Chapter Text
Harry's world felt like it was crashing down.
In truth, he half expected the mindscape around him to crumble and fall until they were engulfed in the rubble of the castle.
No such thing happened. He was still as corporeal and unharmed as before, and Hogwarts stood like she'd always had.
Harry could feel two pairs of eyes on him—both so similar, both so familiar.
He was a horcrux. What did that even mean? Was he a horcrux the same way the Tom from the diary was a horcrux? No, that made no sense! So the small version of Tom that had been hiding away in his cupboard was… an entity separate from him?
Harry felt his head begin to spin, and the ground beneath him felt like being on a boat in turbulent waters with how everything buckled and swayed.
"Harry," Voldemort said, and a strong hand grabbed his shoulder. "Look at me."
Harry felt like he was drowning, so he clung to the stability the arm promised and looked up at Voldemort. There were cracks all over the castle walls around them now.
"Am I you?" Harry asked with a voice so tiny he hardly recognised it from himself.
Voldemort's expression softened a little. "No," the man answered and pulled him to his feet. "You are… part of me, but you are not the same as Tom, if that's what you're afraid of."
Harry nodded shakily and let himself be pulled. He was not the same as Tom. Tom had mentioned they were similar on more than one occasion though, hadn't he? He must have known…
"Tom knows," Harry ground out.
"He does," Voldemort agreed, "but only because I told him."
"Does Barty know?"
Did it make a difference whether Barty knew? Harry paled. Barty didn't know, of course he didn't. He hadn't even known about Voldemort having horcruxes until earlier. But then…
"Is that why he likes me?" Harry asked with a hint of panic before Voldemort was able to answer him. "He loves you, he always has, so what if he only likes me because I am your horcrux?"
A shadow seemed to pass over Voldemort's face, and the man actually took a step back. "Harry–"
"Don't you start patronising me now!" Harry demanded. "This is serious!"
Voldemort massaged the spot between his eyebrows with a couple fingers and closed his eyes. "Harry, I know this is all a bit much, but–"
"A bit much?" Harry repeated. "A bit much? Voldemort, you've just told me my whole identity is a lie! Where do I even start? Where would I be if not for that… that horcrux business. Who would I be?"
Harry felt a full-on panic attack coming his way—or at least what he thought a panic attack might feel like. Could he even have one while inside his own mind?
"You need to relax," a small voice said, and Harry was startled enough to fall off his panicked train of thought. "I have been here almost all your life."
Harry took a step away from Voldemort to watch the horcrux child emerge from the cupboard and stare him down. "And what do you mean by that?" Harry asked. "There's no me without you?"
"Precisely," the horcrux agreed. "I didn't spend all this time with you only for you to lose your mind once we met, you know? I've been good all this time. I stayed in my cupboard."
Harry frowned unhappily. "Did I send you to the cupboard?"
"I don't know. It's just where I am."
"You… mentioned a gift? Were you talking about my ability to speak Parseltongue?"
The child scoffed. "That's old news! We've been able to speak Parseltongue ever since I got here."
The child was dressed in old-fashioned clothes with short trousers that Harry vaguely remembered were called knickerbockers. It was adorable, in a way, but the calculating glint in those intelligent, brown eyes gave him an inkling of the fierce intelligence contained within the small body—so much like Voldemort's own.
"Then what are you talking about?" Harry asked.
"I gave you the ability to shield your mind," the child explained. "You've always kept a tight leash on me, but back when we had to deceive Dumbledore to ensure our continued survival, you finally let me help you."
Oh. So that calculating coldness he'd felt during his act had been the horcrux' influence? That made sense. The Occlumency book he'd been reading had been adamant about explaining that to get even passable at the art took months if not years of dedicated study by an adult wizard.
"I'm… Thank you," Harry said sincerely. "You saved me back then, and you saved Barty's life."
"He's good for us," the child shrugged, but he had begun blushing at Harry's compliment.
