Okay, alright, stop the press, here it is. Firstly, my sincere apologies for how insanely long this has taken. Please forgive. In my defence, since the last chapter I have moved house, got a new job, started uni, had a mental break down, quit said job and learned a shit-load of Japanese. ^_^ (Though not much in the scale of things at all!) Hopefully the next one won't be nearly as bad! Oh and, this chapter is almost three times the length of my average chapters. zom. Anyway, on with the show. Apologies for any weirdness or bad tenses, my brain died a bit on the whole, ‘English language’ thing for this chapter. *smiles weakly* (not as though it’s my first language or anything! <--sarcasm. ^_^;)


Previous Chapters:

/ Chapter One / Chapter Two / Chapter Three / Chapter Four /




Quick Summary: (Crossover fic: Laurell K. Hamilton’s Anita Blake universe) Voldemort’sturned into sexy vampire, (Oooo!) Harry gets captured, (Oh Noes!) Chaos ensues (Aaah!) Contains: kitties, guns, Anita (+ gang), sex, biting, and a profusion of swearing. Enjoy! (Despite summary, not actually crackfic.)

Title: Dry My Tears (Harry Potter and Anita Blake crossover)

Pairings: Harry/Voldemort, Draco/Jason, Anita/all her usuals as of Incubus Dreams

Rating: R18 (NC17)

Warnings: Non-con, Ardeur, Voldemort, violence

Setting: 7th year following HP cannon till end of GoF, AB cannon till end of Incubus Dreams

Extras: My character guide for Anita Blake series can be found here.






Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, Laurell K. Hamilton, and other publishers, no money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.



A\N for this chapter: This: //blah blah// = Parseltongue.


--

“Harry?”

“Huh?!” Harry’s head snapped up from the table.

Hermione’s smile was gentle, “Harry, maybe you should get some sleep.”

“What? No! No I was just reading up on this Germanic relative of the Runespoor. It’s really interesting and I’m almost finished.”

“It’ll still be there in the morning.” Hermione quietly bookmarked and closed the pages, tugging the book away from Harry’s half-heartedly resisting hands. “It’s almost midnight and you’ve been training all day. Give yourself a break before you, well... break.” she said.

“But I-”

“Harry,” Hermione rested her hand on his shoulder, “You keep pushing yourself like this and you won’t be able to fight a Gryndilow, let alone a Dark Lord.”

A shadow passed over her face as she spoke; Hermione still insisted that it wasn’t Harry’s responsibility to kill Voldemort, but Harry knew that Dumbledore had his reasons - even if he still refused to say what they were. Harry had been furious about Dumbledore’s silence all through his fifth year, but after an attack that had killed several people who were outspoken against Voldemort, including two Order of the Phoenix members, Dumbledore had taken Harry aside and asked for his trust. He had explained to Harry that for reasons he couldn’t say, Voldemort wished to kill Harry personally, and through the connection that had formed when Voldemort tried to kill Harry as a baby, Harry might be one of the only people who could defeat him. Bizarre and confusing the explanation may have been, Harry had felt connected to Voldemort for years, and the idea had made sense in a strange way. Despite his misgivings, Harry couldn’t refuse in the light of fearful people and grief-stricken families. Ever since then he had had daily personal training in many fields to give him the ability and knowledge to face Voldemort.

Looking up into Hermione’s eyes, Harry wondered if it would be enough.


~..*..~


Harry woke up with a gasp, the fragments of his dream still clinging to his mind. He stared in confusion at the unfamiliar ceiling till the sound of waves crashing a shoreline bought reality slamming back home. He sat up, he was back in what he assumed was ‘his’ room. The sun was shining through open windows which bought the sound and smell of the ocean into the room.

Harry winced as pain shivered though him and he looked down at his body, a small, breathless noise escaped him at the sight of his flesh covered in bite and scratch marks. Unable to sit still, he scrambled out of the bed and looked around the room helplessly; finally he ran to a window and threw his upper body out into the sun, gasping in fresh air. Breath rushed in and out of his lungs as he let out several great sobs, desperately trying to hold back the tears that fluttered beneath his eyelids.

Oh Hermione, you were right, I should never have tried, I didn’t have the strength or ability to defend myself against him.

“I’m-” he whispered into the cool air, “I’m so sorry. I was an idiot and I’m so sorry.”

It took several minutes, but soon Harry took a last fierce breath and shoved the horror and grief back – he opened his eyes and looked out at the scenery. From the window Harry could see that he was in a huge castle that seemed to have and odd mix of both gothic and East Asian design - not that Harry was particularly knowledgeable about architecture. The castle was black with red and gold contrasts, and Harry’s room seemed to be at almost the highest point in a huge central tower that backed onto a short expanse of cliff which ran down gently on one side to a small, rocky beach.

Twisting, Harry looked up to see that only one floor and then the elaborate tower roof was above his own room. He bit his lip and pulled back inside, trying not to think about whom that room probably belonged to.

