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‘Unless I'm much mistaken, he transferred some of his own powers to you the night he gave you that scar.’ Dumbledore’s words from second year flit through her mind as she sits in the headmaster’s office, ears ringing loudly

No, that wasn’t quite right, was it? Not powers, his soul. Whether Dumbledore had known then what he did now, she can’t say for sure. But she could see it in his eyes, the pity he looked at her with when they discussed horcruxes and how they had to be destroyed in order for Voldemort to die. And she’d known then what Dumbledore refused to tell her. Icy dread had filled her as Dumbledore, perhaps for the first time could not look her in the eyes, his gaze instead looking up at her scar, sadness in his eyes.

She was a horcrux, and she would have to die, or Voldemort would remain unable to die.

Thankfully, Dumbledore had dismissed her for the night after that, leaving her to have her mental breakdown in the peace of a nearby bathroom rather than right in front of the headmaster. For the weeks after that, she hazily lives through the motions of her days, depression weighing her mind by day in and day out. What was the point, if she had to die soon? What was the point of school, when she may die before she even graduates?

And then the anger set in. Why? Why after years and years of loneliness, abuse, and constant fighting, was she expected to just roll over and die? Why did her life have to be marked with strife from start to early finish, just for everyone else to live happily? And the bitterness festers, as she looks back at how reckless with her life Dumbledore and damn near every adult in her life had been.

Eventually Hermione and Ron force the truth from her, because of course they wouldn’t let her spiral her life down the drain without an intervention. Hermione is horrified, fuming endlessly about how someone she had looked up to would be willing to sacrifice a child, let alone raise them for it. And Ron, of course, always a man of few words, had held her tight, simply promising they’d find a way for her to live. He clearly believed his words, and Harry didn’t have the heart to tell him she didn’t think there was a way.

She’d briefly entertained the idea of just not following along to Dumbledore’s schemes, but she didn’t exactly have a choice. It was either use Dumbledore’s temporary protection, while he raises her to die at the right time, or Voldemort hunts her down the second she leaves that protection.

Secretly, in the darkest corners of her mind, where she tried to bury her traitorously selfish voice, she’d even debated telling Voldemort she was his horcrux, knowing it would make the man at least hesitate and likely even abstain from killing her. Had even started to think of how she would speak to him, before she thought of all of the ways he could hurt her without killing her, and scrapped that plan. And what was the point of living if she only lived more hell? All she wanted was freedom and peace. To live her life, and it’s the one thing she’ll never get.

And then, one early May morning, Hermione and Ron force her awake and out of bed, steering her straight to the Room of Requirement with barely a word. They’re both unusually antsy as they force her down onto one of the love seats the room provides them, and they sit across from her. Hermione hands her a book, and Harry is baffled when she sees the cover. Muggleborn’s Guide to the Intricacies of Wizarding Pregnancy. Hermione opens the book and points to a small highlighted section, and Harry takes it to read.

‘Of course, now we come to one of the biggest differences between muggle and magical pregnancies, one that is regarded as so normal among the magical community that to some it never even crosses their mind that muggleborns wouldn’t know. In the wizarding world, magic prevents fathers from hurting those pregnant with their children. Because magic needs the wizarding kind to survive for it to survive, it protects the mother. Because of this. . .

Harry stops reading there, utterly lost on whatever the two of them were trying to tell her.

“I don’t understand guys, what are you getting at?” She asks.

Hermione bites her lip before digging further in her purse and pulling out a potion vial, a clump of hair, and some container. All Harry can catch of the label on it is some slogan about guaranteed to work after only 15 minutes.

“Harry, what if Voldemort was physically unable to hurt you?”

* * *

Voldemort swirls the goblet of wine in his hand as he glances over the ballroom floor below him. Eyes passing over the scattered people with disinterest. Groups of wealthy purebloods, his followers and their families, and potential recruits. He was never one for social events, but the pureblood circles loved them. Loved gossiping, loved mingling and trading empty pleasantries like the petty creatures they were. But it was a small price to pay, if he wanted to persuade them to support him. He could play polite when needed.

Voldemort takes a sip from his glass as he hears footsteps behind him, turning to see Lucius coming over to join him. With a quiet hum of acknowledgment and another sip, Voldemort turns his eyes back to the ballroom. Lucius comes to a stop just behind him, just barely visible from the corner of his eye. He sighs, about to pull away and deal with whatever minuscule matter Luscius believes needs his attention when something catches his attention.

She was an average looking witch in expensive looking robes. That shade of blonde hair and blue eyes makes him think perhaps a Greengrass. He doesn’t recall ever seeing the girl before, but it wasn’t her face that called to him. The girl’s magic exploded around her, like a firecracker, twisting anxiously around her. And he’s mildly impressed it’s strong enough for him to feel from here, but he wouldn’t pay it any more notice than that were it not for the incessant itch in the back of his mind that something about it was familiar.

“That girl Lucius, by the window behind Narcissa, who is that?”

“That is Daphne Greengrass, my Lord. She’s in the same year as Draco.”

Voldemort stares at the girl, watches as she nervously picked at her sleeves while her eyes roamed around the entire room, like she was searching for something, trying from a distance to breach her mind for any clues to the mystery of her familiarity. It’s harder at this distance, and he can’t search deep for what he wants, just her most surface thoughts. He sees flashes of what looked to be polyjuice potion. Intrigued, he tries to push further, and but the memories get more scattered. He barely has time to look at the fleeting thoughts, but when he sees the graveyard he was reborn in, he knows exactly why that magic feels so familiar.

“Ah.” Voldemort hums in recognition.

“My Lord?” Lucius questions.

“That may be Daphne Greengrass’s body, but it’s not her. Her mind is so hopelessly unguarded, I can read from here that Harry Potter has polyjuiced into her.”

Lucius’ shocked face was a brief amusement to Voldemort as he stuttered out his words “My Lord I don’t know how. . . How would you like us to take care of her? Do we know if she has anyone else here with her?”

