Chapter Text
First things first I'ma say all the words inside my head,
I'm fired up and tired of the way that things have been.
I'm the one at the sail, I'm the master of my seas.
You're the face of the future, the blood in my veins.
Falling like ashes to the ground,
Hoping my feelings they would drown,
But they never did.
Seeing the beauty through the pain, oh!
"Believer" Imagine Dragons
"Ugh..."
Surfacing from unconsciousness was an arduous undertaking. Dark brows scrunched together and long inky lashes fluttered. Ethereal emerald discs emerged slowly, blinking away fuzzy edges.
Harry pushed lethargically against the mattress, attempting to rise, but found that he was caged in by a lead weight. Glancing down at the burnished flesh draped over his torso--bulging bicep met veiny forearm met shapely wrist and long thick fingers--he frowned.
He craned his aching neck back over his shoulder. It immediately whipped back to face forward again with a series of vertebral cracks.
Eyes bulging in their sockets, he silently mouthed, "Oh fuck."
Lying stone still for the few moments it took for his shorted brain to stop spinning, the raven bit his lip and started inching away incrementally.
"Go back to sleep..."
The husky words spoken near his ear made Harry freeze, paralyzed. The longest minute of his life passed, wound tight as a trip wire, before the breath against the back of his neck returned to a deep steady rhythm.
He gripped the sheets with his free arm and slowly pulled himself toward the edge of the bed.
That lax limb flexed and the raven slid back, crushed against a hard hot body.
"Stop it."
Regardless of the stress mounting within him, Harry couldn't help the indignant snort that escaped. He wasn't aware that word existed in the other man's vocabulary.
"Let go," he said, low and even.
The other man didn't reply. That arm remained clamped around his waist, pinning his right arm to his side.
Harry remained still for another moment, casting about for an escape plan.
A knobbly length of wood nestled into his left palm. Holding his breath, the young wizard slowly bent his elbow, the tip of his wand aiming just over his trapped arm.
"Pest," that scratchy baritone rumbled. A steely grip crushed his fingers as the body behind him rolled sluggishly, sprawling half on top of the smaller form. "'S too early."
The raven wizard found himself smooshed below a mammoth body, arms twisted up like a pretzel beneath him, wand firmly directed at the ceiling. "G'roff," he demanded, a little breathlessly. The other man seemed to weigh a solid tonne. Angled mostly on his side with a toned leg thrown over his own, there was no leverage with which to move.
He was once again ignored. Harry growled, annoyance distracting him from his hummingbird pulse.
Squirming about a bit, Harry suddenly went stiff as a board when something twitched against his spine.
Red hot blood flooded his cheeks. There was currently a very naked, very immoral man laying on top of him. His stomach clenched with a strange sort of tension and he had to choke back the involuntary whine that rose in his throat. Their bare skin pressed flushed together, vivid flashbacks of the previous night raced unbidden behind his eyes.
Searing touches. A devilish mouth. His very insides invaded, scraped out. Pain, oh the pain... But the pleasure; it burned out his marrow and rearranged him on a molecular level.
His chest hitched.
And then the threats, those sinister possibilities that inspired a terror the likes of which he had never experienced. Oh gods, he had begged.
"Kkk," he choked.
And then anger suddenly exploded inside the raven like a detonating bomb.
"You piece of shite," he snarled. Rage filled him with sudden vigor and he jerked an arm back. It sprung free and a sharp elbow drove into the other man's side. There was a grunt from behind him. "You think you can just do whatever the fuck you want," Harry seethed, going for another elbow jab; Tom contracted his muscles, absorbing the impact. "Well I'm sick of it!"
He kicked and hissed and spat, forgetting about his wand entirely in his primal drive to just hurt back. Harry would let himself be blinded by fear no longer! Two could play at this game; he was no whipped dog, after all.
He threw his head backward, exceptionally thick skull colliding with Tom's chin. He twisted and tugged his trapped hand until it was free, digging wrathful talons into Tom's arm. "I. Am. Not. Your. TOY!" And with that howling battle cry he sunk his teeth into a meaty wrist.
"Fuck," Tom hissed, definitely awake now. Stifling weight withdrew just enough that Harry was able to squirm, twist, roll.
Between one second and the next Harry found himself straddling the larger man, fist balled and drawn back.
Thwack!
A numb sort of pain lanced through his knuckles and up his wrist, but he wound back again anyways, barely feeling it.
Thwack!
His fist cocked back a third time, but the absurd sight before him made him pause.
Tom threw back his head and laughed. Cheeks split wide, perfectly even white teeth stained red. It was perhaps the most genuine sound that he'd ever heard from the man.
What the...?
Faster than he could blink Harry was flat on his back, that hulking mass hovering over him again. He bared his teeth, snapping, "You perverted son of a--"
The raven was cut short as the other man thumbed a smear of blood from the corner of his lips and promptly stuffed the carmine digit into Harry's open mouth.
"Ahh-blerrrgh!" Harry yelped, swatting the offending hand away. "Why are you so fucking sick? What the fuck is wrong with--OOF!"
As Tom allowed his body to simply collapse atop the smaller man, Harry was knocked breathless, entirely squished.
