In the Middle of the Night
In the Middle of the Night
by
Indelible Quill
It wasn't either of their choice to get stuck with each other in a foreign country; heck they weren't even sure how they got there in the first place! But, after three days of reluctantly trekking together, hunger dug a huge crater in Harry's sense of morality and he found himself grabbing a stray chicken and hitting it with a killing curse, before putting it on a spit over a fire. This was too much even for the fearsome Dark Lord and he stared at Harry in horrified fascination the whole time while the latter roasted the chicken.
Harry ignored him and poked at the chicken with his wand. Satisfied with the colour of the chicken, he levitated it out of the fire and tore through it.
A scandalous gasp reminded him of his unfortunate and unwanted companion. He shot him a glance and found the great Dark Lord looking at him as if he was the monster.
Harry snorted.
He tore a leg of the chicken and raised it to Voldemort, who scrunched his non-existent nose in disgust, eerily resembling a snobby society lady.
Harry stared at him, incredulously. Slowly shaking his head at the unreality of the entire situation, he promptly chomped on the leg he had offered.
He heard a huff. From the corner of his eye, he saw the Dark Lord's thin lips jut out in a terrifying imitation of a pout. He was pretty sure that “pout” was going to feature in his nightmares.
"What? I did offer you food!" Harry said defensively.
The Dark Lord made no reply and simply turned his head away from him.
Harry ate the rest of the chicken in silence. After he had gnawed at all the bones to make sure there was no meat, he delicately placed the bones in a neat pile and let out a loud, satisfied belch.
Instantly he caught his companion's frown at his lack of etiquette and decorum. Feeling vaguely self conscious, he muttered an “Excuse Me” in a low voice. Seemingly satisfied, Voldemort went back to staring at the dark forest around them.
Realising he had let the snakey-bastard chastise him for burping, Harry felt the need to gain some common ground. So he did.
"All of this is your fault."
Voldemort raised a non-existent eyebrow. "Do elaborate," He said silkily.
Suddenly, all similarities to an uptight society lady was gone and the dangerous aura of a powerful dark wizard was back. It was only his years of experience of facing the dark wizard that kept Harry from reacting. Except for his wand-hand that tightened on his wand. Red slitted eyes took in his reaction and Voldemort's thin lips curved into a smirk of self-satisfaction.
Harry's stomach tightened not in a completely unpleasant way. Unbidden, his eyes traced those thin lips and the feeling in his stomach deepened.
A dim memory came to his mind as he kept his eyes fixed on his Noseless Nemesis with a kind of sexy smirk gracing his mouth. A sliver of recollection to a time in his second year...Standing in a cavernous chamber that existed perhaps miles under the ground, his twelve year old self, confused and defiant, facing the sixteen-year old essense of Tom Marvolo Riddle, perceiving how the horcrux looked at him with undisguised hunger. At that time he thought it was hunger for power, for murder. But the memory shocked him like an electric eel casually caressing his feet. He felt a hot flash of horniness explode in his chest, out of the blue.
Then he remembered he was connected to Voldemort. That couldn't have been him...Could it?
He was jerked back into reality at the sound of a rough chuckle from Voldemort.
Harry shuddered. No, this crawling something in his stomach was not pleasant at all.
He had, unknowingly, lowered his eyes when the faint memory from the past had filtered in, but now he was helplessly caught inside the scarlet gaze of his arch nemesis.
Harry wished he could say that the years of confrontations, devious plots and blind bravery had eradicated his fear of the Dark Lord. Alas, his wishes couldn’t be summoned by a simple Accio.
But you definitely feel something other than fear. Remember how he looked at you? Don't you want to be devoured? Harry forcefully slammed those thoughts down the dark pit inside his mind.
His eyes snapped open. When had he closed them again? They might not be able to hurt each other, still there was need for caution.
Wait. They couldn’t hurt each other.
Harry wanted to slap his forehead in sheer exasperation. He knew Hermione would have smacked him over the head at his utter idiocy. He felt a pang in his chest at the thought of his brilliant friend and tried hard not to think about both of his best friends.
The point being; neither Voldemort nor Harry could harm the other in any way. When they had landed in this place, they had tried to continue their duel. But instead of hitting the other person, the spell had backfired and hurtled towards the creator.
Harry winced, his bruised body reminiscent of the Severing Charm of his that had bounced back at him. He had managed to deflect it with a Protego but the force of the backfired spell had thrown his arse on the ground. Had it not been for the pain, he would have been impressed with the amount of power his spell held.
