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Chapter Text

The boy had been in distress - terror and cold cold cold - had come surging down the bond between them, and Voldemort had dissapparated before he could question it. Now though, he wonders what madness had him searching through a freezing forest for a sign of Harry Potter these past hours. How had the connection to Potter made it possible for him to sense where to apparate to find him? And why did he want to find Potter? He was calm again, and had been for a while. Snarling, The Dark Lord was
forced to admit to himself that he had come here not to kill the boy, but to help him.

He supposes that life at Malfoy Manor had been dull and tedious, and Potter was an appealing distraction. If he had to hear Lucius wax poetic about his damned peacocks one more time, he'd crucio the man into a coma.

Finally, Voldemort came upon a clearing that radiated a soft pulse of magic. There didn't appear to be anything special about this barren expanse of snow and spindly trees, but the layers of protective and concealing enchantments convinced The Dark Lord that he had at last found Potter and his friends. With a smug twist to his lips, he disillusioned himself and began taking apart the enchantments.

He would simply observe his nemesis, attempt to learn what transpired to frighten the boy so, and return to capture Potter with a few of his competent Death Eaters. After all, he told himself, there was no reason to attempt to grab Harry Potter now. He had escaped Voldemort too many times to take such a foolish chance. Yes, he'd just watch him for a bit. He hadn't gotten a good look at the boy in-

"Honestly, it'll be fun!" The voice of the Boy Who Lived suddenly broke through his thoughts. He hastily stepped into the clearing the three teenagers occupied and restored the enchantments behind him. Weasley and the muggle born girl - Granger? He thinks he recalls from the moaning of the Malfoy heir - looked dubious at this statement.

"Harry, I just don't see how this is an appropriate time..." Granger muttered. Voldemort moved closer, casting a silencing spell on himself as well, so he could observe Harry Potter from as close as possible.

"It'll never be an appropriate time in the middle of a war, 'Mione. But today we actually have something to celebrate! I really did miss you, mate." Potter responded, shooting the Weasley boy a fond look. It was at this point that The Dark Lord noticed the bottle of Firewhisky in the boy's hand as he passed it to his friend. All three of the Golden Trio were looking rather pink cheeked and a bit glassy eyed. This had a particularly fetching effect on Potter's gem like green eyes.

"OK, but karaoke is singing, right? Do we have to sing? Can't we just play truth or dare or something?" Weasley said after a large gulp of alcohol. He shuddered before handing the bottle over to Granger.

Lord Voldemort rose an eyebrow and glanced back at Potter. Karaoke? And they were celebrating Weasley's return? Where had the boy's terror come from earlier then? And it seemed unlike the golden trio to separate for any reason. More importantly, his nemesis could sing? He conjured himself some popcorn under the safety of his disillusionment charm and found a tree a few feet from Potter to lean against and observe. Did he technically need to eat anymore? No, but he'd never lose his love for drama.

Granger took a much more moderate sip of Firewhisky and smiled deviously over the bottle at Potter. "Oh Ron, Harry will never agree to that because he knows my first truth question will be 'who was your first crush?'"
The boy's emerald eyes widened comically and he sputtered out a quick "You promised never to tell anyone!" He looked nervously between Weasley and Granger. This seemed to offend the redhead though, as he loudly proclaimed "Oi! I'm your best mate, why does Hermione know that and I don't?! Who was it then? Wasn't it Cho?"

Voldemort did not know who "Cho" was, but he crunched viciously on a handful of popcorn as he thought that he'd probably hate her. He was so caught up in his bitter thoughts that it took him long moments to realize that he was feeling an undercurrent of emotions that were not his - that must have been Potter's. It appeared that being so close to him strengthened whatever bond they had, because he could feel hints of the boy's
embarrassment and anxiety. Well. That could be useful.

The muggleborn took another sip from the bottle and giggled, looking more flushed by the minute. "No no, it wasn't Cho~" she sing-songed. Weasley glanced sharply between Granger and Potter, annoyance at being left out and a bit of suspicion rising in his eyes. The Boy Who Lived must have seen this too, because he sighed in a resigned manner, snatched the bottle from Granger, and murmured after a long pull of whisky "Tom Riddle".

There was silence in the snowy clearing while Hermione Granger grinned, Ron Weasley gaped at Harry Potter in horrified shock, and Potter stared stonily back at his friend in a way that Voldemort had seen when facing the boy in battle.
For his part, The Dark Lord was highly relieved he'd silenced the area he stood in, because at the sound of his name, he'd choked rather embarrassingly on a kernel of popcorn and was currently trying to expel it from his lungs.

Potter's first crush...had been him?! But how..? His blood red eyes narrowed as he cast his mind back over the previous few years, ignoring the heated exchange going on between the two boys. Ah....the diary. Lord Voldemort did not appreciate how his heart was beating, how his mood had begun soaring at this revelation.

