Title: There's a Potter on me

Summary: Voldemort is… confused. Potter is attached to him in the most literal sense and he won't let go. (Okay, maybe more homicidal than confused but that only lasts the first few hours.)

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Voldemort wakes up from a dream he's already forgotten and simply blinks at the ceiling. Today is going to be a bad day, he can tell.

A weight registers then, a foreign intrusion pressing along his side and numbing his shoulder, un-fogging his mind with a sharp snap. His head whips down to where bright green eyes are already watching.

The grand and luxurious room is no longer recognisable, having been damaged beyond rescue hours ago, and is now being curb stomped into a bloody smear.

"Stop moving!" he roars, his wand lashing out with a dark intent to obliterate.

The chain of spells slam into the wall with a power that shakes the defensive web of ancient wards, slicing the furniture into splinters and dissolving the rest into particulates all the while burning the decorations until not even ash was left. There is nothing to say about the floor to ceiling book cases, simply because they're non-existent now.

An area effect curse liquidises anything not Voldemort touching the floor and a rune sequence drawn in pure magic forces the room into a vacuum. A little fiend fire takes care of the rest, the dragon wreathed in flames uncaring of the atmosphere and only wanting to consume, the crackling of feasting sounding like screams.

Voldemort commands it with an absolute and terrifying control, snuffing it out with an easy flick of his wrist once the room's interior blackens and cracks like ground zero of a volcano eruption. The air rushes back in with an audible whoosh as he cancels the vacuum, and the floor stills into abruptly solidification, the marble arched up and twisted like waves.

He's left gasping for breath in the sudden quiet. The hours of constant usage brought him far closer to magical exhaustion than he'd ever been before.

Two skinny arms tighten their hold as a head of untamed black hair tries to sink into Voldemort's shoulder blades.

Such destructive and dark magic, unseen since Grindelwald and his army had wiped a small town out of existence in his glory days over a century ago, and yet Voldemort has nothing to show for it.

"Come on," Voldemort coaxes softly, shaking the package tauntingly as far away from himself as he could manage without magic. "Come get the chocolate."

Potter blinks up at Voldemort, smears of the first failed attempt at the corners of his lips. The boy slowly shifts attention to the bar, a few more patient minutes and promises of deliciousness making him hesitantly reach out.

"Good boy," Voldemort coos, barely withholding a cry of triumph as he slowly moves the bar closer to entice the brat. "Go get the chocolate, Potter."

A blink and it's ripped from his hand.

"Mother fuc-!"

He lets his head fall back to the wall with a light thump. Sitting cross legged on the warped and charred floor with his prophesised enemy in his lap, Lord Voldemort contemplates child rearing strategies.

"What do children even want?" he muses to no one in particular. "I can barely remember what I did back when I was in the… do you want a bunny?"

A pained howl escapes from the beast as the spiral curse lances through its throat, just missing the spinal cord and spraying the wall with bright red arterial blood. The claws dig deeper gouges into the ground and it lunges so fast it blurs.

Voldemort summons the wall, the structure ripping him off his feet instead, just in time to avoid the creature. He swears as it dodges his next sickly green curse despite losing blood at an astonishing rate.

He twists into mist, dispersing around the beast and reforming into the cancellation circle, finally able to cast the next area effect spell to slam it to the ground with a punishing force, cratering the abused floor further.

The last spell hits and the green slipping into the beast with a satisfying speed that immediately has the creature's eyes glaze over in death.

"Why did you want that thing in the first place?" Voldemort huffs in annoyance. "I've always hated bunnies."

Potter is shaking silently, staring at the defeated monster that most certainly cannot be called a bunny, despite what it started out as before Voldemort got bored and started experimenting.

Voldemort catches the smile before Potter can manage a straight face again and frowns. This has been an exercise in futility. But then an idea hits him.

"Say, Potter, I remember something vague about you wanting parents."

The boy startles and snaps around to stare at him wide-eyed, before shaking his head vigorously.

