struck him, albeit a few moments too late.
Harry struggled as best as he could, trying to scratch the man’s face with his own hand. Almost in vain.
Almost.
Because he, shockingly, managed to land a hit using his elbow, allowing him to free one hand to try and push Voldemort away, though pushing his face admittedly wasn’t the smartest move. But it is probably what caused Voldemort to bite his tongue as he let out a loud hiss and recoiled slightly, so maybe it was.
Voldemort's anger rose higher, if that was even possible, he held his face over Harry’s own, no doubt to intimidate, but the blood droplets from his mouth that were caused by Harry earlier, accidentally dropped over Harry’s scar, manifesting a pleasant, odd sensation, instead of the fear he was trying to convey, or the pain he'd felt in the graveyard.
But that couldn’t distract him, Harry kept struggling and struggling, when uninvited, creeping heat came to envelope his wrist where one was still held up above his head, while the place where his hand lay on Voldemort’s face flared up at the same time. Did he manage a wordless and wandless spell? But no, Voldemort didn’t seem to be in any pain, and he hadn't put any intention for one either...
That's when he saw it.
A mark hidden beneath Voldemort’s own glamours appeared under Harry’s unmoving hand.
Both of them stilled, Harry's breathing shallow and heavy.
His pants loud enough to resonate in the prison of his own head, and probably the entire undergrounds.
Voldemort released pressure from his hand to let Harry adjust himself more comfortably, though not by much. He also used this opportunity to catch Harry’s second wrist and put it back where it was initially held.
A rush of emotions prickled at his scar, but Voldemort's odd stare and silence remained.
The realization set in for him at the same time. The flaring marks, the warmth, the comfort… it wasn’t only the horcrux bond, the way Harry thought it was… his parents’ murderer, the cause of his misery and his own wanna-be killer, was him.
His soulmate was Voldemort.
Voldemort then lifted his free hand, before speaking;
“Accio, Potter’s wand.”
Harry’s eyes widened in horror and he tried to protest. In vain, as Voldemort pressed on his wrists harder, nearly breaking them and cutting off whatever Harry was wanting to say with a groan of pain. 'How was it possible for someone to be so strong with no magic whatsover??' Harry hysterically thought to himself.
His own traitorous wand flew right into his nemesis’s palm, followed by the latter’s own wand.
Harry’s mind was a mess, his facial expressions distorting to match it. He wanted to scream and cry and vomit the bile that formed in the pit of his stomach. And his disgust must’ve been quite obvious, as it suddenly put Voldemort in a chatty mood.
“Harry, dear, this is no way to react to your own soulmate.” Voldemort mocked, the feeling of amusement in his scar outweighing all other emotions.
Harry was angry. But more than that, he felt… defeated. After years of evading Voldemort, years of pain, years of running… it was all for naught? Soulmates were bound by Fate herself. One cannot escape it, if only through death… Wasn't that it, then? Harry was a horcrux.. he was supposed to die anyway, wasn’t he? Wouldn’t that be perfect? He should probably kill himself as soon as the opportunity presented itself…
Voldemort finally released Harry’s wrist and shoved him unceremoniously downward, his body hitting the cold, hard ground. Being thrown around was more than his current state of body could handle and he finally threw up what he’s been holding in.
Tears fell along with the vomit. He prayed it wasn't noticeable.
Voldemort only stood and watched, amusement still decorating his monstruous features.
“You should be honored Harry, being your Lord’s soulmate is a great feat. Was it not someone worthy, I would have killed—“
“Fuck off! I don’t need to hear your self-indulging monologues. I’d rather be dead than live as your soulmate. There is nothing more humiliating than it!” Harry spat, venom lacing his words.
"Well, you do not have much of a choice in the matter, do you, Harry?" Voldemort sneered still, "After all, soulmates have no other choices but their intended, no matter their hatred, their differences or history together."
'differences? That's all it was to Voldemort, wasn't it? Murdering his parents, being the indirect cause of his childhood traumas, causing the death of Sirius, Cedric and many others.
"I guess the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. Are you gonna force Amortentia down my throat, the way your mother did your father?" Harry was delirious, he knew he should stop. Shouldn't provoke him any more than this, but he couldn't. "I'm even starting to see some ressemblance between you two!" he laughed, though it sounded nothing short of hysterical. Better than crying and begging the way Voldemort probably expected him to.
With a sigh, he looked over to where Voldemort was standing in front of him, immobile.
A pause. Then, silent as a breath, “Crucio.”
And if Harry didn’t feel the pain before, he certainly did now. The piercing agony of his skin being ripped off of him, of his head being split open and of a thousand needles piercing through him all at once. He tried not to scream, he really did, but containing it felt even more torturous.
The pain overrode his hearing senses, so he could barely register his own screams, but the warmth of newly shed tears was unmistakable. Even his resolve of not crying was failing miserably.
After what felt like an eternity, the spell finally lifted.
“Six seconds, impressive. During your first crucio in the graveyard, you were only under it for a measly 3 seconds. I see there is room for improvement.” Voldemort said, voice lack and devoid of any glee, clearly a threat. This impenetrable, emotionless state of his was the most scariest and unpredictable one. Harry shuddered involuntarily. “Though I would advice you to speak well and behave well when around your new master. We are to be wed, after all, per wizarding tradition. The power a soulmate bond gives is like no other, Harry….”
Harry tuned the rest of the conversation out unconsciously. He was just tired. So, so tired.
Through this weird state of dissociation, he heard Voldemort call his death eaters through their dark marks. Then a spell hit Harry once more, his head ached, memories flashed and everything went black.
-
He woke up, feeling like absolute shit, to say the least. His eyes tried adjusting to the light, his head was spinning and the tingling sensation left after the crucio remained. It hasn’t been that long since he passed out, then.
He was surprised to realize that he wasn’t in a dungeon cell, as he expected himself to be in. His room was even rather… luxurious, dare he say. Even his pajamas were made of an expensive, soft, green silk. Though they were a few sizes too big.
His wand was nowhere to be seen. Shocking, Harry thought, rolling his eyes.
He needed to be out. His friends… Ron and Hermione! Were they alive? How could he pass out like that? So what if his soulmate was Voldemort? He’d just refuse the bond and ignore it, the bond doesn’t change anything, his death was planned out already.
This was the Dark Lord Voldemort, his parent’s killer, the cause of his godfather’s death and the wizarding world’s tormentor.
He also killed Cedric. It still hurt as much as it did then. Cedric died because of Harry. Harry watched his friends' eyes turn glossy, lifeless.
Sirius died because of Harry, too. His laugh cut short by the flashing of a green light, shortly followed by a defeaning silence.
No, the soul marks didn’t change anything. Harry couldn't just give up.
He looked around his room, and it was by muggle standards, a five star hotel room. He was laying on top of a queen sized bed covered by a transparent forest green colored canopy. The bedsheets and pretty much every other furniture of the room was a mix of dark green and black, adorned by the occasional silver decorations.