That was nice. That was good. Harry felt himself calm down. This miniature version of Voldemort was just a kid, and Harry had been keeping him locked up in the cupboard, so how much influence could he have wielded?
"You became like me…" Harry muttered.
"Harry," Voldemort said cautiously from beside him, and Harry acutely remembered that the man was also still there. "I chose to be different this time around because… because you showed me that a part of me could, with your help, become… better."
Harry swallowed uneasily. "I'm sorry for shouting at you, Voldemort. I understand why you had to keep it a secret at first."
They stood in front of each other kinda awkwardly, and Harry didn't like it.
"What did you mean, come home?" he decided to ask. "I'm… I live at your house, don't I?"
Voldemort looked frustrated, and a little constipated, and he shook his head. "Now that you know, we ought to leave your mindscape. Barty must be worried."
"Oh! Oh yes! He's gotta be worried out of his mind," Harry realised. "Hey, Tommy, no need to stay in the cupboard, okay? You can… roam around I guess? Just try not to break anything, okay?"
The child cocked his head. "Tommy…?"
"I can't call you Tom as well, can I?" Harry shrugged. "With Voldemort's alias being Thomas, everyone will be confused if we aren't conscientious with our labels."
Voldemort rolled his eyes, but he looked fond—as he often did with Harry. Was all this just because Harry was his horcrux? And Barty… Harry felt a terrible headache coming, so he decided he needed to get out of his own head now.
The horcrux child nodded as if he knew what Harry was thinking. Without knowing where he got the knowledge from, Harry surged forward and grabbed Voldemort's lapels. With a firm grip on the man, Harry threw himself back as if he wanted to throw Voldemort onto his back, and they both jolted back into their bodies.
"What the fuck, Harry," Voldemort cursed and held his head. "Did the child tell you to eject me like this?"
Harry was taken aback. "I think… no, I know he's cross with you for leading me on."
Voldemort barked out a grim laugh, and he made to say something, but they were interrupted.
"What was that?" Barty asked with a strained tone to his voice. Harry and Voldemort both turned towards him. "You've been staring at each other for three hours!"
That surprised Harry. From the looks of it, it surprised Voldemort as well, and the man massaged his temples and closed his eyes. "Barty, there was something I needed to show Harry in his own mind."
"Oh, I know," Barty answered with a frown. "I had enough time to sort through all the implications, and though Hogwarts is sorely lacking in the critical thinking department, I can think rationally. I worked out that the last horcrux you made, the one you didn't mean to make, was Harry. Isn't that right?"
"Yes, that is true," Voldemort admitted after a pause.
"So I fell in love with your horcrux?" Barty asked tonelessly.
"Barty," Voldemort started, but Barty shook his head.
"No, master, how could you let me? Have I been lying to him all this time?"
"He is as he always was," Voldemort argued with a glare. "For better or worse, ever since that fateful night, Harry Potter has been a part of me. Without the horcrux, I know not what would remain of him."
Harry was awfully reminded of how Tom had talked about Ginny. Was this the nature of horcruxes then? Did they corrupt everyone and everything around them?
"Is this why everyone hates me?" Harry asked. "Because horcruxes are… evil? Is that why I don't have friends, and why everyone at Hogwarts was so cold towards me time and again?"
"They are not evil," Voldemort explained, hands moving to form a sphere breaking apart as he did so. "They are… not whole. The nature of soul magic is, as of all things, grey. Do you remember that lesson I taught you?"
Harry nodded, if vaguely. "I'm… I remember, yes. I don't want to be mean to you, Voldemort, but, but…"
"I know, I know," Voldemort sighed. "I should have told you earlier, just like Barty did. But until I had all of them back, I just… could not. And to stop with the lies altogether… I was not 'at work' these past couple days as you so aptly put it. I reunited with the horcrux contained within the diadem yesterday, and it is only because I have been through this process two times now that I was not knocked out cold for hours at a time."
"You reunited with your horcruxes?" Barty asked, flabbergasted. "That is possible?"
