Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, I'm not J.K. Rowling, and I receive no remuneration off this narrative.

Prompts: 1. (word) beastly, 2. (word) transformation, 14. (word) demon

The thing that must literally appear in my story: the killing curse.

Oh and one more thing, the story must be fluffy! :) (This is my best attempt at fluffiness. If I get more fluffy, I WILL self-destruct. Have a nice day.) :)

Some call him beastly. But if he is a beast, than he is one beast I never hope to tame. Because heismine. And in his untamed fury, he is beautiful.

When he moves, it is with an otherworldly king cobra like grace. When he speaks, his words can inspire nations…or bring about their downfalls.

With those two words...

"Avada Kedavra!"

...our enemies fall to the ground, dead, right before our very eyes. The day is saved, the ministry is cleared, the war is over, and we…we are safe.

I've seen Voldemort do incredible things during my time spent with him and he is, without a doubt, the greatest magician I have ever seen and known. Even Dumbledore can't compare to him. But it is times like these that I am reminded of exactly why he is the most powerful man alive. It is times like these that I am reminded of just how great his power really is.

The Death Eaters on our side celebrate with looks, smiles, and glances while the Order, the Aurors, and other witches and wizards on the other, rejoice with embraces, meetings of lips, and hollers for joy. But I barely notice them. Because for this endless moment in time, it's just us.

Or perhaps it's just me…because he is not smiling, nor is he celebrating. He simply stands there, an imperial regal aura about him, marking his true kingship. We have barely finished taking out the opposition and already I'm sure his magnificently intelligent mind is planning his take over, as is promised to him in the contract between our sides,between the Order and the Death Eaters,between the Ministry and Lord Voldemort. So it doesn't surprise me that he wastes no time and that he is this lost in his thoughts.

But then again, so am I, even though my thoughts take on a very different track.

Because in this moment, detached from reality, planning, plotting, deciding, thinking, he has never looked more dangerous…and he has never looked more ethereal.

In his untamed fury, he is beautiful, surely. But when he makes that transformation from snake like killer into my own personal demon, my beautiful incubus, my heart stops and time is frozen and he pulls me into another world that is all his own.

He is graceful, even in his stillness. His collarbone peaks out of the open v-necked robe, that robe I'm so familiar with. My own personal silent (or not so silent in the end) downfall. I love the way it frames his body, the way it plays against his curves, the way his bare feet, his connection with the earth, peeks out underneath. If he will raise his arms just a bit, the material will fall away and I will be blessed with the beautiful view of more white skin. Maybe a gentle breeze from the destroyed hall will move them? Maybe I can cast a spell?

As he walks foreword, his robes move about him like smoke. They're made of the finest silk and they flow through my hands like water. But they are tougher than they look and I know personally how hard they are to tear off. Sometimes I shrug them on when he takes a shower, just to inhale that beautiful unique brimstone scent. I bury myself in them when he wears them and cling to all that he is desperately.

I have never told him how taken by them I actually am and now will be the perfect time to tell him how sexy he actually is.

I desperately want to reach out and touch that beautiful white snowy cold skin that I know is so hairless, so scaleless, so silky smooth beneath my fingertips. I want to worship him in a way that no Death Eater will ever be allowed. I want to see that devilishly flirtatious smirk on his face and the fiery look in those deep-set scarlet, livid eyes. I want to watch that concave stomach pant with exertion and struggle for air and I want to see him gasping...

I want him so desperately.

But the last thing I want to do is break that focused concentration.

And then I don't have to. Because finally, finally, he standing in front of me and I can relax. I can have him to my heart's content.

This is why I'm not shy or careful now when I use those sexy black robes to pull him close to me. This is why I don't hide my earsplitting grin when I watch that sly smirk lift the corner of his mouth as a cold skeletal hand caresses my shoulder. This is why I don't notice the dead silence around us on both sides.

This is my world. He is my world. He is my demonic transforming incubus.