Voldemort deliberates. On one hand, he could use this chance to simply and decisively eliminate Potter, but he was curious. Why would Dumbledore send her here? Surely that fool would know he would spot her from a mile away. Dumbledore knew Voldemort was magically sensitive, and he also knew the girl had no mental shields. So what did he think she could accomplish with this? As Voldemort takes another sip of his wine, he sweeps his eyes across the rest of the ballroom, looking for signs of any more uninvited guests. At the very least, he does not recognize the presence of any of the Order members. He starts to think that perhaps it wasn’t Dumbledore’s plan that brought her here. Perhaps she had devised her own plan to kill him. A very foolish plan, obviously. He smiled. It was possible the girl had brought schoolmates, but he doesn’t think it’s likely. The more people, the higher chance of getting caught. No, she likely came alone.

“She at least did not bring any of the Order with her. I doubt she brought friends, but if you happen to find them, deal with them as you wish.” He says, and then he levels Lucius with an intense stare, making sure the man understands not to disobey, “But leave Harry Potter to me, Lucius. I want to play with her a bit.”

“Of course, my Lord, I will inform the others as well.” Lucius bows low, and sweeps off to convey his orders.

“You’ve made my night so much better already young Harry, by delivering yourself gift-wrapped to me. See if you can’t amuse me some more before I get to finally end you.” Voldemort smiles into his cup.

Ah, maybe he should stop by his room and grab that counter potion to polyjuice Severus had been experimenting with.

He downs the rest of the goblet before frowning. It was a kind of a shame, he has to admit admit. To have to kill such an enticing and strong magic.

* * *

Harry anxiously picks at the frills at the end of the dress robes she was wearing. It was both a nervous tick and a genuine irritation at the itchy material. She felt uncomfortable in these dressy robes, longing for a pair of pants or even just her uniform. She never felt quite right in formal wear, always felt she looked more like a cute pet someone dressed up. Anything was better than Dudley’s old clothes though, she supposed.

“Daphne, what are you doing alone in the corner?”

Harry jerks her head as Pansy Parkinson calls for her. Well. Not her, but she was currently using Daphne’s appearance.

“Oh, sorry Pansy. I’m just a little intimidated by the crowd.” Harry answers, and that part at least was true. She’d never been a fan of crowds.

“Oh, yeah this is your first time at one of the Dark Lord’s events.” The girl replies lamely,

“So uh, about that,” Harry redirects, desperate to skip the small talk and get to what she came here to do, “Is he uh, going to be here tonight?”

That would be rather lame wouldn’t it? All her hard work and stress for nothing.

Parkinson beams back at her though. “He is. And he’s looking stunning now. I saw him before his restorative potions he crafted for himself. He was all. . . scaly, and it was totally terrifying and domineering, but this look is so much nicer to look at.”

He fixed the scales? So did he look more like an older Tom Riddle from the diary? Harry blushed lightly as the thought that this made her mission a little easier for her entered her mind, before quickly scolding herself. She shouldn’t think like that, just because he looked good doesn’t change anything about the man.

“Oh I hadn’t known anything about that, but I suppose I’ll just look forward to seeing him then.” Harry said weakly when she notices Parkinson seemed to be expecting a reply.

Pansy sighs dreamily. “Me too.”

Harry fights hard to suppress her eye roll at that. She’s never been a fan of Parkinson, the girl was always too self centered. Harry highly doubted the girl had noticed a single thing off about ‘Daphne’.

Harry ignores Pansy after that, hoping the girl would drift off. Unfortunately she does not, and Harry is stuck making small talk with the girl. She absently nods along to the girl’s monologue, with an occasional one word reply. Parkinson seems content to just talk at Harry rather than with her, and Harry finds herself okay with it. It at least slightly distracts her from her nerves as she scans the room for her target. She hasn’t seen a single hint of the man she came here for, and she’s beginning to debate just walking away to search elsewhere when she catches a glimpse of him over Parkinson’s shoulder.

He indeed looks like an older diary Tom Riddle, and Merlin did that look good. Those cheekbones somehow got sharper, and those dark curls just a tad longer, and he grew a bit more. He easily beat Harry at her normal height by a solid foot. But his eyes, they weren’t quite the same chocolate brown. It was like they mixed with the snake face and made a deep burgundy that was somehow both intimidating and mesmerizing. His posture radiated confidence and power, the tailored robes teased a sleek but toned physique, and his face examined everything around him with a casual apathy.

“Sorry Pansy, I’ve got to use the restroom.” She says hastily, not even glancing at the girl as she bolts away.

She keeps her eyes on Voldemort, watching to make sure he does not move as she makes her way across the crowd. But he just stands there, and her heart thuds louder and louder with every step she takes, coming closer and closer to her target.

Time, she tells herself, that was all she needed. Enough time to ensure Voldemort is unable to hurt her, no matter what idiotic scheme Dumbledore forces her into, especially considering how something horrible always accompanied the end of the school year. This would give her nine months of guaranteed safety, and she turned seventeen in only two. Then she could flee, as far from Britain as possible. She’s leaning towards America, hoping to transfer to Ilvermorny for her last year. Then live her life, raising her child in the peace far away from here. It was stupid, reckless, and it had so many holes she was surprised Ron and Hermione ever brought the idea to her, but it wasn’t like she had anything to lose.

She comes to a stop right in front of him, staring straight into his eyes, refusing to look away. She pushes down the self-consciousness that rises as he regards her impassively. Of course, none of that matters if she isn’t able to seduce the man standing imposingly in front of her.

Harry steels herself, gathering every ounce of her Gryffindor courage and forcing the words out evenly and sweetly, “Would you care to dance?”

She sees surprise flicker uncontrolled in his eyes before he raises one eyebrow questioningly, “That’s rather forward coming from a girl I’ve never met before. Do you know how many people in this room would kill for a just a chance to dance with me? What makes you think I have the time for some schoolgirl?”

“But have any of them ever thought to just ask you? Have any of them ever had the courage to even try to take what they desire?”

She knows by the small upward tilt of his mouth that she was right. Because they were all too scared. Scared of Voldemort’s anger, of his power, and of even simple rejection.

