Amsterdam

by Hiruko_chan

Summary:

Harriet Potter did not expect to find herself faced with Voldemort's giant snake when she follows Bathilda Bagshot to her home on Christmas Eve after many exhausting weeks on the run.

But what if she can't escape this time?

What if Voldemort knows something that makes her that much more precious to him?

Notes:

Read the tags guys! I feel like everytime I write Voldemort he gets worse 💀

Chapter 1: Caught

Harriet does not have the best survival instinct. She’d never argue against that. It was the one thing she did not fight Snape on during their horrible Occlumency lessons. Though Snape’s wording had been meaner, each letter was like a knife cutting deeper into her skin, meant to destroy her. That’s just how Snape is and now that she witnessed him murder Dumbledore, Harrie knows all the little things about Snape that made her stomach churn were those crumbling remnants of a survival instinct she never really developed.

Perhaps it was the closet.

Living in a closet must have messed her up good.

Perhaps her mind wandering to her lack of survival instinct as she climbs up the narrow, steep stairs in a stranger's house that smells like foul food, mould and piss should be a warning. The small hairs at Harrie’s nape are standing straight, sending prickling shivers down her spine. She is clutching her wand, digging her blunt, ragged nails into the soft wood of the grip.

This might just displace that time the Dursleys locked her in her closet over Christmas as the worst Christmas ever.

Bathilda Bagshot is wheezing, struggling to climb up the stairs and Harrie wonders why she is living alone when it’s clearly so difficult for her to get around her own home? How old can wizards get? Harrie never truly thought about that…she knew Dumbledore was ancient but she has no idea when he was born. She doesn’t know anything about him really and yet here she is, hunting Horcruxes because he told her to. Because when Dumbledore says jump, Harrie asks how high.

She grits her teeth. 

These days those hateful thoughts towards her late mentor are a constant companion of hers. The thoughts are quieter when she is not wearing the Horcrux but today is her turn.

The silver frame with the picture of the golden-haired, merry-faced thief digs into her side. She haphazardly slipped it into her jacket when Bagshot and Hermione weren’t looking.

Harrie wishes Ron were here. A dark, bitter joke is tingling at the tip of Harrie’s tongue. Hermione only berates her when Harrie makes such jokes but Ron laughs. He gets her in a way Hermione never does. Hermione is great. Harrie loves her. She’s like the sister Harrie would dream about in her dusty closet among the spiders that were her only visitors. But Ron is her best friend. Harrie misses her best friend.

She can feel the cold gold of the locket on her chest. She hates how long the chain of it is. It keeps slipping inside her sports bra where it lies nestled between her breasts. She doesn’t want anything of Voldemort’s to touch her and here she is climbing these horrible stairs with a piece of his soul between her tits!

At least she knows this one was not created with her parents’ murder…

Harrie draws in a shaky breath, involuntarily swallowing a mouthful of the damp, disgusting air. One would think possessing magic would make cleaning easy…

Harrie’s eyes flick over her surroundings, taking in the dusty, decayed plants that once were no doubt meant to decorate the landing but now seem horribly prophetic.

Harrie is so tired.

She’s been running for so long. Always on guard, always expecting the unexpected as Fake-Moody taught her. Isn’t it ironic that Harrie is using what one of Voldemort’s most loyal Death Eaters taught her to evade him?

The low-ceiling bedroom is pitch-black and smells rancid. Worse than the rest of the house. Harrie struggles to not gag. Bagshot closes the door.

“Lumos.” Her voice is shaking. She has a terrible feeling about this. In the back of her head, she can hear Snape sneering at her for being so stupid as to even come here. But Bagshot must have the sword of Gryffindor, right?

Why else would the locket beneath Harrie’s shirt be pulsing like this?

“Are you Potter?” Bagshot whispers. So she can speak.

“Yes. I’m her.” The Horcrux is pulsing faster, faster than her own heart, unnerving Harrie to no end. “Do you have anything for me? Did Dumbledore give you something for me?”

Harrie’s scar throbs, a pain big enough to split her forehead in two courses through her entire body, seeps into her veins as though it longs to be part of her blood, her very being. Joy, like one Harrie has not felt in years, makes her heart beat higher. The disgusting room dissolves around Harrie for a split second.

Hold her, a high-pitched voice says, or does Harrie? She can’t tell.

She sways on the spot, her non-dominant hand pressed to her scar, wheezing and struggling for air-

“Over here.” Bagshot whispered. Harrie is still struggling to get her mind in order. Without thinking about it, she squeezes herself past the frail woman and the unmade bed. Her eyes rake over the pile of foul-smelling clothes carelessly discarded there, searching desperately for a glimmer of metal, for shining rubies. It’s been years since Harrie wielded the sword of Gryffindor against the Basilik of Salazar Slytherin but she’ll never again forget how it looks.

Harrie freezes.

Bile rises in her throat, makes her gag and almost spills the half-digested, barely edible mushrooms Hermione made for lunch, all over the pile of clothes.

A snake, a fucking snake is slithering out of Bagshot's mouth, so huge it tears through the frail witch’s head. There is no blood, only a foul, stomach-turning smell.

Bagshot’s dead body falls to the ground and crumbles to dust. Harrie is as though petrified, like the snake was in truth a Basilisk and Harrie did not look away quickly enough.

Nagini strikes.

Harrie is thrown backwards. The back of her head hits the wall. Her brain feels like it’s doing cartwheels in her skull. White spots dance over her field of vision. The chain of the Horcrux around her throat tightens.

“Harrie?” Hermione calls from downstairs. Harrie has her fingers looped under the gold chain, trying to pry it away from her windpipe while Nagini coils her massive body around her.

“RUN!” How she manages to get those words out, Harrie has no idea. “AMSTERDAM!”

Harrie’s vision blurs.

 

“We need a safeword.” Hermione is sitting crossed-legged by a flickering fire. There is no scar on her jaw from the time Harrie might have accidentally struck her while playing with a knife. Her smile still reaches her eyes.

Ron is lying in the grass next to her, his hands intertwined behind his head. A single blade of grass between his lips, he basks in the fading warmth of the sinking sun.

“Kinky.”

“Not like that!” Hermione hisses and slaps his shoulder. Her cheeks tinge red. Harrie’s do too. She heard them last night. They must have thought Harrie was asleep or perhaps they forgot the silencing charm. Harrie is glad they find some comfort in each other in these times. Ron was grouchy after the Ministry. He isn’t anymore.

“Why a safeword?” Harrie asks. A spider is crawling over the back of her hand. Harrie puts her other hand next to it, giving the creature a place to go.

“That at the Ministry was too damn close for comfort.” Hermione says sullenly. She stirs the pasta boiling over the fire. Harrie stole it from a store while wearing the invisibility cloak. She told Hermione she paid for it. She didn’t. Harrie learnt how to steal food when the canned peas went up in price by five pence. Harrie was sick of eating peas anyway. 

“We need a safeword for when a situation is so hopeless-” Hermione’s voice cracks. “I don’t want you rushing into danger to save me when there is no saving. If I have to die I’d rather know you won’t die with me.”

