Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/7361353.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Harry_Potter/Voldemort
  Character:
      Harry_Potter, Voldemort, Bellatrix_Black_Lestrange, Draco_Malfoy,
      Narcissa_Black_Malfoy, Nott_Sr._(Harry_Potter)
  Additional Tags:
      Mpreg, Anal_Sex, Rough_Sex, Public_Humiliation, Verbal_Humiliation,
      Miscarriage, Dubious_Consent, Stockholm_Syndrome, Childbirth, Death,
      Forced_Relationship
  Series:
      Part 8 of Harrymort_One-shots, Part 1 of The_Dark_Lord's_Children
  Collections:
      Fin
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-07-01 Completed: 2016-10-20 Chapters: 3/3 Words: 10826
****** Worse than Death ******
by CrazyJanaCat
Summary
     Wanting to save his friends, Harry agrees to Voldemort’s conditions,
     though he is about to find out he should have asked more details
     before blindly accepting.
Notes
     Beta-ed by my wonderful friend Gittiekittie, who was also so kind as
     to suggest the title of this piece. Might get a sequel.
     Also thanks to RobbieTurner who suggested I'd do an Mpreg. I hope
     this one is alright, since I never tried anything like this before.
***** Chapter 1 *****
He wasn’t sure how long he’d been in the dungeons. Harry looked to the cell
across from him, where Ron, Hermione, Luna, Ollivander and Griphook were locked
together. None of them even bothered trying to escape anymore and the reason
why was floating by.
Harry flinched away as the Dementor stopped in front of his lonely cell. The
cold it radiated clung to Harry’s bones, and he knew it did the same with the
others. If only he still had a wand, then maybe he stood a chance against their
guards. And maybe, if Voldemort wasn’t around anymore, they could even escape
the Manor fully.
After trying to escape Malfoy Manor, they had been intercepted by Voldemort
himself and brought back kicking and screaming. He’d tortured Harry for a
little while, taunted him while his friends were forced to watch, but then he
suddenly stopped, staring at Harry as if he saw him for the first time and
ordered him to be locked away separately. He’d even come downstairs to
personally transfigure prison cells into the basement and then left them with
the Dementors he’d brought with him.
The door to the basement flew open with a loud bang, and a Leopard Patronus
burst in, scaring away the Dementors far enough to create a safe passage
towards the prisoners. Harry, just like the others, crawled up to the bars to
see who it was with careful hope filling his chest. That hope was crushed as
soon as he saw none other than Bellatrix Lestrange grinning down at him.
“The Dark Lord wants to see you, Potter,” she hissed gleefully.
With a swish of her wand, the door to Harry’s cell sprung open and Bellatrix
leaned in, grabbing Harry by his arm to haul him out. The young wizard
staggered and winced as he was forced to lean on his injured leg, but his pride
refused to let him complain or ask for help, so he just stumbled after the
woman. He looked over his shoulder towards his worried friends and smiled at
them.
“Don’t worry,” he said.
“I’ll be back before you know it.”
“Move it, Potter!” Bellatrix growled, pushing Harry in the back.
Harry hissed in pain and stumbled, but he bit his tongue and allowed the
madwoman to continue dragging him up to the surface and up another set of
stairs. They stopped in front of a large oak door, where Bellatrix knocked for
a moment before opening it and shoving Harry inside. The door fell closed
behind him with a loud sound and a soft click, indicating it was also locked. A
sudden sting went through his scar, making his hand shoot up to nurse it. The
pain wasn’t too bad though, low enough to ignore.
Harry slowly stepped further into the room, looking around warily. It was a
bedroom, with a large four-poster bed with red velvet curtains and a red
blanket. The sheets and pillows were of black silk at the foot of the bed stood
a large oak box with red pillows and on the wall across was a red loveseat with
an oak coffee table. In the back of the room stood a small oak table with two
chairs, both with cushions of the same bright red velvet as most the other
furniture. And at that table sat Voldemort. The man was sipping of a glass of
red wine, which he tipped at Harry with a demonic grin.
“Finally,” the man said calmly.
“Come here, Harry. Sit with me.”
Eyeing the man warily, Harry did as told and slowly walked over to sit on the
chair opposite from Voldemort. On the table stood several vials of potions,
none of which Harry was able to place. As he looked up from them, back towards
Voldemort, he found the older man staring at him with an intense gaze in his
red eyes.
“Why am I here?” Harry asked.
Why aren’t you hurting me yet, was the real question he wanted to ask, but he
refused to give the madman ideas. The way Voldemort smirked at him before
sipping from his glass told Harry he likely already knew Harry’s worries.
“I have a proposition for you, Harry,” he said calmly.
This took Harry completely off guard. He narrowed his eyes distrustfully.
Voldemort chuckled and leaned forward, smirking at Harry.
“I need an heir,” he confessed.
“And you want me?” Harry asked shocked.
That couldn’t be right. Why would Voldemort want him as an heir? They were
enemies. He was prophesized to kill Voldemort. The man was insane, but he
couldn’t be that demented to think Harry wouldn’t do anything in his power to
stop the madman. He was scowling, and Voldemort could see he was about to
refuse.
“Think before refusing me, Harry,” he said calmly, but Harry could hear the
threat hidden in his tone.
“After all, don’t I still have your friends downstairs? Their fate is in my
hands and I don’t like being told no.”
Harry swallowed his refusal down and gave a jerky nod in understanding. His
frown deepened and he glared hatefully at Voldemort.
“What do you want from me?” Harry asked through gritted teeth.
“Right now? That you take these potions,” Voldemort replied.
He pushed them closer to Harry, smiling expectantly. He was so calm, so… sane
he’d almost say. Harry didn’t trust it. The bastard had ulterior motives, he
could feel it. And not only in his scar.
“What are they?” he asked suspiciously.
“One to heal you, one to undo the physical ailments our connection gives you
through the scar and one to assure success in this deal of ours.”
Harry waited for more of an explanation on the last, but sighed as he clearly
wasn’t going to get it. He accepted the potions, looking doubtfully at their
contents before changing his mind and glaring at Voldemort.
