Grazhir :: Harry Potter :: Control Issues :: 13 :: Neville Longbottom

13 • Neville Longbottom

Voldemort was hard at work trying to ignore the paperwork that kept appearing on his desk when a knock sounded at his office door unexpectedly. He did not have anyone on his schedule, but still barked out, “Enter!” He was quite surprised when Millicent Bulstrode stepped in and prostrated herself after closing the door.

He cast his thoughts back, almost instantly recalling that she was on assignment at St Mungo’s as an apprentice healer, and scheduled once her training was complete to join the medical team at the compound. “Rise and take a seat,” he said, and once she had ordered, “Report.”

“My lord, I’ve done something you might not be happy about, but what I saw may be of interest to you. I was working when I noticed the Longbottom heir at the hospital, presumably to visit his parents, and decided to look up their records. I admit, it was my disgust with him that made me look, hoping I could find something to torment him with, even anonymously. I was . . . having a bad day.

“His records showed that there are a number of suspicious substances in his system, though the healer noted that he appears to be in fine health. Notations indicated that the healer wanted to study him more closely because of unknowns, but the grandmother refused, as did Longbottom. I know that they’re close to Dumbledore, so. . . .” She trailed off, obviously incapable of finding the right words, and very probably scared that she was about to be hexed senseless for bothering him with such a silly thing.

Voldemort arched a brow in consideration. “And did the file reveal why the healer was taking such an initial interest in Longbottom?”

“Yes, my lord. He can be a rather clumsy man and had tripped during his visit, crashing head first into a wall. Um, actually, that’s why I looked, because in the course of doing that, he managed to knock me clean off my feet. Anyway, a nearby healer on duty rushed to check him over and noticed it then. Being curious I looked a bit further and realized that it was the first time Longbottom had seen a healer at St Mungo’s in several years. I had just thought that maybe Dumbledore was up to something and I should report this so you could determine if it was important.”

Voldemort steepled his long fingers together, then nodded. “Very well. If you should happen to notice anything odd pertaining to known Light supporters, investigate so long as you remain discreet and take due caution to remain undiscovered in your snooping. That is not an order to drop everything and turn spy at the least provocation, Bulstrode. You are there primarily to complete your apprenticeship. You may go.”

She rose and bowed, then quietly slipped out, so Voldemort took a moment to check to see where Harry was. His mate was presently holding forth with his training staff in the overhead, so he left him alone, intending to bring it up later on.

That evening, after another delicious dinner Harry decided to cook for him, he broached the subject once they were back in their sitting room, and started by saying, “Harry, Bulstrode came to see me today unexpectedly, and brought with her some rather interesting news about our young Mr Longbottom.”

Harry’s reaction was to eye him carefully, then nod to continue.

Voldemort briefly explained the report, then said, “It occurs to me that we might be able to quietly kidnap the young man and poke around, then obliviate and release him should we find that he is not someone you wish to add to your list. If he is, though, we could still do that, and then plan out a public kidnapping in order to sink Ron Weasley’s reputation that much further and add to his mother’s torment.”

Harry turned quite thoughtful at that. “Do you have anyone who’s really, really good at stalking people? Shadowing them?”

“I have a whole team, Harry, why?”

“All right. Send a bunch of them out to shadow Order types, though the important one will be on Neville. Get to know their routines and such. If Nev has the odd habit of spending every, say, Tuesday afternoon at a park feeding the ducks, we could nab him fairly easily. It’d also be very easy to fix his memory so that he thinks his day went just like normal, and no one would even notice he’d gone missing for a few hours.”

Voldemort nodded. “Consider it done. Once we have a report back giving us a good opportunity, we’ll move.” He was really quite pleased that Harry was willing to go even that far given how uncomfortable the potential situation surrounding the other prophecy child made him.

Then Harry sighed and said, “I’ve kind of reconsidered what I plan to do to Moony. Slightly, I mean.”

“Why is that?”

“Well, he was so damn helpful with Umbridge and I’ve barely even begun to screw his head up. Also, I stumbled over a nifty little ritual that will make his wolf see me as his pack leader, except in this case he won’t ever be getting the impression that his leader is or could become infirm, so he won’t be shooting for a game of King of the Mountain. In theory, he could still choose at the end of his term to leave me, but I really don’t think he would. I think he’s going to bow down to me until the day he dies after I perform that.”

