Chapter Text
"SHE KILLED SIRIUS!" bellowed Harry. "SHE KILLED HIM—I'LL KILL HER!"
And he was off, scrambling up the stone benches. People were shouting behind him but he did not care. The hem of Bellatrix's robes whipped out of sight ahead and they were back in the Room where the brains were swimming....
She aimed a curse over her shoulder. The tank rose into the air and tipped. Harry was deluged in the foul-smelling potion within. The brains slipped and slid over him and began spinning their long, coloured tentacles, but he shouted, "Wingardium Leviosa!" and they flew into the air away from him. Slipping and sliding he ran on toward the door. He leapt over Luna, who was groaning on the floor, past Ginny, who said, "Harry—what—?" past Ron, who giggled feebly, and Hermione, who was still unconscious. He wrenched open the door into the circular black hall and saw Bellatrix rushing through, just about to vanish through a door leading to the other side of the lifts.
"Impedimenta!" Harry bellowed, and the spell hit the dastardly witch right in the back. She fell to the ground, frozen. Her wand slipped from her hands and clattered just a handful of centimetres away.
Rage clouded his mind as Harry grasped his wand with both hands, shaking in his boots.
"Crucio." It was barely a whisper, but it wasn't mumbled. It was spoken with resolve and anger and determination, and he was sure she was about to scream, and he'd revel in her tortured cries, but—
Nothing.
Bellatrix cackled meanly from her place on the ground. She was still trapped, but her wicked eyes shone with dark amusement, and Harry himself stood rooted in his spot as if he were the one who was cursed.
"Never used an unforgivable curse before, have you, boy?" She had abandoned the baby talk, even as her voice was still reminiscent of the shrieking of nails clawing on a chalkboard. She was revelling in this, laughing at his misery. "You need to mean them, Potter. To truly want to cause pain! Righteous anger won't last long. I'll show you how it's done, shall I? Just let me—" She was stumbling to her feet, shaking and shivering with what was either the remnants of a decade in Azkaban or his impedimenta spell.
"Crucio," he spoke, the word falling from his lips as easily as breathing. Vivid green eyes shook with repressed rage, a shudder wracking through his body. In that moment, he had no idea what sort of monster possessed him, what primal urge wrenched control of his body and unmade his being. But he couldn't find it in himself to grant mercy. He couldn't pretend to himself that he didn't want this—this monster of a woman to feel pain. The same pain she made him feel as Sirius slipped through the veil.
The moment the unforgivable connected to her form, she crumbled. His heart clambered in his chest, and his throat was suddenly dry.
She screamed this time, well and truly screamed. Strangely, her tortured cries made him feel powerful. Relieved. Electric pleasure shot through him like a lightning bolt, warmth coiling in his gut and every nerve of his shook with what could only be the addictive feeling associated with dark magic. Every iota and molecule of his being fizzed with electrifying power, and he could hardly be made to stop it. He felt strong. Confident. He was happy that she was in pain, that she was feeling what she made him feel just minutes ago.
Harry smiled cruelly. He didn't feel even a hint of guilt, somehow. He knew he should, and perhaps he'd feel a smidgeon of guilt later, but in the here and now, he couldn't bring himself to care. He didn't like inflicting pain onto others, he'd avoid it wherever he could, but the woman in front of him deserved it, his mind hissed. After what she did, pain was her just punishment, was it not? The thought felt oily, slimy. Like it couldn't really be his, but Harry was certain that it was.
His scar came to life, burning. But, it wasn't pain, he couldn't feel pain right now, only pleasure, so what was—
A footstep. Once, then twice. Then closer this time.
Clap. Clap. Clap.
Harry looked.
It was Lord Voldemort, in all his serpentine glory. His red eyes shone with hidden amusement, and Harry couldn't help but notice the cutting angle of his hollow cheekbones in the light of the dark, circular hall of doors.
"Oh, Harry," his high, resounding voice curled around Harry's name, sweetly and softly, filled with glee. "Lord Voldemort had never expected to witness such a sight, in all his gloried days." His voice held a depth to it that Harry had never heard in him before. It wasn't innately malicious (like usual in their yearly scruffles), but instead, he was...fascinated, almost enraptured by the sight before him. It was a tone that might not have been out of place on the memory of a teenage Tom Riddle.
Bellatrix's screams quieted, and she crawled to her lord on hands and knees, in pain and shivering, blood dripping from dry, cracked lips. It was a truly sorry state, but numb as he was, Harry couldn't bring himself to feel more than a modicum of pity. "My-my lord, Master, the boy—he—the prophecy—" Her shrieking sputtered out under her wet sobs.
Harry didn't move to say a word. He couldn't. He couldn't open his mouth to speak anything at all, and his brain shut down for a few moments as his body experienced the electric aftershocks of the curse. But, unmistakably, there was a strange scent in the air. Voldemort's scent, it had to be.
He had always known Voldemort was an alpha, of course. It was never explicitly mentioned, but it had been clear from the way the man was described—his imposing aura and dominating scent, along with his sadistic, power-mad tendencies could only belong to an alpha. And then when Harry smelled a fresh but no less pungent and dangerous alpha musk on the man in the graveyard, he was immediately embroiled in it, pulled in by the very feel of it before disgust and horror took over. But now it was...far less menacing. It wasn't meant to cause Harry fear, and the scent itself clouded the room so deeply that Harry could feel the shiver of it in his bones.
Voldemort smelled like something dark and spicy and maybe a little sweet—perhaps cinnamon or dark chocolate—but it was warm and rustic and it curled around Harry like a thick blanket. It was—Voldemort was preening, at Harry.
("Preening," Hermione explained one day during their third year health class. "It's a subconscious instinct found in alphas, where they waft their pheromones, also known as scent, towards eligible omegas, hoping to prove themselves to potential mates.")
His thoughts stuttered to a halt. This—this was, impossible. Voldemort shouldn't be preening at him! Harry was his enemy! He murdered his parents! Just because Harry was an omega doesn't mean that—
The alluring disgusting scent pulled away, and Harry could finally breathe as he stumbled back, gawking at Voldemort like he'd never seen him before. And then, embarrassingly, Harry realized his own scent had grown as well, breaking his practised scent-masking charms and wrapping against Voldemort's, trying to both pull it closer, as was instinct, and to push it away. He cursed his damned hormones. Now was not the bloody time!
"What the fuck? You—you—" Harry flushed red as a tomato, and he gripped his wand tight in a white-knuckled grip. Fuck, he was screwed. "Why?" He sputtered.
Voldemort blinked awkwardly, and his eyes seemed almost half-lidded. Which was strange. Did he even have proper eyelids? But it looked like he did, at least, if his body could make the motion. The man stood before Harry in frozen silence, his form imposing and his scent strong in the air. For all the world, he was menacing, but not to Harry. Oh no, he could never be scared of the monster before him. He was pathetic and inhuman, clawing at a facsimile of life long after he had already died, and it was for that reason that Harry couldn't bring himself to feel either fear or hate. Only pity. Disgust.
"You...you are an omega." Slowly, hesitantly, something just dawned on Voldemort, and Harry felt himself jumping back before the man could get any...ideas. He knew the man probably wasn't a rapist (fuck knows Tom Riddle's handsome looks could've gotten just about anyone into bed, though the same can't be said about Voldemort), but considering his followers were, Harry wouldn't hedge his bets.
