voldiespet & nimori
Author: voldiespet
Title: Nothing to be Done
Pairing: Voldemort/James
Challenge: Having nothing, nothing can he lose"- (Act III Scene III) - King Henry the Sixth Part III
“Where are they?”
Smoke and blood, Voldemort’s musky scent smells of flesh cooked on the fire. James shudders, tries to recoil from the pale, cold skin pressed against his back. His stomach churns as bony fingers squeeze his hardening, leaking prick.
“Tell me, Potter. Where is your sweet flower?” Voldemort’s dry, hot tongue licks a muscled shoulder. James surrenders into the touch, tries to forget that the pale, cloth garden underneath, was where he had loved his wife the most.
“Where is your precious, baby son?” Sloppy and squelchy, Voldemort’s cock, coated with a double-spell lubricant, slid past tight muscles. Sharp hips slam against his own, thrusting him forward into the headboard. He screams from the lack of preparation and scrabbles at the soft fabric.
“Where is Harry?” Voldemort roars. James knew the Dark Lord’s patience, what little he had, was gone.
“Master, they’re coming.”
James cried out and sat up in bed. The bedclothes drenched, wrapped around his fists, were torn in places.
“James? Love?” Lily sat next to him, a haunted look in her eyes. “It’s okay,” she reassured and placed his glasses on his face. “It was just a dream. Nothing to worry about.”
Author: nimori
Title: For Fear a Traitor Makes
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Rape
Word Count: 2252
James gasped, the weight of a thick afghan thief to his breath, the edges of his dream drawing blood that masqueraded as sweat and left him sticky-dirty and drowning on his own sofa.
There'd been something... Voldemort and a garden and a sickening, stabbing heat, but it slipped from his mind as waking thoughts surfaced. Dawn flooded past the half-drawn curtains, made him think himself underwater and still dreaming, but the need to piss battered at his erection and dispensed the fancy.
He kicked the blanket to the floor, thinking Lily must have covered him. She might have tried to wake him, and failed, or grown tired of his thrashing and conceded the living room was the best place for him until he could sleep the night through. More likely the baby was colicky, and she hadn't wanted Harry to wake him if he'd managed to sleep before dawn.
He stumbled to the bathroom, the floor an inviting shade of cool against his feet -- Lily's work, as most of the household charms of comfort were. The light over the sink lit itself with courteous gradation, and the counter propped him up as lingering sleep stole his balance. For a long moment nothing happened, and he cursed under his breath. His bladder groaned at the wait, and he thought of Arithmancy and old Madam Marsh and snot-flavoured Bott's Beans and Voldemort -- and that last had the opposite effect it should have. His cock twitched, and an eerie sort of backwards orgasm traveled the length of it to set his spine shuddering.
He looked down at his now limp cock, and found he still couldn't piss.
"Having trouble, dear?" the mirror clucked. "Try running the tap."
James grunted, washed his hands, and followed his nose to the kitchen.
"What on earth were you dreaming last night?" Lily asked as she dished him some eggs. "You were whimpering, and Harry wouldn't go near you to say goodnight."
"Don't remember." James shoveled a forkful of omelet into his mouth, and made a face at Harry. Harry laughed, and dumped his cereal on the floor and put the bowl on his head. "S'my son all right."
"Don’t encourage him. Colligo." The cereal flew back into the bowl, and Harry blew a sulky raspberry.
"Might be dirt in that," James said.
"There's no dirt in it. It's a good spell."
"But there might be."
She stuck her tongue out at him, and fetched Harry a new bowl.
"Eh, there probably wasn't. And besides," he added, ducking as she threw a dish towel at him, "a little dirt never hurt anyone."
"If you weren't already sleeping on the couch..." Lily leaned over him from behind, pressed her forehead to his, and her hair parted them from the rest of the world. "I'm worried about you."
"What for?" He kissed the tip of her nose, and lowered his gaze to his breakfast, feeling her chin settle on his head. "Once Sirius gets back from Prague, we'll perform the Fidelius charm. Voldemort can stand outside our door until he rots for all the good it will do him, and I'll sleep better than Harry."