“How do I know you’ll let my friends live?” he asked.
“Is my word not enough for you?” Voldemort sneered in reply.
Harry snorted and pushed the three potions away from him again. If he wasn’t
given some insurance, he wasn’t going to accept. Voldemort gave a long
suffering sigh and pulled out his wand.
“I, Lord Voldemort, formerly known as Tom Marvolo Riddle, swear on my magic not
to harm any of Harry Potter’s personal friends as long as Harry Slytherin,
formerly known as Harry James Potter, provides me an heir.”
Harry tensed and his eyes widened in shock. Did Voldemort just change his name?
“Harry Slytherin?” he asked confused.
“You didn’t think I’d let you keep the name of blood traitors, did you?”
Voldemort sneered as he stood up from his chair.
“Rest, take the potions. Do what you will as long as you don’t leave this room.
I will be back tomorrow. Your new duties will start then.”
Harry watched dazed as Voldemort turned away and strode out of the room with
billowing robes that made Harry think of Snape oddly enough. The door fell
closed behind the dark wizard and clicked in its lock. Harry sighed and shook
his head. He had absolutely no idea just what had happened today, but really,
it didn’t matter much. His friends were safe, that was all that counted to him.
Still frowning, he took the three potions. It really didn’t matter that they
might be dangerous for him. If they gave him the opportunity to protect his
friends, he was willing to risk it.
.              .              .               .              .
It was nearly impossible to sleep with how much he suffered from stomach aches.
It was like he was stabbed over and over with a dull, rusted knife. That pain
was finally and slowly fading when the doors flew open and Voldemort strode in.
He smirked as he saw Harry’s condition and moved to sit on the chair he’d
summoned from across the room next to Harry’s bed.
“How are you feeling today?” he asked pleasantly.
Harry glared at him as he laid curled around his throbbing, painful stomach.
“W-what did you do to me…?” he asked groaning.
“Just some assurance, as I said yesterday,” Voldemort replied calmly.
“Don’t worry, Harry. The pain will soon go away, and then you can serve me
well.”
The cryptic reply did nothing but confuse Harry even more, and he was about to
call him out on that when another wave of intense pain racked his body, making
Harry whimper and try to curl deeper into himself. This only made Voldemort
chuckle, and he reached out to stroke Harry’s tears stained cheek.
“Poor thing… it really hurts that bad…”
Harry scowled and groaned in agony as another wave of pain went through his
stomach.
“My… friends…” he ground out.
“Still imprisoned, but safe. I’ll see to it that they are returned to Hogwarts
soon.”
Hope bloomed in Harry’s chest and he relaxed a bit as no new pain wave came.
“Can-can I see them?” he asked hopeful.
“No,” Voldemort denied, dashing that hope again quickly.
“From now on, you will only leave this room when I choose to and see only who I
want you to see. You belong to me now, Harry.”
Harry wanted to fight that statement, deny that he belonged to anyone, but he
had made a deal and he would hold himself to it. As long as he did as Voldemort
said and made a suitable heir – whatever that meant – his friends would be
safe.
“Why me?” he eventually asked.
Voldemort smirked, as if he had hoped for that question and he grasped Harry’s
face forcing Harry out of his curled position, which caused the boy to cry out
in pain again as he stared up at the grinning Dark Lord with a defiant glare.
“Did Dumbledore tell you everything about the Horecruxes?” he asked.
Harry’s eyes widened in surprise at the unexpected question. It was one he
couldn’t answer. How could he know whether or not Dumbledore told him
everything?
“Likely not. The man had a habit of speaking half-truths,” Voldemort mused,
making Harry bristle.
“Tell me Harry, do you know what a Horecrux is? I’m not talking about a soul-
piece, but in essence. It’s a piece of you, with the properties of what makes
up who you are. When inserted in a living being, that being takes some of those
properties for themselves. Take Nagini for example: she has the intelligence of
a human and my cunning.”
“Why are you telling me this?” he asked quietly.
*Is there no one that reaches these conditions, Harry*
The boy’s eyes widened in shock and horror as he realized what Voldemort was
getting at.
“… I’m a Horecrux…?” he whispered horrified.
Voldemort laughed and let go of Harry. The younger wizard barely noticed
Voldemort move, too caught up in this new revelation to hear or feel anything
the older man was doing. Because of this, he wasn’t aware of how Voldemort
pulled his blankets off him. Harry’s head snapped up suddenly as the older man
sat down on the bed next to him and glared questioningly at him.
“Is that why you want me as your heir?” he demanded.
“Because I’m part of you? Because I have a piece of your soul?”
The question made Voldemort throw his head back and laugh loudly. The high
pitched sound made Harry flinch back, and the sudden movement caused another
spike of pain through his stomach. He was quickly pushed on his back, the pain
paralyzing him and making it impossible for him to struggle.
“You? Oh no, Harry. I think you misunderstood,” Voldemort chuckled.
“I don’t want you as my heir. I want you to carry my heir!”
Harry scowled through the pain and looked up at the Dark wizard, still dazed
from the shuddering pain and agony his body caused him.
“I-I don’t…”
“I imagine not,” Voldemort laughed cruelly, looming over the teen.
“Oh, Harry. You are absolutely adorable in your innocence. So delectable. You
still haven’t guessed it, have you?”
“… Guessed… What?” Harry ground out, breathing slowly through his pain.
“The potion my dear boy!” Voldemort exclaimed amused.
“The male pregnancy potion! I ordered the most powerful one even.”
Dread filled Harry’s chest at these words. Male pregnancy… Did that mean…? He
was snapped out of his thoughts as Voldemort pushed his legs apart and gripped
the waistband of Harry’s boxers. The boy’s eyes widened and despite the pain he
was in, he started struggling.
“Don’t touch me!” he screamed, trying in vain to push the man off.
Growling in annoyance, Voldemort punched Harry in the stomach. Harry wailed in
agony and stopped fighting back in order to try and curl up again, but
Voldemort didn’t let him. He manhandled Harry out of his boxers and pulled one
leg up over his shoulder before pressing the tip of his wand against Harry’s
clenching, virgin arsehole.