Seething, he began to shout, "Yeah? What about it?!" Fuck it, he was an omega, Voldemort was an alpha, and they were both enemies. The bastard in front of him wasn't going to lord his secondary gender over Harry, not as long as he could help it.
The Dark Lord stood still as a statue, staring deep into Harry's viridian eyes with an indiscernible, piercing look. He was thinking about something, something big, a part of him knew. What was Voldemort planning? What did Harry being an omega change? They were enemies! It didn't have to change anything.
With that thought in mind, he regained his bearings and ran, not even deigning to answer to Voldemort in his shocked state.
Before Harry knew it, he was slamming open another huge, nondescript door and dashing into a room full of cloying scarlet mist. He ran and ran, and kept on running.
That bastard, Harry thought scathingly. He's going to tell everyone! It was embarrassing, at least to him. There weren't all that many male omegas, and Harry had only recently presented over the summer in a strange, pre-heat. Sirius was the only one who knew; he was an omega himself, and he was more than willing to teach Harry the ropes, as well as to help him hide it. Male omegas were fairly uncommon, and Harry knew that if he was found out, the Wizarding World would coddle him and turn him into an invalid, expecting him to become some kind of kept omega. Everyone would see him completely differently, and even his friendships would shift.
Hermione would be normal about it at first, but then she'd have questions, ones that Harry couldn't answer. And it didn't help that both she and Ron, both being betas, had some preconceived notions about what omegas were like. They'd become protective, and Harry would surely end up being put into the role of 'Ron's baby brother whose chastity he had to protect.'
And Harry knew that Hermione could be a bit...weird about her omega roommates. She thought Lavender and Parvati, both omegas, were frivolous in their likes and the lack of attention they paid to their schooling. And Ron was raised by the rather traditional Molly Weasley; he was already overprotective over Ginny, who'd just presented as an omega herself, and Harry really didn't want that to happen to him. So he hid it. But now....
Voldemort, that git, was still following him. Angrily, Harry vaulted over a stray table and shot an overpowered jellylegs jinx in Voldemort's direction. It probably wouldn't hit, but it was meant to distract more than anything. He ran through the scarlet-misted room, pointedly ignoring the still-beating human hearts embalmed in jars or the walls full with diagrams of increasingly risque sexual positions, and he kept pace against the man.
He shot a quick look behind him. Voldemort wore a dark look on his serpentine face, and his snake-like pupils had thinned into slits. "Potter!" He hissed, his eyes darting around the room as if he were worried, almost. Strange, what could Lord Voldemort ever fear? "Enough of this. Leave. Surrender yourself and perhaps Lord Voldemort will take mercy on your dear mudblood pet. Your precious godfather may even find his way out of the veil of death, were Lord Voldemort so inclined."
Freezing in his tracks, Harry's emerald eyes burned. He twisted around, his wand ready to shoot right at Voldemort with red light sparking off the tip. "You liar! Sirius—he's...he's dead! Your little pet death eater killed him!" Just like their confrontation in first year, Voldemort was using his dead family against him, using pretty little words to try to trick naive, innocent little Harry into making a deal with the devil.
Voldemort's smile was cruel and full of teeth, and Harry shivered as the man's scent began to twine with his own. They were barely a meter apart, close enough for Harry to spot light glimmering against the scales on the man's neck. When did they get so close? He didn't notice, he reflected as his head began to grow hazy.
"Oh, really, little omega?" The endearment sounded like an insult coming from his mouth, his thin, almost non-existent lips forming into a smirk. "Do you truly not believe that Lord Voldemort could retrieve him? The blood traitor isn't truly dead, not if mine own self were gracious enough to enact the proper ritual."
Shivers wracked Harry's spine, and without his notice, his wand hand fell to his side. "I—but, you wouldn't. Even if you could, what's in it for you? You want to kill me!" Hope bled into Harry's features despite himself, but he was struck with resolve. The man in front of him would never do anything for anyone if something wasn't also in it for him. The devil was trying to trick him, and Harry knew better than to fall for his silver tongue and cruel tricks.
Voldemort took a step closer, even as Harry stepped back. They did it again and again, circling each other like a facsimile of a dance.
And then less than a minute later, the alpha stepped closer again as Harry's back hit a long, dark wooden lab table against the wall. He was cornered.
"Oh, Harry," his name was a soft hiss on barely-there lips, sounding regretful when they both knew he was anything but. "For what reason would your lord lie?" He could feel the warmth of Voldemort's voice in his ear, a spicy scent dancing in his nose, and a warm body flush against his. He shivered.
Too close! Voldemort was way too close. Harry felt too warm, and he was almost dazed from being so close to Voldemort's peppery scent. He tried to step back, but he tripped right onto the table, so now he was sitting on it as Voldemort got in between his thighs and stamped his hands on either side of Harry. Like this, he could almost forget the dark lord's previous words to him, but he didn't. He couldn't.
"You're not—", a heavy, stuttering inhale, "—my lord. Fucking hell, you're insane." He stared the man down, impertinent green meeting visceral red.
Warmth blossomed in his gut as Harry gazed into Voldemort's blazing crimson eyes. Fuck. What was wrong with him?
A hand shot out and wrapped around his throat. "Oh, Harry, aren't I?" The words were a deep, sibilant breath against his ear, inciting a deep shiver and tingles down his spine. He couldn't help but notice, now, the feeling of home emanating from his scar. He was certainly curious, somewhere in the back of his mind, but he couldn't bring himself to exude the mental wherewithal to question anything, transfixed as he was on the warmth of Voldemort's skin against his own.
And that was just the moment when they both knew the air between them had shifted.
Something was terribly wrong.
─── • ⋄ ⋅⚡️⋅ ⋄ • ───
Voldemort felt something dark coiling in his chest, a possessive fervour that grew with each breath of scarlet mist that he took in. Internally, he began to rage as he stared into the gem-like eyes of the boy before him.
"It's too late..." he whispered. "Foolish boy, you have no idea what this room is!" Voldemort's scent grew thick in the air, a tinge of arousal blooming in the edges, almost as powerful as the sheer rage flowing off of him. Potter let out a wet little sound as his eyes glazed, and he tilted his head, showing off his bare neck and mating gland like he was trying to tempt him. Innocent as he was, he might not even realize what he was doing.
"What...where are...what is this place? I feel really—" Potter moaned, cheeks flushed red before his face went pale and he came back to himself.
"You—", his face went red again, and hands seized Voldemort's robes, a disrespect none had been allowed before, "—what is this? What. Did. You. Do?"
"No, little omega," Voldemort spoke, his high voice raw and furious, "the question is what did you do? You foolish boy, this is the Room of Desire! You led us here." He pulled at Potter's hair, unintentionally showing off just a sliver more of a pale, creamy neck, stark against messy black hair and blazing emerald eyes. Despite himself, his mouth began to water as he fought off the urge to claim the expanse, or perhaps to tear his throat out instead. Wouldn't that be sweet? He almost shivered at the thought of warm blood in his mouth as his fangs ripped the boy's throat out after he lapped against his mating gland and crushed it.
Potter hissed under his breath, and he yanked away Voldemort's hand as if it pained him. "Don't touch me! You have to stop this, you've...this is..." Potter's face inched closer to Voldemort, and the boy's hands on the cloth of his robes tightened as they gazed into each other's eyes. Something sparked between them, and then before they knew it, passion ignited between them like a forest fire, burning and all-encompassing.