Harry forced his mind to focus on the present situation, shaking off the painful memories.
See there is nothing to be afraid of, he insisted in his head.
Gathering courage, he met the glowing eyes that were watching him, clearly enjoying his internal struggle. That smug bastard.
"You heard me right. If it was not for you then I could have been having Treacle Tart at Hogwarts with my friends."
Voldemort's eyes flashed dangerously. If he had a nose, Harry was sure the nostrils would have been flared in indignation.
"You dare-"
Harry swiftly cut off his threats. He was simply too used to them. Besides running around with less than four hours of sleep and in this dark and dreary place, his stomach was still growling in hunger. The chicken had done little to stave off his hunger. Well, let's just say Harry's self preservation had closed off its senses as soon as that first whisper of lust had peaked inside him and added to the uncomfortable mess that was this day.
"If only you had not had the bloody brilliant idea of performing yet another forbidden ritual to become a more hideous looking person for power then we wouldn't be here!" He complained loudly.
"Hideous! How dare you, Potter?! Do you have any idea how powerful it …"
Harry rolled his eyes as the evil git continued his familiar speech with fervour. He had completely tuned him out when his eyes caught on something peculiar on Voldemort's face.
Was there something different about his face?
Perhaps his glasses were finally failing him and his eyesight had worsened or his current situation was making him see illusions. Because it seemed as if Voldemort’s face was changing before him in real time. It was similar to the action of Polyjuice Potion but smoother. He could clearly see a bump where two snake-like nostrils previously existed. A bump that suspiciously looked like a human nose. And his skin? It looks more pink than green now.
"I better sleep now." Harry muttered to himself, rubbing his eyes in confusion and fatigue. He was sure his exhausted mind was creating hallucinations. Harry was not new to living long hours without food or sleep. But this was the first time he felt more pushed to his limits when compared to the times he had spent in the cupboard under the stairs. Sighing to himself, he wondered if they should find somewhere to stay or hide in the forest till then.
***
Meanwhile Voldemort clenched his teeth and tried hard not to curl into a ball as unimaginable pain shot through his face, particularly under his eyes and on the nostrils region. He was reminded of the feeling of skele-gro at the hospital wing - due to an accident he hardly shared with anyone. He felt something grow on his face like a mushroom and then his red eyes managed to zero on a long sacrificed organ: his long straight nose that was bequeathed to him by his father's genes. As the pain continued like a thousand knives cutting through his face and body as well, Voldemort wondered: Is this a side effect of the new ritual?
He gritted his teeth. No matter what was the cause behind it, Lord Voldemort would bear the pain with digni-he screamed as the pain reached higher peaks, eerily reminiscent of the killing curse backfiring and tearing into his flesh and soul. Unable to bear the pain, he succumbed to painless oblivion of darkness.
***
Harry jumped as he heard the scream, whirling around to face his nemesis with a curse ready on his lips. And then stared in shock at the fallen Dark Lord. Stared in shock at the figure which looked more like a fallen angel than a dark wizard with a mutilated soul.
His emerald eyes took in the sight of what was once a vile looking creature, a snake man who was no longer bald or noseless. Lush, curly black tresses crowned his skull and adorned his sculpted cheekbones, lending him an almost angelic effect. His eyelids had the longest lashes. Harry stopped himself from inching closer to observe them.
His mangy robes didn't change but his drastic transition from an ugly snake man to a drop dead gorgeous swan made those robes look like rags hanging off a diamond encrusted hanger. He looked ethereal and appeared to look asleep. Except for the furrowed eyebrows that suggested he wasn't completely in peaceful slumber
"Man, even his bloody eyebrows are handsome." Mumbled a dazed Harry in mild jealousy and a foreign emotion he felt too afraid to explore. He felt like he was back in the chamber with Tom - not Voldemort but Tom Riddle Jr. Except he wasn't twelve anymore. He was almost eighteen and he didn't like the unholy leap of hope in his heart at that thought.
Harry decided he better register to St.Mungos before he lost his head over his hunky nemesis.
Just as he had taken a few steps back to gain some composure, Volde-no-Dark L-no, no- Tom whimpered pitifully.
Harry found himself instinctively rushing towards the prone figure (Much better, Harry thought, pleased with the word). He leaned over the sna-Vol-Da-erm person and saw the furrowed brows have deepened exponentially, his strangely full pink lips have parted and his cheeks were ruddy in obvious signs of strain. Sweat beaded on his pale forehead making him glow. His eyes were still closed and Harry was so very thankful for such small mercies that the universe blessed him with at random times. He was already embarrassed with himself, he really did not need another person to point it out.
