"Oh my love," Voldemort sighed. "Aren't you tired of this endless running? You don't look well. All this writhing in the dust like a hunted animal doesn't suit you."
Harry struggled against the binds keeping him in place, his breaths coming out in sharps pants as he twisted away from his touch. He's a monster, he reminded himself, forcing himself not to think about how gentle he could be with him. How much he missed his touch. You need to run from him, run far, far away. You are in the middle of a war!
"I'm tired of chasing," Voldemort continued, stepping closer to Harry's struggling form. "Of indulging this little game of yours. Let's stop pretending there's anywhere you could run where I would not find you." He paused in front of Harry and knelt down, a hand reaching out to caress his cheek possessively. "Let's stop pretending you want to be anywhere but my arms, hmm?"
"Go to hell!" Harry spits, jerking away from his touch. "I'm not yours!"
"And that, my love, is where you're wrong," Voldemort said with a crazed smirk. "Nothing, not even death, could keep me from you. You always have and always will belong to me!"
Voldemort had finally won. He defeated the light and gained control over Magical Britain, and in the process, he had lost everything. As he remembers how he met, fell in love with, and ultimately lost Harry Potter, he realizes that in his greed, Voldemort had ruined everything that ever mattered to him. But when new information comes to light, it's a race against time to bring Harry Potter back from the dead and reconcile their relationship or risk losing the love of his life forever...
...Even if it means getting help from what's left of the Golden Trio.
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