"And then you'll move on to worrying about Sirius instead of us and be back tossing until four in the morning. I know you, James. We should have let Dumbledore be our secret keeper."
"Dumbledore has enough to do," James said, looking away.
"Are you sure you're all right? You've been... funny since that last mission."
James closed his eyes, saw smoke and blood and fire, and Voldemort's furious red eyes.
"Pa," said Harry. He was wearing the bowl again, and this time he hadn't emptied it first, so by the time Lily had cleaned up and fetched a third bowl, James didn't have to answer.
*****
The stinky-sweet smell of baby held back the oppressive quiet as James climbed the stairs. Lily had gone to make some last minute arrangements with her sister, and the house felt as though its heart had left, taking the pulse of their life with it. Harry's sleepy breath on his neck and the creak of the steps were the only signs of life.
"Going to have ourselves a lie down," James whispered, just to hear something meant to be listened to. "Just the two of us." He laid Harry down on bed, frowning as the floral bedspread triggered a bout of trepidation. He cast a charm to keep wayward babies from rolling off, set his wand on the chest of drawers, and lay stiffly beside his already sleeping son.
He thought he would lie awake feeling the sand collect in his eyes, but it was only a moment before the rhythm of Harry's breath overcame the tension knotting his back, and world sunk from thought -- or thought from the world.
"Where is he, Potter?"
James started awake to foul breath like rotting leaves and a pair of red eyes looming over him. For a fraction of a second he thought his body would refuse to move, and then he rolled on top of Harry, sheltering his tiny son from the blast he knew would follow.
A cold, damp finger traced a line down his nape, and James swore the nail cut him.
"Accio wand!"
"Where is he?"
"Accio wand!"
"Where is your precious little one, hmm?"
"Accio..." It wasn't working. James cast about for another weapon, but the Dark Lord's persistence in asking after Harry seemed less and less like a taunt.
And if the demands were earnest, then Voldemort didn't see the baby.
"Don't be coy, James." The dry whisper blew across the sensitive skin behind his ear, and James shuddered. Beneath him, Harry whimpered. "Tell me where you've hidden your son and this will all end."
"Go to hell." James whipped his head back, but the Dark Lord anticipated the move, and caught him by the hair. They struggled, and James rolled them away from Harry.
"Give him to me, and I will let you live to sire another heir."
"I like the one I have just fine, thanks."
"Then you'll play the mare for me," Voldemort said, and laughed and spoke a languorous word that wrapped each syllable around James's limbs, bogged him in sibilants and undulating vowels until he felt his body had taken a slower notion of time. Ice crawled down his back, and he shut his eyes against the white and purple flowers of the quilt.
When he opened them again, he was nude, and chill, clammy flesh was pressing against him from behind, and then James knew. The acid boiling in his stomach, the revulsion the flowered quilt summoned... the sick sensation that he had done this before...
Don't look at Harry. Don't even think of him.
Sharp hips gouged his arsecheeks as burning hot pain lanced though him, and James scrabbled at the quilt he now knew why he hated, glared at the purple orchids lest his gaze stray to his son.
Can't see him. The wet cock rammed into him again, and again. Don't think. Not here. Never find him, bastard. Never.
Harry began to wail.
*****
And then stopped.
Terror poured over James, worse than falling from his broom, worse than pelting full-tilt to the Shrieking Shack and a greasy boy he didn't like but didn't want dead either. The sudden deafening silence from his son frightened him in a way he hadn't thought possible, and he thrashed, and only realized he was dressed when his toes caught on the hem of his robe.
James blinked the sand from his eyes, and lay back against the godawful purple floral quilt Lily kept putting on the bed. He let his heart slow as he listened to Harry's soft murmurs and the clink as he played with something on the nightstand.
There'd been something... flowers and Harry crying, and had he dreamed he and Lily wanted another baby?
A splash caught James's wandering attention, and he glanced over to find Harry stirring a glass of water. It took a few seconds of staring and blinking to realize the baby was stirring with James's wand.
"Shit!" He snatched the wand away, oversetting the glass and startling Harry to tears. "How did you get hold of this? I left it on the--" The wand sparked, and Harry shrieked, and James dropped the wand to pick up his son, glaring at the quilt as though it were to blame.