“And what of your ideas on him being the compound fuck toy?”

Harry shrugged. “That may still happen. I have been winding him up quite a lot and he can’t help but feel randy all the time. Not quite the same as me needing sex to survive, but close enough for government in my eyes. So, once I get him used to the idea of using his little reward toy with an audience, I’ll kick things up a notch a bit down the road. Eventually, he probably won’t think twice about sticking his ass in the air for anyone who wants to play with him, or make use of that tongue of his. Besides, I have a very special reward in mind for him later.”

Voldemort arched a brow, but Harry shook his head. “Speaking of which, would you like to go in for some foreplay and sit with me while he takes his toy on a maiden voyage? I figure I’ll be feeling fairly randy myself once he’s done.”

*

Mrs Black had some news to report, which was welcome. Molly Weasley was frequently in hysterics over her precious baby boy having gone dark on them, and was actually wailing about where she had gone wrong. And, given that Order members still had a habit of forcing the curtains shut on Mrs Black to quiet her for an hour or so, she was able to hear plenty of things they didn’t bother to censor once she couldn’t be seen. Apparently, ‘out of sight, out of mind’ was a popular concept.

The trap in the front hall was for either Ron or Harry, leading them to believe that Dumbledore had finally wised up. It was Harry’s opinion that if Dumbledore had really been thinking he would have trapped the hall five seconds after Harry went missing, not weeks later, simply on the off chance his errant weapon headed for a familiar place.

Of course, he had probably discovered that his access to Harry’s funds had been cut off as well, and that made Harry think he ought to plan another trip so he could query his account manager. What they had no way of knowing was whether or not Dumbledore felt confident that he could bring Harry easily back under control if he was caught. Harry had shuddered over the idea of the old man having already found a new set of trainers.

That had occasioned a question on if there had been any new faces appearing within the house, and Mrs Black had declared there were none she had noticed. And, supposedly, Nigellus had confirmed the trap targets, but they were inclined to simply take it as given rather than test his loyalty directly. Mrs Black was instructed as before, and to merely listen to the man, not volunteer any information of her own.

Neville was, in fact, captured from a park, but not while he was feeding ducks. He had gone on his weekly trip to gather up water plants and was brought back to the dungeon wearing a pair of hip waders. They tiptoed through his tulips, as Harry had put it, then altered his memories a bit to portray a mostly unsuccessful trip. They returned him to the park’s pond, planting him on the muddy edge as though he had tripped and fallen back, momentarily knocking himself senseless, and complete with minor head wound.

A bit later Harry flopped into his chair and frowned. “I confess, I have no idea what to do.”

Voldemort looked up, feeling rather pensive. “I suppose I can understand his position to some degree, though it shows a decided lack of anything resembling courage, Harry. A stronger person would have run by now to seek help, despite knowing just how painful that help would be. He may have made strides toward becoming a better, more skilled wizard, but that has not done a whole lot for his basic character.”

Harry sighed heavily. “What would happen if he were in a coma during that time?”

“So long as he was properly cared for otherwise, he would come through it with little issue, but he will always be susceptible.”

Harry pushed up out of his chair to pace. “You know, I can’t quite bring myself to be surprised. Obviously, they must have figured Neville would completely fall apart if they tried to subject him to what they did me—but drugs? They bloody fucking well got him addicted to muggle drugs in order to keep him in line? Yes, sure, it’s got to be grand to watch him beg and plead and promise to do anything they want if they’ll just give him another fix. I’m just not sure what to do. I mean, I suppose I could be lurking next trip he makes, and approach him for a little chat. I could offer to help him.”

“And what of Miss Weasley?” Voldemort asked.

“Her too, I guess. The only thing stopping him from declaring his love is his addiction and the fear that his grandmother won’t approve. If he agreed to walk away from everything he could send her a note and ask her to meet him. If she refuses, I obliviate her and drop her off someplace safe. The same for him. Otherwise, we drop them both into comas until it’s safe for him to wake up, then I pack them off to Italy or wherever with enough gold to keep them comfortable for a few years and give them a chance to start a new life.”