“‘Mione-” Ron sits up. The blade of grass tumbles down the front of his shirt. “We would never leave you behind!”

“Exactly.” Her expression darkens.

They have never talked about death before this…

Harrie hates how much she agrees with Hermione.

“It’s just logic.” Harrie says bitterly and tears a chunk of grass out. “You-know-who wants me. If we all die, who is going to hunt Horcruxes then? I’m in favour of the safeword. It’s only for the most dire situations, right?”

Hermione nods.

“What shall we use then?” Ron asks. Harrie seldom hears her friend so serious and she hates it. It makes her nape prickle. But this is serious.

“Amsterdam.” Harrie whispers. “Amsterdam and when this war is over, we’ll go there. A long vacation where everyone can suck it and we get drunk and get high and do whatever the fuck we want.”

Ron grins. “I like the sound of that.”

“But we have to swear.” Hermione interrupts him. “We have to swear, we’ll listen to the safeword. We will honour it and run and not look back. Everything depends on it.”

Harrie stretches out her hand, palm up, determination in her bright green eyes. Hermione puts her on top of it and Ron encases both of them with his own.

They look each other in the eyes.

“I swear.”

 

Tight.

Harrie feels like she’s stuck mid-way through an Apparition.

She groans and slowly peels her eyes open. Her neck feels wet. Her hair sticks to her nape.

There’s a hiss next to her ear.

Nagini is coiled tightly around Harrie. Her forked tongue scents the air, flicks over Harrie’s ear, makes her shudder.

“Hold you…hold you…” The snake hisses.

Harrie’s wand lies broken next to her head. Her loyal phoenix wand. Her entrance card to the world of wizards, a world she pictured would take her far far away from her horrible relatives and the cruelty of her classmates.

She can’t hold back the sob wrenching free of her throat.

“Now now, Harriet.”

She freezes.

“No-”

“Did you think you could run forever?”

Harrie bites the inside of her cheek, a weak attempt to appear stronger than she is. Braver.

Where’s the foolish Gryffindor valour, as Snape always called it, when she needs it most?

Voldemort steps forward. His robes slide over the ground with a soft swishing noise. The serpentine face that has been haunting Harrie in her nightmares and dreams alike since the graveyard appears in her field of vision. Greedy, crimson eyes peer down at her. Slit nostrils flare. The clusters of iridescent scales scattered over his skin shimmer in the gold light coming from glowing orbs floating around the monster that took her parents.

“Hold her…” Nagini hisses again.

“You did well.” Voldemort’s eyes are gleaming like that of a little child finding gifts stacked under the Christmas tree on Christmas morning.

Another sob wrenches free of Harrie. A lone tear spills down her cheek.

Voldemort pouts, playfully, taunting. “Are you not happy to see me?” He lifts his foot, sets it against her cheek, pressing her head down on the rotten floorboards. Harrie screams, involuntarily. The back of her head hurts. Her scar hurts. Nagini’s body wrapped around her, hurts.

“I know you’ve been hunting my Horcruxes.” He says softly. His foot applies more pressure to her head and therefore to the wound on the back of it. “Did you really think a little girl would be able to thwart me? Me? Lord Voldemort?”

“Kill me! Fucking kill me then and get it over with!”

“Oh, I will not kill you. You see…I learnt something truly fascinating.” Voldemort takes a step back from her. Harrie is forced up, into a kneeling position as though strung up by invisible ropes. Nagini moves with her. Her tail wraps around her leg, securing her ankle to her thigh, and then coils around her stomach, spreading her leg forcibly to the side in an uncomfortable position for more than one reason. The snake’s massive body coils around her torso two more times, once underneath her chest and once right above it, before wrapping the rest of herself around Harrie’s arms, securing them behind her bleeding head.

Voldemort looks around the room in disgust. He flicks his wand. The orbs of light zap towards old gas lamps. The rotting floorboards seem to be put back in time. Harrie can watch them going from rotten and cracked, back to pristine and polished. The clothes scattered about vanish and the holes in the curtains knit together.

A golden, regal chair appears by the door. Voldemort sinks down on it, playing with his wand while the rest of the room returns to how it must have looked like many years ago.

The dust of Bagshot’s corpse disappears as well.

Harrie’s broken wand stays.

“My dear Severus has been keeping secrets from me.”

Harrie glares at Voldemort, putting all her hatred for the monster in it, perhaps if she stares at him enough his head will explode. Voldemort chuckles, as though amused by her thoughts of murder.

“You see, what I thought to be the final proof of his loyalty and trust to me, really turned out to be an elaborate scheme created by him and Dumbledore. But no one fools Lord Voldemort.”

“Snape killed Dumbledore!” Harrie spits.

“He did.” Voldemort seems delighted Harrie chose to join the conversation. “But he did so on Dumbledore’s orders. Not mine. It turns out Bellatrix was right and Severus nothing but a filthy traitor.” His eyes blaze at the word. He bears his fangs at Harrie and she winces. She didn’t know Voldemort has fangs. She doesn’t make it a habit to stare at the monster’s face like this.

Harrie shakes her head. “Snape betrayed Dumbledore.”

“That’s what we were supposed to think. Isn’t it terrible how much pain Dumbledore puts you through while claiming to care for you?”

“Dumbledore did care!”

“Did he? Did he not make you attend a tournament meant for much older, more advanced wizards and witches when you were merely fourteen? Did he not stand by and watch those words be cut into your hand?”

“I never told him about Umbridge.” Why does she feel the need to defend Dumbledore? Why defend him to Voldemort of all people? Why talk to him at all? He’s going to kill her but first, he wants to hurt her. Why play along with his fucked up game?

“Aww, but Harrie, he knew.” There’s nothing but pure, dark, cruel wickedness in those eyes. “Severus saw the scars and he told Dumbledore and Dumbledore chose to do nothing. He allowed for you to continue getting tortured.”

“No-”

“Severus has been trying to protect you your whole life. He tried to protect you from me. He was going to give you the sword of Gryffindor any day now. He was just trying to find out where you are.”

“No-”

“Did you know Severus loved your mother? That he saw a sister in her? That he betrayed me to save her and you? That he would spend his days picturing how life would have been had he not joined me? Had you grown up with him as your godfather? Your mother wanted to make him your godfather, not the disgraceful blood traitor.”

“You’re a fucking liar why would I believe a single word from your wretched lips?!” Harrie squirms, trying to break free from the snake but Nagini’s muscular body is strong. Too strong. Humans have between 700 and 800 muscles in their entire body. Snakes have 10,000 to 15,000. To think Harrie once loved snakes…

“Lily-”

“DON’T YOU FUCKING DARE SAY HER NAME YOU VILE PIECE OF SHIT!”

Voldemort laughs. Laughs right in the face of her hatred as if she told him a joke. Nagini’s body shifts, scales slide along her skin, over her cheek, covers her mouth. Harrie screams, tries to wiggle free but that only threatens her with suffocation when the snake tightens her grip. Perhaps being choked by the snake is better than listening to Voldemort's fucking speech.