Harry squeaked and squirmed as the unrelenting wood slowly pushed its way
inside of him, blinking away tears that threatened to fall because of the pain,
both in his abdomen and his arse. He tensed when a cold wetness entered his
bowels, but found his arse had become numb as his muscles refused service. He
gasped as Voldemort started to slowly thrust his wand in and out of Harry’s
passage. After a while, he pulled the wand out and replaced it with the head of
his cock.
“NO!” Harry yelled, trying to struggle again.
Voldemort grunted as Harry was capable of slamming a fist into the side of his
head. With an angry growl, Voldemort wrapped his hands around Harry’s neck and
squeezed. Harry choked and gagged. His hands grabbed at Voldemort’s face and
wrists.
“S-stop…” he gasped desperately.
“Fine,” Voldemort hissed.
He let go of Harry’s neck, letting the teen take in large gulps of air as he
sat back on his knees, staring down at the boy coldly.
“However, I will consider this as if you’re unable or refuse to give me my heir
and our deal will be broken.”
Harry tensed in fear and stared wide eyed at Voldemort, who glared down
expectantly at him. With a sigh he went limp under the evil man, closing his
eyes in defeat. Voldemort grinned in victory and leaned down to kiss Harry on
the lips. He forced his tongue into Harry’s mouth at the same time he forced
his prick into the teen’s arse. Harry gasped dryly in pain and almost choked on
the Dark wizard’s eager tongue. Tears streamed down his bright red cheeks as he
tried to stay completely still while Voldemort took him against his will. It
hurt a lot, but no matter how excruciating it became, Harry was unable to
clench down as the muscles of his arsehole were completely numbed from the
spell Voldemort used.
.              .              .               .              .
When Harry woke the next morning, Voldemort was once again sitting next to his
bed, staring down on him with an unreadable expression. Harry tensed, which
caused his stomach and arse to sting painfully. He could still feel the
stickiness of Voldemort’s spent in him and he shuddered at the memory.
Voldemort hadn’t stopped after once. He’d kept going all day, raping Harry in
various positions for hours on end. Harry had blacked out several times and
woke up every time to Voldemort still fucking him, unbothered that he had
passes out.
The man had come inside him so much that Harry wouldn’t be surprised that he’d
gotten pregnant even if he didn’t drink that damned potion. The thought of
carrying that monster’s child made Harry’s stomach lurch. Voldemort smirked and
leaned in when he saw Harry’s disturbed expression.
“Don’t touch me,” Harry croaked.
“You got what you want already.”
Voldemort laughed and sat back.
“Oh, no, Harry. Not even close,” he chuckled.
“The potion takes a week to start working properly. Your body can’t get
pregnant yet, but that doesn’t mean I can’t have you.”
Harry hissed in anger and crawled to the other side of the bed, glaring
hatefully at Voldemort as he tried to stay as far away from him as possible.
The older wizard just grinned in amusement and dragged Harry back to the middle
by his leg before crawling on top of him.
“After that, your stomach will be sore for another month or two, but by the
time that is over, you’ll be swelling with a child,” Voldemort promised
cruelly.
“You fucking monster!” Harry growled out, pushing at Voldemort’s shoulders.
“You threatened me with a lie! You lied to me!”
“So I did,” Voldemort chuckled.
“That doesn’t change that you now belong to me, Harry. Give in.”
“NO!”
Voldemort just laughed and manhandled Harry on his front. He lifted his hips
without much trouble from Harry’s useless struggles. The pain in his abdomen
and the exhaustion and soreness from the day before made his attempts to get
away from Voldemort pathetic at best anyway. Amused, Voldemort leaned over
Harry’s back.
“Give in,” he whispered again.
Harry closed his eyes in defeat as he felt the blunt head of Voldemort’s cock
against his entrance. Tears were already spilling again, even though Harry had
been so sure he had none left to spill last night. In the end it mattered very
little.
He screamed when he was entered again and all the wounds of yesterday were torn
open again. He was in so much pain, yet there was nothing at all he could do to
stop Voldemort in his pursuit to destroy Harry’s mind and body alike.
.              .              .               .              .
Over the following week, Voldemort raped Harry many more times. He even took
Harry out of his room to publically rape him in front of his followers. The
Death Eaters would watch in silence as Voldemort forced a struggling Harry down
and cruelly drove into him. Sometimes, Voldemort goaded his followers in
jeering and calling names. Usually, this only happened when Harry started
crying, and as such, Harry tried to keep his tears for himself until he was
left alone again.
This continued even far behind that week. Voldemort would visit Harry every
night he hadn’t taken Harry out to be humiliated in front of the Death Eaters
and spend hours fucking the teen before leaving again. He barely spoke during
those times, as if it was just something he had to do and didn’t take pleasure
from. It was confusing and very frustrating to Harry because the man clearly
enjoyed himself when there was a crowd watching them.
After two and a half weeks like that, the diagnose spell cast on Harry daily
came back positive. Harry curled into himself as he saw the pink glow
surrounding him and he looked up at Voldemort. His eyes widened when he saw the
mad glint in those blood red eyes and the wide, manic grin. This Voldemort only
ever showed in front of the Death Eaters, which made it all that much scarier
as they were now in Harry’s room.
“Finally,” Voldemort breathed as he crawled on top of the teen.
“Leave me alone,” Harry whispered.
He was too tired to fight anymore. He had no idea how Voldemort did it, keep
going for hours into the night, leave, and only three hours later returning,
ready to go again. Harry was exhausted, but the Dark wizard always had energy.
He bet the madman took a few dozen pepper-up potions and probably another dozen
stamina potions too.
“We’re going to be parents, dear. Let’s celebrate,” Voldemort purred in his
ear.
Harry closed his eyes as he felt the head of the madman’s cock press against
his entrance. There wasn’t much he could do at the moment but bear with it.
He’d escape eventually, after that monster had his heir. He’d kill Voldemort if
he had to, but he would escape this place.
.              .              .               .              .
“Welcome to your new home, Harry,” Voldemort whispered in his slave’s ear.