*

During the week that followed Harry was a very busy person, often slipping away to build a curious addition to the back of Voldemort’s manor house. It did have a door leading into the original structure, but it was so heavily warded it was a wonder that entire wall didn’t collapse from the theoretical burden. Inside it looked exactly like you were standing in a miniature park, complete with dwarf trees, a sandy area screened by bushes, and a small pond.

In fact, you couldn’t tell you were inside until you approached one of the walls that did not abut the house, at which point they phased partially into view as a warning, though the perimeter was clearly delineated by a very short fence. The roof was invisible, of course, and did allow for precipitation, though only in the form of rain, and the chamber’s temperature was strictly controlled by magic. Voldemort would have to be a complete idiot not to realize what his mate was up to, at least in part.

There was not, as yet, a door leading to the outside world.

Once he was satisfied Harry asked Voldemort very nicely if he would double-check the work, and after that made a midnight trip to fetch his pet and bring him to his new home, using charms to keep any late night wanderers from noticing as he led a crawling Moony across the compound and into the house (Voldemort had thoughtfully adjusted the wards).

“This is where I live, Moony,” Harry said, tugging slightly on the leash when his pet tried to pause to look around. “Now come on. I’m tired and I want to go to bed.” Lupin immediately came to heel so Harry continued on down the central corridor and to the back of the house, where he opened the new door and ushered his pet through, then entered as well, several crates following along behind him.

He didn’t release Moony from the leash until after the door had closed, then set about unpacking the crates. The cushion went into a fairly large dog house, one that was big enough to also contain the water supply and food dish, so that none of them would be soaked should it rain or snow. The reward golem was locked away in a small shed and the leash coiled up and hung on a hook on the outside of that same shed. And, of course, that nice penis was stuck to a wall inside the dog house in case his pet wanted to play.

“All right, Moony. This is your new home for the duration. Please be aware that there is currently only the one entrance and any attempt on your part to use that door will bring down automatic punishment given the fact that it’s warded against you from this side. As you have no doubt noticed you can see quite a lot of the compound from here and this is a true view, though no one can actually see into this area at present.

“There are several snakes in this park, so be sure to leave them alone. If you upset one, expect to be bitten. They already know to leave you be and won’t attack unless you purposely try to harm one. With me so far?”

“Yes,” Moony said softly.

“Later on, when I’m certain you’ll behave, I’ll set up a gate so that you can have visitors, plus a rotation of handlers to make sure nobody tries to harm you. At that point, the walls will become two-way during visiting hours, with the obvious exception of the house wall.”

Moony cringed only slightly at that, having apparently become adjusted to being watched as he romped about naked and played with his toy. Harry rather thought that the phantom feeling of exposure twenty four hours a day would further grind away the man’s inhibitions.

“Now, unless you have any questions about your new home, I’m going to bed.” All he got was a shake of the head, so Harry nodded and headed back out through the door, locking it behind him before he continued on up to the bedroom.

The next day he went to Neville’s park and waited until the young man arrived, then slowly walked out of the copse of trees he had been in and approached him. At first Neville didn’t really react, possibly believing that Harry was just another patron of the area, but as he drew closer Neville dropped the specimen bag he was holding and gaped.

“Hello, Neville,” Harry said quietly. “I’m happy to see you again.”

Neville splashed back a step or two in fear.

Harry shrugged. “I’m not here to hurt you, Nev. I simply came to talk. I know what they did to you, and I’d like to offer my help if you’ll accept it.”

“B-but, all th-those p-people who’ve disappeared. . . .”

Harry shook his head. “None of whom have much of anything to do with you. You see, you haven’t been treated a whole lot better than I’ve been, and I’m willing to fix that. You were supposed to be the back up plan, but I’m sure you realize that. I also think you realize that you’d be more likely to pass out in terror if you ever came face to face with Lord Voldemort than try to attack him.”

Neville blushed hotly and dropped his gaze.

“I know what they did. I also know you aren’t willing to buck the status quo because you’re afraid of the pain it will mean and what they might do to you further. Well, I’m here to offer you a way out. I will give you a painless way to shake your addiction and then hand you enough money to tide you over for a few years along with a home to live in, somewhere far away from this country. And I am the last person in the world who’d criticize if you accepted and essentially ran like blazes from this war.”