"My boy, such a gem," the larger wizard drawled, humor-laced and slightly muffled by the way his scratchy cheek was smooshed lazily against Harry's chest.
"Crazy bastard," Harry accused in a wheeze, wriggling his arms free. He drove his fingers into the older man's mussed hair and pulled as hard as he could. Tom's head lifted with the force of it, hooded gaze dark and amused. "Just give up already, I'll never let you win--"
Another image hit the raven suddenly, a deep seductive voice whispering in his ear. 'You win, my little snake.'
"Oh!" His mouth formed a perfect circle, stunned. "Wait, did you agree to the contract?"
Tom gave him a sly look from under heavy lids, head still wrenched back, a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. "No shame in not remembering. After all, you were out of your mind with--"
"Shut up," Harry snapped, yanking meanly. "Why would you say yes? Just like that? I don't believe you."
A large hand reached up and pried the smaller fingers away. A bony chin rest on Harry's sternum, digging in and making him wiggle uncomfortably. "I said yes to negotiating with you, coming to an agreement, as you said."
Harry scowled, momentarily forgetting about his predicament in favor of arguing. "I'm not going to let you get away killing people or trying to take over the world or whatever. Not much to negotiate, really. And if you think I am in anyway a part of this, I can tell you right now, you are dead wrong. All I agreed to do is--Mmmf!"
A heavy hand descended over his mouth.
"Do you ever stop talking?" Tom muttered rhetorically, flopping his head down again.
Harry glared at the top of the man's head and reached down, pinching him viciously on the sensitive skin near his armpit. The resulting jolt and hiss was immensely satisfying, even as Tom's palm ripped away from his mouth to pin his hands to either side of his head instead.
"Such cheek," Tom huffed, and then rolled his hips in a single smooth grind.
Hard flesh contacted hard flesh, and emerald eyes bulged.
"I think you're not entirely honest with yourself, Harry," the man purred, punctuating the observation with another rolling slide. Harry gasped as sensation rolled through him like an earthquake.
"T-that's--I-" the raven choked out, flushing a bright scarlet from the top of his head all the way to his chest. "It's not--it's a biological reaction!" he squeaked, beyond mortification. He pushed and pulled at his wrists but there was no give.
"I'm sure you'd just love to think that, wouldn't you?" Tom shifted up so that he was no longer crushing the smaller man, hips bracketed between Harry's own. He ground down again, eyes riveted between their bodies.
"Ah!" Harry bit his lip and shook his head in denial. "N-no, you psycho! It's completely involuntary, makes me want to vomit even. I'm a bloke--"
"That certainly hasn't stopped us yet," the other man drawled, licking his bottom lip lasciviously.
"I keep telling you to stop! I thought you just agreed not to be evil--"
Harry could only blink stupidly for a moment as a hot mouth covered his own. Soft yet firm lips pressed against him demandingly, posessively. A molten tongue slipped forth, running along the seam. When Tom gave another particularly filthy grind Harry gasped again, and that tongue slithered inside. The man's cheeks were like sandpaper against his own smooth skin.
He felt dizzy, disoriented. His brain simply could not process the fact that Lord Voldemort was kissing him. It just didn't make any sense. And this wasn't like any kiss he'd had before, no; it made what he'd done with Ginny and Cho Chang seem like chaste motherly pecks from Molly Weasley. Wet was certainly the right adjective though. This...this was like drowning.
The raven mentally shook himself and bit down on the tongue tangling with his own.
Tom pulled back with an obscene smirk, lips pink and shiny. Harry used to the opportunity to continue his tirade of denial. "You're deluded if you think I like any of this," he panted, hips squirming below the other man and abdomen clenching with each sinful slide of their turgid shafts together. "I hate you, you nasty--"
The raven jerked his head to the side and clamped his lips shut as that sly tongue darted out and left a broad trail of saliva across his mouth.
"Arggh, why are you so gross?" Harry groaned into his own shoulder.
"Lie to yourself all you want, Harry, but your pretty little cock tells me a different story," the man above him smirked. Harry fought against the hands clamped around his wrists. He wanted nothing more than to shut Tom's filthy, stupid face for him. His cheeks burned so hot he thought he might actually catch on fire. And it was not little! Or pretty! It was very manly, thank you very much.
"Gods, shut the fuck up!"
That tongue traced up his cheek, lips burning against him as they moved. "You like the brutality, the thrill of it, don't you?"
"No!"
Tom let go of one of Harry's wrists, large rough fingers running along the raven's ribcage. Harry immediately threaded his fingers back into those silky tresses, fingernails scoring blood on the back of the man's scalp. The larger man pressed his face into a long pale throat and then dug a thick sharp knuckle into a specific point between wiry oblique muscles.
"Aahhyynnnn!" Harry ground his head back into the pillow and let out a series of embarrassing noises that didn't register in his own ringing ears.
"Ah!" It was like getting struck by lightening, the way that the dull yet acute pain radiated through his nervous system from that one central cluster. It was like getting hit with a mild version the Cruciatus, but a different sort of agony. "Ahnnn!" It scoured through him, hallowed him out, and all Harry could do was buck and writhe against the larger man. His fingers slipped down, gripping the back of a muscular neck for support. He didn't hear Tom's answering groan.