Harry looked around the room blankly. It was bigger than the one in Malfoy
Manor, with paintings, tapestries, a rich blue carpet and an even bigger bed. A
four-poster, just like the one he’d had before, but with light green silk
curtains and deep grass green covers that looked incredibly soft. Everything
was gold and expensive and big, making Harry feel dwarfed.
Voldemort had his chest pressed against Harry’s back and his arms were wound
around his waist so those pale, spidery hands could rest on the large belly of
the teen. They were gently rubbing him, making Harry feel very uncomfortable.
He was used to those exact hands to hurt him and make him bleed, but that had
stopped lately. Ever since he almost went into labour prematurely, now that
Harry thought about it. That was two weeks ago.
“Why am I here?” he asked quietly.
“Because I want you to give birth to our child in my family home,” Voldemort
replied, kissing Harry’s neck.
Harry frowned. Voldemort hated his muggle family. He’d killed them, so
nostalgia couldn’t possibly be the reason that he brought Harry to the Riddle
Manor.
“Liar,” he muttered, pulling himself free from the Dark Lord’s embrace.
He waddled over to the bed and slowly lowered himself on it, his loose silver
coloured robes slid down one of his shoulders as he sat down. Voldemort
chuckled and walked back up to him, moving like a predator approaching an
already caught prey. He pushed Harry down on his back and crawled on top of
him, kissing Harry hungrily.
Harry closed his eyes and opened his legs to give Voldemort access, allowing
Voldemort to push his robes up. He already knew what it was the madman was
after, as it apparently was all the Dark Lord ever wanted to do when he was
with Harry. He technically didn’t have to let Voldemort have his way with him
anymore, since Harry was already with child, but Voldemort had taken
precautions when promising the safety of Harry’s friends. He only promised to
let them live. And he could still kill anyone Harry didn’t consider a personal
friend.
Voldemort grunted as he pushed into Harry’s passage. It didn’t hurt as much as
it used to, almost 9 months ago. The time had allowed him to grow used to the
stretch, and burn of dry entry. Not that it was ever really dry, with him
constantly leaking Voldemort’s sperm from his arse.
“Look at this,” Voldemort said, putting a hand on Harry’s large, bouncing
belly.
“This is all you’re still good for, Harry. There’s no Harry Potter anymore,
only the Slytherin Slut. The mother of my child.”
Harry didn’t react to the taunts. It wasn’t the first time Voldemort had
uttered them, and he was sure it wouldn’t be the last either. It still hurt to
think of at all, but Harry was too exhausted to fight. He still wasn’t fully
recovered after two weeks ago. So instead, he just lay there, grunting silently
while Voldemort drove into him again and again until he reached his climax and
spilled his seed into Harry.
They were both panting harshly by the time Voldemort moved away again and
straightened his robes again. Harry pressed both his hands on his distended
stomach as he felt the child kick. Another month or so and he would be born…
“What will happen to me when the baby’s born?” Harry asked softly.
Voldemort stopped walking and turned to look at Harry, grinning darkly.
“You’ll take care of it for as long as it needs you,” he replied.
“And then I’ll get you pregnant again.”
Harry scowled and sat up, groaning at the shifting of the foetus inside him.
Voldemort laughed when he saw the confused expression the teen was sporting.
“You didn’t think one child would be enough, would you?” he taunted.
“I won’t let anything to fate, Harry. I’ll have you birth my offspring until
you either die or your body can’t give me any anymore.”
With another cold smirk in Harry’s way, he turned his back on the pregnant teen
and walked out of the room. Harry flinched as the door slammed closed and
locked. He sighed, crawling slowly under the covers and he curled up around his
belly protectively. Tears finally dripped down his cheeks in the loneliness of
the large new room as Harry was reminded of the world he was bringing this
child into. A world he was partially responsible for.
 
***** Chapter 2 *****
Harry’s screams of agony rang through the entire Manor, causing the few
creatures roaming the halls to flinch back in fear. However, he wasn’t
screaming from torture for a change, or at least not the usual kind.
Voldemort was watching from his large armchair, watching as two Healers stood
by Harry’s bed. Both of them were followers of his, being Narcissa Malfoy and
Lord Nott, and while neither actually worked as Healers, they had the
qualifications and were some of the very few he actually trusted around his
slave.
Right now, Harry had been in labour for some three hours and the bed was
practically drenched in blood. Narcissa was already setting aside several Blood
Replenishing Potions to use once the baby was born. That was the danger of male
pregnancies. They were a lot more risky for the carrying parent.
He was brought out of his musings when Harry suddenly fell quiet and instead, a
high pitched screaming of a new born baby reached his ears. Nott muttered a
cleaning spell on the baby and on Harry before Narcissa took the small child in
her arms and approached Voldemort.
“Congratulations, my Lord,” she said, smiling softly.
“You have a son. Would you wish to hold it?”
“No need,” Voldemort waved her off.
“Hand the child to its mother. It will be his task to raise it to reach
adulthood.”
Harry groaned softly and tried to sit up with Nott’s help. Reluctantly, the
young man drank the potions the Healer handed him while his eyes were trained
on the fussing child in the Lady Malfoy’s arms.
“What will his name be, my Lord?” Nott asked hesitantly.
Voldemort hummed in thought for a moment before smiling.
“Tiberius Antioch Slytherin,” he decided with a nod.
Harry gave a snort from on the bed and put the empty potion vial back on the
bedside table before weakly reaching out for his child. His eyes were tired but
there was a content smile on his face as the baby boy was put in his arms.
“It’s such a stuffy old name though,” he whispered hoarsely.
Voldemort glowered at him for that.
“It’s my decision, Harry. He’s my son,” he said.
“He’s my son too,” Harry replied quietly.
“No. You are simply a means to an end. You carried him, but you have no rights
to him aside from those I give you.”
The earlier shine in Harry’s eyes glazed over into deep sorrow and he looked
over to the Dark Lord.
“Please don’t take him away from me.”
“I won’t, as long as you do as I tell you,” Voldemort said before standing up
from his seat.
“I will allow you to name our second son, if I find you deserve to be rewarded
at least.”
With those words, the man walked out of the room, leaving Harry and their son
alone into the room.