Neville looked up in shock, though fear remained, and confusion. “Why? How can I trust you?”

“Did you agree with their plans for me, Nev? Did you endorse them? I know you didn’t, so you’re not my enemy. You’re the same Neville to me that I went to school with, a nice, quiet young man who’s really fond of Herbology. You’re the other prophecy child, the one who wasn’t marked or singled out obviously, the one who ended up being forced into a situation you had no business being in.

“Now, I won’t try to lie to you and say I’m not a merciless killer. I am. They made me kill hundreds of people over the course of my training and I can’t ever take that back. And yes, lately, I’ve been doing a teensy bit in the way of taking revenge. Frankly, it was a somewhat of a relief to make Snape feel a bit like he’d made me feel before I killed him. I finally had the chance to fight back, so I did. If you want I’ll just walk away and never bother you again.”

“H-how do you know these things?”

Harry heaved a sigh and folded himself down onto the grass. “I first became suspicious when Ginny was captured by Death Eaters and delivered up to Lord Voldemort. She has quite a thing for you, did you know?”

Neville blushed again and ducked his head briefly.

“I found out from her that she knew they tried to endow you with my healing ability. Now, I might not have cared so much except that she was very concerned about you, and I figured she wouldn’t be if there wasn’t most likely a damn good reason. I also found out via a roundabout way from Moody that you were at Order meetings, but were very quiet, very deferential, and so on. And then, just a week ago I kidnapped you.”

Neville gasped and splashed back another step.

“Now don’t get your knickers in a twist. I let you go, obviously. I had a little look see into your memories to find out precisely what they’d done to you, and to confirm that you really weren’t my enemy. It was after that point I worked out what I was willing to do for you. So like I’ve said, if you want, I’ll help free you from your addiction. I’ll set you up in a new life in some other country.

“I will even include Ginny in that, because I know you’d probably balk if she stayed behind. I would also make sure neither of you could be located easily by people in the Order, or your gran. I will even, right now, if it makes you feel a little less freaked out, show you a few memories of mine concerning the times you and Ginny have been in my care, and the conversations concerning you that I’ve had with Voldemort.

“And that’s one hell of a generous offer considering that those are, in some respects, really private memories of mine. Then again, since I rifled through yours without so much as a by your leave, I suppose that’s only fair.”

“Are . . . you a Death Eater, Harry?”

He chuckled and shook his head, reaching down to pluck a few blades of grass to fiddle with. “No. I’m Lord Voldemort’s equal, Neville. I owe my continuing sanity to him, actually. Without his help and support I’d be stark raving mad at this point, only good for being told who to kill. In fact, if it wasn’t for him, I’d probably have gone on a mindless killing spree after I learned just how many people in the Order approved of the plans to train me like they did.”

“I don’t know what to believe anymore,” Neville said plaintively, his face a study in confused misery.

“I understand, believe me. And I swear on my magic that my intent is not to trick you, mislead you, or harm you in any way. I only want to help.”

Neville gulped slightly and finally splashed forward and onto the grass, taking a seat a short distance away. “Could I . . . see those memories you mentioned?” he asked hesitantly.

“Of course,” Harry said with a nod. “I’m going to reach into my robes and get a pensieve, okay? You can see for yourself that it’s empty before we start. Then I’m going to get my wand so I can pull out copies for you to look at.” And he did just that, drawing forth a pensieve and placing it on the grass between them so that Neville could check it, then he slowly pushed back his sleeve (not so incidentally showing his unmarked forearm) and released his wand.

“I’ll do this one at a time, okay? None of them are very long.” And then he pulled free a silvery strand from his temple, the memory of his conversation with Voldemort when he’d been informed of Ginny’s capture. “Oh, Neville? I am naked in some of these, so. . . .” Harry shrugged and dropped it into the pensieve.

When Neville returned he retrieved it and replaced it with the memory of the conversation after their perusal of Ginny’s memories. “I must say, I wasn’t exactly complimentary of your gran in this one.” That one was followed by the scene of Ginny waking and making her way to the Burrow, and then by the conversation they had had most recently, directly after returning Neville to the pond.

