Grazhir :: Harry Potter :: Control Issues :: 20 :: Albus Dumbledore

20 • Albus Dumbledore

“And now what do we do with them?” Voldemort inquired.

“Right now? Nothing until I make them appropriate clothing and accessories,” Harry said with a malicious quirk to his mouth. “This will be somewhat challenging, actually.”

“Harry, my sweet, just what in blazes are you up to?”

His mate pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth, then whispered against his lips, “Something spiteful. I promise, I’ll explain just as soon as I get back from a quick little shopping trip. And no peeking. I want it to be a surprise.”

Voldemort sighed openly. He would feel actual guilt at that point if he went against his mate’s professed wish and spied anyway. Still, with Dumbledore already in their grasp, the odds of Harry getting caught while out were slim. “Please use an unknown face?”

“Sure,” Harry said agreeably, then snuggled up close for a real kiss that ended far too soon for Voldemort’s liking. His mate flashed him a sultry smile as he backed away. “I love you,” he said huskily, then skipped off quickly.

Voldemort ground his teeth, not happy to be left there wanting. His mate came back approximately a half hour later carrying a bag from Marks & Spencer. “Got the cheapest they had,” he said cheerfully, then unloaded the bag to reveal sets of . . . sheets?

“Harry?” he said with a slight edge as his mate began ripping the plastic off.

“I figure I owe Lucius one.” And before Voldemort could inquire further Harry continued, “After all, I did trick him into setting one of his house-elves free. So I thought, why not give him some new servants? Granted, they can’t possibly be as efficient and skilled and dedicated as actual elves, but it’s a start, right?”

Harry shook out one of the sheets and held it up against his uncle. “I can’t very well dress them in pillow cases or tea towels, so. . . .”

He began chuckling and shaking his head. “And if Lucius graciously accepts the gift and kills them later on in a fit of pique?”

His mate shrugged indifferently. “I expect he’ll get the house-elves he does have to whip this lot into shape. If they end up dead they obviously won’t have taken their new jobs very seriously.”

Voldemort grabbed a sheet and shook it out, then held it up against the aunt, who was thin and could probably be dressed with just the one.

“The only thing I really need to do before handing them over, aside from giving them the proper clothing, is to cause them each to experience crucio so I can set up a trigger loop to keep them from babbling about Harry Potter’s life with them.”

“Then shall we get started?”

*

A week later found them sitting in Voldemort’s office with Lucius, though Harry chose to sit in a chair for once, rather than perch on the desk. “So, report.”

Lucius placed a file on the desk and began. “I have chosen four prisons, my lords, based on the available information, and have chosen teams for each location. I would like your approval before I finalize these plans.”

Harry snatched the file up and flipped it open to start scanning the information, occasionally nodding his head. When he was done he passed it to Voldemort, who likewise absorbed the contents. Lucius had chosen his teams well, selecting people with cool heads. Each team also contained a Seer and some good old fashioned muscle.

His mate gave him an expectant look, so he nodded. “This is acceptable. And if each team brings back slightly more than they need to, that is all right.”

“It’s fine. You’ve chosen people I know will be good in a fight so long as they keep their heads, so I don’t anticipate any major issues arising. No Dark Marks. We don’t want anyone getting the impression we’re rounding out our forces with hardened criminals from the muggle sectors. You’ve scouted these personally?”

“Yes, my lord. I chose each leader based on the configuration of the prison and what they would need to deal with in terms of not only getting to the prisoners, but also knocking out the muggle technology that could reveal our presence should anyone fail to remain invisible.”

“Excellent,” Voldemort said, then summoned a box over. “The portkeys. They all act a bit like grenades. Attach one to a target and remove the pin. Two seconds later they will activate. That way, you needn’t be in the cells or even open them, just get the prisoners to come close enough. And yes, there are extras, and yes, I do expect any remaining back. Unless, that is, some of our Death Eaters would enjoy being tortured just like a muggle?”

“Get your people ready, Lucius,” Harry said. “You move tonight. I want Dumblefuck on his knees as quickly as possible.”

Lucius nodded and reclaimed the file, stood and bowed, then picked up the box and exited.

“Whatever shall we do while we wait?” Voldemort inquired innocently.

Harry cast him an opaque look, then smiled impishly. “We could discuss the possibility of children. Do you wonder what they might look like?”

