Autor's note: I'm not dead (though the lack of free time slowly kills me)! Here's the promised epilogue. Also, I feel much better about it than any previous version I had so far. This one is specifically about Harry and Tom; I've decided to leave the fate of other characters up your imagination.

Sorry, unbetaed at the moment. Please, kindly ignore all the neglected mistakes.

Rating of the chapter: T/M (another thing I have to leave up to you, though I think this one could pass as T)

Epilogue

xxxxx

somewhere on a southern coast of the Mexican Riviera

19th August 2003, 19:30 local time

xxxxx

Harry threaded his fingers through his dark, unruly hair and then he lifted his head, pushing the spectacles up his nose as he watched the golden sun slowly set down over the glittering ocean's horizon. He breathed in the warm air smelling of salt and sea, feeling the small droplets water spatter over his face as the azure waves broke one after another against the base of white, flat cliffs close bellow him. The perfect harmony of colours, sounds and scent was nearly surreal. It was hard to believe that places like this even existed; especially for someone like him who spent most of his childhood being locked behind the walls of a small cupboard under the stairs. He could sit here for days, simply watching this in awe. It seemed like a miracle to him that he could really be here, that he could travel around the world and explore uchmarvellous places, that he could meet new people, gain knowledge, experience and most of all enjoy his life. Harry only started to get taste of things which many of people took for granted.

He felt so free now without any obligation towards the wizarding world. It was a pure joy to be so careless for once. It didn't bother him at all that most of the magical community considered him somewhat lunatic. What really mattered to him was his friends' opinion and since they pretty much accepted his choice (after seeing that he wasn't turning into another dark lord or suffering from some terrible abuse), Harry could easily handle occasional distrust or even dislike from strangers. Because he was happy - happier than he ever thought that he could be. That wonderful feeling of delight which was ceaselessly spreading through his chest made him wonder if he could eventually die of it.

And it was the most unlikely person, who was responsible for his elated state of mind.

Harry smiled broadly and looked down at the seemingly endless cyan depths, hoping that he would see him somewhere.

It was so thrilling, but also a little startling to always have him around, caring and loving. Maybe he didn't understand Tom's nature as much as he thought he did, or maybe his dear ex-Dark Lord was not entirely sincere with him, playing a little charade to appease his need of safety. Harry knew that everything would be absolutely perfect for him if he were to happily accept it instead of finding it a bit disconcerting every now and then. Still, if he were to be honest with himself, he would prefer if they could do without any pretence in their relationship. He wanted to erase that nagging suspicion that Voldemort merely dutifully played a role of a nice guy for fear of losing him in case of some mistreatment. If Tom meant it to be another proof of love, Harry didn't needed it. He didn't want some walking perfection by his side which he could use to boast about his 'evil taming' abilities; he wanted the guy who he fell for and he wanted him happy.

Besides, if what he suspected was true, he didn't even want to imagine how stressful it had to be for Tom to always be on guard about everything he wanted to say or do. If he could not be himself, not even for the shortest while, how long it would take him to grow tired of this … of him?

"Damn it," Harry muttered, biting his lip.

He was just about to contemplate what action he should take, when the train of his thoughts was interrupted by tickling of a magical aura touching his own. It was barely a notable sensation, but Harry was a trained wizard already; he knew what it meant.

"Tom," he breathed out and closed his eyes for a moment, his muscles gradually relaxing as he felt a kiss on the back of his neck. The slender arms wrapped themselves around his chest and the rest of Harry's thoughts scattered as the pleasant chill of that loose embrace filled every corner of his mind.

"What's the matter, Harry? You seem so tense...," he finally heard the quiet voice whispered to his ear.

"Oh … I was already planning a rescue mission in case you were drowning," Harry smiled. "What took you so long?"

"Have you missed me much?"

Harry, unable to hold back any longer, turned around and claimed Tom's lips, sinking deeper into his cool and slightly wet embrace. They were all alone (due to a couple of effective charms, of course) on this small beach surrounded by wonderful cliffs, so he felt pretty comfortable even when the cold hands began their journey over his heated body. Then one of them shamelessly slipped into his swimming trunks and curled around him, making him groan softly.

"I have a gift for you," Voldemort said and Harry had to focus very hard on his words instead of the movement of his hand.

"A gift?" Harry gasped, half in protest since the hand in question slipped away and took something from the ground.

"A little souvenir, if you like..."

It was a pearl, big enough to fit into a king's crown. It also shone in dozens of colours, just like the sky above them. Harry watched it for a while, entranced.

"Tom," he finally said. "It's wonderful, but … you know that I love you even without..."