James stared around the room, patting Harry absently to quiet him, and then took him to the nursery and put him in his cot. James retreated to the doorway, where he stood and watched his son sleep until he heard Lily apparate downstairs.
*****
On Thursday, Dumbledore stepped out of their floo to tell them, looking past James's shoulder at a photo of Harry, that Sirius had run into a bit of trouble in Prague and wouldn't be back until Sunday. Lily served the tea in silence, but James could hear her thoughts as she glared them into the back of his head: Switch Secret Keepers now. Sirius will understand we can't wait that long.
James set his jaw, and stared fixedly at Dumbledore, daring their gazes to clash, but Dumbledore only studied his tea.
"I wish you would reconsider."
"Sirius would never betray me." Sirius would look me in the eye as he promised, too, damn you. If not that James's own son was Voldemort's target, all the evasion would convince James Dumbledore suspected he was their spy.
"Loyalty is a noble gift," Dumbledore said, and set his cup down.
Their eyes met as they stood to shake hands, and a wave of anger swept over James, one so strong he swayed on his feet. You did this, he thought. You drew me into this war with your secret meetings and mysterious orders and now my family is in danger and you want me to trust you over my best mate when you can't even stand to look at me.
"Take care," Lily said, breaking the standoff with a kiss to Dumbledore's cheek. "Thank you for all you've done for us."
"I only hope it is enough." Dumbledore pried his beard out of Harry's grip and offered a lemon sherbet in return, which Lily pocketed. Dumbledore left without another glance back, and all James's fury drained away, leaving him exhausted and knowing sleep would evade him as well as a snitch.
*****
James came out of the bathroom in pyjamas he rarely wore, and Lily sighed. She had a trashy romance propped on her knees. "Sleeping downstairs again?"
"That quilt is too hot."
She flashed her dimples at him. "Not a problem after all the times you accused me of stealing the covers."
"I'll keep you up," he grumped, and kissed her cheek.
The sofa didn't have any purple orchids, but the afghan smothered him, and the grandfather clock dueled with the creak of the neighbour's gate to make the most noise and he only closed his eyes for a second before he found his nose pressed into his bed upstairs where his wife ought to be sleeping.
"James? What's going on?"
It wasn't Lily looking at him with confusion clouding her green eyes, but Sirius blinking his grey ones and plucking at a bed he didn't belong in.
"Get out of here, Sirius." James's tongue felt thick and slow as the rest of him. "Take Harry and Lily and run."
"I will find him," Voldemort whispered into his ear, and they were all nude and slick with the horrible gel that squelched and never eased the friction enough. "And I will find her, and you, and the child. You cannot hide."
"James?" It couldn't be Sirius, because Sirius would be screaming obscenities at the Dark Lord, not looking at James like a lost child. He could hear Harry crying, and Lily screaming in the nursery, but here and now it was Sirius Voldemort held down, and Sirius Voldemort drove into, and Sirius who bled and died and Sirius--
*****
On Sunday, when Sirius staggered out of their floo, haggard but full of weary grins and harrowing tales, James made his decision. Once they had worked through the pile of gifts -- mostly for Harry -- which Sirius had managed to buy despite being on a mission, James pulled him off to the side.
"Look mate, I've been thinking. Maybe you being our Secret Keeper isn't such a good idea."
"I'd die before I told--"
"Yes, yes, but--" I don't want you to die. "-- you're such an obvious target. They're going to know it's you."
Sirius looked at him oddly before a sly grin spread across his face. "So we don't make it me. But we let everyone think it's me. It's another layer of protection. It's perfect!"
"They'll still go after you," James said, but in his head he was already going through his friends, looking for...
Someone disposable?
Shut up.
"... would ever consider Peter. He's never been able to keep a secret, except the ones that really matter, and no one but us knows about those. What do you think?" Sirius was grinning at him.
"I think..." That Voldemort will know it's not Sirius. James didn't know how he would know, and thought of purple orchids and had to swallow rising bile. But that he would know at all was good enough for James. "I think you're too clever for your own good, Padfoot."