So, his mate wished to tease him before playtime. “I don’t know, love. Do you suppose they would have noses like yours, or mine?”

Harry rose with a grin and pushed his way in between Voldemort and the desk, then sat on the edge and spread his legs. “Does it matter? Though, I admit, it would be a bit hard to tweak a child’s nose if they have one like yours,” he replied playfully.

Voldemort placed his hands on his mate’s thighs, then decided to ask a serious question. “What if we are not compatible in that fashion?”

His mate looked sad for a split second, then shook his head. “If not, then we’re not. We have each other, for always.”

“Always,” he agreed, sliding his hands up Harry’s thighs. “And when were you planning to have these theoretical children, hm?”

Harry let out a soft sigh and dropped back to brace himself with his forearms as he closed his eyes. “Ah, whenever you like. I don’t get it,” he said, sounding almost confused. “The idea of carrying your children is making me feel really randy. It’s like this warm liquid feeling inside me, like . . . mmmmm, I’m not sure how to describe it.”

Voldemort stiffened; obviously his mate had not read enough. “Harry, my sweet, you need to rein it back in. Right now is not a good time to be making babies, and that’s exactly what’s going to happen if you don’t get yourself under control. We still have Dumbledore to deal with, remember?”

“Whatever you say, Tom,” Harry said absently, dropping his head back to expose his throat completely. “I can almost feel them growing inside me, a beautiful union of you and me.”

Voldemort was feeling mildly inclined toward panic at that point and wished like hell he had those reference books handy so he could double check a few things. It wasn’t like he could use a charm to render himself infertile temporarily. He had no idea if one would work properly given his altered physiology, or if it might have the effect of being permanent, which would surely upset his mate. Well, he assumed he could still father young.

“I really, really want you to make love to me, Tom,” Harry said breathlessly and shifted his legs further apart.

How in blazes did you gently tell the love of your life that he had absolutely lousy timing when it came to certain things? “Harry, I will, but not for offspring, not yet.”

“Not yet?” his mate asked softly.

“Not yet,” he repeated, gripping Harry’s thighs more firmly. “Love, if I get you with child right now, it could be harmed by what we plan to do to Dumbledore. You don’t want that, do you?”

Harry sat up abruptly and blinked a few times. “What the hell just happened?”

“I didn’t know you wanted children so badly,” Voldemort said cautiously.

“I—what?” His mate gave him a quizzical look.

Voldemort shook his head slowly. “No more talk of children until after Dumbledore is dealt with, my sweet. In fact, I suggest we go deal with our mole.”

Harry frowned at him. “No, what just happened?”

He sighed and said, “You just tried to entice me to mate, Harry, to impregnate you. It’s not the right time, love. We will try later on, all right?”

A wide-eyed look was cast his way. “You promise?”

“I promise. Now, shall we take care of the mole while we wait on Lucius’s teams to act?”

“Uh, right.” Harry shook his head as if to clear it. “Yes, okay. He does need to go, and now is as good a time as any.”

A short time later they were escorting a rather queasy looking Landsman away from the overhead, ostensibly to discuss some of the trainees under his command. Unfortunately for that man, it was his week to be an observer, which made for quite a number of messes to be cleaned up. Why the man had not simply stepped down from his position or at least had the decency to take potions to help him with his little problem was completely beyond Voldemort.

They were barely out of sight of everyone when Harry stunned the man and chortled. “Silly little Landsman. You’ve been so naughty. I have something very special in mind for you, darling. Let’s go see, shall we?”

Voldemort went on ahead to make sure the repelling charms were still active and that there were no immediate problems. He nudged his mate, who appeared a few seconds later with Landsman in his grasp.

“Did you know, darling, this used to be the tallest building in London until 1990? This particular floor houses a champagne bar called Vertigo 42. Thankfully, it’s the weekend, so we don’t have to deal with the muggles.” Harry dragged Landsman over to a bank of windows and pressed him up against one. “Isn’t the view splendid? And oh, look, that over there opens out onto a balcony.”

Voldemort followed as his mate dragged Landsman outside and propped him up against the railing; the man promptly wet himself. “One might get the idea he’s afraid of heights,” he commented.