“Lily still believed in the good in him, even when I stood before her. I was wholly intending to let her step aside and be Severus’ little mud blood slut.” He clicks his tongue. “Well, she was right in the end.”

Harrie tries to shake her head. Snape is not- Snape didn’t- what reason would he have to protect Harrie. No- she might have believed that lie from Dumbledore years ago but Snape was too cruel- too horrible in the time before murdering Dumbledore in front of her eyes-

It doesn’t matter now though, does it? Whatever the truth is, Snape is dead now and she will be soon too.

“I did not kill Severus, Harrie.” Voldemort slips his wand up his sleeve. The slit pupils rake over Harrie. Her stomach clenches in frightened anticipation. “No. I will not let a traitor off that easily. He wishes he were dead though, I can assure you that.” Wrath flickers in the crimson, two glowing red dots focused entirely and only on her. “But we were talking about Dumbledore.”

Harrie doesn’t want to talk at all. Death is a mercy at this point. Harrie has endured enough. She is tired. She is done.

Voldemort’s eye twitches. “You will not know death, my dear Harriet. You will never know death.”

She goes back to trying to explode his head with her mind. His words don’t even fully register with her.

“Dumbledore wanted you to die.”

Liar. He’s a liar. He is a monster and murderer and a liar.

“He raised you like a pig for slaughter.”

Lies lies lies.

“He wanted you to walk into death willingly, to die at my hand.”

It’s not true. Not true. Dumbledore regarded her like a granddaughter. He told her. He loved her.

“For he knew that a piece of my soul lives inside of you.”

 

 

The sun explodes.

The planet she has lived on her entire life shatters into a thousand pieces.

Time itself stops.

Up is down, and down is up.

 

 

A piece of my soul lives inside you.

 

***

 

Voldemort is watching Harrie’s reeling mind with twisted pleasure dancing over his serpentine features, watching the girl’s world crumble around her and her rise in the ashes like a phoenix, forced to face a new reality.

He can see a part of her spirit die, right there, trapped in the grasp of his loyal Nagini.

At a subtle nudge from Voldemort’s mind, Nagini releases the girl’s mouth.

She slumps in the snake’s grasp.

“No.” She whispers. Broken.

“Yesss.” He hisses, slipping into Parseltongue at the end. She jerks at the sound of it, realises Voldemort’s words are true because why else would she be able to speak that language? Why can she feel his emotions? Why can she see into his mind?

Tears well in her bright green eyes. She sobs.

She’s pathetic.

She’s glorious.

She’s his.

“Dumbledore never intended for you to survive the war.”

Voldemort rises elegantly from his chair. The girl flinches, twists her head to the side, away from him, trying to escape him. As if it would be enough to simply look away from him.

He grasps her chin, gently, affectionate almost. He forces her to look up at him. His little Horcrux, kneeling at his feet, shivering like a leaf, terrified and disgusted of herself. She’ll learn to love him.

Dumbledore has always falsely assumed that Voldemort regards all love as useless but that is not quite true. Voldemort knows exactly how to inspire the only useful type of love in people and how to twist it into something darker, something depraved and wicked, something that binds people to him for the rest of their pathetic lives. How to make them yearn for his affection and fear to lose it forever. How to make them willing to commit the most heinous acts for a mere smile from his lips.

It worked beautifully with Bellatrix.

And it’ll work just as beautifully with Harriet.

She is already broken and she is already bound to him more intimately than any human ever will be.

Voldemort drags his thumb over Harrie’s bottom lip. A delicious shiver goes through her.

“You’re mine, little Horcrux.” He says solemnly. “You’ve always been.” He roughly pushes unruly curls away from her forehead to reveal the lightning scar to him. He shoves his thumb past her lips and curls his fingers under her chin, holds her head in place like that and traces the edges of the scar he gave her.

“I’m not.” She hisses. Her voice sounds muffled by tears and barely held back sobs but there is strength in her words too. Strength she no doubt takes from his soul nestled inside her body.

A grin splits Voldemort’s thoughtful expression. He yanks her head back, leers down at her.

“Oh yes you are, and you’ll know it too once I am done with you.”

 

***

 

Once I am done with you.

The words echo in Harrie’s mind.

How ironic that this is the first time Harrie’s mind is truly empty, empty apart from those sinister words bouncing around her skull like the screensaver from Dudley’s computer.

Her bottom lip is quivering. There’s nothing she can do against that.

She is pushed down to the ground. She can feel Voldemort’s hands on her, tearing at her clothes beneath the muscular body of his snake.

She knows what is going to happen.

She knows it and she can’t run, can’t fight. Her right leg is pinned to the side by Nagini, spread obscenely for Voldemort. Her hands are behind her head, presenting her chest to the maniac who’s ripping her shirt with his bare hands. His long nails scrape over her skin, make her shudder, make nausea well up inside her. 

“I must thank you for retrieving this for me.” Voldemort chuckles. He cradles the locket between his spidery fingers. He puts it on Harrie’s cheek, keeps it there by spreading his hand over the chain resting against the side of her face.

A wave of magic encases her, followed by cold air nipping on her now naked skin.

Harrie whimpers.

She can’t help it.

“I was unaware Regulus betrayed me albeit it was not a big loss. The boy never did reach his potential. So whiny.”

Voldemort’s hand explores her body and there is nothing Harrie can do.

It does not feel like the time she was snogging with Cedric, when he pulled back ever so slightly to whisper a gentle may I against her lips as his fingers played with the hem of her blouse.

Voldemort’s hand is much larger, cold and he does not care that his sharp nails dig into her flesh. He gropes her breasts greedily, crimson eyes flicking from the locket against her cheeks, to her small breasts.

His nails drag along her belly, down, down, coaxing one terrified whimper after another from Harrie. They skim over her mound and Harrie almost cries out in terror.

This is not how it was supposed to be.

This is not how Harrie pictured losing her virginity.

She pictured Cedric.

She pictured Sirius and she felt disgusted for it and then imagined both Sirius and Remus and felt even worse.

For a brief time, she pictured the Half-blood Prince and then in the early days camping after the Ministry, her mind kept wandering towards Snape.

She did not picture monstrous hands seeking to take, take and possess and destroy with not a single care for her beyond the piece of Voldemort’s soul she has been living with for years without knowing.

Voldemort’s fangs caress her hardened nipples. Tears stream down Harrie’s cheeks. She keeps waiting for him to bite. To tear. To draw blood. To kill.

His softness is more unnerving than any brutal rape would have been.

Does he want her to beg?

Perhaps. It would fit his sick games.

“My soul.”

Harrie bites her lips, hard, sinking her teeth deeper and deeper into her skin to distract herself from the feeling of Voldemort’s hand and lips. From the tingling shivers, he forces from her body. From how her cunt betrays her by getting wet. Getting wet for the murderer of her parents. For a literal fucking monster.

The Horcrux pulses against her cheek. Pulses like Fred’s cock did when Harrie wanked him off because she wanted to know how it would feel to hold a cock. Or like George’s when she sucked him off.

