If Paths Diverge

Chapter 36

Harry watched the sun rise the next morning, his mind helplessly caught on a nightmare that he could not shake. He had woken up hardly touching Voldemort, but had since wound himself so tightly around him that it was a marvel that the Dark Lord had not noticed.

He rubbed his fingers over the silky-soft skin of the man's back and breathed in the comforting scent of his throat. Merlin, what was it about that long neck that consistently rolled his eyes back? He brought a hand up to lightly trace the protruding Adam's apple, amazed that his skin was still so perfect after all he'd been through.

All he'd been through.

Merlin. It haunted him.

He'd thought a long time this morning about Voldemort's panic attack last night. The man was still debilitatingly affected by what had happened to him, still plagued by flashbacks of abuses that he had endured. From the winning side— Harry's side. His friends.

Harry's nightmare had featured the entire Weasley clan lining up and viciously raping an immobile and collared Voldemort. Hitting him with curse after curse while Voldemort screamed for him. It had been horrific.

And it could have been reality.

He pressed his face against Voldemort's bare chest and willed his tears to dry before the Dark Lord awoke.

He had no idea who had... purchased Voldemort. Which of his friends had beat or raped or abused the man he loved. It was agony. He had tried not to let his thoughts stray there because he had been certain that Voldemort would never give him details, but after the vivid, gruesome nightmare he had to know.

The body he was embracing suddenly shifted and stretched in wakefulness. Harry stayed curled around him, refusing to let go. After a moment, Voldemort's arms came slowly to wrap around him more deliberately. One hand's fingers wound into his absurd hair and began to idly play with his locks.

They lay like that for ages and Harry tried to just enjoy the feel of the other man, his presence and safety, but his imagination would not rest.

"Voldemort," Harry began, and he felt the man tense slightly at his tone, his fingers halting their movement. "I need to ask you something."

"Harry."

And that was all he said, just the single word. It was almost a warning, an ominous acknowledgement.

Harry kept his face pressed tightly against that thin chest, savouring the steady heartbeat beneath his skin.

"Who," he breathed, his fingers clenching, but careful not to accidentally pinch. "Please. Who bought you."

Voldemort pulled in a quiet breath and held it. Harry waited, hating that he had to ask, hating that he'd brought Voldemort back there with this question, but he had to know.

"Please. I... had a nightmare."

Vivid flashes of it surged behind his retinas. George had placed a new invention, a spiked, metal dildo, into Voldemort and fucked him with it until his skin was in bloody ribbons. Percy had masturbated Voldemort the whole time, telling him about Fred and Ron, saying it was revenge for them, for the lives they could have had.

But Arthur had been even worse.

He closed his eyes.

"I need to know," Harry rasped. "These are my friends. My colleagues. My family. If they hurt you..."

"You will, what, Harry," Voldemort said coldly, pushing Harry back and away from him.

He watched the Dark Lord conjure clothing without a wand or incantation and then climb out of bed.