"It's yours then," Voldemort interrupted him and kissed his temple.

It was like that wherever they went. Harry was quite familiar with Tom's indulgence in collecting valuable stuff. His lover, however, no longer kept his possessions for himself and rather gave them to him instead. Harry was slightly embarrassed by that since he would prefer to have it other way around. However, very soon he learned that any attempt to return these little presents was a bad idea. This time he knew better than that.

"Thank you," he said as took it from him. "But I have nothing in return for you."

"Nonsense," Voldemort shook his head. "I require many things from you and I'm very glad you're keen to give them generously."

"I guess you're talking about my company, my feelings for you and er … my body heat perhaps?" Harry hesitated a little before leaning closer to him. "But what about the things you desire, yet never ask for them?"

Voldemort avoided the touch of Harry's approaching lips, watching him speculatively instead.

"What do you mean?"

"You tell me."

After a moment of silence they spent considering each other, the older man said curtly.

"I have no idea what this is about."

"Aw, come on. You cannot think only of the ways how to please me, can you? Maybe sometimes in the dark of the night you are tempted to consider what it would be like if you crushed both the Order andthe vampires. Don't you ever wonder what it would be like if you ruled the world, if all your old dreams came true?"

Voldemort moved away from him quickly as if he got slapped over the face.

"Those are not my dreams anymore," he retorted and Harry felt his glare burning holes into his skull. He smiled uncertainly and rubbed his nose in a display of nerves.

"I'm really glad to hear that but how doyou feel about it? In all honesty, don't you feel as if you were living some … artificial life? That this isn't the real you? Are you truly happy?"

What Harry really wanted to ask was: 'Am I making you happy?' but somehow he didn't find courage to voice it that way.

"Why are we talking about this again?" Voldemort returned coldly, gazing somewhere in the distance. "You sound as if you would be pleased if I suddenly decided to go on a killing rampage. Why are you looking for some evidence that I haven't changed? That deep inside I'm still the same person? It greatly disappoints me, Harry, I must say. Here I thought that you'd be happy to know that I haven't killed anyone for years! I guess shall go to the next village and quickly remedy that mistake."

Though the words were surely meant to be daunting, Harry felt strangely relieved. He suspected that this was Tom's weak spot, something he was trying to deny but it was still there. Now that he knew it for sure, maybe he could help him somehow.

"It's not like that at all. I'm very happy and proud of you, my love," he said gently. "It amazes me that you can be so strong. It makes me love you even more."

The strain in Voldemort's spine began to disappear after hearing those words. He looked back Harry, somewhat mollified.

"But I want to make it easier for you," Harry continued. "I hate to know that you still have to … suffer in some way, while I can't help it."

"My precious boy … what I feel right now is as far from suffering as it can possibly be. As long as you're here, I don't care very much about what was before. It's merely a question of time before my past becomes completely insignificant to me and this will be the only desired reality. It's inevitable, really, since I want it that way."

"Is it at least getting easier for you in time?" Harry asked, even though he knew the answer. The following silence only confirmed it. "Not much, right? You see. Don't lock away yourself so harshly. I can handle it for a while."

"You don't know what you're saying," Voldemort said with a distinct hiss, all previous softness gone from his voice.

"Quite the opposite. It's better than having you snap at some point."

"Harry..."

"Come on, don't hold it inside. You can start by telling me ... some dirty secret perhaps? Something you don't want me to know 'cause you fear I would leave you. I promise I won't do that. You made me quite strong, don't you think?"

Harry lowered his head and kissed the long scar at the base of Tom's neck, feeling the lean muscles tighten under his touch. It was pleasant to see Voldemort got quite into shape during the past two years. It was so much more enjoyable to feel something softer than just bones under his skin. Harry loved the improvement regardless of the fact that Tom will probably always be considerably skinnier than he was.

"Confide in me," he breathed against his neck, enjoying the shiver he evoked. "You have nothing to worry about, trust me."

Harry looked up, meeting the intent gaze of deep red eyes.

"This has nothing to do with my trust," the older man responded. "I simply don't think you can handle Lord Voldemort. Certainly not at the current level of your emotional attachment."

"Let me surprise you as always," Harry said confidently.

"No," Voldemort shook his head, though his voice lacked a little of his previous resolution.

"Well … as you wish," Harry sigheddisappointedly, secretly hoping that this reaction would impair Tom's resolve even further.

He turned around to face the darkening sky again and made himself more comfortable on the rug.

"I want you to know that you can tell me whenever you feel ready. Just please, don't forget to warn me beforehand."

"So you can get over your initial shock?" Voldemort snorted derisively.

