Harry Potter 1. Chapter I

_Summary: This is an idea I've been cherishing for a very long time. It is truly difficult to steadily write one story, when with every chapter milliard of new ideas get into my head but it is simply impossible to put them all in one fanfic, isn't it? So while I'm slowly working on my other stories, I've started this one in a bout of pure inspiration._

_In his fifth year Harry finds out he is Snape's son. Severus serves only one master and is loyal to the dark. Would it be possible for two so different men find their common ground and gain something they never had - a family? And Voldemort has some interesting plans for the Savior. No bashing, Light!Harry, M rating_

_Please note, Harry is one year older, children start Hogwarts at twelve in this story. And yes, this is going to be HP/LV. Because I can. Oh, and I'm planning to write MPREG here, so beware, it would transpire much later._

_Disclaimer: nothing that is related to HP belongs to me. _

_Warning: abuse, rape, underage sex, violence, everything is bad and don't read it_

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**Of Monsters and Men, of Fathers and Sons.**

**Chapter I**

Cold, it was too cold, he could finally separate this sensation from the sheer dread that seemed to grip his heart in a vice and burned deep in his gut. Breathe, don't forget to breathe. In, out, in, out...

_No, not my Harry! Don't kill him! Not my baby! Harry! Step aside, you silly girl! Step aside! No! Harry! Avada Kedavra!_

And don't forget to squeeze your eyes shut at the blinding flash of green light. No, no, he knew he should have kept his eyes wide open now. A long bony hand was clawing on his chest, slowly making its way up to his throat, as a black darkness underneath the hood floated closer and down to his lips. His mind was clouded with terror, he couldn't concentrate on what was he supposed to do now. There was something he instinctively knew he was ought to perform, but what? Shaking feverishly, Harry forced his eyes open and stared into the dark abyss in front of him. He could almost picture a dry crackled mouth descending onto his lips, the odor of rotting flesh and dust coming out of it, coating him with a thick layer of grey oily mist. He realized then that he was still screaming, hoarsely now, a little more subdued. However, the sense of awareness of his precarious situation made him fall silent all of a sudden, listen to the sound of screams that belonged to somebody else, somewhere near and yet in the distance. Were his eyes frozen too, trained only on the black hole that was slowly sucking him inside?

Harry forced himself to look away and his gaze fell on the screaming boy, who was pinned to the wall a few feet away from him. _Dudley_. His cousin was being sucked dry by another dementor. Harry blinked, swallowing harshly to sooth the pain in his sore throat. _Dementors in Surrey_. He jerked as something cold, disgustingly wet brushed against the skin of his neck. Dementors, patronus spell, cast patronus just like the last time with Sirius. The green light flashed before his eyes again, and the screams, the screams of his mother, he was certain his heart wouldn't be able to bear all this pain, it would stop if he heard her one more time. Sirius, think about Sirius, he is your family, he is your true family, remember how you saved him. Harry squeezed his eyes again and drew his wand, his arm could barely move, as if the air turned thick and heavy like water. Between the green flashes of light flickered the horrible scenes from his room: the swooshing sound of belt connecting with his back, the sickeningly greasy and slippery slaps of Vernon's hips against his buttocks... Harry clenched his teeth in fury and pain - he'd rather watch his mother die again and again than return to the reality of his life.

"_Expecto Patronum!_" it was so cold, for a moment he feared that the incantation wouldn't work, distorted by his chattering teeth. But Prongs dissipated his fears, the proud stag plunged himself at the dementors as they screeched in fear. Harry watched, mesmerized, the bright white light filling the tunnel, scaring the darkness away. Loud whimpers brought him out of his hazed state and back into reality. Dudley lay on the ground and wailed, his tear-stained face was white as chalk. Harry rushed to his side and grabbed on his shoulders, trying to lift up his awfully huge and heavy body.

"Come on, Dudley, move, I can't pull you up, you're too heavy," he greeted through his teeth, feeling as muscles in his back stretched too painfully. He hated Dudley and the small voice in his head asked him if he really wanted to help or should he just leave him here to die and get rid of one problem in his life?

"Harry?" his head shot up and at first he didn't realize who he was looking at. A wave of horror washed over him at the thought that somebody saw him performing magic. Magic! He casted a spell! The ministry would surely know about it and he would be expelled from Hogwarts!

"Mrs Figg?" He thought, somewhat absentmindedly, that his voice sounded hollow. It was their neighbor, the awful cat lady that lived down the street.

She came closer and placed Dudley's other arm on her shoulders, supporting him. "Harry, no time to explain, we must get you and Dudley home," Mrs Figg led them forward, and Harry didn't really know what to say. Perhaps, he should just keep his mouth shut? Perhaps, she didn't even see anything, only that his cousin was hurt? Breathing deeply to calm himself down, he concentrated on his surroundings, watching out for the dementors.

**xxx**

If Petunia's and Vernon's screams were anything to judge by, he was in for a good beating and worse. His uncle locked him up in his room, swearing that Harry would pay for all the horrible things their family had to endure because of his freakishness after they put Dudley in the hospital. He wanted to sneer at the whale of a man, that was spitting his saliva all over him, but he knew better. He knew what was going to happen when Vernon returned, he could practically feel the burning pain in his hide. With the ministry letter clutched in his fists, Harry sat on his bed, the hot tears of fury ran down his cheeks as he listened to the sound of Vernon's car being started. He was going to be expelled from the school, he was going to loose his first and only _home_ he had in his life. And how was he going to attend the hearing? Dumbledore made it crystal clear that Harry could not, under any circumstances, leave the blood wards of Private Drive number 4. Well, he just did and how did that turn out? He was going to be raped again. Again and again... Harry licked on his lips as the salty tears streamed down to his mouth.

He fell back on the mattress and sighed, feeling absolutely exhausted, devastated. What was the point in crying? Tears never helped anyone, never solved any problems. He rubbed them off of his face angrily, as a loud sob escaped his throat, almost choking him. Why was all this shit happening to him? He dearly wished he could talk to Hermione and Ron, or Sirius, but alas, he was all alone. His friends forgot him, resented him, no doubt blaming him for Cedric's death, for aiding Voldemort's resurrection. Not one letter, not a smallest note during the whole summer, even on his birthday. It was cynical of him to think about that, but nobody sent him any food either, and he was starving. So much that he often had to lean against the walls to prevent himself from falling down, so weak he felt. It was a miracle how he hadn't fainted in front of the dementors, his body had probably worked on pure adrenaline, he thought.

His friends didn't want to talk to him anymore, that was the most significant fact right now. At first, he entertained the idea that their letters might have gotten stuck somewhere, maybe it was Dobby's doing again, to protect him? Yeah, right, he was protected from Death Eaters and nasty post but he couldn't even go out for a walk anymore, couldn't communicate with anybody. He wasn't protected from the fat ugly bastard of his uncle, a bloody muggle who had everything under his control, who easily fought any resistance and brought so much pain and shame with his... Harry roared helplessly and punched the worn mattress underneath him. This wasn't fair. Or was it? He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. Perhaps, it was. It was _his_ fault Cedric died, after all. It was _his_ fault Voldemort came back. It was all his fucking fault and he was paying for it. Harry groaned pitifully, as the images of the horrible night at the cemetery filled his mind.

It wasn't enough, apparently, that he couldn't sleep anymore, his every night spent in torment of terrible nightmares. Again and again he found himself bound to the gravestone, staring at Cedric's lifeless form lying at his feet. His hand grabbed on his left forearm involuntarily, as the phantom pain from Wormtail's dagger throbbed in the long curved scar. He could still clearly feel the amount of hurting all over his body he endured the moment his blood had been taken from him. Harry often cut himself here, working in the garden, or cooking, or being beaten by Vernon and Dudley, he often cut himself during quidditch practices as well, but never had any scratch or injury hurt him so much before. It was a simple cut really, but the pain was just as intolerable as cruciatus that Voldemort threw at him moments after he stepped out of the cauldron. Moaning in desperation, Harry hid his face in his hands, rolling onto his side. Everything changed since that night. Nobody believed him that the Dark Lord returned, nobody but Dumbledore. But his faith didn't change the fact that he hadn't written to Harry either. The only letter he sent was the one telling him not to leave his house and cease any attempts to communicate with his friends or anybody else in the wizarding word - it was too dangerous. Worse, Hedwig had been taken from him as well, and he didn't even get his Daily Prophet newspapers anymore. He was alone in the dark, with no idea what was going on outside, what was Voldemort doing now. Enraged, Harry sat up sharply, grabbing on his own hair and pulling on it. Pain, pain was all he knew in this life, and _pain_ drove him further, helped him stand on his feet and breathe.

Fucking Voldemort ruining his life over and over again. Harry stood up and kicked the chair in front of him. He was furious and completely helpless, he had no control over his life. If he had to choose, he would have surely run away with Sirius, as far as possible, to escape this horrible fate, this horrible house and family. Maybe he wasn't a gryffindor after all? Maybe he was a slimy cowardly slytherin, just like the hat told him? Somewhere deep inside he knew he was ought to stay and fight, get the world rid of the snakeface bastard, avenge his parents. But his rational part screamed at him: run, run and never ever come back. He was sixteen for god's sake! He was still a teenager, he barely knew a few defensive spells - why were they all relying on him? If the experienced, much more apt at dueling adults couldn't hold against Voldemort, than why he could? Who said he could? He couldn't even defend himself against his own muggle uncle, what good was he in the battlefield? Harry's lips twisted in disdain. He hated, oh how he hated Vernon, even more so than Dudley. Dudley was just a brainless fat prick who looked up to his father and had no self-conscience whatsoever, trying to be a man by beating his own cousin senseless. No, Vernon was a bloody sadist, he enjoyed whipping Harry, enjoyed his screams under his belt and fists, enjoyed shoving his cock into Harry's arse and mouth. _Bastard, fat, ugly, useless bastard_. Harry roared furiously and punched the wall with his fist, grimacing at the sharp pain that pierced his bones.

The sound of Dursley's car parking at the house told him that the time had come. Harry braced himself and sat down on the bed again, not really fearing what was coming next. Why would he fear Vernon anymore? His life was finished anyway. He would either die here, under his uncle's fists, or out there, under Death Eaters' wands. He'd rather die as a wizard-hero Dumbledore painted him to be, but once again, he had no control whatsoever, he couldn't choose. What if he chose Slytherin at the sorting after all? Harry shook his head resentfully at that thought. No, nothing would have changed, except maybe himself, perhaps, he would have grown a lot smarter, more independent than he was now. He depended on his friends who turned their backs on him as soon as he messed up, he depended on the opinion of the wizarding world that hated him and called him a liar, he depended on the old headmaster who decided when and how would he die. Sighing tiredly, he picked up the ministry's letter and hid it under the mattress. It wouldn't do if Vernon found out he was going to be expelled - he wouldn't survive the man's celebratory beating, of that he was certain.

**xxx**

Petunia opened the door the next day and hissed at him to get up and go to the bathroom before Vernon woke up. She hadn't come back from the hospital last night, so there was nothing that could prevent Vernon from raping him again. Groaning softly, Harry slowly dragged himself up and limped out of the room. Vernon used not only his belt and fists yesterday but feet as well. Harry's left arm was broken, as was probably his right ankle, he wasn't sure since it went numb and all he felt was a slight aching somewhere near his foot. Oh, and two of his ribs were broken as well, though that was quite alright, that was his usual injury here during summers. The searing pain in his anus was nothing new either. He softly closed the door behind him and stepped to the sink and turned on the water. It felt cool and soothing on his burning blooded hands. Harry sighed contentedly and looked up to see his reflection in the mirror. He frowned at the sight of his broken nose. It looked awful and surely hurt as hell, but he wasn't going to touch it to prove his theory right. He was a mess. One of his eyes was barely open, the skin around it - one big purple bruise. Raising his upper lip he checked his teeth - fortunately, every one of them was in place. He winced as the cracks around his mouth opened at the motion and bled again.

He never really paid attention to his appearance before, but after everything that happened at the cemetery back in june, Harry noticed that his face had somewhat changed. His features transformed somehow, he couldn't really explain it. To be honest, he wouldn't have probably noticed it at all if it wasn't for Petunia's welcoming shrieks when he returned from Hogwarts. After hearing her screeching that "those freaks" of his and "that horrid magic" did something to him, made him even uglier than before, Harry went to the mirror to take a look at the reason of her antics and froze, flabbergasted. He had in fact _changed_. His features were his own and yet they were different, foreign, as if he wore a light glamour of some sort, or played with human transfiguration that professor McGonagall promised to teach them in their sixth year. His nose was longer now, and slightly crooked, his cheekbones higher and more even, his jaw had a more square, masculine curve to it now. Even his hair changed - it wasn't sticking up anymore, on the contrary, it turned heavier, silkier and looked straighter, curling slightly on the ends. Only his bright green eyes and plump red lips stayed the same, reminding him of his mother. He thought he wasn't that ugly after all, he reminded himself of somebody he knew, but he couldn't grasp that particular memory, not yet. And judging by the way Vernon kept raping him and watching his face, Harry concluded that he was, in fact, much prettier than before. And as strange as it sounded, his _new face_ felt very natural, as if it was something he was born with. But why would his face change so drastically all of a sudden? Of course he knew of growth spurts and it was possible that his face could have noticeably aged when he turned sixteen, but he never heard of anybody changing into a different person. If it wasn't for his lightning bolt scar and his striking green eyes, Harry was certain nobody would have recognized him now.

He hissed in pain as the toothbrush touched a sore spot in his mouth. Spitting blood along with toothpaste, Harry rinsed his mouth and splashed some cold water on his burning face, moaning at the sensation of a slight pleasant tingling on his skin. He took a few gulps of water and turned it off. Having soundlessly crossed the hall, he hid in his room again and carefully lowered his aching body onto the bed. The sheets were smeared with his blood but he paid it little mind, Petunia wasn't going to let him wash them anyway. Harry had barely slept at night, crying in pain and nursing his broken arm and ribs, willing his magic to stop the bleeding, and found himself incapable of resisting the temptation to close his eyes. He fell asleep as the rays of the morning sun fell onto his face through the barred window.

**xxx**

Harry woke up with a start at the loud noises downstairs. He dreamed of the cemetery again. Of the ugly disgusting creature stepping out of the cauldron with a cold triumphant laugh escaping its lipless slit of a mouth. Voldemort looked horrifying and clearly enjoyed the effect his appearance had on Harry. Those blood red eyes were piercing straight into his soul, flaying him alive. He shuddered at the memory of Voldemort's voice and cruel inhuman smile. Every time he dreamed of their encounter that night, Harry couldn't help but wonder how did he manage to escape. His parents did help him, distracted the snakeface long enough that he was able to dart behind the gravestones but then... He ran out in the open, dragging a dead body with him and not once Voldemort threw a curse at him, although he had an opportunity and Harry sincerely doubted that the man could ever miss. Why hadn't he killed him? He shivered but in fever now. Yes, his forehead all but burned at the touch - he was sick. His mind registered the loud noises once again: somebody was shouting downstairs. Trying to sit up, he found that he couldn't move, his whole body was on fire, his head was spinning. Groaning, he rolled on his side but that was it, he had no strength to do anything else. Harry blacked out.

"Harry, Harry," a soft voice called out his name while somebody kept shaking him slightly on his aching shoulder. Moaning incoherently, he tried to open his eyes but his lids were too heavy. "Oh goodness, what have they done to you!? I told Albus he couldn't let you stay with them, I told him..." the voice was full of worry and sorrow and Harry felt as somebody's strong arms lifted him up, pulling him closer to a broad warm chest. He couldn't make his tongue move, so he stayed silent, listening to the steady heartbeat next to his ear. As they came down the stairs he heard somebody growl at Vernon and demand to give up his belongings. That made him jerk a little as he remembered his wand and cloak.

"The floor... floor boards... my room..." he croaked, fisting his hands into the clothes of the man who held him. Distantly, he thought it could be Remus, he smelt very much like his former teacher.

"Yes, don't worry," was whispered into his ear. Somebody brushed past them and went up to his room. Knowing that his wand was safe, Harry lost his consciousness again.

**xxx**

"Just look at what those bastards did to him!"

"Shh, Ron! You'll wake him up!"

"If you both won't stop screeching, I am sure you will wake up the dead."

That snide remark brought Harry back to reality. Moaning, he stirred, but the pain never came. Sighing contentedly at the pleasant lightness in his limbs, he opened his eyes only to see Snape's face hovering over his, the cold onyx eyes watching him intently. If Harry could he would have shuddered and screamed but he was too tired for that.

"I see you are finally _awake_, Mr Potter," the potions master sneered, shooting a glare at Hermione and Ron, who stood at the other side of his bed. And what a comfortable bed it was, Harry thought. "I have a salve to apply on your face to heal the bruises, but I would rather not touch you, so I would leave this most enjoyable task to your friends," Snape shoved a small jar into Hermione's hands and left, gracing Harry with a disdainful sneer.

"Oh, Harry!" Hermione kneeled at his side, taking his numb hand into hers, "How are you feeling? Does it hurt anywhere?" she stared into his eyes, hers full of sorrow and unshed tears.

"Mione, you'd better put that on his face, he looks like shit!" Ron exclaimed as he sat down on the edge of the bed and shrugged at her glare, "Sorry, mate, but you really look awful," he winced, trying to smile at Harry, although all the humor got lost somewhere on the way.

"Fine," Harry whispered, "I'm fine." He had told his friends before that he got beaten at home, but he never said anything about raping and hoped none of the adults who treated him found out about it.

Hermione sobbed quietly but straightened herself and started applying the salve onto his face, gently pressing on the bruised, swollen flesh. He winced a few times but otherwise the pain was tolerable. He was slowly assessing his surroundings, noticing finally that he wasn't at Hogwarts, nor was he at the Burrow. He was in a spacious gloomy room, crammed with dark antique furniture. Just when he was going to ask where they were, he saw Sirius burst inside with a huge grin on his face.

"Pup! You're up!" his godfather was instantly at his side and grabbed his hand into his bigger ones. He looked much better since Harry saw him the last time, healthier, _saner. _Harry gave him a wry smile, that looked more like a grimace. Sirius' face paled slightly as he took in his godson's bruised aching face and a flicker of anger flashed in his grey eyes. "I hope you're feeling better, Harry," he said softly, stroking his hair, "You can't imagine how much I've missed you."

"Where are we?" Harry managed to croak through the lump in his throat. Nobody ever gave him such gentle caress, nobody ever missed him, nobody waited for him before. He felt he was going to cry like a girl so he blinked hastily, forcing his tears away. He wanted to tell Sirius everything, absolutely everything, but the mere thought of him sharing this awful dirty secret with another living soul made his insides freeze and turn. He couldn't, he simply couldn't.

"In my house in London," Sirius smiled. "Have you taken your potion? You better do it then," he brought a vial to his lips and Harry obediently drank the stinky liquid. "Good, good, this will help you get on your feet in no time," his godfather said, feigning cheer, and patted him on the hand, "I'll go ask Molly to prepare the dinner, come down if you feel like it, alright?" at Harry's nod he smiled again and, after placing a kiss on his scarred forehead, left the room.

"What are you two doing here?" Harry asked his friends when Hermione finally finished with his face and sat on the opposite side of his bed, so that he could talk to both her and Ron.

"We've been living here this summer," Ron looked embarrassed all of a sudden, rubbing his neck and blushing ever so slightly, "You know, the Order needed new headquarters and Sirius offered them his house."

"The Order?" Harry sat up slowly, leaning into the pillows, already feeling much better.

"The Order of the Phoenix," Hermione explained, though her eyes never met his, "Professor Dumbledore's secret society that was founded in the first war to oppose V-voldemort. They've resumed their work since, you know, since he came back," she tried to smile but failed at it miserably.

"Why have I never heard of it? Why haven't you told me you've been staying with Sirius all this time?" Harry suddenly felt very angry. They both were in London _all this time_, here, with _his godfather,_ while he was stuck with the Dursleys, and never wrote even once!

"Mate, don't be mad," Ron tried to placate him, "We've found out about the Order only this summer, honest!"

"Professor Dumbledore forbade us to owl you, Harry, I'm so sorry, but he said it was too dangerous, said the owls could be tracked back to you!" Hermione finally met his angry glare and tears burst out of her eyes as she sobbed loudly this time.

"And you couldn't send me a letter through the muggle post, could you?" he all but sneered, feeling rage boiling inside of him. Was she really that daft? "You had my telephone number, Hermione, you could have phoned me, you know, Vernon beats me but I still have the luxury of using the telephone. I tried your number but you were never there," he snarled and yanked his hand away when she tried to touch it. "Do you have any idea what was it like? To be locked up in that bloody house with no way of communicating with anybody? With no news from the outside world?" he glared at both of them hatefully. Year after year he had to endure that Hell and they couldn't even send him one bloody note.

"Harry, we're sorry, we really are, but Dumbledore said we would put you in danger!" Ron jumped on his feet, turning bright red in the face.

"Yeah, like I was very well protected there," Harry snorted and gestured at his bandaged arm and bruised face. "Oh, and by the way, I will be expelled from Hogwarts, though I'm sure you've already heard, since you are so close with the headmaster," he laughed bitterly.

"Harry, we are so very sorry, please," Hermione whined, shaking as the tears ran down her cheeks.

"Dumbledore won't let them expel you, mate, I'm telling you, he won't!" Ron cried vehemently.

"Oh, he wouldn't have to do that if only he let me come here to _live_ with _my_ godfather, instead of hiding me in that hellhole again," he growled angrily and closed his eyes in resentment. Surprisingly, he wasn't all that nervous about the hearing and his expulsion. Nothing really mattered anymore. In fact, he didn't want to do anything with Dumbledore, he was so angry at the man for his constant manipulations. Oh yes, Harry wasn't an idiot, he knew perfectly well that the headmaster was using him and grooming him as a weapon to use against Voldemort. That much was obvious.

"Harry, please," Hermione begged.

But he only shook his head, "No, don't. Just don't. I have no wish to listen to your petty excuses any further," Harry spat and waved at them both dismissively, "Leave me, please. I am too angry to talk to both of you."

"But, mate!" Ron threw his arms in the air, but Harry only glared at him. Hermione grabbed the redhead boy on the sleeve of his shirt and dragged him out of the room, looking back at Harry pitifully. He twisted his lips disdainfully at her sorrowful face - he didn't need her pity, it wasn't going to mend his bones or turn the time back and prevent dementors from ever coming to Surrey. Nor was it going to bring Cedric back, for that matter.

**xxx**

A few hours later Harry woke up feeling rather well, but weak, of course, since he hadn't eaten for days and his stomach was rumbling angrily at him. He carefully sat up and probed his arm and ribs - they seemed to be fine, he didn't feel any pain. Encouraged, he slowly got up from the bed and took a few tentative steps forward. His body swayed and he felt a little dizzy, but otherwise he was alright, his injures healed. Looking around he noticed his trunk at the end of his bed and crouched next to it, to take out fresh clothes. He felt disgusted with a mere thought of wearing Dudley's hand-me-downs now, so he settled on putting on his uniform trousers and shirt. He was surprised to see that he had actually grown out of those, quite evidently. Frowning, he walked to the tall mirror in the corner of the room - was this the growth spurt that added him a few inches in height in just two months? Luckily, he was so thin that his shirt still looked a little big for him, although it sat too tight on his shoulders. He stepped closer to inspect his face. It healed quickly, there were no traces of any injures left, though his skin was too pale and his lips had a bluish hue to them. He arched a thick black eyebrow at his own reflection - some food was in order if he didn't want to faint and never wake up again. Sighing, he turned and slowly walked out of the room, tracing the walls with his hand in case he would need to lean against them.

When he descended the stairs, he found himself in the dark corridor, barely lit with a few candles. Turning his head left and right he tried to decide where should he go. His sensitive nose told him that the kitchen was on his right.

"Have you seen what those bastards did to him? How could Albus leave him there?!" Mr Weasley exclaimed when Harry stepped into the room, his bare feet slapping loudly on the cold stone floor.

Everybody turned at the sound and stared at him as if he was a ghost. Judging by his weakened, starved state he didn't doubt he looked like one. Sighing, he stepped closer and lowered himself on the nearest chair, right opposite Sirius and Remus. There were a few people present: Mr and Mrs Weasley, Lupin, his godfather, Ron's older brother Bill. And then there was Snape, standing, unlike everybody else, hidden in the shadows of the dark corner, yet Harry never missed his intent gaze. Just what was this bat doing here?

"Harry, is something wrong with your face? Why are you wearing glamours? If there are any new scars, you shouldn't hide them, I'm sure we can find a way to heal them," Mrs Weasley asked gently, eyeing him warily. Just like everybody else in the room.

"I'm not wearing any glamours, my face is perfectly fine," Harry scowled and saw Sirius widen his eyes in shock, while Remus suddenly gasped and looked away, his face stricken with sorrow and surprise, which was a rather strange mixture of emotions. "The hell is going on? Why is everybody staring at me?" he growled, scowling deeper, not really caring for his language in front of the adults.

"Is this some kind of a _joke_, Snivellus?" Sirius roared, standing up sharply and dropping his chair in the process.

Snape sneered at him in disgust, "What is, mutt?"

"The fucking salve you made for his face, what did it do to him?! Why does he look like... like..." he waved his hands helplessly, unable to say it out loud.

"What do you mean, whom do I look like? I've looked like this since I left Hogwarts!" Harry hissed, twisting his lips and Sirius all but sank down, staring at him as if Harry had just slapped him.

Remus took out his wand and looked at him apologetically, "Sorry, Harry, may I check you?" At Harry's irritated nod he murmured a couple of spells but nothing happened. "Er... I believe there are really no glamours, this is how Harry truly looks, yes," he glanced at gobsmacked Sirius who was gaping, unable to make any constructive comment. Nobody could really.

"Ah... Harry, you look, well... you look very different, now that the injures healed," Mr Weasley said carefully, patting him on the shoulder slightly.

Harry rolled his eyes in exasperation and sighed, "Yes, Mr Weasley, I know, I've looked like this since I left Hogwarts, I told you already. I don't see why you all react to it so violently," he shrugged and leaned back in his chair, sneering slightly, which only made everybody even more agitated.

"Fuck! Harry, you look like _Snape_!" Sirius finally blurted out and instantly covered his mouth with his both hands as if he said something dirty.

Harry's eyes widened and he flicked his fingers, as realization struck him, "That's it! That's whom my face reminded me of so much!" but than the meaning of those words sank in completely and he turned sharply to stare at his potions professor who was staring back, "What?! How is this... how is this possible?" he was going to faint after all, he thought.

**xxx**

_Impossible_. Severus felt as if his stomach was tied into a knot. He was a realistic man, more so, he knew about magic more then most wizards of his generation and a few generations before as well. The fact that Potter changed his appearance so suddenly and his new face wasn't a glamour but, in fact, his real face, meant that he was growing up wearing a very strong concealment charm during his whole life. Severus' mind worked frantically as he kept staring into the boy's green mesmerizing eyes. There was only one reason why had he changed - the Dark Lord's resurrection ritual destroyed the charm that was applied many years ago. It probably was a basic blood magic spell which had been weakened with time and could not hold against the blood sacrifice Potter was forced into. And it all led to one horrible conclusion: Harry Potter wasn't James Potter's son. And Severus simply couldn't continue his line of thought, no, he couldn't and didn't want to. It was impossible. He shook his head but his gaze never left the boy's face. Technically, of course, it was possible but it all seemed too surreal right now for him to get into the scientific side of the matter. It was impossible, it was _wrong_. It simply couldn't be.

"Well, I know it's not the best time, really," Harry said slowly, still staring at his professor as if he saw him for the first time in his life, "But I feel like I am going to faint if I don't eat something now. I haven't eaten for three days straight."

Molly was the one to finally come back to her senses and pay attention to the boy's needs, "Are you telling me they starved you? How did you manage patronus? How are you still standing?" she shrieked, and shot up on her feet to arrange a plate for him. In no time a huge steak and a pile of potatoes were placed in front of him.

"Oh god," Harry all but whined and hastily dug in, ignoring the way everybody watched him devouring his meal. Inwardly, however, he was screaming. There was only one explanation, only one bloody possible explanation and Harry did not like it at all, oh no, he hated it. Snape was his _father_. And nobody knew. And judging by the bat's deadly white face he never knew either. Perfect. Just _perfect_.

"This is... unbelievable," Remus whispered when Harry finished, leaving his plate almost as clean as it was before the dinner.

Sirius, however, stood up again and walked over to Snape, to spat into his face, "What, have you nothing to say to this? What did you do to Lily to make her fuck you?!" he roared into his face, pointing his wand at the man. But Severus stood very still and silent, not even looking at him, he was still thinking, calculating, still watching the boy.

Mr Weasley stood up as well, "I think we should all calm down and discuss this civilly, or, rather, we should call Albus," he moved to walk to the fireplace but Harry caught his arm, standing up and blocking his way.

"No, Mr Weasley, please, don't call the headmaster," the overwhelming weight of the truth slowly descended on his shoulders and he realized that right now was the worst time to tell Dumbledore anything, to let him meddle again. "I don't want to talk with him. Or any of you, for that matter," he looked around, scowling, and, shooting one last glare at Snape, Harry darted out of the kitchen and up the stairs and into his room.

That brought Severus out of his stupor and he flinched away from Sirius as his face contorted in disgust, "Don't you dare touch me, mutt!" he drew his wand that instant but Remus had already grabbed Sirius by the shoulders and stirred him back into his seat.

"What have you done to Lily? Have you drugged her, you bastard!" Sirius shouted, struggling to get out of the werewolf's strong grip.

"For your information, she was the one who drugged me that night!" Severus snapped and just for a second he looked scared and lost, but he hastily schooled his features back into the mask of indifference. Yet this second was enough for both Sirius and Remus to notice.

"No!" Sirius cried, looking frightened himself. He couldn't believe this, Lily couldn't do something so horrible, not to James.

"The Order meeting is in thirty minutes, you all should pull yourselves together by then," Severus spat and stormed out of the kitchen, leaving everybody to gape at each other in shock.

**xxx**

He paced the hall for some time but the more he thought about this the more restless he became. This situation wasn't good, not good at all. Firstly, because he hated Potter, with every fibre of his soul, he hated the little prat. And the fact that they shared blood didn't mean anything, not to Severus. Secondly, their relation placed them both in grave danger - he surely didn't care for the little bastard, but for his own life. If the Dark Lord found out the truth he would no doubt kill Severus for treason, for the mere fact that he created the child that vanquished him all those years ago. Or his lord would make him bring Potter to him, which would result in Severus' death again, since he made a vow to protect the brat. All he could hope for was his lord's sensibility. He stopped and looked up at the landing of the next floor. Perhaps, he could make Potter wear the glamour again? That way nobody would suffer, not in the long run. Nodding to himself, Severus ascended the stairs.

The retching sounds from behind the door were a bad sign. The brat was really starved, he didn't lie. Severus felt disappointed that he could no longer use Potter's "happy home life" against him in his insults. Potter grew up in an abusive family, that much was obvious. If he was honest with himself, he was horrified by the injures the brat endured and by the belt marks on his body, fresh slashed across the old ones, indicating just for how many years Potter had been beaten into submission. And yet he grew up just as arrogant and reckless as his wretched fath... No, he couldn't use this one anymore either. James Potter wasn't his father, Severus was. Shuddering at the thought, he turned the doorknob and entered the bedroom. The boy certainly didn't inherit any of his traits, all these awful streaks came from Lily, no doubt. However, Lily wasn't stupid, oh no, she was actually brilliant, if she managed to fool Severus, to fool him so skillfully, so _cruelly_. And it was a true mystery how Potter turned out to be such an idiot. Perhaps, his relatives had beaten him too much on the head when he was younger?

"What do you want?" Harry growled from where he sat on his knees, hugging the toilet. All the delicious food he had just eaten went out. "Sir?" _What a waste_.

Severus watched the scowling face and couldn't help but wonder how did he miss all these mimics that were obviously _his own_, simply misplaced on the glamoured features. Even the brat's voice sounded more like his now, when it associated with this face, _his face_. And quite surprisingly, Potter turned out to be a very beautiful boy, much much more attractive than before. Severus wasn't blind, he knew he himself could hardly be called handsome or pretty, his students called him ugly, and yet the little bastard inherited all his features but Lily's smoothed them, made him look more a Prince than Severus himself could ever be. _Bloody Potter._

"Potter, you can't consume such huge amounts of food after long starvation, you wouldn't be able to digest it properly and it would lead to a serious illness eventually, I will give you a potion to sooth the pain," Severus drawled, feigning boredom.

Potter sneered and he barely restrained himself from snorting - despite the beautiful features, the brat's sneers and scowls were just as intimidating as his.

"I doubt you are worried about my well being, professor, so please don't," Harry greeted out and grabbed his hair just in time to push it up and throw up the remains of his dinner once again. Severus noticed that his hair also changed, looked like his now, only clean, with no protective grease on it. And it was long, almost reached the brat's shoulders. Suited him better than that insane mop he used to have. "Oh, and I am no Potter, apparently. What am I, Snape now?" Harry bit out harshly, rubbing his mouth with a towel.

"Don't you dare," Snape hissed, "Blood means nothing!" he spat venomously, narrowing his eyes at the boy. The cheek!

"Oh, but what would your lord say about that? I dare say he would _disagree_," Harry sneered. What a fucking hypocrite. Now the greasy git would only torment him more at the school, Harry had no doubts about that.

Severus pursed his lips into a straight firm line, knowing full well that arguing won't lead him anywhere now, he needed to ensure his own safety. "Speaking of which, you would have to wear glamours at Hogwarts, you do realize that?"

"No, I don't," Harry gave him a dubious look that quickly morphed into a baleful one, "Sorry to disappoint you, sir, but I have spent my whole life behind the glamour, being somebody I am not, I would not hide anymore," he slowly rose up to his feet and Severus realized that he was noticeably taller now.

"You will put my life in danger as well as yours!" he barked angrily and moved forward to tower over the boy.

"And why should I care exactly?" Harry spat and glared at his professor defiantly. His _professor,_ not his _father_. Snape was right about one thing: _blood meant nothing_.

"Perhaps, you would like me to hand you over to the Dark Lord then? To save us all the trouble?" Severus hissed menacingly, grabbing on the collar of the boy's shirt. Merlin knew, how much he hated this stupid gryffindorish stubbornness, incapability to see reason.

"Perhaps, I would!" Harry felt anxious and fearless, but most of all he felt angry. Everything, everything turned against him, and he was all alone now, not even Sirius would stand by his side - he saw the horror and disgust in his eyes when he recognized his face. Of course, how could he accept Harry now, when he was a son of his worst enemy. And a Death Eater.

Severus thought he could strangle him right now. So much for the Savior of Light! And he saw how scared of the Dark Lord the brat was back there at the cemetery, and yet he dueled him, his bravery was stronger than his fear or sense of self-preservation. Arrogant imbecile, thought he could toy with Severus' life when he was in one of his teenager tantrums. The potions master was having none of that, he had two masters already, no one, and certainly not Potter, would be the third one, vow or not.

"Then let me give you a warning, brat," he leaned closer, almost brushing their long noses against each other, "I would not save your sorry arse anymore and if the Dark Lord captures you - I would not be the one to free you," he looked straight in the green eyes but found no fear in them, only determination.

"Great," Harry muttered and batted his hand away, stepping aside, and walked out of the bathroom in several quick strides. Severus also left, without another word. There was no other option left: he would have to tell his lord the truth and plead ignorance. It would be better if he broke the news personally, otherwise, when Potter arrived at the school, the death eater's children would surely notice their similarity and pass the information on to their parents, who, in turn, would pass it on to the Dark Lord and the Hell would break loose.

**xxx**

"Wait, wait, stop jostling for Merlin's sake!" George hissed at Ron and Ginny, who tried to get closer to listen in to the extendable ears the twins made. The five of them stood on the landing, holding the long tubes in their hands, that stretched all the way down and to the threshold of the kitchen's closed door.

"We are not supposed to eavesdrop on the Order's meeting!" Hermione hissed at them vehemently, but only got a glare from both George and Fred in return.

"Shh, sh! They are talking about Harry!"

"...us, did you know about this? Tell me honestly, did you?" they heard Sirius shout.

Dumbledore tried to placate the raging man, "Now, now, Sirius, please, be reasonable. No, I never knew about these... peculiar circumstances, but I am certain that Harry can continue wearing the glamour, we could easily recreate just the same one-" Ron and Hermione shared a bewildered look at that - was something wrong with Harry?

"Headmaster," Snape interrupted him harshly, "I spoke with Potter, he refuses to put it back-"

"You bastard, you dared to simply go and talk to him?!" Sirius blew up, the sound of the dropped furniture cut sharply on the children's ears. "Don't you dare even look at my godson!"

"Oh, such _nobility_, Black!" Snape spat acidly, "And here I thought you would throw him away like trash after you found the truth-"

"Shut your filthy mouth, you fuck-"

"That's enough!" Dumbledore shouted and immediately silence fell. The children leaned forward, completely befuddled with what was going on. "I would talk to Harry myself, but if he refuses, than I would not force him to hide his face. It would put him and you, Severus, in danger but... it's the least I can do for him."

"Like you would not force him go back to those vile Dursleys?" Sirius cut in impatiently.

"Now, this is entirely different matter, Sirius, he is still Lily's son, the blood wards would protect Harry-"

"Yes, like they protected him from the dementors!" Sirius' voice was almost hysterical.

"What dementors, the hell are you babbling about?" Severus barked.

"Now, this is why I needed to see you, Severus, you see-"

"He is not your son, so why the hell you care?" Sirius roared.

"Oh but he is Black, he is! And you know that!" Snape sounded almost triumphant. George dropped one of the ears at that and stared at the others. Ron paled and grabbed on the banister to steady himself.

"Did I hear that right? Did Snape just say Harry is his son?" the redhead shivered at the mere thought.

"Yes, he did," everybody spun around on their heels at the sound of Harry's voice behind them. He stood at the threshold of his room, leaning against the doorframe, and watched them calmly. It took only a few moments for them to look closely at his face and see for themselves that it was, indeed, true.

"Blimey!" Ron screamed and stepped back, colliding into Hermione.

"Exactly," Harry nodded, "Are you done eavesdropping? You know I could have easily told you it all myself, since there is nothing much to tell but... oh well, you seem to know it all anyway, you've been here all this time after all," with that he walked past them, still bare foot, and went down the stairs, feeling as they all kept staring at him. Without a second thought he entered the kitchen. He felt restless and anxious since Snape talked to him, he decided to return to the kitchen despite his reluctance to see all those gobsmacked faces again.

"... the attack wasn't initiated by the Dark Lord, he is probably still unaware of it," he stepped inside right in the middle of Severus' answer. Everybody turned to look at him, and once again, they all looked lost and shocked. Even Dumbledore.

"Harry, my boy," the headmaster quickly gathered his wits and smiled at him softly, "I am glad to see you have recovered so fast."

Harry shook his head, restraining himself from any harsh retorts, it wouldn't do him any good. "Hello, headmaster," he plumped down on the chair and stared at the old man expectantly.

"The Order is in the meeting, you are not allowed to attend," Severus hissed irritably, glaring at the boy.

Sirius perked up at that, "Harry has every right to be here, since it is him we are talking about!" he smiled at his godson encouragingly.

"I would disagree with that, but tonight Harry is indeed allowed to attend, this one time," Dumbledore nodded, giving Sirius a warning look. Of course he would disagree, Harry huffed to himself, if the old man had it _his way_, Harry wouldn't have even come here at all.

"So it wasn't the snakeface who sent the dementors?" he looked at the potions master inquiringly but Snape only sneered at him and turned away.

"No, it wasn't Voldemort, Harry," the headmaster confirmed, "I am afraid we would have to look for another suspect and that is a much more difficult task, of course." Dumbledore folded his hands in his lap and tilted his head slightly, to look at Harry over his half-moon glasses. "Now, my boy, there is another serious matter at hand. Your sudden, ah, transformation is most unexpected and quite dangerous. As you must know, it is dangerous for Severus as well. You are aware of the fact that he is a double agent? He spies for the Light," he looked grave and very old, Harry thought.

"Yeah, figured that much," he muttered, as the memory of Snape cringing at Voldemort's feet at the cemetery flashed through his mind.

"Well, then you do realize that it would be only reasonable for you to continue wearing the concealment charm, in order to protect both yours and Severus' lives, don't you?"

Harry huffed. "I do and I won't. Not anymore, sir," he said firmly and straightened in his seat, clenching his fists under the table, "I don't care what other people would think of me when they find out the truth - I am already a liar and a loony, so no more damage could be done, really," he laughed bitterly, "As for professor Snape, well... he managed to survive all these years, didn't he? He'll get out of this as well," at that Harry looked at his professor pointedly and Snape narrowed his eyes, glaring at him hatefully. _A challenge_.

"Harry, he is your father," Dumbledore tried, and both Severus and Harry scowled at him angrily.

"That's beside the point, sir," Harry sighed, "I won't be wearing any glamours anymore. Besides, I am going to be expelled anyway, so..."

"Expelled?" Severus perked up at the news and his onyx eyes flashed with excitement. Oh, how he longed to get rid of Potter, if the brat was expelled he wouldn't have any problems whatsoever.

"Harry, you won't be expelled," now it was Dumbledore's turn to sigh, "It was a self-defense, we know that and they would know that as well, do not worry about that."

"I don't," Harry snorted and stood up.

Dumbledore frowned and raised a hand to stop him. "Harry, one more thing. Tell me, have you been having any kind of strange dreams lately?"

At that he scowled and looked at the headmaster suspiciously. Was there _anything_ he didn't try to meddle with at all? "Only regular nightmares about the cemetery and Cedric, sir," he greeted out, "Nothing else." No point telling about the nightmares that consisted of Vernon and his cock.

"Good," Dumbledore gave him a small smile and Harry could have sworn there was relief in the old man's eyes. Just what did it all mean? He bid goodbye and left the meeting, not really interested to stay any longer. All he wanted to know was if Voldemort was behind the attack, but since he wasn't, well, he didn't care for anything else.

Completely ignoring Hermione and the Weasley children, Harry went into his room and closed the door behind him. He wasn't in the mood for socializing with them. He was used to loneliness and, if he was honest with himself, he craved it now, since his life went straight to Hell.

**xxx**

On the last day of august Severus braced himself to tell the Dark Lord the truth about Harry Potter. There was no point in postponing the inevitable, besides, he was ought to come anyway, to deliver the requested potion. As he walked down the halls of Riddle manor, he thought about what would his lord do with the new information he got. Perhaps, he should tell him that he vowed to protect Potter with his life and magic, who knew what the man planned... it was a vital information and Severus dearly wished to live another day. As a member of the Inner Circle he was allowed to enter the Dark Lord's study, where more personal matters and individual tasks could be discussed.

"_Severusss_," he heard as he knocked and walked inside the spacious well furnished room. His lord sat at his desk, his elbows rested on the arms of his chair, his long bony fingers were steepled in front of his inhuman face. He looked thoughtful and calm, as calm as somebody like Voldemort could be. "Come in, take a seat," the blood red eyes locked with his onyx ones for a second and then moved lower, at the vail in his hands.

"My lord," Severus bowed and placed the vail on the desk, "The potion you requested is ready."

"Very good, Severus, very good," Voldemort hissed but did not move to take it. Simply eyed it somewhat speculatively. "Is there anything you wished to discuss?"

"Yes, my lord," he sat on the chair opposite his master and took a deep calming breath, occluding his mind thoroughly. "The matter I wished to discuss is Harry Potter."

Voldemort raised his non-existent eyebrows at that, as his ugly face distorted in the expression of interest, "Oh? Do tell," he nodded and stared at him expectantly, piercing him with the cold hard gaze.

"I've met him recently at the Order's headquarters. Apparently, at the day of your resurrection, your ritual broke the concealment charm that was hiding Potter's true appearance. He is still the Boy-Who-Lived with his scar and all, but he looks differently now," Severus drawled, hoping that he wouldn't die. He would gladly take cruciatus, several if necessary.

"So one of his parents wasn't his biological one, I presume?" Voldemort quickly caught on.

"His father." _Here it comes_.

"And do you know who his real father is?" the Dark Lord looked at him intently, narrowing his blood red eyes ever so slightly.

"Me, my lord," Severus breathed out.

"And how long have you known?" the danger could be heard in the undertone of the cold but soft voice.

"Only since I met him this last time, I never knew I was the one to impregnate Lily Potter," he didn't avert his eyes from the heavy gaze his lord graced him with. However, the man was still calm, still looked interested. Perhaps, it wasn't going to end up all that bad after all.

"I see..." Voldemort traced his lipless mouth with his index finger, while his eyes took on a far away look. Severus hated when he did that - made you wait for the moment for the axe to fall, only it usually fell when you were already too tired to wait and dared to relax. "It was very wise and brave of you to come to me and give up this information, Severus," his lord looked at him calmly, nothing could be read in his ruby eyes. A slight tingling of apprehension crept underneath Severus' skin.

"There is more, my lord," he cursed inwardly at the slight trembling in his voice.

"Did Dumbledore make you vow to protect your son?" What was the point of occlumency with this man? His perceptiveness and intelligence were unbeatable.

"When I turned myself in for servitude fifteen years ago, I never knew Potter was mine then, it was either vow on the boy's life or on the old coot's," Severus breathed out, holding his lord's gaze.

Voldemort suddenly chuckled, the foreign sound sent shivers down Severus' spine and made his gut freeze. "Well, now I know after whom the brat took in stubbornness, bravery and a sharp tongue," a feral smile stretched the muscles of his face, the smile that promised nothing good. "Will he be wearing glamours at the school again?"

"He refused," now he couldn't hide irritation in his voice. What was it with him today? _Bloody Potter._

"Thought so," Voldemort chuckled again and shook his bald head. Severus narrowed his eyes - just what made his master appear in such good spirits? These mood swings were not safe, somebody usually got cursed.

"If I may, my lord?" _Speaking of bravery_. At the Dark Lord's silent nod to continue, Severus squared his shoulders and tried to make his voice sound as level as it was possible, "Why didn't you kill him back there at the cemetery?"

Voldemort smiled at that and Severus shuddered despite himself. Perhaps, he shouldn't have asked. "The brat would be quite useful in the future. And even more now, after such an unexpected but fortunate development," he drawled pleasantly and reached out for the vail. He took it in his long fingers and twirled slightly, watching the thick black liquid move.

"Do you wish to sway him to the dark side?" Severus wasn't really sure this was possible. Potter was a light wizard through and through.

"No, of course not," Voldemort waved his hand dismissively and put the vail on the desk in front of himself, "This would be quite fruitless. I want to break him, to rip the last hope out of the hands of the Light. He won't die, he would give up fighting, and with him the others would as well," he smiled again and caressed the vail with one finger.

"I see." The plan was quite simple and indeed ingenious. Killing Potter would only make a martyr out of him and would only agitate more resistance. But making him give up the fight, admit the Dark Lord's victory and accept his authority would no doubt ruin everything Dumbledore and the Order worked on for so many years.

"Yes," Voldemort smiled and rubbed his chin pleasantly, "_The little Prince_ would be very useful indeed." Severus could only scowl at the nickname to his lord's immense pleasure. Well, at least he wasn't tortured.

**xxx**

Harry was dreaming again, lulled by the steady beat of the Hogwarts' Express wheels against the rails. At first, he saw the replay of his hearing at the ministry, how he sat there in the uncomfortable wooden chair, surrounded by the wizards and witches whose eyes all but burned a hole in his face. They all hated him, _feared_ him, he could almost taste their emotions in the heavy hot air of the court room. He couldn't say another word, that toad of a woman in pink robe interrupted his every sentence, accusing him of every sin known to mankind. Fudge only smiled slyly and Harry couldn't think of anything else but punching that fat stupid face. Then suddenly Dumbledore came in and saved the day, as he always did. The images of Mrs Figg, witnessing that he saved his cousin, and the images of the headmaster patting him on the shoulder afterwards, when he was cleared of all charges, collided and mixed between themselves, making him dizzy. He desperately wished to wake up, but he couldn't, something kept pulling him down, deeper and deeper into the dream. He walked down the dark halls of ministry, Mr Weasley's hand squeezed his shoulder encouragingly, everything seemed to slow down, as if time became liquid and flown slowly, lazily, giving him the opportunity to look around and see everything so much clearer.

They passed by Lucius Malfoy, who was talking to some ministry employee, and the tall blonde wizard smiled at Harry playfully and pressed his index finger against his thin pale lips, as if asking the boy to keep their secret. Harry felt his eyebrows crease in confusion, but Malfoy's attention was back on his companion and he looked as bored and composed as ever. Shaking his head, Harry decided it was some kind of mistake, his own subconsciousness played with his memories. But when he and Mr Weasley walked into the main hall of the ministry, Harry realized that almost every wizard, they passed by, turned to look at him and pressed a finger to his lips, smiling mysteriously. He swallowed nervously and hurried towards the exit. He barely acknowledged the fact that Mr Weasley disappeared, when he entered the phone booth and it took him up. Instead of stepping out into the busy London's streets, Harry found himself at the very same cemetery. He groaned in desperation and turned to get back into the ministry but there was nothing behind him - only wet grass and gravestones. He looked around fearfully, shivering as the sudden chill pierced his bones. It was silent, no living soul walked the grounds, not even wind blew, nothing. Harry hugged himself tightly, trying to get warmer. He squeezed his eyes shut and started muttering to himself, telling himself to wake up, to open his eyes. He felt as his body and spirit were pushed up, floated over some invisible surface... And then the sharp pain seared through his backside and Harry screamed, opening his eyes sharply, only to find himself bent over his bed and fucked ruthlessly, violently into his anus. Vernon's meaty fingers dug into his soft aching buttocks, as the whale of a man grunted and groaned in pleasure, telling Harry how dirty he was, what a nice little slut he grew up to be, how sweetly tight he was... Harry struggled to free himself, but his hands were tied to the bed with his uncle's belt, as they usually were. He screamed and writhed under the man's heavy weight but nothing seemed to work...

"Harry, Harry!" he stared at Hermione, who was shaking him hard, her eyes wide and scared.

"Damn, mate, you scared us shitless, what was that?!" Ron hovered over him, concerned and rather pale. Harry inhaled sharply, suddenly realizing he wasn't breathing, and hid his face in his hands, forcing his tears away. They couldn't see him cry, they couldn't, he was stronger than this, he wasn't _weak_.

He felt Hermione's hand stroking his hair, "Harry, are you alright? Was it a nightmare? The one from the end of the tournament?" she spoke very quietly, he could feel her warm breath over his temple. He nodded, glad there was something to cover up the truth. "Do you want to talk about it?" Harry shook his head negatively. "Alright, but we are always here for you, you know that. I know we weren't... the best friends this summer, Harry, but we do care about you. It doesn't matter who your father is or what happened-"

"Yeah, mate," Ron interrupted Hermione, squeezing Harry's shoulder, "We're with you until the end."

Harry nodded and mumbled his thanks. He forgave them both, eventually, but was still cold and distant towards them. Yes, they didn't care that Snape was his father, they didn't blame him for Cedric's death, but he still couldn't bring himself to trust them completely. When he thought about it, it wasn't even the matter of trust, but his reluctance to get close. Even closer than they already were. He lived in constant danger and he hated the mere possibility of hurting or loosing them. He couldn't afford to get another person killed because of him, he knew he wouldn't be able to deal with it.

The rest of the ride passed in silence, both Hermione and Ron left Harry in peace, not bothering him with conversations, but kept watching him carefully, determined to not let him fall asleep again.

**xxx**

_Potions_. Of course their first lesson of the fifth year was with Snape. Harry was still very angry with the fact that that awful toad Umbridge was introduced as their new DADA teacher and now he was walking straight into the snake pit to strengthen the effect. The prospect of meeting the greasy bat was everything but appealing and then there were slytherins, who would surely notice how different he looked, how much he resembled their Head of House. The gryffindors were quite vocal about that, which only added to already existing hostility. They all believed him to be a liar and a fraud and now he turned out to be their most hated professor's _scion_. In the moments like this Harry desperately wished he'd listened to the hat. Or never came to Hogwarts at all. He sighed and sat heavily at the desk, watching impassively as Hermione started putting out her books and parchments next to him. He didn't want to do anything, his only wish was to be consumed by the hard stone floor.

Snape stormed inside, billowing his black robes dramatically, and turned to look at the class, his face a stony mask of disgust. Clicking his tongue, he leaned back on his desk and greeted out the long speech about the difficulty of the upcoming OWLs and the amount of work they were ought to complete. He didn't forget to mention how stupid and useless they all were and with an evident sadistic pleasure he announced that those who wanted to get into his advanced class the next year had to get an O in their potions exam. Harry actually relaxed at that - this was easy-peasy for him, to not get the highest mark, he was all for skipping potions during his last two years at the school. He heard Ron groaning helplessly behind him - the redhead wanted to become an auror and potions NEWT mark was mandatory for him entering the program. Harry didn't really know what he wanted to do after school, he doubted Voldemort would leave him any options. Although he kept telling everyone he wanted to become an auror, he was certain he never would. At first it was a childish wish to look up to his long dead father, who wasn't his father at all. Certainly, auror job was the most suitable one for he Boy-Who-Lived, but Harry knew he never wanted to do anything with dark wizards anymore, he was fed up with his current situation, thank you very much.

Yawning tiredly into his hands, he hid his face in, he obediently dragged himself to the store room to get the necessary ingredients. It didn't escape his attention that Snape was yet to make one snide remark about his favourite celebrity. Perhaps, he didn't want to attract any more attention to their relation, which was fine with Harry. The less the git talked to him, the better. As it turned out, without his professor's constant insults and hovering over his working place, Harry was able to concentrate on his task better and by the end of the lesson he managed to brew the potion, and it looked just like Hermione's. He was sure Snape would accuse him of cheating but the man didn't even look at him when he placed his vail on the teacher's desk. Shrugging his shoulders, Harry dismissed the whole issue, glad that, probably, for the first time in his school years he would get a good mark in potions.

**xxx**

First DADA lesson proved that Umbridge was their worst teacher ever. Harry could barely contain his anger and keep his mouth shut when she announced that they were not going to practice any spells and would only study theory from a lame useless book. How could ministry ignore the potential danger that loomed at the horizon? They could disregard Dumbledore's warnings about Voldemort, but surely the attack at the Quidditch Word Cup the previous summer was a sign that all but _screamed_ in their faces. And yet they chose to close their eyes and ignore it, leaving the students with no means and skills to defend themselves. Even Moody, albeit being a death eater in disguise, actually taught them, and taught them well, Harry couldn't help but regret that Barty Crouch chose to become a murderer instead of a teacher - he would have been a star at Hogwarts.

Ron stood up to ask Umbridge how were they going to defend themselves against the death eaters in the future and lost ten points for that. He lost twenty more when he didn't stop but asked her again. She threatened to remove him out of the class when he demanded to know how were they going to face the Dark Lord when he made his move. At that Harry almost sprang up on his feet to attack her but something told him not to. Something tagged in the back of his mind. Frowning, he slumped in his chair, not hearing the shouting around him anymore. He suddenly saw the scene from his dream again, Malfoy smiling at him cunningly and pressing his finger against his lips - it felt so real, as if the wizard stood right in front of him. Harry shook his head in bewilderment and dropped his book on the floor. Umbridge, already furious with Ron, took points from him for his deliberate clumsiness but he didn't pay her any mind. He suddenly felt very uncomfortable with this unexpected vision.

**xxx**

At the end of september Severus found himself to be another victim of Umbridge's "inspection". The toad had the cheek to doubt his professionalism when she herself, if his slytherins' complains were anything to judge by, was a total failure as a teacher.

"I've noticed how much young Potter resembles you, Mr Snape, are you related in any way?" the toad had the audacity to ask him.

"We are, madame, now if you would excuse me," he quickly strode past her to avoid any other questions, he wasn't going to fill her in on the latest gossip.

Sneering at her sickeningly sweet smile he invited her to sit down at the farthest desk in his classroom, so that she could watch the lesson but didn't get in the way. He dismissed Longbottom before she arrived, knowing all too well that the idiot would surely blow up his potion and compromise Severus' reputation and status. He couldn't dismiss all the gryffindors, unfortunately, but at least he eliminated the most dangerous one. Glaring at them, he couldn't help but silently pray that nobody would antagonize him today, especially Potter. He tried his hardest to ignore the brat to avoid any more unnecessary attention to their relation, and was surprised to notice that the boy began successfully brewing quite adequate potions, since he wasn't distracted anymore. At first, Severus thought that Granger was helping him and he paired Potter up with Weasley, but nothing had changed. Severus had to admit, that Potter wasn't as brainless and useless as he used to think, but that notion brought forth the realization that at this rate the brat would surely end up in his advanced class next year and that wasn't good news. Scowling at the boy, he strode between the tables, looking into everybody's cauldrons and giving short, almost polite comments. He wasn't going to insult children in front of this toad, whose eyes were boring into the back of his head. His students were also subdued and very quiet under her inspection.

Severus heard about the incident at her lesson when she took seventy points in total from gryffindors, because Weasley spoke up. Even though Severus thought that the redhead got what he deserved, he was appalled by the notion that somebody could take more points than he usually did and he was surprised that Potter wasn't _the one_ who initiated the conflict, wasn't the one who voiced his worries about his defenselessness against Voldemort. If he was honest with himself, the brat was even quieter than before. Most of his peers turned their backs on him because of his parentage and his "lies" about the Dark Lord's return, and the only people who were sometimes talking to him in the Great Hall, were Weasley, Granger and Longbottom, and even then he could see how reluctant Potter was to converse with them. Dark circles formed around his green eyes that lost their brightness, became dull and impassive. It looked like he had drawn inside himself and hid in this shell to never come out. During last week, while Severus kept watching him during the meals, as he always did, Potter barely ate and looked even paler than he already was. His movements were slow and tired, he looked exhausted. He wasn't sleeping, Severus concluded. A few times he saw the boy jerk violently, even during class, and look around wildly, as if he woke up suddenly and couldn't recognize his surroundings. In the beginning of october Potter left the quidditch team and Severus was certain that the gryffindors would execute the boy while his slytherins would give him a medal. However, the very evening of the day of the announcement, Severus was called up into the headmaster's office.

"Severus, thank you for coming. Tea?" Dumbledore smiled at him when he came in. Nodding, Severus sat down and crossed his legs, resting his hands in his lap, looking at the old man expectantly.

"Severus," Dumbledore began, seeing that the potions master wasn't going to speak first, "I called you here to discuss Harry."

"It's always about Potter, isn't it?" Severus sneered, however, he was curious what would the headmaster say. Surely, he wasn't the only one to notice that the brat was obviously depressed.

"Yes, well, I know you are watching him very closely at the hall and I am sure you've noticed how awful he looks, how tired he is, how distant and withdrawn, and he left his qudditch team today, Severus," Dumbledore sounded truly concerned and sad, "His only true _passion_, he discarded of it without any reasonable explanation. Minerva is in shock, of course. I am afraid something is very wrong with Harry," he sighed tiredly and rubbed his old wrinkled hands almost nervously.

"And what do I have to do with anything?" Severus raised his eyebrows, twirling the white porcelain cup in his fingers.

"Why, Severus, you might not admit it or acknowledge it fully _yet_, but he is your son and I am sure you would want to know if there was something wrong with him," the headmaster frowned and looked at the dark man disapprovingly. Before Severus managed to come up with a snarky retort a soft knock came from the door and it opened to reveal Potter, standing at the threshold uncertainly.

"Come in, Harry, come in," Dumbledore called cheerfully, and poured another cup of tea as the boy tentatively came closer and sat down on the chair next to Severus. He glanced at his professor and Severus noticed how truly exhausted the boy looked. He was still too thin after his relatives' care and hadn't gain any weight as he usually did while being at school. "Harry, I called you here to ask why have you left your team," the headmaster said softly, holding the cup of tea out for Potter. Harry took it and looked down at his feet, his long black hair hid his face just like Severus' usually did.

"I... I can't play, sir. I'm sorry but I am no good for the team anymore," Harry said quietly and frowned into his cup. He didn't like that Snape was here, he didn't really understand why would he even be here, since Dumbledore wanted to talk with him and surely not about potions.

"Does it have anything to do with the fact that you are professor Snape's son? Are your house mates unfair or violent towards you?" the headmaster leaned closer and for a moment Severus thought he was going to use Legilimency on the boy, but he simply stared at Potter, waiting for the answer. It was a wonder, Severus mused, that there hadn't been an article in the Daily Prophet yet, shouting for all the world that Harry Potter was a son of an _ex-_Death Eater. Perhaps, Dumbledore pulled some strings to save the boy from public shame.

"No, nothing like that, sir," Harry shook his head, "I have no problems with the other students."

"But why then? Surely you must have a very good reason not to fly, especially since it is your favourite hobby?" Dumbledore frowned and his pale blue eyes lost their twinkle.

Harry winced and emptied his cup in one big gulp. He contemplated if he should tell about his nightmares, but he couldn't bring himself to admit that most of those dreams were filled with the scenes from his past summers spent at Dursleys', being beaten and raped by his uncle, only they all took place at the cemetery now, where either the two of them were alone, or were surrounded by the death eaters, who watched and laughed, but Voldemort was never present. He saw the Dark Lord only in the dreams of their encounter and Cedric's death. However, the visions from his dreams started haunting him during the day. Sometimes he would look up from the book and see Malfoy smile at him, or see Vernon stand with his trousers down, his fat ugly prick in his hand. Harry barely slept the past week and more often than not he would catch a glimpse of one of his hallucinations - what else could he call them, he didn't know.

"I see horrible nightmares and I have visions sometimes," he finally mumbled, not looking up, afraid to meet the headmaster's eyes.

"Oh, Harry," Dumbledore sighed and squeezed his eyes, rubbing on them tiredly, his expression pained and suddenly very old. Severus scowled, feeling that he was missing something important here. It was the second time there was a mention of dreams between the headmaster and Potter. Something was going on and he knew he had to find out what exactly.

"Are they connected to Voldemort?" the headmaster asked and Harry simply nodded, not willing to go into the details. "What are the visions like, can you tell me?"

Harry bit his lip, trying to find a way out of this. "I see... I see death eaters. They sometimes follow me or just stand in the corner of the classroom," he rubbed his neck and ducked his head, embarrassed that he had to lie, but he couldn't tell the truth, could he? Severus immediately knew that Potter was lying, but he kept silent, watching the boy out of the corner of his eye. Was his lord doing something to the boy? If he was, then how he did it? Severus had no doubts the Dark Lord was the most powerful wizard but still there wasn't any kind of magic that could allow him to use Legilimency on the boy over such a huge distance.

"This is very _bad_ news," Dumbledore sighed and looked at the boy gravely. "Why didn't you ask madame Pomfrey or professor Snape for the Dreamless Sleep draught? You can't go on without sleep, Harry, you know that." Harry didn't answer, he only hunched in his seat miserably and stared at his feet again.

"Severus," the potions master looked up at that and met the headmaster's pained gaze, "I have to ask a great favour of you, my boy."

"I don't like this at all but do continue or I think I might die of boredom here soon," Severus snarled and sipped from his cup haughtily.

"I need you to teach Harry Occlumency," at this the potions master almost chocked on his tea.

"_What?!_ No, no, I would not," he shook his head vehemently, glaring at the headmaster.

"Severus, you are the only one who can do it," Dumbledore pressed and gave him a pointed look, "Let's make it an order then, not a favour."

"Sir, what is Occlumency?" Harry was watching the two men in confusion.

"It is the art of concealing one's thoughts and memories from others. Voldemort uses Legilimency on you, Harry, it is the opposite of Occlumency, it allows the wizard to enter your mind and see everything there is and manipulate you through altering your dreams or even sending you visions." The more Dumbledore spoke the wider Harry's eyes got and the more crestfallen he looked. Yes, the Dark Lord definitely managed to get to the boy, Severus mused, feeling satisfied with the brat's sufferings.

"Professor Snape will be teaching you in his spare time, and while you are learning, you will be taking potions to help you sleep better, otherwise you wouldn't be able to pass your OWLs, Harry," Dumbledore gave him a soft encouraging smile.

"And how do you see me giving Potter additional lessons, _sir_?" Severus greeted out. He would have to spend even more time with the little bastard now. Perhaps, he would simply fail him and destroy his mind shields completely.

"Well, I can't give him any kind of lessons, it would be too straightforward. Let's say you are giving Harry remedial potions, since he started getting better marks in your class but you want to ensure he passes his exams and gets into your advanced class next year, since Harry wants to become an auror, which is actually true," the headmaster smiled and his eyes twinkled cheerfully, "You want to become an auror, don't you, Harry?" The boy sighed and nodded and once again Severus saw he was lying. Now he felt intrigued - their _lessons_ would let him get inside the brat's head and find out the truth.

"That's settled then," Dumbledore clapped his hands, "Thank you, Severus."

"If he proves as useless in this, as he is in potions, I would stop our lessons at once," the potions masters scowled and for the first time Harry really looked at him and his gaze was hard and full of loath. Severus gave him the same look in return.

"I am sure Harry would do his best," Dumbledore smiled and Harry realized that his real nightmares had only begun.


	2. Chapter II

_Disclaimer: nothing that is related to HP belongs to me._

_Warning: abuse, rape, underage sex, violence, everything is bad and don't read it_

* * *

**Of Monsters and Men, Of Fathers and Sons.**

**Chapter II**

The mirror gleamed dimly in the sunlight peeking through the thick curtains, as he reached out to brush the dust away from its surface. His hands were so human now, so normal. He involuntarily froze, holding his hand up in front of his face, watching the pale peachy skin; long elegant fingers, not bony anymore; the web of thin bluish veins covering the inside of his palm. He clenched it in a fist and watched the thick vein on his wrist stand out, pulsing ever so slightly. He pressed the now so warm palm to his face and reached out for the mirror with his other hand. The thick layer of dust felt dirty and oily on his skin. Blood red eyes stared into his identical ones. Voldemort smiled at his reflection and caught himself at the thought that this was, probably, his first genuine smile since he was fully resurrected. A triumphant smile nevertheless. Severus was truly a genius potions master just as he himself was, he had no problem admitting it. Lord Voldemort admired talent and power, cherished them, and respected those who possessed them and were not afraid to break the boundaries in order to improve themselves. Severus was one of those precious few whom Voldemort held close and almost dear. Oh yes, he could torture the snarky potions master endlessly but valued his life and skills highly. Besides, nobody could fool Dumbledore as masterfully and arrogantly as Severus did.

Smirking at his own reflection, Voldemort brushed his soft chestnut hair back - it was still very short, had been growing slowly since he took the potion. Short and slicked back it made him look very much like the Hogwarts graduate he once was. However, he wasn't that young looking after all, though it wasn't his goal. He wanted to get back his human body - being the serpentine creature was advantageous if he wanted to intimidate, but since his resurrection the Dark Lord realized that he needed to change his tactics. His rush reckless actions led him to his unfortunate demise. He needed to be subtle and careful. And now he had a priceless bonus, practically brought to him on a silver plate - Harry bloody Potter actually Prince. The mayhem he could cause by simply breaking the child... The mere thought of that brightened his mood and made him hum contentedly. However, there was still the matter of the prophecy. The last time he was quite reckless in his actions, couldn't think clearly. But now, with most of his sanity back, he knew he had to retrieve the prophecy and find out what was Potter's role in all this mess after all. Regardless of what it said, he wasn't going to kill him before he used his potential to its full extent. But it was imperative to know, to have all the facts - something in which Dumbledore always used to have an upper hand. _But not anymore._

**xxx**

"Are you ready?"

"Um..."

"Eloquent as ever, Potter," Severus sighed in exasperation and sneered at the boy before him in disgust. It was their first Occlumency lesson and it was quite obvious that Potter hadn't prepared. Well, all the better for Severus. "Have you cleared your mind as I've told you?"

Harry glared at Snape, wishing that he could strangle the man with just the power of his will. How could he possibly clear his mind when he had no bloody idea how to do that? And the bat hadn't told him, surely. He couldn't find anything at the library, probably had to visit the restricted section soon, if he wanted to learn anything, since Snape was the worst teacher in the whole world. "Yes, sir."

Without any warning Severus drew his wand and exclaimed, "_Legilimence!_"

_Oh shit._ Harry fell down on his knees as the invisible force hammered inside his head. It felt as if Snape gripped the nerves of his brain and was picking on them, tagging them ruthlessly. He grabbed on his head and screamed, trembling all over at the sharp pain, it reminded him of the pain he endured when Vernon raped him. He realized he was retching, as the thought of being mind raped manifested itself and sank in. The memory of him being locked up in the cupboard was forced to the surface if his mind, but professor soon pushed it away, he knew that Potter was abused, it wasn't what he was looking for. Something was hidden much deeper, under layers and layers of useless memories and thoughts. He needed to get there. But he had to stop abruptly and draw back, as the brat started throwing up violently onto the floor, sweating and shaking - he was having a panic attack. Was there something he was afraid Severus could see?

"Lying, Potter, is a repulsive habit, you should get rid of, the sooner the better," he hissed and sat down on his desk, watching the boy disdainfully.

Harry rubbed on his mouth, gaging at the horrid taste of bile on his tongue. He was raped. _Raped again_, only magically now. Hadn't he consented to it? He had, but he also consented to being fucked by his uncle in order to survive his summers. It didn't change the fact. Snape raped his mind and was going to do it again. The thought almost made him throw up again but he restrained himself, taking deep harsh breaths. He needed these lessons, he had to master Occlumency, otherwise he was certain he would lose it completely. But with Snape being the fucking bastard that he was, Harry knew, he would have to study it on his own, or let the bat see... _that_.

"If you would not clear your mind before our sessions, then I would not be able to teach you anything. Stop waisting my time. You are dismissed," Severus spat, unable to watch the petty excuse of a wizard withering on his floor any longer. He banished the vomit with a flick of his wrist and sat down at his desk, as Potter slowly got up and picked up his bag.

"Good night, professor," he muttered through clenched teeth and left as quickly as he could. Snape, of course, never answered.

**xxx**

Harry tiredly dragged himself into the common room, desperately wishing to get some sleep, but he couldn't take a potion tonight, and after the terrible lesson he was certain he would see nightmares again. Both Ron and Hermione were sitting on one of the sofas, waiting for him. Seeing him coming through the portrait hole they gave him pained sympathetic smiles - he had to tell them what he was doing with Snape to get them off his back. But before Harry could join his friends, he was practically assaulted by Katie Bell.

"Oi, Potter!" and she used to call him _Harry_ before. "The tryouts for the team are in one week, are you sure you won't be playing with us?" her tone was threatening, as was her posture, "You know you're letting down your house and practically giving slytherins the Cup?"

"I said I won't be playing anymore. Sorry, but I really can't," he scowled at her, annoyed with her persistence. He didn't want to play anymore, what was so hard to understand? His life was falling apart and not even flying seemed to bring him any joy. He simply wasn't interested in the game anymore. He didn't owe them anything.

She clicked her tongue in irritation but bit back a harsh retort. However, Harry knew perfectly well what was she thinking. The other players voiced their opinions quite clearly: _a traitor, a death eater's son, a bastard. _Nothing he hadn't already knew. Ignoring the hateful glares of his former "mates" he dropped himself on the sofa next to Ron and stared at the opposite wall, feeling too exhausted to do homework.

"That ugly toad," the redhead muttered, furiously scratching on the parchment, "Her essays are even worse than bloody potions!" Harry could relate to that, oh yes he could. Umbridge was truly horrible and she made Defense seem to be a joke. Even his favourite subject at school was ruined. No matter at what angle Harry looked at it - everything was falling apart, and there was nothing he could do to change that.

"Harry, did you hear me?" he blinked at Hermione dubiously, clearly having missed what she had just told him. "I said we should start our own study group for Defense, invite all those who are interested to learn," she huffed, frowning at his perplexed look.

"And just who would teach us?" he asked her incredulously.

"Why, you of course!" Hermione and Ron replied in unison. At Harry's befuddled expression, Hermione elaborated, "You have a lot of experience in fighting, Harry, you know more spells than any of us does, you would be a great teacher!"

"Yeah, mate!" Ron piped in, "And all those lessons the fake Moody gave you last year? Despite him being the bloody Death Eater, he surely was very useful and taught you a lot!"

Harry shook his head in bewilderment, "This is crazy, first of all, I am no better than anybody else at this. Secondly, do you honestly believe somebody would want to learn from _me_? From the son of Snape? Please," he scoffed, rolling his eyes, "Everybody hates me already, this would only make everything worse. Besides, you don't know if I inherited _the teaching talent_," he sneered, twisting his lips in disgust and Ron flinched, shuddering slightly.

"Harry, please, stop doing that, you look so much like the greasy git when," the redhead whined, "When you do that," he gesturing at his face.

"With such attitude nothing ever would improve," Hermione said bossily, straightening her back for the effect, "Do you really want to spend the whole year listening to the nonsense that vile woman is feeding us? We might pass our OWLs but we would be defenseless against You-Know-Who!"

Of course she was right, as always, but Harry was reluctant to even entertain the idea. But both his friends seemed excited and enthusiastic about it. Sighing tiredly, he waved them off and dragged himself up into their dorm. Luckily it was empty and he quickly changed into his pajamas, and slid under the covers. Spelling the curtains shut and silenced, he squeezed his eyes and tried to relax. The headache after the merciless attack on his mind was slowly growing in his head and he frowned in pain. He wasn't going to sleep tonight.

**xxx**

He was at the ministry again. He entered the long narrow hall much like the one he remembered from the hearing, only it had no doors, nobody rushed past him - the place was deserted and gloomy. Harry slowly walked forward, his eyes trained on the blackness ahead of him. It was so dark and cold in here, he couldn't help but shiver slightly. He stopped at the small clearing that led to two more halls and one ordinary wooden door between them - he felt compelled to come near it, to touch the glowing handle. As his fingers connected with cool metal he woke up with a start, screaming in pain that seared through his scar. Panting, he fell back onto the pillow, rubbing on his wet face; his back was sticky with cold sweat and he realized he couldn't stay in the dorm anymore. Harry quietly climbed out of his bed and listened to the content snores of the other boys. Reaching for his trunk, he took out his invisibility cloak and put it on.

Thinking that he might not sleep any more this night, Harry decided to go to the library's restricted section to find something on Occlumency. He had a sinking feeling in his gut, that Snape would do everything in his power to turn their lessons into torture. If only Dumbledore could teach him instead... He yawned, tracing the dusty spines with his fingertips, squinting at the half erased titles. The red book with faded golden letters caught his eye. "_The Mind Magic_". Lowering the hood oh his cloak, Harry pushed the heavy tome open and scanned its table of content. There it was, Occlumency, p. 339. Turning the pages, he wondered just how many ways of manipulating somebody's mind there were, judging by the thickness of the book. The article said that the art of occluding one's mind was one if the most difficult and trickiest ones, only a few were truly gifted and apt in it. _Well, that is reassuring_. Frowning, he kept reading further. There wasn't much about the "clearing of the mind", however the text mentioned meditation and usefulness of different breathing techniques. Harry was surprised to discover, that the masters of occlumency could not only hide their thoughts and memories, but could also choose which ones they wanted to show, could create the false ones as well. That was most intriguing, he felt motivated by the prospect - no wonder Dumbledore didn't tell him about that.

The sound of the opened door startled him and he hastily pulled his hood back on, stepping backwards, closer to the exit. The tall dark form couldn't be confused with anybody else. Did Snape had the nose for those who wondered about after curfew or what? Swallowing hard, Harry tried to edge out of the restricted section as quietly as it was possible. Glancing around suspiciously, Severus strode closer to the shelves Harry had been standing at just a moment ago and smiled nastily at the sight of the opened book. Harry cursed himself inwardly for being so careless.

"Incredible demonstration of the ability to actually think sometimes, Potter," the potions master muttered to himself, closing the tome with a loud thud and placing it back into its place, "I thought it would take him months to come here." He turned around sharply and stared into the darkness intently. His gaze was trained on Harry but he didn't see him, however, he probably sensed his presence. Cringing, Harry backed away some more, bumping into the door - it opened under his weight and he fell back.

"Potter!" Snape snarled and darted towards him but Harry was faster.

He stumbled on his feet and ran away and onto the stairs, jumping over two or three steps at a time. Since Snape couldn't see him, he was blindly shooting immobilizing spells but missed an inch every time. The gryffindor tower wasn't an option and Harry ran higher and higher until he found himself on the seventh floor. He could hear Snape's swearing somewhere behind him and stopped to look around for a possible shelter. But there were no classrooms, only bare walls. Panicking, he paced in front of the wall, thinking hard of a place he could hide in or a spell he could throw at his professor to buy himself some time. A slight shimmer caught his attention and he turned to see the door appear out of nowhere right in the wall. Not giving it a second thought, Harry tore it open and jumped inside, slamming the door behind him. He breathed in harshly when he heard Snape run past him, muttering under his nose just where the brat could have vanished. For a second there he was sure the git would see the door and catch him, trapped in the room, but the potions master only swore loudly and hastily left.

Letting out a shuddering breath, Harry looked around - he was hiding in a small room crammed with trash and, obviously, lost and useless things. He thought it could be quite convenient to use for the practice Hermione talked about if only he could get rid of all this rubbish... Instantly, right before his eyes, the room morphed into a spacious well lit classroom without any desks or chairs, but with mats and training dummies. His eyes went wide in awe, Harry stepped forward looking around in bewilderment. A magic room that could be invisible from the outside! Some things would never stop surprising him, and Hogwarts was one of them. Smiling, he took out his wand and shot _'expelliarmus'_ at one of the dummies - it flew up and back into the farthest corner of the room. The place was perfect.

**xxx**

"I know that you were in the restricted section after curfew, Potter," was Snape's greeting when Harry entered his office for their second Occlumency lesson this week. Having no idea of the way to properly meditate or breathe, Harry turned to the ever helpful Hermione, who promised to ask her parents to send him a few muggle books that could be useful for him. But for now he was once again defenseless against the git's attacks.

"I wasn't, sir," he sighed and lowered his eyes to glare at his boots.

"We both know you were," Severus gritted angrily and drew out his wand, "I hope you have prepared yourself..." and before Harry could react and tell him that he actually needed time to prepare, the potions master already penetrated his mind, "_Legilimence!_"

And there it was, the memory of him reading the red tome and running away from his professor. Harry inhaled sharply: he couldn't let the bastard find out about the magical room. Clawing on his skull that was definitely going to blow up under the vicious pressure, he frantically tried to push Snape away, to fight him off. But Severus kept ripping his way through the weak shields - he wanted to know how the hell Potter managed to escape on the floor with no doors and places to hide. His invisibility could have been explained in many different ways, but not his disappearance. However, the brat kept struggling and pulling him away from that particular scene. Finally, Potter let out a roar of frustration and Severus was forced out and knocked off his feet by the astonishing force. Harry threw up again, coughing and wheezing, as his throat constricted in spasm. It hurt like Hell, his head was on fire, he could barely think straight. The blurry image of Snape crawling in his direction was the last thing he saw before he blacked out.

_Great, I killed the imp_. Severus sighed and rubbed the bruise that started to form on his left side - Potter was extremely powerful for a teenager, he had to give him credit for that. The idiot was digging his own grave by letting him get deeper and deeper into his mind. Severus reached out and checked the boy's pulse - he was simply unconscious, nothing serious. Grimacing, he banished the vomit and made a mental note to force nutrition potions into the stubborn brat - his lord needed Potter alive and sane, it wouldn't do if he ended up half dead, vomiting blood and his own insides. Grumping to himself, the potions master stood up and summoned a few vials from his cabinet. Levitating the boy to lie on the table, he came closer and slapped him slightly on the face to wake him up. Potter stirred and as soon as he opened his mouth to groan Severus slipped a potion inside. Harry thought he would choke. Spluttering the potion out he sat up harshly, bumping into his professor and wincing as the sharp pain pierced through his head.

"Idiot, drink this bloody potion, _now_!" Snape was livid. He pushed another vial into Harry's hands and glared at him with such animosity, that Harry could almost feel how his body was slowly dissected into the potion's ingredients. He obediently gulped down the stinking concoction and didn't even wince at its foul taste. Fuming, Severus gave him another vial and when Potter drank from it, pushed him roughly off the table, "Now, get out!"

"Stop assaulting me! How can I ever learn if you simply attack me and don't give me a chance to ready myself?" Harry glared at the man, lifting himself up from the stone floor he landed on hard.

"And you think the Dark Lord would give you any chance? Imbecilic moron, none of the Death Eaters are going to wait for you to gather your wits and take your stance!" Severus spat. Was Potter really that naive? "I am preparing you for the real mind attacks, this is exactly what the Dark Lord does to you!"

"More like you raping me and trying to get to me!" Harry shouted back furiously. _So he did notice, not that stupid after all? _Snape sneered at him and drew his wand.

"Ready for another round?"

Harry blinked at him dubiously and raised his wand as well. The headache suddenly disappeared, living weak scratching behind - it was bearable, nothing like he hadn't endured before. Taking a deep breath he pointed his wand at Snape and the man attacked. Harry clenched his teeth at the searing pain. _God, why does it have to hurt so much?_ Severus grudgingly shifted through the memories of quidditch and the horrid Weasley family, deciding to focus on the visions that Potter kept seeing. He was startled to see Lucius Malfoy smiling at the brat and if Severus knew the silver haired wizard at all, the man hated Potter's guts, he would have never given him that look. So this was the false image, planted by his lord. Severus let go of the boy's mind when he collapsed on the floor, panting and rubbing his scar that seemed to bleed a little. Definitely Voldemort's work then. However, he sensed there was more to it, but it was dangerous to push harder when Potter was on the brink of loosing consciousness again.

"I hate you," Severus heard a weak whisper. He couldn't see the brat's face behind the curtain of long raven hair, _his hair_, but he could see blood on his palm that had been pressing onto his scar seconds ago.

"The feeling is mutual, Potter, now get out, I do not wish to see you until the potions class on monday," he drawled, inwardly itching to curse the little bastard. When Potter finally gathered himself up and walked over to the door on the unsteady legs, Severus turned to add, "See Madame Pomfrey before returning to your common room. You are to take nutrition potions from her every tuesday and thursday. I will know if you didn't." Harry didn't say anything, he simply left, shutting the door behind him a little more loudly than was necessary.

He hated Snape, hated him so much, he thought he would be able to spit acid next time he met him. Why, why of all people, _this arsehole_ turned out to be his father? And what was even more devastating, Harry realized, they did have so much in common beside the obvious physical similarity, it was frightening. He was notorious for his horrible temper, he knew that even if Ron and Hermione never told him outright what a jerk he was. He was stubborn and easily provoked. Just like Snape. Groaning in desperation, Harry stopped and leaned on the cold stone wall not far from the staircase to his tower. What was he going to do? How was he going to survive this year with Snape and Voldemort on his back? Why couldn't he be James Potter's son anymore? Life was so much easier then.

**xxx**

"Mr Potter, just what do you think you're doing?" the high sickeningly sweet voice brought him out of his slumber. He dozed off at Defense, _again_.

Shrugging off the last traces of sleep he tried hard to articulate his answer, "Excuse me, madame, it won't happen again," he dared a glance at the intimidatingly pink form of Umbridge, who was glaring at his forehead with clear disdain written in her small watery eyes.

"And what have you been doing during the night, instead of sleeping, young man?" she attempted to tower over him but this was a rather pathetic try, since Harry was already much taller than her.

"I suffer from nightmares, professor," Harry decided to go with the truth, perhaps, she wouldn't take points then.

"And what would those nightmares be? Just what can torment a sixteen year old boy so much that he has to sleep during his lessons?" she sounded affronted, as if he slapped her on the face. Well, clearly, his plan wasn't working.

"Voldemort, madame." What was the point hiding it anyway?

Umbridge turned red in her face and glared at him, "Stop this nonsense at once! You-Know-Who is dead and _will never come back_! Are you trying to poison the young minds with your lies again, Mr Potter? The last term wasn't enough for you?"

"But it is the truth, he is back," Harry bit out, sighing tiredly. Why couldn't he keep his mouth shut?

"Detention! At my office, at eight!" she screeched and everybody cringed, covering their ears. _Marvelous_. Just what he needed. Sighing again, he covered his face with his hands. Ron patted him on the shoulder reassuringly. There were strange rumors about her ways of punishing students, no one said anything out loud but it was obvious that whatever she did was painful and shameful. Well, he was going to find out very soon.

He knocked on her door at precisely 7:59 and was called in a few moments later. The state of her office almost made him turn on his heels and run away, and never come back. The countless plates with fluffy little kittens, jumping and whimpering loudly, that covered the pink walls made him shudder in horror. He'd rather he scrubbed cauldrons in Snape's laboratory than endure this. Umbridge smiled at him the most insincere smile he ever saw and gestured for him to sit down at the opposite side of her desk.

"Now, Mr Potter," she crooned sweetly, "You are going to write lines. I cannot stand liars, especially the ones who are simply seeking other's attention," she batted her eyelashes innocently at him and Harry dug his nails deep into his palms to prevent himself from throwing a rude reply at that. He should keep his mouth shut. Seeing that he wasn't going to take the bait, she coughed softly and continued, "You are going to write _"I must not tell lies"_ for approximately one hour."

When Harry reached for his bag to take a quill out, Umbridge waved her finger at him, "No, no, Mr Potter, you would be writing with one of mine. It is a special one, it helps the words to sink in _better_," she opened one of the drawers and took out a large black quill with a red tip.

Harry obediently took it and pulled closer the parchment she also gave him. Sighing, he placed the quill upon the paper and started to write the first words. The slight itching caught his attention. Frowning, he turned to see the red scars on the back of his writing hand appear and slowly dissipate into nothingness, leaving faint redness behind. He finished the line and started a new one. Again he felt the itching and saw that the scars formed on his skin and disappeared. After the tenth line the itching became constant and he realized that the cuts that appeared again were the very same words he had been writing. After the thirty something lines they stopped healing. At the fifty sixth line he saw small droplets of blood come out of the cuts, as his hand burned in pain. He bit the inside of his cheek to prevent any sounds from coming out of his mouth. He felt Umbridge watching him intently but he never looked up. Stubborn as he was, he was going to endure this torture silently, she would not break him. Snape hadn't managed yet, she had no chances whatsoever.

His hand was openly bleeding when the toad coughed again, "Your time is up, Mr Potter." He let out a slow breath, careful to make it as less noticeable as possible. "You would come here on monday, at eight, to continue with your detention."

"But, madame, I have remedial potions with professor Snape at that time," was he really glad to have Snape on his schedule? _Insane, more likely._

"Then you will have to inform professor Snape that he has to reschedule your lesson," she said simply, taking the quill and putting it back in the drawer.

"Yes, professor," Harry stood up, and took his bag with his left hand, cradling the right one close to his chest.

Umbridge smiled cruelly and arched an eyebrow at his bleeding limb, "You know you deserved to be punished, don't you, Mr Potter?"

"Good night, madame," he gritted out and hastily left, taking his scarf out of his bag on the way back to the tower and bandaging his aching hand. This bitch was going to make him write even more, wasn't she? Until he told her that he lied, that he deserved his punishment? Harry angrily slammed the portrait behind him making the Fat Lady squeak in surprise. _Stupid, ugly bitch_. Harry plumped down on the sofa and dropped his head in his hands, glad there wasn't anybody to witness his awful state. He casted a silencing ward around him and screamed at the verge of his lungs, trying to work out his frustration and fury. It didn't really help but it tired him enough for him to go and fall on his bed, ignoring the clothes and the bandage that were still on. He dearly wished to fall asleep and never wake up again.

**xxx**

Severus found his lord in the library. Voldemort sat in the winged armchair, his long legs crossed, an old tome in his lap. He followed the lines with his eyes, his face blank, giving out nothing about what he was reading. As Severus' robes rustled softly against the door frame, the Dark Lord acknowledged his presence with a slight wave of his hand, offering the potions master to sit down. When he did, Voldemort raised his head and looked at him questioningly, his ruby eyes void of any emotion. Severus couldn't help but admire how well his lord looked. _No, scratch that, beautiful_. The man before him looked beautiful beyond comparison. Having joined the Dark Lord in the seventies he never knew what he really looked like, since he had already been a distorted snake-like creature at that time. A human Voldemort could sway anyone to his side without even opening his mouth once.

"Like what you see, Severus?" his lord smirked, his lips twitching ever so slightly.

"Yes," he had no reason to lie, besides, the man already knew that he did, "Very much indeed. I take it the potion worked as you wanted."

"Oh, yes, I am most pleased with your work, Severus," Voldemort stretched his lecherous rose lips in a lifeless smile, "However, I would be wearing the glamour of my creature self in front of the others. Only my most faithful ones would know of the change," he gave the potions master a pointed look.

Severus nodded, "Of course, my lord."

"So, what was it that you wished to discuss then?"

"Potter's having nightmares and strange visions, which, I presume, you forced on him," at the man's barely noticeable nod, he continued, "Dumbledore ordered me to teach the brat Occlumency, since he can't give any private lessons to a student."

"So you keep failing him, judging by the fact that he is still suffering from my intrusions," Voldemort said thoughtfully, tapping his chin with his index finger. "You said nightmares and visions. I do send him visions during the night, manipulating his dreams, but I do not monitor him when he is awake. What does he see?"

"I couldn't get that deep into his mind yet, but one of those visions is Lucius Malfoy," Severus huffed, "Smiling at him and motioning for him to keep silent."

"Ah, yes, it was in one of the nightmares I forced on him when I was testing how far I could go in this strange connection between us," the Dark Lord drawled, not at all disturbed by the notion that the boy kept seeing Malfoy in his waking time.

"Don't you know what the connection is or how had it developed, my lord?" Severus frowned, feeling all too familiar itching of apprehension and unease underneath his skin. If even his lord didn't know _what_ was he doing than how was _he_ supposed to hold the boy in control and satisfy both masters?

Voldemort narrowed his eyes, "Does Dumbledore know how this connection is possible?"

"I think he does, however, he would not tell me," of course the old coot knew. He had asked about the nightmares, twice, hadn't he? He was waiting for them to appear._ Just what kind of game was he playing?_

"I know that look of yours, Severus, out with it!" Voldemort growled lowly, leaning forward and staring at him intently. _Fuck_.

Sighing, Severus rubbed on his tired, stinging eyes, "He knew that Potter would have nightmares. I didn't pay it much attention before, clearly not having the context for it then, but now I see that Dumbledore was actually waiting for you to open the connection. He kept Potter locked up at his relative's house, prohibited him any kind of contact with our world and never met with him personally until the day we found that the concealment charm had been destroyed. He thought you would be able to affect the boy's behavior and gather information through accessing his mind-"

"That manipulative old bastard!" the Dark Lord roared and sprang up on his feet to pace the free space before the potions master, hissing angrily to himself. His wand was tightly clutched in his hand and Severus watched him warily, his body tensed in anticipation of attack. "That senile moron knows what it is, had probably known from the very beginning. All I know is that it somehow connected with that night, when my spell backfired at me. The accident must have created some kind of magical bond between us, I have no idea what it is!" he sounded livid and out of control. However, he did put the wand away and sat back into his chair, gripping its arms hard.

"I will do my best to find out," Severus offered quietly. It was rather amusing to watch the storm pass by, for the first time in his long servitude.

Voldemort clicked his tongue and his lips twisted in silent fury, "He would not tell you. He would never tell anyone, I doubt he would even tell Potter. I am getting tired of his bloody _games_." He narrowed his eyes and clenched his teeth, Severus could see the muscles jerk from time to time. The hard nails scratched on the wood of the chair, leaving long deep markings behind. "What else can you tell me about Potter?"

"He has more than one vision. There is something very precious to him, hidden very deeply in his subconscious. It's been only two lessons so far, I haven't managed to get through to that particular information, it's something he is afraid I would see, or anybody else, for that matter. He had a panic attack the first time I tried. The second time he pushed me out."

"Did he?" Voldemort looked at him, surprise evident in his expression. He knew that Severus was one of the most skilled Legilimence masters in the country, he could break any mind, except his own and Dumbledore's. No child should be able to hold against him.

The potions master scowled, "He is extremely powerful. His powers are raw and undeveloped, but the force is magnificent."

"And he, probably, inherited your gift for mind magic," his lord concluded. "This secret he guards so desperately is unreachable even for me. I can manipulate his fears, but I can't get through the wall he built around it." Severus was more than astonished by the Dark Lord's admittance of his failure at something.

Straightening himself, he concentrated on the problem, thinking hard, "Perhaps, it is psychological. Perhaps, Diggory's death affected him more than we could imagine."

"Who is Diggory?" _Good old Dark Lord, _Severus smirked to himself.

"The boy you killed at the cemetery."

"Ah," Voldemort nodded and instantly dismissed it. He contemplated his loyal potions master for a moment and sighed, closing his eyes, "I will be sending Potter visions about the ministry, I will be testing our connection further, perhaps, I would find some clues. Keep up your lessons, do_ not break_ him," he looked up to pin Severus with an icy glare. "What he's guarding might not be that important after all, it is not in the nearest future, at least."

"I understand." But he would be working on that anyway.

"Report any improvement, smallest development, or any new information whatsoever. Everything about the boy concerns me now," Voldemort hissed.

When Severus left, he sat in his armchair, still, rigid, alerted. He hated Dumbledore for always being at least one step ahead of him. Pondering on Potter's and his connection proved to be fruitless. He needed more facts. He needed to meet the boy and examine him, this was the only way to know for sure. But he couldn't do it, _not yet._

**xxx**

Potter was particularly slow in packing his parchments when the potions lesson had finished. As soon as the last student left, rolling his eyes in exasperation, Severus barked, "Potter! Get to your next class, I am not writing you a pass!"

Harry took a deep breath, telling himself that he could do it, that he could have a civil conversation with Snape without killing or be killed. "Excuse me, professor. I stayed to tell you I wouldn't be able to attend our remedial potions lesson tonight."

"_Again?_" It was the fourth time in two weeks Potter canceled their planned meetings, using detention with Umbridge as an excuse. "Potter, this is ridiculous, I don't believe you. You are simply an ungrateful prat, who thinks he is too good to use the opportunity that the headmaster so generously presented him with! Useless, pathetic, brainless-"

"I am not!" No, obviously, it was impossible to talk with Snape. "If you don't believe me, then go ask Umbridge!" he spat, glaring at the git, who was glaring back. Snape's thin lips disappeared, being pursed tightly into a straight line.

"Fine, I will! And if you lied again, you can forget about learning anything from me!" Severus hissed and barely restrained himself from hexing the brat. Potter sneered at him and left, slamming the door behind him. If they would have their next lesson after all, he was going to rip the bastard's skull open.

Harry came to the toad's office again. His hand was barely working now, he had to ask madame Pomfrey for the pain relieving potions several times when he took his nutrition. She suspected something, but he never let her see his hand, hiding it under the long sleeve of his shirt. Umbridge called him inside and he entered and sat down on his usual chair, looking resigned. She made him write with his own blood three times a week. It was already the beginning of november, he barely slept these past few weeks, with all those nightmares and that stupid vision about the ministry, and he felt like he was going to break, very soon indeed.

"Now, Mr Potter, is there anything you wish to tell me?" this was how she started every detention. Harry was sure that even if he did have anything to say, it wouldn't be what she expected and it would only add him more lines, more days of punishment, so he decided to keep his mouth shut. "Very well, you may begin," she sounded disappointed. He took the quill and pulled his sleeve up to not get the blood on the shirt when the cuts would open again.

When he was on his tenth line and blood was already running down his hand and dripping down on the desk and the floor, a knock on the door came and, before Umbridge could answer, Snape entered her office with a triumphant expression on his sullen face, obviously expecting that Harry wouldn't be here. However, when he saw the boy hunched over the parchment and saw the drops of blood on the thick pink carpet underneath his chair, Severus' face fell. He scowled and came closer.

"Mr Snape, I am afraid we didn't have an appointment tonight, as you can see I am occupied with detention right now," Umbridge stood up and tried hard to sound sweet and friendly, however her disgust and ire were rather noticeable even to Harry, who didn't want to look up and see Snape. Of course the bastard would enjoy watching him bleed.

"Madame, I simply came to check if Potter truly was in detention with you, since you seem to appoint it every time we have our lessons... _What is the meaning of this?_" Severus growled, staring at the boy's bleeding hand. He recognized the Blood Quill and for a moment felt completely lost. It was one thing he was allowed to penetrate the student's mind by the headmaster's orders, but it was a completely different matter altogether to bring a banned dark artifact into the school and use it on the student body. Now that he thought about it, there were a few children in different houses and years who wore bandages on their hands and he had to brew more healing salve than it was necessary for the hospital wing. Narrowing his eyes at the woman in front of him, he towered over her, "Would you care to explain, madame, what is the Blood Quill doing in the school full of children?"

"The Minister himself approved of this punishing technique!" she replied haughtily, trying to master a glare that would rival the one she was receiving, but she failed miserably.

Severus eyebrows shot up in astonishment. Was Fudge that stupid? Had he finally lost the last remains of his braincells? The potions master stepped closer to Potter and grabbed his hand, drawing a quiet whimper of pain from the boy's throat. Squeezing the limb in his hands, Severus rubbed the blood away and stared at the clear and spidery writing cut deep into the soft skin:_ "I must not tell lies"._ He felt he was going to explode. This was outrageous. He was a Death Eater, a ruthless murderer and not at all averse to torturing, but even then he hated those who abused children, he couldn't stand the mere notion of corporal punishment. Even Potter didn't deserve this, not from her anyway.

"What has he done to deserve this punishment?" he gritted out through his clenched teeth, gripping the boy's hand tighter, afraid he might loose control and just curse her on the spot.

Umbridge gave him a superior look and smiled viciously, "He was spreading lies again! He was trying to persuade us that You-Know-Who is back! I was sanctioned by the Ministry to put an end to this nons-"

"I don't care in the least what the Ministry or you think is appropriate, the corporal punishments are prohibited in this school!" Harry couldn't help but flinch at the sight of livid Snape. He thought he never saw the man that angry before.

The toad of a woman gasped and stared at the potions professor as if he grew a second head, "Mr Snape, you do realize that I have an authority to bring this up to the Minister-"

Severus cut her off again, "And I have an authority to inform the headmaster. Potter, gather your belongings and follow me!" he barked, grabbed the Blood Quill and in a whirl of black robes left the office and a gobsmacked looking Umbridge behind. Harry hurried to obey without a second thought. If Snape was going to get the toad sacked or at least get rid of her torturing tool, than he would not object to any of the man's commands.

"You idiot!" Snape snapped at Harry as soon as he caught up with the man's long strides, "What were you thinking? You should have told professor McGonagall right after _that woman_ did this to you the first time!"

Harry stared at him in disbelief, "I did, but she simply told me to stay quiet and stay out of detentions! As if I have already completed my first one! I thought if Umbridge used it then she must have had a permission to do so-"

"Potter," Severus cut in harshly, "Don't. Ever. Think. It makes everything worse."

"Why do you even care?" the boy cried as they stopped at the Gargoyle, guarding the entrance to the headmaster's office.

Snape glared at him, "It must have escaped that brilliant brain of yours, Potter, but I do work at this school and as a teacher I am responsible for children's lives and health and I do not encourage or support corporal punishments in any form!"

"Really?" Harry stared at him incredulously, "And what would you call our lessons then?"

"Ten points from gryffindor for disrespect. Our lessons are not punishment, however, for me they are, our lessons is a _necessity_. And I am only trying to teach you because of the unique and dangerous situation you are in. I would have never taught a child Occlumency!" Snape hissed menacingly. He couldn't add anything else, though, for the Gargoyle jumped away and Dumbledore came down the stairs to look at the two of them disapprovingly.

"What is the matter now, Severus, why are you and Harry arguing in the hall?"

"Umbridge used a dark artifact on Potter and several other students!" Severus snapped and felt a small tingle of satisfaction when the old wizard's face suddenly paled. _Serves him right for being such a fool._

"Upstairs," Dumbledore hastily went back into his office, followed by Snape and Harry. Professor McGonagall was already inside - it looked like she and headmaster were having tea. The stern professor turned to frown at the two unexpected guests but stared in horror instead, as her eyes caught the sight of Harry's bleeding hand.

"Just the person I was looking for. Minerva," Snape sneered at her, hissing venomously, "Were you aware that Umridge used a dark artifact on one of your students? Multiple times?"

McGonagall paled and gaped at the potions master like a fish thrown out of water, seemingly at loss. Dumbledore helpfully took cluttering saucer and cup out of her shaking hands when she finally gathered her wits, "Mr Potter informed me that _that woman_ gave him and some of his classmates undeserved detentions, that she made them write lines but I never knew that she hurt them, Severus, I swear!" she held her hand at her throat, staring at both men, her expression full of pain and guilt.

"Harry, why haven't you told your Head of House that you were hurt during detention?" Dumbledore looked at the boy intently over his glasses that slid down to the tip of his long, pointed nose.

Cradling his cut hand close to his chest, Harry scowled at him, "I thought she had a permission to do that, besides, I am used to a much worse pain," the bitterness of his words made both headmaster and McGonagall wince, while Severus decided that it was a rather logical answer for Potter. Abused children learned fast not to trust adults with their problems. And judging by the belt marks on the brat's back he indeed could endure a lot more than most children and grown men.

"Harry, but this is different, you should have told me! I would have never turned you away!" McGonagall looked like she was going to cry, but Harry didn't really feel sorry for her.

"How is this different from my summers with Dursleys?" he spat angrily, not caring to whom he was speaking, "I asked every year to stay here instead of going there and even though you knew what they were doing to me you still sent me there and will send me there again!"

"Harry, we didn't know and you know very well that you are protected-"

"I might be protected from wizards but not _muggles_. And I am supposed to be protected here too!" he shouted furiously, cutting the headmaster off, "Hogwarts is supposed to be the safest place there is, and yet I am being tortured by that ugly toad Umbridge, by Snape, and Voldemort keeps driving me nuts! _Some fucking safety!_ And you just keep pretending like nothing is going on!" he threw his hands up in the air, glaring at them.

"Potter, it's twenty points from gryffindor, watch your foul tongue!" Severus shouted, however, he sounded rather amused. He couldn't help but be impressed by Potter's bravery and sincerity. Nobody would have dared to speak to Dumbledore in such offensive manner, and yet the boy was right, everything he said was true.

The headmaster looked wounded, however, the guilt in his eyes overcame his pain. "Harry, if there was any other way..." he shook his white head sadly.

"There was only one way - to never let me come here at all, to leave me the hell alone and never let me discover magic. And honestly? I'd very much preferred it!" Harry bit out and, sending one more hateful glare at Snape, ran out of the office.

"Oh, Merlin, I'll go after him, he needs to see Poppy! And how many more of them were cut!" McGonagall jumped on her feet and hastily left as well.

Severus arched his eyebrow at the old man in front of him, but Dumbledore said nothing, seemingly lost in his unhappy thoughts. Shrugging his shoulders, the potions master laid the Blood Quill onto the desk and turned to his boss, sighing, "What are you going to do about Umbridge? She said Fudge sanctioned the usage of the dark artifact."

The headmaster frowned, snapping out of his reverie and glanced at the innocently looking feather thoughtfully, "No doubt he did. I can't fire her, since she was placed by the Board of Governors and has the Ministy's protection. All I can do is destroy the quill and deny her the option of holding detentions. If she wants to punish students she would have to send them to other teachers or Mr Filch."

Severus watched him for a moment, assessing the old wrinkled face, the tired pale blue eyes that betrayed none of the man's thoughts or emotions. "Did you know what his relatives did to him?" he wasn't really going to ask but something compelled him to do so. Perhaps, it was the ridiculous similarity between him and Potter? Even blinded by his hatred, he could still understand and somehow sympathize with the boy's attitude. He knew what it was like to be abused by your own family, _your only family,_ he also knew what it was like to be forced to come back to the place that could hardly be called home, despite all the embarrassing pleading and begging to stay at Hogwarts. Oh, he knew very well just _how angry_ Potter was at the headmaster. And yet the boy kept bidding his every word. _Pathetic_.

"I didn't want him to grow up spoilt by his fame," Dumbledore sighed and tiredly lowered himself into the chair behind his desk. "I wanted him to have a normal childhood before Voldemort came back and started hunting him down." The absence of a straight answer to his question told Severus much more than words could. Not only the old man knew - he allowed it continue, when all he needed to do was to come there personally just once and scare the muggles shitless. He wanted Potter broken, wanted him loyal and eager to serve in hopes that one day the great wizard would save him from the Hell they called family. Unlike Dumledore, Voldemort never gave Severus any false hopes - he promised to help him and he did. Perhaps, this was the reason he was still loyal to the Dark Lord.

"Was there anything else, Severus?"

"No." There was nothing else to say.

**xxx**

Harry swallowed thickly, when the last student entered the room and ten pairs of eyes stared at him expectantly. Hermione offered to gather at the Hog's Head on the Hogsmead weekend and meet with all those who were interested in practicing with them. He, however, never expected so many people to come for their secret get-together. Beside Hermione and Ron, Neville came as well and brought Luna Lovegood with him - a fourth year ravenclaw Harry barely knew. Both Fred and George joined them - probably the only other gryffindors who never blamed him for quitting the team or for being Snape's son - if anything, they were actually excited about his parentage. Harry wished he could share the feeling. Four more students whom he didn't really know were from hufflepuff.

Coughing lightly and fidgeting nervously in his place, he began, "Well, as you know, Hermione came up with an idea that we should practice real Defense in our free time and after I looked through our textbooks from the previous years-"

"Who made you the leader?" one of the hufflepuffs interrupted him. He thought his name was Zacharias Smith.

"Nobody," Harry shrugged, "I never said I was in the first place."

"Harry is much more experienced then we are," Hermione cut in, rolling up the parchment with the names of everybody who came for the meeting, "He had seen real action, he knows how to fight real enemies. We are here for actual practice, not mesmerizing the texts for the exams - leave that for Umbridge's classes," her lips curled up a little at the mentioning of the toad and everybody snickered sympathetically. Well, if they didn't like him being in charge, at least they all had the same reason to be here at all.

"I am not that experienced, believe me, I am not the best choice for a teacher but I will do my best to help you all," Harry tried a smile that came out crooked and uncertain.

"Why do you think we need to know more than the school offers?" asked a girl on Smith's right. Her thick yellow scarf covered most of her face and her words sounded muffled.

"Because there is war coming. You might not know it yet, there might not be any signs yet, but it will come, soon. When we least expect," Harry whispered gravely, not meeting their eyes.

"How can we know for sure?" Smith frowned and gave them all an incredulous look, "We've got only Potter's word for it, everybody else denies that You-Know-Who is back." He was right, of course, but there was no way Harry could really convince anybody until snakeface showed himself.

"You just have to take his word for it, like we do," Ron shrugged his shoulders dismissively, as if it wasn't much of an issue.

Harry shivered, pulling his cloak tighter around himself and scowled, pushing the annoying stray lock out of his eye. It didn't escape his attention how everybody stared at him. He hoped the novelty of having the Snape clone around would wear off soon, it was becoming really unbearable. He couldn't change, could he? "I know it's hard to believe when you haven't seen it with your own eyes, but believe me - I'd rather you never will. I would have never lied about it, this is not a game and the danger is very real. You don't owe me anything, it is your choice, whether you would or would not participate." That was all he could offer.

"But if you would join us, you have to keep it a secret!" Hermione added and gave them all a warning look.

"Where would we meet and practice?" George, or was it Fred, smiled.

"There is a room on the seventh floor, next to the tapestry of Barnabas, it is magically hidden. No one would disturb us there."

"The Room of Requirement!" Luna Lovegood's eyes brightened at that. "So the legends were true, it does exist."

"Well, it does, although I never knew what's it called," Harry shrugged.

"All right, I need everyone who is willing to participate to sign next to his or her name. We will meet tuesday evening after dinner," Hermione took the initiative into her hands, "If you get into detention or whatever - simply warn me beforehand. We will be waiting for all of you at the entrance to the room, but after that everyone will have to come on his own, we must be discreet about this. I will figure out a way of notifying you secretly in the future."

Surprisingly, everybody present signed up for their practices. Harry figured they would make their final decisions along the way. But at least this was something. Back in the common room, he immersed himself into the books Hermione's parents kindly sent him. But no matter how hard he tried and how carefully he followed the instructions, he simply couldn't make himself relax and meditate. He was too riled up, or nervous, or exhausted. How was he going to survive his lessons with Snape when he couldn't grasp the basics of what he was learning. He knew everything there was to know about Occlumency, but maybe he simply wasn't capable of yielding it, had no talent, no gift for it whatsoever? It was a disconcerting thought. Harry was never a hard working student, but he wasn't lazy. He simply never cared for his marks, since Dursleys preferred to see him as a looser at school to make Dudley look better in comparison. And years of beating his ambitions out of him took their tall on his pride and his mentality. He simply had no motivation for trying any harder. Besides, he was really good at some subjects, like charms, defense, surprisingly potions, quidditch, and he took his success for granted. But right now he realized he had to make it happen, he had to work his hide to learn the bloody Occlumency, otherwise he knew, he was doomed. How far would Voldemort be able to go in his mind games before Harry lost his sanity? He didn't know and wasn't keen on finding out either.

**xxx**

Snape once again assaulted his mind. It was just as painful and vicious as before. And once again the man plunged deep into his memories, trying to find out Harry's dirtiest secrets. Enraged, he tried to push him away - Snape was not impressed. Crying out, Harry gathered his strength and hit him with the sheer power of his will. However, instead of simply knocking him out, he found himself in his professor's mind, that looked like a labyrinth of thoughts and memories, each one of them mirrored and turned upside down, misguiding and nauseating him. He felt his own head spinning. But somehow Harry caught the glimpses of the bastard's memories. One was of Lily, _his mother._ He saw a redheaded woman, just as young and beautiful as she looked on the photographs, saying something harsh and spiteful into Snape's face, her plump red lips twisting in anger and disgust. Before he could see any more he was thrown away by the spell. Harry felt his skull collide with the wall and his breath knocked out of him. As the stinging tears poured out of his eyes, he slowly sank down onto his arse, clutching at the pounding head.

Severus, who was also sitting on the floor, panted heavily, his forehead covered in sweat. He should have known better than let Potter get to him. Fuming, he squeezed his eyes and counted to ten, then to twenty. The idiot child clearly had made no effort whatsoever to learn anything and quite frankly he hated to waste his time and strength in vain.

"_Mum_..." still overwhelmed with the pain and half blind Harry tried to focus on the dark blurry form of his professor, "My mum, what did she say to you?"

Severus sneered at him angrily, "None of your business, Potter! Stay away from my mind, you arrogant prat!"

"But it is my business!" he couldn't believe his own voice was so loud and could cut so sharply on his throbbing brain. "She is my mother and you... you," he tried to glare at Snape but, judging by the man's mocking scoff, he failed.

"I what?" Severus spat. He wasn't going to indulge Potter in his curiosity.

"You and she were close, I mean," it hadn't occurred to Harry before, but Snape must have really known his mother if he managed to impregnate her, "Close enough to _make me_," he mumbled uncomfortably. Not that he ever wanted to discuss Snape's or his mother's sex life, really...

"And what does it have to do anything with our lesson? Or with anything at all?" Severus stood up and scowled at the boy, his lips trembling in a barely contained fury. Lily was a sore spot, the prohibited topic, he hated her, hated her for everything she had done to him and now he was doomed and bound for life with the unfortunate result of their acquaintance. If he could, he would have gone back in time and strangled her with his bare hands.

Harry's sight finally sharpened and he stared into the seemingly bottomless onyx eyes that were watching him with disdain and resentment, "I never knew her, I never knew what she was like." He held a breath and gathered his courage, "Could you tell me about her?"

"No." As he said before: blood meant nothing. He wasn't going to be the one to tell the brat of his whore of a mother, let those blasted gryffindors of his tell him the tales of a beautiful muggleborn princess and her stupid pureblooded prince. He hated her, much more now after he found out the boy was his, that he no more regretted her death. He _praised_ it.

Harry felt a sharp pang in his heart. What was he hoping for, really? This was Snape, he wasn't going to take Harry in his lap and start telling him of his mother, who so bravely sacrificed herself to save him. Snape had probably raped her or forced her into sex anyway, the bastard surely must have found pleasure in that. Feeling the tears threatening to pour out of his eyes again, only this time of a heartache rather than the physical pain, he stood up shakily, not looking at the spiteful, bitter man before him. "I never saw her apart from photographs and that stupid Mirror of Erised. I have never even heard her voice except the night she died!" he suddenly felt it was important to let Snape know about it, to make him choke on this knowledge, "All I ever heard her say was begging for my life while Voldemort told her to step aside!" he tried shouting but the lump in his throat was so big that his words came out barely above whisper.

Severus was trying to comprehend when did Potter manage to look into the mirror to see Lily, when the boy's last words suddenly registered in his mind. He turned sharply and grabbed Potter on the arm. "What did you say?" he hissed coldly, his eyes boring holes in the wide wet green ones that were so much like Lily's only felt more like a distorted mirror to him, as if he was looking in the eyes of a sixteen year old Severus Snape. "What did Voldemort do?"

"You go ask him!" Harry spat acidly and tried to wriggle out of the painful grip. "He'll tell you all about how she screamed and how he mercifully gave her a chance to live and she never took it!" he was screaming now, overwhelmed with the memory of Voldemort telling him just that at the cemetery, before the Death Eaters arrived.

Severus let go of his arm abruptly, shaken to his very core. Voldemort had kept his word. He had actually listened to Severus' pleas and granted him his wish. He didn't know what was more overwhelming: the fact that the man he hated for so many years once again proved to be an honest, decent master or the fact that he was once again feeling guilty for what had happened, feeling responsible for her death. He felt his head was spinning and his legs were giving away. Leaning heavily on the desk he let out a shuddering whisper, "Get out." Potter was looking at him with impossibly wide eyes, scared and confused. Gathering his will and frustration he repeated louder, "I said get out!"

Harry didn't know what to think. Snape looked white as a ghost and his eyes were glazed with some indecipherable emotion. He looked like he was going to have a heart attack. What was it that Harry said that caused such a reaction? Didn't he know what Voldemort had done? Why was he staring at him like that, in pained disbelief and fear? At Snape's harsh words he jerked and ran for the door, tearing it open and the next thing he saw was the broken sink in the girl's bathroom. The Chamber of Secrets. Absentmindedly he hissed _"Open" _in parseltongue, rubbing on his face as the tears streamed down his cheeks. He couldn't stop them. The memories, the sight of his mother in Snape's head, it all became the last straw. He was broken. Sobbing, he fell on the dump stone floor of the dimly lit chamber, hiding his face in his hands, shaking violently. He hadn't cried so desperately in years.

**xxx**

Severus sat in his favourite, tattered old armchair in the living room of his private quarters. A glass of whiskey clutched tightly in his hand, his left eye twitching violently, as he stared into the fire and tried to wrap his mind around what Potter had told him. It shouldn't have come as such a shock but it did and it hurt. _Badly_. He felt all his old wounds being opened again, bleeding. He brought the prophesy to the Dark Lord and his master asked what would he deem worthy of a reward for such an accomplishment. Drowning in self-loathing and hating every breath he had taken he asked to spare Lily Potter's life. He hated her and yet he loved her madly and the mere notion that he had betrayed her again drove him insane with grief and guilt. And when later he stared at her lifeless body lying next to the blasted crib, he felt as if his already rotten, crippled heart was torn to shreds and burnt to ashes. He went to Dumbledore that night out of pure spite and black hatred towards Voldemort, he bounded himself to the child that he loathed and wished never been borne... _his own child_... Severus started cackling hysterically. Everything was just too surreal. His lord kept his promise. He told her to stand aside and she didn't comply. It was so much like Lily to jump at the wand point to shield the weak and defenseless. And he had hated his master for something he wasn't really guilty of. He did kill her in the end, he did, but it was her own choice.

It took him ten long years to come to terms with what had happened, to realize that he didn't hate Voldemort that much but hated Lily, to finally admit to himself just how much pain and destruction she brought into his life, much more than happiness and light, that Dumbledore made a show of pointing out when he was cringing at his feet, sniveling and crying, begging for forgiveness. It wasn't the Dark Lord who took his dignity, the only thing that was left for him after the war, it was the redheaded woman. Because of her he was now torn between the two masters. With a cruel satisfaction he thought that he had made the right choice after all, returning to the Dark and pledging his undying loyalty to them once more was a wise decision. Now he could say with all honesty that he didn't hate his lord anymore. No, Severus smiled gleefully, he was _grateful_, grateful the man killed her. And despite the burning pain of guilt in his chest he felt as if some part of the overwhelming weight had been lifted from his shoulders. She would have never died if he hadn't delivered the prophesy but than again... could that have changed anything? She could never be his, dead or alive, she could never forgive him for one stupid mistake that he made, for one betrayal that he committed, and she would have never told him of the child, he was certain. The concealment charm was strong - obviously, it was meant to be worn for the boy's whole life. He was surprised she never went for abortion, unlike the half-blood and pureblooded wizards, Lily wasn't averse to modern muggle inventions and medicine. She chose to live with an ugly lie instead.

What an irony it was, really, to keep a child of a man she despised more than anybody else in the whole world. Snorting into his glass, Severus gulped his drink down and poured some more, smiling viciously at the flame, that seemed to mirror his mood and growing frustration and hatred. He hoped both she and fucking Potter were turning in their graves now. He dearly wished he could go back to the cemetery and gloat at their ghosts, enjoy the pain in their eyes upon seeing the boy slowly turning to look like him, being so much like him. What would have Lily said if she knew that not only her son resembled Severus in more ways she could imagine, but that he had suffered just the same abusive childhood his father had. He laughed out loud as he imagined her expression. Oh, she would have been crushed, he knew better than anyone just how much she resented her sister and that she would have never allowed her son to be placed into that vile woman's care. No one in his sane mind would have allowed that, not even Severus himself, but, alas... he never knew that the brat was his. And now it was pointless to change anything, besides, he didn't care. _Not in the least_. He threw the glass angrily into the hearth, swearing under his breath. He didn't care for the stupid child. He might have cared back then if he only knew, but now... he couldn't. Too many years had passed, he had changed, and the mere notion that he had a child from the only woman he had ever loved made him sick. It was an insightful saying that the line between love and hatred is thin, he had crossed it and could never go back. He hated Lily, all that was left for him was the bitterness and emptiness, a black hole in his chest. How could he even accept the boy that was just as arrogant, bad-tempered, scornful and bitter as... he himself was. Severus hid his face in his hands, slumped in his seat, defeated and broken. He had hoped that it was over, but still Lily kept haunting him, tormenting his tainted soul.

He didn't know how much time had passed, but when he came out of his stupor the fire in the hearth had almost died and the clock on the mantel showed that it was already seven in the morning. Severus shivered in sudden cold and numbness in his limbs. He jumped when the fireplace burned alive with green flames and a very worried face of headmaster appeared inside it.

"Severus, sorry to disturb you at such an early hour, but I am afraid Harry had disappeared. He never returned to his dorm last night after your lesson. He hadn't stayed with you, had he?" Dumbledore sounded very concerned, even desperate.

Severus groaned in frustration. Potter causing trouble, _again_. "He was fine when he left yesterday," he croaked, "Probably hiding somewhere in hope to gain your attention. He is a teenager, Albus, his hormones are like ones of a pregnant woman."

"Could you please join the search, my boy?" Dumbledore frowned in worry.

"Fine," Severus sighed in exasperation, "I'll check the dungeons and the second floor. He couldn't have gone far."

Headmaster disappeared. Scowling, the potions master stood and stretched his stiff back and shoulders. _Fucking Potter, can't live a day without throwing a tantrum._ He angrily summoned a vial of pepper-up potion and went out, drowning it on his way up. There was one advantage of being related to the brat - he could use his own blood to find him. Pricking his thumb, he drew some blood and pointed his wand at it._ 'Invenire meum sanguinem'_. Dark magic, of course, but it should do the trick. A faint glow spread over his hand and a small flickering spark of fire burst out of the drop of his blood. It slowly soared high up in the air and flew forward, leading him in the right direction.

**xxx**

Severus stared at the black hole in the wall. Well, he had heard of the story about the basilisk and the rescue of Ginny Weasley from the infamous Salazar Slytherin's Chamber of Secrets, but he never really gave it any thought... _The hell Potter even went there? _Muttering profanities under his breath, Severus lit up his wand and leaned closer to look at the bottomless dark tunnel going down. How one was supposed to get there? He couldn't imagine Voldemort sliding on his arse every time he wanted to visit. Letting out a defeated sigh, Severus stepped forward and levitated himself down, landing softly onto the pile or rodent's skeletons. Jerking nervously at the sight of the huge snake skin, he slowly walked forward. It was fortunate Potter had slain the monster. The potions master snorted and shook his head at the brat's luck - what normal wizard could face an ancient murderous serpent at the age of thirteen? It was impossible to keep the boy safe. He came closer to the circular door in the wall. Gripping his wand tighter, Severus stepped inside and involuntarily gaped at the sight of the huge marble hall, with pillars so high they disappeared in the darkness of the ceiling. His eyes slowly took in the Sytherin's statue and the enormous corpse of a basilisk at its feet. It hadn't even started rotting. _The preservation charms, no doubt_. Tearing his greedy gaze away from the source of priceless potion ingredients, Severus looked around for the brat.

There he was, curled up behind one of the pillars, lying in the puddle of water. He looked too young and vulnerable for a sixteen year old, and yet his face was already marred by the lines of weariness. It was disturbing how innocent and scarred the child was. Severus bent down and shook Potter on the thin shoulder. No reaction. "Potter." The boy stirred but didn't wake up. A slight crease of his eyebrows told Severus that the brat was most likely immersed in one of the nightmares. Sighing in exasperation, the potions master casted a featherlight charm on the child, took him in his ams and lifted him up. He threw a last longing look at the dead serpent - well, Potter was clearly able to come down here any time, perhaps he could make he brat bring him here some day to collect the ingredients.

When Snape levitated them both up into the bathroom, Harry finally woke up and heard the harsh command to close the entrance. Frowning, he blinked at the man who had been holding him in his arms and met a stern looking pale face of his professor, half hidden behind the curtains of his long black hair. His first impulse was to jump out of the uncomfortably close contact, but he felt absolutely exhausted and could barely move his limbs. At Snape's impatient growl he threw his head back and closed his eyes tiredly. _"Close"_ he hissed and the sink slid back into its place.

"What on earth made you go to that wretched place?" Severus scowled at the boy in his arms, as he walked down the corridor. The brat was too passive and weak looking for it to be normal. He decided to put him into the hospital wing and make him Pomfrey's problem.

Harry slowly opened his eyes and Severus looked away to not meet the deep green - his most favourite and most hated colour. "It is safe there... How did you find me?" he frowned at the potions master. Really, Snape had never even been there before, how could he know where to look for him?

"Used a spell to locate you, idiot, " Severus muttered and pushed the doors of the infirmary open. He dropped the boy on one of the beds rather unceremoniously and turned to leave, sending a patronus to the headmaster on his way out. Harry stared at the doe that gracefully galloped through the wall and vanished. Blinking, he looked at his professor, who stopped and turned sharply, looking at him with a strange, complex emotion written on his face, as if being caught performing something sacred, forbidden.

"It's _hers_, isn't it?" Harry asked hoarsely, grabbing on the covers to not let his emotions show, "My mother's?"

Snape didn't answer. His face darkened and contorted in hatred. He quickly left not sparing the boy another glance. Harry frowned and looked down at his clenched fists. Snape must have loved Lily very much if he adopted her patronus after she died. But why was there so much hatred in his words and eyes addressed towards her? He couldn't help but wonder what had happened between them, how was it even possible for the two so different people be together... if they ever were. Why did Snape have to be so difficult about this? Why couldn't he simply tell him about his mother? Harry groaned in frustration and fell back on the pillows. His head was pounding again. Despite him being lulled to sleep by his tears and painful sobs yesterday, the chamber hadn't brought any peace to his mind and he had been once again dragged into a nightmare about his uncle beating and raping him. He shivered, trying to shake off the cold sinking feeling, but it was futile. If Madame Pomfrey would keep him for the day he could ask for the Dreamless Sleep draught and get so long desired rest. He sighed as the images of the previous night and his Occlumency lesson came forth in his mind. Once again he cursed his ill luck and Fate for making Snape his father.


