Entry tags:

2008_ficathon_fic

FICATHON: FIC "Dissonance" by kareswen (HP/LV, R)
Title: Dissonance
Author/Artist: kareswen
Prompt Numbers: 52: Songfic of 'I Can't Decide' by Scissor Sisters. Gen, smut, slash, crack, whatever (prompt suggested by marquisebaelish)
Pairing: Harry/Voldemort
Rating: R
Words: ~1,000
Warnings: Strong language, adult themes
Summary: He couldn’t handle this double life anymore, not when he was getting nothing out of it. Walking away is hard, especially when your lover won’t let you. Harry can’t break away, and Voldemort doesn’t know whether he wants to allow him or not.
Disclaimer: Not mine, never has been and never will be. No money is made from this. Song by Scissor Sisters.
Author's Notes: I’ve loved this song since I first heard it, watching the end of the third series of Doctor Who. John Simm dancing and singing along to this is something everyone should see. Make it law, I swear.

Dissonance

---

It’s not easy having yourself a good time
Greasing up those bets and betters
Watching out they don’t four-letter
Fuck and kiss you both at the same time
Smells like something I’ve forgotten
Curled up, died and now it’s rotten
I’m not a gangster tonight
Don’t want to be a bad guy
I’m just a loner, baby
And now you’ve gotten in my way

I can’t decide whether you should live or die
Oh, you’ll probably go to heaven
Please don’t hang your head and cry
No wonder why my heart feels dead inside
Cold and hard and petrified
Lock the doors and close the blinds
We’re going for a ride

---

Voldemort didn’t know what possessed him to take the boy to bed, but it was a decision he rued and applauded in equal measure. It was a welcome (and frequent) distraction from watching over his useless Death Eaters, and in a strange way, having the boy around made things easier – knowing that he had a secret, fucking the Boy Who Lived behind the entire world’s back… it was exhilarating. With Potter, he could forget that he was trying to take over the world, and what a thankless and slow endeavour it was.

It was addictive, and Voldemort hated relying on anything and anyone.

He’d had to rely upon Headmaster Dippet’s charity while in Hogwarts. He’d had to rely upon the fools pawning their possessions in Borgin’s shop to lead him to those artefacts he now kept hidden, safe from Potter who was as clueless as Dumbledore as to the nature of his immortality. He’d had to rely upon Wormtail, of all people, for a year, to ensure his triumphant return, and now he had to rely upon Potter, to provide him with that escape.

He hated and needed Potter, and now Voldemort was so close to his goal, he didn’t need to keep Potter around.

Perhaps he just wanted Potter? Voldemort wanted many things, and surely wanting Potter isn’t a weakness?

And yet, Voldemort realised, wanting Potter was almost as bad as needing him – it was Potter, after all. Goody-goody, white-hat, fucking Golden Boy Potter. Even if – when – he managed to kill the brat, he’d probably find some way of coming back and haunting him, rules to becoming a ghost be damned. Would that be so bad? Having Potter, ever-devoted and broken Potter, near and around him reminded Voldemort that he wasn’t as detached from the fragments of his soul as he’d think. Potter reminded Voldemort of himself, when he was Tom Riddle, powerful and young and desperate for the attention he deserved, the awe and reverence.

Potter got it, and Tom didn’t. And being with Potter, breaking him and seeing him do all that Voldemort asked made the older man feel….

He wasn’t sure how he felt. He enjoyed fucking Potter, enjoyed keeping the secret that he had made the Boy Who Lived scream in every delicious way possible, knowing that Potter went back to that school and made plans and fought the good fight.

So why did the thought of Potter’s inevitable death at his, the Dark Lord’s, hand make him shake with excitement and terror in equal measure?

---

It’s a bitch convincing people to like you
If I stop now call me a quitter
If lies were cats you’d be a litter
Pleasing everyone isn’t like you
Dancing jigs until I’m crippled
Slug ten drinks I won’t get pickled
I’ve got to hand it to you
You’ve played by all the same rules
It takes the truth to fool me
And now you’ve made me angry

---

Harry didn’t understand it, and didn’t pretend to. He had no idea why he was drawn to Voldemort in this way. It wasn’t a relationship in any conventional sense of the term (or perhaps it is: a most twisted, abusive relationship), but they weren’t nothing to each other. Harry couldn’t understand a lot of things, not least why he kept going back, kept lying to his friends and leaders; why he avoided a confrontation with Voldemort at all costs. He didn’t love Voldemort, and he knew Voldemort didn’t – couldn’t – love him in return. But there was some sort of care there, some meagre devotion and Harry wanted to hold on to every scrap while he could.

The day he’d have to let go was fast approaching, he knew, swirling the spirit in his glass absently before downing it with a scowl. He ordered another straight firewhiskey. He’d lost track of how many he’d had, though he was sure the bartender of the random back-water Wizarding pub he’d found himself in could tell him exactly. It wasn’t relevant, he didn’t feel at all drunk.

Everyone could feel the impending climax, the moment when the War would end and be decided. Harry could feel it, and it made him want to turn and run, hide until it was over. Even as he thought it, he knew it wasn’t an option. He was committed and had been since the first Hogwarts letter landed on the Dursley’s welcome mat. Harry was sick of trying to justify – if only to himself - the way he pandered to Voldemort, the way he would do whatever was asked of him no matter how lewd or painful. Harry hadn’t said ‘no’ to Voldemort any more than half a dozen times since this… thing began. And because Harry didn’t make demands, he supposed Voldemort had hardly ever said ‘no’ either.

They both knew what the other was prepared to do for the other: Harry, everything; Voldemort, nothing if it wouldn’t benefit him also.

That astounding truth rocked him to the core as he realised it. Voldemort wouldn’t stop, even if Harry asked (…especially if Harry asked?) and so this liaison would bring nothing but death and destruction, to Harry and his, to the world. If Harry couldn’t say ‘no’ to Voldemort, then the rest of the world would fall.

The time had come for Harry to say ‘no’, to face Voldemort on the battlefield and stand up for what he believed, and that meant leaving this twisted pleasure-seeking behind him. He knew it would be going cold-turkey but there was no choice, not between this and the Wizarding World. Voldemort had to be stopped, Harry was the only one who could and ergo, Harry had to face the fact that Voldemort had to be stopped.

Stopped.

Stopped meaning killed.

Well, Harry decided with fierce determination even as his gut wrenched, if there’s one thing I’ve learned from this, it’s that I have to do what’s needed – body and soul.

---

Oh, I could throw you in a lake
Or feed you poisoned birthday cake
I won’t deny I’m going to miss you when I’m gone
Oh, I could bury you alive
But you might crawl up with a knife
And kill me when I’m sleeping
That’s why

---

The next time Harry saw his lover’s face, four days had passed and they were facing each other on the battlefield the Hogwarts’ grounds had become. Bodies surrounded them, dead, dying and fighting to the last. Both Harry and Voldemort were bloody and determined.

One way or another, it was all about to end.

---

I can’t decide whether you should live or die
Oh, you’ll probably go to heaven
Please don’t hang your head and cry
No wonder why my heart feels dead inside
Cold and hard and petrified
Lock the doors and close the blinds
We’re going for a ride


FIN