That knuckle lifted, shifted, and Harry panted dizzily in the reprieve. But then it pressed in again, between their bodies, on another spot in the lower inner crease of his hip.
"Nnnnnngggh!" The pressure point burned like a white-hot coal. His mind blanked and his cock dribbled pre-come as he cried out. His back arched so very high as every muscle in his body tensed, pressing up into the other man.
"Fuck," Tom cursed again, a little hoarse.
The large man reared back on his knees and grabbed a slim ankle, jerking the raven down the mattress and nestling that delectable little arse flush against his swollen cock. He fisted himself a few times and then shifted his pelvis down, lining up.
That overwhelming ache at the crux of his thigh relented and Harry blinked dazedly as the ceiling moved above him. As the other man shifted, his overbearing presence receeding slightly, emerald eyes traveled down and widened.
A massive fist slid obscenely over an even more enormous prick.
A smothering wash of panic swooped through his veins as Tom shifted his weight and that hot raging monster rested against his crevice.
The spell was out of his mouth before the Death Stick had even fully materialize in his grasp.
"Stupefy!"
He threw his body to the left, rolling off of the bed and landing cat-like on his feet. Harry scrambled to the other side of the room as he activated his invisibility. He pressed himself against the far wall, pulse hammering and horrified.
Tom still knelt on the bed, blinking rapidly and shaking his head, shrugging off the powerful stunner. After a moment his head tilted to the side, clever gaze flashing crimson briefly as it came to rest on Harry's location. Harry gulped.
"If you've been wondering where Nagini went, you ought to check your trousers!" he yelped and disapparated with a pop.
Harry reappeared with a crack on a seaside cliff. "Whew!" he huffed, rubbing his ribs where he could almost still feel phantom fingers digging in, but there was no lingering pain. A cold chill wracked his frame as he thought about what had nearly just occurred.
There was no way; that thing would have cleaved him in half! His arse clenched reflexively and he yipped again as the sore muscles reminded him that it was, in fact, very much possible.
"No, no, no!" he moaned miserably as his lingering erection twitched in response.
He didn't like it, he didn't! He hated it, actually. And he hated Tom! The man had murdered his parents, left him to a life of neglect and loneliness. There was no way that Voldemort and his twisted games caused this sort of reaction. No, it was normal for a teenage boy to be sensitive to any sort of external stimulation. It had nothing to do with Harry; it was all Tom's fault, that demon.
"Ugh," he groaned, tilting his head back and trying to think of unpleasant things to make his stiffy go away. Vernon in a speedo, Crabbe and Golye snogging, bubotuber pus, Moaning Myrtle floating in a clogged toilet, Blast-Ended Screwts...
Nothing worked. There was maybe a slight wilting at most. Now he just felt nauseous and aroused; a terrible, terrible combination.
"Arrghh!" he shouted in frustration. "Kreacher!"
Crack!
"Kreacher's heathen Master is running about naked again. Kreacher is hoping his Master is wanting clothes."
"Yes," Harry snapped, seething at himself. "Please."
The little elf snapped his spindly fingers together and a stack of clothing hovered in front of the raven. They were far enough down the path that the cottage wasn't in view, so Harry simply dropped his invisibility and snagged the pair of jeans.
Kreacher eyed his groin with immense distaste before he turned around and crossed his scrawny little arms.
"Master did not want Kreacher's cooking yesterday, no, not even after Kreacher spent all day laboring over it especially for his Master. Poor Kreacher gets no recognition or respect from his ungracious raggamuffin--"
"It's nothing personal, Kreacher," Harry cut in through gritted teeth. He attempted to tuck his swollen organ into the waistband of his briefs and zip up his trousers but it was incredibly uncomfortable. He readjusted and tried again. "I told you that I already had supper at the cottage. I can't help that I was stuffed."
The house elf curled his lip and sent a curdling sneer over his bony shoulder. "Oh, Kreacher is well aware of his nasty Master being stuffed, and Kreacher does not want to hear about it, no, vile romping makes Kreacher's ears bleed. Poor Kreacher had to sleep in the garden shed last night, he did, so that Kreacher did not have to listen to his Master's mating shrieks--"
"Stop! Stop it!" Harry really wanted to throttle his elf. Maybe it would make him feel better about the shambling state his life was in. "You can shut your gob right now, you little shite."
He blew out a supreme huff of agitation. This wasn't going to work. "How about robes for today?"
Huge bulbous eyes swiveled toward the raven. "If Master is wanting to be a proper wizard, Kreacher will help him, yes!" Ears flapped as the elf nodded gleefully, rubbing his gnarled hands together.
Snap!
Harry jolted as denim disappeared to be replaced by only a cool salty breeze. An ostentatious black robe hung in the air before him; the waistcoat was a silk brocade and it was hemmed in green with polished silver fastenings.
After a few moments of increasingly hostile arguing, Harry relented and shrugged on the garment sans any silk. Kreacher sniffed indignantly but for the most part appeared pleased with his victory. Harry fiddled with the front, grateful that it at least concealed his problem.