With a sigh, Harry turned around; his own room had the huge bed at one end, a fireplace on the left wall, a large window seat on the right and huge double doors across the room facing the bed. Right now Harry couldn’t face the idea of sleeping in a bed, but his muscles were still aching, so he climbed onto the window seat and curled up in the pillows, bathing in the shining sun, listening to the crashing waves below.

It seemed strange to have all this luxury and comfort at the same time as being a prisoner, I would have almost been happier in a dripping dungeon cell. At least then it’s honest and I can be miserable in peace. Memories of Voldemort’s hands on his skin flashed into Harry’s mind and he choked, clutching a cushion to his chest. He was so busy trying to mentally bat away the thoughts, he didn’t hear the doors creaking open.

//Hello, little one,//

Harry gasped at the voice, turning to face the huge snake that was lying in the middle of his room. After a few seconds of instinctive, ‘Me, Human. Snake kill human. Snake kill me. AHHH!’ thoughts, he managed to stutter, //You- Are, are you Nagani?//

Dumbledore’s anti-Voldemort group, the Order of the Phoenix, had told Harry of Voldemort’s huge snake companion Nagani, which had accompanied the Dark Lord for many years.

The snake raised its head, tasting the air. //So, it is true. You do speak the snake tongue like our master. The white cat, Draco, said that you did, but I did not believe. To answer: yes, I am Nagani, I am our master’s familiar, just as you are his mate.//

Harry grimaced. Snakes don’t really understand the way humans had sex, so the word for mate was the closest Nagani could come to... slave, catamite, lover, whatever Harry was now. He clutched the cushion he was holding tighter. //Did, did you want something?// He asked, hoping the snake would just go away.

//I wanted to speak with you. My master said that you were special. He has been seeking you for a very long time.//

//Seeking me? More like trying to kill me, don’t you think!?//

//Yes, for a long time he did seek your death. But he has changed his mind now.//

//Yeah, and I’m just so fucking grateful.//

The snake just stared at Harry, //He has honoured you with his flesh and his power.// she said eventually.

Harry squeezed his eyes shut, //I don’t want it!//

The snake slid closer, //No? But you taste of human desire. Both his and your own.//

Harry wasn’t able to prevent the choked sob from escaping, //I didn’t want to want him! He cast a spell on me that made me- It- It took over me!//

//Ah, my master’s mating magic. I have seen it many times now. Even those not in season wish to mate with my master when he uses that magic.//

Harry opened his eyes, //Yes! You’ve, you’ve seen it happen to others then? Others had the same thing happen? It’s not that I’m...// weak.

//I have seen similar things, yes, but you are special, our master has chosen you to carry his mating hunger for him. You are not like the others.//

//I wish he had just left me alone.// Harry whispered.

The snake twitched and looked upward. At the same time, Harry felt something like a light bulb switching on in his head.

//Our master wakes,// Nagani said, //You must go to him.// She looked at him again, //Wishes for the impossible are foolish, young one, it would be wise not to waste your time with them.//


~..*..~


Harry sat silently in the sun, shivering.

His mind was a mass of confusion; fear, anger, shame, loneliness.

He could feel Voldemort in his head. He always had, but ever since being captured, the presence was no longer like a whisper at the farthest reaches of his mind, but more like a constant, glowing presence hovering front-and-centre. Demanding notice, awareness, acceptance.

He chewed on his lip and waited; the sounds of calling seabirds and crashing waves no longer a balm to the rising terror. The emptiness of his room turned from relieving comfort into waiting emptiness. Emptiness that surely soon would be filled by painful presence.

A phantom hand brushed over his arm, “My little one, you are so cold on this beautiful day.”

Harry tried not to flinch away from the invisible touch, “Leave me alone.” He whispered to the empty room.

Fingers seemed to trail down his spine, “Why would I want to do that? You are my perfect little pet, Potter. You are mine for all eternity.”

Harry couldn’t repress the horrified shudders anymore, his body trying to twitch away from the insidious touches. “No. I am your enemy, I’m, I’m just a kid, you aren’t supposed to- to-” fuck me- touch me- twist me.

“Oh? Just a child, are you Harry? That’s not what you said to Dumbledore. Yes, I listened in on that little conversation. You seemed willing enough to be considered an adult if it would mean that he gave you what you needed to fight.”

Harry’s surprise couldn’t stop the familiar resentment towards Dumbledore’s smiles and games from welling up in him, “I never wanted to be Dumbledore’s golden boy- everyone else was just too afraid to do anything!”

A hand stroked down the back of Harry’s neck, Harry was so irritated he didn’t notice when his shivers ceased and his eyes fluttered half-closed.

“But they were right to be afraid, weren’t they, Harry? Dumbledore couldn’t protect you - and he won’t be able to protect them. Dumbledore is a grown, powerful wizard and the only defence he could think of was to throw a confused and misled boy into the thick of a war. He didn’t care that you were a child, Harry. Did you truly think of yourself as one when you chose to oppose me?”

Harry hissed in annoyance, “That’s not the point. I shouldn’t have had to choose. I should have been left alone.”