	3. Chapter III

_Disclaimer: nothing that is related to HP belongs to me._

_Warning: abuse, rape, underage sex, violence, everything is bad and don't read it_

* * *

**Of Monsters and Men, Of Fathers and Sons.**

**Chapter III**

"Maybe you shouldn't do it, mate? Just leave it, the git would be all too happy if you missed his horrible lesson," Ron whined, eyeing the door uncomfortably.

"No, Ron, I must warn him I can't come today or he would assign me detentions and I will have to see him more than I am physically capable of," Harry sighed and knocked firmly on the dark wood. "Besides, we are revising for his own subject, surely he would find it _amusing_ enough to let me go," he scoffed, knocking again. No answer came, although Snape was always in his office at this time. Frowning, Harry pushed the door open and entered the dark room.

"Harry, wait, you shouldn't enter without him, he will have our heads for that!" Ron whispered urgently, tagging his friend on the sleeve of his robe. But Harry didn't listen. It was very much _unlike_ the potions professor to leave his door open and the office empty, unlit. He took a few steps forward, looking around, squinting into the gloom and caught the sight of the thin line of light, coming from underneath a seemingly solid wall.

"Come on, Ron, what is the worst that could happen? He will take a hundred points? Please," Harry huffed and came closer, blindly moving his hands against the cold stone wall, frowning. He was sure there was a secret door to Snape's personal quarters. A soft click came after he pushed somewhere on his right. The part of wall slid away and he found himself on the threshold of a small living room that looked everything but what he imagined to be Snape's "sense of style". The room was warm and decorated in soft browns and greens, filled with countless books and old tomes, cramming the tall narrow bookcases, with two most comfortable winged armchairs Harry had ever seen standing before the fireplace. However, his attention quickly switched to the black form slumped on the floor beside them. He heard soft moans and darted forward despite himself. It was the snarky potions master, _on the floor_, _unconscious_. Harry couldn't wrap his mind around the fact.

"Snape! Professor Snape!" he fell on his knees next to the man and shook him by the shoulders. Snape wasn't answering, his face was even paler than usually, his breaths ragged, uneven, he was moaning and hissing slightly, his eyebrows creased in pain.

"Harry, what's wrong? What's with Snape?" Ron cried from behind him, looking suddenly frightened.

"Why are you still standing here?" Harry snapped and his friend paled, staring at him in confusion. He briefly thought he must have sounded and looked like Snape but it wasn't the time to dwell on that. "Ron! Wake up! Go get Pomfrey and Dumbledore, for god's sake! He's hurt!" The redhead squeaked and ran off as Harry turned back to the man in his arms. He couldn't see well in the darkness of the room, with the weak light from the hearth, so he slowly slid his hand down the professor's black robes and stopped when he felt wetness under his palm. Holding his hand up he saw blood on his skin. _Oh fuck, Snape is bleeding_.

Harry pulled the robe off of his professor and stared at the large gash in his side - it looked awful, the maimed flesh pulsed angrily and he felt the bile rise in his throat. He took out his wand to levitate Snape into the bedroom, which he saw on the far left, but stopped abruptly as a thought came to him: what if this was a dark curse? Maybe Voldemort punished him for a failed mission or something? What if he used the magic and only worsened it? _Fuck, think, Potter, think_. He took a deep breath and looked at the sweating Snape lying on the floor. Harry hated his guts but he couldn't for the life of him let him suffer so badly, nobody deserved this, besides, Snape had saved him from Umbridge's tortures, hadn't he? Wincing at the sight of the ugly wound, he grabbed professor under the arms. Despite being very tall and seemingly big, the potions master wasn't as heavy as Harry thought him to be. Panting, he dragged the motionless body into the bedroom, swearing on the way. Once inside, he faced another problem - the bed. Groaning helplessly, he threw Snape's arm around his shoulders and lifted the man up, eyeing the wound warily. The blood seemed to keep running, slowly but steadily.

"I am not saying I am sorry for this," Harry growled and threw Snape harshly down on the mattress, drawing a pitiful moan out of the man's chest. "Serves you right, you bastard," he muttered and grabbed the long legs of his professor to push them up. Just when he finally managed to arrange Snape on the bed comfortably, Dumbledore and Pomfrey stormed into the room.

"What is wrong, Mr Potter? Have you seen him coming in?" the mediwitch asked, waving her wand over Snape's form, trying to find the cause of his sufferings.

"No, I found him lying on the floor... I think he was cursed," Harry mumbled, unable to look away from the horrible gash that Pomfrey uncovered and started examining.

"Did you use magic to bring him onto the bed?" she asked sharply, glaring at him.

"No!" he straightened up and glared back at her defiantly, "I am not an idiot, I know how dark curses usually react to magic. I dragged him here."

Pomfrey let out a small nervous laugh and shook her head apologetically, "I always told Severus you are much smarter than he paints you to be." She took off all the clothes, leaving Snape in his trousers only. Summoning some of the potions from his cabinet, she poured them onto the wound and pushed one of the vials into Harry's hands. "Thanks to you I will be able to eliminate the danger in no time. It is not the darkest curse but he lost a lot of blood. Give him the potion as soon as he awakes - I will be back shortly, I need to bring some salves and bandages from my cabinet."

"It is indeed lucky you were here to find Severus, my boy," Dumbledore sad softly when Pomfrey left. Harry turned to look at the headmaster for the first time. The man looked sad and old, his eyes didn't twinkle but seemed faded and pained.

"Did Voldemort do this to him?" he asked, looking back at the pale, waxen face of his professor. The thin, scarred chest moved slowly, tiredly, Harry couldn't help but feel sorry for Snape.

"I am not sure, I was hoping Severus could tell us when he wakes. You see, the Order fought Death Eaters today in the village in Suffolk," the headmaster sounded grave.

Harry sighed, leaning against the bedpost. _So much for studying tonight_. It was the only evening Hermione was able to free for the three of them to revise the blasted potions, since the weekend was occupied with the Defense practice. It was ridiculous how many more students came to their first lesson in the Room of Requirement two weeks ago, he still couldn't believe they all trusted him that much. Most of them were ravenclaws and hufflepuffs though, but Ginny managed to bring a few younger gryffindors with her. Harry still felt awkward around the youngest Weasley, due to her previously undying obsession with his person and new cold distance she developed since he turned out to be mini Snape. However, when Ginny came to the Room of Requirement for the first time, she was as friendly and kind as she used to be, and had that burning look in her eyes that scared Harry off. He would never understand these girls.

A soft groan brought him out of his musings and he looked up to see Snape staring wildly around him, gasping ever so slightly. "Severus?" Dumbledore called out, moving closer to look into the onyx eyes. "How are you feeling, my boy? Are you in pain?"

"No," the potions master whispered. He jerked and his face darkened when Harry came into view and placed the vial against his lips. "What are you doing _here_, Potter?" he growled as soon as the potion slid down his throat, leaving a copper flavor to coat his tongue.

"Harry was the one who found you and brought you into your bedroom, if he hadn't you could have died from the blood loss," the headmaster smiled at him gently.

"The hell were you doing in my quarters?" Severus snarled, ignoring the old wizard and glaring at the boy. _Why does it always have to be the bloody Potter?!_

Harry rolled his eyes in exasperation and grimaced at his professor, "I was looking for you, excuse me for saving your life, Snape."

"It's professor Snape, Harry," Dumbledore chided.

"If you expect me to be grateful, you will have to wait until Hell freezes over!" Severus barked out, trying to sit up and howled lowly in pain that shot through the wound. He looked down at it in disdain, gritting his teeth.

"Severus, no need to be so hostile," the headmaster sighed, raising his hand to stop Harry from replying in the same rude fashion. "Would you tell us who cursed you? I didn't know you were present during the fight," the pale blue eyes watched him disapprovingly.

"I wasn't supposed to, but the Dark Lord changed his mind at the last moment, he wanted to test my loyalty," Severus lied smoothly. He _was supposed_ to be there, he wanted to be there along with his fellow Death Eaters, Voldemort never made him do anything against his own will. "I do not blame the Order, it would have been impossible to tell it was me, since we all wore masks," he growled, inwardly fuming. He would kill this bitch Jones for injuring him. It was his luck she was too light and too stupid to use darker, more dangerous curses.

"Do you know who exactly hit you with a curse?" Dumbledore furrowed his eyebrows in thought.

Severus huffed and lowered his eyes, "No."

"I see," the headmaster sighed, "Alright, I will leave you in Harry's company, Poppy will come in a few minutes, I think," he shook his head, muttering something under his breath as he left. Severus wanted to tell him what exactly he thought about Potter's company, but the old man had already vanished.

"Potter, go away, you don't have to babysit me," he sighed tiredly and pinned the boy with an icy glare that he used on the first years and he knew to be quite efficient against the brat as well. But Potter didn't look impressed, he simply arched one of his thick black eyebrows and huffed at him as if he was a child himself.

"I'm _not leaving_ until madame Pomfrey is back," Harry crossed his arms over his chest defiantly. He wasn't going to cower under the git's glares, he wasn't a child anymore, he was sixteen and _honestly?_ After what he had endured from his family Snape wasn't able to scare him. Besides, he knew all the man's tricks by heart, he was rather predictable.

Severus wanted to howl like a wolf, the last person he wanted to see now was the brat. "Potter," he bit out and closed his eyes, "I will pretend you are not here, do play along."

"May I ask a question?"

"What didn't you understand in what I have just said?" he gritted out in irritation, massaging his temples. "Do I have to take points to make you shut up?" Before he could add anything else, he felt a cool wet cloth pressed against his wound and hissed in sudden coldness and pleasure of ceased burning of the skin. He cracked one of his eyes open to see Potter bent over his form, cleaning his injury with certain, gentle movements. Severus could see his pale, exhausted with the lack of sleep, concentrated face very close, the long black hair, _his hair_, was tacked away behind the ears, and the Prince profile, _his profile_, stood out strikingly against the black curtain on the other side. This was the darkest _curse_ he had ever endured, had ever heard of - being a father of this boy.

"This is not about gryffindor, but about you and me and you know that, and I don't care if you take points or not," was a tired reply. "Why did you join Voldemort?" he saw the plump red lips move unevenly, and he looked up to meet the dark green eyes, that were practically staring into his soul. Their intense expression reminded Severus of the Dark Lord so much, he involuntarily flinched.

"None of your business," he caught Potter's wrist and stopped his tender rubbing.

Harry scowled but didn't move away, looking unwaveringly into the seemingly bottomless onyx eyes, "Despite you saying it isn't, it in fact is. Why did you join and why did you betray him, started working with Dumbledore? I _must_ know."

"Why?" Severus sneered sarcastically. He must know! Ha! _Little arrogant bastard._

"Because I need to know I can trust you," Harry said simply and pursed his lips, tearing his wrist out of the strong grip and continuing his ministrations with the wound. He felt the heavy, searching gaze of his professor on his face but he wasn't going to back away now. He felt there was something much more behind this all, honestly, he didn't believe that Snape, of all people, could have been so easily injured in a fight, in which he shouldn't have participated in the first place.

"You can't, deal with it," Severus really didn't know what else could he say. On one hand Potter could trust him with his life, since he vowed to protect it, but wasn't going to tell the boy about it - he didn't want to end up being a slave to the bloody brat. On the other hand, Potter really couldn't trust him, since he could easily bring him to the Dark Lord. The sigh that escaped the boy's lips sounded rather disconcerting though and Severus couldn't help but raise his eyebrows questioningly. Just what was wrong with the idiot, again?

"Tell me about my mother then." _Not again!_

"No." Severus scowled at him and batted his hand away.

Harry bit the inside of his cheek to keep his temper at bay. "Why?" Ever since he saw Lily in Snape's mind he couldn't stop thinking about her, couldn't stop hoping that maybe if he drove the git crazy enough he would give up at least something about her.

"Potter, there are no smaller words in the world with which I can convey this to you," the potions master bit out harshly, "No means no!" When Potter opened his mouth again he barked hastily, "A hundred points from gryffindor! Maybe your angry peers would teach you to listen!"

Harry threw the blooded cloth into the small basin with water and crossed his arms over his chest and glared at Snape hatefully, "Must you be such a difficult bastard all the time? You can take all the points if you wish I don't give a fuck, they already hate me for being _your son_!"

"You had the choice to wear the glamour," Severus reminded with a weak evil smile.

"Yeah, to continue living a lie?" the boy huffed and twisted his lips in disgust. "I'd rather they beat me, than pretend to be somebody I am not!" the fire in his eyes impressed Severus despite his annoyance. Who could have thought that the brat had some understanding of dignity? "Why are you so stubborn in not telling me about her?"

"Potter, because I do not wish to speak of her ever again!" he finally snapped, shouting at the boy. "I will not tell you anything about her, she is dead, _DEAD_, and I am so bloody happy about it! Now, _fuck off_!"

Harry stared at the dark, distorted face and cold, hard onyx eyes - how could Snape become such a bitter, broken man? Just what had happened to him, to turn him into a heartless, coldblooded jerk? Was it all his mother's doing?

"Potter! Wake up! The bonding time is over, get the fuck out of here!" Snape bellowed, his usually pale face took on a slightly pink hue as he tensed his muscles and vocal chords. However, he couldn't add anything else, as a very angry Pomfrey appeared at the threshold of his bedroom.

"Severus Snape! Just what do you think you're doing? How dare you talk like that to a student, to your own son, for Merlin's sake!" she stomped her foot and glared at the snarky professor, making him cower just a little bit. Harry tried to imprint this moment into his memory with as many details as it was possible.

"It's alright, madame Pomfrey," he sighed and gave her a small strained smile, "He is always like that with me... _The blood means nothing_, you understand," Harry added somewhat absentmindedly, frowning to himself. He gave her the basin with the blooded water and moved to take her place at the door. "I am going now, sorry for disturbing you, sir." He left not sparing his professor another glance and missed Snape's intense stare, following him out of the room.

"Severus, must you be so rude and awful to the boy? He thought he was all alone in the world and now he found you, did you really think he wouldn't try to get to know you?" the old mediwitch gave him a disapproving look and shook her head.

The potions master didn't meet her eyes and muttered through the clenched teeth, "He hates me, Poppy, and the feeling is mutual, stop this nonsense about getting to know me better, please," he huffed indignantly and winced, when she poked him harder than it was necessary while covering his wound with a salve.

"Being the genius wizard that you are, Severus," her tone was chiding and exasperated, "You do act so _dumb_ sometimes." She raised her eyebrows, unimpressed, when he glared at her in offense. "Don't give me that look, my dear, sometimes you can't see past that long nose of yours. Really, Severus, if you seriously believe just for one second that the boy hates you, than you are a worse child than a first year gryffindor," Pomfrey sighed and gestured for him to sit up, to roll the bandage around his waist. "People don't save lives of those they hate, you know that, don't you?"

Severus said nothing, only scowled and looked away. He hated how Poppy still managed to make him feel stupid and weak, _wrong_. Damned old hag.

**xxx**

Despite Ron's and Hermione's persistent interrogation, Harry never told them anything about what happened to Snape. Tired and worn out without the proper sleep, he felt like his frustration was getting the better of him. He couldn't fathom how it was possible for him to hate Snape and simultaneously feel sorry for him, feel... being pulled to him. The man was _unbearable_, absolutely _intolerable_ and suspicious. Harry once again stood at the crossroad of his feelings: he instinctively knew he could trust his professor, he knew that no matter how harsh or violent the man could be he would never hurt him, but ever since he started watching Snape closely he realized that he was questioning his loyalties. Just like in his first year he thought that the potions master was after the stone, he was once again experiencing that nagging feeling in his gut - something was _off_. Of course, Snape was a spy and he had to look suspicious, it was his job but still Harry couldn't get his mind off of it. Dumbledore trusted the professor with everything, his own life, Harry's life, but Harry was wary of this blind faith. He knew he couldn't trust anyone in this world, not even his friends. He was alone and, ridiculously enough, he felt much closer to Snape because of that. And that was, probably, the reason, he desperately tried, hating himself for that, to understand the snarky git. That was why he kept going to their fruitless Occlumency lessons.

Harry yawned, hearing his jaw click uncomfortably - he wasn't sleeping again. The mysterious dream about the ministry halls kept haunting him during the nights, morphing into horrible nightmares afterwards. He slowly trudged down the stairs in the direction of the dungeons. Unfortunately, Snape recovered fast and demanded his presence this friday. Harry yawned again, rubbing on his tired, reddened eyes. He jerked and had to grip the banister to not fall from the moving stairs as he saw Vernon standing at the opposite archway in the wall, with his trousers down and his filthy little prick in his hand. Gaging at the sight, Harry squeezed his eyes shut and breathed harshly, feeling he started hyperventilating. He knew this vision all too well. He abhorred the smug smile on his uncle's purple oily face, while he kept pumping his prick and calling the boy his "little sweet slut". Gritting his teeth, Harry ran down hastily, with his eyes still closed, and blindly jumped into the nearest opening, navigating himself from the memory. He realized he was running like mad only when he stopped at Snape's office and bent down, wheezing and shaking all over, feeling his heart clog his throat. _Now is definitely not the time for a panic attack, god damn it!_

Straightening himself, Harry knocked tentatively and entered. The office was empty, however, a note was soaring up in the air in front of his face. Staring at it incredulously, Harry read: _"Potter, I will come in twenty minutes. Do not touch anything. S.S."_ Rolling his eyes in exasperation he grabbed the paper, crumpling it, and banished it with a wave of his wand. He walked closer to Snape's desk to sit next to it, when he noticed a pensieve standing innocently on its dark wooden surface. The dish looked just like Dumbledore's, it's golden rim gleamed weakly in the candle light. Mesmerized, Harry stared at the dark grey substance swirling in the water. Were these Snape's memories? Why would he put them in a pensieve? Before their Occlumency lesson? Inwardly smacking himself on the head for being so nosy and curious, Harry circled the desk and stood between it and professor's chair, looking down, directly into the moving liquid. Glancing at his wrist watch he figured he could watch one of these memories before Snape returned. Surveying the room around him suspiciously, Harry clicked his tongue and hastily pushed down and plunged into the pensieve before his consciousness got the better of him.

Shaking his head in a slight dizziness he felt, Harry blinked a few times, staring dumbly at his... _mother_. Lily, barely sixteen herself, was shielding young Snape from James Potter and Sirius Back. The two marauders were trying to hex the gaunt, long haired boy, who was snarling at them in anger, while Lily kept shouting at James to back off. Snape looked so young, so vulnerable and so... pitiful. His worn clothes and tangled, though very clean and soft, hair made him look like a beggar from the streets. His mom turned to the future potions master, "Let's go, Sev, they are not worth our time and effort." She threw her long red hair back haughtily and tagged him by the sleeve of his robe. Glaring back at the angry and disappointed gryffindors, Snape complied and followed her obediently. Harry saw him squeeze her hand tightly and she only smiled back at the boy. _So they were friends_.

Harry was suddenly sucked into another memory, the one that transpired much later, around their seventh year, he presumed, judging by the way they all suddenly looked older, more mature. Snape was fighting Potter outside, actually winning their duel, as the mixed crowd of gryffindors and slytherins cheered for them. But Sirius intervened - he cheated, throwing _'levicorpus'_ into the dark boy's back. Snape's body jerked and flew up, turning upside down. Shouting profanities at Black, he reddened in embarrassment to the accompaniment of the other student's hysterical laughter. But James deemed it necessary to pull the boy's trousers down, or, in Snape's position, up, and demonstrate his old, darn underwear. Harry couldn't help but cover his mouth in disgust - he could perfectly understand why his professor hated Potter and Sirius so much, why he hated Harry so much when he looked like James' clone. He saw him as another arrogant Potter from the lion's den, loved by everybody, favoured by the headmaster... Harry squeezed his eyes shut, feeling as his own face heated up in embarrassment for what the marauders had done. He looked up when he heard his mother's voice, "James! Sirius! Stop this at once! Put him down!"

"Why do you care for this _filth_?" Sirius spat at the girl and angrily slashed his wand in the air, dropping Snape on the ground.

"How can you say that? Sirius!" Lily threw her arms up in the air, staring at the boy incredulously.

James circled his arm around her waist, "Leave him, Lils, the little Death Eater doesn't deserve your attention," he tried to sway her aside, but she struggled out of his hold and jumped up to the livid looking slytherin, who was blushing fiercely, trying to pull his trousers back on.

"Severus, don't mind those idiots, you kn-" she began, feigning cheerfulness but was cut off harshly.

"I don't need help from a _mudblood_!" Snape spat angrily in her face and Lily shrieked, looking as if he had slapped her. She took a step back away from him, her lips trembled as if she was going to cry. "I don't need your pity! You keep hanging out with these bastards, well go on then, run to your sweet Potter!" the slytherin couldn't stop, his voice was dropping lower and lower, colder and colder, piercing right through hers and Harry's heart. "_I don't fucking need you!_" Harry closed his eyes tiredly, groaning to himself. This was so familiar, this was so _like him_ as well - to take his anger and frustration on his only friends. Snape, being Snape, couldn't keep his foul mouth shut and just had to call her _that_.

Before he could emerge from the pensieve, he found himself in another memory, from the evening of the very same day. He was staring at Snape, who stood at the Fat Lady's portrait, scowling at her, shifting his weight from one foot onto another uncomfortably. The frame slowly moved and Lily stepped out from behind it, frowning at the sight of the dark haired boy.

"What do you want?" she asked in a small tearful voice. Harry gasped at the expression on his professor's young face: the boy looked lost, broken, ashamed and was on the verge of tears himself. Harry thought Snape was incapable of looking so innocent, insecure and sincere.

"Lily, I... I wanted to apologize, please," he mumbled, looking at her with wide wet eyes, "Please, forgive me for calling you _that_ word, please, I never meant to hurt you, I was just so angry..." he pushed his hands into his long black hair helplessly tagging on it.

"But you called me _that_, which means you thought of me like _that_," Lily sniffed, hugging herself, not meeting her friend's pleading eyes. "I'm sorry, Sev, I can't... not now, it still hurts. A lot." She sobbed softly and rubbed on her face with a sleeve of her robe. Snape moved closer and reached out to touch her, to comfort her, but at that moment James came out of the room and shoved him in the shoulder violently.

"Get out of here, Snape!" he hissed menacingly, glaring from behind his round glasses, "Lily doesn't want to talk to the scum like you!"

"Lily?" Snape looked at her uncertainly, for the first time in his life ignoring Potter completely, but the girl only shook her head and leaned into the gryffindor's warm embrace. Crestfallen, the future potions master stared at her in disbelief, his eyes watering, burning with pain. He tried to say something but his voice betrayed him and all he managed was a quiet, almost indecipherable sob. The boy turned harshly on his heels and ran away.

Harry stumbled away from the pensieve and fell into Snape's chair, staring at the swirling liquid wildly. He caught his breath, trying to wrap his mind around what he had just seen. The hurt, desperate look in Snape's eyes told Harry more than he actually wanted to know. Lily was his only friend, there was no doubt in that, and he _loved_ her deeply. And he insulted her, nastily. But he had realized his mistake, hadn't he? He asked her for forgiveness... Harry frowned and rubbed on his slightly burning scar - what would he have done, were he in Lily's place? Well, he had forgiven Ron and Hermione for being the morons they were in the beginning of the fourth year, hadn't he? And it hurt, it hurt like hell to hear his only friends call him a liar and an attention-seeking prat. And he had forgiven them earlier this summer, for their ignorance towards him, hadn't he? Though this spot was still sore and sent little pangs into his heart. He wasn't defending Snape, the man got what was coming to him for his filthy mouth, but really, if Lily was his friend, she should have known him to be a complete bastard and should have known better than to throw away their friendship because of this.

Harry jerked and sprang on his feet sharply as he thought he heard footsteps in the corridor. He darted to the furthest corner of the office, and slumped onto the old chair, trying to make it look like nothing had happened. Panting, he listened, but nobody entered. Relaxing slowly and letting out a breath he was holding, Harry dropped his head into his hands. Snape had already been a Death Eater by then, but Lily never turned him away because of that, but she did when he called her a _mudblood_... But the memory of Lily shouting, that he saw in Snape's mind, was from the other time, after Hogwarts it seemed. Had they made it up with each other or had it all only become worse? The more he found out about his mother and Snape the more questions he got and no answers.

"Potter!" Harry jumped up in his seat and fell down on the floor along with his chair. He blinked sleepily, staring at the dark form of the potions master that was towering over him. "Potter, I was out for only twenty minutes and you almost blacked out. Do you sleep at all?" Snape pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

"I wanted to ask you to give me the Dreamless Sleep draught, sir, Madame Pomfrey wouldn't give me any more," Harry frowned and stood up, swaying from side to side, as the heavy slumber still clouded his mind.

Severus narrowed his eyes at the boy, "If Madame Pomfrey hasn't given you any I am not going to _either_, Potter, you will become addicted to it, if you take it more often than necessary." He sighed heavily and strode to his desk, throwing an examining look at his pensieve - everything seemed to be in order, just like he left it. Turning back to the boy, Severus noticed the deep dark circles under his eyes, a slight tremor in the hands, hunched shoulders. _My, but Potter looks like shit_. Nutrition potions didn't help anymore, the boy looked like Death, _shitty Death_.

"I doubt you will be able to do anything productive tonight," he growled, sneering at the brat.

Harry looked up at Snape and sighed, "Is there any other way to get rid of the nightmares?"

"Through Legilimency," Severus smirked.

_Fuck._ "Oh," Harry hang his head down and let out another miserable sigh.

"Potter, next monday is our last lesson before the winter holidays, if you would come once again in an unfit state, I will stop teaching you Occlumency altogether, is that clear?" the potions master hissed coldly and waved his hand to open the door.

"Yes, sir," the boy left without even looking at him. _Imprudent brat_. Severus clicked his tongue in annoyance and turned back to his desk. He pointed his wand at the pensieve to retrieve the memories back when it struck him: the ever nosy Potter hadn't asked him about the dish. The brat must have surely looked at it, wondered what it was... Severus scowled at the swirling substance - no, he was asleep when he came in, he couldn't have taken a look in, besides, if he had, Severus wouldn't have heard the end of it. Perhaps, Potter was too tired to even notice it or maybe he simply didn't know what a pensieve was, he was raised by muggles after all. Humming in agreement with this conclusion, Severus directed the substance back into his mind. He would be taking out all of his memories connected with Lily every time they had their Occlumency lessons, he didn't want the brat get any ideas into the thick head of his that he could poke around his professor's mind for the information.

**xxx**

How did they end up calling themselves _Dumbledore's Army_ was beyond Harry. He was staring dumbly at the ever growing group of students before him, who cheered excitedly for their new name. He felt Ron patting him on the back and grinning like mad.

"Oi, mate, that is a fine name," the redhead punched him playfully on the shoulder and Harry swayed a little, scowling at his friend and moving aside. He huffed at Ron, who stuck his tongue out, and threw his long black hair back with a now trained movement of his hand. "Fuck, Harry, are you getting some kind of masochistic pleasure out of it?" Ron wrinkled his nose in disgust.

"What?" he gave he redhead an incredulous look, as they moved to sit down, while everybody spread out around the Room of Requirement to have a little break and a nice chat between themselves.

"Looking like Snape! For Merlin's sake, mate, cut your hair! If they get greasy one day, _I swear_, I will shave your head while you're asleep," Ron cried, waving his hands energetically.

"Oh cut it, Ron!" Ginny plumped down next to Harry and took him by the arm, "Long hair fits you very_ nicely_." She smiled at him and snuggled closer. Harry's eyebrows shot up in alarm and he looked at Ron, who only shrugged his shoulders helplessly at that.

"Er, thanks," Harry blushed and tried to get his arm free but it was futile, Ginny held onto him as if her life depended on it. Thankfully, Hermione called everybody up and ready to continue their practice.

As soon as the students took their stances, Harry moved to stand in front of them and held his wand high before him. "Today, beside revising what we've managed to cover so far, I would like to show you a useful spell that saved my life." He looked around and saw every pair of eyes looking a him excitedly, expectantly. "This may seem unnecessary to you, but I believe it is imperative you learn a Patronus Charm." At their surprised glances and murmur he elaborated, "It is not only used to scare off the dementors, it is also used to send urgent messages. Plus, Patronus is a very powerful spell that requires a lot of concentration and positive emotions. It is very difficult to create a fully corporal Patronus, but I have managed to do it two years ago, and so can you."

Hermione stepped forward, smiling at him encouragingly and added, "Patronus' corporal form resembles an animal that reflects your personality or represents something very dear to you, so it would also be fun to find your _'spirit animal'_, wouldn't it?" Everyone perked up at that and Harry demonstrated wand movements and an incantation, explaining what they needed to do in order to make the spell work. He moved between the students, correcting their casting, their poses.

"Oi, Harry, why won't you show them yours, so that they knew what to expect?" Ron smirked, excited to see their faces when they met the proud stag.

Nodding, Harry concentrated. However, it was very hard to remember anything remotely positive that could feed his Patronus and he tried to imagine a dementor standing before him to at least force the spell to succeed. "_Expecto Patronum!_" A thick silver mist shot out of the tip of his wand and a bright light blinded him and those who stood close for a moment. Blinking the black dots away, Harry stared in bewilderment at his Patronus - it wasn't a stag anymore. It was a huge wild cat, its roar echoed loudly around the room. The students were ecstatic and enthusiastically threw themselves into casting, while the three friends stood there frozen, looking at the Patronus with wide eyes.

"I've read that Patronuses can change sometimes, due to an intense emotional experience," Hermione mumbled, "Or a breakdown." She gave Harry a worried glance and squeezed his hand reassuringly. "It's fine, you know, absolutely fine."

"I know," Harry answered absentmindedly, still watching the graceful beast, that lowered its body on one of the mats and looked at him through the cunning narrowed eyes. Well, he should have expected that, shouldn't he? James was never his father, the stag was a representation of a lie he was living all these years. _This_, this was his own Patronus, that wasn't imposed on him. This panther was a reflection of his personality - a loner, a survivor, a fighter, independent and cunning, bad-tempered enough to be a slytherin but brave and fierce, noble as a true gryffindor. Smiling, he let go of Hermione's hand and moved closer to stroke the cat, that purred pleasantly and leaned into his touch. _Affectionate_. Sighing, he canceled the charm and the panther dissipated into the thin air. He turned and looked at his friends expectantly, silently commanding them to pull themselves together and start practicing.

Only a few students managed to draw a weak mist out of their wands but Harry gave them all a small smile, "Do not worry, nobody can cast it from the first try. Keep practicing during the holidays and collect more happy memories for it to work. Next time we meet in the new term, we would revise Patronus and see how well you progressed. Thank you and Merry Christmas to you all!" The children answered with congratulations of their own and slowly left, hugging each other on their way out and promising to write and send presents. They all were leaving Hogwarts on tuesday, as was Harry, for the first time in his school years.

"Isn't it great that we are finally going to celebrate Christmas together?" as everyone left Ron threw his arm around Harry's shoulders, which was much harder for him now, since the other boy grew just as tall as the redhead was himself.

"Yeah, I can't believe Dumbledore allowed me to leave and stay with you guys at Grimmauld's," Harry smiled and hugged Hermione by the waist, pulling her closer, as the three of them exited the room and slowly walked back to the gryffindor tower.

"We will all be safe there, with the members of the Order constantly around," the girl nodded, tucking her bushy hair behind her ears and smiling at her friends brightly.

"Mum's gonna kill us with her pastries and cakes," Ron drawled dreamily as his eyes glazed with lust and hunger.

Snickering at the sight of him, Harry turned and whispered into Hermione's ear, "Do you not wish sometimes that he looked like this talking about _you_?" Hermione blushed fiercely at that and smacked him on the back of his head.

"Harry! Shut up! How could you-"

But he interrupted her hissing with a little wink, "Come on, Mione, I _know_ you like him, I can't wait for you guys finally admit it to yourselves and get together. All those longing looks and sighs are starting to grate on my nerves."

She gasped but kept silent, glaring at him all the way to their tower. But Harry kept smiling at her cunningly and wriggling his eyebrows. He loved antagonizing her, besides, he was honest in what he said: they really needed to deal with their feelings towards each other. It would make him all the more happy and content - they would spend more time together and less with him, which meant they would be safer.

**xxx**

He stood before the dark wooden door in the deserted ministry hall. It was the same blasted door from the dream he had been seeing over and over again. He felt compelled to touch the handle, to push it down. His hand reached out and grabbed on the cool metal. With a soft click the door opened slowly, revealing a circular room behind it. Harry took a hesitant step forward, looking around in wonder - there was nothing inside but doors, that led only god knew where. Frowning, he moved into the center of the room and it started spinning around suddenly, with a nauseating speed that almost made him throw up. Panting, sweating, Harry swore loudly and stumbled forward to grab the first doorknob that he could catch. As soon as he touched it - the room froze. The door opened before him and he stepped inside, swaying from side to side, trying to steady himself. Blinking, he squinted into the darkness - that was the oddest place he had ever been to. Rows and rows, countless rows of tall cases with shelves filled it, each shelve had dozens of strange glowing orbs on it, they gleamed weakly in the dim light that seemed to come from nowhere. Harry stared at it all in bewilderment, not knowing what to do. He turned to leave, but some unidentified force made him stay. His feet moved on their own accord and brought him further and further into the seemingly endless room. As he listened to the sound of his own soft steps and slow heartbeat, Harry tried to guess just what was this place, why did he come here...

He sat up on his bed, hyperventilating. Shaking, he put his arms around his thin chest, trying to catch his breath. _Row 97_ - the letters and numbers were practically burnt into the retina of his eyes, for every time he closed them he saw the writing. And his scar hurt, unbearably. Tears burst out and covered his cheeks, as he kept biting his lips and whimpering in pain. What the fuck the snakeface wanted from him? Harry fell back onto the pillows, breathing harshly, rubbing the cold sweat and tears away. He was so tired, so bloody tired, he couldn't carry on like this.

**xxx**

"Potter, are you ready?" Severus asked, scowling at the boy in irritation. Potter looked awful, the Dark Lord wasn't torturing him in his sleep, nor was he showing him anything that scary - just what kind of nightmares was he experiencing that he couldn't go to sleep like all the normal people did? What was so frightening in his dreams he preferred to suffer rather than go back and face it?

Harry straightened and tried to put on a determined look. "Professor, I have a problem with meditating, I can't clear my mind completely, no matter how much I try, I simply can't," he glanced up at the still annoyed potions master, "Is there any kind of a spell or a potion that could help me, at least in the beginning, I just... I don't think I ever felt _relaxed_ in my life and I just..." he swallowed and looked away, trying to find the right words, "I just don't know what it's like to relax and not think about anything, to be content, calm."

Severus arched an eyebrow incredulously, "And you couldn't tell me this when we had begun our lessons?" At Potter's dismayed expression he sighed and rubbed on his face in exasperation. "Potter, you are a victim of physical abuse, of course you have psychological problems, neurological as well. What exactly keeps you tensed, what can't you let go? Unless you deal with it, you wouldn't be able to master Occlumency." He gave the brat a pointed look and stared at him expectantly. This was the root of the problem, wasn't it? The secret Potter guarded so fiercely - it was the reason of his nightmares, of his visions, of his constant stress.

Harry closed his eyes, willing the lump in his throat to go away. He couldn't tell Snape about it, he couldn't. It was too embarrassing, too personal, horrible, filthy, indecent. "I can't tell you, sir," he breathed out and looked down at his feet, trying to pull himself together. He wouldn't cry, not in front of _him_.

Severus crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back on the desk, pursing his lips into a thin straight line. "That is where we are coming to a stall, Potter," he clicked his tongue and glared at the boy, "There is no point in teaching you while you have this block. The Dark Lord would easily destroy your mind simply because you can't get over something, no doubt, _dramatic_ and _heartbreaking_." He placed his hand over his heart mockingly, but the brat didn't take his bait.

"I will deal with it over the winter holidays," Harry muttered, frowning and clenching his teeth hard.

"We will see," Severus smirked and raised his wand. "Let's get it over with then. _Legilimence!_"

As Snape stepped forward to cast the spell, Harry noticed the pensieve behind him on the desk and felt his heart fall down into his gut. The memories, if the git found out that Harry saw them, he would kill him, no doubt in that. _Fuck, fuck, fuck!_ Harry squeezed his eyes, as the pain seared through his brain, hysterically pushing the memories of his childhood forward, trying to cover up his crime. Snape kept ruthlessly cutting through them, causing him more and more pain. Harry sank down on his knees, grabbing onto his pounding head. His heart rate was so fast he thought he had gone deaf - so loud it drummed in his ears. Taking deep shaky breaths, Harry kept throwing the insignificant images at the potions master, trying to force him out, but his attempts were too weak. When Snape brushed over the memory of the last DA meeting, Harry jerked violently and cried out, gathering all of his raw power and throwing it at the man. Severus wasn't expecting such a hard blow and stumbled back, as the boy accidentally invaded his mind again. The images associated with their last topic were floating on the surface and Potter all but fell into them, disoriented in Severus' complex labyrinth of thoughts and memories.

Harry saw Snape, barely nine years old, small and thin, unhealthy pale and scared - he was hiding in the cupboard, wincing at the sounds of screams and slaps of flesh somewhere in the distance. He tried to push himself into the wall and dissipate into it, it seemed, but the big rough hands found him anyway and threw him out and onto the wooden floor.

"Hiding again, you, little shit?!" the tall, ugly man screamed at the boy, and Harry saw the unmistakable resemblance of their faces and scary scowls - it was Snape's father. He hastily pulled the belt out of his trousers and reached out for the trembling but stoically silent boy. "I will teach you, you filthy coward. Where is you fucking _magic_ now, eh? Where?" he hit the child on the back, on the side, on the head, frantically waving the long leather tail, panting and growling in satisfaction. Snape took all the hits in complete silence, Harry could see his lips bleed - he bit them to keep the sounds from escaping his throat.

As the potions master tried to push him away, Harry stumbled into another memory. Horrified, he stared at the sight of his... grandmother, whose face looked like one huge purple bruise. She was wailing, trapped in the dusty corner of a room, trying to shield herself from the blows of her husband's fists. Her skeletal, weak arms shook and barely covered her head.

"Stop it! Stop it, you bastard!" Harry turned to see Snape, a little older, run inside the room and hit his father with an empty whiskey bottle on the man's broad back. A furious roar and a harsh blow on the head - the boy fell down, blood ran down his face.

His mother shrieked and threw herself on the enraged man, hanging on his strong, veined arms, "Please, don't hit Severus, I'm _begging_ you, don't hit my boy!" She was hysterical, her tearful black eyes were wide in terror, her thin, cracked lips barely moved, trembling in pain in fear, "Hit me, hit _me_! Do whatever you want to me but don't touch Severus, please, _please_!" Instead of answer she was pushed roughly against the wall, her breath knocked out of her.

"Get up, whelp!" the man turned back to Snape, who was still on his knees, looking like a wild animal trapped by a hunter. "Get up and face me like a _man_, you, sniveling idiot!" He stumbled and loomed over the boy, grabbing him on his silky black locks, breathing harshly into his face - Snape grimaced at the smell of alcohol and tried to turn away. "What, do not appreciate the smell of a real man, don't ya?" His father laughed, baring his crooked teeth. He slapped the boy on the face once, twice, but seeing that his son wasn't going to make another sound or take the bait, he roared again and grabbed him on the throat. "I will squeeze respect out of you, bastard!" Harry fell back on his arse and arms as he caught the glimpse of Snape being strangled, his eyes wide in pain but burning with insane defiance and such intense hatred, it was hard to imagine a little boy was capable of such an emotion.

Blinking and squinting through the thick, heavy tears, Harry stared at his professor, who stood frozen a few feet away from him, his face white as snow. Severus couldn't speak, so angry he was, so frustrated and embarrassed and _fucking mad_. But as he focused his attention on the bloody Potter, he couldn't help but wince at the sight of him, loosing his mask of indifference - he brat sat there and _cried_, sobbing loudly and kept staring at him with these impossibly bright green eyes.

"Get out," he finally managed to grit through his teeth, he felt his lips tremble in rage, as his palms sweated and he had to clench them into fists, to get himself under control. But Potter didn't move, he cried and cried, looking at him with an expression that Severus had never seen in his life before. There was no pity in the boy's eyes - only understanding, pain, grief and _something_ else, something he couldn't put his finger on. Even Lily Evans' eyes lacked _this_ back then, when they were friends... Severus shook his head, itching to slap himself on the face to snap out of the trance.

"Stop crying and get the hell out of here, Potter! If you wouldn't vanish in another minute I swear I will _hurt_ you!" Severus hissed menacingly, glaring at the brat. _The fuck is he crying?_

Harry couldn't move, couldn't even breathe it seemed. His heart was stuck in his throat and hot tears kept streaming down his face, he couldn't hold them anymore. He felt as his lips swelled and nose started running but he didn't care. The image of the small, helpless boy being beaten by his own father stood in front of his eyes and the harsh reality of the tall, intimidating, bitter man leaked through, overlaying it. And as he blinked the blurriness away, the little scared boy hidden in the cupboard and the menacingly hissing professor became one. His chest ached and burned in the immense pain that gripped his heart in a vice - how many more similarities were there between him and Snape? Could Harry one day too turn into the cold, heartless, harsh man that his father was? _His father_. Harry closed his eyes and bent his head down, trying to overcome the sudden exhaustion and weariness that washed over him. He felt sick to the stomach.

"Potter, if you do not leave immediately, I will not answer for my following actions!" Severus snapped and took a threatening step forward, which came with great difficulty. He couldn't, he didn't know how to deal with a crying child. The whole situation was ridiculously stupid - Potter invaded his mind, dared to look at his intimate, horrible childhood memories and now had the audacity to go all hysterical on him. "_Potter!_" he barked impatiently, frustrated and terribly confused.

Getting onto his feet was just as hard as finding his breath. Harry slowly rose up and looked back at Snape, feeling as a new wave of tears started welling up in his eyes. "Oh fuck," he whispered and grabbed on the rigid body of his gobsmacked professor. "I'm sorry, _so sorry_, Snape," he embraced his father, sobbing into the thick fabric of his teaching robe. "I'm so sorry, for _everything_," he whispered as his shoulders shook frantically and his arms kept enveloping the man closer, tighter.

Severus stared at him horrified and completely at loss. All his anger suddenly disappeared in favor of the dull ache that nestled in his thin chest. Nobody had ever embraced him, except his mother and Lily, but that was so long ago he almost forgot what it felt like. And now _Potter_, of all people, was clinging to him and crying into his shoulder, crying _for him_. To say that he was shocked would be an understatement. He caught his breath and stared at the boy's tear-stained face dumbly. Why was Potter looking at him like this, did he think they were going to find some kind of closure in their shared pain, similar past? That was rather naive of him, Severus didn't care for his childhood, nor did he care for his own.

"I'm sorry," Harry let out a shaky breath and slowly let go of Snape. Keeping their eyes locked, he stepped back and inhaled deeply, fighting yet another sob that was threatening to escape his lips. "Please, forgive me." He closed his eyes in a sad resignation and walked out of the office, with his shoulders hunched and his head bowed down. Severus stared after him, shivering in a sudden chill that ran though his very bones as the boy set him free of his hold. Potter was warm, his tears hot - he could feel the wetness on his skin, as they soaked through the layers of his clothes. Scowling, Severus looked around the room frantically, lost, in a desperate need to do _something_ to distract himself, to forget... No, how could he forget, he never would. Potter saw him at his weakest, at his worst. He had the ace up his sleeve now. Why didn't he laugh? Why didn't he mock, baited? Feeling his anger coming back, Severus sank down into his chair and dropped his head into his hands. This was so wrong on so many levels in his little world he built around himself. He could feel his carefully constructed walls crack and shake dangerously. _Fucking Potter._

**xxx**

Harry walked the halls of Hogwarts not really seeing where he was going, moving automatically, as a robot, following the very well known route. The tears burned onto his already puffy eyes, but he just couldn't stop crying. All the pent-up frustration and pain was now pouring out of him and there was no stopping it. Rationally, he understood that he should calm himself down, should pull himself together but his heart ached and his mind was clouded with horrible devastating images of his and Snape's past.

How truly terrifying Snape's life must have been. To watch your mother being beaten and used by the monster that was your own _flesh and blood_. Unable to control himself, Harry sobbed loudly, overcoming the need to gag. He felt sick again. This was so much worse than being raped, he couldn't imagine how would he have coped if his father abused his mother. But he thought he could imagine just how angry and weak Snape must have felt, being the powerful wizard that he was and being absolutely defenseless, useless against the ordinary muggle... Harry squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed the lump in his throat. It was so much easier for him to handle Vernon, since they weren't even related. He knew the man hated him and wanted to make his life as unbearable as possible. Harry could understand that, he was, after all, a burden, and _a wizard_ - the creature that was despised in the house of Dursleys. But as he tried to imagine his own father hating him and beating the life out of him... Wait, but why was he projecting the image of James? His father was Snape. Well, the man did hate him, didn't he? But even knowing that, Harry couldn't picture him even slapping him on the face. Maybe this was a wishful thinking, but he thought his father would have never raised his hand on a child, not after what he himself had gone through. But Snape was a Death Eater, wasn't he? Even if he was making amends now, spying for the Order, he had killed and tortured in the past, hadn't he?

Shivering, Harry sank down on his butt and blinked dumbly as he found himself in the Moaning Myrtle's bathroom again. Through the blur of tears he glanced at the sink that led into the Chamber of Secrets but hadn't had the strength to move. He closed his eyes and let the tears stream down his cheeks, listening to the sound of a running tap, of the drops of water falling down with a soft splash.

Why did he feel compelled to embrace Snape, to comfort him? He hated touching other people, why did he touch the man that loathed him so much? How could this embrace be so heartbreaking and so endearing at the same time? Harry circled his arms around his waist, imagining that someone was holding him too, trying to sooth his pain. Snape was just as impregnable, closed off as he himself was. The man felt so cold and so tense in his arms, so _lonely_ - as a rock that overflew the endless sea. He wondered if this was what Hermione and Ron felt when they touched him. He sensed dread settle down in his gut when he thought that he might indeed turn into Snape one day when he grew up. Wasn't he just as bitter and fucked up as his father was? _Since when do I think of him as a father?_ Groaning in frustration, Harry hugged himself tighter and shifted on the cold dump floor, trying to warm himself up. What was he going to do now? How would he be looking into Snape's eyes from now on?

"Oh my, the _Boy-Who-Lived_ is crying! Somebody, call a mediwizard or my heart might break!" the high voice of Draco Malfoy brought Harry out of his reverie and he slowly turned his head to look at the haughty blonde, who was leaning against the doorframe and watching him in disdain and curiosity. He was wearing his prefect badge proudly on his chest. Harry forgot that Draco became a prefect and was now enjoying the fruits of the authority at the school.

"I'm sorry, Draco, I lost the track of time, I know it's curfew, I'm going now," he mumbled and tried to get up, holding back the sobs, but failed. He really didn't care for fighting right now, all he wanted was to be left alone and, preferably, _obliviated_.

Draco stared in bewilderment at both his given name and Potter's soft, apologetic tone. "Potter, have you finally lost it? Why the fuck are you crying like some girl in the bloody girl's bathroom?"

"It's just... I needed to... get rid of the pent-up frustration," Harry heaved a sigh of relief as he managed to give a comprehensible answer. He finally rose up, leaning onto the wall and rubbed on his face with his sleeve, smearing tears all over his robe.

"Frustration? Seriously?" Draco's tone wasn't as biting and mean as he wanted it to be, for the sight of the crying and obviously heartbroken Potter was disturbing to say the least. "What happened, Potter? Did Dumbledore punish you for something for the first time in your life," the blonde came closer and smiled slyly, "Or no, wait, maybe a girl rejected you, the almighty and irresistible Savior?"

Harry couldn't master even the little bit of anger towards the annoying boy, he looked up into the light grey eyes and sighed, "No, Draco, nothing like that."

"Since when are we on the first name basis?" Draco raised an incredulous eyebrow and crossed his arms over his chest.

"I don't know, since I think that hating you is stupid and childish?" Harry said, sniffing lightly and rubbing on his stinging eyes. Really though, their feud was absolutely pointless and despite knowing that Draco's father was a Death Eater and the boy was probably going to become one as well he didn't want to fight with him anymore. He had enough hatred and violence in his life.

Draco's eyes went slightly wider and he bit on his lower lip but then hastily schooled his face back to the mask of haughtiness and impassiveness. "I see, well, it is rather fortunate you've finally grown up, _Potter_," he emphasized his name advisedly and averted his eyes. "Go into your dorm now, or I will indulge myself in taking a lot of points from gryffindor. I pity you, though, Potter," Draco looked back at him and the corners of his mouth quirked a little, "You are loosing more points this term than you've lost during the four previous years altogether. What is this, a rebellion of a light wizard?"

"I'm exploring the limits," Harry lowered his eyes, feeling slightly better. When Draco wasn't being a hostile arsehole, he was a nice person to talk to, he radiated calm and comfort.

The blonde's lips stretched in a small mirthful smile. "Ah, wondering how far they'd let you push? How _lovely_," he purred and walked back to the door. "Go, Potter, take my generosity as a peace treaty between us." He smirked at the raven haired boy and left.

Harry looked at the empty spot where the blonde had just been standing and snorted to himself. Well, wasn't it marvelous: first he embraced Snape and cried on his shoulder, now he all but befriended Malfoy. What was next? Was he going to have tea with Voldemort? Shaking his head he moved to a broken mirror and splashed some water on his face from one of the half working sinks. He realized that Myrtle was nowhere to be seen - well, that was very fortunate indeed, he wasn't ready to deal with a hysterical ghost in the state he was in. He looked up and stared at his reflection: now to the dark circles red puffy lids were added, and his lips looked swollen as if he had been sharing passionate kisses. Shuddering at the thought, Harry turned away and quickly walked out and in the direction of his tower. The whole day had been just too bizarre, and he desperately needed to sleep, nightmares or not. He was going to Grimmauld's tomorrow with his friends. _Finally_.

**xxx**

"I am not going to teach him Occlumency anymore!" Dumbledore heard the words being spat at him even before Severus entered his office. The potions master looked angry, pained, hurt, his arms were tightly crossed over his chest and his usually straight shoulders slumped just a little bit - the headmaster knew the signs of distress when he saw them.

He motioned at the chair in front of his desk and sighed, "What happened, Severus?"

Closing his eyes resentfully, visibly fuming, the potions master took the offered seat and sat down on the very edge of it, in a rather childish defiance Dumbledore thought. "Potter intruded on my private memories, while I was sanctioned to do this by you personally, I find it inappropriate and inadmissible for a student, Potter of all people, to invade my privacy and I am not going to put up with his ignorance and laziness anymore as well!" The words were bit out harshly, acidly, but the headmaster heard the pain layered underneath them very well.

"What had he seen?" the pale blue eyes looked at Severus kindly, prompting him to tell.

"My childhood," he muttered through clenched teeth and looked away, tightening the grip of his hands on his biceps.

"_And?_" Dumbledore felt there was more, but as always even wild horses wouldn't drag the information from the stubborn wizard.

"And he cried and had the cheek to grab on me and try and... _comfort_ me!" Severus spat, glaring at the headmaster. He was still shocked, confused and it angered him immensely, that he couldn't control what Potter made him feel.

Dumbledore smiled and shook his head at the younger wizard. He stood up, circled his desk and sat down on it, right in front of Severus and took him by the hand, "My boy, don't you see how lucky you are?" He laughed softly and squeezed the limb gently causing the man to look up at him. "Do not alienate him. Harry is the most kind-hearted, forgiving soul I have ever had a pleasure of knowing, he felt your pain and he wanted to help you, to comfort you, to show you that you are not alone, Severus." At the potions master's low growl he added softly, "I know you do not wish to have any kind of family relationship with him, but if I were you, I would use the opportunity to get close to the only human being in this world that would love you no matter what," he patted the thin, calloused hand and gave Severus a pointed look.

"Have you gone stark mad, Albus?" the raven haired wizard snarled and snatched his hand away. "The brat hates me and it is mutual!"

"Severus," Dumbledore sighed and took on a chiding tone, "Harry doesn't hate you, I don't know what compelled you to ever get it in your head that he does. He is simply afraid of you and his defense mechanisms are ones of an arrogant, agressive nature... Doesn't it remind you of _someone_?" he smiled at the potions master endearingly and his eyes twinkled mischievously.

At Severus' enraged silence he shook his head and sighed lightly, "Severus, you don't hate him either, you know that but stubbornly refuse to admit it to yourself. Harry doesn't hate you and given a chance he might really get to love you. Don't you want to be_ loved_? He is your son after all, he would not turn you away, he would not judge... And even if he would, he wouldn't leave you, he would stand by your side."

"You speak of it as if you know what's going on in Potter's head," Severus sneered at him and bit the inside of his cheek in irritation. He didn't give any chances anymore. Lily had hers and where did it lead them? And Potter was just like his mother, no, he wouldn't step into the same river twice.

Dumbledore smiled, "Of course I cannot speak for Harry, but as far as I know him, and I dare to think I know him well enough, I believe he is a very affectionate, loving person, he gives away everything he has to the one he loves. He is very much like _you_, Severus, don't let the bitter memories of what happened between you and Lily spoil your judgement of the boy. You've already done it once and look how it all turned out," he spread his arms and shrugged his shoulders, tilting his head to the side, watching the potions master intently.

"I've spent sixteen years in a perfect contentment of my loneliness," Severus gritted out, "I do not need anybody, least of all a raging hormonal teenager."

"Would you have said the same if you knew you had a son sixteen years ago?"

"There are no _ifs_, Albus," the potions master stood up and walked to the window, staring into the darkness of the night that had fallen over Hogwarts. "Sixteen years is too much, don't you think? I don't care for him and his feelings," he said firmly, scowling at the translucent reflection of his pale, grave face.

"He woud accept you whenever you are ready, as long as you don't push him away even more than you have already done," Dumbledore looked at the painfully straight back clad in black. The two wizards stood in a long silence, each immersed in his own thoughts. Finally, the headmaster spoke, "Does Voldemort know about Harry and you?"

"Yes," Severus said coldly.

"And what does he think about it?"

Severus turned to look at the older man, "He is _amused_."

Dumbledore hummed at that thoughtfully and stroked his long white beard. "What if he makes you do something to Harry?" his piercing pale blue eyes pinned the potions master with a calculating look.

"I will act accordingly to the situation," was Severus' simple answer. The headmaster nodded and sighed, seemingly lost in his thoughts again.

"It is going to be a long holiday break," he said when Severus turned to leave. "I am sure you will come around during this time and will continue your lessons with Harry when the term starts," his tone left no room for an argument, the potions master knew when he was given an order.

"Fine," he bit out and left before Dumbledore managed to burden him with anything else.

**xxx**

The first thing that Harry saw when he entered the Grimmauld's house was a bush of red hair that stuck into his face while his body was being squeezed in a death grip, pressed to Mrs Weasley's large bossom.

"Oh, Harry, dear, it's so good to see you!" Molly crooned. Harry tried to get out of her hold but she held on so tight. He felt sick and dizzy, even though he liked her very much, it was still unbearable to get into such close contact with people.

Seeing his friend's obvious discomfort, Ron blushed and patted his mother on her shoulder, "Ok, mum, let him go now or you'll strangle him."

"Oh, Harry, sorry," Molly chuckled and stepped back, giving him some space and an opportunity to breathe. "My, but you look _awful_!" she cried when she took a good look at him. "Haven't you been eating at all? Ron, where were you looking? Harry's as thin and pale as Death!"

"Mum!" Ron cried, his blush darkening.

"It's alright, Mrs Weasley," Harry gave a small shy smile, "Don't worry about me."

"Ha!" Molly huffed and dragged him into the kitchen, having shoved his trunk into Ron's hands. "I will feed you now and I will see to that you've been eating all the time while you're here, is that clear?" Harry nodded at her threatening tone and obediently sat down at the table. Moments later Ron, Hermione, Ginny and the twins joined him and Mrs Weasley passed them their plates. Looking at the food in disgust, Harry forced a few spoons inside of him, listening to the excited chatter of his friends.

After dinner they all moved into the drawing room and Ron engaged Harry in a game of chess. The twins ran off somewhere, no doubt plotting another prank, and both girls sat down on the sofa, whispering softly between themselves and laughing all the while. Soon, Harry lost and told Ron he wasn't in the mood to loose any more. Laughing, the redhead joined Hermione at the small radio her parents sent her. Not knowing what to do with himself, Harry left, wandering from one room to another. Sirius never came out to meet him and he felt both disappointed and relieved. He didn't know what to tell his godfather anyway. His _true identity_ became a wide reef between them and he felt it wasn't going to be fixed any time soon, or ever.

As he ascended the stairs, he bumped right into Sirius' tall frame. Staring at him wildly, Harry stepped back, "S-sorry," he mumbled dumbly.

"Harry," Sirius greeted him hoarsely, stepping closer but hesitating to touch. He licked his thin lips and coughed softly, "I was going down to meet you, I've lost the track of time." He rubbed on the back of his neck uncomfortably.

"Yeah, it's fine, don't worry," Harry nodded not looking at him. "I, I will go into my room now, I think." _God, you're a blubbering idiot, Potter!_

"No, wait!" Sirius put a hand onto his arm and Harry involuntarily flinched.

At his godfather's shocked expression he ducked his head in embarrassment, "I'm not really comfortable with touching, after, after... well, you know."

A realization dawned on Sirius and he winced at his own stupidity, "Fuck, forgive me, Harry, I forgot. Sorry, no touching, then." He raised his hands up in a placating gesture and bent down a little to look into the boy's face. "I wanted to talk to you."

"Alright," Harry bit his lower lip and followed Sirius into the library. They sat down on the old sofa and stared at each other in complete silence, not daring to speak first. His godfather was watching his face intently and Harry could practically see the struggle of emotions in those grey eyes - it was hard for the man to look at him, he knew very well why.

"Harry," Sirius took a deep breath, "I wanted you to know that I... nothing has changed between us. It's hard, very hard for me to look at you yet, for I keep seeing Snape, but-"

"Just like you kept seeing James before that," Harry cut him off softly and smiled ruefully, "Did you know that you and Snape are very much alike when it comes to judging people by the first impression?"

Sirius grimaced at the comparison but bit back his retort. "I'm very sorry but I can't forget what a bastard Snape is and it pains me to see him in you, even though subconsciously I know you are _not_ him, you are better."

"Sirius, why were you torturing him when you were at school?" Harry suddenly asked. He wasn't planning on discussing it with anybody but felt he wanted to know.

His godfather stared at him in bewilderment, "Why, because he was and is a Death Eater scum, of course!"

"I meant before that, before he joined Voldemort," the boy explained, "Before mum got together with James."

"How do you know that?" Sirius narrowed his eyes, "Had _Snivellus_ told you something?"

"Don't call him that!" Harry snapped. At the man's perplexed expression he hang his head, "Sorry. No, he never told me anything, in fact, he wouldn't tell me even about mum... I got this information the other way, I can't tell you how exactly. So, why?" he looked up into the grey eyes.

Sirius coughed and rubbed his hands, averting his eyes. "Well, you know how it is, we were boys, silly games and pranks and all that, Sniv-Snape was just so easy to provoke."

"So, generally speaking, you were bullying him because he was poor and looked weaker, right?"

Sirius frowned at the cold, harsh tone of his godson and turned to him, "Why would you say that?"

Sighing, Harry rubbed on his face, "Because this is exactly what it was like, wasn't it? Sirius, I endured the very same thing at the muggle school, I know perfectly well what bullying is. He never did anything to you or James, you chose him because you thought yourselves to be above him. God, this is so embarrassing." He dropped his head into his hands.

Blushing, Sirius tagged on the collar of his shirt, "Well, he wasn't a saint himself, you know."

"That's not the point," Harry scowled at his feet. "The point is that you were tormenting and humiliating him and I can understand his hatred towards you and James very well now."

"Don't tell me you're _sorry_ for him," Sirius scoffed.

"Well, maybe I am," his head shot up in defiance as he glared at his godfather. "You have no idea what an awful life he had and you and James only made it worse. No wonder he became a Death Eater."

Sirius sat up straighter at that, "Are trying to tell me it was our fault?"

"No, of course not." Harry frowned and bit his lip, itching to ask the man but feeling rather nervous to hear the answer. "Can you tell me what happened between Snape and mum?"

"What? The-the..." Sirius waved his hand in the boy's direction helplessly.

"No," Harry snickered, "No. I meant why had they stopped being friends?"

"Oh," his godfather visibly relaxed and took on a concentrated expression - it was still hard for him to remember details of his past after years spent in Azkaban. "Well, as far as I know it happened after Snape called her a mudblood, the filthy Death Eater that he is. I never understood why Lily even cared for him but, apparently, they grew up together or something, she used to say he was the one who told her about magic. Anyway, Lily couldn't forgive him for _that_ and stopped talking to him altogether."

"But she didn't care when he became a Death Eater for she kept caring for him and defending him from you?" Harry gave him an incredulous look. "What happened after school?"

"Pff," Sirius slumped back into the sofa and stared at the ceiling, trying to recall the events of those days. "All I remember is that, when Snape began working for the Order, he and Lily were constantly fighting. For some reason she couldn't tolerate his mere presence... well, if you ask me, I know _why_, but-" at Harry's warning glare he rolled his eyes and continued, "Yeah, well, there you have it. They fought all the time, he and James as well, Lily kept telling everyone how she hated Snape and how low he fell and all that rot. And suddenly you happened," he stared at his godson, "Which is a total mystery to me now. However, now that I think about it, after you were born she was adamant to keep you away from him. Every time there were meetings and he attended, she would take you and leave hastily. I think she was afraid he would recognize you."

Harry nodded solemnly, drawing circles on the hem of his jacket with his finger. It didn't explain what happened, but at least he had some insight into the matter now.

"James loved you very much, you should know that," Sirius whispered, searching his face with a slightly put out look in his eyes.

"Yeah, I know," Harry sighed. "But I don't remember him or mum. I'm sorry for what happened."

"It wasn't your fault, Harry," his godfather rasped out and reached out to pat his hand but hastily backed away as he remembered the boy's discomfort. "Snape doesn't give you any trouble, does he?"

"No, no, don't worry, I can handle Snape alright," Harry smiled at him and got a wide grin in reply.

**xxx**

On the Christmas day Mr Weasley left the ministry early and brought a large goose into Grimmauld's kitchen. As Molly set on cooking the dinner, everybody gathered in the living room next to the tree that Sirius and the twins decorated with all the rubbish and old broken things they found in the house. A few members of the Order were present as well, those who had no family to go to, as well as Dumbledore. The headmaster was conversing with Lupin but Harry felt his intense gaze on himself all the time. It looked like the old wizard was waiting for something, for a sign or a manifestation or god knew what. Harry hated being kept in the dark again - if he knew what to expect he could have prepared for it and avoid another tragedy. Sighing, he smiled weakly at Hermione who was blabbering about something _mugglish_ that made everyone listen in with evident curiosity. Only Harry ignored her, staring at the wooden floor he was sitting on. The wrapping paper was scattered all around him and rustled loudly every time somebody moved to sit or stand elsewhere. Fed up with Dumbledore's x-raying, Harry stood up and excused himself. He hastily ran into his room and finally relaxed, closing his eyes in the pleasure of _silence_ surrounding him.

The door opened softly and somebody came in, closing it behind, turning the key. Frowning, Harry looked up and saw Ginny. She came closer and sat on the bed beside him.

"Hey," the girl breathed out, scooting extremely close, brushing her thigh against his. "You left so suddenly," she smiled at him warmly, batting her eyelashes.

Harry felt a knot in his gut, this was the worst situation ever. He had nothing against Ginny, she was a very pretty girl, he had no problem admitting that, but he couldn't touch her, couldn't give her what she wanted. "Hey," he swallowed thickly, "I just wanted to be somewhere quiet for a while."

"Harry," Ginny gently took him by the hand and he felt as a cold sweat covered his back, "I wanted to tell you... I'm sorry I've been so distant lately. You see, all these changes in you... they were hard to overcome. I hate our housemates for being the stupid morons that they are!" she exclaimed vehemently.

"It's alright, Gin," Harry managed a wry smile, "I never expected anybody to like Snape's son," he laughed bitterly.

"You know," she pressed into his side and entwined their arms and fingers, making him shudder on the inside. "You are so much more attractive now. I mean," she laughed brightly, "You were very pretty before, but now you are so _handsome_, I never thought somebody who looked like Snape could be so lovely," Ginny smiled, biting her lower lip and something flashed in her eyes, making her long pale eyelashes palpitate slightly.

"Why, thank you," his cheeks flushed and he looked away, suddenly feeling very shy and insecure. Her heat radiated around his body uncomfortably, he hated himself for being the freak that he was but despite all her compliments and seductive looks he didn't feel anything remotely pleasant.

"Oh, you're so cute when you're blushing!" Ginny crooned and pecked him on the cheek.

_Oh god, no. _Her hand squeezed his, as the other went rubbing on his back and soon her arm was draped around his shoulders. He squeezed his eyes shut, panting. The images of Vernon raping him flooded his mind and he felt sweat running down his whole body, as his heart began beating like mad. _Fuck_. He couldn't do this to Ginny, she didn't deserve this. Just when he opened his eyes to look at her and tell her that they shouldn't go any further, he saw her face painfully close and the soft moist lips covered his. _Don't throw up on her, please, don't throw up on her_. Ginny pulled him closer and opened her mouth, letting her tongue lick on his lips, asking to let it in. Involuntarily, Harry opened them to take a deep breath and will the bile back down into his stomach. The hot muscle wondered inside and rubbed against his, exploring every inch of his mouth. It all felt very wet, warm and... wet. Breathing loudly through his nose, Harry cursed himself in his head for being such a useless idiot, for being incapable to even please a girl.

"Don't be so tense, everything is fine," Ginny whispered, pulling away, panting and blushing like mad.

"Gin," he breathed out, "Please, we shouldn't do it."

Her eyes went wide, "What?! Why?"

"I can't," Harry thought his face was set on fire.

She giggled and put her hand onto his crotch, "Oh, you mean this? It's ok, I planned only kissing tonight," she laughed, squeezing his completely flaccid cock though his trousers. Wondering briefly about her evident experience in the matter, he jerked under her touch and grabbed on the bed covers to not sprang up on his feet and run away. All he could see and feel was Vernon's hand feeling him up painfully before his filthy cock thrusted into his arse. _Oh fuck, no. _Gaging, Harry winced and moved away from her. "Hmm, you are really not interested, are you?" Ginny looked disappointed.

"Sorry, Gin, but I really can't," he shook his head, panting harshly, as the sweat broke on his forehead and ran down his temples. At her frown and hurt look he hurried to placate her, "It's not you, I promise. You are very pretty and you kiss so well! It's me, I swear."

Ginny looked unconvinced but nodded anyway. "Are you into boys?" she asked suddenly.

"God, no," Harry stared at her. "I just... I don't feel comfortable being too close, touching, you know..."

"Is this because of what your relatives did to you?" she momentarily took on a pitying look which Harry hated so much.

"Yeah," he looked away, suppressing a scowl.

"Oh," Ginny blushed in embarrassment, "You should have told me."

"I didn't want to... Well, I did it anyway, didn't I, fucked it all up," Harry hid his face in his hands.

"It's fine," she gently rubbed his shoulder. "You will get over it in time, do not worry." Though her tone was cheerful he knew she didn't believe what she said. Nor did he.

**xxx**

The dinner was a noisy, chaotic affair. Everybody kept shouting, trying to outvoice each other, the table barely held the amount of food that Molly prepared, the air was filled with charmed soaring candles and little bells that jingled softly once in a while. Even though Harry had always dreamed of a Christmas like this one, being surrounded by his family and friends, he felt absolutely miserable. He flashed fake smiles all around, nodding and pretending to listen to those who spoke to him, but inwardly he wished that time could go faster. All he wanted was to hide in his room and be alone. He perked up when he heard Molly huff at Dumbledore.

"Please, Albus, _I_ have no problem with welcoming Severus to our table, it's _Black_ whom you should be worried about. They are worse than cat and dog, I swear!" Harry glanced in their direction and saw that the headmaster stood at the fireplace. A moment later a tall dark form of the potions master stepped out of it. Snape sneered at his surroundings and turned to the red haired witch.

"Thank you, Molly, I wouldn't have taken advantage of your hospitality but, you see, I was _ordered_ to come here," he glared at Dumbledore who only smiled at him indulgently.

"Oh, Severus, please, you know you are always welcome at my table. Come on, sit next to Harry," she ushered him to the opposite end of the table. Severus flinched but stoically kept his blank mask in place. He hated this torture, he would have never come here if those weren't the orders of his lord. He had to keep watch for Dumbledore and Shacklebot, while the Death Eaters were completing their mission. The sight of Potter brought his anger to the very edge of its intensity. But he silently complied and lowered himself down next to the boy.

Nobody seemed to pay his arrival any attention. Sirius, who, upon seeing him, wanted to make a scene, was led out of the room by Dumbledore himself and the loud cheerful chatter returned. Harry swallowed nervously and hid his trembling hands under the table. _Perfect, just perfect_. He hoped he wouldn't have to see Snape until the start of the term and instead he met him only a few days after their _accident_.

"Why aren't you eating, Harry?" Molly noticed that his plate was almost as full as at the beginning of the dinner. He shrugged helplessly and offered her a weak apologetical smile. "No, young man, I'm not buying this. Eat. Now." She pinned him with a thunderous glare and didn't leave until he took a fork into his hand and pushed a piece of meat into his mouth. As soon as Molly moved to pester somebody else, he put the fork down and swallowed the food, shuddering at how plain, bitter it tasted on his tongue. His nerves had gotten the better of him.

Severus was watching him out of the corner of his eye and barely restrained himself from pinching his nose in irritation and exasperation. One would have thought Potter would bloom in the annoying company of the redheads, given how much care and attention he got from them but no, the brat was once again displeased. He was pale, thin, obviously tensed and the little beads of sweat gleamed on his forehead. _Is he having a panic attack, for Salazar's sake, what now?_

"Potter," he growled under his breath, "Eat. You'll feel even worse if you keep up with this rebellious starvation of yours."

"I c-can't, s-sir," Harry whispered, not meeting his eyes. He was hyperventilating.

"Breathe, Potter," Severus stared at him incredulously. Why would he have a panic attack all of a sudden?

"Excuse me," the boy said meekly and hastily left. Molly looked at his full plate, at his retreating back and than at Severus.

"Is something wrong with my food?" she asked him in alarm. "He hadn't been eating at all since he came from Hogwarts."

"He doesn't eat there either," Severus sighed grudgingly, touched his mouth with a napkin and stood up, "I will deal with him, he is, no doubt, throwing up."

Molly touched him on the arm, looking into his onyx eyes worriedly, "What is wrong with him, Severus? He changed so much, he is more like his own shadow or a ghost!" she whispered vehemently. "He doesn't eat, doesn't sleep, barely talks... I'm afraid he's sick!"

"He will be fine," the potions master said firmly. "He is a teenager, he is going through a depression. Stop patronizing him and fuss over him like a mother hen. He will grow out of this." With this he left, tiredly ascending the stairs. Instead of watching the Order he had to babysit the brat. _What is a better way to spend one's holiday?_

Harry was once again bent over the toilet, pouring everything there was out of him. Moaning in pain and dizziness he leaned onto the wall, pressing his burning head against the cool tiles.

"How long are you going to live like _this_?" he heard the cold hiss behind him and turned to meet the dark eyes of his professor. His gut clenched and the bile shot up his throat again. Coughing, he threw up, wincing at the painful convulsions of the now empty stomach.

Sighing heavily, Severus took a vial out of his robe and shoved it into the boy's trembling hand. "Drink." After Potter downed the potion and washed his face, the potions master leaned onto the doorframe and crossed his arms over his chest. "I will repeat my question: how long are going to live like this?"

"I'm very sorry, sir, for what happened... then," Harry mumbled, looking down in shame.

"As you should be," Snape sneered. "Have you already shared all the juicy details with Black?"

"I would have never done something as _low_ as this! I am not James' son, I am yours! Would you have done it?" Harry snapped. Did the git really expected him to do something so indecent?

Severus scowled. Truthfully, he would have. "I thought we have established that there were no warm feelings between us," he gave the boy a crooked mocking smile. The notion that Potter acknowledged their relation and, as it seemed, accepted it, disturbed Severus greatly. Because he hated when Dumbledore was _right_. "Don't go all soft on me after what you have seen, brat. I do not need your pity."

"I am not pitying you, I understand you and I feel miserable because you suffered so much!" Harry thought he cried all the tears out then but they traitorously came back and welled up in his eyes again.

Severus scoffed, "And why, pray, tell me, would _you_ feel miserable because of it?"

"I can't stand other's sufferings, I abhor violence and abuse, _you_, of all people, should know why!" Harry spat and glared at him defiantly, gathering his courage. "No matter how much you hate me, no matter what shit you're telling me, you didn't deserve it then and you don't deserve it even now. Nobody deserves to go through such horror!"

Severus felt suddenly at loss for words. The sincerity and passion of the boy's words left him confused. The fact that a child he tormented and treated like dirt was the only person who had ever told him that he didn't deserve what he got galled him. _Why?_ He couldn't fathom why was Potter so forgiving, why was he making it all so much harder for him with his stupid naive kindness and faith into humanity.

"Have nothing to say?" He stared at the boy in bewilderment. "Had never been told a kind word before in your life?" Harry kept demanding, sounding harsh, so much like Snape. "Well, neither had I. But I am not afraid to be kind to others, it is not a weakness, it is, in fact, a strength. This is what keeps me going on. You have no idea how much I hate people, muggles, my relatives, your shitty temper. But I have to live with that, don't I? You are all telling me to grow up - I have, many years ago, when he... the first time..." he stopped abruptly before the truth came out of his mouth. "Stop treating me like filth. I am not asking you to be my father, I simply wish you were more human. Sir." Harry finished miserably and tuned away, closing his eyes in resentment.

"Potter, you're an idiot," was all that Severus could offer him in return. Looking at the boy was like looking at his own younger self. "You're so naive... You will die out there, the Dark Lord would use your kindness and softness against you, mark my words."

"I don't care for the snakeface," Harry muttered, scowling to himself. "I care about you." _Well, that went out wrong, didn't it?_

Snape's eyebrows shot up - the only indication of shock on his otherwise hard, serious face. "If this nonsense was brought up by the bloody memory, Potter, I can as-"

"Yes, it was," the boy interrupted him, "I saw you, the _real you_, I saw why you became who you are now."

"Please," Severus laughed coldly, "Do not pretend to know me."

"I don't. I want you to know I don't judge you. Not anymore." Harry frowned and blinked the tears away.

_Fucking Dumbledore_. "Potter, time to get rid of your naiveté, you surely would judge a murderer, and I am one." Why the hell had he said this? Severus wanted to smack himself on the head.

But the boy just shrugged his shoulders, "Yes, I know. I doubt your crimes are justified, but nevertheless, I don't judge."

Severus thought his eyes would burst out of their sockets, so hard he stared. Was Potter retarded? "Are you that desperate?" he tried to mock him but it went out all wrong, shaky and pathetic.

"As I've already told you, I am not asking you to be my father, I am asking you to stop hating me and accept me as I am accepting you, that is all," Harry looked up at him, as his lips twisted in grief, "I have been alone for my whole life and you are the only person I feel close to, connected... whatever you call it." Not waiting for the man's reply he quickly walked out of the bathroom and left the room.

Severus watched him leave and realized that he had stopped breathing at some point. The brat was trying to get to him, wasn't he?


	4. Chapter IV

_Disclaimer: nothing that is related to HP belongs to me._

_Warning: abuse, rape, underage sex, violence, everything is bad and don't read it_

_A/N: I would love to thank everybody for their great reviews! Appreciated so much!_

* * *

**Of Monsters and Men, Of Fathers and Sons.**

**Chapter IV**

The tall massive form of Azkaban loomed over him, casting a deep freezing shadow that seemed to devour all the light around. The black sea raged, furiously slapping the rocks of the lonely island, standing out starkly against the heavy dark grey sky. Voldemort pulled his cloak tighter around himself, shivering, and slowly approached the solid wall with no windows and doors, not even a tiniest crack indicating it could be trespassed. Avery, Malfoy and Nott stood silently behind him but he could easily sense their anxiety and fear. Turning to them, showing his snake face from underneath the black hood, he glared at the three men - this was no time for backing out, he needed his followers back and when was the best time to break into the prison if not on Christmas day? There would be little to none resistance and only a few witnesses - he planned to stay hidden for some time _yet_. A sudden violent blow of wind tore his hood off of his bald head and he growled lowly to himself spelling it to stick to his skin. Sometimes he missed being insane - he never cared for such insignificant rubbish as his appearance before.

Waving his wand in an intricate pattern Voldemort tapped on the wall softly with its tip and the thick impenetrable stone started to melt slowly. When a hole big enough for him to pass formed, he gestured for the wizards to enter first. Their wands at ready, the three men tentatively stepped inside the building. According to the plans that Lucius managed to copy at the ministry, they were going to cross through the west wing that was temporarily on reconstruction and was mostly deserted.

"My lord, are you certain the dementors would not attack us?" Avery mumbled when Voldemort entered last.

"Avery, are you a wizard or _what_?" the Dark Lord snapped. At the man's fearfully widened eyes gleaming from behind his golden mask Voldemort sighed in exasperation, "You do know how to cast Patronus, don't you? Well, don't ask me another stupid question again or you will become a squib!" Swallowing loudly Avery nodded and shut up.

In truth, Voldemort wasn't sure his pact with the wretched soul suckers still stood but then again, he was the Dark Lord, he didn't care for such trivialities - contrary to a common belief, there were other ways of fighting dementors beside the Patronus Charm. Dark magic easily tamed dark creatures, a wizard had to just be willing enough to use the necessary cruel means. As they quietly walked forward he tried not to think of the state his most faithful servants would be in. It was devastating to say the least to know what they had gone through and imagine what crucible awaited them once they were free. Severus had told him about Black and his adequate recovery but the rebellious wizard had one huge advantage - he was an animagus and his rare ability saved most of his sanity, while Voldemort's followers had been enduring dementor's hunger in its full severity for almost fifteen years. He had a disturbing suspicion that they were already lost to him.

The most dangerous criminals and murderers were held on the third level, where dementors reigned. Alerted and concentrated, Voldemort stepped into the the corridor with the holding cells - it was quiet, freezing cold and oppressive here, he didn't like it at all. No, he'd rather get vanquished once again than be put in this concrete coffin. _They'd probably execute me on the spot, if they caught me_. Laughing bitterly to himself he strode forward, glancing through the bars on his way, but his Death Eaters were not here. Nott went forward and carefully peeked around the corner - no guards were present at this time of day. Nodding to his companions, he continued ahead, his steps echoed softly through the corridor. Their slow inspection was going to take some time.

"Oi, ye! C'me 'ere!" one of the prisoners woke up and yelled at Malfoy's back. Hissing profanities, Lucius threw a sleeping spell on the man but it was pointless. The prisoners awoke and started banging on the bars of their cells as they saw the wizards freely walking past them, most of them recognized Death Eaters' masks and started crying for help, begging to be taken out, to be recruited.

There went his _few_ witnesses. "What was the fucking point of taking you three with me if you've caused a chaos worse than a whole army?!" Voldemort barked at his followers and clenched his wand tightly, itching to crucio each one of them, long and mercilessly. But instead he turned and raised his arms, glaring at the excited, crazed people in the cells. They all instantly shut up and cowered at the sight of the ominous blood red eyes. Whispering a long incantation in latin, the Dark Lord waved his hands and a thick mist enveloped all the prisoners in cocoons and they fell down, asleep. Growling lowly under his breath, Voldemort strode angrily further, not looking back at his companions. _Idiots, I am surrounded by idiots_.

When they finally reached the end of the farther wing they saw them - their comrades lay in piles of filthy, blooded clothes, barely breathing. The sight was devastating to say the least. Sighing, the Dark Lord melted the iron bars away and gestured for his followers to help the others. Levitating the motionless bodies behind them, the four wizards carefully made their way back to the hole in the wall, never meeting another soul. That was why this government and this society needed changes, Voldemort thought bitterly to himself. Just how easily they have kidnapped the most dangerous criminals in the country? How elementary had Black's escape been - nobody noticed a bloody _dog_ on the island surrounded by the sea? Snaking his head in disappointment, the Dark Lord took out the long rope that was made into a portkey and threw it at Lucius, who, in turn, tied it around everyone's hand. "Home," the blonde said quietly, and all of them disappeared into the night.

**xxx**

When Harry woke up from a surprisingly calm, dreamless night he found Grimmauld's in a state of complete chaos. Carefully moving along the walls and looking around in confusion he watched countless members of the Order running back and forth through the fireplace. The other children looked frightened and excited, herded by Molly into the living room. Escaping her sharp eye, Harry smoothly glided past everyone and crept into the kitchen. Sirius sat at the table, staring dumbly at the folded newspaper lying before him, his head held in his hands helplessly. Frowning, Harry slowly approached his slumped form and peeked over his shoulder.

'_AZKABAN BREAK OUT. DEATH EATERS ON THE LOOSE_.' Staring at the headline wildly, Harry suddenly felt very cold and anxious. The memory of the cemetery brought back the images of the empty spots in the circle of the dark wizards kneeling before the resurrected monster - those spots belonged to these Death Eaters, now they would reunite with their master and the war would start for real. Trembling weakly, he sank down on the chair next to his godfather.

"Bellatrix Lestrange," Sirius growled suddenly, grabbing on the newspaper and crumpling the part of it with a photograph of a black haired, insane looking woman, that bared her crooked teeth and mutely snarled at him. "She is my cousin. She was the one who tortured Longbottoms into insanity." His voice was grave and shallow, it pained Harry to see the deep lines of grief and desperation appear on the man's face, making him look older, tired, sick. "And now she is free and even crazier than before. I _dread_ the future, Harry," his grey eyes met the bright green ones.

"They will be caught," Harry didn't really know what to say, he wasn't good at comforting people in distress. He patted Sirius on the hand awkwardly.

The two of them turned their heads harshly at the sound of roaring hearth - Dumbledore stepped out of the fireplace and walked straight to Harry, startling the raven haired boy with his fierce, threatening look. "Harry, we need to talk," he gestured for the boy to follow him out. Dumbledore shut the protesting Sirius up with a glare and the wizard slowly sat down, looking taken aback. It was a rare occurrence that the kind old headmaster looked and acted livid.

When Harry entered the drawing room, the old wizard spelled the door shut and warded and towered over him, looking austere. "Harry, I need you to tell me honestly, was there anything in your visions or dreams about what happened?"

"What?!" Harry stared at him in bewilderment. "I'm sorry, sir, but I'm not Voldemort's personal receiver!" he stood straighter and glared back at the wizard. This was preposterous - did the headmaster really think that if he saw something about the Death Eaters' plans in his visions he would have hidden that information?

"Harry, just answer the question," Dumbledore sighed impatiently.

"No, I never saw anything even remotely connected to the break out," Harry crossed his arms over his chest, scowling at the man, "I would have surely told you if there was anything to tell, sir." He sensed the pale blue eyes boring a hole in his, for a moment he even feared the headmaster would use Legilimency on him, but Dumbledore visibly restrained himself. Nodding to the boy, he stormed out of the room without another word.

Harry followed the old wizard into the library where Snape sat with a book in his lap, drinking tea in a pleasant silence. Dumbledore loomed over him, speaking in a hushed tone, it was impossible to hear what he asked and what the potions master replied. Frowning, Harry tried to make out the words but it was fruitless, however, he had a very good idea what was the topic of their conversation. No doubt headmaster wanted to know just why Snape had never warned the Order, and, certainly, the potions professor pleaded ignorance. Narrowing his eyes in suspicion, Harry pinned the tall dark form of his father with a cold glare. He knew, he felt something was very wrong. When Dumbledore stormed out and hurried back to the fireplace, he carefully entered the room and leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Do you have something to say, or are you going to just stand there and stare, Potter?" Severus drawled, turning the page of his book, not sparing the boy another glance.

Twisting his lips in anger, Harry huffed, "How come you didn't know what was coming, sir?"

"You are not a member of the Order, nor you are my employer, I am not answering your questions," Severus still hadn't looked up, simply arching his eyebrow as an indication of his ire.

"You don't have to. I know you _lied_," Harry growled and scowled at the snarky professor.

"And?" the potions master finally raised his eyes. His face was as impassive and bored as always, however, on the inside Severus felt a little nervous. Potter was no idiot, whatever he may have said about the brat, he was intelligent enough to connect all the dots. He had no evidence, of course, but if he went to Dumbledore with all his suspicions and guesses, the old wizard would no doubt listen to him and take the information into consideration. This didn't bode well with Severus' position. Not well at all.

"I have no evidence, of course, and surely the headmaster wouldn't listen, since I always tell him what a villain you are," Harry drawled sarcastically stepping closer to the seated professor and looking down his long nose into the bottomless onyx eyes. "I have no proof, but I think you don't spy for Dumbledore, I think you spy for snakeface. _Sir_," he spat the title as if it was a foul word and glared menacingly at his father.

"Oh, I am a villain of the story now," Severus smirked, raising his hands in mocking surrender, "Can't be the father of the Savior of the Light now, can I?" He smiled nastily at the boy, frantically thinking of his way out of this. _Trapped_. By the fucking teenager! How hard had he fallen.

"Your loyalties have nothing to do with being my father," Harry tried to sound uncaring but his voice trembled traitorously. Was he really that desperate? Was he really so lonely and broken he was ready to accept Snape being an outlaw? A murderer? Voldemort's servant?

Severus raised his eyebrows in shock, clearly befuddled and taken aback. He was getting tired of being constantly surprised by the brat. "Potter, I am loyal to the Light."

"Does Dumbledore know you were at the cemetery?" _Damned Potter!_

"What do you think? You seem to have had grasped the concept of this fine art at last." Severus knew he was playing with fire now. It all came so suddenly he was so _not_ ready.

Harry looked at him intently, "I think he doesn't know. I am quite certain it was almost impossible to escape Dumbledore that night, but you did anyway. The way you cowered before that monster... It was no farce of yours. This, now, _this_ is a farce." He hated himself for not hating Snape for his treason, for not loathing him for serving his master, for feeling sorry and having so much compassion for the bitter man.

"Is it? And what are you going to do about it?" Severus cursed inwardly for letting Potter to force him in the corner.

"Nothing," Harry shrugged his shoulders and looked away. "I will simply never trust you and hold it over you."

"How very slytherin of you." Did he say this aloud? _Fuck._

The brat snorted, "Of course. I am, after all, a _slytherin_." At Severus' perplexed expression he shook his head and sighed, "The Hat wanted to put me into your house, told me I could become great there. But I convinced it I belonged in Gryffindor."

The potions master's eyebrows shot up in yet another surprise. Potter could have been in his house, could have been one of his snakes. Salazar, should he be crying or laughing now? Convinced a Hat... how does one convinces the bloody Hat that is almost a thousand years old? Severus felt completely at loss here. The brat was just too much to take in at once.

"I'll be watching you, professor," Harry glared at him for the last time and left. Potter never threatened him before and now his promise sounded too adult and serious to dismiss it. Severus stared at the spot where the boy had been standing - just what was he going to do now? How could he secure his position now with Potter blackmailing him?

**xxx**

_Row 97_. Harry stared at the odd gleaming orbs, cramming the shelves of the case. What were those? He squinted, trying to make out the writings on the labels in the gloom that surrounded him. Some were marked with letters and years, some with names. What was he looking for? Or was it Voldemort who was looking for something?

"Smart boy." He turned sharply but there was nobody there behind him. The high, cold voice came from nowhere, it seemed. From his own head?

"What do you want?" Harry pressed his back against the shelves, grabbing on their dusty edges for balance.

"I want so much, Harry, our short encounters are not enough to tell you all about it," the low hissing laugh echoed softly around him, tickling in his ears. He felt as if something scratched on his throat, he wanted to cough.

"What is this place, why are you showing it to me? What kind of games are you playing, Voldemort?" he growled, scowling at the darkness.

"My, my, aren't you afraid of saying my name, child?" the Dark Lord sounded amused, if the monster was even capable of having a sense of humor.

"It's just a name you are hiding behind!" Harry spat angrily. "Why should I fear it? A word, an _anagram_," he scoffed.

"Oh? Are you well versed in its origins?" Voldemort was actually intrigued.

"You told me about it yourself," Harry sounded more subdued now, as he started moving, trying to find his way out of the dream. He didn't know what was snakeface trying to achieve with this but he wasn't all that keened on finding out.

"Did I? How curious... What does it mean then?" he had his suspicion, he heard about his horcrux journal's sad end from Severus and surely gathered all the information about it from Lucius's head after he crucioed him into unconsciousness. But none of his followers, nor their children knew just how close did the boy get to the journal, how much he knew about it. How much Dumbledore knew about it for that matter?

"Tom Marvolo Riddle is what it was made from, it means '_Flight of Death_' in french," Harry breathed out shakily, as he ran through the countless rows straight into the darkness, feeling panic slowly crawl from his gut up into his chest. He couldn't see any doors, any indication that the room had any walls at all.

So he wrote in the journal and met his younger self. Voldemort wasn't pleased. His sixteen years old self was impulsive and arrogant, more so than he was now, and a child after all, he could have told the boy too much for the boy's own good. "Very pleased to meet you, Harold Severus Prince." _Eye for an eye_.

"What?" Harry stopped abruptly and stared around in bewilderment. The fuck was this bastard calling him?

"Harry, please, did you really think I wouldn't find out about your parentage, your real identity?"

"No," he scowled and crossed his arms over his chest defiantly, "I am Harold James Potter still, and why the fuck are you calling me Prince?" He shuddered as the high-pitched, icy laugh cut through the air and his head, causing him a slight pain in the scar.

"Oh, I see, good old Severus never told you about his real name. I can understand him, of course, he doesn't want you anyway... But Dumbledore? Why, I thought he _never_ kept any secrets from you," his loud chuckles rang in Harry's head and he tried, tried in vain to brush off the nagging feeling of being betrayed, again. The headmaster once again left him in the dark. And he couldn't help but feel the pang in his heart at hearing that his father didn't want him... What was he hoping for, though, really?

"I don't care," he said loudly, clutching onto his jumper to calm his shaking hands down. "What is this place and what are you looking for?"

The Dark Lord clicked his tongue in exasperation, "This is yet another truth Dumbledore hid from you, child." He sighed dramatically. "Why don't you come here and find out yourself?"

"You're luring me into a trap, you bastard, I am not _that_ naive," Harry muttered as he closed his eyes and concentrated on pushing the foreign presence out of his mind like he had done in several of his Occlumency lessons.

"I am pleased to see you've inherited your father's sharp mind. And tongue as well," Voldemort chuckled again, sounding highly amused. He sensed the boy's force fighting his and felt excited to find out just how far could Harry go, how powerful he was.

Harry pushed and pushed, feeling the searing pain in his forehead intensify, escalate maddeningly. _Fuck, fuck, fuck, it hurts!_ He fell on his knees and screamed on the verge of his lungs, "Get the fuck out of my head, you sick fuck!" It felt as if his chest and head both burst out under the pressure. Voldemort was impressed, the raw power of the boy could easily rival his own. What a truly interesting challenge Harry was. As he was being pushed violently further and further away he saw that the scene he created for the boy slowly merged into the cemetery at the Riddle Manor, and he saw Harry slumped on his knees over the form of the boy that was portkeyed along with him. The little Prince was crying, frantically shaking the lifeless form of his friend, calling out his name. And there was darkness and Voldemort opened his eyes to see the faint morning light peek through the heavy curtains in his bedroom.

Harry held Cedric's cold body in his arms, knowing very well that he was dead and was never going to open his eyes again. But he called him anyway, he shook him. "I'm so sorry, Cedric, I am so, _so sorry_, please, forgive me!" He dropped his head onto the boy's firm chest, cladded into the yellow robe. "It's _my fault_, it is all my fucking fault..."

"My fault, my fault..." Harry kept tossing and turning amongst the wet sheets and covers of his bed, as the tears ran down his cheeks. With a sharp intake of breath he finally woke up, staring wildly at the dark wooden beams of the ceiling, panting, sobbing hysterically. The fuck did that bastard want from him? Every time Voldemort sent him these visions they turned into the nightmare about the cemetery. Groaning to himself in exhaustion, Harry tried to sit up, but his trembling arms couldn't hold his weight. Where had all his quidditch dexterity gone? _Fuck it_. He rolled onto his back and rubbed on his sweated face with a hem of the equally wet sheet.

"Should have let the fucker kill me then," he muttered and turned his head to look into the window. It was dawn already, he could clearly see the white snowflakes falling slowly down against the gradually reddening sky. They were going back to Hogwarts today. Dumbledore had never once visited since the break out of the Death Eaters and, honestly, Harry wasn't all that excited to see him again. He dearly wished he didn't have to believe Voldemort but the snakeface was right, wasn't he? The headmaster never told him anything, not about Snape's real name, not about whatever it was hidden there in the Ministry. Sighing and rubbing on his puffy, stinging eyes tiredly, Harry decided he will have to find out on his own. Perhaps, there were some books on the Ministry structure and departments in the school's library? As for the Prince name... he doubted Snape would tell him anything willingly. He would have to find a way.

**xxx**

"Potter knows." Severus sat across his lord in an armchair, staring into the fire in the hearth, while Voldemort was watching him - his long fingers steepled in front of his plump rose lips, the blood red eyes searching the pale face of the potions master. "He knows that I am a traitor."

"And how would it affect our plans?" the Dark Lord didn't sound angry and that was disturbing, Severus couldn't know what to expect.

"It wouldn't." At his master's inquiring look, Severus added, looking up to meet the piercing gaze of ruby eyes, "He _accepted_ it. Said he would blackmail me, but he accepted it."

Voldemort barked out a laugh, tilting his head back a little, "How disconcerting! If I hadn't known the little Prince better, I would have said that he is an idiot but alas! The more time I spend with him in his dreams, the closer I get to know him... It is a true wonder just how forgiving and compassionate he is." He shook his head, chuckling softly. "I wonder what would he say when he finds out you were the one to tell me the prophecy?" the smile he gave his favourite potions master was particularly cruel.

"What am I to do if he tells Dumbledore?"

Voldemort smirked sarcastically at that, "Severus, do you really believe the old codger would take teenager's words over the words of his own spy?" He crossed his legs elegantly and rested his chin on the knuckles of his curled fingers. "Besides, I seriously doubt the boy would go to him. Tell me, had he told Dumbledore anything about his visions, about what I am showing to him almost every night?" The fire reflected in the blood red eyes made them look eerie, demonic and Severus shivered, shifting closer to the fireplace.

"No, no matter how kindly headmaster asks, Potter keeps to himself... I admit I couldn't get to them during our Occlumency lessons. This is unbelievable but he is actually able to conceal some of his most precious or most damaging memories and thoughts," he looked at his master thoughtfully, frowning.

"The little Prince is indeed a very peculiar, _intriguing_ specimen," the Dark Lord nodded, smiling ever so slightly. The potions master could see a mirthful gleam in his half-lidded eyes. "Did you know he still blames himself for the death of that boy at the tournament? Only a few days ago he once again managed to push me away from his mind and his subconsciousness pulled him into yet another nightmare of his... It is interesting how I seem to be incapable of penetrating his worst dreams, can't even watch them," he rubbed his dimpled chin, the smile never leaving his lips. "I caught only the very beginning of it. A true wonder how deeply his self-hatred and guilt are rooted inside of him. He regrets so much, it is most impressive how he still holds on."

_Regret_. A concept his lord wasn't familiar with. Regret was passed on in the Prince family for ages, ran through their blood, showed in the curves of their lips, lines on their faces. "Potter is most impulsive and is easily impressed. He is also a child still, of course the death of one of his peers influenced him and broke him, perhaps," Severus scowled at the fire, rubbing his palms against his rough, woolen outer robe.

"Do you still regret the death of a mudblood of his mother?" Voldemort tilted his head to the side, watching the raven haired wizard curiously. "Do you still hate me for it?"

Startled by the question, Severus looked up sharply, "I regret great many things in my life, my lord, but not _this_, not anymore. I wouldn't have returned if I hated you, master."

The Dark Lord gave him a satisfied nod. "But you still bear the guilt, Severus."

"It looks me in the eye every day at school," he laughed bitterly and scowled immediately, tensed, when he realized he was having a heartfelt conversation with the Dark Lord Voldemort of all people. What had he come to...

"All these complex emotions are completely foreign to me, you know that very well," Voldemort smiled indulgently and brushed a few stray locks of his soft hair back, behind his ear, "But you don't have to be all that closed off in front of me, Severus. You have nothing to hide anyway, I _know_ you, no masks necessary when we are in private." He stood up and stepped close to the potions master only to bent down and take him by the chin firmly, squeezing it slightly in his long, ice cold fingers. The blood red eyes locked with the onyx ones, hypnotizing Severus. "I am pleased you do not hate me anymore, _Severus Prince_," the deep baritone reached to the potions master's very core, "And I wish you would remember that I always keep my word."

The Dark Lord saw that Severus knew the truth now, knew that he had given Lily Potter a chance to save herself, three chances, but she rejected them. He saw the understanding and devotion in the bottomless onyx eyes and he liked what he saw very much indeed. The little Prince proved to be very useful even when Voldemort had no plans to execute whatsoever, but thanks to the boy, the snarky brilliant potions master was once again his. _Completely_. "I will warn you, Severus," his face leaned closer, only inches away from the long crooked nose of the other wizard, "I will be using your son in many different ways and I expect you to stand by and watch and accept. You might not like them, it is understandable, but you will not interfere or hate me. As I have promised you already - no harm would come to him, and that is the promise I am going to keep, - I am not going to inform you about what exactly, how and why will I be doing to him. Do you understand?"

"Yes, my lord," Severus breathed out, feeling and, probably, looking completely gobsmacked. Never before had his lord warned anybody about what was coming, never before had he given anybody permission to dislike and disagree with his choices and actions. This was so _uncharacteristic_ for him, the potions master barely restrained himself from pinching his own arm in a bout of fear it all was just a dream.

"Good," Voldemort smiled cruelly and slid his hand up to cup the man's cheek and rub on the high cheekbone with his thumb, "Very good." He placed a soft kiss on the other cheek and straightened, still smiling, and walked away - his long crimson robe dragging on the floor behind him. Severus dumbly watched its tail disappear in the darkness of the doorway, frozen in shock and disbelief. The Dark Lord was _sane_, there was no doubt in that anymore. And he was even more dangerous now, completely unpredictable. Severus lowered his gaze onto his crotch._ Fuck._ Very dangerous indeed.

**xxx**

Voldemort hadn't spoken to him in his dreams again but Harry kept constantly seeing the mysterious room with orbs with no exit out of it. After spending a whole night being sucked into the horrible nightmare of one of his first raping punishments with Vernon, he stopped sleeping again. He knew this was going to pay off really badly in the future, especially at his first Occlumency lesson of the term but couldn't do anything about it. Snape was right - he wouldn't be able to move further unless he dealt with this. But how could he? How _normal_ people usually dealt with this?

He was being summoned to Dumbledore's office. Whatever for he couldn't guess. With the traditionally whimsical note from the headmaster clutched in his hand, Harry strode down the second floor, sighing inwardly, as he saw Snape's tall dark form approach the very same destination form the other end of the corridor. They silently met at the Gargoyle and nodded to each other, not looking the other in the eye. Seeing that the potions master wasn't going to say the password, Harry rolled his eyes and muttered, "Mars Bars." After their last unpleasant encounter he tried to think of his father as rarely as possible, but the potions class didn't help all that much.

However, Harry praised all the gods in the existence for Snape keeping up ignoring him altogether. Now that he grasped the very basic theory behind the brewing, the practical part came naturally to Harry, as if it was something he was born to do. _Figures_. He was, after all, a potions master's son. A son of a very valuable, rare specialist, as he found out in one of his books - it turned out Snape was one of the only five potions masters that resided and worked in the United Kingdom. He never imagined how special the snarky professor's job was and he was what... teaching the hundreds of dunderheads at the school? Harry realized he knew absolutely nothing of his parent. Was Snape inventing new potions? Was he writing for a scientific journal? Had he had any kind of recognition for his talent in the wizarding world? But he was a Death Eater, wasn't he? Surely, if wizards and witches knew him to be a criminal and a murderer they would have never bought his potion, let alone acknowledge him as a potions master... Harry stopped abruptly and stared at Snape's back as they entered the office: the Prince name! _That must be it!_ He must have been working under his real name as a potions master, and used his father's name as a Death Eater! That was why nobody in the school knew, and those who did never talked about it.

"Potter, your eyes are going to burst out of their sockets," Severus glared at the brat who was looking at him as if he saw him for the first time in his life. Just what was going on in that damned head of his again?

"Harry, Severus, thank you for coming on such a short notice," Dumbledore smiled at them both, watching their interaction curiously. "Please, sit down. Tea?" he motioned at the usual visitor's chairs in front of his desk and flicked his fingers for the tea set to appear before them.

"Good afternoon, sir," the two raven haired wizards drawled in unison and glared sharply at each other, drawing a fit of mirthful laughter out of the headmaster.

"Well, well, my boys," he chuckled, as he poured them some tea, "It is good to see you. I have to apologize for the most unkind way we parted at the beginning of the winter holidays, but I am sure you would understand my position," he looked at both of them kindly, "The situation was _catastrophic._"

"Had the ministry found anything, anyone?" Snape asked as a matter-of-factly, sipping from his cup, pointedly avoiding to look at the boy next to him.

"They had not," Dumbledore shook his head, sighing tiredly into his china.

"Nothing new under the sun," the potions master raised his eyebrows and twisted his lips in disgust, showing how much impressed he was. All the freed convicts were safely hidden at Lucius' manor, however, the Dark Lord planned to move them to the Riddle Manor or to some other secured base, for the Malfoys were constantly under the radar and there was no telling when Dumbledore would issue a search on their grounds, supported by the Head of the Auror Division Amelia Bones.

"Had they... the Death Eaters, I mean, had they... killed anybody?" Harry asked hesitantly, careful not to meet the headmaster's eyes.

"No, as far as we know, they hadn't. They all are in a much worse state than Sirius was, I presume. It is highly unlikely they are capable of anything right now," the old wizard twirled the porcelain cup in his hands, frowning ever so slightly. "This is what I wanted to talk to you about, Harry, and you, Severus," he gave them both a pointed look. "One of you must have noticed something, in either the visions from Voldemort or in his presence, the others' gossip?"

_Here it comes_. Now Potter would point his finger at Severus and he would have to fight his tooth and nail to prove the the old codger that he was no traitor.

"I haven't seen anything about his plans or his Death Eaters," Harry said deftly, keeping his eyes trained on his boots, "As I've already told you, sir."

"Yes, Harry, but you never told me what do you see in your visions, so I can't really believe you, can I?" Dumbledore looked at him sternly. "Do you still see Mr Malfoy?"

"No, I don't." Malfoy slowly disappeared from his visions as he started seeing the mysterious room with the row 97. But Vernon stayed, oh, he stayed. He would never leave, Harry was certain of it. Severus arched an eyebrow in surprise. Potter wasn't complaining about his loyalties, was he going to tell the headmaster the contents of his nightmares? His lord wouldn't like this.

"So, what do you see then? Harry, I wouldn't believe until you tell me the truth," the old wizard sounded kind, gentle, but Harry wasn't fooled. On one hand he wanted to tell if only to solve the riddle of the vision, and on the other, he didn't want to do anything with Dumbledore ever again. He was tired of being neglected and used by practically everyone. Ha, and he used to think his life at Hogwarts would be better than in Surrey. How pathetically naive of him. Snape was _right_, Snape was once again right - he needed to grow up.

Looking at his father, who was looking back impassively at him, Harry cleared his throat and placed his still full cup on the table. "I know nothing of the snakface's plans. But I know you are hiding something from me, sir," he looked up at the headmaster, scowling at him darkly. Well, what an interesting twist! Severus leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest, prepared to enjoy the show.

"Did Voldemort show you something, Harry?" Dumbledore was watching him gravely, dreading the worst. Tom couldn't have known the boy was his horcrux, if he did Harry wouldn't have been sitting here.

"What is kept in the row 97 in one of the rooms at the Ministry?" Harry asked back, his scowl getting deeper and angrier. Severus couldn't help but wonder if he himself looked that menacing when he scowled like that.

Dumbledore's eyes went wide for a second before he composed himself and hoarsely replied, "What room are you talking about, my boy?"

"One of those behind the door in the circular room, I don't know their names, all I know it is very deep underground in the Ministry, it is filled with orbs that are marked under the different names and Voldemort needs something from the row 97." Harry noticed Snape shift uncomfortably at the mentioning of the orb and turned to him, "What are those orbs, sir?"

"Those are no concern of yours, Harry, however, thank you for telling me you saw them," the headmaster looked very pale as he stood and moved to the fireplace to call someone. Harry strained his ears and caught something along the lines "The Department of Mysteries, Hall of Prophecies" and stared at Snape again, who tried to look everywhere but at him.

"Is there a _prophecy_? _About me_?" he suddenly realized what was going on. Voldemort wanted it, Dumbledore hid it from him, Snape looked like he'd rather be somewhere else... Harry stood up sharply, moving away from Dumbledore who tried to sooth him. "Tell me once again why_ exactly_ Voldemort tried to kill me the first time?" his voice boomed around the office, making all the portraits inhabitants lean excitedly forward.

"Harry, please, you must understand this is what Tom is trying to do, he wants me to tell you the prophecy so that he could steal it from your mind-"

"Oh for Merlin's sake, Albus," Severus sprang up on his feet, interrupting the old wizard, too tired to keep up all this farce, "Tell him already!"

"No," Dumbledore cut off.

"Fine!" the potions master towered over the boy and spat into his face, "It was prophesied a child would be born at the end of the seventh month, the one capable of vanquishing the Dark Lord with the power he knows not, marked by him as his _equal_," he pointed his potions stained finger at the lightning bolt scar. "And as it turned out only you and Neville Longbottom fitted that description."

"Severus, you would not go further," Dumbledore's voice thundered threateningly, but Severus ignored him, looking straight in the green eyes that were watching him with an unexpected calm resignation.

"I was _the one_ who overheard the prophecy but not all of it, I was _the one_ who delivered it to the Dark Lord and _condemned_ your mother to death," his voice fell to a barely traceable whisper but Harry heard everything he needed to know. That was the corner stone off all this madness, wasn't it? Snape blamed himself for Lily's death and that was why he hated him so much, wasn't it, for surviving, for being the constant reminder? The notion that there was some kind of a prophecy didn't really concern him all that much. He should have expected something like this - he was never ordinary, after all, all the fucked up shit always happened to him and him alone.

"If you expect me to run in hysterics out of the office, you will be waiting a long time," Harry offered the pale and surprisingly nervous potions master. "I am not crying over this, sorry."

Severus stared at him in bewilderment. "Are you retarded, Potter? I said-"

"Yes, I heard you loud and clear, you were the one who delivered the prophecy. But how could you know it was about me? If you didn't even know mum was pregnant?"

Both Snape and Dumbledore looked at him in surprise. "How can you know this, Harry?" the headmaster came closer to gaze intently into his eyes.

"Sirius told me about when they found out she was pregnant, it was pretty late, when the belly was already showing, so I doubt Snape could have known earlier than that and could have known when exactly was she expecting?" he shrugged his shoulders as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "So he delivered the prophecy, so what? I know that Voldemort offered her to spare her life, so no point in dwelling on that anymore," he looked away, shoving his hands into his robe's pockets.

"I never knew that," Dumbledore gave Severus a questioning look and stared back at Harry, feeling quite disturbed by the lack of reaction from the boy.

Severus couldn't master a mere sound out of his throat. He was watching the boy before him dumbly, as if he was somebody else. Why wasn't Potter blaming him? He was blaming himself, he was _guilty_, he was the reason she died, just why was the brat dismissing it all?

"What angers me the most, though, is that you never deemed it necessary to tell me about all this, sir," Harry glared at Dumbledore, his eyes cold and hard as stone.

"Harry, you must understand, I wanted to give you a luxury of a normal childhood, you were too young to know about it, it was and is still dangerous for you," the headmaster chided, waving his finger at him, as if he was a five year old who broke a bottle of milk.

"_Really?_" he snorted indecently and stroke an arrogant pose, crossing his arms over his chest just like Snape always did. "I spent eleven years being abused, the first year here I had to face Voldemort, possessing the teacher, whom I killed. No, don't give that rot about my mother's protection - it is a fact, I burned him to ash. The second year I had to kill a fucking Basilisk and found out I was a bloody snake charmer, and let's not forget the lovely Tom Riddle, possessing everybody away like a fucking free ride! The third year I had to fight the blasted dementors, a hundred of them for god's sake!" Harry was shouting at this point, his cheeks took on a reddish hue and his eyes were all but blazing fire. "The fourth year I had to compete in a dangerous tournament that wasn't suited for children and yet nobody took me out of it! I had to watch Cedric die, fight Voldemort again and now he is roaming in my head like it is his fucking personal playground! Where the fuck were you all those times? Why the fuck hadn't you told me what was going on?!"

Dumbledore took a step back, looking ashamed and wounded, angry and sad at the same time, while Severus was impressed once again. It was rather pleasant to watch Potter figuratively slap the old coot on the face again and again, throw all his shit back at him.

"So, no, I am not impressed you've hidden something as _insignificant_ as a bloody prophecy from me. And here I thought what the hell was snakeface blabbering about when I met him in my first year! It is as simple as that!" he flicked his fingers mockingly in front of the old wizard's face, "I am his fucking equal, I am his destined slayer! No wonder the man is nuts about skinning me alive, if I were in his place I would have already had my head on a stick at the front porch of whatever shithole he's living in!"

Severus had to cover his mouth with his hand to not let the nervous laughter break out. He knew he was definitely going to show this to his lord in the pensieve.

"Harry..." Dumbledore began but the boy flew into a rage.

"Harry _what_? I have been Harry for sixteen years and all I've seen was only shit from all of you! You know what, sir? I don't believe you anymore! I'd rather believe Voldemort - at least he never hid anything from me, saying everything into my face!"

"No!" the headmaster looked truly terrified by the thought, "No, Harry! He would trick you, he would hurt you so much, you are incapable of imagining just what he can do to you!" he grabbed the boy's hands into his and squeezed them tightly, trying to convey his fear and worry through the touch. "Don't you see? _This_ is what he is trying to achieve. He wants you to feel betrayed and alone, for you to have nobody to rely on! But, Harry, you are not alone! I never betrayed you, I only wished to prolong your innocence, to give you a chance of happiness!" two thick tears fell down his wrinkled cheeks and Severus huffed at the sight of suddenly ashamed Potter. So much for the impressive outburst.

"I... I am sorry sir," Harry squeezed the old hands back, looking like a child that he was, "But you did a terribly shitty work. My innocence was lost _long before_ I even killed Quirrell," he closed his eyes resentfully, twisting his mouth in disdain and once again Severus wondered what was the secret the brat was guarding. Something so horrible he hated himself so much for it... just what could have a child done?

"Harry, my boy," Dumbledore pulled him into a tight embrace and the potions master turned away, overwhelmed with a memory of Potter holding him the very same way. "I only wish you would forgive me one day, when you will understand everything. I promise you, that day will come soon." Dumbledore rubbed soothing circles on the rigid back of the boy, who all but froze in his arms, more a stone to the touch than a human being.

"How can you expect me to trust you, sir, when you can't pay me back with the same?" Harry carefully freed himself out of the old wizard's hold and stepped back weary to be closer to the exit. "Are you going to tell me the prophecy?"

"No, Harry, I cannot," the headmaster shook his head sadly. "It is truly dangerous, no one can predict what would Voldemort do when he finds out its full meaning. I will not throw away your life like that."

"I see. Then I will not be taking any more Occlumency lessons from professor Snape, sir," Harry's lips trembled - none of the older men could tell if it was in anger or in tears, for the boy quickly turned away and calmly walked out of the office, with his back straight and his chin held high.

"Severus..." Dumbledore turned to the potions master helplessly but the raven haired wizard shook his head.

"No, Albus, no. I warned you of the consequences of your silence. Here, you have them now. I am not begging Potter to come back, nor am I convincing him to take more lessons," Severus frowned and moved to leave as well. "Let me warn you again, Albus. If Potter is anything like me at sixteen," he sighed, feeling reluctant to do this, but knowing it was the right thing to say to save his place in the old coot's good graces, "Then he will run into trouble hot headed the very first opportunity he gets. Mark my words, I will not always be there to save his hide." With that he left, feeling suddenly much, much better than he felt in many years. It wasn't Potter's forgiveness though, that lifted some part of the weight he had been carrying on his shoulders his whole life - he was telling himself, _it wasn't it._

**xxx**

Severus had never heard his lord laugh so hard and so loud before in his life. The man's face turned red and he rubbed on his eyes to brush away the tears of mirth. He waved at the pensieve and the silver substance floated back to Severus' temple.

"Thank you, Severus," the Dark Lord chuckled, holding his side, "This was most entertaining. I can't remember when had I laughed _that_ much the last time."

"I knew you would enjoy this, my lord" the potions master kept staring at the red eyed wizard in amusement. Who knew the Dark Lord had such a contagious, booming laughter?

"I have to admit I like the little Prince more and more now, the way he handles Dumbledore is truly impressive. If only I knew back then that all I had to do was to insult him and swear like a sailor, I doubt we would have had any war at all," Voldemort snorted to himself, and shook his head in wonder. Harry kept surprising him, constantly. He reminded him of young Severus very much, with his stubbornness, fierceness and sharp tongue. The boy was also impossibly attractive, beautiful. Voldemort always found Severus to be rather interesting in appearance, not handsome, but striking, unusual. His son inherited his features but they took on a more aristocratic, feminine look and made Harry, probably, most irresistible young man he had ever seen. And he had his fair share of both men and women in his days, that were thought to be the most beautiful then. Shaking himself he tried to push the unwelcome fantasies away. He heeded Harry to change the wizarding world, to show Dumbledore and his little light friends their places, there wasn't a place for any kind of intimacy.

Noticing Severus' arched eyebrow and disgustingly understanding look he sighed, "What?"

"I hope you realize, my lord, that Potter is not going to_ indulge_ you in your physical desires," he drawled sarcastically, inwardly cringing at the thought. The Dark Lord could get anybody into his bed, willingly or forcibly, it was a matter of persuasion, really. Some went soon after courting, some needed a few threats, some even required their relatives to be held captive and under the wands of Death Eaters, but all in all, the man _always_ got what he wanted. In case with Potter it was almost impossible, since the boy had nothing and no one dear to loose and was ready to die rather then surrender.

"Don't worry, Severus," Voldemort smiled, "Harry is going to _indulge_ me in my political needs, and that is all. However, I would gladly admit, his defiance and bravery turn me on." He chuckled softly to himself at that. "Such a proud, wild little prince he is."

"When are you going to retrieve the prophecy, my lord? Surely, Rockwood could take you inside and help you steal it," Severus offered, changing the subject to the more important matter at hand.

"Yes, he could. But I will go after it when Harry is ready. Remember, I need him to give it to me, I want him to surrender. And, of course, we need to kidnap him after that, to scare the herd of the sheep that call themselves wizards," Voldemort drawled, looking at his fingernails.

"What would happen after that?" the potions master decided to use the opportunity to find out more since his lord was so forthcoming at the moment.

"We'll see but he will be returned to them at some point, it all depends on how long I will have to work on his submission," the Dark Lord smiled evilly.

When Severus left, Voldemort slumped in his armchair, stretching his long thin legs in front of the fireplace and stared at the flames, rubbing on one of his temples absentmindedly. He couldn't for the life of him get the images of magnificently angry Harry out of his head. He wondered if Dumbledore and Snape even felt his power leak out at that moment - despite seeing only the memory of it, he sensed it very clearly. The air itself seemed to vibrate around the boy, his green eyes seemed to take on a brighter, more vivid hue, all but burning inside. Harry reminded him so much of his own younger self. The same impulsiveness, arrogance, righteousness. _Passion_. He felt the urgent need to possess it all, to claim it his. The more he visited the boy in his dreams the more he felt it - their connection. The unimaginable precedent, the mysterious, most wonderful accident. How was this connection possible? He couldn't fathom this, that was why he wanted to hold Harry a prisoner for some time, to study the phenomenon, to understand what was its source. To, maybe, develop it even further?

But just how exquisite the boy was... Licking his lips, Voldemort growled at himself and summoned a drink. He didn't want to go _there_. Just the thought of being close to the little Prince made his groin heat in pleasant anticipation. It was so long since he had lusted after somebody, such a young man especially. Closing his eyes, he sighed as the image of the young pale face clouded his mind once again. Everything was perfect in this raven haired wizard, every little detail he could remember seemed to be sculpted by the genius master with the outmost delicacy and care. The permanently lingering sadness in the boy's features made him look so innocent, so pure, so tempting. It was just in his dark nature to hunt the precious beautiful things down and make them_ his_, and Harry was no exception. If anything, he was his new obsession. _Such a sweet, sweet little beast_. What would it be like to taste these red lips?_ Fuck, not now_. Sitting up sharply, Voldemort downed his drink in one big gulp and scowled at the bulge between his thighs. There could be no intimacy between them, this couldn't get any more personal than it had already been.

**xxx**

Finally freed from his Occlumency sessions, Harry realized he had more time for his studies and immersed himself in Defense and Potions, spending his every free period at the library. Hermione looked at him with great pride and respect, while Ron helplessly shrugged his shoulders and constantly tried to lure Harry back into the quidditch team, but it was fruitless. Although he loved flying, he didn't feel he wanted it now. Something was telling Harry he wouldn't fly until he left Hogwarts for _good_. In order to do that he needed every help he could get and since Dumbledore was out of the question, as were his friends, he had to improve himself, had to study on his own. It was a question of survival, not happy childhood behind the safe walls of his first and only home there was.

By the end of january their DA group grew in number. Three more gryffindors from the twins' year joined them, as well as a few more hufflepuffs and ravenclaws. After Umbridge introduced her new "rules" as she called them, sanctioned by the Minister himself, all the students realized that not only they were left without any kind of decent Defense lessons but also were dramatically limited in their curriculum and free time activities. Dumbledore was also strictly limited in his actions and was going to be reevaluated as a headmaster, though Harry didn't really worry about the old wizard - it was highly unlikely anybody would sack him but even if they did it wouldn't last for long. The word about their rebellious working group spread like fire all over the school. _So much for the secrecy_. Students started coming up to him with questions and suggestions. Most unexpected was Draco Malfoy's inquiry.

"So, Potter, I've heard you are leading a studying group in Defense?" the blonde boy sat down at his table in the library late friday evening, when Harry was writing his potions essay. He looked up in surprise and met the pale grey eyes that were watching him curiously, no previously burning malice could be seen in them.

"Yes, I am. I doubt you would be interested, though," he shrugged his shoulders and turned back to his work. He didn't want to turn the boy away but he was a son of a Death Eater. He wouldn't be teaching his future enemy, would he?

"Why is that?" Draco smiled, resting his elbows on the desk and leaning closer to peek into the book Harry was working with.

"Well, we are covering basics from the school curriculum mostly, I am certain your father taught you everything there was, I gathered as much from some of the purebloods from ravenclaw," he drawled nonchalantly, scratching on his parchment, stealing quick glances at the blonde before him.

"Oh, but I've heard you are teaching some rather advanced material, that is covered in the seventh year, for example," Draco purred, narrowing his eyes ever so slightly. Harry knew that look - it was a challenge. Malfoy knew perfectly well what was the group preparing for and he was testing him, was pushing him to see if he would take in a dark wizard. If he was_ fair_. But would it be fair to train the Death Eater in making?

"Draco," he sighed, putting his quill away and folding his hands in front of him, and looked at the boy intently, "I know what you're doing. I will take you in only if I have a guarantee you would not get marked and would not support Voldemort. But I know I can't have it."

Draco looked surprised, impressed even. Taking on his usual haughty smirk he lifted his shoulder, "And why are you so certain of this?"

Looking around and making sure nobody was in the hearing range, Harry leaned forward and whispered, "We both know your father is a Death Eater. Whether you want to follow in his footsteps or not, doesn't really matter, I am quite certain either he would make you take the mark, or Voldemort himself would. You are a good duelist, a talented wizard and a pureblood heir. Sorry for sounding stereotypical, but you are a_ perfect candidate_."

"My, Potter, but you are actually smart!" the blonde sounded amused. He looked at Harry for some time, as if weighing his chances, and finally sighed, hanging his head down, "You are right, regardless of my personal preferences, I am going to be marked. But you proved your point well enough for me so I would keep my mouth shut if anybody asks..." he smiled slyly, as his eyes gleamed mischievously.

"Yes, well, thanks, I guess," Harry raised his eyebrows, giving the boy a small smile in return. It was unusual to converse with Malfoy so casually and civilly but, everything be damned, he _enjoyed_ it. He dearly wished he could be friends with the narcissistic ferret but the precipice between them was too wide for each to cross. It wasn't even their own doing, but their ancestors' - _how fair was that?_

"Speaking of the pureblood upbringing, you could have done with one, you know," Draco chuckled softly, tucking a stray fair lock behind his ear elegantly.

"I am not a Potter anymore, I am not a pureblood, you know that," Harry shook his head and looked down in his book.

He had to raise his eyes again, in surprise now, when he heard Draco snort rather loudly. "Potter, you are a _Prince_, there can't be any purer than that even if your mother was a mudblood."

Harry wanted to scowl at the_ 'mudblood'_ in regard of his mother but dismissed it in favor of the mysterious name being mentioned. "As you know, Draco, Snape and I are hardly managing to breathe the same air, so I have no slightest idea what the Prince name means. I found out I am one by accident, I doubt he would have ever told me."

"Oh!" Draco rubbed his hands together excitedly and shifted to sit in his chair more comfortably. "Let me tell you all about the Princes, I do so love gossip!"

Harry couldn't help it - he laughed loudly, marveling at the change in the boy's whole attitude. Instead of the haughty rich pampered lord there sat an ordinary, if a little eccentric, teenager, who gestured rather actively and spoke fast and funny. "Alright, fire away, I am intrigued," he leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs. This was going to be much more interesting than potions.

"Well," Draco began, looking very pleased with himself and the newly found audience, "The Princes used to be a very prominent family and could rival with Malfoys in their wealth and influence. They were most famous for their gifts in potion making, the talent which was passed on from generation to generation, presenting the country with a steady flow of potions masters. However, the Princes lost half of their fortune in the war with Grindelwald - I don't remember the name of the head of the family at that time but he decided to side with the Dark Lord and payed for it dearly. He was executed after Dumbledore brought Grindelwald down," the blonde wrinkled his nose at that, showing how much he thought of the headmaster. "Anyway, Severus' grandfather became the head of the family which was rather large but the epidemic of the dragon pox that broke out in the fifties took all of his children and siblings away, leaving him alone with his wife and youngest daughter Eileen, your grandmother. As the potions masters and the suppliers of the most apothecaries in the country they spent a shitload of money on research and developed a cure from the pox but it was too late. Your grandmother was, what you call it, a_ black sheep_ in the family. She left after graduation from Hogwarts and, instead of taking an apprenticeship, married a muggle. What the hell was she thinking we would never know now. Her father went nuts, of course, and disowned her," at that Draco winced and that told Harry just how dreadful that must have seemed to the purebloods. Sirius, who never gave a shit, was surely a great exception amongst them.