"Right," he said, glacing at the pillar of winding chimney smoke against the cloudy grey sky. "I'll be out for a while today too. You know the drill: report any suspicious behavior to me and just go about doing...whatever you normally do. Fleur will probably feed me again, so please don't be offended. It's really not a competition."
The elf glared in the direction of the house as though trying to fry the offensive quarter-Veela with his laser beams. The disapparating pop definitely had petulant ring to it.
Harry made his way up the winding loamy incline toward the cottage, grumbling all the while. Now that he wasn't distracted, his mind catalogued all of the wrongs in his body.
There was a fierce ache in his shoulder that throbbed any time he moved his neck. There were red marks around both wrists that didn't smart but made him fervently thankful for his long sleeves nonetheless. And his arse, Merlin! It was impossible now to ignore the dull resontating burn with every tiny movement. Paradoxically, every stinging twitch sent sparks of electricity into his belly, fueling his wretchedly stubborn hard-on.
He stomped up the garden path and rapped on the front door, scowl fixed unconsciously in place.
There were rapid thudding footsteps before the door was wrenched wide. "Harry! Come on in, mate," Ron chirped, clapping the raven on the shoulder as he passed. Harry winced and forced a smile for the sake of his friend. "Oi, what'sa matter?" The redhead lowered his voice, countenance serious. "It's a no go then?"
"Is that Harry? Oh my, bad news I see," Hermione said worriedly, joining the pair in the entryway.
"Well, not exactly. He said yes," Harry whispered, eyebrows drawn.
"Yes!" Ron hissed, pumping a fist into the air. When he noticed that the other two thirds of the trio weren't celebrating, his features fell. "Wait, I thought that's what we wanted to happen?"
"Is zat 'Arry?" a melodic voice called from the kitchen.
"Come on, we're in the middle of breakfast. Let's eat and then we'll go upstairs and talk," Hermione said, ushering her boys further into the house.
Tom huffed, dipping a shoulder and rolling his body back into a blessedly prone position. He scrubbed a hand over his face, rubbing at his swollen jaw; the steel rod between his legs bobbed excitedly in response. He stretched his legs, luxuriating in the feel of soft linen sheets, and allowed his mind to wander.
That little imp...
His hand drifted downward, lazily palming his insistent erection as he resumed work on the unabated length. After a few moments he gripped the shaft firmly in his fist, he stroked languidly at first. Images of milky skin and messy blue-black tresses flashed behind his closed lids. That fascinating magic-imbued tattoo on the boy's chest, and how it illuminated those glorious features the previous night. His motions grew quicker, bed swaying just a little, as he recalled Harry's wrecked visage; pupils blown, brows pinched, bottom lip bitten red.
"Ahh," he sighed in satisfaction, fist a blur. The way his boy had frotted up into the pain this morning, lost to the double-edged combination of duelling sensations...
This thighs tensed as his cock pulsed against his palm but he kept stroking, slowly now, rivulets of ejaculate slicking the way. He had barely softened at all.
After a few minutes though, the other needs of his mortal flesh became too demanding, and he heaved himself out of bed with a sigh. He'd have liked to jack off again and then doze for a bit longer--it seemed that he was becoming quite the hedonist--but both his bladder and stomach nagged him into action. That and the fact that he had so very much to do.
Meandering into the en suite washroom, he braced one hand on the wall over the toilet and hissed. Pissing through a hard-on wasn't the most pleasant business, and one he hadn't experienced in many decades. Still, as annoying as his new body was, it had its perks.
Scratching absentmindly at his jaw, Tom regarded himself in the mirror. At least his new form was suitable for his purposes. His previous serpentine countenance was intimidating, yes, but it lacked the versatility that this more human one had.
A few flicks of his yew wand took care of any hygiene requirements, and then he smirked.
"Elf."
Harry was pissed.
He'd excused himself to the bathroom before breakfast to relieve his complaining bladder, and had consequently discovered supremely aggravating evidence of his recent interactions with the Dark Lord.
A tentative exploration of his aching arse ended with slimy milky-pink fluid on his fingertips, the longest and most thorough hand-washing of his entire life, and a very uncomfortable scouring charm. He'd have healed himself if he knew how, but he didn't, and he didn't much fancy pointing his wand at his anus to try anything else.
He didn't bother with the minor bruising scattered across his thighs and torso, but did attempt an Episky on the savage bite wound on his shoulder. Though it felt otherwise, the skin was unbroken, so the only effect the spell had was to turn the blackened bruise to a more purple-brown mottling.
When he poked at it--the deep jarring ache of it hadn't dulled in the slightest--the semi he sported under his robes bobbed interestedly. Harry's eye twitched and he jerked his collar back into place and stormed out of the bathroom.
Back in the kitchen, Harry carefully seated himself at the table and prayed for the meal to be over quickly. He shoveled food into his face without paying attention to its composition simply to avoid talking, answering Bill's questions with as much brevity as he could politely get away with. Thankfully the man's wife was gregarious, taking most of the focus off of the raven.
Harry nearly dragged his two friends up the stairs a quarter hour later and flopped exhaustedly onto Hermione's bed with a pained hiss.