Title: Nothing to be Done
Pairing: Voldemort/James
Challenge: Having nothing, nothing can he lose"- (Act III Scene III) - King Henry the Sixth Part III
“Where are they?”
Smoke and blood, Voldemort’s musky scent smells of flesh cooked on the fire. James shudders, tries to recoil from the pale, cold skin pressed against his back. His stomach churns as bony fingers squeeze his hardening, leaking prick.
“Tell me, Potter. Where is your sweet flower?” Voldemort’s dry, hot tongue licks a muscled shoulder. James surrenders into the touch, tries to forget that the pale, cloth garden underneath, was where he had loved his wife the most.
“Where is your precious, baby son?” Sloppy and squelchy, Voldemort’s cock, coated with a double-spell lubricant, slid past tight muscles. Sharp hips slam against his own, thrusting him forward into the headboard. He screams from the lack of preparation and scrabbles at the soft fabric.
“Where is Harry?” Voldemort roars. James knew the Dark Lord’s patience, what little he had, was gone.
“Master, they’re coming.”
James cried out and sat up in bed. The bedclothes drenched, wrapped around his fists, were torn in places.
“James? Love?” Lily sat next to him, a haunted look in her eyes. “It’s okay,” she reassured and placed his glasses on his face. “It was just a dream. Nothing to worry about.”
Author: nimori
Title: For Fear a Traitor Makes
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Rape
Word Count: 2252
James gasped, the weight of a thick afghan thief to his breath, the edges of his dream drawing blood that masqueraded as sweat and left him sticky-dirty and drowning on his own sofa.
There'd been something... Voldemort and a garden and a sickening, stabbing heat, but it slipped from his mind as waking thoughts surfaced. Dawn flooded past the half-drawn curtains, made him think himself underwater and still dreaming, but the need to piss battered at his erection and dispensed the fancy.
He kicked the blanket to the floor, thinking Lily must have covered him. She might have tried to wake him, and failed, or grown tired of his thrashing and conceded the living room was the best place for him until he could sleep the night through. More likely the baby was colicky, and she hadn't wanted Harry to wake him if he'd managed to sleep before dawn.
He stumbled to the bathroom, the floor an inviting shade of cool against his feet -- Lily's work, as most of the household charms of comfort were. The light over the sink lit itself with courteous gradation, and the counter propped him up as lingering sleep stole his balance. For a long moment nothing happened, and he cursed under his breath. His bladder groaned at the wait, and he thought of Arithmancy and old Madam Marsh and snot-flavoured Bott's Beans and Voldemort -- and that last had the opposite effect it should have. His cock twitched, and an eerie sort of backwards orgasm traveled the length of it to set his spine shuddering.
He looked down at his now limp cock, and found he still couldn't piss.
"Having trouble, dear?" the mirror clucked. "Try running the tap."
James grunted, washed his hands, and followed his nose to the kitchen.
"What on earth were you dreaming last night?" Lily asked as she dished him some eggs. "You were whimpering, and Harry wouldn't go near you to say goodnight."
"Don't remember." James shoveled a forkful of omelet into his mouth, and made a face at Harry. Harry laughed, and dumped his cereal on the floor and put the bowl on his head. "S'my son all right."
"Don’t encourage him. Colligo." The cereal flew back into the bowl, and Harry blew a sulky raspberry.
"Might be dirt in that," James said.
"There's no dirt in it. It's a good spell."
"But there might be."
She stuck her tongue out at him, and fetched Harry a new bowl.
"Eh, there probably wasn't. And besides," he added, ducking as she threw a dish towel at him, "a little dirt never hurt anyone."
"If you weren't already sleeping on the couch..." Lily leaned over him from behind, pressed her forehead to his, and her hair parted them from the rest of the world. "I'm worried about you."
"What for?" He kissed the tip of her nose, and lowered his gaze to his breakfast, feeling her chin settle on his head. "Once Sirius gets back from Prague, we'll perform the Fidelius charm. Voldemort can stand outside our door until he rots for all the good it will do him, and I'll sleep better than Harry."