"That is why when Severus was born he bore the name of his muggle father. However, his grandfather cooled off a bit and tried to make peace with his rebellious daughter. She wasn't keen on going back to her family but she asked him to take Severus in if anything happened to her. And that's where Dumbledore comes into the play!" the blonde all but jumped in his seat excitedly, drawing another smile from Harry. "Even though Severus lived in poverty with his mother and filth of a father, his education was paid for from the Prince's vault, and his grandfather held a long termed correspondence with the old coot regarding the future of his only heir. When Eileen died he, lying in his deathbed himself, his wife long dead by then, sent Dumbledore his last letter for his grandson in which he told Severus about his true family and asked the headmaster to escort him to the bank to find his family ring, money, property and all that stuff, to become the Prince he was supposed to be since his birth. But Dumbledore never did that," Draco looked disgusted, "I bet he thought if he wouldn't let Severus get all the money he would sway him away from the Dark Lord who had already found great interest in his potions talents at that time. Anyway, left ignorant and poor as a mouse, Severus joined the Dark Lord without a second thought and started making his own money. By the time we both were born, I think, he found out the truth. The Dark Lord told him who he truly was, when he stumbled upon some random documents, it doesn't matter what they were. Anyway, when Severus realized where he came from, he went to Gringotts and received his inheritance, took the ring and took the name of Prince, but in secret, of course. Also found the blasted letter which Dumbledore sent into the vault with the possessions of Lord Prince when the solicitor placed them there. Can you imagine - the man willed a mountain of money for the school and the old goat still hadn't told Severus the truth! He works under this name ever since and is ugly rich. So what I'm trying to say is simply this: he can pay for your proper education, you know what I mean," the blonde wriggled his eyebrows at that, looking at the raven haired boy cunningly.

"Wow," was all Harry could say to this. Draco was definitely resourceful when it came to information. He entertained the idea that the blonde might have been just as intelligent and know-it-all as Hermione only he covered it up well under the mask of a self-centered arrogant prince. "Why do you call Snape by his given name?"

"Oh, I've missed the juiciest detail, haven't I?" Draco laughed indulgently. "He is my _godfather_."

"Oh," Harry stared at him dumbly, not really knowing what to say. He and Draco were kind of... _family_ now. His own godfather was the blonde's uncle so they were connected all around.

"Exactly, _oh_," Draco smiled and batted his eyelashes. "We are family, Prince," he winked at Harry conspiratorially, "But we will keep it a secret for a time being."

"Yeah, we will," the raven haired boy smiled at him helplessly, looking shy and uncertain.

Draco patted him on the shoulder as he stood up to to leave, "Wouldn't you take me into your group now?" he pouted pretentiously.

"No," Harry laughed, "But you almost got me there," his smile grew wider, brighter.

"Thought so," Draco leaned closer, flashing a blinding grin at the other boy. "I like you, _Harry_. Hope the feeling is mutual," his superior smirk in place he turned and strode out of the library, not looking back. Harry watched him leave with a smile still plastered on his face. _It is mutual, it is._

**xxx**

Umbridge plunged her sharp claws deeper and deeper into the student body and the school itself. The headmaster hadn't spoken to Harry ever since the beginning of the term, being constantly under pressure of the toad. The curfew was moved to 9 pm for all the students, the outdoor activities were restricted and only quidditch remained. Ron kept complaining his every waking minute about the passes they all had to get from the vile woman, how unfairly she treated the twins and Lee Jordan by forbidding them to practice. By the end of february the Hogsmead weekends were cancelled altogether and the students tried to go on strike against her latest decree but all their attempts were futile. It all ended up in a mass giveaway of detentions in the Forbidden Forest. Unfortunately, Ron was one of those lucky ones who got their fair share.

And so Hermione and Harry sat in the window alcove not far from the main entrance of the school, waiting for their friend to come back from the forest. It was almost curfew but there was no sign of him or other students on the lawn outside.

"Maybe Mr Filch would lead them back through the eastern wing?" Hermione suggested, from behind the book her nose was buried in.

"I don't think so. The toad had probably ordered him to bring them back late so that she or prefects could catch the _lucky ones_ in the corridors and take more points," Harry replied from behind his own tome. He was slowly going through every book there was on the Ministry structure and departments and on prophecies. If only their teacher was more competent he would have simply asked her, but since she was Trelawney, he highly doubted she could be of any help whatsoever. He still kept seeing the very same row 97 with the blasted orbs but he didn't get any further than that. He knew his prophecy was somewhere on one of those shelves but as it all was an illusion he couldn't reach out and take it. He had to go to the Ministry itself in order to find it.

"Harry," the girl's voice brought him out of his musings, "Harry, I've been meaning to ask for some time now." He looked up to meet the warm brown eyes of his friend. "You didn't seem all that happy during our Christmas holidays together and after that you really seemed to close off. It's not that I am not glad you spend your time studying and reading, you actually became absolutely brilliant at potions, it's just that..." she frowned at the hem of her skirt that her hands were clutching, "Well, you seem so distant, so... not like _our_ Harry anymore."

He scowled in reply, for he should have known that sooner or later Hermione would have brought the subject up. "I know, Mione, but this is how it must be done. There is a great danger ahead, the war is coming, I can't risk yours and Ron's life, not anymore. I used to act without thinking back then but after what happened to Cedric... I wouldn't be able to live if I saw your lifeless bodies lying at my feet while the snakeface bastard laughed in my face."

"Oh, Harry, but we are your friends," she took him by the hand gently, "We will stand by your side no matter what."

Sighing tiredly, Harry looked at her with his puffy bloodshot eyes, "Don't you understand what I'm saying, Hermione?" at her confused expression he shook his head in exasperation. So much for the most brilliant witch of the generation. "You and Ron are my _only_ weakness. The closer you are to me, the more is the threat you would be taken from me one day. I cannot allow this to happen. I'd rather stop being friends with you both altogether than let anything happen to you." He squeezed her hand, begging silently for her to understand, to see it from his point of view.

The tears welled up in her eyes and she sniffed quietly, "Something is going on, isn't it? Pain in your scar, your nightmares, it is not just the war isn't it?" she whispered, sorrow and fear written on her face. "I see how you sometimes rub it and scowl as if in pain, I see how little you sleep, Harry. What is happening? At least tell me what is going on? I could help with a research or something..." Hermione squeezed his hand back helplessly.

"I'd rather you didn't know anything," he looked away. "I will tell you and Ron when we are back in our common room, alright?" She nodded and opened her mouth to add something but was interrupted by the high voice that could only belong to Malfoy.

"Well, doves, I _hate_ to ruin the idyl you found yourselves in but it is curfew and you must go to your tower at once," Draco drawled, smirking at them, as he came closer and leaned onto the pillar.

"Alright," Harry stood up and pinned Hermione with a glare before she could say anything. "Do you know why are the others so late from the forest?" he looked at Draco and saw the boy twist his lips in disdain. Contrary to popular belief slytherins got just as mush punishments and detentions as gryffindors and the only thing that saved the blonde's hide from getting one himself was his prefect position and his father's support of Fudge.

"_Madame_," Draco spat her title as if it was a foul word that offended him, "Wished to supervise their work personally today so I doubt they will be back any time soon. Now, move, move," he waved his hand at them impatiently and Harry nodded, taking his friend by the arm and stirring her away in the direction of their common room.

"What was that?" Hermione stared at him as they quickly walked up the stairs, "You and Malfoy all friendly with each other?"

"I decided it was time to grow up and leave as few enemies to deal with as possible," he muttered, glaring at the Fat Lady and ignoring her affronted squeak as she opened the passage for them without any password being said.

"This was very mature of you," his friend admitted, "But why Malfoy of all people? He is going to become a Death Eater sooner or later, you know that."

"Yeah, and this is exactly why I wish to be friendly with him. The last thing I need is him interfering with my business. Besides, he is not at all what he seems, I got to know him better and I can even say he is nice, when he wants to be," Harry shrugged his shoulders as he plumped down onto the sofa and opened his book again.

"Are you sure he isn't playing at something?" Hermione narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

"I am quite certain," he said simply. _It is Snape who you should be really worried about._ Scowling at the thought of his father, Harry hid behind the dusty pages indicating their conversation to be over. He didn't want to think about the snarky professor any more than he had to during their potions lessons but ever since his confession Harry couldn't help but think back on what might have been. What ifs wouldn't do him any good but the lonely, broken child in him couldn't let go of the pointless fantasies. What if Snape had never overheard the prophecy and so Voldemort never knew about him? He would have lived happily with his mum and his... stepdad. Would have he been happy? Knowing the truth now Harry doubted he could answer this question. But he would have to fight snakeface anyway, his family could have died anyway, and hadn't Voldemort come for him that night, he wouldn't have been vanquished for the long twelve years the world lived in peace and picked up the pieces. If Voldemort stayed alive and the war continued, there was no saying what would have happened. Who would have won? Whatever angle he was looking at it, the way it all turned out was the best of all, except for his mum dying and him being left with Dursleys.

And another atrocious fantasy that kept him awake at nights was one of Snape being his father for real. What kind of a parent could he have been? Ridiculously, Harry was certain the bat would have been a very good one, completely different from his own. And that was what pained Harry the most. The notion that he could have it all if it wasn't for mistakes of some other people. Had Dumbledore told Snape the truth and let him get his inheritance, would have he joined the Death Eaters then? Perhaps, he would have married Lily after all. _Fuck_. He didn't want to think about it all, it made him regret every day of his own pathetic life. _What if, what if, what if._.. Here and now he was alone, he couldn't have his father, he couldn't have his friends, he couldn't even trust Dumbledore anymore. Sure, the headmaster always acted in their best interests and wanted only what was good for them, however, it all seemed twisted to Harry. Sometimes he even thought the old wizard was no better in his manipulations then Voldemort.

The latter wasn't trying to converse with him anymore, however, Harry learned to sense his presence in his mind and it galled him that he didn't feel at all disgusted by it, on the contrary, it felt... almost nice, almost familiar, comforting, as if it filled a _hole_ in his soul he never knew existed. Shuddering at the recollection of the sensation, he closed his book with a thud and stared at his hands. He knew everything there was to know about the Department of Mysteries. It wasn't much but it was enough for him to realize that it was indeed a trap, the one he hated to get into. Voldemort knew the place better than Harry, he could have easily go and retrieve the orb all by himself, the fact that he wanted Harry to do it screamed _danger. _But the notion that snakeface knew something he didn't, had an upper hand in this, angered him to no end and the more and more he saw the vision of the Hall of Prophecies, the more inclined he felt to just go there and be done with it all.

**xxx**

It was in the middle of march, saturday evening, when Umbridge caught him in the corridor. "Mr Potter, where are coming from looking like this?" she shrieked, pointing her short fat finger at his disheveled hair and clothes. He was hurrying to get to his common room after the DA practice they had and had no time to pamper himself up.

"Excuse me, madame," he looked down at his boots, silently praying she would only take points.

"Well, clean yourself up!" she barked. "I will have to add a new decree concerning the proper appearance of a student. And you would serve a good example to all of your housemates. Detention!" the toad exclaimed triumphantly.

_Fuck_. "Yes, madame," he sighed heavily and tried to arrange his robes but it was futile.

"I think it would be better if Potter served his detention with me," came a silkily voice behind them and they both turned to see the tall dark form of the potions master step out of the shadows.

"I am sure he would be quite alright with Mr Filch, we can't let the family relation affect the efficiency of the punishment, can we?" the toad smiled sweetly at Snape but her eyes became two narrow slits, so hard she squinted them in anger. No matter how hard she tried she couldn't find any flaw in the snarky professor's work at the school and so had no grounds to get rid of him.

"I have tons of dirty cauldrons to clean and ingredients to prepare, Potter hates this, I can assure you," Severus spoke respectfully but was watching the small plump woman with evident disgust. Harry only stared at the two of them, not liking any of the alternatives.

"Fine, but his detention is a week long," Umbridge clicked her tongue and turned to leave. "And it's twenty points from gryffindor," with that she walked away.

"You know, you don't have to save me from her all the time like some fairy tale knight or prince, sir," Harry scowled at his professor. "Oh, wait, you are a _Prince_, after all," he huffed, rolling his eyes.

Severus scowled back, as his lips paled in anger, "How do you- No, don't answer that. _Draco_, isn't it?" At the boy's uncaring shrug of the shoulders he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation, "He and his long tongue... I noticed how suddenly civil and well behaved you two became towards each other, I wondered what was the meaning of the unexpected change..."

"Do I have to serve detention now or could we start tomorrow, perhaps?" Harry muttered not looking at the man.

"It starts now," Severus hissed and strode in the direction of the dungeons expecting the boy to follow him. He didn't know what compelled him to save Potter from Umbridge, but he knew something was going on at the school and the brat was once again in the center of it all. He wanted to find out what exactly and just how bad it was before it was too late. Besides, the toad of a woman was out for Potter's head, she was keen on making him a fool and a lunatic even more than he had already been and she wasn't afraid to use any means in order to achieve that. He was having none of this. After his slytherins told him just what had Filch made them do in the forest, he started taking them out of the detention and they eagerly spend their evenings preparing ingredients for him. No, he didn't care for Potter but the boy was a walking disaster, he would have surely got himself eaten or killed in the forest.

When they entered his office he warded the door and motioned for the boy to sit down. Grudgingly Harry lowered himself on one of the chairs, tagging on his tangled, sweated hair.

"Potter, let's address the Prince matter first," Severus began not really knowing how to actually address the issue.

"It is no concern of mine, yeah, I got it. Could have at least told me Draco was your godson," the boy gave him a bored look.

Narrowing his eyes in irritation, Severus bit out, "Fine." Shifting to sit on the edge of his desk more comfortably, he continued, "Why do you look like you've been either shagging or training? I hardly believe you are up to the former, judging by the way you barely touch another human being, so what are you up to with the latter?"

_Perfect, he found out about the DA_. "Nothing," Harry mumbled, drawing the tips of his boots together, suddenly fascinated with them.

"Potter, I have nothing against students practicing in their spare time, it is Umbridge who will raise Hell if she finds out. Do you really think it is not suspicious and obvious when almost forty students come red and sweated every wednesday and saturday to dinner, panting as if they had been running around the pitch for hours. Only an idiot wouldn't recognize magical exhaustion. You might also want to reconsider the way of gathering everyone in time. It is hard to miss the line that stands at the stairs to the seventh floor waiting to get inside whatever place it is you're using in there." Professor spoke nonchalantly but Harry heard his warning - nobody was going to stand up for them should they get caught, the other teachers were too afraid to lose their positions after what happened to Trelawney.

The toad had issued yet another decree that prohibited to start any kind of student groups or clubs that were not sanctioned by her personally. Which only left quidditch and the tea club for future ladies, discarding the chess club and several others as well.

"Yes, I know, sir, we will be more careful next time," Harry sighed and finally looked up at Snape. The man looked surprisingly calm, if a little annoyed but that was his permanent state Harry thought.

"Am I right to presume you are teaching Defense?" Severus asked, watching the boy closely. Potter was slowly developing his impressive power and that could have only been achieved through constant spell practicing. What else could he teach the others, really? All the other subjects were covered efficiently by more than competent professors. At the boy's silence he tried once more, "How advanced are you already? I doubt you use any of the textbooks that were ever introduced in the curriculum?"

"I use the ones that are in the library and in the Restricted Section," Harry admitted. There was no point in hiding - Snape knew everything already.

"Are you preparing them for the war? Is that why there are no slytherins in your group?" these were stupid questions, he knew, since that much was obvious _what_ was the reason behind their practicing. Umbridge's incompetence was just an excuse.

"You know all the answers already, sir. Just what do you want?" the boy sighed tiredly, rubbing on his bloodshot eyes. He looked awful and Severus couldn't help but feel slightly worried the brat would simply fall on his face and die suddenly.

"To warn you. And to give you this," he held out a vial of the Dreamless Sleep draught out for Potter to take. At the boy's perplexed expression he elaborated, "Since you are magically working yourself up, you need some decent sleep otherwise you might exhaust your body and mind to a critical point and find yourself in a coma."

"Well, thanks," Harry took the vial tentatively, hating the warm ball that formed in his chest and started slowly rising into his throat. Even the tiniest demonstrations of care turned him into a pile of goo. _How pathetic was that?_

"You still have cauldrons to wash," the potions master reminded, sitting down at his desk to start grading.

"Yeah, yeah, I know," the boy lifted himself up and shed his wrinkled robe, rolling up the sleeves of his white shirt. Severus tried not to look at the ugly scars that marred the pale skin but his eyes were practically glued to them. _How many more there are on the boy's back..._ Pursing his lips, he scowled at the essays before him. He wasn't going to pity Potter, nor was he going to care. The child didn't ask for it during the sixteen years of his life so he definitely didn't need it now.

**xxx**

For the last two weeks Harry had been seeing the vision of the Hall of Prophecies every night and once or twice during the day. It frustrated him to no end, for he couldn't sleep, nor could he concentrate on his studies. He kept rubbing his scar, feeling Voldemort's sudden impatience. The man was absolutely unbearable. Exhausted and angry, Harry completely stopped socializing with others and left the DA in Hermione's and Ron's hands, physically incapable of doing anything more than dragging himself from one classroom to another. He even asked Snape to let him brew the potions later in detentions for he was afraid he might blow everyone up. Surprisingly, the potions master agreed without one snarky remark. That seemed suspicious but Harry had no strength to dwell on that for long.

At the beginning of april Dumbledore had been sacked and Umbridge became the headmaster. They hoped in vain that she would leave her DADA position - her useless lessons continued, with a renewed vigor she plunged herself into pestering them about the importance of being the law abiding wizards and witches. Every Defense lesson started and ended with the proclamation of the _almightiness_ of the Ministry of Magic and the assurance that no Dark Lord was out there to be scared of.

Sitting in the back of the room, having had fallen into a heavy slumber, Harry was once again seeing the disturbing nightmares about the cemetery. Voldemort hissed at him with his forked tongue, baring his sharp inhuman teeth and laughing at his pain. He slowly approached Harry, who was tied to the gravestone and bent down to look him in the eye.

"Harry, Harry," he hissed coldly, "You'd better wake up or you might miss something _interesting_." With that he stepped back and the background of the scene of his dream cracked and burned down, morphing into the Hall of Prophecies with its orbs, ominously gleaming at Harry from the shelves. Voldemort held Snape by his long lank hair, his wand pressed against the frantically pulsing vein on the potions master's throat. "Wake up, Harry, wake up," snakeface laughed.

Swallowing harshly, Harry stared at Snape who looked deathly pale but still serious, seemingly unaffected, but he could hear his heart beat maddeningly against the ribcage. Squeezing his eyes shut, Harry told himself it was just a dream, just a stupid vision. The git was somewhere in the castle, he would have never made himself a bait, for Harry Potter of all people.

"Are you sure this is a _dream_, Harry?" Voldemort grinned ugly, as his eyes shone mischievously.

Harry woke up when his head connected with the floor and his breath got knocked out of him. Coughing, as the tears poured out of his eyes at the sharp pain, he shook his head in bewilderment. This was the _last drop_, he was so done with that scaled wanker. Standing up shakily, he excused himself before an unimpressed Umbridge and asked for permission to go to the hospital wing. Not trusting him, she ordered Malfoy to escort him.

"Potter, what happened? One minute you were sleeping soundly behind your book, the next you fall down with yelps and profanities on your lips," Draco gave him a somewhat worried look.

"It's nothing, Voldemort is simply playing rough," Harry mumbled absentmindedly, figuring it was now or never when he was going to escape from the school and get into the Ministry. He was almost certain Snape was here, of that he was safe he had no doubts whatsoever. Biting his lip and frowning to himself he halted his walk and turned to the blonde. "Draco, do you know if there is a working floo at the school? I need to get into the Ministry, now."

"Harry," the other boy's eyebrows shot up in surprise, "Are you sure you're feeling alright? You sound delirious."

"I am absolutely fine. I must get there, Draco, please," he looked at the blonde pleadingly. If somebody could help him now, it was Malfoy.

The boy huffed, "Well, if you say so. But I was never there and I left you at the hospital wing!" At Harry's vehement nodding he sighed and tagged on his collar nervously, "In the headmaster's, I meant headmistress' office is the only working floo, though I can't say if it is locked with a password but I saw Umbridge use it to go back and forth between the school and the Ministry."

"Thank you, Draco, I owe you," Harry squeezed his hand and ran off, checking on his way that his wand was hidden safely in his sleeve, as was his invisibility cloak in his back pocket. Shrugging helplessly at the raven haired wizard Draco walked to the infirmary and back into the classroom, looking innocent and bored for all the world. As soon as the bell rang he quickly walked into Snape's office.

"I don't know if you care or not," he drawled, peeking from behind the half opened door, "But Potter had just escaped to the Ministry." At Severus' impossibly wide eyes he snickered, "Well, I guess I was right to warn you." With that he left, feeling like he had done enough for the day.

**xxx**

"If the fucker wants me to come, I will fucking come," Harry growled under his breath as he neared the Gargoyle, panting harshly after running as fast as he could. "Well, go on, let me in, I don't have time for your bloody passwords," he barked at the stone statue and it slowly moved away under his glare. Nodding in satisfaction he crossed the staircase in a few quick jumps and burst into the office, cringing and gaging at the sight of the sickeningly pink walls and the countless plates and saucers with the blasted kittens on them. He grabbed the handful of floo powder and threw it into the fireplace. Stepping inside the green flames and pulling his invisibility cloak over himself, he took a deep calming breath and said, "Ministry of Magic".

He found himself sprawled on the black marble floor of the Ministry's main hall, thankful he had his cloak with him that covered his indecent landing. Standing up he looked around and scowled at the unexpected emptiness and silence around him. Usually this place was crammed with wizards and witches running back and forth between the departments. But now it was eerie _deserted_. Anxious and tensed, Harry drew his wand and slowly walked to the lifts. He didn't like this, he felt in his gut this wasn't normal. Once inside the narrow cabin he eyed the buttons uncertainly. Gathering his courage he breathed out and quickly pushed the lowest one with the label "9. Department of Mysteries" next to it. The lift fell harshly down and Harry landed on his arse, unable to keep his balance. A soft female voice announced that he had reached the ninth level and Harry crawled forward and slid the doors open. The long dark corridor was just as empty as it used to be in his visions. "Lumos." The gloom was so thick the light of his wand barely helped him see where he was going. Soundlessly he crossed the distance in a few quick strides and burst the door open without any hesitation. His nerves got the better of him and now he felt adrenaline rush in his veins helping him think clearly. There was no turning back now. He was going to hear the fucking prophecy and let Voldemort do whatever it was he wanted to do to him. He was bloody tired to fight other's wars.

The circular room didn't spin and Harry crossed it, opening the first door that was closest to him - it was the right choice. Here they were - the damned orbs. He took off his cloak and hid it safely in his pocket, spelling it to stick to the fabric. Having shed his robe on his way to the headmaster's office he was now wearing his black trousers, white shirt and a gryffindor tie. Cursing himself for his stupidity he shivered, frantically rubbing on his arms and shoulders - it was freezing cold in here. Breathing out clouds of steam, he carefully moved forward, knowing by heart where row 97 was. Nobody was here it seemed, but he knew that he wasn't alone. The hair on the back of his neck stood up in anticipation as he approached his destination. Moving along the shelves he scanned the names, looking for his own. When he reached the middle he noticed it - an ordinary orb, just like the many others around it. It stood a little to the side, its label hanging low. He saw his name being added later it seemed, than Dumbledore's initials and somebody else's. After the Dark Lord '_Harry Potter_' was written in red ink. _The irony_.

When he took the smooth heavy glass in his hands, he heard soft steps behind him but didn't move, knowing full well he was surrounded by now.

"Mr Potter, kindly pass me the orb," Lucius Malfoy purred at him from behind his golden mask.

Smiling wryly at him, Harry finally turned around to see five masked Death Eaters circled him. They all wore golden masks. "My, but I am being honored it seems. The famous Inner Circle came after the _mere_ boy," he laughed mirthlessly and drew his wand, spelling the orb to stick to his left palm, just in case.

"Stop being ceremonious with the brat, just get the orb and be done with it!" a hysterical female voice exclaimed next to Lucius.

"I will only give it to snakeface directly," Harry drawled, looking bored.

"How dare you-"

"Enough!" Lucius cut the woman off and stepped closer to the boy. "Potter, give me the orb and you would not be harmed."

"Like I care. Call snakeface and I will give it up willingly," he stuck his tongue out at them and slashed his wand through the air suddenly. Unprepared, none of the Death Eaters shielded themselves from his blasting curse and all five fell onto the floor, shattering the dozens of orbs on their way. Harry darted to the left and ran quickly to the exit. He heard the insane screams of the enraged witch and hastened his pace - he wasn't planning on giving up so easily.

The door appeared locked and he blasted it off its hinges, stumbling into the circular room and falling down on his knees as it started spinning like mad. Through the haze of flashing lights Harry saw the Death Eaters running towards him and he practically jumped to grab one of the handles and pushed himself in a random room. It was filled with clocks, countless clocks of all sizes and kinds, their ticking was horribly loud and dissonant, even the sand fell with a deafening volume in the hour-glasses. Pressing his hands over his ears, Harry blindly navigated through the maze of the piles of clocks, completely disoriented. He felt a spell pass him a mere inches above his head and threw his own back, hoping it didn't miss. _Fuck it_. He climbed the closest pile, breaking the glass doors of the grandfather clocks on his way up, and crouched at the top, watching the dark figures wonder around and gesture frantically at each other. He squinted into the darkness and thought he saw a door. It was so far away, he wouldn't be able to reach it without getting caught. _Think, Harry, think_. He looked around helplessly. Wood, glass, steel, gold, cuckoos, hour-glasses, wood... As idea stroke him, Harry grabbed the first wooden clock he saw and concentrated, remembering McGonagall's lessons. He tapped the clock with the tip of his wand and whispered the incantation. Slowly the small box in his hand transformed into a plain looking broom. Hoping against hope that it would work properly, he mounted it and, with a sharp intake of air, pushed up.

Surprisingly, it worked. Trembling and heeling slightly to the right, and ticking loudly like a time-bomb, the broom took him directly to the door, easily crossing the distance. Harry spelled the door open and flew through it, landing roughly onto the hard stone floor, as his broom suddenly transformed back into the clock. Shutting the door and warding it close, he stood up shakily, and looked around. He got into a huge auditorium, with rows and rows of desks and benches going high up into the darkness - they all faced the big clearing on his left, where a lonely archway stood. It looked ordinary at the first inspection, but as Harry stepped closer he saw some kind of translucent veil move inside, trembling as the weak ripples appeared on its surface. He stared in fascination, itching to come closer and touch it, he even thought he heard voices coming from behind it.

"I would be careful with this particular thing if I were you," a cold low hiss behind him brought him out of his stupor and Harry turned on his heels sharply, to meet the blood red eyes gleaming in the darkness somewhere among the desks. Voldemort slowly walked down to the clearing, his heavy black robes rustling softly against the stone floor. Swallowing hard, Harry stepped away from the veil and carefully stumbled to the opposite wall, seeing a door there out of the corner of his eye.

The Death Eaters finally blew the warded door from the other side of the Time Room and burst inside, with curses on the tips of their tongues, but as soon as they saw the Dark Lord standing before them, looking unimpressed, they hastily kneeled.

"Look, your _dogs_ finally found their master," Harry scoffed rolling his eyes, feeling arrogant enough to bait the monster.

"_Indeed_," the Dark Lord smirked back at him and stepped closer, "Shall we?" he gestured at the orb in the boy's hand.

"Of course," Harry bowed mockingly and canceling the sticking charm threw the glass at Voldemort's feet. It shattered into millions of sharp shards, flying all around, as the bluish mist rose from where it had fallen and the grave, unnatural voice chanted, _"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies ... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not ... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives ... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies ..."_

"Oh, how convenient," the boy laughed bitterly, "All we have to do is to kill each other." The Dark Lord wanted to object but at that moment the door behind Harry burst open and a handful of members of the Order of the Phoenix stormed inside, firing spells at the Death Eaters. More dark wizards ran down the stairs to join their comrades. Voldemort moved to grab the boy but Dumbledore beat him to it.

"What have you done, Harry?!" he dragged him out of the room and suddenly into the main hall. Trying to break free out of his hold, Harry noticed Sirius and Lupin both staring at him with wild eyes, as they shielded themselves from the enemy's assault. The fuck were_ they_ doing here?

"Let me go!" he screamed, trying to worm his way out, but the headmaster appeared to be impossibly strong for an ancient man he seemed.

"Harry, stop this instant! You are leaving before you managed to worsen this even further!" Dumbledore roared. He had to let the boy go, however, when Voldemort caught up with them and blasted him away, straight into the golden fountain.

"Professor!" Harry jerked to help him but the clawed hand grabbed on his shoulder painfully, drawing blood. He turned to almost bump his nose into the Dark Lord's chin as the icy cold hand moved to take him by the throat.

"Look at me," Voldemort hissed, creasing his none-existent eyebrows, staring into the boy's eyes intently. Being so close to him, touching him was literally _intoxicating_. "Don't you feel it?" he asked, sensing as if he was drowning in the green orbs. Harry dearly wished to say he didn't understand what was the bastard talking about but he felt it. The moment the monster touched him he felt _ecstatic_. It felt as if his touch was something he craved for his whole life, it was like a breath of fresh air.

"Yes," he managed to gasp as his knees gave away and he slowly slid down, dragging the mesmerized Dark Lord with him.

"Harry, no! Get away from him!" Dumbledore screamed, but none of the wizards heard him. The Death Eaters and the Order moved to fight in the hall, the curses flew all around them but to Harry it all was insignificant, he thought he spent hours staring into the burning blood red eyes.

"How can this be?" Voldemort whispered, pressing his finger against the lightning bolt scar and jerking at the sensation. "What are you?" he breathed out, moving closer, practically pulling Harry into his arms. His thoughts were in complete disorder, this overwhelming sensation of closeness and familiarity confused him. It was like touching his own self, holding his own self... He stared at the scar again. The boy was a parselmouth, equally powerful, magic came to him like breathing, he was so much like Voldemort himself... How could he give him all this that night? Magic wasn't something you could easily share with another human being, especially so young as Harry was then. It had to be some kind of ritual, involving blood or... "Fuck, you're a _horcrux_!" the Dark Lord cried out in shock, scaring the boy.

Before Harry could ask what the fuck was horcrux and why was snakeface looking at him as if he was Santa Claus the invisible force tore him out of the monster's hands and dragged him back to Dumbledore. "Harry!" the old wizard cried frantically, running to meet him.

"No! He is mine!" Voldemort roared, startling everyone around and stopping the fight altogether. He raised his wand and cancelled the other wizard's spell. "He is _mine_! He belongs to me, always did! You will not take him from me again!" With that he stared at Harry, who was lying helplessly on the floor, looking between the two men in complete befuddlement. The fuck was going on? Wasn't snakeface supposed to kill him?

"I will never kill you, Harry," Voldemort stated firmly, loudly, so that everyone could hear, "Nor will I ever harm you. The prophecy doesn't mean anything anymore, it's nullified." If Harry could look back he would have seen his father breathe out in overwhelming relief. Severus stood with his mask off of his face, so that none of the sides attacked him. It wasn't safe for him to stay much longer though, but he needed to see what was going to happen to Harry next. The situation he was in was still perilous, and the word horcrux ringed a bell in his mind. He was positive he read about it. Whatever it was, his lord was ready to fight for Harry to have him. This didn't bode well with Dumbledore's stern expression. Not at all.

"Do not listen to him, child! It is a trick!" Dumbledore bellowed and moved closer to him. Harry scattered away from both of them and, springing up onto his feet, pointed his wand somewhere between the two wizards.

"I've no bloody idea what the hell is going on here, I do not belong to anyone and I am going to make my own decisions, thank you very much!" he closed his eyes for a second, thinking frantically what to do. So, he found out the prophecy but Voldemort proclaimed it nullified. What, did it mean he was free now? That he wasn't supposed to kill anybody? Oh, great, he was hyperventilating, oh, and retching, _of course_, how could he expect to go out without throwing up. Bending down he did just that and jerked, seeing blood instead of vomit on the floor. "Well, shit," he stared dumbly at it, then at the headmaster, and then at Voldemort. The look he received back was so intense, he cringed involuntarily.

Seeing that Harry was in no state to make a right decision and that he was, obviously, sick, the Dark Lord turned and found Severus' eyes. Nodding ever so slightly to the raven haired wizard, he launched himself at the old wizard. Startled, Dumbledore began fending himself, looking away from the boy's crouched form. Severus smoothly glided past the once again dueling Death Eaters and the Order's members, and gathered Harry in his arms, leading him to the apparition point. Smelling the familiar scent Harry relaxed, leaning into the tall thin frame and closed his eyes, letting the strong hands pull him closer and envelop him into a tight embrace. The potions master silently apparated them both to the Riddle Manor.

**xxx**

"Potter, Potter! Wake up, you, petty excuse of a wizard!" somebody kept screaming at him and poking him roughly into the ribs with the sharp tip of a shoe. Stirring on the cold stone floor, he groaned in exhaustion and slowly opened his eyes. He focused on the pale and very angry face of Bellatrix Lestrange.

"The fuck do you want?" he mumbled, trying to look around and see more but everything else was too blurry.

"I will teach you to talk respectfully to your betters, whelp!" she screeched and pointed her wand at him, "_Crucio!_"

Harry screamed as the milliard of sharp knifes, it seemed, plunged into his flesh and kept drawing back only to bring another blow onto already open, bleeding wound. The pain intensified tenfold with his every move and he wailed louder, trying to shake the awful sensation off. His brain felt as if it was set on fire. Clutching onto his head, Harry rolled from side to side, praying to die that instant.

"The hell are you doing, you stupid wench?!" the pain suddenly stopped, subsiding slowly and through the deafening pumping of his heart in his ears Harry heard Bellatrix' shrieks. Forcing himself up, he crouched, trembling all over, to see Voldemort holding the witch under his wand with such a murderous expression on his snake face, that Harry felt truly scared for the first time during the whole day. When her screams turned into hoarse whimpers and blubbering, the Dark Lord let her go, glaring at her and everyone around - the three of them were surrounded by the tight circle of Death Eaters. "If anyone lays a finger on Potter I will personally skin you _alive_!"

"May I ask a question before I blacked out?" Harry raised his shaking hand, drawing a few chuckles from the wizards around him. Voldemort slowly turned to look at him, his pale scaled face darkened and distorted in anger. "What is a h-"

The Dark Lord spelled him silent and shook his head, "We are not going to discuss this now. Get up," he waved his hand and Harry flinched violently, expecting to be tortured again, but instead he was gently placed on his unsteady feet. "Everyone dismissed. Potter, wait here, I will come for you in a minute." With that Voldemort strode out of what appeared to be a Great Hall, bare of any kind of furniture, with only one tall fireplace and a throne inside. Harry scowled at the wizards, who were eyeing him curiously on their way out. Patting himself on the arms and legs he realized that his wand was taken, but his cloak was still in place. Well, that was promising. He might be ale to run away after all.

"Little shit," he heard behind him. Turning, he barely dodged a strange purple curse that the blooded and battered Bellatrix threw at him. "I will not hurt you, little one," she crooned sweetly, "I'll just improve you a little! For what you made my lord do to me!" she fired once again and Harry jumped to the side, colliding with a wall, hearing the loud crack of the bone but paying it no heed - broken limbs were nothing new. Feeling naked and unprotected without his wand, Harry did the only thing he could do: something he read in one of the Defense books in the library. He concentrated and reached out for his magical core at the same moment as Bellatrix' curse hit him in the stomach. It felt as if he was blowing up from the inside and everything around him burned, smelling awfully. The last thing he heard were horrible screams of the damned witch and Harry knew no more. _Well, shit_. He blacked out.


	5. Chapter V

_Disclaimer: nothing that is related to HP belongs to me._

_Warning: abuse, rape, underage sex, violence, everything is bad and don't read it_

_A/N: I would love to thank everybody for their great reviews! You inspire me to write more! And this chapter is ONE HUGE LEMON... someone got carried away, obviously. So you have been warned! I apologize in advance._

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**Of Monsters and Men, Of Fathers and Sons.**

**Chapter V**

"Good morning, Mr Potter," a deep baritone woke Harry up and he sat up sharply, wincing at the searing pain in his head. The last thing he remembered was Bellatrix Lestrange hitting him with some kind of a dark curse and his own magic lashing out to shield him. Blinking owlishly and squinting at the bright light he tried to make out the dark form seated next to his bed. _Bed?_ Looking around he took in the comfortably furnished bedroom, decorated in green and silver, mixed with dark wood. It looked and smelt masculine and he wondered for a moment if it was somebody's private space.

"I was under the impression I am a prisoner here," he muttered, finally taking a better look at his visitor or was it a guard?

"What, is a cold dump dungeon cell is more to your liking? We could easily arrange that," the stranger drawled. He was very tall, even seated he still impressed with his height; he wore tight fitted black trousers, a long black jacket over the thick red velvet camisole, the high collar of his shirt suggested it was white; his face was covered with a half-mask of gold, that concealed most of his features, leaving only his plump rose lips and a dimpled chin visible; the chestnut hair cascaded in soft waves, framing his face, barely reaching to his smoothly curved jaw. He tucked his hair behind his ears and took a more comfortable position in his chair, looking at Harry mirthfully with his dark brown eyes, grinning brightly.

Ignoring the comment about the dungeons and sensing some strange familiarity with the man's appearance, Harry crossed his arms over his chest, not caring how silly he must have looked, sitting on the bed like a spoilt child. "And just why are you smiling?" he demanded angrily.

"Did you really think all of us Death Eaters are _gloomy_ and _murderous_? Do you wish me to be all snarky and scratchy like our dear old Severus?" he chuckled softly and Harry had to greet his teeth to not let his smile show. He hated the fact that this man, whoever he was, felt so at ease with him and made him feel more relaxed and comfortable than he ever imagined he would be in the enemy's lair.

"Are you a guard or what? What are you doing here?" he frowned at the wizard, wishing he stopped flashing those very handsome smiles of his.

"I am here to talk to you. Do you expect Lord Voldemort would have time to deal with a hormonal teenager?" the strange visitor asked sarcastically, smirking.

"And you have? Are you his lackey of some sort then?" Harry arched his eyebrow skeptically.

The man hummed in amusement, "You could say so, yes."

"Why are you hiding behind a mask? Afraid to show your face? Just like your master is afraid to be called by his given name?" he scoffed and leaned back on the headboard, watching the other wizard impassively. He knew his wand was in snakeface's hands, there was no way he could fend against Death Eaters, but he was going to take his chance and mock the bastards while he could.

A cold, cruel smile graced the lips of his visitor, "No, I am simply not on the list of wanted criminals and have no wish of getting on it any time soon, so just in case somebody would try to invade your mind and see my face, I am covering it." His voice got particularly smooth at that point and Harry realized he was mesmerized by it. It was some kind of magic, no doubt, to make him more forthcoming.

"So, I suppose asking your name is also futile - you would give me a pseudonym."

"And you would like to know my name?" the man was genuinely surprised. "Why, I am _honored_."

"Please, I am making a polite conversation here or was there something else you came for?" Harry rolled his eyes and looked at the window. Now this was a possibility. He could try it later.

"I wished to ask you how you feel, nobody has any idea what Bella cursed you with and had it affected you at all or not?" the stranger rested his chin on his hand, leaning forward to take a better look.

"I'm fine, thanks," Harry bit out, watching him wearily. The familiarity of the man's gestures and posture was maddening. He thought he reminded him of someone. Perhaps, he was somebody from the Ministry or even the Order itself, he was sure he saw him before and heard his voice. He just couldn't put his finger on when and where had they met. "Does Snape know I'm here, wherever it is?"

"Of course not, otherwise the Order would have blown the place up already," the man smiled slyly, rubbing his chin with his long pale fingers. His fingernails had a bluish hue to them and it made Harry think the wizard's hands were probably cold to the touch... He pushed the strange thoughts away.

He nodded, "Then it means he knows where I am, the wanker."

"Aren't you going to inquire about his health?" the stranger asked, amused.

"Pff, what for?" Harry huffed, "I know the bastard is perfectly alright. It all was just a trap to lure me in and kidnap me."

"But if you knew it was a trap, why did you come?" the wizard sounded confused and it made Harry laugh inwardly.

Smiling crookedly he waved his hand, "I got so fucking tired of those blasted visions and not knowing what was that shitty prophecy about I decided to put an end to it all." The smile faltered when he remembered Voldemort's words about a horcrux. He frowned at the memory of the snakeface proclaiming that Harry belonged to him now and nobody was going to kill him. Well, that was both reassuring and _not really_.

"I am afraid it is only the beginning, Mr Potter." He turned to look in the dark brown eyes that were watching him intently, curiously, with no malice or hate whatsoever. Just who was this man and why was he here? He didn't behave like an evil dark wizard at all. Had Voldemort sent him with some twisted plot in mind? "You should take these as soon as possible." He followed the man's gaze and noticed a few vials on the small table beside the bed. "These are healing potions. Your arm was broken and you were diagnosed with a stomach ulcer, so it would be in your best interest to drink them. I will bring more later."

Harry looked down on his arms in confusion - they both were perfectly alright. His clothes were also clean and ironed for that matter. "How long..."

"You were unconscious for almost three days," the masked wizard said, his brown eyes void of any emotion. He flicked his fingers and a small tray of food appeared by Harry's side. "You should also eat."

Wrinkling his nose in disgust, Harry pushed it away. "I can't."

"Perhaps, later?" the man stood up, towering over him and smiled brightly, "I will leave you now, Mr Potter, have some rest." He left, shutting the door softly behind him.

Jumping up from the bed, Harry darted to the door but it was locked and even warded. Well, _this_ was to be expected. He moved to the window and opened the shutters - the cold morning air made him shiver and he breathed in deeply, sighing pleasantly. Looking down he saw that he was being held at the second floor - not that high for a jump. He leaned forward and bent lower to see if there were any cracks or ledges on the wall to climb down but his hand pressed against the hard surface of the air, unable to reach further - the bloody window was also warded. Swearing under his breath, Harry shut it with a loud bang and sat down on the edge of the bed, thinking hard. The only way out was overpowering the strange man that visited him but this was a rather stupid plan for he didn't know where he was, how many Death Eaters were here and just what would Voldemort do to him should he try and run.

Looking around he once again wondered whose room this was. It was definitely lived in, everything in it screamed personal. He stood up and moved to the old, tall wardrobe beside the window. Its heavy doors creaked when he pulled them open - there was plenty of male clothes, mostly robes and long jackets, suits and crisp, perfectly white shirts. He didn't really think what he was doing when he pressed the fabric to his nose and inhaled that strange, nice scent that seemed to linger around the room. It definitely belonged to the owner of these. Frowning at the thought that he was occupying somebody's bedroom, Harry closed the wardrobe and continued his inspection. The bookcases, flanking the fireplace, were filled with mostly muggle literature, which surprised him greatly - who would have thought that Death Eaters could enjoy something created by the filth of humans they loathed so much. He found a few shelves with old tomes on magic, but they were all written in latin. Chagrined at his own stupidity he left them be and moved to examine the small bureau by the door - pushing its lid up he found it to be full of papers, envelops and different kinds of quills but everything was warded and he couldn't read any of these, nor could he write anything down either.

He opened one of the drawers and found a golden locket on a long chain inside - it looked rather plain, nothing special about it except the letter S in a form of a snake engraved on its surface. It was locked but the more he stared at the small serpent, the more he entertained the thought of trying his horrible ability of talking the language of the snakes. "Open," he hissed at it in parseltongue and, surprisingly, it did. It was empty inside, but there was some strange feeling that Harry got from the trinket - as if it used to be filled with something very dear, familiar to him. As if it used to belong to him once, many years ago and as he found it again, he experienced the feeling of _longing_. Curious, he put it on - it hang around his neck as if it belonged there, its weight pressing pleasantly against his chest, the cool chain tickling his skin ever so slightly. Whatever this thing was, he found he liked it very much. Harry noticed a hidden door on the opposite wall - pushing it open he peeked inside a spacious bathroom of plain white tiles. It was most ordinary and he almost closed the door, shrugging his shoulders in disinterest, when his gaze fell on the mirror - it hid a small cupboard behind it, in which people usually kept their cosmetics, at least Dursleys did so, and they were most _normal_ people in the universe. Curious, he looked inside: there were a few potion vials, most of which he recognized by the colour; a razor and a shaving cream - these got Harry by surprise. He knew that wizards didn't really need to shave, they could easily use spells to get rid of the hair. Only muggleborn students used razors as far as he knew. So the owner of this room was at least familiar with the muggle world.

Intrigued, Harry stepped back into the bedroom and looked around once again. Even the furniture and the way everything was kept reminded him of muggles. Well, Voldemort himself was a half-blood, wasn't he? It was plausible there were more crazy fascists like him, who were raised or at least born amongst those they hated so much. But why would snakeface put him in here? Was it a mocking consideration of Harry's own origins or what? He took the vials from the small table and downed them one by one without a second thought - they did look and smell like healing potions, there was no harm in taking them. The sight of food still wasn't giving him any inspiration and he walked over to the bookshelves. He hadn't had the opportunity to read much while living with his relatives, so he might very well start now. There was no telling how long he will be held in here.

**xxx**

When Voldemort heard the sound of explosion and Bellatrix' piercing shrieks he knew someone was going to be skinned after all. Enraged he stormed inside the hall with a Cruciatus curse on the tip of his tongue only to see Harry lying unconscious on the floor with his arm bent at an awkward angle and Bellatrix thrashing not far from him, clutching onto her bleeding face. He checked the boy first - nothing serious, only a broken bone and a magical exhaustion. The little Prince threw an impressive fit of wandless shielding. The Dark Lord also sensed a residue of some kind of a curse he couldn't really identify, which he thought to be impossible.

Fuming, he snapped at the wailing witch, "What have you done to him?" But she only cried, cradling her head. Forcing her hands away he saw she lost her left eye - it was completely destroyed, by fire it seemed, only an ugly black gash was left in the socket. "Got what you deserved, Bella," he growled, watching her disdainfully. "I warned everyone and _you_ as well not to touch Potter. I would not give you the new eye, this is going to be your punishment. However, I could get you a glass one, very much like the one Moody uses, hmm? How would you like that?" The witch cried louder at that, cowering before his feet.

"Unless you tell me what was the curse you threw at him, I will not even look at you, let alone trust you with my plans and work. You are banished from the Inner Circle. Permanently or temporarily - depends on you," he sneered at her and tore the hem of his robe out of her hands. He stepped back to Harry and took him into his arms, surprised by the boy's lightness. Severus told him that his son wasn't eating and sleeping, exhausting himself to the verge of his powers, but he never expected it was _that_ bad. Sighing, he took him into his own bedroom. He could have placed him in one of the guest rooms but by simply looking at the pale handsome face he rejected the option. Harry belonged only in one place - his bed. He bore a part of his soul after all, if he himself felt comfortable there so would Harry.

Placing the boy carefully on the bed, Voldemort halted for a moment, looking at him intently. Snapping himself out of his stupor and pushing the unwelcome thoughts away, he summoned the necessary potions and forced them into the boy's throat, rubbing on it gently to help him swallow. The novelty of their physical contact subsided but it was still very pleasant to touch the little Prince. Smiling, Voldemort canceled his glamour and sat down on the mattress next to his _guest_ and bent down a little to brush the stray locks away from the pale face. Caressing the soft skin with his cold fingers he marveled at how innocent and vulnerable Harry looked, how had he managed to stay so kindhearted and Light being constantly tainted by his dark, rotten soul... Probing the boy's broken arm, the Dark Lord fixed the fractured bone and secured it with a spell. How was he going to make the little Prince cooperate with him? Perhaps, he should try and show Harry his human side? Make him understand the reasons behind his actions? Te boy, despite being a cynical, sharp tongued brat, had a big heart, as they called it, and was hungry for acceptance and affection. Perhaps, he could use this to his advantage?

**xxx**

Entering the room soundlessly, Voldemort found Harry asleep in bed, still dressed, with a book in his hands. Smiling knowingly, he came closer to look at the title: 'The Count of Monte Cristo'.

"My, but it is not _that_ bad, Harry," he chuckled quietly, putting it on the table. A glimpse of gold caught his attention and he stared at the Slytherin locket lying innocently on the boy's chest. Harry had searched the room, just as he predicted he would, but it seemed he had forgotten to ward his bureau. Shaking his head and laughing softly to himself, the Dark Lord decided to let the boy have it. He had absorbed the soul that resided inside of it, there was no harm in the old heirloom anymore. The tray of food was left untouched. Was he going to force him to eat now? Perhaps, the house elf could do it, antagonize the boy until he gave up and took the food he needed to function normally.

"Are you a _maid_ as well?" he heard Harry snort indecently when he involuntarily smoothed the covers over the boy's form.

"No, I simply prefer everything to be in order," he smiled and sat down on his chair, watching as the boy began stretching but stopped abruptly, remembering where he was and who was sitting next to him.

"Are you really going to sit here every time I wake up?" Harry muttered, pulling the blanket under his chin and covering himself almost completely, embarrassed and uncomfortable in the other's presence.

"It is possible, I haven't decided yet," his visitor smirked, as his brown eyes laughed at him from behind the mask. "How are you feeling, Mr Potter?"

"Fine, thanks," the boy mumbled, watching him closely.

"May I call you Harry, by the way? It is not that you are a Potter anyway," Voldemort tilted his head, smiling at the boy's sudden shyness.

Harry's first impulse was to tell him to fuck off, but if he was going to constantly converse with the man, perhaps, he should let him. Being called Mr Potter wasn't at all pleasant either. "What should I call you?" he asked back.

"What would you _like_ to call me?" the man offered, crossing his long legs and leaning onto the arm of his chair, looking completely at ease.

Well, that was a strange question, wasn't it? Staring at the charming dimple on the wizard's chin, at his plump rose lips, Harry blurted out the first name that came to mind, which surprised him, really, for it was a very rare name, "Marvolo." Why did he even remember it, for god's sake?

Tensing, Voldemort carefully asked, "Why Marvolo?"

The boy shrugged his shoulder, "No idea. It seems to fit you. What, don't you like it? Would you prefer _Albus_ instead?" he asked sarcastically, raising his eyebrows.

The Dark Lord couldn't help but smile at the mischievous gleam in the bright green eyes. "Marvolo it is," he nodded.

"Is this your room?" Harry suddenly realized that everything around him fitted the man as well. Even if the name he chose wasn't muggle, it strangely suited the whole image that had slowly formed in his mind.

"You are too smart for your own good," the soft deep laughter seemed to echo in his stomach and Harry widened his eyes at the unusual feeling of flutter at his heart. Hell, the man was simply laughing, what was _wrong_ with him? He hid his head under the blanket, to conceal his blush. "Oh, Harry, you weren't so shy just this morning," and another wave of pleasant sounds washed over him, making him practically squirm. He pushed his face into the pillow to will the damned heat away, inhaling involuntarily, and jerked at the sudden realization that if this was Marvolo's room, than he slept in Marvolo's bed and this scent belonged to him. Harry wanted to jump off the bed and never touch it again, but something deep inside of him asked him in that small, cunning voice if he really wanted to do this? He loved this smell, he had to admit it to himself.

"Where do you sleep?" Voldemort heard a muffled question.

He smiled, "Don't worry, I'm using another room."

"And why did you put me in yours when you could put me in that other one?" the boy was still hidden under the covers and Voldemort itched to tear them off of him to see his face and... everything else.

"Don't you like it? I thought you would be more comfortable here." At that Harry moved the blanket away to look at him and the Dark Lord noticed his blush. A smug smile stretched his lips despite his best attempts to stop it.

"It's nice," he stared at the smile, asking himself since when had he started googling indecently at other men, at other people for that matter. He had never had any thoughts of that kind before, but he found Marvolo attractive. He wasn't blind, of course, he could see and appreciate beauty in others' appearances, he could determine a handsome boy or girl but he never was attracted to them. _Oh, fuck_. But now he was. To a bloody Death Eater, no less. He hadn't even seen his face, only a part of it, but his body was telling him this was enough.

"Why, thank you."

"Why are you nice to me? Why is Voldemort all kind and caring all of a sudden?" Harry sat up, trying to stir his mind from the notion that he had just had his first crush. "I am Harry Potter, I am the reason he died once, the reason many of you were killed or imprisoned..." he looked at Marvolo intently, creasing his eyebrows. It all was truly confusing for him to understand yet.

"Death Eaters were told not to harm you and so they would not. As for the Dark Lord... you will have to ask him yourself," the wizard told him, suddenly looking and sounding serious.

"He is not insane anymore, is he?" Harry whispered, remembering the scene at the Ministry. Despite looking the monster he was, Voldemort felt and acted absolutely... normal. As normal as a Dark Lord could. But his _eyes_, his ominous blood red eyes, they looked seriously, consciously, and when he told him he wasn't going to kill him, they looked even... human. He doubted he saw any kind of emotions in them, but there was something. Fear?

"No, he is not." Voldemort watched the boy closely. Could Harry understand the Dark Lord? Could he accept him, like he accepted Severus? "You don't seem to be afraid of him."

"There are worse things in this world than some hissing megalomaniac," Harry sighed, scowling at his hands that were tracing patterns on the embroidered cover. It was a true miracle, really, but ever since he came here, he never once saw or thought of Vernon. Perhaps, Marvolo was giving him a particularly potent soporific potion?

Yes, he knew that _very well_. "Muggles?" Voldemort asked simply, thinking back on everything he knew about the boy's home life.

"People in general. I do not separate muggles and wizards - we are all the same, human beings, with the same desires and fears, sins," Harry closed his eyes resentfully. He jerked and opened them harshly as the mattress sagged a little under Marvolo's weight - he sat next to him, so close, his thigh brushed against Harry's. Flinching, he scooped up, pressing himself into the headboard, staring fearfully at the masked wizard.

"Tell me more," Voldemort said, wondering at the sudden change, sudden fear of contact.

"What?" Harry croaked, perplexed. His insides trembled both in fear and delight at such close proximity, he couldn't understand himself. A man, a dangerous man, bigger, stronger than him, both physically and magically, was touching him - it screamed _violence, pain_, as his mind helpfully provided the images of Vernon towering over him with a belt in his fist. But at the same time this man radiated calmness, comfort, he wasn't doing anything else besides sitting close to him and watching him. Harry barely held back a surprised sob when he realized that somewhere deep inside of him a thought was born that Marvolo could sit just a _little closer,_ so that he could smell his oh so pleasant scent.

"Tell me more about those desires, fears and sins," the deep baritone vibrated in his own chest it seemed and he looked up to meet the intense gaze of the dark brown eyes, framed by the gold, shinning brightly in the candle light.

"No." _Fear_. "I don't want to talk anymore," he grabbed on the covers tightly, averting his gaze. He was frightened. Not of Marvolo, but of himself.

Seeing that the boy was closing off, Voldemort sighed and nodded, "Fine. Take your potions, and, please, eat tomorrow. Otherwise your ulcer will worsen." Feeling suddenly embarrassed that a Death Eater was taking such great care of him, his master's orders or not, Harry mumbled in agreement shyly. As soon as Marvolo left, he drank from the vials, hoping that he would fall asleep again and forget himself and his heavy, gloomy thoughts.

Voldemort came back an hour later. He sat down on the edge of the bed again, watching Harry sleeping. His thin chest rose steadily underneath the white shirt, his red lips were parted slightly as he breathed. Wondering why did he fear physical contact, the Dark Lord carefully cupped Harry's face with his cool hand, caressing it gently. The boy sighed at the touch, clearly enjoying it. Maybe, if he got used to him, he would let Voldemort touch him in his waking hours, would ask to be touched? Sliding his hand down, he rubbed on his shoulder and chest lightly, barely pressing through the fabric of the shirt. Harry didn't wake up, didn't move away. Encouraged, the Dark Lord took his hand in his and held it, stroking the long raven hair that were scattered all over the pillow. Placing his nose against the pale skin of the boy's limb he inhaled his scent, trying not to think that soon it would mix with his own and linger in the sheets of his bed. He brushed his lips against the knuckles, watching Harry's face all the while - he looked peaceful, the dream banishing potion he added into the healing ones helped him get the so long needed rest. But soon he would have to seep without its help and Voldemort hoped he would be able to see the boy's nightmares. Surely, if he helped Harry to deal with his problem he would help him in his mission in return, wouldn't he?

**xxx**

Watching Dumbledore pace the length of the kitchen at Grimmauld's was grating on his nerves but he was telling himself he couldn't have everything. The notion that the wretched mutt Black would never again open his filthy mouth helped him take the situation in strides, calmly.

"Severus, are you sure?" the old wizard asked for the tenth time in the last hour.

"_Yes_," he rolled his eyes, sipping his tea.

"How can you just sit here, while the boy is out there all alone!" Hestia Jones snapped at him. "Why aren't you doing anything?"

Sighing and inwardly asking the spirits to give him strength, Severus put his china down on the table a little too rougher than it was necessary. "First, I can't do anything unless the Dark Lord summons me. Second, I have no idea where Potter had been taken, since I was never present at the Ministry's battle. Third, I can't just apparate to an unknown location, considering the Dark Lord changes it constantly. Besides," he drawled, his eyes trained on the ceiling in boredom, "He said he wouldn't kill the boy, hadn't he?"

"Oh, Severus, now that Sirius is dead you are the only family Harry has left," Molly sobbed into her huge handkerchief, being gently patted on the shoulder by Arthur. The Order had been constantly meeting during the last four days since Potter's disappearance but there was little point to it, for none of them could actually change anything.

Dumbledore lowered himself on his chair heavily, giving all of them a grave look. "We won't be able to hide Harry's abduction any longer. As soon as the agiotage from Voldemort's return subsides, they will start asking where the Boy-Who-Lived is. And we can't even tell if he is safe and sound. Severus, are you certain Voldemort never said anything about his plans regarding Harry? Certain he isn't going to harm him?"

"Once again, Albus, I've told you already, I am _not_. How can I be? The Dark Lord doesn't trust me anymore, doesn't trust anyone ever since he resurrected," the potions master muttered in irritation. "Until he wants to share his plans with the Inner Circle there is no way I can learn anything about Potter's condition."

"What about Malfoy?" Shacklebot boomed, leaning forward a little. "We could search his manor."

"Nobody's there, of that I can assure you," Severus sneered. As soon as all the convicted Death Eaters recovered, the Dark Lord moved them from Malfoy's Manor to the abandoned warehouse in the center of London. Hiding right under the Ministry's nose was the best tactic. Voldemort himself, though, lived in his half ruined, old muggle manor, where the boy was being hidden as well.

"We must find Harry," Dumbledore shook his head sadly, "I dread what Voldemort could be doing to him this very moment." Everyone flinched at the forbidden name being called, drawing a quiet snort of disgust from Severus. _Stupid sheep_, the lot of them.

"I still can't understand why did Harry even go to the Ministry at all?" Arthur asked the headmaster.

"Voldemort has been sending him visions and, I believe, he finally tricked Harry into coming and retrieving the prophecy for him," Dumbledore sighed, looking disappointed, "I warned him of how dangerous it is and now he is in his enemies' hands."

While Shaklebot asked what was the prophecy about and while the old wizard recited and explained it to the Order, Severus sat silent, scowling at the surface of the table. Lies, lies and more lies. If the Dark Lord had announced the blasted prophecy void then it was, in fact, useless. And Dumbledore knew that very well, but for some reason he wouldn't tell his closest, most faithful followers about it. Why? Everything pointed at this mysterious horcrux magic which nullified everything he had known before and posed more questions without answers. As far as he understood, judging by his lord's vicious, unexpectedly human and rather possessive reaction - Potter wasn't only politically significant anymore. This went much deeper. Was their connection a byproduct of some kind of a bond between them? To Severus it looked like the very life of the Dark Lord depended on the boy. This was a ridiculous assumption but then again - nothing about Potter was ever ordinary, wasn't it?

"Do we have any leads on where to look for Harry?" he heard Jones ask and looked up to see Dumbledore stroking his white beard thoughtfully.

"I will have to check some things to be sure," the headmaster said softly.

When everybody left, Dumbledore stood up and moved closer to the window to look at the stars, barely visible through London's smog. He abhorred living in the Black house that was practically sodden with dark magic but he had no choice, since nobody would come looking for him here. It was most unfortunate and sad that Sirius had died such unheroic death, for his company would have been appreciated in this gloomy old place. Sighing, he took off his glasses and rubbed on the tired, reddened eyes. If Voldemort would turn Harry into his spitting image he would have to kill the boy, there was no other way. All he could hope for was that Harry's stubbornness and genuine kindness would prevent his soul from being tainted completely. He would have to die one day for the sake of their lives and world but it galled him that the boy, who had to go through so much, had no opportunity to live, to enjoy his existence. And just where should they start searching? Tom never had any properties, using his follower's wealth for all of his needs, there were no known locations, as Severus noted, for being the paranoid psychopath that Tom was, he could never stay in one place for long, afraid to be found and killed. His fear of death was truly ridiculous, childish, it made him insane. He needed to know more about Voldemort's past, perhaps, there he would be able to find some clues on where he could take Harry and how many horcruxes there actually were.

**xxx**

Harry woke up feeling pleasantly rested - like he hadn't felt in a very long, long time. Playing with the golden locket on his chest absentmindedly he thought about how impossibly comfortable he felt here, in this place, this bedroom. Touching his cheek, he frowned a little in concentration, trying to determine if it was a dream or if he simply imagined that somebody had been caressing him in his sleep. Nobody had ever touched him so _gently_ before and that was the reason why he was inclined to believe it all to be his wishful thinking. Shaking it off, he looked around the room, noticing that everything he moved had been returned back into its place. There was a bookmark between the pages of the novel he was reading, that he simply left open on the table. Well, wasn't Marvolo a control freak? There was breakfast on a tray on the other side of the bed. He still felt nauseous about eating but had to admit that the masked wizard was right - the potions wouldn't help his stomach without the proper food.

Just when he forced the last bit of porridge into his throat, the door into the room opened and a small house elf peeked inside, eyeing him fearfully. "Master Harry is being summons by Master Voldemort," it squeaked and stared at him expectantly.

_Oh, here it comes_. "I am being summoned now," Harry scoffed to himself and got out of the bed. "Coming," he muttered to the creature, putting his trousers on and figuring that would be enough for the snakeface. No fresh breath, no brushed hair, no shoes or socks. _Yes, perfect_. Holding his head high he followed the elf out. They walked through an empty corridor of what it seemed to be a rather old mansion in a very poor condition. Harry was surprised by the contrast of his cosy and clean room against the dusty, dirty, barely standing surroundings. It was also eerie quiet. Where were all the Death Eaters he saw in the hall? Surely he and Voldemort couldn't be the only ones present, a house-elf doesn't count?

The little creature stopped and knocked on the dark cherry wood of a heavy door and after hearing a sound of approval, opened it wide and motioned for Harry to come through. Tentatively, he stepped inside what looked like a study - there were books and scrolls everywhere, filling the space almost completely, he could swear even the desk, snakeface was sitting at, was made of tomes and encyclopedias.

"Well, well, _Harry_, good to see you've made almost a full recovery," Voldemort hissed and gestured at the opposite chair. Weary of the red-eyed monster, Harry slowly sat down, tucking his hair behind his ears, watching snakeface's every move, ready to run the very next moment. "No need to feel so nervous, you are safe here," the Dark Lord gave him a feral smile full of sharp teeth.

"What... How long am I going to be held here? What do you want from me?" he demanded, thinking he might just get on with it.

"As long as it takes for the sheep out there to realize that their happy days are over and that _you_," Voldemort pointed his long clawed finger at him, "Are no Savior."

"You are such a drama queen, snakeface," Harry huffed, rolling his eyes.

"A little respect wouldn't hurt you, while I most certainly would," the white yew wand tapped on the edge of the desk impatiently.

"Yes, sir," Harry drawled reluctantly, pretending it pained him to do so.

"Better than nothing, I suppose," the Dark Lord sighed. "Regarding your second question: since you are my horcrux and I am not going to kill you, I want you to stop fighting me and the dark cause. Quite simple."

Raising his eyebrows in amused annoyance Harry wanted to inform snakeface that he was an arrogant bastard but hearing the blasted H word he quickly discarded of this idea, "What the fuck is a horcrux? _Sir_."

"That dirty mouth of yours..." Voldemort shook his head and leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled in front of his ugly face. "A horcrux is, in short, an object that keeps a piece of wizard's soul inside, working as a magical vessel. The object must be magical itself, of course. Before you ask: in order to fracture your soul you must kill another human being, in order to split it and place into a vessel, you must perform a complex ritual." He gave the boy a blank look.

"Why would a wizard split his soul?" Harry asked, wrinkling his nose. The concept was completely foreign to him, not that he had given this subject a lot of thought, but the way he saw it a _soul_ was most sacred possession of a human being and ripping it in halves seemed barbaric to say the least. Killing another soul in order to achieve it sounded preposterous. No, it was absolutely _insane_.

"How do you think?" was the answer he got. Looking into the piercing blood red eyes, he tried to find a tiniest gleam of madness but there was none. Was the monster just as sane when he split his soul?

"You are afraid of death, aren't you?" he asked quietly, suddenly understanding.

"Aren't you?" Voldemort rubbed his hands together, as he always did when they got particularly cold. It was his human habit he couldn't get rid of even when he used to be a snake like creature.

"I am, but that doesn't mean I am going to maim my own soul," Harry scowled, disgusted by the mere thought. A realization suddenly stroke him seemingly out of nowhere, "Tom Riddle's journal... Your journal, it was a horcrux, wasn't it?" Had Voldemort split his soul at sixteen? How could he even think of it at that age? How... for god's sake but he was just a teenager, like Harry himself, like Ron and Hermione... What could have compelled a young boy to do something so horrible to himself, to kill someone?

"Yes, the one you _destroyed_ along with my basilisk," the Dark Lord growled angrily.

"I am not apologizing for this," Harry crossed his arms over his chest. "But you said I am also a horcrux... how come I can be a vessel for your soul if I have my own?" he was terribly confused by the notion that he had been bearing a piece of monster's rotten soul inside of him and never even knew about it. But Dumbledore _had known_ all along, hadn't he?

"It is impossible in theory," Voldemort said thoughtfully, boring his eyes into the lightning bolt scar. "However, practically it is very much plausible, as we both can see. It is most curious that you received my powers, my parseltongue ability, but managed to stay a light wizard, your own self. I believe my soul merged with yours, for you were awfully young when it happened, you were only developing as a human being."

"It wasn't your plan then?" Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise.

The Dark Lord shook his head, "No. It was an accident. I was planning to create another horcrux after I killed you, from one of Potter's heirlooms, but alas..." he spread his hands and lifted his shoulders - a gesture so human and ordinary, Harry had to bit his tongue not to laugh out loud. He frowned, however, after the words sank in.

"Just how many of those little Voldemorts do you have?"

A cold hissing laugh made him shudder involuntarily. "I am not telling you, Harry, it is quite enough you are one of them," Voldemort chuckled mirthfully. He wasn't going to tell the boy he absorbed all of them, not yet. He wanted Dumbledore to believe they still existed, to try and hunt them down - it would buy him time to execute all of his plans without the old coot's interference.

"Can you take it out?" he hated how small his voice sounded but he wanted, needed to know.

"It could kill you, since, as I've already told you, I think our souls merged," the Dark Lord sighed. There really was no telling what would happen if they tried to take his soul out, besides, Harry was a perfect vessel in all aspects. A powerful, intelligent wizard, and a beautiful one - no magical heirloom, no matter how valuable, could rival with him. Harry was _priceless_.

"What if I kill myself?" he knew it was a childish thing to say, for he knew he didn't have the guts to do it.

"I dearly hope you wouldn't," Voldemort's lips stretched into a smile, though it didn't reach his eyes. They turned cold and hard. "Besides, your death would be in vain, you wouldn't be even remembered as a martyr - unlike muggles, wizards do not accept suicides. And I will carry on with my work."

"But what would my life be if I stop fighting you? They would hate me even more than they already do," not that he cared, really, but the thought that his friends might reject him for being a coward settled as a heavy weight in his gut.

"You would have a normal life you dream about?" the Dark Lord offered.

Snorting indecently, Harry laughed bitterly, "With a chunk of you inside of me? I doubt that. What if I killed myself or asked somebody else to do it unless you ceased killing people and ruining this world?"

"It is not your place to dictate the terms of our, ah, _agreement_, besides, as I've already said, your death would be pointless. I do value your life and the well-being of my horcrux but there is no choosing between them and my mission," the monster drawled, giving him a cold glare, that conveyed very well just what exactly did he think of Harry's threats. "You have a lot of time to think about my proposition. I can give you anything you want. You already have my word that I would never kill or harm you," Voldemort flicked his wrist to lighten the fire in the hearth.

"How about a vow?" watching his movements carefully, Harry relaxed slightly at the warmth that instantly spread around the room.

_Little serpent in a lion's skin_. "Fine. Would you like it to be sealed with blood?"

"No fucking way," Harry grimaced, rubbing the long scar on his left arm unconsciously, "Just a simple unbreakable vow would do, thank you very much."

The Dark Lord offered him his white hand to hold. Swallowing harshly, Harry stared at it - he had completely forgotten they needed to bind the vow. At snakeface's impatient grumping he grabbed onto his limb, trembling inside. But nothing happened, the monster's hand was simply cold and a little rough to the touch because of the countless small scales that covered it, but it wasn't unpleasant as he thought it would be. And again he felt this strange comfort of a physical contact - was it all horcrux' doing? Was it the monster's soul craving his closeness and touch?

"I still _hate_ you," Harry assured the Dark Lord after the gleaming golden binds, that tied their hands together, dissipated.

"Don't care," Voldemort said simply, seemingly loosing interest to their conversation altogether, as he turned back to whatever he was working on before Harry arrived. "Go now." At these words the same house elf opened the door and beckoned Harry to follow him. He opened his mouth to say something particularly offensive but was once again silenced by snakeface's wandless magic. Swearing mutely, he stomped after the little creature, slamming the door shut behind him. He never heard Voldemort laughing on the other side of it.

**xxx**

In the evening Marvolo visited him again. Harry doubted he was a guard, even doubted he was sent by snakeface. The way the man acted and spoke to him suggested he was coming to see him out of his own sick will. Just who was he and why was he living with Voldemort all alone in the huge empty mansion? When the wizard put the vials onto the table beside him and sat down on his usual chair, Harry asked him just that.

Voldemort laughed out loud at his inquiry, tilting his head back, showing his beautiful pearly teeth and Harry clutched the book in his hands helplessly, as butterflies fluttered in his stomach and a small smile stretched his lips, despite his best efforts to conceal it. This booming, rich laughter was truly contagious. "I do not live with him. This is _my_ house," the man smiled brightly, still chuckling, and crossed his legs, unbuttoning his jacket.

"Then why are you coming here every day?" he asked, putting his reading away, trying to ignore the traitorous warmth in his groin, to suppress the sensation of the man's laughter still lingering inside him.

"Because I like talking to you, Harry," the smile he received was particularly charming. "You are an _interesting_ young man," Voldemort purred, leaning forward. They were very close, since the boy was perched on the edge of the bed, his bare feet mere inches away from the Dark Lord's knees. As he moved, the long toes curled and Harry visibly tensed but didn't flinch away.

"You are no ordinary Death Eater, are you?" watching him warily, Harry hugged his knees tighter. Marvolo's face was so close now, he could see the specks of red and black in his brown eyes; his plump rose lips quivered ever so slightly as if he was trying to hold back his amusement.

"And you are no ordinary light wizard," Voldemort teased, enjoying the way the boy's eyelashes palpitated at his closeness, reveling in the warmth radiating from the young body before him, inhaling its scent imperceptibly. "Why are you afraid of me?"

"I am not," he widened his eyes, catching his breath, as Marvolo's knees pressed against his feet. It was a tickling, not at all unpleasant sensation. The wizard rested his elbows on his knees and slowly lowered his head onto his folded hands, bringing it on the same level with Harry's. _Oh, hell_. These lips, these eyes, this damned dimple. Harry breathed out shakily, blushing, when he realized that his breath brushed against Marvolo's skin.

He wanted to kiss this lovely innocent mouth, to take all the air out of Harry's lungs, but he knew that he couldn't force himself on the boy. They were slowly building this unsteady trust between each other and Voldemort was eager to strengthen it. The heat in his groin wasn't helping but he refused to move away. The closer he was to the little Prince, the more wonderful he felt. Like a magnet Harry pulled him closer, tempted him with his every uncertain gesture, with every flatter of eyelashes, drowned him in the deep green of his shining eyes. _Desire_. Desire was a synonym to the boy's name. "I think you are afraid of something. Or someone. I wish I could help you get rid of your fears."

"You can't," Harry frowned and looked away. There it was again - the thick wall between them. And he wanted Harry, wanted so badly. Not just sexually - he wanted the light wizard, the kindhearted hero of the wizarding world to want him back, to look at him without this constant vigilance but with something akin to appreciation, admiration. Not like some of his followers did, not with obsequious adoration and lust for his power, but _kindly, gently_.

Sighing, Voldemort pulled away and rose up from his seat. "Sleep well, Harry." The boy didn't answer and the door clicked loudly behind him. This was going to be the last night he gave Harry a dream banishing potion.

**xxx**

A week passed and Harry was ready to go into a frenzy from boredom and sleepless nights. Yet again he started seeing nightmares. There were no more visions from Voldemort, but the cemetery and Cedric's corpse remained. Vernon and his filthy cock remained. And a new kind of dream developed: in which Harry looked in the mirror and saw his own face morph into the ugly snake like mask, as his green eyes narrowed and became red as rubies. He woke screaming every time, clutching at the locket frantically, seeking comfort from the contact of a cool metal against his heated, sweated skin. Marvolo visited him only twice and, reluctantly, he had to admit to himself he missed the wizard's presence. It calmed him even though it excited him as well. Hungry for magic, he helplessly paged through the latin tomes, trying to decipher the spells from the description texts, practicing the wand movements with his empty hand. Harry even befriended the little shy house elf, whose name was Easy. She used to bring him food when he didn't look, but after he called for her a few times, she finally dared to show herself. She instantly warmed up to him as soon as he told her about his friend Dobby. He asked about her name once and Easy giggled shyly, refusing to tell him, for she didn't want to embarrass her master. Harry decided he would ask Marvolo the next time he sees him.

Tossing and turning in his bed, Harry panted harshly, tagging onto his shirt in a blind attempt to lessen the heat. No matter how hard he tried, exhaustion got the better of him and he fell asleep. He dreamed of one of the hot sunny summer days at Surrey, when he came back from the grocery shop, with his hands full of bags with food his aunt Petunia ordered him to get. Oohing and breathing hard, as the sweat ran down his face and back, Harry dropped everything on the table, leaning onto it as his body trembled, protesting the hard strain he had put it through. Petunia and Dudley were not at home, visiting some place else, and he dearly hoped Vernon would stay at his golf club until late evening. But it wasn't his lucky day, he concluded, when he heard the tires rustle against the gravel in front of the house. His uncle was back early. And when he entered the kitchen with his face purple in rage, Harry knew he was _in for it_. It never mattered if he was at fault or was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time - he was Vernon's favourite mean of working up the pent-up frustration and anger.

The beating was quick but thorough. Vernon always preferred raping to whipping - it was a double pleasure he lusted after. Thirteen year old Harry could hardly resist the force of his huge body and strong hands. Bending down obediently he watched with sinking heart his wrists being tied to the frame of his bed securely. The less he struggled the less painful it was - he learned this lesson the hard way. Muttering profanities under his nose and panting harshly in his obvious arousal, Vernon tore the already ruined, blooded t-shirt off of his body and licked hungrily on his lower back, growling in anticipation, as his hands wondered lower to pull the oversized jeans down along with darn pants. Whimpering weakly into the mattress, Harry squeezed his eyes and greeted his teeth, preparing himself for the most disgusting, horrible thing that existed in the world. It was so painful every time the bastard pushed his filthy prick inside of him, that the tears ran down his face despite his best efforts to hold them back. He loathed the feeling of that abominable thing stretching and pounding into him.

"Yes, yes!" his uncle cried, hammering madly into his arse, squeezing his buttocks so hard the bruises wouldn't wear off for weeks. "Little filthy slut, do you like it when I fill your tight dirty hole, huh? Do you like it? Yeeeesss." Vernon sometimes slapped him on the face, or even belted him on his back, while fucking, but his favourite fantasy was that of Harry being a whore, taking in every cock in the neighbourhood. He gaged as he felt sperm filling him up and the prick jerk inside of him in release. Vernon cried out in pleasure, grabbing on his hair and pulling his head back. "Now, clean it up, you, _whore_!" Hastily setting his hands free, he dragged him down and pressed his tear-stained face to his already soft, ugly penis. Harry was afraid he would throw up all over it and get punished even worse. "Do I have to fuck you in your mouth, you, lazy piece of shit?" At his protesting cries Vernon dropped him on the floor roughly and forced his huge flesh on top of him.

"No, no, please! No!" Since Harry didn't have his wand he couldn't cast silencing spells at nights and Voldemort listened to his screams every time he fell asleep. He didn't interfere, for usually Harry woke up almost immediately and never slept afterwards. But tonight he kept crying and crying, stuck too deep in his own subconsciousness to break free. Standing outside the door into his bedroom he hesitated to enter, hearing that the boy had finally woke up. But Harry kept crying and sobbing harshly, clearly hysterical. Thinking it was time for him to get to the bottom of this, Voldemort opened the door softly and soundlessly stepped inside. The little Prince sat on the windowsill, his trembling form was brightly lit by the light of the full moon; hugging his knees, he wept quietly into the already wet fabric of his pajama, unable to stop.

"Harry."

His head shot up harshly and he stared at the dark form standing before him. When Marvolo moved closer, he flinched violently away, "Don't touch me!"

"_Harry_," Voldemort repeated in a low, soothing tone, frowning at the boy's reaction. "Harry, it's alright, it was only a dream."

"Don't," Harry shook his head vehemently, feeling as a new wave of tears came over him. He hated himself for being so weak and so filthy, tainted, and he hated Marvolo for being a fucking Death Eater and the only person that came at night to comfort him. He couldn't be sympathized with, he didn't deserve it.

"Alright," he heard a soft sigh and a pale hand came into the view, holding a handkerchief out for him. Cursing inwardly for feeling all touchy like a bloody girl, Harry snatched it out of the wizard's hold and rubbed on his face angrily, trying in vain to calm his shaking shoulders and chest. He had never been offered a bloody tissue before. "I think you should get back in bed."

Before Harry could even open his mouth in protest, a pair of strong, cool arms gathered and pulled him closer to a broad firm chest. Struggling against the hold, he growled and wheezed in a choking attack of panic. "_Breathe,_ Harry," he was gently laid down on the mattress. As soon as he broke free, Harry darted to the other side of the bed, pushing himself into the headboard like a trapped animal, trembling violently, feeling as his insides turn upside down, being cut by the sharp fit of fear.

"Harry, it's alright, I am not going to hurt you," Marvolo sat on the edge of the other side of the mattress, almost invisible in the darkness surrounding him, Harry could only make out his tall black silhouette against the bluish cold moonlight. His voice was so deep, so nice and calming, a complete opposite to Vernon's. The wizard's scent and aura soothed his nerves and he started to relax gradually, as his fear subsided, but he still didn't move. "I can help you. If you tell me what happened to you, I would be able to _heal_ you."

"No," Harry whispered, "No, I can't. I can never be healed." Was the boy ashamed of himself? Voldemort couldn't understand that, the last time he felt embarrassed was many, many years ago, the very last time somebody dared to raise a hand at him. But the memory of that feeling was almost untraceable now, for he hadn't felt weak ever since. What else was there to be ashamed of, _really_? He knew Harry to be the strongest, most stubborn boy he had ever met, after Severus, of course, so the emotions he thought he could hear in the little Prince's voice confused him.

"Why don't you lie down? I wouldn't touch you, I promise," he patted a place in the middle of the bed.

"I can't sleep anymore," Harry breathed out shakily, jerking slightly as his hysteria was slowly going away. Through the blur of his tears he noticed, somewhat absentmindedly, that Marvolo wasn't wearing his mask and if he wanted he could simply move closer and finally see his face. But he felt too tired, too broken to care about this now.

Annoyed, for he knew he wasn't going to win this fight, Voldemort decided he would play dirty. Better results often called for worse means. "Harry, come here," he gritted through his teeth, filling his every word with compulsive magic. It demanded much more power and intent from a wizard than, for example, Imperius Curse, but Harry was immune to the latter, so he had no other choice. When the boy slowly, reluctantly, complied, no doubt fighting him, and lay down beside him, Voldemort hovered over his form. "I hope I wouldn't have to persuade you any more in the future. It is for your own good, little one."

Harry couldn't decide if he was angry or grateful. He wanted to punch the arrogant wizard for the cheek of forcing him to submit to his will. But at the same time he couldn't deny that such close proximity to Marvolo made him feel much, much better. He settled on silent fuming and deep breathing, hoping to inhale as much of the man's scent as possible. He couldn't decipher any of the features in the gloom, all he saw was the white of his eyes. Harry heard Marvolo's slow, quiet breathing and listened in for his heartbeat - it was there, steady and calming, like everything else about the man.

He jerked as a cold hand covered his and squeezed it lightly. "How does it feel?" _He's asking how does it feel, what the hell is wrong with him?_

"Are you retarded? Let go of me!" Harry growled but as much as he wanted he couldn't pull away.

"You are," Voldemort retorted and rubbed the tensed limb gently. "Relax, Harry. I am simply holding your hand, concentrate on something else."

"Like cursing you into oblivion?"

He chuckled softly, "Yes, if you wish." Harry stirred at the sensation of pleasant warmth that these sounds sent down his stiffen body. The cold hand was so soft, so gentle in its touch, he thought it was impossible to enjoy something as simple as that. Even though it was forced on him, he realized it did bring him strange, almost spiritual comfort. "I will cast a sleeping spell on you, it is very mild but it will help your mind and body to relax, alright?"

He wished he could listen to this wonderful voice for the whole night instead but knew it was a very unhealthy, _wrong_ desire. "Yeah, go ahead."

When Harry's breathing became steady and clear again, Voldemort reluctantly let go of his hand. The little Prince was so warm, he wished he could coil around him like a snake around the hot stone under the sun. Taking advantage of his position, he bent down and loomed over Harry, propped on his elbow, almost lying on top of him. Yes, the heat from the boy's body was astonishing, _irresistible_. Sighing, he slid his other, still cold hand over Harry's chest and shoulder, trying to explore him through the thick layer of his clothes. Snaking his fingers around the long thin neck he moaned softly - how could anybody be so hot and still look so pale. It seemed that blood _boiled_ in Harry's veins. Moving his hand up, Voldemort caressed his face, taking his time to map the high cheekbones and the soft, soft lips. It was too early to kiss them yet. Grumping to himself in displeasure, he leaned closer and kissed the lightning bolt scar, drawing a soft contented sigh from the boy. Smiling, he pressed his lips against it once again, not moving away for a long time, reveling in the closeness, intimacy of their contact. He realized he was making it all much worse and more difficult for himself, but temptation was stronger than sense.

**xxx**

The next morning found Harry in a strange mood. He was embarrassed of himself and his yesterday's behavior, hated his own guts for being the sniveling shit that he was, and oh how he _hated_ Marvolo. The man just couldn't keep his hands to himself, could he? Touching always meant pain to Harry, violence and something very foul and dirty. But the bloody wizard turned him into a pile of goo by simply holding his hand. And this time Harry was sure he touched him when he fell asleep, he felt it through the deep slumber he put him in. It enraged and excited him simultaneously. How dared he touch him so shamelessly, kiss him on his scar for god's sake?! But what was even worse - Harry knew he _enjoyed_ it, and no matter how hard he was trying to convince himself otherwise, his body disagreed. It knew what it liked and it liked Marvolo. _Fuck_. Groaning in frustration, Harry pressed his forehead against the cold glass of the window, squinting at the annoyingly bright spring sun.

"Good morning, I hope you slept well?" he didn't turn to meet the damned wizard, stubbornly staring at the green lawn outside his room. Voldemort came closer and looked at the boy intently - he seemed to be in some sort of denial. _Oh, well, weren't they all sometimes?_ He leaned onto the windowsill beside Harry and crossed his arms over his chest, watching the little Prince expectantly.

"The fuck do you want?" Harry snapped impatiently, scowling at the glass.

"Harry, Harry," the Dark Lord sighed, clicking his tongue, "Language."

"Fuck language, the hell you were pawing me yesterday? I told you not to touch me!" he glared at Marvolo, finally gracing him with attention. The blasted golden mask was back in its place, as was the alluring smile.

"You wouldn't deny you enjoyed it, though, would you?" Voldemort drawled smugly, stretching his long legs, as he shifted to sit more comfortably.

"You are a bastard," Harry muttered, crossing his arms over his chest defiantly, involuntarily mirroring the other's pose.

"That dirty mouth of yours," the Dark Lord sighed in feigned exasperation and suddenly moved forward and placed a quick wet kiss onto the boy's red lips. "That's better," he purred, as he pulled away a little and looked at Harry's gobsmacked expression and impossibly wide eyes. He couldn't decide if he liked a surprised Harry better than an angry one.

"The f-fuck did you do this for?" Harry stumbled back, staring at the wizard wildly. He couldn't even master enough anger to shout at him, so shocked he felt, so... elated. This was a completely foreign sensation, he never felt even remotely close to pleasure as he did now.

"Felt like kissing you, so I did," Voldemort shrugged his shoulders elegantly and tilted his head to the side, watching the boy amusedly. Was the little Prince that innocent he had never been kissed before? _My, but how lucky I am_.

"No, no, no, this is so fucked up!" Harry cried and ran into the bathroom, locking the door behind him. Panting harshly he pressed against it, barricading himself from Marvolo. The heat that was spreading all over his body calmed his stomach and he dumbly realized he didn't feel sick after being kissed. He didn't feel sick after being kissed and touched by a _man_. By a bigger, much stronger, dangerous man. Oh, how he wished Ron was here to tell him that he was imagining things, that _"normal blocks didn't fall for other blocks, especially Death Eaters."_ But no matter how hard he tried to make his inner voice sound like his redheaded friend, it spoke to him in that small, cunning tone again, that he associated with, surprisingly, Draco Malfoy. It asked him if he really cared for what the normal blocks did when he wasn't normal at all and everything in his life was as far out of the norm as possible. It also asked if he truly wanted to give these new, wonderful feelings up for the sake of morals and principles that were forced on him by his wretched relatives. What would Snape have said, he wondered. Harry didn't know why, but he thought his father would have told him to shut it and be the slytherin that he said he was. Could he, though?

**xxx**

He hadn't seen Marvolo for a week. Easy took him to meet snakeface one more time, but their conversation wasn't fruitful. Harry demanded to be returned to Hogwarts or at least to get his wand back. Voldemort denied him his wishes and gave him a few newspapers instead to _"read and consider"_ as he phrased it. There were articles speculating on whether Harry was killed, abducted or had simply run away as a petty, insane coward that he was. He knew that was exactly what the monster wanted to achieve - they all turned their backs on the Boy-Who-Lived the second he left them to face the Dark Lord on their own. Every reporter wrote about his _"debt"_ to the wizarding society, about his obligation before them and the Ministry to put his own life out on the front line. Hating the fact that Voldemort had been plotting this from the very beginning, he couldn't help but feel righteous anger build up inside of him. He had no debts and obligations whatsoever, he owed them nothing, nor was he a coward, for, unlike they, he never hid behind a child's back in the moment of crisis. Hell, they openly _admitted_ he was a bloody sacrifice they were more than willing to make in order to go on with their stupid, pathetic lives.

Crumpling the papers and throwing them around in irritation, seething, Harry growled lowly and punched the wall hard with his fist. He hated, hated them all, wizards were no better than muggles, all the same, wishing only to use him for their own benefit. Fuming, he stared at his flabby limb, frowning at the numbness that slowly crept up his fingers. _Wonderful_. He broke his hand. Gasping in a sudden sharp pain, he plumped down onto the chair and dropped his head in his healthy hand helplessly. He had been living these last five years knowing that he was supposed to do the right thing. It had always been killing Voldemort, as he had been told. But now... _now_ he didn't know what was right. Could he really leave it all behind? The war, the Death Eaters, the Order, his friends, who would, no doubt, fill in the gaps in Dumbledore's ranks. Could he let Voldemort kill the innocents and force his tyrannic regime on those who would be left alive? Did he care for them? He did, he did, Hermione always accused him of having the _'people saving'_ syndrome. But did they, the people he wanted to save, care? Judging by what he had read and heard during his five years spent in the wizarding world - they didn't give a shit about him, he wasn't a person in their eyes but a tool. _Bread and circuses_ - that was all they cared about.

Harry loved magic, ever since he had discovered it he adored and cherished it, as his most prized possession that was his and his alone, and no matter how hard his uncle tried, nothing could take it away from him, it helped him breathe when he could not, it helped him live when he was at the death's door, it soothed him when he was in pain... But as he grew up he came to a conclusion that he had been living yet another _illusion_. He was an outcast in both muggle and wizarding worlds, and his magic couldn't help him change that. Nothing could, no one. He knew Voldemort had his own selfish reasons but there was logic behind his arguments - if Harry wanted a normal life he had to let go of everything he knew now. But this was the hardest part. For twelve years he had nothing, he was nothing, a slave, an empty spot, and than he found some kind of closure in his magic, in Hogwarts he found home, friends... his father. How could he give up something he had just found?

His eyes snapped open when a pleasant coolness enveloped his aching hand. Looking up he saw Marvolo bent over him, holding his limb and muttering some kind of a spell. _This bastard. _Harry blushed fiercely, remembering the quick, arrogant kiss. He thought his face was set on fire as he remembered something else - his first wet dream, that he saw yesterday. It was nothing special, just the touches and whispered words, but that was enough for him to wake up to the very first erection in his life. He thought this would never happen to him due to Vernon's thorough dedication to his job of ruining Harry's life and personality. But there he was, lying in the other man's bed with a half hard cock and a deep voice whispering nonsense into his ear. The fact that his body worked properly brought him joy, of course, but the fact that it was the result of his lusting after a man, and a Death Eater... was disconcerting.

He wanted to snatch his hand away, wanted to insult Marvolo, to tell him to fuck off, but instead he snarled, "Where have you been?" Had he really missed him?

"Oh, possessive, aren't we?" Voldemort chuckled, rubbing on the now healed limb gently, enjoying the warmth of their contact. He thought it would be best to give the boy some space before taking it all in strides. It had been more than two weeks since he last slept in his bed and he wanted Harry, preferably _now_.

"You're a bastard," Harry muttered, curling and spreading the fingers of the recently broken hand.

"What do I have to do with that foul mouth of yours, hmm? Should I shove my tongue inside it to make you talk decently?" the Dark Lord took him by the chin and pushed his head up a little to look into the bright green eyes. Harry wanted to move away but such close proximity of these rose lips and this intense gaze of brown eyes mesmerized him, sending shivers down his spine. He swallowed harshly at the shameless suggestion, feeling stupid and lost. What did normal people do in situations like this one? No, scratch that, he wasn't normal, nor was Marvolo, _obviously_.

"Marvolo..." he breathed out and Voldemort was ready to purr like a cat at his name being said so sinfully. "Fuck," Harry felt his mind was clouding and he was loosing the ability to think straight.

"_Soon_." He perked up at the innuendo, but before he could say anything, the warm, wet lips covered his and lingered much longer this time, letting him revel in the sensation and once again realize that it didn't disgust him, didn't sicken him, on the contrary, it made his stomach flutter in satisfaction. When they parted he saw Marvolo licking his lips, savoring Harry's taste. It looked so fascinating and alluring, that he involuntarily leaned forward. "Hmm, would you like some more?" the wizard smiled smugly and Harry felt the urge to kiss this annoying grin off of his face.

"Yes," he hissed and his hands grabbed onto the soft chestnut hair on their own accord, as Marvolo pulled him closer, holding him gently by the shoulders. Their lips pressed against each other again. How could this feel so _good_, he wondered, gasping softly as the other man kept moving his mouth, sucking on his skin and licking his lips, asking, no, demanding to be let inside. Harry parted them slowly, uncertainly, but as soon as his tongue met Marvolo's he whimpered and harried to open his mouth as wide as possible. The things the bastard was doing to him! Rationally, he understood that he was doing the very same thing Ginny had done back then but this, this was so much more..._sensual, mature, passionate_. Marvolo's taste was just as masculine and indescribable as his scent. It bore both sweet and bitter notes in itself and Harry found he liked it very much.

He didn't notice that he had stood up at some point and was millimeters away from the wizard's body. The cold hands slid off of his shoulders and onto his arms, comforting and exciting in their both forcing and calming gesture. His own hands let go of the soft hair to travel lower onto the neck. Marvolo was so tall and strong under the layers of his always dark clothes. Harry realized he wasn't breathing only when they pulled away, both panting harshly. His lips stung pleasantly and he stared in wonder at the other man, surprised and scared by the _hunger_ in the brown half-lidded eyes. Letting go of him abruptly, Harry took a step back, and another one. This went far enough, too far for his own liking. His groin burned with heat, his head was spinning. Marvolo looked... almost _inhuman_. His broad shoulder slumped, his long neck craned a little; the narrowed brown eyes gleamed ominously, possessively; thin pale hands balled into tight fists - his whole posture screamed _predator_, he was ready to leap at his throat and tear him to pieces.

"You frighten me," Harry said hoarsely, looking at him with wide eyes.

Snapping out of his stupor, Voldemort straightened himself, grateful he wore a long robe that covered his apparent arousal. "I cannot apologize for something natural," he tried to understand what was it that scared the little Prince so much. Surely, he didn't expect him to become violent in his lust? At the boy's perplexed expression he added nonchalantly, "It is natural to want another man, even more so to be unable to stop when both get carried away in their passion."

"Well, good you did stop after all," Harry averted his eyes, feeling his face started reddening again. This was becoming truly annoying.

"Harry," Voldemort took a careful step closer and waited for the boy to look up and meet his eyes. "You are a very beautiful young man. How can I _not_ want you?" He would have expected any other person to flush and shy away in pleasure, or laugh teasingly, or gain confidence at such high praise but not Harry, no, of course not. The little Prince scowled at his words and took yet another step back, closing off again. What did he say wrong?

"I don't want to be here anymore," the boy whispered and turned his back to him, moving to stand at the window. Well, what could he say to this? _I won't let you out before I fucked you senseless? _Didn't sound like something Harry would appreciate.

"I know. Just be patient, Harry." The boy didn't turn to look at him and he frowned in irritation. He hated the other's disrespect and often asked himself why did he let Harry get away with so much. It wasn't because of the horcrux, definitely.

**xxx**

_Marvolo_. He was calling his name, gasping in pleasure, as the cold hands caressed his body. He craved the skin on skin contact but no matter how hard he tried his shirt just wouldn't come off. The soft deep laughter echoed inside his own chest and his cock twitched pleasantly as a hot breath of the other man brushed against his lips. This was so good and he wanted so much more... Harry opened his eyes to the rays of the morning sun falling onto his face. Frozen, he reached down with his hand and examined himself - yes, he was hard. It felt like he was going to die of frustration and itching that seemed to spread under the skin all over his body. He never did this before, never _touched himself,_ too disgusted with his own filthy self. Squeezing his eyes shut he tried to will the erection away, he wasn't going to indulge himself, he couldn't let himself find pleasure in this, not when he knew he would return to his relatives in just two months and fall into the routine of the life of Hell again. But his body didn't listen, no matter how much he tried to imagine Vernon taking him, there was always Marvolo in his place, smiling at him and holding him gently. _Fuck, this is ridiculous!_ His thoughts went back to that kiss they shared and everything the wizard told him. Did he really find Harry beautiful, did he really want him? Was it possible to desire someone so horrible, so _used_? His hand stroked his penis on his own accord as the bitter thoughts dissipated in favour of the memories of all the sensations Harry experienced with Marvolo.

He came crying out the damned name, arching his back in unusual, pleasant shock that went through his body. Was it always like this for the two involved? His most unnatural, sickening contact with Vernon convinced him there could be no pleasure, nothing satisfying in being with another person, a _man_ especially. All he knew about sex and any kind of physical closeness was that it resulted in pain, violence, humiliation and tears. _Humiliation_. He sat up on the bed, looking at his hand covered in his own sperm. How degrading was this, to indulge one's self in an animalistic desire on somebody else's bed? Not somebody, Marvolo's! Harry swallowed hard, feeling the heat spread over his lower parts yet again. He had been masturbating in Marvolo's bed, thinking of him. What it would be like if he touched Harry there? Gasping, he grabbed onto his momentarily hardened cock. This was so embarrassing, he couldn't, he wouldn't dream about another man touching him, no, no, no. But he was stroking himself again, panting into the pillow that smelt of the tall dark wizard, pressing into the sheets he slept on, moaning at the most inappropriate thought that he wanted Marvolo to be here with him, now, at this very moment. "Oh, shit!" he jerked violently, as he came. Sweat ran down his face and he groaned lowly as he realized he tensed all of his muscles so much, it was painful to relax now. Shaking, he hastily dragged himself out of the bed and into the bathroom. To clean himself off of his _shame_.

**xxx**

Voldemort stood outside the door once again, listening to Harry tossing and crying in his sleep. He thought the boy's nightmares about him should have gradually disappeared, since the Dark Lord was so kind and careful with him. What was it that made the little Prince suffer so much? What horrors suffocated him in his dreams? He itched to use Legilimency, it would have been so much easier after he broke all of the boy's shields. But he knew this was the worst way of handling the situation, not only would it turn Harry completely against him but it would also hurt him, for Voldemort couldn't be gentle in penetrating other's minds, didn't know how to, for he never needed to be ceremonial with other people. Pushing the door open he entered soundlessly and stood next to the bed, frowning at the sight of sweated, white, tear-stained face, looking pained in the cold moonlight falling through the window.

"No! No!" Harry thrashed, clutching onto the crumpled covers that he shed and pushed to the other side of the bed. His white sleeping shirt was dripping wet, sticking to his chest as was his raven hair. Voldemort sat down on the mattress as close to him as possible and carefully lay his hands onto the boy's shoulders, pinning him down gently. Almost instantly Harry relaxed under his touch. A hot, sweated hand grabbed on his wrist, seeking comfort and reassurance. Leaning down, the Dark Lord brushed the hair away form Harry's face, caressing him all the while and watching intently for any sign of discomfort or a nightmare coming back. There was none. Pulling closer, he placed a kiss onto the scar on the boy's forehead, knowing it would help him relax. A soft sigh escaped the red lips and he moved down a little to kiss them as well. Just a quick peck, nothing else. When he tried to pull away, thin arms circled his neck and Harry buried his nose into his shoulder, whimpering pitifully. _The Dark Lord doesn't coddle_. He tagged on the boy's arms but he couldn't let him go, holding him as of his life depended on it.

"Don't go," Harry mumbled desperately and Voldemort sighed, both in pleasure and annoyance. He wasn't cut out to deal with teenagers, but he felt differently for the little Prince, so familiar and dear because of the horcrux connection that was between them, the Dark Lord felt practically compelled to comfort him, as if his own soul was in pain. Well, _technically_, it was. Gathering the thin body in his strong arms he pulled Harry up into his lap and pressed him against his chest. Wearing a thin shirt only, he marveled at the heat that enveloped him as Harry embraced him. Holding the silently weeping boy, Voldemort wondered when was the last time somebody embraced him, sincerely and tightly, not in seduction but in seeking his comfort and his humanity. He couldn't remember. He wasn't sure he had ever held anybody willingly in such fashion either. He was holding his horcrux he tried to remind himself, stroking soothingly the shaking shoulders and the long raven hair, as his nose and lips were pressed against the boy's forehead. Despite having no sexual aspect, their contact was most intimate and the Dark Lord found he could do it often, given that Harry would be willing to go further than kissing.

"Do you want me to stay for the night?" he whispered, rubbing the knuckles of his cold fingers against the boy's wet cheek.

"Yes," Harry sighed and nuzzled into the crook of his neck, sobbing softly. Voldemort wanted to ask what he saw in his nightmare but something told him the little Prince wouldn't answer. He hated not knowing but with Harry there could be no rush. He needed the boy's trust.

**xxx**

"If you behave yourself, I will take you outside," he heard Marvolo purr behind him and turned around sharply to see the man smiling at him his usual charming smile as if he hadn't held Harry during the night, listening to his pathetic weeping. It was sunny outside and warm, the grass looked so unnaturally green it reminded him of those synthetic lawns most people bought in Surrey. But this grass was real, tall and crisp, never once tended to by a gardner or a house elf. Nodding to the other wizard, Harry found his hands full of long black cloak, no doubt one of those he saw in the wardrobe. "Put it on then."

Embarrassed for what had recently happened, he silently complied and soon was following Marvolo through the corridors and down the grand, half-ruined stairs. "I would have let you roam around the house if it wasn't too dangerous. It will crumble down soon, even magic can't preserve it now," the wizard said over his shoulder, seeing that Harry was staring around, trying to get a better look at everything. Yes, it did seem that Marvolo used only two rooms - everything else was buried under the thickest layer of dust and dirt he had ever seen and was quickly rotting away. If only Petunia could see this mess - she would have died of a heart attack.

"Where would you live when it falls down?" Harry decided to have a small talk to get rid of the tension he felt between them.

_In your father's manor, preferably_. "I will find something, it is not that hard to get a decent house nowadays if you have money." They stepped outside into the bright sun and Harry squinted and smiled involuntarily, enjoying the warmth on his face. Out of the corner of his eye he saw that Marvolo was also pleased by being out in the fresh air. His golden mask shone blindingly in the sunlight, making Harry squeeze his eyes and look away.

"Where are all the Death Eaters, during all the time I've been here I never saw any of them?"

"Do you _really_ expect me to let them live in my house?" the wizard snorted incredulously.

"And what about snakeface?" he turned to look at the man, who sat down on the grass and motioned for him to do the same. He complied with a secret satisfaction that Marvolo could enjoy something so _mundane_ and was ready to let Harry do the same.

"The Dark Lord may do as he pleases. He put you here, after all," Voldemort drawled, giving the boy a pointed look.

"Ugly privileged bastard," Harry muttered sarcastically, ripping off a few strands of grass. The Dark Lord itched to take out his wand and curse the sharp tongue of the little arrogant Prince but decided that taking it into his mouth was more beneficial to him and settled on talking instead.

"Does his appearance repulse you?" he was actually curious to hear the answer to that.

"It is not what he looks like that repulses me but _what he had done_ in order to become the monster he is," Harry frowned and looked up to meet the brown eyes that watched him appreciatively. "Something truly horrible must have happened to him," he added, lowering his gaze at his hands full of green. He was telling himself he could not have any kind of compassion for the man that killed his mother, Cedric and many, many other innocent people long before Harry was even born. But the notion that Voldemort created his first horcrux at the mere sixteen still frightened and saddened him greatly, he felt so _sorry_ for the young Tom Riddle, he wanted to smack himself on the head for being the soft idiot he was.

The Dark Lord was staring at the little Prince in bewilderment, glad the boy wasn't looking back at him. Harry's kind heart and wisdom would never cease to surprise him, it seemed. Nobody had ever sympathized with him before, even the ever loving and forgiving Dumbledore saw him as the manifestation of everything evil in the world. Nobody had ever tried to analyze the motives and reasons behind his actions, nobody but Harry bloody Potter, whom he tried to kill so many times and now was lusting after. Fate was, indeed, a cruel insane bitch.

"By the way," he decided to stir the conversation in the other direction, not trusting what he was feeling about the boy's confession, "I know what curse Bellatrix tried to use against you."

"Oh?" since he never felt any aftereffects or symptoms, Harry completely forgot about it. To be honest, he hadn't felt sick in weeks, he started eating and hadn't thrown up once ever since he came here. _Magic, isn't it?_

"She tried to castrate you," the Dark Lord burst into his booming laughter, startling the boy. "But you were fast to shield yourself from it, as far as we have determined." Harry blushed, inwardly horrified at the prospect of being castrated. He used to think himself impotent all this time but apparently had been keeping some secret hope, for he swallowed nervously, imagining what he could have become. "Oh, come on, Harry," he heard Marvolo chuckle into his ear or was it in his head, was he already imagining things? "She didn't hurt you and never would have the chance to try again," the wizard murmured and leaned forward to kiss him. Harry told himself he didn't expect this and that was why he didn't pull away immediately, but the small traitorous voice told him he was fooling himself. And his body assured him he was fine and _very potent_, indeed. A cold hand cupped his face and he gasped as a long hot tongue forced itself into his mouth, teasing him. He pushed his own tongue inside Marvolo and moaned as it was sucked on harshly. Circling his arms around the man's neck, Harry couldn't help but shift closer to him, craving closeness. After the wizard held him through the night he didn't feel so averse to being touched anymore, his body seemed to trust Marvolo.

"Oh, _Harry_," Voldemort groaned into their kiss, wrapping his arm around the boy's waist and pushing him gently down on the grass. The eagerness, with which the little Prince answered, aroused him and he wanted more. He pulled away when he felt Harry tense under his weight. Frowning, he looked into the frightened green eyes. Then it hit him, and he inwardly cursed himself for being so blind - Severus had told him that the boy had been constantly beaten by his uncle, hadn't he? He must have surely felt uncomfortable being pinned down by a bigger, stronger man. That was why he was so afraid of their contact at first - he was afraid to get hurt. Shifting to lie on his side, he caressed Harry's cheek, "How about you touch and kiss me, hmm?" At his surprised but visibly relaxed expression, Voldemort took him gently by the shoulders and rolled him on top of his body, circling his arms around the boy's thin chest.

Harry had never been in such position and felt a little lost at first. But Marvolo's smug smile made him take the initiative into his hands and he grabbed onto the man's chestnut hair, tagging on it lightly, as he finally covered the annoying lips with his mouth. He couldn't believe he _wanted_ to do it so much, couldn't believe the wild sounds he was drawing out of the wizard's chest. Exploring the other's mouth was the most unique experience he thought he had lived through - it was hot and wet inside, so soft and sweet he could not stop licking and probing everywhere. Marvolo laughed, pulling away to breathe and Harry thought he would choke on the elation and pleasure that burned inside of him, as he heard this deep rumble, saw the satisfied smile stretch the swollen rose lips. He slid his hands down onto the man's chest, rubbing on it through the layers of his clothes.

"Why do you wear so much?" Had he just said that? Blushing, Harry froze, which made Marvolo laugh again.

"Would you like to take it all off?" he purred, as his hands roamed to the small of the boy's back, snaking underneath his shirt. Harry jerked as the cold palms covered his hot skin and felt as if somebody tied his insides into a knot - this strange pleasant itching spread all over him again and he felt his cock harden. He shifted and bit his lower lip as the friction send shivers down his spine. _Fuck, how is it possible to feel so good?_ His hands started undoing the buttons of Marvolo's robe on their own accord it seemed, as Harry stared dumbly into the glazed brown eyes. The cold hands moved, mapping his back, caressing his ugly scars with outmost gentleness. "Harry," Marvolo caught his mouth in a passionate, wet kiss, as his hands found the cool bare skin of the wizard's chest. Harry groaned, panting, stirring, trembling on the inside at the sensation of Marvolo's nipples harden under his fingers, Marvolo's erection pressing into his thigh. His head started spinning and he whimpered as their lips parted.

Voldemort bucked his hips up to meet the boy's hard bulge, seeking the ever needed friction for his own erection. Harry's touches were so _innocent_, so uncertain, they turned him on. Growling like a wild animal he attacked the boy's throat, sucking on it harshly, savouring the sweet taste of his skin. The little Prince drove him mad, he wanted him, wanted to _possess_ his body just like he had already possessed his soul. "Marvolo!" Harry rubbed against his body, moaning, as the teeth bit into his neck ever so slightly, not hurting but teasing. Drunk on the intensifying smell of their scents mixed together and the tension building up in his groin, he thrusted forward again and again in rhythm with Marvolo's low growls. Something clicked inside of him, snapping him out of the lustful haze when the wizard's hands found their way into his trousers and squeezed his buttocks - it was too close, it reminded him of Vernon too much but it was too late to get out of this now. Crying out in fearful satisfaction, Harry came, digging his nails into Marvolo's chest as his fingers curled involuntarily at the intense pleasure of his release. Voldemort closed his eyes in blissful contentment at the sound of the little Prince's orgasm - it went straight into his cock and he grabbed harder on the soft cheeks of the boy's arse, inwardly thanking the spirits for it being in his hands. Coming under Harry's intense watching was fucking incredible, the Dark Lord didn't hold back in moaning and wriggling underneath him, biting his own lips and rolling his eyes back in overdose of lust and heat in his body.

Harry knew that Vernon coming was the most atrocious, ugliest display he had ever seen and he stared at Marvolo with a sinking feeling in his gut. What if it was the same for all men? Would he be able to touch him after he saw him at his _worst_? Tensing at the hardened grip on his arse, he was ready to jerk out of their embrace but the cold hands didn't go further, didn't hurt him, they simply kept squeezing, admiring his flesh and, trembling in confusion, he decided it was more than bearable. Concentrating on Marvolo's face he inwardly cursed the blasted mask, that hid most of it - he didn't doubt it was just as beautiful and sinful as the plump rose lips. They kept moving, opening up to let out most indecent moans, being sucked harshly in between the perfect pearl teeth. The wizard's eyes were unfocused, clouded with passion, as growls of desire rumbled in his chest. Even behind the mask Harry could see the blush that spread all over the pale face. He gasped as the strong body underneath him arched and pressed into his frame with such force, he had to grab onto the man's shoulders for balance. When Marvolo came with most ridiculous and pleasant whimper, Harry gave in to a wide grin that had been tagging on the corners of his mouth - the blissful expression of the wizard's face was absolutely _adorable_, even childish.

"Fuck, Harry, the things you do to me!" Voldemort groaned as the last drops of his sperm left his pulsing cock and he finally relaxed his limbs, breathing deeply. The sight of the blinding, wondrous smile made him chuckle mirthfully. Was the boy expecting him to change or look ugly in the moment of release? He patted the soft buttocks, "Next time we will do this in bed, naked," he made his promise sound like a threat and laughed out loud at the fearfully widened green eyes.

He still wasn't at all comfortable with Marvolo holding his arse and the man's threat disturbed him but the sweet numbness that spread through his body after the orgasm calmed him and he told himself it was going to be alright, so far Marvolo hadn't hurt him even once. If he did, Harry would simply use the same trick on him that he did on Bellatrix. He wasn't going to let a Death Eater overpower him. He wasn't _weak_. Not _anymore_. His serious thoughts were interrupted by Marvolo's greedy mouth that assaulted his lips. How had he been living without this before? His uncle had the answer to this question.

**xxx**

Harry spent the next few days in the most grumpiest, scornful mood he had ever found himself in. Marvolo had to go away and he was all alone in the huge old mansion. Easy tried to keep him company but was doing a poor job, since she was prohibited to tell Harry anything about her master and there was nothing else he wanted to talk to her about. His nightmares got only worse, since they started as the wettest, most licentious sexual fantasies he never imagined he could have, and gradually morphed into the raping scenes, repeating in a vicious circle over and over again. He hated how Marvolo, rubbing against him and moaning his name as a passionate prayer, would suddenly turn into Vernon shoving his filthy little prick into his face, insulting him and telling him just how dirty he was, how filthy, _unworthy_. There were no more hard-ons in the mornings, only throttling fear that squeezed his throat and gripped his heart in a vice. Harry couldn't get rid of the obtrusive, obsessive idea that Marvolo was going to rape him, to hurt him, that all this was just a game for him and he too thought him to be a sordid whore, a _sex toy_.

And yet he missed the tall dark wizard, he wanted to be held in the strong cold arms, to be kissed and caressed, admired. The appreciative gleam in those brown eyes stirred something deep inside his chest, making his heart ache so pleasantly. _Just look at yourself, going all soft because of some bloody Death Eater_. Muttering under his breath, Harry sat on the windowsill watching the rain slap on the glass angrily as the night was slowly falling on wherever this place was. Of course, Marvolo must have had dozens, hundreds of lovers, he was such a spectacular personage, beautiful and alluring, and skillful. Scowling at the thought, Harry snorted to himself and rolled his eyes in exasperation: jealous of a man he barely knew! What a naive idiot he was. All it took Marvolo was a few kisses and a few kind words and Harry was already trapped in his snare, ready to give the man everything he wanted only to be able to spend a little more time with him, to hear his voice, to touch him. _Fuck, fuck, fuck_. He burst the shutters wide open in anger and pulled out of the window to sit on the other side under the showering rain. Freezing, he felt his bad mood dissipate gradually, leaving him empty and sorrowful. What had his life become?

Easy brought him newspapers every day and he read the same articles that seemed to be simply copied from one issue to another, telling the wizards and witches of United Kingdom that their Savior had most likely abandoned them and moved abroad, away from the war and his obligations. There were also some information on the more reforms and decrees introduced at Hogwarts, where Umbridge seized control of completely everything, it seemed. Disgusted by the mere possibility that the toad was tainting his dear school, ruining everything that Dumbledore had built, Harry wondered if he would ever go back. Nothing would ever be the same even if he did, he was certain. He was a changed man now, the old Harry died, he was the Boy-Who-lived no more. Could he return to Hogwarts? Would he be welcomed there? Sighing and knowing the answer all too well, he paged to the article about Dumbledore. The old headmaster went into hiding and the Ministry was eager to hunt him down, accusing him of treason against the government. How amusingly stupid and blind they all were, falling into Voldemort's intricately spun web of lies and deceit, making it all so much easier for the monster. Standing up, Harry picked up the few newspapers, that were scattered all over the bureau, and threw them into the hearth, watching the flames sore higher. It was the third of May already, he had spent almost a month here and he both hated and liked this place. He couldn't call it a prison anymore, nor could he call it a home yet. _Fuck_. How sick it was of him to dare having such atrocious thoughts?

He jumped when the door into the room opened suddenly and a soaking wet, covered in mud Marvolo appeared on the threshold. "Good evening, Harry," he smiled, rubbing the drops of rain off of his mask. "I am sorry for intruding on you like this but I need to have a shower," and with that the wizard simply walked into the bathroom and closed the door behind him, surprisingly, not locking it. Raising his eyebrows in bewilderment, Harry shrugged his shoulders and turn back to look at the fire, inwardly seething at the notion that the man had simply walked in after being away for so long and the first thing he wanted to do was to have a bloody _shower_! Scowling, he poked himself hard in the ribs - he was no bloody girl to throw tantrums for god's sake! As he heard the sound of running water he couldn't help but imagine Marvolo undressed, standing under the hot stream, stroking his tall pale body that was always so cold... His cheeks burned as his body asked for more images and, barely registering what was he doing, Harry soundlessly walked over to the door and listened in. What was he expecting to hear, though, a man was simply taking a shower. But as he strained his ears, leaning onto the dark wood he heard soft moans coming through the noise of falling water.

He simply wished to clean himself up. But no, Harry just _had to be_ all wet, with his shirt sticking to his body, with his lean delicate statue showing through its thin white fabric. To meet such a tempting sight after a hard day dealing with incompetent idiots was most disturbing. His cock simply wouldn't listen, demanding attention, preferably of one green eyed boy on the other side of the door. Growling to himself, Voldemort got into the shower and stood dumbly under the hot water, hoping it would calm his libido down but all his hopes were in vain. What wouldn't he give to have the boy here with him, pushed against the tiles with his thighs spread widely for him. His vivid imagination got the better of him and he stroked himself frantically, moaning the boy's name, pressing his burning forehead against the cool wall. He didn't care if Harry would hear him, let the brat know just how much he wanted him.

He bit his lip harshly, as the groans became louder and he could clearly make out his name being called out. "Oh, Harry, ah, yes, my little one!" Marvolo whined and Harry felt as his knees were giving away, as if he was hit with a jelly-legs curse. The man was actually fantasizing about him while jerking off! He thought he should be disgusted by the mere possibility but he wasn't, on the contrary, he felt absolutely _delighted_ and _hot_. It turned him on so much, Harry was afraid he would come by simply pressing into the door and he stepped away and sat down on the bed, trying to calm himself down, to will his hard, painful erection away. He didn't hear the wizard come, for his heart was pounding deafeningly in his ears. A moment later the door opened and clean and dry Marvolo emerged, wearing only a pair of ill-fitting trousers and a white shirt, loosely buttoned on his stomach, and a mask, of course.

"Well, I'm feeling much better now. What about you?" Voldemort smirked at the sight of flushed face and hard erection of a still irresistibly wet Harry.

"Bastard," was all he could manage in reply, staring at the toned pale chest barely covered by the shirt.

"Let me help you with that," the Dark Lord came closer and smiled as Harry scattered away from him further onto the bed - he saw that the boy wasn't frightened of him, he simply was inexperienced. Ah, but his ignorance turned him on, teasing the teacher in Voldemort. He knew the little Prince would be a good student.

Harry caught his breath when Marvolo gracefully crawled onto the bed as a wild cat, all but purring at him. He gently took him by the ankle and dragged him closer, looming over his trembling form. Letting out a shuddering breath, Harry whispered, "Please, don't." He was scared to death that a cock would be shoved up his arse and he would find his nightmare come true, but he wanted Marvolo so much, he thought he would faint from the intense contradicting emotions that were tearing him apart.

"Don't worry, little one, you will enjoy this," Voldemort murmured and bent down to kiss him soundly on the lips, sensing his nervousness. His hands found the waistband of the boy's trousers and he unbuttoned them, pulling them down, struggling against Harry, who kept stubbornly sitting on them. "I will _not_ hurt you," he growled lowly and tore the fabric off of him, catching his mouth in a possessive kiss, muffling down his protests.

Harry grabbed on the bed covers, readying himself to fight the man, whose tongue he was so eagerly sucking on. He jerked as a cold palm covered his stone hard penis and stroked it gently. "Shit!" he pulled his mouth away harshly to cry out, coming undone from the mere touch. Smirking knowingly, Marvolo lowered himself down and kissed the head of his cock, licking the slit, as his hand kept pumping its length. Swearing foully, Harry fell back on the mattress, bucking his hips up, absolutely sure he was going to loose his mind. The hot, wet mouth took him fully in and he gasped in shock, hiding his face in his hands. He hated doing this, hated when Vernon forced his filthy flesh into his throat, it was absolutely disdainful, repulsive, unbearable... But how fucking _amazing_ it felt to be sucked by Marvolo! Moaning loudly, on the verge of tears, Harry came violently right into the man's mouth and sobbed in amazement as Marvolo swallowed it all, sucking lustfully on the head to drain it completely.

"Would you like to taste yourself?" he opened his eyes to see the wizard hover over him with a lecherous smile on his face. He didn't look disgusted, quite the opposite, he seemed to have had enjoyed every bit of it. Nodding uncertainly, Harry reached out to touch the soft skin of the man's cheek as Marvolo moved closer and kissed him long and thorough, coating his tongue with his saliva and Harry's seed, that tasted surprisingly sweet. "Harry, you are _most delicious_," the wizard murmured into his mouth and waved his hand to put the fire out. As complete darkness surrounded them, Marvolo took his mask off and attacked his lips with a newly found vigor. Excited, Harry pressed both his palms against the face, probing and mapping every millimeter of it, smiling into the kiss as he felt the high cheekbones; long, thin nose with a small bump on its bridge; big, almond shaped eyes, deeply set under the thick, arched eyebrows... Harry couldn't quite put it all together to make up a comprehensible portrait but he didn't really care - everything he felt was absolutely perfect to him.

_Mine, mine_, Voldemort thought as he tagged the shirt off of the boy and shed his own clothes with a flick of his wrist. He pressed into the hot body and moaned wildly, as every inch of his cold skin sent shivers into Harry and felt goosebumps cover the boy from head to toes. Their mouths clashed in yet another passionate kiss, as they both tried to devour each other. The little Prince's hands wondered down his body to explore his chest, back, waist and hips. Shy and nervous Harry stroked the cold skin, marveling at its smoothness, at the many little scars that marred it. Marvolo was thin but strong, he could feel every muscle play under his palms. He stopped, not sure what to do when he reached the backside. Thankfully he was never supposed to touch Vernon, let alone stroke his fat ugly arse, but he couldn't know if men really enjoyed it. He hated when his uncle grabbed him on his hide, but if Marvolo held him there, perhaps, he would like Harry to hold him in return? Slowly, he cupped the firm cheeks and gasped as the man groaned pleasantly into his mouth, tensing his muscles under his hands and shifting to rub against him. Encouraged, Harry squeezed them slightly, massaging the flesh, drawing deep, rumbling sounds of appreciation out of the chest he was pinned under. Marvolo shifted again, rearranging their cocks to lie pressed against each other. Horrified, Harry jerked but was firmly held in place._ Fuck, but the man is huge!_ Vernon's shrimp was nothing in comparison with _this_, and _this_ was going to penetrate him sooner or later, he had no doubts regarding Marvolo's intentions.

"Sh-sh," Voldemort stroked the boy's sides and stomach soothingly, "I would not hurt you, just relax, Harry, this is going to be _very good_." He grabbed on the boy's hips and spread his thighs to nestle more comfortably between them and pushed forward, rubbing his already aching, pulsing cock against Harry's equally hard one. Voldemort doubted the boy realized how perfectly sized he was, how delicate and sweet his penis was - it fitted right to a tee in his mouth and felt absolutely amazing next to his. Rocking their bodies, he intensified the friction, reveling in Harry's surprised gasps and needy moans. Harry panted harshly, jerking at every thrust of Marvolo's hips, as his eyes rolled back in overwhelming pleasure, he smiled blissfuly, feeling their cocks throb, slipping smoothly, coated in each other's precum. Marvolo was watching him, he sensed his hungry stare, wondering briefly how could the man see anything in total darkness, but couldn't for the life of him care less. As the pace hastened, Harry screamed the other's name, grabbing on the broad shoulders desperately. Voldemort growled, breathing deeply through his nose, and kept staring at the little Prince, loving the way he creased his sweated brow and spread his swollen lips to call out his name. "Perfect, you are _perfect_," he breathed out shakily and came at the same time Harry did, the boy's face taking on an expression of complete and utter pleasure, as their sperm covered their stomachs and pulsing cocks.

"Fucking... amazing," Harry mumbled, smiling as Marvolo's long nose bumped into his when the man leaned in for a kiss. Closing his eyes, he eagerly met the demanding lips, sighing contentedly, for the first time in his life enjoying the smell of sex in the air.

"Soon," Voldemort replied, as they parted and gathered Harry up to put him on the pillows and under the covers.

"Will you stay?" he heard the boy whisper desperately, holding onto him blindly in the dark.

"Of course, it is _my bed_ after all," the Dark Lord purred, grinning smugly at Harry's soft, hearty laughter - he had never heard it before and found he enjoyed it immensely. He pulled the boy into his arms and buried his nose into the raven hair, gently rubbing the soft buttock and thigh. Harry felt insecure sleeping naked in the same bed with another man, but Marvolo was so at ease with him, held him so nicely, even his caress of Harry's arse felt rather good, so he decided he could do it, could overcome his fears.

That night no nightmares disturbed his sleep.

**xxx**

Harry woke to a feeling of something hard being pressed against his arse and jerked violently, chocking out a hoarse cry, afraid that everything was just a sick, unnaturally long _dream_ and he was lying on his cot on Private Drive 4, and it was Vernon who came to him in the morning to finish what he had started the previous evening by beating him senseless. Cold arms pressed him tenaciously to a broad chest and he heard a soft whisper in his ear, "Harry, it's fine, I am not going to do anything without your permission." The sound of the so familiar now, deep baritone calmed him down almost instantly and he relaxed into the hold, breathing out in great relief as Marvolo shifted to move his erection away. "It is impossible to stay _unaffected_ with you in bed next to me," the man sighed regretfully and caressed his chest.