"I am living proof," Voldemort answered shortly.
Barty looked torn between adoration and concern, and there was also still a hint of hurt. Harry got that mixture, he really did, because he, too, felt the same.
"Barty," Harry asked, and held his hand out to the man. "I'm still me?"
Barty's gaze immediately softened. "Oh, Harry, no, nonono, even if you—even if there is a horcrux inside you, you're still my perfect, impossible boy, okay? I love you, I do, and I always will, you hear me? If there's a part of my master's soul within you, that… only makes me love you more."
Harry thought that was terribly sweet, but also a little concerning. It didn't serve to alleviate any of the concerns he had towards not quite being himself, but he decided to take it for now.
"I understand," Harry replied quietly. "I do, it's just… does everyone I know have so many big secrets?"
"It's in our nature to try and protect those we care about, I guess," Barty told him with a sad smile. "I'm sorry for having deceived you back then."
"No, I get it," Harry reassured him again. "I understand that sometimes, you have to keep things from people. Hell, I kept my allegiance from Hermione until I damn well couldn't anymore, didn't I?"
Barty laughed a little, all quietly, and shook his head. "What a bunch of misfits we are," he muttered. "No offense, master."
"None taken," Voldemort was quick to reply. "I am not ashamed to admit that had it not been for my raw power, and my willingness to fight tooth and nail for the position I found myself in during my later school years, I, too, would have taken my lunches alone—in fact, I actually used to do so for the first years of my education. But then, I am a natural leader, and the two of you are… not."
It didn't feel like an insult; merely an observation. Harry, even though he had joked about overthrowing Voldemort's reign in his own home, didn't have any interest whatsoever in leading anything, so he was glad that Voldemort filled that role so well.
He frowned in thought. "But then what did you mean by coming home?" he asked again.
Barty looked confused, whereas Voldemort looked torn.
"Master?" Barty asked cautiously and squeezed Harry's hand tighter. "I have nothing but admiration for you, but if you plan on reuniting with… with Harry like with your other horcruxes, then I'll have to, I'm going to–"
Barty still had Voldemort's yew wand from earlier, when they had obliterated the Dursleys and Privet Drive, and he unsheathed it now from the holster on his arm. To Harry's surprise, Barty actually pointed the wand at Voldemort with a trembling hand.
"Barty," Voldemort said immediately in that authoritative voice he sometimes used on the man. "You will lower your wand."
His voice brooked no argument, and even though he hadn't so much as explained himself, Barty seemed unable to do anything but obey. Seeing Barty so obedient made Harry's breath hitch a little, and when he looked back at Voldemort, the man was already looking at Harry with an intense stare. Voldemort turned his hard gaze back on Barty next.
"Give me that wand."
Barty didn't hesitate. He handed the wand over the low table to Voldemort.
"Master, I–"
"Silence," Voldemort commanded. "You will kneel before me."
Barty swallowed, but he got up after squeezing Harry's hand one more time and rounded the table to kneel next to Voldemort's legs. Without warning, one of Voldemort's hands shot out and grabbed a handful of Barty's hair. "You do not raise your wand at me, Barty. Do you understand?" Barty hissed in pain when Voldemort gripped his hair tighter. "Do you?"
"Yes, master," Barty ground out. "I'm sorry, master."
"I have become too lenient with you, have I not?" Voldemort asked harshly. "You do not do well with freedom."
"Voldemort, what are you doing?" Harry asked, alarmed. He had half a mind to draw his own wand and protect Barty, but Voldemort didn't look murderous—merely… strict?
"I killed your last remaining relatives for laying a hand on you, Harry, and Barty was there with me," Voldemort explained without breaking eye contact with Barty. "I destroyed part of my school to free the two of you from Albus Dumbledore's clutches without knowing whether I could rebuild it. I revealed myself to the world for your sakes', and you think I want to absorb Harry Potter and have him cease to be, Barty?"