But Harry wasn’t. She couldn't care less for his opinion of her, and the man already wanted her dead. She had nothing left to lose. She was sure Voldemort enjoyed commanding fear with his presence alone after coming from nothing, but deep down she thinks Voldemort enjoyed being challenged. Because at some point it must get boring when every person you meet grovels at your feet, right? So she’s really hoping that a man who commands so much respect would find a young girl being so bold intriguing at the very least.

He extends his hand for her to take with a soft laugh that catches Harry off guard. It was warmer than the one from the graveyard, almost like there was genuine joy in it.

“No they have not.” Voldemort says as she places her palm in his, marveling at how normal it felt, compared to the last time she’d felt his hands, grabbing her face in the graveyard, “You would be the first that has dared ask me for a simple dance in decades, Miss. . .?”

“Greengrass. Daphne Greengrass.”

He leads her to the nearby dance floor, and Harry feels every eye on her. She catches jealous looks and mutinous stares as Voldemort stops in the middle of the room, not sparing a glance to the people who swiftly clear a wide circle around them. Voldemort lifts her hand in the air and raises his other to rest on her hip. With a single shaky exhale, she raises her hand to lay it on Voldemort’s shoulder. She only barely suppresses the shudder at his responding predatory smirk before he steps, and she rushes to follow.

* * *

Whatever her plan was, despite it’s obvious lack of forethought, Voldemort has to admit to himself Harry Potter was at the very least dedicated to it. He’s reluctantly impressed at how she had not shaken one bit at how close she was to the man that had hunted her for her entire life. He marvels at the way she does not even flinch as his hand, the very same that itched to wrap around her throat and watch the life leave her eyes, wrapped around to pull her flush against him as they danced across the floor.

She’d danced with him for almost an hour before they left to find refreshments. Voldemort had been genuinely enjoying their conversation, finding the mere novelty of someone disagreeing with him so vehemently refreshing. But as much as he enjoyed how Harry had not even hesitated call him heartless at his casual proposal to separate muggleborns from their parents at birth, he knew he should hurry and end this before Potter managed to escape him once again. His years at the orphanage gave him deft hands, and he easily uses his robe sleeve to obscure the view of him spiking her wine before handing it to her. Severus had said the potion was supposed to begin working at around 15 minutes, but it was still experimental, and it could be shorter or longer.

“I must say it has been rather refreshing speaking with you. Not many have the spine to challenge me after knowing who I am. Perhaps you’d like to rest your feet, and instead join me in my quarters to talk?”

He hadn’t meant for the invitation to sound so suggestive, but he’s unsure if at her age she even understands the implication there. He wonders if she would try to use the chance to kill him? She looks up into his eyes, and for a moment he almost wishes he could see that beautiful fear and determination shining through emerald eyes as she nods, not boring blue. Daphne Greengrass was, by most standards, a beautiful witch, but she was so painfully ordinary. Something about the fire that shined in Harry Potter’s eyes, such a tantalizingly familiar shade of green, always lit a fire in him.

Voldemort’s smile borders on feral, and he grabs onto Harry’s arm to lead the way. On the way, he sees Lucius, who gestures his eyes down the hall and back to Voldemort, silently inquiring if he would be needed to follow. Voldemort subtly shakes his head, and Lucius nods.

Through the crowds, Voldemort notices many envious eyes on them. He realizes what this looks like, leading a young girl away from the crowd, towards the direction of the guest suites. He honestly couldn’t think of the last time he had enjoyed the company of another. In the old days he would have sexual urges every so often but he can’t think of a time since his return that he had. In truth though, he’d already begun to grow bored with physical pleasure long before then.

Not a word is exchanged between them on the way to his room, and as she shuffles in awkwardly behind him, he wandlessly locks the door with an audible click that makes the girl shiver, much to his amusement. He sheds his robe, placing it on the coat rack, leaving him in just a dress shirt and pants.

“Is uh, is that a bathroom right there?” Harry asks suddenly, and he glances where she’s pointing.

When he nods, he sees uncertainty cross her face before she she excuses herself for a moment. His eyes follow her until the door blocks them. She was suddenly very skittish now that they were alone, Voldemort notes, likely nervous from whatever she’s planning to do. When she comes out, he watches carefully, waiting for the moment she strikes at him, but it doesn’t come. Instead, she begins to shrug her robe off as well. He’s surprised by how sinfully revealing and painfully muggle the dress underneath is. And while it might hug the barely there curves of Daphne’s body better than it would the skinny physique of Potter, he thinks that brilliant shade of green was a near identical match for Harry’s eyes, that brilliant emerald that was so eerily reminiscent of the Killing Curse. As she hangs her robe beside his, he stares, ignoring the freckled skin and blonde hair, and instead imagining ripping that dress off of Potter’s body, her wild black hair a beautiful contrast against her naked pale skin. And he may just indulge himself in that, after he foils her plan.

Once again he expects her to attack, but she astounds him by sitting down next to him on the bed. Unusually close, actually. She fidgets under his gaze.

“I didn’t want to be presumptuous but. . .” She trails off uncertainly, tucking her hair behind her ear and leaning over towards him, looking up at him through her lashes, “Was this invitation really just for a talk or. . .?”

And as she places her hand suggestively on his thigh, realization slams into him. Like the final few pieces of the puzzle starting to form the picture, the situation becomes increasingly clear to him. The skimpy dress, the disguise, the lack of action. He hadn’t given her enough credit, she at the very least understood she didn’t stand a chance against him in a fight. So what was she hoping to achieve by seducing him? To catch him off guard? Except, there were no pockets in that dress, and a glance confirms her wand to be sticking out of her robe pocket in the corner. The idiot girl was utterly defenseless in front of him.