"And then you'll move on to worrying about Sirius instead of us and be back tossing until four in the morning. I know you, James. We should have let Dumbledore be our secret keeper."
"Dumbledore has enough to do," James said, looking away.
"Are you sure you're all right? You've been... funny since that last mission."
James closed his eyes, saw smoke and blood and fire, and Voldemort's furious red eyes.
"Pa," said Harry. He was wearing the bowl again, and this time he hadn't emptied it first, so by the time Lily had cleaned up and fetched a third bowl, James didn't have to answer.
*****
The stinky-sweet smell of baby held back the oppressive quiet as James climbed the stairs. Lily had gone to make some last minute arrangements with her sister, and the house felt as though its heart had left, taking the pulse of their life with it. Harry's sleepy breath on his neck and the creak of the steps were the only signs of life.
"Going to have ourselves a lie down," James whispered, just to hear something meant to be listened to. "Just the two of us." He laid Harry down on bed, frowning as the floral bedspread triggered a bout of trepidation. He cast a charm to keep wayward babies from rolling off, set his wand on the chest of drawers, and lay stiffly beside his already sleeping son.
He thought he would lie awake feeling the sand collect in his eyes, but it was only a moment before the rhythm of Harry's breath overcame the tension knotting his back, and world sunk from thought -- or thought from the world.
"Where is he, Potter?"
James started awake to foul breath like rotting leaves and a pair of red eyes looming over him. For a fraction of a second he thought his body would refuse to move, and then he rolled on top of Harry, sheltering his tiny son from the blast he knew would follow.
A cold, damp finger traced a line down his nape, and James swore the nail cut him.
"Accio wand!"
"Where is he?"
"Accio wand!"
"Where is your precious little one, hmm?"
"Accio..." It wasn't working. James cast about for another weapon, but the Dark Lord's persistence in asking after Harry seemed less and less like a taunt.
And if the demands were earnest, then Voldemort didn't see the baby.
"Don't be coy, James." The dry whisper blew across the sensitive skin behind his ear, and James shuddered. Beneath him, Harry whimpered. "Tell me where you've hidden your son and this will all end."
"Go to hell." James whipped his head back, but the Dark Lord anticipated the move, and caught him by the hair. They struggled, and James rolled them away from Harry.
"Give him to me, and I will let you live to sire another heir."
"I like the one I have just fine, thanks."
"Then you'll play the mare for me," Voldemort said, and laughed and spoke a languorous word that wrapped each syllable around James's limbs, bogged him in sibilants and undulating vowels until he felt his body had taken a slower notion of time. Ice crawled down his back, and he shut his eyes against the white and purple flowers of the quilt.
When he opened them again, he was nude, and chill, clammy flesh was pressing against him from behind, and then James knew. The acid boiling in his stomach, the revulsion the flowered quilt summoned... the sick sensation that he had done this before...
Don't look at Harry. Don't even think of him.
Sharp hips gouged his arsecheeks as burning hot pain lanced though him, and James scrabbled at the quilt he now knew why he hated, glared at the purple orchids lest his gaze stray to his son.
Can't see him. The wet cock rammed into him again, and again. Don't think. Not here. Never find him, bastard. Never.
Harry began to wail.
*****
And then stopped.
Terror poured over James, worse than falling from his broom, worse than pelting full-tilt to the Shrieking Shack and a greasy boy he didn't like but didn't want dead either. The sudden deafening silence from his son frightened him in a way he hadn't thought possible, and he thrashed, and only realized he was dressed when his toes caught on the hem of his robe.
James blinked the sand from his eyes, and lay back against the godawful purple floral quilt Lily kept putting on the bed. He let his heart slow as he listened to Harry's soft murmurs and the clink as he played with something on the nightstand.
There'd been something... flowers and Harry crying, and had he dreamed he and Lily wanted another baby?
A splash caught James's wandering attention, and he glanced over to find Harry stirring a glass of water. It took a few seconds of staring and blinking to realize the baby was stirring with James's wand.
"Shit!" He snatched the wand away, oversetting the glass and startling Harry to tears. "How did you get hold of this? I left it on the--" The wand sparked, and Harry shrieked, and James dropped the wand to pick up his son, glaring at the quilt as though it were to blame.