"Er, you alright there, mate?" the redhead asked. The two stood in the doorway eyeing the raven wizard warily. After a moment Hermione seemed to shake herself and began casting their standard privacy wards.
"'M fine," Harry grumbled, an odd desperation welling within him. He had to divert their attention; he absolutely wouldn't, couldn't let on about what was happening between him and Tom. "Look, the sooner we can get this Vow over with the better. I can't keep babysitting Tom or I'm going to go mad. He's up to something, I'm sure of it, so we need to get those restrictions in place now before he has a chance to make a move."
"Can you tell us how it went?" Hermione asked, finishing the last of her wandwork and coming to sit beside him. "He agreed awfully fast..."
Harry sighed and tried to come up with something he could tell his expectant friends. Running a hand agitatedly through his hair, he explained, "He figured it out, that I'm the last one. I don't know how."
"Oh, Harry," Hermione whispered, reaching out to cup his tense fist. Ron's face was set in a grim line as he crossed his arms and leaned against the windowsill.
"And he was plotting something suspicious while I was talking to him," Harry elaborated about the encounter. "There was a book he was referencing, I couldn't get a good look at it but I think it was called Mephistophelian Brews. Seemed pretty skeevy."
"Mefa-what?" Ron asked dubiously while Hermione's eyes glazed over.
"Oh!" she said after a moment. "I've heard of it, actually. There was a reference to it in Moste Pontente Potions. An obscure dark text to be sure, and not one in the Restricted Section." Her countenance took on a worried cast. "And you didn't see which potion he was looking up?"
Harry shook his head, lips pursed.
Hermione sighed and bit her lip. "Maybe this was a bad idea after all--"
"No," the ginger cut in, shaking his head. "This really is the best plan we've got, and it worked, din'nit? We've sacrificed a few more pieces than anticipated, but we still got him in check, yeah?"
Harry gave a half-arsed shrug but Hermione nodded thoughfully, that crease making an appearance between her brows again.
"You're right, of course," she said to Ron. "But if what Harry said is true and he is planning something horrible, then why let us bind him?" The two males could see a million questions burning behind her eyes but had no answers for her. "Of course, this is all still theoretical--he hasn't actually agreed to anything yet. Did you tell him what we actually wanted?" she asked the raven.
"I'm pretty sure he gets the gist of our demands," Harry responded, finally relaxing slightly with the course the conversation was taking.
"Well, the gist won't cut it. The wording is going to be very tricky, so let's get to the details then."
The trio worked diligently for the next few hours to draw up a formal contract. Each point had been picked over, dissected, and reworded at least a dozen times before Hermione felt it good enough to copy over to a fresh scroll. To be fair, the witch had done the bulk of the work while the two boys sprawled indolently and verbally contributed their own thoughts and ideas.
"Remember, Harry, this is just a draft. He'd be stupid to agree as is, and from what you've told us about Tom, he is an exceptionally clever man. Let's just see what sorts of amendments he proposes," Hermione instructed seriously.
Harry nodded in understanding as he accepted the scroll. There was a long moment of silence before Hermione cocked an eyebrow at him.
"What?" he muttered defensively, conscience still guilty.
"Er, I thought you said we should do this quick," Ron prompted from where he slouched in the bedside armchair.
"Oh, yeah," Harry said stupidly, shuffling a bit. "Now, then...?" After another awkward moment where Ron began to look puzzled and Hermione's curious gaze narrowed to a suspicious one, the raven scrambled up from the bed and backed away, stomaching dropping.
"Right. Be back soon then." Or so he hoped.
As Hermione opened her mouth to speak Harry activated his invisibility and turned on the spot.
Kreacher was viciously banging pots and pans together in the kitchen when Harry arrived, ears pressed flat against his flat skull in irritation. Not able to tolerate another earful of vitriol, the raven crept passed and made directly for the study. Trepidation rose up within him, and to his utter dismay his now flaccid member gave a little warning twitch.
He was once again given permission to enter before he'd had a chance to knock, and the scene was much the same as the previous day. Tom sat at his desk, the window propped open behind him and a sweet pre-rain breeze filtering in. As Harry lingered hesitantly in the doorway, a bridle Barred Owl alighted on the sill, missive clutched in its talons. Tom relieved the bird of its burden and added the parchment to the mountain of correspondence on his desk.
After a moment of futile Occumency exercises--his mind was a far cry from calm--Harry reluctantly cleared his throat.
"Harry," the other man greeted distractedly, not looking up.
Instantaneously fed up with this same old song and dance, Harry stomped forward and slapped the contract down on top of the parchment Tom was currently scribbling on, smudging the wet curvy lines. Those dark eyes looked up through long lashes and Harry's stomach fluttered. "Sign it," he demanded lowly through bared teeth.
Tom merely quirked an eyebrow, laid down his quill, and unrolled the parchment, leaning back in his chair. His pupils moved rapidly over the page and soon a small smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. A long minute passed while the Dark Lord simply read.
"Grimmauld Place?" the man eventually drawled, eyes still focused on the parchment.
"Yes, I want it back," Harry growled, straightening up and crossing his arms. It had been one of the few requests he'd added to agreement for himself.
"I haven't taken it, you know," Tom said, plucking up his quill and beginning to cross out large sections.
