
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/3611430.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Harry_Potter/Voldemort
  Character:
      Voldemort, Harry_Potter
  Additional Tags:
      Snippets, Dubious_Consent, Masterbation, handjob, Wandless_Magic,
      Possessive_Voldemort, Intolerant_Harry, Summoning
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-03-25 Updated: 2017-01-10 Chapters: 3/? Words: 2490
****** Without A Stitch ******
by InsanelyYours96
Summary
     Voldemort uses a ritual to summon his horcruxes to him after
     realizing that their safety has been compromised, only for one Harry
     Potter, stark naked and desperately aroused, to drop into his lap.
Notes
See the end of the work for notes
***** Chapter 1 *****
“Producant mea et anima artificium, iterum redire ad unum,” chanted Voldemort,
finishing his meticulous carving with the last verses end.
There was no delay or spectacle about it: one moment the throne room was
housing a single occupant and intricate runic design. The next four trinkets, a
dozing snake, and a very naked fifteen-year-old boy rested on the frigid stone
floor.
‘A very naked Boy-Who-Lived,’ Voldemort revised, ‘in a very compromising
position.’
“Please,” whimpered Harry Potter, chest heaving, grinding desperately,
deliriously back onto what appeared to be a dildo, of all things. “Merlin, God
please.”
‘Well,’ thought Voldemort, watching the boy’s hips buck, his clenching hole
reluctantly releasing the flesh toned toy, only to eagerly suck it back in like
it was made to, ‘Who am I to refute such lovely pleads?’
The boy stilled, face flushed, mouth open and panting, and slowly,
apprehensively, peeled his lids open, revealing lust blown eyes, black with
only the thinnest swell of green.
A sudden awareness of his displacement in space had Harry twisting around,
whimpering as the movement caused the toy to shift in him, brushing against his
prostate and sending sparks of heat down to his toes.
His gaze was drawn immediately to heated red orbs, their owner crouched before
him regally. Thin, translucent skin, a noseless face, and a bald, veined head.
The pounding in his head was triggered solely by his overwhelming state of
arousal; Harry’s scar remained blissfully silent, even as a frigid hand clasped
his straining cock.
“V-Voldemort?” he gasped, disoriented as his back arched, his body pushing into
the Dark Lord’s grasp even as his mind raced to process the situation. The Lord
in question swung a leg over Harry’s hip, straddling his thighs, so very in-
control with the wrecked Boy Who Lived squirming beneath him.
“What’re you -?” but it was abundantly clear what Voldemort was doing as his
hand rose up and down, slowly jerking Harry towards completion. “Don’t, I--you-
-mmn, s-stop, Gods, ple-ease!”
Legs tightened painfully, and as amethyst magic pressed Harry ruthlessly into
submission the pleasure abruptly intensified - Potter’s eyes glazed, hips
snapping towards Voldemort.
“‘s good,” he gasped, torn between arching into the palm or the dildo halfway
up his arse. “Why does it… a-ah! Fuck, stop it, Riddle, I’m going to bloody-!”
“What will you do, Harry?” Voldemort purred, hot breath flooding his ear. He
slowly pulled back enough to see the flushed, twisted face and then, mockingly,
“Are you close?”
Desperate green eyes snapped open, burning furiously into his own. “I’ll
fucking skin you, you snake-bastard, I said stop!”
Magic lashed with Harry’s tumultuous emotions, viciously ejecting the Dark Lord
across the hall, pressing until he hit the far wall with a sharp crack.
Surprised by his magics ready response but satisfied, Harry pressed himself up,
quickly willing a robe into being to conceal himself. Charcoal fabric wove into
existence, falling to cover Harry, who whined lowly, biting his lip as he
slowly extracted the dildo from his clenching entrance and banished it with a
wave of his hand.
“Impressive,” Voldemort hissed, a scant meter away, and Harry snarled, quickly
pulling the robe secure when the Lord’s eyes lingered on his still straining
arousal. He noted, with a touch of satisfaction, the blood streaked down bone
white skin from a gash at Voldemort’s temple. That was hardly punishment enough
for molesting him, but taking into account Voldemort’s temper, he was lucky not
to be writhing under a cruciatus after throwing him across his own manor hall.
“What do you want?” Harry demanded, receiving a salacious smirk as hellfire
eyes suggestively perusing the length of his covered body. His cock twitched,
but the boy himself merely scowled, shifting uncomfortably. “Why am I here?”
“You are here, Harry Potter, because you belong to me.” Voldemort stated, with
such conviction that Harry felt it to his bones.
“I belong to no one,” he rebuked, expertly concealing his desperation and
confusion. There was no need for Voldemort to relish this more than he clearly
already was, and after being stripped bare of any and all dignity, Harry’s
pride would allow little else. “Least of all you.”
Harry considered asking how he had been transported, but then that mattered
little now- he was here, and Harry had little delusion that he could take an
armed Voldemort on, even with his admittedly impressive wandless repertoire.