Voldemort's voice was cutting in its acerbity, and Barty tried to shrink back but couldn't because Voldemort's grip on his hair was unforgiving. "Master–"
"Never raise your wand against me again, Barty."
"I promise, master, I promise, please–"
"Harry is a part of me, and I will never harm a hair on his head, do you understand that?"
"I do, master, I swear–"
"He will be on my side through the ages because as my horcrux he, too, is immortal." Here, Voldemort looked over at Harry and glowered. "I take very good care of my things."
Despite things he'd been told in the past, by Hermione in particular, about objectification and the like, Harry felt a flame of… something stir in his body at Voldemort's blatant possessiveness, like he often did when the man used that particular rhetoric.
"Oh," Barty whispered, and it sounded so tiny and so broken that Harry broke eye contact with Voldemort to look at him. "You'll… I mean. Of course you'll be immortal together."
It only truly registered in Harry's mind when Barty stated it so bluntly: He was immortal because horcruxes were (mostly) indestructible. Did that mean he wouldn't age? Or age slower? Was that why he was so small for his age? By the gods. Immortality!
Oh, but Barty wasn't a horcrux… Finally, things clicked into place, and Harry made eye contact with Barty. "We have the philosopher's stone," Harry reminded him. "I won't let you die if I'm immortal, Barty."
Barty looked to be on the verge of tears. In fact, now that he thought about it, Barty had looked to be on the verge of tears ever since he'd raised his wand against Voldemort and Harry mouthed an "oh" when he realised what Barty's problem might be.
"Oh my God, Barty, you can't choose," he blurted out. "I mean, you feel like you need to choose between Voldemort and me? You don't need to! We're not enemies, him and I, you know that. I told you I—you know I respect him dearly."
"I can't lose either of you," Barty whispered. "Master, I'm so sorry, I thought… I was an idiot, and you had to be cross with me again."
"I know you need a firm hand," Voldemort muttered, but he didn't let go of Barty's hair. "And I can provide it."
He sounded endlessly patient again, and Harry felt his frustration grow. The way Voldemort looked at Barty—all stern, but also… so full of care? For the first time, Harry felt like all three of them were dancing around the elephant in the room, but the atmosphere was too delicate, the understanding they were about to reach too recent, to acknowledge it.
"We will make him immortal too, won't we?" Harry asked instead.
"Mhh," Voldemort hummed. "In Ancient Egypt, pharaohs had their dearest slaves buried alongside them so they could serve them in the afterlife. It is only fitting that someone as immortal as I has an immortal slave to take care of my needs."
Harry's mouth went dry. Watching Voldemort and Barty like this, with Voldemort all benevolent but almighty ruler, and Barty willing but terrified in the face of so much greatness, he couldn't quite decide whom he wanted more.
"Oh bugger," he muttered under his breath and frantically thought of something to say. "He's… not your slave though?"
Voldemort laughed and grabbed Barty's left arm with his free hand. He held it up and pushed the man's sleeve down with his magic to reveal the Dark Mark right where Barty's wand holster ended—still pale and a stark contrast to the brown leather of the holster. Voldemort hesitated, but only briefly, before he pressed his thumb into the middle of the tattoo.
Barty's head sagged forward, and Harry could see him grit his teeth. He wondered if whatever Voldemort was doing hurt?
"I am reactivating the Dark Mark," Voldemort explained. "Now there can be no doubt I have truly returned. The mark is based on a slave bond of old—though less restrictive in most cases."
"So all of them are your slaves?" Harry asked and felt his eyes go wide. "Everyone who bears the Dark Mark, I mean?"
"Yes," Voldemort answered and caressed the darkening snake on Barty's arm with his thumb. "Some more than others."
Slavery was bad. History class back in muggle elementary school had said so, and house elves being enslaved against their will was also bad according to Hermione. But to become a slave willingly..? Harry considered the Dark Mark. Not everyone would have taken it voluntarily. He couldn't see Lucius Malfoy doing so, in any case, and that was already one too many, right?