"But your Death Eater's have entry. Tell them to piss off," the raven commanded.
Lord Voldemort huffed, dimple shadowing. He smoothed the contract out on the desk and began to write in between the lines and on the margins. The parchment was soon a mess. "Such a trivial matter doesn't require a formal agreement. It's already yours," the man dismissed, waving a hand. Just then another bird touched down on the windowsill. "Come back in an hour."
Harry bristled, not appreciating in the slightest being treated like a messenger boy. Tom's dismissal was certainly better than his attention though, so Harry stomped back out. After a slit second decision he disapparated at the top of the stairs.
The raven winced slightly as cold raindrops struck his face.
Looking up at the dilapidated grey building, he swallowed and turned the doorknob, wand drawn. As he stepped inside the threshold, the ghostly dust dervish of Albus Dumbledore began to form, but an uncompromising Finite had it obliterated into a cloud of motes, this time for good.
The silence broken, Walburga Black began her inevitable shrieking monologue. "Filthy half-bloods return! This house will never--"
"Silencio."
Harry grinned malevolently as he sauntered forward to stand directly in front of the portrait. He caressed the Death Stick lovingly, deciding which spell to try now that the infamous Madam Black was apparently no longer impervious to his magic. The horrible woman's eyes bugged out of her skull as she screamed mutely at him.
An Evanesco probably would have done the trick but the raven needed more closure than that after such a long and unpleasant history with painting. He looked directly into her eyes and smirked.
"Incendio."
Stumbling back at the ferocity of the flames that shot out of the Elder Wand, he watched gleefully as paint bubbled and canvas burned. As the tendrils of fire began to lick up the drapes he cast an extinguishing charm.
The shrieking bitch was no more; Sirius would have been so thrilled.
Taking in a deep smoky inhale, Harry grinned and looked around. "Home sweet home."
Crack!
Harry dismissed his invisibility simultaneously with his arrival in the study. If he hoped to startle Tom, he was sorely disappointed.
The man merely waved a hand and the altered scroll floated over to the younger wizard. He watched suspiciously for a moment as the Dark Lord affixed another parchment to a waiting Screech Owl, not sparing him a glance.
"What are you doing?" Harry demanded acidly.
The owl took off out the open window, tiny droplets just beginning to sprinkle from the grey sky. "I'm sure you'll find out eventually, Harry," Tom drawled, turning back to the cluttered desk and inking a quill.
Harry scowled and disapparated.
In and out of the man's presence in under thirty seconds though, he'd chalk up as a win.
Hermione ushered him directly upstairs and snatched the contract out of his hands. As she unrolled the parchment her eyebrows flew up to her hairline. Pupils flickering back and forth fast enough to make Harry dizzy, her brows quickly reversed down into a fierce frown.
"What's the matter--" Ron began, looking concerned.
Both boys jumped when the witch abruptly threw back her curly mane and let out a hair-raising cackle. Harry exchanged disturbed glances with the wide-eyed redhead.
"Oh, nice try," Hermione scoffed, amber eyes aflame as she bolted to her tiny desk and began scribbling wildly on a fresh sheaf, hunched over instead of bothering to sit.
"Er, Hermione--" Harry began.
"Give me an hour," she cut in distractly, waving a dismissive hand over her shoulder. Harry frowned but Ron just shrugged at him. Leaving the witch in her element, the boys left to pass the time with a game of wizard's chess in the downstairs sitting room.
Crack!
Tom held out a hand, a steaming teacup in the other. Harry spitefully tossed the scroll on the desk instead.
The new parchment was soon covered in just as many scribbles as the last. Harry shifted from foot to foot for a few awkward moments, irritation rising. "Shall I give you an hour then?" he sneered facetiously.
"Please," Tom drawled, sipping at his tea.
Harry ground his teeth and turned on the spot.
Looking about the dim and dusty kitchen of Grimmauld Place, Harry briefly considered calling Kreacher. He ultimately decided against it though; prisoner or not, the raven felt better with someone guarding Voldemort at all times, at least until his metaphorical cage was constructed.
He'd investigated the old house from top to bottom during his earlier visit, and though the place was devoid of intruders and nothing seemed to be missing, the entire place had obviously been tossed a while back. Furniture lay on its side and belongings were scattered across the floor, all covered in dust and not recently disturbed.
A bit of cleanup was in order.
Harry began in the basement, the Elder Wand making short work of the mess. As mildew evaporated and knicknacks zoomed back to their resting places, the young wizard felt a sense of calm control blanket him, a feeling of accomplishment that had eluded him for far too long. Strange though it may have been, going through the motions of putting his house and his things in order restored a peace of mind and confidence that he sorely needed.
Though he had meant to simply tidy up a bit--return Grimmauld to a liveable standard--he eventually found himself on the top floor, staring blankly at the door to Sirius's old room. A quick Tempus had him cursing in alarm. More than two hours had passed.
Crack!
"I was beginning to think you'd gotten cold feet," Tom remarked. He had his bare feet propped up on the desk and appeared to be casually absorbed in a book, sleeves rolled up and strands of hair hanging over his brow. Harry blushed unwittingly and looked away.
