A/N: Thanks for waiting! Sorry I dropped off for a month ^.^; but here's a new chapter, hope you enjoy!

No significant warnings for this chapter.

The gentle sound of birdcall nudged Harry awake. He looked around through narrow eyes, his disorientation slowly clearing as he recognized the suite he had in Voldemort's manor. He stretched as he pulled himself off of the floor- he hadn't even made it to the bed when he'd returned from Sal's at 3am, but had kneeled along the edge and propped his head on his arms. The invisibility cloak lay in a pile of crumpled velvet under him, shifting like liquid every time he moved.

Harry was glad that he'd woken up at all, though he was quickly feeling the consequences of only four hours of sleep. At least he'd be able to make it to breakfast in time, and just maybe convince Voldemort that he'd been in the manor all night….Harry straightened abruptly and took a closer look out of the bay windows, to the small garden just beyond. The light was too bright for 7 in the morning; too bright even for 9. Harry whipped his wand from his pocket and cast a quick tempus - 10:30am.

"Shit!"

His mind was empty for several seconds before he burst into motion, grabbing the invisibility cloak and stuffing as much as he could into his back pocket - then ran into the bathroom to do some damage control. Surprisingly the cloak was thin enough to fold on itself enough that most of it could fit, and only a small tail of velvet dangled by his ass; the magic mirror above the sink wouldn't let him think long on that, however, as it suddenly piped up with its special commentary.

"Oh you look dreadful, honey," the mirror said cheerfully, "Just look at those bags!"

One day Harry was going to follow through on his promise to destroy the nuisance, but he had to admit he looked pretty rough. Scourgify removed the wrinkles from his clothes and got rid of most of the grime. It didn't fix his face though, which still held signs of exhaustion in the puffy under-eye bags and tired creases near his eyes and mouth.

He didn't know any glamour spells to make his face look dewy and refreshed. And since it was a terrible idea to just wave his wand at his face and mumble some words, the best he could do was rake his fingers through his hair and leave it at that.

Deciding to check the dining room first, just in case Voldemort was still there, he rushed from the room and down the hallway. Careening around the corner, he bounced off of a solid form and stumbled slightly. A firm grip saved him from continuing down to the floor; a small blessing until he realized who he'd run into. Those polished shoes looked pretty familiar...

Harry swallowed and looked up at Voldemort's face. He was now directly in the situation he'd been trying to avoid. Voldemort looked unimpressed, but there was an added darkness in the man's eyes that told Harry he should tread very carefully.

His mind spinning quickly, Harry stepped back as soon as Voldemort released him, needing more space from the Dark Lord.

"I've been looking for you, My Lord." Harry wanted to swallow his tongue immediately - that was such an obvious attempt at distraction. If only he'd thought about what he'd actually say once he saw the man.

Voldemort raised an eyebrow. "You would have found me at breakfast, had you been there."

The words hung in the air for several seconds before Harry chuckled stiffly. "Yes! Well-I..was...busy working! I've finally finished the next version of your wand, I was coming to present it to you."

The first part sounded weak to even Harry's ears, but he could see Voldemort snap to attention nonetheless. "Shall we go to your study?" Harry asked.

Voldemort looked him over but nodded and led the way. It was unspoken that Harry would be punished in some way if he didn't actually have the wand ready. He wasn't ready to hand it over but it looked like he had no choice now thanks to his own rash words.

In Voldemort's study, Malfoy had been waiting looking relaxed and comfortable in one of the armchairs that stood in front of the fire. Voldemort only had to look at the man and he jumped up immediately, smoothing his robes and trying to ignore Harry's snickering.

Harry's laughter caught in his throat when he became the next victim of Voldemort's stare. He tried not to shuffle, attempting to project an appearance of confidence and ease. Maybe if he pretended he did nothing wrong, everyone else would believe it too?

"The wand?" Voldemort asked. His eyes said he was barely holding onto his patience.