But Barty… he had his head bowed as much as he could with Voldemort's hand still holding onto his hair, and he certainly didn't look unhappy about being oppressed.
"I'm sorry I doubted you, master," Barty said quietly. "I shouldn't have. You are, like always, correct."
"But then what do you mean?" Harry asked.
Voldemort let go of Barty's hair, and of his arm as well, and Barty slumped forward with a bit of a grimace until his forehead collided with the side of Voldemort's thigh. Harry briefly entertained the notion of having his hair pulled but decided rather quickly that he'd rather try and pull Barty's hair like that instead.
"What I mean, Harry, is that you belong with me," Voldemort explained, but somehow… Harry could tell the man was searching for words he didn't have.
"But I am?" Harry clarified. "With you, I mean? I told you, I live here."
Voldemort groaned in frustration. "When I… think of a perfect world, I… no. Remember the Mirror of Erised?"
"Of course I do," Harry said uneasily because Quirrell burning beneath his hands was not his fondest memory.
"If I were to look into it right now, I would see myself as I am now, except I have absorbed the locket horcrux back into myself as well. Tom is there, too, doing his own thing but only an arm's length away, and you, Harry, stand beside me. And like that, I am whole again. I would never take my soul out of you, but if I feasibly could, I would eat you up and have you live within my rib cage so I can always keep an eye on you."
Harry stared. He didn't know what kind of declaration this was, but it definitely was one, and he felt… beyond touched?
"Is that why I'm always drawn to you?" Harry asked. "No, it has to be. You're only complete when I'm there. That's why you like keeping me close."
"The whole longs for the part just as much as the part longs for the whole," Voldemort mused with a small quirk of his lip. "Ah, but worry not, Barty. In my mirror vision, you would be right where you are now—right where you belong."
"At your feet?" Barty asked from where he was still leaning heavily against Voldemort's leg.
"Precisely," Voldemort all but purred, and Harry couldn't help but get up and move around the table.
This time, he didn't hesitate before plopping himself down—but he kinda lost his nerve and settled on the armrest instead of on Voldemort's lap. Apparently, that wasn't enough for the man though because he pulled at Harry with hands and magic until he toppled over and landed on Voldemort's lap anyway.
"And that is what you want?" Harry asked and put his arm behind Voldemort's neck to hold onto the man.
He managed to sound a lot more confident than he felt, and Voldemort's eyebrows rose. "Getting cocky, are we?"
"Comes with the company," Harry laughed and put his other hand on Voldemort's chest—warm, firm, human.
"Mh," Voldemort allowed, "I've never done well with authority."
The unvoiced implication that Harry was, in a way, just like him, wasn't lost on Harry. Like this though, so very close to Voldemort, he found he didn't much mind being a part of something, or someone, this great.
"And?" Harry asked again, and he dared make eye contact with Voldemort from this up close.
The man's red eyes, reserved and closed off more often than not, shone now as if illuminated by a light from within. "And what?"
"Is this to your liking?"
"Ah, yes," Voldemort answered with a smug sort of grin. "Everything is as it should be."
Harry felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth as well until he was grinning, and he quickly ducked his head. "That's good. That you like it, I mean, because I like it, too. And… you. I like you, too."
"I can tell," Voldemort replied before breaking eye contact.
He looked down at Barty who was still kneeling next to Voldemort's legs, and his own legs as well, he supposed, and Harry frowned. Did he like this? Having Barty kneel like that?
"Barty," Voldemort said, and Barty looked up obediently.
There was a flush on the man's cheeks, but he looked conflicted. To Harry's (and Barty's) surprise, Voldemort reached out and grabbed Barty's chin. It wasn't tender, but it also wasn't bruising. Harry would have described it as possessive, which seemed to be something Voldemort was big on.
"Are you afraid of me stealing your little treasure, Barty?" Voldemort asked, and his voice was sweet as honey. "Do you think I am that kind of person?"