He failed to cover his surprise when Harry beamed at him over his shoulder.

"That's right."

After a moment the dark wizard moved a little closer to him, but Harry pretended he didn't notice, playing with the pearl in his palm.

He managed to remain disinterested until the cold fingers suddenly squeezed his throat and forced him backwards until he met the other man's chest. The clutch on his neck was firm but not exactly painful or blocking his airways in any way. Therefore Harry managed to fight back the urge to push that hand away and waited patiently for the other man to speak.

"I wonder if you've only been born to tempt me, Harry," Voldemort's high voice was so quiet that Harry had problems to discern the words.

"Because, in fact, I may have a wish or two, which concerns you closely."

"Yeah? What it is?" Harry gasped as the grip momentarily tightened.

"It would be very foolish of me to tell. I refuse to risk losing the feeling I've been missing whole my life for some needless whim. It's not worth it … nothing's worth it."

"Is it that bad?" Harry breathed out.

"I suppose."

"You can't hurt me just by telling me."

"Oh, I don't think so. You wouldn't feel safe with me anymore."

"Do you know what the Auror's biggest flaw is?" Harry responded readily to that. "It's a tendency to slack in alertness and feel safe around someone. That's at least what I was taught during my training. And, honestly, I don't mind a bit of excitement every now and then."

"This is so true for every dark lord as well," Voldemort said bemusedly and let his hand slid down to Harry's chest.

"I thought you would agree," the younger man nodded.

"So persistent... Tell me, why do you want to know it so much?"

"'Cause I prefer to deal with issues instead of pretending that there aren't any."

"I see..." there was a brief pause filled with tense silence. "All right … since it's your decision, I'll tell you then."

"Okay," Harry breathed out and turned so he could face him again.

Voldemort raised a bony finger to his thin lips and appeared to be thoughtful.

"Although," he said, "your friends would very likely want my head if they knew..."

Harry's eyes widened for a fraction of a second and he gulped idly. Deep inside, he scolded himself for that instinctive reaction. What was he expecting to hear? That Tom wanted to go pick up flowers with him or what? But this ... hearing him say that the Order would want him dead if they learned about this... Suddenly, Harry wasn't entirely sure that this was such a good idea. But it wasn't his style to go back on his word.

Taking a deep breath, he adjusted glasses and slowly nodded.

"Fine, I'll keep on my mind not to mention anything before them," he said warily.

The red eyes watched him closely and Harry felt slight probing at the surface of his thoughts.

"You doubt your decision," Voldemort pointed out softly then.

This was one of the moments when Harry wasn't exactly thrilled that his mind was still quite transparent to him. He looked away, playing with the pearl distractedly.

"Who wouldn't?" he said before shaking his head. "But that's all right. I said that you can trust me. And I meant it."

"Ah, yes. Brave as always."

Voldemort reached out for him and for the shortest moment, during which the hair on Harry's neck stood up and his whole body shivered, he could feel the chilling touch of two fingers on his forehead, lightly tracing his scar. Then the hand slid down slowly, paused at his neck where the cold thumb pressed against his Adam's apple while the other fingers delved into his hair.

"I've always wanted a victory," Voldemort finally spoke. "Our past is filled with countless encounters and yet you had always managed to outsmart me somehow."

Harry slowly met the intense sanguine gaze.

"And I can't get this out of my mind," Voldemort continued, the edge of his voice giving Harry chills. "Whenever I see you I keep thinking that I couldn't defeat this boy. No matter how precious he's to me now I could not defeat him. It makes me feel so ... incompetent. It urges me to do something reckless; something regrettable..."

Harry licked his suddenly dry lips and forced himself to breathe with some difficulty.

"By saying that … do you mean...?" he began slowly, wondering how should he ask something he didn't want to ask at all. "Does it mean … that you want us to have … a duel?"

Harry failed to mask a tremor in his voice. Frankly, he didn't see many options of his survival if the answer was yes. If Voldemort asked him to get up and fight him that instant, he wouldn't be able to do it. He couldn't comprehend that Tom was really considering something like that since he would never … he couldn't even think about hurting him...

The older wizard's response was immediate. First he appeared to be aghast, but that expression didn't stay on his face long. In a matter of seconds he was completely livid.

"Are you insane?-!" he hissed scathingly, taking a firm grasp of Harry's shoulders and shaking him hard as if trying to knock some sense back to him.

Harry felt like swooning in relief.

"Yeah, sure I am, according to the Daily Prophet at least," Harry managed to smile at last. Then he brought a knee to his chest so he could rest his head on it. "Okay. So, if you don't want to kill me, what's on your mind then?" he asked almost playfully.