It disgusts her.

Voldemort trails down her body, caresses Nagini while he does Harrie. His hand leaves her cheek. The locket slips down her face, lands in the hollow of her eye. Harrie wants to shake her head to get rid of it but she is too terrified to move.

Voldemort wraps his skeletal fingers around her throat. She emits a panicked squeak, a sound she did not consent to just like the rest of what is happening to her.

Voldemort licks her stomach. His forked tongue feels disgusting on her skin. Almost like two tongues are sliding over her, slimy and disturbing.

And hot.

So hot.

Harrie gasps. Squirms because she can feel the wetness between her legs and it disturbs her too but she can’t escape it. Nor the heat building inside her.

Voldemort hums, sounding deeply pleased. It sounds like a praise. It makes her want to throw up and close her thigh around his hips to pull him closer. Both at once.

She hates herself.

Voldemort puts his hands on her thighs, draws them apart further, leering down at the sight unfolding before him, at the debauched, filthy, pornographic sight Harrie must be giving him. Bound by a fucking snake, shivering, skin pebbled with goosebumps all over and wet. Drenched. For him.

Voldemort parts his robes, opens his trousers underneath, casually, unhurried. Like he has all the time in the world and he fucking does, doesn’t he? He is immortal. Harrie is making him immortal. Does that make her immortal too? Can a Horcrux die?

“They cannot.” Voldemort grins. “You will never know death, my little Horcrux.”

She’ll never know death-

Harrie doubts the full implications of those worlds could ever truly sink in, in her current situation.

“You’ll be mine forever.”

She wants to shout and scream, hiss at him that she’ll never be his but - perhaps for the first time in her life - she hesitates. Running with her head through the wall has never worked. It has only ever gotten her deeper into trouble and this time - this time there is no backup coming to save her. No Snape who has apparently always been trying to protect her. No Dumbledore. She said the safeword so Hermione isn’t coming back. She has no idea where Ron is-

Voldemort rubs his thumb over her clit.

Harrie whimpers, arches her back at the sudden pressure.

“I know where your little blood traitor friend is.” He is grinning again, baring his fangs to her. “My Snatchers found him two weeks ago. He withstood my torture valiantly.” Voldemort draws small circles over her clit, forcing more and more pleasure onto her. “He would not betray you. I gave him to Bellatrix. He bored me.”

Tears blur Harrie’s vision while pleasure assaults her mind. Pictures of Ron being tortured by Bellatrix force their way into her mind.

“My guess is he’s dead by now. Bellatrix is like a cat with her toys. One sharp tug-” His voice goes up playfully, as though he takes delight in the very word. “-and they lose their heads.”

“You’re a fucking monster.” Harrie says between gritted teeth, fighting pleasure and grief, fear and the steadily building desire inside her-

Voldemort presses down on her clit. A shudder wrenches through her, makes her twitch like a fish on land underneath Voldemort and his fucking snake. Her moan sounds loud in the small room.

“A monster that just made you cum, what does that say about you, my little Horcrux?”

He braces his hands against the floor on either side of Harrie'd head, grins down at her. Like a predator enjoying toying with his prey.

“I’ll give you a choice.” He says with a sickly-sweet tone. “Lord Voldemort is a gracious and merciful lord. He understands you were made a puppet by Dumbledore. You never stood a chance. He made you a soldier and trained you to hate me, me your creator.”

Harrie bites her tongue to not insult him. That would only serve to make everything so much worse.

He draws himself back up, sticks a hand into his trousers. Harrie does not want to see his crusty little micro-cock! She doesn’t want to see any part of his-

Oh fuck-

What the fuck is that thing?!

Harrie gulps.

Voldemort holds not one but two cocks in his hand, one lying above the other and Harrie remembers the many books she read about snakes as a child because she loved snakes as a child but now she can feel the last trickles of her love for them evaporate inside her.

His cocks are covered in spikes.

Rationally Harrie knows the function of those on a snake. She rationally knows they are soft and rubbery and meant to give pleasure to female snakes because unlike in many other species, female snakes are bigger and need to be seduced. And held in place.

Rationality has no room in her mind, displaced by sheer, blind, raging panic.

“Shh shh shh.” Voldemort clicks his tongue, grabs her thighs and pins it to the ground when she tries to wiggle away from him. “I can make it good for you, Harrie.” He says softly and that freaks Harrie out even more. He lets go of her thighs to bend over her once more. His freakish monster cocks rest against her stomach. Harrie squeaks. Voldemort holds her neck, rubbing his thumb over the hollow of her throat.

“I can make it good for you, Harrie or I can tear you open. It is your choice. All you have to do is ask.”

Liar liar liar - he’s a liar.

“Beg your master for mercy and he’ll grant it.”

Lies lies lies.

“You don’t have to hurt any more.”

Manipulative piece of shit.

He strokes her cheeks, brushes his lips over her jaw, deposits a tiny kiss against her quivering bottom lip.

“I don’t want to hurt you, my little Horcrux.”

Murdering bastard.

“Hasn’t Dumbledore put you through enough pain? Will you let the false pride he instilled in you put you through more agony?”

He is putting her through agony. Voldemort killed her parents. Killed Cedric. Killed Ron. Killed Dumbledore.

“P-please-” Harrie sobs. She can feel something break in her chest at the first sound leaving her lips. She’s a coward. An exhausted little girl who is tired of fighting.

“Please what, Harrie? Say it. Tell me exactly what you are begging for.”

The unnatural coldness of his body makes her shiver. The spikes of his cock dig into her stomach. He’s going to do this whether she begs or not.

Voldemort is going to fuck her.

He’s going to fuck her with his freakish barbed cocks.

There is nothing she can do against that. Does it make her a coward to seek an easier way? The path of less resistance? And if he is lying, well what then? It would leave only her pride hurt and what use is her pride to her now that her best friend is dead, her secret protector, Voldemort’s captive, her mentor dead-

She’s just an orphan.

She has no one.

“Please- pl- please make it good-”

“It’s important to address people properly, wouldn’t you agree? You can do better than that, Harrie. Beg your master.”

Harrie sobs. Her throat burns from the words he wants to force from her but Harrie is too terrified to not say them.

“Ple-please make it- it good, m-master-” Master. The word feels like acid on her tongue. Feels like he is rubbing his barbed cock over it.

“How pretty you sound, little Horcrux.” He hums. Harrie flinches, waits for the taunt, the mock, the ridicule that she actually begged him-

Voldemort opens his mouth, wide, baring his fangs and-

They sink into her throat.

Harrie screams, thrashes under him, screams at the pain exploding at the side of her neck, seeping deeper into her body-

Her vision blurs. The pain fades to heat heat heat-

Harrie gulps.

Voldemort pulls back, watches her face. A clear liquid drips off his fang, onto her cheek.

Venom?

Voldemort catches the drops on his thumb, pushes it past Harrie’s lips. Her tongue laps the bitter liquid off his skin all on its own. The moan rumbling in her throat happens without her cooperation as well. Voldemort pushes his thumb further into her mouth, past her teeth, until he knuckle-deep inside her, his hand curled around Harrie’s cheek.