At the far end of the room, was a door. Probably the bedrooms entry and exit. Without a second thought, Harry pushed himself up and ran to it, only to be tripped by a heavy and cold something anchoring him to the room.
He turned slowly and was greeted by a chain. A muggle looking, metallic, heavy chain.
There was even a keyhole.
For someone who hated muggles, Voldemort sure loves to use their inventions. Though something rubbed him the wrong way about how… easy, this all felt.
Even he knew how to cast a wandless Alohomora. There had to be a catch somewhere… but then again, what options did he have but try?
Bracing himself, he tried casting the spell and failed, it hadn't worked on the second try either. Something, likely the wards he felt around the room, was preventing his magic from being used too much. He could still feel his magic, only the force of the pull was limited now. After a few more tries, he finally cast the spell, and the effects were immediate. A shock of electricity came rushing through his body as he hit the ground. There was, indeed, a catch.
Great, so he had no wand, almost no magic, an enchanted chain and probably another few dozens of charms and wards preventing him from leaving his golden prison.
He simply doesn’t have enough information or means to escape, not yet. There was no way he couldn’t escape through some means, though. He had to investigate the room further, he was sure to find something.
The first thing he noticed was that the room had no windows, so locating himself and escaping through the window was already crossed out. But there was still the room itself, inexplored so far.
The drawers from the night stands were empty, so was pretty much everything else. Only the small library to his left had actual books in it. Though they were only muggle books, such as dictionaries and encyclopedias in various languages. The absence of magical books was likely to prevent him from honing his magic to try and run away. And because of the diverse language choices, he had to wonder if he was even still anywhere near Great Britain.
If he really didn’t have an escape route, then he’d have to accelerate Dumbledore’s plan. Now that Voldemort knew that Harry was his soulmate, there was a chance he’d refuse to kill Harry. If he can’t escape, he’d need to kill himself earlier than planned.
But right now, he couldn’t kill himself either, since there was no medicine in excess, no sharp objects and no place to hang oneself from. Did he just have to… wait it out? Like a good dog?
But again, there was nothing he could do...
Just as that thought passed, two house elves apparated in with a loud ‘pop’, one holding a food trail while the other held what looked to be a stash of fine new clothes.
“Master Harry, master Voldemort will be arriving soon. Minsby has been ordered to keep masters fed.” said one of them, bowing to Harry. She was holding a food trail, with different kinds of foods but Harry noticed the treacle tarts before the main meal (something with chicken, he guessed). He was rather hungry...
“Master has ordered Wigsby to prepare you well for the feasts, master Harry.” finished the elf holding the clothes. A finely refined black costume, decorated with silver notions.
“What? What feast? Where the hell is Voldemort? No, first, where the hell am I ?” Harry spewed, too many questions forming in his head all at once for him to ask coherently.
“Your weddings ceremony feast, master!” Minsby cheered enthusiastically. “Master has been busy with a lot of works, and master saids not to answer other questions without him, Minsby’s sorry, master Harry.”
Harry’s brains short circuited, but he worked up whatever plan he could mutter in this situation. If Voldemort wasn’t even gonna grant him a decent explanation himself, why should Harry comply to whatever he said?
He smiled.
“Thank you, Minsby, Wigsby, but you can leave for now. I need a little time alone.”
“But… master saids we need to care for you…” Minsby continued, sounding sullen.
“And you are. I’ll eat well and dress myself. I’m just nervous about the… wedding, that’s all.” the words had to be wretched out of his throat. “It’s fine, really. I'll call you if I need anything, I promise.”
After a little more convincing, they finally relented and left.
The food trail was left with all its cutlery, including a knife sharp enough to pierce skin. As a boy, opening his skin never was a difficult task. His magic healed the wounds on its own the next day.
But he’d never gone quite as deep as hitting an artery.
He placed the knife to his wrist and applied pressure.
The first cut filled white with red, but not quite deep enough yet. He’d have to go over it multiple times while still in this state of numbness, or else he'd get scared again and stop. He couldn't afford it, not this time.
A second cut over the first, this time with more pressure. It stung for a second, but a small amount of fat started sticking out and his brain simply numbed out the pain along with his other emotions.
Still no artery.
A third,
A fourth,
And finally, on the sixth swipe, blood started gushing out of his wrist, where the soul mark once burned.
It was ridiculous. Everything about his life was.
His life was ruined by one prophecy—one man, orphaned at one year old, starved and exploited by what was left of his family, getting hunted down by the madman who killed his parents, that same madman who turned out to be his soulmate.
He wouldn’t let Voldemort win this time. After everything he took from Harry, it was only right Harry take something of same value from Voldemort.
He’d kill the horcrux inside himself and the Order would take care of the rest. Voldemort would be mortal once again.
But that, only if Voldemort didn’t show up to save him, since their connection was still strong. Harry felt Voldemort’s emotions even now, glee nesting in his scar. He would probably feel Harry’s life drain and try to save him because of the newly discovered soulmate bond.
What a joke, Lord Voldemort saving Harry Potter…
A short while passed and he started feeling dizzy, probably due to the loss of blood. He would pass out soon. The blood was spilling all over the bedsheets, it was dirty.. he’d lost a lot.
Then, a crack of apparition resounded in the room, and a barely audible Vulnera Sanentur was cast upon him.
Took him longer than Harry thought it would.
A silhouette with black robes approached his sitting form and grabbed him by the jaw. Sobering and waking his mind in an instant.
“I am tired of your little tantrums, Potter. You ought to behave when you are powerless. You will not die under my watch. I will keep you alive as long as I see it fit.” Voldemort screeched, staring into Harry’s green, green eyes. His scar ached with anger.
“You are mine, Harry Potter. You shall live when I tell you to, and you shall die when I tell you to.” At those words, he pushed Harry’s face away and cast a worldless cleaning spell everywhere blood stained sheets and clothes and skin alike.
“I’ve never been yours and never will be, I will die as soon as the opportunity presents itself. Anything would be better than a lifetime at your side.” Harry shot back at him, snideness still ever present in his remaining sanity.
The familiar anger in his scar rose once again, before it was quickly replaced by something akin to… smugness?
“Why, Harry, you’re not curious about what happened to your friends? To the Order?” he purred, “Their fates depends purely on your behavior here.”
Harry’s blood ran cold. Ron and Hermione… he hadn’t even thought about them when he… when he tried to kill himself. What would they think? They would’ve been heartbroken and disappointed in him, wouldn’t they? They didn’t know what Harry was, so they’d just think of him as a weak boy who couldn’t endure being captured. And Dumbledore wasn’t here anymore to tell them of the final act of the plan. They would be clueless and blame themselves…
“…are they okay?” he finally asked, sounding weaker than he’d hoped. “Where are they? Ron and Hermione?”
