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It takes another minute for Harry’s head to clear up, for him to make sense of the expression he’s seeing because the man, Voldemort, his mortal enemy, has yet to move, his face frozen on that one expression.
It’s a cross-section of several emotions, to be exact. Bemusement, consternation, denial.
Yet should one look deeper into those red, red eyes, naked longing shines in them. It twists Harry’s stomach into knots.
Or: In which Voldemort discovers what Harry is when possessing him in the Ministry Atrium—that Harry belongs to him.
NOTE: Respect my wishes, please. Do not repost my work anywhere else; that should be my choice, not yours. Please ask to see if I will allow translations.
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- English
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Bookmarked by Kittenbane
09 Sep 2023