He realized suddenly that he had been staring off into nothing for several moments and returned his attention to Harry just in time to hear him exclaim "I was 12, Ron! I didn't know who he’d grow up to be! And he was charming, and brilliant. He had this dry but clever sense of humor and always had useful advice on homework or spell casting..." Harry suddenly trailed off, looking into the distance and blushing.

The Granger girl had begun patting Harry's knee, but Weasley was still gaping open mouthed at his best friend. Voldemort processed all this dimly, eyes rapt on Harry's red cheeks and softened green eyes. He'd begun chewing nervously on his bottom lip, and had it always been so plump? Had Harry's hair always contrasted so beautifully against his olive skin..? Wait, when did he become "Harry"?? Voldemort dug his sharp nails into his palm and forced his eyes from his nemesis' mouth. This was still his prophesied enemy! He was being ridiculous, he told himself, while adamantly ignoring the flush building on his own pale face.

The redhead seemed to finally find a way past his shock and stammered out a response about not knowing Harry was into men. His nemesis shrugged and said casually "well, neither did I until I met him. Besides, you guys didn't see him. He was annoyingly handsome, and his voice was just unfairly attractive. I kind of figured out some things about myself when I started having dreams....I'm not made of stone, you know." This last statement deepened the boy's blush significantly, while Weasley blanched and Granger burst into a fit of giggles.

Lord Voldemort's throat clicked dryly as he swallowed, popcorn lying forgotten on the frozen ground. Harry had dreams about his younger self? The words "annoyingly handsome" and "unfairly attractive" kept repeating in his head in that lovely voice. He could feel the boy's embarrassment sharpening, but there was also a small thrum of....longing? Desire? The Dark Lord was barely able to identify it over his own growing excitement, his pulse beat wildly beneath his cold skin and he knew his snake like pupils were dilating in arousal. He tried and failed to stop himself from panting lightly at the thoughts of what those dreams of Harry's might have contained.

The boy hero suddenly cleared his throat and said "ANYWAY" a bit loudly and hoarsely. "I think it's only fair now that everyone be as embarrassed as me. Prepare for karaoke! I'm grabbing Mione's mp3 player." And sauntered off to grab a muggle device that looked like a small glossy brick. The Weasley boy tried to protest that he didn't know any of the muggle songs that the girl had on her device, but she pulled out what looked like earmuffs and said he could listen to his song before his turn and she'd write the lyrics in the air with her wand. Grudgingly, the boy accepted this. Harry beamed giddily at his friends as they discussed who would sing which song.

Voldemort watched this with an odd feeling in his chest. It was strangely...pleasant to see Harry so at ease. His laugh was surprisingly musical, and he felt that it would translate into a beautiful singing voice indeed. Each time his pulse began to slow, the boy would make a gesture with his hand that drew the Dark Lord's attention to his elegant wrists, or he'd lean towards the display on the muggle device and a flash of toned Quiddich muscle would be exposed on his torso. He found his robes scratching against his increasingly sensitive skin and flicked his forked tongue out to wet dry lips. WHY was he suddenly feeling this way, after a lifetime of little to no interest in romance or sex?

"Alright, let's get this over with." The Weasley boy said in a voice that rather suggested he was walking to the gallows. Both Granger and Harry rolled their eyes and passed him the bottle of Firewhisky, which the redhead began chugging. It was decided that each of the Golden Trio would chose a song for another. Granger would select Weasley's song, Harry would select Granger's, and since they were all a mystery to Weasley, he would select a song at random for Harry to sing.

An enchanting smile grew across the beautiful face of The Boy Who Lived as he decided on a song for his muggleborn friend and handed over the device. Just as she stepped into the middle of the clearing and conjured a modest stage to perform on, she suddenly gasped and spun on the two boys with a look of malicious glee that, frankly, frightened Voldemort. The rest of the Golden Trio seemed to agree as both boys shrank back and traded anxious looks, before each taking another hearty drink of alcohol. "What, Mione?" They said in unison.

"Oh, I was just thinking...." she purred. And all three males in the clearing felt their spines stiffen. Hermione Granger did not strike Voldemort as a girl who purred. "Well, we can't sing and dance to muggle music without the appropriate muggle clothes, can we?" She continued, now twirling her wand. DANCE the Dark Lord repeated in his mind feverishly, darting his eyes over Harry Potter's well shaped arms, thighs, and....alright, all of him was rather well shaped. He must look fantastic in his Quiddich robes.
Perhaps he'll demand a memory from the Malfoy brat for his pensieve...

"Hermione, what do you-" the Weasley boy shuddered out, before she pointed her wand at him and began transfiguring his plain and shabby clothing. The boy yelped in protest, but a few moments later, he stood there looking incredulously at his new outfit. He was wearing pressed black slacks and an orange shirt with 3/4 sleeves and a deep V neck, along with flat soled leather boots. Granger nodded to herself, pleased with her work, and pointed her wand at her own travel worn clothing. Harry whistled and glanced between his two friends pointedly when she was done, and Voldemort could see why. She had created for herself a dress that flowed around her ankles and was the exact shade of orange as Weasley's shirt. The oblivious boy seemed to finally catch on to this after several suggestive looks from Harry, as his ears had started to go bright red.