“For now, they are... alive. Your Lord is merciful, only their wands have been confiscated. They are residing in the Malfoy manor’s dungeons. But with dear Bella as a 'guard', one shouldn’t be surprised if they don’t make it out alive.” Voldemort snickered, sensing Harry’s distress.
Malfoy Manor, that’s where he was probably held, too. Although he had a guess already, nothing was ever too sure with the Dark Lord.
“What do you want then? You have me, you can finally kill me. Why am I here?” trying to keep his voice even was proving harder and harder due to Voldemort’s taunts.
“You see Harry, I discovered something rather interesting regarding our, shall we say, special connection, after our lively time in the ministry's undergrounds.”
No… he couldn’t have. Harry had kept his occlumency shields up, had he not?
“When you were done throwing a fit and disrespecting your superior, your Occlumency barriers were completely wrecked.” He scoffed at that, “One push, and that was all it took for me to see it. You, Harry, my soulmate,” he paused, dragging it longer than necessary, rising Harry's cortisol level, before finally spitting out the rest of his words, “my soul, you shall live. Forevermore, alongside myself. You, Harry, my living horcrux, the nest nurturing my soul. My counterpart... you are mine. Then, now, and for eternity.” Voldemort reverently finished.
And wasn’t that a scary thing, being revered by the most powerful, most insane and most unhinged Dark Lord?
”I’d rather not. It was much better when you were trying to kill me, at least I’m not particularly passionate about life so I didn’t mind it all that much.”
Voldemort scoffed.
“Dumbledore is dead, your family is dead, every authority figure within the Order is dead. And their Savior, their symbol of hope, lay in my hands." he paused, letting Harry register his words. "It would be wise of you to not try anything foolish so as long as I have you in my possession." Voldemort finished, waiting for Harry's answer.
Then, that meant that Moody and Shacklebold were also…
His eyes were stingy, his throat was hoarse, but he spoke.
"Don't hurt them…” Harry took a deep breath, before adding “…please." and Voldemort almost sighed of pleasure at that. "I won't do anything foolish, so please, just spare them." he said through gritted teeth, with immense difficulty.
"But what are you willing to do to ensure that, Harry?" his captor taunted. The way he spoke Harry’s name was so very condescending, so very adoring.
Of course, Harry knew what the Dark Lord wanted. Not only did he want Harry as his living horcrux, but as soulmates, once the bond was reciprocated on both sides, it gave a kind of magic that couldn't compare to any other.
They were taught that it was Ancient Magic, designed by Fate and Magic Themselves.
The ritual of reciprocation was simple. To normal soulmates anyway.
Consumption.
They needed to consummate their bond on their wedding night. This was one of the main reasons only a few purebloods reciprocated their bonds, while most choose to wait until after school.
But in order for it to be accepted, both parties must agree to it. It cannot be taken by physical force.
Ancient and Old Magic require such muggle ways to work sometimes, Harry thought grimly.
"I'll reciprocate. I'll let you have it without protest." and as he said so, he heard his own voice crack.
Voldemorts large, serpentine hand found it's way to Harry's face.
"If you continue to behave so well, I might sincerely consider letting your friends live. Your Lord is most pleased." He finished, staring expectantly at Harry.
He held Harry's head still in his palm, unmoving.
Was he expecting a show of gratitude? Knowing Voldmort, probably.
So Harry did the second most humiliating thing he could've done; he leaned into the touch (not without great mental bashing towrads himself) and pressed a chaste kiss against Voldemort's palm, mouthing a quiet 'thank you'. The glare hadn't left his face througout the entire process.
But it seemed to work anyway, as Voldemort practically purred in delight.
"Good, Harry. Good behavior shall be rewarded." he hissed in parseltongue, before pulling away and summoning the house-elves.
"Feed, clean and clothe the boy. Do not let him out of your sight, lest you wish to lose yours. Am i understood?"
"Yes, master!" the elves said in unison, likely used to the threats.
"The ceremony will be in two weeks. I choose to delay it, thanks to your childish tantrum. A temporary ceasefire has been put in place. I will come to reterieve you at 8 o'clock at the arranged time. I except you to be ready."
Not waiting for an answer, he apparated to merlin knows where, leaving Harry alone with the nervous house-elves.
Why did this kind of shit only ever happen to Harry?
But… was that not a good thing? Voldemort mentioned a temporary ceasefire, and call Harry naive for it, but wouldn’t there be a chance for a truce? If Harry could convince Voldemort, there may be actual peace.
He had to make most of a desperate situation. He couldn’t give up yet, not until he knew that everyone and their futures were safe.
He can do this. He’d survived worse. It’s just another crazy story to his already full collection.
Reflection over, he calmly let Wigsby wash him, dress him and attempt to tame his untamable hair.
He'd 'behave' for now, if that's what it took to keep everyone safe.
-
During those two weeks, he'd developed a daily routine to keep himself busy. Staying in this single room without even seeing the world outside was a kind of hell he didn't want to think about.
His routine consisted of getting up at ten, letting Wigsby wash and clothe him, and then eating his breakfast cooked by Minsby. After that, he'd exercice for a bit to keep himself occupied. Talking with the elves helped, too. Come to find out that house elves' ancestries and the stories accumulated over the years, can be quite entertaining.
Then he'd eat a snack (read; an unhealthy amount of treacles tarts) at noon while reading the different kinds of books in the library.
Finally, he'd eat dinner at six with the elves, insisting that he'd feel too lonely, too sad, to eat alone. He'd developped somewhat of a friendship with them. And they were his only link to time.
He wanted—needed, company. Voldemort had not visited him once, the only sign of life that Harry had of him were the occasional emotions felt fluctuating through their bond.
He had probably been busy doing whatever paperworks dictators did during their working hours.
It's with that same routine that he fnished his last day of confinement.
Today was the day.
The house elves dolled Harry up, to his disdain.
Though he had to admit, they had done an amazing job at it. Harry looked completely different. Proper. Like an actual pureblood heir. He looked… handsome, even. The clothes hugged his lean figure perfectly and his hair didn’t make him look any worse than he assumed it would. His scar was on display still, and his broken glasses were fixed on his nose, charmed to not break easily.
This was all for his... wedding. Of tonight.
...It’d be the longest evening of his life.
-
Voldemort appeared as soon as the clock hit eight. He was wearing his usual black robes, but beneath, Harry could see a fully black costume.
Voldemort took in Harry’s new look, staring, or really, ogling at him for far too long.
”Beautiful.” he finally said, making Harry uncomfortably blush, before holding his arm up for Harry to take.
”Where are we going, exactly? Who’s gonna be there?” Harry asked first, not yet taking Voldemorts arm. His anxiety must’ve slipped out of his tone, as Voldemort simply sighed and indulged.
“We are going to Hogwarts. It is where we will officiate the union. The students have been sent home except a select few, whom I’ve identified to be your… friends. But everyone has been made aware of the soulmate union and upcoming wedding. Rita Skeeter can be quite useful when needed.” he hummed in amusement, but Harry was horrified.
