Harry potter X Voldemort

Title: To Touch and Be Touched

Plot: Through their connection, many things happen.

Prompt: .com/watch?v=dRNbXaZo4rM - Pink - Fingers

Rating: M, for Mature. [/straight face] xD okay, this has suggestive content in it, so its rated such to take precautions.

A/N: okay, this is obviously a little AU[alternate universe] because canonism is so awesome to mess with... it'll be obvious which part i cut out. By the way; i'm making harry just a tad older, 16, because... well, he'd still be 15 and that just... ew. .;

I hold no rights to the characters or places used, just the plot. K'thanxbye~

P.S. oh yeah, they might speak parseltongue; which will be in quotes and italic'ed kay? =P "example parseltongue"

word count aimed for: 3,727/5k

Word Count: 3,727 [none of the above is added]

-onto Story-

Crazy. When Harry had told them all, he was soon dubbed as a crazy hero.

When summer finally rounded its ugly head, he was sent back into hell. the Dursley's were away for the next two week, leaving Harry defenseless and terrified for his life. It was Monday, meaning the torment just started. He knew it was truly crazy but he would have rather waited on his cousin hand and foot then be left to his own thoughts and paranoia. Whenever he closed his eyes, two things stood out in his mind; Sirius' death, and the fact that the Dark Lord had been inside him. He didn't realize just how disturbed he felt until after words, when he got a chance to finally think about what happened. one can say that he had almost come to terms with such... things happening. He was the-boy-who-lived, if he could survive a killing curse, he would definitely survive this.

Slightly shaking, he gets up from his bed, and goes over to where his owl stood on his bed post. Hedwig must have been hungry harry decided, as he slid open a dresser drawer to get her food. He needed something to keep his mind off of certain things but he was scared to leave the house. He had been told that this was the safest place for him, it had the wards and everything needed to keep all unwanted things out. At least thats what he was told. Looking around the moon lit room, his paranoia was telling him that he was being watched. Shivering, he wished he had a curtain. Would the Dursley's mind if he left his room? As Harry looked towards the hallway, it looked so much more welcoming.

He hadn't realized it until it happened; his body was frozen, and he wasn't seeing anymore. Pain surrounded him like a cocoon but he was to weak to cry out. when his eyes opened he realized he wasn't seeing through his own set, but... someone outside. Who knew that paranoia was actually telling the truth? From his shock bloomed curiosity, he wanted to know who- the thought stopped dead as he was suddenly trusted back into his own body, seeing through his own eyes. Scrambling up, he heart beat accelerated as he turned towards his bar free window. When had those been removed? he wondered and took three timid but long steps towards the window.

His throat constricted as he attempted to swallow. What was he doing? There was danger out there! but no matter how scared or horrified he felt, his feet kept on their course to the window. It suddenly felt as if dry ice set its own coarse through his veins as he unlocked the window. red suddenly tinted his cheeks as he gulped, pulling open the window. 'the barrier only keeps out the unwanted' he murmured to himself as a gush of cool air surrounded him, making him step away from the window. Had it been a windy day?

When harry closed his eyes, he missed the figure that had materialized there, draped in black and dark green robes. the man held himself with a grace familiar to harry, his wand held between his middle and index finger as his arms were held wide. was he expecting a hug? Harry Potter looked up and into the crimson eyes of his enemy, the Dark Lord; Voldemort. His mind was hazy, as if everything was all right. As if everything was going to be okay. why was he thinking such things? Without even realizing, his legs gave out under himself as he lost touch with reality.

-Break-

Touching, tracing and feeling; someone had their hands on him and he didn't want it to stop. He liked the way it felt, so much that he didn't dare open his eyes, lest the illusion be shattered with his dreams. when unsaid person suddenly fluttered their fingers across his neck, he couldn't help but let out a low whimper, and the other person chuckled; it was a dark sound but it happened lightly.

"i know your awake" the voice hissed out, and his mind filled with dread; not for being caught but because of who was with him. The second it came however, an over powering feeling, the haze, came with it. Opening his eyes, Harry met familiar red ones. in Harry's mind, he realized that he should be cowering in terror, kicking and screaming trying to get away but he wasn't. He was currently on his own bed, his enemy over him, feeling him, Touching him, tracing him. As Voldemorts hand dared to slip under the teenagers shirt, Harry hissed and arched his back at the sensation his enemy was creating in his navel. it was like liquid pleasure was being pumped to the very places that the older mans hands touched.