“Should you? Even when your destiny was spoken of when you still rested in your mother’s womb? Would you have left a child such as that alone, Harry?”

Harry clenched his hands into fists, unaware of turning into gentle fingers that caressed his face. “They should have protected me; given me a chance to grow up happy and healthy, ready to make my own decisions.”

Memories of the Dursleys rushed at him: Vernon’s angry face yelling insults, grabbing frail, starved flesh and forcibly throwing it into a tiny, dark closet. Dudley’s sneers, punishing gleefully with fists or stones or sticks. Petunia’s spite and manipulation. Every day filled with fear, hope leeching away as brief, undefined memories of love became overwhelmed by unending cold.

A second hand had joined the first and was stroking firm comfort down Harry’s spine, “Dumbledore left you with those people, Harry. He knew, he watched and left you there because he knew how grateful you would feel to be rescued from your fate. Taken away to a place that every child dreams of, Magic and comfort and friendship and what appears to be love. Your loyalty to him would be sure and unfailing, endless relief and gratitude to your saviour assured. But he made the same mistake with you as he did with me... He sent you back. Back to be reminded every year of where you came from and what you could lose if you betrayed him. You’re strong, Harry, like me. Dumbledore knew what damage could be caused in a place like where you grew up, but he didn’t understand what strength could be found by those with the courage to survive. He didn’t know that loneliness and fear can spring forth its own kind of fierce independence and strength.

“You were willing to love him for what he gave you; you were even willing to follow him. But you would never be a fool for him, never be used by him, never obey without question. Because you can’t, can you? You’ve learnt in your life that no one can ever save you; you can only save yourself.”

Harry’s head was bowed under the onslaught of words, eyes closed and sadness curling tightly within him; oblivious to naked skin being comforted by warm sun and gentle hands.

“I will never be a Dumbledore to you, Harry. I don’t want or need you for your power – I have plenty of my own. I want you for you. I want you because you are meant to be mine. I will protect you and cherish you for all time. All you need to do is submit to me.”

Harry gasped and sat up as hands tightened possessively on his flesh - fury welled up in him at the memories of high, cold laughter; Cedric’s blank eyes; Neville’s tortured parents. “Liar!” He yelled, “You have wanted to kill me since before I was born! How is that protecting me? How is turning me into to wereleopard and raping me cherishing me? All you want is to win, you could care less about me, you just hate that I still defy you! I will never submit to you, the things you want to do are insane. I will never stand by and let you hurt innocent people for no good reason- you have no right! You may have me trapped here and you may be able to control my body on a whim, but I will never let you have my heart or my soul or my willingness! You are no better than Dumbledore!”

Silence held the room still for a moment, “Is that so, little one? I think I shall have to convince you otherwise. I am not a kind man, Harry, and what I want I get. I will have you willingly at my feet in time, but I believe you will not enjoy your journey there nearly as much as I will.”

Abruptly Harry felt a brush of magic, and he was clothed in tight back pants and a white shirt that somehow closed in a way that showed off most of his chest.

Harry sucked in a breath, but before he had time to think Voldemort spoke again, “Come to me, now.”

Defiance surged through Harry’s blood, but the manacles attached to his wrists and ankles suddenly heated and a rush of power found Harry blinking out of existence, before snapping back, now in a sun-filled pale room, clearly a smaller audience chamber than the cave downstairs, this one indicating fine, cool taste with a mocking edge of power as Voldemort sat in a golden wood and white marble throne, surrounded by afternoon light.


~..*..~


“Harry,” Voldemort greeted him.

“Tom,” Harry viciously replied.

This time the Dark Lord showed no response to his birth name being used save for a miniscule narrowing of the eyes. “Come here and sit,” he said, indicating a dark green cushion at his feet.

“No.” Harry snarled.

Voldemort merely smiled at Harry’s defiance, he raised a hand and spoke a single word. Before Harry had time to think to dodge a chain had snaked out from the Dark Lord’s hand, a collar at its end that wrapped firmly around Harry’s neck. He gasped and raised his hands to tear it away but a sharp tug hand him stumbling the few steps to the throne, tripping and only just managing to get the waiting cushion to break most of his fall. A massive flash of pain shot from the collar to the rest of his body, causing him to cry out in shock, his muscles tensing and twisting. It only lasted a moment but it left him stunned and blinking on the ground.

“If you continue to act like a defiant pet, little one, you shall be treated as one- understood?” Voldemort said calmly, “This punishment will only last as long as it takes for you to obey me. There is no greater good to fight for here, Harry, just you and I and your foolishness.”

Harry growled and looked up into that beautiful face, ready to toss his fury at his so-called master, but the doors to the hall opened and Draco wandered in, his eyes flickering casually over Harry before he bowed to Voldemort.

“My Lord, I apologise for the intrusion, but Stephan has received more information from the council, he is quite agitated and wishes to speak to you. I told him you had ordered not to be interrupted this afternoon, but he said it was a matter of grave importance that could not wait.”