Sensing Harry's tension subside, Voldemort frowned, wondering why was the boy so uncomfortable. He abhorred the fact that they had to go so slow, for he wanted to fuck, but on the other hand he wouldn't have desired Harry if he was a slut that was eagerly spreading his legs for everybody interested, would he? "Would you like to help me with my little problem?" he kissed the little Prince between the shoulder blades, thinking that he needed to make Harry want to be fucked, otherwise no matter how hard he tried, the boy wouldn't enjoy it and wouldn't give it freely.

"It's not _little_," Harry snorted nervously. He hated giving blowjobs, and that was exactly what Marvolo wanted, wasn't it? The man had done it so easily, with such pleasure, and he lay here, feeling sick to the stomach at the mere thought.

"You haven't even seen it," Voldemort noted chidingly, stroking the long raven hair. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to, of course," he added ruefully, feigning resignation and disappointment - the little Prince needed a little motivation.

Rolling his eyes in exasperation and annoyance, Harry turned to face him harshly, noticing that the blasted mask was back in place, "_Please_, no need to go all dramatic on me, I can see through your slytherin plot."

"Oh?" the Dark Lord flashed him a shit-eating grin, "Tell me more." He propped himself up on his elbow, watching the boy curiously. He loved when the little Prince got all snarky and cynical, bit him back.

Before Harry could retort his gaze fell on Marvolo's naked lean body and the proudly standing up cock. He squeezed his eyes shut involuntarily: it was _huge_, it seemed even more so when he was simply looking at it. He should have guessed it would be big, judging by the man's tall frame. Cracking one of his eyes open he stared at it in horror - he couldn't imagine how that could fit in his mouth, let alone his arse. Gaging at the thought he tried to look away but couldn't really.

"You flatter me, Harry," Voldemort laughed, enjoying the boy's grimaces - amazing how open this beautiful face was, how easily it could be read. "Do not _force_ yourself, I wouldn't enjoy something you don't," he tried to convey as much sincerity as possible, seething inwardly at the frustration that was already building up in him.

Swallowing harshly, Harry sat up to get out of the bed and leave the man to attend to his problem on his own when something stopped him. Looking back at the naked wizard he thought about how far had he gone, how much had sex with Marvolo helped him to deal with '_his problem_', how more and more acceptive he became of himself, how his confidence grew. Even though he was still afraid of Vernon and still felt dirty and debauched, he knew he wasn't going to let the bastard rape him ever again. Not after he found how pleasant a physical contact could be, what was it like to be caressed and held gently. Vernon was his block that had not only hindered his attempts at occluding his mind, but poisoned his life in general. What if Marvolo was actually able to help him as he had said?

"I've never done this before," he lied, trying to cover up his nervousness and reluctance, as he moved closer to the huge cock that twitched in anticipation when his harsh breath brushed against it.

"I like you the way you are, _Harry_," Voldemort purred pleasantly, leaning back on the pillows, watching him intently. He was telling the truth when he said he wouldn't enjoy something the boy forced on himself - he had dozens of sycophantic Death Eaters who could blow him in such fashion in order to stay in his good graces.

Harry settled between his long legs and started from stroking his thighs. If he was going to do this, he was doing it _his_ way. Caressing the tender skin, he covered it with fleeting kisses, slowly moving closer to the rigid erection. Concentrating on Marvolo's soft moans and sighs he tried telling himself he was going to enjoy this, telling himself that Marvolo _wanted_ him to enjoy this. Harry took the long hard cock into his hands, feeling it up, stroking up and down the thick shaft. Gathering his courage, he leaned closer and kissed its head softly, blinking as it pulsed in his hand in reply. He heard a needy whine escape the wizard's rose lips and kissed it again, longer this time. It wasn't at all disgusting to the taste or smell, rather pleasant in fact, it bore the same scent Marvolo did, only it was mixed with sweat. Harry licked on the slit and couldn't help but admire the way the man jerked in his hold, swearing under his breath. Being in control had its charm, he could admit that. Feeling more relaxed, more confident, Harry took the head into his mouth and sucked on it gently, drawing a low growl out of the other's chest. Inwardly smiling at that, he slid down the length, stopping when he felt he couldn't fit any more of it inside - it was more than a half of it though - and sucked again. The bitterness of precum coated his tongue but he paid it no mind - it was far more bearable than what he used to taste. Sliding up and down the cock, he closed his eyes, listening to Marvolo's unsteady breathing, his lustful moaning. Harry tensed when cold fingers carded through his hair, but his head wasn't forced down, instead, the man simply brushed his hair away and caressed his cheek, calling his name quietly. Looking up, Harry saw Marvolo's flushed face and parted lips, frozen in a small, alluring smile - it was a very _pleasant_ sight and he sucked on the cock's head harder, staring into the half-lidded brown eyes unwaveringly.

Voldemort caught his breath, as his eyes locked with the bright green ones. They burned him and the fire seemed to spread down his body and concentrate in his groin. The heat was unbearable and he couldn't help but whine as Harry sucked him in harder still looking at him. Bloody minx, challenging him like that! It wasn't the best blowjob in his life but it was yet another wonderful orgasm, courtesy of the little Prince. Crying out hoarsely, the Dark Lord came into Harry's throat, panting at the sight of his sperm running down his cock, as the boy swallowed only a little bit of it, testing. Harry closed his eyes when the hot seed hit the back of his throat and hastily pulled away not to gag as it filled his mouth fully. He let most of it out, incapable of swallowing so much. It tasted just like Marvolo's skin - pleasantly bittersweet. All in all it wasn't that bad, he decided, letting out a surprised squeak as the cold hands grabbed on his arms and pulled him up to be kissed senseless. Well, Marvolo's passionate gratitude was _worth_ all the hard work.

**xxx**

They both sat in the open window basking in the warm light of the setting sun, while Harry was reading yet another article about the chaos and panic that were slowly building up in the magical society. It appeared that Voldemort began openly attacking those who were dead set against him, ever since he sent his own bills and legislation for Wizengamot to study, along with the corpse of Amelia Bones or what was left of her. Harry frowned slightly as he remembered absentmindedly that her daughter was a member of DA. Most newspapers refused to release the Dark Lord's new laws for the public to see, but two cheap editions were daring enough to do just that and stirred a strong resonance in the country. Reading through the long list, Harry couldn't help but be impressed - there was no word about eliminating muggles or muggleborns. The conditions were harsh, true, and the demands of violent punishments and the strict set of rules for breeding between wizards and witches looked cruel to say the least, but none of them suggested any actual damage to the wizarding world. As a person with a first hand experience of living amongst muggles, Harry could _relate_ to most of what was drawn up.

"I see you appreciate the Dark Lord's work," Voldemort failed to hold back smugness in his tone but, luckily, Harry didn't notice.

"I didn't expect him to be so... _reasonable_," he said thoughtfully, looking up from the paper in his hands. "Why was everything so different during the war?"

"Let's say he played with fire for far too long and had to pay for it with his own sanity and life," the Dark Lord watched the boy intently, anticipating his decision. The little Prince had more than enough time to consider his offer.

"I hope snakeface would stay in his right mind from now on," Harry huffed, plunging back into the text. "These are rather acceptable, harsh but efficient. But I still can't accept that he has to kill every person who dares to speak against him."

Well, this was an evident _progress_, wasn't it? "This is a messy method, yes, but revolutions always call for blood and death, as you would remember from the history of mankind - it is the fuel for the engine of the machine that is going to rebuilt and revaluate itself," Voldemort pointed out.

"Is he going to establish a dictatorship?" all the tyrants usually lost their minds and humanity, too drunk on their power and control over people - they all knew how it ended the first time and Harry truly didn't want the repeat of that.

Smiling somewhat ruefully to himself, Voldemort sighed, "The Dark Lord is not interested in ruling the country but in improving it. This is a much harder work that requires quite a lot, both physically, intellectually, even spiritually."

"Well, if he keeps on doing it all on his own, he would exhaust himself into coma or another crazy killing spree long before he _achieves_ anything," Harry noted acidly which made Voldemort stare at him in amusement.

"How truly _perceptive_ of you," he smiled, thinking that the little Prince understood him much better than he thought he did. It was both frightening and fascinating. "If _you_ stop fighting him and openly admit your agreement with his legislations, I am _certain_ it all would go much easier, since people would start actually thinking and considering their chances."

Harry shook his head, scowling, making Voldemort itch to kiss it off of his face, "I can't, not now... I am not ready yet." This was too big a decision to be made so lightly.

"It is understandable," the Dark Lord moved closer and kissed his scarred forehead, reveling in the wave of pleasure that rushed through both of them. The boy leaned into it, dropping the paper down and circling his arms around Voldemort's neck. _So affectionate when he is not scared to be touched_. Smiling, he pulled the little Prince in a tight embrace, sighing contentedly at the heat that surrounded him, and traced the curves of the beautiful face with his lips, halting to kiss the hungry, sweet mouth.

"Why are you always so cold? Your hands are like ice no matter how warm it is inside," Harry grumped good-naturally, actually enjoying the shivers that went down his spine every time the cold palms snaked under his clothes to steal some of his body's heat.

"I have no idea, I was always like that as long as I can remember. Probably the result of my very poor, hungry and freezing cold childhood," Voldemort didn't like remembering his past, he never talked about it with anybody but Harry was always the exception nowadays and he thought he could give him a little information about himself. He would have to tell him the truth sooner or later, that Marvolo and Voldemort were the same person, and if the boy trusted him and liked him even more, maybe he would accept his l_ittle deceit_ easier. He smiled as the boy embraced him even tighter, no doubt feeling sorry for him, wishing to comfort him. "You could help me get warm, you are so good at it," he purred, stroking the hot skin of Harry's back and sides.

"You are such a profligate," Harry mumbled into Marvolo's neck, kissing it lightly, feeling his groin slowly heat up as all his blood, it seemed, hurried to concentrate there.

"How about some motivation? Would you like to have your wand back?" Voldemort was almost certain that the boy wouldn't use it against him, wouldn't try to escape. He knew the little Prince was hungry for magic, he spent almost a whole month deprived of it, but it was for his own good, otherwise his body wouldn't have been able to heal and recover.

Harry barked out a laugh, "Are you seriously _bribing_ me?" Of course he wanted his wand back, what kind of question was that?

"You have completely recovered from magical exhaustion and your body is healed, it is safe for you to use it again," the Dark Lord shrugged, carding his fingers through the silk raven locks. "Given that you wouldn't try to run."

Was he actually considering the possibility of sleeping with Marvolo in exchange for his wand? How _whoring_ was that? Besides, they were sleeping together willingly... Oh, but the bastard wanted to take him, didn't he? Shuddering, Harry tried to pull away from the man but Marvolo only scooped him up and engaged him in a passionate kiss, holding him in his arms, as Harry's legs circled the wizard's waist on their own accord and his hands grabbed on the soft chestnut hair.

"I am not giving you your wand for sex, Harry," he heard a low growl when their lips parted, "I am giving it to you on the condition you wouldn't try to use it to escape from here." The way Marvolo was panting and squeezing his buttocks told Harry the man was telling the truth, at least he hoped he was. But could he stop now, when he was already so painfully hard, feeling the other's equally stiff erection under his arse, when these lecherous rose lips drove him mad, taking the last air away from his lungs? If he was completely honest with himself, he didn't want to stop, he loved how confident and strong Marvolo made him feel, how much was he cared for and _desired_.

Sensing that the Little Prince was just as turned on and hungry as he himself felt, Voldemort carried him over to the bed and laid him down, sucking on his tongue and lips all the while. Harry was still terribly self-conscious but he didn't flinch away from his persistent touch anymore, didn't shudder when his clothes were being taken off of him. As the night fell on the manor, and darkness filled the room, the Dark Lord threw away the annoying mask, enjoying the way the boy covered his face with featherlight kisses, slowly undoing the buttons of his vest and shirt. There was so much intimacy in these simple gestures, he could swear Harry knew _exactly_ how he affected him, what he needed to do to make him come undone. When they both were finally naked, Voldemort pressed his cold body against the boy's, moaning at the unbearable heat that enveloped him into a passionate embrace along with Harry's arms. Rocking and stirring on top of him, the Dark Lord sucked on the long thin neck, enjoying the needy whines that escaped the red lips. Harry bucked his hips up to intensify the friction, barely noticing that Marvolo started slowly making his way down, as a wet mouth sucked on his nipples, banishing the last coherent thoughts out of his mind, clouded with lust.

"Fuck!" he cried out when the man's lips covered the head of his throbbing cock that was ready to burst with pleasure.

"Yes," he heard Marvolo hiss and hadn't fully processed his answer until the hot tongue reached for his entrance and licked on it teasingly. Harry jerked, suddenly sober and scared, but strong cold hands held him firmly in place. "Relax, little one, it won't hurt."

"But, but..." Harry wanted to protest, to tell him he couldn't do this, he couldn't touch his whoring arse like that when it had been violated by Vernon... But all the words left him, it seemed, as Marvolo started kissing and sucking on the ring of tight muscles, licking it vigorously. He cried out when the tongue thrusted inside his hole. _This_ was impossible, _this_ couldn't feel that good. A cold finger suddenly penetrated him, slipping past the soft walls of his inside, and he jerked violently. "No, please, don't-"

"Calm down," Voldemort kissed his softening cock, sensing that the boy was too scared to feel satisfaction anymore, but he wasn't going to stop. They had started it and he intended to finish it right here and now. He _could_ and he _would_ show Harry how good it was. Kissing and caressing the boy's penis and balls he gently moved his finger in and out of him, rubbing soothing circles on he stomach with his other hand. The little Prince was so tense, all his muscles went rigid with nervousness. "Harry, it's fine, don't be scared," he forced his second finger inside, pushing carefully forward.

"No, please," Harry kept writhing, panting harshly, as the fingers caused a slight burning in his anus, "You are too big, Marvolo, I can't... it won't..." tears started streaming down his cheeks as the pain mixed with pulsing pleasure of his cock being kissed and sucked on. He screamed, convulsing, as the fingers spread apart, stretching him.

"It only looks like it doesn't fit, but don't worry, it most certainly would," Voldemort murmured, scissoring his fingers, marveling at the boy's tightness. Kissing his groin, he quietly hissed a spell to help the muscles loose their tension, as he gently pushed a third finger inside to the sound of Harry's loud sobs.

Harry couldn't stand the frustration and pain, it drove him insane. Everything that Marvolo was doing to him was gentle and careful, the ache he felt wasn't even close to the one he was used to when Vernon raped him but he couldn't stop crying and shudder under the man's soothing touches and kisses, feeling slightly sick to the stomach, for, no matter how hard he was tying to convince himself, he couldn't believe that _this_ was going to be pleasant, that _this_ wasn't going to hurt him, to taint him even worse. He felt his muscles started gradually relaxing and gasped as the three fingers stretched him further. His uncle never prepared him before... Whining, Harry covered his face with his hands, weeping, trying to push away the horrible images out of his mind. How could he enjoy this with Marvolo when all he could think about was that ugly bastard Vernon?

"Harry," his hands were gently pulled away and he looked up to sense more than see the dark brown eyes stare at him. The cold fingers brushed away his tears and the wet, warm mouth covered his trembling lips, kissing him long and gently, numbing his pain. "It will hurt at first," he heard a soft whisper, "But I will be careful and you will enjoy this, trust me." _Trust me_. He wanted to trust Marvolo so badly, he wanted to believe his every word, but could he? Harry heard a spell being muttered and felt very wet inside, as if... A strong arm pulled him into a tight, reassuring embrace, as a cold hand caressed his half-hard erection briefly. When the soft lips covered his again, he felt the hard cock slowly push inside of him and he jerked, catching his breath, frozen in terror. Gradually stretching him, the thick flesh slipped in painfully but gently and Harry heard Marvolo moan pleasantly into his mouth.

Voldemort tried to be as much careful as it was possible, barely restraining himself from going wild at the sensation of hot inside constricting around his throbbing cock. Fuck, but Harry was incredibly tight, he felt amazing. Moaning indecently, he thrusted his tongue into the boy's mouth, mirroring the motions of his body. Holding Harry tightly, he slowly pulled out of him and pushed back, slightly changing the angle to find the one that would do the trick. The boy kept crying and trembling underneath him, but the more they kissed, the more he seemed to relax. Wishing he could slam into him, Voldemort went very slow instead, halting after his every move, waiting for the little one to adjust to him and to pain. "I want you," he whispered, "I want you."

Sobbing, Harry listened, clutching on the the broad shoulders as if his life depended on it, groaning in pain. Marvolo was so huge, he couldn't believe he managed to fit almost all of his cock inside of him. He stretched him so hard, Harry feared he wouldn't survive it. But the pain was slowly becoming duller, as he steadily got used to it, and to the man's length and thickness. Marvolo grabbed on his hips and lifted them slightly and, as he thrusted inside once again, Harry gasped at the unexpected pleasant sensation of the cock brushing against something inside of him. The feeling was so _intense_ and _unusual_, he completely forgot about Vernon, and the fear, that was gripping his heart in a vice, subsided. All he was concentrated on now were the sounds of Marvolo's lustful moans and their hearts beating fast in their chests pressed against each other. Every painful push into his anus made his stomach flutter, as a wave of pleasure washed over him, making his cock pulse in desire, and he cried softly, trying to find his breath and gather his wits.

"Marvolo, ah!" the sweetest sounds he craved so much caressed his ears and Voldemort thrusted harder, faster, making most indecent sounds he never imagined he could produce, feeling as his mind was clouding with insane pleasure. Harry's tightness and heat brought him to the verge of ecstasy and he was certain he would burst out when he heard and sensed that his little one was finally enjoying it, _him_, his cock. "Please!" Harry didn't know what was he begging for, definitely not to stop. The pain was still there, he doubted it would ever go away, but the pleasure was so much stronger, and his penis was squeezed so nicely between their sweated bodies, and Marvolo kept kissing him so passionately, heartedly... He felt his very soul soaring high in elation. The quicker and harder the man moved inside him, the less pain and the more satisfaction he felt. It all seemed so _magical_, so unreal, ordinary people couldn't feel so good, they couldn't possibly have this when all they did was inflicting pain and hurting each other, _him_.

"Harry, _Harry_, ah, yes, so tight," he was blabbering nonsense into the swollen mouth as his own lips felt too numb to kiss properly. Voldemort knew he was coming, right now, he was going to burst and black out, it seemed, for the intensity of their contact was inhuman. He realized he was practically hammering into Harry's arse, as the boy kept crying and wailing in pleasure, he couldn't care if he hurt him anymore, he knew Harry would enjoy it all the same. The burning heat spread all around his cock and slowly rose into his groin, churning his gut. _Fuck, fuck, fuck!_ Never in his life had he felt that good taking somebody. As the last spark of sense died in his mind, he briefly wondered if the magic of horcrux affected them so much, but hadn't had the strength to dwell on the thought, as something inside of him snapped and he growled pitifully, tensing his every muscle in the most painful and most incredibly pleasant release.

Hearing Marvolo coming was the last drop and Harry screamed his name, arching his back as his magic lashed out and enveloped the two of them in an unbearably hot cocoon. He felt the thick sperm filling him up to the core, as the rush of pleasure surged through him from the tip of his leaking cock to his very brain. He started weeping again, in happiness now, feeling _reborn_, cathartic, as Marvolo jerked for the last time and relaxed on top of him, moaning and breathing heavily. Crying even harder when the wizard started kissing his tears away and humming his name, Harry desperately tried to understand why, why had he been treated so horribly, so harshly, by his own family no less, why a man, that was supposed to keep him _safe_, hurt him the most, turned him into a weak, helpless mess, into practically an invalid, forced him to live in a nightmare, in constant pain and fear; and a Death Eater, a dark dangerous wizard, his supposed enemy, the one who could have and should have mocked him and used every opportunity to turn his life into Hell, actually _cared_ about him, showed him what it was like to be held, liked, _appreciated_, taught him not to fear physical closeness, gave him so much pleasure... Harry knew he was hysterical now, for he started hyperventilating, still overwhelmed with magic, that lingered in and outside of his body.

"Breathe, little one, I know it was good but no point in killing yourself over it," Voldemort laughed softly. Well, good was an _understatement_, really. It was absolutely unimaginable, indescribable. He never felt magic during sex, it just never manifested itself but what he felt now was so unusual, so strange... so fucking wonderful. Sated and tired, but immensely pleased, he carefully pulled out of Harry and rolled onto his aching back, making the boy lie on top of him, stroking his body soothingly. Harry must have felt it too, maybe it was even stronger, harder on him, since he was young and sensitive. The boy calmed down a little, though the tears still ran down his face, and he nuzzled into the crook of Voldemort's neck, sniffing quietly. How much Harry reminded him his own younger self. The only difference between them was their magic affinity and their morality, but in every other aspect Voldemort found more similarities than he could imagine they shared. He couldn't say it disturbed him, Harry bore a part of his soul, after all, but it gave him these foreign, _unwelcome_ emotions he really didn't want to have. He liked the boy, true, he desired him, yes, he admired his intelligence and beauty, of course, but he couldn't feel anything else, _more_, towards him, simply because he was incapable of it. Or at least he thought he was. Willing the strange thoughts and feelings away, Voldemort gave in to the pleasant exhaustion and let the sleep take him, lulled by the sound of Harry's steady heartbeat.

**xxx**

If a month ago somebody would have told Harry that he was going to have sex several times a day, every day, he would have told them to fuck off. The next week that he spent with Marvolo was the craziest time of his life, and, possibly, the best. The man gave him his wand back and let him wander around the house, though it wasn't a very enjoyable way of spending one's time, for the place was old and practically ruined, Harry could understand why Marvolo kept him locked in his room - he had to constantly spell the floor and walls to hold when he walked down the corridors; a chandelier fell down once, almost hitting him on the head; his bathroom was the only one working in the whole manor. Apart from his bedroom and a study, only kitchen, where Easy reigned, was somewhat fit for proper use.

Marvolo, it seemed, got _addicted_ to being physically close to Harry and practically never left the place during those days, eager to touch and kiss and take. Still apprehensive and nervous about being fucked, Harry bravely overcame his fears every time, trusting the wizard not to hurt him, for Marvolo never once did. His nightmares stopped, as the man guarded his sleep, holding him every night. Their magic continued to act weirdly every time Marvolo took him and Harry blamed it for his short morning sicknesses, that followed not long after. It wasn't anything dangerous, he didn't even throw up, just felt slightly nauseated when he woke up, though the disconcerting sensation subsided rather quickly and he decided he wasn't going to pay it any heed.

If Harry thought he lived before that, than _this_ _now_ must have been heaven. He did miss Hogwarts, Ron and Hermione, Sirius and even Snape, but never once had he tried to escape. During the last three days he and Marvolo found a new way of spending their time together - they started dueling. To his surprise, Harry hadn't lost his agility and skill that he improved during the months of leading DA and could hold against the Death Eater for quite a long time. Voldemort found the little Prince to be a very talented wizard, and a fast learner, perhaps, in a few years he could become a truly dangerous and powerful opponent. The thought that he dueled the Harry bloody Potter on a daily basis and took him to his bed afterwards tickled on his nerves and ego, constantly stretching his lips in a smug, satisfied smile. He dearly wished Dumbledore could see them and shove his shock and horror up his old arse.

The latter, however, didn't keep him waiting for long. On the first day of the second week of May, when Voldemort and Harry were outside, sitting on the stone wall of the old well after another dueling session, sharing cool water from one cup, the alarm of the wards being attacked alerted the Dark Lord and he stood up sharply, squinting at the tiny figures that could be seen on the edge of the grounds. Dumbledore and his dogs from the Order. _Just how had the old coot found this place? _The blows they brought onto the wards were so powerful, they resonated inside, hitting the barely standing walls of the manor. Loud, creaking sounds came from inside of it and suddenly the roof fell in. The house was crumbling down under the force of magic.

"What is it?" Harry jumped, staring at the clouds of dust over the building, also sensing disturbance in the air around them, "What is going on?"

"Dumbledore has come for you, I believe. Took him some time," the Dark Lord muttered angrily. He knew he would have to let Harry go at some point, holding him a _prisoner _forever couldn't help his plans, but he wasn't ready to part with him so soon, not now. Scowling behind his golden mask, he squeezed the boy's shoulder, "Stay here, I will be back in a minute. I need to get my books." He hastily strode inside, levitating himself to the second floor, for the staircase had finally fallen down. Throwing a quick glance around the bedroom, he summoned all of his personal belongings that were few, Harry's gryffindor tie and the papers from the bureau. He turned back, when he was about to leave, rolling his eyes in exasperation and summoned all the muggle books, shrinking them down into a small cube. Entering his study, Voldemort spelled hundreds of tomes and rolls to fit into one ancient chest that he had been using for his whole life, it had seen its better days but it still was the most capacious one he could find. Most of his magical books couldn't be shrunk down in size and he navigated them into the chest, grabbing onto the doorframe for balance as the house started rocking and groaning under the force of the wards being breached.

Harry stood at the well dumbly, staring at the red and green and golden sparks of light that were flashing up in the sky as Dumbledore was breaking through. And where was snakeface looking while his horcrux was being taken from him? He nervously clutched his holly wand, feeling lost and uncertain about the situation in general. He was a prisoner here, yes, he wanted to go home, though he doubted he had one anymore, but he liked being here, and he hated the fact he had to leave so soon. But what made his heart ache was the thought that he might never see Marvolo again. Dumbledore would never let him, no doubt in that. If only he knew his real name or knew what he looked like, he could have asked Snape... He jerked as a cold hand squeezed his arm.

"Harry, I have to go now, I can't fight them all on my own," Voldemort looked into the bright green eyes that were begging him to stay but he ignored their pleading, he couldn't stay and the boy knew that very well.

Frowning, Harry grabbed on the locket that he hadn't once taken off ever since he found it. "Your locket, take it!" but Marvolo stopped him, and put the chain back around his neck.

"No, it is yours now, let it be my _gift_ to you. I am taking your tie in exchange," the Dark Lord waved the red and golden cloth in front of his nose, smiling cunningly, and hid it in his pocket. Seeing that the boy didn't respond to his baiting as he usually did but scowled instead, Voldemort sighed and took him by the chin gently. "Harry, we will meet again, I _promise_," he leaned in and kissed him, unable to hold back a moan when Harry grabbed him on the collar of his shirt and pulled him closer, answering back as if he was never going to see him again. _Foolish boy_. As he heard voices shout in a distance he knew his wards had fallen. Pulling away from the red lips, he glanced to his right and saw a group of five people hastily running towards them. "Goodbye, _my little Prince_," he kissed the lightning bolt scar and vanished into the thin air, leaving Harry stare helplessly at the empty spot before him.

**xxx**

When Dumbledore reached him, the house let out a last loud growl and fell down completely, turning into a pile of ugly pieces of stone, with steel armature and wooden carcass sticking out in places. Harry noticed Easy waving to him as the elf disappeared in a flick of its small fingers. He had forgotten to ask Marvolo why was she named like that.

"Harry, Harry! My boy, are you alright?" he turned to look into the pale blue eyes of the headmaster, feeling suddenly cold under the warm late spring sun and hollow inside, as if a part of his _soul_ was taken away from him.

"Hello, professor," he muttered, gazing blankly at the four more wizards gathered around them. They all were members of the Order and they were the last people on Earth he wanted to see.

Dumbledore examined him briefly, looking for the signs of torture and finding none. If anything, Harry looked healthier than he had ever seen him before, he gained weight and his cheeks took on a slight pink hue, as if he spent a lot of time outside, exercising. Was Tom really looking after his horcrux? No, he was void of any emotions, he couldn't possibly care for the boy except to have him close to assure the safety of his soul. He had probably trusted him into the hands of his servants.

"Harry, let's go, I will take you to the headquarters," he took the boy by the arm and apparated the two of them to Grimmauld's, leaving the other wizards to search the grounds. It was most unfortunate that the house had fallen down, he was hoping to find another horcrux or, at least, some of Tom's documents and books on Dark Magic.

As Harry was led into the kitchen, and as he sat down at the table, he suddenly noticed how quiet it was here, devastatingly empty. The headmaster warmed up a kettle of tea and poured him a cup - it smelt strongly of herbs and he tensed, thinking suddenly that he never once shared such kind of tea with the old wizard, and such strong smell could only be used to cover another, that didn't belong in his china.

"Where is Sirius?" he asked, not even touching the steaming cup.

"All in good time, my boy, all in good time," Dumbledore told him softly and looked at the fireplace expectantly. A moment later it roared and Snape stepped out of the green flames. Harry almost laughed at the sudden wish to jump up and embrace the man and ask him to take him back to Voldemort. But he really was _glad_ to see the snarky professor.

"Ah, Severus, finally we may have a talk. As you see we found Harry, safe and sound, thank Merlin," the headmaster gestured for the potions master to sit down. Severus stared at the boy, who was staring back. His lord hadn't been planing to let him go yet and Dumbledore hadn't warned him he was going to attack the manor, so seeing Potter now was rather disconcerting. Especially disconcerting, since the boy looked all but happy to be back, and since there was a truth serum in his tea and he, obviously, had figured it out as well. He couldn't say he was glad to see Potter safe, he knew he wouldn't be hurt in the Dark Lord's hands, but it didn't mean he hadn't been thinking about how the two survived each other's company.

"Where is Sirius?" Harry repeated, but nobody answered.

"Harry, please tell us what has been happening to you during this month? What has Voldemort told you, has he done anything to you?" the old wizard folded his hands in front of him, looking at Harry intently, searching his face for the sign of god knew what, probably for the devil's horns to grow out.

"No, he hasn't done anything, in fact, I only talked to him twice." Severus and Dumbledore exchanged a bewildered look between each other, and the potions master's surprise was quite genuine. He was led to believe his lord spent all of his free time with the boy.

"Were you alone there all this time?" the headmaster raised his bushy white eyebrows, feeling confused. Had Tom fought so viciously only to leave his horcrux all by himself? Come to think of it - the grounds and house seemed abandoned, and the tall man in black that left Harry right before they reached him looked like an ordinary Death Eater to him.

Hoping that Dumbledore wouldn't try to use Legilimency on him, Harry gave him a determined look, "I was guarded by different Death Eaters, they changed every few days." There. He didn't know Marvolo's real name after all, so what he said was half-truth, wasn't it?

Severus knew it to be a lie. Nobody could be inside the manor without the Dark Lord present, this was how the wards worked. Even if he keyed the boy in, he definitely wouldn't have keyed in his followers, even most trusted ones. But if Potter lied, he must have had a good reason to do so, and Severus decided he would keep his mouth shut for now. If only he had talked to his lord before this meeting, he would have known what information he could disclose to the headmaster.

"And what were you doing there all this time then?" Dumbledore felt more and more confused. He was expecting anything else, even physical and psychological tortures, but not... nothing.

"Reading, eating, sleeping mostly," Harry shrugged his shoulders, inwardly sighing in relief. So far it all went rather well. "You know, I would really like to see Sirius now, may he come down and listen as well?" He didn't want him to listen but his godfather's presence would surely relax him, maybe he would even stop this stupid interrogation completely, since Snape sat like a stone monument, not helping the tension between the three of them at all.

"Black is dead," Severus bit out, thinking they might just as well deal with this now.

"Severus!" Dumbledore gasped, glaring at him disapprovingly.

_Trust Snape to open his mouth_. "What?!" Harry stared at him with a sinking feeling in his gut.

"He took out five Death Eaters at the ministry trying to save your irresponsible hide and wasn't fast enough to escape aurors. They arrested him and he got Kissed the same night," the potions master drawled nonchalantly. It was a truly ridiculous accident, but what else could he expect from Black? The man couldn't even die properly.

_Kissed_. Harry buried his face in his hands in devastation. Two years ago he almost died saving Sirius from a fucking hundred dementors and the man got Kissed for killing bloody Death Eaters. He suddenly felt so sick like he hadn't had in a very long time. Sobbing and retching at the same tome he fell on the floor, throwing up and shuddering violently in a fit of hysteria. Just like that, his godfather was gone and nobody cared.

"Harry! Are you sick?" Dumbledore sprang up on his feet and circled the table to crouch next to him and took him by his sweated shoulders, but Harry couldn't answer, as his stomach churned and he threw up again. He distantly heard Snape floo calling Madame Pomfrey and when he opened his eyes again he found himself in his room, in bed. Blinking blindly around, he at first thought he was back in Marvolo's manor but the small voice in his head reminded him it fell apart in front of his eyes and he sulked, scowling at the now clearly visible surroundings and the three people standing by his side.

"Mr Potter, it is so good to see you!" the mediwitch smiled at him and took his wrist to feel his pulse, waving her wand over his form. Both Dumbledore and Snape stood aside, watching him closely. Severus was frowning worriedly - he had been personally preparing the healing potions for the boy's stomach and exhausted magical core and his lord informed him Potter had completely recovered. But something was wrong _again_. Grieving people didn't just vomit their bile, loosing consciousness in the process.

"Hmm, this is strange," Madame Pomfrey ceased her brow in confusion and looked at Harry sternly, "Are you sure you are not trying to prank us right now?"

"What?!" Harry snapped. He felt absolutely awful, he couldn't stop thinking about Sirius and his stupid, stupid death and how it was his fault again and here she was, asking him if he was fooling around. The nerve! "I don't even know what happened! For fuck's sake!"

"Language!" it was her turn to snap at him. "Alright, I understand, excuse me for accusing you but I don't understand how is this possible..." The mediwitch frowned thoughtfully and waved her wand again, and again. Dropping her hands helplessly at her sides, she looked up at the potion's master, "Severus? Could you? I don't trust my own eyes."

Arching his eyebrow in surprise, Severus came to stand beside her and took out his wand. He had had a medical training along with his potions mastery and could diagnose just as good as Pomfrey did. Taking on a concentrated look, he moved his hand slowly, hovering it over the boy's form, looking through the runes and symbols that were appearing before him, indicating the state of the organs and blood pressure. When he came to the stomach he halted and stared at the runes. Well, what he saw was _literally_ impossible.

"Potter, has anybody casted any kind of spell on you while you were there?" he looked into the scared, completely unaware of what was going on bright green eyes.

Frowning, Harry thought back on all the time he spent with Marvolo, "Bellatrix Lestrange tried to curse me when I had just been brought there, but my magic shielded me. I lost consciousness and don't really remember what happened then." Yes, Severus heard she lost her eye in their fight. She lost another when the Dark Lord decided to find out what she used against Potter, for she stupidly refused to tell, the idiot.

"And do you know what kind of curse it was?"

"She tried to castrate me," Harry rubbed his face tiredly, not understanding how was this relevant to his current situation.

Severus cleared his throat uncomfortably and glanced at both Dumbledore and Pomfrey uncertainly. He never thought he would have to ask _Potter_ this question. "Did you have sex during your stay there?"

Harry's hands slowly fell down on his knees as he stared at Snape in shock, fear, anger, embarrassment and every other emotion he could master. He thought he could die right on the spot. "This is none of your business," he croaked and flinched at severity of his father's glare.

"Potter, answer the question! Did you or did you not?"

"Why would you ask something like that?" Harry slumped against the headboard, hugging his knees and looking around fearfully. Dumbledore came closer, staring at him in wondrous terror, clearly having had figured out what was the matter.

"Because you are with child, idiot!" Severus barked out, frantically trying to come up with a possible explanation for the Dark Lord, for the man told him he hadn't touched the boy even once. "You have a womb inside of you and there is an embryo in it!"

"_What_?! But how is this even possible?!" Harry cried, thinking he might throw up and faint again. Oh he wished that very much, that and to not ever wake up. _Marvolo_. He and Marvolo. And this was... no, he couldn't finish the thought.

"This is what I would like to find out! Your magic must have reversed Bellatrix' curse and gave you something she had," Severus pinched the bridge of his nose. The situation was absolutely ridiculous and terrible.

"Harry, were you raped?" Dumbledore looked at him sorrowfully, trying to pat him on the hand.

"Fuck, no! I wasn't! I did it, yes, I had sex but I wanted it!" Harry pressed into the board wishing he could dissipate into it, shouting at them. He couldn't believe it was happening to him. No, _this_ wasn't real, _this_ was a nightmare, he would pinch his arm and wake up...

"Was it a Death Eater?" the headmaster asked gravely. Tom couldn't have fallen so low, could he? Besides, he wasn't even human, it was doubtful he could...

"Yes," Harry let out a shuddering breath, thinking about what was he going to tell Marvolo, _how_ was he going to tell him at all... Did he even want to tell? _Shit, shit, shit!_ "No, I don't know his name and don't know what does he look like, he wore a mask."

"And you just gave it to a Death Eater-"

"Severus," the headmaster interrupted Snape, ignoring his dark scowl, "How is this possible? How could Harry have conceived a child?"

"Bellatrix' reversed curse gave him some kind of a magical womb, there doesn't seem to be any more foreign organs... I believe the child was conceived through magic in a traditional way. The child would be growing and feeding on Potter's magic only, preserved by combined powers of his both parents. Potter would not be able to give birth, thankfully," Severus rolled his eyes and Harry felt his knees give away. "It would have to be taken out surgically." At that Harry grabbed onto the bed covers, trying very hard not to vomit. This was too much, this... there couldn't be anything worse than _this_, could it? He was even a worse freak now, fucking pregnant, to think! He started laughing hysterically as tears poured out of his eyes.

"Harry, would you like to get rid of it?" Pomfrey asked tentatively, "It is your body and life so if you do not wish to bear this child, we could-"

"What?!" Harry cried. "Of course not! I am not... this is a human being we're talking about!" This was Marvolo's... _child_. He couldn't just get rid of it, just couldn't.

"Potter, you are not thinking straight, this had never happened before, this is a foreign organ in your body, a foreign organism, there is no telling how it would affect you! You might _die_!" Severus raged, "It would be feeding on your magic, how are you expecting to study? No, better tell me how are you going to defend yourself _without_ magic?"

Harry had nothing to say to this and as he looked at Dumbledore, who was giving him a suspiciously speculative look, he suddenly realized what the man was thinking about. _What if it was a horcrux?_ What if all this was possible because Harry had already had a piece of foreign soul inside of him and when his and Marvolo's magics combined it found an opportunity to become corporal... in a way. What if the child would become a _monster_ that Voldemort is?

"I think Harry should return to Hogwarts for now, maybe try and pass his OWLs if he feels like it, go on with his life as if nothing has happened," Dumbledore said thoughtfully. "Perhaps, he will change his mind by the end of the term. If not, then we will see what we can do in regards of his living arrangements."

"Not you too!" Severus threw his arms in the air in exasperation. He didn't like this, not one bit. It was enough that Potter was his son, he didn't need a fucking Frankenstein grandchild. "This child is _unnatural_, I hope you realize that?"

"Well, except for the fact that it was created in an unordinary way, there is nothing unnatural about it," Pomfrey chirped in.

"_Yet_." Snape gave her and Harry a pointed look.

"How would I return? What about Umbridge?" he frowned at the headmaster, feeling his mind go numb under the pressure of stress.

"What about her? She knows Voldemort is back, she and the Minister know you were abducted," Dumbledore stroked his beard, smiling and twinkling at him, "She has no right to expel you or deprive you of your right to pass examinations. I am sure Ronald and Hermione would love to help you catch up and would make it all much more bearable for you, don't you think?"

"I guess..." Harry slowly got up from the bed and backed away from them in the direction of the bathroom. "I... I need some time alone, if you don't mind."

Madame Pomfrey wanted to say something but the headmaster shook his head and beckoned her to follow him out. Leaving a few potion vials behind, she walked out, closing the door behind her. Snape stood in his place, unmoved, watching Harry closely. "Potter, what are you hiding?"

"Nothing, I've told you the truth."

"This Death Eater - have you just really spread your legs for him, not caring who he was?" the potions master's tone was particularly venomous.

Sighing and closing his eyes tiredly, Harry leaned back on the wall. "No. He and I talked... a lot. And then it happened. And I honestly don't know his name, he told me to call him whatever I like and he wore a mask all the time." Why was he telling Snape all this? The man obviously didn't _care_.

Raising his eyebrows in surprise, Severus came closer and narrowed his onyx eyes slightly, "And you did this willingly? With a Death Eater? Why the sudden change of heart?"

"What change? I wanted him, he wanted me, what else do you need to know to believe me?"

"I don't like it, Potter, something is very _wrong_ here. Heed my warning: _this_," he pointed at Harry's stomach, "Is really dangerous. _You_ are the most irresponsible person in the world. Put together it leads me to a conclusion this is going to be a _catastrophe_. Imagine what would the Dark Lord do when he finds out?"

"He wouldn't if you don't tell," Harry looked at him pleadingly, not giving a shit he was begging Snape, of all people.

"I can't give you such promise," Severus shook his head, scowling at the boy. He turned to leave and halted at the threshold, "Think really hard about this, Potter. This is not a decision to be made lightly." Harry slid down the wall and onto the floor, feeling as the long pent-up frustration got the better of him and he wept, sobbing violently, wept about poor Sirius, who died because of him, about Marvolo, who he didn't know how to find, about the child that was growing inside of him. It all was just too much to bear, he thought he was broken before... How naive it was of him.

When Severus stepped onto the landing, he had to lean on the banister to catch his breath. _Fuck_. It all was so fucked up. He couldn't believe Potter had submitted to a Death Eater willingly - the boy didn't trust anyone, he never touched anyone, he must have been forced into it. And if he wasn't then who was this... other father and what had he done to make the boy... He felt his head was spinning. Bearing a child, imagine that... from another man, no less! No, not pregnant, technically not, since the womb wasn't even connected to his reproductive organs, simply a carrier of a child born of magic. Why did the most _impossible_ scenarios always happened to Potter? And what was he going to do about the Dark Lord? As soon as the man finds out he would surely demand to have the boy back and there was no telling what would he do to Potter, to the child...

"You will not tell Voldemort about this," he turned sharply to Dumbledore's voice coming out of the furthest room. The old wizard stepped out and gestured for him to come closer. When Severus did, the headmaster took one of his potions stained hands in his, "You will not tell him, Severus, and you will give me a vow, now. If Harry decides to get rid of it - he does that, if he decides to keep it - we will help him hide it. Either way, Voldemort _must not know._" The pale blue eyes were boring into his, conveying the graveness of the situation and the man's determination.

Hanging his head down, the potions master scowled at his boots. Trapped, _again_. Giving vows. _Again_. "I am not going to protect this... _child_. Only Potter," he growled. At Dumbledore's nod he sighed heavily, "I, Severus Snape, swear on my life and magic..."


	6. Chapter VI

_Disclaimer: nothing that is related to HP belongs to me._

_Warning: abuse, rape, underage sex, violence, everything is bad and don't read it_

_A/N: I would love to thank everybody for their great reviews! I can't express my gratitude and joy every time you stop and take a minute to write what you think. Thank you all so much! _

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**Of Monsters and Men, Of Fathers and Sons.**

**Chapter VI**

The first thing that Hermione did when she saw Harry was rather painful. She threw herself at him, simultaneously hitting him on the arms and chest with her small, weak fists. "You, idiot! Why haven't you told us anything? Ran off just like that! We thought you were dead!"

"Yeah, mate, this was really stupid of you!" Ron joined in, slapping him on his back as if Harry was choking. Well, one more slap and he _would_, really.

"I'm sorry, I really am," he held his hands up defensively, backing away from his friends. The common room stayed completely quiet during their interaction, all the gryffindors were staring at him as if he had grown a second head. Shaklebot brought him into the Great Hall this Sunday morning and announced in front of everybody that he had been held a prisoner by the Dark Lord and Death Eaters but finally managed to escape. Umbridge wasn't all too happy to have him back, since she had to admit earlier that, indeed, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was back and another civil war was very much likely to begin soon.

And so Harry stood in the painfully red common room of his tower and wondered just how long would it take them to calm the fuck down and leave him alone. He dreaded they would start making a hero out of him again. He felt Ron tag on his jacket and pull him up the stairs into their dorm. Hermione followed, shutting the door behind the three of them.

"So," Ron sat down on the chair, crossing arms over his chest, "Tell us, how was _it_?"

"What was?" Harry looked at him dumbly. The last three days he spent at Grimmauld's went by in a senseless haze. All he did was sleep and stare at the wall in his room. He didn't talk to anyone, barely ate, didn't do anything else but prayed to wake up from this horrible nightmare that was his life. All his thoughts were of Sirius, Marvolo and that thing that was growing inside of him. He hadn't had the nerve to call it a child, really.

"Your abduction and imprisonment!" the redhead jumped in his seat excitedly. "I bet they _tortured_ you but you never gave them anything!"

"Ronald!" Hermione gasped, smacking him on the back of his head and sitting down on the bed next to Harry. "How can you say something like that?!"

"Nobody tortured me, Ron," Harry shook his head.

"Well, what happened, what were you doing all this time?" his friend leaned closer, staring at him with wild admiration.

"Were you hurt, Harry?" the ever rational and sympathetic Hermione asked, taking him by the hand gently.

Sighing, he looked at the two of them, "Nobody hurt me, I spent my time living in a very comfortable room, reading, eating and sleeping. And before you started beating me again: I am not sorry for not telling you and not taking you with me. It was a total fuck up and I wouldn't have _survived_ your deaths."

"Oh, Harry, we are so sorry about Sirius," the girl carefully circled her arms around his shoulders in a soft, comforting embrace. He appreciated it very much, he really missed being held and caressed. Who would have thought it was possible?

"Don't think, even for a second, that it was your fault, mate," Ron's face turned suddenly serious as he frowned slightly. "Sirius was never _supposed_ to be there, Remus couldn't stop him from leaving the headquarters. And he beat all of the masked bastards, Shaklebot said he was brilliant there."

"Yeah," Harry laughed bitterly, "Bet he was even more brilliant when a fucking dementor sucked his soul out of him." He closed his eyes resentfully, as the images of the past filled his vision. He had seen what it looked like to be almost Kissed, and his chest constricted in sickening pain as he imagined Sirius soulless body and glassy, empty eyes with no light in them.

Hermione hugged him tighter, "Oh, Harry, don't. It is not your fault, really, it is not."

"So, what of this prophecy thing you told us about? Have you found it? What does it say?" Ron changed the subject, for which Harry was grateful. No matter what they said, he knew he was guilty, just like he was guilty of Cedric's death.

"It doesn't matter anymore, Voldemort heard it and said it's been nullified," he shrugged carelessly.

"But how?" Hermione perked up at that, creasing her brow in concentration.

"Well, how should _I_ know? He said it's pointless, I'm more than ok with that," Harry knew he couldn't tell them of horcruxes - snakeface might have given him a vow but it didn't include his friends. The monster wouldn't think twice to kill them if they knew. It was safer to keep them in the dark. Harry snorted inwardly - wasn't he a lot like Dumbledore now? No, no, he wasn't, he kept hidden something that had no relation to their lives, but could truly harm them.

"But has he... has You-Know-Who done something to you?" Ron frowned, looking at him worriedly.

"No, nothing."

"But what was the point in holding you there, then?" the girl raised her eyebrows incredulously. Harry shrugged his shoulders. The point was to make him give up, to back away, to stop fighting, to stop being everything he was before and be whatever he wanted. Only the latter wasn't possible. For the first time in his life he felt like a _prisoner_ at _Hogwarts_.

"I'm not sure I can tell you, but something _has_ happened to me, something that doesn't have anything to do with snakeface. I want you two to ask Dumbledore about that, if he tells you, well, then I will not hide it from you," he gave his friends a small smile. Honestly? He felt he couldn't bring himself to tell them the truth, to tell them he was... _with child_. He shuddered involuntarily at the thought. He wanted the headmaster to do the dirty work for him, for he was afraid they would reject him, would turn away from him and never accept him again. This way he would at least keep his dignity intact, or what was left of it anyway. "And now I really need your help with covering everything I've missed, I want to pass the bloody OWLs."

**xxx**

Never once since he was '_saved_' from the ruined manor had Voldemort tried to invade his mind through their link. He had never done it during his stay with Marvolo either. This was somewhat disturbing, Harry thought, as he was walking in the direction of the dungeons. He didn't want snakeface to send him visions or anything but he couldn't quite believe that the man would leave him alone, he was his horcrux after all. That was why he decided to ask Snape to test his Occlumency shields - he had dealt with his block, hadn't he? Perhaps, this was the reason? He hadn't had any nightmares about Vernon anymore as well. Though he saw Sirius sometimes, dying again and again at the lake in the deep of the Forbidden Forest, looking at him with accusing, empty grey eyes. Or he saw himself with a huge belly, with a black human form showing through it - he usually woke up sweated and sick to the stomach after that and ran into the bathroom. Harry tried to think of the thing inside of him as little as it was possible - he hated it, it disgusted him and at the same time he had this naive, childish hope that maybe, _just maybe_, it would turn out alright, would become a normal magical child... The mere thought that he was going to become a father drove him insane. This was so not ok, he was absolutely _not_ ready.

"Harry, good to see you with all your limbs intact," he stopped to see Draco coming out of the shadowed alcove. Could he ask him about Marvolo? For god's sake he didn't know the name, what was he going to say? _Do you know a tall man with brown eyes and a dimpled chin and a rich seductive voice that makes you come? _Hardly.

"Hello, Draco, good to see you too," he gave the blonde boy a modest smile as they continued further together.

"So how was your time with the Dark Lord? Have you enjoyed it?" Draco smiled at him mischievously with that annoying twinkle in his pale grey eyes - as if he knew something, but clearly he didn't.

Shaking his head in amusement, Harry smiled back, "It was ok. Please, don't ask if he has done anything to me, I am so sick of it."

"I wasn't going to," the blonde rolled his eyes, "I know he _hasn't_. You look much better than you ever did before, so, obviously, he took a good care of you. What I wanted to ask, though, was what Bellatrix has done? Nobody seem to know what really happened between the two of you."

Harry wanted to hit himself hard on the head. The witch was Draco's aunt, he completely forgot about it. "I'm sorry, Draco, I didn't mean to hurt her, but she was going to castrate me and, well... you know," he winced helplessly.

"It's fine," Draco waved at him dismissively, "I was just curious, that is all. No need to apologize, I barely knew the woman, met her only twice and, honestly, I could have survived _without_ it," he drawled haughtily. "So as I understand _you_ took her eye first?"

"First?" Harry raised his eyebrows, perplexed. He had no idea what happened after he shielded himself, Marvolo had never told him.

"Well, yes, the second time I met her, not that long ago, she had no eyes and was rather suicidal," the blonde laughed coldly. "Father said the Dark Lord took her right one when she refused to tell him what curse she threw at you."

"He took her... what? Why?" Harry stared at him at bewilderment, frozen in his place.

"As a punishment, Harry," Draco arched his eyebrow, giving him a skeptical look, as if he was an idiot. "Isn't it obvious? The order was loud and clear: nobody touches you. He hates repeating himself and dealing with arrogant stupidity, believe me." He couldn't believe him. Snakeface doing something so horrible for him. He felt deranged.

"This is _sick_," was all he managed to say.

"Don't think about it, Bella was a lost case, he would have killed her sooner or later anyway, for she completely lost it, you know?"

"Do you know many Death Eaters?" Harry decided to change the subject and something compelled him to think of finding Marvolo again. How pathetic it was of him.

Draco shook his head, "Most don't know each other, only the Inner Circle knows each other's faces. What, are you looking for someone?" he smiled cunningly.

"No," he sighed in both disappointment and relief. The Inner Circle was small and as far as he knew - nobody fitted Marvolo's description there.

They stopped at Snape's office and the blonde boy turned to leave him there, "I don't know what is so special about you, Harry, but you are a nice boy. I hope we will find more common ground between us, in time," he winked at him and strode away.

"I hope so too," Harry said softly.

**xxx**

A month went by so fast, Harry was shocked to find it was already June and the examinations began. Umbridge and Fudge left him in peace after two weeks of constant interrogations and psychological tortures - he couldn't give them anything at all, for he truly knew nothing. All the information about Voldemort's activities he had was from newspapers. The toad even had the audacity to give him Veritaserum, but since Snape was the one who was supposed to administer it, he poured a fake potion into Harry's tea. If it wasn't for his father, he might have been locked up in one of the laboratories of the Department of Mysteries. But since he never told them anything valuable, they finally agreed that he was useless and let him study.

It was the evening after one of his last examinations, Potions, when Snape summoned him into his office. "Potter, sit down, I have a message from Dumbledore."

Harry obediently lowered himself onto the visitor's chair, too tired after the sleepless night to even talk. He numbly jerked his head, indicating to the potions master that he was listening.

"Potter," Severus gave him an incredulous look, "You should get some sleep, as much as it _pains_ me to admit this, you are smart enough to pass the OWLs with flying colours, there is no need to exhaust yourself so much." It was unbelievable, and yet, subconsciously, he knew it was more than possible that the boy prepared an ideal potion and gave the right answers to all the question on the written part of his exam. He was _his son_, after all.

"I missed a lot and I haven't been feeling very well as of late, so I got a little nervous that I wouldn't get an adequate mark," why was he so nervous about the marks, though, Harry couldn't fathom. He had absolutely no idea of what he wanted to do after graduating, and with a child coming soon, there was no telling if he would be doing anything at all, _ever_.

"I see," Severus frowned and sat down at his desk, looking at the boy intently. Potter hadn't been showing any signs of magical exhaustion yet, for the fetus was too small, but he knew it would manifest itself soon and than the boy would be completely defenseless against even muggle deceases. How could he keep him save for the Dark Lord if he could die of pricking his blasted finger? "I met Dumbledore yesterday and he asked to tell you that you will have to stay with your relatives this summer."

"What?!" all exhaustion vanished out of him as Harry sprang up on his feet. "It is impossible! I can't go there!" He felt dread freezing his gut and tying it into a knot.

Raising his eyebrows in annoyance, Snape flicked his fingers and Harry fell back into his seat. "Potter, the Dark Lord is starting a war, it is _official_. You saw how desperate Umbridge and Fudge are to keep their own hides undamaged. There is nothing about it in papers yet, but believe me when I tell you: it is actually happening. No matter what he has promised you, your life is in danger. The Order is afraid that if not the Dark Lord, then the Ministry would try to use you to their own advantage and _this_," he raised his long index finger to make a point, "Is inadmissible. You can't be placed into a safe-house yet, so there is no other place for you to stay at, but behind the blood wards on you relatives' house."

The more Harry was listening, the more sick he felt. Vernon. The fat bastard would be there, the bane of his existence, he would have to constantly fight him off, to protect himself and the child... Holding back a violent sob that threatened to escape his throat, he hid his face in his trembling hands. "Can't I stay at Hogwarts?" he knew very well he could not, but he felt he needed to ask just to be sure.

"You know the answer to this question," Severus muttered. As much as he thought he didn't care for Potter, sending the boy back into an abusive family pained him greatly. But he couldn't give him up to the Dark Lord either because of the bloody vows Dumbledore had bound him with. There was no way out of this. Except for one, but it went against the old wizard's wishes. "However, you are turning seventeen at the end of July. You will become a legal adult in the wizarding world and as such, you can act freely and make your own decisions regarding your living arrangements. The headmaster wouldn't be able to stop you if you decided to _leave_ after your birthday." There, he said it, all was left for him to do now was to hope that Potter wouldn't fuck everything up. _Again_.

And just why hadn't he known that he was going to become an adult so soon? Dumbledore keeping information from him again! Harry wanted to punch someone, to blow something up, so angry he felt, so _wronged_, but this was not the place and not the time. "So after I am seventeen no one can force me into anything, right? And I will be able to use magic freely during the summer?" Snape nodded. _Great_. He would leave Dursleys the very same day and go to Weasleys. Yes. He only had to survive a month and a half and he would be free at last.

"That was all I was supposed to tell you, you may go now and have some sleep, for god's sake," Severus glared at the boy. Potter stood up and moved to the door, but before opening it he suddenly stopped and looked back at him with this strange expression he saw him wearing these past few weeks. Something akin to resignation and joyful determination.

"Professor, you... you asked to consider the situation I'm in," Harry mumbled, licking on his dry lips uncertainly, "Well, about keeping the child or getting rid of it. I have decided I will keep it and raise it when it's born." He let out a shaky breath, he didn't know he was holding, for it was one thing to admit this to himself, and a completely different one to say this aloud, to say this to his father.

Scowling, Severus sighed and looked away for a moment. "It is your decision, Potter. I can't make you do anything against your own wishes. Although, I would tell you once again that your situation is precarious and unpredictable. More so, you are a child _yourself_," he sneered at the boy, though it didn't come out as malicious as he intended to make it, "I seriously doubt you are fit to raise _another one_."

Harry scowled back, dearly wishing to tell him that he had friends who were more than happy to help him, but suddenly realized that both Ron and Hermione, though enthusiastic and trustworthy, couldn't actually be of any help, for they themselves were children, they had a school to study at, a life to live. And his life was becoming completely different, he was becoming more and more distant from them. The circumstances he had found himself in made him grow up much faster and now that he was looking at his intimidating, snarky professor, he knew there was only one person he could rely on in this. "We could do it _together_."

"What?" Severus stared at him dumbly.

"It is your grandchild, you can't deny it," Harry shrugged his shoulders, gripping the handle of the door tightly to not let his emotions show. What he felt like now was to run and throw himself at Snape and cry into his shoulder, but this was most inappropriate and he knew it wouldn't be appreciated. Besides, he had to learn to act like an adult he was going to become soon, like a _future parent_. "I'm not asking for anything, I'm just saying we could raise it together, you could take a part in his or her upbringing. You are a teacher after all, you are much more experienced than I am."

"Potter, I do not appreciate your sense of humor," Severus sat up rigidly, feeling and, probably, looking completely gobsmacked. It wasn't every day another person came to him and offered to raise a child together, no, scratch that, his own son was willing to start some sort of family _with him_... Shaking himself out of the haze of crazy thoughts, Severus cleared his throat that was suspiciously tight and scratchy. "I would not even consider your... _offer_."

"There is still plenty of time for you to decide," Harry's heart bled at the harsh, uncaring words but he didn't show it. He wanted to add something else, to find the right thing to say that could convince Snape, change his mind, but knew it was pointless. Throwing his father a last, sorrowful glance, Harry opened the door and left.

Scowling darkly, Severus got up on his feet and paced the length of his office, twisting his fingers in front of his chest. The child that was growing inside of Potter wasn't normal, it was created of magic and it would never be an ordinary wizard or witch - that was obvious. But no matter how much he wanted to believe it, there was this little irritating ball of warmth in his chest, that rose up in his throat and blocked his respiratory tract. Only a year ago he found out he was a father. In less than another year he was going to have a grandchild. The concept was completely insane, impossible, something like this could have never happened to Severus Prince. No, no, he was telling himself, rushing around the space, he and Potter could _never_ be a family, there was too much between them and not enough at the same time. Perhaps, he didn't hate the boy after all, but he couldn't accept him as his son, his heir, his... But his own grandfather hadn't left him, had he? Even though he had disowned his own daughter and despised her for marrying a muggle, he accepted Severus, even if he thought him to be an abomination, a disgrace, he took care of him and left him everything, his name, most importantly.

Could he reject the two of them? He was all alone in the whole world, there were no relatives left - they all died in war or of the bloody pox. Dumbledore's annoyingly kind voice rang in his ears, asking him if he really wanted to spend his life in _loneliness_? Growling to himself, Severus helplessly plumped down onto the nearest chair. Before Potter turned out to be _his_, he had no doubts whatsoever about the future, he always knew what he wanted to do, what he was going to do with his life. And _now_... now he wasn't sure. He kept reiterating to himself over and over again that he wasn't responsible for the boy, that sixteen years was too much of a time, too wide a rift between them. He couldn't possibly feel anything for someone who represented everything he despised so much. He couldn't let himself repeat the same mistake of letting somebody, no, not somebody, _Potter_, get close to him. The boy was his mother's son, he was just as careless, selfish, as Lily used to be, and Severus had no more strength and will left to be hurt again. He hated feeling so weak and insecure under the gaze of those brilliantly green eyes, he hated the fact that Potter didn't loath him for what had happened, he couldn't stand the boy's kindness and acceptance - this wasn't what he usually got, definitely not something he _deserved_. And now Potter had the nerve to offer him a chance to have something he prohibited himself to ever dream about - a _family_.

How could the idiot accept this abominable child for that matter? Severus sprang up on his feet again, unable to sit still. For the life of him he couldn't fathom the easiness with which Potter threw his life away, his future. He could have anything he wanted, he could take any high ranking job at the Ministry straight out of school and everybody would have kissed the hems of his robes for that; in a few years, with a support of the Order and Dumbledore, and some influential light wizards of Wizengamot, he could easily become a Minister. But instead, Potter was going to give life to a child of an unknown dark wizard, was going to risk his own well-being for its sake, wished to raise it... Shaking his head in bewilderment, Severus stared at his potion stained, scarred hands, curling his fingers. He felt helpless before Potter's irrationality and hotheadedness, before his selflessness and arrogance. He balled his hands into tight fists and squeezed his eyes in resentment. Could _he_ have raised such son if he had him right from the beginning? Could he have _saved_ him from his own darkness and one of this cruel, unfair world? This was one question he feared to find an answer to. It was miraculous, what kind of a generous, forgiving person Potter turned out to be, growing up under the blows of his own uncle, living in a family that didn't want him, despised him for what he was. How ridiculously similar their childhoods were, and yet how different they became, how innocent the boy remained, how pure, and how rotten to his very core Severus ended up to be. Just what was he going to do?

**xxx**

"Mate, this is so _fucked up_," Ron was staring wildly at the tips of his old, battered boots, shaking his head in bewilderment. They sat in their usual compartment of Hogwarts' Express, going hime after having had finally passed all of their OWLs. His friends had spoken to Dumbledore the previous night, as Hermione was determined to convince him to let her parents have Harry for the summer or at least let him stay at the Burrow. The headmaster, of course, denied her all of her wishes and told the two of them about Harry's intricate situation. And now they both were silent, at loss for any kind of words suitable for this. Harry could not find a proper name for it, he didn't feel like calling it pregnancy, it made him sick.

"Yeah, it is," he agreed, heaving a long tired sigh, as he watched the scottish landscape flash hastily behind the window that was wet with rain, that seemed to be following them to London.

"Are you... are you sure you want to keep it? I'm not saying that professor Snape is right to call it unnatural and all that," Hermione mumbled, shifting uncomfortably in her seat, "But, Harry, it is truly dangerous. It is not even a pregnancy, there is a _foreign being_ growing inside of you, _feeding_ on your magic... I feel so scared!" her eyes were wet as she looked at him fearfully.

"I am scared too," Harry frowned, "But after I gave it a lot of thought, I've realized I cannot kill it. I... It is another _human being_, Mione. No matter how was it created, it would be a person, with his or her own soul, mind, desires and fears... I could not possibly disregard all that in favour of the notion that it is going to be dark and somewhat twisted. No one can predict what would happen." He rubbed his suddenly sweaty palms on the rough fabric of his jeans and looked at his two friends pleadingly, "You must understand, it is not a monster. We are not born evil or good, we become one or another in the course of our lives, guided or pushed by other people."

"What, do you honestly believe You-Know-Who was not born evil?" Ron let out a nervous laugh, that sounded more like a choking squeak, and stared at Harry uncertainly.

"Of course not!" he clutched onto the locket hidden under his shirt involuntarily, like he always did when he sought comfort. "Did you really think he came into this world looking like an ugly snake with plots of the universe domination in his head?" Harry shook his head, laughing bitterly at the image. "Ron, I am certain he could have grown up a decent, kind wizard without the maniacal desire to kill everything that breathes, if he had been brought up accordingly. You know how awful my family is to me, imagine what it must have been like to live in an orphanage, with no parents, no relatives even?" He knew so little of Tom Riddle, practically nothing. The young Voldemort was reluctant to give away much about himself, and even though he was a cunning slytherin, to the very last moment Harry refused to believe he was capable of anything evil, violent, even when he stood there, in the Chamber of Secrets, over Ginny's barely warm body. Of course Riddle wasn't a _normal_ boy - no normal person would make a horcrux at sixteen, but knowing Voldemort, Harry was certain there must have been a serious reason for him to do that. He wished he knew what compelled the young wizard to commit the awful crime.

To think of it, that all the abused children grew up so similarly and yet became so different in the end. He himself, no matter how much he hated Vernon and wished him dead, couldn't kill him, there was no such power in him, in his mind, that could let him take another life. He knew he was weak, but the mere thought of committing a murder, even if it was a righteous one, though he honestly doubted _such_ existed, made him sick. And what of his father? Snape had killed, he told him, didn't he? Snape, who was just as harshly abused, feasted on his hatred and anger, his pain, he turned them into his _armour_, his weapon. Was it the same for Voldemort? Was he so hurt, so broken inside, that he discarded of everything human in him, in favour of cruelty and bitterness, rage and malice that turned his heart into a stone?

"I can't," Ron's hoarse answer snapped him out of his reverie, "But that is no excuse to possess my sister and than take her life, you know," his face turned redder than his hair, as he fumed, boring his blue eyes into Harry's.

"I never said it was. I am simply saying he was _made_ into a monster that he is now."

"I see logic and sense behind your arguments but I still can't find as much compassion for him," Hermione murmured softly, hugging her knees and staring somewhere over Harry's head unseeingly.

"I will understand if you wouldn't want to know me anymore," he said, biting his lower lip as a tight lump clogged his throat, "But I am keeping this child."

"Harry, mate, don't say that!" Ron's face fell and he sniffed, looking at Harry with his huge puppy eyes, "We will never turn you away because of this! You know, you get into a completely fucked up shit all the time, but..." he shrugged his shoulders helplessly, "We kind of got used to that."

Harry covered his face with his hands, as a hysterical laughter burst out of him and tears of relief welled up in his eyes. _Trust Ron to make it alright._

"Oh, Harry, of course we would never reject you, you are truly an idiot if you dared to think even for a minute that we could do that!" Hermione threw her arms up in the air, taking on her usual bossy tone. She leaned closer to pat him on his knee, "It's just that we are so young, and a child is such a huge responsibility."

"Yeah, especially with war looming at the horizon," Ron added, rubbing on his ear nervously.

"I know... Thank you, it really means so much to me, that you can accept this," Harry gestured at his stomach helplessly.

"Of course," Hermione smiled tightly. "I'm just worried what would happen when Voldemort finds out. He would surely use it against you."

"Well," he sighed and scowled at the quickly changing view on the other side of the glass, "We will have to do everything in order to not let him find out, won't we?"

It was truly ridiculous how history seemed to repeat itself, Harry inwardly laughed. His father was also abused and hated in his youth, his mother was also pregnant and went into hiding as a war broke out, his child was also conceived from a Death Eater whom he hardly was ever going to see again... It all went in vicious circles over and over again - but that was exactly why he was going to keep this child. He wanted to stop this consistency, wanted to make it all differently, _right_. His child wasn't going to be abused or left at the orphanage, no matter dark or light, he or she wasn't going to be belittled and humiliated, wouldn't have to fight to survive, wouldn't have to bend down and let a monster have control over him or her. He would make sure his child was loved and cared for, would grow up to be a kind, compassionate, decent wizard or witch. It was a vow he gave himself and he intended to keep it.

**xxx**

Harry knew it would be hard. But knowing and actually going through it were two completely different matters. Vernon's twisted, purple face was the last thing he wished to see on Earth. _Go on, you can do it, you're not weak_. Taking a long, deep breath, Harry straightened his shoulders and walked over to his uncle's car, dragging his trunk behind him. He left Hedwig at the school - there was no point it taking her with him, since he couldn't communicate with anyone, again. And Dudley would have surely killed her, so it was safer this way. He gave his Firebolt to Ron, for he couldn't and didn't want to fly, and his wand and Invisibility Cloak were in his pocket. Nothing valuable was there for his relatives to destroy.

"Get in the car, boy!" Vernon snarled and pushed his huge, obese body into the driver's seat, while Harry hastily threw his belongings into the rack and slid into the back seats quiet as a mouse. The more imperceptible he was, the less reason there would be for Vernon to go bonkers on him. As they drove through the city, Harry looked around, trying to sway his mind away from the heavy, gloomy thoughts, and made notes of places he wanted to visit. He had never once seen London properly, except for that one time when Dursleys had to take him to the zoo. He entertained the thought that, as soon as he turned seventeen and left his blasted relatives for good, he certainly would travel around the city - war or not, Voldemort wasn't going to spoil his life, besides, it was snakeface's idea after all. The more Harry thought about it, the more inclined he was to agree to the Dark Lord's offer and give up fighting. He had another human being to care for now and, frankly, choosing between his child and the wizarding world wasn't an option, not for Harry. Family, that he was going to start, _came first_.

His uncle parked at the house and urged Harry to get inside before the neighbours saw them. After he left his trunk in the cupboard under the stairs, Harry ran up into his room and hid his wand, cloak and locket under the floorboards before anybody could see them. _There, safe now_. Heaving a sigh of relief, he sat down on his bed, inwardly calming himself. He could do it. It was only a month and two weeks.

"Freak! Get down here and make dinner!" he heard Vernon scream from the living room.

"Already cooking!" Harry exclaimed, jumping over three steps at once as he descended the stairs. Moving swiftly, with practiced care, he took the necessary product out of the fridge and quickly cut, sliced, mixed and spiced everything before throwing it onto the cooking pan. He had no wish to antagonize the whale of his uncle on his very first day here.

It was most disconcerting, that all this time, during the last month, Harry had been having dreams about Marvolo, both sexual and not. And as he lay in his bed at 4 Private Drive, he stared at the ceiling, biting his lips, drawing blood, shocked that his body was still capable of reacting to his memories and fantasies in the very place where it had been abused, humiliated so many times. Had Marvolo truly healed him or was he just a _sick freak_? He closed his eyes and imagined that he was back in the dark bedroom of the mysterious masked wizard, imagined that his scent filled the air and that his cold hands were holding him. Harry knew he shouldn't have let his wishful thinking take over his sense - he and Marvolo, it seemed almost unreal, he would have thought he dreamed it all if it wasn't for the small warm ball of magic that pulsed sometimes in his abdomen. He cherished the _only real evidence_ that Marvolo was, in fact, a real human being, it reassured him, gave him spiritual comfort. The thoughts about the smiling rose lips finally lulled him into deep, undisturbed sleep.

Vernon's patience lasted only for a week. After a particularly hard day at work, his uncle had had too much whiskey and decided it was high time to vent his pent-up frustration on his nephew. As Petunia and Dudley were at home, Harry knew he wouldn't try to rape him, it was their little dirty secret, so he braced himself for the whipping. Of course he realized he couldn't fight Vernon physically, but he could make it as less painful and damaging for himself as possible. His uncle entered the room with a belt already in his hand. Harry stood defiantly, glaring at him hatefully as the pig eyed him speculatively. He had grown, became taller, broader, he knew that, his hair had also grown out, reaching past his shoulder blades and Petunia had made a show of cutting them off just yesterday, leaving them curl upwards a little, barely reaching down to his jaw. Harry didn't care for it, what he cared for was the safety of his body.

"You've grown, freak," Vernon narrowed his eyes at the boy's lean form and smacked his lips, obviously regretting the fact that his family was downstairs and he couldn't shove his filthy pecker up Harry's arse. _Ugly bastard_. "Turn around," the man growled and the buckle of the belt clinked in his hands as he straightened it.

Pursing his lips and facing the wall, Harry took off his oversized t-shirt and pressed it to his abdomen. He jerked, greeting his teeth, as the first blow reached his back, the buckle scratching on his shoulder. And then another one. And another. Vernon kept shouting hoarsely, cursing him for all the bad luck, for all the difficulties he had to face housing him, for all the money he had spent on a worthless shit that Harry was. Harry stood silently, simply swaying under the hits, but otherwise not giving away any signs of hurting. He wasn't going to indulge Vernon's sadistic streaks. When his uncle finally got tired and bent down to catch his breath, he simply put his shirt back on, biting into his lip as the rough cloth brushed against the fresh wounds. Purple in face and wet, stinking with sweat, Vernon growled at him that he was grounded for three days and left the room, locking it behind him. That was more than alright with Harry, he could only hope he would spend the rest of his summer stay here just as relatively easily and safely as it could be.

**xxx**

With his head tilted slightly to the side, Voldemort stood before the ruins of Riddle Manor, clearly enjoying the view. He wasn't quite sure what had compelled him to come here again but now that he had, he realized that he felt both pleased and somewhat disappointed that the damned house had fallen. Pleased, for with the walls the last memories and pieces of his _muggle heritage_ had crumbled and turned to dust; disappointed, for he no longer could sleep in the bed he and the little Prince had shared, could not smell his wonderful, sweet scent. He hadn't tried to invade his mind, thinking that the boy would have enough of intrusions and tortures from his light wizards, but when he made an attempt to renew their connection yesterday, he found that Harry could now block him out completely. It seemed that Severus had taught him something after all. It displeased him, however, if the boy was able to block _him_, then he was able to block Dumbledore as well and that was worth his ignorance. But he still felt that strange longing he hoped would dissipate in time, while he was away from his little Prince - how wrong he was. After they parted, he realized that their closeness and prolonged contact had intensified the link between his and Harry's souls and being apart brought him great discomfort and even insomnia. For the last two weeks he had been constantly dreaming about the boy and waking to a very hard erection that was difficult to sate. He wanted Harry back. His body and soul _craved_ him.

At first he thought it all to be the result of the long fourteen years he spent in a form of a spirit and therefore in celibacy, and of the fact that Harry had been his first sexual partner ever since he gained his body back. He also blamed the boy's youth and innocence, that affected him rather strongly, refreshingly. But as the time went by and his hunger wasn't subsiding, he began looking for a way to subdue it. As it turned out, he didn't want anybody else but Prince. No matter how hard had he tried, how hard had different men and women tried - he couldn't get turned on at the sight of their beautiful bodies. He hadn't touched even one of them, for they bored and irritated him, for they were _no Harry._ And Harry haunted him in his sleep, frustrating him to the verge of insanity. Voldemort wished he could visit the boy at least once, at night, just to take him quickly, or slowly, very slowly... But it was impossible, for nobody knew where was the place his relatives lived, so well it was protected with magic. Even Severus didn't know.

As he leisurely circled the piles of stone and wood, he thought about the first time he came into this once luxurious manor. The time he stood in his buttered, mended, second-hand clothes from the orphanage in front of the three richly dressed muggles that were his only living relatives, except for his uncle Morfin, whose wand he was hiding behind his back. He could never forget that hot summer evening when he walked into the Little Hangleton with his black leather journal in his pocket, determined to create his first horcrux with the help of his father - the filthy muggle could have his _use_ after all. Of course he was curious to meet the man that had condemned him to rot in that hell hole, had discarded of him as if he was some piece of garbage. Tom Riddle Sr would have surely got up and screamed at him to get out, if it wasn't for their striking resemblance - he was the spitting image of his father, if just a little taller, thinner. Riddle was shocked into silence, while his own father, an old, austere looking man rose from the dinning table they were seated at and demanded to know who the hell he was. Voldemort remembered so very clearly how loud his stomach rumbled at the sight of the most delicious food that covered the long table completely, barely leaving space for the plates and glasses - it reminded him of Hogwarts, only this amount of meat and expensive fruits and vegetables was not meant for more than fifty students, but for the three rather well-nourished people only.

"Are you _blind_, old man?" was what he answered to his grandfather, whose belly was just as fat as his was emaciated.

"Is this the bastard that filthy witch had conceived with you?" the old man roared, spitting saliva at his gobsmacked son.

The old lady of the house tried to sooth him, tagging him on the sleeve of his expensive tuxedo, and addressed Voldemort, who was watching the scene before him impassively, "We do not wish to have _your kind_ here, please, leave us alone!"

"But our feelings are quite mutual," he smiled at her charmingly, tucking the stray locks of hair behind his ear shyly, "I came here to eliminate _your_ kind, for I have an important task to complete and you are going to help me with it."

"If you want money you are not getting any!" Tom Riddle Sr came back to life and finally stood up to try and tower over him with his height but was flagrantly beat to it. "Leave now, we do not do charity," he kept clutching on the hem of his jacket nervously, as his blue eyes stared fearfully into Voldemort's identical ones.

"Yes, I've _noticed_. You left my pregnant mother on the street without a penny in her pocket," he hissed at the abominable being spitefully, disgusted by the mere thought that this man was the one whose blood ran in his veins.

"She is a witch, she poisoned him!" the old man cried, shaking his fists at Voldemort as if it was his fault.

"She _was_ a witch," he corrected nonchalantly, twirling the wand in his fingers impatiently, "She died in labour, while you kept filling your guts with more food than there is at my orphanage." And before the old man could reply to that, Avada Kedavra spell escaped his lips and a jet of bright green light hit his grandfather in the chest and he fell down, dead. It had been his first murder, he had only practiced on animals in the Forbidden Forest before. It felt so _good_, and the woman's shrieks of horror felt even _better_.

"You-you..." Riddle kept pointing his finger at him, staring wildly at the black, crooked wand in his hand.

"Yes, I am a wizard, just like my mother was," he smiled at him endearingly and turned to throw the Killing Curse again, at his grandmother this time. Her cry died out in a violent choke, as she too fell down to never get up again. "She could have given you the world, you know, with the powers that were dormant in her blood but boil and burn in mine. But you are just a pathetic excuse of a man, a filthy muggle, of course, how you could _appreciate_ my mother's greatness and your luck."

"What do you want? I will give you everything I have, please, just _spare_ me!" Riddle cried and fell on his knees before him and Voldemort felt the bile rise in his throat - this bastard, this filthy piece of scum that was guilty of his mother's death dared to plead for his life! Couldn't even take his death with _dignity_, like a real man. Oh, but he simply had none, didn't he?

"I want your life," he said simply, looking into the scared, tearful blue eyes, "_Eye for an eye_, Riddle, your life for hers and for mine as well."

Voldemort knew he would never forget the disbelief, the ridiculous hope that it all was a dream, the horror of realization and the pain that were written on his father's face that twisted, taking on an ugly animalistic look, when Avada Kedavra took his last breath. He would have preferred to torture him with Cruciatus but he felt too weak, too exhausted after firing three Killing Curses at once. Before he could even register that the man he hated most in this world was finally _dead_, his stomach churned and Voldemort fell on his knees, retching violently right onto the expensive persian rug. He was only sixteen, his body was too young and malnourished to take on such a strain. But with bile, that was pouring out if him, he felt the filth of his father leave him as well. He was clean now, _pure_. When he stood up, swaying on his shaking legs, and moved to leave, for he had to give the wand back to Morfin, in order to frame him for what he had done, his gaze fell onto the table. So much food, which he could never afford to taste and probably wouldn't be able to in more years to come... Shrugging his shoulders, he stepped over his father's corpse and sat down in his chair at the head of the table, digging enthusiastically into the plate.

Smiling at the so long hidden memories, Voldemort watched the ruins of his past. That dinner was the most delicious one he had ever had in his life, he thought he could still taste the juice of fresh mango and pineapple, that were almost impossible to find in the war time. How many years had passed, how much had changed, but some things remained the same. Humming under his breath, Voldemort slowly walked to the small, ugly shack his mother used to live in with Morfin and their father Marvolo. The dead snake still hung nailed to the door, rocking ominously in the wind. He entered, probing the wards he had set seven months earlier when he came for the ring - Dumbledore hadn't visited yet. With an evil grin stretching his lips, Voldemort walked over to the fireplace and took the small black box from the mantel. Throwing the rubbish it was filled with away, he placed the exact replica of the Gaunt ring inside, careful not to let it touch his skin - it would show just how _smart_ and _invincible_ the old goat really was when he would, no doubt, grab it, hurrying to destroy the horcrux that was supposed to be inside. The ends justified the means, and he wouldn't be a slytherin if he didn't play dirty, now, would he?

**xxx**

What Harry dreaded most had finally happened mere ten days into July on one gloomy Sunday. Dudley went for a sleepover to one of his cronies and Petunia was attending a Knitting Club meeting next door and wasn't going to be back until very late. And since it had been raining for the whole day Vernon stayed at home, angry and bored, with no golf to play and no '_respectable_' men to hang out with. Harry's sixth sense was screaming at him _danger_ and he decided to spend the day under the rain, hidden in the crown of the only tree that grew on the lawn, which was easy to accomplish since Petunia ordered him to cut the grass. He never questioned her stupid, irrational chores for it was easier to simply comply to them than listen to her shrieks for the rest of the week. His backside hurt from sitting on the hard, narrow branch but he stoically took the pain, knowing all too well what else could hurt him much, much worse. However, his uncle's boredom got the better of him and soon Harry heard the man wandering around the house and calling for him, swearing rudely.

It didn't take him long to find the boy. "Get down here at once, or I will work on your pretty face - none of your freaks would recognize you!" He started shaking the tree and Harry fell down on his back, wincing at the sharp pain - the tree wasn't the best idea, he had to admit that. "Get inside! Now!" Reluctantly, Harry obeyed and trudged into the house. When he started taking off his wet trainers, Vernon grabbed him on the collar of his shirt and pushed harshly against the wall. Fear of what was coming and rage blinded him and Harry pushed him back, barely making his huge body sway.

"Get your hands off of me!" he snaked from underneath the meaty hands and ran up the stairs, deafened by the blood pumping loudly in his ears. But he still could hear Vernon's ragged breath and profanities thrown at his back.

"You will learn to respect me, boy!" his uncle ran after him and practically blown the door off of its hinges as he slammed into it when Harry tried to shut it in his face. "Little shit!" he grabbed on the raven hair and tagged on it violently, trying to bring the tall boy down onto the floor.

"No, no!" Harry struggled, and finally crushed his fist into the disgusting purple face. Wailing, Vernon let go of him, clutching onto his bleeding nose. Harry hastily moved away, gripping the back of the chair, thinking that he might very well use it against the fat bastard.

"You whore! You will pay!" his uncle roared, spitting saliva, and leaped onto him, aiming to hit him on the head. Harry slammed the chair into his obese form but it didn't make much damage - the wood was too old and worn, it simply cracked. Enraged beyond possible, Vernon hit him on the face so hard, Harry fell down on the floor unable to withstand the strong blow. He instinctively coiled, covering his abdomen, hoping that he would manage to shield it from the more beating that was to come. "Unworthy bastard!" the man screeched, throwing his heavy body on top of the boy's and grabbing onto his throat. He kept intensifying the pressure, screaming all the while as Harry tried to breathe, wheezing and choking in the iron grip. He scratched on the man's hands with his fingernails but it was fruitless. Tears blurred his faltering vision and, as it darkened, he jerked in fear that, if he blacked out, Vernon would no doubt take advantage of his unconsciousness and rape him. The image of such horrible perspective gripped his heart in a vice and Harry cried out hoarsely, gathering all of his strength to push the bastard away. His magic lashed out and blew Vernon into the wall, while he rubbed on his constricted, aching throat, trying to sooth the pain away.

Vernon shook his head, trying to gather his wits, and glared at Harry spitefully, "You, piece of shit," he groaned, trying to get up, "I will fucking get you, I will tear you apart, you, whelp!"

"Don't you even dare to touch me!" Harry spat back, "I will use magic against you, to hell with school, if you lay your finger on me again I swear I will turn you into an invalid!" He unconsciously held his hand over his abdomen, trying to feel if the child was hurt - his magic pulsed in reply, reassuringly. It was fine.

Staring at him wildly, Vernon snarled instead of answering the threats and leaped forward, grabbing onto the boy's ankles and waistband, trying to tear his jeans off of him.

"No, don't touch me! You, bastard!" Harry wriggled in his hold, blindly slamming his feet into the fat chest. Vernon was so fucking heavy and his magic wasn't ready for another blow, concentrated on protecting the fetus. _Fuck!_ He couldn't let the man rape him, not after what happened with Marvolo, not with his child inside of him. "Stop! Stop!" he screamed, frantically trying to pull his pants back up.

"Slut! So innocent aren't ya? Let's see how many cocks you had!" his uncle tore the pants off and pinned him down with his weight, holding him by the throat with one hand, while the other hastily pushed down the man's hue sweatpants. Harry squeezed his eyes, begging his magic to fucking blow the bastard up when the sound of the door being opened snapped both him and Vernon out of their struggle.

"Vernon, dear, I'm home! That stupid Margaret just couldn't keep her mouth shut and ruined the whole evening with her intolerable stories..." Petunia's voice muffled as she went into the kitchen.

"Fuck!" the man muttered angrily and slapped Harry on the face. "Next time you will pay for this, whore!" He quickly raised his huge body, dressing up and ran out of the room, shutting the bathroom door behind him. Tears pouring out of his eyes in relief, Harry coiled on the floor, sobbing into his fist and thanking Petunia for being the dumb bitch that she was. He was so close today, so _bloody close_. As his shoulders shook violently, he circled his arms around his stomach, nursing it, willing the sickness to go away. He was safe, for how long he couldn't even try to guess, but for now he was safe.

He didn't know for how long had he been lying there on the floor but he was woken up by the rustle of feathers over his head. Blinking tiredly, he strained his ears - it was still evening, the telly was working downstairs, as his aunt and uncle laughed at some random program. Harry looked around dumbly - had he imagined an owl in here? He couldn't exchange mail and both his friends knew that very well, so they wouldn't have written to him. He slowly gathered himself up and moved over onto the bed. The wings rustled again and this time he saw it - a small barn owl, the most common type, used by both Hogwarts and the Ministry. With a sinking feeling in his gut he stretched his hand out to take the letter, already bracing himself for it to be yet another notification of yet another hearing. But there were no seals and the envelope was too small for an official message.

_"Harry, do refrain from using wandless magic at home. This time Shaklebot was present when the alarm went off and covered it up for you. There might not be another lucky opportunity. A.D."_

He wanted to scream, wanted to burn the fucking house down with just the power of his will. How could headmaster tell him something like that? He knew very well just where Harry had to live, who were his relatives, how could he so calmly order him to stop defending himself? His child? But before he tore the letter into pieces, he caught the sight of the bird, still perched on the edge of his desk, waiting for a treat and a rebellious idea formed in his mind. There was no one in the Order he could rely on but his father. He turned the letter around and, having snatched the chewed pencil from the windowsill, scribbled on the paper frantically. He grabbed the poor owl and tied the note to its leg.

"Find Severus Snape! It's urgent!" and he pushed it out of the barred window. If his father wouldn't help him, then he had no other choice but to run, all his instincts screamed at him to get out as soon as possible. He had this horrible premonition that Vernon wouldn't be satisfied with simply raping him, not after what he had done.

**xxx**

Voldemort and Severus sat in front of the fireplace in the inimitable, vast library of Prince Manor, that the potions master reluctantly opened for his lord. Severus didn't care for the house but it unnerved him greatly that the Dark Lord chose him of all the Inner Circle to bear the honour. He couldn't help but think that there was some cunning plot behind his mast's moving in to his home.

Voldemort frowned at the piece of parchment with Severus' scribbles on it, having a hard time concentrating on the potion formulas that he was supposed to evaluate. Something didn't feel quite right this evening, he couldn't tell what exactly, but his chest hurt a little, as if his soul was going through some sort of a torment. He had dismissed it at first, too busy discussing the urgent matters of upcoming war with Lucius and Severus, but now that the two of them were alone and the disturbing sensation intensified, he couldn't help but think about Harry. What if the boy was _hurt_ and he felt it through their link? But before he could make his observations to the potions master, a small owl burst into the open window and landed in the man's lap with an indignant hoot.

Surprised, Severus took the note and opened it to see Dumbledore's writing. Staring at it dumbly, he noticed his lord' suspicious look out the corner of his eye. Just what the hell was this and why would Potter send him his correspondence which, by the way, was prohibited to him? The brat just couldn't wait until his birthday to use magic, could he? Huffing, he wanted to crumple the paper, but noticed something was written on its other side. Turning it around he raised his eyebrows, unable to mask the surprise and sudden apprehension.

_"Snape, I need your help. Please, I'm begging you, take me away from here. My magic can't protect me, I fear for another life I am responsible for. He will kill me. Surrey, Little Whinging, 4 Private Drive."_

Willing his hands not to tremble, he crumpled the paper and threw it into the flames, standing up sharply, "My lord, please excuse me, but I have to go now." He didn't care for the boy and he definitely didn't care for the unborn child, he was telling himself, as his mind laid out a map of London and the counties surrounding it meticulously before his eyes and searched for the appointed place.

Narrowing his eyes at the man, scowling at the growing sense of foreboding, Voldemort twisted his lips, "Does it have to do anything with Harry?"

Feeling like a man with a noose around his neck, Severus licked on his dry lips nervously, "Yes, my lord. The boy needs my help."

"Oh, I see," he nodded, arching his eyebrow. "Well, go then, wouldn't want to hold you back if this is so urgent." The coldness and particular flatness of the Dark Lord's tone warned Severus that the man knew there was more to it and was, no doubt, already plotting to extract the details out of him sooner or later. During the last week his master had been particularly moody, snapping at everybody and throwing curses around like confetti. He was clearly under pressure and something was telling Severus it had to do much more with _Potter_ than with war.

Bowing respectfully, the potions master stepped into the green flames of the activated fireplace and flooed to the Leaky Cauldron. He never saw Voldemort grabbing the forgotten owl and pointing his wand at it, "Well, well, well, let's see just _where_ did you come from, shall we?" The Dark Lord snapped its neck, tearing the skin and muscles and, as the blood poured out, hissed a long incantation, waving his white yew wand in circles. _Surrey_. Severus would lead him to the initial destination. In a whirl of black robes Voldemort vanished from the library, reaching the county in a flash, racing through the starry night sky like a strike of lightning. Landing on the small hill in the park, he drew his wand high up in the air and hissed the spell in parseltongue, concentrating on sensing Severus' aura in the area. The stream of faint green light erupted from the yew wood and led him forward.

**xxx**

Severus stared at the small house, absolutely identical to a hundred similar ones around it. He hoped against hope that Potter was exaggerating, but something was telling him the boy would have never lied, not about _this_. He himself had never abused his own inferior situation, it was horrible enough for him to make up more. Taking a deep, calming breath, the potions master pushed his shiny, clean, long raven hair back and straightened his shoulders. Having transformed his outer robe into a simple black jacket, he pressed the doorbell button and schooled his face into his most severe scowl - he had never dreamed of meeting Petunia Evans ever again but since there was no other way of dealing with the problem...

"We are not buying anyth-" her horse face showed from behind the open door and she stopped abruptly, as her eyes assessed his face. "_You?!_" she shrieked and hurried to shut the door but he stopped it and forced his entry.

"Where is Potter?" Severus wasn't in the mood to have a small talk about their shared past and looked around, wrinkling his nose in disdain.

"What do you ha- No!" Petunia suddenly put the two and two together, staring into his face and slowly realizing that it was the exact copy of the boy's, only harsher, more angular in its features. "You are his _father_!" the woman pointed her finger at him, stating the obvious.

Rolling his eyes in exasperation, he barked, "Potter! Potter, come here!" But instead of the boy the fattest, hugest man balled out of the living room, his red sweated face twisted in anger.

"Who the fuck are you? What is your business here?" he roared. Severus noticed his nose looked puffy as if it was broken, and the knuckles of his meaty hands were blooded.

"I came for Potter. Have you beaten him _again_?" at his inquiry they both paled considerablyand Petunia involuntarily pressed herself into the wall, scared he would do something to her.

While the whale of her husband stepped closer, rocking his obese body threateningly, "What has that piece of shit told you, eh? He is a filthy _liar_, an abominable bastard-" before Vernon could finish his torrent of invectives, Severus grabbed him on his throat, pushing his wand between the rolls of fat that supposedly hid his ribs, enraged.

"Shut your filthy mouth, _muggle scum_, you have no right to talk of my son like that!" the righteous wrath burned in his chest. This pathetic ugly muggle was just like his father, just as rotten, unworthy of Potter's mere finger. No matter what his feelings towards the boy were, he wasn't going to stand there and let the fat fuck insult him. Enjoying the fear in the small piggy eyes, he decided a little lesson wouldn't hurt the man and violently burst into his mind.

Harry limped onto the landing, thinking he imagined Snape's acid voice as he once again fell into a heavy, exhausted slumber. His eyes went painfully wide at the sight of his father holding whining, obviously hurting Vernon by the throat, staring straight into his eyes. _No, no no!_ He darted forward but it was too late, Snape had already invaded his uncle's unprotected mind and saw _everything_. Severus slowly let go of the man, blinking dumbly at him, as his vision clouded with the horrible images of a scrawny, ten year old Harry being raped for the first time. First time out of so many more. He felt his stomach was almost in his throat - so sick he felt, so terribly disgusted. He raised his head, scowling in overwhelming confusion and horror, at the sound of the creaking floorboard - the boy stood on the landing of the second floor, with his hands pressed to his mouth, as fat tears ran down his cheeks. Ashamed, scared, vehemently shaking his head in denial, Harry ran back into his room, slamming the door shut behind him and pressed his trembling body against it.

"I will fucking kill you! After I'm done with Harry, you're _dead_," Severus hissed barely above whisper, as angry tears burned his eyes. _This_ was what the boy had been hiding from him all this time, _this_ was the block that didn't let his mind relax, _this_ was what gave him horrible nightmares, depriving him of sleep and rest. He could relate to and close his eyes at the beatings, for he went through the same himself and found it only hardened one's will and character but rape... It was unacceptable, completely inadmissible, absolutely disgusting, disgraceful, mean, dirty, unfair, unfair, _unfair_. His limps trembled as rage and pain tore his chest apart. Harry, the kind, forgiving, selfless, arrogant and irresponsible Harry Potter, who was the favourite celebrity of the whole wizarding world and the most annoying brat in the history of his teaching career, had been constantly raped for six years by his own uncle and had never said a word, never complained, asked for help, he accepted it as he had accepted every other blow that Fate had sent him. This was unbelievable, this was so horrible, Severus thought he never felt so helpless and miserable in his life before. He was a dark wizard, a Death Eater, a spy, he killed and tortured but he had never imagined... it just wasn't done in the wizarding world, children were sacred, they were cherished and spoilt, loved beyond limits, even most violent of his comrades would have never fallen so _low_. And it happened to the Boy-Who-Lived, to a child that vanquished the bloody Dark Lord, to a child that bore the weight of the whole world on his shoulders, to _his son_...

He slammed his fist into Vernon's face, breathing harshly, choking on his own fury, and stormed past the confused and scared Petunia up the stairs, as the fat son of a bitch slid down onto the floor, wailing at the pain in his head, nursing the finally broken nose. "Potter!" Severus knocked on the door impatiently, staring dumbly at the locks and the cat-flap on it. "Potter, open the door this instant!" he had no idea what was he going to say and to do. He heard a quiet shuffle and the door slowly opened under his push - the boy was sitting on the edge of his bed, hugging his knees, silently crying. His awry cut, raven hair stuck out messily, as he pushed his hand into them in desperation and humiliation.

Swallowing harshly, Severus carefully approached him, biting the inside of his cheek, feeling completely lost. He was having a hard time wrapping his mind around what he had seen. "_Harry_," he tentatively crouched in front of him, and the boy looked up, clearly surprised his professor called him by his given name. "Harry, I... I received your note and..." he looked around helplessly, trying to say something comprehensible, "I will take you away, yes, you are definitely not staying here." _There_. He said it.

"Severus," Harry wept harder at the sight of a pale, crestfallen professor, whose eyes were shining brilliantly, as tears welled up in them. For the first time in his life somebody looked at him with such pain and sorrow, that he couldn't hold back anymore. He threw himself on his father's neck, letting out a loud, pitiful wail of pain and grief. And this time Snape held him back, enveloped him into a tight embrace and one of his hands found its way into his now short hair to stroke him gently. "Se-Sev-verus," he sobbed into the man's firm shoulder, "_Severus_."

"Sh-sh," he stroked the silky hair, _his hair,_ as tears ran down his cheeks. He was not a kind man, he was used to violence and pain but the way Harry had suffered was too much even for him. He felt his son's sobs reach down to his very _heart_ and cut on it harshly. And he thought Harry would hurt him, when the boy himself was completely broken and there was nobody to pick up the pieces. Harry was just as lonely and heartbroken as he himself was, even worse. Any other man would have ran away, rebelled against the unfair, horrible treatment, would have used magic a hundred times to defend himself, consequences be damned, but not Harry. He was so scared to loose Hogwarts, to loose magic - the only thing that could never betray the wizard it belonged to - he was ready to endure all this just to come back to those who used him for their own purposes. And now he was going to give life to a child, his magic _betrayed_ him for. "Harry," he rubbed his tears away and looked at the boy's tear-stained, exhausted face, "Pack everything you need, I'm taking you to Weasleys." There was no other alternative. He couldn't take him to Prince Manor, nor could he take him to Hogwarts. At least Molly and Arthur knew of his unusual situation with the child and could take care of him for the time being.

"Alright," Harry nodded numbly, looking into the bottomless onyx eyes of his father. He came for him, he was taking him away, he wasn't disgusted to touch him, wasn't calling him names but held him and cried for him... he acted just like a _father_ would. Harry started weeping again, clutching onto Snape's jacket, hating to have to let him go.

"Let go, Harry, we must leave," he wanted to send the boy away as soon as possible to come back here and tear the fat bastard to pieces. Nobody had the right to do something so terrible and abominable to a child, let alone _his son_. Reluctantly, Harry pulled away and crawled to the end of his bed, bent down and lifted several of the floor boards up, revealing a small hole. He took out his wand, the blasted cloak, that Severus itched to get his hands on for so many years, and a golden locket of Salazar Slytherin, which the potions master instantly recognized. No, this could wait, he would ask the boy later about just how had he found the legendary heirloom that was believed to be lost forever, yet every slytherin student knew it as well as his own name, since it could be seen around Salazar's neck on his portrait.

"My trunk is under the stairs, where I used to sleep, but it's only clothes and books there, I don't really need it, do I?" the boy mumbled, rubbing on his reddened, puffy eyes.

"No, your wand and cloak is everything you need, everything else, I am sure, Weasleys would be able to provide you with. Come," Severus took him by the arm and led out of the room and down the stairs.

Vernon was back on his feet, as Petunia was frantically trying to stop the bleeding by pressing a towel to his nose. He shot Harry and Severus hateful glares, "I am calling the police, you, _freaks_!"

"You do just that," the potions master sneered at him, barely restraining himself from leaping at the man and strangling him to death, "One snap of my fingers and they will take your despicable hide to prison straight away, without a trial. I wonder how would you talk when you'll get a taste of your own medicine. You are aware of what decent criminals do to children rapists, aren't you?" he spat the last words into his face venomously. Harry tagged him on the sleeve of his jacket, shaking his head and staring at him fearfully.

"Don't you wish him dead?" he asked when the boy dragged him out into the street.

"No, he is not worth it, Severus, they are _not_ _worth_ it! Please, let's just leave, please," Harry could see the murderous gleam in his father's eyes. To be honest, Harry had never seen him so angry, so dangerous, so fucking scary before. He even felt the heavy, oily, dark aura around him, that the man had been obviously hiding from the students - he never imagined his father was _so_ powerful.

Still glaring hatefully at the two most abominable creatures he had ever seen, Severus nodded and wrapped his arms around the boy's shoulders. In a whirl of a wind they were standing at the Leaky Cauldron entrance. The potions master took Harry's cloak and threw it over his form, concealing him completely. Holding the rim of the cloth in his hand, Severus pulled the boy inside and, looking around and seeing that nobody was around at such late hour, he walked over to the fireplace and called the Burrow. "Molly! Arthur!" he barked into the empty but brightly lit living room. A moment later wet with soap, holding her gloved hands up, Molly appeared in the range of his vision.

"Severus? What's wrong?" she cried, clearly surprised at such a late hour call, but even more so at the snarky professor's severe expression.

"I need to come through, there is a problem that needs your attention."

"Of course, of course," she waved her wand and unlocked the fireplace for him to come through. As soon as he and Harry both were safely inside the small cosy living room, he tore the cloak off of the boy and Molly shrieked in horror as she took in the sight of his blooded face, battered body, torn clothes. "Harry, dear! What happened?! Is... is _the child_ alright?" she stared at his abdomen, which he instinctively covered with his hands in a defensive gesture.

"Yes, it's alright, Mrs Weasley, I..."

"His uncle almost killed him, Potter found a way of contacting me, I took him out of there, he needs a place to stay for a while," Severus reported hastily, itching to get back.

"Oh, but of course! Harry will stay with us just as long as he wants, he knows we love having him here!" Molly threw her gloves away and pulled Harry into a heated hug he didn't fight.

"Don't tell the headmaster anything _yet_, I will notify him personally," he gave her a pointed look and the witch nodded, her expression deadly serious, understanding flashing in her eyes.

"No, no! Severus, don't do it!" Harry snaked out of the woman's hold and hung on his father's hand. "Don't do something you will _regret_ later!"

"I will never regret showing this bastard what are the consequences of abusing a child," Severus tried to shake him off, but the boy's grip was unbelievably strong.

"Please, Severus, they would know you did it! Please, don't. _For me_," Harry looked him in the eyes and he wanted to flinch away from the way they were piercing through his very soul. And again he had that distinct, disturbing sensation that the boy reminded him of the Dark Lord so much.

Seeing that Harry was actually worried for him and not for the disgusting relatives of his, the potions master sighed in surrender, "Fine, I would not hurt them, not really. But I can't just leave this..." he finally managed to tear Harry away from himself.

"Thank you," the boy whispered, looking at him with such gratitude and devotion, Severus felt at loss for words for the first time in his life. Lily never looked at him like that. Harry embraced his ather briefly again and pulled away hastily, letting him leave with as much dignity as he could master. But when Severus stumbled out of the Leaky Cauldron's fireplace, he felt he couldn't go back to Dursleys, not right now. Not when so many emotions, long forgotten and unwelcome, seized his chest, burning him from the inside. He had saved Harry so many times before and this one time wasn't as precarious as previous ones, really, but... He felt as if something very significant happened between them, something of a grand scale.

**xxx**

Voldemort stood, invisible, under the street lamp right in front of the house number 4 on Private Drive. He saw as Severus entered and he strained his ears, adding a spell to hear better. He didn't hear that much but some of the parts of conversation he had caught alerted him. He saw a murderous expression on the potions master's face when he and Harry walked out and to the small gate at the edge of the lawn - well, it wasn't as if Harry hadn't been abused before, was it? Severus had been clearly overreacting. However, the sight of Harry's cut off hair and blooded, bruised face stirred anger inside him as well. How could that ugly muggle dare to raise a hand on this beautiful boy? Most importantly on _his_ beautiful boy? He growled to himself at the thought that his horcrux, his little Prince, a strong, independent, sharp tongued wizard was helpless at the hands of some bastard. And what for? Some petty blood wards? Harry looked broken, he had been crying for a very long time and was now trying to stop Severus from killing his relatives.

"Don't you wish him dead?" he saw the potions master stare at the boy in bewilderment, beside himself with rage. Voldemort was intrigued now - knowing Severus, there were _very few_ things in this world that could make him so furious that he could not control his magic.

"No, he is not worth it, Severus, they are not worth it! Please, let's just leave, please," Harry was begging him, frantically pulling him away. The ever forgiving little Prince, so naive and kindhearted, certain that everybody deserved a second chance. Voldemort shook his head, sighing at his little one's softness and unbelievable compassion. The fat, moustached muggle, Harry's uncle, obviously, stood at the threshold, clutching on his bleeding nose and swearing into the darkness. Oh, but Severus got _truly_ enraged if he even manhandled the pathetic ball of flesh. Rubbing on his chin thoughtfully, the Dark Lord watched the small, boring house through the narrowed blood red eyes. Harry was obviously hurt, so much that he had to ask his father for help, Severus was ready to kill for what had been done to his son and never told him anything about it. He had to get to the bottom of _this_ before he decided what to do with his little Prince.

Nodding to himself in satisfaction, Voldemort leisurely strode to the small gate, opened it soundlessly and, canceling his disillusionment charm on his way, stepped onto the porch and pushed the front door open. When he entered the house, he couldn't hold back a grimace of utter disgust at the ugly display before his eyes. And his little Prince had been living here for his whole life! He would have hated _himself_ too if he had condemned himself to live in this atrocious place. Better than his orphanage, of course, but still unbearably loathsome and just as dangerous.

"Are you lot going to burst in here uninvited all night?" the horse like woman gritted through her teeth, glaring at him from behind the doorframe that led into the kitchen. Oh, that must have been Lily Potter's sister - muggles rarely reacted so well to wizards even if they were aware of magic.

"Oh no, _my lot_ wouldn't disturb you anymore after tonight," he smiled viciously at her, baring his pearl teeth, and shut the door softly behind him.

"And just who the fuck are _you_, red eye? The ugly one has taken Potter already," the whale of a man pushed himself through the doorway and glared at him.

"I am Lord Voldemort," the Dark Lord bowed mockingly, smirking at the fearful understanding in the woman's eyes. "Yes, the one who killed your sister and her husband Potter, the one who tried to kill Harry and gave him that lovely scar, yes." He smiled charmingly, tucking the stray locks of his hair behind his ear.

"But, but," the woman stumbled, "That old wizard, he told us the boy had to live here because my blood kept him safe from you!"

"Pff," Voldemort huffed, "Your house is secured with the blood wards that would have prevented me from entering if I hadn't had Harry's blood in my body. Which I, _fortunately_, have," he flashed her a brilliant, scoffing grin.

The Dursleys stared at him dumbly and then began shouting, vying with each other, that if he came to finish the boy - he had been taken, they had nothing to do with this, and something else along the lines. He didn't listen. Rolling his eyes in exasperation, he flicked his wrist and the two of them fell motionless onto the sofa in their living room.

"Now, I came here to find out what had happened. You see, Harry _belongs_ to me, I can't just ignore his distress, can I?" he raised his eyebrows inquiringly, as if expecting them to answer. Folding his hands behind his back, Voldemort stepped closer to the uncle and hovered over him, smiling evilly. "Let's start with the fat one." His Legilimency was even more painful and damaging than Severus', for he had no habit of leaving those whom he interrogated alive or sane. Since he had entered this small, decaying mind at all, he decided he would start from the very beginning.

Harry appearing on their doorstep, in a basket, like Moses that muggles seem to like so much, with only a letter and a blanket with him - trust _Dumbledore_ to handle an infant. Harry at the age of three, showing signs of an accidental magic - setting the curtains on fire after being denied food. Oh, but that must have been _his soul_ manifesting itself, Voldemort smirked. Images of the little Prince being forced to sleep in the small, dark cupboard under the stairs called forth the unpleasant memories of himself being punished by the caretaker, which he'd rather never remembered again. Harry at the age of five getting his first beating and belting. The boy was so small, so scrawny, just like he used to be at his age, he barely survived the blows - his powerful magic was the only reason he never died in this place.

Harry at the age of ten. Being dragged by his hair into the fat man's bedroom. Voldemort halted for a moment, having this odious sensation of his insides rising in his throat along with his bile. Catching his breath, he watched further. Harry being thrown onto the bed, undressed harshly. The boy tried to struggle, cried, but was too weak to even punch the oaf of his uncle, his magic too exhausted to protect him. The Dark Lord wished he could turn away or close his eyes when he heard the child's screams. Trembling on the inside, he quickly shifted through the rest of the memories: Harry being raped again and again, for the whole year; celebration of Harry's going away to Hogwarts; Harry getting a welcome back beating and a mouthful; Harry being raped and abused violently every summer; Harry fighting his uncle today, slamming his fist into the bastard's face, his magic lashing out to push the man away but suspiciously drained to act out again, and his aunt's fortunate interruption.

Emerging from the mind of one of the most vile men he had ever seen, Voldemort stumbled back, heavily lowering himself onto the coffee table, and rested his head on his hands helplessly. What had he done? If he had known that Harry had been raped he would have never forced himself on the boy. The mere thought made him gag and he winced painfully, trying to push the bile down. For the first time in his life he felt _ashamed_. And _filthy_ again. He haven't felt so filthy ever since the orphanage. After he killed his father he was cleansed, reborn, purified, and where was he now? _Fuck, fuck, fuck._ That was why Harry was so afraid of him, so reluctant to touch, so disgusted by the prospect of giving him a blowjob, that was why he cried when he _took_ him... A thunderous roar escaped his chest, as Voldemort sprang up on his feet - the very walls of the house started cracking and rocking wildly, windows cracked and shuttered as his magic went out of control. Why, why hadn't Harry told him the truth? How could he let him force him into having sex - the only thing that Harry despised most in this world. Clenching his fists, breathing hard and growling like a wild beast, Voldemort glared at Dursleys hatefully, his beautiful face twisting into an ugly, horrible mask of a creature that barely resembled a human or an animal.

"Do you have any idea what _have you done_?" he whispered not trusting his voice, "Do you have any idea whom you have been raping all these years?" his whole body shook, as all the objects in the room went flying and blowing up around him. Screeching in horror at the display of a dark, overwhelming, oppressing power, Petunia stared at her husband at these words, who was pasty white and whose tongue was too numb from pain and fear to answer. _So the horse never knew_. "Why don't you call your son back home, woman? Perhaps, we should deal with this situation accordingly," his lips trembled as he started hissing 'S' as a angered rattle snake, "_Eye for an eye_." He could barely contain his fury, shame and pain settled in his chest, hurting him. He never thought he could feel so pathetically human, so _miserable_.

At the woman's vehement pleading not to hurt her son, he gave her a crooked, ugliest grin she had ever seen, "Oh, how very noble of you. Wouldn't appreciate your son being raped by his own father, would you now? But raping Harry was nothing out of the ordinary, the abomination that he was, isn't that right, _Vernon_?" he spat the name into the man's face. At the bastard's pitiful wailing and useless struggle against the immobilizing spell Voldemort realized he couldn't take it anymore, he needed to get rid of these horrible emotions right now. "You have defiled something very _sacred_, scum," he breathed out shakily, suffocating, involuntarily setting what was left of the furniture around him on fire. Pointing his white yew wand with a trembling hand at the screaming excuse of a man he gritted out, "Crucio."

**xxx**

When Severus came back to 4 Private Drive he was met with a sight of a burning house and the Dark Lord sitting on its porch comfortably, watching the flames devour the last bits of it. Staring in astonishment at the scene, he could hardly find any words, his voice, it seemed, betrayed him.

"Ah, Severus. Took your time, missed all the fun," Voldemort drawled, inspecting his fingernails with fascination. "I apologize I took your so much desired revenge from you - I've gotten carried away _a_ _little_."

"My lord," was all the potions master could say to this. In truth, most of his anger had subsided before he came here and he doubted he was going to kill Vernon, maim - certainly, frame - surely, but leave him alive to dwell on his sins.

"Yes, I know, should have left them live, like you told the fat man - send him to prison and let the others do all the dirty work but I do not think that muggle prison would have sufficed. I'd prefer to place him into Azkaban for the dementors to feast on but that would have made Harry's secret known to the public and that is inadmissible," his lord said nonchalantly, having not spared a glance at Severus. "Besides, when I said I would skin anyone who touched _my Harry_ I was quite serious. Shame I can't demonstrate _this_," he waved his hand at the fire, "To my followers. This would have taught them all very well, indeed."

_His Harry?_ Had the Dark Lord actually avenged the boy? But why? The blood red eyes finally met his and he flinched, terrified by the black hatred he saw in them.

"Tell me, Severus," Voldemort rose and walked over to the potions master, "Did you know that Harry had been raped?"

"No, my lord," at last he didn't have to lie. "I found out today."

The Dark Lord circled him slowly, predatorily. "Does anybody else know?"

"No, the boy doesn't trust anyone."

"And yet he sent for you and you readily ran to save him," Voldemort narrowed his eyes that burned Severus with their icy glare.

"He wasn't actually expecting I would come. He wrote he thought his uncle was going to kill him, and since I am under a vow to protect him I had to come and check." He had told the truth, most of it anyway. The aura of his lord was particularly heavy, suffocating, insane, and as he watched Severus, the potions master thought it reminded him of the first war, when everybody lived in maddening fear of being under his yew wand. Only now the man was even more unpredictable and therefore more dangerous than ever.

"There is something more, _something_ you are not telling me. Is this also sealed with a vow?"

"Yes."

_Fuck_. Lifting his upper lip in disdain and anger, Voldemort clicked his tongue and finally stopped moving, standing beside Severus, with his back to the flames. "Where is the boy now?"

"At Weasleys', my lord. He is safest with them." If only he could hide the boy at Prince Manor, but alas, the unborn child eliminated this option.

"What of Dumbledore?" the Dark Lord looked away, thinking what kind of wards were put on the redheaded wizards' property, wondering if he could cross them without breaching.

"I was going to notify him I took Potter after I... well, he knows already, I suppose," Severus glanced at his lord wearily. Clearly, his reluctance to simply put Harry into the Dark Lord's hands gave away enough for his master to suspect and act upon it.

"What could be worse than a horcrux that Dumbledore is trying so hard to hide from me?" Voldemort muttered thoughtfully, revising everything he knew about Harry.

If he could offer his lord three guesses, perhaps, the man would have solved the riddle on his own but Severus knew right now he wouldn't appreciate his sense of humor or lack thereof. They both walked out of the small gate and Voldemort halted, suddenly flashing him that brilliant smile of his, "Oh, and Severus, I left their son for you to play with. As far as I know he enjoyed and participated in hurting Harry, therefore, he deserves to be _punished_. You may do as you wish."

"Thank you, my lord," Severus bowed down respectfully and, when he straightened his back, Voldemort was already gone.

**xxx**

The rest of the night Harry spent being fussed over by the whole Weasley family. None of the other children knew of his condition except Ron, who swore to keep his secret safe with him. After he took a long, hot bath and after Molly healed all of his fresh wounds and bruises, he was taken into Percy's room, while the twins adjusted some of their clothes to his size and Ginny prepared a light supper. Sated and pleasantly tired, Harry thanked them all heartedly and finally got into bed. He knew he couldn't abuse their hospitality for long and was slowly plotting in his mind, as it was gradually clouded with a heavy slumber, where would he go. He gave it a lot of thought while staying at Private Drive - there was no way his child could be safe amongst all these people. They needed to hide from _everyone_ - only then there would be any kind of a future for his little one.

His father wasn't an option, unfortunately, for Voldemort would surely find him there even if Severus never told him. Hogwarts was out of the question, of course, as were the Order's headquarters. It was dangerous to stay in the wizarding world altogether and Harry had to admit that muggles were his _best chance_. So, what he needed to do as soon as possible was: get the rest of his fund money from the bank and exchange them for pounds, move to the farthest corner of the country, buy a small, most boring muggle house he could find and ward it. He needed to find useful wards manual. A letter to Hermione was in order, first thing in the morning.

As he yawned, ready to black out, he heard his door open and somebody sat on the edge of his bed. "Hey, Ron," he sighed, burying his face deeper into the pillow and rearranging the locket under his chest more comfortably.

"Hey," the redhead shifted to sit more comfortably and looked at him uncertainly, "How are you feeling?"

"Fine. Will be feeling even better if you let me sleep, no offense."

"Yeah, sure, sorry, I just..." Ron mumbled uncomfortably, rubbing on his neck, that Harry was sure was as red as his hair now, even though it was dark in the room. "How is the baby?"

As if on cue, Harry pressed his hand to his abdomen and smiled shyly, "It's safe." Feeling his friend's distress, he rolled onto his back and sighed in exasperation, "Out with it, Ron, or your loud wheezing would haunt me in my dreams."

"Eh... I was just wondering all this time, you know, that if you made a child with another man, well..." Ron stumbled horribly, staring at Harry in confusion, "That you are gay, yeah?"

_Oh_. That got Harry by surprise. He never once thought about it, really, for he had never had any reason to question his sexuality before - he simply had none. But now that Ron noted it, he suddenly realized he didn't know. "I'm not sure, I've never been with a woman."

Evidently relaxed, Ron continued more confidently, "Well, it's just that you really have to try both before deciding yeah? Well, maybe after the baby is born you could, you know..."

"Are you trying to hook me up with Ginny?" Harry asked incredulously, feeling all of his sleepiness had gone.

"Maybe," his friend winced. "She's still so crazy about you, you know. I just thought that if you are dead certain about being gay, that you could tell her in the face and stop her suffering. But if you're not, then... you could give it a shot, eh?"

_Hardly_. He remembered their last encounter at Christmas and wrinkled his nose at the unpleasant memories. Even if he would decide to try it one day, it would definitely be another girl, not Ginny, never her again.

"That block you... were with," the redhead tried, "Did you, well... like him?"

"You have no idea." _Oh fuck, did I just said that?_

"Wow!" Ron stared at him, he could see the white of his eyes gleam in the faint moonlight.

"Could we discuss this later? I really am tired and don't want to think about him now, sorry," Harry wiggled out lamely.

"Yeah, yeah, sure," his friend stood up and patted him on the shoulder awkwardly. "Rest well, mate. We'll talk later, yeah."

When Ron left, Harry wanted to bang his head on the wall. He truly didn't want to think of Marvolo now, but sleep had left him and all there was now, was darkness and the memories of the most pleasant sensations he had ever experienced. He missed Marvolo so much, craved his touch and caress, his comfort. Even more so after what happened. Was he really gay? He probably was, if he enjoyed another man while the thoughts of women didn't really excite him. Dwelling on this was rather pointless, he decided, since he couldn't have anyone now anyway. The child was his main prerogative, everybody else mattered very little. With astonishment and sad relief Harry realized that in mere weeks he developed such fierce protectiveness towards his child, which at some point he used to really despise. Now it seemed impossible to him, despicable. A little wizard or witch was growing inside of him and he couldn't help but smile at the thought. Closing his eyes and clutching into the locket, he imagined what would it look like when it was born. Would it have his eyes? Marvolo's hair?

Sighing, Harry slowly fell into a deep sleep, filled with blurry images of the man that gave him so much. Exhausted beyond limits, he involuntarily let his Occlumency shields down. The Dark Lord, who stood at the edge of the wards around the Burrow, perked up at that, staring at the dark window that looked into Harry's room. _At last_. Excited, he hastily reached for their mind link and peeked into the boy's dreams. A wide, smug smile stretched his lips when he realized that Harry was dreaming of him, of their sweated, heated nights together. However, the grin quickly faltered in favour of the dark scowl. He had practically raped his little Prince, he had hurt him and the boy still wanted him. Voldemort tried telling himself that if Harry enjoyed it then it wasn't rape but, honestly, that meant nothing. He _forced_ him into sex, making it look like seduction. He felt disgusted with himself because of it. What he needed though was for Harry to consider it and tell him truthfully how _he_ felt about everything that had happened between them, for despite what everybody said, Voldemort did have moral principles, somewhat twisted, yes, but still they were rather noble in his opinion.

Harry woke up suddenly, sensing in his very heart that Marvolo was somewhere close. He frowned, berating himself for the wishful thinking but his legs pushed the covers away and dropped onto the floor on their own accord it seemed. Holding the locket tightly in his hand, Harry slowly approached the window and looked out, squinting into the darkness. A tall dark figure stood at the edge of the grounds and Harry swallowed harshly, just knowing it was him, it was really him. "_Marvolo_."

He heard Harry calling his name. How he wished to take him into his arms, but he could not. The wards were surprisingly strong and complex for Weasleys, no doubt Goblin made. He couldn't cross them without destroying them first and that would be most dangerous for both him and his little Prince. The pale figure in the window disappeared and he scowled, disappointed. Of course, the boy was hiding from him, what was the point in staring at each other? He braced himself to invade Harry's mind and talk to him there, when he caught a soft sound of a door being pushed open. His little Prince tentatively walked onto the lawn, his bare feet rustling the grass. He wore a long white nightshirt that made him look like a ghost and Voldemort's vision was once again filled with horrible images of Harry's past.

"Marvolo," Harry whispered, barely making out the dark silhouette against the night sky. He came very close to the wards, feeling their slight vibration between the two of them. It was hard to believe that the man was actually here, found him, kept his promise. "What are you doing here?" _Couldn't find anything even more dumb to ask, could you?_

"I miss you, _Harry_," Voldemort looked into the green eyes, noticing the locket clutched in the boy's hand. Harry's tie was also always with him, hidden in his sleeve. "Why are you hiding from me?"

"I'm hiding from Voldemort," Harry bit his lip in uncertainty and nervousness. Could he tell Marvolo about the child? Was it wise? Wouldn't the wizard tell snakeface? Would he tell Harry to get rid of it? The man didn't look like the family type but then again, Harry barely knew him, even if it felt like they knew each other forever.

_Of course_. He was hiding from _him_. "Why are you hiding from the Dark Lord? It was my understanding you have found some common ground? He would never hurt you, you know that."

_What if it is a trick? _This cunning little voice in his head asked, stirring the annoying itch in his gut. What if this was the plan? To send Marvolo here to kidnap him again? Choosing between the wizard and the child was extremely difficult, but Harry once again told himself that family came first. Marvolo was no family. In fact, he didn't know what the man was to him. A lover? An acquaintance? His personal demon? "It is not about me. It is about the war. I do not wish to participate in it and I am hiding from everyone, snakeface included."

"So you are accepting his offer then?" Voldemort was pleased.

"Yes," Harry said simply, feigning easiness and impassiveness. Only the Dark Lord couldn't be fooled. Not by his little Prince.

Narrowing his eyes, he took a step closer, mere millimeters from the first layer of the wards. "Harry, I know there is something else. You know you can tell me."

"There is nothing." He hated lying to Marvolo, if it wasn't another life he had to protect, he would have crossed the wards and threw himself into the man's arms, not caring for the consequences.

_Nothing my arse_. "Harry," he knew the boy couldn't see him in the darkness but he glared all the same, "I want you. Whatever it is you're hiding - I would not judge or reject you for it." What could be worse than be raped? He liked Harry all the same - it was his own self who disgusted him.

Marvolo always knew what to say to make his knees give away and his heart melt. _Bloody slytherin_. He trusted him with his own life but he couldn't trust him with the child. No one could be trusted with it, no one except Snape. "You promised to never hurt me and to see me again," Harry whispered softly.

"And I kept my word." Oh, he knew where this was going. Harry was just as gryffindor as he was hufflepuff.

"Promise not to ask and not to look for me anymore." Voldemort closed his eyes resentfully. He knew it. Harry didn't want him anymore, couldn't stand him. "When the war is over - I will find you myself." Raising his eyebrows in surprise, he stared at the boy again. Was Harry giving him promises now?

"What do you mean?"

Harry licked his lips nervously and decided it was now or never. He carefully raised his hand and pushed it through the wards, slowly, hoping against hope it wouldn't set off the alarm. It didn't. He stretched it out and blindly found the other man's face. "I have to hide for now, but when this is over, I will come to you. I _promise_."

Voldemort watched in bewilderment as the boy leaned forward, pushing his head and shoulders through the wards and pulled him into a kiss. Moaning at the contact he never imagined he desired so much, the Dark Lord grabbed on Harry's face, hastily carding his fingers through the raven hair, that was blacker than night, devouring his sweet, hot mouth. _Oh, Harry, what are you doing to me?_

He felt a slight stubble on the man's cheeks and it made him smile - it was so ordinary, so natural, so _human_. Marvolo was just as human as he himself was, and he _loved_ it, he loved the comfort and passion that came through the hungry rose lips. He wished so desperately he could tell him the truth, but he couldn't. But the promise he made was a true one, he would find Marvolo when the war ended and the child grew. "Promise," he pulled away and stumbled back behind the layers of wards, sensing more than seeing that the wizard could barely stand their separation. He could relate to that, oh yes, he could. Not waiting for an answer, Harry walked back into the house, knowing that if he stayed a little more or looked back, his desire to have the man would overcome his sense and everything would go to Hell.

Watching the boy's retreating back, Voldemort licked his swollen, wet lips and smiled somewhat ruefully to himself. Harry still wanted him, their bodies didn't lie. The only problem was: this promise, Harry asked of him, he _couldn't keep_.