"please stop" he whimpered lowly, as if he didn't really want to be heard.

"Why would i do that, Potter?" the voice was seductive; it held a husky undertone that somehow make harry just melt. If his eyes had been open, he'd notice that Voldemort had been smirking; or smiling, one or the other. With another whimper, things went blank, and one could obviously say that both men had been over come with lust, or perhaps something more...

As night turned to dawn, and dawn turned to day, a certain boy would find himself exhausted and sore all over. His glasses were somewhere on the floor along with his clothes so he couldn't see, and the person who he had shared his bed with was no one to be seen. Now that the haze was gone from his mind, he could think properly again, despite being dead tired. As he tried to swallow, pain was evident in his throat. He slightly remembered shouting, screaming and moaning and a groan came to him. He tried his best to ignore the pain and questions that welled up within him as he attempted to role off his bed and get something to cover himself with. His sheets and blanket had been torn, and what they were used for was obvious when he looked at the bruises lightly lining his ankles and wrists. If he remembered correctly, his eyes had also been covered.

Shivering, but not from the cold, he located his glasses and one of his school robes. Slipping his arms through it, he knew it was a bad idea to stand, but he wanted to shower; to get that disgusting feeling off and out of him. It was wet, and gushy in a way, and uncomfortable. Attempts one through twenty nine failed, so he settled for a slow crawl and finally made it to his destination. when he was finally under the hot water, scalding his skin he let himself flood with questions. How, Why, Why and what?

how did Voldemort even get passed the barriers? Why did he bother coming if he wasn't going to kill Harry? Why did he do... do all those obscene things? and what was he going to do now? the the uncountable time, he shivered under the hot water. One, because he realized that he liked it and two, because he wanted it to happen again. at the mere thought of such things happening once more had him a little 'happy', and as he relived the worst, yet best, night of hs life, he pleasured himself; losing himself in his own selfish pleasure.

When Harry finally found the strength to get out of the shower and dress, he decided that t would be best to tell Ron and Hermione just what had happened. Ron because his mother was a part of the order and he might have the sense to tell her, and Hermione because she could probably figure out what was wrong with him and why the wards hadn't worked. As the owl left his front door with both letters, He felt dread pass through him again. a big chunk of his brain was telling him that telling Ron wasn't the best idea, because if he did tell his mother, he wouldn't come back again and if he told Hermione she'd notify Dumbledore somehow. Suddenly foreign anger surged through his body, and he felt like ripping his own throat out.

Just as it happened the previous night, his body fell to the ground unresponsive as he saw through Voldemorts eyes. He was some place dark, handing out random punishments to masked Death Eaters. the screams satisfyingly filled the air, and to Harry's disgust, he realized the satisfied feeling wasn't his.

"you damn brat, how could you?" the voice hissed out in a language Harry new as parseltongue. then just like that, Harry was thrust back into his own body, this time he felt that same pain he had in the ministry, when Voldemort had somehow disappeared then entered his body; stealing away his thoughts and privacy. Standing and going back into the house, he let himself slide down the door as he whimpered in pain. it was both physical and mental; Voldemort was playing his guilt over and over in his mind, telling harry it was his fault Sirius was dead. f only harry hadn't got to get the prophecy, if only he had stayed in Hogwarts like a good student... if only he hadn't risked his and his friends safety... oh dear god. Why dd all bad this always happen to him? Why only him?

in his Delirium he couldn't realize that they had talked in into it; in his mind, it was playing out as if it was all Harry's fault, the fact that they had all been at wand point, on the verge of dying... He let out a strange cry of pain.

"Please stop" he cried as sobbed racked his body. "Please stop" he whispered, still fighting through his pain that had opened the waterfall. it wasn't the physical pain that made him cry, it was the mental. the chuckle in his head was almost reassuring, and it felt like he was being embraced, although no one was near him.

"Join me, boy-who-Lived, and you'll never have to feel such pain again." he heard Voldemort whisper in his head. the malice in his voice was easily masked by the lust. Through the pain, Harry couldn't do anything but agree. Five years of training to take down Voldemort was going down the drain, he realized that, but no matter how they tried to harden the boy into a man, it couldn't be done.