Harry found himself highly distracted by the presence of his pard-mate, his desire to rush over and rub up to the blond was achingly strong. He was also surprised that while Draco’s words were respectful, the Slytherin seemed to show almost no fear in the face of the Dark Lord. In fact, when Draco raised his eyes to meet his master’s, the expression within seemed to show... trust, of a sort. Harry was confused, when they had spoken previously, Draco seemed resigned but not exactly pleased with his fate, yet here, faced with the man that caused it, Draco seemed somehow sure and confident.

“Apology accepted, Draco. It’s time Harry began to learn about his role here anyway.”

Role? I thought my role consisted of being the royal fuck-toy? Don’t tell me there’s more to this than lying on a bed, beaten and bloody? Harry thought, only half-sarcastic.

Voldemort looked down at him, “I’m afraid there is a bit more to it that that, Harry, but I appreciate the imagery.”

Harry blushed and flinched, trying to resist the urge to tug away from the chain that bound him.

Voldemort turned to Draco, “Would you care to explain to my pet, Draco?”

Draco bowed in acceptance, his eyes only meeting Harry’s for a moment. “If Harry were just a pomme de sang, his role would be almost solely to serve his master and possibly his master’s guests with his body and blood.”

Harry flushed and looked away, And his guests? Oh. Oh I so can’t deal with this.

“But as Harry’s title is also that of Animal to Call, he is partially responsible for the operation of his master’s power-structure. Depending on the Master, Animals to Call are assigned different roles but are always key parts of their master’s personal and public life.”

By now Harry was blinking with confusion, Why would Voldemort give me, his enemy, a role of power in his forces?

A tug on his collar had Harry looking up at the Dark Lord, “I may not seek you for your power, little one, but it will be a valuable asset in time – once you have submitted to me. For now though, I wish for you to employ your distractingly pretty flesh and considerable mind for the role of observation only. Many will let down their guard for someone as sweet as you and show things that I would not be able to perceive.”

“You want me to spy for you?”

Voldemort shrugged graceful shoulders, “Keen observation is hardly spying, Harry, but call it what you will. You will do this, report back to me, or I will punish you severely, understood?” the words were accompanied by a sharp stab of pain from both the collar and his scar, Harry gasped but nodded and the pain faded. Spying wasn’t the end of the world and not really worth incurring Voldemort’s wrath over. It wasn’t like Harry, who had never done anything like this before, was likely to spot anything Voldemort, master Slytherin and Dark Lord to boot, didn’t see sooner and understand better.

Voldemort obviously was satisfied with Harry’s reluctant response because he ordered Draco to fetch Stephan.

“Remember to watch carefully, little one. The words, nuances, movements that this man uses tell many things. You don’t have to interpret them yet, just watch and remember so that you can recount them to me afterward.”

Harry bit his lip and tugged irritably on the manacle around one wrist –today they were carved filigree ivory with a ruby the size of his thumbnail centred on each- trying to suppress the urges to scream and wail and run and cry that kept swelling up inside him every time he let his anger rest. He was shocked by the surge of fear that struck him every time he let himself think about the Dark Lord’s presence, but he was determined not to let it control him, and not to let it show. “Why do you want me to observe Stephan anyway?” He asked to attempt to distract himself, “I thought he was one of your vampires; don’t you trust him?”

“Stephan is loyal to me for now because it suits him - a weak but old vampire, to have the position of power that he gains here though his knowledge alone.” Voldemort replied, “However, should a better offer come into play, Stephan would not hesitate to betray me. For now he is safe enough as it is unlikely that anyone could give such an insignificant vampire a more profitable position; but there is always a chance. One must be on guard with your friends, sometimes little one, even more than you are with your enemies.” Harry glanced up in time to see the older man looking down on his with a sly smile.

Harry bared his teeth and turned away.

At this point the doors opened, and Draco re-entered with the mousy vampire in tow. Both men bowed. Harry sat in his assigned position and watched the Stephan, noting the way the vampire’s eyes flicked over the scene of the Dark Lord seated with a chained, scantily dressed boy resting at his feet. Harry felt his cheeks heat slightly at the image he must present and he shifted so that his hair obscured the vampire’s view of his face.

Stephan was quick to stark speaking, “My Lord, I am truly sorry to interrupt you, but I have received news from the council regarding to whom they are sending to confer with you and I felt it was something you should be informed of straight away.”

Voldemort inclined his head slightly, “I am willing to listen, Stephan, but this had better be worth my time.”

Stephan nodded, his fingers twitching, “The reason I felt this was so important, my Lord, is that the emissaries they are sending are... not at all who I would have expected.” The man finished lamely.

Harry watched silently while Voldemort raised an eyebrow, “Go on,”

“These people they... they are not council members for one, though they do have connections, and while that is not altogether unacceptable to send non-council on council missions, these people have something of a ...reputation.