The Dark Lord was still amusedly watching the redhead avert his eyes around the clearing and mumble something about the outfit being nice for a Chudley Cannons game when Granger exclaimed "There!" And strode up to the stage proudly, clutching the music device. He turned to look at what Granger had transfigured for Harry's stage outfit and promptly felt his breath leave his body.

Harry was wearing black leather pants that were clinging to the man's firm thighs and arse, heeled black leather boots, and an emerald top that Voldemort couldn't rightly call a shirt, but could call delicious. It was mostly mesh, and although it was long sleeved with a modest neckline, there was only one solid strip of fabric covering Harry's skin from just below his collar bones to just under his ribs. The rest of the garment was airy, perfectly see-through temptation.

The Dark Lord didn't notice until frigid ice touched his backside that he had slid down the tree he'd been leaning against. He didn't care. He moaned softly and flicked his gaze hungrily over every inch of visible skin and every curve of taught muscle on Harry's body and palmed a growing hardness at the front of his robes. It was at this moment when The Dark Lord suddenly felt the call of one of his Death Eaters. Hissing angrily, he tapped into the connection he had with his Marked and found that it was Lucius Malfoy requesting his attention. Certain that the idiotic man had nothing truly urgent to tell him, Voldemort put it out of his mind. It couldn't be as important as this, he thought, as Harry looked admiringly down at his outfit and did a little spin and gentle hip thrust as if dancing already.

No. Nowhere near as important.

Chapter Text

Harry couldn't say what possessed him for this situation to come about. He'd blame the Firewhisky, but as his habit of bad decision making was well known, that seemed dishonest. Truthfully, singing and dancing had been a private joy and stress relief for him since he got his own room. He had to keep his voice low so as to not anger his beastly relatives, but it still became something of a nightly ritual.

Privately though. It's not like he'd ever shared this side of him with his friends, but he was desperate to shake off the lingering chill of the frozen lake and almost being strangled and drowned by a locket. The odd stab of guilt he'd felt at watching Ron destroy the horcrux also needed to be flushed from his system. His friends wouldn't understand and he couldn't even explain it to himself. So, time to be teenagers for once and create some fun chaos. 

Hermione finally glanced at the song he'd picked for her and threw him her perfected exasperation look, though she also peered at Ron bashfully as the piano intro began. Harry grinned cheekily and settled himself on a conjured cushion to observe Operation: Get These Two Dunderheads Together. His patience had fully run out on that front.

Hopefully he could also distract himself from the emotions coming through his bond with Voldemort. For the first time in Harry's memory, the man wasn't feeling angry or disappointed or even smug...but lustful. He'd never felt anything close to it from his other half, and when the wave of pure want had crashed over him, Harry was hard pressed to not become, well, hard pressed. 

Whomever The Dark Lord was with to inspire this rather passionate response, was absolutely no business of Harry's and he was certainly not jealous in the least.

....it was probably Bellatrix, the irritating, mad bint. She wasn't even that pretty, he thought sullenly as he took another swig of whiskey. Voldemort could do better, it was embarrassing for him really, if he was feeling this for her...

Shaking his head lightly, Harry turned his attention fully to his friends. Today should be for them. Voldemort, the war, and Harry's inconvenient emotions could wait for another day. He couldn't wait to dance again, and the firewhisky was convincing him that he should really cut loose tonight. He smirked as he thought of the tabloid articles he could inspire after the disaster of the Yule Ball. The Wizarding World would be appaled to know that he simply didn't do well with formal, structured dances because The Chosen One liked to dance dirty.

********************************************

Voldemort hated to admit it, but the muggle song was quite beautiful. Granger's singing voice wasn't bad either, and it was a bit amusing to watch the girl try adamantly not to gaze at the redhead as she sang. Her eyes always returned to him though, he noted idly as his gaze sought out Harry again. He had a soft, warm smile on his face as he watched his friend sing.

The Dark Lord was strangely happy to see the expression. He'd followed suit after his Chosen One and conjured himself a thick cushion to sit on and watch the proceedings comfortably, wondering where that fleeting spike of bitterness he'd felt from him earlier had originated. The specific emotion had evaded him, but whatever it was, it was heavy and burned his chest. It did not suit the lovely vision that Harry made in his muggle attire and Voldemort was glad that it had passed.

"What's goin' on in that beautiful mind? I'm on your magical mystery ride" 

He glanced quickly at the girl as she sang out this line that so reflected his own thoughts at the moment.

"You're crazy and I'm out of my mind"

Voldemort sighed and nodded, noting this entire bizarre situation that Harry had created and his own insistent hardness. At least he'd managed to stop pawing at himself like a damned harlot. 