He'd only been missing for a little over two weeks, and all these changes had already been made.
”Are Ron and Hermione at Hogwarts too?”
”Weasly and Granger are indeed at Hogwarts, though their wands remain in my possession. As well as your other friends’ wands.”
”I want a truce.” Harry suddenly spat. “For me to accept the engagement fully, I want to make an Unbreakable Vow with you.”
Voldemort stared for a few seconds, thinking whatever evil dictators thought before the option of a peaceful reign. But he had probably expected Harry to ask for one anyway.
”Are you aware, Harry, that you will have to oblige to whatever I should to write down in the contract?” he asked, observing Harry from the corner of his eyes.
”I know, I’m okay with that.”
On that note, they started negotiating.
Harry bargained the safety and pardon of all his friends and the remaining members of the Order, as well as a complete ceasefire. He somehow managed to bargain the safety and somewhat decent treatment of muggleborns as well.
In exchange, Voldemort claimed the position as Minister of Magic as well Chief Warlock, Harry by his side as long as he wanted to. And, lastly, Harry had to make a Horcrux of his own. The last one took a lot of convincing and guilt tripping regarding the safety of Harry’s friends for him to finally accept.
Minsby was the witness. They clasped their hands together and it was done.
He was essentially giving away his entire life to the same monster who has trampled on it over and over, disregarding his feelings and autonomy.
But he was entwined with him, wether be it by prophecy or soulmatism.
At least one of them ensured the peace and safety of his loved ones. No more war, no more Lily and James, no more Sirius, no more Harry’s and no more Cedric's in this world. He was doing the right thing. That’s what Dumbledore would’ve wanted, right?
A hand on his shoulder snapped him out of his drifting thoughts, and he looked up at Voldemort standing next to him.
”Are you ready to go?”
"Could I speak with Ron and Hermione before officiating anything?" he asked, hoping for a chance to explain himself.
"You may, though I will expect you to make it quick."
Harry simply nodded, and the familiar feeling of being forced through a tight rubber tube took them away at once.
-
They apparated right onto Hogwarts' grounds, where wards should've prevented it. Harry could still feel the warding magic, so the person in charge of the wards' maintenance had probably changed.
It wasn't hard to guess who it was.
For a while, Harry hadn't moved.
The comfort of Hogwarts, of his home, and of being outside, felt overwhelming.
It wasn't until Voldemort nudged him toward that he broke out of that trance-like state and marched.
They departed in a somewhat comfortable silence only broken by their footsteps and the occasional wind.
A few minutes later, they stopped in front of a tall door, the Great Hall was behind it.
As if sensing their arrival, the doors opened on their own and the small chattering that Harry could faintly hear behind the door stopped.
Harry managed to lift his head, which had been fixating on the ground the entire walk. He looked around the Hall, filled with people, some he recognized as his classmates, the remaining members of the Order and others as Death Eaters and their families. The was no journalists in sight. Thanks Merlin, he internaly sighed.
He finally spotted Ron and Hermione at the far right end of the Great Hall, their eyes met and they looked like they were about to break down in tears.
So Harry did the only logical thing he would've done in any other scenario and ran towards them without waiting for Voldemorts approval. He had said yes earlier, anyway.
He jumped in for a hug that was immediately reciprocated, but before the barrage of questions he knew would come, he urged them to a more private location, not wanting everyone to hear them. He was already in the center of attention, to his displeasure.
Once out of sight, safe in the courtyard, Hermione threw herself at him, sobbing like he'd come back from the dead.
Which technically, wasn't too far off.
"Harry! You're safe! We were so worried-" she sobbed, before continuing "when we heard the news, we tried to come get you, but our wands--"
"I'm okay, Hermione. It's fine, I wasn't hurt. I'm fine." he broke the hug, giving her space to collect herself, but just as soon, Ron threw himself at Harry, too.
"It's good to see you, mate." Ron sighed. He wasn't crying, but the eyebags and hoarse voice told Harry more than enough.
Harry relaxed into the hug once more. "Yeah, I missed you two. A lot."
"Harry," Hermione started "now that we have you back, we can rebuild the Order and keep looking for--"
"There's no need for that anymore. We reached a... truce, of sorts." He blurted, which was followed by a few seconds of silence.
"What?"
"What do you mean?"
They asked in almost-unison.
"He'll stop the war, Voldemort. We made an Unbreakable Vow. He'll still reign Wizarding Britain but there won't be any more bloodshed."
Hermione seemed deep in thought, while Ron looked just as confused and worried.
"What, exactly did the exchange entail, Harry?" asked Hermione.
Harry indulged. "Voldemort will become the Minister of Magic and Chief Warlock as a 'just ruler', whatever that means for him, the treatment of muggleborns will be equal to that of any other wixen. As for what he wanted... It was that I stay by him, as his soulmate, as well as his... horcrux." Hermione made a sour face and Ron winced. Harry guessed that they'd figured it out during their horcrux hunt. "I'll need to make a Horcrux, too. I'm sorry." he shamefully admitted, looking away.
"Oh Harry." Hermione said, in that sweet tone she only had when she was worried and/or about to cry. "We're not upset at you, but will you be okay?"
"Yeah, mate, I don't think I'd be mad at you even if you went on a killing spree at this point." Ron joked, his laugh cut short by a high pitched 'ouch' caused by Hermione.
"Ron! This isn't the time to be joking!" she said, though her tone didn't seem to be disagreeing with the latter.
"But I'm not joking!" Ron said again, continuing their banter and causing a smile to blossom on Hermione's face as well.
Their laughter was echoing in Harry's head like the pleasant songs of the birds on a warm summer mornimg.
He had missed it.
He had missed them.
This, their happiness and safety was enough to make Harry's resolve stronger.
"Hermione," he spoke in a low voice, but loud enough to get their attention. "I'm gonna be fine. Even while I was confined, I was treated and fed well. I'm really okay with this choice, I won't change my mind." he finishsed, turning to Ron, who'd been wanting to say something for a while now.
"Harry, if you go with...You-Know-Who, will we still be able to see each other? I wouldn't put it past him to confine you again, knowing him."
It barked a laugh out of Harry, because no truer words have been spoken.
"I'll convince him."
As Ron and Hermione were about to protest, his scar started aching. Anger, Harry realized. He'd probably been gone for long enough.
His friends noticed the wince immediately, and held him closer.
"Let's get back, someone's getting impatient." Harry spat disdainfully.
-
The trio exchanged mundane life updates during their short walk to the Great Hall, stopping as they reached the entrance of it.
"We'll see each other soon, I promise." Harry assured, tone half confident, half hesitant.
They gave him one more hug and went back inside. Silence was no more, as the feast had begun already, though the people present still threw glances at him.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Luna with Ginny and Neville, and smiled at them. Their tense faces relaxed and they smiled back. He wished he had spoken with them, too...