So if not to kill him what? Was she trying to seduce him to spy on him? That thought almost makes him regret giving her the reversal potion, wishing he could see how far she was willing to go. Would she try to keep this going, try to spy on him via sexual encounters more than once? Wouldn’t that be fun, playing along for months before shattering her fantasy of deceiving the Dark Lord? But she’d escaped him too many times, and the swifter he deals with her, the better. Besides, now he was starting to get hard, his mind supplying him so many possible times for the potion to take affect. He imagines Harry transforming back into herself with his cock in her mouth, how he’d hold her head down and revel in the confusion transforming into horror. Or perhaps while he’s inside of her warm cunt, close enough to orgasm to cum to the sight of her terrified tears, spilling himself deep inside of her. He’s quiet for long enough that Harry is pulling her hand back, probably thinking she’d overstepped.

“You know, it’s not often I feel the urge to be intimate with someone,” He whispers, leaning forward to barely ghosting his lips across her ear, and he revels in the way her breath hitches at the touch, “Tell me, what makes you think you’re special enough to warm my bed?”

He pulls back, taking great pleasure in watching the girl blush crimson, mouth opening and closing quickly. He wonders briefly whether the girl had ever actually had sex before. Thinking on the awkwardness that pervaded her movements since they’d been alone, as well as her young age, it was entirely possible she hadn’t. And the thought spurs him to action, wondering if the girl would even have the courage to go through with this.

“Or, you could show me.” He purrs, loosening and discarding his tie.

He notes with satisfaction that Harry’s eyes zero in on his fingers nimbly undoing the buttons of his shirt, and delights in the noticeably sharp intake of breath as he shrugs the cloth off, leaving himself shirtless. Harry’s eyes roam the exposed skin, and he lets her for a moment before he leans back on his elbows, looking up at her expectantly.

He enjoys watching her hesitate, pride warring with her determination. He gives her time, waits patiently for her to decide how to proceed. Eventually with shaky legs, and a face tinged pink, she shuffles, turning and lifting her leg to place both her knees so she’s straddling his lap. His cock gives a small jump of interest at the contact. He looks up at her, and she’s chewing on her lip, eyes looking away, looking embarrassed.

“This would probably be an important time to say that I’ve never um, I’ve never had sex before.” Harry’s face flushes a dark shade of crimson.

As he had guessed then. Something about hearing it confirmed from the girl herself, though, that he was about to take the Girl-Who-Lived’s virginity from her, has a possessive growl threatening to burst from his throat. He wants to reach up and pull her down so he can latch his mouth onto that sensitive skin on her neck. Wants to hear her moan for him. But he holds it in, wanting Harry to be the one that initiates everything. So that when her disguise falls, he can taunt her with it, tell her she was the one that chose to fuck the man that killed her parents. His hands grip her hips hard though, and he sees her wince. But then she’s leaning forward, laying her chest flush against his as she softly places her lips against his.

He tenses, not at all expecting that. He’s never kissed anyone. Sure, he’d had lovers to satisfy his needs, or even in his younger years he used sex to get the things he wanted. But he always firmly refused to kiss any of them, viewing the act far too intimate, and entirely too uninteresting. He feels the insecurity in the way Harry lightly moves her lips against his, attempting to get him to part his.There’s something dizzying about the fact that Harry Potter, of all people, chose to start this with a kiss. When he parts his lips, sliding them against hers, there’s almost a tenderness to the way she kisses him. It makes something in his gut clench uncomfortably, so he distracts himself from the feeling by driving his hips up, grinding his clothedsex against Harry’s.

“Oh!” Harry gasps quietly, seeming caught of guard by his sudden movement, and he uses the chance to slide his tongue deeper into her mouth. He desperately hopes for the potion to begin working soon, wanting to see, feel, and taste the real Harry Potter. He hikes her dress up above her hips, and his fingers idly played with the lace of her underwear as they continue to lazily kiss. He feels Harry move her hips, widening her knees so she can grind her own hips over his. He groans, letting her hump down onto him as he devours her mouth. Eventually Harry jerks back with a deep gasp for air, and he instead latches onto her throat, sucking harshly as soon as his lips meet skin. He loves the sounds that elicits.

But then she’s pulling back, sitting up so she can reach down to lift her dress up and off over her head. Underneath is a lacy black bra that he now sees matches the panties he was just playing with. Harry reaches back, unclasping the bra and dropping it carelessly beside the dress in the floor. He reaches up, only mildly interested in the feeling of this randoms girl’s breasts, but infinitely infatuated with the sweet sounds Harry makes as he rolls a nipple between his fingers. He grins, leaning forward to suck on the other. Would she still be this sensitive, when he touched her real body. Would he be able to hear those same intoxicating notes from her mouth after her disguise falls? Or would she bury them behind her tears?

Harry shifts, and he pulls back with a questioning look. She pulls back as well, lifting her knees to place one, then two feet on the ground. He watches intently as shedoesn’t even hesitate to sink down, dropping down to her knees in front of him. He stares, shocked, as she shyly reaches her hands up to unfasten his belt. He hadn’t at all expected her to do what she was about to. He stares hungrily as Harry slowly sheds him of the layers of fabric covering his aching erection, and her every hesitant movement has a feral obsession growing deep inside of him.

Once she has his belt and pants undone, she pauses, hands momentarily freezing as they grasp both his underwear and pants together. He lifts his hips, encouraging her, and she takes the hint, pulling all of his remaining clothing off in one pull. She busies herself pulling them, along with his shoes, off of his feet before she finally glances up. He sees trepidation cross her face before she reaches forward, wrapping her hand around his cock. He resists the urge tilt his head back as she gently and experimentally strokes him, refusing to look away.

She doesn’t look up at him though, eyes focused on her task as she leans forward, tongue lightly swirling the head of his cock. She repeats that a few times before finally opening her mouth wide, lips covering her teeth as she slowly inches his cock down her throat until he feels her throat gag around him. She pulls back, then starts sliding her mouth up and down, not going past that point she gagged. He lays one hand on her head, fingers sifting through her hair while he watches, mesmerized, as she brings her hand to slide where her mouth can’t reach. His touch makes her look up, and she seems briefly surprised at the touch, before a mischievous gleam enters her eye, and she abruptly pushes forward, where he feels her throat convulse around him, and she makes delicious chocking sounds. And she keeps looking up at him as she pushes past that, and he can feel his cock pushing back into her throat, hears the choking sounds she ignores to push her herself down until her lips reach the base of his cock.He gives in to that urge to throw his head back at that, a moan falling from his throat despite his attempts to hold it back.He wishes he could spend hours with Harry Potter on her knees, wants to thread his fingers through raven hair as he gazes down at her. He glances back down as he feels Harry pull back, returning to her previous rhythm. But she looks damn near smug at seeing himlose his composure.