Neville’s face was red by the time he was done, prompting Harry to say quite seriously, “Yes, I know, my language has gone all to hell.” The resulting slight start of surprise told Harry that he had distracted Neville at least momentarily from other concerns. “So, that’s about it,” he said as he replaced the pensieve in his robes and holstered his wand.

“You can accept, in which case we’d want to get Ginny, or you can decline, in which case you forget this conversation ever happened.”

Neville looked really conflicted about something, which became clear when he said, “But what about my parents, Harry?”

“Neville, I know it hurts, but there’s still no known way to cure them. And do you honestly believe that if they could speak right now that they would want you to remain, with your addiction, and continue to let these people run your life for you? Lord, I don’t even want to think about what my parents would be saying if they had the opportunity. Mum alone would probably try to strangle Dumbledore with her bare hands and dad would stand there cheering her on, I bet. It’s up to you, though. It’s your life.”

“What would you do?”

“I already made that choice. The second I saw the opportunity I ran, straight to the one person I knew had the power to help me, Lord Voldemort. I was prevented from killing myself, but he could and I knew it. I couldn’t bear to live like that any longer, so death would have been welcome. So I asked him for either death or help, and he chose to help free me. And right now, I’d like to help you.”

As many as ten minutes passed before Neville spoke, and his voice was full of quiet resolve. “All right. I need to contact Ginny, though.”

Harry nodded, feeling a great deal of relief. “Is there anything back at your home that you absolutely cannot live without?”

Neville shook his head. “I have my wand, and I always carry a photograph of my parents with me.”

“Okay. Then let’s nip over to that field behind the Burrow. We can send an owl in with a note for Ginny, and once we have her, I’ll take you both to a safe place. She’ll probably be frightened out of her wits and try to hex me the second she gets the chance, but that’s all right. And if she refuses to go along with this, I promise all that will happen is she’ll lose those memories.”

“Let’s go.”

Now, it could not be said that things went quite as smoothly with Miss Ginevra Weasley, but in the end she decided it was in her overall best interests to go along with the plan. Thus it was (and after a memory share that had both Neville and Ginny losing the contents of their stomachs) that they were both placed into comas for the next few weeks.

*

In between days, Harry had taken to considering who his next victim (or victims) would be. Still, he spent quite a lot of time checking up on his boys, who had learned exactly what it was they were looking for during reviews, which meant Harry no longer had to be there constantly. He had eventually split them into two groups, with half to continue supervising reviews while the rest began proper training classes for the squads.

He also made daily visits to Moony, usually during meal periods. And, of course, to Neville and Ginny to make sure they were both all right and had what they needed while temporarily dead to the world. While he was considering, and to stir the pot insofar as Ron Weasley was concerned, Harry did head off to Hogsmeade and go on a bit of a burning spree.

A number of buildings were on fire by the time he cast the Dark Mark into the sky, causing him to idly wonder if there were such things as wizarding insurance companies, and if so, did they cover damage caused by minions of known dark lords? And on that thought he whirled around dramatically to face the crowd that was beginning to gather (still well out of range of their spells) and laughed maniacally before racing off, his hood falling back with the speed of his passage to reveal Weasley-red hair, then disapparated the moment he was out of sight.

And then Harry decided he was going to strike a huge blow, and cast fear into the hearts of many. Or perhaps it was simply that he couldn’t stand waiting any longer. He sent a note off to Skeeter informing her to be ready for an upcoming assignment, then hied off to the Ministry as Justus Bane right before the end of normal business hours. The registration fellow passed him on through when he flashed his credentials, so Harry made his way to Fudge’s office to have a little chat with Percy.

“The minister has already left,” Percy said pompously. “If you’d like to make an appointment I can try to fit you in sometime next week.”

Harry tilted his head to the side and said, “I came to talk to you, actually.” Percy looked quite startled by that, and then didn’t have much of an expression at all when Harry hit him with a paralyzation spell. “You and I are going to get to know one another much, much better,” he said, then produced a vial and opened it.