**xxx**

Early morning found Severus standing next to Dumbledore, watching the remains of the Dursley's house being taken away by the muggle services.

"So you say Voldemort followed you here and killed Vernon and Petunia while your were taking Harry to the Burrow?" the old wizard sighed, rubbing on his tired, puffy eyes under the half-moon glasses.

"Yes. He doesn't know about the child, I simply said Potter was afraid his uncle would kill him after he resisted him for once," he sneered, wearing his trademark scowl, acting as if he couldn't care less.

"The child wasn't hurt?" Dumbledore's tone was laced with worry, however, during years of working with the man as closely as Severus had been, the potions master learned to read him rather well. The headmaster didn't care for Harry's child, if anything, he wished it to die. Severus felt unease send shivers down his spine, he didn't know why. _He didn't care for the fetus either!_

"No, it's fine, as is Potter now in Molly's hands."

"Good, good," the old wizard stroked his beard thoughtfully, as his mind raced with the speed of light, trying to come up with a decent plan for the nearest future. "Let's keep Harry there for a while, say, until after his birthday. I will arrange some sort of a safe-house for him under constant supervision. The blood wards, it seems, wouldn't work against Voldemort, so we will have to guard him ourselves. I will be gone most of the time, on my research, but some of the members of the Order, Moody in particular, volunteered to live with Harry. That way we could control him and the child."

"How are you going to control a hormonal, even _more so_ in his condition, teenager with a free reign over his magic and wand?" Severus snorted indignantly.

Dumbledore folded his hands behind his back, as they started walking away from the crime scene. "First of all, Harry doesn't know he would be a legal adult, and even if the Weasley children tell him, I would still take his wand from him. You said yourself, his magic betraying him to the fetus, we will assure him that this way it would be safer for them both."

Ha, like Harry would ever give up his wand, now that he had a child to protect. "Who would tell him about the Dursleys?" feigning disinterest to the man's plans was the best tactic now, he needed to pass this information on to his lord - he would decide what to do. As far as Severus knew Harry, the boy wasn't going to fight for either side anymore, but for his own, which promised _nothing good_.

"I think it would be best if _you_ told him, Severus, you took him away after all." _And so irresponsibly led Voldemort here_ - he could literally hear these words left unsaid.

"Fine," he sighed disdainfully.

He hadn't slept the night. After he parted with his lord, Severus returned to Hogwarts and spent hours in the restricted section of the school's library, searching for any reference to a horcrux. He had heard it several times already coming out of the Dark Lord's mouth and knew it had to be the key to the man's and Dumbledore's obsession with the boy. Finally he found the ancient tome, glamoured to look like a completely harmless book on poisonous plants. Looked like the headmaster tried to cover it up after Voldemort found it so useful. Hastily paging through it, he stopped at the sight of the blasted word. A horcrux. An object containing a piece of a soul of a wizard. _A piece of a soul._ Containing a piece... The potions master moved back abruptly in his chair, frantically massaging his temples, as every piece of a puzzle fell into its place and made up the whole picture. Harry's scar hurting when in a close proximity with the Dark Lord out of control of his emotions; Harry's parseltongue abilities; Harry's raw, untamed powers; Harry's truly terrifying resemblance to the Dark Lord sometimes; Voldemort's ability to invade the boy's mind in a distance and send him visions; Voldemort's obsession with keeping the boy safe...

He closed his eyes in exhaustion, dropping his head into his hands in desperate helplessness. His son bore a piece of the Dark Lord's rotten soul inside of him and now this piece, most likely, was growing into a corporal human being. And that is why Dumbledore was so fierce in his attempts to return the boy under his wing and control his every breath, that is why Harry had been kept with muggles and not wizards for the most part of his life - the old coot was afraid he would abuse his powers and turn into a monster. And being abused and raped wasn't going to affect him, was it? Shutting the book with a much greater force than was necessary, Severus stood up and paced the narrow path between the tall bookcases. Harry was a true enigma. The boy was cursed in his mother's womb, it seemed. The worst shit possible always seemed to _happen_ to him and yet he grew up a kind, loving, compassionate light wizard with a bloody Dark Lord wrapped around his finger. _Impossible_, the situation was completely impossible. The potions master pinched himself on the arm but he didn't wake up after that. And what would happen if this horcrux would really relocate itself into the child? Would Voldemort discard of Harry, as of some useless trinket? Would he kill him? No wonder the boy was adamant to hide the fetus from the Dark Lord.

"Who the fuck are you, Harry? You are no ordinary wizard, no normal human being," Severus muttered absentmindedly, watching the sun slowly rise through the tall, arched window of the library. The boy must have realized that there was a very frightening possibility that he would end up raising the new Dark Lord. And he wanted him, Severus Snape, to participate in the child's upbringing. _I need a drink_.

**xxx**

Harry sat at the kitchen table, staring dumbly at the plate with toasts in front of him. He felt like not eating again after he had personally sent Marvolo away, the man that came for him, that wanted him... Groaning in frustration, he shoved the bread angrily into his mouth, choking on the sweet marmalade. This was no time for depressions, he had to eat to be stronger, to be able to carry and provide enough magic for the child. "Fucking mother hen," he muttered, stabbing the eggs in his plate, drawing confused looks from the redheads sitting around him. Molly was the only one who shook her head in a compassionate understanding - she had gone through this for _seven_ times.

The fireplace roared in the living room and Arthur left the table to check on who was calling. Moments later he came back, calling for Harry. Grateful for a distraction from his battle with food, he hastily left the kitchen only to bump into the tall dark form of his father, who was pacing between the armchairs. He looked awful, obviously hadn't slept.

"Severus?" Harry wasn't sure he could constantly call him by his given name from now on, but decided it was worth a try.

"Harry," the potions master turned to the matter at hand, wishing to be done with it as soon as possible, "I have some news for you. Good or not - it is up for you to decide. Sit down." Harry obediently lowered himself into an armchair and stared at his professor expectantly, as his insides churned in the overwhelming sense of foreboding. "Long story short," Severus pinched the bridge of his nose, "Yesterday, after we left, the Dark Lord came to your house on Private Drive, killed both your uncle and aunt and set the whole place on fire. And he knows about what your uncle has done to you, all of it."

Swallowing harshly, Harry blinked at him idiotically, before finally managing to rasp out, "Killed?"

"Petunia was crucioed to death, while your uncle was skinned alive and than his insides... well, you do not really need the details," he stumbled at the sight of the boy's face turning pale and than slightly green in colour.

"But why?" Harry couldn't wrap his mind around the fact that snakeface once again had committed something horrible for his sake. It would have seemed romantic if it wasn't so absolutely revolting, _insane_.

"Because of what they have done to you. He _avenged_ you," Severus watched Harry closely, expecting any reaction, from fainting to a wild outburst of magic. But the boy was simply sitting and scowling to himself, clutching on the blasted locket under his shirt again. He had already drawn some conclusions about the nature of this heirloom. As the last Sytherin heir, the Dark Lord would have no doubt turned something as precious as this into a horcrux and the fact that Harry couldn't part with it made him believe the thing was or used to be a vessel, and felt familiar to the piece of his master contained inside the boy.

"He is a sick bastard," Harry sobbed softly, covering his mouth with his hand. Wasn't it just as sick and abominable of him to feel a great, overwhelming relief at the notion that Vernon was dead? "I am sick too." He hid his face in his hands.

"Do you feel relieved?" Severus sat down next to him, feeling the irritating itch to hold him again. Inwardly seething at the stupid wish, he restrained himself by crossing his arms tightly over his chest. At Harry's affirmative nod he sighed, "It is alright to feel this way. It is _natural_, Harry. The bastard used you, hurt you in ways most would not be able to imagine. He is dead now, he would _never_ ever hurt you again. It would have been wrong for you not to feel relief, believe me."

"But what would happen to Dudley now?" Now he wanted to punch the boy. After everything that had happened, this kindhearted idiot was worrying about the well-being of his fat ugly cousin! _Unbelievable!_

"He will be fine," Severus gritted out. Finding the boy was easy, and after he had given it some thought, the potions master decided it was either an eye for an eye or nothing. Dursley had hurt his son, he was going to hurt his. It was even easier to simply take all of the fat whale's memories of raping Harry and force them into Dudley's head, replacing Harry's face with his own. Only time would tell how the boy would deal with the notion that his own father raped him and abused him, while his mother closed her eyes on it. Judging by the expression on Dudley's face when he left him, the boy wouldn't, he was _nothing even close_ to Harry in the greatness and generosity of his personality.

"Good," Harry breathed out, closing his eyes in resentment. He didn't understand the reasons behind most of snakface's actions and it galled and scared him. As if there was something he was missing. A sudden thought came to him, "Did Voldemort kill your father too? Or did he die naturally?"

Surpirsed by the unexpected question, Severus wondered if he should tell the truth. Perhaps he should. "No. I killed him myself. It was my first task as a newly recruited Death Eater."

"And did you feel relieved?" Harry realized he didn't feel disgusted by his father's confession either. Was he becoming a heartless monster as well?

"I felt happy," Severus said simply, shrugging his shoulders uncaringly. "My mother died because of him, and for that he had to pay with his own life. I felt wonderful after I did it, I felt free." The boy said nothing after this, but he could see understanding in Harry's eyes, sadness and sorrow. All this was felt for him.

"Harry," he heard his father say quietly, as he bent down closer to speak into his ear, "What are you going to do about the child? What are you planning to do now?" He heard a slight apprehension in the man's voice and knew it wasn't misplaced. He felt it too. Felt the _storm_ gathering. The war, Voldemort, Dumbledore, the Ministry - they all were slowly surrounding him into a tight circle, suffocating him and his child.

"I am planning to tell them all to go to Hell and shove their war up their arses."

"You are running away, aren't you?" Severus saw the cold, stone hard determination in the boy's eyes, expression so ridiculously similar to his own.

"Yes. I don't care what they think, do, write about me, I am tired of them all. I am going away and hiding my child from them." Harry looked up at his father and his eyes softened considerably. "My offer to you is still up. You are welcome to join me any time, whenever you are ready."

"You can't _trust_ me, you know that," Severus chided, cursing his heart for feeling these stupid pangs again.

"Perhaps, I am trying my luck with you, but I think it's worth it, _you_ are _worth_ it," he gave the man a small soft smile and patted him on the arm. "Family comes first for me, Severus. Me and my child are already a small family of our own, there is a place for you in it too." At the potions master's attempt to object, he raised his hand, "I know we are very different and yet we are very much alike. I am not asking to love me, I am simply asking to help raising your grandchild, to provide each other with what we both had hardly had before."

And that was how Severus decided he would keep his mouth shut and wouldn't say a word to either of his masters. It was Harry's life and his choice whether to live it or to leave it in the hands of manipulative, heartless politicians and murderers. The boy chose to live and try and give the future Prince a decent life as well. Who was Severus to judge him, stop him? If he had had a chance to go back in time and have what Harry was offering him now - wouldn't he have chosen it either, instead of condemning himself into the lifelong servitude and peril?

**xxx**

_Dear Harry,_

_I am so sorry I can't be there for your birthday! But the news that you are staying with Ron pleases me so much! Though, I wish it could have turned out differently with your relatives. But I don't want to sadden you, so please smile while you are reading this, for me. Pleeeeaase. That's better. I'm also sending you your present and the books you asked about with this letter. My parents and I are traveling, as you know, and I found a wizarding town in Switzerland where I visited the hugest book shop I have ever seen in my life! I bought all the best books on warding that they had so I hope I didn't involuntarily contribute to another crazy plot of yours? Use them wisely._

_Write back soon. How is the baby? How are you feeling?_

_Love you very much, _

_Hermione_

Harry smiled as he read his friend's letter and put it into his inner pocket. Today was the last day of his stay with Weasleys. No matter how much he liked them, how much they cared for him, he wasn't going to endanger them further. He packed his newly acquired books into his new bottomless traveling bag that he asked the twins to give him for his birthday instead of pranking material. He was ready to go. Leaving them wasn't fair he knew, he knew it would hurt Ron the most, but this was the _right thing_ to do. His wand in the sleeve of his new black shirt, his locket on his chest underneath it, his Invisibility Cloak in the back pocket of his new black slacks, Harry went downstairs and out, into the garden, to join everyone at the table. This was how he always dreamed he would spend his birthdays, his _real_ birthdays with his _family: _noisily, brightly, with lots of food and drinks and colorful balloons and fireworks, courtesy of Fred and George. Molly and Arthur looked so happy, couldn't stop hugging him and pecking him onto the top of his head, as if he truly was their eighth child. This was the last time he was going to see them, this was the last time they could be so happy and cheerful - yesterday's issue of the Daily Prophet was filled with alarming articles about countless attacks on the Ministry workers, light wizards and muggleborns. Voldemort was going to uphold to his views and plans drowning the wizarding Britain in blood.

Ginny tagged him on his hand, asking him for a dance but he shook his head. He didn't dance. "Come on, Harry," she smiled at him cunningly, patting his thigh, obviously pleased that he was past his fear of physical contact. But her touch hadn't stirred any kind of emotions in him, it was flat, plain. Maybe her hands were too warm? He got so used to shivers running down his spine when the cold hands caressed him that everybody else seemed feverishly hot to him now.

"Sorry, Gin, not my cup of tea," he gave her a small apologetic smile.

"What, dancing?" she laughed brightly.

He shook his head and gently put her hand away, "No. _Girls_."

Every night and every morning he went to sleep and woke to the thoughts of Marvolo and his cold, lean body underneath and on top of him. It was a true torture to have such indecent, wet dreams all the time, to moan so lustfully into the pillow, stroking himself, imagining other man's hands doing it but he knew it could be years before he met Marvolo again. He couldn't live in celibacy for so long, he would at least indulge himself as much as he could.

"Oh," Ginny's face fell and she averted her eyes, blinking the fat tears away. "And you are... sure of it?" There was so much hope in her tone, but Harry decided it was better he rejected her now, once and for all, so that she could finally move on and forget him.

"One hundred percent sure."

"But how do you-"

"I've been with a man, so yes, I _know_."

"_Oh_."

As the night fell and hundreds of stars covered the sky, Harry soundlessly crept out of his room with his bag over his shoulder. Everyone was asleep already, too full and drunk, too tired to even hear their own loud snores but he casted the concealing charms anyway. It was the 1st of August already and he was a legal wizard now, he could use his magic freely. He had felt the slight pang in his right hand and his holly wand had warmed up considerably in his pocket earlier - the Ministry's tracking spell dissipated. Consulting with one of the books on wards, he checked it for traces of spells anyway. _Just to be sure_. When he crossed the wards, he felt little claws dig into his shoulder. _Hedwig_. She found him a few days ago and refused to go away. Harry didn't fight her - at least someone familiar would remain in his new life. His owl reminded him of a letter from Dumbledore he hadn't read yet. Thinking this was a good time, he pulled the folded envelope out of his pocket and took the paper out, as he kept walking down the road in the direction of the village.

"_Harry, my boy, Happy Birthday to you. _

_I wish we could freely communicate with each other but we both know it is impossible right now. Please, forgive me for everything that had happened to you at your uncle's hands but I had no other option. I hope the child is alright and growing well, Severus told me it wasn't harmed. I will see you very soon, my boy, the Order found a perfect safe-house for you to stay at, where you would be constantly guarded and cared for and protected from Voldemort. We still have the matter of horcruxes to discuss. I have a great job for you as soon as the baby is born, I am sure you would agree with me that eliminating Voldemort would save many innocent lives in this war, and so I have found a way of destroying him once and for all. I know your Occlumency is very good now, so we can openly discuss this now. Be patient and keep hope, everything would turn out alright in the end. _

_Yours, A.D_."

Yes, he would wait for the child to be born to only kill it afterwards, in an attempt to destroy a supposed horcrux. Harry laughed bitterly and set the letter on fire, watching the flames dance in his palm. Blowing onto the ash, he proceeded further. There was no going back, there was _nothing to go back to_. He took Voldemort's offer, he wasn't going to fight, he would keep his horcrux safe, he would raise his child in the muggle world, hidden away from everyone and, most importantly, from pain and lies. Putting his cloak on, he entered the pub and blindly felt his way to the fireplace. Having checked that nobody was there to see him, he summoned the powder and threw it into the hearth, stepped into the green flames and called for the Leaky Cauldron. In a whoosh of green sparks he spun on his heels and landed harshly onto the wooden floor. Thankfully, he was invisible and there was a loud crowd inside, whose drunk cries and songs covered his inelegant entry. Harry quickly sneaked outside and into the Diagon Alley, empty and eerie quite at such late hour. Gringotts worked 24/7 he knew, so he went straight to the bank. He could find a place to stay later.

Goblins eyed him suspiciously when he asked to take all the money from his vault and exchange them into muggle currency. It was _a lot_. Enough to buy a house, Harry thought excitedly, as he strode down the street, looking for a place to stay, preferably, unnoticed. He simply wished to have a few hours of sleep, nothing else. Thinking that Diagon was too popular and well-known for a place to hide, he turned into the Knockturn Alley, suppressing the creepy memories of his first visit there. A few prostitutes sat on the steps of a brothel, staring impassively at the opposite wall, looking everything but _tempting_. Someone threw up in a distance and than, probably, fell into his own vomit, swearing loudly. _Charming_. Harry hastily walked forward, clutching onto his wand, looking for a sign of a hotel or bed-and-breakfast of come sort. And there it was, the Duke Inn.

The small wooden board, with barely visible golden letters on it, rocked slightly in the cool night breeze, its iron chains creaked ominously against the bearing; its windows boarded up, covered in rude writings. Shivering involuntarily, Harry rearranged his hair to cover his scar and tentatively entered. It appeared much more livable inside, indeed. The small old witch behind the counter greeted him lazily, opening her mouth wide in a yawn, demonstrating yellow, rotten teeth and gave him a key as soon as he put the demanded two galleons onto the desk. No questions were asked, no surplus words were spoken. Satisfied, Harry ascended the stairs and soon found himself in a small, shabby, but rather clean room, with a bed and a small furnace inside. That was all he needed for now. With wand securely sticking to his hand by a spell, he lowered himself onto the thin cot and momentarily fell asleep. There was a long, thorny path ahead of him and his little one, they needed all the rest they could get.


	7. Chapter VII

_Disclaimer: nothing that is related to HP belongs to me._

_Warning: abuse, rape, underage sex, violence, everything is bad and don't read it_

* * *

**Of Monsters and Men, Of Fathers and Sons.**

**Chapter VII**

Morning met Harry with a bright sunlight, that caressed his cheeks warmly through a hole in the thick, dusty curtains. He stood up and stretched, feeling freer and better than he had ever been. He was on his own now, but he _loved_ it. Hedwig landed onto the windowsill, hooting softly in greeting, as he opened the shutters and glanced at one of the narrow streets that met with Knockturn Alley. It was empty and quiet, the creepy inhabitants of this area slept during the day. Sighing contentedly, Harry leaned on the frame, enjoying the summer sun. He planned to visit Flourish & Blotts to buy more books on Charms, Transfiguration, Potions and Defense. Even if he wasn't going to attend Hogwarts anymore, it didn't mean he would degrade himself, on the contrary, he would improve, study hard to be able to protect his child.

He took a few sandwiches out of his bag and finished them quickly, eager to leave sooner. His head shot up at Hedwig's indignant cry - she was pushed out of the window by a huge black hawk, whose red eyes gleamed ominously, as it glared at the smaller bird. Harry's wand had been already pointed at the intruder but the hawk paid it no heed. Harry could swear it looked at him mockingly. The bird huffed and stretched its clawed leg out, holding a parcel for him. It looked very plain, wrapped in black paper with a small note on its side. Watching the bird through the narrowed eyes, Harry reached out and snatched the package out of the beast's hold. It huffed at him again and stared at the wall, obviously waiting for him to open it. Intrigued and a little confused, he weighed the parcel in his hand - it was rather light, of a plain cubic form. He opened the note that read:

_"A belated gift for my little Prince. I have read them all and now it is your turn."_

Harry stared at the nickname incredulously. Only one man had ever called him that - Marvolo. Hastily tearing the paper off, he smiled idiotically to himself, pleased and warmed by the notion that Marvolo had sent him a birthday present. Before the rational part of his brain could react and stop him, warn him that it might be a trick, he took the small, compressed cube into his hands, grinning at the sight of the tiny book spines. Marvolo's muggle literature collection - he gave him _his books_. Harry felt tears prickle on his eyes, as he clutched the cube close to his chest. These books were going to be the first thing he would bring into his future home, the first books his child would read when he or she was old enough.

_"This is the best gift in the world. Thank you."_ Harry tied the note to the hawk's leg and it left, spooking the poor Hedwig even more. He knew he shouldn't have probably sent it but he wanted Marvolo to know just how much his present was appreciated. How much Marvolo himself was appreciated. _Fuck, Harry, what is wrong with you?_

Covering his scar with his hair again, Harry carefully stepped onto the bricks of the Diagon Alley. It was very early, the shops were only starting to open and he waited impatiently at the bookshop entrance. Fortunately, there weren't many customers at this time and he quickly bought all the books that he needed. He also collected a book on paternity and raising a magical child, thinking that, perhaps, it wouldn't hurt to know just what to expect. He was completely inexperienced after all. All in all, Harry decided, he composed a good collection for a start, happy to know he had much to learn and to do before the child was due to come.

Walking past Fortesque's got him wondering when was the last time he had had an ice-cream - he couldn't remember. Thinking that, perhaps, this was the best time to taste the magical treat for the last time in the nearest future, he tentatively walked inside and over to the counter. Luckily, nobody recognized him and soon he was sitting at the farthest table inside the cafe, licking on the hugest chocolate mountain of ice-cream he ever imagined could balance on the small cornet. As he ate, smiling dumbly at his sticky fingers, he got yet another package, brought by a big fat brown owl. Raising his eyebrows in surprise, Harry stared at the envelope: from Gringotts. Scowling at it, wondering if it might have had something to do with his significant money withdrawal, he opened the letter and started to read. As it had turned out, the goblins decided to check his accounts, since he took all the money out, and found that he never claimed the Black vault when it legally belonged to him. Sirius had willed everything that he had to his godson before he died. Feeling as the tears started running down his face, Harry hastily rubbed them off, and hid the letter in his jacket. Thinking of his godfather was still hard, painful, unbearable and now Sirius had once again proved what a wonderful person had he been, by leaving Harry the means to live comfortably until the day he died.

Having quickly finished his sweet dessert, he decided it was time to leave the Diagon Alley before it got too crowded and Hogwarts' students crammed the place in the search for their necessary supplies for the next school year. Sneaking through the Leaky Cauldron was easy and a few minutes later he was striding down the streets of London, smiling, thinking he was going to do it much more often from now on. He took the first bus he saw, climbed onto the second floor and looked around in joy and wonder, as it took him straight into the city's center. It wasn't wise to stay here much longer, for everybody would be surely looking for him here in the first place, so Harry quickly reached the King's Cross and bought a ticket for the first train to Liverpool, and from there for the ferry to Belfast. Looking nostalgically at the brick wall between the platforms 9 and 10, he reminiscented on the five years of his life in the wizarding world, remembered all of his first, incredible magical experiences, his first train ride in his life, that happened to be on the Hogwarts Express... Smiling ruefully at the life that was his past now and held no place in his future, he went to the platform 4 and got on the modern looking, grey train, saying farewell to everything he used to know. This was it, he was leaving, he was Harry Potter _no more_.

**xxx**

"Potter ran away," there was no point in hiding it from his lord since the whole Ministry had been heated, alerted of the Boy-Who-Lived disappearance.

Voldemort looked up from the short note clutched in his fist, surprised and not really, for he knew Harry accepted his offer and was, obviously, trying to find a way to have a normal life, away from everyone, away from _him_. But that was the problem, wasn't it? He didn't want to let Harry go, wanted to have him by his side, was ready to keep him hidden if the boy wished so, but, and it galled him that he didn't know why, Harry wished to be kept _hidden from him_.

"Let them look for him first, if he doesn't show up any time soon, I will seek him out myself." If Harry would be able to hide from Dumbledore and his muggle-loving bloodhounds, he would have a hard time finding the boy. He could already feel the discomfort of separation, of not knowing. It was truly amusing how helpless Harry made him. "Hadn't he left you any means of contacting him? What if he needs your help again?"

_Would it be wise to seek him out?_ Was what Severus wanted to ask but knew better. "No, he left nothing. I doubt he would need me anymore."

What would Harry do when the time for delivery came? He wouldn't go to a muggle hospital, surely, nor would he risk finding a mediwitch. Was he seriously considering to do it on his own? He wasn't able to give birth, he had to be cut open and the fetus taken out of him before it died or killed the boy. There was no telling if it wouldn't kill him beforehand. It was most irresponsible of Harry but somehow Severus felt he couldn't master enough spite at him. His sixth sense was telling him the boy would find him. He hoped it wouldn't be too late, though. The potions master thought of using blood magic he had tried once when he was looking for Harry at the school - their relation let him track his own blood in the boy's veins but it was a very complex spell he hardly knew would work in a greater distance. Besides, it wouldn't find Harry if he was hidden behind the wards, which he would surely be using, since Ms Granger had sent him the necessary literature. It was rather amusing to watch the annoying know-it-all cry and blame herself for aiding him to escape with all the knowledge in those books. The poor girl was still living an illusion that every written word was undoubtedly true and there were no other sources and means of improving one's self. As far as Severus thought he knew Harry - the boy needed no books to be able to protect himself.

"Time would tell," Voldemort said thoughtfully, immersed in his own thoughts.

Since Draco and Narcissa never inherited anything from the Black wealth after Sirius Black's death, as Lucius had complained recently, there was only one logical conclusion: the man willed everything to Harry. Beside the house in London there was only one summer cottage in Switzerland, according to Lady Malfoy nee Black, but there was a lot of gold in the vault. Not long ago Avery and Mulciber had reported about the often comings and goings of the Order's members around the particular place in one of the peaceful, old parts of the city - Narcissa had confirmed that its address matched the one of the Black's house she used to visit so often and stay at with the Black brothers in her youth. So London was out of the question - Harry would have never hidden in Dumbledore's headquarters, it was highly unlikely that he would have gone abroad either, but Voldemort decided to send Narcissa to check it out anyway. But Harry could use the money and buy himself a property anywhere in the United Kingdom. According to Pettigrew, Potters had been completely broke by the end of the war, having have spent all their wealth on Dumbledore's projects and needs. Harry's supposed father had even sold the family manor, leaving only a small, shabby cottage at Godric's Hollow for his family to hide at. It had always amused the Dark Lord just why had Potters never used the ancient wards of the manor, that could have surely saved them, for it would have taken him a very long time to penetrate them even with the help of the Inner Circle - well, now he knew why.

"We need to quicken the Daily Prophet by throwing them a bone. The sooner the public knows that Harry Potter had surrendered and ran away to hide from me, the better," he drawled, as Severus finished his drink. They were in Prince's library again after a long meeting with the Death Eaters.

"Dumbledore is also hurrying to give them a canard that Potter is taking a secret training somewhere abroad now to be prepared to face you as soon as it is possible, my lord," the potions master sighed, hating that he was once again torn between the two masters with a secret of his own. He sometimes asked himself why the fuck did he even care for Harry and the child, why couldn't he just tell the Dark Lord everything and be done with it? He knew the answer all too well and loathed it. Because he _fucking cared_. Because deep inside his cold, rotten heart he felt the tiniest flicker of hope - the hope that Harry's kindness and oh so familiar stubbornness brought him. For the first time in his life he saw a possibility to be accepted for what he was, a possibility to be able to talk freely, truthfully, with no need to hide, lie, pretend. Even Lily could never completely understand him, could never really see past his dark nature, his affection for the dark arts. And Harry, knowing him to be a spy, a traitor, a dark and bitter man that he was, was ready to welcome him into his new life, to give him his second chance. It was so Dumbledorish and yet it seemed so noble, so generous, so sincere. Severus sighed again, scowling at the notion of taking Harry so close to the heart. He even stopped thinking of him as Potter! _Little bastard._

"Oh, Severus," he raised his eyes to look at his lord, who was smiling slyly, rubbing his dimpled chin. "Don't tell me Harry got under your skin. Had the boy's big heart made yours start beating again?" Voldemort kept stretching his lips, inwardly fuming - this was what had happened to _himself_, wasn't it? Harry got under his skin and now he could think of nothing but the beautiful boy with those big shining green eyes and long, silky, raven hair, that smelt of rain and fresh grass.

"No, my lord," somehow these words came with difficulty. Severus thought he had never felt so stupid before.

"I know when you are lying, my friend," he hissed, narrowing his ruby eyes at his potions master, involuntarily searching for the vivid emerald green, that gleamed so brightly when they saw him, on the man's face for it was so familiar, so much like Harry's. How could he have gotten so smitten with the boy? It was all horcrux' doing, Voldemort was telling himself, it was all soul magic and nothing more, he wasn't capable of anything more and Harry... Harry wanted _Marvolo_, not the Dark Lord Voldemort. Harry wanted a human being - a part of him which he had been killing for so many years, for his almost whole life, a part which he decided to use in order to get to the boy and now couldn't stop it, couldn't get out of it, out of Harry. The little Prince _bewitched_ him - threw a fit none of the wizards and witches were able to succeed at during these fifty years... "It is only natural, Severus," he added nonchalantly, "He is your son after all."

The potions master wisely kept silent, scowling at his glass. How could the Dark Lord know what was natural and what was not? If he himself had never had a family, if he himself ordered Severus to kill his father Tobias to prove to his master how loyal he was and to show how much the Dark could give Severus, how free could he be, even being held on a short leash of the binding, enslaving mark on his arm. He loathed how perceptive and sensitive to other's feelings his lord had always been even when he was insane and even though his own heart was made of stone. It was truly terrifying how cold, uncaring and unexpectedly understanding Voldemort was. He didn't need Legilimency to read Severus like an open book - something that the potions master thought only Dumbledore was capable of.

Crumpling the small note in his hand, Voldemort watched the dark man's impassive face. If only he had known that Harry would run away today, he would have put a tracking spell on his books. Sighing quietly, he filled his glass once more. Could he give Harry what he wanted - Marvolo? Did he want to give him that? Why was he even thinking about indulging somebody else's wishes when his own were his first priority? _But it is your soul that resides inside the boy, isn't it? You are indulging yourself._ Frowning at the thought, he sipped his drink. He had enjoyed being human, being an ordinary wizard, a simple man with Harry, enjoyed how easily the boy accepted him as Marvolo, how freely gave his body and soul, warmth, not asking for anything else in return. Nobody had ever made him feel so... carefree before. _Carefree_. All he ever knew in his life were pain, humiliation, suffering and unfairness, injustice, in both muggle and magical worlds. Harry had known nothing but the same in his own life. And yet all he had to do was to show the boy a little piece of himself he guarded so fiercely, hated so passionately... and the little Prince gave him everything he craved so much for his whole life. Kindness, affection, gentleness, caress, acceptance, absolution. But life was never fair, and Harry could never give the same to the Dark Lord, to _his real self._

"Be as it may," Voldemort twisted his lips disdainfully at the bitter thoughts that made him experience these damned emotions again, "He will contact you sooner or later and when he does," he gave Severus a murderous glare, "You will report to me that instant."

"Yes, my lord," Severus bowed his head humbly and left. He wasn't as genius and brilliant as his lord, but he too knew how to read people and what he was seeing now was alarming. The way his guts twisted in his abdomen sent a shiver down his spine. A nagging suspicion was slowly forming in his mind but he stubbornly ignored it for he was too afraid to accept it. If it had been only a matter of horcrux, the Dark Lord would have never let Harry free, he would have hidden him at Malfoy's or Prince's Manor and never let Dumbledore take him back. There was _something more_, something much more dangerous between the two of them. Severus was certain his master never knew about the child but the way he was obsessed with Harry... it reminded him very much of what he used to feel towards Lily when he was young. Was it even possible? And if it was... no, he couldn't imagine it, he couldn't accept it to be real. And Harry... probably was just as ignorant. Groaning, the potions master stumbled through the gates of the school, dearly wishing he could wake up in his bed and realize it all to be a very long, idiotic dream.

**xxx**

Harry stood in front of the tall, old house of red brick, with black, tiled roof, thinking that, despite his best efforts, he chose a very witchy looking place anyway. Well, he was hiding in plain sight, wasn't he? Who would look for him in a place like this? It didn't cost him much, for the house was situated in the farthest part of the city's suburbs, in a quiet, boring area, with a small supermarket and a church as the only entertainment around. It didn't have a view at the sea as well, but he was all up for short strolls to the beach. It was perfect. Now all that was left for him to do was to ward the place. During the train ride Harry had read the letter and the will once again, more thoroughly, and was surprised to find that Sirius had not only left him all the money but also both Grimmauld's and a cottage in Saint Gallen - a half magical, half muggle town at Switzerland's border. He inwardly thanked his godfather, but had to sadly rule out the possibility of using the cottage. Firstly, Harry wasn't planning to leave Great Britain, he wished to stay and live by the sea, somewhere less obvious and less predictable for him - that was why he had chosen Belfast. Secondly, living amongst wizards was out of the question. He wasn't going to hide magic from his child, on the contrary, he was going to raise it embracing his or her nature, but he never wanted to put the child under the pressure of his own fame and everything it entailed.

Stumbling inside, Harry threw his bag on the sofa and plumped down next to it. The house was partly furnished so, fortunately, he wouldn't need to spend his money on anything else. At first he entertained the idea that he could find a job for a time being, but thought better of it when he remembered that his belly would soon grow. He could conceal it with charms but he wouldn't be able to conceal his exhaustion, would he? Patting his abdomen, he closed his eyes, strengthening his Occlumency shields. Voldemort could never know of this place or his plans. Thinking of snakeface made him involuntarily grab on the locket. _Marvolo_. Smiling, Harry took the cube out of his bag and put it down onto the floor. He tapped on it with a tip of his wand and suddenly a hundred books crammed the room, drawing an amused laugh out of him. Having had levitated them to the shelves, he added all of his magical books as well and smiled in satisfaction at the sight of his personal small library.

In the evening, when it was already dark and the last lights in the windows of the others' houses were turned off, Harry went outside with a book and his wand in his hands. He wanted to put up a few simple wards at first: a muggle-repellent ward, notice-me-not charm, and a ward against owl post. He knew it was possible to trace the bird and wasn't taking any chances, before his friends, meaning Hermione, got this idea. Hedwig would be bringing him the Daily Prophet from the nearest wizarding town. Looking around, he stood under the starry night sky, thinking that, perhaps, he should meet his neighbours one day, get to know them. They were muggles, but he hoped they were nothing like Dursleys. Harry frowned and shuddered slightly at the thought of his relatives, of them being no more. Vernon was dead. He still couldn't quite accept the fact that it made him happy, but the notion that his child was safe from that fat fuck helped him to make compromise with his consciousness.

Harry took a habit of taking long, leisure walks at the beach, watching the ships and ferries come and go, watching people hurry to live their lives. It made him smile sadly, for they never knew what was really going on out there, they never knew how many wizards were dying in vain for their sake. And he knew that they would have never accepted him and his kind, no matter how friendly and willing the magical community was, no matter the sacrifices that were made. Snakeface was right: muggles were incapable of appreciating and coexisting - they could only fear and envy and desire control. And that was why he wanted to raise his child here, amongst them, so that his baby grew unprejudiced but always on his or her guard, careful with magic, aware of the consequences, of muggles' powers and weapons, their vast knowledge and science. Harry didn't want his child to hate them - he wanted him to know the truth about both worlds and have an opportunity to choose for his or her self.

After almost two weeks of his calm, lonely life, unburdened with any kind of problems, Harry received another issue of Daily Prophet with a huge headline _'HARRY POTTER - A HERO OR A TRAITOR?'_ Ever since he had run away Voldemort started a new killing campaign against muggleborns and muggle-lovers in the wizarding world, for Fudge refused to take any of his legislations and bills into consideration and rejected an offer to negotiate with the "dirty criminals and ruthless murderers" that Death Eaters were. Dumbledore, who was rehabilitated as the headmaster of Hogwarts after what had happened at the Ministry, also opposed any kind of negotiations with Voldemort, warning the people of Great Britain of the man's deceiving, cruel nature. Of course it was snakeface's own fault that people couldn't trust him and his ideas anymore but the Minister was also foolish disregarding the monster like that. And now people were dying. Ever since the death of a few high ranking ministry employees the public started calling for the Boy-Who-Lived, demanding his help. Harry couldn't help but snort at Dumbledore's weak attempts to present his absence as a secret training abroad. Rita Skeeter, referring to an anonymous source, wrote a huge article on Harry being a petty coward who, by a mere accident had managed to vanquish the Dark Lord fifteen years ago, and was nothing more but an ordinary teenager, who was shitting himself senseless at the prospect of facing the bloodthirsty tyrant. But for the first time in her life she wrote something that threatened to be truthful! Shaking his head in exasperation, Harry threw the paper into the hearth. He dearly hoped they all would soon forget about him and see reason and accept snakeface's conditions. His child deserved to grow in a better, safer world, and if his own dignity was the price of that - he was willing to pay it.

**xxx**

By the beginning of September Harry started feeling and seeing the difference - there was a visible, rather big bump on his usually flat stomach and his morning sicknesses were back again. He could barely force the food inside himself these days but knew there was no other option - the child was the best motivation he had ever had. Standing before the tall mirror, he watched his reflection, patting on his rounded abdomen, and smiled. There was something so _magical_ about being a parent, about having a small person growing inside of him. He wondered what was it like for women, for his mother when she was pregnant with him? Had she also rubbed her belly, had she talked to him before sleep? As the fetus started growing, Harry started feeling a slight discomfort inside, as if his organs were constantly pressed on. The book on paternity said that a mother's body adjusted to the baby gradually, steadily, but this clearly wasn't his case - his child was a foreign object inside of him, his organs were obviously going to be damaged.

Thinking about it got him wondering if he could improve a healing potion, make it restore his insides and help them work properly even being pushed by the fetus. Harry was sure that no potion could hurt the child, for his magic was constantly concentrated in his abdomen, he could literally feel it flowing in there, spreading a comforting heat through his body. It was getting harder and harder to control it, so he had to hastily finish the wards around his property. They turned out to be rather strong and Harry couldn't help but feel proud for his small yet significant achievement. He had been entertaining the idea that he would need some help soon, when the child grew and he was too weak to go to the market or to the sea. A muggle was out of the question, a wizard too, he couldn't buy a house-elf, for it had to be registered and then everybody would find out about where had he gone. Frowning at the thought, Harry kept staring at the reflection. He did need help, there was no denying it and he was very stupid not to have had considered it earlier. What was he going to do? He groaned and banged his head against the wooden frame a few times, berating himself for his... Widening his eyes and smiling idiotically, Harry laughed loudly, rubbing on his stinging forehead. Why hadn't he thought about it before?

"Dobby!"

With a soft pop the small creature appeared in the middle of the bedroom, looking around in bewilderment. When Dobby's eyes locked on the boy's form, he hastily threw himself at Harry with a loud, cheerful yelp, "Harry Potter alive! And well! Dobby found Harry Potter!"

"It's fine, it's fine, Dobby, no need to overreact," Harry laughed, patting him on the small round head.

"Oh, but something very wrong with Harry Potter," Dobby drawled, pulling away a little and staring at the belly.

"Do you feel it?" he smiled at the elf, "It's my baby, Dobby, I am going to have a child soon."

"Oh," the small elf widened his eyes in surprise and astonishment and leaned closer to listen to whatever it was that he heard inside the stomach. "It is actual wizard inside?"

"Yes, I called you here, Dobby, because I need your help. It is a great secret and you can never tell anyone about the baby or where I live," Harry frowned a little, giving the elf a serious, intent look.

"Of course! Of course!" the little creature jumped up, wriggling his small hands, "Dobby never tell anybody about Harry Potter, Harry Potter is Dobby's best friend!"

"Thank you!" Harry embraced him tightly, laughing at the happy squeaks that escaped the elf's chest. "I know you are a free elf now, and you work at Hogwarts, but could you possibly stay and work for me? I would pay you as much as you want."

"Dobby will stay! Dobby will serve Harry Potter!" the creature cried enthusiastically and suddenly dropped on its scrawny knees, smoothing the wrinkles on his brand new red and gold pillowcase. Dobby grabbed Harry's hand and put it on his small head between the huge floppy ears.

"What are you doing?" Harry asked, confused.

"Dobby can't serve with no binds, Dobby must make Harry Potter his master!" the elf chirped, looking at Harry with his big wet eyes pleadingly.

"No!" Harry snatched his hand out of his hold sharply, "No, I can't enslave you, Dobby! I freed you, remember?"

"But Dobby can't keep secrets of Harry Potter's new family, Dobby can't answer child's call when it born, Dobby can't take Harry Potter's money from bank if he not bound!" the creature tugged him on his shirt. "Dobby will gladly serve Harry Potter, Harry Potter is the best master in the world, he is Dobby's best friend!"

Sighing, Harry reluctantly nodded. It galled him that he had to take Dobby's freedom away from him but the little elf had a point: Harry couldn't take money out of the bank personally, even by owl, for he could be traced; and the elf needed his family protection to not be affected by other's magic - he read about this in one of his books on wards. Smiling happily, Dobby put his hand onto his head again and closed his eyes contentedly. Long, pearl tendrils of Harry's magic emerged from his abdomen and circled him and the little elf in glowing blue binds. A shiver ran down his spine and then the strange sensation was over and Harry grimly acknowledged the foreign notion of possessing other's soul and life. But Dobby's huge, tearful eyes full of happiness and joy lessened the pain in his heart and Harry smiled a little, patting the small creature affectionately. He wasn't alone anymore, he could rely on Dobby in anything.

"What would be your orders, Master Harry Potter?"

"Oh, no, Dobby, please," Harry wrinkled his nose, "Just call me Harry, I am no Potter and no master either!"

"Master Harry then," the elf nodded with satisfaction.

"Yeah," he rolled his eyes and smiled at his little friend helplessly. "I need potion ingredients and supplies, I will make a list for you."

"What name Dobby tell when they ask who's buying?" the small creature rubbed his small hands in excitement.

"Prince, tell them it's for Prince," Harry's smile turned into a wide grin when he imagined Severus' face at the news of another Prince being served at the apothecary. "I am Harry Prince, now, Dobby, it is my real name."

"Oooh!" the elf stared at him happily and humbly followed Harry into the kitchen to get his first list of things to do and to buy.

**xxx**

Moaning, he sucked the long, hot tongue deeper into his mouth, as the strong, cold arms roamed over his body, caressing his sides and buttocks and low, erotic growls erupted out of the chest that was pressed against his. "Harry, oh, _Harry_, I want you so much," he heard Marvolo whisper harshly, as the wizard rolled them over, pulling Harry to lie on top of him. "I want you," the ice cold hands squeezed his hide and the big, hard cock rubbed against his entrance, begging to be taken inside.

Sitting up, Harry stared into the darkness, touching the man's face, closing his eyes and biting his lips in pleasure, as his fingers were sucked on by the wet mouth and the teeth teased him, biting on his fingertips gently. "You are so big, how can I take you in all by myself?" he breathed out, rocking ever so slightly on top of Marvolo, causing the oh so needed friction between their hard erections.

"I will help you," he heard the man smile evilly and couldn't help but laugh in return. Marvolo was absolutely insatiable.

"_Please_," Harry whispered weakly, spreading his thighs wider and shifting to sit more comfortably, feeling the thick, sleek head being pushed into his tight hole. It burned so much, but he found he could control the depth of penetration in this position and the speed of thrusts and their hardness. Crying meekly, he batted Marvolo's hand away and took the man's length into his own, guiding it carefully inside of him. He sensed a soft laugh vibrate through the man's body and his cock, as the wizard cupped his buttocks, pushing them slowly apart. Marvolo's laugh was so alluring, he couldn't help but gasp at the pleasant twitches in his own painfully stiff penis.

"Lower, my little one, you can do it," the deep voice echoed in his chest, caressing and encouraging him to push more, despite the hurtful stretching of his anus.

"Marvolo, please!" Harry threw his head back, screaming, as he suddenly took it all in and felt his prostate pulse maddeningly at the sensation of Marvolo touching him there, so deep inside, in his very core it seemed. The sharp pang of pain dissipated almost immediately under the wave of pleasure washing all over him.

"Oh fuck, Harry, this is so good!" hearing this was enough for him to come undone, but Marvolo gently pushed him up and down the long shaft, growling and whining like a beast, as Harry's hands clawed on his chest in spasms of pain and overwhelming satisfaction. "So tight, my little one, so good, so..." Oh, how he loved when Marvolo lost the ability to speak coherently and mumbled nonsense, clearly too hot and turned on to think straight. Harry loved the way he affected him, the way their bodies united, became one, the way the man's thickness filled him so well, so _right_. The smell of sex in the air and the heat, that burned in his groin, intoxicated him and he screamed hoarsely, begging Marvolo for more. His muscles ached, his inside was on fire, but magic, that seemed to burst right out of his prostate, made him dismiss it all in favour of listening to the other's greedy, lustful moans.

He was on the verge of release when he felt the sudden shiver run down his spine. Snapping out of his ecstatic haze, Harry frowned, panting, ignoring Marvolo's low groans to continue, to not even dare to stop. There was something wrong, he could feel it in his very guts. "Something's not right," he breathed out panicky, as his mind cleared and he realized the weird sensation that he felt was actually a foreign presence in his head. _Voldemort!_ He had let his Occlumency shields fall! Harry started hastily trying to close off, feeling as if some invisible force was tearing him off of Marvolo and sucking him into the impenetrable darkness.

"No, Harry, no!" Voldemort cried out, falling off of his bed, as his cock throbbed violently for the last time and he came harshly onto the soft rug underneath him. _Fuck!_ He was so close. It was a miracle he found Harry's shields weakened and managed to sneak past them and invade his erotic dream, turning it into a vision. Harry chose just the right memory of one of the many nights they had spent together and he couldn't dismiss an opportunity to fuck his lovely Prince. In his mind at least. "Damn it! Harry!" Voldemort growled helplessly, pressing his sweated forehead into the rug and panting raggedly.

The vision was so intense, so almost real, the boy's magic was developing so fast and he couldn't distinguish the source of such a burst of power. It allured him, he wanted it, all of it, wanted to taste it and bask in its sweetness. Harry's raw, light magic was indescribable, magnificent, addictive. It _belonged_ to him by right, he wanted and was going to have it, along with Harry and his perfect body. Groaning pitifully at the loss of so long desired physical closeness, Voldemort crawled back onto his bed and stared at the full moon, that was peeking into the open window. It was the end of September already and everybody had come up empty handed in the search for the Boy-Who-Lived, both the Order and Death Eaters. Harry wasn't in Swirzerland, nor was he in any of the wizarding towns in the country. How could a boy hide so well from them, from _him_? Oh, but he was no boy, the Dark Lord reminded himself bitterly, he was the bloody Harry Severus Prince - a powerful wizard and his horcrux, his closure and his curse. He needed to find him soon, this couldn't go on anymore, his body and magic, his soul wouldn't accept a simple masturbation no more, they craved, no, they demanded Harry back in his bed. If it wasn't for the damn war and damn Dumbledore, he would have already started looking for his little Prince.

Harry woke up with a start, sitting up sharply in his bed, squeezing his pulsing erection in his hands as it burst out with his hot sperm. "Fuck!" He couldn't believe what had happened. It was not a usual wet dream that he had been having almost every night here, indulging himself in his hunger and lust for Marvolo, it was a bloody vision! Voldemort got into his head and saw the two of them together! And who knew what was he going to change there! He felt his gut being tied into a knot. What if this would hurt Marvolo? Pressing his sweated, sticky palms protectively against his enlarged belly, Harry took a deep calming breath and tried to lessen the apprehension that threatened to make him throw up. _Ugly bastard!_ How dared he to invade his personal life like that? The bloody wanker was watching him being fucked for hell knew how long! The nerve!

"It's alright, my little one," he rubbed on the abdomen, trying to calm down and involuntarily coping Marvolo's intonation, "Everything is going to be fine, _my little Prince_." A small pulse of magic was his reply and he sighed, calmer, more relaxed now, and fell back on the pillows. Smiling, he patted on the bump, reveling in the child's now more obvious presence. He could feel it now, could feel the little being, the little soul tug onto his lovingly. Despite the never ending pain and suffering from the fetus' constant growth, Harry felt elated, he couldn't wait for the child to develop and finally be born, couldn't wait to see his or her face, to hold him or her in his arms. Contrary to all rational thoughts, his sixth sense was telling him his baby would turn out alright, would make him proud, would make him truly happy, would love him just as he already loved it.

**xxx**

Harry paged through the morning issue of the Daily Prophet, while drinking tea, and pointedly avoided Dobby's intent glaring - the elf had been trying to make him eat for the past hour but all of his attempts were for naught, for this morning Harry felt particularly sick and weak. He couldn't even leave his bed, so drained he was, so exhausted. With October came long, cold nights and an endless rain. His child was growing very fast, as was his body weakening. No more strolls to the beach, no more walks around the neighbourhood - Harry could hardly move around the house, moaning at the ache in his back. The potion, that he had managed to improve, did lessen the pain in his organs but it couldn't make his body stronger, and the fetus was getting heavier and heavier by day. It was his fortune that he had Dobby, who took the cleaning and cooking upon himself and didn't let Harry do anything except resting.

_'HE-WHO-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED ATTACKS MINISTRY AGAIN! MORE VICTIMS!'_ the headline said. _'THE BOY-WHO-LIVED SAVE US!'_ Sighing heavily, Harry opened the newspaper, shifting and wincing at the pain, trying to find a more comfortable position. Voldemort killed more people, _again_. And he would take more lives and even if Harry had continued to fight he knew he could have never stopped him. Snakeface was sane, ruthless, merciless and very dangerous. Harry had been feeling him lately, sensing his attempts to get into his mind, to bring down his Occlumency shields. The Dark Lord was getting impatient and Harry couldn't fathom why. Wasn't this what the monster had offered him? A normal, undisturbed life in exchange for Harry's surrender? What was making him so nervous? Or did he really expect Harry to sit and wait for him to come and fetch him, as the bloody horcrux that he was? Snorting indignantly, he crumpled the paper in his hands. Stupid wizards and witches, still trying to hide behind his back, expecting him to come and clean up their shit. Bloody Voldemort and his obsessive-possessive horcrux mania. Scowling, Harry crossed his arms over his chest and glared at the newspaper, wishing to set it on fire with just his will. And it worked. The more his baby grew, the more powerful he became even if his magic was rather unpredictable and belonged more to his child now than to him. Just when the smoke started rising from the quickly darkening paper, a small article in the back caught his attention.

Harry took a glass of water from his bedside table and poured it all over himself and the newspaper, that was burning in his lap. Wrinkling his nose in disgust, ignoring Dobby's affronted grumping, he carefully smoothed the wet pages and stared at the article. _'Madame Dolores Umbridge, the Senior Undersecretary and ex-headmaster of Hogwarts was found dead in her house a few hours after the attack at the Ministry. Madame Umbridge personally fought Death Eaters and You-Know-Who and was one of the few who managed to get away unscarred. Aurors, who were sent to guard her house, found her body crucified to her own door, with a message written on her skin with the help of a Blood Quill, that was found next to her body and belonged to her, according to reports of her colleagues. The message said "Eye for an eye". Was it a Death Eaters' attack or was it somebody's revenge staged as one we do not know. Mr Scrimgeour, the Head of the DMLE, promised Minister Fudge to find whoever did this..._' Harry's hands shook as he read the message again and again. First, snakeface killed his relatives, as Severus phrased it _'avenged' _him, now he killed Umbridge for what she had done to him in the beginning of the school year... Dobby was fast enough to push an empty bowl into his hands, for Harry instantly threw up at the mere thought that Voldemort was going on a crusade of murdering everyone who had ever had offended or hurt him in one way or another. This was too much.

"The bloody wanker!" growling and rubbing the bile off of his face, Harry wandlessly summoned a piece of parchment and a quill and scribbled furiously on it, swearing under his breath. "Here," he gave Dobby the letter, "Please, leave it on professor Snape's desk at his office." The little elf wanted to object but one dark scowl from Harry shut him up and he hurriedly popped out of the house to complete the task before his master's hormones had costed him dearly. Harry wasn't cruel, nor was he abusive, he never screamed, he simply closed off and refused to eat - and that was ten times worse for the poor Dobby than any whipping that Malfoys used to give him. As his little friend vanished, Harry fell back on the pillows with a loud, tired groan. He felt his head was getting heavier, being constantly under the pressure of Voldemort's mind attacks. This had to stop, the killings had to stop. He couldn't live with their blood on his hands even if, deep, deep inside, he felt very pleased that the vile toad was dead.

**xxx**

No matter how hard had the Order tried, not one of them could find anything that could bring them closer to Harry. The boy was good, very good, he fooled the wizards and witches by simply using muggle money and means of transport. Severus had to admit that it was rather ingenious. It was two weeks into October, the school had long started and Dumbledore had visibly aged, if it was even possible to become older than he already was. All his thoughts, it seemed, were concentrated on Harry and the Dark Lord, he became obsessed with the horcruxes and took a habit of suddenly disappearing for long periods of time and popping out of nowhere, gathering the Order for yet another useless meeting. It galled Severus how the old wizard was capable of loving and caring for Harry while, simultaneously, ready to sacrifice him for "the greater good", meaning Voldemort's demise.

"Had Voldemort found anything on Harry's whereabouts?" Dumbledore looked up at the potions master from underneath his now constantly furrowed brow.

"No, he has nothing," Severus crossed his legs, folding his hands in his lap and looking around impassively. Their ranks had thinned out, which was rather satisfying. He couldn't help but smirk cruelly at the thought of the wretched Hestia Jones now lying dead in the ground. The stupid bitch gave him a huge gash in his side once, now she had _one_ in her brainless head. Should have been more careful during the second attack at the Ministry.

"How is it possible we can't find him?" Moody barked out of his corner in the Grimmauld's kitchen, "He is Harry Potter for Merlin's sake! Somebody must have seen him! He is but a teenager!"

"I believe Harry escaped into the muggle world, might have even went abroad, he is a legal adult now, after all," the headmaster sighed, stroking his long white beard thoughtfully. "Unfortunately, it is impossible to find him there, even if we will check every little village, every little town, it would take us years to trace him, while he can constantly move around."

"Just why is he hiding from _you_, Albus?" Shacklebot asked incredulously, nursing his bandaged arm.

"He doesn't want to fight Voldemort," was Dumbledore's answer as he gave Severus a pointed look. The potions master nodded ever so slightly and continued looking at his fingernails.

"A coward, eh?" Moody snorted indignantly, winking at Severus, "Like father like son?"

"Alastor," the headmaster chided the other wizard. "Harry is no coward, he is simply _misguided_. Perhaps, whoever he was in contact with while being in Voldemort's hands, had influenced him, gave him some ideas. We must find him and help him see reason, that is all." Severus ignored Moody's bait but couldn't help but laugh inwardly at the old coot's hypocrisy. Once again he felt pleased with the notion that Harry was away from here and Dumbledore's manipulations - the headache he was giving the Order played out very well for the Dark Lord and he personally enjoyed watching them strain every nerve to find the boy.

"Hiding or not, we have a more serious problem at hand," Shacklebot rubbed on his tired, freshly scarred face. "V-Voldemort is growing stronger and impatient. He is completely out of control, as are his Death Eaters. The half magical, half muggle town of Solihull they burned down last week is only the beginning. They will be destroying each and every one of them, trying to scare the wizards out of their homes and into a complete isolation. They are doing quite well already," he shook his head, sighing, "We have received hundreds of letters and complaints - people demand to give them shelter, or some kind of insurance that they will not be harmed... which is _impossible_."

"Which is why it is imperative that we find Harry," Dumbledore pressed. "If he is back and fighting Voldemort, they will believe that nothing is lost and nobody would be harmed-"

"I don't see anything _special_ about Potter," Moody interrupted him, leaning forward and glaring at everybody present. "Why should all our hopes be placed into some petty whelp, who runs with his tail between his legs as soon as the real danger comes?"

"Harry has powers not you, nor Voldemort knows," the headmaster said grimly, straightening his back and shoulders. "I believe in him, I know he can and will do it. It is his destiny." Severus couldn't help but sneer at that, twisting his face into a sour expression, as if he had just eaten a lemon. _Destiny_. After everything that had happened in the last two years he could hardly believe such phenomenon existed. For he used to think he knew what was his future but as it had turned out he had been gravely mistaken. No one could tell other's destiny - one created it on his own. Like Harry was doing now.

After an hour more of pointless discussions the wizards and witches slowly broke up and soon Severus found himself in the company of Dumbledore only, who kept stroking his beard and looking at the table before him absentmindedly. However, when the potions master rose to leave as well, the old wizard's head shot up and he gestured for him to stay.

"Severus, had Harry contacted you?"

"You know he hadn't, I would have told you otherwise," Severus sighed, lowering himself on his chair. It was a very long and boring meeting, he dearly wished he didn't have to attend ever again, and he was already thinking about the potions he planned to brew this night but the old coot just had to delay him, didn't he?

"I can't believe how irresponsibly he acts in regard of the child - how is he going to deliver it? Where will he get the necessary help?" the old wizard's eyes were wide and wet and once again Severus caught himself thinking if Dumbledore was being sincere now or was shamelessly pretending.

"He is afraid of you, he is afraid you will kill the child," he shrugged his shoulders uncaringly, "Which you, no doubt, _would do_."

"Only if it is a horcrux, but I am most certain it is," the headmaster sighed heavily, rubbing on his chest uncomfortably. "I know what you must be thinking, my boy, but believe me when I say I hate the fact that it must be the innocent child of all the other possibilities. I hate that I have to kill it, but there is no other way to destroy Voldemort once and for all."

"You also have to kill... Potter," he almost called him Harry, biting his own tongue just in time. _What is wrong with you, Severus? Going all soft all of a sudden?_

"And I will never forgive myself for it, for I love Harry as my own grandson, believe me when I say this, you know how much I love you and how I loved Lily..." Dumbledore halted for a moment, gathering his wits, as his hands visibly shook. "I would have done anything to spare your son, Severus, but there is nothing. I don't know how to take the rotten soul out of him. It would be a miracle if it would completely transfer into the child, and I pray it would be so."

Severus barked out a laugh, "I wouldn't if I were you. Potter would never forgive you and dare I say might even try to kill you with his bare hands for it."

"No," the old wizard shook his head sadly, "Harry is not a murderer."

"Then how do you expect he would kill the Dark Lord?" the potions master huffed incredulously.

"One of us will have to help him," the pale blue eyes locked with the onyx ones and Severus grimly acknowledged yet another mess he was being dragged into against his own will. _Perfect_.

**xxx**

_Harry, Harry, where are you, my little Prince?_ Playing with a gryffindor tie in his hands, Voldemort lay on his favourite sofa in the Prince's library, ignoring the stack of reports on the coffee table beside him. He bit into the soft, silky material, imagining that it was Harry's hair and groaned lowly, feeling the everlasting frustration build up in his groin again. He hadn't been able to find the strength to part with this little piece of cloth lately, taking it everywhere with him, bearing it close to his skin. He was obsessed and it angered him to no end, for he was the fucking Dark Lord, who fell so low as to lust after a bloody boy.

A soft click of the doorknob caught his attention and he turned his head a little and mumbled through the fabric that was still occupying his mouth, "Severus. Something happened?"

If he was surprised to see his lord in such an unusual, unfitting position, with a gryffindor tie between his teeth, Severus never showed it. He swiftly moved closer to the sofa and kneeled before his master, holding a folded note out for him. "My lord, a message from Potter for you." He didn't have the time to hear or see anything as the paper was instantly snatched out of his hands and the Dark Lord was already seated, scanning the words with his brightly shining blood red eyes. Raising his eyebrows ever so slightly, Severus carefully stood up and moved away, watching his lord curiously. The pale impassive mask slowly morphed into a feral, pleased grin. Of course, Severus had read the note but found little sense in Voldemort's reaction to it. He expected everything but pleasure and... was it _joy_?

"Little brat!" the Dark Lord laughed and fell back into the puffy pillows, holding the note up in front of his face, looking at it mirthfully. Harry always stayed true to himself. The minx that he was, teasing him like that! "How did he contact you?"

"He didn't," Severus shook his head and continued at his master's inquiring look, "I found this on the desk in my office. It wasn't an owl, for it is impossible to get inside though the wards unless..."

"Unless it is a house-elf," Voldemort finished for him and stood up suddenly only to start pacing the room with long, firm strides. "I will tell Lucius to check the registration records, however, I doubt Harry would be so stupid as to buy an elf. Any thoughts on how he could illegally acquire one?"

"None, however," Severus rubbed on the bridge of his nose thoughtfully as an idea came to his mind, "However, no elf can trespass Hogwarts' wards if he had never worked there before. So it must be one of the school's own."

"You told me Dumbledore doesn't know where the boy is and has no way of contacting him," the blood red eyes narrowed suspiciously as they bore a hole in the sullen, unaffected face of the potions master. "Only the headmaster has the power to free or give away the elves."

"Not if the elf is a free one," Severus pointed out, as the corners of his mouth quivered slightly at the notion that one of Lucius' elves, no less, was serving Harry.

Voldemort scowled, feeling that he was missing something, "Elaborate." He leaned on the back of the armchair, watching the other wizard intently.

"You should ask Lucius for more details, my lord, for the elf used to belong to him. Three years ago Harry tricked him into freeing his own servant by giving him a piece of clothing. As far as I know the elf adores the boy and is willing to die for him. Dumbledore took him in as a first free house-elf and even paid him for his work."

"And Harry bonded with it and made it his own," the Dark Lord smiled, visibly relaxing, and rubbed his chin in wonder. His little Prince was very clever, indeed, using the elf to cover his whereabouts. However, there was always a loophole in anything, for him in particular. "How smart of him to do so."

_How smart indeed_, Severus inwardly smirked. With a house-elf Harry would be able to raise the child without any problem, wouldn't have any trouble getting food and help. "Should I inform Dumbledore about this?"

"No, as long as he is ignorant to the elf's disappearance, he wouldn't try and track it down." He would have to do it if Harry wouldn't contact him again. Which could have been easily arranged. Pleased with himself, Voldemort gracefully plumped back down on the sofa and waved at the potions master, "If this is all, than you are dismissed, Severus. Good night."

"Good night, my lord," he bowed and left, thinking back on the enthusiasm and joy he saw in his master's face at the sight of the message from Harry. Most curious, most disturbing.

Voldemort took the parchment out of his sleeve, where he had hidden it while talking to Severus, and read it again, letting a wide grin stretch his lips at the arrogance of Harry's words.

_"Severus,_

_I'm fine, in case you wondered. Please, pass this on to snakeface._

_Snakeface,_

_Kindly cease killing everything that lives and breathes! And be a good old hag and stop 'avenging' me by cruelly murdering everyone who had ever wronged me! I never asked for this! You are a bloody wanker, an insane tyrant and I hate you! I hope you will choke on whatever it is you eat or drink, if you even function like a human being you stopped resembling! How are you planning on making people see reason when you burn them down along with their homes? Are you out of your mind? Oh no, wait, you are!_

_And stop trying to invade my mind! Stop messing with my personal life, you noseless pervert! You promised to leave me the hell alone if I stop fighting you - keep your fucking word, bastard!_

_You know who."_

Voldemort could have mastered enough rage for such an atrocious display of disrespect but he didn't want to. He missed Harry and his sharp, acid tongue dearly and seeing that the boy followed everything that he was doing, was aware of everything that had happened, pleased him. Harry cared, Harry was just as stubborn and righteous as always. He wished he could fuck him senseless right now, punish him for being rude, make him scream his name with pleasure and affection. The fact that his little Prince risked to be discovered told Voldemort he could push some more. If he antagonized Harry enough to lure him out, he would take him and would never ever let him go again. Pressing the paper to his lips absentmindedly, the Dark Lord began plotting. There were many ways to push the boy. And then there was this mysterious house-elf... He had to tread wisely, carefully, for Harry was no fool, oh no, his little one was just as smart as he himself was. However, Harry was also kind and selfless, and could be easily manipulated because of that. Ah, how had he missed this - _the hunt_. Voldemort closed his eyes and took a deep breath, imagining the smell of rain and fresh grass - Harry's smell. _Soon_.

**xxx**

Harry knew it was very foolish of him to snap like that and send that note but he couldn't help it. His hormones drove him mad, he never thought he could be so angry! If it wasn't for hardly bearable pain in his body, he would have broken his word and went straight to snakeface to beat the shit out of him. He doubted he would ever be able to kill him, but at least punch him in his ugly snake like face! Clutching on the locket to calm himself down, Harry started murmuring a lullaby he never knew before, it suddenly came into his mind as something he had forgotten many, many years ago. Perhaps, it was what his mother sang to him? The thoughts of her and soothing words of the song instantly cooled him down and he smiled wryly at the small kicks in his abdomen - his child was pleased.

Two weeks had passed and Harry was surprised to find it was already November. Nothing happened, nobody came for him, snakeface stopped attacking his mind, but the papers were still full of horrible pictures and articles about the wizarding towns being destroyed and people being killed for close relations with muggles. The Ministry kept stubbornly refusing any negotiations with Voldemort and Harry thought this was going to end very badly. If they hadn't accepted snakeface sooner or later, the muggles would notice that something was going on and then the war between their kinds would be inevitable and everything would go to Hell. There was no choosing between Voldemort's reign and the muggle war - if the wizarding community wished to survive, they were ought to take the Dark Lord's offer. But how could anybody make them see reason? Especially with an insane megalomaniac on the loose? Harry caught himself thinking that Marvolo could have had a good idea what to do. _Marvolo_. The thoughts of the dark wizard always made him feel soothed somehow, as if his very soul whispered to him the words he wished to hear so much but could not.

"Long afloat on shipless oceans, I did all my best to smile, 'til your singing eyes and fingers, drew me loving to your isle," he sang again softly, caressing the big belly and smiling at the small bumps appearing here and there, as the child moved its legs and hands. "And you sang: sail to me, sail to me, let me enfold you. Here I am, here I am, waiting to hold you," the warmth spread slowly through him and Harry laughed, closing his eyes in contentment, as the magic enveloped him in a tight, comforting embrace, as if his baby was actually trying to hold him. The rain showered outside, furiously banging on the windows, while Harry sat in his armchair, holding his rounded belly, singing and trying to imagine what would his little one look like. He often wondered how easily love came to him, how readily he fell for the small life that was growing inside of him. He was ready to give all of his magic away just to finally take his child into his arms and love him or her with all his heart. Cherishing his deepest, most fiercely guarded dream throughout his whole life he never imagined that one day it would come true - somebody would _love_ him just for being him, despite any obstacles, despite all of his 'freakishness', somebody would see the real him and would appreciate and treasure him more than anything in the world.

Could he ever imagine a child was capable of such strong emotions? Unborn, it already loved him, Harry just knew it, felt it in his very core and heart. "Did I dream you dreamed about me? Were you hare when I was fox? Now my foolish boat is leaning, broken lovelorn on your rocks," he watched the rain and kept singing, wishing dearly that he would be able to shield his little one from everything evil and rotten in this most unfair, cruel life, that he would be strong and brave enough... What if it was born a horcrux? He had thought about it, oh yes he had, many times during the sleepless nights, he dreaded what would happen if his child became another Voldemort? If no matter how hard he tried it would grow up a deceiving murderer anyway? This was his worst nightmare, his worst fear, it made his insides twist and freeze in horror of the inevitability... He felt the small, firm kicks again and sighed, patting on the bump that stood out right under his navel. Harry liked to think that they would be lucky enough and the horcrux would stay inside of him, or that he would be a good enough parent to teach "the little Voldemort" that there were better things in life than cruelty and pain, death, fear... Could he teach_ a monster to love?_ "For you sing: touch me not, touch me not, come back tomorrow. O my heart, o my heart shies from the sorrow..." Was somebody like snakeface even capable of something so beautiful and pure? Was Marvolo?

**xxx**

Mesmerized, Harry stared at the huge photograph on the front page of the Daily Prophet: Dumbledore and Voldemort fighting each other at the Diagon Alley, while Death Eaters destroyed the shops and cursed the innocents. The headmaster's face was as hard as a stone, no muscle twitched, not once he blinked, watching his opponent with outmost concentration. Voldemort, on the contrary, was flashing one of his ugliest grins, full of sharp teeth, as his slits of nostrils blew out, indicating that he was laughing. All of his movements were mockingly lazy, as if he was absolutely invincible and didn't try to hide it. Harry didn't like this, not one bit. Just what had made the monster so confident, so fearless? It had been said Dumbledore was the only person in this world snakeface was afraid of, but the picture showed otherwise. As if on cue Harry suddenly screamed, clutching on his head as the searing pain pierced his mind at the particularly vicious attack. _No, no, no! Not again!_ Harry fell back on the pillows of his bed, writhing and wailing, feeling his brain burn.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are," the cold, hissing voice echoed in his head and he thought he felt the cold, clawed hand grab on his throat. "Harry, Harry, it was very rude of you to run away like that. You are my horcrux, after all, I must care for your well being."

Sensing that snakeface was winning this fight, Harry decided to let him in, to distract him from getting to the truth. "You promised you would leave me alone," he panted weakly, holding onto the locket as if his life depended on this little piece of gold.

"Harry, I promised not to hurt you, but I never said I would let you escape. You are mine," a long, sharp fingernail caressed his cheek and he realized he had been sucked into a vision. Harry thought it looked a lot like the Forbidden Forest, it was dark and quiet, the wind whispered so softly between the tall trees, and only the burning ruby eyes, that hovered over him, disturbed the peacefulness of the place. "Harry, you are _mine_."

"I'm fine, your horcrux is fine, see? Leave me the hell alone!" he cried, standing up and stumbling back, away from the monster that was barely visible against the black, pitch black sky with no stars in it.

"I sense your powers, Prince, they've grown, _dramatically_, I dare say. What is the source of such a change, what is the cause?" Voldemort stepped closer and closer, enveloping Harry into a freezing cocoon of his ice cold, oily, dark aura. "If anything has happened to you - I must know."

"Nothing happened," shivering, he bumped into a tree and pressed his back against it hard, praying inwardly that he would be strong enough to fool snakeface and conceal both his belly and his child's presence, which had been manifesting itself all the time now.

"Your letter was most disrespectful and rude," a cold hand squeezed his shoulder, but no pain came with the touch, and Harry hesitantly opened his eyes, surprised with its unexpected... _gentleness_. "I had to punish you for throwing such a fit, Harry, I hope you would remember to behave in the future." Was it _mirth_ that he heard in the monster's voice?

"Why can't you stop these insane killings? Why do you make the innocents pay for the sins of others? You are a bastard and you would never get any respect from me!" he tried to shake the hand off of him, but it held on tightly.

"Oh? And here I thought we would be playing fair," Voldemort smiled and raised his other hand to caress the boy's cheek. He dearly wished to kiss the rude, dirty mouth, but knew it would be too soon, too dangerous a thing to do, Harry wasn't ready for the truth, not yet. Oh but how hard it was to restrain himself from assaulting the boy! How had he missed his warmth and sweet, light magic. How had he missed his passionate glares. There was a strange gleam in the bright green eyes, the gleam he hadn't seen before and it intrigued him. "What are you hiding, Harry? There should be no secrets between us."

"Yeah, I've seen how that turned out," Harry batted his hand away and winced as his wrist was caught in a painful, possessive grip. "I never asked to kill Vernon or Umbridge, it was _wrong_ to take revenge on them... Their blood is on my hands now!"

Sighing, Voldemort shook his head, "No, Harry, it was the right thing to do. They hurt you - they got what they deserved. _Eye for an eye_, boy, this is how this world works and you are too young and naive to understand it yet."

"How dare _you_ speak of justice?" Harry spat, struggling against the other's hold. "You are an insane monster! You kill people for standing up to you! It's what a coward does, not a conqueror!"

"You know what I want from them, I know you agree with every law I've drawn, but, unlike you, they are blind, they can't see past their noses, for they are just a stupid sheep, led by an idiotic government," the Dark Lord pressed his hand to Harry's face again, rubbing on the trembling red lips with his thumb, holding his breath at their tempting sight. "There is no other way to make them see."

Hated, he hated that the monster's touch didn't disturb him, on the contrary, it comforted him. Harry despised the way his heart flattered at the icy touch of the hand that murdered his mother, Cedric, hundreds of innocents. It was all horcrux doing, he was telling to himself, squeezing his eyes to not see the burning coals of the ruby orbs, that practically devoured him, so hungrily they roamed over his face. "You're wrong," he breathed out shakily, pressing his hands against the firm chest before him, which, as he briefly noticed, was just as broad and just at the same hight as Marvolo's. "They would listen if you stop the bloodshed."

"They wouldn't," Voldemort laughed coldly, "They never did the last time..." He couldn't stand the fear that he sensed coming in waves from the boy. Harry had never been afraid of him before, not like _that_. "What should I do to make you come back?"

"You wasn't that keen on keeping me close the last time," Harry bit out and opened his eyes harshly, gobsmacked at the displeasure he could hear in his own voice. He was going insane now, wasn't he? The bloody horcrux made him say this! "I mean I won't come back. You promised me a normal, ordinary life - this is what I want. A life away from _you_."

Smiling at the boy's tone and his lame attempt to cover it, Voldemort shook his head, laughing quietly to himself. "Harry, Harry, it is _impossible_. You are mine, you are a part of me as I am a part of you. We can't stay apart."

"I am not going to have to do anything with a crazy maniac," he growled in response and pushed snakeface away, hastily stepping to the side, trying to get away from the horrible, oppressing aura that made his stomach flatter in excitement and joy. Was his child liking the monster? Or was it Harry himself being pulled into the oh so familiar warmth he refused to imagine could exist within somebody like Voldemort. He hated how insecure, confused the red eyed monster made him feel. "Stay away from me!" he cried when the tall dark form moved closer. Overwhelmed with disgust towards his own self, Harry pulled on all of his strength and magic, forcing it to block snakeface away. The fear, that his child was a horcrux and was hearing the call of his master soul, drove him mad. _No!_ He couldn't let this happen!

"Harry!" Voldemort growled warningly, but before he could grab the boy, a blinding flash of white light stroke him into his chest and he found himself lying on the floor of his study at Prince Manor. "Fuck," wincing, he rubbed on his head that hurt terribly, as it had collided with the grate of the hearth when he fell. He stood up, swaying a little under the force of the boy's raw power and heavily sat on his chair, massaging his pounding temples. No matter how hard had he tried, he couldn't get into the depths of Harry's mind, couldn't find the source of his sudden improvement and his sudden terror. His little Prince wasn't a coward, he had never trembled in his arms like that, he had never _feared_ the Dark Lord so much... Knowing Harry, as he thought he could say he did, Voldemort was certain it wasn't a fear for his life - Harry was selfless, he was ready to stand between the Dark and the innocent people despite his dreams of normal, undisturbed life... That was what he had been hoping for when he invaded his mind tonight, to anger Harry, to reel him, to make him leave his shelter, but the boy was completely unaffected it seemed. This was impossible.

Pouring himself a drink, Voldemort glared through the narrowed eyes at the gryffindor tie, that appeared in his hand. Something was wrong, _again_. What could have changed Harry so much, that even the abusive, horrible childhood hadn't managed to do? He was a hero, a savior, he could readily die for another human being, not ignore the deaths of dozens of innocents... Oh, but that was the salt of the matter, wasn't it? The Dark Lord angrily gulped his drink down, dropping the glass on the desk in irritation. Harry wasn't fearing for himself, he was fearing for _somebody_ else. Was he hiding someone? But who? Hissing disdainfully at the unexpected jealousy, that burned in his chest, Voldemort closed his eyes, revising everything he knew about Harry. He didn't have many friends, all of them, as far as Severus had informed him, were at Hogwarts, for the boy had consciously pushed them away, trying to shield them from the war. There was nobody else. Wasn't there? How could anybody know for sure? Was it a muggle Harry was hiding from him? Or was it somebody who had _replaced_ Marvolo? The mere thought of his little Prince being in somebody else's arms enraged Voldemort and he growled menacingly, as the objects started flying maddeningly around the room and the books left their shelves, sending pages float chaotically all over the floor. Harry was his, he belonged to him and him alone. _Mine, mine! _Fuming, Voldemort forced himself to calm down. He had to work at the more important matters now, he couldn't let some petty human emotions cloud his mind. After he was done with the Order and the Ministry, he would find Harry and take him, no matter what the boy said or wished. Nobody could have him, deserved him, but the Dark Lord.

**xxx**

All through the rest of November Harry had been sick, spending his days in bed, with fever and unimaginable weakness. He had never felt so helpless before in his life. The overwhelming push of power, that he had performed in order to escape from snakeface, drained him of all his strength and health, as his magic left him, concentrating solely on the baby. His belly was enormous in his eyes, he thought it was too big to be normal, even though he had seen numerous illustrations in the book that suggested otherwise. The child became unexpectedly active and kept kicking and turning inside of him, bringing all the more pain and suffering, exhausting him immensely. Dobby hadn't slept for weeks, it seemed, guarding Harry every second, ready to give him a bowl for vomit or a potion for pain any moment. The poor creature was restless, trying in vain to feed his master, to lessen his hurting. The potion was doing as much as keeping Harry's organs working, but they were terribly damaged, and once or twice, in his deranged, tangled musings, Harry found himself thinking that he heeded Severus' help, he was incapable of making a new potion on his own anymore. But it was too dangerous to call for his father. He had to carry on like this on his own.

The first snow on the other side of his bedroom's window told Harry that winter had finally come. Groaning pitifully at the ache that seemed to constantly linger in his limbs, he shifted to get the newspaper from the table, where Dobby usually left it for him. The 3d, it was already the 3d of _December_, he thought feverishly, squinting at the blurry letters. He had completely lost the track of time. All of his days and nights were now spent in a haze of vague, disturbing dreams he feared could turn into a vision any time and he wouldn't be able to shield himself and the child from Voldemort's unstoppable force. But snakeface hadn't tried to get in touch with him again and Harry couldn't help but feel a paranoid suspicion that the bastard was plotting something. A particularly hard kick in his abdomen made him jerk and oomph in pain and he scowled at the bump that was his child's little foot, "You little brat, stop this instant!" He felt he could hardly take it any longer and there was so much more ahead of him. How did women stand it all?

In those dreams he often saw a little boy with a mop of chestnut hair and a pair of bright green eyes, smiling at him affectionately, making a small dimple appear on his chin. Was it his child? Was it his little son reaching out for him? The tired tears ran down his cheeks, as Harry caressed his belly, feeling for the little feet and fists that pushed against his skin, rubbing on them soothingly. He was Marvolo's carbon copy, wasn't he? Harry couldn't decide if he loved it or hated it, for the more he thought about the dark wizard, the more _hollow_ he felt. They couldn't be together, no matter how much he wished it, could they? Not with Voldemort waiting for an opportunity to catch him and make him a prisoner again, and something was telling Harry he wouldn't enjoy it as much as he had had the last time. The longer he put away telling Marvolo about the baby, the more he doubted he should do it at all. The man might have wanted him but did he want a child? From Harry Potter, no less? Snorting resentfully to himself, Harry glared at the snowflakes, that were slowly falling outside. He loathed how grumpy and snarky his hormones had made him, for he resembled Snape more than ever now, but there was no potion for a bad temper. He was torn between the burning desire to be held and loved and an itching to punch Marvolo in his beautiful face he hadn't properly seen even once.

"Master Harry?" he heard Dobby call tentatively and turned to look at the elf. "You should read this," the small creature held a newspaper out for him and Harry forced a small smile to stretch his lips, taking the offered paper. He hated how miserable Dobby became because of him and dearly hoped everything would change for the better when his baby was born.

_'YOU-KNOW-WHO ATTACKS WIZENGAMOT MEMBERS! THE FIRST DARK BILL PASSED!'_ Harry barely made out the words. The first dark bill? Rubbing on his puffy, wet eyes, he looked closer at the article. Voldemort had attacked during the session, at which the wizards and witches were trying to decide if they should have asked for help from abroad, and threatened to kill every one of them unless one of his bills was taken in consideration, read and fairly voted for. With an advantage of 19 votes against 18 the "Dark Bill" passed. Ironically, snakeface made them pass the legislation that banned half of the members from the court and deprived them of the right to vote, due to their heritage or crimes. Thus, all the muggleborns and grafters were casted away and specifically chosen purebloods took their places. Frowning, Harry dropped the paper in his lap. Well, that was some kind of a _progress_, wasn't it? At least nobody died. It was also said that, surprisingly and most uncharacteristically, Dumbledore was absent during the session, which was why, as many believed, nobody had dared to oppose Voldemort. Was their faith in the old headmaster so strong or were they truly just as weak, stupid and cowardly as snakeface describe them? Sighing, Harry paged through the issue, annoyed that Voldemort was right,_ always right_, even if he acted like a madman.

**xxx**

After his first bill had passed and a few of his Death Eaters took their places in court, Voldemort had no doubt that soon all of his legislations would be accepted. There was no way out of this for the british wizarding community, the other ministries had no wish whatsoever to deal with the most dangerous Dark Lord of the generation, who kept coming back to life and killing his own kind in order to achieve his goals. He could get rid of Fudge, of course, but that would have been fruitless, for the little fat Minister hardly had any influence in the society - Dumbledore was the big fish Voldemort aimed for. But now was not the time, not yet. Severus kept reporting about old coot's every disappearance, his every move - just as he had anticipated, the headmaster had been waisting his time hunting for the horcruxes. As far as he knew, Dumbledore was traveling around and meeting different people from his past, hoping to get any information on what vessels had he used and where had he hidden them. That was playing out perfectly for his plans - the last Wizengamot session was an obvious enough example.

No matter how hard had he worked and how much time had he given politics and his goals, the thoughts of Harry never once left his mind, lingering there as a heavy weight, popping up at the most inconvenient of times. Ever since December began, Voldemort couldn't help but feel apprehensive, depressed. Severus had examined him multiple times but every time appeared ignorant to what was the cause of his discomfort. However, the Dark Lord knew his potions master very well and sensed, intuitively, perhaps, that the man had his own theory but couldn't say it aloud. Everything led to the blasted secret that Harry kept from him, the damned vow Severus was bound with, the bloody reason he and Harry were separated. He knew, he knew his condition was connected with Harry's, with his horcrux. The little Prince was suffering, but from _what_? Not knowing galled him, Harry's silence angered him - why couldn't he simply contact his own father and ask for help? Once again he thought back on the house-elf that the boy took in. Voldemort ordered Easy to find him and try and trace him back to his master or, at least, get some information out of him. To his great disappointment, his elf was unsuccessful. Who was Harry protecting from him and why was it so... painful for him?_ Idiotic boy_.

A knocking came from behind the door and Voldemort flicked his wrist to open it, not looking up from the papers on the desk before him. He knew it was Severus - who else could it be in Prince Manor? Only Lucius was allowed to come through the wards but the blonde wizard was at the Ministry at this time of day. "Yes?" his finger tapped on the wooden surface impatiently.

"Dumbledore came back from his latest trip, my lord," Severus bowed and came closer. When the blood red eyes finally locked with his, he continued, "His left hand is black as a coal." He knew what it meant - the headmaster got into his master's trap at last and his death was only a matter of months now, for there was no cure even if the Dark Lord would have given him all the necessary information about the poison.

Voldemort's face brightened and his plump rose lips stretched into a brilliant, triumphant grin. "Finally!" He dropped his quill and rubbed his hands excitedly, inwardly swearing in satisfaction. _At last the old goat would suffer! _"Whatever he does, however hard he begs or threatens with vows, never agree to kill him and alleviate his pain - he must live through it fully, until the very end," he added seriously, giving the potions master a pointed glare.

"Yes, my lord," Severus wasn't going to, anyway. Let the old fool suffer.

"Perfect, perfect," the Dark Lord murmured, tapping on his dimpled chin in wonder. "Any news from Harry?" Oh, Severus knew that look. The closer the time came to delivery, the more impatient and restless his master became. Having had connected all the dots already, the potions master could easily conclude just how hard for Harry was his condition, how much he suffered from the child but the boy hadn't once contacted him again and he waited. He was almost certain that the child was Voldemort's, he had no physical proof, but it all was there, on the man's face, in the man's actions - he was the Death Eater Harry said he had slept with and judging by his lord's obsession with the boy, they had done it more than once. The Dark Lord fell for Harry, fell _hard_. If Severus hadn't known better, he would have thought Voldemort was in love, but his rational mind refused to acknowledge such possibility - his master was incapable of such emotions, otherwise he would have never become who he was today.

"None, my lord."

Voldemort's face darkened and he clicked his tongue in annoyance. Rubbing on his chest absentmindedly, for he had been feeling a constant hurting inside it for the last two weeks, he scowled at the potions master, "It is the 20th of December already, I've been sensing his pain for almost a whole month now. What is happening to him?"

"I can't say, my lord, forgive me," Severus bowed his head. In all honesty, he was getting tired of all this secrecy and constant tension. He prayed that Harry would call for him soon, for there was no choosing between his life and the life of the child - Severus' own depended on Harry's well being. That was what he was telling himself, though deep, deep inside, he felt just as apprehensive and pained as his lord. He hated that he cared so much. For both Harry and their unborn heir. Could he really choose between them? Would Harry ever forgive him for that? He had forgiven him the worst sins ever imagined, but would he forgive him for _that_? Would he even survive to blame him?

"I would have used Legilimency on you and would have gladly destroyed your mind just to get to the bottom of this, but I _value_ you too much, Severus," Voldemort looked at him with such intensity that the potions master couldn't help but flinched a little, practically feeling the scratching in his head. But that was only his imagination, his lord had averted his eyes and was burning down the bronze figurine that stood on his desk - it melted fast under his heavy glare and soon only a small puddle of liquid metal was left sizzling on the wooden surface, dropping down onto the floor. The Dark Lord was at the edge, Severus knew the signs.

"If only I could, I would have told you everything, my lord." Since he thought the man was the child's father, he saw no point in hiding it from him. He had the right to have it, besides, who could protect it and Harry better than Voldemort? It was still very hard to wrap his mind around the fact that it was his grandchild, who was the heir of the Dark Lord and Severus pushed the thought away, locking it up in the farthest corner of his mind. He would think of it later, much, much later.

"Yes, I know." Voldemort stood up and moved to stand at the window, watching the wet snow fall from the heavy, grey sky and turn into rain before touching the dump, muddy ground. He always hated Decembers for the awful weather, for the cold, for the fact that it was the month of his birth. Worst time of year, when all the wizards and witches, and muggles for that matter, prepared to celebrate their idiotic holidays and play the games of being the model happy families and good friends, while he had spent his whole childhood and youth watching them through his orphanage's windows, or from his place at the empty slytherin table during the winter break at Hogwarts. He used to envy them for having what he could never have. Now he simply despised them and their petty entertainment. "Don't forget about our planned raid on the Christmas day," he turned to the potions master, "If it is impossible for you to get out of the school - send Lucius the necessary potions."

"Yes, my lord," Severus wished to participate but the Order was planning to keep guard at the Diagon Alley and he doubted he would be able to trick them this time. Knowing what a dismissal looked like, he bowed and left the study, letting out a breath outside he didn't know he had been holding. His master was most dangerous now. If only he could find Harry and talk to him. At least he knew the boy was alive - the Dark Lord was his walking indicator of Harry's state of health.

**xxx**

Harry didn't know what day it was, what time, he simply stared at the wet snow slipping down the glass of his window, not registering what he was seeing. He had spent god knew how many days in terrible fever, his head was pounding, his eyes stung and he thought his guts were going to fall out of him, so heavy was the fetus, so hard it pushed down on his insides. Holding his hands around his enormous belly, Harry wondered deliriously if this baby wasn't as ordinary as he wished it to be. It was too big, it was too strong, too active, his magic wouldn't listen to him anymore - the fetus drained him to the very last drop. The child's dark aura was very clear now, it fed on him and sometimes, in a bout of hysteria, Harry even thought he hated his little son, for he was a little monster, eating him from the inside. _A monster_. How come that all his life he had been surrounded only by the greedy, filthy, horrible monsters? Even his own baby... _No, no, no_. Shaking his head and grabbing on the windowsill for balance, Harry tried to pull himself together. _My son is not a monster, he is an ordinary boy, an ordinary dark wizard._

He raised his puffy, tearful eyes and squinted at the bright snow outside. He had been so hot lately, so very hot, he couldn't stay in his bed anymore, he thought it was set on fire. Looking around the room, Harry realized he saw smoke. Or was it dust? No, Dobby would have never let the dirt linger around. Oh, but it was so hot inside. Moaning at the pain in every cell of his body, holding his hands firmly pressed against the walls, he slowly walked out of the room and into the hall. It was so quiet here, so dark and so fucking hot. "I need air," he wheezed to himself, clutching on his sore throat. Was he screaming in pain yesterday? Or was it today? Was it morning or evening? Gritting his teeth at another wave of searing pain, that washed over him and churned his insides, Harry stumbled forward, moving closer to the door that led to the backyard. An inch by inch, a step by step... "Little bastard," he whispered to his abdomen, scowling and twisting his lips at the violent kicks. The baby had been absolutely unbearable lately, exhausting him beyond imagination. "Planning to kill me, are you? Couldn't make it before, decided to finish me now, hm, Voldemort?" Oh he hated it, he hated this child. It was evil, pure evil, it was just as bloodthirsty as the maniac whose soul it kept inside. He was bearing a monster, a little beast.

Pushing the door wide open, Harry stepped outside, groaning pitifully at the sensation of wet, freezing cold snow under his bare feet. He felt as if he was burning at the stake, like a witch caught by the Inquisition, he could have sworn he saw the flames, just now, licking on his ankles. "So fucking hot," he breathed out, shivering under the snowflakes that quickly turned into raindrops. "Fucking irish weather." Harry jerked and screamed at the sudden piercing pain, that seemed to cut through his stomach. He never felt anything so terribly hurting before. Falling down on his hands and knees, he retched bile mixed with blood, crying at the unbearable, sharp blows that were delivered out of nowhere it seemed. He couldn't see the white snow, everything was red and black in his eyes. Scared, he tried to rub on them, tried to get his sight back but fell on his side, as dull, swift stabs pierced through his back and chest. Crying out hoarsely, he clutched on his abdomen, scratching on the stretched skin, feeling his baby kicking and banging on it furiously, trying to get out. _No, it's too early!_ With this last coherent thought, Harry lost his consciousness, as his mind went completely black and his back arched in another rush of pain, worse than any cruciatus.

**xxx**

On the 31st of December Severus wasn't supposed to leave the school - being one of the few teachers left to chaperone the many students, who stayed at the castle, his presence was necessary to keep the order while the headmaster was once again away on his horcrux hunt. However, after the particularly bloody Christmas Day, during which both sides had lost many men, and five more days of mourning, Dumbledore had suddenly returned during breakfast and personally offered Severus to leave and spend time amongst the celebrating Death Eaters. After the unexpectedly vicious attack the Order and the Ministry were in a state of hysteria and welcomed any tiniest piece of information regarding the Dark Lord's plans. For once, in many years, Severus was going to spend the New Year's Day not in the company of the imbecilic students, but his comrades, relax and drink as much as he wanted. Anticipating a very nice evening at Malfoy Manor, he quickly warded his office and left through the headmaster's fireplace.

Due to the secrecy of the Dark Lord's true identity, Lucius had turned the usual social gathering into a masquerade, and Severus had to blink a few times before his eyes could adjust to the bright light of the ballroom, crammed with a hundred guests - all richly dressed, wearing shining gold and silver masks. Raising his eyebrows sarcastically at the view, the potions master put on his own silver mask in a form of a crow and glided past the many perfumed bodies straight to the bar._ A good old champagne for a starter. _Humming to himself in satisfaction, Severus sipped on his drink, savouring its sweet taste, and leaned on the pillar to watch the crowd. No mistake could be made at the sight of the tall form cladded in crimson and black - Voldemort towered over most of the guests with his great height, moving swiftly amongst them, wearing a brilliant smile on his handsome face, charming and seducing, bewitching everyone.

The Dark Lord's face was hidden behind the very same golden mask he wore when he and Harry lived together at his father's manor, and his eyes were once again glamoured to look brown instead of red. Voldemort loathed all kinds of social celebrations and salons but knew it was politically beneficial and kept flashing grins all around himself, thinking of Harry only, involuntarily staring at every dark haired, pale skinned wizard. Today he felt particularly terrible, sick, his hands trembled, which was something new - this had never happened to him before, he had never been so nervous, so _restless_. Thinking it to be ridiculous, the Dark Lord couldn't help but hear the other part of his soul calling out for him. If only he knew where to look, he would have already held Harry in his arms. He _needed_ his little Prince.

When his eyes fell on Severus' form, he jerked imperceptibly at the small pang in his heart - the resemblance between father and son was inconceivable. They were so much alike, both on the outside and on the inside, only Harry had the advantage of being purer, innocent. Voldemort still remembered the day the potions master came to him to be recruited as a Death Eater, still remembered the black hatred that filled the young heart of the hotheaded but, nevertheless, brilliant teenager. The hatred against his peers, who treated him like scum, the abhorrence towards the particular gryffindors that abused him and took his woman away from him, the all-consuming hatred against his father, who made his life a living Hell and took his mother from him. Severus', his and Harry's past was so similar in so many aspects, it would have been ridiculous if it wasn't so devastating. At least Harry had his father now. No matter how hard the snarky potions master tried to show that he didn't care, Voldemort knew better. Severus's greatest gift was his _loyalty_ which he never gave freely, but he was loyal to his son, even if he himself hadn't acknowledged that yet. It was obvious that Harry would change him, was already changing him. The little Prince was special, priceless, and _his_. Was Harry going to change him as well?

Brushing the small beads of sweat off of his forehead, Voldemort kept walking around the room, seething at the unusual, frustrating worry he was experiencing. Something was happening, Harry was sick, he could practically feel it in his very bones, but he had no idea what was the cause of the boy's misery. Gulping down water, for the sight of alcohol made the bile rise up in his throat, the Dark Lord pressed against the cool wall in a shadowed corner, panting, thinking that his heart might burst out of his chest - so fast it beat, so furiously it banged against his ribcage. When his head started spinning, Voldemort knew he needed Severus. Fainting in front of the Death Eaters and important guests would be most inconvenient. Taking deep, calming breaths, he moved to find the potions master but only saw his hastily retreating back. Narrowing his eyes in nagging suspicion, he quickly followed.

He could see a small elf tugging on the hem of Severus' robe, dragging him out of the room, gesturing frantically and crying. There could be no doubt - it was Harry's servant. But before Voldemort could throw a tracking spell, or stun the little creature, or call Severus, the potions master grabbed on the elf's small hand and the two of them disappeared, leaving only a silver mask to lie on the floor in the empty, dimly lit hall. Swearing under his breath, Voldemort kicked it and stormed out and into the other, deserted wing, crashing all the mirrors and vases on his way by simply glaring at them. An hour, he was going to give Severus one hour and then he would call for him through the mark. It was impossible to trace him now, he would be isolated by the wards that Harry was hiding behind. He reached out for the boy... His shields were down. As was his mind. Harry was unconscious. _Fuck, fuck, fuck!_ He threw himself into the dusty old armchair and trained his ominously gleaming blood red eyes on the fire, that came to life in an empty hearth. _One hour_.

**xxx**

Severus stumbled and barely stopped himself from colliding with a wall. "Dobby!"

"Dobby so sorry, master Prince! But Dobby worried about master Harry! He don't eat, don't sleep, he say his child is evil and asks to put out the fire! Master Prince," the elf threw himself at Severus, smearing his tears and snot all over his robes, "Please, help him!"

"Fine, fine, show me to his rooms," he muttered, inwardly trembling at the thought that Harry could easily loose his sanity. There was no telling what the child would do to him. It was fortunate that Dobby turned out to be a rather independent, clever elf and thought of calling for him before it was too late. Fever was a bad sign. It could mean anything, it could be even infection.

They stormed into the bedroom, that Dobby had put up on the first floor for Harry, so that the boy didn't have to walk up and down the stairs. But it was empty. Wet, tangled sheets lay crumpled on the floor, a pillow was torn to shreds and the feathers stuck to every surface. "Master Harry!" the elf cried hysterically, wriggling his small hands in desperation.

Turning on his heels, Severus hastily walked down the hall, bursting the doors wide open with a flick of his wrist, but Harry was nowhere to be seen. If what Dobby had told him about the boy's condition was true, then he couldn't get too far. Getting angrier and more impatient, nervous, the potions master barked out his son's name in his usual, professor's tone but no answer came. A blow of cold wind caught his attention and Severus turned to see the garden door standing slightly ajar.

"Harry!" He lay on the ground, unconscious, as the snow around him was gradually turning pink from the blood. In a flash Severus darted towards him and fell on his knees beside the motionless body. Harry was barely breathing, his skin was hot as fire and his pulse was uneven, too weak to last any longer. But his belly was enormous! Severus was no specialist when it came to pregnancies and women's health but even he knew that such size was unnatural. It looked even more astonishing against Harry's exhausted, thin frame. His cheeks became hollow and the skin wrapped his bones as if he was drained of all the fat and meat, and blood. The child was worse than a parasite, it _ate_ the boy both physically and magically. Pressing his fingers to Harry's throat, feeling for the pulse, Severus waved his wand over his body, breathing deeply, fighting his own panic that seemed to be grabbing on his throat and depriving him of oxygen.

"Dobby! Get my bag from the cupboard in the back of the office, now!" he shouted, dropping his wand and grabbing on Harry's clothes. Tearing his long shirt apart, he stared at the enlarged stomach and stretched skin, covered in scratches and bruises - both father and child had been trying to get rid of each other, it seemed. Shedding his own robes, Severus pulled the sleeves of his white shirt up and continued undressing the boy. He couldn't move him inside before he stopped the bleeding, the cause of which he couldn't find. Pushing down the boy's sweatpants, he winced at the sight. _Of course_. His insides were giving out under the weight and painful kicks of the fetus. "We have to do it now, Harry," he muttered more to himself, than to his son, as he took a small knife out of his pocket and unfolded it, biting his lips in apprehension and fear. He had to cut the boy open and take the child out, otherwise, no matter what he did, Harry's organs would be damaged beyond repair and he would bleed to death. Squeezing his eyes shut and taking a deep, shuddering breath, Severus looked up at his son's face. Harry was so pale, barely warmer in colour than the snow itself, his once again long, raven hair were spread all around his head as a halo, his red lips looked like a harsh wound on his ghostlike, waxen face and a small stream of scarlet blood traced the curve of his jaw, flowing down his neck and onto his weak, thin chest. Severus thought he looked like a Snow White from a fairy tale his mother used to read him in bed.

Snapping out of his stupor, berating himself for being the soft idiot that he was, Severus let out a muffled cry and plunged the short blade into the huge belly, slashing across the flesh and groaning at the sight of blood that poured out of the cut. He heard the elf drop his bag next to him but never looked up, concentrated on Harry only. "Pour the green vial into his mouth and make him swallow it." Gaging, he spread the sides of the belly and bit his tongue in shock, at the sight of a completely normal, if a little too big, infant lying in a womb he had cut open. It was alive and looked healthy, breathing deeply and calmly, as its arms and legs jerked sightly at the unusual freedom. With shaking hands the potions master took it out, staring at the small, blodded boy, that was his grandchild. He looked older than he was supposed to, Severus noticed absentmindedly, around two, maybe, three months old. "Take it inside, wash it and wrap in something," he pushed the infant into Dobby's hands and grabbed his wand. Harry's insides were a mess. He had to work quickly, before the boy died of the blood loss. "Hold on, Harry, hold on."

He had never felt so scared in his life before. He had seen wounds and injures from curses that were much more uglier and difficult than the ones that Harry had but the mere notion that a child did this... Severus couldn't wrap his mind around it. How could Harry stand this? Why hadn't he called for him sooner? Why hadn't he gotten rid of it? It was obvious the child was going to kill him, hadn't he had any sense of self-preservation? Of course he hadn't, he was a bloody Harry Potter. "Idiot! I would have killed you if you weren't standing at death's door already!" Putting the last healing and restorative spells on the boy's guts, he hastily sewed his cut belly and poured the double dose of blood-replenishing potion into his throat. Hunched over Harry's form, Severus watched him, listening closely to his breathing, as his fingers were firmly pressed against the artery. The pulse was weak, but stable. Nodding to himself and licking his lips uncertainly, the potions master gathered Harry into his arms and stood up, closing his eyes resentfully at the sight of the huge spot of red, melted snow. So much blood was lost, he couldn't help but doubt that Harry would make it.

Putting him down onto the freshly changed bed, Severus involuntarily rearranged the long wet locks that stuck to Harry's sweated forehead. The boy looked so weak, so young, too young to be made to go through such horror. He sat down next to him, holding his awfully thin wrist, counting after the seldom beats of the heart, caressing the pale, hollow cheek with his other hand. It took a very brave and a very foolish man to do something like this - to give his own life for the child that was destroying him. But what would have Severus done, were he in Harry's place? Shuddering, he brushed the weird thoughts away - no, he wouldn't think of this ever again, thank you very much. "Master Prince?" he heard Dobby's meek call and turned to look at him. The elf sat on the other side of the bed with a bundle of sheets in his small arms, amongst which a child lay, sleeping peacefully. Twisting his lips in disdain at the sight of it, he raised an inquiring eyebrow at the creature. "What are we to do with child, sir? It is very dark, but it loves master Harry and master Harry loves it."

"I know it is," Severus bit out, looking at the infant again. Yes, the boy was older than he was supposed to be. Apparently, Harry's magic was so strong, so powerful, it gave the fetus a growing spurt and caused so much damage as a result. The baby looked around three months old, with pale but healthy looking, pinkish skin, a mop of thick, chestnut hair and a tiny dimple on his chin which Severus knew _where exactly_ had come from. "Feed it and care for it, we'll see how it would behave." He couldn't kill the Dark Lord's child even if he wanted to. Harry would never forgive him, he would never forgive himself. For, despite the repugnance he felt towards the child, he couldn't help but steal the quick glances at its small, beautiful form, at its soft skin, small, clutched fists, plump red lips - just like Harry's. He wondered if his eyes were also green. _Stop it, it almost killed the boy! _Growling lowly to himself, Severus turned away and once again concentrated on Harry. His chest was rising more often now, and the pulse became a little faster. Having had waved his wand again and read the runes, the potions master let out a groan of relief. Harry was magically exhausted but not completely, as he had thought at first, his magic was slowly coming back to him, supporting his organs. He was going to recover soon. "I will leave potions at his table, give each one of them every two hours. I need to brew some more at my laboratory," Severus told Dobby, pouring the contents of another vial into Harry's throat and rubbing on it gently to help him swallow. "I will be back soon."

Standing up and pointedly ignoring the small boy, who had woken up and was looking at him, whimpering softly, Severus looked around for his robe and hissed suddenly, as the sharp pain pierced his left arm. His lord was summoning him and he was _fucking angry_. Sighing tiredly, the potions master decided he didn't care for the damned robe and walked out of the room. He halted at the threshold, remembering briefly that he wanted to ask Dobby where the hell was this place. "Dobby, where does Harry live?"

"Belfast, sir," the little elf said, rocking the baby soothingly in his arms, looking very comfortable in his new role of a babysitter.

"Belfast..." Severus drawled, feeling as all of his pent-up frustration and fear were finally subsiding. "Fucking Belfast," he shook his head and suddenly burst into a loud, rich laughter, leaning onto the doorframe for balance, as his whole body shook in a bout of hysteria. "Unbelievable! Only Harry could choose Belfast of all the places!" he stammered through the short barks of laughter, brushing the tears of mirth out of his reddened eyes. Prince Manor was situated twenty kilometers north to the city of Belfast. All this time Harry had been hiding right under their noses.

* * *

_A/N: note that the lyrics of the lullaby used in this chapter are taken from Tim Buckley's song "Song to the Siren"._


	8. Chapter VIII

_Disclaimer: nothing that is related to HP belongs to me._

_Warning: abuse, rape, underage sex, violence, everything is bad and don't read it_

* * *

**Of Monsters and Men, Of Fathers and Sons.**

**Chapter VIII**

Staring at the ceiling, Voldemort lay in the armchair, rubbing on his chest, listening to the pounding of blood in his ears. His legs went numb and he breathed slowly, frantically trying to calm himself down. He thought Harry died, but now, as he was gradually coming back to his senses, he could feel his horcrux. Its call was too weak, almost imperceptible, but it was there. Swallowing the hard lump in his throat, he let out a low groan of relief. He had never felt so bad, so helpless in his life, except for the time when his spirit was forced out of his body. But even then, the pain was quick, well numbed by the hollow state, that barely resembled existence. What he was experiencing now was long, tormenting, _human_. It was fear, wasn't it? He was scared shitless for the first time ever since he had graduated from Hogwarts and become an adult. He thought he had forgotten what it was like to be afraid, having had hidden all of his horrible childhood memories very deep and far away in his mind.

Harry almost died, he felt it, he knew it, as if his very soul had been torn out of him again and placed back inside by some invisible force. The hell was happening? Why was his little Prince suffering so much, hadn't he destroyed everyone who could ever hurt him? Blindly pulling his wand out of his sleeve, he pushed its tip against his left arm, scratching on the unmarred skin, hissing Severus' name in parseltongue. He never needed another mark to call for his followers, they were bound to his magic, that surged through his veins, but they could never know about that. An hour had passed, he wanted answers.

"My lord," Severus' hoarse voice came from the threshold a few minutes later. Turning to face him, Voldemort widened his ruby eyes in shock at the sight of the potions master's hands and shirt - they were soaked wet with blood, that he knew was Harry's.

"Will he live?" he heard his own voice, that sounded hollow and distant, foreign, as he kept staring at the scarlet colour, standing out starkly against the white fabric and almost equally white skin. A mesmerizing image.

"Yes," Severus said simply. Looking at his lord's face now he couldn't help but think back on the child, that was the man's carbon copy. Once again he caught himself wondering if the boy's eyes were green.

"And you can't tell me what happened, can you." It wasn't a question. The Dark Lord was seething, slowly gaining back his natural pale colour instead of the sickly green. "Severus, I am _fucking tired_ of this."

_As am __I_. "I understand, my lord. I will find a way. It all depends on Harry, really," Severus drawled, trying to calm the tremor in his hands. The horror and exhaustion from everything that had happened was slowly coming at him and he knew he needed to lie down, otherwise he would faint and would be as good as dead, while Harry needed the potions, as soon as possible.

"Just tell me," Voldemort stood up, swaying a little, and narrowed his blood red eyes at the potions master, "Is it someone else he is hiding, trying to protect?"

_Wonderful_. No matter what he said, his master would be furious. "Yes," he sighed helplessly.

"A man, a woman? Had this person harmed him?" He knew it! How easily had Harry banished Marvolo out of his heart, how easily had broken his promise. Severus perplexed expression brought him out of his jealous musings and he furrowed his brow in frustration. "Well?"

What was he supposed to say? _The bloody vow! _"This person had harmed him, unintentionally, if I may say so..." He felt as if he was five again and was trying to make up a believable story about just who had broken his mother's magical mirror. Most ridiculous position he had ever found himself in. "It is a man but there is nothing... sexual between them." Great, Severus, great, better lie down right now before he threw a cruciatus at you and you broke a few bones.

This all was most confusing and Voldemort felt he was getting angrier and angrier with every second. "How long will his recovery take?" It was pointless to go after Harry now, but as soon as he was safe and sound... _No more waiting_.

"Three weeks at least." This was the truth, Severus thought with relief.

"Three weeks it is, then," the Dark Lord nodded and came very close, practically nose to nose with the potions master. "You will take me there or I will forget about how much I value you, Severus," the inflamed blood red eyes searched his face, so merciless, so cold, that Severus could only swallow hard and nod in understanding.

**xxx**

His eyelids felt as heavy as rocks and he desperately wished to rub on them, to lessen their weight, but his hands just wouldn't move, numb and motionless, his fingers ached, being curled for so long. A cool, tasteless liquid suddenly poured into his mouth, pleasantly coating his dry, hot tongue, slowly slipping down his sore, constricted throat. Sighing, Harry relaxed his muscles and sharply came to consciousness, as his body jerked at the overwhelming sensation of the prolonged tension finally subsiding. He opened his eyes, blinking heavily, wincing at the bright morning light, or, at least, he thought it was morning. He couldn't remember what had happened, the last thing he knew was _snow_ - he stood amongst the painfully white snow and his scarlet blood floated down on it so beautifully... He heard rustling somewhere on his left and soft, uneven whining, that seemed very familiar, even though he had no idea what it was. Stretching his fingers, frowning at the unpleasant prickling under his skin, Harry slowly moved his hands over to his abdomen, to check on the baby. But his belly was... _gone_. Widening his eyes in horror, he jerked to sit up and look at himself, but somebody's strong hold stopped him.

"It's alright, master Harry, you cans not sit yet, you must lie and rest." _Dobby_. His little friend.

"B-ba-by," Harry managed to whisper, stammering, as his tongue and dry, numb lips refused to obey him.

"Baby is fine, healthy and beautiful!" the elf chirped happily, patting him on the shoulder and tucking him back under the covers. "You is too weak to hold him yet."

His child was born. Frowning, Harry tried to understand how had it happened. He couldn't have given birth, the womb wasn't his, wasn't natural, how could he have taken it out? "H-how?" he croaked, rolling his eyes wildly around, trying hard to see anything beside the bright light and the canopy of the bed.

"Dobby is bad elf, master Harry, very bad elf, Dobby called master Prince when you said you would kill the baby!" the little creature cried, clutching on his hand and covering it with fat tears.

Had he said that?_ Oh fuck!_ "It's fine, Dobby," he strained his muscles to speak coherently, "You did the right thing." Severus had delivered the child. And, apparently, saved his life, _again_. Squeezing his eyes and groaning at the pain in his stiffened neck, Harry turned his head to the left, from where he thought he heard Dobby speak. Squinting, as he looked up at the little creature seated beside him, he instantly noticed a bundle of sheets with a pair of tiny, plump hands sticking out of it, grabbing on the empty air. Feeling as his heartbeat had quickened, Harry couldn't help but gasp at the sight. A sob escaped his lips and tears of pain, exhaustion and relief streamed down his cheeks. How could he even dare to think of killing his little one?

"Let me see him," he whined, crying, and shifted closer, ignoring the sharp pain, that surged through his body. The little elf didn't object, but helped him roll on his side, carefully pushing the pillows behind his back and underneath his stomach. Harry's trembling hand slowly reached out and pulled on the sheets to clear the view. _He_ was so small and impossibly beautiful. "Oh god." Harry couldn't help but weep loudly, shaking all over in a hysterical bout of overwhelming happiness. _His son_, his little boy was finally here, lying next to him and smiling. How was it possible to hate such a wonderful, innocent, defenseless human being? Harry caressed the boy's cheek, marveling at its softness. The baby squeaked happily under his touch and a huge, stupid grin stretched Harry's face as his heart sang at the sounds that came out of his son's chest. Not really thinking about what he was doing, he pulled the bundle close to his chest and pushed his hand underneath the sheets to stroke the boy's warm chest and stomach, laughing and crying at the baby's pleased giggles. The bright green eyes were watching him with such warmth and love, Harry thought his heart would break, so elated, ecstatic he felt. He stroked the wavy chestnut hair, burying his nose in it, inhaling deeply the sweet scent of his little one, who wriggled excitedly at their close contact. The more he touched the boy, the more addicted he felt, it was like touching pure magic, pure miracle. Harry pressed his lips against the baby's forehead and sobbed again, already knowing that no matter what had happened and what was going to happen, he would never let anyone hurt his son. Covering the happily squeaking boy with featherlight kisses, Harry enveloped him in a tight embrace, crying softly. He couldn't believe the _gift_ the Fate had graced him with.

"You are so beautiful," he whispered, kissing the tiny dimple on the baby's chin, and nuzzled his nose into the boy's neck, enjoying his warmth and wonderful scent. He felt the small hands clutch on his long hair and tug on it lightly, as the child yawned and instantly fell asleep, snoring softly into Harry's ear. "My son, my little boy."

This was how Severus found Harry, embracing the child, that had almost killed him, and smiling in his sleep, with his forehead pressed against the boy's, whose peaceful face looked most angelic. Who would have thought that he was the heir of the Dark Lord? Sighing, Severus waved his wand over Harry and hummed, satisfied with his progress. He wasn't going to stand up and walk just yet, but his organs were slowly recovering and regenerating. He could finally eat, instead of being given nutrition potions.

"Severus?" he looked up and met the unfocused, sleepy, green eyes of his son, who was too weak to hold his head up and could only turn it a little to the side. Sitting down next to him, the potions master leaned forward so that Harry could see him, and placed his palm over the boy's forehead. It was warm but not alarmingly so, the fever was finally gone. "Thank you," Harry whispered, smiling at him so softly, so gratefully, that Severus had to look away and purse his lips to gain control over his own emotions. He had _almost lost_ him, if it wasn't for Dobby...

"You are an idiot, Harry," he gritted through clenched teeth, still holding his hand on the boy's head. "How could you be so reckless? You should have called for me as soon as you started feeling weak!"

"I know," tears rolled down his cheeks, as Harry squeezed his eyes in shame and sorrow. "I couldn't think straight, I was afraid."

"You know I would have never hurt you or... _him_," Severus stole a quick glance at the sweetly snoring infant in his son's arms, holding the Slytherin locket firmly in his small, plump fingers. He sensed the child's aura, it was dark, he was powerful, obviously, but there was nothing else. He had never met another horcrux apart from Harry and couldn't know how to distinguish if the boy was one of them.

"Yes, I know," Harry sighed and raised one of his weak hands to hold Severus'. He squeezed the potion stained fingers ever so slightly and guided his father's hand over to his little one, making it touch the small, soft cheek. "Just look at him, isn't he a _miracle_?"

Severus wanted to snatch his hand away but as soon as his skin connected with the infant's, he found he couldn't do it. The child was so soft and warm, and so... familiar to the touch, so _dear_. Was it what Harry felt holding him? Was it what Lily took from him when she hid the fact that Harry was his? Was it what he _should have felt_ towards Harry during all these seventeen years - this impossible warmth in his chest and the pleasant flatter of his heart? "I suppose he is." The little boy opened his eyes and looked straight at the potions master, as if he had understood his words. His eyes were just as brilliantly green as Harry's. Severus wondered if he should tell Harry the truth about the mysterious father, but seeing his son's happy smile and adoring look, addressed to the baby, he decided against it. It wasn't the time yet, it would only break Harry's heart and he had had enough on his plate lately. He was given three weeks of peace, after all.

"You will love him, Severus, I promise," Harry whispered, smiling at his father, whose hand was stroking the chestnut hair absentmindedly, as the baby was watching him affectionately, squeaking quietly at his touch.

"Don't you want to kill him anymore? You know, he almost made you a squib and almost took your life," Severus frowned, hating how much he enjoyed touching the baby. _His grandchild._ To think, that he was that old!

"I wasn't myself, I was driven mad by the pain," Harry said firmly. "I can't hate him, I can't even think of hurting him, it makes me _sick_. I love him," he closed his eyes, kissing the boy's cheek, and rubbed his nose against the boy's, drawing happy giggles from his small red lips. "And he loves me."

"Of course, he has no brain to hate you, _yet_," the potions master sneered and pulled his hand away, but the little boy grabbed on it and squeezed his long, thin fingers in his plump, sweaty ones. Severus always felt disgusted by the mere sight of the small children, always covered in snot and saliva, and everything else that their bodies could produce, but, somehow, his grandchild wasn't at all repulsive, if anything, he was most adorable. _Oh, pull yourself together, Severus! Old, stupid hag!_

Harry laughed weakly at the dearly missed snarky remarks and kissed his son again. "You can't fool me, Severus, you like him. It is impossible not to like him."

"What are you going to call him?" he decided to steer their conversation into a different direction, feeling that he wasn't quite ready to deal with everything that he had experienced recently, towards the baby in particular. "He can't be called "_he_" or "_baby_" all the time. Oh wait," he drawled sarcastically, "You haven't thought about it, have you?"

"As a matter of fact," Harry stuck his tongue out, enjoying the astonished look on his father's usually stern face, "I have thought about his name a great deal." After he had had many dreams of his little boy, Harry had wondered about the fitting name, when he felt more or less sane between the fits of fever and unconsciousness. At first he thought to name the boy Sirius, but realized that he would soon hate him for being the constant reminder of his own great mistake, it was still too hard for him to think of his godfather and, as much as he wished to honour his memory, he couldn't bring himself to name his child after the man. He thought of naming him Marvolo, after his father, but it wasn't even the wizard's real name, it was Voldemort's and he would have rather died, than named his little one after that monster. Then he thought of a name that wouldn't have any link to his past, that wouldn't match any of those people he used to know. During many of his walks through the city of Belfast, Harry had heard different irish names and there was a particular one he thought he liked very much. "Domhnall Severus Prince is his name."

"Domhnall?" Severus raised his eyebrows incredulously, "Of all the names..." But Harry's glare shut him up and he shrugged his shoulders, feigning that he didn't really care. The fact that Harry gave the boy his name as well sent a particularly pleasant pulse into his heart and he huffed at himself in exasperation. What did it really matter what was the boy's name? _Domhnall it is_. "Fine."

"Thank you, I hoped you would approve," Harry smiled brilliantly, and pulled the boy into as a tight embrace as he could master, making him gurgle excitedly. "Little prince Domhnall," he sighed happily, kissing his son everywhere he could reach. Severus wished he could feel disgusted with the show, but instead he felt he couldn't take his eyes off of the unimaginable gentleness and affection, that transpired between Harry and... _Domhnall_. Something that his mother used to give him, something he had long forgotten but craved deep, deep inside of his heart.

"We should register him at the Ministry," he offered, pushing the bitter thoughts away.

"Not now," Harry frowned, rubbing on Domhnall's stomach, "After the war is over. I don't want anybody to find out. Death Eaters would know that something is not right if a child under your name would suddenly appear."

"As you wish." It was logical, he could agree with that. However, there was no telling just for how long the war would stretch, while the child would need medical care and a personal fund at the bank. Severus was a good mediwizard, but he was no specialist when it came to infants and toddlers, children younger than twelve.

"Don't worry, we will manage," Harry gave him a small smile, as if he had read his thoughts.

"How do you feel magically? Did you have any kind of power boost?"

"Yes, my magic became uncontrollable but very powerful during the last three months and now I feel like it is coming back gradually," Harry nodded. Domhnall was watching him curiously, barely breathing, listening to the sound of his voice it seemed. He was unexpectedly calm and quiet for a little baby. "He is powerful as well, isn't he?" Harry looked at Severus intently.

"Very much so," the potions master sighed, thinking back on the Dark Lord. With parents like Voldemort and Harry and such an unusual way of growth and developing, there was no telling just how actually powerful Domhnall would become in twelve years. "You will have to be _very careful_ with magic around him, I would advice to refrain from using any for a time being. I cannot tell how would he react, or how would it affect him."

"I understand," Harry sighed and pecked the boy's nose, unable to stop touching and showering him with kisses.

"I will leave potions for you, that would be enough for a week, I believe. I will visit again in a few days," Severus stood up and placed a box with vials on the bedside table. "I have instructed Dobby about the food for the both of you and if anything happens, the elf will notify me whether you want or not." He gave Harry a pointed look, but the young wizard only smiled at him helplessly. Shaking his head, the potions master squeezed his shoulder gently, "You must rest, Harry. You almost died. Please, take this seriously and don't make any unnecessary moves. Dobby will take care of everything."

"Alright," Harry's smile brightened, as his heart flattered at the notion that his father was so worried, cared so much for him and Domhnall. He was so lucky to have Severus. "Thank you."

_Oh no, not that look again! _Severus hastily turned away and, muttering his goodbyes, quickly left, apparating to the Hogwarts' Gates from the dimly lit, narrow hall of the Red House, as he started calling it in his mind.

**xxx**

"Have you heard anything from Harry?" Dumbledore greeted Severus, when he entered the headmaster's office with his working bag in his hands. Shaking his head negatively, he sat down next to the old wizard and took out the ointments and bandages for the man's blackened hand. The cure that he had made was barely prolonging Dumbledore's life, and lessened the pain only temporarily, for pretense's sake. "The child is due in a month and a half, if our calculations were right. I wonder how would he deliver it without any help?" the headmaster continued, watching the potions master intently. "I heard you have been absent quite often the last week, Severus, is something the matter with Voldemort?"

"The Dark Lord wishes to find the boy, he is afraid you would kill his horcrux," Severus sighed. Half-truths were rather tiresome these days. He realized he got enough of spying for one lifetime and desperately wished he could act openly, show his support for the Dark and _be done_ with all this mess.

"It is most unfortunate that Harry has escaped and is burdened with such a hard responsibility, all alone out there," the headmaster sighed, shaking his white head. "I wish everything had turned out differently."

"What is the point of regretting now?" Severus scowled, carefully bandaging the thoroughly oiled hand. How much could have turned out completely different if it wasn't for the man's blasted_ 'greater good'_.

"Never mind me, just the old man, mourning his grave mistakes," Dumbledore waved his healthy hand dismissively and smiled at him. The twinkle that appeared in the pale blue eyes alerted Severus and he swore inwardly at the man's next words. "I have found out that Dobby, you remember him, the first free house-elf, had left the school quite some time ago, without telling anyone. I wonder, where might he have gone?"

"Do you have the means to track him down?" If he had, than he would have to take his lord to Harry as soon as possible, there was no alternative. Harry was too weak to protect himself and Domhnall.

"I am looking for one," the headmaster gestured at the stack of ancient parchments spread all over his desk. "It is a wonder just how many laws concerning elves' slavery there are. Miss Granger was most enthusiastic to help me," he smiled his grandfatherly smile.

"Miss Granger and Mr Weasley should know better than try and find Harry," Severus stood up, gathering his tools impassively. "They should be grateful that he sacrificed their friendship in order to save their lives, instead they make it _pointless_."

"Severus, don't be so pessimistic," the headmaster chided, "We all wish only what is best for Harry. I cannot forbid them to worry about him and the child, to wish to find him."

_He cannot my arse_. "Whatever you say, Albus. It would be their parents who would mourn their deaths, not me."

Shaking his head in exasperation, Dumbledore laughed bitterly, "Oh, Severus, don't say that. They wouldn't die, we would protect them, of course. As soon as we eliminate Voldemort, there would be no danger for them. But we must find Harry in order to do that. I am not going to let the children fight, even though their Dumbledore's Army is quite impressive," he smiled ruefully, "I would simply let them help me find their friend. They have the right to see him before... everything happens."

"How many horcruxes have you destroyed?" Severus asked as a matter-of-factly, looking bored for all the world.

"Only one, so far, not counting Tom Riddle's diary," the headmaster raised his cursed hand as an illustration. "I have a theory that there were six of them, with Harry being the seventh. I have to wait for Harry to appear, for I need his help finding the others. I believe I know the places where they are hidden, but I am incapable of retrieving them on my own anymore."

"I see." The potions master nodded, thinking that his lord would like the news. It had been so hard to please him lately, he was once again cursing everyone for simply standing in the wrong fashion. Harry was recovering steadily and he prayed he could deal with his and Voldemort's meeting with as less blood as possible.

"I will notify you when we have some progress on Dobby," Dumbledore smiled and dismissed him, turning back to studying the old texts.

It was only one week left until the day the Dark Lord would meet his son. Severus knew it was going to be one of the most difficult days in his life. He only hoped Harry would forgive him.