Barty trembled in Voldemort's grip. His hands were clutching the fabric of his own robes over his thighs, and he could meet neither Harry's nor Voldemort's gaze.
"No, master," Barty whispered. "You are good, and just, and I… trust in your judgment."
"What do you think, Harry?" Voldemort asked in Parseltongue. "Could you get used to people kneeling to you?"
Harry considered that question. He also wondered why Barty was not allowed to know what they were talking about. Was this another test? But for him, or for Barty?
"This is Barty," Harry answered slowly, "not people. I could get used to Barty kneeling in front of me if that's what he likes, but I don't think I want to force people to kneel? That's… that's unfair, isn't it?"
"Is it unfair?" Voldemort asked and wrapped an arm around Harry's waist to hold him close and whisper in his ear. "Or is it just the natural order of things?"
Harry shivered, and he felt goosebumps rise on his arms and neck. "The natural order of things?"
"We are immortal, you and I, and I am the most powerful wizard in the world. I wield a legendary wand, and my followers will be ever growing in numbers from this day onwards," Voldemort hissed gleefully. "Am I not more than any other wizard? Is that not why people revere me and fear me in equal parts?"
Terrible, yes, but great.
Harry trembled, but then he made himself stop—he sighed and let his body relax. When he allowed himself to sag back into Voldemort's embrace, he let his head loll onto the man's shoulder to stare at the white, stucco ceiling.
"That's not why Barty likes you though," Harry told him. "That's not why I like you either. We like you because you care for us, and give us a home, and because you're funny in a dark humour kinda way."
Voldemort scoffed. "Only the two of you would argue that me being nice to them is the reason for your… fondness for me. Everyone else rightfully thinks me a monster."
"But you're not," Harry argued. "You're a man. You're made of blood, flesh and bone like the rest of us—I was there, I know it's true. I feel your heart beating, and… since I'm a part of you, I know you're capable of love. As… cliché as that may sound."
Voldemort laughed, but it wasn't mocking. Rather, he sounded amused, and a little self-deprecating. "To think a part of me has such wisdom in these matters."
"Wisdom? I'm flying by the seat of my pants," Harry laughed. "I've never loved anyone before Barty, so I'm really just a novice."
"Harry," Barty whispered hoarsely.
Voldemort was still holding onto Barty's chin, and the man shook his hand a little to make Barty look up at them.
Barty's blue eyes were wide. He looked… fearful, but in an anticipatory way. Harry noticed that Barty's pupils were wide, too, and his breathing was a little ragged.
"Are you afraid of Voldemort, Barty?" Harry asked.
"I'd be a fool if I wasn't," Barty replied with a small laugh.
"And are you afraid of me?"
Barty stopped his nervous laugh and swallowed. He tried moving his head, but Voldemort's hold on his chin was unforgiving. Barty looked very handsome like this, Harry decided—a little desperate, very flushed, and altogether just… nice to look at.
"Sometimes, when you're both together, I'm…" Barty broke off and seemed to look for the proper words. "Sometimes, I'm afraid of both of you. Especially… especially now, because the implications–"
"I enjoy your fear, Barty," Voldemort said in his smoothest voice, "but much more than that, I enjoy your reverence for me. Do not fear my every word and deed. I am strict with you, but only because you ask it of me again and again."
"I want to be better," Barty replied—rather cryptically, Harry thought.
"Better than what?" he asked.
"Not better than," Voldemort explained for him when Barty began to struggle. "Better in general. Barty longs to be enough, is that not right?"
"Enough for what?" Harry demanded to know because while a picture was beginning to form inside his head, he still felt like a couple pieces were missing to complete it.
"For you," Barty admitted quietly, and Harry frowned.
"But… I told you that I love you, didn't I?" Harry reached out and put his hand on Barty's cheek. Voldemort's and his own hand were touching each other on Barty's skin, and Harry's fingers twitched.
Barty bit his lip, and Harry liked seeing that. "I mean, for both of you," Barty clarified, and oh, yes, Harry was certain he understood now, especially with how Voldemort hissed and drew his hand back as if burned.
