Chapter Text
The days went by quickly for Harry. He would wake up every morning to a hot breakfast and he would spend his free time reading or writing fake letters to people he missed. By the time Voldemort appeared in the afternoon, there were often piles of crumpled papers filled with words of longingness. While Harry hated to admit it, he had begun to anticipate the dark lord’s return. He knew it was just loneliness, and any type of human contact- if you could call Voldemort a human- was cherished.
While he had begun to anticipate seeing the man, it was often accompanied by an odd feeling in his stomach, like the butterflies someone feels when the roller coaster reaches the top of the hill, mere moments away from rushing towards the ground. A softer feeling than what he felt when the man’s tongue would press against his lips, demanding entrance. Those exchanges had begun happening more often. When Voldemort would return for the day, he’d press his lips against Harry’s passionately, and their souls seemed to entangle for several minutes until Voldemort pulled away and ended it there.
Always, when they pulled away, their eyes would meet, if only for a moment. Looking into Voldemort’s eyes, Harry saw that something had changed. The slightest change, but it was there, nonetheless. The once cold, hateful eyes seemed to resemble something softer now. Harry was correct in believing that he was the only one to notice.
Their nights were serene. Voldemort would usually sit and read for a while, they’d eat dinner, and then they’d go to bed. Some nights, Voldemort would read to Harry in a soft voice; others he’d hold the boy close and stroke his hair or his scar, which no longer ached in the nights.
Harry didn’t want to admit how soothing and comforting this new routine was, and he felt utterly at peace. He kept reminding himself that this was the man who had killed his parents, and he shouldn’t feel comforted by him, but he couldn’t help it.
He was starting to feel hopeless. The Hogwarts school year had started and still, no one had come for him. For all he knew, they weren’t looking for him at all. Instead of hoping, he found it easier to just start accepting.
While he had given up on most hope, he still longed for those whom he missed. Every few days he would attempt to send a letter with Hedwig, but each time, without fail, it would vanish the moment she left the room, only allowing her to catch mice and other small prey.
One good thing about being in the large room was that Hedwig was much happier. At the Dursleys, Harry had to keep her cooped up in her cage and she wasn’t allowed to hunt as often, but now she could hunt whenever she wished, and she was also allowed to fly around in the room. It felt as if their roles were reversed; Hedwig’s freedom was given, and Harry’s was taken away. Thinking about it depressed Harry, so he tried not to.
Something that Harry could find comfort in was clothes. The large room of course had a closet, and although Harry had nowhere to go, he found it fun too, well, play dress-up. It became a hobby of his. Each morning after he ate breakfast he’d go through the closet and pretend he was getting dressed for some important meeting, or perhaps a ball. He’d then spend his day reading or writing or doing whatever he could to stave off the hopelessness he felt. Voldemort would often come back to shower Harry with compliments and praises, and Harry would often discover new clothing pieces the next day and other accessories. He had even started to do some light makeup, to brighten up his face slightly.
One day, Harry awoke feeling gloomier than usual. His breakfast was waffles, but they didn’t brighten up his mood in the slightest. He sighed when he found himself unable to finish his plate and made his way to the walk-in closet. He scanned the robes and outfits that lined the walls and picked out a pair of dark green, androgynous robes to wear. They were comfortable and not too formal, so he dressed in them. He decided to ignore makeup today, and he made his way to the green velvet couch and laid himself down on it, resting his head on the armrest. He let his eyes drift over the grey of the ceiling, finding himself lost in it.
His eyelids felt heavy, but he was not tired. His entire body just felt worn out.
He needed to relax.
Dragging himself from the couch, he went to the bathroom; of course, it was gorgeously adorned. Green walls, of course, but the floor was a pristine white and there was a gorgeous white backsplash. The ‘bathtub’ took up a sizable portion of the bathroom, sunken into the floor with only a platform around it. Although Harry was automatically cleaned from whatever spells and wards that had been placed on him, he desperately wanted a bath. He loosened his recently adorned robes and let them fall before removing his undergarments. Goosebumps prickled his skin from his bareness, despite the room not being cold. He turned the faucet on, but in a moment, it turned off, the tub magically full of clear water. Harry stepped onto the platform and dipped his toe into the water, feeling its immense heat before sinking in. It burned for a moment, but soon became soothing, and Harry felt his body unwind.
Instead of wandering, his mind was blank. It was calming not to think about anything. Although he had just woken up, Harry felt his body succumbing to sleep, his eyelids drooping once more; he was not worried about drowning, he didn’t care much. Instead, he let his body relax and allowed sleep to pull him into its warm embrace.
~
Harry awoke to the feeling of his hair being stroked. Upon opening his eyes, he saw Voldemort, sitting next to him in the bath with soft eyes and a content smile. When he realized Harry was awake, he brightened up, even as Harry tensed.
“You know, sleeping in a bathtub full of water is probably not the smartest thing you could do,” he said.
“How long have I been asleep?” Harry asked groggily.
“You tell me, dear, I found you like this at lunchtime,” Voldemort replied, “It’s been about an hour since.”
Harry let out a sigh and ran his fingers through his damp hair, surprised he had slept so long.
It took him a moment to recognize that Voldemort was in the bath with him, undressed. His eyes trailed down the man’s body, over the perfectly sculpted abdomen, to the firm thighs, to the large limp cock between his legs. Harry could see patches of scales on the man’s body, glimmering in the bathroom light.
Harry felt the blush creeping up on his face as he thought about how beautiful the man’s body was, and he turned his gaze to look elsewhere.
Thin, elegant fingers traced Harry’s jaw, turning his face back towards Voldemort. He felt his thumb tracing at Harry’s lips, very gently, as if admiring a prized possession. Harry was left speechless, just staring into Voldemort’s crimson eyes, as if trapped. The moments seemed to last for years, full of unspoken emotion.
Harry’s face was pulled in until his lips were pressed gently against Voldemort’s. It was gentle and passionate. Even as Voldemort pushed his tongue into Harry’s mouth, it was calm and loving.
It wasn’t until Harry felt a careful hand gently stroking his cock that he froze.
What had he become?