And Merlin does that make him want to shove her head down, hold her there until she nearly loses consciousness before finally relenting, all while watching the tears stream down her face.

Later, he tells himself, instead keeping his eyes on her, drinking in the sight as she goes back to her previous rhythm. Later, after their game is done and she knows she’s lost. Until then, he wants to take every second given to him to memorize Harry pleasuring him. Because, as much as he despises admitting it even in the privacy of his own head, he knows the anger that urges him to take his pleasure so violently from the girl comes from the deep, festering bitterness at the knowledgethat he won’t ever get what he’s only now realized he desperately wants; Harry Potter where she belonged, in his bed willingly every night, crying out his name in pleasure. He growls, tightening his grip painfully on that cursed blonde hair. Harry chokes out a sound at that, though it’s muffled by his cock in her mouth. He relaxes his hand, instead running it soothingly atop her head.

He should probably stop her soon, though, or he may risk cumming embarrassingly quick. Besides, he wants to tear more beautiful sounds from her. Wants to hear what she sounds like in the throes of pleasure, before the potion fades, unsure if she’d be this open with her sounds once her anonymity is gone. He pulls her head off of him by her hair, admittedly a little rougher than necessary, as he sits up fully.

She stares up at him with swollen lips, and some drool dripping down her chin. “Wha-?”

“Lay on the bed, on your back, legs spread for me.”

Her ensuing blush spreads across her whole body, but she only takes a second to stand. He isn’t sure if her legs are wobbly from nerves or from kneeling, but they’re stable enough as he watches her pause before tentatively reaching down, sliding her panties off before crawling to the center of the bed, and laying on her back. Her feet are planted apart, but her knees are self consciously tilted inward.

He flips over, scooting closer so he can push her knees apart. She’s wet, surprisingly so actually. He didn’t think she’d get this aroused for him. Then again, she is a teenager, and a virgin, so he supposes it probably did not take much. He leans forward, ghosting his lips across her folds, eyes never leaving Harry’s. He watches as her face morphs to shock, then into pleasure as he teasingly licks his tongue flatly across her slit before sucking lightly on that little nub.

A second later he’s reaching his hand up, sliding just one finger inside of her, and she gasps. He savors how responsive she is, and how she’s easily aroused enough for him to slip two fingers in, slowly scissoring them, carefully prepping her as he continues to lap at her clit. He wants her to feel good, both now and when she takes his cock. Wants to see the guilt as she takes pleasure from him fucking her. He takes his time, not changing his pace one bit even as her hands begin fisting the blankets tightly in both hands. But then she’s biting her lip, holding back her sounds, and he won’t let that stand. He curves his fingers up, easily finding the spot that makes her eyes go wide and a breathy, high pitched moan leaving her. And he would be transfixed by the sound, had he not caught sight of her eyes flashing emerald green for just moment. He was running out of time. He briefly laments being unable to tear her apart slowly before he reluctantly slides a third finger in, determined to at least hear the girl cum once before she realizes she’s been caught. Ruthlessly, he pumps his fingers much faster than before, curling them again as his tongue attacks her clit.

“Woahfuckthat’s-!” He hears Harry breathe out in a rushed gasp, thighs reflexively squeezing shut. He lets them, not relenting from his assault. She looks down at him, her eyes were now solid green, no longer hidden. The tips of her hair were beginning to turn from blonde to black, but Harry hadn’t seemed to notice, as she squeezes her eyes shut, one hand coming up grab his head, grinding her hips up into his mouth. He flattens his tongue, letting her chase her high, grinding onto his tongue as he fucks her with his fingers.

She’s so lost in pleasure she doesn’t notice as her form rapidly shifts, shedding the appearance of her Slytherin classmate, and finally giving him the sight of Harry Potter, writhing in pleasure from his touch as she babbles incoherently.

“Oh there, yes, oh that feels so, oh yes.” Her words are jumbled mess, broken apart by sharp gasp and moans.

He devours the sight of her cumming on his tongue like a man starving. She gasps, eyes flinging open to flicker dazedly at him before he sees them roll back, her mouth hanging open as she brokenly chokes out a moan. Her thighs squeeze tighter onto him, but he refuses let himself be distracted from pulling every last possible sound from her lips. Every single note that falls from her lips shreds his control, makes him crave to stall the girl’s death to hear it again. But he highly doubts she’d let herself fall apart like that without the comfort of her assumed anonymity. So he settles for memorizing her every twitch, the way her back arches as her blunt nails scrape at his scalp. He really was giving the girl a lot of leeway, and he doubts she even knows how many times over she’d be writhing under the cruciatus were she anyone else. Honestly, her plan only got past her first words to him because he knew she was not Daphne Greengrass.

Eventually Harry comes down from her high, shifting her hips uncomfortably away from his ministrations, likely from over stimulation. He sits up, watching her chest rise and fall rapidly as she struggles to catch her breath, carefully debating his next move. He’s astonished she still hasn’t noticed her disguise is gone, and he contemplates whether to tell her or wait and see how long it would take.But then as Harry’s breathing steadies, she reaches her hand up to run through her hair, and freezes. He watches in eager anticipation as she tentatively runs her fingers through wild curls, not pin straight hair, then glances down at her hands, running her fingers across scattered scars she was surely familiar with. And when she raises her head up, he grins savagely, basking in the immediate and all encompassing fear and panic it causes.

“You know, if you think back, did I ever once call you Daphne?”

Once again, he has to give the girl credit, this time for her reflexes. He barely has a chance to savor her reaction before she’s heaving her body, trying to scramble to the side and off the bed. She’s fast, fast enough that if he hadn’t been on guard, anticipating something of the sort, he might not have caught her before she managed to get to her wand. But he was watching carefully, and the second she moves he strikes, wandlessly conjuring ropes that tie her wrists to the headboard above. Harry pulls at them, a frustrated noise leaving her as they give not an inch.