**xxx**

Harry had spent two weeks not once leaving his bed, eating tasteless broth and drinking the leftovers of Domhnall's milk. The boy ate very little and it worried Harry sick, even though the book on raising a magical child suggested it was alright and his appetite would soon grow. His little son was his joy and his heart, Harry worshiped him, holding him in his arms every waking and sleeping moment, incessantly kissing his feet, hands, stomach and chin, hungry to touch and caress his baby. Domhnall was very quiet, he didn't cry, only laughed and squeaked happily every time his father held him, and played with the golden locket, mesmerized with its gleam. Harry couldn't stop marveling at his beauty and calm, loving nature. Domhnall might have been a dark wizard, but his soul was _light_, he was certain.

During one of his visits Severus had finally let Harry get up and walk a little, monitoring his every step. It was hard to move, his every organ ached, but it was bearable. He had managed to survive Domhnall being inside of him for so long - he could deal with this little obstacle as well. Harry couldn't wait to be able to walk outside, to take his son for his first walk, to take him to the sea. He himself had never seen it before he came to Belfast and found he fell in love with it the very instant his eyes caught its sight. He wished to share everything with his boy. Severus wasn't that enthusiastic about letting the two of them outside and suggested they wait a little more. Dobby, who had been shopping for the past few days, had finally finished the nursery and the master bedroom on the second floor and it was the first destination Harry had traveled to with Domhnall in his arms. The boy was rather heavy, and he had to take frequent breaks on his ways, leaning on the walls and panting, groaning in pain, but there was no other way to make his body work properly again and get used to caring for the child.

"Has he already been sorted into Slytherin?" Harry laughed, looking around the nursery, that was decorated in pale green and silver colours.

Dobby smiled at him, moving his floppy ears excitedly, "Do masters find it to theirs liking?"

"Yes, we do," Harry laughed again, shifting Domhnall in his hands to hold him more comfortably, so that he too could assess his bedroom. The little elf bought everything that was necessary for the little boy, and Harry walked around the small but cosy space, curiously opening the tiny drawers, full of colourful clothes of both muggle and wizarding fashion, different toys and developing games. But most of all he liked the crib, that was made of dark wood, decorated with elegant carvings of all the magical creatures that could be found in the books: from unicorns to sea serpents, from fairies to trolls. One could spend hours studying all the little figures, that moved around the wooden surface. There also was an old, puffy armchair in the corner with a small lamp hovering over it - the pieces that Dobby had found in the house and adjusted for Harry to use for reading to Domhnall before sleep. Every little detail had been considered and executed with outmost care. "Thank you, Dobby," Harry patted the happy elf on the head, smiling to himself, feeling that parenting was something he would enjoy immensely.

**xxx**

Two days before the Dark Lord was supposed to visit Harry, Dumbledore told Severus that Miss Granger had found a way of tracking Dobby down. With no more time to waste, the potions master escaped the school right after the last lesson and hurried to apparate to Prince Manor. Voldemort, who was sprawled over the sofa in the library and was angrily tearing the pages of Shakespeare's sonnets, throwing them up in the air and setting them on fire by just glaring at them, hadn't even acknowledged his entrance, ignoring everything in a bout of a rather childish depression, as Severus thought. Sometimes he doubted his lord was nearly seventy years old, for he often acted like Harry's peer.

"My lord," he kneeled, trying to catch the man's attention, "I believe we have a change in our plans."

"What plans, Severus?" Voldemort drawled, not looking at him, "I have _plenty_."

"Visiting Harry, my lord?"

At the sound of the boy's name the Dark Lord instantly stopped vandalizing the book and sat up, looking at the potions master intently. "Go on."

"Dumbledore had found a way to trace the elf, I think you should be the first to see Harry." _And Domhnall_. Severus knew Harry wouldn't leave his home, wouldn't move anywhere to live with the Dark Lord, but at least his master could ward his house and make it impenetrable for the Order. He himself was thinking about using the blood magic but wanted to have the other's approval first.

"Don't think, Severus, move!" Voldemort growled impatiently, already standing next to the wizard and grabbing on his arm to be apparated to their destination. In a whirl of their equally black robes, the two men landed in front of the old, tall house of red brick. Looking around, rubbing the water off of his face, as the rainy storm raged around them, Voldemort couldn't help but exclaim indignantly, "Is this a _fucking joke_? Had he been in bloody Belfast all this time?" Severus could only shrug his shoulders helplessly in response, holding his wand high to shield himself from the cold, showering rain.

Enraged and excited, the Dark Lord strode confidently forward, crossing Harry's wards easily for they were weakened along with his health and needed time to recover and work properly. Thinking that bursting inside uninvited wouldn't help his case, he banged on the door and hovered, pushing his both hands against the doorframe, breathing harshly like a beast, overwhelmed with lust, frustration, longing and _jealousy_.

After Harry had sent Dobby to the apothecary and market with a list of ingredients for the potions Severus taught him to brew for his treatment course, he went to the kitchen, humming under his breath to the sounds of the thunder outside, hurrying to prepare milk for Domhnall, with whom he was incapable to part for even a few minutes. Warming the milk at the stove, for he was reluctant and still rather weak to use his magic just yet, he jumped at the sound of a loud banging on the front door. Grumping that because of his weakened wards every muggle salesman was going to haunt his threshold, he trudged over the hall and pulled on the door handle, with his mouth opened in a rehearsed paraphrasing of "fuck off". As the door opened, he froze before he could make any sound escape his lips.

"Harry, how fucking hard it was to find you!" Marvolo flashed him a familiar feral grin, towering over him, looking the hungry beast that he was, all soaking wet under the rain. Only he wasn't _Marvolo_. Harry's eyes slowly took in the dimple, the plump rose lips, the chestnut hair... the long, thin nose and high cheekbones, thick arched eyebrows, a small mole under the left eye... Now he knew just whom had Marvolo resembled so much all the time they had spent together. He resembled his younger self, Tom Marvolo Riddle, the gaunt, pale boy from the Chamber of Secrets, whose voice was so smooth and kind, whose smiles were so charming, whose blue eyes were as cold as ice... Only now his eyes were red as blood. Marvolo was _Voldemort_. All this time Marvolo-Voldemort had been haunting him down, attacking his mind, coming to him in his dreams... He had slept with the monster that killed so many... Voldemort was the one who healed him, taught him to live without fear...

And then it hit him. "No! No, no, no!" Harry cried hysterically, covering his mouth with his hand as he realized that Domhnall was the Dark Lord's son. This was worse than any bloody horcrux. "No, no, no," his voice broke into harsh whisper as he stumbled back, unable to look away from the blood red eyes that were looking at him just like they always had when they were brown.

"Harry?" Voldemort's smile faltered as he sensed the fear and grief coming in waves from the boy. His little Prince was just as beautiful as before, if a little exhausted. His silky, raven hair were long again and he itched to card his fingers through it, to inhale its wonderful scent. He saw the alluring red lips tremble and the tears well up in the brilliant green eyes that were full of pain. "_Harry_," he growled warningly and moved to step inside but the boy jerked and, screaming hoarsely, shut the door into his face with the force of his magic. Roaring furiously, Voldemort burst inside, too angry to behave civilly. If Harry wanted to make it hard for himself, he was all for it, he had waited for far too long. He caught the flicker of the boy's bare feet at the stairs and hastily followed, crossing the long, narrow hall in a few quick strides, feeling his blood boil excitedly in anticipation of he hunt and oh so magnificent _prey_.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are," he sing-sang softly, slowly ascending the last steps and stepping onto the landing of the second floor. It was eerie quiet and he smiled evilly, "Hide and seek is my favourite game, Harry, because I always win." He flicked his wrist and opened the closest door and peeked inside the room - empty. He tried another - empty as well. Turned on by the tension of the situation, Voldemort hurried to check the others. All of them were empty, except for the master bedroom, that looked lived in and very much like Harry would have it. There was only one last door and as he got closer, he felt the familiar aura behind it and grinned greedily, trembling inside as he felt his blood travel down to his heated groin. Pushing his dump hair back, he burst the door open in a flash and froze at the threshold with an innuendo on his lips, as his burning ruby eyes took in the sight in front of him.

Blinking dumbly at the bright flashes of lightnings outside the Dark Lord involuntarily lowered his wand in astonishment. It was as if he went back in time, sixteen years back to be exact, to the cold and rainy Halloween night, when a red haired witch shielded the small raven haired boy with her body in the nursery, painted in emerald green, just like the prophesied child's eyes. Feeling lost and suddenly very insecure, _tricked_, he stared at Harry, who stood at the small wooden crib, with his wand firmly drawn up and pointed at Voldemort, and a small child pressed to his chest. A small child... He thought his head was spinning and he grabbed on the doorframe for the balance, as his mind was frantically building the logical chain and completing the puzzle, adding the one and only piece that was missing. Bella's curse and Harry's magic colliding and affecting him in a way no one could diagnose; Harry's morning sicknesses; Harry's sudden disappearance from Dumbledore's radar; Severus being put under yet another vow; Harry being sick during the last months; Severus coming back covered in blood saying that the person Harry was protecting had unintentionally hurt him... _A child_. Harry had a child. From him, apparently, if his math was right.

"This is so fucked up," he bit out, staring at the little bundle of clothes in Prince's arms. He couldn't see the child's face but he saw the mop of wavy, chestnut hair, _his hair,_ and that was enough for him to know the baby was his.

"Don't you even dare to take another step closer," Harry growled warningly, glaring at him with such fierce protectiveness, Voldemort couldn't help but flinch a little. This was the source of Harry's sudden boost of power - he reeked of it now, the impossibly white, pure magic, it all but leaked out of his pores, tickling on the Dark Lord's senses, teasing his hunger. The child, _his child_, made Harry even more powerful than before, probably, even invincible.

"It is dark." He didn't know what else to say. The child's aura was identical to his own and it was just as powerful. It wasn't a horcrux, though. He understood now, yes, he understood everything. It was only logical to think that his soul would find a way of being reborn in a child's body, if it hadn't had already been a part of Harry's. He wasn't lying when he said they were a part of each other - their souls had merged and they couldn't be split without the particular horcrux ritual. Dumbledore couldn't have known that, of course, and no doubt was planning to kill both Harry and the child, to eliminate any possibility for him to resurrect. Of course Harry ran and hid from all the world, left his friends and everything he knew. To save the baby,_ their baby_... It was a dream, he told himself, he was going to wake up. Now.

"He is, so what?" Harry clutched Domhnall closer to his chest, feeling the tears run down his cheeks. This was his worst nightmare coming to life. Voldemort found them and, what was even worse, turned out to be the fucking father. No, it meant nothing. Perhaps, Domhnall had his powers, but it didn't make him a murderer, did it? His son was nothing like the deceiving bastard that tricked him into sharing bed and... _Fuck_. He couldn't do it, couldn't stand it. Here stood the man he wanted so much, the man he dreamed about, the man who had showed him such kindness and affection... and the man who killed his mother, killed hundreds of innocents in order to achieve his goals, had been trying to kill him for so many years. How was it possible that Marvolo and Voldemort were the very same person, how could he have been so blind, so naive, so credulous?

"A boy..." Voldemort whispered, keeping his eyes trained on the small form, hidden behind Harry's long hair. Suddenly, the child let out a soft laugh and turned to look at him, peeking from behind the raven curtain. The Dark Lord stared wondrously at the small pale face, so much like his own, at the smiling red lips and the brightly shining, laughing green eyes. The boy was so beautiful. And _his_. "Harry," he stepped forward, locking his ruby eyes with the tearful emerald ones that he missed so much.

"No, Marv- just don't. Please, leave!" Harry hated himself for being so weak, so confused, so soft. It was Marvolo, wasn't it? Even though his eyes were red and he held the white yew wand, he was still Marvolo. And it _hurt_, it hurt so terribly.

"Harry, it's me, you know that, don't you?" he tried, taking a small step closer, keeping his eyes at his little Prince. "Marvolo is my real name, you know that as well, why don't you call me by it?"

"You lied, you tricked me, _Voldemort_," Harry spat his name hatefully, although there wasn't as much anger in his tone as there was pain, hurt. His lips trembled traitorously, but he kept pointing his wand at the man he wanted to kiss and kill at the same time. The closer he got, the weaker Harry felt, the tighter he pulled Domhnall to himself, trying to shield him from the monster that was his father.

"I had to, my little one. Would you have trusted the Dark Lord with your pain and sufferings? I wanted to get to know you, I wanted to know the real you," Voldemort said quietly in his deep, soothing voice, closing in on the young man he wanted so much. His senses were overwhelmed with the sweetness of both Harry's and child's magic, as his soul was practically singing, being pulled closer and closer like a magnet, like a moth to a flame.

"You are the cause of my pain and my torment," his voice sounded so small and insecure but he couldn't help it. His heart was being torn apart by the desire to be held in the strong, cold arms, while his mind refused to believe this was happening, that this was real. "Please, go away," he sobbed, staring into the blood red eyes, the very eyes he liked so much.

"I can't," Voldemort stopped only when the holly wand pressed hard into his throat. None of his muscles twitched, as he pushed his own wand back into his sleeve and slowly raised his hands in a placating gesture. "I can't and you know it. You are _mine_, Harry, _you both are_."

"You won't have him, he will never be like you, never!" Harry whispered vehemently, hating the way his hand shook. Domhnall, who was keeping quiet until that moment, suddenly leaned forward and stretched his small hand out for the tall wizard, whose ruby eyes instantly locked with his. Harry couldn't see any kind of emotion in them, they were completely blank, as if Marvolo couldn't realize what was he supposed to feel towards the child. How could he really - a heartless murderer?

Voldemort looked into the small green eyes, that were watching him curiously. He couldn't process everything at once, it was too much even for him. He had a child, a son, an heir - something he had never even thought of, simply because he didn't need it. And now, faced with the fact that he was a father... he felt lost, helpless. He wasn't ready for _this_. Noticing the little hand waiting for him patiently, he reached out to hold it but Harry jerked the boy away.

"Don't touch him!"

Before he could say anything, Severus appeared at the threshold of the nursery, "My lord, we should put up the blood wards before it's too late."

"Blood wards? The fuck for?" Harry stared at his father, inwardly knowing that he had brought Voldemort here but having no strength left to be angry at him right now.

"Dumbledore is after you, he knows how to find you, it is a matter of days now. If you want to keep your son safe, let me ward your house with my blood," Voldemort looked at Harry intently, loathing the fear that flickered in the green eyes. Now that he was responsible for their child's life, Harry was much more vulnerable. He couldn't let anyone hurt his little Prince further than he had already had.

"They are able to trace you through Dobby, so we will have to send him away for a few days, another elf would be coming to help you, one from Prince Manor," his father added.

Looking between Voldemort and Severus, seeing their grave expressions and sensing the tension in the air, Harry lowered his wand in favour of clutching on his son's little form with his both hands protectively. How could he trust Marvolo with Domhnall's life, after he had deceived him so badly? But Severus trusted him, didn't he? He had brought him here because of this, hadn't he? To _protect_ Domhnall. "Only if you leave afterwards." Buying time was pointless, but Harry couldn't stand it all anymore, he wanted to cry, his legs were giving out, so tired he was and the fear, that was tying his guts in a knot, clouded his mind.

"I will be back, you know that. You can't run away from me _anymore_," Voldemort licked his lips, fisting his hands in order to restrain himself from grabbing Harry and hurting him and fucking him at the same time. He never felt so confused before, torn between anger and frustration, guilt and lust. The things his little Prince was doing to him... He turned and quickly left the room before his emotions and desires took over his rationality.

Nodding to Severus, he walked down the stairs and out of the house and stopped at the edge of the lawn and Harry's wards. As the water streamed down his face, cooling down his rage and apprehensiveness, Voldemort tried to clear his mind, tried to occlude himself from everything that he had just seen and felt. This was too much, _too much_. The potions master joined him, taking a small, ritual dagger out of his pocket. They both cut their palms and feet by feet covered the perimeter with drops of their blood, murmuring incantations, sound of which was momentarily whisked away by the deafening thunder, as they walked under the rain. The Dark Lord sensed Harry watching them out of the window but never once looked up, knowing very well that there was nothing he could do to sooth his little Prince. _Yet_. He wasn't going to give up so easily. Harry belonged to him, even if the boy couldn't accept it - he couldn't change it either.

**xxx**

When they finished and the Dark Lord left without another word, Severus hesitantly went back inside and into the nursery. Domhnall lay in his crib, blabbering softly and looking at his young father in confusion, as Harry stood aside, watching him and biting his nails nervously. It seemed as if he was afraid of his own son now. "How long have you known?" he asked the potions master not even looking at him.

"I didn't have the proof until Domhnall was born but I have had my suspicions for over two months, I suppose," he said carefully, looking at the _young man_ that was his son now. Young man, burdened with so much, scared, but too noble and brave to back out. How could he have created such a person - his complete opposite?

"It is even worse than horcrux, isn't it?" Harry sobbed quietly. "He is his fucking _legacy_, no matter what I do, he would grow up a Dark Lord's heir."

"You know it is not true. You didn't grow up being me, even though you had had a horrible childhood. I am quite certain you will be able to raise your son a normal, decent person."

"He is powerful, he has already been feeding on other's powers, he would only become greedier for it and then he would become insane just like Marv-Marvolo," too weak to stand anymore, Harry fell on his knees and wept, clutching on his arms, trying to hold himself, as his body shook violently from the strong sobs.

Creasing his brow at the sharp pang in his heart, which origin he couldn't fathom, Severus came closer and stroked his son's raven hair, knowing very well that there was nothing for Harry to do but give it time and accept it. "I _had_ to bring him here, Harry. You are too weak yet to protect yourself, hence the baby, but he can do it, and he is willing to, what is most important. Unfortunately, Dumbledore is not as forgiving as you are, and I seriously doubt he will listen to you when he comes to kill Domhnall."

"Why, why had it to be _him_?" Harry wailed, grabbing on his father and hugging his legs tightly, pushing his head against the man's stomach. "Why Voldemort?"

"I don't have an answer to this," Severus slowly reached down and helped the young wizard to stand, involuntarily bringing him close into a gentle embrace, he never imagined he had missed so much. "Perhaps, his soul in you is calling for him and pulling him closer, perhaps, it is your magic that intoxicates him, or maybe it is your beauty... It is hard to say, Harry, he is a man, after all. Horrible, cruel, great and powerful but a _man_. He has his own desires and weaknesses, and you are one of those."

"Why do you serve this monster?" Harry sobbed into the potions master shoulder, pressing tighter into his frame, finding so much comfort in his arms, such a familiar kind of comfort he had never had before.

"Because he has a right cause, aim. His means might be wrong sometimes, or particularly cruel and violent, but he is ambitious and stubborn on his way to releasing his dream, and I believe in it and in him. Of course, I belong to him like a _slave_," he twisted his lips disdainfully at that, inwardly wondering just what had compelled him to become all candid with Harry, "But I used to need him when I was young and now he needs me. It is as simple as that." Was he actually burying his nose into his son's hair? Was he rubbing on his back in soothing circles, was he finding comfort in their embrace? Was it really _that simple_ to just hold his son and feel better, so much better, as if his sins had just been pardoned?

"I am afraid," Harry whispered into his ear, "I am fucking scared to loose Domhnall, and I am so scared to have him, to be a failure as a parent, to make a mistake that would lead to the most horrible consequences."

_How very mature of you, Potter_ - something he would have said two years ago, not as a praise but as a biting remark. "You will be a great father, Harry, you know how to learn from others' mistakes, you know the right from wrong, you are a good person - all you have to do is be yourself and listen to your heart, your intuition. They have saved your hide so many times, I believe they proved to be trustworthy enough."

"It is _you_ who is saving me all the time," Harry nuzzled into the man's neck, sighing heavily in his arms, enjoying his unique scent of the many different potions ingredients and lavender, that he had noticed Severus preferred to use to get rid of the unpleasant smells after brewing. "I am so grateful, I simply do not know how to express myself. I am _lucky_ to have you."

Was it a tear prickling on his left eye? _Recognition. Acceptance. Absolution._ Carding his fingers through the silky raven locks, just like his own, the potions master reluctantly acknowledged the fact that he was reveling in his son's warmth, his presence, his closeness. He used to think being a parent was overestimated. "What are you going to do about the Dark Lord?" as the tear left his eye and landed on Harry's shoulder, Severus decided it was time to change the subject of their conversation and address a more important problem at hand, for he didn't trust his own emotions right now, it was far too long since he had experienced them fully. "You can't keep him away forever, he wants his son and has a right to have him, you know."

"I don't trust him, I am afraid of him, I hate him," Harry mumbled desperately, "He is a monster, Severus, he doesn't have a heart. How can he want Domhnall if not as another toy or an heir to continue on with his mission of killing?"

"I have to disagree with that, Harry," he pulled away a little and looked into the pained green eyes he learned to see as Harry's, not Lily's, not anymore. "What he had done for you back then... I know him better than many, I've seen him at his worst, believe me when I say he is more human _now_ than he ever was. During the almost eight months of your hiding, he had been asking about you every single day. He might be obsessed, it is rather typical for him, but he truly wants you and cares for you in his own strange, twisted way. As for Domhnall... I can understand him, Harry. Being faced with the fact that you are a father is a hard test not every man can accomplish. He needs time, as do you. But in the end, I am certain, he would want to become a part of the boy's life. You have him wrapped around your finger, he wouldn't do anything against your wishes."

Severus' calm, sensible words made Harry pull himself together and think. If it wasn't for the way Marvolo or Voldemort had hurt him, it would have been so much easier to make the right choice now. Rubbing on his father's shoulders absentmindedly, he frowned and asked, "Do you want me? Do you want to be a part of my life?"

He wanted to say that it didn't matter and that Harry shouldn't have been evading his own problem by asking him all these stupid questions, but his tongue, for the first time in many years, had outstripped his mind, "_Yes_."

This was all that Harry needed to hear to turn into a puddle of goo and pull Severus into yet another tight, desperate embrace, as the tears streamed down his cheeks again. This was so much more than he had been secretly hoping for. He was so broken and frustrated and having somebody so close, and strong, and so understanding next to him, somebody who didn't need to be constantly lied to, was so wonderful, so elating, freeing. "Thank you, Severus... _Dad_."

This was something he was absolutely sure he would never hear in his life. Feeling as a huge lump clogged his throat, Severus squeezed his eyes, trying with all of his strength to will the tears away, but they traitorously welled up and poured out and onto his face. His hands embraced Harry even tighter, harder, on their own accord, it seemed, as a long, shuddering sigh escaped his lips. He had lived for 37 years in this world and Harry was the only other person, beside his mother Eileen, who had managed to make him feel so human, vulnerable and stupid, but _alive_ by merely saying small, simple words with so much sincerity and affection behind them. In fact, as he thought about this, Harry reminded him much more of Eileen than of Lily - his soft and kind, forgiving nature was her legacy, he knew that now.

At Domhnall's indignant squeak, demanding attention, Severus let Harry go and stepped aside, to hide his face that he knew looked completely lost and pitiful now. "You shouldn't distance yourself from the boy, he hasn't killed anybody yet - and it is your job to see to that he never will." Nodding, rubbing on his tear-stained face, Harry came closer to the crib and bent over it, looking at his little son with affection, but still hesitantly.

"He is not _him_, isn't he?" he asked with his back turned to the potions master, knowing very well that the man was crying, not willing to shame him further.

"You know better than most how the monsters are created, Harry, you've seen plenty."

Smiling bitterly, he squeezed his eyes at the memory of one particular monster saving him from another. "Yeah, I have." Looking up at Domhnall, he saw the little boy stretch his little hands out, impatient to be held. Appearances were deceiving - that he knew better than most as well. But it was impossible to feign the emotions in one's eyes, it was impossible to feign love and kindness, which sparkled in his son's brilliant green ones. Voldemort was a true master of lie and deceit, but was he that powerful that he could pretend to feel what Harry thought he had then? Marvolo's eyes, no matter the colour, always held this unexpected warmth and affection towards him, which pained him now so much. If there were so many different kinds of monsters, then which one was Domhnall's father? And could such _a monster become a_ _man_? He didn't know the answer, nobody could know it, he supposed. Sighing, Harry took the boy into his arms and immediately felt a huge weight leave his shoulders. A smile stretched his lips and he hid his face in the mop of chestnut hair, laughing softly at Domhnall's grumping. The boy was so hungry for affection and love, close contact... This wasn't what monsters desired, was it? No, his little one was alright.

**xxx**

After he had warded Harry's house Voldemort went back to Prince Manor and fell onto his bed, exhausted by the blood loss and everything that had happened. He blacked out and woke up only in the afternoon of the following day, feeling particularly shitty. He flickered his fingers, but no usual tea appeared in front of him and he frowned at Easy's uncharacteristic tardiness. But then it hit him - he had sent her to serve Harry while his elf was trying to lead Dumbledore the wrong way. All the pent-up emotions of yesterday came over him suddenly and he groaned at the pain in his head. _A migraine, how wonderful._

_Harry_. Oh, how angry he was at the boy for hiding from him because of the child! But, and that was most disconcerting and irritating, he could understand why had Harry done it. He thought Marvolo and Voldemort were two different men. Sighing, he sat down on the windowsill and closed his eyes, pulling his night robe tighter around himself, shivering, for he was cold, always _so cold_. He wished his little Prince was here to keep him warm. But as he stared into darkness of nothingness,his mind once again went back to the small child in Harry's hands. A little boy, so much like him, so much like Harry... Could he have ever imagined something like this would happen to him? In all honesty, he was used to the many obstacles and tests that Fate used to give him during his whole life, there was nothing new under the sun, or at least he preferred to think so. But, apparently, Harry was going to change his life in ways he could hardly imagine, was already changing it. Would he have appreciated it the way he did now if he hadn't had absorbed all of his horcruxes? Probably not.

_The child_... what was he going to do about the child? Rubbing on his tired, reddened eyes he let out an exhausted sigh: parenting was something he knew next to nothing about. One thing he knew for sure, though, that, unlike his dear scum of muggle father, he would never leave the boy and Harry, would never make them live on the streets and die of poverty and famine. He had given himself a vow, when he entered Hogwarts, that he would be nothing like anybody else, definitely _nothing like_ the bastard that had given him his face and filthy blood. Wincing at the sharp pain in his right temple, Voldemort growled lowly and pushed his sleeve up to call for Severus - he had no potions on him left. It was Saturday, surely, the man didn't have any lessons now.

"My lord?" Severus hesitantly stepped inside the bedroom some time later, sensing the tension around his master, as the man's aura all but seethed with poison. The potions master had left Harry and Domhnall in the evening. Today Dumbledore and the know-it-all Granger were going to try and trace Dobby, who was sent to Sirius' cottage in Switzerland to make it look lived in.

"How is he?" There was no need to say who, for Severus knew perfectly well there was only one person the Dark Lord could be asking about with such worry in his perfectly impassive face - there was that slight crease of eyebrows and the strange gleam in the blood red eyes, that the potions master learned to decipher since his master took Harry close to his heart.

"He cried the whole evening but he'll live,' he said nonchalantly, looking down at the tips of his shoes.

Frowning at the notion that he made his little Prince cry again, though he couldn't understand just why were the boy's tears upsetting him so much, Voldemort nodded and gestured for Severus to come closer. "I need a potion, I have a migraine."

"Of course, my lord," the potions master pulled a small blue vial out of one of his many invisible pockets and held it out for his master, watching the man's face intently. The changes in the Dark Lord were impossible to miss... How had Harry managed to draw his _humanity_ and make it overcome his cruelty, heartlessness, coldness?

Grimacing at the foul taste of a particularly potent potion, Voldemort vanished the glass and looked up into the bottomless, onyx eyes, sighing softly at the wave of relieving lightness washing over him, taking the pain away. "What is his name?"

Puzzled, Severus arched an eyebrow, "Whose, my lord? The child's?"

"Is there anybody else whose name would _interest_ me?" the Dark Lord made a point, glaring at the potions master in displeasure.

"Domhnall Severus Prince, my lord," Severus muttered, feeling rather stupid. That wretched Harry turned him into a _pathetic puddle of mush_ yesterday and, for the first time since Lily's death, he was finding it hard to concentrate.

"Domhnall..." Voldemort drawled thoughtfully, rubbing on his dimpled chin. "_The ruler of the world_," he laughed softly, marveling Harry's choice of name. "He looked rather big, as far as I could see. Is it normal?" he didn't know what had compelled him to ask, but suddenly he was very curious to know everything about the boy. _His boy_. To think...

"He was born three months old," Severus nodded, frowning, "I cannot tell if it is the horcrux's doing, but I am quite certain that, due to the unnatural, magical womb and Harry's immense powers, the child had absorbed too much of it, almost killing Harry in the process. He said his powers grew along with the fetus and, I believe, it was the reason Domhnall has suddenly developed. Perhaps, a strong impulse of Harry's magic..."

"He fend off one of my mind attacks," the Dark Lord interrupted, closing his eyes resentfully, "I had unintentionally forced him to use the raw, light power that was dormant in him, this is why it all had happened. As for the child - he is not a horcrux."

Pondering over his master's previous words, Severus didn't at first register what else had he said. "_He isn't?!_"

"No," Voldemort twisted his lips into a wry smile, "He is a perfectly ordinary boy, powerful, dramatically powerful, dark, but, otherwise, completely normal. My soul had merged with Harry's long, long ago, and I am the only one who can extract, or rather absorb it out of him. But it calls for an intricate, dangerous ritual which might cost him his life, while my soul is forever dormant in him - as you can imagine Harry had easily _tamed_ it," he shook his head, smiling imperceptibly, admiring the power of his little Prince's kindness and compassion.

Perhaps, if he told Dumbledore about this, the old wizard would stop hunting the child, Severus wondered. "No, Severus, if not the horcrux, then his power - the old goat would always find a reason to kill the child, because it's _mine_." The potion master winced at the way his lord had easily read his mind without Legilimency. Was he so predictable, obvious? Or were they, perhaps, sharing the same worry? Was the Dark Lord actually fearing, caring for his son's life? "Dumbledore had always despised me, ever since he had first seen me - he branded me a monster, an abomination, a criminal. He would never show the child mercy, nor would he spare Harry. He lives to destroy everything that is mine," Voldemort scowled, looking at the storm on the other side of the window. It seemed the very weather reflected the times they lived in.

"I suspect they would be able to trace the elf to the Red House," Severus frowned, crossing his arms over his chest. "I couldn't take a good look at the girl's spell, but I imagine it tracks the magical signature, aura's traces."

"Well, we have warded it, haven't we? Even if they do find it, they wouldn't be able to get to them, our blood is impenetrable," Voldemort shrugged his shoulders, feigning disinterest and carelessness, though he felt apprehensive on the inside, hating how suddenly vulnerable he became. Was it what the fathers felt towards their children? These constant pangs in the heart, that made the stomach churn. Was it _fear_? Hadn't he been fearing too much lately? It was most unbecoming of the Dark Lord. But as hard as he tried, he couldn't make the image of his son's little face disappear from his mind. He would tear Dumbledore to shreds if even the hair would fall off of Domhnall's head. _Domhnall_. What a fitting name for the Dark Lord Voldemort's heir.

Sensing the specter of emotions in his lord's raging, unhidden aura, Severus couldn't help but raise his eyebrows in astonishment. The man was actually _scared_, even though he looked just as arrogant and bored as he had always been. Thinking back on the way Harry and Domhnall loved each other, craved each other's presence and affection, he wondered if the child would have the same effect on the Dark Lord. He himself felt the disgusting _desire_ to hold the boy, to bask in his sweetness and warmth. After he had held his own son so much, he couldn't imagine he would be capable of abstaining from touching him anymore. It was just too good to consciously deny it to himself. "Would you visit your... _son_ again, my lord?" he asked, looking at his master tentatively. He still didn't know what he felt about he Dark Lord being his grandchild's father.

"Perhaps," Voldemort gave him a blank look. He saw how slowly, gradually, but efficiently Harry had changed his father, how Severus had taken him close to his heart, how he craved his son's being. If he visited Domhnall often, would the same happen to him as well? Would he fall for the child, would he become soft, weak, vulnerable... _human_? Harry thought him to be a monster - did monsters have children? Did they... were they capable of _loving_ them? Shaking himself up and growling lowly in irritation, Voldemort sprang up onto his feet and paced his bedroom, wrapping up tighter into his robe. _Love_. He couldn't love, he never knew it, he never needed it. But wasn't it what children needed? Craved? He had craved it, many, oh so many years ago, watching the muggle children being adopted at the orphanage, but not him, _never him_. He used to think there was no love designed for him in this world and he had accepted this as an incontestable fact. But children always loved their parents, didn't they? They were born to love those who had brought them into this world, weren't they? His son was a normal boy, loved and cherished by Harry, he hadn't known pain, hatred, deceit yet... Would he love him? What would it feel like to be loved by someone? He stopped moving, staring at the fire absentmindedly, as his mind went completely numb. Was Harry _in love_ with Marvolo? If so, was he able to forgive him and love him _again_?

Severus carefully backed out of the room, knowing very well that his master was better off alone when he was pacing like this, solving the complex riddles in his head. Oh, he knew just what kind of a mess was in the Dark Lord's mind now. Being a father was the most indescribable condition in the world, it was both shocking and magnificent. Even though he constantly tried to convince himself that he didn't care, that there was nothing between him and Harry, no foundation to build their family on, he had to admit he felt a little _proud_. The more he looked at Harry, the more he got to know him, the more he felt him - the more he appreciated him as a person, as his flesh and blood. Perhaps, Harry was what Severus was supposed to become, if it wasn't for the circumstances of his life? He felt proud and he craved more of his son. Harry's light mesmerized him and eased the weight that, like a stone tied to his neck, pulled him deeper and deeper into the abyss. Harry was his salvation, retribution, absolution, he was his _atonement_.

**xxx**

Harry woke up, feeling broken and tired after yesterday, exhausted by the nightmares of Domhnall turning into snakeface. He still couldn't accept the reality of Marvolo being Voldemort. Rationally he knew it was only logical, for as he thought back on everything that had happened between them and everything he knew about the man's both identities, he couldn't help but laugh at himself for being so _blind_ as not to see the truth. But his heart ached so much, it _refused_ to believe. He entered the nursery, in his nightshirt only and with his feet bare and cold, and plumped down on the floor next to the crib to watch his son sleep. Shivering, but reluctant to leave for a change of clothes, Harry pressed his scarred forehead against the wooden bars and pushed his hand through them to hold Domhnall's smaller one. No, he wouldn't care for Marvolo, he decided. He had his son to care for, to hell with the deceiving bastard. The little boy stirred and yawned sweetly, spreading widely his small, delicately sculpted lips, squeaking softly. Harry couldn't help but smile at his adorableness. Oh, you're like some bloody girl, Harry, he thought to himself, but kept grinning and rubbing on the small stomach and chest, as Domhnall happily greeted him with his ringing laughter. _To hell with everyone_.

"What woulds master Harry wants for breakfast?" he heard the familiar quiet voice and turned to see Easy standing behind him, with her small hands hidden behind her back shyly. He had forgotten Dobby had to go away for some time.

"Hello, Easy, it' so good to see you!" he smiled and patted the small elf on her shoulder, making her practically melt under his touch, as her eyes traitorously wetted.

"Master Harry always so kind! Oh and little Master Prince so beautiful!" she carefully stepped closer, staring at Domhnall in adoration, as the boy watched her curiously. "Just like master Marvolo!" Easy clapped her hands excitedly.

"Have you always called him master Marvolo?" Harry asked despite himself and cursed inwardly at his own stupid obsession with the lying bastard. He couldn't simply _leave it_, could he?

"Oh yes," she nodded, glad that there was no need to hide anything from the raven haired wizard anymore, "He told Easy call him master Marvolo the day master bought Easy! He likes this name, it make him happy." Before Harry could ask anything else, she tugged him on the sleeve of his nightshirt disapprovingly, "Master Harry should change for breakfast, Easy make good breakfast for master Marvolo's family!" and she popped out of the room and instantly the sounds of cluttering, boiling, chopping and frying came from the kitchen.

"We are _not_ his family," Harry growled hatefully, but his scowl disappeared the second he looked at his son, who rolled onto his belly and was jerking his arms and legs and calling for him, demanding to be held. "Let's change you first," Harry crooned, picking him up and showering him with kisses. They spent almost half an hour in the nursery, as he washed, dressed Domhnall, brushed his hair, taking great joy and pleasure in caring for his little boy. As a result, when they both appeared at the kitchen's threshold, Domhnall was dressed to break hearts, as Harry saw it, while he himself was still wearing only a nightshirt.

"Master Harry!" Easy threw her scrawny arms in the air at the sight of him, but he only waved his hand dismissively at her and sat down at the round table, placing his baby comfortably in his lap. Shaking her head, the elf put his plate in front of him, filling it with all kinds of most delicious food there was. Just when Harry was ready to dig in, she carefully took Domhnall from him, and sat on the other chair, "Master should eats well, Easy will feed master Prince." At first he thought the boy would cry, being taken from him, but Domhnall was absolutely calm and kept watching the little creature with a scientific curiosity, it seemed, as if he was trying to decide if she was Dobby or something else, but very similar.

"Easy, could you tell me how did you get your name?" Harry asked after he finished the last bit of his meal and rubbed on his pleasantly full stomach, smiling in satisfaction. "I am still curious to know."

"Oh, Easy think master Marvolo would not be happy if Easy tell master Harry," the elf shook her head sadly, as she patted Domhnall's back to help him gag.

"But why? Is it something bad?" he took the boy, who had clutched the golden locket as soon as he was comfortably held in his father's arm, gurgling softly as Harry stroked his hair. "Come on, you can tell me, Easy, I know all the worst things about your master," he kept pressing stubbornly, wondering just _why the hell_ was he so curious.

"Master Harry don't tell master Marvolo, alright?" she whispered, looking at him with wide, fearful eyes.

"Of course," Harry nodded, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable. _Is it that bad? _

Sighing and wriggling her small hands, Easy nervously cleared her throat. "When master Marvolo bought Easy, he was only eighteen, he used his first money from work to buy Easy. Master couldn't give Easy name at first, calling her just elf. Master was very sad boy, very lonely. Master saw bad, very bad dreams first two years of his life with Easy. He cried every night in sleep, screaming and tossing. Easy would stay with master, rub his back and tell him: "Easy, master, easy." Some time after that master started calling her Easy," she pointed her finger at herself, smiling sadly, as fat tears ran down her wrinkled cheeks. "Soon master stopped seeing bad dreams, started doing bad magic, hurting other wizards... But he never hurt Easy, _never_!" she cried vehemently, shaking her head so hard, Harry was afraid it would fall off.

He was shocked by what he had heard at first, but then he remembered that Marvolo had created his first horcrux at sixteen. Perhaps, the bad dreams were connected with it? Harry knew what it was like to suffer from nightmares, knew all too well. Marvolo's hatred towards muggles came from abuse at the orphanage - it didn't take a genius to understand that much. Closing his eyes resentfully and hugging his baby softly, he once again cursed himself for _sympathizing_ with Marvolo, for feeling sorry for him. The monster didn't deserve it! But he was a human being as well, wasn't he? Hadn't he showed Harry compassion and care, affection? _Oh, bloody hell!_ It all was too difficult, too tangled, he didn't want to think about the man that made him... What had he made him? Both the most miserable and the happiest person in the world. Harry looked at his son, who was Marvolo's carbon copy and sighed helplessly. Why wasn't there a simple answer, a simple solution for this problem? Why couldn't he simply hate the man? Was he going to thank him for giving him the most precious gift every time he looked at Domhnall, until the day he died?

"I don't know what to do," he buried his nose into his son's soft, chestnut hair, feeling sad and hollow, longing for another and despising himself for it.

"Master was good man, he made mistake," Easy patted him on the arm, giving him a warm, encouraging smile. "Master good again after he met master Harry, he like master Harry very, very much," she nodded with finality, with a quite confident look on her face.

Harry smiled back ruefully, "Everybody makes mistakes, but few answer for the consequences." But Domhnall wasn't a mistake, he thought, he was a _blessing_, even if he cost Harry everything he knew and held dear. _What is Marvolo?_

**xxx**

There was something cleansing and _purifying_ in appearing in Harry's house all covered in blood of his victims, Voldemort thought, as he apparated straight into the very warm and cosy living room. It had been two days since their meeting and he wasn't able to stay away any longer. Dumbledore was not successful in his search for the elf, for Voldemort hadn't given him time for it - Death Eaters attacked yet another village, after his second bill was once again rejected. It was only a matter of time, he knew, but he needed to keep them all toned up, otherwise they would soon relax and forget who was the king of the hill here. The Dark Lord could hear Harry and Domhnall laughing somewhere upstairs. Spelling some of the freshest bloody spots off of his clothes, he looked around curiously, for he hadn't had the time to assess the living conditions the last time. Harry hadn't burdened himself with buying new furniture, using the old sofa and armchairs, ancient bookcases, that looked like they were going to crumble any minute now. Voldemort smiled involuntarily at the sight of his books filling the shelves, arranged in exactly the same order they used to be at Riddle Manor. He could see which ones Harry had already read by now. He stretched his arms over the fire, reveling in the calming heat. How cold he had been, how much he wanted to lie down next to Harry, to coil around him, to _share_ his warmth...

"Master?" Easy came closer and started cleaning his blooded cloak almost lovingly.

"How are they doing?" Voldemort asked nonchalantly, not sparing the elf another glance. He knew she would be giving him chiding, disapproving looks, like some mother hen.

"Masters well," she smiled, fixing his torn robe, "Master Domhnall eat well and never cry. But master Harry does," the little creature sighed.

"Why?" _Why, why do the boy's stupid tears affect me so much?_

"Master say he hate yous, but master call master Marvolo in sleep." Easy lifted her shoulders helplessly.

If only Harry let him in his dreams, or, better, in his _bed_... "I see. It will pass soon, do not worry," he took the cup of his favourite fruit tea, that appeared in the air before him, as Easy quietly left to continue with the cleaning somewhere else. Sipping on his hot, sweet drink, Voldemort soundlessly moved from one room to another, watching the way Harry lived and fixing some of the things on his way. Most curious was that being here was so comforting, it gave his restless soul a seldom peace, as if he was _home_. He had never had a home in his life before, never felt so well, so relaxed anywhere else, even at Riddle Manor, especially there, not until Harry came. _Home where the heart is_, he thought absentmindedly, remembering this quote from one of his muggle books. Was his heart here? Had Harry taken it? How truly ridiculous and pathetic it sounded.

Voldemort quietly ascended the stairs and, disillusioning himself and concealing his aura, stopped at the nursery's threshold, leaning on the doorframe, and watched Harry and Domhnall play, slowly drinking his tea. Watching the baby sit up without father's help and laugh happily at that, he thought about how much he used to hate children. They were the most cruel creatures he had ever had the pleasure of interacting with while he lived at the Wool's orphanage. Garden snakes were his only friends, not his peers. As he got older, he lost any kind of interest in the little bastards and didn't mind killing them during raids or torturing them in order to make their parents cooperate. Violence towards children came as breathing to him, for he always felt like he was paying them for all the pain and humiliation they had brought him. However, Domhnall didn't disgust him, didn't make him want to cause pain and sufferings, he _fascinated_ him. Voldemort thought he had never seen a child happier and better cared for in his life. The boy all but glowed with pleasure, affection, warmth. And Harry's smile was absolutely brilliant, irresistible when he looked at their son. He felt a pang of jealousy in his heart, but it dissipated in favour of helplessness, when his little Prince fell on the floor next to the baby and the two of them started rolling and tossing around, laughing like mad, playing like kittens in the street. Harry's laughter rang so brightly, lightly, it echoed in Voldemort's chest, making him wonder just how was it possible to laugh so heartedly at something so insignificant, mundane.

"Oh, you little devil!" Harry grumped good-naturedly and started tickling Domhnall's sides, drawing wild bouts of giggles out of the boy, as he wriggled under his touch, blowing bubbles out of his nose at the pleasant tension. Having have cleaned his small face, Harry covered it in featherlight kisses, mumbling nonsense all the while. "Come on, it's time for bed," he picked the boy up and laughed, as Domhnall tugged on his long hair, over-excited and elated.

Voldemort stood frozen, mesmerized with the way the child looked at Harry - there was such adoration, trust in the mischievous green eyes. Did all children look at their parents like that? Had he looked at his mother like that when she saw him for the first and the last time in her life, before she died? Would Domhnall grace _him_ with the same look if he took him into his arms? The sounds of soft singing snapped him out of his reverie and he looked up at Harry, who was rocking the boy and singing, holding him very close to his face, rubbing his nose against Domhnall's, making him smile. The Dark Lord strained his ears, trying to make out the words.

"Long afloat on shipless oceans, I did all my best to smile, 'til your singing eyes and fingers, drew me loving to your isle. And you sang: sail to me, sail to me, let me enfold you. Here I am, here I am, waiting to hold you," Harry sang the same old lullaby he thought he knew from somewhere, smiling at the sight of the yawning, already sleeping baby in his arms. How he reveled in his boy's being, how he loved singing to him. He sighed sadly, when the song was finished and Domhnall was snoring sweetly, completely ignorant to everything around him. Reluctant to part with him, Harry put the child down into the crib and stood there for a long time, watching the small sleeping form with an obsessive fascination. How was it _possible_ to love somebody so madly, truly, deeply, selflessly? He knew now why had his mother never stepped aside at Voldemort's offer - the mere thought of somebody hurting his Domhnall drove him insane, he was ready to give his life any second to protect him.

Finally, he left the nursery, as he himself started yawning and rubbing on his sleepy eyes. Halting at the threshold, sensing something... something strange, something he couldn't quite put his finger on, Harry turned around and took one last look at his son - the bay was sleeping peacefully. Frowning and shaking the weird sensation off of himself, he turned the lights off, leaving the small magical night-lamp hover over the crib, and went into the bathroom.

They stood so close, he could almost touch his little Prince's nose with his own. Even after all of his precautions Harry could still sense him - his powers were just as great as Voldemort's own. As the raven haired wizard brushed past him and disappeared out of the view, he banished the teacup and entered the nursery. Why was Harry standing at the crib for so long, simply looking at the child? Voldemort carefully peeked inside, taking in the angelic face of his son. Sightly parted plump, red lips; tiny nose; round and healthy pink cheeks; long, dark eyelashes, like splashes of ink on the pale skin, and waves of chestnut hair, lying softly around the small head. His thin, tiny chest rose hastily, as he snored rather loudly. Tilting his head to the side, Voldemort watched him, trying to memorize every millimeter of the tender skin... _Stop it!_ Shaking himself up, he scowled at the notion that he, just like Harry, had spent long minutes in pointless staring. It was just a baby, a little, defenseless, harmless boy, _his boy._.. Despite himself he reached out for Domhnall. Widening his eyes in surprise, Voldemort gently pressed his whole palm to the warmest, softest thing he had ever touched. It was _incredible_. The boy sighed pleasantly, comforted by his closeness, and the Dark Lord couldn't help but let the stupidest grin stretch his face. How sweet the little one's magic was, how marvelous was the heat that radiated from his body.

"The fuck is this, I can't take it anymore." Voldemort darted away from the crib, as Harry suddenly stormed inside the room and hastily picked Domhnall up, though careful not to wake him. "I don't know what kind of shit is going on, but you are sleeping with me tonight," he whispered and took the boy out of the nursery and into his bedroom. He couldn't get rid of the nagging feeling that _something_ wasn't right, as if the atmosphere in the house had somewhat changed. It wasn't the danger he felt, but it was something suspicious, as if it teased him by calling for him and yet it hid as soon as he reached out for it. And _it_ was concentrated in Domhnall's room. Perhaps, the boy was having a bad dream or something along the lines, Harry pondered, embracing the small form under the covers in his bed. Domhnall habitually clutched on the locket, that hang around his neck, and shifted closer to his chest. Soothed by his son's closeness, Harry forgot about the strange sensation and fell asleep, lulled by the boy's sweet snores.

He watched the two of them sleep for almost an hour, being eaten by the desire to lie next to them in this bed, to be held by Harry's hands just as lovingly and protectively as Domhnall was. He wanted Harry back, wanted to fuck him senseless every time he wished so, wanted to tease him and hear his foul swearing along with soft, heartfelt laughter, wanted to see Harry smiling just for him, _at him_. Voldemort had never felt addicted and dependent on somebody else in his life, not until now. Gathering his arrogance and recklessness, he soundlessly stepped closer and over to Harry's side, hovering over him, tracing the curves of his face with his hungry eyes.

Letting out a soft groan, he bent down and kissed the tender cheek, snaking his hand under the nightshirt and rubbing on the hot skin of the thin shoulder and chest. _Fuck_. How hot, how good it felt. Harry stirred, moaning, but didn't wake up and Voldemort moved his lips along the jawline and onto the plump, red lips. Their softness and sweetness was his undoing. "_Harry_," he breathed out. It took all of his strength and self-control to pull away. He couldn't do it now, his little... no, he was no little, no boy anymore, just his Prince. His Prince wouldn't appreciate his lustful caresses right now. Harry needed more time. _Time_. It was all he had and it was driving him insane again. "You are mine, dear. You will accept it soon."

**xxx**

Harry stood at the window in the living room, holding Domhnall close to his chest, watching Dumbledore, Ron and Hermione, who stood dumbly in front of his lawn and talked between themselves, gesturing at the house. They had found him despite Dobby's best efforts. The poor elf stood next to him, pressed against his legs, trembling in fear. "It's alright, Dobby, you did very well. Do not worry, they can't get inside," he said firmly, though inwardly he was scared _shitless_. He wished Severus was here to assure him that the wards would protect them, but he knew his father had to be at the school to not draw any suspicion to himself. He wished his best and only friends weren't standing there. Their presence in Dumbledore's company could mean only two things: they were either tricked into believing that no harm would come to him and the baby, or they were consciously taking their part in the murdering of the innocent child. Harry couldn't decide if the latter was _worse_ than the former. Dobby suddenly popped out of the view with a fearful squeak.

"They've finally found you." Harry turned around sharply at the sound of Marvolo's voice. The wizard stood a few steps away from him, with his blood red eyes trained at the headmaster's form.

"What are you doing here?" Was he honestly relieved to see Voldemort? What was _wrong_ with him?!

"The alarm, that we had placed along with the wards, went off. I simply came to check on you," Voldemort came closer to stand beside Harry and scowled at the three people that just wouldn't leave.

"Thanks," Harry's eyes darted nervously from side to side, stealing glances at Marvolo, who was just as calm, confident, strong as he had always been. Except that he was the fucking Dark Lord at the same time, the most vicious, merciless murderer in the world and a wanted criminal.

He saw Harry's hesitant looks out of the corner of his eye, but pretended to be ignorant. They pleased him, immensely. Every time Harry had let him closer, the Dark Lord felt it to be his little victory. Domhnall, who had been rather indifferent to what was happening, was curiously staring at him and, when Voldemort looked him straight in the brilliant green eyes, the boy smiled and lowered his head shyly onto Harry's shoulder, giving the Dark Lord a most mischievous look he had ever received. Well, wasn't the_ little devil_ just the perfect copy of his raven haired father? While Harry kept intently watching the intruders, clutching onto the boy's small form protectively, Voldemort had given Domhnall his full attention. Unable to resist the temptation, he reached out and touched the small hand, that instantly grabbed his cold fingers. Gracing him with ardent grimaces, the little brat giggled, dragging his digits into his small mouth.

"Domhnall!" Harry pulled him away, frowning at Marvolo and the fact that he had touched the baby, but suddenly Domhnall started crying for the first time in his short life. Helpless and completely lost, Harry stared at him, barely fighting his own tears at the sight of the wailing, tear-stained boy. He was so used to his son being the calmest, happiest baby in the world that now he had no slightest idea what to do.

Wincing at the awful sounds, Voldemort tried to find the reasons to the boy's hysteria, but there was only one explanation, which both scared and pleased him. However, as Harry kept standing, frozen, like a stone, and looking at the boy with wide eyes, while the little brat kept straining his voice, the Dark Lord realized he would rather have it calm and quiet as always. Growling and rolling his eyes in exasperation at the ridiculousness of the situation, he put his hand over Domhnall's back and the infant instantly shut up.

Shocked, Harry held him, as the soft sobs escaped his small chest, while Domhnall gradually calmed down under his father's touch. Harry looked up at Marvolo, who was watching him all this time and found he couldn't stop staring into the blood red eyes. Behind the colour were the same passion, hunger, lust, warmth, appreciation. If only he could _forget_ who the man really was and kiss him...

He rubbed on the small back soothingly, just like he used to do it for Harry when he suffered from awful nightmares. It was so easy, so natural to touch Domhnall now, as if he had been doing it for his whole life. Astonished at the boy's affection towards him, Voldemort pushed his hand higher and carded his fingers through the soft, chestnut locks, just like _his own_. Harry's eyes were following his every movement, often darting to his face, as if checking on his expression. He knew there was a small smile on his lips - he couldn't fight it even if he really tried to, though, he had no wish to do so, really. Perhaps, his and Domhnall's closeness would soften Harry, help him forgive and _accept_ him faster?

"He likes you," Harry stated the obvious, looking straight into the ruby eyes.

"Of course," Voldemort smirked arrogantly, "Why wouldn't he?" Despite his best attempts and inward cursing of his own self, Harry couldn't hold back a small smile at the familiar, overconfident tone. It was just like Marvolo to say something like that. "Do _you_ like me, Harry?" He stared at the wizard, who was watching him seriously, waiting for his reply - there was no humor in his voice or eyes.

But before Harry could seal his fate with the truthful answer, for he knew he couldn't lie, Dumbledore's voice gained their attention. "Harry? Harry, are you there? Please, come out, we came to simply check on you, we mean no harm!"

"Please, Harry!" Hermione joined in.

He jerked, as Marvolo's hand squeezed his shoulder possessively. "What a pathetic display," the wizard hissed over his ear and Harry felt his knees were ready to give away under the overwhelming sensation of the so long desired closeness. Another hand snaked around his waist and he was pressed tightly against the broad, firm chest. Catching his breath, Harry closed his eyes, fearing he might loose control over himself. Marvolo's touch was just as gentle and demanding as always. "Harry, don't listen to them, your friends were brainwashed. They will kill our son."

"I know," he breathed out shakily, struggling against the strong hold. He couldn't let Voldemort do it again - seduce him so shamelessly, so easily. Our, did he say _our son_?

"Harry, mate! Come on, it's us!" Ron shouted, waving his arms, as if he thought it would convince Harry to come out.

"Harry, you are with child, you need help! Please, you could die!" Hermione started crying, and as her shoulders shook, so did Harry's knees.

"Sh-sh, my little one, you know very well those tears are worthless, while Domhnall's life is priceless. There is no option of even considering to choose between them, don't you think?" Voldemort whispered, rubbing on his shoulder and abdomen soothingly, making Harry relax and lean back on him more and more. He wished he could ignore Marvolo, could be completely unaffected by his touch, his amazing smell, his coolness that calmed his nervousness so well... Domhnall kept giggling and smiling at his ruby eyed father, tugging happily on both his and Harry's hair. Harry kissed him on the temple gently and sighed longingly, when Marvolo buried his long nose into his raven hair and inhaled his scent. He missed this so much, he missed this man so much...

"I wish you were _just_ Marvolo," he murmured sadly and felt the dark wizard smile into his locks.

"Nothing is ever that simple, my dear," Voldemort pressed his Prince tighter to himself and licked on the young wizard's ear briefly, reaching out for the little boy with his other hand and stroking his soft, plump cheek. He felt drunk, drugged on their magic combined, it practically sang to him, like a siren to a lost sailor, tempting him, luring him into a trap. What a marvel the two of them were, and how arrogantly pleased he felt, that they belonged to him and _him alone_.

Kissing his Prince softly on the head and patting Domhnall's, the Dark Lord stepped aside when the three light wizards outside had finally disappeared. "They will be back - as would I," he whispered to Harry, whose eyes followed his apparition with a complex mixture of sadness and relief.

**xxx**

Harry woke up in the middle of the night to the sounds of Domhnall's excited blubbering. Grumping in annoyance and rubbing his sleepy eyes on his way, he stomped into the nursery only to find Marvolo bent over the crib, watching the boy, who was jerking his small arms, asking the man to pick him up.

"You know, _normal_ people give visits at daytime," he came closer, looking at the dark wizard wearily. "I you want to see him - just say so, no need to creep in here during the night and disturb his sleep."

"I couldn't sleep and so I came here to look at him," Voldemort drawled nonchalantly, inwardly laughing in triumph at Harry's partial surrender. He had just been given a permission to come here every day, hadn't he? "You both are mine, Harry, I wouldn't make another mistake of _loosing_ you again. I will be coming when I please and I will know everything that is going on with you two."

"Afraid to loose your horcruxes?" Harry spat acidly, suddenly feeling hurt at the notion, that Marvolo had been using him all that time as a sex-toy, as an additional option to the vessel.

"No, you know I have plenty of those," he lied smoothly. "I don't want to loose _you_." That was the truth and it had, unexpectedly, set something free inside of him, as if he had told his secret to somebody he knew would never betray him. "Domhnall is not a horcrux, by the way," he added, having had stolen a glance at his Prince's pale, gobsmacked face.

"God, what a relief!" Harry leaned on the wall, grabbing on his throat and groaning in exhaustion, and slid down onto the floor. However, Marvolo's previous words kept ringing in his ears. Was it another cunning lie of his? Or was there enough of a human left inside of him to truly care?

"Harry," Voldemort crouched next to him and took him by the hands, "Harry, I _need_ you." He tried to convey the force of his need to the green eyes that watched him fearfully and gratefully at the same time.

"Please, don't," he shook his head, trying to pull away, "Don't touch me." But Marvolo moved closer instead, sliding his cold, cold hands up his arms and shoulders, leaning forward to bring his face a mere inch away from his own.

Panting, as the lustful beast was clawing on his chest and groin, Voldemort whispered pitifully, "I can't keep away, it has been too long, Harry. Tell me what to do - I _want_ you, tell me, and I will do anything, but don't send me away. It is fruitless. I will _never leave_ you." He bit into the soft, trembling lips harshly, pulling the struggling wizard into a heated, passionate embrace.

"No, no!" Harry tried to scream into the violent kiss, but his hands felt too weak, barely slapping on Marvolo's limbs, as the man's hot tongue found its way into his mouth and all Harry could do was to welcome it vigorously, excitedly, despite his better judgement.

"Harry, Harry!" Voldemort kept moaning, pushing his hands underneath the nightshirt and grabbing, scratching on the hot body, rolling his eyes in pleasure of feeling Harry everywhere.

"Stop, please, _stop_," Harry managed to break their kiss and move away a little. "I can't," he whined miserably, staring into the burning blood red eyes.

"Tell me what should I do for you to let me touch you, hold you, have you, tell me!" He couldn't bear it anymore, he wanted Harry now!

Was it his slytherin side that started whispering in the small voice that he should use this chance? He knew all too well there was no escape from Marvolo, he couldn't really fight his animal lust, his sex, his dominating personality. He wanted him, he cried in his arms, as he wanted his mother's murderer, wanted so badly... "I will let you touch me only if you stop the mindless killing, if you stop torturing and ruining lives, if you would tell me the truth and nothing but the truth, and would answer any of my questions." That was it. If Marvolo was incapable of being honest, than he could finish off the tiny hope he had been keeping all this time.

_Little snake in lion's skin._ "I can't give you a vow on this, but I can swear on being honest with you. No more secrets, no more lies," he assaulted the seductive lips again, kissing slower, thrusting his tongue deeper inside, moaning indecently at the desired sweetness of the hot mouth.

Drunk on the wizard's overwhelming aura, Harry weakly pushed him away. "Don't. Stop. I don't want you."

"I pray differently," Voldemort hissed, suddenly furious. _Don't want me? And what is this then? _He squeezed Harry's hard erection under the thin cloth. "You don't fool me, Harry, I _know_ you, I know you better than anyone."

Flinching away from the threatening tone in Marvolo's deep, smooth voice, Harry batted his cold hand away from his traitorous cock. How could it be ignorant to the man's close vicinity, when it had been giving him a headache every single night, asking to be sated in the wild, wet dreams about Marvolo? "I have told you what I want from you - respect my wishes and my privacy. Leave me, please," he crawled hastily away, closer to the crib, involuntarily shielding it with his body.

Standing on all fours on the floor, panting and staring at him wildly, as a beast, Voldemort stretched his lips in an evil, cruel smile. "Be as it may, Harry, you can't keep me away from our son. I have a right to see Domhnall and touch him whenever I wish so, you cannot stop me!" he crawled closer, making Harry jerk fearfully and scowl at him. "I am warning you, Harry," the cold hand caressed the young wizard's ankle teasingly, "You may play these games as long as you are entertained enough, I would gladly _play along_, but when it comes to _our son_," he emphasized the last words with a low, menacing growl, "You will not stand in my way. I promise not to take him away from you in exchange for your tolerance of me being here with him. Should you try and hide him from me again - I will find him and I will turn him into what you despise the most: _me_." With that he vanished into the thin air, leaving Harry stare dumbly into the darkness of the nursery to the accompaniment of Domhnall's quiet whining.

He didn't really mean what he had said, he wasn't going to turn the boy into another Lord Voldemort. Contrary to what Harry might have been thinking, he wasn't planning on making Domhnall an heir to the Dark Lord's "_throne_", he only wished for the boy to be happy, if he could use this word in the context. What he wanted was for Domhnall to never know pain, loss, fear, loneliness, orphanages, other's cruelty, famine, poverty and death - he wanted his son to have a different, a _better_ life, which was only possible with Harry. Of course he would have never taken him away from Prince, he wasn't an idiot - no matter how hard he tried, he would never be able to give the boy as much affection, kindness and understanding, _love_, as Harry was already giving him. But using this as a weapon, as a mean to get to his sweet, but oh so stubborn Prince, wasn't below him, oh no. He was all for using Domhnall for his own benefit in his and Harry's relationship. He didn't lie when he said he would never leave - he wouldn't. Harry was _his_ and he was going to make him realize and welcome that.

* * *

_A/N: note that the lyrics of the lullaby used in this chapter are taken from Tim Buckley's song "Song to the Siren"._


	9. Chapter IX

_Disclaimer: nothing that is related to HP belongs to me._

_Warning: abuse, rape, underage sex, violence, everything is bad and don't read it_

_A/N: I know the story is going very slow and is all mushy and touchy but I simply cannot write it differently. In my point of view it is a most monotone, complex and difficult process of a monster transforming into a man. So be patient or simply leave it. Thank you and my best regards to those who take their time to write a few kind words as a review - you are the best! _

* * *

**Of Monsters and Men, Of Fathers and Sons.**

**Chapter IX**

Severus jerked in his seat at the sharp sound of his floo coming to life. Had he fallen asleep in his armchair? Groaning, the potions master bent forward to stretch his stiffened back.

"Severus, we have to have a very serious talk," was his boss' greeting. Blinking owlishly at the headmaster, whose presence instantly lightened up his gloomy living room, Severus simply nodded and weakly raised his hand to gesture in the direction of the sofa, indicating for Dumbledore to make himself at home. _As if he never did so anyway_. "We found Harry, he doesn't answer our call... I will need you to check on him and the child, which must be due to come now," the old wizard said, sitting down and watching him intently.

"And how do you suggest I will do it, when Potter ignored even _you_?" He knew Dumbledore would come to him after he found himself incapable of penetrating the wards, his lord knew that as well.

"I am sure he would let you help him with the delivery," the headmaster nodded confidently. "He is hidden behind very powerful wards, Severus. Forgive me for being suspicious, but you are one of the few powerful enough to be able to put up such an admirable protection... I cannot ignore this fact," he shrugged his shoulders apologetically and gave Severus a kind smile.

"Albus, you know I would have never placed any kind of protection on Potter without consulting with you first... the Dark Lord would have had my head for this as well!" the potions master sighed heavily in exasperation. "Perhaps, he found the boy but never told me? He often does that nowadays - he doesn't trust anyone. What kind of wards are you talking about anyway?"

Dumbledore considered him for a moment, seemingly deciding whether he should believe his words or his own intuition, but then he simply smiled and let out a small sigh of relief, "Yes, you may be right, my boy." The old wizard stood up and paced the small room a few times, stroking his long, white beard thoughtfully. "The wards are made of blood, very powerful blood, I must admit. Harry never once answered even to his friends' calls, which disturbs me greatly."

"As I have already told you before: their participation is useless and most inconvenient. Imagine, if the Dark Lord has found him, would Potter be stupid enough to contact his only friends and put their lives in danger?" Severus raised his eyebrows skeptically, blindly reaching out for a cup of strong coffee, that appeared on the table next to his seat.

"But what of the child, Severus? What would Voldemort do with it?" the headmaster waved his hands helplessly, looking at the potions master as if he was a Seer who held all the answers.

"How the hell would I know?" he snarled back, irritated.

"That is why I need you to help me in this, Severus," Dumbledore came closer and hovered over him, looking him straight in the eye, "You must ask Voldemort to let you check on your son and help him. There is nobody else who could place these wards on the house, if he found them then we have only one chance of getting them out of there." _And destroying them both_, Severus finished for him inwardly. "Voldemort is insane and another living horcrux will leave Harry unprotected, useless, Severus, don't you see, he will kill our boy without any hesitation."

Ignoring the tears on the old, wrinkled face, Severus huffed and stood up sharply, trying to escape the oppressing shadow of the Light Lord. "I understand, Albus, I am not blind, nor am I stupid. I will do what you ask of me, but if Potter refuses to go, I will not force him - I might not have such an opportunity in the first place, you understand, don't you?"

"I understand," Dumbledore said gravely, rubbing his blackened hand absentmindedly. "It is just that I don't have much time left, my boy, you see," he smiled ruefully, and brushed a few tears off of his cheeks. "I didn't have an opportunity to instruct Harry on the matter of other horcruxes and their destruction. I am too weak, and you, Severus, are too valuable to be sent on the hunt. Only Harry can do it."

"Is he supposed to kill himself after he destroyed all the other horcruxes?" the potions master asked quietly, watching the old wizard with pity and hatred, both hidden behind the blank, bored look, that he had been developing for so many years. Dumbledore had lost his own sanity in his fight for the _righteous_ cause of the Light. He had the nerve to tell him that his son must have been killed along with his grandchild for the _greater good_, for the abominable muggles' lives and their assimilation with wizards. Voldemort was never a fair leader but he, at least, never veiled the necessity of sending his servants to death behind a noble sacrifice for the cause. And he wanted to secure their world, to never let muggles in it - and that was right, Severus knew it in his heart, it was right and he was prepared to fight for it, no matter the consequences. However, now that he had Harry and Domhnall... and he did have them, didn't he? They were his _family_ now, his real, own family. Now he had to think of a better way of managing all the spying by, preferably, staying alive, and keeping them alive as well.

"You make it sound like it is me who is killing him," Dumbledore hunched his shoulders and hid his face in his hands, as he turned away and paced the room once more. "No, I would never make Harry face such a terrible, degrading end," he rubbed on his eyes and brow, sighing tiredly, sadly. "Harry must be the one who kills Voldemort. It is only fair to give him a chance to vanquish him again and forever. He will have to, unfortunately, die in the process by Voldemort's own hand... But his death would never be in vain!" he turned sharply to give the potions master a most determined look. His pale blue eyes were not twinkling, but burning with passion and grief, but with confidence as well.

_Who's the crazy megalomaniac now?_ "So it is me, who is to finish either the Dark Lord or Potter off when the time comes, is that what you are saying? For there is a one chance out of a million that they would kill each other simultaneously," Severus shook his head at the insanity of the idea. Even if he had been in fact against Voldemort and if he had hated Harry as much as he used to think he did, even then he would have never agreed to this atrocity. "I can't kill Potter, I am under the vow, you know it."

"Yes," the headmaster nodded, averting his eyes, "And you are his father after all. No, I have made arrangements, when such time comes, there will be a person to finish one of them off, as you phrased it."

His friends? The members of the Order couldn't know of horcruxes and Harry's connection to the Dark Lord, so none of them could fulfill the task. Who could this person be? No one in his sane mind would kill the Boy-Who-Lived just because Dumbledore had given the order... Perhaps, it was going to be not a very sane person after all? Severus tapped on his lips thoughtfully, as he pondered over yet another little obstacle. There was no telling when will this situation transpire: a fight between the Dark Lord and Harry, but he knew now he had to do everything in his power to prevent it from happening. He had to warn his master.

"I am very, very sorry, Severus, for all the horrors I have to put you through, but we live in the dark times and hope is our only source of light, that would, one day, lead us to a brighter, better future," the old wizard came closer and patted the potions master's shoulder, smiling softly at him. "Please, visit Harry as soon as possible, he is our only hope."

Wasn't it ironic, that Dumbledore was going to kill his only hope before it led him to his better future? It wasn't Voldemort, it was this old fool who had been constantly, gradually _destroying_ everything that Severus loved and held dear. "Yes, Albus, I will try later today, after classes are over."

**xxx**

"So he wants us to meet in the battle and kill each other?" Voldemort confirmed, "After Harry has destroyed my horcruxes?"

"Yes, my lord," Severus nodded and sipped on his tea. He began finding it rather comfortable and nice to live in his mansion, he didn't really mind the company anymore. He knew he should have moved here sooner, but what was the point if he lived at Hogwarts ten month a year?

The Dark Lord shook his head and burst into a booming laughter, that echoed deafeningly across the spacious library. "The old fool!" Voldemort lay on his favourite sofa, with his legs placed high up on its back, and his whole body shook and his cheeks blushed slightly, as he laughed. "He will be in for a very big _surprise_!"

"But what of Harry, my lord?" the potions master put his china away and shifted in his seat more comfortably. "He wouldn't kill you, of course, nor would he participate in any of Dumbledore's schemes, but he wouldn't sit in the golden cage and wait for your treats either." He arched his eyebrows sarcastically, at the somewhat surprised look his master gave him.

"Yes, you are most certainly right, Severus," Voldemort sighed. Harry's stubbornness was what kept his mind occupied these past few days ever since the young wizard gave him his ultimatum. "I do not wish to keep him in any kind of a cage, but for now this would have to suffice, no harm must come to him and the child while we are establishing our regime."

"How are you going to make the other bills pass, my lord? Should we take Wizengamot's members hostages again?"

"No, no," he waved his hand dismissively at the idea, "This is boring and not as efficient as we thought. They are so _stupid_ they can't even see the real danger anymore. All they know is that I am a psychotic murderer and muggles are their best friends. What we should do..." Voldemort slowly sat up, lowering his long legs down and crossing them elegantly, "Is change their perspective, their mindsets."

_Well, isn't it your own fault they see you as a an evil maniac? _"How?" Severus rested his chin on his curled palm and stared at his lord in wonder.

"There are ways," the Dark Lord brushed his hair back and tucked it behind his ears, which made him look younger, more innocent than ever. "First, we could work through the press. What was the name of that reporter who wrote about Harry and his insanity after my resurrection? Yes, Skeeter. Well, we could make her work for us. Tell people the truth, write the true stories of abuse and violence that wizards and witches have to endure from muggles."

"It would be hard to find enough witnesses, my lord," Severus involuntarily tensed, as the images of his own childhood mixed up with the images of his son being raped and clouded his vision. None of them could possibly share this with the others even for the sake of their survival.

"Neither you, nor Harry would have to do it," the blood red eyes gave him the most understanding look he could ever expect to get from the Dark Lord. Was his master talking from experience? "I know enough of those who have a few stories to share, besides, most are not as sensitive and dignified as you are, Severus. A few galleons and they would tell you everything," Voldemort rolled his eyes and frowned, visibly brushing away the problem out of his mind. "Then, apart from the press, we could instigate a few real fights and conflicts between wizards and muggles, to make others see just what _exactly_ is happening. There are hundreds of Vernons Dursleys in this country, it would be quite _easy_," he smiled crookedly, though his eyes narrowed and Severus couldn't help but shiver at the sensation of anger and hatred coming in waves from the man. It seemed his lord loathed the fat bastard even more than he himself did.

"Wouldn't we start what we are trying to prevent? A war against muggles?" the potions master asked, clearing his throat. This was a fine plan, but a very dangerous one.

"We would have to be careful and obliviate quite a lot of that muggle scum but it would be worth it," Voldemort nodded confidently, relaxing slowly and keeping his emotions in check. "Then, and this is, I believe, the most important part, we could find a spokesman of sorts, whom our society likes and trusts, our personal Dumbledore if I may say so..." he laughed again, bitterly this time. "This delegate of ours would give them mental pabulum they would be chewing on and slowly, steadily coming to their senses."

"But who could possibly this delegate be?" Severus raised his eyebrows in surprise. Of course his lord was right and brilliant as ever - this was the most simple, yet the most efficient solution to their problem, but he couldn't imagine who would have been intelligent and light enough to take on such a significant role. "Not one of us, not Lucius, surely, even though he is quite trusted at the Ministry."

"No, no, Lucius is obviously dark and _evil_ just as we are," Voldemort shook his head, laughing quietly. "I have been thinking about this for a long time, evaluating different candidates, but there is only one person who could pull this off," he gave Severus a pointed look and smiled evilly at him. "It is Harry Potter."

"But..." Severus felt as his jaw hung down slightly and he hastily pulled himself together. "But this is going against everything we have discussed for so many times! This is the opposite of keeping him safe!" He couldn't help but sit up rigidly in his armchair.

"Calm down, Severus, and listen to me carefully," Voldemort glared at his potions master and, habitually rubbing on his dimpled chin, elaborated, "Right now they all believe that Harry is at some secret training abroad, which is preposterous and must be refuted, of course. It is his choice what would he come up with but he must make them see that the Light hadn't done anything for him or them. Harry would tell them that Dumbledore is a liar and a madman, that we, our cause, is what is right for them. It wouldn't be untrue - he agrees with my bills, I know that for certain."

"But how are we going to make Harry do it? I doubt he would agree... He wouldn't leave Domhnall for this," Severus still felt confused but deep inside he knew his lord was right. Harry was as light as they came, he was almost as powerful as Dumbledore already, and he was, in fact, pure and kind. Of course he would be believed and trusted, heard. But once again it was something decided behind his back, which, Severus knew from experience, Harry hated.

"His participation is _my problem_, Severus," Voldemort smiled and the fire in his eyes told the potions master the man had been already plotting the ways of making Harry see reason. "_Your_ problem is Domhnall. Whatever ways we choose to do this, you will have to take the boy here and keep him safe and hidden. Only that would assure Harry and let us work together."

"I see," Severus relaxed a little and slumped back in his seat. "But what of Harry's safety? The Order would kidnap him if Dumbledore wishes so. What of the horcrux? They could kill him."

"Dumbledore wouldn't kill him before he found and destroyed all of my horcruxes, which would take a lot of time, believe me," the Dark Lord said nonchalantly, rocking his leg absentmindedly, looking even younger now, everything but the cunning murderer. "Besides, do not think I would let Harry out into the world all alone. I would, of course, accompany him all the time, I would simply stay hidden. He will be safe with me," he gave Severus a confident smile that radiated satisfaction, not from the brilliance of his plan, but from the fact that he would be close to Harry all the time. Once again the potions master asked himself if his lord could possibly love. For he looked completely smitten with the other, especially now that they had a child together. Perhaps the man hadn't realized it himself yet, but his feelings for Harry were quite obvious, they made him look younger, careless, free... human. Most unusual display, Severus thought.

"When would you tell Harry, my lord?"

"Tonight, perhaps," Voldemort shrugged his shoulders, "The sooner the better."

"Alright," Severus nodded. He hoped the plan would work and fast. The constant tension of living in fear and uncertainty galled him and, if he was honest with himself, took its toll oh him. He wanted rest, peace, he wanted to enjoy the gifts the Fate had sent him so suddenly. Now that he knew what it was like to have a family, to be accepted and cherished, he couldn't get enough of it. Nor could Voldemort, as far as he could see.

**xxx**

Harry tied Domhnall's hat more thoroughly under the boy's chin and, satisfied, picked him up from the chair in the hall and took him out into the backyard, where Dobby and Easy, who had chosen to come here as often as her master didn't need her, cleaned everything up and placed a few benches and bonfires for warmth. It was their second walk outside and the little boy enjoyed it immensely, laughing happily at the rare snowflakes that fell softly on his face, trying to catch them with his hands and tongue. Harry couldn't wait for spring to come, to take Domhnall out into the city and to the beach. His boy was growing fast, developing even faster, he was already trying to sit on his own and was beginning to crawl. Very soon he was going to start talking and the prospect excited Harry, though unnerved him greatly as well. Domhnall was going to be a _parselmouth_, he had no doubts of that. With his both fathers being the speakers it was only logical for a child to become one as well. What disturbed Harry was his uncertainty about what should he do about it. It was a rare gift, a powerful and a useful one, but it was considered dark and could leave his son feared, _shunned_ by the society in the future - he still remembered his own unpleasant experience. Should he help Domhnall develop it or should he prevent him from speaking it altogether? Depriving the boy of his natural talent was cruel, unfair, but then it would only make others act just as cruelly and unfairly towards him in the future. Sighing, Harry shook his head, trying to get rid of the heavy thoughts. He would deal with the problem when the time comes.

It was getting dark outside, the grey sky took on a scarlet hue and the bonfires' light gave the whole garden an eerie, magical atmosphere. Voldemort stood on the verandah that led into the backyard and watched Harry carry Domhnall around, lifting him up to the trees to inspect whatever it was the boy was interested in, spinning him around and throwing him up in the air and catching him with such ease, as if he wasn't a human being but a doll. And yet it all made Domhnall produce most satisfied sounds. His curiousness and mischievousness were well combined with genuine joyfulness and playfulness - the boy was a fine example of both his and Harry's personalities brought together, as one. Domhnall's smiles were so bright and pure, they rarely left his face along with his countless grimaces. Voldemort briefly wondered how was it possible to constantly stretch one's face so much without getting tired of it - perhaps, the trick was the boy's _sincerity_. Harry once again threw Domhnall up in the air but instead of catching him, he flicked his wrist and the boy froze, floating gently above his father's head, laughing like mad and jerking his arms and legs in excitement. Harry's ringing laughter was teasing the strings inside Voldemort's chest, playing them just as easily, lightly.

"One day you will be able to fly just as much as you want," Harry laughed, finally catching the happily squeaking boy, "I will buy you the fastest broom and you would be the best quidditch player in Hogwarts."

Or he might prefer to fly without a broom at all, Voldemort raised the corners of his mouth, thinking that Harry had still a lot to learn about magic, for Hogwarts offered very little useful material for the truly powerful wizards. The common people of their magical society could only ride a broom or any other charmed object if they wished to fly. Perhaps, he should teach Harry personally how to use his magic to conquer all the elements, teach him not only walk the earth, but walk the air, wield the fire, tame the water... The prospect of helping his Prince learn aroused him. Flying _together_ would have been most fascinating.

"It's rather late, dear, we should go back inside and feed you, don't you think?" Harry crooned, carrying Domhnall back to the house but stopped sharply at the steps of verandah, when he spotted Marvolo's tall, dark form, that merged with the background almost completely, leaving only the blood red eyes gleam brightly, as two burning coals.

"Evening, my little ones," Voldemort purred, as his eyes roamed over Harry's form, taking in every detail, while his hands were firmly fisted behind his back in an attempt to calm himself down. Prince affected him so strongly, as if he took a potency potion.

"Yeah, evening," Harry avoided meeting Marvolo's eyes and quickly brushed past him and into the house. The less words and glances were exchanged between them, the easier it would be for him to keep the distance. Harry couldn't let his traitorous body and soul fuck everything up again and put him into bed with the man that was the cause of all of his sufferings.

"I have something I would like to talk to you about, Harry," Voldemort closed the back door behind himself, watching impassively as the young wizard undressed Domhnall without using magic even once. This was something all of them, half-bloods, couldn't get rid of - _the muggle habits_. "It concerns my political activity."

"Mildly put," Harry couldn't help but laugh bitterly at the phrasing. He picked his son up and took him into the kitchen. "You can come here and tell me everything now and then leave," he called, not looking back, as he sat down at the table and pulled the bowl of soup closer to the edge to feed Domhnall.

Voldemort sat opposite them and stared at the small boy, who was staring back. He noticed he couldn't stop doing it, couldn't stop wanting to do it, as if Domhnall was some kind of a magnet. The child was beautiful, fascinating, like a priceless trophy he pleased Voldemort - that much he could admit to himself. The more complex feelings were still too hard for him to analyze, since all his thoughts were constantly occupied with Harry.

"Well?" Harry's voice snapped him out of his reverie and he raised his eyes to meet the emerald ones, that were once again looking at him longingly, sadly.

Voldemort cleared his throat and sat up straighter, taking on a business like pose and tone, "I wished to inform you that I have been thinking on your demands a great deal of time, have been looking for a way of ceasing the killings but achieving my goals. And I think I have found a _solution_." Two pairs of green eyes were watching him intently, listening to his every word, both man and boy didn't even breathe, it seemed. Oh, but it felt so magnificent, the Dark Lord couldn't remember feeling so elated by other's attention, perhaps, only once, many years ago, when he had first spoken in front of the audience of those who bound their lives and magic to his own.

"And what might it be?" Harry asked quietly, pushing a spoon into Domhnall's mouth, as his heart was once again gripped in a vice. Had Marvolo truly considered his opinion? His demands, as he put it? Was Voldemort actually going to stop the mindless murders just for him? His stomach churned at the thought that he felt grateful, felt... _special_.

"I will need your help," the blood red eyes locked with the emerald ones and Voldemort couldn't help but seethe inside for he knew he was _pleading_, pleading again. He could kill Harry as easily as a fly, the young man wouldn't be fast enough to even notice his attack, but the mere thought of hurting him sent painful pangs into his heart. Harry had such power over him, he was the only person in his life that had ever made him beg. And he felt he was ready to fall even lower for him. "I need you to become a delegate for my campaign, my cause... _our cause._"

"What?" Harry blurted out, shocked.

"I know you agree with my bills, why won't you tell everyone about it?" he smiled at his Prince charmingly, tilting his head to the side. Even begging, he knew just what to do to make Harry comply faster. He knew this smile of his always made the other freeze and loose his tension. Oh, and here it was, the palpitating of the eyelashes, the slight blush of the cheeks... How unbearably appetizing Harry looked right now, he could devour him with such pleasure.

"You want me to speak to the press, to people... to _promote_ you?" somehow this sounded even more insane than the killings. "But why all the safety measures then, if you want to throw me out into the wild and... What about Domhnall?" Harry realized he raised his voice, quite unnecessarily, but couldn't help it. His head wasn't working right, he couldn't think soberly and simultaneously watch these damned rose lips seduce him with these blasted smiles. He wanted Marvolo, always wanted him, no matter what he thought of the man, and it annoyed him to no end.

"The blood wards are necessary - this is your home after all, I do not want anyone to disturb you or our son," Voldemort smiled again, leaning forward to inhale Harry's scent and feel the light magic tickle on his cold skin. "Besides, I will be accompanying you all the time, I will be keeping you safe while Domhnall would be with his grandfather. I am sure Severus would manage a little baby-sitting, with the help of our elves."

"You have planned everything, haven't you?" Harry whispered helplessly. It was just like Marvolo to study him and to use the knowledge against him eventually.

"I tend to do so, yes," he grinned and felt his smile widen even more, despite himself, when Domhnall gurgled happily and grinned back at him. Was the boy so sensitive to others' emotions? Or was it just him that affected the child so much? "You have to agree, Harry, if you want me to stop killing them, then you have to help me, to make them see reason. They would never listen to me or either of my followers, but you, you can make them see the truth."

"How can I do that?" he hated it, hated so much that Marvolo was always right. "I will have to expose myself, our son... everything that happened..." Harry shook his head in denial, feeling the tears of desperation well up in his eyes.

"No," Voldemort gently took the trembling hand that lay on the table and stroked it lovingly with his cold fingers, "_No_, Harry, you won't have to do any of it, not if you don't want to. I simply planned for you to expose Dumbledore, his voluntary ignorance of your abuse, his lies about you being in training while you are hiding from him and the Order..." he moved to stand on his knees before the young wizard, kissing the hand softly, not once taking his eyes off of the tearful green ones. "I want you to tell them why you agree with me, my ideas, that is all. You are free to tell anything else you want, I promise."

Harry wanted to close his eyes, to turn away, to snatch his hand out of the other's hold, but the sight of Marvolo standing on his knees before him, the blood red eyes looking at him with such honesty and warmth made his heart sing and hurt at the same time. Was he being deceived again? "Give me a vow," he croaked, "A vow that you would never _lie_ to me."

He knew it was coming, he knew he would have to give Harry everything he asked for in order to have him. But somehow it didn't seem as ridiculous now, as it had just a few days ago. "I, Tom Marvolo Riddle, swear on my life and magic that I would never lie to Harold Severus Prince, would never deceive him." A faint light glowed around their clasped hands and Harry could see Marvolo's pupils change their size, as the blood red orbs darkened and then brightened dramatically. This couldn't be faked, he had bound himself by an unbreakable vow yet again. "How many more vows and binds should I perform for you to trust me, Harry?" Voldemort kissed his hand again and pressed the warm palm against his cheek, all but purring at the contact.

"Will you truly stop the unnecessary violence if I help you, as you say?" Harry stroked the soft, cool skin with his thumb despite his best efforts to stay unaffected. How could he, when he had the Dark Lord at his feet?

"Yes," came out shakily, unsteadily, for he could not lie anymore. He could kill as much as he liked, he only needed to find another reason for that, but it was the previous night when he had finally, fully realized that the violence, the murders, the tortures were not bringing him any more comfort and pleasure as they used to. Now _Harry_ was his comfort, his peace, his solace. Closing his eyes resentfully, Voldemort leaned forward and circled his arms around both Harry's and Domhnall's forms, burying his face into the thin fabric of Harry's shirt. He felt their son tug on his hair and touch his face with his little plump fingers, inspecting every inch of it, as Harry had once done in the darkness of their bedroom.

Harry stared at Marvolo, whose head was pressed against his chest, and his hands involuntarily reached for the soft, chestnut hair, his fingers carded through the short locks, as his heart beat madly against his ribcage. "Marvolo, please," he tried weakly, completely incapable of pushing the other away. He couldn't let himself loose focus, loose caution.

"No, let me hold you," Voldemort pressed harder, rubbing his face against his Prince, "We had a deal, Harry, I am giving you what you want and I get to hold you, to touch you. Let me have it now, I miss you so much, I need you..." his words dissipated into Harry's skin as his long nose found a gap between the buttons and his lips moved to place a kiss there, sending shivers down Harry's spine.

Harry didn't say anything, he didn't know what could he say really. With both Domhnall and Marvolo being so close to him, holding him, he felt as if his whole entity dissipated and morphed into something else, something intricate and purifying, light, even though it was mixed with darkness of both men in his arms. It was yet another form of ecstasy he had never felt before in his life. Ecstasy of being wanted and needed, ecstasy of being one with those who were his flesh and blood, his family. He didn't want Marvolo to be his family, he didn't, at least he was telling himself that, but his hands refused to listen and kept stroking and pulling on the soft hair, his heart kept calling for more, his body craved to be taken and worshiped. He needed Voldemort just like snakeface needed him, he knew it somewhere deep inside of him.

Voldemort pulled away, sensing his patience and will running thin. He couldn't force Harry into anything physical, he couldn't let himself do it, he could only _wait_. Wait for his Prince to be ready to accept him back. _A torture worse then cruciatus_. His gaze fell on Domhnall's little form - the boy stretched out his small arms to be held as well and something, he wasn't sure what exactly, some kind of an animal instinct compelled him to pick the child up. He stood, holding his son in his arms for the first time. He could feel the weak muscles tense from time to time, as the boy shifted, and the beating of a tiny heart against his narrow chest. Domhnall was as small and light as a feather, and so warm, so soft, so nice to the touch and to the smell. Voldemort couldn't help but embrace him tighter and press his lips against the plump cheek. The sweetness of his scent and magic turned the Dark Lord's head, it was hard to believe he could create something so pure and so wonderful. It was just a child, wasn't it? A little menace, abomination, a little trickster, a wolf in a lamb's skin... no, it wasn't Domhnall. Domhnall was _different_, he was his and Harry's, he was _special_. And so magical.

Harry's first instinct was to tear his boy away but when he saw Marvolo's face, the way he looked at Domhnall, the way he kissed him with that small smile on his lips, it made Harry realize that the dark wizard was, in fact, capable of feeling affection towards his son, _their son._ "How will we do it? Dumbledore, I mean, he wouldn't let me walk around and spread the word," Harry twisted his fingers helplessly, feeling suddenly apprehensive. He wished his help could bring an end to all this madness as soon as possible, though he doubted he could be of any real use.

"Do not worry about it, I will always be with you when you are out, Harry," Voldemort opened his eyes and looked at the raven haired wizard, as his hand rubbed Domhnall's back in circles. "Dumbledore is dying from a terminal illness, he would order you to hunt down and destroy all of my horcruxes..." at the sight of the tears that had finally streamed down Harry's pale cheeks, he sighed, "Yes, you see, now that I am telling you only the truth it is not going to be pleasant."

"How has he got infected?" Harry couldn't help but feel sorry for the old headmaster, he just didn't have that much anger and poison in him to hold the man's sins and mistakes over him, when he was going to die so soon.

"Found my horcrux and tried to destroy it. Paid for poking his nose into my business. I warned him, Harry, I warned him seventeen years ago but he never listened."

Of course there was no pity or regret in the ruby eyes. "And how many of those do you have hidden?"

"Four, one of them you are wearing around your neck," Voldemort smiled cunningly.

Frowning, Harry clutched on the locket he never once parted with. It had this strange familiar feeling to it, but it was empty, it didn't have any kind of magic inside... Creasing his brow even more, he stroked the cool metal absentmindedly, as a realization formed in his mind. "There are no _real_ horcruxes anymore, aren't there?" he looked up and saw Marvolo's smile widen, and his eyes shine brighter.

"Yes, I have absorbed them all after I resurrected. _You_ are the only one left," his smile faltered suddenly, as if it never existed, "And Dumbledore wants you to destroy the horcruxes and Domhnall, and then sacrifice yourself in a fight against me. This is what he told Severus."

"But why have you absorbed them? Aren't they the guarantee of your eternal life?" Harry scowled at the thought that Dumbledore had the nerve to tell Severus everything, but not him, that he wanted to kill his innocent son, that he wanted to put him into a fight against Marvolo, whom he, as much as he wished to, couldn't hurt. _Just couldn't._

Voldemort sat down on a chair next to him and reluctantly passed Domhnall to Harry, when the boy reached out for his young father. "I did it because I met you." At his Prince's confused look he crossed his legs and folded his hands in his lap, smiling melancholically to himself, and elaborated, "I have met you several times before that, but that particular time you actually piqued my interest, Harry. You fought me, you, _a child_, who was much more afraid of me than all the Death Eaters who were cringing at my feet, and yet you were the only one who stubbornly cursed me with the foulest words I have ever heard," he laughed mirthfully, and the deep, rich sounds, that were escaping his lips, pulsed in Harry's chest and groin. "You didn't cry, you didn't beg for mercy, you looked me straight in the eye. Reborn, I had enough of sanity and sense to realize that what had happened to me was the result of my own mistakes. I needed to start all over again, only this time I knew I had to learn from my past unfortunate experience. And I knew that if I wanted to meet you again and to get to know you, Harry, I would need to be more human than before," the blood red eyes looked straight into the emerald ones. "I wanted to know you Harry and I am _glad_ I did."

Harry averted his gaze, feeling his cheeks burn in embarrassment. Marvolo couldn't lie to him and Harry couldn't help but feel flattered, pleased and aroused by the notion that the dark wizard had noticed him and had been wanting him for so long. That Marvolo appreciated him. Could he say the same though? That he was glad he got to know the man who killed his mother? Harry looked down at Domhnall, who was chewing on the locket and watching his parents curiously. His little miracle, that Marvolo gave him. _Fuck_. "Me too." He had never given any vows but he couldn't lie to Marvolo, not after everything that happened. He didn't want to, he was so tired of it - being honest with others was freeing, he craved this freedom.

Voldemort gave his Prince a very pleased grin and a sly, lustful look from underneath his lowered lids and long, thick eyelashes. "Oh, Harry," he sighed, leaning forward, and smiled at the raven haired wizard, smiled sincerely and easily, enjoying doing it just for Harry, _his Harry_.

"I must put Domhnall to sleep," Harry blurted out shakily, for he knew that look, that voice, that sigh. He knew they were the ultimate weapon against his shields, if he didn't leave now he would be ravished into oblivion. Of course he wanted it, but he still was incapable of forgiving Marvolo... for everything. He sprang up on his feet and hastily walked away and into the nursery.

"Then I would like to wish him good night," Voldemort drawled, standing next to the crib, having have apparated into the room.

Harry flinched, surprised by his sudden appearance. "Sure." Marvolo definitely knew just how was he affecting him and was doing it all on purpose, the bastard! Harry kissed Domhnall on the cheek and stroked his hair, watching the boy yawn, as his eyes slowly closed. Ignoring the dark wizard's intent staring, Harry kissed his son once more and put him down into the crib, covering him up with a small blanket and caressing his cheeks, as he listened to Domhnall's breathing.

When the boy was finally asleep and Harry stepped away from him, Voldemort leaned forward and bent down to place a kiss on the small head, "_Good night, little prince_," he hissed in parseltongue very quietly. He had never had to share anything or anyone with another person, but now he had to share his son with Harry, and share Harry with Domhnall. He hated it, but couldn't change it however hard he wished to, for he wanted them _both_.

Seeing that Marvolo was occupied with the child, Harry decided it was time to run. Rationally he knew there was no way he could hide from the man, but he needed to keep their distance. He quietly escaped into the hall and walked over to the stairs, but a strong hand stopped him and pushed him against the wall. He hadn't had the time to move away or fight Marvolo off - his lips were being devoured by the other with such fierce passion, he could feel the copper flavour on his tongue. And Harry surrendered. His arms circled the man's neck and his body arched to press into the other's frame. Cold hands snaked underneath his shirt and grabbed onto his sides, hurting and turning him on. Harry moaned, as Marvolo sucked on his tongue, growling into his mouth possessively, like a wild beast. _Fuck, how I missed this._

"Harry, Harry." He had tried, he had honestly tried and he failed. Voldemort pulled away to take a breath, staring into the unfocused green eyes, full of lust and longing, want. "Harry, I wouldn't do it against your wishes," he bit into the tender skin of the throat, groaning at the delightful sounds of short, ragged breaths that escaped Harry's chest.

He felt like crying, when he heard these words. Why was the man, who skinned his uncle alive, so kind to him, caring? He could have taken him so easily, could have forced him into sex - Harry knew he couldn't really fight Voldemort, he was too young and inexperienced. But snakeface never once used his opportunity, always being the gentle, understanding, affectionate... lover. _Oh god_. Harry pressed into him as hard as he could and hid his face in the crook of his neck, as tears poured out of his eyes. "Thank you," he whispered, sobbing, "Marvolo."

Voldemort held him tightly, kissing him on the wet, tear-stained cheeks, running nose, puffy eyes and lips. Harry's tears tormented him, but the fact, that the young wizard could once again feel safe in his arms to cry, told him he was being trusted again. And it was worth his patience, his hunger. Gathering Harry's thin form into his arms, he brought him into the bedroom and laid him down onto the bed, sitting down beside him, still holding him close. "You belong to me, you belong _with me,_ Harry," he murmured, kissing the swollen lips gently, "Never forget that."

Closing his eyes and sighing contentedly, Harry relaxed into the embrace of the cold arms, happy to be held again, just like he always wanted to be. He ignored the man's words in favour of asking him, "Marvolo, why have you made a horcrux at all?"

"Because I was afraid," a hot breath brushed over his ear and wet lips sucked on his earlobe. Voldemort was a little surprised by the question, he hoped he wouldn't have to answer anything about his past, but with Harry there was never any certainty. He kept kissing and licking on the wizard's sweet skin, as his hand rubbed on the thin chest, teasing the nipples and drawing patterns with the tips of his fingernails.

Harry turned his head to catch the insatiable lips into a soft, tender kiss and whispered against them, "Had somebody hurt you, Marvolo?" The man grew up during the second World War, surely he was afraid of death, but Harry doubted he had ever been such a weak and cowardly human being as to split his soul simply because of that, no, Voldemort had always had _serious reasons._

"I do not wish to discuss this," he pulled away completely and sat up straighter, scowling at Harry's perceptiveness. His Prince was a true slytherin and now was going to use the vow against him to get into his past. A warm hand covered his and squeezed it kindly.

"I wish you could tell me," Harry sighed, as he too sat up and pressed his forehead against the other's shoulder. He thought about the nightmares Easy had told him about and couldn't help but wonder what had happened to Marvolo, what had muggles done to him at the orphanage. He entertained the crazy idea, that if he knew what was the cause of Marvolo's heartlessness, mercilessness and incontrollable hatred, he could help him deal with it, like Marvolo had helped him to deal with his own fears and pain.

"Not now, Harry."

"Alright," the sudden coldness and distance in his voice hurt Harry, but he knew it was wrong to pry. "I'm sorry."

"There is nothing for you to be sorry about, my little one," Voldemort sighed and pulled him into a soft embrace. "Let's not disturb my past, Harry, it doesn't matter anymore, you wouldn't change me either, if that is what you are hoping for. Just let it go and be with me, _be mine_."

He thought he had never heard anything more romantic and heartbreaking before in his life. "I am afraid I wouldn't be able to ever forgive you for what you have done, Marvolo," Harry nuzzled into his neck, "It crippled me, left so many scars inside."

"I am not looking for your forgiveness, Harry," Voldemort chuckled soundlessly, kissing the top of the other's head. "There is no absolution for someone like me, especially when one doesn't need it to sleep peacefully at nights. What I need for a good sleep is you."

Harry smiled ruefully into his shoulder and lay down again, closing his eyes. "I will see you in my dreams tonight, Marvolo." _I am sorry but I can't be with you, not now._ Somehow he found he couldn't say it aloud. He wanted to laugh at the ridiculous thought that he was afraid to hurt Marvolo, but it made him cry instead. He couldn't lie to the man and _this_, this was a lie, wasn't it?

"I am waiting, Harry," Voldemort murmured and vanished into the thin air. It was long before Harry had managed to fall asleep, staring dumbly into the darkness, searching for the burning coals of the ruby eyes, but they were not here. Even though he had never once been in love before, Harry knew that if he let Marvolo in his life, he would surely fall for him and would only hurt himself, for the Dark Lord was incapable of such feelings. Could have Dumbledore been wrong, though?

**xxx**

"Ah, Severus, come in!" Dumbledore called and the door into his office opened before the potions master. Severus took a deep, calming breath and entered, but his appearance wasn't as spotless and perfect as he wished it to be - he couldn't help but sneer at the sight of Weasley and Granger in the headmaster's office, the former shoving the piles of crackers down his throat, the latter paging through one of the ancient tomes on magic, that nobody but Dumbledore could ever touch.

"I see we have _company_, sir," Severus bit out, scowling so awfully, that it made Ron choke and Hermione had to hit him hard on his back to help him breathe again.

"Yes, I thought Mr Weasley and Miss Granger had a right to know what is happening to their friend," Dumbledore smiled and gestured for the potions master to sit down as well. Just as Severus had expected, there was a pensieve on the headmaster's table - he had prepared a compilation of his memories about Harry and Domhnall to show and make it look like it had happened yesterday.

"What I have to show you is not recommended for viewing by the minors," Severus sneered at the two gryffindors, but seeing that their faces remained just as dumb as ever, he sighed and offered the same sentence in smaller words, "There is a scene of cutting Harry up and taking the child out, blood, his insides and _blood_ again." At that both teenagers screamed in horror and Hermione covered her mouth with her hands, sobbing.

"I see," Dumbledore gave the potions master a worried look. "Perhaps, it would be best for the two of you to wait while I watch the whole memory and then I will show you the least cruel parts of it." At their vehement nods of agreement he flicked his wrist to push the pensieve closer to Severus.

The potions master concentrated on the fake memory he had created in his mind. This was the hardest subject of the art of Occlumency, for a wizard had to recreate every little detail to make his memory seem real. The light, the dust in the air, the position of the arrows of the clock, the dates on the newspaper's front page, and much, much more. Severus had spent the whole night creating the memory of his visit to Harry, combining the episodes of all the times they have spent together, twisting them, correcting, adding details and getting rid of the unnecessary ones, changing words and intonations, glances and gestures... He felt completely exhausted and had to take a few pepper-up potions in the morning to be able to function properly. Pressing a tip of his wand to his temple, he dragged a silver substance out and over into the golden dish. The memory swirled in the water, gleaming ominously in the bright light coming through the stained glass window. Dumbledore gave his three guests a serious, determined look and with a last, confident nod he bent down and brought his face a mere inch away from the liquid - his eyes glazed and his face took on a waxen look of a dead man. He was sucked into the memory.

"Is Harry alright, professor?" Hermione took her eyes off of headmaster's form and turned to the potions master.

"He is now," Severus hissed, not sparing her another glance.

"Why hadn't he answered when we came calling for him?" Ron whined, staring at the tips of his battered boots, too uncomfortable to look at the terrifying man.

"Perhaps, he was afraid to put the two of you in danger by coming out, since the Dark Lord had found him, or, perhaps, his fetus was too heavy for him, since he is not a woman and is incapable of bearing a child and he simply couldn't move?" he spat acidly, barely restraining himself from throttling the redheaded idiot with his bare hands. How truly stupid they were to ignore Harry's _sacrifices_ so easily, arrogantly.

"Oh," Ron reddened dramatically, ashamed of his own thickness, and drew his head back, hunching his shoulders.

Dumbledore suddenly straightened in his seat and blinked a few times, trying to clear his sight. There were tears welled up in his pale blue eyes, Severus saw them but pretended he didn't - he hadn't changed the scene of delivering Domhnall and it was indeed truly horrible.

"So, the Dark Lord found out that the child is not a horcrux?" the headmaster asked in a quiet, rasping voice. Severus and his master had played that particular dialogue out for his false memories, specifically for Dumbledore to see.

"Yes, the child is harmless. Harry is still a horcrux himself," Severus nodded, narrowing his eyes at the teenagers next to him. Were they aware of the situation? If they were, what did they think about the necessity of killing Harry for the _greater good_?

"Does Voldemort know who is the father?"

"Even if he does - he never told me," Severus said simply, crossing his arms over his chest and sighing tiredly.

"I still doubt the child is as harmless as it seems. We will see how it grows," the headmaster said thoughtfully, stroking his beard. This comment almost costed Severus his calm façade, for he instantly became enraged and... afraid. Had Dumbledore recognized the child's face? Had he gone insane - killing an innocent infant simply because it had been born dark?

"Professor, why would you want to kill a baby?" Hermione stood up sharply. "Is that why Harry ran away? Is he hiding from us because he thinks we are going to kill his child?"

"This child is unnatural, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said kindly, but firmly, and his austere glance made her fall back on her chair. "What is worse, we do not know the other father. I have no wish to kill it, but if it represents danger to other wizards, then it will have to be eliminated."

"_Harry_ said nobody is born a monster," Ron suddenly broke in, "He said even V-V-You-Know-Who was born an ordinary boy, but was made into a psychotic maniac he is now. How can you tell if Harry's child is any danger to us when it's so small? Besides, I'm sure as hell that Harry would never let it become a bad block," he said with finality and looked straight into headmaster's eyes.

"Harry was wrong, Mr Weasley," Severus decided to play along with Dumbledore, though the redhead's words gave him a tiny hope that not everything was lost in regards of Harry's friends. "His own uncle was born a monster, as was the Dark Lord."

"But don't you care about your grandchild, sir?" Hermione perked up, rubbing the tears off of her face with her gryffindor tie.

"I doubt it is any of your business, Miss Ggranger," the potions master shrugged his shoulders elegantly and turned back to the headmaster. "Harry is fine now, nobody had hurt him, he refuses to leave his house. As you could see he was too weak to be even moved, I could not apparate him anywhere, the baby could not be affected magically as well."

"Will Voldemort grant you access to Harry in the future?" Dumbledore took off his glasses and wiped them clean with his sleeve. "It is fortunate nothing has changed in his condition and we would be able send him on a mission, in which his friends," he waved in the direction of the students, "Will help him."

"So you have told them about the horcruxes?"

"Yes, Harry would need all the help he can get... Tell me, how Voldemort treats him?" the headmaster watched Severus intently, as if he had something in mind but was reluctant to say it out loud.

"Well." What else could he say? That the Dark Lord _lusted_ after his son and that Harry was, obviously, also not indifferent towards him?

"Elaborate?" Dumbledore raised his eyebrows, smiling modestly. "Do they talk? Is Voldemort trying to plant any ideas into Harry's mind?"

"That I do not know, Albus, however, I believe, as long as Potter keeps calling him names it means he is alright." Severus pretended to be fascinated with his fingernails.

Ron burst into a nervous laughter, "Yeah, you shouldn't worry, sir. Harry would never take snakeface's side! This is how he calls him. And he also calls him a bastard, a sick motherfucker, a noseless cocksu-"

"I think you should stop here, Mr Weasley, thank you," the headmaster raised his hands, smiling chidingly, "I have no doubts that Harry has invented many names for Voldemort."

"Oh, Harry has a vast knowledge of dirty words!" the redheaded boy grinned, blushing furiously, "I have always wondered where had he learnt them all."

"I doubt you would smile anymore if you knew," Severus smirked, twisting his lips into a crooked, unkind smile.

"When do you think Harry will recover and be able to move?" the headmaster steered everyone's attention back to the main subject.

"If he would _want_ to move," Severus emphasized, "It would take from three to five weeks for him to completely recover and be able to perform magic." That much time the Dark Lord decided was enough for them to complete the first two steps of his plan, then everything would depend on Harry.

"We will be ready then," Dumbledore rubbed his hands and smiled at the two gryffidnors who, to Severus' satisfaction, didn't look at all excited.

**xxx**

Ever since Harry had recovered from the childbirth he started reading on the material he has been missing while not attending Hogwarts. Domhnall needed to sleep a lot during the day and it gave Harry an opportunity to study and improve his skills. It had been a week since he started using his holly wand again - it felt so awkward, so foreign in his hand, at first it scared him. But Severus said it was normal, his powers grew and now were adjusting to his wand. He was reluctant to use serious spells and never used it around his son, preferring the wandless magic he discovered came so easily to him. It was late afternoon when he paged through his transfiguration textbook and stopped at the new chapter "Transfigurating inanimate into animate". Trying hard to get used to his new power level and to his wand, Harry was making little progress in this subject, even though it used to be one of his tops at school. Dobby helped him arrange one of the empty rooms into a training room of sorts, where he could harmlessly perform any kind of magic without disturbing Domhnall's sleep.

After almost two hours of sweating over a match, he managed to turn it into a rainworm, however, it didn't look that lively at all. Tired and irritated, Harry angrily put the wand away and stomped out of the room, thinking that he needed Severus' help to get through this bloody mess. Staring spitefully at his bare feet, plotting revenge on the stupid match in his mind, Harry entered the nursery and habitually bent over the crib to take Domhnall out only to find that the boy was _gone_. Blinking dumbly at the empty spot with a blanket thrown to the side, he, at first, naively imagined that Domhnall left on his own. "The fuck?!" Harry ran out of the room and down the stairs, frantically trying not to go insane. Where could Domhnall disappear? Only Severus, the elves and Marvolo had the access to the house... _Marvolo_. He was ready to call Easy and apparate to Prince Manor and kill the bastard, when he noticed something unusual out of the corner of his eye. Turning on his heels, he entered the living room and stared at the sofa. Marvolo's long body was sprawled all over it, with one leg thrown over its back, his long, black cloak covering him like a blanket. And here was Domhnall, snoring sweetly on his father's chest, drooling over the crimson, velvet vest. The two were asleep and looked almost identical - angelically peaceful and beautiful.

Feeling his knees giving out, Harry fell into the nearest armchair, panting hysterically. He had never been so scared before in his life - the mere thought of loosing Domhnall felt like a knife piercing through his heart. Catching his breath, he closed his eyes and groaned very quietly in relief. "I will fucking punch you in the face, when you wake up, wanker," he hissed, looking up at Marvolo's content expression. Although he was very angry at the wizard, he couldn't help but admire the view of the two of his men lying so lovely together. Who would have thought that Marvolo liked to sleep with babies so much? Had he come here specifically to sleep with his son? Harry grinned despite himself, feeling the anger and irritation slowly dissipate into nothingness, in favour of joy and happiness. Marvolo looked so human now, acted so normal, it was hard to believe this was the monster that held the whole country in terror. _The monster_.

Harry stood up and moved to crouch beside the sleeping wizard, watching his pale face intently. It was the first time he could actually _look_ at him, see him fully, without a golden mask, without deceiving expressions... Although he seemed rather young when he spoke and smiled, he was around thirty five or even forty years old. His skin, though pale and perfectly soft, bore many wrinkles, and two deep lines on his forehead and one between his eyebrows - he frowned and scowled more often than smiled. A delicate mole under the left eye, the long, thick, dark eyelashes and plump, rose lips gave him a feminine look, which contradicted with definite male features and gave him this unique, _noble_ beauty. Harry's eyes slowly left the mouth he wanted to kiss so much and moved on to the dimple on the man's chin - something he never thought he would find so attractive and intriguing. Unable to resist his temptation, Harry carefully reached out and stroked the soft, chestnut locks, that were framing the beautiful face. Perhaps, Voldemort was Marvolo's magical portrait, like Dorian Gray's, and bore all the marks of his horrible deeds and rotten soul, while his true, human face remained unscarred and perfect, innocent?

Voldemort woke up as soon as he heard Harry run down the stairs, but decided to feign ignorance just to see what the young wizard would do. Would he take Domhnall away? Would he curse him? Harry was always rather unpredictable, which excited the Dark Lord - he loved riddles and things he couldn't quite control, they fascinated and aroused him, _challenged_. He heard Harry's threat and barely held back his smile, feeling most pleased with Harry's reaction - they were making significant progress. But he never expected that Prince, a little snake in lion's skin, would use this opportunity to study him and to touch him. Harry's scent filled his nostrils, as the young wizard's magic prickled on his skin when he touched his hair. A little more, a little closer and he would jump at Harry and fuck everything up. It was so hard to resist the temptation to take what was already his... Harry's warm fingers moved to touch his cheek and Voldemort felt his blood rush down to his groin. Such a gentle touch, admiring and appreciating - nobody had ever touched him like Harry did, nobody wanted him for being Marvolo, others were interested only in the Dark Lord and his power. Perhaps, this was the reason he tried so hard to get rid of this part of himself, unwanted and lonely, broken?

Harry let out a heavy, quiet sigh, full of longing and sorrow and laid his head down onto Marvolo's chest, next to Domhnall, closed his eyes and listened to the steady beat of a heart he used to think was made of stone. Marvolo was just flesh and blood, wasn't he? A human being, who made too many mistakes to count and yet was trying very hard to safe the world he lived in. Saints didn't exist, everybody sinned and hurt others, people constantly killed each other in battles for reasons sometimes so insignificant and foolish... "Why do I keep trying to justify everything you have done? Why am I still looking for an excuse to let you in?" Harry whispered more to himself than to the other, but Voldemort heard him. These sad words made him open his eyes and look at Harry, as if he had never seen him before. He opened his mouth to say something but suddenly found he lacked of any words that could sympathize well with his Prince's problem. Voldemort had never been the one to condole with the others, for he simply never cared for anybody else but himself. And now a young, beautiful, powerful and intelligent man was crying on his chest, trying very hard to accept him and he dearly wished he _knew_ what to say. This strange, unusual need confused him.

"Harry," he murmured, placing his free hand over the other's head and stroking the silky raven hair.

"I am not sorry I woke you, you bastard!" Harry hastily pulled away, berating himself for being the soft piece of shit that he was, for desiring Marvolo so much.

"Oh? What have I done this time?" Voldemort smiled, looking at Harry mischievously. How he loved his Prince being the rogue that he was.

"Next time you want to sleep with Domhnall - just say so! Do you have any idea how have you fucking frightened me when I didn't find him in his bed?!" Harry hissed vehemently, glaring at Marvolo with as much anger as he could master, though he knew he was failing miserably.

"Oh, that!" Voldemort raised his eyebrows in a mocking amazement. "I was so tired after a sleepless night, I simply came by to check on the two of you and found Domhnall awake in his crib. I couldn't resist, he smells so good," he laughed softly, stroking the boy's back gently. "As soon as I took him into my arms he fell asleep and I decided to take a nap as well. Do not worry, Harry, nobody will take him away from you, definitely _not me_."

"Do you like him? How do you feel about him?" Harry suddenly asked, curious to know if Marvolo understood why was he acting in such an unusual fashion.

The Dark Lord looked at the young wizard and then at the small boy in his arms, that was stirring ever so slightly, clearly waking up. "I feel a very strong attraction, much stronger than anything I have ever experienced before, except for _you_, of course," he gave Harry a sly smile, though his gaze was warm and held no guile inside. "I like him, yes, I want to hold him and look at him, as if he was a prize or a treasure. I feel protective of him. I believe it is what parents are supposed to feel towards their children, isn't it?"

"Yeah." Harry felt the heat gather in his chest and slowly spread all over his body. _Pull yourself together, you sop!_ Marvolo was slowly growing to _love_ their son, he was, there was no denying it. Could Domhnall help him change? Become a complete human being, loose his brutality? Harry frowned and looked away, self-conscious to meet the blood red eyes. Did he actually want Marvolo to change? Wasn't he whom he liked so much in the first place? Despite his concealment of the fact that he and Voldemort were the very same person, Marvolo indeed was sincere with Harry in everything else, genuine. His complex, twisted personality was what turned Harry on.

"What are you thinking about?" He turned to the sound of the deep, calm voice that once used to lull him to sleep by whispering sweet nonsense in the darkness.

"You."

"How flattering," Voldemort grinned arrogantly, which made Harry shake his head at the man's antics. "Ah, look, who is awake," the Dark Lord greeted Domhnall who rolled on his back and yawned loudly, stretching his little arms and legs. He looked so much like Marvolo now, Harry couldn't help but feel moved by his son's every gesture and leaned forward to take him. He carefully picked the boy up from the man's chest and instantly covered the little face with a hundred of soft, featherlight kisses, smiling wildly at the laughing infant. "He is a very joyful child," Marvolo said thoughtfully, watching them together, as a scientist would watch two cells interact. "He is very much like _you_, never loses his heart."

Blushing at the unexpected compliment, Harry hid his face in the mop of the chestnut hair, "You would have been just as happy and playful if you weren't alone then. We are all born innocent and pure, no matter the affinity to dark or light magic, we all crave the same: care and love. You never had it - you had no reason to be happy, satisfied with your life and your own self. Domhnall has it all, he has _us_, Severus, Dobby and Easy - why wouldn't he be careless and joyful?"

Voldemort smiled softly at his Prince, marveling his wisdom. He knew he made a right choice - who could reach for the minds and hearts of people better than Harry? In just a few years this young wizard could easily become a new Light Lord. Noble, generous, caring and kindhearted, wise and perceptive - he had all the necessary qualities for a leader of the new society in the new world they were going to create. And he _belonged_ to Voldemort, forever. "Yes, I think you are right, my dear," he sat up and kissed the top of Harry's head, touching the long, delicate neck seemingly by an accident. "I must be going."

Harry couldn't help but catch his breath, when the cold fingers brushed against his skin and stayed there for a while, caressing his throat. Marvolo didn't have to do anything to turn him into a pile of mush - a simple, gentle touch and Harry was finished. "When... When will we rehearse my speech or... whatever it is I am going to say? We need to discuss it, right?" he looked up at the dark wizard, suddenly hurt that he was leaving already.

_Or do you just wish to spend more time with me?_ Voldemort smiled brilliantly at his Prince, very pleased with himself, and chuckled, "Oh, Harry, I never thought you would be so enthusiastic about helping me out! We would discuss it as much as you wish to, it is my pleasure."

"Yeah, great," Harry averted his eyes and bit into his lower lip, shy and insecure again, just like the first time he met Marvolo.

"I will be back soon," the Dark Lord stroked Domhnall's pink cheek with his index finger and, taking one last look at Harry, disappeared.

Back in his study at Prince Manor, Voldemort slumped in his chair gracelessly, leaning back and crossing his arms behind his head. A pleased, confident smile played on his lips - Harry was _his_. It was not going to be long before his raven haired Prince lowered his shields and let him in, completely. Once and for all. What a generous trophy after such a challenging crusade! Laughing to himself in satisfaction, he closed his eyes and imagined how he would be holding Harry so very soon, fucking him, devouring every bit of his being. He knew that getting closer with the child would help him melt the young wizard's heart, however, and he wasn't going to lie to himself, he did truly like Domhnall. Perhaps, by an instinct, or by blood ties he genuinely cared for the boy. The images of his future life with Harry and Domhnall suddenly flooded his mind and made him sit up straight and frown - for the first time in his life he was imagining a future _shared_ with somebody else, with somebody he wanted and craved. It was as disturbing as it was pleasant.

**xxx**

Perhaps, it was his age that brought him such severe intolerance towards snotty displays of affection, perhaps, it was all Lily's fault, since she had torn out the last weak roots of his genuine kindness and affinity towards people that he had inherited from his mother. He wasn't sure, he couldn't remember when was the last time he actually felt something. Oh no, he did. It was with _Harry_ - a lovely looking, arrogant and stubborn boy that was his walking reflection, both on the outside and on the inside. Severus had sometimes dreamed, deep inside himself, that if he survived the war, he could probably find himself a good woman and spend the rest of his life in a secluded, small house, somewhere far away from here, with her as a socializing substitute and an occasional sex partner. He was certain he would never be able to love again, nor had he any desire to have children. However, Fate had once again tricked him and put everything into its personal kind of order. Watching Harry and Domhnall, knowing that they were a part of him, were his flesh and blood, his unexpected family, was a most intricate, indescribable experience. Severus could have sworn he felt something burn inside his heart, melting down the iron cage he hid it in.

"Severus, come, hold him for a moment," Harry called, holding the boy out for him.

"What?" the potions master snapped out of his reverie, surprised and quite scared by the prospect of holding a baby - he had never done it before, and there were very few things he had never tried, being a wizard, a scientist and a Death Eater.

"Hold Domhnall," Harry pushed the small ball of flesh into his trembling hands and left the nursery to draw a bath for the child - they were still reluctant to use complex magic around him, since it was hard to tell how would he be affected.

"Wait, I..." Severus doubted he could feel more insecure than at this particular moment. A little human being, a tiny wizard was squirming in his hands and loudly asking to be held closer - the potions master held his grandson at his arms' length, having had stretched them as far as possible. Children produced so much noise and mess, at least that was what he had heard about them. He always felt horrified at the sight of yet another scion of the Weasley family, inwardly admiring Molly's courage and stamina, thinking her to be completely insane at the same time. How could she go through this for so many times and stay alive, in one piece, was beyond him.

When Harry returned he gave his father an amused look upon seeing his strange, tensed posture. "You know you could hold him closer, he is not going to bite you, or shit on your robe, if you are worrying about that," he laughed, shaking his head. "Don't tell me you are _afraid_ of him!"

"I am not!" Severus hissed, affronted, watching Domhnall wearily. The naked boy was so soft, so warm, it was hard to imagine it was his normal condition - at first Severus was certain he had a fever. The little wizard was smiling and gurgling excitedly, jerking in his hands and his huge green eyes were staring at Severus so kindly, so affectionately... He was a brainless creature yet, wasn't he? How could a child so small, so young have such strong emotions, such powerful aura that practically enveloped him in a cocoon? Even though he, subconsciously, felt a strong pull towards Domhnall, which was instinctive and quite logical for blood relatives, Severus was still a little suspicious of him. A child born in such an unnatural fashion, graced with such overwhelming power...

"Well hug him then!" Harry nudged and crossed his arms over his chest, waiting for the snarky man to comply. "He is your grandchild, Severus, he is not bloody Merlin, he is just a boy."

"I am not going to obey your petty orders, here, take him back!" Severus hastily pushed Domhnall into the young wizard's hands, twisting his face in disgust and discomfort.

"The fuck is wrong with you?" Rolling his eyes in exasperation, Harry shrugged his shoulders and, holding his son pressed against his chest, walked out of the nursery and into the bathroom, tickling the naked boy on his way, drawing bouts of laughter out of the small chest. Severus could only stare after them, feeling completely out of place. As much as he enjoyed holding Harry, he couldn't bring himself to do it casually, whenever he felt like it. Never the one to be self-conscious or shy, he found he was afraid to be rejected. _Elementary_, really. His past experience caused him too much of a damage, he was not ready to be hurt again, and never would be, he supposed. And even though Harry never showed any signs of growing cold or indifferent towards him, Severus was paranoid in his certainty that it all was not meant for him, was a vague illusion, that threatened to dissipate and leave him lonely and broken _again_ any moment now.

Lost in his musings he barely registered that he had sat down, occupied Harry's 'reading armchair' as he called it. He frowned when something hard pressed against his thigh and took a small, thin book out, that got stuck between the pillows. It was "The Little Prince", his _favourite_, the one his mother used to read to him so often before sleep. Scowling at it, he paged through, watching the familiar frozen pictures with the eating feeling of longing in his heart. When he was a child, he used to think that he was the Little Prince from the book, just as lonely and miserable. He never thought he would stumble upon it again one day.

"Look at you, you are shining like a teapot now!" Harry came into the room, laughing along with freshly bathed Domhnall, already dressed for bed. Seeing that Severus was immersed in the book, Harry quietly put the boy into the crib, kissing him good night, and moved closer to his father. "I have never read it before, but now it is my favourite one." The onyx eyes slowly raised to meet his gaze and he thought his heart would break - so sad they were.

"It is, indeed, a good one," Severus drawled nonchalantly and put it carelessly on the table, standing up to leave.

"Severus." Harry's hand on his arm stopped him and the potions master looked up at his son, raising an inquiring eyebrow at his antics. "Stop this idiocy," the boy murmured and suddenly Severus found himself enveloped into a tight, warm embrace. "I didn't lie when I said I want you to be my family. Stop thinking I would betray you."

Severus wanted to say something spiteful, but once again found himself incapable of forming a comprehensible answer. He simply embraced Harry back and pressed his long nose against the boy's temple, reveling in his closeness. _Why, why the hell does it feel so good?_

"You may hold me whenever you wish to, I promise," Harry whispered into his ear, stroking his back gently. He thought it to be ridiculous that his father was too frightened to go further, however, he understood the fear of rejection. He used to be afraid of getting close to people for he didn't want to get hurt anymore. Perhaps, the same went for Severus? "You are my _dad_, I want you to be with me, just like I am with my son." There, he said it.

"You are an imbecile," Severus sighed, pushing one of his hands into his son's long, raven hair, brushing them carefully. He hadn't yet gotten used to being called "dad" and now Harry was telling him he wanted him to be here for him. Nobody had ever asked that of him and, quite frankly, he would have never indulged anyone anyway... But not Harry.

"Yeah, I know, you taught me well," Harry drawled sarcastically and pulled away a little to look into his father's eyes. "I still want you to be with me, want you to be my parent. I don't care what you think or what snarky arguments you are planning to give me - I like you, that is quite enough for me," he kissed Severus on the cheek and circled his arms around his neck, sighing deeply, pleasantly. After having spent so much time with Domhnall, after holding him and watching him being so happy every time they touched, Harry realized he missed this, missed feeling just as ecstatic and wonderful in the arms of his father - he hadn't had such luxury during the seventeen years of his life. And now he had his chance, he had Severus, why wouldn't he use it, really?

"You like me?" Severus huffed incredulously, widening his eyes at the sensation of being kissed so softly. Only his mother had kissed him like that and he felt _home_ again. "Is it some kind of a bribe to make me babysit the boy?"

"Do you always have to spoil everything with this mania of yours? I think you have overworked yourself spying for Death Eaters," Harry scoffed but didn't let go of the man. "I am not paying any mind to this nonsense."