Focusing his attention back to the ceremony, he looked over the crowd again, searching for Voldemort, finally finding him seated on an ornate chair that looked more like a throne than anything else. Harry's gaze fell next to him, landing on similar chair, probably for Harry to sit on.
Voldemort's intense gaze was fixed on Harry, and Harry gave one last nod to Ron and Hermione before departing towards where Voldemort was seated.
The stares were uncomfortable, to say the least, but he finally reached his destination and looked down at Voldemort.
He sat, too.
"My friends won't fight you or your regime, so when will they get their wands back?" he asked, finally breaking the unbearable silence.
"I'll think about it." Voldemort replied, tone indifferent.
Oh. He was still upset about Harry's tardiveness.
The audacity of the man... "Listen, I didn't mean to take so long, but being locked up for two weeks with next to no stimuli or clock, do, in fact, mess with someone's sense of time!" despite his best efforts to be cooperative, the man simply pushed all the right buttons.
At least Harry was considerate enough to whisper his disdain while keeping an almost poker face.
Voldemort didn't do or say anything in return, keeping his face indifferent the whole time.
But finally, he sighed and got up, rendering the Hall silent again.
"Get up, Harry." Voldemort started, "We will have our speech."
Harry almost gasped at that, "But I wasn't given any script!" he protested.
The crowd erupted in gasps and murmurs which Harry thought were simply judging before realizing too late that Voldemort had hissed to him in parseltongue, and Harry had hissed back.
That sly bastard, Harry thought angrily.
Voldemort only smirked, proud of his stunt.
He pushed Harry forward to stand beside him and gestured the crowd to quiet down with only a lift of his hand.
"Wizards and witches, my coven, today we stand at the threshold of a moment that will be remembered in centuries to come. With the still-recent war, too much magical blood has been shed, too many wixen lives lost," 'whose fault is that?' Harry bitterly thought at Voldemort's dramatical speech. "the war raged and would have continued on, had it not been for a union offered to us by Magic Herself. I have reunited you all today, to announce the beginning of a new era. An era of peace and evolution for purebloods, halfbloods and muggleborns alike. I, as your new ruler, shall ensure that no more magical blood is spilled, and that our likes continues to grow." he finished at last, or so Harry thought.
Voldemort took Harry's hand in his own, lifting it to his mouth and pressing a kiss to his knuckles.
Heat rose to Harry's neck and face, rendering him scotched to the place where he stood.
"It is all thanks to you, my intended," he smiled devilishly, "I hope that you can leave the past behind for a new beginning, with me."
Harry flushed again, but this time with anger.
His lip twitched, dying for a sarcastic retort he'd throw normally, but will all eyes on him and a peace treaty just announced, he simply nodded.
Voldemort smiled, and they sat back down.
The rest of the evening passed in a blur, they hadn't spoke.
But maybe they did, Harry didn't know, he had dissociated the rest on the night.
He hadn't even noticed Nagini coiled around him at some point.
-
They apparated back 'home' (with Nagini this time. She apparently had been hunting in the forbidden forest during the feast, when Harry asked about her whereabouts), which actually turned out to have been Riddle manor and not the Malfoy manor.
Harry had expected a night of rest after this tiring evening, he just wanted to sleep and forget for a day. But the harsh reality slammed back into him with full force when the house elves had proudly announced that his and Voldemort's room had been 'prepared accordingly for consumption', whatever the fuck that meant.
Nagini gently slid out from inside his clothes, but the loss felt significant due to her size.
"I do not enjoy human mating, I will stay by the fire and polish my beautiful scales until hatchling and master are finished." she said, not realizing the impact of her words. Or well, hisses.
Voldemort hummed something that sounded like a laugh, and guided the still pretrifiednervousshockedscaredexcited Harry to 'their' room.
The bedroom was larger than the one he had stayed in, it also had big windows. The color scheme remained the same though. This room also had a walk-in closet and a bathroon in it. The bathroom door was where Voldemort now stood, wearing a bathrobe (when did he even change? probably with a spell? Harry didn't pay enough attention to know) and leaning against it.
"I shall wash myself as well, take the small amount of spare time you have to drown in your own chargin." Voldemort spoke smugly, before entering the bathroom and leaving Harry to his devices
What the hell did that mean??
And he'd known Harry had bathed today, meaning he'd been updated of Harry's staying by the elves? He only hoped they hadn't snitched on his endless slandering rants about him.
But that's not what's important right now.
He was going to do it... with Lord fucking Voldemort.
whatthehellwhatthehellwhatthehell--
He needed to calm down. He knew this would happen. What was his pride as a cost for world peace? It wasn't like he was completely inexperienced either. He wasn't a prude, for god's sake. He had dated a few people before, and he'd made out plenty of times. Even if they had never gone all the way, he knew, in theory, how it'd go, how it usually goes, no thanks to his quidditch teammates.
It's fine. He's not a Gryffindor for nothing.
He was gonna be fine, just fine.
After a minute of self soothing, Harry manually undressed, too, and put on the bathrobe that the elves had prepared for him, even though he wasn't planning on showering. He simply didn't want to be naked in front of Voldemort.
He really needed to ask for his wand back.
Harry sat on the bed, nervously fidgeting with his fingers when Voldemort emerged out of the bathroom.
He was still wearing his bathrobe, but had seemingly dried himself up using a charm. He prowled closer to Harry, stopping at an inche's distance and spoke.
"Are you done wallowing in self misery, Harry?" he asked, his voice mocking.
Harry swallowed, his Adam's apple bubbling and disappearing.
"I wasn't 'wallowing in self pity'-" anymore "-I already knew what would come." he finished, averting his eyes.
Voldemort hummed in satisfaction, grabbing Harry's jaw tightly in his hand.
"Did you now? I can hear your hearbeat, Harry. It's about to burst out of your ribcage." he teased.
Harry did not have a snappy remark to make this time.
Voldemort took it as his cue to get started by pushing Harry down onto the bed and placing himself above Harry's lying form.
His larger hand travelled across Harry's half-covered torso, teasing the exposed skin.
Harry himself didn't move, because what could he do anyway? It's not like Voldemort will ever allow himself to be the one under. Pretentious prisk.
Harry looked away, of course, how could he not? He was bedding his parents' murderer for fuck's sake.
But as always, Voldemort would take offense to that too.
"I want you to look at me, Harry." he declared, almost ordering it.
"And I don't. Merlin forbid my world doesn't revolve around you for one second..." Harry muttered, finding his lost confidence back.
Voldemort laughed at that. Actually laughed in Harry's face. "Then it's a good thing that we have forever in front of us to put me back in it's center."
Harry was rendered speechless at the sheer audacity of that sentence, and Voldemort took this as an opportunity to finally undo Harry's bathrobes and leer to his heart's content, making Harry even more flustered than he already was.
He vanished his own and held Harry's wrists over his head using a wordless spell, making Harry squirm in place "There was no need for that, you know."