Unthinkingly, Voldemort's arms wrapped tightly around Harry's waist and Harry's arms found their way around Voldemort's neck as their lips met in a deep, filthy kiss. Their lips moved against each other's in a way that was less akin to a lover's passionate embrace and more like a brawl between wild animals, both fighting to achieve domination over the other. Harry gave as good as he got, biting Voldemort on the lower lip and then lapping at the blood.
This earned a deep growl, and Voldemort used the chance to slip his tongue into Harry's opened mouth. The kiss turned even more blazing, filled with even more passion, and Voldemort felt something hard stirring in his loins.
It's been a long time since he felt this base, human urge, even before he lost his body. But this time the lust was deeper and more abiding, more passionate, and with the urge to claw his way so deep into Harry Potter that the boy would never be able to escape him.
"This—is—all—your—fault," Voldemort emphasized as he relinquished Harry's lips and began biting and kissing at his neck, just under his ear and falling closer and closer to the hallowed ground that was the boy's mating gland. He could barely resist the sweet scent of arousal coming off of it, and his own scent grew deeper in turn.
Harry could only moan and hold on tighter to Voldemort's neck, tilting his head to give him better access. Sweet boy, truly he he had no idea what that all was doing to him. The enmity between them was legendary, their relationship one for the ages, but perhaps the hatred between them could, for once, be channeled into more...pleasurable ventures. After all, Lord Voldemort was never one to deny himself pleasure, not in any form, no matter where it came from, he smirked. Perhaps it would be nice to take the boy before him, to defile the omega and ruin him for his precious light.
"Oh yeah? And who's just going along with it? Couldn't you just...ignore it? You're—gah—stronger than me so—oh fuck, Merlin don't stop—" Potter's pants were lovely, music to his ears. His cock stirred under his robes and Voldemort couldn't help but bite harder on the boy's neck, earning a yelp and small beads of blood that he quickly lapped up.
Voldemort smirked into Potter's shoulder. He did so love to see his lovers writhing in pleasure under him, something in his alpha could only preen at the sight.
He blinked. Lover? Of course not, Potter was—an inconvenience. A nuisance. And he wouldn't even be in this situation had it not been for the boy's own stupidity in entering a strange, arbitrarily chosen room. He'd prefer to kill him outright and be done with it, but yet...
The dark lord took a step away from the boy, and he began to look at him. Just...look.
Potter—no, Harry snarled at him with red, kiss-bitten lips, his eyes were glazed over with dilated pupils, and his neck was bruised and bitten while Harry's sweet, omega scent was syrupy thick with arousal. He already looked like a mess, and they hadn't even gotten anywhere yet.
Strangely enough, Voldemort found that he liked what he saw. He could already imagine it, the boy laying beneath him, taking pleasure in his cock and begging for him. Just the thought felt strangely satisfying, filthy in the best of ways. And as lust grew within him, even knowing he just might have been able to force himself from the scene with his impressive occlumency, he chose to place clawed hands on Harry's thighs, spreading them wide and using a spell to vanish the boy's robes, leaving him in his already-tented boxers. Ah, a chuckle. The joys of being a teenager....
Harry shivered, and Voldemort knew it was less from the chill and more from the way he withered shyly under the gaze of him, likely unused to the way an alpha might sample the look of their lover.
Tch. That word again. Harry Potter would not be his lover. This was a passing fancy, a way to debase the boy even further, to humiliate him in the knowing that he had wanted this, that he took pleasure in being fucked and dominated by his parents' killer before being killed himself.
"Well," the word left Harry's lips in a sigh, his chest heavy with stuttered breaths. "Hurry up then." He looked like he had come to a truly painful decision. It must have used all his brain capacity, surely.
Voldemort smiled with teeth, and he took care not to simply vanish his own clothes, but to slowly, painfully, take off every article. A tease.
─── • ⋄ ⋅⚡️⋅ ⋄ • ───
Harry couldn't help it, he stared. Voldemort wasn't...unattractive. And god, this was not a line of thought he should be having, but by Godric he was having it. He really shouldn't be doing this, but he was already hot for it and he already felt himself going wet in between his thighs.
He wanted this, he knew, and felt guilty for it. His body shook with the weight of his lust, his heart thumping madly at the thought of what they were going to do. But...Voldemort said this was called the Room of Desire, right? So maybe it wasn't really his fault, maybe he wasn't really attracted to the elegant slant of Voldemort's cheekbones, the deep scarlet of his eyes, or the glimmering scales against his neck.
But then the handsome face and cruel smirk of a young Tom Riddle superimposed over Voldemort's features, and then Harry knew he was lying to himself. His knees went weak, and he would have stumbled had he not been halfway sitting on the fortuitously placed dark wooden table.
Fuck. He thought Voldemort was hot. Or, he supposed, he wasn't exactly handsome, but he was fascinating. Elegant. Beautiful in a haunting, eldritch kind of way that stole Harry's breath the longer he looked at him. Harry couldn't help but steal glances at thin, spindly fingers ghosting against his thighs, inching to the waistband of his damp boxers.
Harry's brain was a mess of dazed-aroused-omega and holy-fuck-what-am-I-doing-teenage-boy. And unfortunately, his omega-brain was winning. He knew damn well what was going on, he knew exactly how terrible it was, but some part of him couldn't help but want it. To want him. Voldemort.
The thing is, he knew that all those emotions were the product of whatever spell the Room had placed on him. Bloody hell, if Harry knew that this was where he'd have ended up by running away, he'd have stayed put right there in that hall, facing Voldemort down to either death, and-or severe embarrassment by being outed as an omega. As of right now, he was severely regretting his earlier decisions.
But it was really hard to think when Voldemort was doing something sinfully good with his nipple and a warm, wet tongue—oh god, fuck.
Harry let out a dreadfully embarrassing mewl as Voldemort sucked on a reddened nipple, swirling it with a forked tongue. "Fucking fuck, you're—", a moan, "—just...keep on doing that." To his eternal shame, Harry knew exactly what he looked like at that moment. He was utterly out of it, his cunt wet with slick and his nipples red and puffy. The entirety of his face and chest were beet red, and the sweet honey scent of aroused omega clouded the room.
He could almost feel the corners of a satisfied smirk over a pink nipple as Voldemort began to kiss and suck around it, on his chest and collar, edging back to his neck. He just knew that come morning, he'd have a shiny set of colourful new hickeys marking his neck and torso. Hell, with the way Voldemort had his clawed hands wrapped around Harry's waist and hips, he was pretty sure he'd get a few bruises there, too. Maybe some claw marks if he was lucky....
The wave of arousal he got left him almost sick, and then he was filled with tangible horror.
He liked that, holy shit. He liked having Voldemort mark him. That...that was not a set of thoughts he had ever wanted to delve into, but just the very notion of it sent ripples down his spine.
Discreetly, he began to rub his damp thighs together, hating the feel of wet, warm slick against his underwear. Evidently, Voldemort bore witness to the sight with the satisfied growl he let out.
"Oh, Harry, you look...chafed." An unfairly hot smirk came from Voldemort, a man who looked straight out of a horror movie. Harry wanted to rip it off him, either with a punch to the jaw or a kiss, he really didn't want to figure it out. "Do you need my help with that?" His voice dripped with condescension.