Still, it was strange not to have felt any signifier of magical transport... It
was as though he had teleported in the blink of an eye, the stone cold floor
replacing his thin cot and vaguely cooler temperature the only warning that he
was writhing before the Dark Lord.
Heedless of the defiance Voldemort continued his assessment, now with a cruel
curl playing about his lips. Dark, sensuous strands of magic flowed over
Harry’s skin like the finest of silks and green eyes clamped shut, scar singing
even as a chill shot up his spine and teeth dug into bitten red lips to
withhold yet another embarrassing slip. Harry’s cock ached and throbbed, his
entrance clenching on thin air. Most alarmingly, perhaps, was the way his own
magic, and not just that of the scar, rose against Voldemort’s, but not… not
combatively.
Teasingly, flirtatiously, it mingled, preening under the attention. So
distracted by this reaction Harry almost fell deaf to Voldemort’s next words,
and so they were all the more jarring upon pressing from ears to his vacant
brain moments later.
“Ah, but how can you not be when you contain my soul?”
***** Chapter 2 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Harry didn’t waver against the words, didn’t reveal his uncertainty and
ignorance, his always-there trepidation that he and Voldemort were just like
their wands, with different shells but identical cores. That Harry was rotting
and black and ruined inside, had been even before the Dursley’s gave him the
right to be, still was even as he masqueraded as a good boy.
Because Voldemort wasn’t allowed to do this. He didn’t get to summon him to
whatever remote locale he was currently using as an evil lair, didn’t get to
shake Harry’s confidence and play off his insecurities this easily, didn’t get
to do anything to Harry if Harry wouldn’t let him.
And that was just it: Harry wouldn’t. Even trembling with the remembrance of
arousal, even veiled only by a thin black cloak, even wandless and vulnerable
before the lauded Dark Lord, Harry still held power. He had mental fortitude,
enough to have survived fifteen years of mental, verbal, and physical abuse by
most of the grown-ups in his life. He had the Them versus Him mentality with
Him never breaking, never splintering, even once along the way.
(And, well, if he had to disregard the tortured cries of Sirius and Cedric that
still plagued his nights, at least it gave him the strength for this
confrontation, for his confidence and will to beat Them, to live.)
“By that logic, how can you be sure that you are not mine?”
The words spilled from his lips without conscious approval, his mind still
spinning and grappling and defying and adapting (and some small, small part
accepting).
Voldemort’s brow bone arched, no hair there to creep up, and Harry wondered if
he knew how ridiculous that was, he was.
“Yours,” the Dark Lord hissed, flatly. Eyes just as predatory, but no longer
amused.
“If having your soul qualifies as a claim of ownership, then I own a portion of
your soul, and therefore own you - correct me if I’m not following your
reasoning.”
Because even if Harry didn’t know what this meant, “containing” Voldemort’s
soul, he knew he had one of his own, no matter how black and rotting it may be.
He was his own person, he was Harry Potter, and there was a reason the Sorting
Hat’s first choice was Slytherin. Harry had been twisting situations to his
advantage since before he could properly form sentences, but here, against a
like mind, he needed the boldness of a lion and slickness of a serpent to
navigate. Here he was both Slytherin and Gryffindor, but still just Harry
Potter.
(Harry Potter, trying not to think of the implications of containing Tom
Riddle’s soul because how was that even possible what did it mean-)
The best part was that Voldemort couldn’t refute the logic, his own logic.
“I see,” Voldemort murmured, something dark creeping into his tone, his eyes.
“Is that what you want, then, Harry Potter? To own Lord Voldemort?”
Something about the way “own” fell from the Lord’s lips felt so wrong, so
intimate. Harry shivered, couldn’t stop it if he wanted to, but didn’t look
away, hands clenching.
“This isn’t about what ‘I want’, this is about what ‘Lord Voldemort has
decided’. The decision to kidnap and molest a minor, for example. I’d rather
you didn’t make it seem as though I had such a bold say in the matter. Or any
at all, as the case may be.”
Voldemort’s lips curled up and he took another step forward, magic pressing
against his own again. Wanting to tease out another reaction.
“You suspect Lord Voldemort cares for such trivialities as age? You can’t deny
that you enjoyed my touch, Harry.”
“A biological response,” Harry returned coldly. “Others could coax the same
reaction easily.”
Voldemort’s eyes brightened dangerously. “But they haven’t,” he said, a threat
in his tone.
“Without my consent, no. That would be you.” Voldemort let out a low, cruel
hiss with no real content to it. “And let’s not forget that my ‘enjoyment’ of
your touch wasn’t enough to keep me from knocking you across your throne room.”
There was silence for several beats, and Harry fought the urge to shift under
the Dark Lords searing gaze. Voldemort’s previously dancing, pushing, testing
magic had gone suddenly still. His eyes were dead and cold as they took Harry
in, head tilted, face clear.
If not for supposedly housing a piece of Voldemort’s soul, Harry would say this
is the moment he was to die. Hell, he still might. Hands tightening into loose
fists, jaw clenching, pulse jumping, he prepared himself.