After forcing Percy’s jaw open he tipped the contents in and massaged the man’s throat, making it go down, then waited for it to take effect. During that time he made sure the outer door was secured and that no light could be seen from the other side. He also flipped through the minister’s schedule and was happy to note that there was nothing scheduled for lunch the next day.

When Percy was properly softened up Harry spent the next hour working him over, setting him up for the following day’s surprises. He knew from questioning that Percy had no one to go home to, or anyone to meet that evening, which was extremely convenient if he did say so himself. He then spent another twenty minutes drilling into Percy’s head exactly what he wanted done the next day, just prior to lunch, not to mention imparting a few other instructions for the remainder of the evening and following morning.

Then he ordered the young man to stand, drop his trousers and drawers, and bend over his desk. Harry pulled on a pair of plastic gloves, then produced two thin pieces of translucent material out of his pocket. They were connected to each other by a narrow arching bridge of that same material, making them essentially one item.

That was meticulously positioned on Percy’s ass cheeks, the bridge going up and over his tailbone area, to connect on either side to the larger sections. The edges were spelled to quite nearly melt into the flesh so that things appeared seamless, and another quick charm was used to slightly buff the surfaces—one that would not interfere with its actual purpose—so the entire thing was almost invisible unless you looked very closely.

Percy was ordered to fix his clothing and sit down again.

Before he left he commanded Percy to not consciously remember their little visit with each other, tested his key phrases a handful of times, then carefully arranged Percy over the desk to look as though he had fallen asleep. A final command sent his victim into a short nap, by which time he awoke Harry was long gone. All that time spent with Moony had really helped, not to mention that one Death Eater who had really pissed him off and had been induced to dance around in the back field for five minutes pretending to be a rooster.

The next day Harry and Voldemort were lounging in squashy armchairs down in the dungeon, situated so that they were facing a rather grandiose desk from the side, in a fake room that rather astonishingly resembled the minister’s office. Voldemort was, as per usual, sipping at a glass of wine, and Harry felt a split second of annoyance and envy that he could not share that particular habit. He really missed food at times, and he had never even had the chance to try wine. The closest he had ever managed to come to alcohol was cough syrup, and that was hardly a high standard to judge by.

So it was that Harry rolled his eyes and checked the time, then sat up a bit straighter in anticipation, hoping that nothing went wrong with his admittedly overblown plan to nab two more people on his list in such a way as to embarrass them. Voldemort had rolled his eyes when he realized what Harry was doing, but had not objected, so Harry secretly wondered if his lover found the idea amusing and simply wouldn’t admit it.

At approximately ten minutes past noon, two people appeared in the room, very disoriented, but miraculously in the same position they had begun in. That is to say, with Fudge’s short, fat cock buried to the hilt inside Percy’s ass and his pasty flesh plastered the to young man’s backside (that being what had activated the portkey, of course). Harry instantly hauled his camera up and got off five shots before they started to pull apart, then raised a wand in his other hand and stunned them.

“Well, well, well. Look what we have here. I know a little lady who’ll just die when she gets this film,” Harry drawled. “It’s time for you two to take a little nap.”

A short time later ‘Justus Bane’ strolled into the Daily Prophet offices and made his way through the noisy area populated by the reporters, then casually placed a tiny canister on Rita Skeeter’s desk and flashed her a smirk. “My dear Rita,” he said, “I suggest you jump right on this. Why, I bet you can get a special evening edition out of it.”

Her eyes lit up like fireworks on Guy Fawkes Day as she leaned toward him and said in a whisper, “It’s a go?”

Harry nodded, then crouched down next to her desk and whispered, “Five photographs there, dear, and check the vault later. I might even find it in my heart to leave behind a bonus in a few days. Have fun.” Then he pushed up effortlessly and wandered out.

That evening the offices of the Daily Prophet sent out a special edition, complete with a slightly censored, but huge photograph of Minister Fudge caught in flagrante delicto with his assistant. (Actually, the photographic Fudge was trying quite desperately to hide his bulk behind the beanpole that was Percy, and failing miserably.)

Rita had outdone herself, spinning a yarn (mostly truthful for once) about the long-standing relationship between the two men and the total misuse of government property (such as the desk), misappropriation of funds used for projects not approved (the trapdoor, the tunnel) or intended for the betterment of the Ministry (unless you counted Fudge’s sex life and the resulting lack of damage he often did by not paying attention long enough to make a decision), and had even called into question Percy’s salary and just exactly what was it he was being paid for.