Harry snarled. "I'm not going to beg. Hell, isn't it your job to simply take care of me, Alpha?" Just for extra emphasis, Harry twisted his full, pink lips into a pout as he gazed up with wide, innocent green eyes and batted his eyelashes like a pure little omega. For extra measure, he pulled back the hands he'd wrapped around Voldemort's neck and drew them down his back, scratching down roughly. Viciously, Harry thought that there'd probably be blood left behind. Maybe a scar, too.
He drew his hand away, and he stared at it, eyes rapt on the droplets of crimson blood on his index and middle fingers. He inhaled sharply at the sight, at the knowledge that Voldemort bled because of him, for once. The thought was infinitely satisfying.
Harry couldn't help but lick his fingers, swallowing down the coppery tang. He moaned around the blood.
Voldemort's pupils dilated, and he opened his mouth in an "oh" motion for barely half a second before he tried to regain his composure.
A clamp in the form of a large hand on his thigh. It burned his skin like a brand. "Oh my, Harry...." He didn't look angry, per se, but his scarlet eyes stared down at Harry, utterly enraptured. He seemed uncertain as to how he should react between the beguiling look and the growled out 'alpha' or the scratch on his shoulder, but then his lips quirked up, and he smiled. Genuinely. But with just a hint of condescension to it. To Harry, that look was pure Tom Riddle.
"Dear Harry, omega mine, how you please me. Taking my blood into your own, blood that originally formed from the sacrifice of your flesh nought but a year ago...." He gazed sharply at Harry, like he couldn't look away. His hand cradled Harry's cheek so, so softly, and he couldn't help but sigh softly and curl into the warmth of it, his eyes at half-mast.
Voldemort let out a soft breath, and his indiscernible gaze pierced through Harry's dazed form as his hand fell away from Harry's cheek, settling against his hip and almost unconsciously rubbing warm spirals with his thumb. "Darling omega, am I truly your alpha? Or did you say that just to please me?"
He nosed at Harry's ear, teething against the outer edge of the lobe. A shiver ripped down Harry's spine.
At this, green eyes narrowed, calculating the best course of action. Clearly, Voldemort was trying to goad him, and no matter how drugged out Harry felt, he couldn't help but rise to the challenge. He'd always meet Voldemort blow for blow if it came down to it.
Shyly, slowly, Harry tilted his head down before staring at Voldemort through half-lidded green, green eyes in the way that some girls did to him or Ron. He pouted softly, internally smirking at the way Voldemort's eyes followed the trail of his fingers as he grasped the hand his would-be lover had clamped at his thigh. Harry stroked it, softly, before unlocking the fingers and bringing the hand up to the mating gland on his neck, still cradling it in his own hand. He steadily coated Voldemort's clawed hand in his omega scent by rubbing it at his scent gland, just as he tilted his head to show off his mating gland.
He was entranced with the way Voldemort stared him down like a hawk as he stood frozen and aroused against him. For once, he felt powerful. In control of things.
"Oh, Vee, come on now. Would it really be a chore to be my alpha? Just for now..." Harry stood upright, twisting them both around until Voldemort was the one sitting on the table and Harry was draped over his lap, his thighs spread on either side of Voldemort's legs. "...I can be your omega," he whispered coyly in Voldemort's ear. Harry had absolutely no idea what he was doing, but he was...experienced in the art of reading porn mags, and he was trying his best to copy the seductive omegas he'd seen on there. Judging by the alpha's reaction, he did a good job of it. He almost wanted to pat himself on the back for that. He deserved an Oscar.
Voldemort's breath hitched against his neck, making some old, vaguely omega part of Harry purr. He had so much power like this, the breadth of it consuming and all-encompassing. He relished in having this kind of power over someone, heady as it was. Voldemort was staring at him, like he couldn't believe what he was seeing, what gift he was being given, wrapped up on a silver platter. Crimson eyes feasted upon Harry's aroused, virile form, and possessive lust was witnessed by him, clear as day.
The thought that Voldemort could ever desire him like this never before crossed his mind. It was an impossibility, surely, heady and powerful as the feeling was. The animosity between them was born in the very foundation of their relationship, but yet...if they were being forced into this, Harry wasn't completely opposed to using Voldemort for his own pleasure, not when the pleasure was so great, the scarlet eyes upon him so dreadfully arousing. But he would not be some guileless little omega, allowing himself the leisure of sitting back and letting himself get buggered without giving back just as much in return. No, if he was doing this, he was doing this.
"Dearest omega, does this please you so?" Voldemort rolled his hips, his own black silk underwear rubbing against Harry's boxers until he felt a distinct...hardness against him. One that was absolutely not a wand.
He gulped. Merlin, Voldemort was...well-endowed. Would it truly fit inside him? Could he even stretch that far? Harry's new-found confidence could only do so much for him, his omega hormones and the magic of the room mostly leading the way. But the reality of it was evident in the form of Voldemort's clothed cock, and Harry couldn't help but grind down against it, slowly and awkwardly, until he couldn't help but think it was being coated in warm slick that was dripping out of his boxers.
Well, let it not be said that Harry Potter was a coward. He was more than willing to try, he thought, mouth watering. Shyly, his face fell into Voldemort's chest, and he felt so awkward all of a sudden.
"Um...." Fidgeting, he began to speak, carefully measuring his words. He couldn't look this man in the eye. "I really...yeah, oooh, fuck, I like this." Harry whimpered as he met Voldemort's upward thrusts with a grind of his own hips. "But I've never...."
Freeze.
Voldemort was paralyzed right under Harry. It was only for a moment, but he was still as a statue, right until he wrapped his long, strangely muscular arms around Harry's waist and pulled him even closer. His hands began to wander, low, until he seized Harry's firm arse and kneaded both cheeks, splitting them open and rubbing his cock against the warm, wet folds of Harry's cunt while he did so, uncaring of the thin fabric of Harry's underwear. He let out a soft moan, they both did.
"Omega," he sounded wrecked almost, and Harry thought he did something wrong before Voldemort groaned against his shoulder, rubbing his cock against Harry's dripping cunt. "Truly, have you never? Not even once? Have no alphas ever pleasured you?"
Spikes of arousal ripped through Harry's spine and slick gushed out from his cunt at the motion, with Voldemort's warm hand against his ass cheeks still fondling and rubbing him.
More than willing to delve into Voldemort's pure-virginal-omega-Harry fantasy, true as it was, he reaffirmed his words. "Yeah, really. I haven't done...stuff. There was this one kiss with a girl, another omega, but then she was crying and it just wasn't..."
Voldemort hummed lowly, then a smirk. "It just wasn't good, you mean? You like this, don't you, Omega?" He rolled his hips again, and Harry tightened the hands he had wrapped around Voldemort's shoulders. Merlin, he just...they were already so close together. Harry felt enveloped in the very essence of Voldemort, somehow, with their chests flushed together and how the man's spicy alpha scent was twined around his own. His scar buzzed with warm pleasure, and a part of himself felt whole, for lack of a better word. He wasn't even inside yet, and Harry was ready to come apart at the seams. His cock was halfway wrapped in between Harry's folds, and if he changed the angle just a bit, he'd be delving right on in. Harry found himself cursing his boxers at the moment.