"Harry. My sweet Harry. My snakeling." His tongue is tickling, flittering over my ear again as he croons in parseltongue to me, just as he always does when we're alone…and I'm laughing under my breath in the exact same way because it still hasn't stopped tickling. The only difference between us this time is that we're not so alone. I'm happy to know that it doesn't matter to him anymore…that we can finally just be.

"I have waited for this day for so long Harry…the day where I would have all I ever dreamed…but this day has come to mean so much more than I thought it could be. This is not only the day I become Lord over all of Wizarding is also the day I publicly claim you, Lord Consort. My only, my one, my equal. Finally, victory is ours."

He's holding me, crushing me to him…he's so strong! I can feel the strength of the reticulated python he used in his regeneration potion. And yet it doesn't hurt. Some ingrained part of him is protecting me from himself, even now.

I catch a brief snippet of surprise go through both sides closest to us and the tell-tale whispers that what he said is being spread around. They're only shocked because they don't understand.

Me and Voldemort share everything now.

And I want to share with him that I never wanted victory. I never wanted the world. I only ever wanted him.

But before I can even voice it, he is there and is kissing me so softly…so sweetly…so beautifully…so excitedly…so passionately

…and damn my big mouth!

"Er…can you get rid of the dead bodies?"

The corners of his lips are twitching and the core of his body is shaking. I'm pretty sure he's trying not to laugh.

"Very well." His voice shakes. He's definitely holding back laughter and I'm thankful when the bodies near us disappear into nothing.

"That's better now wher-oomph!"

And just like that, he's holding me again, clutching me close, and laughing joyfully in my ears. It isn't cold, maniacal, insane, or mad like others will expect. It's simply warm and it bursts from him as though he can't contain it. "What am I going to do with you my precious snakeling?"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I don't mean to ruin the moment or anything. It's just that I don't like making out in front of dead bodies. I mean, I'm pretty sure they can't see me. But it still icks me out." I shiver for dramatic affect.

He's laughing again. He's laughed more in these few moments than he ever has in public in his entire life…at least, I'm pretty sure of that. "I would have thought you would be used to the carnage by now, being my lover for as long as you have."

But the word carnage makes me think of the body parts that were just on the floor and that's just… "Um…ew."

He snickers at the images playing in my head. He's always had a dark sense of humor. "You have a way with words, Harry."

I can't help but smile up at him. I grab his arms and pull him close. My cheeks hurt from how much I'm smiling. "Kiss me again."

"Very well."

The moment his lips touch mine is my moment of victory. His snowy white lips are so smooth, so silky, so cold. His forked tongue is so light, fluttering against mine and in that moment, all I can think of is him. I pull back and his snowy white eyelids are still closed, savoring the moment.

"I love you."

Those deep red eyes open and that face that is capable of expressing so much hatred, so much anger, so much passion, so much rage, transforms into the deepest purest, softest look I have ever seen. He has never been more beautiful than he is now and there is no doubt in my heart that he knows exactly how to love.

"Ou r ni hhhrt." You are my heart. As close as one could possibly get to saying 'I love you' in parseltongue.

My face is wet, my vision is blurry, and I probably look like an idiot. I'm pretty sure I'm freaking out my friends. But I don't care. I jump into his arms and kiss him for the third time with as much fire, as much zest, as much passion as I can possibly hold.

He wipes the tears away from my eyes and kisses my scar possessively before turning towards the Death Eaters, who are standing, just as shell shocked and frozen as the larger crowd on the other side of us. Noone is used to witnessing this level of intimacy between me and the dark lord...the Death Eaters lord...Lord Voldemort…my lord. Mine. My Tom.

As I look over at the faces of the Order, they are gob smacked and the faces I don't know are divided between disgust, fear, curiosity, and awe. For the first time that I can ever remember, Dumbledore seems shocked. But the tears falling over his smiling grandfatherly face are of pure joy. My attention gets pulled back to Voldemort when his dark silken, beautiful voice, like fire on freezing ice, draws me back to him.

"Tonight, my friends, we celebrate! For today is the dawning of a new era! Rejoice!"