“The Master, Jean Claude, is a rising player in the vampire world. He has been involved in politics for some time, but has only become powerful in the last four years. He became Master of the City of St Louis in America when his own master died suspiciously. Since then Jean Claude killed one council member, the Earthmover - one of our oldest, and emerged victor in several council and other powerful vampire encounters. All through this he has managed to avoid outright enmity from both the council and other major vampire kisses. He is a childe of Belle Morte, but last year it is said he became the Sourdre de Sang of his own line. All this and only one hundred years ago if you knew anyone who asked him, they would say he would have never grown to have such power.”

“So, a powerful potential enemy?” Voldemort said.

Stephan paused, and Harry noticed his eyes twitching slightly, “It’s not just Jean Claude, my Lord, it’s... the Servant.”

Voldemort’s eyes flicked over to Draco and back to the advisor, “Jean Claude’s Human Servant?”

“...Yes. She... she is called the Executioner. She is employed by the American state to slay vampires who have broken the laws. Before Jean Claude she was only human, but still had many kills to her name, now she is much more. There are many rumours about her but we know she is an Animator- one who can raise the dead back to life as zombies.

“But- but they say...” The vampire almost seemed to shrink at his words, “They say she might be a Necromancer.”

Harry was confused by these mentions of Animators and zombies, surely those were only Muggle stories? He was pleased when Voldemort asked, “What do you mean by Necromancer, Stephan?”

Stephan looked confused, “You don’t know? I would have thought- ...It doesn’t matter. Necromancers have magic that supposedly controls all dead. Zombies, vampires, ghosts, ghouls, anything. In ancient times the council decreed that Necromancers were to be killed on sight. There haven’t been any true Necromancers for a very long time.”

Voldemort was frowning, “And this Jean Claude is bringing one here?”

“No one knows for sure is the Executioner is really all rumour says she is, but even if she is a Necromancer, she shouldn’t be a match for your power, My Lord, otherwise the council would have had her destroyed by now.”

Voldemort raised an eyebrow that said fairly eloquently, ‘you had better be sure of that’.

Stephan, however, was already consumed by the next twist of politics, “The problem, My Lord, however is not so much that Jean Claude and the Executioner are coming, is that they are coming.

“I expected the council to send someone powerful who could impress you with the council’s power, but I would never have picked Jean Claude. Jean Claude is a rebel; he gives only lip-service to the council and has gone directly against their wishes several times, facing off and even challenging its members. Several people have suggested that his entire kiss should be destroyed before they become a threat. The chances that these people are here to kill you are much higher than we had thought. In fact, it is almost too obvious. Either they’ve been sent here to kill you, or the council is trying to pit you against each other so they can take out or damage one or both of your kisses without risking any of their own more powerful members. I suspect, however, that there will be some kind of wild-card element to throw you both off-balance; otherwise the deadly nature of this assignment is far too clear for Jean Claude to have agreed. He may want to get back on the council’s good side, but he would have seen this for the trap that it is a mile away.”

“So either this Jean Claude thinks he can easily defeat me and is coming here so that he may return to favour with the council, or he knows something that I do not which draws him here.” Voldemort said.

“Yes,” Stephan nodded, “I believe that is the heart of the matter.”

Voldemort was silent for a moment, “Is there anything else we should know, Stephan?”

The vampire frowned slightly, “Nothing more, save for the fact that the Executioner learnt to fight the mortal way, before she gained added gifts. She will come bearing guns.”

Harry sat up a little, Guns? It had been a long time since he’s been exposed to something so Muggle in a magical environment, Does that mean that this woman is a Muggle then? But how is that possible if she uses magic to raise the dead?

Voldemort laughed, “Guns? Well, I hardly think that is something that will trouble us. Will it, little one?” he said, looking down at Harry, “What year do they teach basic projectile shielding these days, Harry?”

Harry couldn’t help leaning away from the older wizard, but glared at him with full strength, “Third, but fat lot of good that’s going to do me without a wand.”

Voldemort’s gaze transformed from sadistic to indulgent, he reached out a hand and caressed the side of Harry’s face, “No need to be afraid, little one, I will always be here to protect you from now on.”

Harry’s heart stuttered and he couldn’t stop the tremble of fear that ran through his muscles as he looked up into the young, perfect face, That’s what I’m afraid of.

Voldemort’s smile widened, he traced a sharp nail along the line of Harry’s jaw, his eyes full of dark promise. “Stephan, thank you for delivering this information, you may go,” He said, turning back to the other men.

Stephan bowed and left the room.

“Well, Harry?”

Harry pressed his nails into his palms, “What?”

“What did you think of our Stephan? Was he speaking the truth? Lying? Spying?”

Harry thought of the small brown vampire, he looked up and met Draco’s eyes and said the first thing that came to him, “I think he’s afraid.”

“Afraid?”

Harry turned at looked up at the Dark Lord, half-surprised at his own conclusion. “Yeah; I think this Necromancer, who ever she is, makes Stephan afraid. I think he doesn’t want her or her Master on your turf, I think he’s afraid of what they might do. What they might bring here.”

Voldemort nodded slowly, “I think you’re right, Harry. Which leads me to wonder what kind of magic this woman really bears. And weather we want it here.