“Really, Harry?” He asks her, giving her a teasing look, grabbing underneath her knees to push her legs apart, “It’s rather rude of you to just use me to cum and then try to run before I can have my fun.”

He teasingly rubs the head of his cock along her slit a couple times before lining it up to poke suggestively at her entrance. Harry’s previously fidgety body ceases all efforts to pull at the restraints as her whole body freezes.

“You’re not killing me?” She whispers, looking confused. But, interestingly, not horrified.

“Not yet.” He reaches down, placing his hand on her stomach before inching it lightly up her body. He glides his hand up, fingers barely ghosting across her skin as he moves, pleased by the goosebumps that spread across her skin at the teasing touch. He cups her modest breast, rolling a hardened nipple between his thumb and forefinger, and her she jerks lightly at the sudden sensation.

“I’ll admit, you’ve gotten me rather worked up. I’m going to savor every second of fucking the Girl-Who-Lived, over and over until I’m completely satisfied. And only then, will I kill you.”

It’s odd, he’d almost say she looked relieved at his words? Hopeful even? And she surprises him by not even flinching as he moves his hand past her collar bone, splaying them wide and easily wrapping around her delicate throat. He feels her gasp catch in her throat as he squeezes, but she makes no other sound or movement.

He pushes his hips forward, sliding just the head of his cock in. He expects her to kick, to bite, to fight. He has to admit, deep down, that was the one thing he always grudgingly respected her for. He’s seen many witches and wizards far older, stronger, and wiser than her simply give up when faced with Lord Voldemort. But not Harry, no she was always ready to fight tooth and nail to survive, and maybe in some way that reminded him of himself. But to his disappointment, all she does is close her eyes and take a deep, shaky breath, trying to force her body to relax.

“Don’t worry, I can make you feel good too. I’ll even make sure you cum again before I kill you. My reward, for providing me with such delicious entertainment all night. But first, my patience has run out.”

With no warning, he slams into her, not even giving her a moment before he’s pulling back and slamming in again and again, purely chasing his own pleasure. And Merlin she feels divine wrapped around him, so tight and warm. He must have prepped her well enough, because she doesn’t look to be in pain. Instead, her eyes are clenched tightly closed, her head tilted back, and her mouth is hanging open. He lifts his hand from her throat to grab both ankles and toss them over his shoulder, deepening the position. Her hands grasp desperately at thin air, clenching and un-clenching around nothing as she moans. To his utter surprise, she doesn’t even hesitate to hold back her sounds or expressions, and he loves it, obsessed with watching his enemy writhe in pleasure beneath him, and that possessive urge to have Harry Potter, the Girl-Who-Lived, his prophesied foe, warm his bed every night festers in him. He leans forward, sucking harshly onto the sensitive skin of her neck.

“You make quite the enticing sight, writhing in pleasure beneath me.” He murmurs into her skin before pulling back, admiring the dark bruise he’d left, “But I love those beautiful sounds too. Did you enjoy yourself, laying there being fingered by the same hands that killed your parents?”

And oh, he pressed the right button there. The second the words are out of his mouth, Harry’s face twists, pleasure morphing to anger, and suddenly her head is shooting up, and he doesn’t have enough time dodge before her forehead is slamming solidly into his. He reals back with a snarl, hips stopping as his hand reaches up to wrap around her throat again. But this time, he holds it in a vice grip, just barely enough room for her to pull in shallow breaths. His head is throbbing painfully.

“Don’t. . .talk. . . about. . . them.” Her words are separated by desperate, shallow breaths, and he loved it. Loves seeing that anger burn in her eyes as her face darkens from lack of blood.

“Oh, I’m sorry, was I overstepping there?” He asks, curling his lip into a sneer, “But you’re the one that came here to fuck me, even knowing I killed them, remember? You were to one that sat atop me and kissed me so sweetly.”

He releases his grip, and Harry takes deep, gasping gulps for air.

“Which reminds me, I never did find out why that was. What idiotic plan Harry Potter had that involved seducing the Dark Lord Voldemort. Care to tell me?”

Harry scowls up at him. “Why would I tell you?”

“Because I could just as easily pull it from your mind.” And that has the girl’s eyes widening in panic, “The only reason I haven’t is because I enjoy guessing. I had no clue in that ballroom what you had planned, just that you were Harry Potter, throwing yourself into the snake pit for some half cocked infiltration mission.”

As the throbbing in his head begins to fade to a dull ache, he’s able too focus his mind back on satisfying a different throbbing. Slowly, he grinds his hips, pushing back into Harry as deeply as possible, and then dragging his hips back out slowly. This time, she bites her lip to keep her sounds from escaping. Eager to see how far he has to push to hear them again, he reaches down to rub soft circles over her clit, keeping the touch just as teasing as his slow thrusts.

“You know, when I first saw you I thought maybe Dumbledore had sent you, but that made no sense. He would have known this plan was doomed to fail. So then I began to wonder what you could possibly hope to achieve from this. I thought maybe you would try to kill me, especially when you agreed to be alone with me. The thought hadn’t crossed my mind that you’d do something so idiotic and bold as to try and seduce me.”

Harry remains stubborn, not letting out another sound even as he steadily begins to pick up speed. But he can see how tightly she’s fisting her hands, her nails digging into her palm. She’s also tilting her head down into her shoulder in an attempt to muffle any sound. He smiles, enjoying her stubborn pride.

“If I hadn’t known it was you I would have cursed that girl for daring to think she could work her way into my bed so easily. But you. . . I was curios to see where you’d go with it. Whether you’d even be able to go through with it.” He says.

Then he abandons his teasing motions, suddenly and brutally pounding into her and furiously rubbing her clit. And there it was, a beautiful, high pitched whine that neither her bit lip nor shoulder can fully muffle. He smirks, reaching his unoccupied hand to palm at her breast and play with her nipple. And with that, Harry cracks, letting her moans and whimpers flow freely.