"Love your curves and all your edges, all your perfect imperfections"

Red eyes burned covetously over Harry's leather wrapped legs, his erotically tousled hair, and especially the thin scar on his forehead that so clearly marked him as Voldemort's. HIS Chosen. 

"You're my end and my beginning"

The Dark Lord refused to acknowledge why this line affected him so, but his gaze on Harry became significantly less heated and more solemn. 

"You're my downfall, you're my muse. My worst distraction..."

His pale lips stretched into a wry smile. Harry was that, indeed. Perhaps the boy wouldn't be his downfall, but he was certainly his great distraction. Every time he'd planned to move on from his fixation with the wizard and advance his plans for their world in other ways, his mind strayed back to him. Harry's presence was like honey on his tongue, thick with sweetness and the sensation of the sun. Regardless of how angry the boy could make him, he never felt as alive as he did when he had a taste of his magic. His strength. His goodness.

"Cards on the table, we're both showing hearts. Risking it although it's hard"

Ah, his clever beauty had chosen this song very well. The Granger girl and Weasley both looked thoughtful at this line, trading fleeting glances before flushing and looking determinedly at the ground. Harry grinned smugly, clearly pleased with his work. The expression was beyond charming on his wicked little face, and Voldemort longed to feel that sly mouth against his own. Would Harry taste as sweet as he looked? Would he moan as his tongue was taken to be savored, sucked into Voldemort's own mouth?

The song ended, and the serpentine man only noticed because the rest of the Golden Trio began clapping, and in Harry's case, whistling. He hissed and withdrew his hand as he realized he'd reached into his robes and began trailing long fingers over his erect cock. He would NOT sit here and publicly (if hidden and silenced) masturbate. Especially not from thoughts of his nemesis' tongue, or imagined moans, nor those thick bitable thighs and leanly muscled forearms...

STOP TOUCHING YOUR COCK! 

"Alright, who's next?" Granger's voice rang out excitedly. She was not-so-subtly looking at the Weasley boy, so with a great sigh, he marched up to her to receive the device and earmuffs to listen to his song. Harry, meanwhile, was behaving oddly. He'd begun shifting around on his cushion as if uncomfortable, and conjured a second one to place on his lap. He'd stopped drinking when the muggleborn began her song, yet his eyes looked glassier than ever. He ran a hand through his hair as if in frustration and a few hot breaths misted in front of his face before he seemingly got ahold of himself and slipped on a mask of casual contentment for his friends.

"Well, that's an unusual way of telling me to shut up, Mione." The redhead said as he removed the earmuffs. His voice was dry but there was a bashful look he was fighting down, and Voldemort had a feeling this was going to be another song full of longing glances between the two. Teenagers, he mused with what he'd absolutely deny was an eye roll. 

As the opening bars of Weasley's song started, Harry perked up immediately. "I love this song!" He gasped and shot Granger an approving smile.

"Oh don't you dare look back, just keep your eyes on me"

Ron Weasley sang and Harry Potter mouthed along. Voldemort couldn't imagine wanting to look elsewhere. 

"This woman is my destiny, she said ooh-hoo shut up and dance with me"

Although this made the boy blush as red as his hair, he looked directly at Granger as he sang, and Harry's smile became radiant as he looked between his friends. He appeared to be containing himself with great difficulty; his hips began to swivel on his cushion and his hands rose to snap along with the beat. The movement dislodged the cushion on Harry's lap, and Voldemort's lips parted on a sigh as his lower stomach and tantalizing hip bones were now visible through his mesh shirt.

"She took my arm, I don't know how it happened..." 

Granger seemed to find her courage as well, because she did just that. Striding up to Weasley, she pulled him into a dance unlike any Voldemort had engaged in. There was significantly more...grinding. Harry looked ecstatic at this development and leaped to his feet to join them. Although his dancing was as full of provocative hip grinding as Granger's, he seemed to focus mainly on Weasley. The Dark Lord had a fleeting thought that this was to emphasize his lack of interest in Granger romantically and to fluster his friend. It was working spectacularly well too, as the Weasley boy would probably have steam coming out of his ears at any moment.

With each shout of "shut up and dance!" From the Golden Trio, Harry pivoted around the pair and subtly bumped their bodies closer to the other with a hip or arch of his back. The way his body moved was positively hypnotizing, and Voldemort fully intended to bottle this memory and relive it in his pensieve as often as possible. He moved with the grace of familiarity, and Voldemort fell into a fantasy of his Chosen emerging from an evening shower. A sultry song played in the background as he swiveled his lean hips and ran his fingers through dripping raven hair and down to his throat, his chest, water droplets trailing down, down into the towel which begins to slide off....