"Don't be mean," Harry chided him. "Barty has only given a voice to something we've discussed before."
"You what?" Voldemort asked, and for the first time, his voice sounded as high and breathy as it had while he'd been in that miserable golem form.
"We talked about this," Harry doubled down. "Only recently but… you know he loves you."
He added the last part in Parseltongue because Barty was sure to splutter and argue in mortification.
"I do," Voldemort admitted after a brief pause to seemingly collect his bearings. "I have known for… a while. That knowledge is what made me leave the relative safety of Albania. I knew that of all my followers, Barty never once renounced me, and never would."
"I told him that's why you came," Harry hissed and relaxed further back into Voldemort. "I told him you wouldn't have come back for anyone else. He was your only chance."
Barty shook his head. "It's… disconcerting for you to switch languages like this. I'm only getting half the information, and…"
"You get what I give you," Voldemort said, almost absent-mindedly, and Barty nodded his head faintly.
"Yes, master."
Harry's heartbeat quickened again. Voldemort's arm was still slung around his waist, and since his own arm was around Voldemort's shoulders and his neck, Harry pulled the man in closer until their cheeks touched. It felt incredibly intimate, but Voldemort was warm, and solid underneath him, and for the first time… Harry allowed himself to want that.
He wanted to be this close to Voldemort, and to have Barty kneel at their feet with his eyes full of love and loyalty.
So what if he was a part of Voldemort? The time he'd been without the man had been merely a small part of his life, and in the grand scheme of his dawning immortal life, that first year alone would mean nothing.
Immortality…
He became acutely aware of Voldemort's breath next to his ear, so he turned his face around to the man. Voldemort turned to face him as well, and Harry nervously licked his lips.
"What is going on in that head of yours, Harry Potter?" Voldemort asked.
"I am a part of you," Harry whispered into the negative space between their lips. "And I've finally realised what you mean by coming home."
"And what–"
Despite his heart threatening to burst from his chest with anticipation, Harry leaned forward and kissed those soft lips he'd been dreaming about more and more lately.
"Oh fuck," Barty whimpered from where he was kneeling, so Harry instinctively moved his hand from the man's cheek to his hair to pull at it—an echo of Voldemort's relentless grasp.
Voldemort, for his part, seemed to have gotten over his initial shock because with an uncharacteristic growl, he grabbed both sides of Harry's face with his large hands and deepened their kiss so forcefully that Harry's breath was knocked straight out of him.
Kissing Voldemort, Harry decided, was like everything he liked about the man, only more. Voldemort made him feel small, and safe, and not for the first time, Harry realised that these two men had done more for him in the past year than everyone else combined in all the years that he'd spent alone before meeting them.
But more than anything, kissing Voldemort was like standing in the eye of the storm. No matter the destruction that raged around them—here, within Voldemort's arms, he was going to be safe because Voldemort was the storm.
They parted, and Harry gasped for air. "Fuck," he muttered, and then again, "fuck."
Voldemort's pupils, black in a sea of red, slits though they were, were blown wide.
"Mh," Voldemort hummed like the cat that got the cream and pinned Harry's gaze in place with an intense look. "Now watch me."
Harry watched from the corner of his eye how Voldemort reached for Barty. When a large hand closed over his own, still clutching Barty's hair, Harry heard Barty whimper again when Voldemort's long fingers buried themselves in his hair as well.
Voldemort pulled, and Barty let himself be pulled until he had to lean on an armrest with both hands. Barty and Voldemort's faces were close to each other, too close, but Voldemort was still looking at Harry.
Fuck. He was asking for permission, Harry realised, so he nodded breathlessly. "Do it, yes," he whispered. "He wants to be devoured by you, so… devour him."
Voldemort's grin turned almost feral, and when he finally turned away from Harry, his eyes met Barty's. The other man looked frightened, but in a good way, Harry supposed, and Voldemort crashed their mouths together.