"Don't look so relieved yet," Voldemort retorted, still upset, waiting for Harry's grin to wilt away. "I'm sure you wouldn't enjoy it very much, if the true fantasy of mine were to happen."

"Let me think," Harry pondered aloud, "You want to see me defeated and completely at your mercy, right? What would you want to do then?" he asked, feeling his heart steadily beat faster.

"Many things...," Voldemort said evasively.

"Things which would make my friends declare a new war against you?"

The older man didn't answer, but Harry stubbornly continued.

"Why don't you name a few?"

The moment Voldemort stopped avoiding Harry's eyes their gazes clashed.

"Don't get the wrong idea, boy. I don't want to hurt you … for real. I just … you have no idea how much I would like to…"

He stopped fishing for proper words and shook his head in a gesture as close to defeat as it could be. "Nah, this is so pointless. I'm not going to insist that I want any of it to happen so it's meaningless to talk about it."

At that point, Harry slowly began to put two and two together. He had the feeling that the resulting answer would miraculously explain everything: Tom's hesitation even though he was often almost cruel in his honesty, the choice of his words, his uneasiness, his apparent frustration...

"Could it be that you would like to..."

Harry realized that he couldn't say it as well. The word twisted and wriggled on his tongue, resisting to be voiced. Probably because it was something which could hardly fall within terms of normal relationship. Harry gritted his teeth. Hasn't he given up on being 'normal' quite some time ago?

"R … rap...," Harry coughed. And then he gulped it down.

Tom's face became unreadable except of his gaze which reflected his desire … and shame...

"Something like that could prove to be difficult with a totally willing victim," Harry whispered evenly, never looking away from the other man's face. Voldemort's jaws tightened and then he nodded imperceptibly.

"Indeed," he bit out.

There was a moment of silence when Harry didn't know what to say. Now that the truth was out, he didn't feel so brave about it.

"I hope you're satisfied now. Tell me, has this discovery of my unceasing depravity made you happy?" Voldemort asked sourly and his words rang like bells in Harry's ears.

He looked away and his eyes caught the contrast of Voldemort's pale figure against the quickly darkening surroundings. He remembered that his appearance was alwayslike that. Strangely, he refused to make similar connection during all the time they were together as if there was an invisible wall separating him from what was before,which, considering the fact that he preferred to act as if he didn't mind what happened in their past, was rather strange. Maybe he was living in pretence too only he wasn't even aware of it. Curiously enough, now that itwas crumbing apart, Harry didn't feel more defenceless or vulnerable. After all, when he fell in love with him, Voldemort wasn't a good person at all. That time Harry only refused to give up on him like everyone else did.

He was not going to give up on him now either.

Besides, loving someone wasn't about changing the person - it was about acceptance, toleration, understanding, respect. Those were the essentials they were striving to achieve.

Harry looked down at his own intertwined fingers. He wasn't frightened or anything like that. He just didn't know what to think. It could be much worse that that for sure, yet a simple thought of some ruthless violence during such an intimate act was upsetting his stomach. He turned his face back to the ocean, combating a horde of different worried him that if he wanted to put on a good show, he would have to fall back into the old 'mortal enemies' pattern. What if it would affect his feelings somehow? What if he would realize the next morning that he couldn't love him the way he did before - that his feelings simply weren't strong enough? He wasn't ready to risk that, which was cowardly of him no matter how he looked at it. He owed Tom for trying really hard to become someone he could be proud of. Voldemort wasn't always perfect, but he was doing an amazing job. He certainly deserved a reward for his long-time endeavour. And Harry could see why this may be a perfect vent for his dominant, imperious nature. If he were allowed to feel a moment of victory over the Chosen One, he may not feel tempted to compensate his … well … 'defeat' otherwise.

"Have I angered you much?"

The slightly nervous voice brought him out of his muse and he reflexively shook his head.

"Stop thinking about it, Harry. As I said, it's just a needless whim of mine."

If Harry needed something to decide his inner battle, he finally had it.

"But you are thinking about it. And as you said, it is bothering you constantly." Harry moved to sit on his heels, feeling surprisingly overconfident all of a sudden. "I'll do it but I have few conditions which I want to discuss first."

Voldemort let out a quiet gasp. Harry couldn't quickly recall the last time he saw him this taken aback.

"You are seriously considering this?" he asked, cautious and disbelieving at once.

"Yes, I think. I love you and … you know, I can hardly say I hate something when I haven't tried it once."

Incredulous about his luck, the older wizard reached out to squeeze Harry's leg just above his knee.