"There most certainly was, considering you'd try to push me off had I done this-" he placed his hand over Harry's chest and followed an invisible trail towards his nipple, taking it between his fingers and twisting it, causing Harry to let out a pained gasp. "-without the bindings."
"Of course I would've! We only need to have... intercourse, not anything else." Harry snapped, trying to ignore the shame swallowing him whole and the unshed tears at the corner of his eyes.
"Are you embarrassed to say it, dear? To say that you're having sex with Lord Voldemort?" he smirked, before twisting it again, stealing another gasp from Harry and causing his back to arch. "That you are bedding your parent's killer?"
He did not reply, knowing that whatever he said back will be used against him again. Voldemort kept pinching and twisting Harry's nipples, until both of them were puffy and red, and until Harry's tears shed.
Was it over? Harry naively hoped, his answer coming in the form of a Voldemort leaning over his face.
His cold, larger hand crept away from his chest and instead came closer to Harry's throat, holding it without pressure. Almost gently.
He only stared, prompting Harry to speak so as to avoid another awkard silence. "What are you--" but his breath was cut short by that absent pressure on his throat now more than obvious.
It wasn't anywhere near a gentle squeeze, he was actually choking Harry. Cutting off his air ways and drawing more tears from his eyes.
When Harry felt like he'd pass out, Voldemort released his hold just a little to let Harry have a few breaths in, before closing the distance that was forming between them by crashing their lips together.
It was bruising and violent, nothing like his previous make out sessions with his past partners. Voldemort's teeth kept on biting and wrecking Harry's lips, demanding entrance.
Entrance that wasn't difficult to give away, considering that he was still actively being half choked.
Harry's new thoughts were a mantra of 'Air. air air air-i'll pass out--'
When Harry felt like he'd nearly pass out from the lack of air once more, Voldemort finally let go and pulled away, staring down at Harry with his red slitted pupils, now looking wholly black due to the dilatation from his irises.
"We can't have you passing out now, can we?" Voldemort hissed, leaning closer to whisper in Harry's ear.
The snake had been collecting snippets of Harry's thoughts while his walls were still down!
"Bastard..." he breathlessly exhaled in accidental parseltongue.
Voldemort didn't reply, instead, he unceremoniously turned Harry around and flat on his chest. Harry tried pushing himself up or around, but his head was pushed down into the warm and soft pillow under him, his wrists still charmed.
"Since I am such a bastard, I shall act like one." Voldemort retorted, sounding annoyed, which contrasted with the elation that dripped in Harry’s scar.
Without another word, he lifted Harry up (stealing another disgraceful noise from Harry), holding him by the stomach. His back hitting Voldemort's torso, he could feel Voldemort's breath near his throat.
Harry hadn't realized at first, that the stinging pain following after was because Voldemort bit it. Hard.
Harry gasped out protests, falling on apparently deaf ear. 'W-wait, hold on Tom--' the pressure grew stronger at the use of his old name, strong enough to draw blood.
It was only when Harry thrashed around with his remaining strength that the pressure disappeared, instead replaced by the wet warmth of a tongue.
Insane. Voldemort had finally gone insane. But maybe Harry had as well, because he was rock hard.
'It must be the bond. It has to be.' Harry feverishly thought, only for his thought process to be interrupted by a hand craddling his shaft.
Voldemort tsk'd, "It's you, Harry. You shan't deny yourself such deserved pleasures."
Harry's scar was exploding with ecstasy, making his brains all mushy. Making froming a coherent thought near impossible.
Harry shuderred, his back arching, when Voldemort started stroking him at slow pace. He had never felt such a burst of pleasure before.
More. He thought heedlessly. Not enough, more, more, more.
Voldemort purred in delight, accelerating his pace with one hand and toying with Harry's still-swollen nipple again with the other.
Harry's filthy moans echoed in the room, finally happy to be let free.
The sensations were heightened by not only the soulmate bond, but their horcrux connection as well.
Harry was close. So, So close to his climax, just a little more-
The crashing wave of an abrupt stop hit him like a bucket of cold water and he nearly hissed in irritation, all coherence thrown out of the window. Right now he only wanted to chase his pleasure. The dread could catch him later.
"Shh, Harry, we've not even started yet." Voldemort said, turning Harry back onto his back.
Only when Voldemort started removing it, did Harry notice that Voldemort was still robed. Prick.
Once fully naked as well, Voldemort fixed Harry's thighs to fit around his bassin. Only then did it hit him that they really were going all the way.
But he strangely felt no fear, probably too far gone in is own lust. Instead of fear, he felt anticipation. Excitement, even.
Well, the fear was still present of course, but the other emotions were strong enough to override it.
Voldemort muttered a silent spell, conjuring a cold something inside Harry.
The cold was soothing.
"Perfect. You are perfect. You were made for me. Me alone, mine and only mine." Voldemort deliriously declared, too lost in his own concupiscence.
His words were followed by another bite, this time located near Harry’s collarbone. He trailed smooches on Harry's sun kissed skin, planting seeds in the shape of his teeth. Harry found he didn't mind the pain as much.
It was when Voldemort inserted a finger in Harry's entrance that he started minding it a bit more.
"Ah- wait-" he managed to breathe out, before Voldemort shut him up with another kiss.
Voldemort quickly added a second finger, his weight not allowing Harry much movement for protest.
He used Harry's lack of movement to his advantage and started scissoring his fingers where they were still inside Harry.
Harry moaned pleas into Voldemort's mouth continuously, the man swallowing them hungrily.
A third finger slid in, making Harry feel full. It wasn't particularly a painful feeling, more of an unpleasant one.
And it's not like Voldemort let Harry adjust to the size of his finger (which for reference, are absurdly big compared to his own or anyone else's).
He had pulled away from the kiss when the third finger was inserted, Harry hadn't noticed.
Voldemort spent only a minute or two moving in and out of Harry's entrance, before finally pulling out entirely, and oh, how empty he felt.
He wanted it back, he wanted more.
His face said as much, and Voldemort adjusted himself to Harry's entrance.
Harry looked down dreamily for no apparent reason other than needneedneed, and the sight sobered him up instantly.
It was too big. Inhumanly so. There was no way in hell that this thing could enter him, he said as much.
"You can't be serious... Are you actually trying to kill me?" Harry whispered, panic decorating his features.
"Whatever do you mean?" Voldemort said, knowing exactly what Harry meant.
"You know exactly what! T-that thing won't ever fit. It'll rip me apart!" Harry regretted his words as soon as they left his mouth, because just as soon, he felt his scar ache with pride, glee and even more lust. Among other emotions, but these were the strongest and most distinct ones.
"Let's try and find out then, shall we?" He didn't wait for Harry reply, because of course he didn't, and simply pushed in.
Harry let out a silent scream and arched his back once more, tears immediately filling his eyes.
Voldemort exhaled in relief and pleasure, not moving just yet, instead whispering sweet nothing's into Harry's ears.
