Speak a Different Tongue

Chapter 5

Harry started laughing, sure that Voldemort had just cracked a very inappropriate joke. But Voldemort’s expression remained passive while his eyes took on a definite exasperated shine. And yes, there it was, Voldemort even rolled his eyes when Harry kept laughing.

“You’re kidding, right?” Harry said after a few moments in which Voldemort refused to share in his hilarity.

“Does it seem that way to you?” Voldemort asked, voice frosty at best. “Do I appear to be sharing a funny little joke?”

“Er…” Harry snapped his mouth shut and gave Voldemort a slightly horrified look. If he wasn’t joking… that meant Voldemort had been serious about fucking Harry, which was such a ludicrous thing Harry didn’t even have words to properly describe it in his own head.

Harry jumped up from his chair and without giving Voldemort any reason, he rushed out of the conservatory. He ran to the kitchen but then realized it was closing in on dinner time and Voldemort would be in there shortly to start cooking. So Harry left the kitchen at once and stormed up the stairs, his mind a mess of swirling thoughts. Upstairs Harry stepped into their bedroom, saw the bed they’d been sharing and stepped right out again.

Finally, Harry found the stairs that led up to the attic, where he hadn’t been yet. The attic was a space as large as almost the entire house, but with slanted ceilings so one could only stand up straight at the very centre of the room. It was dark and empty for the most part, with a few old suitcases and cardboard boxes tucked away in a few nooks and crannies. It was very dusty but that didn’t stop Harry from sinking down onto the wooden floor, raising his knees up and resting his forearms on them while he tried to straighten his thoughts out enough for them to make any sense.

Sex magic was apparently a thing. A real thing. He’d heard some weird rumours about it, as one might expect in a dormitory shared by a bunch of teenage boys, but Harry had never taken them seriously before. Now, though, he was suddenly faced with the prospect of actually partaking in sex magic.

With Lord Voldemort.

Closing his eyes, Harry leaned his forehead on his arms and released a bone deep sigh. This was his enemy, his adversary, his prophesized arch-nemesis. The man who’d murdered his parents and so many other people that Harry couldn’t even begin to count them. The man who had throughout his entire life tried to kill Harry as well.

Yet… all those things didn’t apply to them anymore, at least for the duration of their imprisonment. And afterwards, once they got out, they were going to hunt Snape down together.

Their dynamic had definitely shifted, Harry couldn’t deny that. But had it shifted enough that Harry was comfortable having sex with the man?

And that was another thing. Voldemort was a man, who had made it very clear he was going to be fucking Harry. Now Harry was an openminded chap. He had no problems with men fucking other men. If Harry was being completely honest with himself, Harry himself had been attracted to men from time to time. Harry had spent many a night during his fourth year in bed fantasizing about Cedric Diggory coming upon a half dressed Harry in the Quidditch locker room, which always resulted in Cedric falling to his knees and sucking Harry’s cock. Harry had wanked himself to some of his best orgasms to that particular fantasy, assuming since it was just a fantasy and Harry had no intentions of pursuing Cedric in real life it didn’t really matter all that much.