Harry smirked at him, then looked back at his prey. “Did you also know, it takes approximately forty seconds to get to this floor if the lift goes straight up? I wonder how long it’s going to take for you to get down. Let’s find out, shall we?”

Several spells were cast before Harry levitated Landsman out away from the balcony, then simply let him go. The man dropped like a stone, and his mate leaned out over the railing to watch his progress. “Oooo, looks like he’s too frightened to break free of that stunner and apparate to safety,” he commented with a laugh, then winced theatrically as a miniscule puff appeared far below. “If he’s not dead, I wouldn’t want to be his healer.”

Voldemort laughed and pulled Harry in close for a kiss. “It’s not every day you have a minion turn on you because he’s pissed you make him face his fear nearly every day.”

Harry giggled. “Dumblefuck looked almost surprised when he understood why he’d managed to obtain a new spy. Well, let’s pop down real quick to make sure he is actually dead, then we can go home and be naughty together, okay?”

Suddenly wide, hopeful eyes captured his gaze, and Voldemort found himself nodding agreeably without pause for thought. Landsman was indeed one with the earth (or in this case, the pavement), so they returned home after ducking into a dark alley for cover. Harry dragged him off toward the back of the house when they arrived and through the door into the park.

“What are you up to?”

His mate shook his head stubbornly and hauled him over to a nice tree, one that provided a decent amount of shade, then whipped out a wand to begin casting a series of charms. “There,” he said finally, “all safe. I’ve never made love outdoors before, Tom, and I’ve made sure the pets won’t bother us.” He tucked the wand away before starting to strip, shedding his clothes at a fast clip without damaging them (for once).

Then Harry advanced on Voldemort and began undressing him. “Won’t it be nice, the sun shining down all around and a refreshing breeze flirting with us?” And he was shortly naked with his mate pressing up against him wantonly.

Voldemort reached up to grasp Harry by the shoulders and push him back a bit, then grab his chin. “Harry, promise me, you won’t attempt to mate this time, please?”

An alien look flashed across Harry’s face, but he nodded nevertheless. “I promise. Just making love. It’s too soon.”

He was not entirely comforted by that, but released his mate’s chin and kissed him instead, drawing him slowly down to the ground where they could rest on the pile of clothing. Who cared if those got dirty? That’s what cleaning charms were for.

It wasn’t long before his mate was straddling him and easing down onto his cock, delightful hissing spilling from his lips and questing fingers doing wicked things to Voldemort’s chest and nipples. And for once, he hissed back, words coming forth that were not those easily translated into English, for snakes had a distinctly different way of viewing the world, or even describing it.

He was moderately shocked when Harry’s eyes flicked open to reveal slit pupils like his own, and the longer he looked into those altered eyes the more aroused he became, above and beyond the norm. When he attempted to roll his mate onto his back and take complete control Harry resisted and hissed at him warningly. And for a moment there Voldemort thought that his mate’s instincts had taken over and he was going to be a daddy much sooner than he had expected.

It was a total shock, therefore, when Harry threw his head back with a moan of pain, then lurched forward to drown Voldemort with a mass of silky black hair, all the while still riding him with abandon. When Voldemort could see again there were two scaled wings hovering overhead, originating from his mate’s back.

They set him off; Voldemort began to orgasm a split second later, even before Harry, though his mate lost himself as well within moments. It wasn’t until several minutes later that Voldemort felt rested enough to reach up one tentative hand and brush it against a wing; Harry shifted against him, pressing closer.

“Harry, love, why has this happened?” Those damn books never said anything about this, and if he were the type he would track down those blasted authors with their misbegotten ideas about the nature of incubi and strangle every last one of them. He was strongly beginning to think that not one of them had got closer to an incubus than a country away.

Harry pulled himself up and glanced over his shoulder, then blinked and scratched his forehead. “Now how am I supposed to hide these?” Then he turned an accusatory gaze on Voldemort. “See? I told you I didn’t like to cover the scales. Now we know why.”

“Harry,” Voldemort said patiently, “there must be a reason they’ve decided to appear. Does nothing come to mind? Do you think it has anything to do with you wishing to procreate?”

Harry scowled at him. “Procreate? Bloody procreate?”

“Carry our children,” Voldemort said hastily, then relaxed minutely when his mate’s expression cleared.

“Oh. I have no idea, actually. They’re never going to believe I’m part dementor now. Not with these flapping about.”