James stared around the room, patting Harry absently to quiet him, and then took him to the nursery and put him in his cot. James retreated to the doorway, where he stood and watched his son sleep until he heard Lily apparate downstairs.
*****
On Thursday, Dumbledore stepped out of their floo to tell them, looking past James's shoulder at a photo of Harry, that Sirius had run into a bit of trouble in Prague and wouldn't be back until Sunday. Lily served the tea in silence, but James could hear her thoughts as she glared them into the back of his head: Switch Secret Keepers now. Sirius will understand we can't wait that long.
James set his jaw, and stared fixedly at Dumbledore, daring their gazes to clash, but Dumbledore only studied his tea.
"I wish you would reconsider."
"Sirius would never betray me." Sirius would look me in the eye as he promised, too, damn you. If not that James's own son was Voldemort's target, all the evasion would convince James Dumbledore suspected he was their spy.
"Loyalty is a noble gift," Dumbledore said, and set his cup down.
Their eyes met as they stood to shake hands, and a wave of anger swept over James, one so strong he swayed on his feet. You did this, he thought. You drew me into this war with your secret meetings and mysterious orders and now my family is in danger and you want me to trust you over my best mate when you can't even stand to look at me.
"Take care," Lily said, breaking the standoff with a kiss to Dumbledore's cheek. "Thank you for all you've done for us."
"I only hope it is enough." Dumbledore pried his beard out of Harry's grip and offered a lemon sherbet in return, which Lily pocketed. Dumbledore left without another glance back, and all James's fury drained away, leaving him exhausted and knowing sleep would evade him as well as a snitch.
*****
James came out of the bathroom in pyjamas he rarely wore, and Lily sighed. She had a trashy romance propped on her knees. "Sleeping downstairs again?"
"That quilt is too hot."
She flashed her dimples at him. "Not a problem after all the times you accused me of stealing the covers."
"I'll keep you up," he grumped, and kissed her cheek.
The sofa didn't have any purple orchids, but the afghan smothered him, and the grandfather clock dueled with the creak of the neighbour's gate to make the most noise and he only closed his eyes for a second before he found his nose pressed into his bed upstairs where his wife ought to be sleeping.
"James? What's going on?"
It wasn't Lily looking at him with confusion clouding her green eyes, but Sirius blinking his grey ones and plucking at a bed he didn't belong in.
"Get out of here, Sirius." James's tongue felt thick and slow as the rest of him. "Take Harry and Lily and run."
"I will find him," Voldemort whispered into his ear, and they were all nude and slick with the horrible gel that squelched and never eased the friction enough. "And I will find her, and you, and the child. You cannot hide."
"James?" It couldn't be Sirius, because Sirius would be screaming obscenities at the Dark Lord, not looking at James like a lost child. He could hear Harry crying, and Lily screaming in the nursery, but here and now it was Sirius Voldemort held down, and Sirius Voldemort drove into, and Sirius who bled and died and Sirius--
*****
On Sunday, when Sirius staggered out of their floo, haggard but full of weary grins and harrowing tales, James made his decision. Once they had worked through the pile of gifts -- mostly for Harry -- which Sirius had managed to buy despite being on a mission, James pulled him off to the side.
"Look mate, I've been thinking. Maybe you being our Secret Keeper isn't such a good idea."
"I'd die before I told--"
"Yes, yes, but--" I don't want you to die. "-- you're such an obvious target. They're going to know it's you."
Sirius looked at him oddly before a sly grin spread across his face. "So we don't make it me. But we let everyone think it's me. It's another layer of protection. It's perfect!"
"They'll still go after you," James said, but in his head he was already going through his friends, looking for...
Someone disposable?
Shut up.
"... would ever consider Peter. He's never been able to keep a secret, except the ones that really matter, and no one but us knows about those. What do you think?" Sirius was grinning at him.
"I think..." That Voldemort will know it's not Sirius. James didn't know how he would know, and thought of purple orchids and had to swallow rising bile. But that he would know at all was good enough for James. "I think you're too clever for your own good, Padfoot."