“Rather silly of me, wasn’t it? I mean, look at you now, can’t even hold back those beautiful sounds. I almost wish I could keep you like this, night after night of having you underneath me, on top of me, wherever as long as you moan so sweetly for me, and cum with my name on your lips.”

“F-fuck! Tom ah! I- I would-” Harry’s words are barely a whisper, and he feels her walls clenching wildly around his cock.

And anyone else he would have left then and there at best, and at worst might have killed them on the spot for daring to utter that name instead of the one he had been expecting. But he can’t bring himself to hate it, not when the way its sandwiched between her pleasured cries sounds so intoxicating. He wants to hear it over and over and over, wants to drag his name from her lips like a blasphemous prayer.

“Are you going to cum again? I’d love to feel it, you cumming around my cock. You feel so good wrapped around me, it’s like you were made just for me.”

It’s only moments later she’s cumming again. He drinks in the sight, just as enraptured as before as he watches hers hand grasp for purchase wildly, and her eyes look dazedly at him as she cries his name in a breathy whine. Soon after, her body goes limp and her eyes glaze slightly. And as much as he wants to play with her more, his own approaching orgasm beckons. He leans forward for a better angle, sucking and biting on every inch of skin he can reach as he chases his high. Harry does not move, only making small noises every now and then. But he’s too far gone to pay close attention to her at the moment.

He leans up, so he can grab at Harry’s hips and pulls them towards himself as he thrusts, feeling his orgasm quickly approaching. He had wanted to see her face when he fills her, but when he looks at Harry, eyes half-lidded and body limp after her second orgasm, his eyes catch on the scattered marks he left on her skin, and something animistic surges in him.

“You look so good covered in all those hickeys. Makes me want to mark you more. I’m about to cum, and I think you’d look lovely with your face covered in my cum, don’t you?”

Harry jolts, previously limp body straining as she pulls on her restraints.

“N-no wait, inside! It has to be inside.”

Voldemort stares down in confusion at her futile attempts to stop him from pulling out. Why would she sound so desperate for him to cum inside of her? He stops moving, pulling on every ounce of his self control to not spill himself right there. His delayed orgasm is enough to snap his patience, finally tired of the guessing game.

Roughly, he grabs the girl’s chin, forcing her eyes to meet his as he pushes into her mind. He swiftly sifts through unrelated memories, following her panicked emotion to it’s core memories quickly giving him the information he craves. He sees them in short flashes. He briefly sees the girl in Dumbledore’s office, terror and dread coloring the memory. From there a flash of a conversation with the mudblood girl and the Weasley, where they tell her about wizards being unable to harm the mother of their child. She gives Harry something and he concentrates, pulling the memory into focus so he can read the bottle. Some kind of fertility potion? Confused, Tom follows the memory that springs from that, of Harry downing the potion in a familiar bathroom.

And oh he had been so, so wrong. He pulls from her mind abruptly, having found his answer. Harry is staring back at him, true terror finally appearing in her eyes, ironically in the moment he no longer cared to see it. He eyes the girl underneath him, a newfound respect for her at the realization that this was not the reckless glory seeking mission he’d been assuming, but rather just a frightened girl trying to do whatever it took to save herself.

“Did- did you just read my mind?” She asks hesitatingly.

He rolls his eyes, “It’s not ‘mind reading’. But yes, I saw your whole foolish plan for me to impregnate you, and I’ll give you props for originality and even bravery, but ultimately it was the single riskiest, dumbest, and impulsive thing I’ve ever heard of. It had absolutely no chance of ever succeeding, even before I slipped the polyjuice reversal potion into your wine.”

“You slipped. . . So then that’s why it ended so quickly?” Harry mumbles, body slumping in defeat.

“Oh yes. It was rather easy too. Really though, the more I think of it, the more and more holes I find in your plan. All I’d have to do to get around it would be to order someone else to kill you, it’s that simple.”

She stares up at him, seemingly confused.

“Did. . . did you not see the conversation with Dumbledore?” She asks quietly.

He grimaces, “I caught a glimpse, but I was more concerned with finding out what you were planning than the why. I don’t really care in the end what Dumbledore wanted from you that caused this lunatic mission, I just care that, in the end, I’m still the victor, and Dumbledore will lose his prized soldier.”

Something about his words cause the girl to scowl.

“I’m only ‘prized’ because he can aim me at you without a guilty conscience. Maybe he even hopes I die every time, so he never has to tell me the truth.” She growls, anger dripping from every word.

He blinks, taken aback by her vehement outburst, and surprised by her words. “And why would that be? He’s protected you from me all these years.”

“No, he’s dangled me like a carrot in front of you all these years! He doesn’t give a damn about my life.” Harry shouts, and he can see the beginnings of tears forming in her eyes, “He’s raised me like a lamb to slaughter, fighting tooth and nail for my life for years, all the while planning for me to just roll over and die when he decides it’s time. All because he knows I’m your horcrux, and therefore I have to die for him to kill you. But I’m so tired of it! I just want to live, dammit!”

He’s not sure where to focus on that bombshell of a tirade. Her tears do strike a chord in him, watching as they fall down her cheek, and he thinks perhaps they’re just a little more alike than he first thought. And he should be furious, definitely at least concerned, after hearing Albus Dumbledore knows about his horcruxes, but instead of thinking of that, his mind keeps looping over and over that one crutial detail.

His horcrux. His, his, his. This girl held his soul, and that was far more intimate than anything they’d done tonight, and it makes that simmering possessiveness finally boil over, as he thinks maybe, just maybe, he could get everything he thought was so far out of his reach. He waves his hand, and the bindings holding Harry disappear. She jerks her hands inwards, staring at the red skin, rubbed raw from the ropes in shock.

“Why?” She whispers, sounding genuinely confused.

“I was completely serious about wanting you in my bed every night. And hearing you have a part of soul inside of you, I’m thinking, perhaps, we can make a deal. You want safety, I want you.”

“No.” She says flatly, and he blinks blankly at how quick and blunt that had been.