"I have lived long enough to know that words could be easily twisted and used against me," the potions master closed his eyes, feeling his every muscle slowly relax, as a wave of Harry's light magic caressed him and soothed his nerves.

"I am not Voldemort, nor am I Dumbledore," Harry said firmly, "I do not order you to make sacrifices for me, on the contrary, I want you to know that you could always find peace here with me and Domhnall, we would never turn you away... I am not going to loose you again, seventeen years was quite enough, thank you very much."

"You should have shown such zeal at the school," Severus laughed bitterly, "Why are you so adamant to persuade me?" No, he simply found he liked to be persuaded in such fashion.

"Because I _need_ you," Harry once again pulled away to look at him. He took the long, thin face of his father in his both hands, "I thought that I was an adult, that I could live on my own, raise a child, be independent and self-sufficient but I am not. The more I give Domhnall, the more I feel I have missed myself. I crave it, I want to be a son as well, I want to be cared for by my father." Harry pressed their foreheads and long noses together, uncertain what else could he say to express what he felt, to make Severus understand.

He never imagined such gesture could be so _intimate_. Feeling Harry so close was unbelievably satisfying, comforting. Not really thinking what he was doing for, probably, the first time in his adult life, Severus tilted his head and kissed the boy's scarred forehead. Somehow it felt the right thing to do. His lips stayed there for a few long seconds while he was thinking of how his mother used to kiss him in the past, how much he enjoyed her caresses. Involuntarily, he moved to place another kiss, on the brow and a small smile appeared on his lips, when he heard Harry hum pleasantly. Others never really enjoyed his touch, even in bed women never showed any kind of desire to be kissed. But Harry turned his face for a better angle and smiled when Severus placed a fleeting kiss on his temple.

"Thanks, dad," he sighed and kissed Severus back, on the cheek again, completely relaxing against the tall, thin frame cladded in black. He knew there was hidden gentleness in the snarky man, he knew his father was capable of kindness and affection, love. He wasn't a monster, he was just a bitter, broken man, crippled by life and those who surrounded him. Harry could relate to that and dearly wished he could fix at least some of the damage. He found this strong desire to heal and love those in need as of late, as if the light itself was struggling to come out of him and fight away the shadows and the coming storm. Harry wanted his family to be strong and happy, for he was tired of loneliness and sorrow.

"Thank you, Harry," Severus whispered. If anybody had told him he would enjoy cuddling so much, he would have laughed them in their faces, but now he thought he wouldn't barter it for anything else. Nor would he sneer at the word "dad" anymore either. It caressed his ears and made his heart tremble in joy. He used to think only potions and alcohol could put a wizard into a state of ecstasy, elation and pleasure, but now he knew he was wrong. His son had managed it in just a few words and hugs.

Harry smiled and kissed him once again and pulled away completely, "Come, I will make you tea before you have to leave."

Severus' usual snide tone caught him at the threshold, "You know you could apparate straight into the kitchen, don't you?"

"Apparition is for lazy bastards like snakeface," Harry shrugged his shoulders carelessly, "Are you coming or not?"

Severus could only shake his head at his son's arrogance and hide his smile, that threatened to stretch his lips. He followed Harry out and down the stairs, feeling surprisingly warm and truly calm inside, unhinged and relaxed, as if there was no war going on, as if there were no dark and light lords, only magic and his family. Yes, _his family_. He wondered if Eileen was proud of him, wherever her spirit was now.

**xxx**

Harry was sitting behind the kitchen table with several different issues of newspapers opened before him, reading the same articles over and over again - that was how Voldemort found him, when he entered with Domhnall in his arms and a bright, arrogant smile on his lips. "Horrible news, isn't it?" he drawled nonchalantly, sitting down next to the raven haired wizard.

"You have set it all up, haven't you?" Harry scowled.

"Oh, but Harry, don't you know how muggles are? All they need is a little push and then you may sit back and relax, and watch the show," the Dark Lord laughed coldly, watching his Prince out of the corner of his eye, as he kept playing with Domhnall.

"It is still _killing_, Marvolo," Harry shook his head, sighing forlornly. "Here it says a group of muggles killed a young witch and here," he pushed one of the papers closer, "It says a wizard accidentally blew up a muggle that was threatening him with a gun... I don't like this, it can spiral out of control and then even you wouldn't be able to stop them."

"Harry, our community needs to be shaken up, needs to see it all for themselves. If you truly believe that nothing like this hasn't happened before without my help, then you are even more _naive_ than I imagined. It is not a disadvantage though, I find it rather arousing and lovely, but you should really stop trying to save everybody. It is impossible, you are intelligent enough to understand that," Voldemort said, arching his eyebrows. "What I did was simply prevent the editors and the Ministry from covering all these crimes. Do you truly believe I have instigated so many?" he waved his hand at the newspapers.

"Haven't you?" Harry scoffed, rolling his eyes.

"This is the foundation for your future work, Harry, don't give me this shit now," Voldemort hissed, suddenly angry at the young wizard for whom he had to change so much in his original plans.

"And what if they wouldn't listen? What if they would simply reject me like the last time, call me insane and the next Dark Lord in making, hmm?" Harry looked up at hearing the irritation and displeasure in Marvolo's voice. He often forgot about all the vows the man had given him and flinched every time the dark wizard showed his vindictive nature, afraid he would attack him. But there was no malice in the blood red eyes, though the dark scowl was in its place and Harry felt an irrepressible desire to smoothen it with his fingers and lips.

"They would, they have no choice," Voldemort cut off with finality and turned back to Domhnall, who was watching him quietly, barely breathing, with his green eyes widened in curiosity. The Dark Lord gently stroked the wavy hair of an already easily sitting boy in his lap. The caress made Domhnall smile again.

"Well, I hope you are right," Harry lowered his eyes. Marvolo was always right.

"Why, you doubt me?" the Dark Lord placed his hand over his heart, morphing his face into a pained, grotesque expression, "Harry, you _wound_ me."

"Stop mocking me, you moron," the young wizard muttered, hiding his smile. "Should have become a clown instead of a serial killer."

"There were no vacancies at that time, I had to take what was available," Voldemort grinned, pleased that Harry felt comfortable around him again.

"What did you really want to do back then?" Harry asked as a matter-of-factly, curious to know more about the man.

Voldemort considered him for a moment, but then decided it wouldn't hurt to tell his Prince a little about himself. "I wanted to teach at Hogwarts, wanted to teach both dark and light magic, curses and defense against them. But I was rejected the DADA position, twice."

"You wanted to be a _teacher_?" Harry stared at Marvolo incredulously, seeing him in a completely different light.

"What, did you think I was bearing the plot of a world dominance since I had stopped sleeping in a crib?" he burst into a booming laughter, making Domhnall jerk in excitement at the loud sound.

"No, I just never imagined you like children and have enough patience to work with them," Harry blushed a little, smiling modestly, inwardly laughing at the image of Marvolo, just like Severus, screaming at his students and cursing them into oblivion.

"I hate children, but I know how to discipline them," Voldemort gave him an indulging smile. "And yes, I am very patient, _you_ should know that better than anyone," he sent Harry a pointed glare.

Blushing even more at the innuendo, Harry ducked his head, trying to hide his embarrassment. "But why were you denied the position?"

"Because Dumbledore thought I was Satan and was going to turn his students into my followers and take over the world from inside Hogwarts," Voldemort sneered, laughing coldly at the unpleasant memories.

"Was he wrong?" Harry raised his eyebrows sarcastically, trying to hide his burning face behind a newspaper.

"In fact, he was," the Dark Lord gave the raven haired wizard a serious, pained glare. "I wouldn't have had to start war and kill so many, Harry, if I had this position at school. I would have changed our society gradually, through their education, through their understanding of both light and dark sides of their own nature. Nobody is innocent, yet nobody is born evil, you know that."

_Nobody is born a monster, not even dark lords._ "Yes, I know, Marvolo." His eyes locked with the blood red ones and something unreadable, indecipherable transpired between the two of them, a spark, that sent shivers down his spine. "What were you doing after Hogwarts then?" he asked in a suddenly raspy, shuddering voice.

"I hunted down the relics for my horcruxes and went abroad to study the Dark Arts," Voldemort said simply. "The locket you are wearing around your neck is my family heirloom I had to steal, because I had no money to pay for it," he smiled at Harry mischievously.

"Is it?" Harry took the locket in his hand and examined it for, what it seemed, a hundredth time already. "The _S_ is for Slytherin then, isn't it? The locket opens only when I command it in parseltongue."

"Yes, I am the last living heir of Salazar Slytherin, as I am sure my younger self had told you all about," the Dark Lord barked out a laugh. "Oh, no, I am actually wrong! This is the last living heir to the mighty warlock," he kissed Domhnall on the forehead, tickling the boy and laughing at his happy squeaks. Funny, that he hadn't thought about it before. His son was, in fact, the Slytherin heir, the _Slytherin Princ_e, as he himself had been called by his peers. Looking into the big, green eyes full of joy and cunningness, he couldn't help but feel... _proud_. He never gave his bloodline another thought, but the one of purity and prestige, and now he held his little legacy in his arms, the one who was going to continue the line of parselmouths, the line of dark, powerful, great wizards. Who would have thought that he would find such satisfaction and surge of pride in having Domhnall? Was it what Harry felt towards the boy as well?

Harry watched the many emotions, so foreign for Marvolo, play on his face and couldn't help but smile at the man. "You are proud of him, aren't you?" Somehow the notion that the Dark Lord was capable of such feelings made him happy. Perhaps, despite all of his disadvantages and mistakes Marvolo would be a good father for Domhnall.

"Aren't you?" was the reply. Voldemort kept grinning at the little boy, who was bubbling and tugging on his clothes playfully.

"Of course I am." Harry's sincere, ringing laughter caressed his ears - his Prince laughed so rarely for him, and he enjoyed this sound so much. Domhnall inherited it from his young father. "I am glad you are growing close to each other," something compelled Harry to pat the wizard's arm and hold it for some time, for it was too hard to let go of the one he wanted so much.

Domhnall had once again brought him a small victory in this long, hard battle, Voldemort thought, looking at the narrow, pale hand squeezing his limb ever so slightly. At the boy's loud yawning, the Dark Lord smiled softly and stood up, cradling Domhnall in his arms, "I think it's time for the little Prince to go to sleep." He apparated straight into the nursery, shaking his head at the sound of Harry's stubborn steps on the stairs. Voldemort put the boy into the crib, kissing him and whispering good night in parseltongue, thinking it was time to teach his son to get used to the sound of his second native language. Straightening, he looked around the room, curiously inspecting the many toys and books Harry left around and, as it seemed, used constantly in his games with Domhnall. His gaze fell on one particular book, that seemed out of place here - Transfiguration for Hogwarts' students. He picked it up just in time when Harry entered.

"Is Domhnall _that_ smart?" he waved the book in front of his face, smiling incredulously.

"No, it's mine, I forgot it here yesterday," Harry shrugged his shoulders and went to kiss and tuck in his son, who was already falling asleep and yawning adorably.

"Why are you even reading it?" Voldemort asked, when the young wizard turned off the lights and followed him out of the nursery.

"I am studying the material I am missing at the school," Harry took the book out of Marvolo's hands. "I have to go and practice now, by the way, since I haven't done it yesterday. So you should leave, it will take a lot of time," he couldn't help but sigh, twisting his lips in devastation at the mere thought that he was going to abuse the bloody match yet again. He forgot to ask Severus to help him out with this.

"Having any troubles?" Voldemort raised an eyebrow, watching the other man mirthfully.

He was reluctant to admit he was experiencing problems with one of his best subjects, but since Marvolo would know if he lied anyway, he let out another heavy sigh and gritted through his clenched teeth, "Yes."

"May I offer my help? I know for a fact that Hogwarts' curriculum hasn't changed since the time of my youth and I am very well versed in the material I have once studied," the Dark Lord purred, excited at the prospect of being so close to Harry, of the opportunity to _taste_ his magic while he practiced.

Harry narrowed his eyes in suspicion, but nodded and walked into his training room. He took out his holly wand and froze, indecisive of what to do next. "I can't turn inanimate object into an animate. I do change the form but no the meaning."

"Oh, this is easy, it simply requires a balanced magic behind your intent, which is your problem, of course, since your powers grew dramatically," Voldemort rubbed his chin thoughtfully, assessing Harry's aura. "I will help you with this. Come closer," he crooked his finger at the young wizard, smiling cunningly.

"What for?" Harry eyed him warily, clutching on his wand tighter.

"I will be controlling your power while you are casting a spell and you would feel the difference, the one you are trying so hard to find on your own," Voldemort explained, taking a step closer.

"Fine, but no fucking around!" Harry warned and came to stand at the table, where the blasted match lay, waiting for him. He shivered when Marvolo moved behind him, pressing his chest against Harry's back and covered his right hand with his cold one, curling his long fingers around Harry's and his wand.

"Cast the spell and do not mind my presence, concentrate on what you want to make of the match," Voldemort whispered into his ear, caressing the holly wand with the tip of his finger - it vibrated in their hands, feeling their different yet very powerful auras unite into one. Compatibility between a light and a dark wizards was very rare and mostly transpired between distant relatives, but he and Harry shared a soul and a child - there was nothing closer than this.

Harry closed his eyes and took a deep breath, clearing his mind. He formed an image of the match slowly morphing into a green branch with a small bud on its tip. Concentrated, he whispered the incantation and felt as his wand suddenly warmed up and fell comfortably into his hand, just like before. His magic floated freely, easily, almost lazily and when he looked up, there was a blooming crimson rose on the table before him. Harry couldn't help but gasp at the sight of it, at the pleasant feeling of his magic being _tamed_ and obedient, _right_.

"See, you are a talented wizard, you simply needed to find your balance," the Dark Lord murmured, licking on his ear, as his left arm circled Harry's waist and his hard bulge of erection pressed against Harry's backside. Casting a spell together through one wand was a befuddling experience, it felt as if he injected the sweet, light magic into his vein and it brought him to his highest peak, stronger than any kind of a drug.

"Yeah," Harry breathed out, barely catching his air, as his blood rushed into his groin and he moaned at the sensation of Marvolo's hardness. How long had it been since he had sex? His body craved it so much. He dropped his wand and grabbed the man's cold hand, entwining their fingers together.

"Harry," Voldemort panted, sucking on his neck, "Please." He turned his Prince sharply around and bit into his mouth, enveloping him into a desperate embrace, choking him in his tight hold. Harry's eager answer encouraged him and he pushed the raven haired wizard back and propped him up on the table, pushing in between his thighs, circling his legs around his hips. Drunk on their shared lust, Harry hastily unbuttoned Marvolo's vest and shirt and licked on the bare pale chest, reveling in the man's pleased groans. Grabbing on the long, raven hair, Voldemort brought the wizard's face closer to his own and kissed him passionately, thrusting his tongue as deep as he could, while his other hand pushed Harry further onto the table and down on his back. He crawled up to hover over him and take off his clothes, as Harry kept kissing him and caressing his chest.

When Voldemort reached the trousers, he pulled away to look at his Prince questioningly and pleadingly, but this time Harry was too far gone to stop him. "Please, Marvolo, I want you," he whined and unzipped himself to the Dark Lord's overwhelming delight. Growling like a beast, Voldemort tore the clothes off of Harry and hurried to banish his own, to rub his hard cock against the other's.

As their skins touched, Harry bucked his hips up, serching for friction. Marvolo's rigid flesh pressed against his own and he cried softly in pleasure, arching his back and drawing his neck to let the man suck on it harshly, possessively. They both moved fast, rocking against each other, panting and moaning, sweating. Harry reached down to stroke their cocks, rolling his eyes back in blissful sensation of orgasm coming over him. Touching Marvolo was so exciting, it drove the dark wizard insane and turned him into a pitifully whining animal. "Yes, Harry," Voldemort growled into his mouth, "Help me come." He moved faster, rubbing their cocks against each other and Harry's hand, slapping sweated skin against skin.

"Marvolo!" Harry cried, tearing himself away from the greedy mouth and jerking violently, as his pulsing penis poured out the hot sperm. He thought his heart would jump out of his chest, so overexcited, overwhelmed he felt, so fucking _good_. He looked up at Marvolo, whose face bore a most ecstatic expression he had ever seen, and caught his breath watching the dark wizard come, panting and calling his name. Harry couldn't resist the temptation to touch the creased, sweated brow, caress the tensed jaw and push his fingers between the swollen, plump lips. Marvolo sucked on them, jerking on top of Harry for the last time, squeezing out the last drop of his semen into Harry's hand.

"Oh, Harry, my sweet, sweet Prince," Voldemort mumbled, licking on the warm fingers, slowly relaxing his tensed muscles. His glazed ruby eyes watched the young pale face, taking in every little detail: bids of sweat on the scarred forehead; a lonely tear of ecstasy trailing down the left cheek; parted red lips, quivering slightly, as if suppressing a smile; bright, emerald eyes full of passion, lust and happiness. "I have waited for so long," the Dark Lord sighed contentedly, enveloping Harry into a gentle embrace and rubbing his cheek against the wizard's, sucking on his earlobe. Harry circled his arms around the broad chest and stroked the bare back, feeling for muscles, bones, moles and scars, mapping its every inch. He trembled inside, suddenly sober and aware of what had just happened. Marvolo's lips caught his into a gentle kiss and Harry sighed, whimpering softly despite himself. "What is it, Harry?" the man asked, caressing his face lovingly.

_I am scared I am falling in love with you. _"I'm sorry," Harry murmured instead, self-conscious to pronounce the truth.

"You shouldn't be - I would have waited much more, I am very patient, remember?" Voldemort offered him a smug smile, though his brow creased in confusion. He felt it in Harry's aura, felt the tension, the uncertainty and _fear_. "What are you afraid of, my little one?" he asked, looking intently into the shining green eyes.

Biting his lower lip and feeling the lump clogging his throat, Harry breathed out, "Myself." At Marvolo's inquiring glance he shook his head and smiled weakly, "Don't mind it, it is nothing... My hormones, I am still super sensitive to everything after... you know..." he stammered and finally shut up, knowing by the look the other man gave him, that his lame excuse didn't work.

"Harry, I wish you could tell me what is tormenting you so much," Voldemort sighed, hating the fact that his Prince was reluctant to tell him the truth. "Come, let's put you into bed," he took Harry in his arms and apparated them both into the bedroom, right onto the mattress.

"Are you... are you leaving?" Harry asked in a small voice, when Marvolo let go of him and moved to stand up. No matter what he felt now, sleeping _alone_ was the last thing he wanted tonight, not after Marvolo made him feel so good again.

"Do you wish me to stay?" There was too much hope in his voice, he knew, but he couldn't miss an opportunity to spend more time with Harry, especially when the desire was mutual.

Harry took him by the arm and pulled him close to lie by his side, snaking his warm arms around Marvolo's narrow waist, "Yes." Smiling brilliantly, Voldemort kissed him deeply, as his hands roamed shamelessly all over Harry's heated body. _Finally_.

**xxx**

Harry woke up very easily, having have simply opened his eyes, as if he had just blinked. He felt completely relaxed and so well rested, like he hadn't had felt in a very long time. Domhnall was a perfect baby, he slept through the nights, but Harry didn't - he often stayed late practicing, reading or simply suffering from insomnia, thinking about the ruby eyed man. But today was _different_. At first he couldn't fathom why. But then a cold hand slipped down his chest and onto his stomach, as Marvolo stirred behind him, and he remembered. The man pressed harder into his frame, snoring into the nape of his neck, his heart beat steadily against Harry's back. It was so warm in his bed now, so comfortable under the covers, Harry didn't want to get up. He forgot how wonderful it was to sleep with Marvolo.

"Just a little more, Harry, ten minutes, alright?" he heard the man mumble sleepily into his neck and snore again. Who would have thought that the Dark Lord was such a sleepyhead and hated mornings? Harry grinned to himself, inwardly laughing at how human the man was, how childish sometimes. Where had all his cruelty come from? He carefully turned to face Marvolo, who rolled on his back and was sleeping so soundly, peacefully. Harry reached out and tucked the stray chestnut locks behind his ear, brushing his fingers against the slight stubble on his jaw - so manly, so mundane, so lovely. His hand slid lower to caress the long neck, the delicate collarbones, the broad chest with little hair on it. Unable to resist it, Harry kissed one of the nipples softly and pushed his leg to lie between Marvolo's, to warm him up, for he knew the dark wizard was always cold. He heard the man sigh pleasantly, when his tongue teased the sensitive flesh and Harry moved lower, encouraged to touch and kiss more. Stroking the toned but thin stomach, he traced the sparse hairline with featherlight kisses, humming quietly into the soft skin. How he admired Marvolo's body, how he loved feeling it under his fingers and lips.

Harry was evidently aroused when he reached the pelvis, as was Marvolo, who kept moaning weakly in his sleep. He stopped, uncertain at first, for he hadn't had given a blowjob in such a long time, but the sight of the man's thick, long cock turned him on, bringing forth the memories of all the heated, amazing nights they had spent together in the past, the images from all the wet dreams he had been seeing so often. Breathing out impatiently, Harry kissed its base, tracing the length of the shaft with his tongue and sucked on the head, moaning indecently, as his own cock throbbed, demanding more action. "Harry..." Marvolo whispered dreamily, bucking his hips up, grabbing on the covers of the bed tightly. _Oh fuck_. Harry took the hard flesh into his hand and stroked it harshly, kissing and sucking on the heavy sack of balls underneath it, drawing low groans out of the man's throat. Taking the head into his mouth, he slowly pushed the thick length further inside, trembling in pleasure at the bittersweet taste of the skin on his tongue. Harry knew Marvolo was awake when he was quickly sliding up and down the pulsing cock, for the man grabbed on his long hair and tugged on them desperately, pushing forward, trying to thrust deeper into his throat.

"Fuck, Harry, don't... stop..." Voldemort cried out incomprehensibly and came into Harry's mouth, arching his back, as his body tensed and jerked in a breathtaking pleasure. Shaking all over, he squeezed his eyes shut, for the room was spinning around him, and laughed sleepily and exhaustedly, "Fuck, Harry, what should I do to wake up every morning in your mouth?"

"I will think of something," he heard Harry smile against his groin, as the young wizard sprawled on top of him. Voldemort looked down at him and smiled at the sight of his flushed face with a mischievous grin playing on his red, swollen lips. "Perhaps, you could help me out now?" his Prince wriggled his eyebrows, drawing patterns with his finger on the Dark Lord's skin.

Not the one to be asked twice, Voldemort pulled him up and in a flash Harry found himself pinned down to the bed, with his hands held up above his head. "Would you like me to give you some real pleasure, Harry?" Marvolo purred, teasing him with brief, wet kisses. "Would you like to feel my cock inside of you, let it stretch you well?" his low, rich voice touched something deep inside Harry, probably his very prostate, he thought.

Squirming underneath Marvolo's weight, Harry looked into the burning blood red eyes and asked himself if he could stop, having had gone this far. His throbbing, stiffened cock told him he couldn't and he raised his head to catch the lecherous rose lips in a proper, passionate kiss. "Yes, I would like that very much." Harry thought Marvolo's amusedly surprised and pleased expression was worth it all, when the dark wizard assaulted his mouth, squeezing his body in a painful, lustful embrace, forcefully spreading his thighs apart. Perhaps, it was the echo of his fear of falling in love with the man, perhaps, it was his body, afraid of the pain after such a long pause in his sex life, or, perhaps, it was just his own desire, that made him struggle against Marvolo, add an exciting element of possible violence that would never truly transpire between them - that much Harry knew. He trusted Marvolo not to hurt him, like he had never trusted anybody else, even himself.

"Harry, Harry," Voldemort growled playfully, finally pushing the head of his cock into the tiny, pink entrance, too impatient to stretch his Prince with his fingers. He murmured a complex incantation, stoking Harry's pelvis, that made his tensed muscles instantly relax, and thrusted inside with outmost care and gentleness, kissing away the young man's cry of pain. This was his undoing, his heaven, his Prince was so tight, so hot, he couldn't believe he was capable of depraving himself of such pleasure for so long. "So good, Harry, you are... absolutely... magical," he whined into the other's mouth, thrusting his cock again and again, holding Harry tightly in his arms.

It hurt, but it was a pleasant pain, Harry couldn't stop crying and asking for more. Marvolo was so gentle, so careful, so kind to him, and feeling him inside again was freeing and heartbreaking. He didn't know why, but at this very moment, when the hard head of the thick cock brushed so wonderfully against his prostate, he remembered the man's threat, that he would never be able to hide away from him again, that he would never leave, would always be with him, and this memory brought Harry to an almost hysterical orgasm, for all that he wanted now was for Marvolo to never go away again. "Don't ever leave me, _please_," he burst into tears of happiness, after he came, screaming, and clutched onto the other man desperately, crying, as his body was being ravished harshly.

"I won't, I promised, remember?" Voldemort whispered, barely making his numb tongue move and thrusted one last time inside, as his cock throbbed and poured out a hot sperm. Fucking Harry was the best experience in his life and feeling his happiness was making it all even better, priceless, unforgettable. Nobody had ever been _happy being with him_, nobody had ever genuinely desired him, but Harry. "I hope you are not crying of pain?" he laughed softly, licking the salty tears off of the young man's cheeks, caressing his body and face.

"No, I... am simply happy, I am just so hyper sensitive," Harry laughed as well, smiling apologetically, enjoying the feeling of Marvolo's cock softening gradually inside of him. He had once believed that sex was yet another punishment in his life, but now it was a blessing, a closure for the both of them. The blood red eyes shone so brightly, watched him so affectionately... Could they really be happy together, even if Harry could never forgive him for everything he had done? Was it possible?

"I... am happy too," Voldemort murmured, creasing his brow slightly. "I believe I have never felt anything like this before, but I think it is happiness. However, I would be even happier if this," he gestured at his and Harry's position, "Would happen every night and, preferably, every day."

Harry couldn't help but burst into laughter at the man's unbelievable arrogance, "You are such a slytherin bastard, Marvolo!"

"I am," Voldemort grinned and kissed his Prince, trying to breath in his ringing laughter, to hide it inside himself so that it could warm him in the moments of loneliness, which, he evilly thought, were going to be _rare_ from now on.

The sounds of Domhnall's indignant cries interrupted them and Harry patted Marvolo on his hide, "Your son is calling. Would you mind?"

Rolling onto his side, Voldemort stretched on the bed, groaning pleasantly at the subsiding pain in his stiffened muscles. Relaxed and sated, content, he watched Harry throw a nightshirt over his naked body, covered in light bruises from his hands, and smiled at the sight. The young wizard smiled back at him over his shoulder and left. The Dark Lord thought he was actually happy now, wasn't he? His mind was cleared, his soul was at peace and his heart sang. For the first time in his life he thought he could use this phrasing in describing his own emotional state - he used to laugh at it when stumbled upon it in many muggle novels in his library. He never imagined he missed Harry so much, never imagined it would be so truly magical to be with him again, to have and to hold him, to fuck and to caress him, to hear him laugh, to watch him cry, to be asked to stay and never leave. Of course he knew that he and Harry would always have problems regarding his work, his Dark Lord entity, his way of dealing with people, but somehow he thought it all to be insignificant. What was this nonsense in comparison with every night he was going to spend in the arms of the only person he actually _liked_ and _trusted_? Oh, but he did trust Harry - his Prince was the only one who had no interest or desire to betray him, his light, kind, forgiving nature was above such low vices. And he liked him, liked everything about him - something he had never experienced before either. He felt proud, smug, that a man like Harold Prince belonged to him and wanted him and _him alone._

"His highness wished to see you," Harry appeared at the threshold, holding Domhnall in his arms, who screamed excitedly at the sight of his father. Voldemort couldn't help but grin at the boy's antics - he never knew a child's love could make a man so full of himself, so proud and elated, delighted. Harry climbed onto the bed and sat next to him, letting Domhnall move over onto his chest and sit up on it, bubbling incomprehensibly and looking at him with wide, adoring eyes.

"I think he is in love with me," Voldemort drawled sarcastically, stroking his son's hair and plump cheeks, involuntarily grimacing back at his ridiculous, small faces.

Watching the two of them, feeling his heart melt and tears well up in his eyes, Harry desperately wished to say that it was he, who was _in love_ with the Dark Lord Voldemort, but kept his mouth firmly shut, too scared to be rejected or laughed at, or simply ignored. It was impossible to predict Marvolo's reaction, what was worse, he still wasn't sure the man realized what love was and if he was capable of it at all. It was better to tell himself that he was mistaken, that it wasn't love, just his hormones. And though his intuition was telling him that Marvolo had done too much to be doubted in his intentions and feelings, Harry was too uncertain and frightened of the notion that once he said it aloud, it would become _true_. And then it would be his future: loving Voldemort till the day he died, for he knew he could never love anybody else. How could he, when they were one, parts of each other, two sides of one coin?


	10. Chapter X

_Disclaimer: nothing that is related to HP belongs to me._

_Warning: abuse, rape, underage sex, violence, everything is bad and don't read it_

_A/N: Thank you for still reading this story and my best regards to those who take their time to write a few kind words as a review - you are the best!_

* * *

**Of Monsters and Men, Of Fathers and Sons.**

**Chapter X**

"Voldemort is a good lad, a nice block, you can trust him," Harry rolled his eyes, sighing. "Would that be enough? How can I make them believe that he is not a psychotic maniac when he is?" he threw his arms in the air helplessly.

"Perhaps, you should give a more detailed description? Imagine that you are writing a potions essay," Severus offered lazily, stirring his tea.

"If public speeches were written like potions essays people would have killed themselves to simply not hear any more of it! Severus, really?!" Harry huffed, involuntarily thinking of which ingredients could Marvolo consist. Deceit, power, blood, sex, sex and sex... He groaned, having had once again caught himself on thinking of the man's body and not his task.

"Have you asked the Dark Lord? He is good at stringing people along," the potions master shrugged his shoulders and shoved another piece of Dobby's cake into his mouth. It was better than the Hogwarts' one, for the elf used to cook for Malfoys and couldn't loose his habit of preparing perfect meals worthy of the pureblood aristocrats. Yes, he definitely could get used to visiting Harry and Domhnall quite often. "Perhaps, you shouldn't speak of the Dark Lord at all. Your task is to make people follow his cause, accept his legislation, not _him_ personally," Severus added. "Speak from your heart, Harry, your sincerity and confidence would conquer their attention and they wouldn't care about the Death Eaters at all."

Harry gave him a doubtful look but nodded in agreement. Speaking from a heart was a hard thing to do, since he couldn't simply tell everyone that he was in love with Lord Voldemort and that was the main reason he took the job of being his deligate. Sure, he found his legislations fair and right, but they were the last thing on his mind, if he was honest with himself. "Do you think I would manage this?" Harry looked at his father, suddenly feeling very small and insignificant, scared. "I have never spoken in front of... people."

"I will give you a calming potion and you would do fine, Harry, you are making it a bigger problem than it actually is, believe me. I have been spying for almost twenty years already, which is much, much harder, since I have to constantly lie and have no option of making a mistake. You, on the other hand, have to tell the truth - what could be easier?" Severus gave him a blank look, inwardly smiling at Harry's shyness and self-consciousness - how could he have once thought of him as Potter, when all his arrogance and bravado were simply an armour, underneath which a tender, vulnerable and generous soul was hidden? The closer they became, the more and more Harry resembled Severus' younger self and Eileen, and the less and less was being left of Lily in him.

Licking his lips nervously, Harry sighed, "Yeah, you are right. Thanks." He turned sharply at the sound of rustling - Hedwig flew inside the house and landed on the back of his chair. Since there was no mail for her to deliver, she often went hunting in the woods and stayed there for days. There was a crumpled envelope in her beak, that she had picked up from the ground. Surprised, Harry took it from the owl and, stroking her feathers in gratitude, passed it on to Severus, who has been already holding his wand at ready. The potions master carefully inspected it, checked for spells, hexes and poisons - there were none and he threw it back onto the table and turned back to his tea and cake.

"It's from Hermione," Harry said, after he opened the letter. "Since when does she know about the horcruxes?" he stared at his father in bewilderment.

"Since Dumbledore decided Granger and Weasley will be _helping_ you on your mission of destroying the blasted things," Severus drawled, "And after you've destroyed them all, they will force you into a fight with the Dark Lord to kill you as well."

"This is _insane_, even if I do take this mission they are not coming with me! Ma-... Voldemort placed curses on all of his hidden horcruxes! I didn't run away for nothing, they were not supposed to be dragged into this!" Harry sprang on his feet, shouting. "Why the fuck did he do it?"

"I suppose he doesn't trust you as much as he used to," Severus murmured thoughtfully, looking at his son's angry, suddenly hard, austere face, so much like his own. "Nor does he trust me. He is sending them along to make sure you would destroy the horcruxes. Dumbledore had been asking about you and the Dark Lord, about the way he treats you... He might be suspecting something."

"_Wonderful_," Harry scoffed and hung his head, sighing desperately. "What made him suspect anything at all?"

"I believe your condition and your disappearance both now and then were the last drop, if I may say so. He was very displeased with the fit you have thrown when you ran away to the Ministry," Severus arched an eyebrow and shrugged, as if not really caring that much about this little obstacle. "Nobody believes the Dark Lord is capable of caring for another human being even if this being is his own horcrux. Even the Death Eaters, except for the Inner Circle, think you are his prisoner, toy, being held in the dungeons and being constantly tortured. I have assured the Order of your well being but it made them all the more distrustful of your common sense. As such this poses questions whether you have been brainwashed or influenced in any other way, for nobody in his sane mind would stay with a serial killer."

"Not that it was my own choice the first time..." Harry rolled his eyes.

"Well, I don't suppose it would make any difference now," the potions master waved his hand. Dobby popped into the kitchen to clean the dishes and the two men spent a few long minutes in complete silence, each pondering over the same problem of keeping a child safe in a midst of the shit storm that was coming very soon. "Have you brewed the potions I instructed you with?" Severus suddenly remembered.

"Yeah, I will get them in a moment," Harry nodded and left, still immersed into his thoughts, not paying any heed to his surroundings.

"Master Prince, little master Domhnall wouldn't sleeps," Dobby tentatively tugged the dark wizard on the sleeve of his shirt, "He must sleeps now, it is late."

"Well, can't you make him?" Severus asked nonchalantly. Little brat's sleep wasn't his responsibility.

"Master Domhnall always sleeps after kiss or lullaby," the little elf widened his eyes, looking at the professor pleadingly. "Dobby can't kiss little master, little master don't like it."

"Harry will do it." But five minutes have passed and the young wizard was nowhere to be seen. Hearing the baby's loud, indignant cries, Severus pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed and exasperation, "Go find Harry, I will put a sleeping spell on the brat." He apparated into the nursery and stared at Domhnall, who was red from screaming and whose plump lips trembled harshly. The boy instantly stretched his arms out at the sight of Severus bent over his crib.

"I am not picking you up," the potions master growled, "Harry has spoiled you badly."

"Aahh!" Domhnall wasn't going to stop, he kept asking to be held and his magic aura tensed as well, affecting Severus quite disturbingly - he realized he was feeling sorry for the child's suffering.

"You, _little snake_, you are already manipulating everyone around you!" the potions master hissed in anger and astonishment, but his hands had already taken the boy, on their own accord it seemed. As soon as he touched Domhnall, the boy stopped crying and smiled at him with one of those rare, brilliant smiles that Harry sometimes gave him. Looking into his big, green eyes was like looking into Severus' own soul - he could have sworn the same transpired every time he caught his lord's gaze. _Creepy_. "Well, are you happy now, little snot? Would you shut up and sleep already?" Severus sneered at the child, but Domhnall kept grinning and tried to tug on the long raven hair, but couldn't quite reach it, for his grandfather was once again holding him at his arms' length.

Blubbering sweetly, the boy jerked excitedly in the potions master's hands and squeaked, staring at him with such mischievousness, that Severus involuntarily raised his eyebrows, quite surprised. Domhnall laughed and suddenly relaxed and swayed to the side, making Severus frantically grab on him and press him to his chest to not let the boy fall. Only when the child clutched on his robe and hair did the potions master realize what kind of a low trick had been played on him.

"Oh, you little-" But he stopped, for he suddenly felt a wave of sweetest, warmest magic wash over him. It was so much like Harry and so much more, combined with something so familiar... Severus stood gobsmacked, cradling the smiling, pleased infant, overwhelmed with a sudden realization that it was his mother whom he thought he felt in his grandson. It was his own blood, his own magic manifesting itself. "This is incredible," he breathed out, tilting his head lower to look at Domhnall more closely. A small hand caught his long nose and rubbed on it playfully, accompanied by the ringing laughter. Severus barely registered that he was actually holding a baby for the first time in his life, barely registered that it felt so right, as if he had been doing it for many years already - he kept staring and marveling the strange sensation that was being slowly intensified in his chest, burning on the inside, making his heart beat faster and yet so pleasantly. Domhnall yawned loudly, opening his little mouth widely, and shifted closely to the broad chest of his grandfather, whimpering happily. Severus thought it wasn't him, but somebody else, who leaned closer and kissed the rose cheek that smelt of flowers and rain.

Harry stood at the threshold, with his arms crossed over his chest, smiling cunningly at the scene before him. He knew he would have to force Severus into getting closer with Domhnall, but he was ready to do anything in order to achieve it, for he couldn't let the snarky man ignore his own suppressed desires and feelings for the sake of his image and dignity. They were a family, that had no place for such _rubbish_. He wanted the two of them to love each other, if the Fate gave him his chance to have something he had been deprived of for his whole life, he wasn't going to fuck it up, oh no, to Hell with muggles and wizards, war and Hogwarts - these two dark wizards were his first priority. He still had some doubts whether Marvolo was also _his_ and his priority... their relationship was too complicated to have a definite answer to this, yet.

Severus stared at the small boy in his arms, who sighed so contentedly after he kissed him, just like Harry did, and closed his eyes, lying so comfortably beside his chest. How could a child so small be so addicted to affection and caress? How could he stir something so deep inside of him, something that had been buried so long ago? Watching the angelic face of his grandson, Severus couldn't help but feel the strange, foreign happiness prickling on his eyes, forcing tears to well up and threaten to stream down his cheeks. Dazed and confused beyond his imagination, he kissed Domhnall again and again, hid his nose in the mop of chestnut hair, inhaling the child's amazing scent. _This_ was what he was ought to have seventeen years ago, _this_ was what he missed so much - the part of him that was undeveloped, forgotten and rejected. He looked at the beautiful pale face and suddenly it was framed by the short, silky raven locks, morphed into his own face he remembered from his childhood. He was holding Harry, _his little Harry _that he had never known, never kissed, never put to bed... Feeling the traitorous tears slowly running down and dripping onto Domhnall, Severus sobbed quietly and clutched on his grandson tightly, frantically. This was the Fate's gift, Harry's gift to him, a gift he didn't deserve - his second chance.

Severus jerked when a pair of long arms embraced him from behind and a thin chest sighed against his equally thin back. "Do you see now? How truly miraculous it is to love and be loved in return? How absolutely wonderful it is to have each other?" Harry murmured, closing his eyes and crying softly, happily. He had found that it wasn't shameful or embarrassing to cry whenever he felt like it - on the contrary, he found it was rather freeing, it helped him express what he couldn't say out loud. It helped him feel deeper, sharper.

"I see," Severus managed to croak, caressing Domhnall's face - the boy was soundly asleep, lulled by his grandfather's warmth and unsteady heartbeat. "I feel it. I feel you and me in him, my mother... It is something much more than blood," he whispered, not trusting his voice.

"You know, I think children are the real horcruxes, that need no sacrifice or complex magic. They bear pieces of our souls inside, transforming them into a whole new one, they are our legacy, they are us. They make us truly immortal," Harry smiled into his father's back, gently squeezing his arms around the man's waist.

Severus couldn't help but feel astonished by the theory, that was as arrogant as it was possible and yet was very real, for the reflection of Eileen in Domhnall was unmistakable, as it was in Harry and himself. His mother never really died, living inside each one of them, giving them their ability to stay human even when the world around them couldn't. "This is the most _atrocious_ theory I have ever heard, Mr Prince, however, I find it most fascinating as well."

Father's snide, but not unkind tone made Harry chuckle, "Thank you, professor."

"I hate her so much more now for robbing me of this..." He had to strain his ears to hear Severus' barely audible whisper. Frowning, Harry sighed, but didn't say anything, only pressed harder against his father's frame. He knew the man meant Lily, he dearly wished he could ask about her and the real reason of their separation, their mutual hatred, but knew it wasn't the time. Harry could only hope that one day Severus would tell him... would be ready to tell him.

**xxx**

Voldemort stood hidden in the shadows of the hallway, watching the three Princes together, seething with jealousy that was literally _choking_ him. Although there was no real reason for his anger, since he and Harry and Domhnall were spending time together just as well... And yet his heart ached at the display of Harry's affection for somebody else. He hated the fact that he had to share his Harry with Severus, even though, rationally, he thought it to be ridiculous - they were father and son, they were supposed to care for each other. At least that was what he had once expected to have with his father. A teenager, he used to keep faint hope that he wouldn't have to kill Tom Riddle Sr, but talk to him and make him see his own mistake. However... everything turned out differently. _For the better._

"My lord," Severus bowed, trying not to show his surprise, when he almost collided with the tall form of his master in the darkness.

"Good night, Severus," Voldemort nodded and brushed past him straight into the nursery and to the crib, to look at his son. Staring after him, the potions master couldn't help but wonder what the man was actually going through? Did he feel the same towards Domhnall what Severus felt towards Harry? Was the Dark Lord capable of being a father, of loving his child? _Do you love Harry?_ Severus asked himself and shook his head, hastily trying to get rid of the importunate thoughts - he and Harry were just close relatives, close enough to feel comfortable around each other and that was all.

"Harry..." Severus turned on his heels and stole a glance at the narrow doorway, that led into a dimly lit room full of toys. His master stood next to his son, so very close, leaning into his frame, circling his long arms around his waist. And Harry was looking into the blood red eyes, enchanted, enthralled, lost in them completely. "_Harry_," the Dark Lord sighed like Severus had never heard before and kissed the young wizard's red lips with such tenderness, the potions master had to hastily look away and apparate to Hogwarts' gates. That didn't look like a game or a one-night stand. Voldemort was absolutely smitten with Harry, was in his hands, in his power. Severus had never seen him act so gently, so... _sincerely_. It was most unusual.

"Harry," Voldemort pulled away and kissed his Prince's brow.

"Would you like to eat, to have tea? You are so cold, you are shivering," Harry murmured, rubbing on Marvolo's shoulders, trying to warm him up.

"Only you can give me enough heat, my dear," Voldemort grinned, pleased that his Prince was worrying about him, "But I would not miss a cup of tea, of course." He obediently let Harry drag him out and down the stairs, into the living room. Reveling in the novelty of being taken care of by another human being, the Dark Lord watched the young wizard bring in the steaming pot and chinas, set them on the small table between the armchairs and pour him a cup.

"Where have you been you got so cold?" Harry asked, frowning at the sight of Marvolo's trembling fingers frantically clutching on the hot porcelain, while the man's face stayed completely unaffected, beautiful and content as ever.

"Had to do some _field_ work," Voldemort sighed, "I can't rely on anyone these days, not after everything that happened. If I want something done and done right - I have to do it myself."

"Stirring up muggles again?" Harry grumbled into his cup.

Arching his eyebrows incredulously, the Dark Lord decided to ignore the remark. "Have you thought about your speech yet? I would like to have your first '_performance_' in a week and a half, we will notify the press in two days."

"So soon?!" he couldn't help but stare at Marvolo helplessly.

"You are overworking this, Harry," Voldemort laughed quietly, leaning forward and gently patting the other man's knee, "Do not make it a bigger problem than it really is."

"I am trying but..." Harry let out a shaky breath and grabbed on his china tighter, "I am scared. What if they wouldn't listen? Would tell me to fuck off as soon as I start talking about you... your cause?"

"They would, they would listen to you and they would hear you. Harry, you are the only one who can do it, I am absolutely certain," the Dark Lord smiled softly, watching his Prince's weary expression longingly, enjoying every second of their time together. He realized he had never felt so free and comfortable around any of his closest, most faithful followers as he did around Harry. The young wizard accepted him for being who he was, didn't expect him to be anything but Marvolo, didn't care for his powers, his influence, his titles and money. It was so unexpectedly wonderful to simply sit together in a dark room, in front of the fire and drink tea, talking quietly, touching each other, watching each other, apart from the world outside with its cruelty and injustice. _Home_. Harry became his home.

"I am so inexperienced..." Harry looked up into the blood red eyes, the two burning coals that watched him warmly, kindly. Was Marvolo encouraging him? Involuntarily smiling at the thought he ducked his head, shying away from the intent gaze.

"I know for a fact - you are learning very _fast_," Voldemort leaned to breathe into his ear.

Sensing the shivers run down his spine at the innuendo, Harry blushed and, he really didn't know what had gotten into him, crawled into the man's lap, startling the Dark Lord. "You have to help me with the speech, Marvolo," he mumbled, embracing the wizard and resting his head on his strong shoulder.

"Oh, Harry, whatever you want - your wish is my command," Voldemort purred, stroking his Prince everywhere, feeling for his hot skin under the clothes, moaning softly at the man's pleasant weight on top of him, at the dear, familiar scent. Harry was so affectionate, so hungry for caress, it drove him insane. The Dark Lord never thought there was so much of it in him, never used to wish to share it. But the young man in his arms awoke so many new and undeveloped emotions in him, so many sides to his humanity, it was astonishing. "I will stay in the morning, if you wish, so that we could discuss everything you want to say, although I doubt it is necessary, for I myself never once wrote any kind of a speech, always talking straight and unprepared - it usually works better," Voldemort whispered, rubbing his nose against Harry's throat.

Harry raised his head to look into the man's eyes closely, stopping mere inches away from the lecherous rose lips. "What would happen after... after they accept your bills and change everything the way you want to?" he asked uncertainly, circling his arms tighter around Marvolo's neck.

"Peace would come, Harry," Voldemort smiled gently. "There would be no need for violence, our world would be safe from muggles, light and dark wizards would be once again equal, magic would be respected and cherished, not shunned because somebody has said it is dangerous. It is intent behind it that is dangerous, not the pure magic itself," he laughed ruefully and lowered his gaze, surprised by the sensation of lightness in his soul. He noticed he had started experiencing this since he began talking to Harry sincerely. It felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders and chest. A warm palm cupped his face and pushed it up a little, to make him look into the brilliant emerald eyes.

"I hope you are right, Marvolo, and peace would truly come. I wish Domhnall could grow up in a better world, could be a happy child, with no war to make him an orphan or a murderer," Harry murmured, caressing the pale face that was barely visible in the faint light from the fire.

"He would, I _promise_," Voldemort whispered against the red lips and kissed them, slowly and tenderly at first, but couldn't resist his burning desire and thrusted his tongue deep into Harry's mouth, pressing the young man tighter, closer to his body. When they parted for air, he pressed his lips against the scarred forehead, panting and sighing heavily in pleasure, enjoying the way Harry's chest rose and fell against his, the way the wizard's heart beat in rhythm with his. "What are you planning to do after it is all over, my dear?" he asked.

Frowning, Harry pondered over the unexpected question. "I haven't thought about it yet, I haven't thought there would be anything else but Domhnall in my life, to be honest." He closed his eyes, marveling the sensation of wet, cold lips on his scar. "What are your plans?"

"I will tell you _after_ we succeed," the Dark Lord chuckled and apparated them both into the bedroom. Having have fallen on the bed, pinned down by Harry's weight, he relaxed and drawled nonchalantly, listening in for the other's reaction, "But I can tell you now that my plans revolve around you and Domhnall."

Standing on all fours, hovering over Marvolo's form, Harry held his breath at the last words, biting his lips nervously. Was Marvolo implying that he wanted them to be a _normal_ family? Was he going to let them have an ordinary life, without hiding, without lying, without fearing for their well being?

Seeing that his Prince couldn't speak, staring at him helplessly, Voldemort reached out and took his face into his hands, bringing it closer to his own. "Harry, you asked to never ever leave you again. I intend to keep my word, I always do," he murmured in a low, serious voice and pulled the young wizard into a passionate kiss, smiling smugly at Harry's eager answer.

Trembling inside, trying hard not to blurt out what he felt towards the ruby eyed man, Harry readily kissed him back, moaning and rubbing his hard bulge against Marvolo's. Sex helped him to distract himself from the tormenting emotions, though at the same time it only worsened his pain, for after every orgasm under the dark wizard's skillful, gentle hands, cold but strong body, insatiable lips Harry felt more and more in love, falling deeper and deeper into abyss. The promises Marvolo gave him and always kept made him melt inside and brought tears to his eyes. He loved a _monster_, inside which a real human being was hidden, and he was desperately searching for a way to unveil him, to bring him into the light, even though he knew that Marvolo's sins and crimes were the only obstacle. Loving him was a true _crucible_.

Long, heavy raven hair streamed down, surrounding his face like night, devouring the light around him. Voldemort carded his fingers through the silky locks, loving its softness against his cheeks. Harry was absolutely perfect, his every pore, it seemed, breathed for the Dark Lord, his every cell was designed to his satisfaction. His Prince was his prize, his trophy, his reward for everything he had had to go through. Pushing him and rolling on top of his heated body, Voldemort let go of Harry's mouth, panting harshly and looked at the flushed face, that bore most blissful, lustful expression, as the swollen red lips whispered his name. _Mine, mine, mine._ "_Tell me you are mine, Harry,_" he heard himself hiss in parseltongue, "_Tell me you want me._"

"_I am... yours_," he breathed out, not noticing the switch in the languages, wishing he could dissipate in the blood red eyes, that burned on his skin, so intently they watched him. "I want you... Marvolo, I want you so much. Take me, take me, I am all yours," Harry begged, dazed, drunk on their magic's unity. Whatever Marvolo asked of him - he was ready to give.

Hearing his Prince saying the words, begging to be taken, Voldemort assaulted the red lips, desperate to take, take _everything_. Harry's genuine desire, sincerity were his undoing. _Mine, mine, mine._ His personal Light Lord, his curse and his blessing, his lover. They were lovers, weren't they? They had a child together, they were a family. If only he had known before how elating and pleasurable it is to have one... _Ironic_, wasn't it, that he found his happiness with his enemy? That he had to live his whole life, loose his sanity, loose his body and soul to finally find what he was looking for. It wasn't immortality, oh no, it was _this_.

**xxx**

Harry woke up, stirring under the heavy weight that was pinning him down to the mattress. Marvolo lay on top of him, sprawled over his back and wasn't going to wake up any time soon. Sighing helplessly, Harry pressed his face into the pillow and readied himself for a long wait. The dark wizard wasn't that heavy and he really didn't want to disturb his sleep, preferring to stay close for as long as possible. Marvolo grumbled something dreamily and shifted to lie more comfortably between Harry's legs - it was then that he felt the man's hard erection press against his backside. Suddenly Harry became apprehensive, his body shivered and he squeezed his eyes, but there was no escaping it: it reminded him of Vernon so much - his uncle always raped him from behind. Shaking all over, he tried to gently push Marvolo off of himself, but the wizard was only growing harder, unconsciously rubbing his cock between the buttocks.

When the friction intensified and Marvolo began moaning, Harry jerked, afraid he was going to feel sick again, and pushed the man harshly away. "No, Marvolo, not _like that_!" he shrank from him, moving to sit at the edge of the bed.

"What..." Voldemort woke up sharply, scowling and not really understanding what the hell had happened, but when he saw Harry shake and watch him with wide, tearful eyes, he felt his arousal slowly subside, as a horrible realization formed in his mind. "Have I... have I hurt you, Harry?" he asked tentatively, not daring to reach out for the young wizard. "Please, tell me I haven't done anything to you..."

The bitterness and fear, worry clear as a day in his voice helped Harry to sober up and forget about Vernon and the intolerable pain he had once gone through. Marvolo looked so lost, so frightened, so... self-conscious and ashamed, Harry couldn't believe what he was seeing. Crawling slowly back and to the man's side, he took Marvolo's cold, trembling hand, "You haven't, don't worry. It is just... this position, it brings too many unwanted, awful memories."

"I know," Voldemort sighed forlornly and hid his face in his hands, rubbing on it hard, "I shouldn't have put you in such position in the first place... I would never forgive myself for hurting you like this, Harry..." he looked up into the shiny green eyes, feeling so scared and uncertain, weak. "I would... I would not be able to live with the notion that I raped you."

"What are you talking about, Marvolo?" Harry frowned and moved to pull the man into a gentle embrace, "You would never hurt me, I know that, I trust you. You have never and would never rape me..." He tried to understand what was it that made the wizard so miserable. Had Marvolo thought he raped him back then, after he saw Vernon's memories and killed him?

"Forgive me," Voldemort whispered and grabbed on Harry's form, pressing his face against the thin chest, breathing deeply, as a tight knot in his guts gradually dissipated. _Guilt_. It was bloody guilt he was experiencing now.

_He has never asked for forgiveness before._ _What had gotten into him?_ Harry frantically tried to come up with a reasonable explanation, circling his arms tighter around the dangerous mass murderer in his bed. Why would the Dark Lord ask to be forgiven? "Marvolo, you have nothing to be sorry for, I promise I'm fine," Harry took his face in his hands and kissed the cold rose lips, trying to assure the other of his sincerity.

"Are you certain?" The blood red eyes searched the pale, confused face of the raven haired wizard. The scenes of Harry's horrible past clouded Voldemort's mind and he dearly wished he could be insane and cold and heartless again - something clawed on his chest and caused him immense pain he thought he had forgotten.

"I am," Harry said firmly and pushed Marvolo to lie on his back, straddling him and leaning closer to shower his face with featherlight kisses. "It was just an accident, it is something you will have to help me deal with, in time," he smiled, trying to lessen the tension that electrified the air around them.

"You don't have to do this if you don't want to," Voldemort said weakly, feeling so much better and warmer at the sight of Harry's grin, at the sensation of his lips on his skin.

"But I _want_ to," his Prince murmured and propped himself on the elbows, to hover over him and look into his eyes, "I would never let the fat fuck spoil my morning, especially from Hell where he is surely burning and screeching in pain." Harry suddenly sounded so confident, so strong, so arrogant and manly, the Dark Lord couldn't help but smile hack at him.

"That's my Harry," he laughed, as the weight from his chest had been once again lifted. The young wizard smiled so brightly and affectionately, seductively at the sound of his laughter, that Voldemort's already flaccid cock once again tensed and throbbed in pleasure and need. Harry felt it and, kissing him deeply on the lips, took the hardening flesh into his hand and pushed it inside his anus, groaning into the Dark Lord's mouth. "You don't... have to... Harry," Voldemort moaned, but his Prince shook his head, prohibiting him to speak.

"I said I want to, I want you, idiot," Harry muttered, frowning at the pain, arching his back and spreading his thighs wider. He didn't want to think of Vernon or any of his past anymore, he wanted to be here and now, be with Marvolo, be his and be free. Gasping, he grabbed on his own long hair, tugging on it helplessly, constantly moving, pushing the thick cock further and further inside.

Watching his Prince wriggling on top of him, crying and biting his lips so sweetly, teasingly, Voldemort could only growl and squeeze the young man's sides and hips, hurrying him to move faster. Harry threw his head back, calling his name and panting harshly, as he kept sliding up and down his length. Impatient and hungry for more, the Dark Lord sat up and bit into the tender skin of a delicate throat, grabbing on the soft buttocks and spreading them apart, forcing Harry to take him even deeper inside.

It all ended so fast, Harry thought, falling on top of Marvolo, exhausted and drained, but sated, sighing contentedly, as the strong arms enveloped him into a passionate embrace. Drawing patterns on the pale, veined skin of the man's chest, Harry decided he could sleep some more, listening to the steady, calming beating of the other's heart. But thinking back on the way the dark wizard reacted to what happened, Harry frowned and felt confused and upset again. He knew, _instinctively_ knew there was something more behind it all, he would have never believed Marvolo's '_performance_' if he wasn't certain the man's fear was genuine.

"Marvolo," he whispered almost inaudibly, "Has somebody hurt you?"

Stroking the long raven hair, rising his chest in rhythm with Harry's, Voldemort watched the morning light crawl between the small cracks on the ceiling and wondered if he should tell his little one the truth. He had never told about it, nobody knew, those who used to know were long dead. Could he really face what he had once tried to run away from so hard? Could Harry accept him after knowing his worst secret? The ever kind, forgiving Harry, who was with him even though he had killed his mother and condemned him to spend his whole life in Hell - would he still like him and smile for him if he knew? Closing his eyes resentfully, Voldemort seethed inside, angry at himself for being so self-conscious, so afraid of rejection - he was too old for that, experienced and tempered enough not to take such nonsense into consideration and yet he felt apprehensive. _Insecure. Vulnerable. Weak._

"Yes," he breathed out and once again stared at the cracks, now clearer and darker against the well lit paint.

Harry raised his head and looked at the pale, stony face, frozen in a grave expression, "You can tell me, I would not turn you away," he touched the shaggy cheek with his fingertips, uncertain if he could go further. He wished Marvolo could free himself from whatever it was that tormented him so much.

"It is very hard, Harry, I have never told anyone about this," Voldemort sighed but didn't dare to meet the other's gaze.

Harry moved to sit next to him and carefully took one of Marvolo's cold hands into his, kissing the long, thin fingers softly. "It's alright, take your time."

"I am _sorry_, Harry," he finally turned to look at his Prince, who was watching him so lovingly, so pitifully and yet comfortingly, "But you would not be able to change me, to fix me, too much time have passed, too much have been done what can't be taken back..." Voldemort bit on his upper lip, breathing slowly, gathering his courage, thinking that never once in his life had his tongue felt so numb. "When I found out what your uncle had done to you, I couldn't... couldn't let him get away with it, a prison or an execution were not enough... What I saw in his mind, it brought all the pain and horror I kept locked up inside me for so long, for almost my whole life..." he trailed off and swallowed harshly, suddenly thirsty, for his mouth had run dry as he got closer to the truth.

However, that was quite enough for Harry. Covering his mouth with his hand and blinking hastily through the tears that blurred his vision, he couldn't suppress his loud sob. "H-how old were you...?" he managed to whisper, frantically pressing Marvolo's hand to his chest, as if it could lessen the pain that was burning inside it.

"Six, when it began," Voldemort thought it wasn't his voice, so hollow and distant it sounded, "Seventeen when it stopped, when I could finally leave."

"They grew up with you?" Harry rubbed on his running nose, incapable of making up a better question. It was so difficult to think straight now, when his mind tried hard to process the idea that children, barely teenagers, a few years younger than him, could do something so horrible to a small, defenseless boy.

"Yes, we all were at the same orphanage. Once the oldest left, those who took their places took their turns with me. Every summer." He freed his hand out of Harry's hold and reached for his wet face to caress it gently, brush away the thick tears. His Prince wasn't disgusted by him, wasn't afraid of his touch. What a truly _generous soul._

"Why hadn't you told Dumbledore about it?" Harry mumbled, leaning into the touch, cradling the cold limb with both hands against his cheek.

"I told him they were violent towards me, abused me... But he turned me away. Placed alarms and wards around the orphanage to monitor my magic and made me return there every summer, until I became a legal adult and stole money to afford myself a flat at the Diagon Alley between the terms."

"Was this why you made your first horcrux?" Harry understood now, yes, now it all was so clear and simple, really. Marvolo's incontrollable hatred towards muggles, worse, children, who were the future of the muggle race, who left no hope for their kind; his hatred towards Dumbledore for condemning him to being raped again and again, with nobody to turn to, nobody to protect him; his anger, cruelty, thirst for blood and violent nature... Marvolo could never afford to be weak, vulnerable after what he had gone through.

"I couldn't take it anymore and I made a horcrux thinking that I would rather die fighting them with my fists or my magic and get punished for it, then let them use me again..." he shifted closer and circled his other arm around Harry's waist, hoping to not be pushed away, "So you see, I would not be able to live knowing that I have done it to anybody else, to you of all people, my little one."

There was so much pain in the emerald eyes and yet they didn't accuse him, didn't judge. "Oh, Marvolo, my poor, _poor Marvolo_," Harry pulled him into a tight, desperate embrace and cried on his shoulder, shaking all over. Holding him, Voldemort couldn't help but smile ruefully, once again feeling freed, accepted, understood. _Forgiven_. Even though he claimed he had no use for absolution, he appreciated it. It felt as if needles were finally taken out of his bleeding heart and it could beat fully again. "I am so sorry, Marvolo, so sorry," Harry chanted, pressing harder against him, wishing he could take all of his pain away, could heal him, like Marvolo had healed him before.

"Sh-sh, Harry, nothing to be sorry for," the Dark Lord murmured, stroking him and kissing him on the bare neck and shoulder, "They all are dead, long, long dead. As is my past and the old me."

"Y-you... killed them all, did-didn't you?" Harry stammered, looking up and into the blood red eyes, that held no malice, no rage inside, only pain and sadness.

"Yes. After I turned twenty two and after I realized I couldn't live with nightmares anymore, I made another horcrux and hunted each and every one of those boys down, children who watched but never once defended me, caretakers and teachers who closed their eyes at what had been transpiring right under their noses and only kept punishing me for "lying" and for being me: the freak, the monster, the abomination..." He realized he couldn't, didn't want to stop. Once he said it - the chains that were holding him fell, he was free, he saw the _light_ and didn't want to go back into the darkness. He wanted to be held and cried for, felt for, loved. Nobody had ever shown him such kindness and affection as Harry did. Voldemort even thought he didn't deserve the man, who was sobbing quietly in his arms.

"You are not a monster, Marvolo," Harry said shakily. "You are _not_." He kissed the wizard on the cheek and pressed his forehead against the dimpled chin.

"You make me better," Voldemort chuckled, kissing the lightning bolt scar. "You and Domhnall are the only human beings I like and trust. You both are making me better, healing me, if it is even possible," he murmured thoughtfully. He never imagined it would be so easy to admit something so intimate, so horrible to another person. Never imagined Harry would become even more compassionate and affectionate towards him. If the Dark Lord had known before he would have told him sooner to sway him to his side. But now it was pointless to think of what could have been. Harry wanted him and was going to do anything he asked of him - Voldemort has achieved his goal. Smiling, he stroked the long, raven hair, enjoying the tickling sensation of his Prince's hot tears slowly running down his chest.

**xxx**

"So should I even speak of you at all?" Harry asked tiredly, having had thrown a newspaper on the bench and joined Marvolo and Domhnall in their slow walk around the garden, that seemed to grow in size every time Dobby and Easy found time to improve it in one way or another. Harry smiled at his little son, who was bubbling excitedly, held comfortably in the dark wizard's arms, but his thoughts kept turning back to the article. Daily Prophet had released an announcement that the Boy-Who-Lived returned and was going to give a press conference at the Ministry of Magic. Harry couldn't imagine what kind of reaction this piece of news caused at Hogwarts - the closer the date of his _'coming out'_ was, the more nervous he became. What if Dumbledore or his people at the Ministry would try to attack or kidnap him?

"You would be safe at the Ministry, Harry," Voldemort didn't need Legilimency to read his Prince's thoughts - all of the young wizard's fears were written on his face. "My people there would be guarding you, besides, I would be there as well. They wouldn't be able to take you away from me again."

"I am worrying for Domhnall," Harry sighed, reaching out and caressing the small head that turned to the sound of his voice, "If anything happens to him..."

"Nothing would happen to our son," the Dark Lord cut off sharply. "He will be safely hidden here and if anybody would try to attack this place, the elves would instantly take him to Prince Manor, which is impossible to find. Do not worry, Severus won't let anybody harm him." As if in support of his words he kissed Domhnall on the cheek and embraced him tighter, drawing a pleased laughter out of the boy's small chest.

"Fine, fine," Harry muttered, shrugging his shoulders. Whatever Marvolo said, he would never be able to simply accept the fact that his boy would be so far from him, all alone. _Bloody mother hen you are, Harry_. "So should I or should I not?" he steered the conversation back to his initial question.

"I agree with Severus - you are not promoting me as a candidate for the Minister's position, you are promoting my cause and my bills, which have nothing to do with my personality," Voldemort nodded, stealing brief glances at Harry's face, lovely in it's seriousness and concentration. "I am not going to be their leader, I am not insane anymore to wish to _herd_ the stupid sheep that they are. If you don't think it would be wise or necessary to mention me, then simply don't, Harry, I trust you to tell the right thing." He smiled, when the young man looked up at him, and laughed quietly in satisfaction, when Harry failed to hide his own grin and had to duck his head shyly. His modesty and innocence were so adorable and refreshing, Voldemort found himself wishing that Domhnall could grow up the same.

"You overestimate me, Marvolo," Harry shook his head, fighting the intensifying blush.

"No, _you_ underestimate yourself, _I_ never overestimate anybody, my dear," the Dark Lord drawled smugly, "For there is hardly anybody better and more powerful than I am. Except for you and the little Slytherin Prince, perhaps," he tickled Domhnall and grinned at the sound of the boy's contagious laughter.

"You are so full of yourself, I doubt I would ever manage to assure people of your good intentions, it is too obvious what an arrogant, self-centered bastard you actually are," Harry huffed good-naturedly, rolling his eyes.

"However, it doesn't stop you from fucking with me every night," Voldemort replied haughtily, excited to have a little banter with his Prince. Their fights and quarrels, if he could even call them that, for Harry was too kind and sensitive to hold a grudge, always ended in bed, or on the table, or on the floor, or...

"Moron." Laughing, Harry punched him on the shoulder lightly. How was it possible he felt so comfortable around the Dark Lord? Had they become _friends_ as well as lovers? Could Voldemort even have friends? "Which bills should I make accent on first or at all? Complete separation from muggles or change in the governmental structure?"

"The latter - after we change it and put the right people in the right places we would be talking of separation and would actually manage it. But do not think you will be able to make a point at your first conference - it would take you a lot of tries to make them unerstand." The Dark Lord hummed to himself, pleased, that Harry was taking his task so seriously. With a delegate like Harold Prince the victory was already in his pocket.

"Do you really not wish to rule the wizarding Britain?" Harry considered him for a moment, trying to decipher the man's thoughts in his shining blood red eyes.

"They do not deserve me, Harry. I see that now. I simply wish to fix the damage they have caused with their own actions, show them the way, but I have no wish whatsoever to be their leader. I would have preferred to do something else with my time, something more _useful_," Voldemort said carelessly. He took a tiny bud, that Domhnall noticed and tried to grab, and hid it in his fisted hand. At his son's confused look he smirked mirthfully and spread his palm in front of the small, surprised face, revealing a blooming cherry flower. It was such an easy trick, however, it made Domhnall ecstatic. The Dark Lord and Harry started using magic more and more around the boy, watching him carefully, but nothing seemed to be wrong. Their son was simply too sensitive to emotions and magical power, but neither affected him in any harmful way.

"I am glad you have no reigning plans," Harry said slowly, mesmerized with the nonchalant display of enormous power. Logicaly, he knew he was capable of the same with the powers he had now, but it was still so unusual for him, so _wondrous_.

His Prince's perplexed and simultaneously joyful expression made Voldemort remember something he wanted to discuss before. "Harry, there is something I must teach you before you go out into the world again."

Looking at Marvolo's serious face, he raised his eyebrows inquiringly, "What is it?"

"You must learn to hide your power, learn to disguise it. If Dumbledore senses how actually powerful you have become, he will cause us much more problems than we anticipate. It is a very useful skill - hiding one's true aura. It may save your life, for your opponents would be underestimating you," the Dark Lord held out his hand for the raven haired wizard, waiting for him to take it. "Take my hand, feel the flow of my and your magics, feel our power."

Harry obediently took the offered limb and squeezed it gently, habitually trying to warm up the cold fingers. "Alright." He closed his eyes and concentrated on what he had always been ignoring before, even when he came into the wizarding world. The strange itching under his skin, in his veins, that wasn't unpleasant, but gentle and steady, like a heartbeat - one easily grew used to it. His eyes moved fast underneath the lids, as bright lights flashed before them in the darkness. Red and green hues, grey and white - the colours of their magics, assaulting his senses. "I see Domhnall's as well!" Harry couldn't help but laugh when he felt more than heard the soft buzzing amongst the deep green and blue sea he thought he had dived into. His son's auara was beautiful, pure, though dark. "He is so much like Severus..." he couldn't believe he hadn't noticed this before, how much Domhnall's magic resembled his grandfather's.

"Of course," Voldemort smiled gently at the young wizard while the other couldn't see him doing that, "Your father's blood is ancient and strong. Combined with mine it only became stronger, even more powerful." Harry had no idea just how magnificent was his magic, didn't he? And their son inherited it fully.

"Your magic is so wonderful, how can it bring so much pain and destruction?" Harry looked up at Marvolo, overwhelmed with the passionate reds that rushed through his body along with his blood, bringing him strange, foreign peace, soothing him so lovingly - if he wasn't holding the Dark Lord's hand he wouldn't have believed this _sensual_ magic could possibly belong to him.

"Intent, Harry, it all depends on the intent behind your actions. Your magic can ruin just as much, should you wish so." Voldemort watched him, barely registering what he was saying. Was he going to justify his actions before Harry now? Did he need the man's forgiveness? With resentment he had to admit to himself he did. He _craved_ it. He wanted Harry to _love_ him, to give him everything, even more than the young wizard had already given him. After being together for so long, after sharing his worst secrets with Harry, he couldn't help but become dependent on him. _Attachment, dependence_... everything he had despised so much happened to him and he couldn't have stopped it even if he wanted to. Like a hurricane Harold Severus Prince came into his life and changed it, turned it upside down and inside out.

Looking into the blood red eyes, that held too much emotions in them to decipher what was the man really thinking, Harry nodded slowly and squeezed the cold hand tighter. "How do I hide my aura?"

Reluctantly letting go of him, the Dark Lord sighed, "Now reach inside yourself, find your magic and make its colours grey. You would have to practice every day in doing so, for when you come out you will have to be performing magic whilst simultaneously hiding your actual power. It takes a lot of concentration and energy, but you will manage, do not worry."

Doing as he was told, Harry was once again sucked into the storming sea of deep blues and greens, wondering how could his magic look so dark and scary and feel so light and calm. Perhaps, this was what made him and Severus overcome their mutual hatred, or was it hatred at all, and become closer? Their magics, that desired to be one again? Frowning, he tried to brush away the thoughts that appeared in the most inappropriate time and concentrated on the colours. Suddenly lost, for he had no slightest idea how to affect his own magic, he heard Marvolo's voice deep inside his chest.

"Imagine that the storm is coming, watch the clouds gather and darken the skies above you. See the last rays of sunlight die in the deep darkness of your magic."

Lulled by the deep, soft sound he loved so much, Harry gave in completely, falling deeper down under the water, squinting at the last flashes of light that quickly dissipated into nothingness. This nothingness looked colourless to him, however, he couldn't help but think that, perhaps, this was the grey that Marvolo meant. Harry pushed and reached out for it with the tips of his fingers. It slowly enveloped him into a cocoon and he opened his eyes sharply, only to see both Marvolo and Domhnall watching him impassively, both looking rather bored.

"Did it work?"

"Yes, but it took you almost twenty minutes and it is already weakening," Voldemort said and turned to go back in the house. "Let's return and try again inside, or we will freeze Domhnall to death out here."

"But... but I only..." Harry hurried after him, confused. How could he have spent twenty minutes floating there, when it all had taken him barely three seconds to perform?

"It is fine, Harry, you will grasp the concept very soon. It is indeed hard to disguise such an enormous power," the Dark Lord murmured, as they entered the house and threw off their winter coats. Harry involuntarily reached out to take Domhnall and Voldemort had to reluctantly comply. Sharing was so difficult.

"You will have to teach Domhnall before he goes to school," Harry suddenly said, having had realized that their son was going to be too powerful a wizard to simply enter Hogwarts and get on well with the others.

Raising his eyebrows at the man's unexpected demand and worry, Voldemort couldn't help but smile cunningly, "Oh, is Domhnall going to attend Hogwarts?"

"Well, if you will achieve all your goals, wouldn't Hogwarts become a better place for the dark wizards?" he gave Marvolo a pointed look. "Of course he must study there, he must find friends, learn to socialize, learn equality and respect towards others. As much as we may teach him that at home, he needs to learn that on his own, only then he would become a truly decent wizard."

"I see you have learnt that the affinity towards dark magic doesn't make a wizard evil," the Dark Lord barked out a laugh, as he sprawled over the sofa in the living room.

"Of course," Harry huffed, rolling his eyes. He stood in the middle of the room in uncertainty. There was plenty of space to sit down, but he had this insuperable desire to sit next to Marvolo, as if a magnet was pulling him closer to the man. Sighing in surrender, he sat down on the edge of the sofa, deliberately brushing their thighs against each other. Harry let Domhnall sit in his lap and play with the locket, as he himself stretched his shoulders and turned to look at the dark wizard, resigned. "I will try again. What should I do to make it happen faster and work longer?"

Voldemort found it very pleasing that Harry couldn't keep away from him. Their close vicinity worked like a cure for him, as if the young wizard was constantly suppressing his anger, cruelty, hatred, cleansing him. He stretched out his long legs to lie more comfortably and smiled smugly at the raven haired wizard, "There is one thing that could help you..." At Harry's inquiring glance Voldemort moved sharply and pushed him down and pressed him him against his chest, gently levitating Domhnall into the armchair along with the locket.

"What are you doing?!" Harry didn't expect to be grabbed and embraced so passionately, but as soon as Marvolo kissed him all his complains disappeared.

"Lie with me, close your eyes and practice. I will be holding you, that is all," the Dark Lord whispered against the red lips. He craved Harry's warmth, it helped him so much better than the fire from the hearth or warming spells. As the young wizard slowly relaxed in his arms and shifted to embrace him back, to nuzzle into the crook of his neck, Voldemort sighed contentedly, rubbing the other's thin but strong back. With a joyous finality he realized that Harry wasn't a boy anymore, he had become a man, an adult, a parent and a lover, _worthy_ of the great Dark Lord. Sensing that his Prince had once again given in to his own magic and was far away now, Voldemort turned his head to watch his son play. _Idyl_. Soon, he told himself, soon Harry and Domhnall wouldn't have to hide anymore, but would live freely and without fear. _Soon_. He never thought he would desire to make Harry happy so much, desire to give him the life he deserved. Wasn't his initial goal changing? Before he wished to changed the world to make it better, to correct the mistakes that costed his mother her life and him his, but now... Looking at the little boy giggling at the golden locket, watching his happy, shinning green eyes, he found his perspectives did really change. Now he wished to change the world to make his family happy, to give them everything there was to give. _How humanly mundane_, Voldemort thought, wrinkling his nose in disgust, but circling his arms tighter around Harry, _how truly pathetic._

**xxx**

Severus was sitting with his back turned to the window in front of which the headmaster stood, stroking his beard and watching the gryffindor team practice at the pitch. They have already spent about fifteen minutes in such position and the potions master was growing tired of the silence that promised nothing good. Crossing his arms over his chest, he closed his eyes and started meditating, for he knew all too well that the less he said out loud the less damage would be caused.

"And you are certain that you never knew of Harry's coming out, Severus?" Dumbledore asked quietly, not moving.

"I have told you, Albus, I didn't. Potter doesn't trust me and I can't really blame him for that, can I?"

"How does he and Voldemort communicate, is he always present when you are visiting Harry?" The old wizard finally turned and walked to his chair. "We must find out if this coming out is his own idea or if it was forced on him."

The Dark Lord _couldn't force_ Harry to do anything, since he was blindly taken with him, smitten, lost in his lust and addiction, but Severus couldn't say that. He still wasn't sure if Dumbledore guessed who was the child's father but he wasn't going to be the one to break the news. "I cannot say. The Dark Lord is always present during our meetings, which are quite short and insufficient. I simply check his and the child's health, we exchange a few words and that is all."

Sighing, the headmaster nodded his head in understanding. "I still trust you, Severus, I know you are working hard and trying to minimize the risk of being exposed. But I find it hard to believe that you knew nothing of _this_," he patted the stack of newspapers, that kept releasing daily announcements about Harry Potter's return. "Fudge is furious, the members of Wizengamot have contacted me recently, asking me to let them have Harry amongst them - they are afraid Voldemort would attack during one of the sessions and would kill again. Aurors Division won't let me have a moment of peace - they are sending me owls every hour, preparing to capture Harry the minute he ends his speech..." Dumbledore pushed his glasses lower, to the tip of his nose and looked at Severus above them, "I understand you are worried about him, Severus, I do. But if you wouldn't be completely honest with me, we might never see him again after this day."

"There is nothing else I can add, Albus, forgive me," Severus drawled, shrugging his shoulders. He would have preferred Harry didn't have to come out at all, but rationally he understood it was necessary. Besides, Harry was young, awfully young, and spending his life imprisoned in his own house was an unfair trial. The boy needed this.

"I see," Dumbledore gave him an intent look, but the potions master kept his eyes closed and his arms still crossed over his chest. "You wouldn't come with us to the press conference, I need someone to stay at the school and monitor students."

"Fine," Severus shrugged his shoulders again. He anticipated this, for he knew the old fool very well. It was most convenient he didn't have to go, for he surely wouldn't have stayed aside or helped the Aurors to capture his son. No, he had the perfect alibi.

Seeing that the potions master cared very little for his punishment, the headmaster cleared his throat and, folding his hands before him, asked the man the very same question he had been asking these past weeks. "What of the child? Is he showing any signs?"

"Signs of _what_, Albus?" Severus sighed in irritation. "Besides his unusual birth the boy is absolutely fine. Healthy, ordinary wizard."

"He seemed to me to be rather big for a newborn in that memory you showed me," Dumbledore murmured thoughtfully.

Nodding, Severus turned to look up at him, "Perhaps, he has taken after his other father? He is a little bigger than usual, but then again, he wasn't growing in a normal womb, but in a magical one - we have no information whatsoever about the way it affects the bone and tissue development. It might have helped him, might have improved him... Nobody has an answer to that, unfortunately."

"But he is not showing anything connected to the horcrux, is he?"

"Albus, if you could tell me what to look for," Severus shook his head in exasperation. "Potter never showed any signs except for the visions, how can I tell if the infant is the one as well? Besides, I have no reason to doubt the Dark Lord's words. If the boy was truly a horcrux he wouldn't have left him there. He would have probably given him to Malfoy or Avery to be raised like a true Death Eater," he sneered, rolling his eyes and twisting his lips in disdain. "Would you have trusted _Potter_ with raising your horcrux?" he added snidely and waved his hand dissmissively, brushing off the unpleasant topic.

"I see," Dumbledore sighed. "You are right, of course. I am just overwhelmed with the whole situation. The longer it takes us to find and bring them here, the more uncertain I become. I hate the fact we have to kill both Harry and the boy... I will never forgive myself for that, but that is what I must do." He rubbed on his tired face, looking at the children flying outside.

_Nor will I_, Severus thought, _nor will I ever forgive you. For everything_.

**xxx**

On the 3d of March Harry woke up feeling nauseous and exhausted. He hadn't slept well, turning the upcoming events in his head over and over, trembling inside in fear of his failure. Voldemort had to hit him with a strong sleeping spell, for his anxiety was so obvious it didn't let the other sleep as well. Rubbing on his stinging eyes and groaning tiredly, Harry stretched his shoulders and back, squinting at the bright morning light coming out of the window.

"Even the spell doesn't work on you, I will ask Severus for a strong potion to make you fucking sleep," he heard Marvolo mumble as the dark wizard rolled over and instantly fell asleep again, snoring into the pillow. Harry thought he would never get used to this side of the Dark Lord's personality - the grumpy, unshaved morning hater. Smiling, he shook his head and laughed quietly, feeling a little better now. But his gut was twisted in a tight knot he felt so sharply, as if it was a stone in his abdomen. Today he was going to meet the press, to leave his house for the first time, to leave Domhnall. Suddenly afraid, he hurried into the nursery and picked up the sweetly sleeping boy. Cradling him in his arms, Harry nestled in the armchair and watched his son's content, beautiful face, trying to remember its every tiny detail. He wished he didn't have to do this, but there was no other way, Marvolo needed his help.

"I am doing this for _you_, my little prince," he kissed the boy's brow gently, "For you and your future."

"This should be a motivation enough for you to finally calm the fuck down," he heard Marvolo's tired, sleepy voice and looked up to see the wizard standing at the threshold, wrapped in one of the bed covers, shivering.

"Go back to bed, it's too early," Harry murmured, looking back at Domhnall.

"I can't, it's too cold without you," Voldemort all but whined, yawning and stepping closer to the raven haired man. "Take him too if you can't keep your hands off, but come back to bed, Harry, please. We have three more hours of sleep."

He could never resist Marvolo's begging. Nodding, Harry carefully stood up and slowly walked back, holding his little boy close to his chest, feeling more content touching him and listening to his breath. Lying down next to the other man, he put Domhnall between them, smiling at how similar the father and the son were, for Marvolo fell asleep as soon as his arm circled Harry's waist and his nose pressed against the boy's little head. No, he thought, _this_, for _this_ he was going to help Voldemort. To be able to wake up every morning to Marvolo's complaints, to be able to sleep with him and their son so comfortably in their warm bed. This was the future he wished for them all, for himself. He closed his eyes thinking it was worth it all.

"_Harry_." He stirred, smiling at the sensation of the small hands grabbing his nose and at the sounds of soft bubbling. "Harry, we must be at the ministry in fifteen minutes."

"What?! Why haven't you woken me sooner?!" Harry almost fell off his bed as he jumped up, frantically searching for his clothes to Domhnall's enormous delight - the boy kept laughing at his father's misfortune.

"Because you needed to sleep, to get rested," Voldemort drawled nonchalantly, stretching under the covers and embracing their little son. "You are a wizard, Harry, you can clean yourself up in one swish of a wand." He smiled brilliantly when Harry suddenly froze and swore foully at the realization that he indeed could use magic to wash up, clean and iron his clothes, make his hair.

"I hate you," he muttered, glaring at Marvolo, and stomped out of the bedroom. Harry went to the kitchen to make himself a cup of strong coffee - he wasn't used to drinking it, but he saw Severus often making it for himself after a particularly long and tiresome day or before a hard, sleepless potions brewing night.

"And here I thought you were going to shock the public by appearing thoroughly ravished and in your nightshirt," Severus drawled, stirring the coffee in a small pot over the stove. He stole a brief glance at his son who was dressed in a plain black suit and a black robe, looking every bit Severus in his youth, with his long raven hair sticking out everywhere and his brilliant emerald eyes full of fear and uncertainty.

"Morning," Harry ignored the snarky remark and stuck his long nose into the pot, "Would that be enough for the two of us? I could use a cup of strong black coffee."

"I am brewing this for you. Sit down and eat something, or your stomach would talk louder than you at the conference," Severus shook his head in exasperation, as the corners of his mouth quivered slightly, for Harry's anxiety reminded him of his own at his first day of work at the school.

Dobby happily jumped up to his young master with a plate full of every kind of food he knew Harry liked to have in the mornings. With a trembling hand the young wizard took an apple and munched it slowly, trying hard not to sick up. Along with a streaming cup a small vial with yellow potion appeared on the table before him. "Is this the potion you said you would give me for my nerves?" Harry inspected it, smelling carefully and rolling the liquid inside the glass.

"Yes, take it with coffee to cover the foul taste. I would suggest to eat a few eggs at least, or you might faint," Severus drawled, sitting down next to his son, and took out his wand. He waved it in a zig-zag and whispered a few short incantations and in a few seconds Harry's clothes were clean, smoothed, his hair were washed and brushed and his face looked fresh.

"I could have..." Harry began to object but shut up under his father's warning glare. "I feel like this is my first time going to school, for christ's sake, Severus!"

"It is quite an understandable reaction. Do not worry, the potion would help you." The potions master sighed, thinking that on his son's first day at Hogwarts he was dreaming of strangling him somewhere in the dark corner of the school's countless corridors. Perhaps, he wouldn't miss Domhnall's first time and would see him off at the King's Cross, like Eileen did every year before she died.

"See, I was right, fifteen minutes is more than enough to get ready." Voldemort entered, fully dressed in black, holding Domhnall in his arms. "Severus," he greeted, nodding to the wizard. At Harry's attempt to take the boy, he moved away from him and passed the child on to Dobby, "No, no, Harry, if you take him we will never leave. Dobby can take care of him, he will manage perfectly. And _you_ must eat, I will not be holding you while you retch behind the Ministry." He sat down and clapped his hands - his usual cup of tea appeared in the air before him and he took it, sipping on the hot liquid with pleasure.

"You bastard, I want to hold my son before we leave!" Harry snarled, scowling at Marvolo and chewing on his eggs angrily.

"You have been holding him the whole morning, stop this drama! You will see him in a few hours," the Dark Lord sighed and patted Harry on the knee.

Watching the two men interact was new to Severus and he couldn't help but laugh inwardly in amusement at their antics. If one put aside their identities, one would surely take them for an ordinary family. Was Harry actually pouting? Was this a pleased smile on his lord's lips at the sight of the young wizard's grimaces?

"If anything happens..."

"Nothing would happen, Harry. I promise," Voldemort said firmly and squeezed the other's hand. "Now, hide your aura and we will be going."

"I have arranged everything at the manor, so if there is such a necessity, Dobby would take Domhnall there and will call for me," Severus added, looking at Harry, whose face looked paler than usual - he was unnaturally frightened to leave the child. "Harry, you must learn to part with him from time to time, otherwise he would grow a dependent child."

"Yeah, I know..." Harry lowered his eyes, blushing slightly in embarrassment. But what could he do, really? It was his instincts, his heart that were making him so nervous, so anxious. "Thanks, dad," he sighed and stood up, taking the Dark Lord by the arm. "I am ready."

Thinking that he had heard Harry calling Severus that for the first time, Voldemort decided he needed to look more closely into their relationship. He wasn't against it, he simply wished to establish who was going to be the head of the family and dictate the rules, for he wasn't going to share _his_ Harry and _his_ Domhnall with anybody else.

Soon they found themselves standing behind the Ministry's building, at one of the back doors, used only by a few high ranking employees. Surprisingly, Draco Malfoy was waiting for them there, holding the door open. "Draco?" Harry smiled despite himself and turned to Marvolo to ask him what was the blonde wizard doing here, but it wasn't his Marvolo beside him anymore - there stood a tall wizard with tanned skin, short black hair, brown eyes and a scar across his left cheek. His black hood threw a deep shadow onto his angular, unpleasant face.

"Harry, haven't seen you in such a long time!" Draco smiled at him and took him by the arm, steering him inside, "The Dark Lord gave me the task of accompanying you everywhere tonight in the Ministry and shooing the particularly active fans away."

"But..." Harry turned to the disguised wizard, who pressed his index finger against his lips and bent down to hiss into his ear in parseltongue. "_I will be amongst the crowd. Do not worry, I will always be close to you_." The man disappeared and all Harry could do was to stare at the empty spot beside him.

"One of your bodyguards?" Draco huffed, crossing their arms and leading the raven haired wizard forward, down the empty, dark hallways. "Don't worry, the Dark Lord put up a whole army to guard you while you are here. My father would be standing right behind you the whole time, I will be on your left, Avery, disguised as Fudge's secretary, on your right, and there will be around fifty Death Eaters amongst the crowd and around the perimeter." His confident, bored tone helped Harry relax a little and he smiled modestly at the young man he hadn't seen for so long. Draco looked just like he always did - the impeccable self-centered wanker. It was so good to see him.

"I haven't been out for a while, I am simply a little uncomfortable and nervous, that is all," he shrugged his shoulders, smiling at his companion.

"Where have you been, by the way? Slytherins were making bets, that you are either being tortured or being brainwashed and tuned into our lord's personal assassin," Draco laughed into his curled palm, looking at Harry mischievously.

"I've had a child," he smiled innocently and walked forward when they finally reached the familiar surroundings.

Gobsmacked, Draco ran after him, "_You what?!_" He stopped Harry in the middle of an empty hallway and took him by the shoulders, looking intently into his eyes, "Repeat it again, but think twice before saying the words. You have what?"

Laughing, Harry patted his hands, "I am a father now, Draco, I have a son. That's where I've been, hiding him from the vultures."

"You..." Draco stared at him in desperation and confusion, looking between his eyes and his abdomen. "You... Is this what Bella did to you then?"

"Yeah," Harry smiled and lifted his shoulders up, indicating that he was absolutely fine with everything that had happened. He was _now_. Having Domhnall was worth any kind of pain, torment and horror.

"So you... But... Who is... the other... Father?" the blonde stammered, staring helplessly around himself, as if looking for a sign that would help him realize it all to be a dream.

"_That_ is a secret. Perhaps, if Voldemort would let me, I will tell you," Harry sighed. The potion began working, for he felt his limbs relax and his heartbeat became steady again. He was ready to talk and get done with it all. "Shall we? I wouldn't want to spend the whole day in here."

"Y-yes, of course," Draco hastily straightened up and took on his usual expression of superiority and boredom and crooked his finger for Harry to follow. They entered the main hall of the Ministry and Harry was instantly blinded by the flashlights of the cameras and deafened by the screams of reporters and the crowd of spectators, that crammed the space so fully - it was hard to breathe. The blonde wizard took him by the arm and pulled him up the small dais, where Lucius Malfoy was already waiting for him. Exchanging a nod with him, Harry wondered if he was aware of the true nature of his and Voldemort's relationship.

"Mr Potter, please," Lucius gestured for him to stand at the small, elegant rostrum and moved behind him, covering his back.

Harry looked over the crowd uncertainly, taking a few deep breaths. This wasn't going to be easy. Several people were crying out his name, he could barely hear them amongst the loud buzz of voices. He involuntarily searched for the tall wizard with a scar on his cheek, but Marvolo couldn't be seen anywhere. Harry's eyes locked with the pale blue ones of Albus Dumbledore and he pursed his lips into a thin line, determined to do whatever was necessary to safe his son. There was no affection for the old wizard left in him, only weariness and pity.

"Good morning, everyone," he started shakily, thinking he should be quick with this. "I am Harry Potter, as you all can see, and I am here to make a small statement." How strange it was to call himself Potter now, after all this time... He cleared his throat and straightened his shoulders, taking one last breath. "I wish to tell you that I never was participating in any kind of secret training abroad. I was hiding from Albus Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix." The crowd's roar was amplified by the echo of the high ceiling of the hall and Harry couldn't help but wince at the deafening sound of their protests, surpise, fear.

"What happened, Mr Potter? Why was your absence kept as a secret, why was the public lied to?" Rita Skeeter shouted, elbowing her way through the crowd closer to the dais.

"What happened is that I do not wish to fight Voldemort," Harry said simply and the whole hall fell silent at the sound of the damned name. Seeing that nobody was going to ask him anything else, he elaborated, "I have studied the Dark Lord's legislations plan and I sincerely agree with it, I don't see him as an enemy anymore, but a man that can truly change our country for the better."

"Liar!" somebody screamed. "You were brainwashed! You're insane!"

"During all these years you have called me different names. I was your hero, your savior, I was the new Dark Lord in making, I was the insane lunatic, Dumbledore's scapegoat, but enough of that!" Harry barked at them, suddenly angry and affronted by their behavior. His voice rang loudly around the place and they all cringed a little under his blazing fire glare. "I am here to tell you the truth and make you finally think for yourselves. All these years, while you all were safely spending your lives here, reading newspapers and discussing my personal life, I was staying with my muggle uncle and aunt who abused me. _Yes_," he twisted his lips in a parody of a smile, when a few women gasped at his words, "_I_, the Boy-Who-Lived, your favourite tabloid hero was abused by muggles and I had no right to defend myself against them. Dumbledore knew of it, but he still kept sending me there every summer. Do you know what is it like to be constantly beaten, humiliated, hurt and talked to like a dog? Do you really expect me to fight for you, when nobody has ever fought for me?" Breathing harshly, he watched their faces morph into ugly masks of terror, unceratinty, disbelief, anger.

"How do we know you are telling the truth?" one of the reporters cried, waving his hands.

"Since you wouldn't take my word..." Harry took out his holly wand and pressed it against his heart, clutching onto the rostrum for balance, for his knees were giving away.

"What are you doing, Harry?" Draco hissed fearfully on his left, but he didn't listen.

"I, Harold Severus Snape, swear on my life and magic that I would not lie to any of you during my time of presence here." The tip of his wand glowed faintly and a shower of green sparkles covered the crowd before him. Astonished they all stared at him with wide, fearful eyes. Putting the wand away, he cleared his throat once again, "Now, let's return to where we have stopped... I was abused by my muggle relatives. I know many other wizards who also were abused by muggles, however, they are not as confident as I am to come up here and tell the world about it." He rubbed on his wrists, sighing sadly at the bitter memories of the bruises that had once been there, at the memories of a few muggleborn gryffindors he saw in the showers, covered in the very same kind of scars that he had. It all was going on without saying, there wasn't any club for the abused and humiliated, everybody survived on their own. Nobody shared their pain, for they knew the _price_ of talking.

"I wish you could understand that there are always bad and good people, wizards or muggles, we are all the same. However, as wizards, we do have a tendency to value the lives of our children much more than muggles do, for there aren't many of us, we rarely have more than one, two children in the family. Muggles would never accept you the way the Light promises. I know that for sure, I've spent most of my life amongst them, I know the way they think, the way they judge... Even when I thought I was an ordinary boy, when I never knew I was a wizard, they shunned me and hated me for simply being _different_. And my own family made me pay for my difference, pay dearly."

"How come you've learnt of the Dark Lord's plans?" Skeeter piped in, holding her notepad and quill fiercely in her hands, as if they were her weapons.

"Last time I disappeared I was held a... _guest_ at his residence and I have read all of his work. He never influenced me in one way or another, he simply offered me truce after he found out what had happened to me."

"Why was Dumbledore making you return there every summer?"

"I honestly have no idea," Harry shrugged his shoulders, avoiding to look at the headmaster in the back of the crowd. "I suppose it was his way of preparing me to face Voldemort, but it never helped me in any of our encounters except for the last one, when the Dark Lord found enough compassion in himself to spare my life."

"Voldemort killed your mother, he killed your friend Cedric Diggory, he killed hundreds of innocents. Have you forgiven him for these awful crimes?" Dumbledore's voice boomed loudly, making everyone turn around to look at him. His pale eyes were trained on Harry only, waiting for his answer.

Shifting in his place uncomfortably, Harry realized he had to make it all clear once and for all for them and himself as well. "There was a book I found in Voldemort's library," he began quietly, slowly. "It was a sort of compilation of different stories about Ghandi's life, his travelings and his thoughts. There was one thing that he said, I found it to be right, true. _The weak can never forgive. Forgiveness is the attribute of the strong_. You have always taught me to be strong, to be decent and kind, headmaster," he looked up and met the other's glance defiantly. "I will forever mourn their deaths, my mother's especially. But there is a way to stop the violence, to stop the insane killings, there is a way of saving lives and secluding our world from muggles. Accept the Dark Lord's policy and he would never kill again."

"How can you say that? You've read his legislations - how can we agree to those?!" Ron's indignant cry surprised Harry but he didn't show it, thinking that he must be as unaffected by his friends as possible. It was the only way to keep them safe. Hermione, who stood by the redheaded wizard didn't talk, but her eyes were speaking louder than her silence.

"He wouldn't stop, don't you understand?" Harry asked tiredly, shaking his head in exasperation. "He will be killing everybody who stands in his way, he would achieve his goal no matter what you think. If you agree and accept him, he would seize the violence. This is the only way."

"But you _must_ fight him, Harry!" Ron couldn't let it go. "How can you tell us to give up, when we must fight for our families?!"

"_Exactly_," Harry sneered at him, hating to do so, "I do have a family of my own now, which I must protect. I am sorry, Ron, but I don't want to fight him, to waste my life for those who need me only as a shield. I am a person, I am a man and I want to keep my family safe - this is why I am choosing Voldemort's side. If you want, you may send your sons and daughters into slaughter, for this is what is coming, I can assure you, or you may take your chance for a better, safer life. I have seen the newspapers, I know what is going on, so do you - why do you sit and wait for somebody else to solve your problems? Stand up for yourselves, for the future of your children!" Harry thought his hands would bleed - so hard he pressed on the edges of the desk, feeling his insides tremble and freeze at the excitement and horror of the situation. What happened, how could he stand here and instigate people to unite with the Dark Lord, the insane murderer, the deceiving munipulator? How could he push them to follow the man who was the cause of Harry's own sufferings?

And then he saw the familiar blood red eyes, gleaming brightly amongst the darkness of the moving mass of people. Like two burning coals in the cold, like two lonely stars in the blackness of the night they were calling for him, mesmerizing him with their warmth, _affection_. Harry couldn't help but clutch on the locket underneath his shirt and press it against his chest, as close to the heart as possible. He thought he saw the little boy sitting in the backyard of the orphanage, the boy who looked like the carbon copy of his Domhnall, but older. The boy who was bleeding and crying and nobody came to help him, to hold him and take his pain away. He saw him sitting in the dark corner of the room and play with little stones and garden snakes, hissing in parseltongue for there was nobody else there for him to talk to in english. The tears started welling up in his eyes and a sharp pain pierced his heart. He loved _him_, loved this little, broken boy, who grew up to be a cold, cruel man with his own vision of the world. A man hiding behind the thick wall of uncaring and heartlessness, cherishing his fears, insecurities and pain, making them into his weapons.

"I'm not asking you to accept Voldemort himself," he suddenly said, surprising everyone into silence. "You don't have to like him, you don't have to take him as your leader, it has nothing to do with him. His work has everything to do with your future. He is a _monster_, however... in these past months, maybe a year, I have learnt a great deal of monsters and men, of how deceiving appearances can be," he looked up to meet the ruby eyes again. "All I'm asking of you is to choose a way of lesser evil. I have chosen mine, for I do not wish to see people die in vain, protecting what is actually harming them. I can't fight Voldemort for you, I can't defeat him. And even if I could..." he smiled bitterly, blinking hastily to will the tears away. He wanted to say that even if he could he would have never killed Marvolo, because he couldn't kill someone he loved so much. But he knew what he had to say instead. "You would have sent me to fight muggles later, when they declared war on us. I don't want to be a murderer, I don't want to kill anybody, I don't care if this person deserves to die in your opinion, I am not going to be the tool of your twisted justice."

Their low murmurs turned into a steady buzz, as they discussed his words between themsleves, stealing weary glances at his form. Harry didn't care, he kept looking into the eyes of the one he came here for tonight and dearly wished he could hold him, feel his cold hands on his face, hear his deep, soothing voice. He was torn between two contradicting desires: to run away and never come out of his house again or shout to the world the truth, the one and only truth that he loved the Dark Lord and wished to be by his side until the day he died. He was ready to lead them all into the darkness if only Marvolo had asked him to, for he couldn't imagine his life without him anymore.

"But you are a light wizard, Mr Potter, how can you follow the Dark? How can you be one of them?" an old man, he had never seen before, asked him.

Snapped out of his reverie, Harry offered the stranger a small, sad smile, "I am not following the Dark, nor am I going to become dark as well. To be honest, I don't see how the difference in our magic can be the reason for our mutual hatred, the reason for fighting each other, when our enemy is somebody else? My father, as you all know, is a dark wizard, which doesn't make him a bad person. Our choices, our actions and the intent behind our magic - this is what makes us men or monsters, but sometimes the meanings of those are rather twisted and we call a monster the one who is trying to help us, when he simply chose the wrong way of showing it..." He laughed quietly to himself in melancholic nostalgia, thinking of Marvolo and the way he healed him, helped him overcome his fears and pain.

Voldemort watched Harry carefully, moving around the space as a shadow, unnoticed and hidden, but he couldn't help and stopped to listen to his Prince when he felt his emotions vibrate in the air, weakening his magic's disguise. Harry was nervous, even after taking a very strong potion, but there was something else. There was this strange vibe he sometimes sensed from the young wizard, when they were together and Harry lost focus or stared at him absentmindedly, immersed in his own thoughts. Voldemort hated not knowing what was going on in that lovely head, but the other's Occlumency was just as strong as his own and he couldn't simply attack his mind. This vibe was so strong, so overwhelming, and yet he couldn't decipher its meaning, for Harry always was fast enough to hide it, to distract him from analyzing it more thoroughly. And now, standing on the dais above the crowd, telling them about him, Voldemort, being a monster, he was once again experiencing this strange, suspicious emotion. He could see how hard Harry held on the desk, how his limbs trembled, how desperately he clutched on the locket... And his words about the Dark Lord choosing the wrong way of showing his desire to help... Scowling, he looked into the emerald eyes, helpless and uncertain of what was he witnessing. _No_, he told himself, no, he was mistaken. In this world one never got everything he desired - it simply wasn't possible, by the laws of nature or magic, or whatever it was that affected their lives... Fate?

"Harry, do you realize what are you saying? What are you offering?" Dumbledore's voice had once again silenced everyone in the hall and Voldemort flinched, snapping out of his stupor. It wasn't the time to ponder over Harry's complicated human emotions, he had to watch the old goat closely.

Steadying his magic, that threatened to manifest itself and tell everyone of his real powers, Harry took a long, deep breath, holding the locket firmly in his burning hand, seeking the necessary comfort and support from it. "Yes, I do, sir. And I accuse you of lying, manipulating, neglecting abuse and a planned murder of myself." At his last words all the reporters moved sharply forward to get even closer to him, as if he was speaking too low for them to hear every detail, while the crowd roared and everybody turned to look at the headmaster. "I am not going to die for the sake of your plan of destroying Voldemort. If he is dead - somebody else would come in his place and everything would repeat itself again, and so it would continue in a vicious circle which you can break only by accepting what is offered to you, before it's too late."

"Harry," Dumbledore ignored the angry glares of wizards and witches before him, keeping his eyes firmly on the young man, "This is not a game. Your words have consequences. Do you realize that after you are finished with the speech you would officially become an enemy of the Ministry? You wouldn't be able to come back to Hogwarts."

"This has _never_ been a game, sir," Harry nodded, scowling at the old wizard. "I know very well what the consequences of my actions and words would be, I am ready to take them and pay. Are _you_ ready to do the same?" At Dumbledore's perplexed expression Harry pushed his hair back and gathered all of his self-control not to let his magic flow and assault the wizard. "Is that, what you are doing, the price you are paying for creating Voldemort? You are the one who is responsible for the man's transformation into a monster he is now... How can you live with such burden? How are you still capable of working with children, sending them back into their abusive households, accepting them back into your arms with that kind, grandfatherly smile of yours? Haven't you learnt from your past mistakes, sir? Haven't you ripped what you've sown fifty years ago? How _dare_ you ask me if I have forgiven Voldemort when it is you who must be begging for forgiveness, standing on your knees in front of me, in front of every abused child that studied at your school?" With that, not waiting for any kind of answer, Harry tugged on Draco's sleeve and they hastily went down and through the door that Lucius had opened before them to the roaring sound of enraged crowd.

"Who would have thought you have such an enormous talent for political revolution, Mr Potter?" Mr Malfoy gave him a small, but sincere smile and closed the door softly behind himself.

"The last bit was particularly juicy!" Draco exclaimed excitedly, barely restraining himself from jumping at Harry and demanding more details from him.

"Auror Division!" They turned at the sound of shouts behind the door and loud banging. "Open up! We must interrogate Potter! Now!"

"Just listen to them, they have already lost mister and you haven't even left yet!" Draco scoffed, rolling his eyes and brushing the invisible crumbs off of his cloak.

"We should leave now, before they got to you, Mr Potter," Lucius sighed, as if his job was escaping Aurors every day, however, Harry wasn't sure this hadn't been the case as of late. The blonde wizard gestured for the two young men to follow and led them through the long, dimly lit room and out of the door, hidden under the tapestry. They found themselves on one of the lower levels of the Ministry. "It is impossible to apparate out of here, so we will have to escape into the muggle Underground," Lucius explained, as he quickly walked down the hall, listening intently to the sounds behind them.

They had to stop sharply, when a tall dark figure appeared in their way. Raising their wands, both Lucius and Draco stepped in front of Harry, shielding him. But he knew they didn't have to do it, he felt the stranger's aura, even when it was thoroughly hidden he could still sense him deep inside his own body. "We must separate Lucius, take Draco and go back up, hold them as long as possible, you know how to throw dust into somebody's eyes. Harry, you are coming with me."

"Yes, my lord," both Malfoys breathed out in astonishment, for they were never informed their master would personally attend the event. Draco stared at the face of a man he took for a bodyguard, as it began slowly morphing into a completely different one. He couldn't see clearly behind the shadow of the hood, but the burning blood red eyes were evidence enough for him that this wizard was _indeed_ the Dark Lord. And he didn't look like a snake at all. His eyes widened dramatically at the sight of Harry's hand squeezing Voldemort's. Draco wasn't blind, nor was he stupid, he could easily put two and two together. Keeping his observations to himself, he turned around and followed his father, who confidently strode to the lifts, covering himself in fake bruises and scars on his way.

Walking side by side with Marvolo, holding his hand, sensing him so close in a moment of danger, was a new experience for Harry, he couldn't help but feel excited, aroused by the notion that they were escaping Aurors like criminals in a cheap muggle film, only this was for real, this wasn't a game, as Dumbledore had correctly noticed. Their quick steps echoed around the empty marble hallway, worsening the already gloomy atmospehere, brooding the apprehension that was thickening the air around them. Harry involuntarily squeezed the cold hand, seeking comfort and assurence. Marvolo squeezed back, rubbing with his thumb on Harry's knuckles soothingly, although he hasn't yet graced him with even a glance. How much has been said in such a simple gesture - Harry couldn't stop smiling idiotically to himself.

They turned left twice, three times to the right, all the time constantly moving though the endless corridors and Harry thought they would never stop, when the both turned harshly to the sound of a dozen feet behind them. "We will have to run, I have no wish to use both our powers to destroy the Ministry's wards - it would tell them too much about us," Voldemort muttered, dragging Harry along, as he hastened his pace. Silent, Harry obediently followed, for he knew that if he wished to get back home to Domhnall he had to do as Marvolo told him. He took out his wand, holding it tightly in his free hand, hoping against hope he wouldn't have to injure anybody. He might have agreed with Marvolo's ideas, but not his methods, certainly. _Violence_ was the last thing he wanted to have to resort to.

"They are moving towards the muggle Underground!" they heard behind them.

Harry didn't look back, he simply ran, thinking only of the hand he was holding and its cold fingers, that were caressing his. There was so much gentleness in Marvolo, hidden under the darkness of his burden, lost in the labyrinth of his fears and insecurities... Harry thought he was ready to resurrect every last person who had ever harmed the man he was holding now and kill them again, so much he hated them for maiming Marvolo's soul, for breaking him, twisting him and pushing him into the abyss. The small voice in his head asked him what if all this had never happened, would they have ended up together in the end? Of course not, the small voice mocked him, gripping his heart in a vice. How selfish it was of him to even dare have such atrocious thoughts!

Voldemort halted his run and pointed his wand at what seemed to be a cul-de-sac and hissed a strange spell in parseltongue, that Harry had never heard of before. The marble slates instantly dissipated into nothingness, leaving only dust behind. They jumped into the hole, simultaneously lighting up their wands. Straining his ears, Harry heard the the familiar sound of the London's underground. He could feel a weak blowing of the wind somewhere on his right. "Hurry up," the Dark Lord nudged him and they hastily ran down the slope, barely seeing where were they placing their feet. Panting, Harry could hear the trains closer and closer to where they were running at, but he could also hear Aurors behind, who were quickly catching up with them.

"Come here," Voldemort grabbed him and pulled him closer, circling his arm around the young man's waist, "We will have to jump before the train - we would be able to apparate there."

Horrified at the prospect of being hit by the muggle train, Harry only nodded in agreement and circled his arm around Marvolo's neck, holding onto him tightly. Seeing that his Prince was determined to go further despite his evident fear, Voldemort steered him to the closest technical gap in the wall and peeked out, waiting for a train to come. This was a very old layer of wards that was placed long before the metro system was created - it covered over a mile more of territory, including the whole station and the closest train tubes. When muggles had built the Underground, the Ministry decided not to destroy the ward, but simply adjust it to the electricity - every time a train passed the ward was being tuned off to not intervene with the machinery. This was the exact moment they needed to safely apparate into the street and calmly leave from there without any problems. The Aurors were already closing in on them, but Voldemort kept waiting.

Loud ringing sound warned them that the train was arriving to the station. Pulling Harry closer to his chest, the Dark Lord looked into the emerald eyes, that were trusting him completely, and nodded more to himself, than to his Prince. Just when one of the Aurors threw a '_Stupify_' spell at them, they jumped and Harry squeezed his eyes in terror at the blinding flash of the train's light, but the very next second his feet touched the ground and he swayed a little in Marvolo's arms, shaking his head, dazed by the whole experience. "Let's never use the Underground again," he muttered to the other wizard, who was brushing the stray raven locks out of his face.

"Would you prefer to fly?" Voldemort offered, smiling cunningly from underneath his hood.

"_Fly_?" Harry huffed incredulously and gave Marvolo a distrustful look. He jerked when he heard the voices somewhere behind them - they stood in a deserted alley not very far from the station. Aurors were still following them.

"Yes, we should fly," the Dark Lord drawled confidently and harshly pressed Harry against his frame, watching the young wizard mirthfully. "Hold on, Mr Prince," he laughed at the wizard's suddenly wide eyes, as he had realized that Voldemort wasn't joking.

"Marvolo!" Harry could only stare and frantically clutch on the dark wizard's clothes, when they started quickly ascending the air, as if it was but a staircase, an escalator muggles liked to use so much. Marvolo wasn't hiding his aura anymore, using his powers to their full extent, making Harry hold his breath in excitement and overwhelming sensation of being carefully hold by the darkest, most frightening and most magnificent magic he had ever seen.

"You may relax as well and simply enjoy the ride," he heard a whisper that was more like a summer breeze - it seemed that the Dark Lord became the wind itself, floating over London. Unbinding his magic, as he was told, Harry watched the city from the bird's-eye view, laughing at the unimaginable experience of truly flying, without any broom.

"Do they see us? The muggles?" He looked up at Marvolo, whose hood had been blown back, and smiled at the sight of a blissful expression on his pale face.

"They see a little black cloud and nothing more. If you wish, we could become a lightning or a storm, shower the city with a rain... Nothing is impossible for us," Voldemort looked into Harry's eyes only, caring very little for the city underneath them, for the muggles. Now he cared only for the man in his arms, whose light magic caressed him and held him tightly, lovingly, turning his flight into a pure physical pleasure. He had realized that he and Harry were indeed sharing everything, even their magics, and he couldn't for the life of him find it to be wrong or inappropriate. He wanted to give Harry as much as he could and take everything he was offered and more.

"I feel like I am Wendy and you are my Peter Pen!" Harry burst into a bright, ringing laughter and kissed Marvolo on the cheek. "This is amazing, thank you." He smiled at the ruby eyed wizard with one of those brilliant grins of his and spread his arms like wings, trusting Marvolo to never let him go.

"I never liked the book - Captain Hook was my favourite character, but nobody understood him," Voldemort smiled, enjoying the sight of the long raven hair being blown to the side and tremble in the wind like a black flag, the sight of Harry's suddenly very childish, amused face and emerald eyes shining in excitement and mischief. This was his Prince, _his_ and his alone and he was the one who could make him happy. The Dark Lord felt ecstatic.

"I knew it, wasn't hard to guess whom you fancied more," Harry turned to flash him a blinding smile and squeaked suddenly, when Voldemort hastened their speed and crossed the country in a flash of a lightning, slowly going down above the city of Dublin. "So fast!" Harry caught his breath when they finally landed in the backyard of the Red House.

"Right on time for lunch," the Dark Lord put his pocket watch away and smirked at the young wizard, who was shaking his head at his antics.

As soon as Harry crossed the threshold of the house he ran up the stairs and into the nursery to pick up whining Domhnall and cradle him in his arms. "Oh, my little one, I am so sorry I had to go. But I am back now." He showered his son's face with kisses and inhaled his sweet scent as deeply as he could. "I've missed you so much, my little prince, I would never ever let you go again."

"See, he is fine, you are back, nothing happened, just like I have promised you," Voldemort drawled from the hall, entering the room and watching the two smile at each other with adoration. Domhnall has instantly forgotten he was crying, laughing and bubbling with his father, jerking his small arms in excitement of being together again. Perhaps, he, just like Voldemort himself, was addicted to Harry's light and couldn't stay away from him for long?

"Little master cry because his teeth grows," Dobby piped in, hugging Harry's leg and looking at him with wide, adoring eyes. "Little master didn't sleeps today."

"Oh, I will make a potion for you, my darling," Harry embraced Domhnall even tighter and sighed pleasantly. He thought he preferred to be a mother hen rather than a deligate for the Dark.

Seeing that Harry was completely occupied with their son, Voldemort realized there was nothing for him to do anymore and turned to leave. "I have to go back and see what happened. I will come back late, I think."

"I will be waiting for you," he heard Harry say quietly when he was already in the hall. Apparating back to London, Voldemort thought that this was the most unusual change in his life that meant so much while, logically, being so insignificant - he had a home where he was wanted. Somebody was waiting for him to return. _Harry_. Harry was waiting for him every day, never went to bed without him, always made tea just for him..._This_ was something he used to crave so much in his youth, something he hated everybody else for, something he envied so much. He had it now, had it so easily. He used to think it was a treasure, a prize one had to give his life for... When all he had had to do was to open up to a raven haired boy with emerald eyes.

**xxx**

"This is a disaster! That wretched boy dared to join the Dark Lord! After everything we have done for him!" Alastor Moody roared, bringing his fist down on the table, making everybody jump in their seats. "How are you going to influence the masses now, Albus, without Potter on display?"

"Harry's words were not his own, I am certain Voldemort had influenced him. Perhaps, it was a potion that controlled his actions," Dumbledore stood up to silence everyone and steer their attention from Moody's dangerous glaring.

"But, Albus, he gave a true vow, even a potion can't work when your own magic affects your brain and soul!" Minerva McGonagall exclaimed, twisting her handkerchief in her trembling hands. "What did Harry mean when he said you were responsible for creating Voldemort? What did he mean?" she grabbed the headmaster's sleeve, tugging on it harshly.

"I said, Minerva, his words were not his own, I doubt he realized what he was talking about," Dumbledore sighed tiredly and sat down in his chair, rubbing on his blackened hand. Severus, who stood in the shadows of the Grimmauld's kitchen as he always did during the Order's meetings, could only shake his head at the man's stubbornness or, perhaps, sense of guilt. He didn't know what Harry meant either, but unlike everybody present he knew that his son's speech was his own, neither he, nor the Dark Lord had ever heard it before today. Having had watched it in a pensieve from Minerva's memories he couldn't help but feel _proud_ for Harry. Nobody dared to stand up to Dumbledore, definitely not to expose him in public.

"I studied with Riddle, Albus, I was a year older but I remember him very well," Minerva said firmly, resisting yet another sob that threatened to escape her lips. "He was nothing close to the monster he is now. I believe that Harry was speaking truthfully, from his own heart, and I want to know what did he mean by saying that it was your fault Tom Riddle became the Dark Lord!"

"And what was that about a planned murder?" Shacklebot added, watching the headmaster intently.

"Maybe Potter is actually insane like the newspapers painted him to be?" Moody grumbled, smiling crookedly.

"Harry is connected to Voldemort through his scar and I believe it is the key to his destruction," the old wizard said carefully, not meeting the eyes of the others.

"Are you suggesting the boy must die in order to vanquish the Dark Lord once and for all?" Shacklebot raised his eyebrows in disbelief.

"No," Dumbledore folded his hands and tried to explain, giving away as little information as he could, "When the time is right Harry must fight him and in the battle they must kill each other - this is the only way."

"This is insane!" Molly Weasley covered her mouth with her hands, staring at her companions in terror.

"Only Potter said he doesn't want to fight the ugly bastard, they are _friends_ now," Moody drawled snidely, stomping his wooden leg on the floor angrily.

"Voldemort is incapable of having friends, caring for another human being, Harry is being tricked. We must help him see the truth," the headmaster nodded sadly.

"Which truth, Albus? I don't understand," Minerva glared at him and stood up, straightening her shoulders. "I am not participating in this anymore. We have sacrificed enough people in vain, I see now. I can't take any more blood on my hands, James and Lily were the last drop for me."

"Minerva," Dumbledore called, frowning at her back, "You can't just leave the Order!"

"I will give you an Unbreakable Vow, should you wish so, but I am not going to sit here and discuss the ways of luring Harry back into Hogwarts and sacrificing him for the sake of _your_ greater good. He is right, you know, if it is not Voldemort than somebody else would take his place and continue the killing spree. What is the point of sending the innocent children to death? Harry? Of all people, _he_, who had suffered so much to gift us with ten years of peaceful life, must die only for all this to start over again?" She shook her head vehemently. "No, I do not wish to be a part of this. I have students to teach and to protect." With that she strode into the fireplace and disappeared in a whirl of green flames.

"See, he has already gotten himself a fan!" Moody barked, crossing his arms over his chest, while his magical eye kept boring holes in Severus' form.

"We must try and talk to Harry. He is our only way out of this," Dumbledore said thoughtfully, still looking at the fireplace, as if hoping against hope that Minerva would suddenly come back.

It was decided that Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger would spend their Easter holidays in Dublin, seeking out Harry's audience. Severus couldn't help but sneer at the plan, for he knew that Harry would never come out to talk to them, since he was actually caring for their well being. However, he didn't like Dumbledore's strange, blind faith in the boy's insincerity, his insanity during the conference - it promised nothing good. Moody's brooding and suspicions also worried the potions master and he decided to watch his back even more closely now. No visits to Harry unless he was certain he wasn't being followed.

**xxx**

Harry's speech created a chaos at the Ministry worse than any Death Eaters' attack. Reporters had brought down the door into the Minister's office and were torturing him with questions regarding his actions in the present situation, when the only hope of the wizarding world had joined the Dark Lord. The Aurors had finally let Malfoys go, having had interrogated them for almost an hour - the way Lucius decorated his and Draco's faces left no doubts for the thick wizards that they were assaulted and Harry Potter was once again kidnapped. Walking down the main hall, completely unnoticed by the crowd of raging and crying people, Voldemort searched for the Skeeter woman to make sure Harry's every word would be included in the evening issue of the Daily Prophet. He expected mass hysteria all over the country, which could have been held for a week at least, and then he would let Harry have another press conference, but without a warning, with a few reporters invited only and those who would accidentally turn up at the time and place they would choose. The more Harry talked to people, the more they would be questioning their government and blind trust in Dumbledore.

After a long day of reports and meetings with the Death Eaters at Malfoy Manor, the Dark Lord returned home, and this was how he called the Red House now, only after midnight, exhausted and drained, irritated. He was met with a steaming cup of his favourite tea, however, it wasn't Harry's doing, but Easy's. The little elf shook her large ears apologetically and whispered that the young master had to work on a pain lessening potion for the whole day, for nothing he had brewed helped Domhnall to bear the toothache. Voldemort could hear the boy's quiet whining upstairs and Harry's low, soothing murmurs. Perhaps, they could simply spell him to sleep despite the pain? Having finished his cup, the Dark Lord appeared at the nursery's treshold, hidden in the shadows, and watched Harry cradling heir son. The young wizard's long hair fell in a soft wave on one of his shoulders, as he tilted his head to kiss Domhnall's creased brow. Harry looked serene, unreal, like a magical vision - at least this was how Voldemort saw him.

"Sh-sh, this potion would help you, I worked hard on it, it is slow but efficient," Harry rubbed his nose against the boy's small one, kissing the trembling lips that let out short, soft sobs. "You haven't slept for the whole day, Domhnall, you must sleep this night or you will get sick." He rocked his son in his arms, caressing the plump cheeks with his fingers, willing his magic to wash over him and dull the pain. It was so strange that a magical child was suffering so much from a simple toothache and nothing was helping him.

Watching Harry take such a good care of their son made Voldemort experience these unpleasant pangs in his heart he thought he would never have to feel again. Harry's love towards the boy was overwhelming, it was just as powerful as his light magic. Absentmindedly the Dark Lord wondered if his mother would have loved him just as hard, just as much, if she lived? Many years ago he desired to be loved by the others, he craved such faithfulness, devotion, he searched for love like a madman, faced only with hypocrisy and sycophancy as a result. He wondered what was that Harry was giving him? Was the absolution he got a kind of love? Could he even be loved at all, a broken, twisted, ugly monster with a pretty face and blood red eyes? Was Harry capable of loving him, for what he was, despite all of his horrible deeds? How pathetic he was now, the greatest wizard of his generation, the most dangerous Dark Lord in history, practically begging to be loved by a young man, a true icon of light, the one he had hurt so much.

"Close your lovely eyes and I will sing you a lullaby," Harry smiled at Domhnall, and stroked his wavy chestnut hair, marveling its softness, his son's beauty. When the boy sighed in his arms and closed his sleepy eyes, he kissed him on the cheek and hummed a random melody that came to his mind, slowly walking around the room and rocking the child soothingly. "Why I should feel this way, why I should feel the same," he began singing softly, looking at the lovely face that was the copy of the one's he loved so much, "Something I cannot say, something I can't explain. I feel you outside, at the edge of my life, I see you walk by, at the edge of my sight..." He sighed longingly and pressed his son closer to his chest, closing his eyes in resentment. "Why I should follow my heart, why I should fall apart. Why I should follow my dreams, why I should feel at peace... I feel you walk by, at the edge of my life. I see you walk by, at the edge of my sight..."

"I had to let you go to the setting sun, I had to let you go and find my way back home." Voldemort listened to Harry's gentle singing and couldn't help but think that this was somehow related to whatever secret the young wizard has been keeping from him. How he wished he could know what was it that made Harry look at him so strangely at times, or sigh so longingly and heavily, desperately... "When I dream I see you, I've never seen the light that's so bright. Blinded by the light that's inside, blinded by the light that's inside you..." Harry smiled ruefully at the finally snoring boy and kissed him again and again, humming the melody and reveling in the warmth that spread around them. His magic worked, as did his potion. He carefully put Domhnall down into the crib and stood there for a long time, watching him, while Voldemort watched Harry's back and thought that he would get to the bottom of this, would help his Prince again with whatever it was that tormented him. For the fist time in his life he dearly wished to _help_, to _do good_ to simply see the smile that he liked so much.

"Do you also need a lullaby to finally go to bed?" Harry's suddenly loud question snapped him out of his reverie and he found the raven haired wizard standing right in front of him, watching him chidingly but warmly.

"I like your voice," Voldemort shrugged his shoulders and strode into the bedroom, taking off his clothes on his way and throwing them on the floor, too tired and confused by his emotions to care for the order.

"Thank you," Harry stopped him and reached out to unbutton his shirt and trousers. "Let me help." The Dark Lord let go of his clothes and let Harry slowly undress him, watching his every move, his calm, beautiful face, pale in the moonlight that filled the bedroom, _their_ bedroom. The warm hands caressed his shoulders, chest and sides, his hips, and then the thin but strong arms enveloped his naked body into a heated, passionate embrace and Harry murmured against his neck, "I missed you."

He could have said that it had only been a few hours, but he would have lied. He missed Harry too, _horribly_. Circling his arms around his thin form, Voldemort kissed him and pulled him into bed, coiling around him and cherishing the warmth that spread all over his body, as Harry's hands stroked him. "You did very well today, I have forgotten to praise you."

"I am not a dog, Marvolo, I do not need to be praised to know that you are grateful. You're here, with me, that is enough," Harry whispered, closing his eyes and thinking that he didn't need anything but to be able to touch and to hold, to kiss and be kissed and held back. What words could give him now, when he had everything? He feared words, for they could harm and take away what he had found in the arms of the Dark Lord. Love? He could love silently, _unrequitedly_. It was the lesser evil that he chose. He didn't want to think of what would happen in the future, what would happen if Marvolo grew tired of him or exhausted his potential as a wizard, as a deligate, as a lover... Here and now was what he wanted most.