"Tell me your conditions then," he said quickly.

Harry grinned at his eagerness.

"Fine. In return, I would love to have you whenever I want to … let's say till the end of the month."

That cooled down Voldemort's overgrowing enthusiasm significantly.

"Today's just eighteenth, Potter," he noted icily.

"Yeah, I know. I'm sure you can handle it, can't you?"

Voldemort's doubtful look briskly morphed into a glare.

"Don't overdo it, boy."

"Oh, quit complaining. Unlike you, I don't plan on adding any violent interlude consisting of wrestling, bondage, feet-licking followed by some dry-fucking or whatever specialitiesyou have on your mind. Unless you want them, of course."

Voldemort's glare sharpened after that but all he said in the end was: "All right. What else do you want?"

"Or what I don't want," Harry corrected. "It concerns a certain type of curses … or just one curse to be specific."

"You really thought that I would use Unforgivables on you?" Voldemort gasped in dismay, but deep inside Harry suspected it was – at least partly - just an act. Therefore, he chuckled and raised an eyebrow, silently telling him: 'I know what you like.'

"All right then! No Cruciatus Curse," the dark wizard ground out. "Anything else?"

"Right. Don't mention my parents 'cause I might start to take it … eh … a bit too seriously and … I also want to have my wand around."

"Hmph. I'm not sure I can guarantee that last request. But you can always try to keep it," Voldemort said bemusedly, stroking his thin lips with his forefinger, his anger quickly disappearing.

"Sounds fair," Harry agreed reluctantly before looking back at the sea where the huge orange moon slowly rose to start its path over the night sky.

"If that's all, let's settle this. Do you want to do it tonight or would you prefer some other time?"

"Tonight, I guess," Harry said and then smiled. "Since I'm allowed to have fun with you only till the end of the month."

"Brat," Tom hissed under his breath.

"Bastard," Harry returned lovingly. "I love you though. Don't forget it."

Voldemort nodded and kissed his cheek. Harry heard a very quiet "Thank you," and then he was gone, leaving him to watch the evening spectacle by himself. And Harry did that for a good half an hour. The moon was already above the ocean when he decided to take a quick night swim in pleasantly warm water.

It was then when his doubts really started to nag at him. He didn't really want to do that, not even in the slightest. It was only Tom's rare gratitude which kept him from changing him mind entirely. After he walked out of water, he picked up the pearl which he left in one of his sandals. Having it in his hand was surprisingly calming. He knew that he was loved to the point that Voldemort was giving him his possessions. He didn't need another reassurance that Tom had no real intention to hurt him. Still, he sighed as he cautiously looked around. Waiting was always the worst part; it was making him exceedingly nervous. He didn't understand why Tom left him in the first place. If he had wanted to give him some time to calm down, Harry would have told him right away that he didn't need that. It was more likely that Voldemort wanted to play on his nerves instead. Considering what he desired, it would make much more sense.

Harry pulled out his wand from the small case which was tightened to his upper arm and clutched it tightly in his palm as he washed all the salt from his skin. Then he slipped into his sandals. He briefly wished to be able to turn into his 'old-self' for tonight, just to make Tom happy, and then return to senses in the morning. Somehow, he didn't trust his resolve to fight him for real and if he failed to do so, Tom would rightfully feel deceived.

"It shows that I wasn't thinking at all when I suggested it. What am I going to do now?" Harry muttered for himself, pacing restlessly along the shore. After a couple minutes he gradually began to feel tired.

"Is he planning to keep me waiting all night?" he grumbled impatiently. He began to feel a bit cold and his growing tiredness eventually decided his next step. He was going to enter the snake's den – or their tent to be more specific.

He walked leisurely to their 'residence' standing nearby and once he reached it, he pushed aside the tent flap and looked inside the quiet room.

"Voldemort?" he asked as he slowly walked further in.

"Are you in here?"

No response was also a response.

"Fine," Harry sighed. "Fine. I don't care. You'll have it your way anyway."

He came over to the bedroom, pulled off his swimming trunks, quickly toweled himself andgot dressed into his pyjamas. Then he put the pearl into a drawer of his bedside table and fell onto the bed, waiting, keeping his wand at ready.

He didn't understand how he could feel incredibly nervous and sleepy at once. It was a long day, true, and he was up from wee hours, but it didn't meant he could afford himself to close his eyes … not even for a minute.

Therefore, it was a huge surprise for him when he awoke with a shock of being gagged and having his arms painfully bound behind his back.

"Tsk … Potter…," a chilling voice said mockingly.