Bloody hell, even Voldemort's smirk was hot. Staring at him like this, so close, the man didn't look scary at all. He knew it might have been the magic of the Room, but Voldemort looked almost...human. His hollow cheekbones had filled out a bit more, and his skin was starting to look less grey. His arms were more muscular, even. Something felt off, but...
A spidery finger trailed down Harry's waist before curling around the lining of his boxers.
"Dear Harry," and oh Merlin did he hate how much he loved the way Voldemort's lips wrapped around the words 'dear' and 'Harry.' "How much do you want this? How much do you want me to be inside you? To fuck you so good that you'll scream my name? Tell me, Darling, how much do you want me to ruin you?"
Suitably distracted, Harry divested himself from his earlier train of thought. He smiled, concealing the violent gush of slick he felt come out at those words. "So vulgar, aren't you, Alpha? Exactly how much do you want this?"
Harry rolled his own hips, grinding against Voldemort's hard, straining cock until the alpha let out a soft groan. Harry was certain Voldemort was already halfway inside his cunt from the way they were frotting. "I can't imagine how long it's been since you've had a willing omega in your bed—er, arms. I suppose." And Harry was probably correct about that. He wasn't sure how long Voldemort looked all snakey, but he doubted that the man had had any sex in a while, so he was probably about as overwhelmed as Harry.
Voldemort took the bait for what it was, but, strangely, he didn't take offence at the insult. He looked...happy, almost. Joyous. Like someone was finally joining a game he'd been playing for years. "Why, Harry, are you jealous? Do you want to be the only omega in my bed?" He looked like the cat that caught the canary. As if he knew he had forced Harry into a corner for him to play with.
Damn, mission abort! They were getting into dangerous territory. Red flags were flaring in Harry's head, but he, unfortunately, really liked the colour red (as seen in Voldemort's eyes, for example), and he said what might have been the stupidest thing he could ever say. Though it may have just been the one phrase that changed everything between them, looking back on it.
"Well, Vee," Harry made sure to emphasize the nickname. "How do you feel about being the only alpha in mine? After all, you're my first. You're going to ruin me, you know. For all other alphas.... No one will feel as good as you, no one will be able to make me feel this way...but who knows, maybe you'll keep me? Do you want that?" Harry had absolutely no clue what was coming out of his mouth, his omega-brain leading most of the way, but the words didn't feel wrong, and they just...kept coming. Fuck. He wasn't even against it, either. If they could stay just like this, wrapped in each other, then Harry could die happy, he knew.
Red eyes widened. Voldemort's jaw dropped at the impudence, Harry was sure. The Room was as silent as a grave, until a hearty laugh bellowed from Voldemort's lips. It was practically the most emotion Harry had ever gotten out of him. "How forward of you, Harry! My, I've not even taken you out to dinner, and yet you're asking for me to mate you." Greedy eyes searched Harry's face, revelling in the shade of red he saw there, most likely.
Harry shivered. He...he liked that. The thought of Voldemort mating him. Fucking him. Being inside him. Fuck, he was scared of how much he liked it. "Well, what can I say? I've always been very, aaah, forward."
The Dark Lord pulled in and began to nose at Harry's scent gland, inhaling softly and adoring the smell of the boy against him. "Truly, omega, how you spoil me. Perhaps I may yet be tempted to look past your...flaws, to keep you with me despite our enmity. To see your pretty little pussy squeezing around me every night would be the greatest pleasure of all, wouldn't you agree?"
He didn't let Harry get a word in, but he breathed in the boy's soft moan and dilated green eyes, taking soft lips for his own and kissing him softly. He didn't try to force his way into Harry's mouth, either. Instead, they simply lost themselves in the motion, and Harry began to thumb his way over Voldemort's neck, to his scalp, to his...hair?
He leaned out from the kiss, ignoring the thin strand of saliva connecting their lips as he took heavy breaths. "I—Voldemort, do you see?" Voldemort leaned right back in, trying to kiss him before Harry pushed him back.
"Voldemort, look, there's—" Harry pulled on a lock of dark, slightly curly hair. Right there, clear to see on his scalp, hair had begun to bloom. It was short, and there were bald spots, but it was hair. And was it just Harry, or did Voldemort's cheekbones appear less hollow? Were his lips pinker? Fuller? Even his white skin began to tan just a little, turning into the beginnings of a still pale, but healthy skin tone.
How could he not have noticed? Was Harry that blind in the pursuit of his pleasure?
Then strangely, an ornate golden hand mirror appeared on the table, and Harry yanked it with both hands and practically threw it in Voldemort's face.
If Harry was shocked, then Voldemort was now absolutely gobsmacked. He was staring at himself like he'd never seen this face before, and he was practically feeling up his own cheekbones, the vain git.
"How...?" Angry red eyes, more round now than slitted, turned to face Harry. "Did you do this? How? How is this possible?!"
His voice was deeper. It was...hard to explain, but his voice before held this inhuman quality to it, like it was a high-pitched hiss, even though it was still rather deep. Now, it was a chocolatey type of rumble, warm and smooth and very masculine. Fuck, it sounded really hot. How did he not notice Voldemort's voice transition? Was he truly so lost in the throes of lust?
"You think I planned this?!" Harry seethed. "What kind of bullshit planning skills do you think I have? Why would I—why would I turn you hot?" Internally, Harry noted how terrible of a plan that would be. If Voldemort had looked like Tom Riddle from the moment he stepped out of that cauldron a whole year ago, then Harry might have presented as an omega right then and there, ripe for the pickings, he flushed.
(Harry could try to convince himself all he wanted that he didn't want this. That he hadn't felt just a whisper of attraction to an unfairly handsome teenage Tom Riddle. But he did want this. And a part of him knew that it was his desire for Tom Riddle, not Voldemort, that put them both in this position in the Room of Desire. That gave Voldemort the beginnings of his handsome once-visage.)
Harry didn't back down from staring at Voldemort, his one-time lover and current enemy. He hadn't chosen to be in such a...risque position with this man, but he had enough pride to not shy away from it. He looked at him, examining his features.
His skin was almost a normal shade of pale, at least from what Harry remembered of Tom Riddle. It accentuated his wine-red eyes (not blood red, evidently that was also something that changed), even more so with the handsome waves that were still growing to frame Voldemort's gorgeous face. His nose was also more...well, nose-like now. It was strange to see the beginnings of an aquiline nose forming around a snake-like slit. But it...it strangely suited him.
Voldemort wasn't quite Voldemort anymore. He was hybridized, still in the midst of his change, but if there was one thing that hadn't changed it was the tight coil of a cinnamon-alpha-warm scent against him, right along with the way Voldemort's hands tightened around Harry's waist, lacking claws but still searing him with lust at the feel of it, the intimacy of just being held in this man's arms.
Dare he say it, Harry wasn't exactly...unattracted.
The snarl that was far less intimidating and more dreadfully arousing on the face of Tom Riddle began to fade, and a cold smile replaced it. Harry recognized it from seeing it on Voldemort more than once, but he was suddenly struck with the memory that this was the exact expression Tom had made down in the Chamber—a look of quiet satisfaction, with a distinct gleam of greed in his deep brown red eyes.
"Harry, dearest boy," Voldemort's hand began to trail goosebumps down Harry's waist before making its way down to his underwear. He pinched the elastic of the waistband and pulled it back, then down just an inch before beginning to rub a finger against that spot, too close but yet too far from what Harry desperately wanted him to touch. He had forgotten it in the past moments, but his dick was still achingly hard and his hole felt utterly filthy with his wetness. He couldn't help it, he rubbed down against Voldemort's crotch just as the man whispered in a dark, extremely and unfairly seductive sort of way, "Do you truly find me so attractive? Was it your desire that led us here? And was it your desire that has begun to shift the form of Lord Voldemort now?"