"But I could have sworn you wanted parents before," Voldemort muses.

Potter doesn't stop shaking his head.

Voldemort is sprawled in a very un-Dark Lord manner in the middle of the room –or what's left of it- with the creature having been banished to the depths of hell where it belongs.

A weight is pressing insistently against his side and he thinks back to that morning, when he thought it would be a bad day. He won't say he was wrong, because he's never wrong, but this isn't the worst possible time he could be having.

"But really, what do teenagers want?"

A sigh comes from the approximate area of his collarbone.

"Don't sigh at me, Potter, I am Lord Voldemort," he offers half-heartedly. "I bet Lucius doesn't have this much difficulty-" He sits up, dislodging Potter.

That's the answer.

(It takes him a while to remember the question, though.)

Voldemort strides into the large, converted ballroom and sweeps a calm gaze over the assembled minions. It isn't too hard to spot the silver haired man as Lucius stands talking to Severus. Voldemort glides past his followers, the chatter slowing and coming to a complete halt by the time he stops behind the Malfoy.

A cue from the potions master makes the blonde turn, only to come face to face with the Dark Lord himself.

"What do teenagers want-" Voldemort stops there, because bribing Potter isn't the actual goal. "No, never mind. Get him off me."

The statement is a simple one, Voldemort presumes, but it takes a few seconds for Lucius' brain to kick in it seems.

"Who, my Lord?" Lucius shares a look with Severus. He has no idea what his Lord is referring to and no one wants an even more insane evil overlord.

"This," Voldemort hisses, reaching behind him and dragging a figure in front to shove at Lucius. "He won't let me go!" He shakes the person in frustration but they cling to his torso like a particularly annoying parasite.

"How did Potter get in here?" Severus blurts out in a strangely open show of confusion.

While at the same time Lucius says, "Why is he still alive?"

Voldemort completely ignores Severus in favour of snapping at Lucius, "Do you think I haven't tried, you Neanderthal? He moves!"

"Moves, my Lord?" one of the lower Death Eaters queries.

The few Death Eaters gathered in the room are now staring in confusion at the publicly dubbed Saviour. None have taken out their wands, presuming their Lord can handle himself.

"Did I stutter, Peterson? Why don't you try and curse the Brat." Voldemort grabs Potter's hair and holds him at arm's length.

Potter just transfers his grip to Voldemort's forearm.

Peterson deliberates if this is a test. His Lord can be cruel in boredom, and since there is no indication of what the situation is leading up to perhaps he should just back down.

Then his Lord hisses, presumably for one of the giant, deadly snakes wandering around the manor and Peterson scrambles for his wand to shoot off a blood freezing hex. Everyone watches as the Boy-Who-Lived... shifts and the curse harmlessly passes by and hits the wall before the light dissolves.

"What in Merlin's name..." blurts out a nameless Death Eater and that seems to open the flood gates as everyone appears to have an opinion on what just happened. The chatter and theories rise in a crescendo as the followers try to talk over, to and with each other.

"Silence!" Voldemort snaps, taking pleasure in the fact that as soon as he started speaking everyone shut up immediately. "I don't care what you think. Just get him off me," Voldemort challenges.

Potter, seemingly oblivious to the chaos, just shuffles closer to his lifelong enemy. Voldemort doesn't even notice when the boy's arms wind around his waist again, but he can't ignore those bright green eyes.

In the end the fifty or something followers at the manor in that moment couldn't remove the teenager from their Lord. Their methods didn't faze the human leech, despite their best attempts.

Shooting curses, jinxes and all other kinds of magic at the boy only missed spectacularly, while torturing Muggle, Magical and kitten alike to make him compliant in a fit of heroic sacrifice only brought a blank stare.

So they gave up.

Kind of pathetic, yes, but it's not like their Lord actually seems to care all that much about the situation. His apathy towards whether or not Potter is detached is rather obvious from how he would chuckle when one of his followers would hurt themselves accidentally trying to remove the boy.