Voldemort relaxed further and ventured a slight jest. “And if they were feathered we could call you the angel of death.” Then he added, “They’re beautiful, Harry, just as you are.” And they were, sparkling like diamonds even in the shade cast by the tree they were under.

“You don’t . . . mind them?” Harry didn’t wait for a response; he leaned in to kiss Voldemort again, making the question rhetorical.

“You realize, of course, that this is going to make it damn difficult for me to make love to you as I normally do,” he commented, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mate’s mouth.

Harry snorted. “You’re not the one who probably can’t sleep on his back any longer.”

Voldemort did not think it was prudent to point out that his mate invariably slept tucked up against his side, or draped over his chest, not on his back.

“You need to eat,” Harry said, “and then we can go take a nap before the fun starts.”

*

Harry had vetoed the idea of letting the Death Eaters watch the proceedings with the idea that it was terribly unwise to give one’s minions ideas on how to defeat their masters should they decide that a lifetime of servitude wasn’t their thing any longer. About the only exception he was willing to make was for Lucius, and then only because the man had the good sense to approve of him.

The maze had been transformed. There was now a central chamber and around it were a multitude of cells containing the prisoners Lucius and his teams had procured for their scheme. Harry, of course, had made sure to cancel any enchantments of the headmaster’s spectacles that would give him special extras, such as being able to see through illusion or discern those who were disillusioned or invisible.

His mate started things off very simply, with Dumbledore strapped into a peculiar looking chair in the middle of the central chamber. It was not quite like what one would find in a Ministry trial room, but close enough to bring such a place to mind. In front of the captive was a pensieve, one that had been enchanted to replay the memories it held in a specific order.

Voldemort knew that had it been possible his mate would have requested the memories force the viewer to experience them from a very particular point of view. However, that was not the case, so his mate made do. Harry was standing directly behind the headmaster when he came to and lifted his head cautiously, then tried to look around warily.

Not a word was spoken, though; Harry simply kicked the back of the chair with one booted foot, causing it to lurch forward and over to force Dumbledore’s face into that pensieve. Voldemort smiled when Harry said, “That should keep him occupied for a bit,” then began giggling.

“Well, he did really wish to know what happened to all those people,” he pointed out needlessly. “I’m sure he will be quite pleased to sit through a retrospective of their torture and deaths.”

Harry grinned. “That makes me sound like an artist.” He looked back over his shoulder. “Doing all right there, Lucius?”

“My lord, may I know . . . who?”

Harry pivoted to face Lucius directly. “Oh, why not. I’m in an excellent mood. Let’s see.” He began ticking names off on his fingers. “Severus Snape, Alastor Moody, Ronald Weasley, Hermione Weasley, Nymphadora Tonks, Dolores Umbridge, George Weasley, Fred Weasley, Arthur Weasley, Molly Weasley, Sturgis Podmore—you were there for him, naturally—and Arabella Figg.

“In the other column we have Remus Lupin and Percy Weasley—they aren’t dead, but they are under my control—and at some point, Cornelius Fudge will die. And I’ve stolen Neville Longbottom and Ginevra Weasley from his influence. At this point we have a baker’s dozen of Order members to contend with plus Dumblefuck himself. You’ll hear more about them later on, though. Wouldn’t want to spoil any surprises.”

Lucius nodded rather absently, causing Voldemort to wonder if he was internalizing that information and refusing to show his actual reaction to the number of Light people Harry had taken out on his own in a fairly short length of time. Still, Lucius was turning out to be a far more loyal minion than he had realized, and that was always a nice thing to know.

A timer on the back wall gave them fair warning when it was about time for Dumbledore to be released from the pensieve, so Lucius was bidden to disappear and Voldemort also stepped out of sight, behind a false wall set up for exactly that purpose. Harry, on the other hand, skipped around the room in circles, eventually coming to a stop before the headmaster once he came back to awareness of the real world.

The pensieve was shuttled off behind the man and to Voldemort, who quickly regained the memories, as it had been he who had provided them in the first place.

“Hi!” Harry said brightly. He was dressed in his usual black leather, though this time the vest was missing. His wings were tightly folded against his back and not visible at present to the headmaster; they would be if his mate moved the right way. “Did you enjoy the memories?”