Harry moaned at the friction, his face flushed with embarrassment at the knowledge that he was becoming so hot from Voldemort's words, too. Fuck, his voice was so much hotter. Tom Riddle sounded unfairly seductive, his voice syrupy and warm and tender, like a forbidden temptation. This man was the apple, not the snake, and Harry was Eve, led to the tree by his own greed, his own curiousity....
A chuckle. "I'll take that as a yes, dear Harry." And then before Harry knew it, Voldemort's hand was spilling into Harry's boxers and shoving them down.
Harry let out an unmentionable sound somewhere in between an "nghh" and a desperate "eep!" It echoed sharply through the Room, and he felt so filthy at the knowledge he was getting off from this. It was his first time, and he'd heard horror stories from Sirius or from omegas he had listened in on, and it felt too unfairly good to be having sex with Lord Voldemort of all people. He didn't want to enjoy it, but he really did. So Harry did what he did best and pushed down all his thoughts and did something that was probably equal parts stupid and unreasonably horny-omega-like. He was more than willing to blame his omega-brain for this.
Harry's hand shot down to grab Voldemort's fancy silk underwear before vanishing it completely by instinct. He was more aiming for throwing it against the floor, but this worked just as well. He ground down hotly against Voldemort's too-large-oh-merlin-too-large cock, soaking it in his omega juices as it slid farther between his folds. "I—please Alpha....I need you! Please just...I really need...."
A moan escaped from Voldemort's soft pink lips. Subconsciously, Harry couldn't help but notice how human he looked. How handsome. And that thought was not helping his raging hard-on, his wet hole, and the way he was desperate to be fucked, bred, and utterly destroyed. He was dizzy with it. He was so fully in the mindset of a heat-lusted omega that it didn't cross his mind how out of character he was being, how strange this all was.
"Oh darling, I have you, please, you have no idea what you're doing to me. Just a moment, omega...." Voldemort tapped a hand against the table he was practically lying on, lengthening it and conjuring a cushion or two before turning Harry against it and climbing on top of him. Fuck, Voldemort looked utterly debauched, sweating and panting with dilated pupils and unfairly plump lips. Harry knew he looked no better. But his eyes.... He was staring at Harry like he wanted nothing more than to devour him, like he was the moon and Harry was the sun he revolved around, praying to him for life and light. It was utterly intoxicating, even as Harry knew he was probably staring at him the same way.
Harry whimpered, twisting around and desperate in his search for something, anything inside him. His hand went down, down until he reached his cunt, laying just shy against it, rubbing against the edge of his folds. He...he hadn't done much before. Just a finger or two, but he was throbbing for something and god he just ached for it.
Voldemort shushed him before taking his own finger and slipping it inside Harry's warmth, taking Harry's hand away. And no matter how gentle the motion was, it still shot through Harry like a live wire. The warmth of a finger breaching his cunt was too great for him, already aroused as he was. "Oh pleasepleaseplease I need more just—another please—" It didn't feel like enough, nothing was enough. A finger wouldn't do it. He needed a cock. A long, thick cock with a huge knot that he could be fucked on like a whore—
"I know darlin', I know, but you have to wait. I'm too big for you, I want you to be ready to take me.... I will not be gentle." Oh shit oh shit. Harry may be addled with lust but even he wasn't oblivious enough to ignore the tinge of an accent. It was cockney, almost, like from newsboys on those old films, but it was unfairly attractive on the man before him. Voldemort—no, Tom because this had to be Tom's voice, Harry knew—pumped a finger deep inside him, right as he clutched Harry's cheek and widened it just slightly to get a better angle. He took a cushion before positioning it against Harry's back to tilt his ass up, giving him a sign of what was coming. "You're so wet for me, love, so open I know you're ready, but please let me do this. I don't want you to hurt during your first time."
Tom was so sweet that Harry could combust. This...this couldn't be Voldemort. But it was and Harry was completely and irrevocably into it. Fuck. If he knew sex was so good he would have had it years ago, but a part of him knew that it might not be this good with anyone who wasn't Voldemort, that it wouldn't have all the mind-bogglingly blazing tension, the sharp throbbing of adrenaline and fear in his gut. This...this was why hate sex was always so popular in the books some omegas read, and Harry found himself throbbing for it.
Harry squirmed and murmured a few expletives along the lines of "Please—fuck—just get on with it" and "god I need you now you fucking git" and "Just fuck me already!" He knew he sounded so needy but he really couldn't help it, and he didn't care either way just as long as he got fucked.
Tom positively hissed against the tight opening of Harry's wet cunt, his face just too close to Harry's most sensitive, throbbing area. "Darling, just...one moment, ah, I'm going to cum now if you don't control yourself." For a moment, he withdrew before entering with a second finger, then a third, stretching him even more as quickly as was bearable for Harry.
Harry mewled pathetically against the table, a wet sob. He just needed it, didn't his alpha know? "Please, a-alpha I just need you to...."
"I know, love, I know...just a moment now." And then the face of a truly sexed-out alpha Tom Riddle appeared before Harry just as a long, thick cock rubbed against Harry's cunt, being coated with his thick juices.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. That sight was so fucking hot that Harry will one-hundred percent be imprinting it in his mind. He burned the scene into his memory and he almost felt guilty-upset-sad that this would be the only time they'd ever...well...you know together. He wanted more of this and they weren't even done yet!
And then Harry let out a screech as something thick began to poke at his opening, stretching out his hole before going even further. He was already so open, but Tom was just so thick, steadily getting thicker as he bottomed out inside him. "Ohmygodohmygod please Alpha fuck just put it inside I—"
The head slipped inside with an awkward, aching, desperate motion like Tom was just as needy for it as Harry was. "Oh Harry, yes you're doing so well for me. I know you can take me, Darling. Just a moment...."
Harry did his best to push down against the cock just barely peaking into his pussy, pushing it even farther in. "Come on, more. Just fuck me, I can take it."
A wicked smirk on a way too good-looking face. "Oh, Darling, can you? Can you truly take me?" With that one phrase, Tom fucked right into Harry, pushing himself to the hilt with a grunt. He barely gave him even a moment to adjust before he started to thrust hard and fast inside him.
Harry, for his part, was doing the perfect job of acting like a dutiful omega, moaning prettily while being fucked full with a huge alpha cock. He didn't particularly like the idea of that, necessarily, even as he was being railed so hard he was starting to see stars, so he did something unexpected.
Tom was groaning quietly against Harry's hip, as if he was trying to hide it, but Harry knew better. Smirking, he pulled on a medium-sized lock of wavy-curly hair and spoke in their shared language, parseltongue. "Enjoying yourself, Tom? I know I—ahhh, oh, I know I am." His voice sounded hoarse from moaning, but it just made him sound even more fucked out and, surprisingly enough, sexy. Exactly what he was aiming for.
A potent hiss, before Tom climbed up his body like a beanpole and gave a hard thrust inside him as he glowered at Harry like he wanted nothing more than to fuck him straight (which was practically impossible, since that would be counterintuitive). "So it is true.... The fabled Boy-Who-Lived truly can speak the tongue of serpents." A hiss against Harry's throat, and a set of teeth positioned right against Harry's jugular but still too close to his mating gland.