Now they're all gathered in the 'throne room' for the scheduled induction, along with the rest of their comrades who are trying and failing to not stare at Potter, having arrived after the testing period.

Draco, the Death Eater, is not amused. Here he is, in front of the Dark Lord, the leading fighter for blood purity, passionate hater of Muggles and Mudbloods... and the Golden Boy is sitting on him.

"Now, my faithful, we are here to induct-" Voldemort is cut off by the teenager on his lap waving to Draco.

"We are here-" A hand shot up again to welcome Theodore Nott.

"We a-" Pansy Parkinson.

"Stop it or just go attach yourself to one of them!" Voldemort snarls.

Potter looks back up at him and then buries his head in Voldemort's shoulder. The Dark Lord sighs and grabs Potters hips, shifting the boy so he's more comfortable.

Voldemort had been ignoring the incredulous stares of his minions, but he might as well grant them an explanation.

"Potter will not let go of me and cannot be killed at the moment," Voldemort declares simply. "I have not yet found the magic responsible for this, but when I do…"

His speech dissolves into threatening hisses of Parseltongue that, even though the Death eaters don't understand it, makes shivers run down their spines as if something inside them is try to flee from the Dark Lord.

Potter laughs.

Silently, just his shoulders shaking in mirth, but he still laughs. Snape glances to the ceiling behind his bone white mask, praying for forgiveness to Lily about not protecting her son. Even from his own stupidity.

Voldemort narrows his eyes and grabs the back of Potter's neck, digging his nails in and making the boy bleed. "If you're going to be here, behave yourself."

Potter doesn't answer and Voldemort smiles smugly in victory.

"My Lord, why not beat him to death?" asks Bellatrix before throwing herself at Voldemort's feet, simpering and pleading for mercy after speaking out of turn.

When he started the whole Dark Lord thing, Voldemort muses, he had thought the sycophantic and/or terrified reactions of his Death Eaters would never grow old. Now, he knows for a fact that they haven't grown old.

"Try," Voldemort says simply.

"My Lord?" Bellatrix looks up from the floor.

"Try and beat him," he encourages. "I will not lower myself to Muggle means but if you get rid of him I will reward you."

Bellatrix hesitates because her Lord just made it clear he dislikes the method, but the thought of a reward wins out so she bounces to her feet, eagerly reaching out to grab Potter's shirt and pull him off her Lord.

Potter shifts.

She reaches for him again, and again, and again. She screeches in rage and pulls out her wand, planning on liberal use of crucio, but she gets a foot in the stomach before she can so much as raise her arm. She's launched off the dais steps, and the loud crack as her head hits the floor echoes.

Potter chuckles maliciously. If anyone sees Voldemort smirk they don't mention it. Ever.

"Bad Pet," the man murmurs but pats the boy on the head anyway.

Both simultaneously grin at the crumpled heap of the woman and the collective group of Death Eaters feel themselves tear up in joy. The Light side has nothing on their force.

Voldemort sighs and whirls around, shooting off a killing curse at another dull Auror. They are so very predictable, completely unlike that bunny – now that was fun.

Several Aurors feel sick at the sight of Voldemort's macabre grin.

Potter, still clinging to the Dark Lord, is under a concealment spell so he isn't seen by anyone. Voldemort himself would have lost sight of the boy if not for the tugs on his cloak informing him of enemies and spells outside his range of vision.

Then Dumbledore arrives with his Order and the mid-battle mocking begins. Although, really, do they truly think Voldemort doesn't know exactly where they are? For one, the old Black manor is obvious in retrospect, and for another, Severus is his. The potions master can be a little too quick at the starting gun but Voldemort knows where to hit the hardest to get him back to speed.

"Tom, please, return Harry. He is innocent in all this," Dumbledore says calmly, deflecting a castration curse.