.              .              .               .              .
It took Harry about two and a half weeks before he attempted to escape with the
baby. He’d taken off in the middle of the night, covered in a large black cloak
that hid both of them from sight.
It were moments like this that Harry thanked Voldemort’s paranoia, since it
meant that here were no guards whatsoever. He didn’t want anyone near Harry
these days, barely even allowed Lady Malfoy and Lord Nott in his room to help
with the birth of Tiberius. It made it easier to sneak out of the Manor unseen
and maybe even enabled him to get out completely. He really hoped so.
It was a failure. Of course it was. The alarm went off as soon as he walked out
of his room and before he even made it to the end of the garden, Death Eaters
appeared, all around him. Harry pressed his son closer to him protectively as
he looked fearfully at his tormentor approaching.
“I expected better of you, Harry,” Voldemort hissed, dragging him back inside.
“Lucius! Take my son with you. From now on it is your task to raise him.”
“No!” Harry shouted, struggling desperately against the Dark Lord as Tiberius
was taken from him.
“I warned you that I would take him if you didn’t obey,” Voldemort told him.
Tears started streaming over Harry’s face and he gave a weak sob. Tiberius was
his baby boy, no matter who had conceived him, Harry still loved the boy more
than he had initially expected he would.
“I won’t do it again! Please!” Harry whimpered.
Voldemort grunted annoyed and dragged Harry with him back to Harry’s chambers.
There, Voldemort threw the teen to the floor and pulled out his wand. Harry’s
eyes widened in fear, thinking that Voldemort would torture him, but instead,
the Dark Lord aimed at the cradle of little Tiberius.
“Reducto!” Voldemort hissed.
Harry flinched as the baby’s bed was blasted into tiny pieces. Next, Voldemort
pointed his wand to the changing table in the back of the room.
“NO!” Harry shouted, jumping up and charging at Voldemort.
He grabbed the man’s arm, pulling at it desperately.
“Please! I’m sorry! I’m sorry, Tom!”
Voldemort hissed in rage and backhanded Harry harshly, making the teen topple
to the ground again with a pained shout.
“Do not call me by that disgusting muggle name!” he growled angry.
“Why should I believe a single word from you, you traitorous, dirty slut!”
Tears pricked in Harry’s eyes, but he blinked them away and just stared back up
at Voldemort. His cheek was throbbing in pain, but he ignored it. Over the past
year, he had grown used to far worse than just a silly little slap after all.
Hell, Harry doubted even the Cruciatus would really do much at this point.
“I won’t run away again! Just please, please give me my son back!” he tried
again.
Voldemort moved forward and pulled Harry up by his hair, startling another
pained shout from the teen.
“You want to see our son back? You’ll earn it!” he spat.
“Get on your knees and show me how badly you want him back.”
A single tear slid down his cheek as he slowly did as he was told. He’d do
anything to see Tiberius again.
.              .              .               .              .
It took only a month for Harry to get pregnant again. He was silent, hollow
almost, as he still hadn’t been allowed to see his son again. Voldemort had
told him that if he was obedient during the whole carriage of this child, he
could take care of them both.
He was so scared that Voldemort would take this child away too and even
considered running away again. This time before the child was born. Maybe then
he had a chance, and maybe he could at least keep this child and raise it. In
the end, he was too terrified to try again. Maybe he could see Tiberius again
if he stayed. If he tried to run, he knew that would never happen.
Over the following months, he stayed put in his room, only coming out when
Voldemort allowed him to. Usually, when Voldemort was in no mood for sex, but
still needed to wind down, he took Harry to the large garden and they just sat
on a bench, looking at the lake in the backyard and the water birds. It was
peaceful. More often than not, Voldemort would have Harry kneel in front of him
there and suck him off slow and unhurried so that it could take up to several
hours before he came down the young man’s throat, but the further he got in his
pregnancy, the less that happened.
He still fucked Harry nearly daily, causing a near-miscarriage in the second
month. After that, Voldemort became calmer because no matter how much he loved
seeing Harry in agony, he still wanted his children to be born healthy. At
least that eased Harry’s mind somewhat. At least he knew his precious Tiberius
was somewhere cared for and safe.
.              .              .               .              .
His second child, a girl this time, was born a month too early. The birth was
even more painful than the first time and took 6 hours. By the time the little
girl was finally brought into the world, Harry could do nothing but whimper
softly. He was floating in and out of consciousness from pain and exhaustion,
but hearing his daughter’s cries had him wake up again.
“Congratulations, my Lord,” Narcissa said.
“May we know what her name will be?”
“Medea Morgana Slytherin,” Voldemort spoke.
Harry smiled. Such old names for his children. Then again, it was to be
expected, as this was Lord Bloody Voldemort. The bastard always loved those
things. Names with meaning and power.
Satisfied, Harry closed his eyes and let darkness take him. He had a daughter
now that he would love just as much as he loved his dear son. He hoped he could
hold them both soon. He didn’t want either of his kids grow up not knowing
their own mother. Besides, Voldemort had promised…
.              .              .               .              .
When he woke up the next morning, he tensed at the feeling of being watched. At
first, he thought it was Voldemort, but as he lifted his head and surveyed the
room, he instead found his son sitting up in his new crib, staring silently at
Harry with his dark blue eyes. Next to him, on a second cot, slept little Medea
peacefully.
Harry got out of bed right away and stumbled over, his body still sore from
last night. Cooing, he lifted his son out of his bed and pressed him close. He
had his son back. He had his precious, beloved little boy back with him and he
would do anything to never lose him again. He and Medea were his whole life
from this point forward. For them and any children still to come, he would
endure anything Voldemort expected of him.
The door to his room opened and Harry looked over, seeing the man himself
stride in. to his surprise, he was followed by none other than Draco Malfoy,
who was looking very nervous. Harry blinked at the duo curiously and scowled.
“Draco will from now on be your caretaker,” Voldemort explained.
“He will make sure you and the children are as comfortable as possible and keep
them company whenever I have need of you.”
Harry’s eyes widened and his eyes jumped from Voldemort to Draco and then back
again. With a small sigh, he nodded in acceptance, and Voldemort turned to
leave again.