Harry didn't question anything from then on out. When he opened his eyes and sat in front of his ex-nemesis, he lowered his head, raised his hands and begged to forget. He didn't want to remember the pain that was plaguing his every thought at that moment, whenever he tried not to think of anything, his friends appeared before him, dead as if they had all suffered the killing curse. They would point their fleshless fingers at him and accuse him of killing them. Harry didn't realize until it was too late, and Voldemort's wand was pointed right at him, that there were other ways of running from his point.

"Obliviate"

-Two Months Later; August 4th-

From the boy-Who-Lived to the boy-who-Conquered, People feared their savior of the light. He no longer felt pain thanks to Voldemort's wand.

Donning a black cloak with his hood up and a mask over his face, Harry was probably one of the most unrecognizable people, even if he looked like the other death eaters, he was the only one who stood by, and answered only to Lord Voldemort. Most of his days consisted of a familiar haze, lessons and sex. Had harry been in the right frame of mind, he mind have actually fought back, or maybe even getting himself free of his 'prison'…

Stepping out of the Malfoy manor, Lucius behind him hidden behind that familiar Death Eaters mask, he was out for blood. He rarely talked, and when he did, his voice sounded menacing and… just different. Every fiber in his being was screaming at him, once again, that everything he was doing was wrong. It was all wrong, but why was he feeling like that?

"Potter, if we don't leave now, we'll be late again, and I will not be lashed at because of your incom-" Harry whipped out his wand in less than three seconds and had it at Lucius's throat. He hadn't realized that he stopped until the blond and talked to him.

"Don't." When it came from Harry's mouth, it sounded more like a growl then actually wording. It suddenly got him wondering, why was he being so touchy today? Not just today, Harry realized. If he thought about it, He could tell that his attitude had been getting very restless as of late. Something was wrong, he wasn't doing what he was born to, and he could feel that deep in his soul. What would Lord Voldemort do if he found out?

Releasing Lucius, Harry quickly stalked to the apparition point and disappeared.

Harry didn't know why, but he had to block his thoughts from his Lord. He knew, somehow, that if Voldemort knew what he was thinking about, feeling, even if he was a bed slave, he'd be punished. Gulping back his fear, he steeled himself again the light as he stalked into head quarters.

"Welcome back" he heard Voldemort hiss in his head. The familiar feeling of ice running through his veins almost had him in a cold sweat as he continued forward, leaving his mask on. People wouldn't believe, but Voldemort was actually really good at reading people's faces. Entering the meeting all, he felt Lucius bow behind him, but Harry went right up to where Voldemort sat and kneeled, his head down.

"My Lord." He whispered, half scared, and covered with pride. Standing beside the man, he watched as the meeting took place. Why did he feel like he didn't belong there? Why was there that… that urge to run as if…? Guilt welled up inside him and he almost choked trying not to whimper.

-Skip-

Beautiful; the woman in his dream was beautiful. Her eyes were jade, darker then his and her hair was sleek, long, and red. It reminded Harry of fire somehow. The look in her eyes was disappointment, and that's when he noticed the man beside her. It was almost like looking into a mirror that showed you what you'd look like had you been older… the mirror of Enrised. Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi passed through his head and he gulped.

Why was it so familiar? Who was that woman? And that man? Were they his parents? Voldemort had told him that his parents were dead; albeit, quite cruel. If that was so, why did the wo- his mom look so disappointed? Just as he was about to open his mouth to ask, a moan escaped his lips and he was suddenly back in the real world. Something was and wasn't right; that's all that Harry knew.

Everything was familiar. The touch he felt and the feeling he got. Voldemorts touch invoked

"My lord" Harry breathed out, arching his back into the touch. This was something he desired, not those people in his dreams. If what Voldemort said was true, and they were dead, then it was their fault he was who he was for leaving him. Just like Sirius. The thought scared him and he whimpered.

He felt Voldemort's breathe on his cheek; it was cold yet felt just right. Harry let an uncharacteristic like grin spread over his face as he used his left arm to lift himself from the bed, and his right hand was hooked behind Voldemorts neck, making their foreheads meet.

Letting their lips meet slowly invoked a sweet passion that Harry loved to start out with, it would seem. Then just as everything else with the Dark Lord, just emotions didn't exist with him and their kiss turned fierce; both fighting for a dominance that was obvious from the start. Letting himself fall back into the bed, Harry looked up at his lord seductively, just as he had been taught. There were no doubt in Harry's eyes any more. Even if that wasn't what he was born to do, he actually enjoyed it too much to give it up.