"Fuck!" The very object of his fantasy breathes, only a few feet from him all of a sudden. It seems he'd left the pair to dance in their own little world while he retreated to grab a bottle of water and drink urgently. Focusing back on the present with a small shake of his head, The Dark Lord noticed Harry was breathing rather harder than expected, his jaw ticked as he ground his teeth together, and a sound very much like a whimper sounded from his throat. He had turned his back fully on his friends, but that left him facing Voldemort's hiding spot. All of these clues finally clicked together as he trailed his eyes down Harry's flushed body again and at last noticed the prominent bulge at the front of his pants.

Oh. Ooohh. He could feel Harry's emotions so strongly from their proximity, so of course, Harry could feel his. Rather than being embarrassed at this revelation, Voldemort felt himself become impossibly harder and began to breathe as harshly as Harry. HE was doing this to his beautiful boy. HE was making him flush and harden and whine in need. Was he leaking into his boxers? If he moved closer, would he be able to smell Harry's arousal?

"Harry, are you ok? You're even more red than Ron." Granger's voice interrupted. The song had ended and Harry turned his head towards her and managed a shaky smile, muttering something about drinking too much. She handed the boy hero another bottle of water and went to sit next to Weasley, the two now gazing at each other dreamily and lacing their fingers together. This seemed to help Harry gather himself, as he took several deep breaths, smirked victoriously at the pair of them, and walked over to retrieve the music device. 

The curve of Harry's cock was still slightly visible through his pants, but only Lord Voldemort got to enjoy the sight as the lovebirds seemed to only have eyes for each other. Weasley took a moment to scroll to a song without looking and handed the device over to his best friend. Harry snatched it up without complaint, visibly relieved to be ignored as he adjusted his pants to take some pressure off his softening erection. 

Hm. We can't have that, Voldemort thought. With the sharpest grin he's worn in recent memory, The Dark Lord decided he'd just have to see how far he could push Harry's self restraint before he oh-so-satisfyingly snapped. He finally allowed his hand to slip inside his robes and grasp himself firmly. After all; it was only fair that Harry Potter and himself experienced this exquisite torture together. 

Chapter Text

The smile Harry donned upon seeing the song that had been blindly picked for him was secretive and unsurprised, as if he was telling himself that he should have known it would be THIS one. Voldemort momentarily put aside his mission to edge his little hero into an oversensitive mess. His curiosity was piqued as the song began, a gentle, haunting thing with a long instrumental intro. Harry swayed his hips gently and seemed to pull the lyrics straight from his soul.

"Wake up, look me in the eyes again. I need to feel your hand upon my face"

Eyes closed, Harry crooned these first lines with such husky sensuality that Voldemort felt goosebumps raise along his skin. There was something heartbreaking and beautiful about the song that he didn't think he would be able to feel reverberating in his chest were it not being sung by Harry. His boy made everything feel charged; like electricity hung in the air around him. The Dark Lord's breath stopped as green eyes slid open, seeming to glow as deadly bright as the killing curse and flick unnervingly close to where Voldemort sat invisible. 

"I think I might've inhaled you. I can feel you behind my eyes. You've gotten into my bloodstream.....I can feel you flowing in me"

As Harry sang out these lines, his hands began tracing down his sides, slowly inching over his hips and the top of his thighs. His back curved into a sinful arch and his VOICE. Merlin, he practically moaned the final line, still staring heatedly into Voldemort's hiding spot. Could Harry sense him here? He found that he didn't care in the slightest. Let his Chosen catch him and know what he was doing to him. What he'd been doing to him since he stepped into this clearing.

A quick check on the other two assured him that they weren't paying any attention to Harry. One would occasionally glance up at him to make an encouraging expression and then lose themselves in the other. Good, he'd rather act as if he and Harry were alone. His hand began to steadily pump his cock as he looked into the most enchanting eyes he's ever seen. He wanted those eyes on him only, always. In this moment, he wanted his enchantments to fail. To see Harry seeing him, watching him pleasure himself.

There was another instrumental break, and Voldemort used the opportunity to push a vision along their bond to his darling. He had used the new information about Harry's first crush and weaved a dream for him that he hoped Harry would relive many times, and ache for him. He watched the beauty in front of him clearly receive his message, as he stumbled and leaned forward slightly to pant, eyes dilating until only a thin ring of green remained.

His voice and hands alike shook as he rasped out the next few lines of the song. The Dark Lord preened even as his own hands shook from his desire to cum. He didn't know he could be this aroused. Sex had only ever been a tool for him, like blackmail or the Malfoys. Harry made him want to beg for release, to plead for the gift of pleasuring his Chosen.

"I can feel you behind my eyes"

Voldemort suddenly had the thought that perhaps it was only Tom Riddle that could have such an effect on Harry, and decided to test this idea. He pushed another vision along the bond; this one with him as he looked now after his resurection. The reaction this brought about was incredibly gratifying.