Malfoy raised his eyebrows and looked between them; perhaps he didn't know Harry was the one making them, though Harry doubted it was still a secret at this point. He swallowed and wished he didn't have an audience for this presentation. Then deadly intent began to seep from Voldemort, and Harry stopped stalling.

The invisibility cloak was in the left pocket, but the wand was still in the right, still just as dark as when he'd first made it. It bit at his fingers as he pulled it out, but Harry ignored the growing discomfort. The potential pain from Voldemort's impatience would far outweigh the nips from the testy wand.

"Not even a box in which to store it?" Voldemort said. Harry winced at the soft mocking. From the slight curl of the man's lip, he was ready to reject the wand without even touching it. But maybe there was something in Harry's eyes as he held it out that made Voldemort pause, then reach out to grab it.

Malfoy leaned forward, and Harry found himself leaning in as well, equal parts curious and anxious for Voldemort's reaction. But there was no reason to doubt his work this time, for as soon as Voldemort's hand touched the wand the air grew heavy with magic.

Hasty could see Voldemort's pupils contract until only a thin slice of black remained, surrounded entirely by red.

"This is it," Voldemort murmured. Harry didn't know when he had let go, but he suddenly noticed the emptiness in his own hand as he watched Voldemort's grip tighten around the wand. Harry could hear the wood singing, purring, repeating one word that sounded like "mineminemine-"

Malfoy inhaled sharply as the magic saturation continued rising, and Voldemort twitched at the sudden sound as if he'd forgotten they were in the room. His eyes snapped to Malfoy, and the man wasn't too ashamed to flinch at whatever he saw in Voldemort's expression.

"Lucius, get out," Voldemort said.

Malfoy bowed quickly and all but ran out. Harry didn't dare shift once they were alone, even though the silence was building with something he couldn't quite name.

Voldemort stepped forward, invading Harry's personal space. "So you finally did it," he said. He ran the tip of the wand lightly against Harry's cheek. "It's marvelous - truly a masterpiece."

The words barely registered to Harry; he was shaken more by the touch of the wood - still giving him light shocks - and the pressure of the magic on his skin was at once overpowering and sensual. His was on the borderline of danger, and yet he couldn't deny the excitement coursing through him.

Later he couldn't point out what drove him to do it. But just before Voldemort leaned away, Harry reached up for the man's face and pulled him into a kiss.

There was only a short moment in which Voldemort stood unresponsive, before he took control and deepened the kiss. Before Harry realized it his mouth was pried open, and then their tongues were twining around each other in endless patterns.

Harry had thought their last kiss was amazing; this kiss was so far beyond that he had no time to think at all. The kisses came faster and faster, like Voldemort was devouring him with each taste; Harry was happy to return the sentiment. Harry's hands moved down Voldemort's face and traced the sharp cheekbones briefly before continuing down. He could feel the firm muscles under his palms, and the uneven rise and fall of Voldemort's chest. His own matched the pattern, both of them gasping for air between kisses.

Voldemort backed him up until he was pressed against the wall next to the door, and began to trail kisses down Harry's neck.

Harry moaned softly, then yelped when Voldemort nipped the juncture of his neck; Voldemort soothed the bite with his tongue before switching to the other side. The sensations were almost too much - Harry felt feverish and weak, but he knew he wanted more.

He reached for the bulge he could feel pressing against his leg, but Voldemort pulled away abruptly before he could run his hand over it fully.

"That's enough," Voldemort said, and stepped back further. He ran his hands through his hair to straighten the few strands that were out of place. "That bastard doesn't even look ruffled," Harry managed to think around his utter surprise. He couldn't believe that Voldemort was really walking away, just when they were finally getting somewhere interesting, but the man confirmed it moments later, saying, "I have a meeting to get to in the library."

He quickly gathered a stack of papers from his desk and added as if it was an afterthought, "Again, lovely work, remarkable. We'll have to discuss the next steps later, for getting your work to the public." His eyes lingered on Harry's limp form briefly before he left the room, leaving Harry staring blankly at the suddenly empty room.