"Got a bit distracted. Your minions ransacked my house," the raven grumbled, looking anywhere but those bare feet and exposed forearms.
Tom glanced up, eyes raking over the smaller man's form before an eyebrow quirked. Harry folded his arms awkwardly over his chest and glanced down at himself.
"Shite," the raven muttered under his breath, summoning his wand. His elegant robes were rumbled and grey with dust. With a wave the grime was gone, along with his dignity.
The Dark Lord raised a hand and gestured at his own head, saying with an amused lilt, "You've got a bit..."
Harry scowled and flattened a hand over his hair. His fingers came away sticky with cobwebs, complete with a tiny balled-up dead spider. He gritted his teeth and shook is hand, snapping at the other man, "Are you finished or what?"
"Hardly," Tom purred, floating the scroll over with lazy wave. Harry snatched it out of the air and disapparated.
Crack!
"Eep!"
Emerald eyes narrowed down the barrel of Hermione's wand. He'd bypassed the conventional mode of arrival and appeared directly in the upstairs bedroom of Shell Cottage. Apparently he was getting pretty good at the simultaneous visibility thing, because the witch looked ready to have an aneurysm.
"Sorry," he said sheepishly. He could hear footsteps pounding up the stairs.
"How--" she began, but then her wide eyes caught sight of the parchment in his fist. It was flat on the desk within seconds.
Ron burst into the room, wand drawn, before coming up short. "Blimey mate, give a bloke a heart attack, why don't ya?" He tucked his wand back into his pocket and closed the door. "How'd you do that, anyways? I thought there were anti-apparition wards here?"
Harry began to explain what little he knew about the cloak when Hermione's indignant "Hah!" brought that train of thought to a halt.
"What is it?" the raven asked as both boys wandered over to read over her shoulders.
"Oh, you didn't tell me that he was funny, Harry," Hermione chuckled darkly.
Harry jerked his head back as though he'd been slapped. "He's not." He and the ginger exchanged disbelieving glances.
Upon closer inspection, the parchment revealed no further clues to the witch's odd behavior. There were places where Hermione's neat and angular handwriting was crossed out, replaced by a curving scrawl, but none of the words seemed important. Tom had changed 'without exception' to 'except in the following circumstances'; generalized terms became specific examples and vice versa; the phrase 'void ab initio' was tacked onto a clause near the bottom. Quite frankly Harry couldn't make heads or tails of it.
"Er, 'Mione," Ron asked worriedly, "everything alright?"
"Yes, yes, of course," she muttered, quill flying and an odd, slightly scary gleam in her eyes.
It was nearing half eight when Harry apparated again into the study at Riddle Manor, beginning to feel bone weary. He'd made nearly a half dozen round trips already with a few therapeutic cleaning sprees in between, and all of the hustle and bustle was catching up with him. His traitorous body couldn't even muster the twisted interest in Voldemort's presence that he had been battling with all day. It was very much a relief; the whole situation was confusing, disturbing, and exhausting.
Tom had finally closed the window, fat drops of precipitation splattering against the glass in a soothing cacophony. The man stood in front of the fireplace now, shoulder leaning casually against the mantle and a tumbler of amber liquid dangling from his lax fingers. Dark flame-reflecting eyes rooted Harry to the spot.
The longer they stared at one another, the more Harry's hard-earned tranquility cracked. He thrust out the scroll. "Sign it."
The fire crackling and popping in the grate was the only sound for another long moment before Tom finally pushed off of the wall. His unnaturally warm fingers caressed Harry's as he took hold of the parchment, and the raven snatched his hand back as though burned. He backed up a step, pulse suddenly hammering, and prepared to leave again.
When the Dark Lord reached the desk and pressed a quill to the parchment, however, Harry paused. Even from his position several paces away, he could see the words 'Tom Morvolo Riddle' in shining loopy cursive at the bottom of the parchment.
A wandless, wordless drying charm rippled over the page, and then the rolled scroll was offered back to Harry.
"The Vow?" Tom prompted quietly, features intense but unreable. He turned to face the younger wizard directly, dark eyes boring into emerald as he lifted his glass and took a sip.
Harry shut his open mouth and tore his eyes away from the bobbing Adam's apple. His abdomen started to feel tight again as his mind began to go blank.
"Uh, hold that thought," he said faintly, and disappeared with a pop.
Crack!
Ron and Hermione jolted and aborted grabbing for their wands. Harry simply stood there dumbly for a moment before unrolling the contract and displaying the signature at the bottom.
His friends seemed a little shell-shocked as well.
"How do we do the Vow?" Harry inquired.
Hermione's brows descended and she glanced worriedly at Ron out of the corner of her eye. The redhead caught her look and immediately glowered. "Absolutely not," Ron told her. "I'll do it."
The witch's lips twisted in displeasure and she took a moment to formulate an argument. Harry headed her off.
"Do what?" he asked impatiently, feeling a little out of the loop.
"An Unbreakable Vow requires three people, Harry. The two parties making the agreement, and an officiator to facilitate and cast," Hermione explained.
"And there's no need to put yourself at risk," Ron growled, ears turning red. "I'll go back with Harry and do it."