"The spaces in between two minds and all the places they have-"

Harry choked on his next breath, and Weasley and Granger finally glanced up again to ask if he was OK. He quickly waved the pair off and grabbed a water bottle in explanation. They seemed to accept this and began a heated discussion about something, gesturing towards a book. Harry resumed the song, but he'd crossed his hands in front of himself to obscure the hard line of his cock, now clearly visible even through the leather. Lord Voldemort moaned unabashedly at the sight, squeezing the base of his own erection to prevent his orgasm from tearing through him. He was certain that he and Harry were so closely linked at this moment that if he came, Harry would too. He growled at the thought of allowing anyone else to see his Harry Potter come undone from pleasure. That should be for Lord Voldemort alone to witness.

"I think I might've inhaled you..." 

He looked more in control now as the chorus repeated, and a wicked smile began to curve over those full red lips. Just what was the boy up to now?

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That absolute bastard. What a snake-faced arsehole. Harry fumed as the low simmering lust began to build higher as he started the song. Really, what the fuck was he doing the past hour, having some big Death Eater orgy? He mentally slapped himself as a far too naked Pettigrew flitted through his mind. Gross. Disturbingly, the mental image of an equally naked snake-faced arsehole did not have the same effect. Harry sighed internally, accepting that he'd learned another new thing about himself as his flush traveled down his body. Perhaps the Firewhisky was helping with the acceptance. However, that doesn't mean he was ready for The Vision. 

From one blink to the next, he left the clearing and found himself in the Chamber of Secrets. It looked much less watery, and care had clearly been taken to make it comfortable. There was an area in front of him that looked like it had been furnished as a study area, with a plush black carpet under a green velvet sofa. A stack of books sat on a table nearby, but everything else was blurred as if unimportant, and suddenly Tom Riddle filled his vision. He looked just as he had when Harry met him in second year, 16 years old and infuriatingly charasmatic with his arrogant smirk and perfect curl of hair.

Tom was walking to him slowly, loosening his Slytherin tie then pulling it free while his dark gaze roved over Harry. He was in his Gryffindor robes, he noted dazedly, but he was his current age. Also, was he wearing a prefect badge??

"Hello Harry. I've missed you. Did you miss me, beautiful?" That voice purred. He'd dreamed about that voice for years, and although he had no control over his actions here, he felt his body shiver as if from miles away.

Before dream-Harry could answer, Tom was on him. His larger body slammed Harry's against the Chamber wall, and with a flick of his fingers the Slytherin tie wrapped tightly around his wrists. Harry watched his mouth pop open in a gasp and as he managed a weak "Tom, what-" before Riddle's lips were on his throat and climbing up to his open mouth, biting and sucking and claiming. There was such feral possessiveness in his eyes and wherever his body truly was, Harry felt his feet tangle and his breath speed into panting. 

"Please, more - I want-!" Harry watched himself whisper desperately. Tom looped his bound wrists around his neck and started walking them backwards towards the plush carpet. 

"You want what, lovely? Tell me what you've imagined me doing to you. Do you want this..?" The taller boy slipped his hands under his robes, past the band of his pants, and kneaded the flesh of his arse firmly. They had reached the carpet, and Tom used his grip on Harry to grind their hips together in a rolling motion that was both too much and not enough for Harry's vision-self. 

"Clothes! Get rid of the clothes, Tom - want to feel you- see you" He whined, voice breaking in frustration. But Riddle only smiled softly at him and stroked his face, muttering "soon" before he dropped to his knees. The hands that had been around the Slytherin's neck now rested on top of his head, and Riddle directed his fingers to clench in his hair.

"First, Harry, I want to taste you."

With quick, efficient movements, Tom Riddle freed his stiff cock and watched it twitch as it met the cold chamber air. Harry could only describe the look in his dark gaze as ravenous, so he was not surprised when Tom leaned forward and ever-so-gently closed his teeth around the head. A continuation of the claiming bites he'd started on Harry's neck and face. His dream self arched and cried out as if he'd come from this alone, but Tom waited until he had Harry's gaze once more to flick his tongue forward and lap at his precum. Harry saw that he was already on the edge, his green eyes glazed and he was was going to cum in Tom Riddle's mouth, he was gonna cum, had to cum -

"Tom, I'm-"

The vision ended and he blinked his eyes open to the clearing.

That fucker was doing this to Harry on purpose he realized, with a mixture of anger and excitement. That dream was made for him and sent to him intentionally. Why? Because Harry had felt his horniness and Voldemort thought he'd make Harry embarrassed? No...if that was an attempt to humiliate The Golden Boy, it was a bad one. He'd made his 16 year old self....almost worshipful of Harry. He flushed hotly at the thought and he felt his pupils widen to saucers when he realized that Voldemort must have been so aroused the last hour thinking of him if the vision he'd been sent was anything to go by. He tried valiantly to push this thought aside and just finish his damned song so he could escape for a good wank without arousing (hah) suspicion, and he might have succeeded - if not for The Second Vision. 