Barty whimpered into the kiss, and Harry couldn't take his eyes off the way Voldemort's teeth pulled at Barty's bottom lip.
"Yes," he found himself whispering, because Barty deserved to have this, and because apparently, Voldemort liked them enough to entertain the notion of kissing both of them, and then actually following through.
Harry made to let go of Barty's hair, but Voldemort's hand over his only tightened its grip. So Harry watched Barty melt into Voldemort, and he was reasonably sure that if Voldemort asked Barty to share Harry's promised space inside his ribcage, he would have agreed in a heartbeat.
When they, too, parted, Barty's lips were red. Redder still was his face, and his eyes were hooded in a mixture of pleasure and worship.
"If that's what you call devour," Harry grinned, "then I suppose you need more practice."
Voldemort hummed in response. The man's lips were pinker than usual, and his pale cheeks had some colour to them. "I suppose I do," he muttered darkly. "So is this what you truly want, Harry? And you, Barty? I am not a… kind man, nor am I forgiving. I expect great things from myself, and in return from those close to me as well."
"If helping you take over Magical Britain is what it takes to get more kisses like that, I'm in," Harry agreed instantly.
He had kissed Voldemort. He had kissed Voldemort, and the man had reciprocated and wanted to do it again.
"Seventeen years, master," Barty whispered. They'd let go of his hair and he was back to kneeling, but he was looking up without being prompted this time. "That's how long I've been waiting for this moment. I'm, I want this, I've always wanted this—I'll burn down the world for you, either of you, if that's what it takes to keep you."
Harry felt his heart burst with love for the silly man kneeling in front of him. "You already started today, Barty, and I love you for it."
"I love you too, Harry," Barty replied earnestly, and Harry leaned down until they could share a sweet, slow kiss between them—all soft lips, and gentle caresses.
Voldemort's arm tightened around Harry's waist when they parted, and his other hand engulfed the side of Barty's face.
"Then it is decided," the man said with a voice so dark that if Harry hadn't known what they were talking about, he would have guessed that Voldemort had just completed some kind of dark magic ritual. "Never once ask to be free of me completely, because I will oblige you."
He looked at Harry and Barty in turn with a stern expression, but all Harry could see was little Tommy in his knickerbockers with his wardrobe on fire.
"I won't ever abandon you," Harry promised, and because he'd decided to embrace the part of him he hadn't known about, he added: "We are one, you and I. You won't get rid of me that easily."
"For what it's worth," Barty continued from where Harry had left of, a little self-conscious, "thirteen years someone else's slave have taught me that I want to serve no one but you, master. Say jump, I jump. Say fight, I fight. Say die… and I will. I'm yours—I've always been yours."
"You won't die," Harry declared. "Not ever. He'll never tell you to die, and I promised to protect you."
"I will not tell you to die," Voldemort agreed. His expression was still hard, but Harry had an inkling that if the man wasn't playing at being strict and in control right now, he just might become overly emotional. "You may not be a part of me, Barty, but you belong to me nonetheless. I will not let you go."
"Thank you, master," Barty replied with a suspiciously wobbly voice, and he had to avert his gaze and rest his forehead once again against Voldemort's thigh.
If Barty needed a bit of a cry, Harry was one hundred percent down to let him have it and turned to Voldemort instead. "You look pretty hot, you know? Like. Proper handsome. I've been dying to tell you that."
Voldemort's lip did that thing where it curled up at the edge, and then he took Harry's face in his hands, pulled him in close, and kissed him again.
"Why thank you, Harry," he purred when he let Harry breathe again. "It ought to go without saying, but I would touch neither of you with the intent to give pleasure if you were not pleasing to the eye."
And that, Harry supposed, was as far as Voldemort was able to go to call Barty and him handsome for now. And really? It was enough.
He laughed, and then he leaned forward to steal another small kiss from the man.
"I won't make you regret this," he promised.
Voldemort inclined his head and held Harry's gaze. "I know you won't, my little horcrux."