“Draco,” he said, “I believe that caution should be held utmost during this confrontation. We don’t have the resources in place right now to shrug off the presence of this Necromancer and her Master. Would you please arrange for an added level of security during the reception, and send Severus to me at once.”

Draco bowed, “As you command, My Lord.”

“Well done, Harry,” Voldemort said as the doors closed behind Draco, “For your first time, that was very acceptable, I’m proud of you.”

“Oh thanks, I owe it all to my dear own Dark Lord,” Harry snarked.

Voldemort’s laughter was accompanied by a rush of pain that had Harry crying out and falling forward, this time the pain was not brief and Harry’s hands scraped across the floor as he fought for breath, trying not to scream. The agony broke over him like water, twisting in his bones and flesh. After many long, long moments of pain, it stopped, and Harry slumped to the ground with a sob; relief leaking out in small tears escaping the corners of his eyes.

Harry hadn’t even caught his breath before a fierce tug at his chain forced him scrambling up into the Dark Lord’s lap. “Your spirit and humour never ceases to amuse me, Harry, but you are mistaken if you think your favour with me exempts you from punishment. Our guests arrive tonight, and if you do not want severe, severe punishment -and I would consider your current level of punishment very, very light-, you will do exactly as I say, when I say it, and otherwise you will keep quiet and behave, understood?”

The collar around Harry’s neck was tight, too tight, and staring into close, glowing red eyes had Harry’s chest constricting with fear. Here was the Dark Lord who had haunted his dreams for the last seven years, who had been closer to Harry than any living being, and more feared. This was it, he was here, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Harry blinked as a half-forgotten conversation with Sirius echoed through his memories, ~“Pick your battles, Harry. Think about the consequences. Sometimes you have to let the bad guys win because it’s just not that valuable to fight for something. Always think, are you prepared to live with the consequences of fighting, and are you willing to live with the consequences of not fighting?”~

If I fight him on this, Harry thought, He’s going to get really pissed off, and I don’t really want to find out what torture means to Slytherins. It’s not like pretending to obey for some randoms is important - fighting over this won’t achieve anything...

“...I- I understand.”

Before Harry could twitch he found himself shoved into the crook of Voldemort’s neck, a sharp spike of terror causing him to suck in a gasp of air.

“Good.” Voldemort said, his fingers rubbing gently at the back of Harry’s neck, “I’m glad you can be reasonable, Harry. There is no need for us to be enemies now.”

Harry was finding it difficult to think- the scent of snakes and lilies was surrounding him. To avoid having to form a sentence, he let a firm growl be the voice of his displeasure.

Voldemort only chuckled and dug his fingers more firmly into Harry’s neck, massaging gently.

Harry let out a little sigh, his eyes fluttering closed. The scent washed over him, speaking to him of strength, comfort, warmth and safety. His muscles relaxed, he tucked his knees up and snuggled closer to his Master, breathing deeply.

“That’s right, Harry, just relax. Let it all go. You’re where you belong now.” The Dark Lord’s voice was gentle like lapping waves on the shore, one hand still massaging Harry’s neck, the other moving to do the same to Harry’s hand. Thick languor swam through Harry and he moaned softly, his body limp and pliant. He was so distracted, that when the doors of the chamber opened and Severus Snape walked in, he barely even registered the sounds. He pressed closer to his Master and closed his eyes, the noises of the room absorbed but impossible to interpret.

“My Lord, Draco called and I-” The voice stopped.

“Severus?” Harry could hear the amusement in his master’s voice.

“My Lord, is- is that-”

“Hmmm? Oh this? Are you referring to my little Harry here? Is there a problem?”

“No my Lord, I just... your pardon, my Lord, but I wasn’t sure how much of your display the other night was simply for show. I didn’t know quite what you had done with the boy.”

“What I have done, Severus, is what I should have done years ago; I’ve made him mine. Permanently.”

“Is, is he drugged, my Lord?”

This time the Dark Lord let out a true laugh, “Severus! Shame! Do you really think I would be so banal in the form of conquering my little enemy? How positively Hufflepuff of you.”

Harry smelt anger and embarrassment coming from the other man, he shifted but his Master took his chin and guided him to meet red eyes, “No, little one, you are not drugged, are you?” his Master said.

Harry struggled for a moment to try and form his mouth around the expected words, finally, he said, //No, Master, I do not think so.//

Both men twitched at Harry’s hissed words, fear and shock rolled off the Potions teacher, but Harry’s Master smelt of suddenly growing arousal. Harry tried to shift closer to his Master, but words cut him off, “Now, little one, just wait, try again with English for our dear Severus’ sake.”

Harry frowned, and tried to concentrate, but all he could think of was the scent of his Master, and how he wanted to get closer.

Voldemort’s lips quirked and Harry felt a sensation not unlike a wave gently receding from a shore, his mind gently clearing of confusion, its departure causing his anger and fear to begin to raise their heads again. A growl began in Harry’s throat, but before he could speak, the Dark Lord yanked him up and crushed their mouths together, his tongue demanding immediate access, Harry’s shock was so abrupt that his mouth opened automatically and he was consumed with sensation and chaos within moments.