The feeling of fullness wasn't like it had been earlier. Earlier had felt complete. Now it only feels like an uninvited guest lodging in his stomach, clawing behind his ribs. Burning. He was being impaled.
"Hurts- stop it- it hurts, pull it out-" Harry heard himself hiss.
"Shh, Harry. It'll feel good soon, bear it for me. You feel so good, Harry. Your body was made for this, for me." Voldemort hissed back. "You look beautiful when you cry, I want to see more of it." he paused and stared at his work. "Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, defiled and filthy and ruined."
But Harry had a hard time listening, unable to focus on anything other than the pain.
Breathing came to him with great difficulty, his tries failed by his sobs more times than not.
Voldemort lifted his hand and patted from Harry's hair to his cheek repeatedly in a soothing, comforting manner, "I'll ruin you, Harry. Ruin you for anyone else. Ruin all that's left of you and mould you to my preferences. I will latch you onto me the way a parasite latches onto a host. And I'll have all eternity to do that." his soulmate finally finished, placing a final kiss onto his scar and slowly starting to move.
Harry's vision blurred more, tears flooding past his lashes, his only answer being to wrap his bound wrists around Voldemort's neck in order to keep balance, earning him a pleased hum.
It wasn't the dramatic declarations that conjured the tears, it was his own reaction to it.
He didn't care. He simply didn't care.
He had saved the wizarding world as he was supposed to since before his birth. He had completed his task.
He had nothing left to do. No imposed roles. No goals. No value. But he couldn't bring himself to care, and that was the greatest tragedy of it all.
Voldemort, feeling the surplus of emotions, quickened his pace, the pain unfeeling now.
It was pleasurable. Or maybe Harry was a masochist? It didn't really matter, he didn't hate it.
Voldemort kept thrusting into Harry desperately, like Harry might just disappear from his grasp if he blinked, occasionally kissing and biting him gravely. Even his hold was strong enough to bruise, making it so that by tomorrow, his body will certainly look battered and abused. He'd have to wear glamours again when visiting his friends.
He was nearing his climax and so was Voldemort, by the feelings rushing in his scar.
With a few last thrusts, each harder and faster than the previous, Voldemort came with a guttural moan. Harry did too, all over his stomach.
Harry realized that Voldemort came inside him, hadn't pulled out. And the thought made him hot and bothered.
Now though, he was too spent to even get hard again.
Voldemort laid over Harry, before falling atop him and rolling them both to the side.
Harry didn't want to speak unecessarily, throat raspy because of his continued moans and- anyway.
He only whispered a low "bathroom", making Voldemort reluctantly release him from his grasp.
He was so tired, he just wanted to wash and sleep.
Harry had only taken a single step toward the bathroom, when an agonizing pain at his lower back struck and made him stumble to the ground.
"Do you need help, dear? Ask and you shall receive." Voldemort said, enjoying Harry's shameful display far too much, knowing he was the cause.
Harry was about to throw a snide remark yet again, when his eyes landed on Voldemort's lower part, shamelessly displaying his rock fucking hard erection.
"You're joking." Harry bordeline implorably said.
"We have all of eternity on our side, Harry. You'll be fine."
-
He was, in fact, not fine.
The went at it for hours! Harry had woken up and fallen asleep to Voldemort looming over him more times than he can recount.
As soon as he woke up (without the shadow of his soulmate this time) he was ready to argue and scream his exhaustion at Voldemort, but when he had tried sitting up, the sharp pain at his lower back from yesterday struck again. This time, the pain intensified tenfold.
He looked up at Voldemort, sitting on a fucking armchair next to the bed, clothed, bathed, holding a book and looking as unbothered as always. As if they hadn't just had the most intense night of their life.
The sheer audacity of it, after what he rendered Harry to...
But, he had to be calm. He wanted his wand back and to see his friends. He wanted his friends to have their wands back, too.
"Can I get my wand back now?" he settled for. They weren't domestic enough for good morning's, nor were they friendly enough for hey's.
'You guys just fucked to an inch of your life!' whispered the far away voice in his head he tried so hard to ignore.
"Not even a greeting? You wound me, Harry." Voldemort said, without looking up from his book, his words were laced with malice nonetheless.
"Good morning. Can I have my wand back now?"
"Impolite child. Your relatives certainly weren't the best bunch, but shouldn't the teachers at Hogwarts have taught you a thing or two about respect? When you ask for something, what word do you use, hm?"
But it's my wand... Harry thought bitterly. "Please, can I get my wand back?"
"Not quite yet, it just doesn't feel sincere enough..."
"Please, can I just get my wand back already? Please, please, please! There, I'll say it as many times as you want!" Harry finally snapped.
Voldemort finally nodded in concession, before pulling out Harry's wand from his robe and handing it to him. Finally. He felt safe and whole and content again.
"Good boy." Voldemort hissed.
Harry's insides twisted, not quite in disgust.
-
After that, they ate breakfast together and it went rather... fine.
They discussed Voldemorts new regime in detail, Harry adding some and Voldemort removing others.
When they were done eating, Voldemort took Harry somewhere.
That somewhere turned out to be Azkaban.
Once on lieu, Voldemort had explained the details of a horcrux ritual and how to make one. He let Harry chose an object to place his soul in.
Harry chose his cloak, to Voldemorts delight. It was, after all, indestructible and eternal. But Harry had chosen it because it was his family's legacy. The only thing he had left of his father. He had nothing of his mother.
Voldemort instructed Harry to choose from one of the criminals awaiting death by the Kiss.
Bellatrix was already dead, unfortunately, but Harry recognized Fenrir Greyback. While most death eaters were also pardonned, some weren't, for the crimes they've committed beside Voldemort's orders were too big and obvious to ignore.
Fenrir's was one of them.
Harry didn't want to kill. Voldemort would repeat in morbid, gruesome details what Fenrir would do to kids younger than Harry, to innocent children, as a sick way to 'motivate' Harry.
Eventually, Harry's hand lifted and he committed his sin. He didn't dare cast Avada Kedavra, only a Sectumsempra.
The process afterwards was agonizing. Making a horcrux was agonizing. His soul was being ripped apart and he felt it all.
Voldemort had whispered that the pain was higher depending on the 'purity' of one's soul. Had looked at Harry with nothing but awe in his eyes while Harry's soul was bleeding from the newly made crevices. Had cradled his face and whispered words of praises and promises of worship.
-
It had been a week since Harry made a horcrux. Four days was what took for him to heal, after that, the usual numbness that came after a traumatic event seeped into his very being.
His 'sulking', as Voldemort had called it didn't last very long though. He saw what it brought to the world. Saw all the grateful smiles and tears of joy in the the Daily Prophets Voldemort brought him. All showcasing houses being rebuilt, interviews from hostages being reunited with their families, Hogwarts completely liberated and some minor unimportant quidditch news. Ron would kill me if he knew I thought of anything quidditch related unimportant... Harry carelessly though, before he abruptly jolted up from his bed. He needed to see Ron and Hermione. He promised them.