With the arch of his wand the fallen halls of the ministry are rebuilt within minutes…more magic that just shouldn't be possible. Random house elves are appearing everywhere and offering drinks. Tables have appeared out of nowhere with trays brimming with good food and I can hear music playing from somewhere. It suddenly occurs to me...

"You planned this!"

"Of course. There should always be an after party. Besides, I never lose against anyone."

Except me. But that goes unspoken between us. We don't fight against each other anymore. Only with the other, near the other, for the other.

A long black couch is raised on a dais along a wall and he leads us forward and sits down gracefully, seeming so much younger than his sixty-eight years.

I look back at my friends, my adopted family. I can see Ron and Hermione struggling and battling to come to me and Sirius and Remus are trying to get past the guarding Death Eaters. I laugh. It's almost cute…in a way.

"The fact that you find their struggle amusing is humorous to me."

"It's only amusing to you because you think I'm strange."

"Not strange. Simply amusing."

He's so…calm. He's so collected. He's too perfect. And for some reason, I desperately want to mess up those robes. I want to find a single imperfection in him somewhere…and I'm not sure what makes me feel that way…but I feel daring…playful.

I can see the fire lit behind his eyes as our minds clash. I pounce beside him and fling my arms around his neck, laughing joyfully. It suddenly occurs to me, "We did it!"

Voldemort merely raises one sardonic eyebrow. "You realized this justnow?"

"Er…yeah..."

"And what, dare I ask it, ensnared your thoughts from our victory, my sweet?"

"You."

He smiles and removes my twining arms from around his neck and wraps his arms around me, leaning back comfortably, kissing my scar. I should have known he would find a way to deal with my 'sudden fit of impropriety'. I smile.

Everyone else can rejoice if they want to. I just want to lay my head on his cold chest, listen to the beating of that beautiful heart, and snuggle into those comfortable silky black robes.

"You know, those are incredibly sexy on you."

"I know."

That was surprising. "You do?"

"Of course. I had them specifically hand tailored to appeal to your desires."

"How did you…but when did I…?"

"I taught you occlumency. I know your thoughts, Harry. And if you hit me with that pillow I will be forced to take drastic action."

"I like drastic. That's a good word. What kind of drastic action?"

Another eye roll. "I sometimes forget that you are a Gryffindor and stupidity is heralded as an admirable trait."

I grabbed the nearest pillow and hit him in the arm. "I sometimes forget just how much Slytherins can act like white fluffy ferrets."

Somewhere behind him, he can hear Lucius Malfoy choking on his wine.

"And how exactly do I resemble such a…delightful creature?"

"Easy. You're comfortable to rest on, your skin is white and silky, and you're just so adorable." I smirk and pinch one of his cheeks for good measure. Apparently he hadn't seen it coming quick enough to stop me. He pulls my hand away.

"You are annoying me now. Perhaps you need something to do. Care to dance?"

I really did try to stop the yawn that tore itself from my throat.

"Er…"

"Magical exhaustion? I thought I told you if you tired during the battle to use the portkey and go home."

"And miss your victory? Miss my naming as your consort? Miss this whole wonderful after party that you worked so hard on? Miss scaring my friends and family half to death by snuggling you? Not a chance!"

He smirks. "You enjoy getting under their skin."

"A part of me enjoys getting under everyone's skin. Even yours." I meant to wink. But I got another yawn instead.

"I would suppose then, that you want to sleep."

"That would be nice."

I react quickly enough to hide the third yawn with my hand.

"Very well. Rest your head, my weary one. I will let you sleep for as long as is appropriate. You will not be bothered."

"Thank you."

The pillow beneath me is his chest. My lullaby is his rhythmic breathing and his beating heart, which drowns out all other noise. My silk sheets are his robes.

A/N This was not originally what I had in mind. The original story had chocolate, bath tubs, strawberries, and kisses. But then this came up and I just had to write it. My muse demanded it of me. And that is why I'm sitting here at 4:00 am in the morning…well, that and I'm a night owl. Anyways, Loves x's o's and hearts!