“Wait!” Harry called after him, pressing his son closer to his chest.
“Thank you... f-for giving them back to me… Master.”
Voldemort’s lips quirked up just a fraction before he got it back under control
and stared at Harry with a blank expression.
“Don’t make me regret it,” he warned before leaving them.
“Isn’t he a fuzzy ball of sunshine?” Draco drawled sarcastically.
Harry chuckled and nodded. It was weird to have his old rival in front of him
and be expected to get along with him from now on, though Harry would be the
blonde’s best friend if it meant keeping his kids.
.              .              .               .              .
Draco turned out to be a very valuable help, as Voldemort didn’t leave Harry
alone much to care for his own children. He had Harry moved to his own room
only a week later, leaving their son and daughter to be cared for by the house
elves during the night as he fucked Harry hours into the night, usually falling
asleep, his cock still buried deep inside the young man.
Because of this, it only took him a few weeks before he was pregnant again. By
now, he was getting used to the routine. Take care of the kids, fuck during
their little naptime while Draco watched them, take care of them some more
until it was evening and he was escorted back to Voldemort’s room. Fuck again,
sleep and do it all over again in the morning. Nothing changed during the
pregnancy until he was too far in to really do all that much anymore.
Draco’s tasks switched with his own. The blonde had to take care of Harry first
and foremost, keeping him comfortable and away from any stress to make sure the
children would be born healthy. Except if Voldemort was the cause of Harry’s
stress of course. The man owned Harry’s body, and when he wanted it, he would
have it, even if it happened less and less the more Harry swelled and whenever
he did fuck Harry, he was more careful.
He grew much faster this time, but it took him a while to realize this, and
even when he did, he didn’t really have the luxury to question it at all. At
least not until Voldemort grew curious about the very same thing too and cast a
diagnostic spell on him to ensure the child was healthy. The result was one
neither of them had expected.
“We’re having triplets,” Voldemort told him before kissing him breathless.
“Two sons and a daughter are growing inside you, my wonderful little breeding
mare.”
At this point, Harry didn’t care about the degrading nicknames the Dark Lord
gave him. He was too dazed from the news to even hear those words anyway.
Triplets. He was having triplets.
“You said I could name them this time, right?” he asked softly.
“Can I give all three of them their names? Please?”
Voldemort had smiled indulgently down at him and kissed his brow gently before
nodding in agreement.
“You deserved that, my Harry,” he had replied.
It was the first time that the Dark Lord had been like that with Harry, but
Harry would find it was far from the last time.
.              .              .               .              .
Both earlier pregnancies seemed like a walk in the park compared to this one.
He was in labour for a full total of 16 hours before the last of his three kids
finally left his body and was taken into the arms of Narcissa. Both Lord Nott
and Draco, who was apparently a student Healer these days, were also carrying a
child while Voldemort watched from his seat on the other side of the room.
It was the first time Draco was ever present during childbirth, Harry’s or any
other, and the young man was pale and shaky even as he cuddled Harry’s daughter
close.
Harry did his best to stay awake longer, even as exhaustion tried to pull him
into unconsciousness. He watched through bleary eyes as Lord Nott turned
towards the Dark Lord. He didn’t bother to ask if his Lord wanted to hold his
new-born son, as the dark wizard never did. He hadn’t once held any of his
children, never even came to visit them, actually.
“What will their names be?” the old Healer asked curiously.
“That will be Harry’s decision this time,” Voldemort replied.
He stared intensely at Harry while Narcissa and Lord Nott turned to look at him
as well.
“Harry told me what he wanted them to be called,” Draco spoke up once he
noticed Harry was too tired to find his voice.
“He told me that they were to be Lillian Merope, for both your mothers, Sirius
Cadmus, for the only parent he had ever known and the ancestor of the Slytherin
line that bested Death, and the second son James Ignotus, to remember the
Potter line, even if it no longer exists.”
Harry smiled gratefully and closed his eyes, barely catching the nod of
agreement from Voldemort.
“So be it,” the Dark Lord decided calmly, right before Harry drifted off,
exhausted but satisfied.
.              .              .               .              .
Harry had to stay in bed for a week and a half after, his children send back to
the Malfoys to be cared for while he recovered. Even after that, he had to take
it easy. Birthing triplets had taken too much from his body, which wasn’t built
at all to handle childbirth in the first place.
Thus, he was left alone for another month with only his three youngest to care
for and Draco’s help. Only once Voldemort deemed him ready again did he see his
oldest two back and he was moved back to Voldemort’s bed another week later,
though the man stayed gentle with him. For several weeks, he was only expected
to use his mouth on the soon-to-be leader of the Wizarding World. Harry, though
he didn’t like admitting it, was infinitely grateful that he was given the
chance to heal properly.
Voldemort was surprisingly patient and gentle with him during this time. So
much even, that Harry was getting seriously worried about his own and his
children’s safety. What if it meant something even worse coming his way soon?
Voldemort couldn’t be like this because he cared about Harry, could he? But
maybe… Maybe it would in the end be alright. Maybe Voldemort wouldn’t suddenly
turn on him and they could have some semblance of a normal family life.
Thinking like that must have ruined the charm for Harry, as all too soon,
everything reverted back to the beginning of his imprisonment as Voldemort’s
breeding bitch. That same night he was roughly thrown on the bed and fucked
with a desperation the Dark Lord hadn’t showed before. He was savage and went
on the whole night before leaving Harry exhausted, bleeding and in tears in the
morning.
.              .              .               .              .
It still took another year before Harry was with child again. In that time,
Harry learned to ease the Dark Lord’s ire, to appease him before he struck out,
calm him down before he lost his temper. It was a matter of survival, really,
as he was always in a horrible mood whenever the pregnancy test came back
negative. Harry couldn’t say he understood why Voldemort was like that. They
already had five children. Why was he in such need for more?
Harry had learned not to question his master anymore. Voldemort could be cruel
and vicious, but Harry knew how to distract him. It meant he had to be away
from his kids more often than he would like to, but it kept them safe too, and
that made everything worth the extra blowjobs and unusual sex games.