There is a giggle from the vicinity of Voldemort's chest and a tug from the left side of his back. He spins and dodges a borderline Dark curse. Oh, he loves it when Aurors play dirty. He flicks his wand and with a mutter of the incantation they're swallowed into the earth to suffocate to death.

Pity they're so pathetic still.

"Potter, you mean? But he is having so much fun with me." Voldemort deliberately smiles evilly and there is another giggle and a tug.

This one has her bones melted.

"Tom, please-" Dumbledore is forced to stop his attempts at negotiation when he's cut off from his Order by a group of Death Eaters.

Some have lured the Order members away from their leader while others have snuck up behind the Headmaster. Unfortunately, even when the old man is outnumbered he's able to avoid the worst of the damage.

"I wasn't lying, you know," Voldemort calls out, a wicked idea urging him on. "He is having fun." He drops the disillusionment on Potter for just a second, but it's more than enough.

Dumbledore is shocked still, allowing Voldemort to fire off a string of Dark spells that blow through the Headmaster's shields. The screaming almost makes up for calling Voldemort by that horrid name. A retreat is called soon after by the Order, the Light side fleeing with an unconscious Dumbledore.

Either way, he is exceedingly proud to have caught that slippery asshole unaware. Satisfied, Voldemort vanishes with a crack, reappearing inside the manor and automatically taking stock of his followers' conditions.

Now that he thinks about it, it's been a week since Potter first appeared. The clinging has become the norm instead of the exception. In fact, Voldemort is… a bit glad to have Potter with him.

"My Lord, where's Potter?" asks Lucius, peering around the Dark Lord to find the boy.

"Potter, Lucius?" Voldemort glances around.

No Potter.

He spins on his heel and disapparates back to the raid site, Aurors still around to clear up their co-workers innards from the ground. A few are dragging a corpse from the earth. A yell goes up when they catch sight of him and spells are fired, but he ignores it all.

Where is Potter? Is he hurt? Potter is Voldemort's, he's not supposed to leave.

Did... he go willingly?

"M-my Lord, I b-believe that th-this is Potter's," stutters a faceless follower, falling to a knee at Voldemort's feet. "It was under a-a carpet in the s-sitting room." The Death Eater presents the item to the Dark Lord with their head bowed.

Voldemort sneers and flings a crucio at the moron. As if he wants to see Potter's things.

A day after the raid a report came from Severus. According to the potions master's information, Potter is acting like the Light Saviour he is. Like he had never left the Light, like he doesn't even remember his time with Voldemort at all.

The Dark Lord would have suspected mind alterations but going back to normal isn't a deviation from the boy's personality. If anything, someone cursed the brat to cling to him, which would also explain the sudden and ridiculously competent ability to dodge.

The Dark Lord levitates the bracelet to him with his wand and flicks a wrist to send the whimpering follower flying back through the entrance. The door slams with another motion from Voldemort, leaving him alone in the large throne room.

He tilts his head at the hovering jewellery and checks for any spells while it's still mid-air. There are none but he considers just burning the stupid thing anyway. However, he is curious, so he plucks it from the air and lets it sit in his palm.

It's a delicate gold chain, and as he looks closer, there're only two separate pieces woven together in complicated knots and patterns to spell out Lily.

He loops it around his fingers to see it bend easily, not at all hindered by the detailed decorations. A witch's bracelet, then. Does Potter want it back, Voldemort wonders. Then corrects himself. Do I want to give it back? The disturbing answer is yes.

He frowns. He shouldn't care what Potter wants. Voldemort is a Dark Lord and all he cares about is what he wants.

Suddenly a smile spreads over his face, because what he wants is to give it back to the boy. After all, lovely little Harry is still Voldemort's, the Dark Lord just has to convince the boy of that fact – or force it on him until he capitulates.

Voldemort rises from his chair and strides out of the room, mind already churning with plans, each more sick than the last.

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A/N: Well that was weird. I don't think I do crack fics very well.

I left an ending for you guys to fill in, just to make this more interesting. I'd love to hear what you think happens.