"I haven't thought that you would make it so easy for me… You didn't even bother to give your habitation a basic magical protection. I shall make you pay for your carelessness."

Harry finally managed to turn from his stomach onto his back and look at the man above him.

Voldemort wore his long black cloak and he was watching him with that unnerving mixture of haughtiness and arrogance, which Harry didn't see on his face for years. It made him somehow sick from the stomach. Apparently, Voldemort had no problem to slip back into his Dark Lord's role and Harry began to feel traumatized by that.

He squirmed wildly, feeling how whatever cloth binding his hands cut deeper into his skin. He tried to force the gag out of his mouth by rubbing his face against the mattress, but before he could make any progress, he felt some invisible force envelop his body and tug him down from the bed, slowly dragging him after Voldemort into the kitchen.

Harry felt how his shirt rolled up and the dirt left a long scratches on his skin. He gave one last, furious attempt to free his numbing hands so he could reach for the wand which remained on the bed.

It was hopeless.

Harry turned his head towards Voldemort who momentarily paid him very little attention. It changed just another moment when he was thrown on the kitchen table, face down, and kept there by a forceful grip on his hair. By the corner of his eye he saw the long fingers wrap around a wooden spoon.

"Muggle-loving Potter in a muggle kitchen. I already start liking this idea."

Harry hurled a curse into his gag, glaring over his shoulder at Voldemort who leaned down to whisper to his ear.

"I might remove that gag later on so I can listen to your begging for mercy."

"Never!" Harry retorted, but the stifled sound reminded a bark more than anything else. Voldemort, however, easily recognized the meaning of it and his thin lips spread into a malicious smile.

"We will see."

xxxxx

a tent on the beach, Mexico

19th August 2003, late morning

xxxxx

"ARGHHH!"

Harry woke up, feeling as if all the gnomes in Weasley's garden decided to have a hammer party inside his skull … and on his body as well. He stuck out his head from the nest of blankets, looking owlishly around while wondering what the hell made that ghastly sound which woke him up.

"DIE YOU INSANE BIRD!"

Harry reached out for his glasses on the bedside table and put them on quickly. His vision cleared instantly and he had to bit into his lip right away to hold back a burst of laughter.

There was a small, hyperactive owl flying around their bedroom, hooting and attacking the blankets ceaselessly as if it had a real fun escaping the murderous claws of Harry's very ill-disposed lover.

"Kill it, Potter! KILL IT right now or I'LL DO IT!"

Though Harry was certain that it wasn't Pig since he received a letter from his friends just a few days ago, this owl definitely had some of Pig's manners. Enjoying the show for few more seconds, he finally said soothingly.

"You also wouldn't be overly happy if you had to fly over the ocean because of a letter which has nothing to do with you and once you reached the destination, you would learn that the addressee happily ignores you. Besides, I bet he's only hungry and thirsty."

An angered red eye peeked at him from beneath a hem of the blanket.

"YOU are the addressee, BOY! I'm certain the bird bugs ME just for fun."

"What a lovely creature," Harry said with a laugh. "No matter how much I bother you, I never get this reaction."

Harry looked away from the murderous glare, still smiling as he took his wand and conjured a small bowl. Another flick of his wand and it was filled with water to the brim. The bird finally stopped bouncing along and flew over to the bowl, drinking eagerly. Harry used that moment to untie an officially looking envelope from owl's tiny leg.

"It's from McGonagall,"he said wonderingly, gazing at his name written in emerald- green ink and then at the official purple wax seal bearing a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake surrounding a large letter H on the other side of the letter.

"Wow … I feel like I'm eleven again. I wonder what is this about?"

Voldemort raised his head a bit and then sneered.

"Who said you've stopped being eleven?"

"I think," Harry countered as he broke the seal, "I'm going to write McGonagall that I'm keeping the owl." For torturing purposes, he thought for himself.

The red eyes narrowed into a tiny slits.

"If you want a pet, I'm certain that a snake is always much better option."

"I don't need another one," Harry hissed curtly and opened the letter.

"You are...," Voldemort paused as if he tested the following word. "Mad at me," he finished after momentary hesitation.

"Oh, just as usual," Harry grumbled, trying to focus on the letter.

"No."

Harry dropped the paper.

"No?" he asked.

"More than usual."

Harry finally turned his head towards him and watched him with a blank face.

"Is it because of yesterday, right?" Voldemort finally asked. "I knew it. I knew it! I shouldn't have done anything!"

His voice broke a little and he turned his face quickly away to regain composure.