With all the horcrux thing and Voldemort's beastly habits at night, he'd forgotten all about his promise.
Excitedly, he marched towards Voldemort's study to ask for permission. Because of course, the manor was warded against any exit or leave that wasn't approved by Voldemort.
He walked down and turned multiple corridors. The Riddle Manor was admittedly huge, especially for a muggle manor. A massacre had transpired in those exact grounds, Harry reminded himself. Now reminded of those cliche horror muggle movies where a family moves into a house that houses the ghost of the previous dead owner.
The Manor also had many portraits. Most were paintings of mundane things with the occasional portrait of a Riddle family member. It felt great to walk around in corridors without having to worry about whispers from said portraits.
Finally, he arrived in front of the study. Without bothering to knock, he barged in. Voldemort knew he was there anyway.
Nagini hissed, but not with disdain. Rather, it was with anticipation.
Harry had developped a bond with Nagini over the course of these past few days. Bonded over their shared hatred for her master. Voldemort, of course, was not made aware of the subject of their conversations.
"Hatchling! Will you be sharing a bath with Nagini again? My scales need to be cleaned." she finished, drawing a questioning glare from Voldemort.
"Unfortunately, not now Nagini. Maybe tomorrow we can talk more and bathe together. But sorry, I have urgent business to tend to today." Harry hissed back, taking Voldemort's glare full in.
"Nothing should be more important than Nagini..." She hissed almost angrily, coiling back down near the hearth of the study.
"What is this whole affair about chatterings and baths together?" Voldemort suspiciously asked.
"That's not important right now, I have a request." Harry paused, before immediately adding "...please." to his sentence. Voldemort has made his stance clear on politeness in their short time together.
"I see you've learned. Perhaps I'll hear you out, go ahead." he said, voice a low murmur.
Gods he's easy, Harry absent-mindedly thought.
"Can I go see my-"
"No."
"I didn't even finish!"
"You cannot leave the Manor without my supervision, and as you can so clearly tell, your Lord is very busy." Voldemort quickly interjected.
"Well, can they come over then? And they already know of the Manor's location and history, so don't start talking about it's secrecy and shit. We came here together when looking for the other horcruxes. Though it certainly wasn't as well maintained as it is now. Also, they need their wands back." he insisted, not giving up until Voldemort agreed.
The man sighed, lifting his head up from whatever paperwork had him consumed. "What do I get in return, then?" Voldemort voiced, the lewd suggestion laying flat on his tongue.
And Harry knew him well. Where it concerned Voldemort, 'lewd' could refer to both a stroke on his ego and their night-time activities. Harry already knew what to say.
"I'll call you 'my Lord'. Or whatever else name you want me to refer you by as."
His scar prickled with triumph. His time here had taught him that Voldemort wasn't that hard to please.
"Very well. But you accomodate to them yourself. I do not wish to be disturbed by trivialities any further."
"Of course and thank you, my Lord." Harry finished, the last syllabes rolling on his tongue perfectly. He didn't wait for a reaction before turning in his heels and leaving the study.
His next destination was the owlery where Hedwig was awaiting.
While a muggle house, it had been transfigured to be bigger and more accomodating to wizarding kind. When him, Ron and Hermione came, it wasn't like that at all. Only an abandoned muggle propriety.
Once at the owlery, he quickly sat down on the chair and desk that he had transfigured himself to write letters to his friends, using the material he had also transfigurated into quills and parchments.
Come to Riddle's Manor, same location as before.
Voldemort allowed your presence in the wards.
Come as soon as you can.
Miss you
With love and impatience, Harry
He wrote the same letter twice. One for Ron and the other for Hermione.
All he had to do was wait, but considering their immediate replies during their letter exchange this past week, he expects them to be here in less than an hour.
He'd need to ask Minsby to prepare lunch.
-
Less than an hour went by when Harry finally saw them apparte in front of the Manor. He jumped upright and opened the Manor's massive wood doors.
They both saw him and Hermione ran to hug him, as usual, while Ron sofly gazed at him with that expression he only held for Harry.
"Harry! Are you okay-"
"Wait, 'Mione, let's get inside first. Minsby prepared us lunch."
"Minsby?" Ron asked.
"She's the house-elf." Harry quickly added.
They followed him inside, sitting down in the dining room where the food was still warm.
"Where is... he?" Hermione cautiosly asked, looked around the room.
"In the study. He asked not to be disturbed, we have the entire day to ourselves."
"What happened mate? Are you sure you're fine? Few days ago you sent us scary letters about 'sinning' and whatever. We were really worried." he said in a protective tone.
Harry had forgotten about that completely. The early moments after making a... horcrux, were a blur in his memories.
"I'm fine, it was after I concluded the Vow's last condition." his lips thinned, the three of them knowing.
"But aside from that, is he hurting you?" Hermione, as quick witted as always, knew to change the subject when it got heavy.
"No he... we just, eat together, talk about his 'grand regime' all day and then-" his mind thought back to what occures at night and he quickly cut himself.
"But your neck, it's bruised and...!" and it's as she trailed off that she realized what he meant when the end of his phrase went unsaid.
Hermione's face changed into that of worry and horror, and Ron went green in the face, expression worried still.
"It's, uhm, yeah. So..." Harry didn't know what to say.
This was all Voldemort's fucking fault. Harry had initially tried healing them. Only that sent Voldemort into a fit of rage, and Harry had completely forgotten that he never wakes up unscathed.
"You see how I'm his hocrux and soulmate?" Harry continued, swallowing the shame down. "As his horcrux, proximity, or intimacy, so to speak, makes his soul feel whole. Feeling that's largely intensified by the soulmate bond." Voldemort had explained to Harry very randomly during breakfast for no apparent reason, but Harry had remembered.
"I mean, of course we'd never judge you Harry, but were you...forced?" Hermione's grave voice embarassed Harry even more.
"No. Reciprocating the bond was also what it took to convince him. I was the one who-"
The door opened then, and Voldemort appeared.
"Harry, and his... friends. I believe we haven't had the time to get to know each other well." Voldemort innocently joined them at the table, feigning kindness.
Ron and Hermione went still.
Harry sighed, knowing that this was exactly what Voldemort intended to do.
"Tom, why are you-" Harry started, getting up from his chair.
"Harry, remind me again, what is it that you promised me in exchange of being allowed this visit?" Voldemort mocked.
So that's why, that snake!
Ron and Hermione visibly tensed, probably thinking Harry had made a big sacrifice to see them.
He sighed. "What brings you here, my lord?" Harry finally wretched out of his throat.
His friends' face shifted from worried to inquiring and consfused. Harry internally cursed his soulmate.
"Why, Harry, to get to know your friends better. Introduce us." Voldemort smiled, sitting comfortably.
Harry sighed again.