Fuck, he really couldn't stifle that moan. Parseltongue sounded positively filthy coming from this man, and the teeth against his throat made his already fast-beating heart give a little thump out of turn.
"Mhm, yeah. Found out in—ah, oh god—second year." Harry groaned heavily, still squirming and impaled on Tom's cock, even though the man was stock-still on top of him. "Come on, please, just—oh fuck me I need it."
A dark chuckle, then a pointed thrust against a sensitive little nub that Harry was already feeling but now the motion just made his head explode. "You do, don't you? Tell me, Omega, just how much you need me...."
He probably wasn't expecting it, Harry thought. He really wasn't expecting Harry to respond to that, being who he was. But who was he to deny an order from his alpha? Harry smirked.
"I do. I need you so bad. Please, Tom. Fuck me hard on your cock. Aaah! Use me, breed me—please—" And then that's about when Tom started pounding into him roughly, his huge hands scorching bruises onto Harry's waist.
"How wanton of you. Do you want me to breed you, Omega? Do you want me to fill your dirty little hole with my seed and let it take root, fucking it so far into you it will never come out?" Tom snarled breathily against Harry's ear. "Do you want to give me a child, Harry?"
"Fuuuuck," Harry whined. It was embarrassing. He was so wet and his hole was throbbing and the squelch and the feeling of Tom fucking him was too much. And now his words just made his pussy clench. "Pleasepleaseplease I wanna...I want it, so please."
"What do you want, love? Use your words now, Dearest."
And the pet names, oh Merlin the pet names were it. Harry was so fucking close to cumming he was about to burst with it.
"Your—your knot please...knot me." The last words came out in a hiss, barely edging into the territory of parseltongue. Harry would be mortified if he wasn't so fucked out right now, but begging for Voldemort's knot seemed like a damn good idea to him at the moment.
Tom moaned loudly against Harry's ear, fucking him even harder while spreading Harry's thighs open even more. Unconsciously, Harry wrapped his legs around Tom's neck and pushed Tom even closer. He barely got a chance to gain his bearings before he got pounded into the cushions with the new angle, and fucking hell he loved it. Pleasure flooded through him with every thrust, and Harry was pushing his ass down to meet Tom's cock halfway, providing for a truly strenuous experience. They kept on at the same pace for a few minutes until something inside Harry began to grow.
Tom's dick thickened almost imperceptibly at first, but eventually, there was no mistaking the thickness, the huge cock inside him was knotting him. Harry felt so full with it already, but now the hilt of Tom's cock was catching against his folds and Harry could feel his stomach distend and he was so ready for it and— "Nnnngh. Oh yes...."
"Fuck, Harry, please, you're so...." Tom was practically sobbing over Harry, still fucking into him, but now it was slow and steady from the sheer stretch. "I just knotted you, Harry. How...?" He kept on rolling his hips, slowly and gently as Harry adjusted to the new thickness. "Alphas can only knot during heats or ruts, but now...." It wasn't completely untrue, of course. Sirius had said that it was uncommon for alphas to release a knot without the heat or rut hormones to guide them, but if hormones were the answer, then Harry and Tom were chock-full of them. The Room must have caused it, he knew.
Harry didn't really care. Instead, he pushed down against Tom's cock and murmured, "Faster. Harder. Come on, I can take it. I wanna do this so just fuck me already."
There were no words between them now. No guilt or shame in their actions, pleasure overtaking everything. Tom began to fuck harder into Harry as his knot continued to inflate, and Harry had his legs spread wide open, ready and aching for it.
At this moment, they were no longer Harry Potter and Lord Voldemort. They were two people, alpha and omega, sharing the sweetest, most natural pleasure one could share.
They continued in this way for a little longer, right until Harry began to whine and scratch at Tom's back. "Come on...just a little more, ngggh. I'm gonna cum. Oh guh—god!"
"I'm no god, Harry." A syrupy whisper against his ear. "Call me what I am, dearest. Say it."
Harry writhed in pleasure, his orgasm just upon him. He wasn't really thinking straight, but this felt so right and he was so full that the words just slipped out. "My-my lord! Alpha...."
Tom groaned deeply, then with a single, stuttering thrust, he came with a filthy squelch inside Harry. The sheer feel of it, of the thick ropes of cum filling him made his pussy sputter. "Fuck, Harry, what are you doing to me?" He murmured in appreciation, coming off his high.
Harry came. Right there, his omegan cock released a few filthy spasms of cum against Tom's abdomen, and his cunt contracted against Tom's shrinking knot with a gush of slick, even as his hole was still milking Tom's knot for what it's worth. Fuck, it'd be a miracle if he didn't get pregnant. Knowing this man, he'd have a damn litter.
Fucked out, they settled for a few minutes in the white-hot bliss of the aftermath, Tom having collapsed right onto Harry after he slipped his cock out of Harry's used cunt. They didn't say a word to each other. Neither mentioned that the heavy haze of magically-induced desire clouding over them was gone, that they were now back in control of their actions (if they had ever lost control at all).
Harry sighed dreamily as he came down from his high. He didn't want to think, but his thoughts were completely focused on the feel of Tom's lips and teeth against his throat, his tongue lapping against his pink nipples and his cock thrusting into his sopping cunt. He could feel himself getting hard again, and the thought that he wouldn't ever be doing this again was almost painful.
Then, a pair of lips began to mouth at his shoulder, the opposite side from where his mating gland was, but still too close, or perhaps not close enough. Harry hummed in pleasure, still high on the aftershocks of filthy sex. But then he twisted around to face the dark lord in the eye. He looked so human now, so far removed from the face of Lord Voldemort that Harry could hardly believe they were one and the same. But they were, and this was enough. They really shouldn't be doing this, especially with no more excuses.
"That's...that's enough. We have to stop. We shouldn't have done this. Here. Now. It's not right." He sounded disappointed, almost mellow. He hardly believed his own words, and the omega part of him ached, but this had to be the right choice.
At his words, a wicked face came up to stare into Harry's eyes, deadpan. The man before him was purely Tom Riddle now, handsome as ever, and Harry could almost swoon in the face of his malicious grin. "Do you truly mean that, Dearest? You moaned so prettily for me when I fucked you, I'm hard-pressed to believe that it isn't right." When he said 'hard-pressed', he rubbed his thick cock against Harry's thigh, and the boy found his thoughts clouding over in arousal once again.
"Noooo. We can't... I—", a whimper was heard as Tom began to fondle Harry's nipples, sucking on one while rubbing the other between two fingers. "Please...Fuck I really want...."
"What do you want, Harry? Do you want to stop?" Tom's toned body towered over Harry now, even as his hands wandered lower and lower. "Or do you want to keep going? To let me take you once more? What's the harm, Dearest?"
─── • ⋄ ⋅⚡️⋅ ⋄ • ───
Voldemort found himself to be strangely...soft. He wasn't curious at all about the change in temperament, his mind strangely hazy, but he knew that he'd be furious about it later. Now, all he was concerned about was seeing his darling omega writhe under him once again, to see him taking his cock in his wet pussy so prettily.... Or perhaps he'd use his mouth this time, to witness the pretty boy choke on his cock?
