Non Time, O Parve Mage

Draco felt his throat sting as he watched Harry being forced, screaming his name into the fireplace along with the others. He tried his best to think of anything but Harry. You know what you have to do Draco, he thought to himself; distract him for as long as you possibly can—make him think that you want him, not Harry. If you love Harry, you will do this. He turned around to see Voldemort sitting casually in Harry’s chair, his finger to his temple, muttering something to himself.


“I will most definitely regret this.” He turned to look up at Draco and his eyes narrowed to slits. “Curse you and this power you have over me!” he spat. He stood suddenly, nearly knocking over his chair and quickly strode to the fireplace. He was about to reach for the jar of floo powder when he felt gentle, yet insistent arms wrap around his waist from behind.


Draco placed his chin on Voldemort’s shoulder and began nibbling playfully at his ear. Voldemort moaned as Draco began rubbing his hand through his wavy black hair, massaging his scalp. Draco ceased nibbling his ear, licked the line from the corner of the elder man’s jaw to his shoulder blade, and bit him firmly on the nape of his neck, causing him to shudder.


With a forceful growl, Voldemort spun around, and pushed Draco, hard, up against the stone wall. Draco smiled slyly and licked his lips. Voldemort looked down at him; his lips, gleaming with saliva, his sloping neck that transitioned ever so gracefully into his shoulders, and his narrow hips that were all but screaming to be pummeled with his own. Panting, Voldemort forcefully grabbed Draco by his fair hair, and forced him to his mouth.


Immediately, Draco felt Voldemort’s tongue writhing dominantly with his own. Wanting more, Voldemort momentarily removed his tongue, and bit down hard on Draco’s bottom lip, causing him to bleed. As Voldemort began sucking at the newly made wound, Draco whimpered and arched his back into him. Voldemort groaned and clawed his hands fiercely under Draco’s shirt, over the fluid muscles of his back, and across his toned chest.

***for Harry—do it for Harry***

Draco could feel Voldemort’s excitement growing ever more strained under his robes. He squirmed beneath him, causing him to moan. “Oh god, Draco….” Voldemort buried his face in the crook of Draco’s shoulder and began biting the slope of his neck. Draco clung to Voldemort’s hair with clawed hands and began to groan. He looked determinedly at the mirror across from the hall into his own reflection. Concentrating as hard as he could, he thought to himself, “confundo!” the spell soared from his eyes to the mirror, and bounced back at lighting speed, hitting him square between the eyes.


Suddenly, as Voldemort continued his ministrations, the confundus charm sent images and memories soaring through his mind.

It was not Voldemort who raped you

It was Harry

Voldemort is the one who loves you and takes care of you

Not Harry

It is Voldemort you love

Not Harry

You hate Harry

Who’s Harry?



After the charm had finished working its magic, Draco was left still, and shaking on the wall. “Concerned”, Voldemort ceased his ministrations and looked up at him with raised eyebrows. “Well? What is it?” he demanded harshly. Draco looked away from the mirror and up at Voldemort, as if seeing him for the first time. His lips were slightly parted as he looked up into Voldemort’s ruby eyes as they shined in the light of the flames, and at his pouting lips that were begging to be kissed. Voldemort seemed genuinely confused as Draco looked him over.


The younger boy raised a delicate hand and gently raked his fingers through Voldemort’s smooth, onyx hair, down his porcelain face, and over his pale, cerise lips. Voldemort furrowed his brow as he looked into Draco’s eyes— lustful; as he had never seen them before. He was about to say something when Draco silenced him by placing a firm kiss on his parted lips. Draco pressed his face into Voldemort’s and panted with bated breath, “Bed…now…”


Voldemort did not waste a moment. He clutched Draco close to his chest and apparated them both to the master bedroom. Draco did not have time to take in his surroundings. He saw bed—he saw Voldemort—he felt his trousers becoming uncomfortably tight in the lower regions, and he had no time for pleasantries.


With a boast of daring, Draco pushed Voldemort up against the wall and thrust his hips into the other man’s groin, causing him to shudder, and kissed him furiously. Voldemort bit his lip in reprimand and pushed Draco away, causing him to stagger onto the cabinet next to the bed. Before Draco could regain composure, Voldemort had already strode over to him, and ripped at Draco’s robes. He threw them onto the floor as though they had offended him some how, and pulled up at the bottom of Draco’s black, satin shirt.


Draco obligingly raised his arms and allowed the material to be removed from his person. Voldemort removed his own robes before he continued to undo Draco’s belt. He moaned as he felt Voldemort’s insistent fingers clawing at his bulge. Voldemort freed Draco from his trousers and boxer briefs, and threw him, naked, onto the black satin sheets of the grand bed. Voldemort removed his shirt, admiring the flawless figure of the young man, strewn before him, as Draco sat up and moved to sit at the edge of the bed. Voldemort massaged his upper back and shoulders and moaned as Draco began fiddling with the lip of his pants. His erection ached to be free, and Draco had to obey. He slid his pants and underwear from his slender waist and wrapped his arms around his hips. His eye level was six inches above Voldemort’s navel. Draco began placing hurried kissed across Voldemort’s rippling abdomen and over his navel.


As Draco slid his tongue down the other man’s love trail, he moaned and pulled Draco’s silvery blonde hair into fists. Draco smiled slyly and bit at the skin just above Voldemort’s shaft, which was aching for contact. Draco ran his hands up and down Voldemort’s thighs as he began to lick the length of his shaft. Draco paused thoughtfully, and pushed away from Voldemort, to the head of the bed. As Voldemort stood there at the edge, in more ways than one, Draco reclined against the plethora of pillows and stared into scarlet eyes with his silver ones as if to say, “What are you going to do about it?”


