Death Do Us Part
- Story Summary:
- The war is over. Harry has been captured by the Dark Lord. Now the Boy-Who-Lived is held as a mere thrall, a vassal for Voldemort's cruelty and pain. The Resistance, wizards and witches still free, battle to save the captured hero. Harry must discover who he his and delve into his heart's deepest emotions and desires if any are to live...
Softly, almost with tenderness, Lord Voldemort trailed his cool fingers from the nape of Harry's neck to the small of his back. The young wizard shuddered at the hated touch but stood quiet, unresisting. A smile creased the snake-like features of the dark lord as he grabbed a handful of the boy's black curls; gorgeous curls that fell to the middle of the broad back. The untrimmed hair marked the Boy-Who-Lived as a mere slave. With a feather light kiss to Harry's beautiful face, Voldemort bid him to get dressed. "Now as much as I enjoy your naked handsomeness, I'm afraid it may offend my guests," he twittered, as if he were truly witty.
Harry nodded in acquiesce, feeling sick to his stomach. Every loathsome caress made him want to wretch. Voldemort's hand passed over the firm roundness of his buttocks as he bent to retrieve his underwear.
"No, not that. Put on the silver thong tonight."
"Yes my lord, I shall."
Voldemort watched, grinning, as his most hated enemy meekly slipped into the provocative undergarment. It was a shame to then see it covered up with the heavy velvet robes of Harry's state position. Black with crimson underlay, trimmed with gold. Colours indicative of Harry's old school house, Gryfindor. By proclamation no other was allowed to display such symbols. On the left breast the badge declaring Harry to be Lord High Executioner was stitched. It was against everything the former boy hero stood for-bravery, justice, friendship, hope, love- and that was why it was so apt. The great Harry Potter putting innocents to death. It was the ideal punishment for him.
Harry pulled on his knee high, tight leather boots before setting about currying his long, thick hair into some sort of tidiness. Evidently Voldemort was bored of leering-for now- at Harry's preparations, for he slid out of the door with no further request. It was expected that Harry would shortly follow him down to the courtyard.
This year's Takeover Ball, the third one held, was expected to be the biggest so far. The Dark Lord and his followers had just won a victory over the resistance and all were in a mood to celebrate. Straightening, brushing his robes down, Harry glanced into the mirror. He cut a fine figure, he decided. No doubt he'd get many requests to dance tonight.
Just passed his twentieth birthday- heavens how time flies, he thought- and close to six and a half feet tall; long, toned legs; broad shoulders; well-muscled, but not bulky; and a narrow waist that he now cinched with a gold sash, he was considered to a rare beauty. Women often commented that they adored, were envious even, his emerald eyes and full, red lips. He'd blush, embarrassed, when that happened. He adored females, just as much as males, but his unique position barred him from any relations, Voldemort being the exception.
The unwelcome compliments from the Dark Lord mostly centred on the organ between his legs, his tight buttocks, and his moaning during intercourse. Not that the moaning was sincere- he had to put on a good show or risk further hours of agony. Oh well, such is life, he sighed, then dragged his gaze from his own reflection.
Wanting to take as long as he could before he went down to mingle with Voldemort's sycophantic followers, he proceeded to tidy up his room. The double for poster bed need to be made, discarded clothes straightened up. This was work he should allow his personal servant to do, but he didn't want the boy clearing away leather bonds, whips, clamps, knives, other torture tools that had no name, and then seeing the blood and other bodily fluids on the bed sheets. It would be too embarrassing, well more embarrassing than having the ten year old muggle run after his every whim. But Voldemort insisted upon it, arguing that he needed Harry's valuable time used in another capacity than menial chores.
In fact there was a whole team of muggle servant, or rather slaves running around Voldemort's newly built palace, handling the day-to-day living. There needed to be. With a place the size of Hogwarts to run and the majority of his followers to care for, that is.
With a sudden shock Harry realised he'd been procrastinating upon the state of affairs for nearly half an hour. Any longer and the Dark Lord would come questing after him and drag him down on his knees. Shutting and locking the door to his room behind him, he ran down the solid marble of the main staircase and out to the courtyard. Thankfully his late arrival was not remarked upon. Grabbing a drink, he settled in for a tiresome evening.