She sucks on his thumb. Swirls her tongue around the digit eagerly. What the fuck is happening to her?

Her stomach twists and turns. Her hips buck, make a rolling motion, seeking friction. The cool air creeping in from outside brushes over her bare cunt, drives her wild. She needs- needs- touch- something- anything-

Harrie whines. A heart-wrenching, desperate, pained noise that reminds Harrie painfully of Mrs Figg's cats when they were in heat.

Tears prick in Harrie’s eyes.

Voldemort is still watching her sucking on his thumb, succumbing to whatever his venom does to her body.

“Mhh…tell me what you need, little Horcrux.”

“Nngh-” Harrie shakes her head, fights the heat burning her from the inside, melting her so that Voldemort can reform her into something else-

Harrie pants. She fights Nagini’s grip, bucks her hips, tries to close her legs. Sweat clings to her body like a second skin. Her skin is prickling, stinging, burning.

Her eyes roll to the back of her head. Her toes curl. Her muscles strain, contract. Her cunt pulses, throbs, aches. Her body is shaken by waves of pleasure, a pleasure so desperate it stings deep in her cunt.

She moans and sobs-

“What a little slut you are.” Voldemort chuckles. “A little virgin slut. You came just from my venom. How adorable.”

He kneads her breasts, toys with her nipples, draws out the crushing waves of pleasure.

Desire runs down Harrie’s thighs, drips on the floor. She is so wet, she can hear a squelching noise just from moving her hips.

Voldemort slaps her face. Hard. Her head is whipped to the side. Her skin explodes with a thousand pinpricks. He grabs her throat, squeezes. Harrie chokes. Struggles, fruitlessly tries to free her hands to pry his away from her throat.

He ignores it.

He knows Harrie will never escape Nagini’s grasp.

Harrie knows it too and still she fights.

Voldemort runs his fingers through her slick folds. The noise is filthy. Disgusting. He shows his fingers to Harrie, releases her throat to grip her chin and forces her to look at his fingers. They are  drenched . Dripping with her arousal. And he didn’t even put them inside her. Harrie is horrified. She knows this is the doing of whatever freaky fucking venom Voldemort equipped his body with during his resurrection. This is  not  her doing. That orgasm was  not  because she liked  any  of what is happening here.

“What a little slut.” He sneers and smears his finger all over Harrie’s cheek and lips, wiping them clean. “A little slut aching for my cocks.”

“No-” Harrie whimpers weakly. She doesn’t  want  his cocks-

But she needs them-

He aligns himself with her. Harrie panics. Is he not even going to prepare her? Is he just going to shove  that  inside her?

There’s a horrible squelching noise when the cockhead of the lower cock enters her, stretching her impossibly. Her body was not made to take that monster’s messed-up genitalia!

Harrie wants to scream but only a moan makes it out of her throat. Long, loud and shameless. 

Her hips roll into Voldemort, seeking more of him. His girth splits her right open, tears her open. The spikes rub against her inner walls, somewhere between painful and pleasurable. Harrie’s noises are a heaving mix of sobs and moans.

Voldemort grabs her thighs, hoists Harrie up and slams her against him, burying himself to the root inside her. Harrie screams. A quiver goes through her body. Her breasts bounce. The locket clanks against the floor.

He repeats the motion, thrusting into her while slamming her considerably smaller body into him.  Slap slap slap . Accompanied by the worst wet noises Harrie has ever heard. She cringes each time she hears it. Cringes at the feeling of her stick running down her skin.

Voldemort’s predatory crimson eyes never leave her face. She is distinctly aware of that even though her awareness for all else is melting away.

She is being reduced to a shivering puddle of pleasure and desire and distant pain. Pain that only serves to heighten all other feelings.

“Your virgin cunt is delightful, little Horcrux.” Voldemort leers. “She is clutching me so hard, keeps sucking me in. This is what you’ve been wanting all along, no?”

Harrie shakes her head. It’s all that she can still do. Heat is burning inside her. Her cunt is aching. Her thighs hurt from being stretched so far. Her clit throbs. She is a mass of overstimulated nerves and lust.

Voldemort pounds into her, makes her take his cock again and again. The pressure drives Harrie mad. The spikes bring her back to reality. She is being shoved between them, like that time Dudley and his friend made a circle around her and shoved her around and she couldn’t escape. She felt just as helpless then.

Her breasts bounce lewdly.

Her cunt flutters.

Her insides tighten.

She knows she is going to cum again and there is nothing she can do to prevent it.

She bites her lips, tries to muffle the hiccuping noise tumbling from her lip-

Slap .

Voldemort’s flat hand hits her cheek. Harrie cries out and then she is coming. Coming on Voldemort’s cock. Coming because her parents’ murderer slapped her. Coming and she isn’t stopping. Her whole body is shaking, writhing under the crushing force of her climax and she keeps coming while Voldemort keeps slamming his barbed cock inside her cunt. There’s a gush of liquid and Voldemort laughs darkly.

“The little slut can squirt.”

He slaps her cunt, causing Harrie to wince away from him and pulls out of her. He grabs her hips, flips her around. Nagini coils around her. The glide of smooth scales over her heated, sensitive skin has her whimpering. Her legs are forcibly spread by the serpent, not that Harrie needs much force at this point. The aching, burning,  deadly  need inside her is swelling and swelling with every second she doesn’t have Voldemort inside her. She legitimately fears she might die if he doesn’t fill her soon.

Nagini slithers over the floor beneath her, settles over Harrie’s arms, pinning them down. Her forked tongue tickles Harrie’s skin.

Voldemort is groping her arse, kneading her flesh, digging his nails into it, spreading her cheeks and chuckling at the sight of her dripping cunt.

Harrie whimpers when he enters her again. Two, three lazy thrusts later she feels more pressure against her entrance, a second cock nudging its way inside her, relentless force, pressing on and on, tearing into her. Spikes drag over her entrance, make her sob and gasp.

“You’re so tight, little Horcrux.”

Voldemort bends his body over hers, swallowing her shivering, sweaty self up, hiding her away, consuming her. She feels tiny there, held in place for Voldemort by his snake, him looming at her back, his chest pressed to her shoulder blades.

She hates the feeling of his skin against her.

And she loves it.

His lips brush over his shoulder. His nails dig into her waist.

“Relax.” He coos. It sounds mocking. As though he taunting her with her struggle. As if her struggle is her fault and not due to the fact he has  two cock  he is forcing her to take.

His fangs ghost over her skin.

“Do you want me to make it easier?”