Harry felt a sharp prick of conscience. The fact that he didn't particularly enjoyed it didn't mean that he previously didn't give him his consent. Besides, Voldemort didn't do anything really wrong to him. He followed all the rules as he should; moreover, deep inside Harry was certain that he could make him stop anytime he asked for it. The fact that his pride didn't allow it was only his own problem. He had absolutely no right to feel angry at him.

But the fact that he did feel that way and that he couldn't help it made him even angrier – at himself.

"I knew you would hate me for it." The evident hurt in the other man's voice began to turn into bitterness. Harry quickly blinked, leaving his thoughts behind as he realized that his silence was confirming Tom's darkest thoughts.

"Look," he said quickly. "I admit I didn't exactly like most of the things which happened yesterday evening, so you were right with your presumption," Harry tried to explain it in all honesty. "But stop jumping to some utterly misleading conclusions like that I hate you for it!"

Voldemort didn't seem to be listening. He sat up and swung his legs out of bed, his back facing to Harry. Ultimately, he glanced over his shoulder as he spoke.

"I don't understand you," he said bitingly. "I clearly told you that you didn't have to do anything! Why did you let it happen then?"

"Is it so bad that I wanted you happy?" Harry asked as he crawled over the bed to sit beside him.

"Well, I don't feel particularly happy at the moment," Voldemort whispered sourly.

"Because I messed it up," Harry admitted, which made the ex-Dark Lord stare at him in disbelief.

"And may I ask where exactly have you messed it up? As far as I remember you were … very convincing … and everything," he said distractedly. "I enjoyed it tremendously. Though, right now, I wish I didn't."

"Really?" Harry whispered, feeling strangely praised. "Is that how it was for you?"

"Yes, but I shouldn't feel it that way!" Voldemort snarled and over his apparent anger Harry noticed how deeply embarrassed and remorseful he was. He watched him jerkily clutch his long snow-white fingers in display of nerves while ostentatiously avoiding his eyes. Harry was astonished.

"Tom...," he began, keeping his as neutral as he could since Voldemort usually didn't appreciate unguarded sentiment. "I'm sorry for snapping at you before. I was being irrational. I may sometimes act like an idiot for whatever stupid reason, but it doesn't mean that I love you any less than before. In fact, my feelings for you are only growing stronger by every moment. Please believe me," Harry implored, taking the slightly shaky, pale hand between his own. "Say … say you believe me..."

He held his gaze for seemingly endless moment, diving in the depths of the crimson eyes. Harry's worries from yesterday seemed futile to him now. He knew with undying certainty that his feelings are much stronger than anything reminding him what happened in the past.

"I … believe you," Tom finally said, his high voice strangely throaty and clouded by emotion.

"And I … yes, I love you too."

In that second, Harry felt like winning a billion pounds in a lottery.

"If you are sure that you can forgive such a miserable creature like me again, then I..."

And Harry kissed him, eagerly and passionately, as if there were no tomorrow. And at the very end of it, when they both ran out of breath and coherent thoughts, Harry slowly pulled away and said.

"There was one thing I really loved about the yesterday night. It was the moment when the great and merciless Lord Voldemort couldn't help but becoming affectionate with The-Boy-Who Lived."

"You kissed me. Twice," Harry explained to that questioning gaze he received.

"I don't recall falling out my role," the older man said, his eyebrows furrowing with confusion.

"I think that you couldn't stay in it any longer," Harry smiled.

"Oh...," Voldemort paused and then grinned slyly. "Interesting choice of words. By the way, I clearly remember that I could stay in it much longer."

"Ha ha," Harry said and caught a questing hand which began to sneak up his thigh and under the blanket. "It's my turn now, dear. Don't tell me that you've forgotten this part as well."

"I didn't … but shouldn't you first read that letter?"

"Oh, right," Harry glanced at the parchment on his pillow. "I guess I should."

He forced his protesting muscles to move and climbed back on his bed. Then he fell on the pillow, supporting his weight on his elbows and unfolded the letter. His eyes briefly fell on the bowl before him, which was half empty. Then he realized that the bird was gone. Probably, he got tired of all that romance and flew outside to hunt some well-fed mice.

Harry snorted to himself and quickly read the few lines written in an elegant scrawl.

His smile froze on his lips as he read it again.

"Something's wrong?"

Tom lay close by his side watching his face intently.

Harry scratched his nose and then handed over the letter.

"Read," he said and dropped his head on the pillow.

He managed to count only up to eight when the man beside him exploded in rage.

"NO! Never! Don't you dare to accept it, Potter! Do you understand me?-!"

Harry sighed.

"The Headmistress must be rather desperate since she decided to ask me, don't you think?"

