Blood Ties.

((This chapter is...not pretty. I avoided describing the encounter between voldemort and Harry in full detail, because it wasn't important, as this was purely plot. It's kind of unpleasant, nevertheless, and I apologize if it bothers anyone.))


"Uncle, might I give a demonstration to yourself and the others?"

Harry's voice was silky and properly respectful as he licked the curve of Voldemort's jaw, shifting purposefully in the creature's lap to grind against the hardness he felt there. The snake's eyes bored into his, and he could feel the icy fingers of that alien mind stroking through his own, provoking a moan from his throat. He gave himself over freely, allowing Voldemort whatever access he desired, licking his lips and shuddering at the power and wickedness he felt oozing through his thoughts and memories.

The Dark Lord gave a hiss of delight as he felt Harry surrender, and he savored the darkness of this boy's mind. He could feel Harry's respect and admiration, taste his desire like a bitter wine in the air between them and he nodded finally, retreating reluctantly from that intensely pleasurable conciousness.

"Yes, you may."

His forbidding gaze turned upon his pathetic servants, none half as powerful or attractive as the boy in his lap.

"Do not act against him without my permission."

Harry smiled coldly and slid from the creature's lap, hand dropping to stroke over the bulge beneath his robes with a notable longing, then he stood before him, proud and magnificent. He stretched his shackled arms out over Voldemort's lap, a calculating smile curling his lips.

"Please, my Lord, hold your hands beneath my wrists?"

Voldemort felt a certain excitement grip him, knowing that they were all finally going to experience the extent of what this boy could accomplish when his silly morals weren't getting in the way. He extended his hands beneath the shackles, palms waiting to recieve them.

Harry's brilliant green eyes focused on his, lips skinning back in a savage grin as the air seemed to surge with power. The torches flickered, flames rising higher suddenly and throwing intense light over the gathered Death Eaters. The very atmosphere crackled and came alive with a breathless wind that whipped around them all, a low moan accompanying the wind like the cry of a broken spirit.

Voldemort felt himself come alive with lust, with the unmistakable determination to posess the being that had such a magnificent power within him. He saw the Death-Eaters drawing closer, crowding the dais, their pants and moans giving away their lust for this boy. His boy.

Harry parted his lips and licked them, eyes boring into Voldemort's with undeniable need, this performance was to prove he could be trusted, and to reveal that he had no secrets from his Master. The strength of his magic could only excite the incredible Dark Wizard...nay, the God before him, especially after he'd been examined and found trustworthy.

The manacles around his wrists writhed and he sucked his magic in and shot the full force of it at them, exploding the charms that kept his wandless magic bound. Clearly, they had never been tested against a magic of this magnitude. The lock snapped with a deafening crack and they fell into Voldemort's oustretched hands, looking old and rusted.

A collective shudder went through the cloaked servents behind him, but he kept his intense gaze upon Voldemort as his Lord looked over the manacles, then tossed them aside and focused on Harry.

"More."

Harry smiled slowly, pleased that his Lord desired him to show off, for he'd always enjoyed displaying his strength and being admired. He swiveled with a nod, showing his trust in his Uncle by turning his back to him, and looking down on the salivating group of pathetic witches and wizards below him. His magic swooped up once more and he rose on it, floating up into the air until he was standing on thin air five feet over their heads. They tilted back to gaze hungrily up at him, hands reaching supplicatingly toward him, their fawning making him both delighted and disgusted.

He raised his arms over his head and spun rapidly in place, clothing whipping away from him until he was naked and glowing above them, limed by the torchlight. Bare as birth, he drifted back down, facing his uncle, rampantly hard and unashamed. He arched and breathed out softly, their eyes locking.

"Will you reward me for my performance, Master? Draco speaks so highly of your favors."

Voldemort's grin was thin as late spring ice and he nodded, rising and slipping off the silver robes that hid his lean, serpent's form. It was horrible and beautiful, that long, thin form that seemed equal parts human and viper. The skin as white as the grave, with faint black speckles covering his smooth chest and becoming more consentrated as one's eyes lowered until they drove out the white at the head of that wicked cock.

Harry stepped forward and ran his dark hands over his Lord's stomach and up to his chest, molding his shorter form close and tilting his head back, eyes flashing with lust and challenge.

"Shall I suck you, Uncle, or will you give me my fondest wish and fuck me senseless?"

Voldemort hissed at him in Parsletongue, causing a shudder to run down his back.

"On your hands and knees, boy."

Harry stepped back, and then slid around the tempting serpent to kneel on his throne, knowing he was taking chances, but also knowing he would be admired for his boldness. He lifted his hands to grip the top of the throne and thrust his ass out toward Voldemort, looking over his shoulder with a fierce smile.

"Like this, my Master?"

The use of the snake's tongue seemed to incite an even greater lust in the Dark Lord, and he stepped forward, hands grabbing Harry's hips painfully hard, talons digging into his skin. His head fell forward and Harry cried out in ecstasy as he bit into his neck at the same time he rammed that dangerous length into him.

His magic ran out of control, mingling with the Dark Lord's and swirling chaotically around the room, casting the Death-Eaters to the floor in the throes of uncontrollable rapture. It was no wonder that no one saw the silent firgure standing against a wall and staring at the black-haired boy he'd fallen in love with. From the moment Harry had claimed the show with his impressive magic, Draco had been forgotten and he was glad. Watching this was like enduring a nightmare from which he could not awaken.

Harry thrust back at Voldemort with each brutal buck, urging him on to greater and greater depths of cruelty, his body healing over and over from the wounds inflicted. Harry was literally unbreakable, inexhaustible while their magic raged around them. Luckily, so was Voldemort, so they could go on this way for hours. Harry rather liked that idea, for pain at the hands of his Master was like pleasure tripled, he reveled in it.

Through it all, Draco stood silent, watching with a growing sense of horror and dismay. He knew the man beneath Voldemort, the wild thing that screamed and cursed and cried for more, was not his Harry. He knew it, but it could not stop the ache in his heart, or the knowledge that this would haunt his dreams for years to come.