"You are my Harry," Voldemort sighed and kissed the scarred forehead. He wished he knew what was he feeling and how to express it in at least a few simple lines like in that lullaby that Harry sang. But, ridiculously, there was still something that he couldn't control, couldn't understand, couldn't master. "My Harry."

* * *

_A/N: please note that the lyrics used for lullaby in this chapter are taken from the song "Untouchable, Pt.2" by Anathema_


	11. Chapter XI

_Disclaimer: nothing that is related to HP belongs to me._

_Warning: abuse, rape, underage sex, violence, everything is bad and don't read it_

_A/N: I am super slow and the story is super slow as well and I think two or three more chapters are left until the end. Yes, it is going to be finished soon and then I would continue writing my other stories. Thank you for reading. _

* * *

**Of Monsters and Men, Of Fathers and Sons.**

**Chapter XI**

The rain was pouring down so harshly, he was sure he was standing under a waterfall. Shivering and swaying slightly under the sharp blows of wind, he looked around, scowling, for it was too dark - he could barely make out the street he found himself on, squinting to see the faint glow of a street lamp that was rocking and groaning in the storm. Whatever this place was, and it felt surprisingly familiar, he didn't like it and wished he could leave. An invisible force compelled him to walk forward and turn to stop before the old green door he thought he had seen once, many years ago. _What is this place?_ An empty, gloomy hallway led to to the narrow staircase, which was covered in old, dried blood. Step by step he slowly reached the second floor and looked around in confusion. He had definitely been here before, but when? Where was this house, _whose_ was it? Voldemort jerked at the sudden sound of a baby crying. He sometimes thought it to be ridiculous that he had grown used to a child, to his needs and hysterics when Domhnall was displeased. If he was honest with himself, he felt disturbance, odd discomfort when his son cried, he had a most unusual desire to help him and make him... _happy_. The crying had only intensified and Voldemort thought he heard somebody croon and try to calm the child down. Was it Harry? Shivering and wrapping his thin cloak tighter around himself, he hastily followed the sounds and sharply opened the door into what seemed to be a nursery.

It was Potter's house in Godric's Hollow and he stood in Harry's nursery - he had recognized it now. The raven haired wizard turned to the sound of his entrance and froze, staring at him in horror. Voldemort tried to ask him what was going on, what were they doing _here_, but his tongue went numb and he stood there, gaping like a fish, looking between Harry and Domhnall, who was sitting in Harry's white crib and was crying. He had a lightning bolt scar all over his face and it was bleeding.

"Don't you dare get any closer!" Harry stepped between him and Domhnall, rising his holly wand and glaring at Voldemort with fierce hatred, so foreign in the brilliant emerald eyes.

He wanted to call the young man by his name, to try and understand what was happening, but suddenly his own hand shot up, on its own accord it seemed, and he pointed his wand at Harry's beautiful face and screamed, "_Avada Kedavra!_"

"No! No!" Harry sat up on the bed harshly, panting and wheezing, coughing at the sharp pain in his lungs. He was sweating and burning as if in fever, shaking madly. "No!"

"Harry! Harry it is just a dream!" Voldemort woke up to the awful screams and grabbed on the man's form, desperately trying to hold him down, while inwardly trembling himself in shock and terror, for this was the first time he had had a nightmare since he was 22 and what was worse, he shared it with Harry through their mysterious horcrux link. "Harry, it's alright, I am here, here, we're fine," he chanted, rocking his weeping lover in his arms and trying to understand why had this happened.

"W-why did you try to k-kill me?" Harry croaked through sobs, pressing closer to the broad chest and hating that he was so afraid of Marvolo and yet needed him so much at the same time.

"I didn't Harry, I didn't, it wasn't _me_, I couldn't control it!" Voldemort thought he had never sounded so pathetic in his life before, for he was practically whining. "Please, believe me, I would have never harmed you, _never_!"

Looking into the blood red eyes full of pain, confusion and fear, Harry let out one last weak sob and threw himself at Marvolo, circling his arms around the man's neck and clutching on him like a life line. "What was it then? Why did we see it?" he whispered, squeezing his eyes and wishing for the horrible images to leave his memory.

"No fucking idea," he breathed out, pressing Harry closer, harder to himself, staring unseeingly into the darkness of their bedroom. "Somehow, our dreams must have united and turned into a nightmare... I think I have lowered my Occlumency shields..." He frowned, for he never did that, never once could he feel so secure around another person to let his mind and consciousness rest completely, let go of it and of his magic. Was his trust into Harry so strong, so certain, _absolute_?

"Will this happen every night now?"

"I don't believe it will... Now that I think about it, I have been keeping my mind unprotected around you for quite some time already," Voldemort looked up at his Prince, searching his face carefully. "I suppose you were not and now that you suddenly did, your fears had found their way into my mind along with your magic." Was Harry still weary of him, hadn't he proved to the young wizard that he was no danger to him or to Domhnall, weren't his Unbreakable Vows enough? Suddenly angry, he averted his gaze, scowling to himself. Would Harry ever open up to him completely or were they going to have this unrequited kind of trust forever? Could this be called a _trust_ at all?

Sensing Marvolo's anger Harry couldn't help but try and make the wizard look at him, for there was nothing else he could do... How could he explain that his fears were born out of his own insecurities, how could he explain that he was absolutely terrified by the _love_ he felt towards the bloody Dark Lord, by this love's sheer _power_ that drove him insane? Every time he thought of his feelings towards Marvolo, he imagined that one day the power hungry wizard would loose his sanity and self-control again, and both Harry and Domhnall would become the victims of the havoc the man would no doubt wreck. How could he explain how frightened he was of _his love_?

"Forgive me, Marvolo. Please," he whispered pitifully, caressing the other's cheek, but the blood red eyes narrowed in that familiar, suspicious fashion he knew promised nothing good.

"I gave you a vow I would never hurt you!" Voldemort growled, pushing Harry gently away. "It means I would never be able to use any kind of harming spell on you, let alone the Killing Curse - I would die that very instant! The fuck is going in that head of yours? Why do you keep doubting me?" He sprang up on his feet and paced the room, seething and burning on the inside.

"The problem is in me, Marvolo, not in you," Harry sighed helplessly. "When I keep my mind shielded, I don't see the nightmares about you killing my mother, which I have been having ever since I remember myself. I'm sorry, Marvolo, but I will always see them, unfortunately... Unfortunately, I can't _cancel_ what you did. And this is the root of the problem." Harry frowned, hiding his face in his hands. The root of the problem was that he loved the man madly and his heart and soul couldn't find a compromise with his common sense.

"Well, do you want me gone then?" He couldn't find a better question to ask, for he suddenly realized that his anger subsided and was replaced with devastation and hurt. _Hurt_. It hurt him that Harry couldn't forgive him for an actually unforgivable crime. He got so used to the wizard's generosity, selflessness, compassion, that he forgot that he had ruined Harry's life, made him an orphan, condemned him to Hell and was now using his kindness and forgiveness so carelessly... But of course he couldn't admit all this to his Prince, could he?

"No," Harry shook his head vehemently and moved towards Marvolo, reaching out for him desperately. "No, please, don't leave. I am... I am sorry I hurt you so much, forgive me, Marvolo. I wish I could change this..." No, he couldn't let him go, couldn't part with him. His rationality was screaming at him, berating him for being the weak, dependent idiot that he was, but Harry couldn't for the life of him let it win over his emotions. His instincts, that had never wronged him, were telling him he could trust Marvolo, could find a way to love him despite everything that happened... Could find a way to justify his own selfishness and possessiveness, his own desire to have and to hold, his fear of loneliness.

"Harry... Why do make it all so difficult? I don't understand, I can't understand..." Voldemort stared at him, torn between standing his ground and making Harry suffer and finally give away whatever it was that was on his mind, or to take the man into his arms and let him do it again and again, but be with him, stay under the spell of Harry's affection and friendship. A _friend_, yes, Harry was his first and only friend he had ever had, a _real_ one. The word itself sounded so odd, felt so foreign on his tongue.

"I don't know." His hands dropped down on his knees and he hung his head, suddenly exhausted and broken. "I need you. I want you, I am yours and that is all I know." _I am such a coward._

And again he was experiencing this pity towards the raven haired wizard's misery, was unnerved and unarmed by the sight of his tears. How could Harry manipulate him so easily? Groaning in resentment, Voldemort sat down on the edge of the bed next to the man and gave him a long, considerate look. "Would you tell me what is it?"

"I... It's just that..." Harry mumbled, hating himself immensely for his cowardice and fear, but he simply couldn't overcome them. He thought if he told Marvolo how much he loved him, he would betray his mother and make her death completely pointless, as if Domhnall and this whole situation wasn't a mockery enough at her sacrifice anyway. "I don't know how to say this," he sighed, rubbing on his wet, tear-stained face, "How to explain."

"Well, let me find out for myself then," Voldemort leaned closer and looked into Harry's face, feeling his stomach churn in anticipation. His newly found sense of guilt came back in full force and he shivered at the notion he was going to watch his worst crime being committed again. Although he had no knowledge of love, of mother's care and adoration towards her child, he understood from his own experience that loosing a parent, a mother, was one of the worst woes that could happen to a man.

Staring at him in horror, Harry frantically shook his head, but he could feel his mind being already sucked inside the ominously bright ruby eyes, that mesmerized and froze him in his place, holding him hard, painfully still. Marvolo's intrusion was hurtful, it was nauseating and sickening, for his presence in Harry's mind felt as if something foul and oily was squeezing his breath out of him. Choking, Harry fought him with all his strength, but this was nothing in comparison to Severus - the Dark Lord was invincible. "Please, stop, it hurts!" he managed to cry and at the same moment he found himself in the other's arms, embraced with such protectiveness and care... He looked up and saw Marvolo's sad, pained eyes watching him ruefully.

"Forgive me, Harry. I am not as gentle as Severus in this... And I can't go further, I am afraid of damaging you," Voldemort buried his nose in the silky raven hair, inhaling the man's scent, holding him and trying in vain to calm down his own frantically beating heart. In truth, he couldn't bear to watch that scene from their past again, he couldn't stand the sight of himself laughing so coldly at the small green eyed boy and cursing him so mercilessly. He _wronged_ Harry so terribly. Was this even worth knowing his Prince's secret if he had already had a guess what exactly was he going to find there? Was he actually so thick and naive to think that one day Harry would forgive him for killing his mother? He didn't need to be human to understand that much: he could be _never_ forgiven for such atrocity. He himself murdered his own father for condemning his mother Merope to death in poverty and famine. Harry, the powerful wizard that he was, could have easily done the same, when instead he accepted Voldemort, changed him, tried to heal him and gave him absolution for everything else but this... "Oh, Harry, I wish I could have taken it back," he sighed almost inaudibly.

He heard him and circled his arms around Marvolo even tighter. Would the dark wizard learn to feel guilt and regret? Would he become truly human one day? "It is useless to wish now, after all this time..." Harry raised his head and looked into the other's eyes, "I have to let go of the past. Please, give me time, Marvolo. I need _time_."

"We have plenty of it." He thought Harry was the most courageous man he had ever met. And he felt blessed, honoured to be with him. He had never valued another being so highly as he did his Prince, and how could he really demand complete openness from Harry when he had everything else and even more? He could give him time, of course he could, time was what he had in abundance.

"Thank you," Harry whispered, kissing the rose lips tenderly, gratefully. He couldn't hate Marvolo, he couldn't fear him enough to keep away from him, no, he couldn't. He wished his mother could forgive him for his choice, for he knew deep inside of him that his life was one with Marvolo's, their destiny was to be together, they were meant for each other despite what had happened. "Thank you." _I love you._

Pushing Harry to lie on the bed and coiling around his warm body, Voldemort sighed, pressing their foreheads together. "I often forget how vulnerable you are sometimes, how gentle. You are such a strong man, Harry, but as any other human being you are also weak. And you make me vulnerable as well, for you are _my weakness_."

"Forgive me," he mumbled, stroking the other's shoulders, calming down at the sensation of soft, cool skin under his hot palms.

"You have nothing to be sorry for, Harry, I want you to be my weakness," the Dark Lord smiled ruefully and rubbed his nose against Harry's. "Keep your shields down, I will help you banish the nightmares away."

Harry nodded his head and closed his eyes, relaxing slowly, trusting Marvolo to help him despite the fear he had just experienced, despite the notion that he was letting the other into his mind. His emotions weren't kept there, his love burned inside his heart which had long been taken by the dark wizard - Voldemort simply hasn't realized it yet. Perhaps, he never would, perhaps, in time, Harry will show him.

**xxx**

"What am I doing wrong?" Harry whined, waving his arms around himself desperately as a shower of red sparkles erupted from the tip of his holly wand. Advanced transfiguration was still coming difficult to him, however, with Marvolo as his teacher he was progressing unimaginably fast.

"Gentler, dear," Voldemort embraced him from behind, slowly sliding his right hand down Harry's arm and towards his wand. "Magic doesn't stand neglect and irresponsibility. There is a price for everything," he whispered, reveling in the young wizard's scent and smiling at Harry's adorable ire.

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Harry rolled his eyes, involuntarily leaning back into the safety of the other's arms. He took a deep breath and concentrated on everything Marvolo had taught him. Standing in the dimly lit, narrow hall of the Red House, Harry had been restlessly trying to transfigure the space into something completely different. What exactly, though, he had no idea.

"You must have a clear image in your head of what you wish to turn it into," Voldemort sighed and squeezed the young man's hand slightly, correcting his posture. "And when you are certain, you must _gently_ draw the pattern of the spell, put all of your will and desire into it, make your magic obey you."

Nodding impatiently, Harry closed his eyes. He imagined a bamboo forest instead of the walls and, taking a long, deep breath, moved his hand, twisting it to the side and slashed it harshly down in a zig-zag. But there was no bamboo, when he looked up - only a deformed pile of wooden splinters. "Fuck it!" he stomped his foot on the floor angrily and dropped himself onto the steps of the staircase, annoyed and exhausted. Domhnall's ringing laughter had only worsened his displeasure and he stuck his tongue out at the boy, who was sitting next to him with the Slytherin locket in his small hands, watching his parents curiously.

"Harry, you give up so easily, it is rather pathetic," the Dark Lord drawled, looking at the ruined walls in wondrous amusement.

"Oh, shut up! It is easy for you to mock me, when you are such an experienced wizard yourself," Harry sneered, scowling at the man's back that was turned to him. "You are what... A _hundred_ years old? Of course transfiguration is a game to you!" he huffed, averting his eyes and shaking his head in exasperation.

"Experience comes with practice and diligence, stop behaving like a spoiled child!" Voldemort glared at his Prince, stepping closer and hovering over him, "And I will have you known that I am only 81."

"Already?" He was simply baiting Marvolo, he never thought the wizard was really that old... Staring into the blood red eyes in confusion, Harry couldn't help but mumble, "When is your birthday?"

Now it was his turn to roll his eyes and shake his head in exasperation. "On the 31st of December," the Dark Lord muttered and sat down next to Harry, pulling Domhnall to sit in his lap. He truly became addicted to touching and watching his little son, who had this strange magic that affected Voldemort's heart, made it beat in a particularly pleasant way.

"I missed it! I never... I haven't even given you anything..." Harry suddenly felt very upset. What kind of a man he was, if he had never even asked the other about such an important matter as his birthday, whilst he had accepted Marvolo's gift without a second thought? Living with Dursleys had taught Harry the importance of family's celebrations, the importance of paying attention to each other. And as he thought about it, with a heavy feeling in his chest he realized that he knew next to _nothing_ about Marvolo. He knew his worst secrets, his alter ego Voldemort, but he knew nothing of him as a real person, a human being he grew to respect and cherish, love...

"Actually you have," Voldemort chuckled quietly, smiling at his son, who was grinning happily back and squirming in his arms.

"What?" Harry stared at the two of them, not understanding.

"Harry, you gave me Domhnall, you idiot!" the Dark Lord burst into a booming laughter, looking at the raven haired wizard mirthfully. His Prince could be so ridiculous at times, never acknowledging his own achievements. "What is most impressive: we share a birthday as well," he kissed the boy's little head and nose, making Domhnall squeak in pleasure and tug him on his hair playfully.

"Damn," was all he could say, as the realization hit him. How horribly thick he was? How blind? Hiding his fierce blush of embarrassment behind his hands, he groaned pitifully and dropped his head on his knees. "I am such a moron!"

"It will pass," Voldemort drawled smugly, enjoying Harry's childish, naive remorse. He never cared for such rot as birthdays, Harry was the first person he had ever presented with anything and he never expected to receive anything in return - he had already had everything he wanted.

"Marvolo," Harry mumbled, not raising his head up, too self-conscious to even look at the man he had neglected so inexcusably, "I know nothing about you. I am such a jerk, I am so sorry..."

"Oh, please, spare me," he huffed, feigning disinterest and boredom, however, deep inside he couldn't help but feel elated, satisfied, that Harry was apologizing to him, was genuinely regretting his own ignorance. Nobody had ever been interested in him as a person, a man, nobody had ever wondered what was inside him, behind his dark, cruel persona. And Harry had simply accepted it, without a doubt. What a truly ridiculous, wonderful and magical young man he was!

Heaving a heavy sigh full of devastation, Harry put his head onto his arms, crossed over his knees, and stared into the darkness of the hall, already fixed and as ordinary as before. He dearly wished to get to know Marvolo better, for it felt as a little _betrayal_ to sleep with him, love him, and have no idea what was he truly like. There had to be many more sides to his already complex personality. "What is your real eye colour?" he suddenly asked, seemingly out of nowhere.

Raising his eyebrows in surprise, Voldemort smirked at his Prince, "Haven't you seen it when you met my younger self at Hogwarts?"

"No, it was too dark in the Chamber. Besides, I had more important matters at hand than giving you a look over," Harry chuckled, thinking that Marvolo used to be a very sweet boy in his youth, a true devil with a face of an angel.

"Look at me." He smiled, when the emerald eyes met his.

"Blue? Like the sea..." Harry stared in wonder into the teal eyes, that looked so foreign and yet so strangely familiar on Marvolo's face. Yes, it was his natural eye colour - the colour of Domhnall's magic. "Why don't you use it as a glamour?"

"It is easier to spell red to look brown, besides, this colour," Voldemort blinked, bringing back the usual blood red hue into his orbs, "Is a part of the _past me,_ who doesn't exist anymore. I am glad our little Slytherin Prince took after you, your colour suits him so much better." He caressed the boy's cheeks, involuntarily admiring his beauty with pride. Could his and Harry's child really be anything but perfect?

"Why have your eyes become red?" Harry turned a little, to face the dark wizard and gave him a curious glance, excited to find out more about him.

"It happened after I made my third horcrux, fractured my soul too much already. At first they simply darkened and became speckled with red spots... They turned red after the many experiments I performed in the field of dark magic, in the course of my traveling around the world." He never expected that telling such simple, mundane facts about himself would be such an... _enjoyable_ process.

"How long have you been traveling?"

"For fifteen years."

"Fifteen years..." Harry stared at Marvolo, whose gaze was as impassive and indecipherable as ever. "All alone?" he frowned, feeling the sadness eating him up. How lonely must he have been all this time? Was there really no one he could call a friend?

"I didn't need anybody to distract me with their petty beings," Voldemort shook his head, chuckling ruefully. "I was improving myself, developing myself, gaining powers nobody could even dream of." He watched Harry's sorrowful face and brightly shining eyes, thinking that if only he had met the young wizard then, all these years ago, everything would have surely turned out differently. Harry would have never let him create any more horcruxes and go insane. "Of course I had sexual partners, if this is what you are wondering about. But they never lasted longer then a week, solely indulging my physical needs, which had disappeared gradually along with my human appearance, my being." There was pain in the emerald eyes at the mentioning of others in his bed, he saw it. Pain and hurt, fear and doubt. "Harry," Voldemort shifted to sit closer to the man and looked at him intently, "I have never had anybody like _you_ in my life before, I have never experienced anything like what we have between us. I don't need anybody else, you are the only one who brings me the real pleasure." He didn't have to swear or try and reassure the other of his sincerity. His Prince knew very well he couldn't lie to him under a vow.

Harry reached out to stroke Domhnall's hair, scowling to himself. It was hard to acknowledge the fact that Marvolo had had somebody else, had fucked somebody else... How could Harry know if he was better than they were? What if Marvolo wanted him only because of his magic? "What, you have never enjoyed sex before? You seem to be so skillful..." Oh, how pathetic he must have sounded, but how could he fight his jealousy that was making his insides burn?

"_Never_. It has always been my body's, hormones' necessity. It has never been as special, intimate and magical, as it is with you," Voldemort leaned in closer to look into Harry's face. "I have never had to conquer anybody for so long, to seduce anybody so hard," he couldn't help but laugh, remembering Harry's stanch resistance. "And it was worth it all. Harry, you are the only person I have ever slept with in one bed, not just fucked. You are the only one I feel safe and warm, comfortable with. Your insecurity is ridiculous."

Hearing the other's soft, kind laughter, Harry couldn't stop himself from chuckling as well and ducked his head, blushing at such a high praise he never imagined he would crave from Marvolo so much. He smiled in relief and gratitude when the older wizard pressed their foreheads together and kissed him on the nose with an outmost tenderness. No, he knew deep inside of himself, that Marvolo could have never been as open and as affectionate towards others as he was towards him, it was something truly sacred that existed between the two of them... Or was it his wishful thinking? "You are so gentle, so generous," he whispered, rubbing his cheek against Marvolo's.

"You and Domhnall are the only ones who make me act so oddly, so humanly. Can't say I don't enjoy it," Voldemort murmured and caught Harry's lips in a long, pleasant kiss he wished could last forever. "And I definitely never kissed others," he added, when they parted.

"How did you... After it all happened to you... How did you heal?" Harry creased his brow, looking into the blood red eyes that held so much inside, burned with such strong, human _passion_. Was he truly the only one who had ever seen it, had had the taste of it?

"I am a dominating person, Harry, you know that better than anybody. Taking is different from giving. It was never hard to start having sex with others, given they wanted it too. It always happened only by a mutual consent," he offered the young wizard a small smile, thinking back on the days of his youth, when he had, just like Harry, felt sick at even a mere touch of a stranger's hand, or at the sly, lustful looks many wizards and witches used to grace him with. It took a lot of time and self-discipline to overcome his fears and disgust for sexual intercorse. But even then it had truly never been anything else but a physical need, a need of dominating and overpowering others, a game of giving pleasure and illusion of affection. He had never felt anything towards his sexual partners. Harry truly was the only one. He had to spend whole eighty years in solitude to find him - how ridiculous was _that_?

"Astonishing how actually noble you are," Harry said more to himself than to Marvolo, watching the dark wizard with a mixed feeling of admiration and sorrow. Hadn't Marvolo given his mother a chance to save herself? Even the insane snake like looking man that he was then he still was sensible enough to... Groaning inwardly, Harry sighed: why was he constantly searching for a reason to justify the other's actions?

"I am simply a man of my own principles, and I am also a man of my words," Voldemort shrugged his shoulders elegantly. "Anything else you wish to ask or is it enough for you to say you _know_ me well?" he smirked mockingly.

"Do you have friends?"

The question got him by surprise and the Dark Lord raised his eyebrows, perplexed, giving Harry a blank look. Why would he need any friends, when he had followers and faithful servants ready to die at his word? "I think the concept of friendship is overrated, _dramatically_." However, when he thought about it, Harry had, in fact, become his friend, a man he knew he could tell anything he held inside, a man who he knew would never reject him. He sincerely doubted he would ever be able to find somebody as great as Harry... And, honestly, did he even need anybody else? _No_.

"Am I your friend?" Harry asked in a small voice, suddenly apprehensive to hear he was not.

"Yes. My first and only friend. Funny, isn't it?" Voldemort smiled wistfully, "I have never had any use for friends before."

"What kind of a _use_ do you have for _me_?" He didn't want to ask that, he didn't, but it had simply slipped his tongue and he thought he felt so miserable - it was unbearable.

Voldemort wanted to get angry with Harry and scold him for being such a self-conscious idiot, but then he remembered just what kind of a family had his Prince been living in for his whole life and restrained himself from getting annoyed. Harry had just the same issues with trust that he himself had - if he was in the wizard's place, he would have been asking the very same questions. It was more than logical for Harry to be afraid of being used. "I don't use you. I dare to take you as my _family_, Harry, if you don't mind."

"You do?" Harry thought he was just as tiny and helpless as Domhnall under the heavy, intent gaze of the ruby eyes that looked sincerely, kindly. How could he ever hold a grudge against this man, when he said something as unbelievable as that? How could he reject the one who had become his family as well?

Instead of answering Voldemort kissed him gently. "Don't doubt me, Harry. One doesn't simply become a Dark Lord for nothing," he smiled at the young man, giving him a pointed, cunning look. "I know how hard it is to trust another after everything you have been through, I know how mundane it would be to say you can trust me, but believe me when I say I have a complete faith in you. Hope is a foreign word in my vocabularly, nevertheless, I _hope_ you would one day feel the same way about me."

You have no idea, Harry thought, listening to Marvolo's deep, comforting voice. _You have no idea how do I feel about you, don't you?_ He laughed involuntarily and leaned on the other's strong shoulder, watching Domhnall play in his father's lap. "A weird family we have, don't you think?" Was it happiness he was experiencing? Was this the bliss of being in love and not being alone anymore?

"Quite ordinary and nice, if you ask me," Voldemort chuckled, inwardly astonished by the warmth that was spreading through his body at that particular softness in Harry's voice. The young man's readiness to accept him, to accept them all as a family surprised him, he was so unused to being treated so kindly and affectionately. "Are you ready to try one more time?" At Harry's pleading gaze and pouting lips he shook his head, barely holding the quivering corners of his mouth in place, for the man's face was too funny and irresistible to be taken seriously, "No, dear, magic doesn't obey the lazy." Sighing theatrically, the raven haired wizard stood up and moved to stand in the middle of the hall, stretching his shoulders and changing his posture in the search of the right position to perform the spell. Watching him, the Dark Lord let a small smile onto his face, that was instantly mirrored by Domhnall. Weird or not, it was _his family,_ the family he was going to keep safe and happy - he knew how to learn on his own and others' mistakes.

**xxx**

Harry was certain he would never get used to standing in front of the crowd, let alone speak to it, make it listen to him. There weren't as many people as there had been at the Ministry the last time, but it was a poor consolation, for they were still agitated, excited and loud. Looking over their heads, Harry frantically searched for Marvolo, once again glamoured to look like a scarred bodyguard, but couldn't find him amidst the colourful mass. _Pull yourself together, you snot!_ Twisting his fingers in front of his chest nervously, Harry quietly cleared his throat and froze in surprise, when a sudden silence fell around him. Fifty pairs of eyes stared at him expectantly and he really could not protract this any longer.

"Greetings, ladies and gentlemen, I am Harry Potter, as you all can see, and I am here today to once again talk to you about the Dark Lord Voldemort's work and answer your questions." His voice trembled at times, but all in all he thought he could make it alright without the calming potion that Severus taught him to brew.

"Mr Potter, why haven't you changed your name, since we all know that you are not a Potter but a _Snape_?" Skeeter was fast enough to ask him first, while other reporters were quickly writing down something, Harry had no idea what, for he hasn't said anything yet. There were around ten of them this time, with only two cameras to Harry's great relief. However, the small space of the Daily Prophet headquarters made the few flashes just as blinding and annoying. It was rather ingenious to hold the conference right at the newspapers office.

"I see no point in changing my name while the situation is still dangerous and unstable. Once we reach peace, I would, of course, take my father's name." I will be Prince and Severus wouldn't have to hide behind his muggle name anymore, he will be wearing his family name with pride, Harry thought, involuntarily relaxing, as he remembered the snarky professor and his dark, calming aura. He wished Severus could be here with him, but it was impossible... Funny, he thought, how quickly he had gone from suspicion and contempt towards the man to understanding and admiration. He used to despise Severus for being a spy, a deceiving manipulator and a mercantile player for the two teams, but now he knew the reasons, more, he knew Severus, who turned out to be a noble, kind man, a father he always dreamed of. Of course they weren't as close as Harry wished, but he couldn't have everything at once, could he?

"You said the Dark Lord's reforms would make our lives better," one of the reporters, a small, moustached man shouted, snapping Harry out of his reverie, "How do you imagine they can be performed? By what means? All he has been doing before - killing and torturing, scaring us!"

Nodding in agreement, Harry let a small smile stretch his lips. "This is a matter of _cooperation_. The reason behind the attacks is that you do not accept him and his cause, because you were either misinformed or you do not wish to understand, while the Dark Lord himself is a rather impatient, impulsive leader, who simply chose the wrong means to help you. He has realized his mistakes and that is why _I_ am standing here tonight." A few nervous laughs echoed around the hall and Harry couldn't help but broaden his smile at the thought of Marvolo's complete intolerance towards people and his great dream of improving their lives and safety - what a truly contradictory, complex person he was. "The first thing you should do is to improve your government. Get rid of the useless, greedy politicians, who have no interest in your future, who use their power and influence to their own benefit and not yours. You should replace them with the better candidates, that the Dark Lord thinks are more suitable to fulfill the needs of our society."

"Hah! Put Death Eaters in Wizengamot? And let the Dark dictate us how to live?" a random witch cried, shaking her fist high up in the air. The crowd rumbled lowly in agreement.

"Did I or the documents you all have read in the newspapers say something about Death Eaters?" Harry raised one of his eyebrows, unimpressed. "The chosen candidates are respectful dark and _light_ wizards and witches of different origins. Many of them are half-bloods like me," he added, scowling at the audience and smirking at their surprised, thoughtful looks. Perhaps, Marvolo was right - they were sheep that followed, incapable of thinking for themselves.

"And how do you suggest we replace them?" another reporter in a tall hat asked him sarcastically, picking at his ear with the tip of his quill.

"You must know that you can vote not only for the minister of Magic, but for any of the members of Wizengamot as well. If you would write petitions, they would be considered and the work of those wizards and witches would be reevaluated. You will be able to vote against them after that and vote for the new candidates, that would be introduced to you by the Ministry itself."

"We can do that?!" a man in the back cried in astonishment.

"Yes." Harry couldn't believe how blind they all were. He thought Marvolo was joking when he said that only a few ministry employees and a few pureblooded families knew that a Code of Magical Britain actually existed and was still legitimate, consisting of thousands of different laws and amendments, remarks, regarding the rights of magical people and creatures in their country. It was available at every library and every bookshop - they simply didn't know what was it for and what had it to do with them. "It is written here, it is the _law_," Harry took his own copy of the Codex out of his pocket and tapped it with his holly wand to bring it back to its original size. He passed the thick, heavy tome on to the reporters through Avery, who was once again glamoured to look like a random person from the Ministry. Harry absentmindedly thought that he might never see his real face, which was disturbing, since he was supposed to trust the man with his life.

"And what then? What will happen after we replaced them?" somebody asked.

"Then they will work on the next steps: will introduce all the legislations to you and Wisengamot, will explain why each one of them is beneficial, is in your best interests. They will not accept bribes and they will not keep quiet about the injustice that is happening. You will always be able to ask for help and you won't be ignored." Of course, Harry had to give them something, an illusion of their independence and importance - he felt a little ashamed because of that, however, he understood very well that a little lie could help their cause, unlike the bigger truth. The new members of Wizengamot were supposed to simply make the others accept the bills and to monitor all the changes that were going to transpire afterwards - the common folk wasn't meant to make any decisions, since they were unreliable in it anyway.

Astonished, the wizards and witches began murmuring between themselves, heatedly discussing the advantages of the newly discovered Codex. When Harry asked Marvolo if it would be wise to let them learn about their actual rights, the dark wizard dismissed his worries with a simple wave of a hand. "Harry," he drawled, giving him one of his most arrogant, superior looks, "I have taken account of everything when I worked on the legislations and bills. Besides, giving them their freedom is like letting a home raised animal out into the wild - it will run back as soon as the dark falls. Do you really think they will even read it from cover to cover? _Please_." Harry could never understand the man's enormous confidence, however, Voldemort had always been right - there was no alternative but to believe him and share his certitude. Watching them all now, Harry wondered why hadn't Marvolo found himself a delegate before, before the first war? Had there been no suitable candidates at all? This was something else he had to ask his lover about and Severus as well.

A sudden panicked scream caught his attention. The closed doors fell under a strong blow of the spell and a group of Aurors burst inside the hall, firing freezing and petrifying spells, aiming at Harry and his guards. After a mere second of stupor, during which Harry thought he would go deaf at the pounding of his heart in his ears, tearing his head apart, he jumped down into the crowd and moved towards the windows. There was no time to look for Marvolo and it was his only chance to escape, while the Death Eaters were distracting the law officers. The building could be surrounded, the small voice offered in his mind, while he frantically elbowed his way through the mass of bodies. It very well could, he agreed, however, they were expecting him to apparate, since they have put up an anti apparition ward, so there was a small chance they weren't thoroughly prepared and haven't considered all the means of escape he could use. Harry hissed when the sharp shards of glass cut on his face and hands, as he landed onto a flowerbed on the other side of the window, that was now broken - he never thought he would one day feel himself a hero of a muggle action film. He was a real _criminal_ now, cowardly running away from police. The thought made him laugh.

Voldemort knew that someone would certainly warn Auror Division of their secret conference, so when he felt the anti apparition ward being put up around them he knew it was time to go. Calmly he hit the closest witch with a mild stinging hex - her scream was a signal to the Death Eaters, hidden amongst the crowd, to prepare for a fight. There was no rush now, since it wasn't the Ministry, overprotected with layers of ancient wards, but a simple building not far from the Diagon Alley - it would be easy to walk away without any trouble. However, he never expected that Aurors would try and attack Harry so openly, so harshly. _Damn it!_ Pushing the hysterical wizards away and staring around helplessly, he couldn't believe he had lost Harry in such a small space. Turning his head sharply at the sound of a window being broken, he ran in that direction, hoping that Harry was right and there was no trap outside. Because of all these human emotions, he fumed inwardly, he had lost his focus - he should have been practicing dueling with Harry, not some bloody charms and transfiguration from the textbook. Severus had told him that Defense was one of the boy's strongest subjects, but the young Prince hadn't had any practice for almost a year already and it was critical in a situation like this one.

His hopes proved to be for nought, for there were at least twelve officers standing in front of him. Harry managed to put up a shield, hiding behind the closest bushes. He thought he saw Moody limping from behind to join the Aurors. _Wonderful_. How long hasn't he been practicing defense? Too long to remember, but at least he hasn't forgotten the spells he could use without causing any serious harm. Criminal or not, he wasn't going to become one of Marvolo's murderers. He suddenly remembered the injury Severus had gotten the previous year - was it Auror's work or the Order's? Were these light wizards capable of maiming another so horribly? What _difference_ was there then between them and the Dark?

"Potter! Stop shielding yourself like a coward that you are! Come out and fight!" Voldemort heard Moody's growl. He dissipated into the shadows and glided out of the window, unnoticed. Hiding behind the bushes, he saw Harry about twenty feet away from him, stubbornly holding a shield up. His pale face looked stern, a deep crease marred his forehead - the Dark Lord knew this expression very well, it meant that Harry was concentrated on plotting something. He hoped that Prince wouldn't go too far and wouldn't give away just how powerful he was - if he wanted, he could have killed them all in one swish of a wand.

As soon as the last curse hit his shield Harry sprang on his feet and threw a curse of his own at all the officers at once. "_Silencio!_" This could give him enough time to reach the edge of the ward and apparate away, however, Moody wasn't as helpless as other Aurors. Even silnced, he was able to cast and Harry once again covered himself with the strongest shield he knew, moving slowly towards the wizards. Useless in spelling, the officers were still able to catch him and use their physical force against him. If it wasn't for Moody, he would have long petrified them all and escaped.

"Harry, Harry, never underestimate your opponents," Voldemort shook his head, sighing, and left his shelter, confidently striding towards Moody's back. The old wizard turned just in time to get stupified. Having had met the surprised gaze of the emerald eyes, the Dark Lord smiled wryly and began petrifying the others, one by one, along with Harry, who was finally able to put his shield down.

"I thought you wouldn't come," Harry smiled, unexpectedly embarrassed, as they crossed the ward and Marvolo took him by his arm. His smile looked ugly on the rough, scarred face he was hiding behind, but the eyes were much more expressive than anything else - there was worry in their blood red depths, that showed through the plain brown hue.

"Your plan was good, however, you underestimated Moody and could have been easily caught or even injured," Voldemort muttered, as they found themselves in the living room of the Red House. Heaving a sigh, he rubbed on his face and it morphed into his own, pale, tired, but beautiful nevertheless.

"I never saw him in action, but I should have guessed that he wasn't an ordinary wizard, since he is in the Order, you're right," Harry mumbled, lowering his eyes in shame, but the touch of the cold fingers, pushing his chin up, made him look up at the wizard before him.

"It is my mistake as well, I should have made you practice dueling instead of everything else. Next time you will be prepared." He stroked the young man's cheek, looking into his eyes and reveling in the affection and faith he saw in them. "You did well today. We had little time, unfortunately, it will always be like that from now on, but you will, no doubt, manage just fine," he drawled smugly, smiling at the lovely blush, that covered Harry's cheeks.

"You are such an amiable misanthrope, Marvolo," Harry laughed, shaking his head and snaking his arms around the other's waist.

"Am I?" Voldemort raised his eyebrows, grinning and finally relaxing, as he embraced the young man.

"You despise them all so much and yet you do everything in your power to help them..." giving the older wizard a mischievous look, Harry pecked him on the cheek in gratitude. "You are truly marvellous, Marvolo," he laughed again and nuzzled into the crook of the man's neck, pressing as hard as he could into the tall, thin frame.

"You find it _amiable_? And they say _I_ am insane," Voldemort chuckled, staring at the top of the raven haired head. Why on Earth were Harry's silly words making him so pleased? Hundreds of people had given him much more eloquent, rich compliments and yet they had never touched him, had never even once made him proud or smug, nothing... And yet Harry could say something so stupid, so childish and his heart would sing and he would feel elated and happy. _Ridiculous_, absolutely ridiculous.

"Almost everything about you is amiable," Harry shrugged, smiling.

"_Almost?_" the Dark Lord smirked, pushing his hand under the layers of clothes and feeling for the wizard's hot body. He smiled evilly when the other shivered under his cold touch and the goosebumps covered his skin, tickling on his fingers.

"Yeah," Harry breathed out, feeling his head spinning from adrenaline, that had finally left his blood, and desire, that made his body burn. "Nobody is perfect, you know."

"I could argue with that," he purred, bringing Harry's face close to his, "But after all these exhausting events there is a tension in my body that needs to be lessened and I am incapable of dealing with it on my own."

Feeling his knees giving away under the intent gaze of the blood red eyes that were practically fucking him, Harry managed to moan, "Let me help you with that," and attacked the rose lips, that answered just as vigorously. The apprehension and anxiety, that had been building up in his body during the conference and the fight, turned into lust and incontrollable desire, driving him mad, making him ravenous for the other's body and touch. At some point, when he was already undressed and on the bed, Harry wondered if practicing dueling with Marvolo would be just as exciting, if they would fight and fuck just as passionately, wildly? The thought alone made him come undone and he readily lost himself in a voluptuous haze, barely breathing, chanting the other's name like a prayer. _Marvolo_.

**xxx**

"Severus, I need you to find out the date and location of Harry's next conference," was Dumbledore's greeting, when the potions master stepped out of the fireplace into the circular office.

"_Impossible_. They are spontaneous, even the Inner Circle doesn't know when to expect them," he drawled, moving to stand at the window, pointedly ignoring the chair and the cup of tea waiting for him - he had mountains of papers to grade and a few potions to brew, he had no time for a nice chat with the old hag.

"Does Harry know?" the headmaster asked, frowning at the other's answer.

"I doubt he knows," Severus shrugged his shoulders, sighing. "I believe the Dark Lord doesn't tell anybody of his plans, preparing everything all by himself. He doesn't trust any of us these days, he is very careful." And it wasn't a lie. Severus knew more than others simply because of his intricate position of a spy between the Light and the Dark, and because he was Harry's father, however ridiculous it may have sounded. Voldemort had enough decency and, oddly, humanity to inform Severus of any plans he had for his son and grandson.

"This can't go on," Dumbledore said thoughtfully, quietly. "Tom is playing a very dangerous _game_ and he is putting Harry right into the middle of it, as if he doesn't care for the safety of his own horcrux. I can't understand why is he so careless and careful at the same time? Something is not right here but I have no idea where to look for any kind of a sign or a hint..." he trailed off, immersed in his own musings. Severus kept silent and simply watched him expectantly and a little impatiently. Time was money after all. "Harry brought down twelve Aurors and Moody yesterday. He had help from a supposedly Death Eater, but nevertheless the fact remains. Have you noticed anything about his magic? Maybe he is having some kind of dueling practice? Could Voldemort teach him personally? How often do they interract?" With every question Dumbledore's face took on a graver, darker expression, however his eyes gave away how actually _helpless_ he felt.

_Little truth wouldn't hurt_. "He constantly practices on his own, since he is studying by the textbooks for sixth and seventh years, of course his practices include Defense, it had always been his strongest subject." Severus examined his fingernails, that were stained with dry dragon blood. "The Dark Lord is busy enough to waste time on teaching Potter, of all people." Busy fucking him, Severus thought with some strange bitterness. It was Harry's business with whom to sleep, of course, but he couldn't help but feel that the boy was missing out on an important part of his youth, devoting himself completely to a man who had never been devoted to anybody but his own person. Severus pitied his son, though realized very well that it was their idiotic family trait: to love blindly and give themselves away absolutely and suffer because of it. Oh he was certain that Harry loved the Dark Lord, _truly loved_ him - and it scared Severus, made his heart sink. "I can't see why are you so nervous about this whole affair, Albus. Who would believe a word of Harry Potter, a son of a Death Eater and a new Dark Lord in making?"

"You might not believe it, Severus, but people do listen to him. After the conference at the Ministry they were terribly scared, agitated, confused... Tom knows what is he doing, he is wrecking havoc and Harry is the _ace_ in his sleeve, for in dark times people turn to heroes, to warriors, to those who have once showed courage in the face of a threat... I hate that Harry let himself to be persuaded, fooled so easily," Dumbledore furrowed his brow, giving one of the many trinkets on his table a stern look. "There are those who, like Minerva, have complete faith in Harry's sincerity and soberness, they start questioning the government, our work..."

"And you don't believe him?" Severus wanted to laugh triumphantly, but thought better of it. Harry's transition from a Golden Boy to a wanted criminal wasn't a reason for joy, not at all, if anything, it was a reason for _grief_. Harry was repeating all of his own mistakes. Well, at least he hasn't lost his child for sixteen years, a high, despicable voice in his head reminded him.

"Harry is another victim of Tom's charm and deceitfulness," the headmaster sighed ruefully. "The longer he stays in his claws, the less is the chance we will be able to help him, to show him the light. He is in complete _darkness_ now. I am terrified of what Voldemort might be doing to him."

Just when Severus wanted to make an acid remark a sudden pain pierced his left arm and he grabbed on it, hissing slightly. He knew he would never get used to this, nobody could. "He is calling me, Albus."

"Report immediately when you return!" Dumbledore's eye twinkled in anticipation and Severus wished he could strangle him with his bare hands. It was his luck he was in his lord's good graces, otherwise the old coot would have been sending him to his death with that awful, sickeningly sweet smile of his.

**xxx**

Of course he was followed. He didn't need to be a spy to say that much, for the officer, who was almost breathing into his neck, was rather inexperienced. Severus entered the gates of Malfoy Manor and confidently strode towards the grand mansion. He rang a bell and an elf invited him inside. However, as soon as the heavy door closed behind him, he apparated straight into the living room of the Red House. It was a personal call, he knew, there was no reason to stay at Lucius' place and wait for further directions.

"Severus," Voldemort's voice drawled from behind and the potions master turned, to find his lord in his favourite position - sprawled over the sofa, with his long legs placed high on the top of its back. The Dark Lord looked cosy and... _homely_, there was no other word Severus could find to describe him. His hair was tangled and spread carelessly around his head, his shirt was unbuttoned and wrinkled, as were his trousers. He wore no shoes, no usual vest, he looked like he had just woken up, although it was only six o'clock in the evening.

"_My lord?_" he couldn't help but include a silent question in his greeting. It wasn't every day the greatest dark wizard of their time looked so unfitting and ravished.

"Domhnall has been having this toothache again, Harry and I spent the whole night brewing the potion," Voldemort sighed, seeing the slight confusion in the wizard's black eyes. "Yes, I have been sleeping the whole day. Take a seat, Severus," he sneered and added sarcastically, "Don't stare at me as if I am some kind of a new specimen to you. I am a man after all, I tend to have human needs as well."

"Oh, you're already here, Severus!" Harry appeared in the doorway, smiling, with a happily laughing child in his arms, who didn't look like he was the cause of the dark circles under his father's eyes. "Dobby will bring tea in a minute. Have you eaten? Would you like something?" he blurted out, sitting down next to the potions master with that contagious grin of his plastered on his tired face. It seemed Harry could enjoy even the worst aspects of parenthood.

"As a matter of fact I haven't, so I would love to have a bite of something," Severus said nonchalantly and relaxed in the armchair he occupied, feeling much more comfortable here, freer and less oppressed by the Dark Lord's presence. Perhaps, it was the notion that it was Harry's house, the _neutral_ territory for all of them, that made him feel more content? Or, perhaps, it was Harry's heartfelt smile and Voldemort's solemn acceptance of their... _equality_ here? Severus didn't know and didn't really care. At his words a big plate filled with meat and vegetables appeared on the coffee table before him and Dobby popped into the room with a tray in his hands, carrying tea and Domhnall's milk.

The Dark Lord lazily stretched out his hand and one of the cups floated straight into his palm, and he drank from it not even changing his position. Severus had never seen him so at ease, so comfortable. No wonder he had practically moved here, having had left Prince Manor at last - it seemed he had found his home with Harry. "Enjoy your meal, Severus, and then we will talk, there is a matter I wish to discuss with you regarding Harry."

"Of course," he left out the title but even if Voldemort had noticed he didn't show it - the dark wizard dozed off again, lulled by the warmth of tea and the child's soft bubbling. How weak and vulnerable the Dark Lord seemed to be next to his son... Where had all his darkness and viciousness, age and magnificence gone?

"I haven't seen you for ages it seems," Harry said in a low, quiet voice, barely comprehensible over the sound of wood cracking in the hearth, "How are you, _dad_?" he smiled brilliantly, emphasizing the last word, as if saying it gave him some particular pleasure.

"Fine, as always," Severus bit out, for his mouth was occupied with food. However, he couldn't help but feel warmed up by that short, wretched word, that made his heart flatter as if he was a young boy again. This mysterious magic of words... "I can't visit you often, the Order had me shadowed and I can't risk giving away our union by coming here. Only when the Dark Lord calls for me," he said after he had finally swallowed the last piece of meat, leaving the plate completely clean.

"They just can't leave us alone," Harry sighed, pressing Domhnall closer to his chest.

"You know very well that they would not leave you alone until it is all over," the potions master noted, sipping on his tea and barely restraining himself from sighing contentedly. Having his dinner every day in a company of a hundred loud, imbicilic students had long ago turned Severus' meals into a torture, it was a true rarity Dumbledore let him stay in his quarters in so much desired loneliness. Dinning here, in the small but all in all pleasant company, with his family, in the quiet and welcoming atmosphere made him remember the long forgotten days of his childhood, when Eileen and he had saved some money to buy the best meat and fruits from a wizarding market and had enjoyed themselves, cooking and eating it all together, since Tobias had been working through the night. "Why aren't you eating?" he raised his eyebrow, looking at Harry inquaringly.

"Thanks, I've already eaten," Harry smiled slowly, shaking his head, but his eyes were still sad, they looked unfocused - he was pondering over something else.

"Harry, believe me it is quite pointless to wish everybody left you alone. You are an extraordinary wizard, extraordinary human being, people like _you_ are never alone, they are never at peace," Severus sighed. It wasn't the best consolation, but he had always preferred to be honest rather than compassionate.

"I can't decide if I should take it as a compliment or as a warning," the young wizard laughed and his emerald eyes took on the familiar mischievous gleam that Severus found he liked so much. Though, when he thought about it, this gleam reminded him of Voldemort, not of Lily or Eileen. Harry's and his lord's similarities were still creeping him out, but he knew it was all horcrux's fault - what else could it be? At least Harry turned out to be a good person.

"It is indeed hard to decipher when Severus is mocking and when he is praising you," Voldemort drawled from his place, not opening his eyes. "I always liked this particular trait of his. He has always lived at the tip of my wand," he barked out a laugh, smiling somewhat melancholically, which made Severus raise his eyebrows in a mild astonishment. "Now that you have sated your hunger, let me tell you why I have summoned you, Severus," the Dark Lord turned his head and looked up at his faithful follower. "We must help Harry practice dueling. Not just Defense and definitely not the school course, you understand. Since it is impossible for me to spend that much time here to train Harry, I would need you to come here at least twice a week to teach him. You should also tell him about the Order's members and their strengths and weaknesses - he should not underestimate his opponents in the fights, which would no doubt transpire in the future."

"Do you wish to teach Harry dark curses, my lord?" Severus sounded just as uncertain as he felt. Darkness had always been a great temptation for powerful wizards, it could easily destroy them and that wasn't the future he thought Harry was destined for. He didn't deserve such a horrible fate.

"No Unforgivables, of course, no torturing spells, no blood magic... Simple offensive ones," Voldemort drawled thoughtfully. "Harry is very powerful, he doesn't need any complex ones to easily get rid of the Aurors, however, he must know the basics, since they often use dark curses against us."

"I understand, my lord," Severus bowed his head, relieved that his master was sensible enough to not let Harry taste the actual allure of the dark power.

Harry was listening to their conversation with a slight resentment. He and Marvolo had had a fight about this earlier, for Harry didn't want to learn any kind of dark magic, he was afraid of using it, was afraid of the effect it could have on him. But Marvolo was adamant in his decision and they have barely exchanged a word for almost the whole day, being sulky with each other. "Do you always have to call him _my lord_?" he huffed at his father, rolling his eyes in exasperation. "This is so pathetic. Marvolo, doesn't it make you feel _miserable_ that you have to turn people into your slaves to make them follow you?!" he turned to the other sharply, scowling at him, too stubborn to let go of the previous grudge, annoyed that Marvolo couldn't indulge Severus in being a free man at least here, at home, with his own son.

Staring at Harry in wondrous amusement, Voldemort burst into a booming laughter, rolling onto his side and holding onto the other. "_Miserable?!_" He chuckled lowly and shook his head, "Harry, Harry... Me miserable! Which way shall I fly infinite wrath and infinite despair? Which way I fly is hell; myself am hell; and in the lowest deep a lower deep, still threatening to devour me, opens wide, to which the hell I suffer seems a heaven..." Voldemort sighed and smiled at the young wizard who was watching him with wide eyes, befuddled.

Sensing Harry's confusion, Severus helpfully added, "It is from a poem "Paradise Lost" by John Milton."

"Pff, now he's mocking me!" Harry threw his arms in the air in irritation. "Of course it is easy for you to laugh at me with all your vast knowledge and the Slytherin Prince attitude. I have neither read this, nor heard of it and I don't understand the _fuck_ should it mean. Couldn't you just answer the bloody question?" Fuming, he ducked his head, for he had no wish to look at Marvolo and see his stupid condescending smile.

"It shouldn't mean anything, I simply remembered it suddenly," Voldemort frowned and there was no trace of any kind of smugness or haughtiness in his expression. "Harry, all I am trying to say is that _this_ doesn't make me miserable. There are many other much more significant, terrible reasons that do, and _you_, of all people, should understand that," his voice had trembled traitorously and he closed his eyes in resentment, sitting up on the sofa and squeezing the empty cup in his once again cold hands.

Hearing the upset tones in the other's voice, which were so rare, Harry involuntarily looked up and met the intent gaze of the blood red eyes, that held so much pain inside. He felt like an idiot and the hot tears welled up in his eyes at the harsh words that were thrown at him. Of course, how could he be so stupid? Of course he knew how much had Marvolo suffered, how much had he gone through... Did Harry really care for the caprice of being called a lord, a master? Of course he didn't, he said it purely out of spite and didn't think of the consequences. "Marvolo..." he was instantly by the dark wizard's side, stroking his hair and face, silently asking him to open his eyes and look at him, forgive him for his childishness.

_Marvolo - so this is the real name of the Dark Lord_. Severus watched Harry caressing the other, crying and all but pleading to be forgiven for only Merlin knew what. It seemed his son knew much more about Voldemort than any other living soul on the face of the Earth, except for Dumbledore, perhaps. The old coot had told him that his lord's name was Tom Riddle, that he had lost his mother at birth, that he had grown up at the orphanage, which he had burned down to the ground years later, and that he had always hated his given name because of its connection to his father. However, this wasn't enough to draw any kind of conclusions and his intuition told him there was much, much more to the Dark Lord's past that held all the answers. Especially the answers to Harry's suddenly changed attitude - it was clear that the two had had a fight, but now it was forgotten and the young wizard was holding Voldemort's face in his hands, looking him straight in the ruby eyes and mumbling some pitiful nonsense.

"I didn't mean to hurt you, Marvolo, I was just angry with you. Please, forgive me," Harry whined, as his hot, trembling palms radiated warmth onto the cold, pale skin of the other's face.

"I know, Harry," Voldemort sighed, "You didn't hurt me." He covered the wizard's hands with his own and pushed them down to lie in his lap, intertwining their fingers together and looking into the shining emerald eyes with a strange lightness in his heart. Harry was incapable of hurting another being, him in particular - he saw it in the depths of the man's soul that was like an open book to him. "As for the poem... I _never_ mock you, Harry. I know very well what is it like to be ignorant, uneducated, and laughed at and shunned because of that. This is why I have gifted you with my personal library - for you to learn. It all will come to you in time." He stroked the thin, narrow palms and wrists, laughing inwardly at the extent of their similarity.

"You know? Are you saying people have been mocking you for... Ignorance?" Harry stared at the older wizard in disbelief and shock, while Severus examined the titles of the old, but vast and impressive collection of muggle literature he was sure Harry had inherited along with the house when he bought it. It was hard to believe that all _these_ had once belonged to Voldemort - the Dark Lord was particularly famous for his greed and covetousness, he had never given anything to anyone of them.

"Harry, I am an orphaned half-blood, just like you, I have grown up at the orphanage in the '30s, do you really think I have been reciting Milton and Byron right since my birth?" Voldemort chuckled, feeling the corners of his mouth stretch into a wide grin, that he couldn't fight. He didn't really want to - he enjoyed smiling at his Prince, for him.

"A _half-blood_?" Severus stared at the Dark Lord, as if he was seeing him for the first time in his life. Was this a joke? Were all the pureblooded Death Eaters truly following a half-muggle? A sudden shiver ran down his spine as the realization hit him - there was a reason why nobody knew about this, for those who did were already _dead_.

"Don't be scared, Severus, I know you will keep it a secret, besides, Dumbledore knows... To be honest I thought he would have told you to try and sway you to his side," Voldemort smiled amusedly, watching the potions master turning paler and paler in the face.

"He had never... But how is that possible that nobody has found out? Yet?" Severus asked quietly, not trusting his voice. Harry didn't look at all surprised, which meant he knew all along.

"Nobody lived to tell the tale... Severus, why do you think I took you in, when you came crawling at my feet, _begging_ to be made a Death Eater?" the Dark Lord asked, rising up and moving to stand at the hearth, stretching his shoulders and arms slowly. Harry perked up at these words and stared at both men, who watched each other intently, one relaxed and tired, suddenly old, the other - tensed, perplexed, surprisingly young. "I took you not because of the exceptional talent for potions brewing, for you know very well that I surpass you in this field as in any other. I accepted you because you reminded me of my own self. A young, highly talented dark wizard, half muggle, half purest of magical blood, an heir of an ancient family living in poverty and abuse, suffering amongst those who must be kissing the soil he walks..." he smirked humorlessly, and stepped closer to the raven haired wizard who looked just as scared and helpless as he had all these twenty years ago. "I killed my father _too_, Severus. And I saw it in you, I saw the _pain_ that could be molded into a weapon and a shield, I saw a boy, who could grow up into a real _man_. Do you remember the first task you recieved?"

Staring into the blood red eyes, frozen or mesmerized by their light, Severus couldn't decipher, he swallowed hard and whispered, "I had to kill my father. You said you were giving me _freedom_ in exchange for his death, freedom to live and be a man." His voice trembled, he didn't dare to breathe, as the memories of his past fell onto him as an unbearable weight.

"You _killed_ your father?" Harry's loud question made both dark wizards jerk in surprise and they turned their heads to look at the young Prince, who stood up and was looking at Voldemort with confusion and grief burning in his bright eyes.

"I forgot I haven't told you about this," the Dark Lord offered him a small apologetic smile. "It has escaped my mind that you met my younger self, created before it happened. I killed him in my last year at Hogwarts."

"But... Why?" Harry could only drop his hands helplessly at his sides and try and will his tears away. How could Marvolo forget about something so important as a murder of his own father?

"Because he left my pregnant mother to die in poverty, famine and cold," Voldemort elaborated, speaking nonchalantly, in a didactic tone, as if he was explaining a theory behind a complex transfigurational spell. "He didn't even know she died in labour, he didn't care. When I came to him, do you know what was the first thing he told me?" He moved to stand before Harry, mere inches away from him, looking at him calmly.

"What?" Harry breathed out, feeling his stomach churn in fear and anticipation.

"He said that he wasn't going to give me any money," he laughed bitterly, shaking his head in a sad amusement. "I didn't say a word about money, I didn't need them, all I wanted was to look him in the eye and ask him how could he sleep at nights after what he had done." Voldemort brushed past the young wizard and bent down to pick up Domhnall, who was playing on the floor. Embracing the tiny boy and stroking his soft chestnut hair, he sighed longingly, "What kind of a father dares to behave so cruelly towards his child?" He kissed his son on the temple, smiling at his happy squeaks, and stole a quick glance at Harry, whose sorrowful face looked particularly miserable and hurt. "What kind of a man he was? He got what he _deserved_. I might not have had a family, might not have known a parents' love, but I was intelligent enough to realize just what kind of a heartless bastard he was, a true criminal. A _monster_," he chuckled, kissing Domhnall again. "I would have never allowed myself to treat my son like that."

Severus watched Harry close his eyes in exhaustion and resignation. "You killed him in that manor, didn't you? Did you kill your whole family there?" the young wizard asked weakly, knowing the answer in advance.

"Yes. I will _never_ _regret_ this decision, Harry. They were the worst kind of people, let alone muggles. I am glad I didn't grow up there, otherwise I would have become his copy," Voldemort growled, frowning. "He wasn't a man, he was a bloody coward. He offered me all his wealth when he saw his own parents fall lifeless to his feet. A ridicule of a worthy human being."

Harry suddenly laughed, surprising the two older men once again. "And where does this leave _me_? Here I am with the two most dangerous dark wizards I have ever seen, who have both killed their own parents in a bout of bloody vengance!" his lips trembled harshly, as he glared at them, enraged. The air around him started vibrating and Domhnall began whining softly, frightened, he tried to hide in his father's arms. "Do you understand how sick this is? Should I be expecting to die as well, when Domhnall grows up? How... Why haven't you fucking told me?!" he shouted at Marvolo, shaking all over, as the books and teacups started rocking, groaning and cluttering in their places.

"Calm down!" Voldemort growled, clutching onto the boy's form tighter and stepping away from Harry, whose eyes were barely visible behind the white glow, that surrounded them. "Pull yourself together, Harry! You are not ready to control your powers fully yet! You will blow the house up!" But it was fruitless. All Harry's fear and pain, all of his doubts and worries welled up and collided, instigating his magic to burst out and lessen the tension that was threatening to hurt his own self.

"_Harry_." Severus hands squeezed his shoulders and suddenly Harry found himself enveloped into a dark cocoon of his father's magic - he was floating underwater, pushed down by its weight, that seemed to turn heavier and heavier. Soon he wasn't able to fight it. Too tired and emotionally drained, he surrendered and closed his eyes, letting a harsh sob escape his lips. His knees gave away and he fell into Severus' arms. "It's alright, Harry," his father said softly, gently brushing his hair away from his face. "You have overreacted, you shouldn't keep all the frustration and anger pent up inside you, it will always strike you when you least expect it." Harry barely registered the meaning of his words, trying to catch his breath and see past the dark scales before his eyes. He felt paralyzed and sick, helpless.

Strong arms picked him up and pressed him hard to a broad chest. "Come here, you idiot." Voldemort held him in his lap, rubbing on his chest, throat, cheeks, helping the blood to circulate through his limp body. "I have told you time and again you should be careful with that power of yours. Got angry with me and see where has it led you to," he kept talking absentmindedly, stroking the man in his hold, not taking his eyes off of the deathly pale face.

Severus, who stood next to them with still crying Domhnall in his arms, decided he was better off doing something useful, than stand here and watch the two _reconcile_. "I will brew a potion for him, he needs nutrition and a good ten hour sleep. I could take Domhnall to Prince Manor with me..."

"It wouldn't be necessary, I will look after Domhnall," the Dark Lord looked up at him and Severus couldn't help but raise his eyebrows in surprise and amusement - the man was obviously crushed by what happened, there was no anger or malice in his eyes but the desperate sadness and worry. "You must return to Hogwarts and continue according to our plan. I will inform you of Harry's condition. We can't lose focus now, he will come around."

"Yes, my lord," Severus bowed and apparated into the nursery, rocking the boy gently, smiling ruefully at the sight of Domhnall slowly calming down and falling asleep. What a truly strange day it was, he thought, caressing the small head. He needed time to digest it all and understand the situation clearly. Not that anything was going to really change after the revelations he had heard, but he still felt overwhelmed. He wished he could stay with Harry for a while, to look after him, but the Dark Lord was right - they had to keep up their work and Harry was better off with Voldemort now, since it was his fault the boy got all worked up and fainted during a particularly powerful magical fit.

**xxx**

Harry lay in his bed, coiled on his side under the covers, and stared into the darkness of the room disturbed by a faint light coming from the hall. He saw Marvolo leave the nursery and slowly approach him, but he didn't show any reaction, strangely hollow inside after everything he had heard. Somehow it was hard for him to accept the fact that Marvolo killed his own family - Harry could understand Severus' crime against his father, who abused him and was guilty of his mother's death, but in Voldemort's case... Could he really blame horcrux for it? Could he say that it all had happened simply because Marvolo lacked a part of his soul and couldn't control his anger and hatred due to his age at that time? It was a ridiculous _excuse_. He came to kill him, he had been planning to do it all along. Thinking back on the young Tom Riddle he had met in his second year at Hogwarts and all the things the boy had shared with him through the diary, Harry could conclude with absolute certainty that future Voldemort hated his father, hated him more than anything, even though he had never met him. He couldn't help but wonder if this crime was the _turning point_ in Marvolo's life, if it was what changed him, broke him completely?

"I know what you are thinking about, Harry," Voldemort sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed close to the young man, who was stubbornly looking the other way. "Forgive me for not telling you, I honestly didn't think it was significant. I rarely remember those days now, definitely not when I am here with you and Domhnall." He carefully placed his hand on the wizard's shoulder and waited for it to be shaken off, but nothing happened. Encouraged, he slowly moved it, stroking his Prince and watching him, inwardly, deep, deep inside of himself, begging to be forgiven.

"How can something like this seem _insignificant_?" Harry whispered, dearly wishing to push the hand away, however, in his heart he felt he couldn't do it and didn't want to. Every time Marvolo scared or hurt him Harry didn't try to distance himself from the man, as any normal, sane person would do, but, on the contrary, he strived to get closer, to be comforted by the dark wizard. His presence wasn't disturbing or unpleasant, never. It was soothing and calming, welcoming. How could he send Marvolo away when all he needed now was him and him alone? _Just how sick is this love?_

"It is for me, Harry. As I have already told you, their deaths will never become a regret of mine, I will never feel ashamed for the crime I have comitted. I often forget about them completely, as if they never existed." Voldemort shifted closer to rub circles on Harry's back, to stroke his neck and hair.

"How can you be so gentle, so caring with me, so kind and human, and be merciless and cruel, unforgiving towards others, your own relatives at the same time?" he asked, closing his eyes and guiltily enjoying the tender, affectionate touch.

"I wonder how were you planning to survive in this world, being the kindhearted and naive person that you are, my dear?" Voldemort chuckled quietly. "You will never understand, I am afraid. You would have never harmed your own relatives after everything they have done to you, I know for certain. You will never hate Dumbledore for raising you to be sent into slaughter. It is in _your nature_, Harry, to forgive and see only good in people, but it is not in mine or Severus'. We are _vengeful_," he bent down to rest his head on the young man's shoulder, "We never forget and never forgive those who hurt us or our dear ones. We are cruel, heartless - it is what makes us invincible, makes our skin thicker, our minds clearer... It wasn't a mindless murder, Harry, I was avenging my mother, not myself. He never gave her a chance to survive, never once thought of her after he threw her out on the street." Voldemort sighed, looking at his Prince's sorrowful face. Mother subject will always be a corner stone between them.

"It is so hard to accept this, to simply close my eyes and forget about it." Harry finally looked up at Marvolo, feeling the tears streaming down his cheeks. He was hurt, but most of all he pitied the dark wizard, his heart bled for the ruby eyed man, who confused him by making him the most miserable and the happiest human being in the world.

"You don't have to forget, Harry," Voldemort lay down facing him and circled his arm around the young wizard's waist, pulling him closer. "Talk to me, fight me, scream and rage at me - don't keep it all inside, or you would only get hurt again. I am sorry for causing you so much pain, but I am not sorry for being who I am. I went a long way to become what I am _now_."

Breathing slowly, Harry watched Marvolo's face for a long time in complete silence, searching it and seeing nothing but affection and openness. It was impossible to associate this angelic, beautiful man with a murderer and an insane megalomaniac that he was to others, but not to Harry. As much as he wished to feel repulsed by what the dark wizard had done he couldn't. He reached out and caressed Marvolo's cheek, the rose lips, that quivered slightly under his fingers, as if being restrained from kissing his hand. "Tell me about it," Harry murmured, "Tell me about your growing up, about your becoming who you are now."

"Should I recall every person I killed on the way?" There was no humor in his question and gaze. He simply decided that maybe it wouldn't hurt to tell his Prince about all of his victims to avoid another hysteria in the future.

Harry considered the offer, thinking that he might not be able to bear the weight of the truth. "Yes." Perhaps, it would be better to hear it all now and have no more surprises in the future.

Voldemort took a deep breath and shifted to lie more comfortably, brushing the tears off of Harry's face. "I don't remember the first five years of my life, have a vague recollection of flashes and broken images. When I turned six... You know what happened. I don't feel like talking about it again." Harry nodded in understanding and he continued, "Of course I had no friends at the orphanage, because I was a _freak_ and a _liar_. My accidental magic was rather active and I used to get into trouble quite often because of it, which made me a favourite scapegoat of other children. Beatings, whipping, nights spent in the cupboard or in the attick... I don't have to tell you what was it like, you, unfortunately, know it all too well. I was weak, a bag of bones, constantly sick, for it was the time of famine and economical crises and there was no money to maintain the heating during the cold seasons. Nobody wished to adopt or could afford a child in those times, so I have never had a chance of leaving, of finding a family. Running away wasn't an option, for I would have surely died out there. I talked to garden snakes - somehow I didn't find it to be strange or unnatural, perhaps, because I wished to be _different_ so much I could accept any kind of deviation in myself... I read the few books that were available to us through the church, which made donations from time to time... As you can imagine there were no Paradise Lost or Portrait of Dorian Gray amongst them," he drawled sarcastically and smiled, sensing that Harry was smiling too, even though was adamantly hiding his mirth.

"We all were thieves and beggars. My pretty face often got me a piece of bread or a sweet treat from the rich hags of the upper class muggles, that used to take walks in the city center and around the market, where we usually spent our days. It was a tough life, sometimes I starved for days and it was only my magic that kept me alive through winters. I didn't know about it, of course, but I knew that I was _special_, since sometimes I managed to use the power of my will and get something I fancied. Nothing really interesting has happened during my first twelve years, I was a loner, a calm, bright boy, intelligent and cunning of course, a _troublemaker_."

"Just like Domhnall," Harry finally smiled.

"Yes," Voldemort smirked, "Very much like Domhnall. But don't lay all the blame on my blood, Harry, I know you were just the same." At the mischievous gleam in the emerald eyes he chuckled heartedly and sighed in contentment, "Honestly, if I wasn't accepted into Hogwarts, I might have become a _magician_ to swindle people into giving me money for cheap tricks," he snorted and Harry joined him, obviously imagining Marvolo in a black cape, pulling a rabbit out of his top hat. "I was always good at deceiving and charming," the Dark Lord concluded smugly, making the young wizard roll his eyes and huff at him.

"How did you get your Hogwarts letter?" Harry asked with bald curiosity. He was hungry to know more about Marvolo, to know everything about him, to be even closer than they already were.

"Dumbledore brought it to me _personally_," Voldemort sneered haughtily and snorted indignantly, "He thought I was a muggleborn because of the address and the establishment I lived at and decided it would be a nice gesture to check on me. He wasn't a headmaster at that time, but a Deputy Headmaster and a professor of Transfiguration at Hogwarts, so he could find a few minutes of his precious time for someone like me."

"He came to you personally?" Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise. It was Hagrid who came for him in the end, although he was the bloody Boy-Who-Lived and Dumbledore could have easily spared an hour of his time for him or at least send McGonagall to introduce him to the world of magic. What, had the man actually expected Dursleys to take him to Diagon Alley? He knew them well enough to foresee what exactly would they do. He could also foresee something else...

"Do not dwell on that, little one," Voldemort guessed what was his Prince thinking about by the sight of the green eyes that grew dim and by the crease of the brow. "He has wronged you terribly, but it is quite pointless to regret it now, after everything that has happened."

"Yeah," he reluctantly agreed and rubbed on his eyes angrily, as if it was going to help to get rid of the unpleasant thoughts. "So what happened when he visited you?"

"I didn't believe him. Deep in my heart I, as any other child would have I suppose, wished it was true and I was indeed a wizard, but my life had taught me practicalness and weariness of dreams and empty promises. I gave him his letter back and said that I wasn't going to buy old weirdo's petty tricks." The Dark Lord smiled nostalgically, "We didn't like each other right from the very start."

Shaking his head amusedly, Harry chuckled, "What did he have to do to convince you?"

"He had to burn the wardrobe in our common bedroom," Voldemort grinned, "I was so excited, I still remember the glee I have experienced then, when he simply glanced at the old thing and it was instantly set on fire and turned to ash. "_I always knew I was special_" I told him then. He asked about my accidental magic, asked to describe what exactly I have done..." his smile suddenly disappeared as if it had never been on his face just a moment ago. "He has spoken to the caretakers before meeting me, of course, and they have told him all the complimenting facts about my persona - he despised me in advance, saw me as an amateur criminal and a pathological liar."

"Did he know about you being the parselmouth then?" Harry asked, frowning at the prejudice so untypical for the old, kindhearted headmaster.

"In my own childish folly I bragged about it, in the effort to _impress_ him, I suppose," he sighed resentfully. "He was shocked, his look suddenly changed from pitying and scornful to calculating and weary, frightened. He was particularly curious to know about any kind of details of my magic, of my childhood. He understood there and then that I was no muggleborn but the Heir of Slytherin, the last living descendant of Salazar... He offered to help me with shopping at the Diagon Alley, but I refused. I knew that look of his, when adults had it in their eyes I always got into some shite..." he laughed bitterly, as the flood of memories of the so long hidden past filled his mind and vision.

Smiling wistfully, Harry nudged him to continue, "And what happened then? Did you go to Diagon alone, all by yourself?" He stared at Marvolo in astonishment and admiration.

"I vaguely remember seeing you with that oaf of Hagrid at the Leaky Cauldron," Voldemort narrowed his eyes in a feigned disdain, making Harry cover his face with the blanket shyly. "If I had such an _entourage_ in my youth, I would have never come to Hogwarts!" he burst into bouts of quiet but rich laughter, grinning cunningly at Harry's displeased expression. "Of course I went alone," he said after he pulled himself together and stopped chuckling, though his eyes shone brightly, mirthfully. "As I have already said I was a professional thief and, even though there was a fund at Gringotts for the poor students to be able to afford second-hand supplies, I wasn't going to confine myself to a necessary minimum. After I saw all those wizards and witches, dressed in most expensive suits and robes of unimaginable material and colour, I realized how much I have missed, how much I have been _deprived_ of for my whole life. It was then I decided that I needed to find my parents or at least relatives, to learn the origins of my magic..."

"How did you manage to steal money from wizards?" Harry propped himself up on the elbow, looking down at Marvolo with his eyes opened wide.

Pleased by the other's unguarded interest and excitement, Voldemort smiled smugly and crossed his arms behind his head, "Even a muggle can trick these idiots and for someone like me there is nothing impossible as long as one has his magic and a clear understanding of what one wants. I decided that if what has helped me survive was magic, then it could also help me in making some money. I simply made some of the purses disappear from their owner's belts and pockets and appear in my hands. It was easy to do, since nobody would have suspected such a sweet boy as myself," he batted his eyelashes at Harry teasingly and got smacked on the chest. He doubted he would have ever enjoyed something as childish and unfitting for a gentleman, disrespectful towards his person, but with his green eyed Prince everything was a pure joy to him. Harry's easiness and genuine playfulness around him turned Voldemort on and warmed him on the inside.

"Your arrogance will one day cost you dearly," Harry chided Marvolo, smiling idiotically, unable to restrain himself from doing so. All of his fear and discomfort disappeared, as they lay together and talked. It was such an ordinary thing to do with such an extraordinary man as Voldemort, who, despite his snobbiness and cynicism, was a good storyteller. Harry couldn't help but imagine as one day, when Domhnall would grow up a little he would sit in Marvolo's lap and listen to the tales of his father's adventures and travelings - this picture made his heart flatter in a particularly pleasant fashion.

"Whatever," Voldemort rolled his eyes and carried on, "I bought second-hand textbooks and robes, for I had no idea what kind of a society I was going to get into at school - I imagined it would be very much like at the orphanage, but with a comfortable accomodation, good food and a lot of magic. The money that I stole I intended to save and hide away for a time being, in case I would need them later. I was completely smitten with the apothecary, I never understood others' repulsion with the ingredients and smells - it simply showed that they have never been to the docks of London and to the fish market there," he wrinkled his nose, remembering the horrible stink that never left that place.

Smiling, Harry watched the dark wizard and marveled his relaxed, satisfied expression. Somehow he knew he was the first and only person Marvolo had ever shared his story with - this knowledge made Harry feel _special_ and wanted, valued, cherished. He regretted there was nothing intersting he could tell Marvolo about himself - the man probably knew everything already. "What about your wand? Has Olivander also freaked you out? Has he told you about it having a brother?"

"Oh, Olivander scared me shitless," Voldemort laughed. "I thought there could be nobody weirder than Dumbledore, in all honesty. However, he has never said anything about my wand having a brother..." he added thoughtfully. "Though, now that I think about it, I doubt I would have done something about this fact, for what was the point of taking your wand as well? It was obvious that the person who was destined to master it was going to be just as talented and powerful as I am... I would have probably watched over it to see who would be its owner..." He smiled at the young man, feeling especially pleased that it was Harry who got it in the end. The raven haired wizard lowered his eyelashes shyly and even in the darkness of their bedroom Voldemort could see the lovely blush on his cheeks. "Olivander warned me that I was going to do great deeds and there was a thin line between great and terrible... It sounded more like a threat than a warning, I think," he smiled again. "In truth, I am still not sure who the hell is Olivander _really_. He is definitely not a Seer, but not an ordinary wizard either. Perharps, he bears an ancient blood, perhaps, his ancestors weren't from Britain but from the East? I find it hard to determine the source of his odd talent to read the future by the person's aura."

"Perhaps, he is just crazy," Harry offered, shrugging one of his shoulders. "The way he speaks suggests he is _far_ from alright."

Voldemort chuckled at that, shaking his head in amusement. "What has he told you?"

"Basically the same thing he told you. I think he sensed the similarity between us and decided I was going to become Voldemort number two, of what he had informed me quite vaguely, but I got the hint," he muttered. "I was so scared after that, I couldn't even look at the bloody wand, hid it in the farthest corner of my trunk and took it out only when I realized I was supposed to use it in classes."

"He is indeed an odd personage," the Dark Lord smirked.

"But if you grew up at the orphanage and knew nothing of magic, how did you learn of the ettiquette, traditions and everything else?"

"Don't you know how to read?" Voldemort scoffed at his Prince.

"Thanks to _you_ I had my hands full of shit during my years at Hogwarts, I had no time to study more than it was necessary to get through with the classes," Harry growled, twisting his lips in a parody of a smile.

"Forgive me, but you can't deny that I added an element of adventure and excitement into your life, can you?" he drawled smugly, squeezing Harry in a tight embrace and rolling over to lie on top of him.

"Yeah, yeah, living in a constant anticipation of being tortured and murdered is a very _exciting_ alternative to an ordinary life of an ordinary student," Harry bit out, but circled his arms around the other's neck anyway and nuzzled closer, sighing contentedly. "Well, tell me how have you managed to become the pureblood know-it-all?"

"Although this is an insult I will take it as a compliment," Voldemort smiled into the thick raven hair, reveling in its silkiness and fresh scent. "My first train ride was uneventful, I spent it studying potions and history, having have met only a few prefects, whom I can't remember now. I wouldn't lie to you: Hogwarts impressed me, mesmerized me and I doubt that I have ever seen anything more magnificent and beautiful, than the view of the castle floating above the lake in the darkness and faint light of stars and candles."

"You sound so _romantic_," Harry mumbled, embracing him tighter.

"Cruelty and romance are not mutually exclusive as it is said, but blend well together."

"Can't say I agree with you, but do go on." This was a pointless dispute not worthy of their time, since both of them were not going to reach a compromise.

Laughing inwardly at Harry's attempt to avoid another argument that might have very well turned into a quarrel, Voldemort sighed, "I have read about the houses in the History of Hogwarts and thought that I could end up in either Ravenclaw or Slytherin, but didn't really care for it then, thinking that it was a miracle enough that I got into the world of magic and a special school for the freaks like I was myself."

"Did the Hat talk to you?" Harry pulled away a little to look at Marvolo, "Did it ask you where would you like to go?"

"No," the Dark Lord raised his eyebrows in a mild surprise, "Were you offered to make a choice?"

"It said I could become a great wizard in Slytherin, but I had an unpleasant introduction to the house in the form of Draco, so I begged the Hat to put me into Gryffindor, where my mother was, as I've been told."

"Ah, imagine their horror if only you had agreed to become a snake..." Voldemort drawled amusedly.

"Well, what happened then?" Harry hurried him.

"So impatient," the Dark Lord shook his head, smirking at his lover. "I met my housemates and my Head of the House, Slughorn. It was then I realized that I got into a dangerous and prejudiced society - I was the only _muggleborn_, as they called me, out of the whole house. Every slytherin student there was a pureblood or a half-blood, they all were rich and spoiled, corrupted, completely ignorant of the outside world and muggles. I was once again a scapegoat and a _rara avis_ amongst my peers, mocked for my poverty and lack of education, my parentage."

"This is so cruel and unfair," Harry frowned, pitying the young Marvolo, involuntarily projecting his troubles onto Domhnall's future.

"People, and children in particular, are always unfair to each other, my dear, it is a lesson you still have to learn," Voldemort sighed, looking at his Prince kindly. No matter how right he was, he secretly wished Domhnall grew up just as innocent and kindhearted as his young father. Having had been surrounded by bitter, cruel, heartless people for his whole life he craved to have something pure and enthralling, beautiful both on the outside and on the inside, to let him breathe and find the light in the eternal darkness that was his life. Harry was his salvation and his redemption, his most prized possession, his only reason for joy, as was his little son. His lucky stars guiding him on his long, hard way... He used to think he would be forever alone, separated from the whole world by the huge rim that was his past, his sins, his being... but not _anymore_. He had his family, he could very well turn his back on everything and everyone else.

"Were they abusive towards you?" His Prince asked quietly, watching him with wet, pained eyes. How could Harry have a heart so big, so kind that it ached for somebody like him?

"They were at first, though it was nothing in comparison to what muggles have done to me," he said, trying to remember anything specific. "Petty tricks and stinging hexes, nothing more. As soon as I have started practicing magic my power grew dramatically and very soon I was able to pay them back and make them weary of teasing me. In the end they decided to simply ignore me, which played out well, since I didn't need their friendship or company. I used to spend all my time in the library, reading, practically _devouring_ every book I could reach. I didn't care if it was a textbook or classic literature - I needed to improve myself, to catch up with all of them and surpass them eventually. I was very stubborn and I desired to excel at everything so much, that I think my magic helped me even in that," he laughed, amused by the conclusion.

"But when I met your younger self you were a prefect, you were dressed rather well, as far as I remember," Harry said, creasing his brow as he tried to recall Tom Riddle's appearance.

"It took me four years to become the successful and respected young man that you have met," Voldemort smiled ruefully. "I learned very fast, in my second year I had already covered the material of the third and the fourth and started writing others' essays for money. Very soon the whole house began using me and my knowledge and unique memory, they paid with galleons, jewelry, expensive sweets sent by their parents, rich clothes - I would sell those and buy myself ordinary, but nevertheless new robes of high quality. In my fifth year my marks were so high, the amount of points that I brought to my house was so great that Slughorn asked the headmaster to make me a prefect, and a Head Boy later which was rather beneficial to me, since it allowed me to spent nights in the library as well. The Restricted Section wasn't a restriction for _me_, as you can imagine," he smirked and Harry could only roll his eyes at his haughtiness.

"What about parseltongue and your Slytherin background?"

"In my third year I found a short note on parseltongue in one of the books on the history of magic, it said that only the descendants of Salazar Slytherin could speak to serpents and that was the starting point in the search of my family and origins. Later, during my wonderings around the castle I met Slytherin himself, his portrait to be exact. He and I had a very long and interesting talk, though he couldn't help me in identifying my ancestors, since I looked nothing like any of the slytherin families, who had distinguished features inherited from him. They all were rather _ugly_, if you ask me," he huffed good-naturedly which made Harry giggle quietly. "He told me the names that he knew belonged to his descendants and suggested to ask one of my pureblooded peers' parents about their whereabouts. It took me a long time to find out that only Gaunts have survived and were the last Slytherin line known in Britain, but nobody had heard from them for almost eighty years - none of them attended Hogwarts."

"And the Chamber?" Harry asked, strangely resigned. It was ridiculous how much they shared and how painful and unpleasant to remember most of it was.

"Salazar told me where to find it when I asked him," Voldemort said simply. He saw the change in the wizard's face, saw how reluctant he was to think of that particular encounter of theirs and once again he felt irritated by the fact that he didn't have the memories of what had happened between them then. And something told him Harry wouldn't be enthusiastic to share his recollection of events. "Mirtle..." he started uncertainly, "It was an _accident_, though you may very well call her my first victim, since I used her death to create my first horcrux. Initially I planned to train basilisk to follow my commands and let it get used to the new surroundings - I wanted to set it at a muggle from one of the closest villages and use that death for my horcrux, but... Well, I can admit that now, that I was too young and inexperienced to control such an ancient and a dangerous creature. I don't regret Mirtle's death but I can't say I am proud of it either."

Scowling, Harry muttered, "And you set Hagrid up to cover up your _mistake_."

"Yes," the Dark Lord shrugged his shoulders carelessly. "It was either me being expelled and forced to live at the orphanage for two more years and... to endure everything that followed, or Hagrid being expelled but given a chance to stay at the school. It was the lesser of two evils."

"Yeah, _right_," he huffed, knowing very well that Marvolo never cared for others' well being but his own. "How did you find out about the horcruxes?" he decided to steer the conversation into a different direction to avoid yet another sore spot of his.

"There was an old tome on the most obscure sides of Dark Magic, including the Unforgivables, some areas of Blood Magic... I was highly advanced in the basic magic that we were taught and I found a strong affinity towards the Dark in me, so this almanac became the source of my new perspective and aim in life - I wanted to perceive the Dark Magic _completely_, to its full extent, I wanted to develop it _further_ and improve myself, become the most powerful wizard of all... It was a romantic, arrogant dream, but as you can see I have fulfilled it." Voldemort stopped, giving them both a little break to ponder over everything he had revealed. He had never felt so free and unburdened before - he could never imagine that sharing his past would be so rewarding, so... _healing_.

"You were so lovely, so sympathetic, until the very last moment I didn't suspect you," Harry suddenly murmured after a long pause, staring unseeingly into the darkness around them. "You talked so kindly to me and then simply laughed when I begged you to spare Ginny's life. You offered me to join you, said you saw _yourself_ in the little, defenseless Harry Potter and when I refused you easily condemned me to death by setting the basilisk on me." His hands involuntarily squeezed Marvolo's shoulders in the search of support, for he found he couldn't let go of the dark wizard who had almost killed him then...

Sighing heavily, sadly, Voldemort stroked Harry's face as gently as he could, barely touching the warm skin that seemed to glow from the inside. "Forgive me, Harry. I do not have those memories, they were destroyed along with that part of my soul, but I am sorry for scaring and hurting you." He waited for the emerald eyes to lock with his and offered the young man a small but sincere, apologetic smile, "I was so young then, I hated children so much, it was so easy to not care for their lives... I know it is not an excuse and it will never make amends enough, but unfortunately there is nothing I can do to change what has happened."

"I know," Harry whispered, pressing his face against Marvolo's chest and circling his arms tight around him. "It was just so painful to realize what a hypocritical, deceitful boy you turned out to be when I honestly thought that I have found a _friend_ in _you_."

"But you _did_, Harry," he buried his nose into the raven locks, as his hands rubbed on the man's back soothingly. "The circumstances were against us, but we could have become friends if it wasn't for my condition then. If I was a corporal boy, a human being, not a fragment of a soul, blinded by the desire to come back to life, I am certain we would have gotten on very well, like we do now. Our current friendship proves that."

"Yeah," Harry sighed. "You seemed so lonely, so sad when we talked through your diary, I wished so much to help you, to become your friend, your rock."

"You are _now_, my sweet Prince," Voldemort pulled him up to kiss him tenderly on the mouth and tightened his hold, enveloping Harry into a most passionate, trusting embrace. If only he had Harry then, when he was young, if only he had that rock, that light he had now...

"How did you find your father?" Harry asked in a small voice, sobbing softly after their lips parted, for the tenderness with which Marvolo treated him overpowered all the pain he had caused him before - his kiss was a plead for forgiveness, a reassurance of trust and care, of safety.

Tasting his Prince's tears on his tongue, Voldemort considered him for a moment, wondering if they should put that story away for a time being. But Harry looked determined, though heartbroken and vulnerable. So fragile, the Dark Lord could turn him to ash with a flick of his fingers. "Not long before I made a horcrux I found out that there were Gaunts registered at the village of Little Hangleton. Surprisingly, I have discovered them in the muggle archives. They used to be a prominent family with a long history. And since I knew my name wasn't a wizarding one, I have concluded that most probably my mother was a witch, while my father was a muggle or a muggleborn, that was how I determined I was a _half-blood_." His lips twisted slightly at the mentioning of his father, but he restrained himself from demonstrating his disdain and hatred. It was enough for Harry that he had to know the truth and accept it. "But I never had an opportunity to meet them, since there were wards around the orphanage, that monitored my magic and time of absence. I was able to travel to Hangleton only when I turned seventeen and became a legal adult in the magical world."

"Did you kill Gaunts as well?" Harry asked in a hollow, distant voice, pressing harder into Marvolo's frame, anticipating the worst.

"No, I didn't." Frowning, Voldemort stroked Harry's hair, seeking comfort and calm from touching him. "I came to an old, half-ruined shack with a dead snake nailed to its door. Inside I found Morfin, my uncle, who was absolutely insane. He couldn't speak any language but parseltongue and his aura was dramatically weak - he was practically a _squib_. I think it was the result of the inbreeding in the family, for, as I have found out later, they were so proud of being the only descendants of Slytherin, that they started marrying between themselves to save the purity of their blood, which led to the weakening of their magic. Morfin was inadequate, he could barely make up comprehensible sentences that made little sense to me, however, he managed to tell me my mother's story."

"Did he know about you?" Marvolo looked suddenly upset and Harry held his breath, foreseeing that the story wasn't going to be a happy one, far from it.

"No, but he recognized me, he even addressed me by my name before I could introduce myself, clearly having had taken me for Tom Riddle, whose appearance I inherited to its very last detail. He told me that there were three of them left: he, Merope - my mother and his sister, and their father Marvolo, whose name I was given at birth. They were poor, almost squibs all of them, sick physically... They were the lowest sort of wizards even though their blood was the purest of all. Riddle was a young aristocrat who lived a few miles away in his parents' manor, the one we stayed at before. He was young, beautiful, arrogant, ugly rich and very popular amongst the golden youth of that time - an ordinary high class muggle. Morfin said that Merope fell in love with him, even though he had never once exchanged a word with her, never once spared her another glance. There were rumors amongst the villagers, that she was a witch, for she was talented in potions and often brewed some easy ones for sale, to make ends meet, since neither Morfin nor Marvolo could work. They were known criminals, theives, both had spent some time in muggle prison."

Harry could easily guess what happened at this point. "Did Merope brew a love potion?"

"Yes," Voldemort sighed, wrinkling his nose in disdain and closing his eyes in resentment. "A potion for the most unworthy candiate. Morfin mocked me, saying that my very existence was a joke, an _insult_ to their family and that Merope got what she deserved for getting involved with a muggle. I can't say I was repulsed by the fact that she chose a muggle as much as I was repulsed by the notion that she chose the one who could never appreciate her, could never understand her and her world, let alone love her. She had personally condemned herself to Hell and for that I can't _forgive_ her."

"Riddle found out about the potion?" Harry asked, confused, since it was impossible to fight the magic while being under the power of the drug.

"Merope stopped giving it to him. Morfin said she hoped that once sober Riddle would remember his fake feelings for her and develop them into the real ones, but I think she got pregnant and naively thought that the bastard would never leave her for the sake of his child." Seething on the inside, Voldemort hissed, in half english half parseltongue, sounding like an angered snake, "Any respectable gentleman, any _worthy_ man would have helped her, would have never left her to die in loneliness. He didn't have to marry her or give me his name, he could have easily taken her in as a maid and simply support her with a small but steady income... But he threw her out, threatened her to never come back again..."

"Didn't he know she was pregnant?" Harry's hands reached out to hold Marvolo's face, to give him warmth to help him calm down, for the rose lips were pursed into a straight pale line, that was a sign that the dark wizard was shaken with rage inside.

"Of course he did," Voldemort bit out and dropped his head onto Harry's chest, hiding his face in the folds of the other's shirt, and tightened his embrace, trying to cover up the trembling of his body. Harry stroked his head, barely breathing, but there was no fear in him - there was only sorrow. Voldemort tore the upper buttons off of his shirt and pressed his cold face against the burning skin, unable to hold a deep sigh, that escaped his lips at the heat that enveloped him, easing his heart. "I wanted to kill Riddle, Harry," he whispered against the young man's chest, "I took Morfin's wand to set him up for the murder. I wanted kill my father, wanted to do that more than anything else, for I blamed him for all the horrors that I had to endure, for my mother's death, for my _unhappiness_ and _loneliness_... But I would have given him a chance. If he honestly promised to atone himself, if he offered to become my family... I would have spared him. But he didn't, Harry. His parents mocked me, insulted me and my mother, and he... He was so scared, so pathetic in his fear for his bloody money... I was blinded by rage and disgust, I killed them all in a matter of a minute. It was the first time I personally killed a human being, the first time I used the Killing Curse..." He went silent, listening in to the heartbeat of a wizard that was holding him, frantically pressing him closer, as if trying to take all of his pain and poison away.

Frightened, upset, Harry grabbed on the man's form, embracing him with as much strength as he could master, willing his magic to cleanse Marvolo of his crimes, of the blood of the innocents on his hands. He was so miserable in his _hatred_, it was ruining him form the inside, for there was never anyone in his life to hold him, to help him fight his pain, to help him cry and find his catharsis - Harry desperately wished to become this person, to heal and preserve what was left of the scarred, maimed soul. "You were so young, too young for something so horrible," he murmured shakily, carding his fingers through the soft chestnut locks, "It must have distorted you completely, broken you."

Breathing slowly, deeply under the gentle touch of trembling fingers, the Dark Lord closed his eyes, kissing the hot skin, rubbing his face against it. Harry wasn't running away, wasn't calling him a freak, an abomination, not even a monster - not anymore. How could one boy, barely an adult, have so much compassion to feel sorry for him, have so much courage to stay with him and accept his being and his sins? _Harry_. His lovely, wonderful Harry, his and his alone. _Mine_. "I didn't feel anything when the three of them lay dead at my feet," he said quietly, nuzzling into the crook of the young wizard's neck. "Perhaps, I was in shock, perhaps, it was my magic - the curse is very powerful and must be practiced before actually used... I exhausted myself, my body was too weak for such a force. I was so sick I threw up. And then I ate their dinner during which I disturbed them - it was so delicious, Harry, even at Hogwarts we were never given that kind of food and they... They had it despite the crises, despite the war and famine... I felt like I was eating my own tears and fears then. Perhaps, I was really crying? I can't remember."

"My poor, poor Marvolo," Harry breathed out, crying _for_ him. There was nothing else he could do for a man he loved so much. In this very moment he realized with an outmost certainty and clearness just how dear was the dark wizard to him. Words of love, however, were not going to be a consolation for someone like Marvolo, Harry knew. He wished it was different, wished he could just say the three silly words and take all of the grief and sadness away, but it was a childish dream, nothing more. "My _poor_ Marvolo."

"I feel so much better after I have told you everything," Voldemort confessed, raising his head and looking into the tearful emerald eyes, that shone brightly even in the complete darkness of the night - Harry's light was coming through, mesmerizing the Dark Lord, pulling him closer like a moth to the flame, so alluring it was in its pureness and warmth. "Nobody has ever felt sorry for me, never called me a poor thing," he smiled despite himself and kissed Harry, who answered with a desperate readiness. Their deep kiss lasted for so long, they both were reluctant to let go of each other, to part, to stop.

"I don't want you to suffer anymore, I won't leave you, you won't be alone anymore," Harry cried into Marvolo's mouth, kissing and kissing him, biting his tongue and lips, sucking on them harshly, passionately, as if they were seeing each other for the very last time.

Voldemort slowly pulled away, panting, and groaned against the trembling, swollen red lips, "Swear it, Harry, swear you will never leave me as I once swore to you."

"I swear." He kissed Marvolo again. "_I swear_."

Even though Harry never performed a vow, the Dark Lord felt a warm, soft glow spread around them - the man's sincerity was undoubtful, his own magic sealed his promise. Elated, overwhelmed with a sudden glee that nestled in his heart, Voldemort smiled brilliantly, looking at his Prince, brushing the tears gently off of his face, "You make me so _happy_, Harry. I doubt I have ever been happy before."

Laughing at the lightness that these words brought him, Harry sighed, "That is all I wish - to make you happy, Marvolo." He pulled the wizard closer and rested his head on his shoulder, kissing Marvolo's neck, circling his arms around it affectionately. "I also wish you wouldn't have to ever kill again."

"We will see about that," he offered as a compromise, smiling and covering Harry's head with featherlight kisses. "We have plenty of time ahead of us."

**xxx**

"Tell me more," Harry murmured after they coiled around each other comfortably under the warm covers, having shed their clothes. "What happened to Morfin? Your grandfather?"

"Marvolo was in prison at that time and never left before his death a few years later. I never met him. I came back to the shack after I cleaned after myself at Riddle Manor, gave Morfin his wand, for which he had little use anyway. He wasn't a complete squib, of course, but not as powerful as a common wizard, though, theoretically capable of performing a Killing Curse. He was arrested the next day and then the Aurors took him into Azkaban, where he died five or six years later," Voldemort said, keeping his eyes closed, listening in to Harry's breathing. "He was a perfect cover, since he couldn't speak english and couldn't tell anyone it was me who took his wand. Nobody doubted his guilt, for he was a known criminal and a thief."

Harry considered him for a moment, putting all the events into order in his mind. "And what about Voldemort?" he asked. "Your younger self showed me the anagram, so have you made him up then?"

"Yes," the Dark Lord cracked one of his eyes open to look at his Prince mischievously, "I have created the anagram in my third year and in my fifth I was already using it as a pseudonym for the little club of mine. By that time many of the slytherins realized that I was no ordinary "_muggleborn_" and that I wasn't just a teacher's pet. They've grown to respect me and even fear, for I was never shy to curse and hex, to trick and deceive and I never ever got caught."

"Not even by Dumbledore?" Harry scoffed playfully.

"Oh, the old coot was literally _obsessed_ with me, he kept following me around and asking everyone about my hobbies, the way I spent my free time," Voldemort sneered, rolling his eyes in exasperation. "He was a pain in the arse, as you could call it, but even he could never find enough evidence to nail me down. He had put the two and two together: my parseltongue ability and the circumstances of Mirtle's death, but he had no proof that there was a basilisk in the castle, since the Chamber of Secrets remained to be a legend and nothing more. I was the only one who could open it and he knew I was never going to do it for him."

"But why was he so suspicious of you, only because of your heritage? And if he was, why hadn't he taken you under his wing, why hadn't he tried to help you?" Harry frowned, confused by Dumbledore's lack of action. "He wasn't a headmaster, he could have even adopted you himself or found you a good family."

"Your naiveté and innocence is truly miraculous, my dear," the Dark Lord smiled in satisfaction and mirth. "He had decided for himself that I was a criminal and he had this gryffindorish prejudice about me, that if I was Salazar's heir then I would follow in his footsteps and become the darkest and most dangerous warlock in the world... " He laughed coldly at that, "I did but it wasn't a reason enough to never allow me a chance to prove myself worthy and decent. "_I am watching you, Tom_" he used to say every time we met in the corridors during our nightwatch." Chuckling, he snaked his hand over the nape of Harry's neck where the skin was the warmest. "As for adoption... I would have never agreed to come to live with him, I was never suicidal. I have told Slughorn and headmaster Dippet several times that I was abused at the orphanage and couldn't go back there for summers again and again... But they both were weak, pathetic men, they listened to whatever Dumbledore whispered into their ears and all I got every spring before leaving was "_Tom, it is very unfitting for a young gentleman to lie to gain our attention. Do not exaggerate, Professor Dumbledore here checks on your establishment every August and your caretakers never complain_," he mimicked an old man with a high, unpleasant voice, grimacing in disgust.

"Fucking unfair," Harry growled lowly, "He told me just the same and nobody has ever once checked on me."

"That is why I despise him and his fans so much - he is just as hypocritical as I am, but he is the Light Lord, the kind Merlin look alike with his bloody lemon drops in his sleeves and undergarments," Voldemort huffed, "While I am a _quintessence_ of everything evil and filthy in the world. He is not a saint everyone paints him to be."

"Do you envy the _admiration_ that people feel towards him?" Harry raised his eyebrows, looking at the dark wizard curiously.

He pondered over the question and a slight crease formed on his brow. "No, it is not the admiration that I crave but justice, honesty. I know it must sound ridiculous coming from me of all people, but I am simply tired of living like this. I want everyone to know the truth, to improve themselves and their lives. I want this world to be a better place and live with a notion that it was I who helped change it for the better." He glanced at the raven haired man by his side and smiled involuntarily at the pleasant surprise written on the young, beautiful face. "I used to desire other's admiration and submission, mistaking it for sincere affection and understanding. I was _very wrong_ - nobody has ever wanted me for myself, nobody has ever needed me, the half-blood orphan with a hole in his pocket. Everybody cringed before and sucked up to Voldemort - the mysterious, the rich, the brilliant pureblood warlock that promised them power and influence..." he trailed off with an evident disappointment in his voice and sighed, when a warm palm cupped his cheek and caressed it gently. "Now I do not really need anything from anyone, Harry, because I have you. You admire me for who I am, I know and appreciate that. You are the only person whose opinion and affection, whose company I crave." He took his Prince's hand and pressed it against his lips, smiling softly at the sight of the dark blush on the other's cheeks.

"What did you do after you graduated Hogwarts?" Harry whispered, not trusting his own voice, for Marvolo had once again made him cry - happily this time. The words that the dark wizard spoke to him touched the strings in the very depth of his soul, making it sing, making his heart flatter and palpitate so pleasantly. How could he not love him when he was so gentle, so genuine in his affection and appreciation? Perhaps, the young Tom Riddle did need to grow up, see the world and lose his humanity in order to become a man he always dreamed to be? Harry doubted he and Tom could have found a common ground or mutual comfort in each others arms, but Marvolo was a completely different person. Mature, experienced, scarred, lonely - he was everything Harry ever wanted in an imaginary person he used to dream of sometimes, when he dared to think that maybe one day he would be able to be with somebody, to have a family of his own.

"I was the best student of the year, had the highest marks that the school hasn't seen in many years. All the teachers were quite certain I would join them sooner or later, since it wasn't a secret how much interested in science I was, how much I could do for the future of different fields of magic," Voldemort told him, still holding his hand next to his lips, tickling its skin with his hot breath. "Since I was already eighteen and living on my own at the Diagon Alley, I went straight to the headmaster and asked for the DADA position - I knew the old professor that taught us was going to resign soon. At first Dippet was rather enthusiastic about hiring me, however, Dumbledore, who has always stuck his long nose into my business, convinced him I was too young and inexperienced to work with children and suggested I try different jobs and places to _mature_ a little. I was enraged then, though now I have to admit he had a point, even if it wasn't actually meant for me," he chuckled bitterly. "I did need to grow up a little, to see what else was out there beyond the safety of Hogwarts' stone walls. I ended up working at Knockturn Alley, at Borgin & Burkes' shop, where I used to buy some of the darkest literature. I have already had followers at that time, have already had a plan of what I wanted to change in wizarding Britain, but the war was still going on, in both worlds, people were too scared to even think of any kind of a revolution, so I had to put everything off. It was then I decided I could try to make another horcrux. It was a scientific curiosity, yet another height I was going to take."

"But how have you come up with the number of seven?" Harry frowned slightly, disturbed by the notion that Marvolo had fractured his soul so cruelly to gratify his scientific interest.

"Ah, Slughorn helped me," he offered the young man a cunning smirk. "Before I made my first horcrux, I asked him about the theory behind it, since he was a dark wizard himself and, though rather weak and useless, had a vast knowledge of prohibited or undeveloped spells. Poor Slughorn has always been the easiest to charm and trick, he readily shared the little information he knew. If you took Arithmacy as an additional subject, you would have learned about the meaning and magical significance of numbers. The most powerful are 3 and 7, but if the former is usually used for spells, as in incantation, wand movement, intent behind the spell, the latter is used in more intricate areas, like potions and rituals. Creation of a horcrux is a ritual and I have concluded that the number 7 was going to be the most beneficial. Seven horcruxes would have made me invincible and immortal. That was how I _used_ to think," he pointed out at Harry's glare, "And that was what Slughorn agreed with, however, he warned me that nobody had ever made a horcrux and so it was pure theory with consequences unknown. It is always dangerous to experiment with the area nobody had dared to study before, even more so, when there is nobody to test it on but your own self. I didn't feel any effects after I created the first one, though now I can see how had it actually affected my personality - I became impatient and impulsive."

Wriggling his eyebrows sarcastically at that, Harry nudged him, "Did you feel anything after you have created the second one?"

"I... don't remember," Voldemort admitted, looking a little confused and feeling the same, for he truly couldn't remember. "With every new horcrux my recoveries took longer and harder on my body and mind, memory. I used to be emotionless because I couldn't remember what it was like to feel... While working at Borgin & Burkes I have met all sorts of wizards and have seen hundreds of perfect magical objects that could work well as vessels, for I have come to a conclusion that as the insurance of my immortality the horcruxes must be hidden in plain sight. But I was _vain_," he allowed himself to smile nostalgically, "I thought that such an achievement deserved only the most powerful, most prized objects of all... That was when I met Hepzibah Smith. She was an old, ugly, obese witch, so rich it was painful to look at her - only her fat could rival in its dazzle with her jewelry. She was very much like that pig that was your uncle. But she was also our best client and I had to personally visit her and set value for the relics she wished to sell. The war was over and many wizards, even wealthy ones, found they needed money to restore their fortune. During one of my visits she showed me her most treasured possessions - the Hogwarts Founders' personal items. Helga Hufflepuff's Cup and... Salazar Slytherin's locket I have seen on his portrait."

Harry involuntarily clutched on the locket, hanging around his neck. "It was the second one..."

"Yes, Harry, _this_ used to be my second horcrux," he smiled, taking the small but elegant medallion into his fingers and stroking it longingly, "And the only thing I have left of my mother."

Widening his eyes in astonishment, Harry tried to take it off, "Why would you... I can't... I can't _have_ it! Take it, you must be wearing it!"

"_No_," Voldemort shook his head and pulled the other's hands away from it, squeezing them softly between his own cold ones. "I want you to have it, I want you to always wear it, it will keep you safe. I am not superstitious, but I believe it _belongs_ with you. You will pass it on to Domhnall when he grows up. It is my family heirloom, Harry, my mother inherited it from her ancestors, from Salazar himself, it is the only thing that is left of his magnificence and fortune."

"But how do you know it was hers? There are no names or markings on it, pointing that out," Harry stared into the blood red eyes, asking himself if this was a dream. Could Marvolo really give him something so priceless, so precious, as his mother's locket? There was nothing he could give him in return.

"I asked Burke about it, how much should we ask for Slytherin's locket, and he laughed, rubbing his hands greedily," Voldemort twisted his lips in disgust and tightened his hold on Harry. "Pleased, he told me a story how he had obtained it the first time, before Hepzibah bought it. He told me that one night in the late December a pregnant witch came to him, she looked very sick, hungry, her clothes were old and torn... She said that she had no money and this locket was her only valuable possession, that she would have never sold if it wasn't for the baby that was due to come very soon..." He took a deep breath, suppressing his anger, "Instead of helping her, that bastard gave her twenty galleons and sent her away. Twenty bloody galleons for the priceless locket! It costs a fortune! I asked him to describe that woman and got a description of Morfin's sister. I had no doubts it was my mother then."

"Have you bought it from that witch? Have you given her twenty galleons as well?" Harry stroked the cold hands, that trembled slightly in hidden rage.

"No," the Dark Lord bit out, "I stole it and Hufflepuff's Cup. I knew then that I could not work with Burke anymore, not after what he had told me. I killed Hepzibah, poisoned her, for she disgusted me. She was such a hypocritical bitch. Can you imagine... She wanted to _buy_ me," he laughed coldly and the sound made Harry shiver. "She noticed how much the locket was affecting me and would show it off every time I came for "_a cup of tea_" and then she would hide it and tell me about how lonely she is in her love for jewelry, that nobody understands her passion, nobody but me, that my youth could become a _gem_ of her collection..." Shaking his head and laughing cruelly, he hid his face in Harry's warm, welcoming hands. "She offered it in exchange for my body, my freedom, she wanted to make me her personal sex toy. It wasn't the question if the locket deserved such sacrifice, the question was if I would dare to fall so low and insult my blood, my heritage, my great ancestor, my magic by such an atrocious act? I couldn't, Harry, I _couldn't_. She was so disgusting and I was still bound by my fear and repulsion towards anything sexual then," Voldemort looked up at his Prince, suddenly anxious, afraid to be judged. But the green eyes watched him kindly, pitifully, lovingly, and the hands never once quivewered, holding his face carefully. "I resigned my position at the shop, came to her for her usual tea, used Imperio on her house-elf and made it add poison into her cup. I asked to take a look at the locket and the Cup, lied that I came to bargain from Burkes' name... She fell dead to my feet, I took my future horcux' vessels and left, living no trace."

"You couldn't let her live?" Harry sighed rather than asked, pulling Marvolo closer, tucking his head under his chin and kissing the chestnut hair. He felt so sad, devastated, but there was no fear inside. It wasn't as if he had accepted Marvolo being a murderer, but there formed a place in him, where resignation and understanding lay. Harry may have been terrified of what the man had done, but he knew where was he coming from. _What a twisted way of forgiving him for unforgivable crimes._

"I would have gladly killed her now again," Voldemort growled into Harry's chest, circling his arms around it possessively. "Do I _repulse_ you?" he suddenly asked, insecure. How weak and vulnerable Harry made him feel in his warm, forgiving embrace.

"No," he sighed, "I pity you, though. Your crimes made you miserable, made you ignorant of the difference between justice and vengance. You maimed your soul so much, Marvolo, you ruined yourself and hurt yourself worse than anybody else. I wish I could fix the damage that turned your heart so cold."

Voldemort pondered over Harry's words, marveling their simple wisdom. He could never recognize his own disadvantages, his own wrongs, while his Prince read him like an open book it seemed. "I think I hated myself even more than the world, but I mistook this self-hatred for a righteous wrath," he breathed out, astonished by the unexpected realization.

"That is why I would never be repulsed by you, would never hate you," Harry moved to kiss him on the lips as tenderly as he could. "You are your own enemy, Marvolo. Let me help you find your peace, let me become your solace."

Grateful, overwhelmed with the knowledge that he was welcome, accepted, cherished and wanted, Voldemort squeezed the young man in a passionate embrace and deepened their kiss, hurrying to take all of Harry's air, to unite their beings into one. "Oh, Harry," he murmured, when they parted to breathe, "You are my world."

Blushing and smiling idiotically at the romantic confession, that sounded so _unusual_ and yet so lovely out of Marvolo's mouth, Harry closed his eyes and mumbled weakly, "Let's get some sleep. You owe me sixty years of stories of your life and I want to rest well before listening to them."

Laughing, Voldemort nodded and kissed him again. "You will soon get tired of listening to the old man's tales, my dear."

"You're not old," Harry grinned, shifting to lie more comfortably under the other's weight, "You're just nasty but I like you that way."

"Oh, maybe you also like me that way..." He wanted to offer a quick sex for a good night's sleep, but his innuendo was interrupted by the loud calls from the nursery. Domhnall was once again displeased with something.

Harry sighed and looked up into the ruby eyes, "Let's take him to bed, otherwise none of us will rest tonight." At his words Voldemort disappeared and a second later came back with a soft cracking sound, carrying their little son in his arms, who was smiling very cunningly and happily.

"You spoil him awfully," the Dark Lord grumbled, but cradled Domhnall next to his chest and kissed him on the cheeks, all but purring at the affectionately bubbling boy.

"I wonder who spoils him worse," Harry muttered mellowly and scooted to lie on the child's other side. Marvolo's hand instantly snaked around his waist and soon the ruby eyed wizard fell asleep, snoring along with Domhnall, who leaned so sweetly to his father's chest, it made Harry sob softly in adoration. He watched the dark wizard's face and thought about everything he had been told. How great, terrifyingly great was Marvolo's life, how devastating and miserable. He could only ache for him, cry for him and hope that future would bring a change for the better. Sadly Harry wondered how come he had lost any kind of fear in the face of Voldemort, how had he come to trust him so much, to hold him and listen to his horrible confessions without a second thought that he might fall a victim one day as well? _No, Marvolo would never hurt me._ Somehow this knowledge was absolute to Harry, he didn't doubt it. But he was still weary and uncertain of declaring his love for the Dark Lord - even though the man was slowly becoming human again he was incomplete, didn't understand many of the most complex emotions, didn't appreciate them and it galled Harry, made him scared of being rejected or, worse, ignored. Marvolo could very well enjoy their life together, their family union, but it didn't mean that he could or wanted to love another. In all honesty Harry was afraid to hear that Marvolo didn't love him back, or didn't care for his love - it was easier to keep it a secret and do not dwell on senseless dreams than be hurt so painfully.

**xxx**

He was running through the thick forest, so dark he barely avoided trees that suddenly appeared in his way. He didn't know why was he running, what kind of fear was compelling him to move so fast, was making his heart beat so maddeningly against his ribcage. It was cold, so _cold_ around him, the steam that came out of his mouth froze in the air and turned into snow, prickling on his face. He heard a low howl somewhere far away and jerked to run even faster. Where was this place? Was it the Forbidden Forest? Harry stumbled and fell on his knees, coughing in pain in his lungs at the sharp intake of the air. It felt like his feet were burning and were going to turn into ash the next second. Staring around wildly, he creeped backwards to press his back against the nearest tree and searched for his wand, that got lost in the layers of his robe. He thought he saw a strange gleam out of the corner of his eye and turned to squint into the darkness - was it a lake down there?

Shaking all over, he crawled towards the water on his fours, panting in fright, unnerved by the brooding atmosphere of the place. The crescent moon's reflection was the only source of light around him, however, when he looked up he couldn't find it on the black blue sky, covered sparsely with tiny dots of dimly shining stars. Confused, scared, Harry moved closer to the water to wash the deep cuts and scratches on his trembling dirty hands and jerked, when a sudden shiver ran down his spine. He turned around but nothing could be seen in complete darkness around him. "_Lumos_," he breathed out almost inaudibly and froze in terror when the faint light of his holly wand showed a hundred of dementors floating in the air above him. He screamed, snapped out of his stupor by the searing pain in his chest, when they suddenly rushed down at him. "_Expecto Patronum!_" he cried, backing into the water, wheezing and grabbing on his throat, that felt hurtfully sore. A huge silver panther erupted from the tip of his wand and jumped at the screeching dementors, roaring fiercely.

He felt human flesh under his hand and turned sharply only to see Sirius' corpse lying under the black water with his grey glassy eyes opened widely. "Sirius!" Harry choked on the word, frantically splashing the water around him, as he tried to pull the man out - he weighted a ton it seemed. The tears of frustration covered Harry's face and he helplessly sank down on his knees, mourning his godfather, of whom he had been thinking so rarely lately, for the sense of guilt was too overwhelming for him to bear. "Forgive me," he sobbed loudly, having had completely forgotten about the dementors that were still circling him from afar. His patronus dissipated into the air and his wand's light died out and Harry found himself in oppressing darkness once again. "_Lumos, lumos,_" he mumbled weekly but his wand only glowed faintly, barely illuminating the air around its tip. "No, no," he whined desperately, as the clawed hands reached out for him and grabbed on his shoulders, and the freezing, rotten breath brushed against his cheek. Deafened by his mother's screams and blinded by the flashes of green he struggled the pain that was piercing through his very soul, hysterically wishing it all to be a dream, begging to wake up.

"_Harry_," the familiar deep voice called for him and he opened his eyes, squinting at the bright light that fell on his face, reflected by the lake. The soul sucking monsters jerked away from him, hissing at the tall man, who was standing with a lighted up wand in his hand. "Harry, why are you hanging about in that water, you will catch cold." Marvolo slowly walked towards him, completely unimpressed by the number of the disgusting creatures flying around him threateningly, though keeping distance from him.

Harry stared at his lover, shocked and excited to see him here, grateful to be saved from the horrible death. However, when his eyes got used to the bright light of the other's wand, he noticed there was somebody else standing between them - a tall hooded figure in black, floating above the ground, very much like dementor, very much like... The stranger turned and Harry gasped at the sight of the blood red eyes gleaming ominously from underneath the hood - it was Voldemort, _the Voldemort_ that Harry had met in his first year at Hogwarts. He could clearly see unicorn's silver blood dripping from the fiend's mouth. Harry wanted to warn Marvolo, to call him, to make him stop, but his tongue has gone numb and he watched helplessly, fearfully, as the dark wizard got closer and closer to the monster with his every step.

"Do I have a halo above my head you are staring at me so wildly?" Marvolo drawled amusedly and simply walked through the hooded figure of Voldemort, that dissipated into the air as if it had never been here before. "Would you mind?" Marvolo confidently strode into the black water and held out his hand for Harry to take. He was smiling in his usual arrogant fashion and his eyes shone brightly, watching Harry warmly and affectionately - his whole posture was nothing like the monster that had been standing at the shore. It was Marvolo, _his dear Marvolo_.

"Marvolo, I..." Harry croaked, grabbing on the offered hand with relief. "Dementors..." he whispered shakily, staring around in terror, when the man pulled him up easily, as if he was a feather.

"Oh, never mind them," Marvolo sighed and waved his hand in annoyance at the creatures, who instantly shrunk away from him, screeching in fear that he might curse them. "So much drama for nothing," he shook his head and looked Harry over, rising his eyebrows in wonder. "Would you mind telling me what are you doing here?" He looked around curiously, twirling his wand in his long fingers.

"I... Sirius..." Harry groaned devastatingly and leaned on Marvolo, seeking support, for his knees have suddenly given away. "He is dead. I couldn't save him... He is dead because of me," he sobbed harshly, shaking in cold and grief. A pair of long, strong arms enveloped him in a welcoming embrace and dragged him gently away to the shore, while he was staring into the blackness of the lake, trying to catch a glimpse of his godfather's corpse again.

"I will never understand why do you blame yourself for something you haven't done, something you haven't had control over," Marvolo muttered, pulling him to stand straight and waved his wand, drying Harry's clothes with a spell.

"But he..." Harry threw his arms in the air helplessly, pointing at the lake, trying to convey the horror of the situation. "He went after me to the Ministry..."

"Did you ask him to come with you?" Marvolo sighed in exesperation, looking at Harry as if he was a little child, who couldn't grasp a simple concept.

"No," he frowned at his oddly bare feet. Why had he come into the forest barefoot?

"Did he die protecting you? Did one of my people kill him?" Marvolo asked reasonably, squeezing his shoulders sympathetically.

"No. Aurors killed him after you took me away..." Harry looked up into the blood red eyes that were bright as burning coals, standing out sharply against the surrounding darkness.

"Harry, he came after you because he was worried for you, he wanted to make sure you won't get hurt. What happened to him was the consequence of _his own_ decision. Nobody forced him into fighting, hadn't he been told to stay hidden? He didn't listen, that was why he died. Not because of you." He pulled Harry closer and stroked his head, looking him straight in the eye, speaking calmly but seriously. "Do you really believe he wouldn't have gotten caught or killed later? Do you really believe he would have obediently waited for you to be found and returned safely back? I doubt that a man like Black wouldn't have done something stupid to "_help_" you. Harry, you must accept his death and most of all you must realize that you are not at fault here." Marvolo considered him for a moment and then sighed heavily, tiredly, closing his eyes in resignation. "Do you blame yourself for your mother's death?"

"_What?_" The question got him by surprise. Harry raised his eyebrows, staring at the dark wizard in confusion and disturbance.

"You are a child of a prophecy, Harry, if it wasn't for you I would have never killed her that night. If it wasn't for you she would have never died," Marvolo told him in a grave voice, looking up at him expectantly.

"No," Harry shook his head in denial, suddenly hollow inside, "No, she... She loved me too much, she would have never let me die, prophecy or not... She... She fought you anyway, she was in the Order..." Lost, he threw the man a desperate glance, pleading him to say it was true.

"Exactly, Harry, _exactly_," Marvolo smiled sadly. "She loved you so much she was ready to sacrifice herself for your sake. I or any other Death Eater could haver killed her in one of the many fights she had participated in as a member of the Order. Prophecy or not, she was always in danger, because she thought she was fighting for what was right, most importantly she was fighting for you. It is not your fault that you are her son and that she loved you as a mother should. It is the same with Black, Harry. It is not your fault he wanted to protect you."

Harry covered his mouth, as a loud sob escaped his lips, and pressed into Marvolo's frame, crying desprately, harshly. He was embraced and held so lovingly, so kindly, just like he had aways dreamed he would be held by somebody whom he loved and who loved him in return. Shaking, clutching on other's clothes, he wept, wept like he hadn't had done in many, many years. It felt as if a great weight was gradually leaving his shoulders, as if chains around his heart were being broken - he thought he had never felt so sad and so light at the same time. It was a purifying kind of grief, the one that led him to his catharsis. "Marvolo," he whispered gratefuly.

"Sh-sh," a cold finger was pressed against his lips. "I know. It is alright, Harry. It is always hard to see the truth for yourself," Marvolo murmured, rubbing on his back in soothing circles. "I will never leave you, I promised you, remember? And I will never let anybody hurt you, especially yourself. I will always be here for you, my dear, I will always chase your nightmares away," he kissed Harry's cheek, caressing it gently with the knuckles of his hand.

"I..." He wanted to say it, he wanted to tell him how much he loved him, but the dark wizard smiled and shook his head, once again silencing him.

"It is time to _wake up,_ my dear."

Harry opened his eyes and sat up sharply on the bed. It was early morning, the first rays of the sun lay on the covers, painting them yellow. Catching his breath in realization that it all was just a dream, he slowly turned his head and looked at Marvolo, who lay next to him, watching him intently.

"I hope you have finally _understood_, Harry," Voldemort said softly. Harry had been slowly but steadily opening up to him, leaving his mind unprotected more often now. He knew there were still many unresolved issues between them and planned to gradually help his Prince, by studying his consciousness and entering his nightmares to get rid of the root of the problem.

"I have," Harry nodded, remembering what had happened. It wasn't just a bad dream - Marvolo had penetrated his mind and memories, initiating him to endure his fears again in order to banish them altogether. Thinking back on Sirius he had to admit that it wasn't as painful now, as it used to be. Now that he truly believed he wasn't the one to blame for his godfather's death, he didn't feel ashamed and crushed by the notion. He felt upset thinking of the man, he missed him, but his heart didn't bleed anymore. "Thank you," he murmured, looking at the dark wizard with admiration. He could never imagine that Marvolo could feel so _deeply_, could understand his heart so well...

"No point in torturing yourself for no reason," Voldemort shrugged and relaxed back into the pillows. "We have two more hours of sleep before your next "_performance_" and I would strongly recommend to actually sleep this time and rest," he grumbled, tossing and turning to find a more comfortable position.

"Yeah, I remember," Harry sighed and nestled cozily next to him. It was already the end of March, the Easter holidays were coming soon and Marvolo expected a bigger audience this time, since they chose to set up their conference at the Central Market in the wizarding area of the docks of London.

"Are you ready?" The Dark Lord inquired in a patronizing tone. They had spent the last week training, both he and Severus taught Harry simple but efficient dark spells, though the progress was slow, since Harry was stubbornly against learning anything of a maiming and harming kind, insisting that he could get by with his knowledge of Defense. It took a great deal of time and patience to convince him that he had to know exactly what he was defending against and for that he had to master it as well.

"I think I am," he rolled his eyes carelessly. "Could you tell Severus to stop torturing me with those nasty spells of his, that make my insides burn and my skin itch like mad, it is so annoying. He simply takes pleasure in making me suffer!" Harry huffed, giving the man a mischievous look.

"I am not going to ask after you, you lazy snot. You have to learn to endure little discomfort, it isn't like we are making you grow used to surviving Cruciatus," Voldemort muttered, feigning ire, though he knew very well that Harry was simply baiting him. He glared pointedly at the young wizard and closed his eyes, demonstrating that he was planning to get his so long desired sleep. Domhnall had finally grown his first tooth and was now sleeping peacefully at nights, giving his parents a chance to catch a break.

"You are truly _evil_," Harry sighed dramatically and grinned when he noticed that the corners of Marvolo's mouth have slightly quivered in a suppressed smile. "How about spending this time doing something else but sleeping, something more productive?" he offered playfully, twirling a lock of chestnut hair in his fingers.

"I approve of the way you think." The rose lips stretched in an arrogant lustful smile and Voldemort grabbed on Harry harshly, making him laugh in surprise. "Two hours won't be enough but you will be ready and absolutely impeccable today in front of them."

"This is so much better than your bloody curses," Harry smiled contentedly, "This is the best practice in the world." The beastly wild, hungry gleam of the ruby eyes made him blush fiercely and he let out an indecent moan, when Marvolo assaulted his mouth, growling possessively. _You are the best in the world, Marvolo._


End file.

Harry Potter, Angst, Drama