He was flying high above the Quiddich pitch, and it looked deserted in the faint light of the setting sun. His vision self was wearing Quiddich robes this time, and they were...unusually tight on his body. He stretched his arms above his head and yawned, the movement looking far more enticing in this...dream? than Harry believed he has ever looked. A blur of black smoke suddenly shot towards him and surrounded his broom. Harry went to lower his hands when he was seized from behind and his arms were twisted and held behind his back with one incredibly strong, clawed hand. The arm around his waist was pale, gleaming in spots with iridescent scales, and Harry craned his neck back and up to stare into the bloody eyes of Lord Voldemort.

The Dark Lord smiled at him, slowly, sharply. "Harry Potter, how kind of you to let me...ride." He finished suggestively, pulling Harry tight against his chest. "And after I teased you so cruelly last time too...fear not, Lord Voldemort will make it up to you." The Harry who was observing the scene was surprised by the reference to the previous vision, but it did rather confirm his suspicions. The Dark Lord was trying to seduce him. 

Unfortunately, it was working.

His dream-self however only responded with a shocked gasp as the arm around his waist seized a handful of fabric and yanked hard, shredding through to his bare skin in one motion. The ties on his Quiddich pants were next to be viciously torn open -and far too suddenly, nearly his entire body was bared to those serpentine eyes. Dream Harry wasn't wearing boxers, and he blushed scarlet in seeming mortification as his long time enemy froze to leer down the length of his naked body. His cock was already halfway to fully hard and Voldemort's lingering gaze on it made him squirm more uncomfortably.

"So beautiful." Harry heard him breathe in Parseltongue. He wondered if it was intentional - if he knew Harry understood. Either way, a heady rush went through him at Voldemort's praise, at his clear admiration. "Please touch me!" Dream Harry moaned in English. Voldemort smirked and obliged. His sharp nails left light marks as he scratched up Harry's chest, stopping to flick gently at both of his hardened nipples. He saw his head lean back to rest on the chest behind him, and Voldemort took the opportunity to torment him further. Bending to Harry's ear, he began whispering as he scratched and rubbed at Harry's increasingly sensitive skin. 

"How does this feel, Harry?" Nails trailed feather light along the shaft of his achingly hard cock. "Are you sensitive here?" The pad of a thumb circling his nipple. "Would you like my tongue better?" Dream Harry could not respond to any of this, he was biting his lower lip and seemed to be holding in a scream with all his strength. Strength which failed when The Dark Lord did indeed lean forward and flick his long forked tongue against Harry's nipple while his nails plucked gently at the other. Harry screamed - he may have screamed in his own body too if he hadn't stopped breathing. 

At the sound of Harry's pleasure, Voldemort growled lowly and began thrusting his hard cock against dream- Harry's backside. The Harry trapped as an observer to his own undoing dimly wondered if the outline in the snake-man's robes was accurate. If so, Voldemort was LARGE. Harry could only manage short gasps of breath now, when suddenly the hand on his chest dropped to his cock and started pumping quickly over him. He heard another hiss of Parseltongue whisper heatedly "yessss Harry Potter, cum for your Lord" before his body rocked upwards with his orgasm, splashing cum over the handle of his broomstick. The dream-Harry screamed again, but back in his body he felt himself choke. He blinked to reality and felt his best friends staring at him in concern.

After playing it off as best he could and resuming the song, he thought to himself suddenly "You know what? Fuck him. If he thinks I'm not going to retaliate then he's incredibly wrong." Harry has never backed down from one of Voldemort's challenges and he wasn't going to do so now. Sure, he was about one filthy kiss away from coming in his boxers, but - 

Harry let a devious smile cross his face. Oh, that would be perfect. 

**********************************************

The haunting song started to reach the end, but Voldemort found it more difficult to enjoy Harry's sinful voice and body when his suspicions kept building at the look in those molten green eyes. He was proven correct when an expression of intense concentration passed over his face for a moment before The Dark Lord was thrown into a vision that Harry had pushed to him. 

He and Harry were on the broomstick above the Quiddich pitch again, seemingly exactly where they left off in his own vision. Harry was still gloriously bared in front of him, his cum still coated the wood in front of Harry, but the boy was unbound now, and he turned to hold Voldemort's stare unblinkingly. "Thank you Tom, but I thought you wanted to taste me, my lord" the little vixen purred, before wrapping a hand around his neck and crashing their mouths together. It was not gentle or elegant and their teeth met in a clack as Harry poured his frustration and hunger into it. It was the most glorious thing Lord Voldemort had ever experienced.

Harry bit sharply at his lower lip and he saw it split and dribble blood onto Harry's swollen lips. This only made his Chosen One moan and suck at the wound. Voldemort lost all sense of time as he watched Harry ravage his dream-self's mouth. He'd begun rutting mindlessly behind him, his straining erection pressed tight against Harry's body. Just as suddenly as it had started, he wrenched away from Voldemort's lips, leaving a string of saliva and blood between them. In his body back at the clearing, The Dark Lord writhed at the sight, his magic rising and reaching out towards Harry on the stage, desperate, drowning in his need to touch him in some way. 