But damn, was he beautiful.
Another painful groan had Harry jerking back to his previous position. For a moment his hands hovered in the air, unsure of where to put them, then slowly he lowered his hands to touch the tattered dark robes.
Harry watched, helplessly excited, as his hands made their meandering way, shaping the contours of the firm chest, the broad shoulders, the arching neck and paused gently to cup the sharp cheekbones.
What the fuck are you doing, you bloody idiot?! A very little voice of reason shrieked, sounding a bit too much like Hermione for his taste.
Harry brushed his thumb on Tom's cheeks (Yes, this name suits him the best, his mind whispered). The corner of his thumb somehow landed on those lips and Harry stopped. His hand shifted and he laid his entire thumb on Tom's bottom lip, worrying it again and again.
It was fascinating how his lips parted, exhaling heated breath on Harry's finger and the way his constant and rather insistent rubbing had turned them into a darker shade of red.
How wonderful, he exclaimed in his mind.
His emerald eyes sparkled and for once in his life, his mind was entirely silent. There was absolutely no thought or concerns racing through him. Just a pair of maddening lips, attached to an equally maddening man.
Harry smiled wryly, well Tom was a mad man and no one could deny that. It was probably the nicest thing that had been thought about him in a while, anyway. Tom should be thanking him for the unsaid compliment, really.
Harry tried not to think how easily and quickly he had grown used to calling this person Tom. That was something for the Harry of tomorrow to work out.
His finger had, by now, moved to his upper lip, determined to render them in matching colour when his eyes caught on Tom's face. And he froze.
Half lidded eyes watched him with a single minded intensity. From Harry's rather compromised position, he could only see a faded scarlet tinge lining Tom's eyes. Harry shifted under the burning gaze and to his mounting horror (and delight) he realised that at some point he had crawled onto Tom's lap and was effectively straddling him.
Basically, Harry was sitting on Tom's thighs with his hands frozen on Tom's face where he had been playing with his lips and well... You get it right?
'You are such an idiot, Harry.' Again, Hermione.
What's wrong with him? Harry despaired while sitting on the now beautiful Dark Lord's lap (‘Tom’, hissed a voice inside his head insistently).
***
Had it been a mere few minutes or a gargantuan amount of hours? Voldemort wasn't sure which was a worrying first time for him. He had been sure ever since he committed his first murder, his only hiccups in expected variables occurred due to the interference of the wretched Albus Dumbledore. He sensed he had returned back to the days when he was unsure despite being readily sure. It had been decades since he last felt human but now ... He felt whole. The top of his head felt full and ticklish as if hair had sprouted on it. He felt air pass to and fro from his very human nostrils. His skin felt warmer. He felt warmer, more alive. Young.
The pain hadn't gone away fully; small jolts of agony travelled up and down throughout his body still. But it was manageable enough that he was able to rouse himself from oblivion and sense the weight of another being on his thighs. He also felt a thumb touch his regrown lower lip, again and again until he felt a foreign stirring inside him. A stirring that felt close to desire. He opened his eyes a little and spotted the Boy Who Lived with the enchanting green eyes stare down at him in shock, his youthful cheeks blushing tomato red, frozen on his lap. His face reminded Tom of that foolish muggle fairytale he heard at the orphanage, something about a girl named Snow White with ebony hair, green eyes and red cheeks. Right now, Tom felt he was looking at Snow White herself, with the exception of vital female body parts. But did Tom mind?
Most worryingly no.
Instead he found his own hand rising to cup the other's face, thumb tracing over his lips. Potter remained still but his green eyes darkened, desire clouding the clear depths. Something told him that the same desire was reflected in his own eyes.
The Dark Lord braced his other hand on the ground and slowly sat up, his thumb never leaving the Boy Who Lived's lips. As he rose, their hips were pushed closed and...it had been over a decade since he felt his cock stiffen, lust hazing over his mind. A moan broke out of his nemesis' throat, stirring the heat inside him. Suddenly, the enmity meant very little to him.
As he sat up, Tom Riddle wrapped his other hand around Harry Potter's waist and brought their lips together. The latter reciprocated by wrapping his arms around his shoulders and moulding their bodies together in a perfect fit.
Lost in their passion, neither wizard noticed the subtle change in the forest surrounding them.
***
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