Harrie squeezes her eyes shut. Her glasses slip. Voldemort buries himself to the root inside her constricting, struggling cunt. Slick drips to the ground. Her lip is quivering again. The pressure inside her is too much. Too much- spikes dig into her flesh. He rolls his hips, causing them to press against her G-spot. She gasps. The muscles in her thighs tremble. Her knees hurt against the hard floor. He is going to tear her apart. As soon as he starts moving- and if he pounds into her like before- she is not going to survive that-

“Yes-” She gasps. Her cunt clamps down around him. She whines, goes deathly still-  don’t move don’t move don’t move-

“You know the words.” He purrs into her ear. His lips brush over the shell of it. His forked tongue traces the curve of it-

“Please- master-” Tears trickle from her eyes, fall on her glasses.

“What a good little Horcrux you are.” He sounds so fucking  pleased .

And Harrie is terrified. Terrified and filled with self-loathing and shame and disgust at the way she feels at his touch.

She can feel his lips against her shoulder. She flinches violently, expecting pain but he merely kissed her, her whole body tenses up from her accidentally bucking into him.

She is trapped in horrible anticipation.

Time trickles by.

His cocks throb inside her. Spikes dig into her flesh. Her entrance aches from the unnatural stretch he is making her endure.

His fangs come unexpected, after several more feigned bites, and they hurt worse than last time.

Harrie can feel his venom rush into her, mixes with her blood, travels all the way down to her cunt.

There’s a loud squelching sound when Voldemort moves. Harrie feels her own arousal run down her thighs. Voldemort laps up her blood from her shoulder, his forked tongue stroking over her skin again and again while he rams into her. His balls hit her oversensitive slit. Nagini licks her cheek again. The locket sways with every brutal thrust, gleaming menacingly in the light of the gas lamps.

The excruciating pain is fading, melting back into mind-numbing pleasure and she isn’t sure anymore this is better.

Voldemort grunts into her ear. It’s a disturbingly arousing noise. 

Harrie is trembling all over. She thinks she came again but she isn’t sure. Her lip is numb. She feels helpless, tiny, trapped and lost.

Voldemort buries his face against her untamable curls, hisses something Harrie can’t make out over the wet slapping noise of their bodies joining.

More of her resistance breaks away. She slumps a little, lets Voldemort push her down further until her upper body lies on the ground, her cheek cushioned by Nagini’s body.

He wraps his long fingers around her wrist, frees it from Nagini’s grasp and brings it to Harrie’s stomach. He splays his fingers over hers, trapping her hand between his and her stomach.

“Can you feel that?” He purrs and bucks into her. Harrie gasps, struggles, fights, cries- Voldemort laughs. He stays deep inside her. Harrie can feel his cockhead against her palm, through the skin and flesh of her stomach. She feels nauseated and aroused at once. This is so wrong- that should not be possible, should it?

“Yes, you can.” He chuckles darkly. “You feel how deep inside you I am. I will spill right here, Harrie. For the rest of eternity, I will fill you up with my cum, you’ll never live another day without my spend dripping from your cunt. You are  mine.”

“No.” Harrie takes shuddering, deep breaths, seeks and finds some broken bits of her  stupid Gryffindor valour  and clings to them, puts them back together with her sheer willpower. “I will  never  be yours!”

“You already are.” Voldemort buries himself inside her with a snap of his hips, making Harrie cry out with the force of it. “You’ve been mine since the day I gave you that scar. And a piece of my soul.”

He draws himself up, grabs Harrie’s hips and fucks into her roughly, with no thought for her. He uses her body as if intent to prove to her just how much she belongs to him. He shifts, drags his foot forward, sets it down on the side of Harrie’s head. Nagini slithers out from under her head just as Voldemort puts pressure on Harrie. He uses it as leverage to fuck her harder. Harrie didn’t know that was possible.

She is reduced to broken sobs, screams and cries.

Voldemort grunts behind her, buries himself to the hilt and with an ear-splitting roar comes.

Held in place by Voldemort and Nagini, Harrie has to endure his hot cum spilling inside her, rope after rope, for a sheer endless moment. He pulls out eventually, spreads her cheeks and observes his work. Harrie doesn’t want to know how her cunt looks. She can’t feel it right now. She is numb. Exhausted. 

She screams. Voldemort bit her thigh. Dizziness claims her mind and she breaks down.

Everything fades to black.

 

***

 

Voldemort chuckles.

“This is your great soldier, Dumbledore?” He looks down at the unconscious girl, at the slickness and blood dripping from her abused cunt. His cock is covered in her blood and her arousal as well. She makes a pathetic sight. Trembling even now that she fainted from the combination of her climaxes and his venom assaulted her nerves.

Voldemort strokes himself. He shoves her to the side, watching her limp arms plop to the side. Her chest is rising and falling slowly. Her glasses are fogged up and wet with her tears. His Horcrux rests on her chest, between her breasts. It glints in the light.

A little Horcrux wearing a Horcrux. He grins.

That the girl ever hoped to destroy a single one of them and all the while she had housed a part of his soul like she will house his cum in the future.

He bends over her, splays his hand over her stomach. The muscles under her skin twitch at the feeling of him. He licks a broad stroke over her breast, sucks her nipple into his mouth, opens his mouth around it and bites down.

He watches angry red teeth marks appear on her pale skin, a perfect circle around her nipple.

She gives a little jerk as more of his venom seeps into her bloodstream. He bites the inside of her thigh, laps at her battered cunt, trails bloody kisses up over her stomach and bites her upper arm. She groans. Twitches, an unwilling participant to the orgasm reigning over her. 

He spills on her chest, rubs his cum all over her, massages it into her skin and slaps her breast, right where he left his mark on her.

She stirs.

Voldemort watches her bright green eyes peel open. They are glazed over, hazy. Her pupils unfocused. She blinks at him through thick, dark lashes.

“There you are, little Horcrux.” Voldemort grins, baring his fangs at the broken little girl.

“M-master-” She keens, stumbling over each sound wrenching free from her marred lip.

“Yes.” He says and strokes her stomach. “I’m your master and you’re my little Horcrux.”

She nods, none of the words he just said hold any meaning to her but his venom makes her want to please him.

“Come here.” He purrs. Harrie struggles to push herself up off the ground. Her arms tremble pathetically but eventually, she kneels. “Closer.” She crawls towards him, through her own blood and slick. “Give your master a kiss, little Horcrux.”

Hesitation flashes through her eyes when her mind tries to regain control but the venom drowns out any chance of resistance. Not even Severus could withstand this much. She fought nobly but nobody bests Lord Voldemort.

She struggles to remain upright and curls her fingers into his robes to not fall. She brushes her lips over his, emits a broken little moan.

And this is the girl they say will defeat him.

Covered in blood and cum, crawling for him and kissing him of her own volition after merely one rough fuck.

Pathetic .

She stumbles, sinks down along his front. Incidentally, that’s exactly where he wants her. At this pace, he’ll have her broken before he even brings her to Malfoy Manor. He knots his hand into her unruly hair and gets to his feet.

He yanks her head back, savours the whining whimper from the girl and the tears returning to her eyes. He taps his lower cock against her marred lips. “Open.”

Harrie tries to twist her head away, push her entire body away from him. The floor is slippery and she actually slides over it, a few inches away from him. Voldemort growls and yanks her forward, hoists a leg over her shoulder to pin her in place and grabs her face, forcing her jaw apart.