At least things were different while he was expecting. Voldemort left him alone
during the day and was gentle with him during the nights. More often than not,
they ended up with Voldemort holding Harry close, rubbing his slowly growing
belly with soft, gentle fingers. During those moments, Harry closed his eyes
and imagined that Voldemort actually loved him.
.              .              .               .              .
The triplets had their 2nd birthday when Harry was 6 months in, and Harry had
been allowed to hold a birthday party for them. Just something small with only
the Inner Circle and their kids. Draco helped out a lot with getting everything
ready and was glad to wrestle Harry’s two oldest in their party clothes.
At the party, Harry talked with other people aside from Voldemort and Draco for
the first time since his imprisonment. He was pleasantly surprised to find that
Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange had a son the same age as Medea, and he
actually found he could bond with the psychotic witch on motherhood. Narcissa
was a great help too of course, and her presence seemed to mellow her older
sister down somewhat.
All in all, it was a good day for Harry, and to his luck, he could do it over
again two months later for Medea’s 3rd birthday. It might be pushing his luck,
but Voldemort had been very pleased with him for the entire duration of Harry’s
latest pregnancy.
.              .              .               .              .
It was December when Harry was once again in labour of his sixth child. Other
than any of the previous births, this one almost went by itself and within the
hour, he held his new baby boy in his arms. Narcissa and Nott were standing
beside his bed while Draco and Voldemort watched from a bit further.
“What name do you have in mind for this one, Harry?” Voldemort asked, sounding
almost fond for a moment.
“Remus Corvinus,” Harry replied softly, smiling brightly at the sleeping baby.
“I’m starting to see a pattern,” Draco drawled.
“And I really hope you stop before you will start collecting the Weasleys as
well.”
“Then I bet you won’t like it when I tell you I had the name Hermione in mind
for if it was a girl,” Harry replied smirking.
With the way Draco scrunched up his nose in distaste, that guess seemed to be
spot on.
.              .              .               .              .
“Mummy, can I hold Remy?” Tiberius asked sweetly.
Harry smiled and gently laid the two days old little boy in his oldest son’s
arms.
“Be very careful, alright? Remy is sleeping,” he said.
Tiberius nodded in agreement, his dark blue eyes wide in awe as he looked at
the small baby in his arms.
“He’s so tiny,” he mumbled.
“Don’t worry, Remy. Big brother will always protect you!”
Harry’s smile widened and he leaned down to hug both his oldest and youngest
son close to him.
 
***** Chapter 3 *****
Voldemort was more patient this time. Harry had worried that the man would get
violent again, but instead, he treated Harry gently and often asked about the
children when they settled together for the night. In less than a week, Harry
didn’t need the prompting anymore and told Voldemort eagerly about what the
kids had done that day. It was a great feeling to see the man listen with
interest at his babbling.
Still, Harry was relieved when three months later, the diagnosis spell came
back as positive once more. At least while he was with child, he didn’t have to
worry about Voldemort suddenly turning on him again.
For the first two months, everything went well and Harry happily spend his time
with his kids and Draco. Tiberius was big enough to understand what was
happening and he often asked to feel ‘his little brother or sister growing in
his belly’ which Harry was always glad to allow. His oldest son was endearing
in the way he adored all his younger siblings and looked out for them.
A month later, everything fell apart. At first, it was just as if Harry had
caught the flu and he was quickly given a Pepper-Up Potion and that was that.
Only, Harry didn’t get better and instead got sicker. A few diagnostic spells
were cast on him and Snape was called over to brew a healing potion. Within two
weeks, Harry was better again.
For three days it seemed like the crisis was taken care off, until Draco came
rushing into Voldemort’s office with the exclamation that Harry had collapsed
all of a sudden. He had been put to rest in a private room and Lord Nott was
called over to take care of Harry while the Malfoys, again, took in Harry’s
kids.
“Why is he not better?” Voldemort asked after three days of no improvement in
Harry’s condition.
“I don’t know, my Lord,” the healer replied grovelling.
“There are many unknown factors in Harry’s condition. Before him, male
pregnancy potions were only used for one, maybe two kids. No man has ever been
put this much under the strain of childbirth before.”
Voldemort huffed annoyed and walked back out the room.
“Ensure that whatever happens, he doesn’t die,” he ordered.
.              .              .               .              .
A week and a half later, the whole castle was in a panic. Harry’s condition had
worsened even further and that morning, he had woken up in a puddle of blood,
screaming in agony. Voldemort found himself calling for the best healers in the
country who, alongside Lord Nott, Narcissa and Snape tried everything in their
abilities to save the young man and his unborn child.
Draco had been left with the children while Voldemort himself stood in the
corner of the room while eight healers did everything in their powers to keep
Harry alive. His screams and wails shook even the Dark Lord to the core and for
the first time in several decades, Voldemort felt true fear when all sounds
stopped.
“What happened?” Voldemort asked anxiously.
“The child is dead, my Lord,” Nott mumbled sadly.
A weak, broken sob escaped Harry, making Voldemort’s chest flood with relief.
“Unfortunate,” he said.
“Was it a boy or a girl?”
“A girl, my Lord,” Narcissa said humbly.
Voldemort nodded and waved towards the door.
“If Harry is no longer in danger, leave us,” he commanded.
Most went, but Narcissa, holding the tiny corpse in her arms, hesitated.
“He is out of danger right now, but he needs his rest if he wants to recover.”
“I am aware of that,” Voldemort sneered at the woman.
Swallowing nervously, Narcissa bowed and fled the room. For a short while,
Voldemort stayed silent, just staring at Harry’s still form. He was barely
breathing and the once white sheets were now blood red while Harry’s skin had
turned an unhealthy pale. With a sigh, Voldemort turned away and started
walking out as well.
“Marigold.”
Voldemort looked at Harry confused and the young man heaved a heavy, tired
sigh.
“Marigold Amara Slytherin. That’s her name,” Harry whispered.
Voldemort scowled confused and fully turned back to look at him.
“The child is dead. It never even lived. It has no need of a name,” he said.
Harry’s eyes again, the green bright even in their pain.