Dumbledore started to speak but Harry cut him off instantly. “Fantastic! Now, I have something really super special in mind for you, so don’t wander off or anything.” He whipped out a wand and flicked it around, then stepped back a bit as portions of the floor began to rise. “You see, I did a little research. Grindelwald was a fascinating fellow! But of even more interest was his little squib friend, Hitler.”

The floor sections rose to verticality and began to box the headmaster in, turning translucent as they approached position, though the front section hung back. “He had such interesting ways to kill people, don’t you think? Well, I’m going to borrow one of his ideas. I’m nearly breathless with anticipation to see how it’ll affect you,” Harry said just before the last piece clicked into place. Another few flicks of his wand produced a ceiling of sorts and a few more coaxed conduits to snake up from the floor and attach to the construct.

Within seconds a hissing sound could be heard quite clearly and it was obvious that something was being piped into the translucent box. Mr Unflappable simply sat there, unmoving, like he knew something they did not. He was, however, shortly unconscious, having displayed the characteristic signs of great pain before passing out.

Harry bounced around for a few seconds and then spelled the gas feed off. Then he turned and skipped through the false wall to gaze at Lucius. “You get to sleep through this part, blondie,” he said, then nailed him into a coma before asking, “Are you ready?”

Voldemort nodded and began spelling away fake walls even as his mate did, revealing the muggle prisoners waiting, most of them not so patiently, and trying despite the spells to keep them silent to shout and yell and make a fuss.

The next several hours were spent performing an insanely complicated ritual (much favored by Grindelwald, who tended to ‘borrow’ prisoners from Hitler’s camps) intended to strip a wizard of his magic, thus the need for the muggle sacrifices. By the time they were done every last one of the prisoners looked as though they had been sucked dry, and were most certainly dead.

Voldemort was feeling fairly well fagged at that point and knew his mate must be also, and so conjured up an impromptu bed for them to take a nap on before continuing with Harry’s little play. And when they were rested, the fake walls were put back into place to hide the evidence and Lucius was brought back to consciousness none the wiser for what had actually occurred.

Dumbledore was likewise released from his coma, but not before they ran a few scans to assure themselves that his magic was, in fact, gone. When he did raise his head his eyes had a steely glint in them. Harry skipped back into his line of vision and said, “Whoops! That didn’t go quite right. You seem to be alive. Maybe it doesn’t work quite the same way on wizards as it does muggles, hm?”

Harry took a few moments to deconstruct the enclosure so that it was no longer in the way, then planted a hand on one hip. “I guess I’ll have to go to plan b, huh?”

“You disappoint me, Harry.”

His mate affected remorse, then smirked. “Like I give a shit. Hey, Tom, did you hear that? Dumblefuck here thinks I’m going to be all overcome with shame because I’ve been a naughty boy.”

Voldemort took that as his cue to step into view and come to a stop a short distance away; for some reason that made Dumbledore smile faintly. “You did say he was delusional, Harry.”

“Drunk on perceived power, I suppose,” was Harry’s comment. “Did you like what you saw? Did you enjoy seeing what a fabulous killer you all molded me into?”

“Their lives were sacrificed for the greater good,” Dumbledore said quietly.

Harry’s wings snapped into view, their movement an indication of irritation. “You really are out of your friggin’ mind, aren’t you? You just don’t care. The whole damn world could die so long as you managed to prove a point.”

Dumbledore smiled faintly again, then spoke, his eyes twinkling obscenely. “I see you have completed your transformation. Thus, it is time. Kill Voldemort, Harry.”

Voldemort noticed his mate stiffen and turn toward him slowly. For a split second he really did wonder if he had been had, and if he was about to enter a fight for his life. Then Harry finished his rotation, his face then concealed from Dumbledore’s view, and winked at him broadly before rolling his eyes.

“Kill Voldemort,” his mate repeated tonelessly, then raised his wand, eyes gleaming with amusement.

“Yes, Harry, kill him. Fulfill your destiny,” Dumbledore urged.

Harry turned back quickly and shook his head. “No, don’t think so, old man. I don’t know what the hell you’ve been smoking, but there’s no way I’m going to do something that illogical.”

The faintest stirrings of panic touched Dumbledore’s eyes. “You must, Harry. I order it.”