Hermione opened her mouth to lash the redhead with her wickedly sharp tongue, crease sharp between her brows, but Harry interrupted again.
"Woah," he said, palms out in placation. "No one is going back to Riddle Manor with me," the raven stated firmly, mind abuzz with new information. There was no way he'd put either of his friends in danger by taking them there. For all Harry knew they wouldn't even be able to get past the wards. And if they did, what if Tom had something nasty up his sleeve, or what if another unwelcome visitor showed up?
"But Harry--" his friends chorused, but he shook his head.
"No, we need to do this on our own turf. And if one of you is coming with me, we need backup in place in case things go pear-shaped. We cannot underestimate him," Harry said grimly, emerald eyes sparking to life.
It took another twenty minutes of heated debate and a hasty firecall before Harry made it back to the Manor. The study was empty.
"Tom?" Harry called, the hair on the back of his neck prickling. No response.
He stepped out into the hallway, wand drawn. "Tom?" he said again, approaching the right wing. As he drew near the master bedroom, he heard the faint sounds of spraying water.
Harry crept carefully into the room, eyeing the ajar bathroom door suspiciously.
"Tom!" he hollered in aggravation, not daring to get any closer.
What sounded like a shower cut off and then Harry heard wet footsteps approaching the door. The raven retreated to the gaping hole in the wall and hid his wand behind his back just to be safe.
The man in question appeared in the doorway, towel scrubbing through his hair rather than covering the important parts of his anatomy. Harry flushed and looked determinedly over the man's shoulder, unwilling to turn his back for even a moment. A slight stirring beneath his robes made him grit his teeth as a vivid and unwelcome flashback of Tom fisting himself seared itself behind his eyeballs.
"Grimmauld," he barked, eyes fixed somewhere near the ceiling. "You know where it is?"
Tom chuckled lowly and leaned against the doorway, running a hand over his now smooth jaw. He hummed in affirmation.
"Be there in an hour. Alone," Harry snapped, and wasted no time in retreating.
Harry paced holes in the rug in the parlor of his home while Hermione sat tensely on the sofa, running nervously through the plan for the third time in a row. The room was still a little threadbare, but brighter and less grimy than it had been since the days that the Weasley matriarch had waged war upon it with wand and broom. The homey atmosphere did nothing to quell either's anxiety.
"Ron, Bill, and Remus are just on the other side of the fire and will check in in ten minute intervals," Hermione recited, mostly to herself, as she fidgeted with the sleeve of her robes. Two identical copies of the contract sat on the coffee table before her, her's and Ron's and Harry's signatures branded across the bottom of the parchments as well.
No one involved much liked this plan, especially Bill and Remus who were kept in the dark on exactly which wizard they were attempting an alliance with, but the fact of the matter was that they were on their own. Dumbledore was gone and Harry led the side of the Light now, like it or not. He very much felt that the world was resting on his shoulders.
It didn't help that he was pretty sure Tom had something up his sleeve; he couldn't imagine that this meeting would be easy.
"Harry," Hermione said abruptly, eyes too wide in her pale face. "What if all this was a mistake? The contract, it was so wordy...does it even help us at all? And the Vow, I--" her breath hitched. "We shouldn't be trading this, we are supposed to defeat him, not ensure his survival, and--"
She broke off from her rapid-fire gush of words with a little sob.
"Hey," Harry soothed, sitting down next to her and pulling the distraught witch into his arms. Her fears were valid and mirrored his own, but that wasn't the problem here. He'd seen the same panic leading up to exams, sure she'd fail even though she knew every answer like the back of her hand. "No second guessing now. We've all made our beds, and now we have to lie in them. If this all turns out to be a colossal cock-up, then we'll fix it. We always do." He pressed his lips to her temple as she melted into his side. "We won't let him try anything funny while he's here, and that's our only job for tonight. We'll worry about the rest tomorrow."
She pressed her face into his neck for a moment, breathing in the calming scent of her best friend and pseudo-brother, before slowly extracting herself from his arms. She gave him a wavering smile and smoothed down her robes, tucking an errant stand of hair that had fallen from its twist back behind her ear. "Yes," she breathed, formidable defenses reforming rapidly right in front of his eyes. "We're Gryffindors; this is what we're good at." She gave him a faintly playful look. "When did you get to be the wise one, Harry Potter?"
He grinned and made to retort but a knock on the front door had both of their blood freezing.
Harry whipped his head around to look at the clock. Ten on the dot. He swallowed thickly, adrenaline already spiking.
Wide amber eyes connected with his own and he gave a grim nod. "Stay behind me," he warned, and they both stood.
Creeping down the hall and into the entryway, both had their wands drawn. Harry reached for the doorknob and hesitated, too-loud breathing and the dull roar of rain pounding against the roof the only sounds in the heart-stopping silence, before he wrenched it open.
Tom leant casually against the porch banister, hands tucked into his denim pockets. His eyes were dark as they flicked to the witch halfway down the hall before coming to rest solidly on the Chosen One. Droplets of water plastered strands of black hair to his brow and the upper portion of his plain blue v-neck tee was soaked and clinging to his chiseled torso.
"Harry," the man intoned with a small nod, pink lips curving.