After Voldemort had agreed to Harry's proposition, Harry was allowed out of his cell, as if he actually needed permission, a ridiculous though really, and was led to Voldemort's study where they could decide on the finer details of their alliance.

Apparently, they couldn't just shake hands and be done with it.

Voldemort's study was interesting. Not how he would have imagined it, really. He was expecting it to be dank, dark and smell like rotting corpses, perhaps with an air of insanity to it, as was fitting for a mad Dark Lord who got off on torturing people. However, it was actually a rather sophisticated room, with a fireplace crackling merrily on the back wall, an elaborate polished wooden desk on the opposite end of the room to the fireplace, bookshelves lining the walls, and two brown leather couches facing the fireplace with a little coffee table in reachable distance. The floor was even covered with black shagged carpet, which Harry had to commend Voldemort for, at least he knew how to live comfortably.

He figured that the dank, dark, rotten corpse smelling room was somewhere else.

Voldemort immediately headed for the high backed chair behind the desk and sat down with all the grace a Dark Lord of his calibre should possess. Harry headed for one of the armchairs and flicked his hand. In one fluid motion, the chair spun around and he flopped into it, throwing one leg over the armrest and resting his chin on his fist. He raised an eyebrow.

"So?" He asked. Voldemort's eyes adverted from where they had strayed to the parted legs, back to twinkling green eyes.

The Dark Lord cleared his throat, "So, we need to settle the details of our arrangement." He pulled out a quill and a bottle of ink. "I believe we should both make clear what we expect, as to not cause any confusion."

"Okay," Harry shrugged, "what are your 'demands'?"

"Well first of all, as allies, I demand an oath from both of us, that prevents either of us harming each other or being involved in any incident that causes the other harm or death."

Harry smiled lazily and nodded, "I can agree with that." His smile widened. "However, I think we should make it so we are unable to harm each other in any ill meaning manner." A glint appeared in his eyes and his smile turned slightly feral. Voldemort gulped but nodded, understanding what he was implying, and wrote it down on the parchment.

He cleared his throat, "We should also be unable able to betray each other. Meaning that you can't go running back to the light side."

Harry smiled wryly, "Darling, why would I do that?" He asked patronisingly, but nodded anyway. "That is agreeable. I however, will not be taking taking your mark, nor anything of equal ridiculousness. I would like to be able to sit in on any meetings you may have, but I will not be treated as one of your disciples, and I reserve the right to punish any of your followers if they provoke me."

"And you would consider what as provoking you?" He raised an eyebrow. Harry merely smiled, a bit amused at Voldemort's change of view on his character and what he was capable of. Voldemort sighed but wrote down the last of the demands. "I have one more condition." The Dark Lord announced. Harry looked at him expectantly. "You are obviously much more advanced with magic that many seem to think," he looked pained at that admittance, "So, I wish for you to allow me access to any of your inventions, creations or ideas you may have."

"Why do you assume I have created anything more?"

Voldemort scoffed, "You have managed to improve upon an already incredibly difficult piece of magic, at the age of fifteen no less. You can't expect me to believe that you have not thought of anything else." He said incredulously.

Harry laughed, delighted, "I guess you've caught me." He sighed in mock disappointment, "Fine. You have your agreement. Where do I sign?"

Voldemort was triumphant, but obviously did not show it. He finished writing everything down on the parchment and moved to take something out of one of the drawers in his desk. "I have written a line for each of our conditions. If we both sign under a single condition, that condition will come into effect. This way, we will be able to add new clauses if we so desire it. Is that acceptable?" He asked. Harry hummed, his eyes gleaming. "Very well. For the contract to be valid, it must be signed with a blood quill. You do know what that is, don't you?"

Harry scoffed lightly, "Honestly. Who do you take me for?" He stood up and sauntered over to the desk. Sitting down lightly on the edge, he faced the Dark Lord and raised an eyebrow. "Well? Are you going to sign it?"

Voldemort hesitated for a split second, wondering if he really knew what he was getting himself into. The boy in front of him was nothing like he expected. He was intelligent and obviously held none morals or restraint that he had previously portrayed. Hell, he didn't even look the same. Oh, he could see the resemblance, with the short stature, brilliant green eyes and raven black hair. But there was also such a blatantly obvious difference to what he looked like now and what he looked like before, that he wouldn't have recognised him if it weren't for the scar.

He suddenly wondered why he hadn't questioned Harry's drastic change in appearance before, and cursed himself for glancing over something so important. He had allowed his emotions of hate, rage and dare he say it, lust, to cloud his perception. The boy affected him much too easily.

Nevertheless, this chance was much too good to pass up. He grabbed the blood quill ignoring the eyes following his movements, analysing his every action, eyes which had seen the hesitation and knew exactly why he had done it. Eyes that laughed silently.

He signed his name with a flourish, under each condition, and when he was done he silently handed the quill over to Harry who picked it up.

While Voldemort had been signing, Harry's eyes had been scanning over the script to check for any loopholes that Voldemort might have conveniently left for himself. When he found none, he was amused. The big, bad Dark Lord had trusted him enough to not create a way out for himself if things turned south. What a charming display.

When the quill was handed to him, he picked it up and turned the parchment around to face face him so he could sign. As he signed next to Voldemort's name, he felt a bond snapping into place and he smiled mischievously. When he had finished signing the document, he placed the quill down and stood up, walking back to his chair all to aware of the eyes trained on his backside. He sat down and faced Voldemort expectantly.

"So? Anything else to cover?" Harry asked.

Voldemort blinked a bit dazed, until he snapped back into focus. "Right, Yes!" He said, a bit too loudly. "I was wondering how exactly it is, that you are able to have a completely different appearance than before. Especially, since you are not wearing any glamours, that I can see, and I know how to spot glamours."