When Voldemort broke them apart, Harry was dizzy and flushed, blinking rapidly. “Say it again, Harry, English this time.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m not drugged,” Harry said automatically.

If only it were that simple.

Harry, not sure whether he wanted to turn to his teacher or hide in shame, sat frozen for a few moments until Voldemort smiled and tugged him around so his back was pressed against Voldemort’s chest, but with Harry’s torso twisted so that he was side-on to the room. Harry glanced at Snape who was looking pale and rather horrified.

Irrational anger welled up in Harry, If they think this is so awful then why didn’t they save me? If they cared so much about keeping me safe in the first place and hadn’t left me with the Dursleys then this never would have happened! Harry turned away and leaned against Voldemort’s shoulder, ignoring both of the bastards.

A shudder of amusement echoed from the presence in Harry’s mind. “No, Severus, our little Harry is bound to me far more deeply and irrevocably than by something that can be found in a bottle or a cauldron. You should be thankful, otherwise Dumbledore would have you researching and brewing for months to find a cure. No no, it’s all a lot more devious than that.” Voldemort sounded repulsively pleased with himself.

“But that’s enough of that, we can discuss this fully later. Right now there’s something I want you to do. I am having some guests over the next few weeks, and I need you to find out everything you can about Necromancers and/or Animators. I want to know any possible weaknesses. Check both wizarding and Muggle references where possible, I have heard some strange things this night.”

“My Lord,” Harry watched Snape bow out of the corner of his eye, “It is as you command. Is there anything else you desire?”

“You may go, Severus.” Voldemort waved a dismissive hand.

The doors created a soft clunk sound as the Potions teacher left the room. Harry sighed with mixed relief. “You didn’t enjoy seeing your dear teacher, Harry?”

This time Harry growled in earnest, “He’s a bastard, just like you, I don’t see why I should be surprised.”

“Oh, don’t take it so personally; Severus is just another snake trying to make his way in a world full of predators. He’ll serve whatever master he sees fit, and that’s the end of it.”

“He could have done something,” Harry muttered, “He should have done something.”

“Like what?” Voldemort pulled Harry away a little so he could look down at him properly, “Saved you? Killed me? Harry, without me you die, we cannot be separated. And if Severus tried to touch either of us he would be dead in a moment. They do not call me the most powerful wizard in an age because I cast a fine wingardium leviosa. You must stop trying to squirm your way out of this, little one, some things are final.”

Harry bit his lip and shook his head, trying to resist the returning tears that had threatened since he woke. “No.” he whispered.

“Yes.” Voldemort said, shifting Harry and banishing the collar and chain, tipping Harry’s head to one side and drawing him closer.

“No.” Harry cried softly, trying to push away from the monster.

But the monster was too powerful, and he placed red lips on pale skin, “Yes.” Voldemort said, then sunk his teeth deep into Harry’s flesh.


~..*..~


I sat in my seat, strapping myself in firmly. Nathaniel was peeking out the window next to me, and Micah was putting away the last of our bags.

Don’t panic, don’t think about falling, or small metal tubes crumbling in the air, or leaking fuel tanks or failing engines or air pockets or-

Damian sat down next to me and took my hand, my fear calming instantly. He smiled gently, “Don’t think about pink elephants.” He said, looking slightly unsure at the turn of phrase, “I think you need some better distraction methods.”

I winced at Damian’s probably-unintentional innuendo. “I don’t think scrabble works on planes.”

“What about 20 questions?” Jason said, flopping into the seats facing us.

We were taking Jean Claude’s plane, for which I was both grateful and irritated. Grateful, because the plane was spacious, comfortable, and if you concentrated you could almost pretend you were sitting in a fancy waiting room or something. Irritated, because since Jean Claude couldn’t really manage a 747 as a private plane, that meant we had a whole lot more hours stuck in this... small, vulnerable, flying- ...waiting room.

Damian squeezed my hand and I gave him a brief, grateful smile. My pride could go down the tubes- I was about to be stuck on a plane for longer than it takes for the earth to do half a rotation, if I could get same sedative-free anti-panic-attack, I was willing to smile and take it like a man.

There had been something of a problem since we couldn’t do the whole flight at night -all the vamps were uncomfortable with being asleep at any stage- but we’d settled on boarding and disembarking at night, with the vamps sleeping while we did the main part of the crossing. To be honest I wasn’t too happy with them being stuck on a plane mid-flight while the sun was up, either, but Jason had kindly pointed out that the likelihood of anyone surviving even if the plane crashed at night was almost zilch, so why should we care.

Reminded of this, I glared at Jason, “I don’t know, Jason, I think that might be a little too easy. Tell me what I’m thinking right now?”

Jason grinned at me unrepentantly, “You want to rip out my guts to make harp-strings?”

“See?” I said to Damian, “We’re all just telepaths around here.”

Nathaniel’s snort made me turn to see him giving me a small smile, “Either that or you’re just really, really predictable, Anita.”