“I’ll fucking bite you.” Harrie spits at him. Pure hatred flares in her eyes. 

Interesting that she still manages to grasp a clear thought in this state.

“Try it.” Voldemort taunts. “If you’d like me to fuck you without any of my venom in your system while I make you watch my wolves tear your little Mud-blood friend apart. I’ll fuck you while pushing your head down on her mangled corpse. Perhaps I’ll force Severus to fuck it at the same time.”

The girl whimpers, squeezes her eyes closed. Tears run down her cheeks.

“Now,  open.”

She parts her lips. Voldemort gets impatient and thrusts into her mouth. She cries out. Her nails into his thighs. If the girl thinks that’ll hurt him, she’s stupider than Severus has been saying all these years.

 

***

 

Harrie can’t breathe.

Between sobs and choking on Voldemort’s cock no air stands even a small chance to reach her. She can’t fight him and she doesn’t dare after his threat. She doesn’t know if he’d follow through on it but Voldemort doesn’t strike her as the kind of psychopathic maniac to make empty threats.

And the price is too high.

Ironically now that she is doing this to protect someone else, it’s easier for Harrie to endure. To give herself to the venom whispering to her. To the heat in her lower abdomen and the painful aching in her cunt.

Harrie closes her eyes but Voldemort doesn’t like that. He slaps her face, hard, and yanks on her hair.

“You don’t look away from your master, little Horcrux.”

She sputters when his cockhead hits the back of her throat. She was right. The spikes are rubbery and soft, they aren’t the thorns they felt like when buried in her cunt. She still tastes blood. Whether because he ripped her virginity from her or because two cocks with spikes in her cunt is a very different story from one in her mouth. The barbs drag along her tongue and the sides of her mouth. She can feel them tear through the thin skin over her lips.

Drool runs down her chin, along her throat and over her chest. Her cunt is dripping too.

It’s the venom. Just the venom.

Harrie keeps telling herself that, perhaps if she repeats it enough she’ll stop struggling with it.

She slips in and out of the venom’s lulling song. In and out of consciousness. She obeys and keeps her eyes open, pointed in the general direction of his predatory serpent eyes but she doesn’t focus on them.

His freakish second cock keeps rubbing against her face when he buries himself in her mouth. The spikes didn’t hurt in the beginning but the more he fucks her, the more they chafe. She instinctively squeezes her eyes shut to not get a spike in it. He slaps her again, hoists her forward and presses her nose against his pelvis. Her throat hurts and struggles around the barbed cock that does  not  belong there.

He strokes her hair.

That makes everything so much worse.

Harrie pushes against his thighs with all her strength which is next to none and then she fades away again. The venom wrestles her protest down and her arms fall lifeless and limp into her lap.

“This is all you’re good for, little Horcrux.” He coos and pulls back slightly, barely enough to let her breathe. “And I can fuck your throat as hard as I want. I can choke you on it as much as I like without having to worry about you dying, isn’t that great?”

He gets no answer. A furious crease forms between his eyes. He yanks her off his cock and slaps her face, harder than before and right where his cock chafed her skin. Harrie yelps. He spits on her, grabs her throat and pulls her up until she is struggling to keep her balance.

“Your master asked you a question,  slut.”

Her throat burns. The sob rumbling in her throat only worsens everything. She can taste iron on her tongue and she no longer knows where it’s from. She weakly wipes her chin, finds the back of her hand coated in blood.

“Please-”

“Please,  what?”  His voice lacks any of the softness he has held before. It’s a terrifying thing to notice. Terrifying to know his softness is not the scariest thing about his voice. That the lack of it is worse. That she  misses  it.

Her bottom lip quivers. There’s a battle happening in her chest, between too many emotions as that Harrie could decipher them, and her cunt  hurts . Hurts with the need to be filled and she knows he is doing this on purpose, that he wants to break her, to make her beg, to make her ask for him and she knows she is going to  lose  and she wants to cry for her mum which is concerning because the last time that happens was when she was five and broke her arm. Harrie never had a mum. Harrie never had someone to turn to for consolation and warmth and love and she is so  tired .

“Please, master.” She whispers and more breaks inside of her.

Voldemort rakes his fingers through her hair. His nails scrape along her scalp gently. Harrie whimpers at the softness. She melts into the touch and she tells herself it’s the venom.

“Such a good little Horcrux.”

He drags her towards the bed by her hair. Harrie scrambles weakly to follow him, forced to crawl because her legs are not strong enough to carry her. She is also forced to witness the blood on her thighs and the floor. A lot of blood.

She gulps.

Voldemort drags her up on the bed, forces her to kneel between his spread legs, facing him. She tries to look away but of course, he doesn’t allow that.

“Thank me for my mercy.” He says coolly. 

“Thank you for your mercy, m-master.”

“Kiss me.”

What is it with him making her kiss him?

He lets go of her hair.

A shiver goes through Harrie but she is too tired to fight. Her shoulders slump and leans forward, chasing after the man she wants to run from. Bile rises at the back of her throat when she presses her lips against his. She pulls back instantly. Voldemort growls and Harrie knows she messed up. She shrinks.

“Kiss me or I’ll fuck your mouth again.”

Harrie doesn’t know which option is worse. Her throat and tongue still hurt so she chooses the one that’ll only emotionally hurt her.

It takes all her effort to make herself touch his lips again. His wretched lips that uttered the words that killed her parents and so many others.

His hand returns to her hair, tangles into the mess he has made of it. His tongue forces its way into her mouth, just as domineering and nasty as his tongue. His fangs scrape over her marred lip, break the skin further. He bites her lip. He licks the corner of her mouth, bites her jaw, kisses her throat, bites that too.

Harrie feels the dizzying rush of his venom takes hold of her mind. The last clear thought she grasps is a dull question of how much venom it would take to kill her.

Then she remembers she won’t ever die.

She’s a Horcrux.

“You’re  my  Horcrux.” He hisses into her ear. Harrie nods weakly. She allows him to flip her over, drags her trembling body to his chest. He reaches around her, grabs her thigh to pull her up enough to align himself with her entrance again. “We’ll not leave her until you say it, Harrie.”

She shudders at the way his tongue caresses her name.

She screams when he spears her open. Her body slumps forward, she scrambles to catch herself, ends up putting her hands on his thighs just above his knees. He splays his hand over her stomach, no doubt wanting to feel himself inside her. The other tangles into her hair, yanks her head back-

She freezes.

“Do you see yourself clearly now?” Voldemort purrs. His crimson eyes stare at her in the mirror attached to the closed bedroom door. “Do you see what a small, useless, pathetic little girl you are? You are no soldier. You’re hardly a capable witch.”

Harrie has to agree. There is nothing else she can do when faced with her sight in that mirror. With how tiny she looks on his lap, her legs spread around his leisurely opened legs. Her pale skin is covered in spit and cum and slowly drying blood. Her thighs are the worst. She can see where he is spearing her open. It’s an obscene and frankly disturbing sight. The bitemarks he left of her are an angry red. She can tell they are there to stay for a while. Even her usually so bright eyes seem dulled. 