His dream-self looked much the same, panting and grasping at Harry's supple body like he'd never have enough of it. Blood was still smeared across his wicked mouth, but Voldemort's eyes moved to Harry's fingers as he saw that his Gryffindor had scooped up most of his cum from the broom and was now holding the dripping digits in front of his pale face. "Open." Harry demanded in a voice he'd never heard the Golden Boy use. His dream-self opened his mouth immediately, and Voldemort watched with more inexplicable jealousy than he'd ever felt as Harry smeared his face with cum before pushing his fingers deep into his gaping mouth. He licked greedily and kept his burning red gaze on Harry's as he moaned. 

His Chosen leaned forward and with shocking sweetness considering the blood painting his lips, softly kissed every patch of scales on his serpentine face. With a final brush of his lips against each of his pale eyelids, Harry withdrew his sopping fingers from Lord Voldemort and slammed their mouths together again. His lip split this time too, and Harry moaned as he rubbed the small wound against Voldemort's own, lapping at their blood and Harry's own cum painting The Dark Lord's face.

Oh. His dream-self seemed to understand in the same moment he did - they were consuming each other. They were one - Harry was his his his and he would only ever be Harry's - his darling, his light, reached to grasp his cock through his robes and rub down to his balls and he wasn't embarrassed at all when he saw himself cum at that first delicious squeeze -

He gasped in great lungfuls of air and immediately conjured a ring around his cock as he blinked his eyes open to the clearing. His hands were too shaky to hold off his orgasm anymore. Harry was perfect. Perfect. He didn't care about the few concessions he'd have to make to end the war and woo his Chosen. He would have Harry, so he'd have to come to a peace agreement, even if that meant killing the most bloodthirsty of the Death Eaters. So decided, he looked up at Harry again and watched in excitement and amusement as his lovely one quickly ended his song and made his excuses to Weasley and Granger about retiring for the night. 

Voldemort followed, of course. As soon as Harry entered a side room of the tent, he threw up half a dozen privacy spells that The Dark Lord was just inside of, his silenced steps making it easier to circle his treasure as Harry tore at his clothes, pulling out his painful looking erection with one hand and tugging his mesh top up to his armpits with the other. He wasted no time, stroking himself with one hand and plucking at his pebbled nipples with the other. 

Lord Voldemort's knees hit the ground in front of Harry as he groaned weakly, recognizing that his boy was mimicking his own actions in the vision he'd sent him exactly. "Fuck, fuck Tom - why can I feel you - feel you everywhere right now?" He grit out between hot puffs of air. The Dark Lord pulled his robes apart to stroke his own cock again, keeping his eyes riveted on Harry as he shook. He'd never seen anything so erotic; and without truly meaning to, sent another vision to Harry. It was only a few seconds of him glancing down at his leaking cock as he moaned, pumping up his shaft with his lightly scaled hand, but it was enough for Harry to understand that he was currently doing precisely what Harry was doing.

Harry's eyes widened and he hissed in Parseltongue, one word before he came hard enough to send his head rocking back to the sky - "Voldemort!"

The Dark Lord was still kneeling at The Boy Who Lived's feet, and at the sound of his name on Harry's lips - in his ancestors tongue too - he felt a strangely wholesome thrill shoot through him. His heart felt squeezed into his chest and he opened his mouth eagerly to catch Harry's release on his forked tongue, vanishing the cock ring and shooting his own cum at the ground in front of him. Thick spurts of Harry's landed across his cheeks, down his neck to pool at the hollow of his throat, and onto his tongue. His taste was divine, and his orgasm seemed to stretch on longer and longer as he swallowed and lapped up every drop on his face. 

Harry had slid to the ground with his eyes gently closed, and although he didn't know it, Lord Voldemort sat in front of him, equally boneless and awed by how this night had gone. He opened his eyes half way and whispered into the quiet of the tent "goodnight, my lord" with a cheeky, tired smile, and vanished the mess on the ground before falling into a nearby cot, dozing off almost the moment he landed. "Goodnight, my Harry" The Dark Lord responded with uncharacteristic tenderness. He had so much to do - courting proposals to draw up, gifts to plan, truces to draft, glamour spells to brush up on so he could regain the appearance of Tom Riddle whenever it pleased Harry.... he wanted to do none of it right now, and instead crawl into that horrendously small cot next to his only and hold him as he slept. 

Pushing to his feet and making himself presentable again, Lord Voldemort apparated to the Malfoy's sitting room. Lucius looked to be in the middle of a night cap and sputtered out a mouthful of scotch in his rush to prostate himself before his Lord. Usually such a display would make his wand hand itch to Crucio the man, but strangely - he thought as a rare smile graced the sharp lines of his face - he wanted to sing.