Voldemort growled and pounced on top of Draco. He kissed him, once, on the forehead, and hurriedly moved to his aching erection. He began sucking, hard, on his inner thigh and Draco moaned as he clung to the mahogany headboard. Voldemort grinned inwardly and began planting gentle kisses along Draco’s already aching length. Just as he reached the weeping head, he removed himself, and laid himself on top of Draco. Draco looked up at him with pleading eyes and was met with, “How do you like it, you fucking cock tease?”


Voldemort grinned at the put-off look on Draco’s face and muttered a lubrication charm under his breath. He crept his fingers beneath his throbbing erection and into his crease. Draco yelped and arched up as he felt Voldemort’s fingers penetrate him. Voldemort took great care in gently massaging the ring of tense, hot muscle with his index finger. Draco bit into his already wounded lip when the other man inserted a second finger.


“Oh…oh…please…” Draco moaned as Voldemort began scissoring his fingers inside of him. He instinctively bent his knees and slid further down the bed, closer to the other man. Voldemort removed his fingers and placed his hands on either side of Draco’s waist. With a slight groan, he eased himself inside the younger man. Draco spread his legs and shifted into the pressure. He grabbed Voldemort’s waist and pulled his body toward his. He bit insistently on his neck, and was pushed further into the mattress by the first thrust. Draco craned his head back and moaned loudly as he surrendered himself to the brutally pleasurable sensation of having his prostate repeatedly pummeled by Voldemort’s powerful thrusts.


He began to claw at his back, and as his sensitive nerves were hit by a particularly powerful thrust, he screamed, “harder!”


Voldemort obliged to the panting boy and began making his thrusts more forceful and more often, as he took the younger man’s aching erection into his hand, and stroking his hand up and down his shaft in time with his own thrusts. Draco arched up into him, causing Voldemort to cry out. Sweat trickled copiously down Draco’s chest. He had never felt this amount of pleasure in his life—it was overwhelming. He gasped and wrapped his hands tightly around the posts of the headboard. As Voldemort’s thrusts became more hurried, his clenched knuckles became ghost white.


Draco rocked his hips against Voldemort’s as he moaned in pleasure. He could feel his orgasm coming. Voldemort began to mutter his name as his thrusts became jagged and more forceful than ever. With a final, “Draco!” Voldemort released his seed into Draco as Draco came into his hand. Voldemort thrusted once more as, together, they rode out the hot wave of their orgasms, and he collapsed on top of Draco’s panting, sweat and cum bathed form. He burrowed his face into the crook of Draco’s shoulder and gently bit his neck. Draco groaned and pulled Voldemort’s hand to his mouth, and began seductively sucking the cum from his fingers. When he had finished, he placed gentle kisses on his knuckles as Voldemort crawled down to his stomach, where he lapped up Draco’s seed. Draco moaned and could feel his member growing hot once again when he heard a series of loud bangs.


Someone was knocking at the great oak doors below.


Voldemort groaned, frustrated, and let the side of his head collapse against Draco’s chest as he stroked his black hair.


“Don’t go…” Draco said, his eyes pleading.


Voldemort murmured something inaudible, and rose from the bed. Draco watched as Voldemort snapped his fingers and his clothes wrapped themselves about his slender frame. He muttered something under his breath and the sweat that had drenched him evaporated and his hair combed itself. “Get dressed.” He said to Draco, “Your brother’s here to see you.”


~*~


Harry landed with a thud on the floor of the burrow to see his family waiting anxiously for him. He quickly stood, without a word to anyone, grabbed a fistful of glimmering powder and shouted, “Riddle Mansion!” to the hearth. The emerald flames licked at his face and hands as he strode into the hearth.


For once, he landed on his feet after the spinning journey on the black and white tile of a dusty kitchen. Harry heard footsteps above him and followed the sound. As he passed the grandfather clock at the foot of the stairs, he saw that it was nearly three o’clock in the morning. In his anxiety, he took the stairs three at a time. When he reached the top, he heard a fluidly cool voice shout, “Potter? What is it?”


He followed the voice into cozy den where he saw Havoc lounging on the sofa, reading, Dante’s Inferno.


“It’s Draco—“


“Draco?” started Havoc, suddenly alert, “What’s wrong? What happened?”


Harry stood framed in the doorway, leaning on the dark wood for support. His breaths were sharp and ragged. He closed his eyes and tried his best to collect himself and his thoughts. Without opening his eyes, he said slowly, “Voldemort came to the burrow—“


“The Weasley house?”


“Yes. With twenty or so deatheaters, he stormed the house and took myself, Draco, and several members of the Order of the Phoenix to his castle.”


“And you managed to escape.” He said disbelievingly.


“No. Draco made a deal with Voldemort—he said that he would give himself completely to him in exchange for letting me and the others go.”


Havoc stood, abruptly knocking over a lamp as he did so. “You let him do that?” he half-shouted, his eyes widening.


“No! I tried to stop him but there were too many deatheaters and I had no wand.”


“I know Draco—he is most likely trying to distract Voldemort for as long as he can—but we cannot let him. If we hurry, we might not be too late.” He turned to the hearth and said, “Follow me.”


Harry paused. “We’re going to his castle? But you can’t just use the floo to get in—“


“We’re not going to his castle. We’re going to New England.”


~*~


Harry stood before a grand pair of wrought iron gates. To his left was a vigilante wizard. To his right was a rogue siren. Not the people he would have chosen to be with him when he confronted the Dark Lord, but they would do. Almost simultaneously, they each pulled a silver dagger from their robes, dragged it across their palm, and grasped the bars of the grand gates. They stood back and watched as the gates swung open before them.