She went on to press for the Ministry to produce documentation describing the young man’s actual job so that the thousands of men and women who helped support the ministry would know exactly how their money was being spent. After all, this was the United Kingdom, not Las Vegas or Holland.

She bemoaned the fate of the poor, unfortunate Mrs Fudge (who was quoted as saying that her husband was a fat pig who would shortly be turned into rashers by her solicitor and marriage customs be damned), and encouraged readers everywhere to strongly consider demanding that every single decree made by the minister over the past five years was reviewed by a council, and indeed, they should probably press for the man’s resignation as well.

Harry framed a copy and hung it in the front hall of the house. But . . . not until after he’d forced both Fudge and Percy to sign it.

He had a very definite idea in mind for Percy. After all, his guilt was by association and indirect manipulation, so he had not truly done anything to warrant death in Harry’s eyes. But, that did not mean he was going to get away. Percy did love to bow down to authority—rather, bend over for—so, Harry had a mind to give his pet werewolf a bit of company, except that in Percy’s case, he would have his brains completely scrambled.

But, that was neither here nor there. Harry had a vault he needed to put gold in and a minister to interrogate. He also had a winning bet to cash in on. Fudge was left to his coma for the time being while Percy was dropped into a trance in what had been Moony’s cell, then left there for hours on end while a recording of Harry’s instructions played. It saved him quite a bit of time, really, and if Percy so willingly played the part of authority’s bitch, then Harry was very happy to make that a permanent reality.

*

Voldemort had held some miniscule hope that Harry’s grand plan to capture the minister and Percy would backfire, thus proving the point about overly complicated schemes, but it had not, and he was stuck the loser again. Had he won, Harry would be giving it up in the constructs cage with hundreds of golems looking on, so to speak.

However, that was not the case, which would explain why Voldemort was presently being tormented by his mate’s tongue and teeth, and very quickly, by a slick finger being pushed into his ass. He groaned at the invasion, but not because it was unpleasant. Harry might be a functional virgin in some ways, but he had obviously been paying attention all those times Voldemort had prepared him, needlessly or not.

A second finger was added while Harry was busy feasting on the flesh of his stomach, cruelly avoiding his cock, then a third, and even a fourth, each one causing him to involuntarily contract or arch and release groans and moans of pleasure. Perhaps it was possible that his own not quite human self had it easier, his reborn body actually a melding of sorts of human and snake, and that might account for the decided lack of discomfort he was experiencing.

In any case, Voldemort was starting to feel very much on edge when Harry decided to slowly withdraw his fingers and urge him to roll over and gain his hands and knees. A whisper of a charm was heard, then his mate was pressing the head of his cock against his anus, pushing forward with slow deliberation. Voldemort arched his neck and pushed back sharply, forcing Harry to sink himself to the hilt.

That produced a rather strangled moan and a spastic tightening of the grasp Harry had on his hips. Something told Voldemort that his mate was feeling a bit overwhelmed by the sensation of being deep in the body of his . . . boyfriend, so he braced himself better and started to rock, and very quickly Harry was moving on his own. It wasn’t long before Voldemort felt his mate’s tongue on his back, or could see a waterfall of black spilling to either side of them, and one hand slid down around his hip to begin stroking his cock.

Except, Harry was obviously feeling a bit mischievous. He wrapped a huge section of his own hair around Voldemort’s cock, the result of which felt like—to Voldemort, anyway—being stimulated with ceaselessly shifting silk. Eventually, though, as his mate drew closer to his release and begin losing conscious control over his movements, that hair was allowed to fall aside.

Voldemort took dominion of their rhythm, knowing exactly how to make his mate completely lose it, and smiled faintly as the hand at his hip clutched him with bruising strength and Harry started jerking into him uncontrollably, the hand at his cock abruptly releasing and grasping at his other hip instead. And, like a switch had been flipped in his own body, Voldemort had barely reached back to assure his own orgasm when he came as well, almost helplessly riding out the waves of pleasure.

They took the rest of the day off.


Associated Snapshot: Reward