"Finally caught onto that then, have you dear?" Harry asked patronisingly, smiling as Voldemort's face contorted into what could only be considered a pout. He continued to speak before the annoyed Dark Lord could interrupt, "Well the reason you can't see any glamours is because I'm not wearing any. My appearance is different because I am a metamorphmagus."

"What!" Voldemort all but shouted, only remembering to keep his composure at the last moment. "How is that even possible. Only one of Black blood is able to procure that power and even then, it had all but died out." He was incredibly sceptical and his ire was only being increased with how calm the boy was.

"I am am of black blood, actually. And really Voldemort, there is another metamorphmagus alive right now, so it's obviously not all died out." He said condescendingly.

"How is this true?"

Harry smiled. "My grandmother, Dorea Potter, was actually really Dorea Potter nee Black." Voldemort's eyes widened as he remembered. Orion Black had been a seventh year when he had been a first, Cygnus Black was a fourth year and Dorea was in his class. He had a vague memory of her disownment in seventh year, for running off with Charlus Potter, breaking the betrothal her parents had set. They were disgusted with her choosing such a prominent light family.

Harry's smile widened, "I see that this is familiar to you. Anyway, She birthed my father, and a few years before that, Cygnus's first child, Andromeda Black, was born, now named Andromeda Tonks, who was promptly disowned after running off with a muggleborn." Voldemort nodded in recollection. "Now can you see one prominent thing in common between James Potter and Andromeda Tonks, besides their blood?" He questioned.

Harry was positively gleeful at the dawning horror and understanding in Voldemort's eyes. "That is preposterous. You cannot possibly be insinuating that marrying a mudblood could reawaken the dormant metamorphmagus gene." He said incredulously, unable to believe it.

Harry frowned, "No, that was definitely what I was insinuating." He looked at Voldemort as if he were short a few brain cells. "It is true though, or at least, it's the best theory I have. A gene that has been dormant for centuries, and suddenly in the span of a decade, it has awoken in two children, who incidentally, both have a muggleborn parents, something that has never occurred in the Black line. Furthermore, I have read many of the Black journals, dating back to when every member of the family had the ability to metamorph and the ability only started going dormant when too much interbreeding occurred." Harry finished speaking, looking entirely confident in his conclusion. Voldemort was practically gaping.

He knew that the idea had it's merits. Even he knew that incest can easily lead to problems with genes. However, he refused to believe that the mudbloods were able to contribute to society in such a way. Then something dawned on him.

"Where did you get access to the ancient Black journals?" He asked eagerly and confused. The Blacks were one of the oldest familys existing today and those journals were sure to hold a wealth of knowledge on long forgotten spells and magics.

"In the Black Vault." He said simply, not bothering to elaborate.

"How do you have access to the Black vault?" As far as he knew, Draco Malfoy would inherit when he came of age, since Sirius Black was a wanted criminal and Regulus was dead.

"Ah, yes, that." He said casually. "Originally Draco and I both had the same claim to the title. However as Sirius Black, the original heir, is my godfather, the title is most rightly mine over Draco's. After being put into the Triwizard Tournament as an adult, I was able to become officially emancipated, and access all of the vaults I could lay claim to. So I guess it's all thanks to you, really."

Voldemort nodded in understanding. "That is all the questions I have for now then," deciding that he had had enough shocking revelations for one night, "Do you have anything you wish to discuss?" Harry shook his head silently, smiling serenely. "Very well. Mopsy!" A house-elf appeared before them already grovelling on the ground.

"How can Mopsy be helping The Great Dark Lord, sir." She, Harry assumed it was a she, grovelled.

The Dark Lord sneered, "I need you to lead Lord Potter-Black here to the guest suite in the west wing." Mopsy's eyes widened at the clear respect in his tone, something she had never heard before.

"Yes, Sir. Mopseys be doing that for you right now sir." She said quivering.

Harry stood from his chair, but instead of walking towards the elf, he approached the Dark Lord. When he was close enough that Voldemort could feel the warm puffs of breath hitting his face, Harry stilled. "Goodnight, Darling." His head tilting to meet Voldemorts eyes, smiling lechariously.

Voldemort's breath caught, "Goodnight, Harry." He said softly, actually quite proud of himself for being able to speak without stuttering.

Harry's mouth tilted into a frown and his eyes became distant. "No, no, that won't do." He shook his head contemplatively.

"What won't do?"

"Harry. I prefer not to be called that, that's the name of The-Boy-Who-Lived, not me." He said thoughtfully.

"Then what shall I call you?" He asked, confused.

The boy hummed. "I think I quite like the name Hadrian. Yes, you may call me Hadrian."

"Hadrian." Voldemort liked the way it rolled off his tongue, "Then I must insist that you call me Marvolo." Hadrian smiled up at him, a peculiar gleam in his eyes that he was unable identify, but made him both uneasy and excited.

"Marvolo." The Dark Lord shivered, aroused at the low purr. "I like that. Very well Marvolo, Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

Hadrian stepped forward, closer than before and lifted himself onto his toes. Voldemort's eyes widened at the close proximity. The boys dark red lips brushed lightly over his cheek, before the boy stepped away and turned towards the shocked elf. Leaving behind a gaping Dark Lord.

Hey, sorry that this chapter is so late. At first it was because I disliked writing on my phone, but when I got access to a laptop, I reverted back to being a lazy SOB, until I finally persuaded myself to stop procrastinating and actually do something. I hope you liked it, feel free to review. Constructive criticism is welcome.

The original plot line and characters of the Harry potter series are all property of the author J.K Rowling and in no way mine.