And at long last Voldemort released a rasping chuckle.
“So bold, boy. So… impudent.”
Harry smiled duly, eyes sharp as he waited for Voldemort to make his move. To
confront him, in one form or another.
He said nothing in response.
Chapter End Notes
     Alright, you guys convinced me. It isn't much, but... (more coming?
     Probably Dec. 2016 at this rate, though!)
***** Chapter 3 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
"Do you know what a horcrux is, Harry?" Voldemort asked idly, gaze hot and
steady on his face, tracking his expression carefully. Harry was good at many
things, but keeping his thoughts off his face wasn't usually one of them. Yet
Voldemort had caught him at a rather bad time, if he expected such tactics to
work: Harry had been practicing all summer. If the Dursley's saw half the
thoughts that went through his head Harry would be long removed from their
presence, if not dead.
He allowed his brow to raise but remained silent, watching Voldemort curiously.
It was as much of an answer as the Dark Lord needed. “No," even if the boy
refused to say it.
"Now, now, no need to be rude. I said do you know what a horcrux is?"
Harry released a little gust of air, not quite a sigh but close. This wasn’t
the compulsion that made him bow in the graveyard, but the warning of it
remained if Harry continued his defiance.
"An object that holds a piece of your soul," Harry said slowly. It was obvious
enough, what with Voldemort explicitly having said Harry contained his soul.
"Presumably myself, as well as all that."
He waved a careless hand, gesturing to the to the objects lying an equidistant
distance from himself, circling Voldemort. Now that he was looking closer he
noticed the runes carved into the ground, indecipherable for all that he’d
never bothered with the class. Then again, even if he had Harry had the feeling
this would be a bit too advanced for a Fifth Year to put together.
“So there is a brain in there somewhere,” Voldemort mocked. “I had wondered.”
Harry grit his teeth. Had the Dark Lord seriously summoned him from behind the
Dursley’s supposedly impenetrable blood wards just to mock him? He’d like to
think that was foolish, but…
Well, if there was one thing to be said for Voldemort, it was that he was
unpredictable. In Little Hangleton’s graveyard he had monologued and then
demanded Harry duel him. At the Ministry he coached him on the Cruciatus curse,
and then proceeded to temporarily possess him. Today he had stroked him off and
claimed ownership of Harry. He dreaded to discover what was next.
Still, he would play along for as long as necessary. Better to humour Voldemort
than die, though Harry had no clue how well he could keep the Dark Lord’s
attention. Would it be as simple as maintaining the conversation until he found
some way to escape?
Doubtful.
His life was rarely simple.
Still, if nothing else, Voldemort hadn’t seemed to expect his presence here
today. That meant he likely had no security measures in place to keep Harry
trapped, though Harry had no doubt the man could think them up quickly enough.
Harry needed to be quicker, and keep the Dark Lord out of his mind while he was
at it.
(And, preferably, away from his wired body.)
Maybe he should go for one of the other ‘horcruxes’?
No, Voldemort had probably already anticipated that as Harry’s most likely
course of action. Besides, what would he do with an item that held a piece of
Voldemort’s soul?
Suddenly, an image of Tom Riddle’s diary sprang to mind. Had that been a
horcrux? It seemed likely. And that meant they could be destroyed, but-
It wasn’t like Harry had a basilisk fang around. And what would be the point of
destroying them? Harry didn’t even know their purpose, and he was one!
He certainly was not about to destroy himself.
Merlin, this was all too confusing. Just because Harry knew the word
‘horcruxes’ now did not mean he knew anything else.
Why - how - had Voldemort summoned all these soul shards to him?
“You are here, Harry Potter, because you belong to me.”
Harry shook his head. For now he needed to pay attention. He could research
later. If he got a later.
“Are you frightened, Harry Potter?” asked Voldemort. His head was tilted again,
the gesture unnerving and oddly childlike. “No need to worry. I treat my
belongings very well.”
The wizard drew closer, red eyes staring, but Harry avoided the gaze deftly. He
was well aware of Voldemort’s talents in Legilimency - how could he not be,
after the last year - and tensed. He took a step back.
“Did we not just go over this?” he said, voice coming out higher than expected.
Harry cleared his throat. “I don’t belong to anyone, Voldemort.”
“Not just anyone,” Voldemort breathed, his magic rising suddenly. “Me.”
And he attacked.
Chapter End Notes
     I honestly have no clue where this is going - as always. I've been
     guilted into this update by my own promises. It wasn't up by
     December, but. Close enough.
     This story has no definitive update schedule and I frankly have
     little motivation to continue it. I have plot lines I find far more
     interesting in the works, and they are a lot less stressful to write.
     Still, thanks to everyone for the kind words, kudos, and bookmarks. I
     appreciate ever comment, and when I see somebody has tagged my story
     in their favorites it's like Christmas has come early.
End Notes
     I never claimed to be a good person. (Okay, well maybe once.) I’m
     probably gunna continue this at one point. Eventually. (Glances at
     100+ plot bunnies in Google Drive.) Maybe.
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