As one thing dissolved into the next, curses, hexes and charms were cast either on or around them; it was the game a certain snake like man liked to play. It was rough and untamed and it was devoid of any fluffy love. It was also controlled by a haze. Harry knew he would have to ask about that some day; what was with that blood rushed feeling in his head whenever his Lord wanted something from him?

Just like the many nights harry spent in Lord Voldemorts bed, twilight went to dusk, then midnight before there was any stopping. Just like the first time, he was sore from all the movement, but he had to leave the room. Everything was starting to fall apart in his mind, and he didn't know why.

He was wearing Voldemorts clothing, having been too tired to actually look for his own. A hand was constantly on his head as his free one was holding him up as he walked along the wall. Memories both foreign and familiar flooded his mind; they were all of death, and that woman from his dreams. He wanted to cry out; he was feeling a pain he knew well as guilt. It seemed to have become his acquaintance once more over the past few weeks.

Down the stairs and out the door, he didn't even think to summon his wand until he was almost out of Voldemorts wards. Obviously enough, Harry knew he wouldn't get far without a purpose, so he decided on one. The Order would have answers he wanted; at all their random meet-ups they always told him they were there for him.

Had they planted the seed of doubt in his mind? Is that was he was betraying his lord? The man who saved him? It's your fault their all dead. The voice was so clear in his head, he had to flinch and turn around quickly, wand drawn as if someone had been standing there. His eyes were lined in veins, blood shot. Once more bringing a hand to his head, he steeled himself against the emotions flooding through his body all at once.

"I'm the boy who wouldn't bloody die" he whispered to himself, to reassure himself somehow. He remembered the first month he had been there; no one referred to him by name, but by 'the-boy-who-lived'. He remembered actually lashing out at one of the lesser death eaters and saying those exact words before he had earned any respect.

Shaking his head, Harry didn't want to get lost in his and that strangers memories now; it was hard through, with the emotions coming with them full force. Gritting his head, he disappeared.

-Skip-

It wasn't too hard for him, a formerly light now turned dark wizard, to attract the people he needed. His hair had somehow been pushed back in the midst of throwing random curses and few minor strength unforgivable curses. A smirk appeared, despite all the mice drumming on the inside of his skull.

"I was just thinking about you all." Harry admitted, holding out his wand effortlessly like Voldemort would have. Even harry thought he spent way too much time with that- a searing hot pain boiled through his skull just then and it took everything in his will but the fact that he wasn't supposed to show such emotion, not to scream and shout at the pain.

"How dare you" he heard a familiar hiss in his head. It was familiar, just like one of the foreign memories he was currently viewing.

"I'm seeking answers that one of you has so kindly promised me" with that he threw a Cruciatus Curse at a red headed woman. She screamed into the night sky as she fell to her knees in pure white hot pain. It was weird, but Harry felt the sudden urge to not; it wasn't strong enough though.

"What are you doing?" the hysterical man shouted beside her as he knelt down to help her somehow. "This isn't like you Harry! Fight it!" he shouted again. The name that registered in Harry's mind was: Lupin. Reluctantly he released it and smiled, waiting for an answer. He hoped he'd get it fast, he could feel them coming.

"But Ablus it's our only hope! Oh- Reverto Memoria" Another woman shouted, dressed in the way a 'traditional' Witch would. Was it a c- as the white light that had sprouted from the tip of her wand and quickly snaked its way towards Harry, he didn't have enough time to react.

Like black clouds descending from the heavens, death eaters rained on the Order and suddenly curses and their counters were flying every which way.

But Harry was on the ground, curled up in a ball and a look of terror on his face. It looked mightily odd, seeing as how he was dressed in clothing normally spotted on Voldemort, and he hadn't been wearing his glasses. Actually, he rarely wore his glasses but… why? He didn't know anything and he was scared. It would seen that the Obliviate that was meant to erase his memories had actually suppressed them, and the memory reverse charm McGonagall had thrown at him made the two spells clash and burn; Harry's memories with them.

Closing his eyes to the blurs of the world, he had let go of his wand. It was all up to which side won this battle, or whomever got their hands on Harry Potter first; All that training, all that hard work, all those years of protection, gone. All gone down the drain with his memories… Or So He thought…