He blanched. When did Harry Potter become his omega? They had copulated the once, that was enough, surely? But...the boy was oh so tempting, and he was already under him, begging for a repeat performance of their little dance.
It would be no trouble at all to give in to the pleasure, to have his wicked way with the boy once again. And he was about to, he was about to let himself fall when Harry did something rather unexpected, but no less pleasurable.
He kissed him. They kissed before, certainly, but this held a certain...weight to it. Voldemort wasn't certain what the feeling was, but it felt warm as sunlight, as if he was basking in magic itself and feasting on pleasure. It was good, so strange but enchanting, he couldn't get enough of Harry's sweet taste. He deepened the kiss, pushing his tongue into the boy's mouth and exploring the smooth cavern, biting on his lip as payback for the boy doing the same earlier and sucking on the blood.
"Oh Harry....," Voldemort whispered. "What a joy you are, so special.... You are so good to me, Darling, aren't you? Won't you be good for me?" The worshipful tone the words came out in wasn't quite what he expected, but it did its job when the boy moaned so sweetly, so beautifully, that Voldemort couldn't help but to slip down the boy's supine form and to play with his little cock.
It was an average size for an omega, perhaps four or five inches, and he needed no lubrication other than the dampness of Harry's remaining cum as he groped it, kneading the flesh in his hands and burning with shared pleasure at the sight before him, Harry Potter with glazed eyes and a filthy little mouth, begging for him, for his cock and pleasure.
The sight was entrancing, truly, and Voldemort could hardly remember the last time he was in bed like this. It was at least a few years before his death at Harry's hands, and he was still vaguely human-like, though without a nose and perhaps some early baldness and scales under his glamour, and it had felt nothing like this. He couldn't remember how long ago it was when a partner begged for him like this, when someone looked at him like he held the sun as he held them down and fucked them. It fed his ego, and the alpha in him preened in satisfaction at the sight of his omega.
Nevertheless, after a few moments of this pleasure, he continued into the crowning glory of their little show, the moment he couldn't wait to reach once more. He held his cock in his hands and directed it to Harry's sopping wet cunt. The sight was utterly enchanting; he was debauched and dripping, but he still found a way to look pretty. A part of him found joy in the fact that he caused that, it was his cum from his knot that put the boy in this state. And he couldn't wait to do it again.
Impatiently, he fucked into Harry once again, not even waiting for him to get used to his girth, he pushed forward. His omega was already so ready, so open for him, and they both basked in the pleasure of their coupling for the next few minutes.
─── • ⋄ ⋅⚡️⋅ ⋄ • ───
After two whole rounds of fucking, and perhaps a bit of awkward, blissed-out snogging afterward, they both knew they had to leave.
Enough was enough, Harry thought. He had no idea why he did it, and he was so angry at himself that it was so good, but he had to put his foot down now, before anything else could happen.
Harry sat up, still dripping wet, sweaty, and utterly fucked out. His hair was a mess, love bites covered his skin, and he wasn't even sure where his clothes were. His legs felt heavy and he was sure he'd stumble if he got up now. There was no doubt of what he'd been doing. "It's time to go.... We need to go back out there."
Neither of them said a word as they both stood up in the Room, both on shaky knees. Tom cleaned Harry with a pretty neat spell that he'd have asked the incantation of, but he really wasn't about to. He summoned both their clothes for where they had been and cleaned them of both scent and stains, and Harry glamoured his love bites and fixed up his hair.
Finally, he turned to look at Tom, who had once again adopted a distinctly Voldemort look—though not before ogling himself in the mirror for a minute, or twenty. Harry thought it was cute, if a little vain.
They were both dressed and ready to head on out, and they would have left, really, if not for the distinct air that settled heavily in between them.
Harry gazed searchingly at Voldemort, looking for any glimpse of the Tom Riddle he had just seen. Was the kindness, the sweetness he saw in the midst of their coupling truly so fake? Was it just a fluke or a sign that perhaps Voldemort wasn't a monster? Harry didn't know. But strangely, he found that he wanted to.
When looking at Voldemort, he saw something...soft in the way he looked at Harry. There was no longer just hatred in his stare, but something deeper. More...affectionate, if Harry were to put a word to it. But the idea was silly, Voldemort would never let go of his hatred of Harry, not even now, right? Voldemort hated Harry, but surely Harry hated him back? Right?
Putting a pin in that thought to catastrophize later, Harry and Voldemort began to silently walk through the Room, standing too close to each other but not close enough. They didn't say a word, and Harry found that he couldn't look straight at Voldemort, even though the man was shamelessly staring at him as if he was some fascinating new specimen he couldn't wait to pick apart.
The tension between them could be cut with a toothpick, and by the time they reached the door, they turned to face the other.
"Omega..." Voldemort began to speak before being cut off.
"Don't, just...don't." Harry begged. He didn't want to hear it. His hormones were still at an all-time high, and he couldn't be trusted not to jump the man's bones if he were to call him by any endearment, if he were to simply look at him the way he'd been staring earlier.
Voldemort, no Tom, just by the look in his eyes Harry could tell, smiled down at him. His head tilted down, right to Harry's ear. "I truly enjoyed our time today, Dearest. Perhaps we can—"
Harry held true to himself, and while he did his damn best not to commandeer the Dark Lord for a round three of all things, he couldn't resist strong-arming his way into a kiss.
A pair of hands flew up to find their way across Tom's shoulders, and his body practically arched as his lips melted against Tom's. He was awkwardly kissing frozen lips before he began to pull back, embarrassed, at least until he was seized up by the hips and forced right back into the kiss. Harry's legs wrapped around Tom's waist, and they kissed with the passion of a hundred suns, devouring the taste of one another. They couldn't get enough of it anymore, not when they had only just gotten a taste.
Eventually, Harry had to slip off, and Tom had to once again compose himself. The air was changed between them once again, charged with something ferocious yet delicate, something that neither of them understood just yet.
"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to do that, I shouldn't have...." A flush blossomed on a sweet face and swollen lips.
Tom snickered. It was a strange sight on Lord Voldemort, but Harry could only smile back, comforted. "Your sweet lips on mine were not unwelcome, my dear omega. Please feel free to do it once again, next we meet."
His eyes blew open, shocked. "You—once again? You mean this isn't a one-time thing? It...it was caused by the Room, it had to be, so why would you ever be okay with that?" It didn't even shock Harry anymore that he was okay with that, that he was perfectly fine with fucking Voldemort again, no strings attached. But he was completely fucking confused that such a feast of a man wanted him of all people.
"Oh Harry, my sweet, why would I ever give up the sweet pleasure of you? I can't find myself ever doing that in a sane mind, not with the gift you've given me."
Dazed by the endearment, Harry caught himself. "I...what gift?"
"Your first time, love. You've truly given yourself over to me, haven't you?" He smiled wickedly, a vision of Tom Riddle appearing superimposed over Lord Voldemort. And then, he took Harry's hand before softly, sweetly kissing the back of it. He winked.
Those were his last words before he swished away, back to the hall of doors.
And Harry, he couldn't do anything to stop it. He felt empty as he stood rooted to his spot, and a certain idea came to him.
This man...he wasn't Voldemort. Harry's desire was for Tom Riddle, the kind and charming teen in the diary, the one who'd always helped him. What if the Room did more than just make them desire one another, what if it changed Voldemort?
Harry didn't know, but he was certain he'd figure it out.