The locket rests between her breasts as though nothing had happened.

“Nothing but a cocksleeve to your parents’ murderer.”

“I hate you.”

“Your passion is charming.” He murmurs in her ear. His forked tongue glides over her ear. “Mhh…how ashamed they’d be.” He rolls his hips, forces his cocks deeper into her slick cunt. Harrie presses her lips together tightly to prevent any noise from leaving her. At this point, she has no idea what it’ll be but she fears they’ll be noise of pleasure.

That heat inside her keeps building.

Consuming.

Taking and claiming and destroying until Harrie struggles to even remember who she is.

She’s Lord Voldemort’s Horcrux.

No- that isn’t right-

But it’s not wrong.

She’s his slut.

No-

His cocksleeve-

No…

She loves his cocks-

Yes!

Harrie keens, bucks her hips into him, meeting his thrust that hits her g-spot perfectly.

He lifts her up and slams her back down on his cock and Harrie is lost to the waves of mind-wrecking pleasure it brings her.

“Mine.”  He hisses and Harrie howls, presses her thighs to his while her cunt contracts, throbs, pulses, all the motions a cunt is capable of and she soaks the bed underneath them.

“Yes-” She gasps and meets his thrusts, starts moving on her own, in sync with him-

He lets go of her hair, just to wrap the chain of the locket around his wrist and pulls on it. The locket lies right over the hollow of her throat. The chain digs into her skin, cuts off her access to air-

“ Mine.”  Voldemort looms over her, at least a head taller than her even now. She could get lost on his lap. His shoulders are wider than her, his torso disproportionately long.

“Fuck yourself on my cocks, little Horcrux.”

Harrie keens weakly, struggles for air but if her master thinks she doesn’t need air, then she doesn’t need it.

She makes a strangled noise, digs her nails into his skin but dutifully lifts her hips in a sloppy rhythm. The barbs on his cocks drag along her entrance and inner walls. She can see blood run down his cocks every time she lifts her hips before slamming them back down. Her own well-being is of no consideration to her.

Her skin is prickling. Her breasts bounce with her, nipples hard and yearning to be touched.

Voldemort is smiling at her reflection, dark and menacing and it makes Harrie’s stomach flutters.

Her face is turning red. There is visible redness where the locket chain digs into her skin. She is feeling lightheaded but she keeps bouncing in his lap, keeps taking his cock like he told her to, keeps staring at the reflection of his blazing eyes.

Do not look away from your master.

Suddenly he lets go of the locket. Oxygen rushes to her brain, makes her feel light, like she is floating and Harrie comes. Comes harder than she has ever come. She twitches in his arms as though struck by high-voltage electricity.

Distantly she hears Voldemort chuckling over the blood pounding in her ears. She feels his arms and mewls, so  so  happy to be in her master’s arms.

Her vision goes black for a split second, or perhaps longer because in the next moment, she is lying on her belly, her face smushed in the mattress and Voldemort is straddling the back of her thighs, fucking mercilessly and carelessly into her.

“My little Horcrux.” He grunts and spreads her cheeks. He spits on her. Harrie whines weakly at the feeling of his saliva running down her crack. “You take my cock so well.” He taunts. “Look at you just swallowing me up.”

She clings to the sheets helplessly.

“Mine.” He slaps her arse, buries himself to the hilt inside her.

“Yours….” Harrie echos weakly.

He pauses.

Harrie whines at the loss of friction. His lips curl.

“What did you say, little Horcrux?”

“I’m yours.” drool is running down her chin. “Yours, I’m yours master.”

Voldemort bends down over Harrie’s trembling body. She expects another bite or slap, to be choked with the locket, anything. She does not expect a kiss. She does not expect to melt at the gentle touch.

“That’s a good Horcrux.” He murmurs. He rolls his hips, three, four more times, much less vicious and spills inside her with a low, rumbling growl.

“You’ve pleased me.” He says softly. Harrie’s heart flutters in her chest.

“Tired-” She murmurs.

“Then sleep, little one.” 

“Yes…” That she didn’t think of that. How stupid of her. Harrie closes her eyes.

 

***

 

The Potter brat broke easier than Voldemort would have ever thought. There’s still more work to be done until she is the perfect, obedient little cockwhore he knows she can be but he is indeed pleased for today.

What a nice little Christmas gift Nagini found for him. He scratches the loyal serpent's head before conjuring a cloak to wrap the still trembling girl into. She earned this little comfort.

Malfoy Manor is asleep when he arrives. No one bothers him while he carries his gift through the hallways of the ancient house, past sleeping portraits.

As soon as he opens the door to his chamber, Nagini squeezes herself through the opening and towards her favourite spot by the fire. Its light does not reach the whole room. The curtains are drawn. One corner in particular lies in shadows.

Voldemort sets Harrie down on the ground by his bed. He conjures an elegant ring of gold that he closes around her throat. A chain manifests between the collar and Voldemort’s bedpost. He vanishes the cloak.

Something stirs in the dark corner.

“No-” The voice sounds raspy. Severus has been refusing to speak for days. Voldemort had guessed this would loosen his tongue.

“Did we wake you, pet?”

“No-” His voice is wobbling. Harrie stirs. Severus lunges forward but the silver chain attached to his collar goes taut, choking the man. The spikes attached to the inside of the collar dig into his skin, tearing open not nearly healed wounds once more.

“You really should stop fighting that collar, pet.” Voldemort taunts playfully.

“What wretched trick are you playing this time?” Severus snarls. “Polyjuice?”

“No trick.” Voldemort hums. “I told you, I’d find her.”

“Trick- trick trick-” Severus repeats the word like a broken record, staring at Harrie through bloodshot eyes.

“She ran right into my arms. She truly is as dense as you’ve been saying.” Voldemort sinks down on his bed, the bed he barely uses. Lord Voldemort does not require sleep. Lord Voldemort is no mere human. He rose above them all. “But she does make quite the nice cocksleeve.” Voldemort drags Harrie against his leg, sinks his long fingers into her curls. “Perhaps we should dye them, hm? Make them red.”

Pain flashes over Severus’ once so expressionless face. Severus lost his ability to hide his feelings many torture sessions ago.

A still fresh bite mark blooms at his throat. He sinks back into his corner, into the shadow.

“What do you say, little Horcrux?” Voldemort purrs. Harrie looks up instantly. “Shall we dye your hair red for him? Red for Uncle Sev.”

She frowns. “Not- he’s not-”

“But have you forgotten?” Voldemort strokes her cheek. “Your dear mother wanted him to be your godfather. And I’ve told you how important it is to address people properly.” He tips her head to the side, makes her look in the direction where obsidian eyes glow in the dark.

“Un-uncle Sev-”

Severus makes a sound like a wounded animal. A sharp, laboured inhale of air, followed by a weeping sound so suffocated, it barely makes it out of his throat.

Voldemort laughs.

What a versatile little Christmas gift.

Pleasure to him and the perfect punishment for the traitor.