"I wouldn't say desperate, I would say foolishly daring," Voldemort retorted. "I shall write her back and inform her that if she doesn't wish to die horribly at the end of the next school year, she shouldn't suggest the same thing to you."

"No … it's not that. It just doesn't make much sense to me. I don't think I'm already qualified enough to be a good Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher," Harry mused aloud, staring into the bowl as if it held all the answers in the world.

"Don't you even dare to contemplate it, Harry Potter!" Voldemort hissed, his voice reaching a new level of iciness.

"You'd be much better candidate for the job. That's for sure," Harry continued in his musings, completely undisturbed.

"Well, if you haven't noticed, she didn't address that letter to me!"

"She couldn't do that."

"Excuse me?"

"She couldn't do that, Tom, don't you see? She couldn't possibly take such responsibility on her shoulders. Sure, it would solve her problem, since the curse would be broken the moment you accepted the job, right? But she couldn't possibly send that offer to you. I bet the governors would require her instant resignation if she did."

"But why did she send it to you then? As if I would ever allow you to risk your life by taking the job!"

"I am an Auror, Tom. Unofficially, true, I didn't finish all exams yet, still I don't mind risking my life, if necessary. But to the point," Harry stopped the already forming protest by raising his hand. "I can suggest a replacement for me. And then it would become my responsibility."

Voldemort appeared to be breathless. Not even a muscle moved on his face.

"You'd be perfect for sure since you know all about the Dark Arts. Besides, your book had a tremendous success," Harry continued, waiting for Tom to wake from his stupor. He did a moment later with a silent hiss.

"Yes, I've noticed that crowd in the Diagon Alley who burned two hundred of its copies the next day after its release," he said icily.

"That was just a provocation. I'm fully convinced that each and every witch and wizard in that crowd has another copy hidden under their bed and that they're all secretly practicing the fundamentals every night before sleep," Harry held his own. "How else could you explain that remarkable improvement in efficiency of every Department on the Ministry which, by the way, nicely correlates with the numbers of sold copies of your book? Hermione wrote me many interesting details about it in her last letter and she is not the only one who finds it very amusing. Besides, she's definitely not the only one who thinks that your book is absolutely terrific."

"McGonagall knows it too," Harry continued, when Voldemort remained silent. "And I think she wants me to decide it. She knows that I won't probably accept the teacher's post since I have lot of other duties when we return home. And … you know … I'm aware how much you want the job so..."

"They won't let me teach," Voldemort cut him off, glaring somewhere ahead. "They won't risk that no matter how many recommendations you will send."

"Well, there might be some limitations for you at first such as … ten Aurors in every class … an Unbreakable Vow preventing you from killing or torturing students for forgotten homework and so on. But I think … I really think that you're not without a chance."

"Ten Aurors?" Voldemort asked suspiciously.

"Ah … well … maybe just one could be enough," Harry shrugged.

"You've discussed this with McGonagall already, haven't you?"

"Er...," Harry squirmed nervously. "Well, we might have had a purely hypothetical discussion about this topic once, yes. I never thought that she would really consider it. Not so soon at least."

"Yes, she must be really … desperate," Voldemort finally admitted. Then he smiled his creepy smile. "Fifty years of waiting ...I hope it will be worth it. Hah, I wonder how many kids will jump off the train once they know I boarded it as well."

This time it was Harry who raised an eyebrow.

"You know, Tom, I don't want to sound hypocritical or something, but you don't have to stay yourself that much. Besides, I think that a handful of the Floo powder would be much more elegant and stylish, wouldn't it?"

"Naturally. By the way, I was joking about the train," Tom said with a stony expression.

"Ah … sure. You're getting much better in that," Harry nodded fervently. "Anyway," he said, trying to keep his face even, though the corners of his lips still twitched. "Can I take it that you have already decided? Are you ready to try it?"

"Of course I am. As long as you'll be my supervising Auror, I can't wait. I already look forward to seeing you in the class."

"Oh, I don't know if they would let me, you know. I mean, they would surely think I am biased … or whatever."

"I don't think so. I'm pretty sure everyone wants to see you using your famous 'evil-taming' abilities."

"Hey!" Harry protested, feeling a blush spread over his face.

"Though that probably wouldn't be anything for kids..."

Harry pressed his palm against his mouth and climbed on top of him.

"You know what? I feel like using one of them right now."

He couldn't wait to do it since the fire in his captive's eyes was literally asking for that. And as Harry leaned down to him, he decided that he was going to do his best to help Tom get his dreamed-of post, so he could become his supervisor. Because, in that case, he was bound to (have lots of fun and) love his job!

R&R