“I thought that’s what you wanted?” He asks, perplexed.

“No, I want freedom. The freedom to live my life, not worrying about someone wanting to kill me. I want to live the life my parents sacrificed themselves for, that Dumbledore stole from me. I don’t want to live in some gilded cage you make for me, just some prize for you to admire.”

And truly, he was blind to have not seen just how perfect she was for him before now. Because no one else would dare look him in the eye and tell him no like that. But she was wrong about one thing.

“Oh Harry, I could never cage you. You’d lose that fire I love to see.”

He leans down, pressing his lips to hers, and she gasps at the sudden contact, and he slides his tongue in. She lays there stock still as he explores her mouth, reveling in the taste of her. He much preferred this to their previous kiss, having Harry’s taste on his tongue. It takes a bit, but then he feels hands sliding up his back as her lips begin to move against his. He’d gone slightly soft over the course of their conversation, but after ending so abruptly, he’s fully hard again almost immediately. He eagerly swallows Harry’s surprised sound as he begins thrusting back into her.

It’s an almost embarrassingly short amount of time before he feels his orgasm approaching, but he has been on edge for quite a while. Reluctantly, he parts their lips, pulling back to look into Harry’s eyes.

“As long as you come back to me, come back to my bed and no one else’s, you can live your life however you please. Of course, after you finish Hogwarts. And I’ll ensure to the best of my ability no one threatens that life. Is that agreeable?”

Harry stares at him, wide eyed and hopeful, “Y-yes that’s- That’s more than I’d ever hoped for.”

“Good, but that leaves the question, where do you want me to cum?”

The hands that were roaming his back pause, and Harry stares at him, chewing her lip nervously. And he can’t deny that part of him wants to ignore anything she says. Wants to spill himself inside of her with no regard, knowing the guaranteed consequences but. . . He shouldn’t. Perhaps one day, much later, they’d have a child. Continuing the Slytherin line was always something he’d meant to do, but he’d never found a witch that struck him as anything above ordinary. But Harry Potter? The girl was a fighter, a firecracker, and even if she had an abysmally small repertoire of spells, her magic was strong. Plus, the girl was a parselmouth. She was perfect, and he desperately wanted to see her, round with his heir, but. . . He only wanted that if she did, didn’t want to force a child on someone, as his own mother had tried to do.

He feels his orgasm fast approaching, and without an answer he’s about to pull out when her words stop him.

“Inside of me.” Harry says, “Please Tom, cum inside of me.”

And hearing her ask him like that, he can’t do anything but comply, damn near seeing stars as he finally reaches completion. He drops his head down, eyes squeezing shut as he releases a deep, guttural moan, barely registering when Harry sits up slightly to suck at his neck. All his brain can focus on is the sparks shooting through him as he continues to weakly thrust through his orgasm. It’s positively divine, and Merlin, Harry James Potter is the greatest thing to ever happen to him. He cursed her very existence just this morning, but here he was having the most explosive orgasm of his life, impregnating the light’s savior at her own request. Soon enough though, his high is retreating, and clarity begins to return to him. He opens his eyes, pushing Harry back gently.

“Why would you. . .?” He asks, entirely confused why she would ever allow him do that, let alone ask him to.

She doesn’t answer immediately, seeming to think through her answer carefully. He pulls out of her, and she makes an uncomfortable face as he lays down on the bed next to her.

“Dumbledore’s been calling me to his office periodically this year, and showing me memories of your life. ‘Know thy enemy’ I guess. That’s how I knew I was your horcrux. But memory after memory, all I could see was myself. See the same loneliness that I grew up with, the craving for someone to see you and understand you. And I-. . . “ She cuts herself off, seeming unsure of herself. “And I wonder then, if maybe, you crave a family as much as I do. The fact that you even asked me instead just pulling out meant that some part of you wanted to, even knowing I’d for sure be pregnant. And I know there’s mountains problems between us and more than plenty of reasons this is an astronomically bad idea, but I just want to give Tom Riddle, the lonely orphan like me, a chance at the same thing he’s giving me. Happiness.”

He stares at her, shocked at easily this tiny girl has read him. But he doesn’t want to let himself get his hopes up, sure the girl doesn’t realize the weight of her offer.

“I will not lay down this war until Britain kneels at my feet. Will you stand by me and our ‘family’ through that? Will you abandon every soul that looks to you for salvation?”

“Yes.” She replies immediately, without hesitation, and when he gives her a doubtful look, she continues, “I was ready to leave Britain behind knowing full well how quickly it would fall to you after my sudden disappearance. I only care about my family and my friends.”

“What if those friends face me on the battlefield? I won’t hesitate to strike them down if they oppose me.” He counters.

“Then they will have made their choice, like I’m making mine now. I’m choosing to stand by the person who’s just promised to give me everything I’ve ever wanted, even knowing it’s going to be incredibly difficult, considering our past”

He’s not sure how to give voice to the budding feeling deep inside of him as her words lighten the heavy weight of loneliness that had bogged him his whole life. For the first time, someone has managed to look past the monster he’s become to see the painful longing deep down. And even though this girl has seen that monster enough times to have every right to want nothing to do with him, she’s also felt that same loneliness that made him this way. He opens his mouth to respond, but no words come to him. It was not often that he was left speechless, and he can’t help but laugh at the situation.

“Alright we are allies then.” He eventually says as his chuckles die down.

“Partners.” Harry cheekily corrects, turning and laying her arm across his chest and her head on his shoulder.

They lay in silence for a moment. Voldemort had never cuddled someone before, always left right after sex, or at least sat apart from the other person. He had no interest in feeling someone else’s sweaty skin on his. But once again Harry Potter breaks all his rules, and he finds her warmth almost comforting, and he does not want to let her go.

“Stay here tonight.” He says softly.

“Ron and Hermione will tell the adults if I don’t meet them.” She replies, eyes closed and face tilted downward.

“I’ll have Draco deliver a letter to them right now.” He suggests.

Harry is quiet for a bit, then she smiles softly up at him, “All right, I’ll stay.”