I blinked for a second, Nathaniel was the last person I would expect to take the mickey, but his smile started to falter so I laughed and punched him lightly on the arm, “I see how it is; now you’re all against me!”

“She has figured out our most sneaky plan, mon petite wolf,” Jean Claude said, entering the fray and sitting down next to Jason, “What shall we do now?”

“Throw ourselves at her mercy.” Jason said, warmth in his eyes, “Pray that she is as forgiving as she is fair.”

Now I snorted and shifted to lean my head on Nathaniel’s shoulder, “Hah, you’re all fools to think there will be mercy at my hands. There will be nothing but endless agonies for the rest of your days.”

Both Jean Claude and Jason were smiling in disturbingly similar ways, “I think we’ll take our chances,” said Jean Claude.

I raised an eyebrow but smiled anyway. I was grateful for my men doing their best to distract me from my fear. In fact, I was just grateful to them in general. I snuggled closer to Nathaniel; this wasn’t the life I would have chosen for myself, but it sure could be worse. That, I was beginning to learn, was the possibly key to growing up, and perhaps even being happy.

There were a few thumps and crashes from outside, a flurry of swearwords then the voice of one of our vamps was raised, “Um, would we be able to get some help out here?” Jean Claude raised an eyebrow but he and the boys all rose, leaving me and Damian alone on-board. The moment they were outside, I turned to Damian suspiciously, “Alright, now you can tell me what the hell was going with you and Nathaniel yesterday morning. Don’t tell me it wasn’t a big deal, Nathaniel’s been acting weird ever since.” It was kind of sad that with was the first chance I’d had to talk to Damian about this since yesterday - we’d all been pretty busy, but it was putting me off-balance to see Nathaniel, who was usually so totally calm, acting so... off.

Damian sighed and looked uncomfortable, “I do not believe there’s any need to panic, Anita, it was only a small thing. Your tenseness over the issue is just disturbing Nathaniel more. If you give him some space I am sure he will return to normal in a few days.”

I frowned, “That’s not an answer, Damian. Tell me.”

An annoyed expression passed over Damian’s face, and I remembered belatedly (and a little guiltily) that he found it difficult to refuse direct orders from me.

“If you insist,” he said. “You know the life that Nathaniel has lived, Anita; he has been through many things that normal people cannot even imagine. While living with you and Micah has given him great strength and healing, it will take many years for him to truly put distance between his memories and his present - if he ever can. I understand this in a way that I hope you never will. All that happened this morning is that you triggered some uncomfortable memories, and Nathaniel sought my help to ease his mind.”

Something unpleasant twisted in my gut, “It was my fault?”

Damian sighed, “You triggered the memories, yes.”

I thought of Nathaniel’s forced smiles over the last few days, the physical distance he’d kept between us for hours that morning, my had tightened sharply around Damian’s. “Why didn’t he just tell me?”

Damian gave me that look the older vampires had- the one that made you feel about four years old. “Anita, every time something goes wrong in your little domestic paradise, you start accusing and blaming people left right and centre. I may understand that your marks gave Nathaniel and I a permanent place in your home, but Nathaniel is terrified every day that you will get fed up and throw him back to the proverbial wolves. He is not likely to say anything to you about this sort of issue.”

I frowned and yanked my hand away from Damian’s, “I don’t-” I cut myself off and looked out the window to where the boys were finishing loading something, “Is there any way I can get him to talk to me about this?”

“I don’t know, Anita.” Damian said and I looked back at him as he continued, “But I do know that you aren’t the centre of every issue, and Nathaniel has other people he can turn to, for this.”

Feeling a little ashamed, I nodded and slid my hand back to Damian’s; he took it and squeezed gently. Everyone else was finally climbing back on board and settling into their seats for take off.

“Here we go then,” Jason said, clambering back into his seat, “One big happy family off on a royal mission for the Council of Doom!”

A pained expression crossed Jean Claude’s face, “However apt, mon petite wolf, please refrain from calling the council by such a name while we are on this mission. Their spies will be everywhere, and we will need to be a united and strong force to their eyes during our stay.”

I sat silently and watched as all my loved ones and my friends settled into their seats, chattering to each other with easy familiarity. Asher, leaning into Jean Claude to speak quietly. Jason and Nathaniel talking about various English cliché’s. My wereleopards, laughing and already bringing out a pack of cards. The other vampires speaking seriously about security. Edward, a silent, deadly shadow amongst deadly creatures.

We might be familiar, I thought; we might even be united, but I wondered if our fractured family would be strong enough to hold before the power of vampires, magic and the deadliest game of politics when even at home we barely understand one another.

Well... There’s only one way to find out.


--

[ Next Chapter ]

Extra A/N:
Um, I actually have no idea whether Jean Claude calls Jason ‘mon petite wolf’ in the cannon, I checked but I couldn’t find it, but it randomly popped into my head from nowhere so I _think_ he does. Can someone correct me if I’m wrong? Hope y'all enjoyed! Let me know, huh, huh? *grins* Edit: Thanks to the people that helped answer this for me!