Eventually Harry gathered himself enough to stand on his own feet instead of letting the wall support him, then straightened his own clothing, which was a good deal more rumpled.

Why did he stop so suddenly? Voldemort had been as interested as Harry, and it was obvious that he forced himself back. He didn't suddenly lose attraction for me...what else could it be?

The worry haunted him for the next hour as he wandered aimlessly around the manor; now that he'd created Voldemort's wand there was no other pressing thing to do. Harry almost decided to visit his father - perhaps now was the perfect time for them to escape - after all, the promise was fulfilled. Voldemort had what he wanted.

But the cloud hanging over him kept him away. And the kiss kept replaying through his mind along with the questions that he couldn't answer. With his feet moving on autopilot Harry found himself in the more public wing of the manor, in a hallway of miscellaneous rooms that he didn't oven visit.

Harry made to turn around when he heard distant voices coming from one of the rooms towards the end of the hall - voices that he thought he recognized. After a second of hesitation Harry pulled the cloak from his pocket and flipped it over his shoulders. He moved closer and could tell that it was Malfoy and Snape, and was glad that he'd preemptively hidden himself.

They were in a potions laboratory, one of the many in the manor, and Harry thought it an obvious location for Snape even with the little he knew of the man. Both wizards had their backs to him, so Harry carefully settled into the corner just inside the door.

"I don't understand your reluctance," Malfoy was saying, "Draco would make an excellent consort for the Dark Lord. He has the perfect manners and attitude for one of such station. I expected that as his godfather, you'd be pleased for his potential rise in status."

His voice seemed a touch exasperated, which was surprising since Harry had only ever seen Malfoy calm and poised -as if he had only the highest quality stick rammed up his ass. But was the Dark Lord really looking for a consort? Harry didn't know what he'd walked in on, but he was already starting to regret it. He strained to hear more, as if his urgency would make them continue faster, though a large part of him was dreading what else he'd overhear.

"Draco is completely terrified of the Dark Lord," Snape said absently, his attention focused on a spoonful of powder he was weighing on a scale. He divided the portion and scooped half into the potion simmering in the cauldron.

"He's not terrified - he's appropriately submissive - but that's not the point. Now that the Potter boy is out of the way, Draco is in prime position to capture our Lords attention," Malfoy said sharply.

"The Dark Lord wouldn't even speak to Draco."

"He's presenting his proposal for the next raid to the Dark Lord now," Malfoy said, the very air around him smug.

The meeting in the library. Harry grabbed his hair and tugged sharply, trying to force himself to focus on the conversation and not the rising confusion.

Snape had paused with his stirring rod just above the cauldron, but said a moment later, "I doubt they're alone in there."

"That doesn't matter, as long as Draco can show the Dark Lord some of his abilities."

"We'll see then," Snape said neutrally, then his head snapped up from the cauldron and he said, "Stupefy!"

The spell hit the empty space of wall just in front of Harry where he was crouched, crawling back to the door; he jerked back quickly, staring at Snape, then hurriedly continued to the door.

"What?" Malfoy asked, his wand out as well. His frustration seemed forgotten as he scanned the room quickly.

Harry missed Snape's response as he crept away from the lab as fast as he could. He'd heard enough, too much, and it was time to return to his room to regroup. Draco was clearly a relative of Malfoy - his son?- but who was 'the Potter boy'? Were there two other people he had to fight for the Dark Lord's affections?

Because he could at least be honest with himself - that he wanted to be more intimate with Voldemort and see if a relationship between them could work. But had Voldemort just been playing with him earlier? Harry really needed to figure out what the hell was going on, as soon as possible. And definitely before he made out with the Dark Lord again. Maybe. Perhaps kissing first, ask questions later? He was open to whichever came first, actually….well shit. He was in trouble.