Harry laughed in his face as his wings stretched out to their fullest extent. He moved to stand behind Voldemort and wrapped those wings around him like a shield, then poked his head around the side. “Order all you like, Dumblefuck, you’re just wasting your breath.”

“I command you!” Dumbledore thundered. “You are my creature, your loyalty is mine!”

Voldemort laughed then, the sound rich and uninhibited. He turned within the embrace of those wings and murmured, “It seems you were right, love.”

“I was just hedging my bets,” Harry murmured back, then went up on his toes to peek over his lover’s shoulder. “Oooo, he looks upset,” he whispered and retracted his wings. “I suppose we should kill him now. You know, I’ve got this insane urge to tie a wand to a string and dangle that from a stick just barely in his reach. Well, I guess I’d have to release his arms first, huh? I wonder about his reaction when he realizes. . . .”

Voldemort turned to look at the old man (and he felt justified in using that term given that Dumbledore was approximately twice his age) and arched a brow. “He looks a bit done in to me. Even his anger cannot conceal it.”

“D’you suppose he might die on us because we. . . ?” Harry whispered in concern.

“I don’t know. I suggest we move ahead before we find out for sure.”

Harry flashed him a smile and nodded. “Okay.” He stepped forward again and grinned. “Time for plan b, Dumblefuck,” he said, then released the man’s restraints with a few waves of his wand. “Feel free to move about and stretch before we proceed. Wouldn’t want to hear you whining about a leg cramp or anything once we get going.”

Dumbledore rushed Harry, surprisingly agile for a man his age, and wrested the wand from him, then brandished it threateningly. “If you won’t obey, you will die.”

Harry skipped backward a few steps and laughed again. “Didn’t you even pay attention to my training, Dumblefuck? I don’t need a wand to be lethal.”

Voldemort, for show, quietly shook a wand into his hand and took up a defensive position.

“I will give you one last chance, Harry. Kill Voldemort or die.”

“Look, old man, you’d kill me once I was done anyway. Why should I make the effort to help you out for such a shitty return?”

Dumbledore’s eyes blazed as he shouted, “Avada Kedavra!”

Harry looked at Voldemort a few seconds later and said, “You know, I was worried for a moment that he didn’t have it in him. That’s pretty much sealed his fate, wouldn’t you say?”

“Indeed.”

Mr Unflappable was looking fairly well flapped; he tried again, with no better results. “What have you done!?” he roared.

“I told you Grindelwald was fascinating,” Harry trilled. “You’re a squib now, old man, and standing with the heart of the forces of Dark. So, unless you plan to try poking me into submission with that wand you borrowed, I suggest you start running.”

And he did, but was cut down with a stunner before he had taken two steps.

“Time for the torture,” Harry said cheerfully as he retrieved his wand. “Oh, Lucius! Do make yourself useful and spell that rack over here, would you?”

Lucius did so with alacrity; a quick perusal of the man revealed he was practically salivating at the idea of watching the leader of the Light be tortured. Voldemort conjured up his usual chair and summoned over a table with his wine and a glass, then had a seat and poured. His minion came to stand beside him.

Harry quickly stripped his victim and strapped him up. Unlike other racks they had used, though, this one allowed for a slow slippage, which made sense when his mate moved a pole into position with the sharpened end resting just at Dumbledore’s anus.

“I’m sure you’ve heard of impalement before,” Harry commented absently as he continued to arrange things, and spelled into place an odd apparatus fashioned from glass or something similar that hovered over the old man’s head. “And also Chinese water torture? Well, I’ve decided to do a bit of combining, and a bit of tweaking.

“You see, I’d like for you to feel violated like I was so often, and I’d like to attack your other great strength—your mind. That’s not water up there, Dumblefuck, it’s acid, and it’s going to drip down one shivery drop at a time and burn a hole into your brain, eventually turning it to mush. And while that’s happening, you’re going to keep slipping down a bit at a time so that nice pole can work its way up your ass to, in time, meet what’s left of your brain.”

Harry stepped back with a brilliant smile of satisfaction and flicked his wand a few times. Dumbledore was released from the stunner, the acid began to drip, and the bindings began to slip. “Enjoy! I know I will.”

Voldemort unobtrusively cast a few by then standard spells, then adjusted his position in his chair as his beloved came to sit sideways on his lap and lean against him.