“I know,” Harry replied hoarsely.
“But she’s still my daughter and I want to bury her.”
“As you wish,” Voldemort whispered before leaving the room.
.              .              .               .              .
Harry stared at his daughter’s gravestone with dull, tired eyes. Her name, and
the date of her death presented in gold letters on the white marble stone.
‘Beloved daughter and sister’ it said in a curly fond.
Harry was seated in a wheelchair, since he was still too weak to walk and his
youngest son was sound asleep in his lap. Aside from his children, Draco,
Narcissa and even Bellatrix had joined him for the small ceremony. It was odd
that the people he once hated the most were now the ones he found the most
comfort with. A small hand came to rest on top of his own and Harry looked up,
seeing the softly smiling face of Tiberius.
“Don’t worry, mummy. Mari is with grandmother and grandfather,” the small boy
whispered.
Tears welled up in Harry’s eyes and he pulled his son in for a warm hug.
.              .              .               .              .
“And? Is he well enough again to serve his purpose?” Voldemort asked Lord Nott
a month later.
Harry was unusually quiet during the check-up. In fact, he hadn’t really talked
much since the miscarriage. The only joy in his life was taking care of his
children, and even that was only doing so much for Harry’s mental health.
“I’m afraid it’s more complicated than that, my Lord,” the healer mumbled
weakly.
“Harry’s womb has become… Volatile, I’m afraid. The chances of a child
surviving pregnancy is getting increasingly low.”
“How is that possible? A womb can’t attack!” Voldemort growled out, glaring at
the cowering man.
“It means that Harry has an inhospitable uterus, my Lord,” Nott tried to
explain.
“Inhospitable uterus is a term used to describe a condition in the uterus that
makes it difficult to become pregnant, or difficult to stay pregnant, because
the lining of the uterus is not favourable for an egg to be fertilized by
sperm, or for the egg to implant in the wall of the uterus.”
“Harry never had trouble before,” Voldemort pointed out.
“I know, but his body was never made to be pregnant in the first place. I fear
that this is a side-effect of the potion. Harry’s body has been forced beyond
its magical capabilities and the unnatural uterus is now fighting back.”
It was as if Harry’s chest suddenly turned to concrete and started pressing
down on his heart and lungs. What would that mean for him if he couldn’t give
Voldemort what he wanted anymore? Would he just be killed now? Would he lose
his kids?
“Is there a way to fix this?” Voldemort asked.
“There are some potions we can give him to minimize these effects temporarily
and we can monitor any future pregnancies much closer so we can assist where
needed better,” Nott said.
“Good. Do that,” Voldemort ordered.
“I will give Harry two more months to recover.”
With that, the Dark Lord swept out of the room.
.              .              .               .              .
Even though Harry started sharing Voldemort’s bed again two months later, it
took an additional two before he was with child again. Often in that time,
Harry had seen his master’s frustration, but not once had he acted it out on
Harry. The young man did suspect that Voldemort found other people to torture
in his frustration however. Somehow, it didn’t really bother him much anymore.
He was happy to just be around his kids and watch them grow up.
.              .              .               .              .
When another daughter was born, Harry and Voldemort decided to both give her a
name. Voldemort would decide on the first name and Harry on her second name.
That was how Hecate Hermione Slytherin came into the rapidly expanding family.
This time, it was Medea who took a shine to the newcomer. The girl couldn’t
stay away from the crib and often asked Harry if she could feed her ‘little
sissy’. It might have something to do with the fact that Tiberius was now
spending most of his days with the Lestranges to train his newly developed
accidental magic. Only five years old and already showing. Harry was very
proud, and while the man never voiced it, he knew Voldemort was too.
.              .              .               .              .
Three more kids came after, all with more than a year in between. There had
been a few complications along the way, but thanks to the close monitoring of
Lord Nott and Draco, Circe Ginevra, Cassandra Ronny and Marcus Salazar were all
born healthy.
Draco came with the news of his own son’s birth four months after Circe’s birth
and Harry had happily congratulated him before getting Voldemort so far as to
buy a gift for Draco and Astoria. The man had been reluctant, but he had been
getting more generous towards Harry lately, so the young man wasn’t scared to
push a bit.
By the time Tiberius went to Hogwarts, Harry was taking care of two more kids.
The twins had been born in July, and Harry had to keep a very close eye on them
both, as the girl, Harriette Euphemia, had almost died in labour and the boy,
Thomas Fleamont, was a very weak and sickly child.
He still had begged Voldemort to be allowed to wave his son off, but the Dark
Lord had denied him and instead had send the Malfoys along. Harry was upset,
but not enough to pitch a fit. That would only cause him harm after all and he
didn’t dare disturbing the arrangement they had in place. Harry did as told and
Voldemort would let him in peace with his kids whenever he didn’t need Harry’s
services.
.              .              .               .              .
A year after the birth of the twins, Harry found himself pregnant once more. He
had come to the point where he was overly excited at the prospect of another
child and every time he looked at his growing belly, he could feel his chest
burst with the amount of love he already had for the unborn child.
It was only a few more months before the child would be born, and Harry could
barely wait. The Healers had said his child would be born in July, and he
really hoped that he’d make it until then. Just like with the twins, Harry had
gotten very ill again and was bedridden for several weeks now already. He
worried for his children, but Draco and the House elves took care of the
youngest ones and the five oldest were already in Hogwarts by now.
When the news of the triplets being Gryffindors had reached him, Harry had
teased Voldemort a bit. Two Slytherins and three Gryffindors. Surely that made
him the better parent. His master had just chuckled amused and kissed his
forehead in an affectionate manner.
“Will it be a little brother, or a little sister, mum?” Remus asked softly,
pressing his ear against Harry’s swollen belly.
Harry chuckled and petted his son’s hair. By his other side lay his two
youngest curled up and asleep. They’d turn two in two months, around the same
time as Harry’s baby was due. He hoped it would be without complications this
time.
“It’s going to be a little brother,” Harry told his ten year-old.
Remus smiled and nodded.
“I can’t wait to play with him!” he said cheerfully.
“I’ll protect him from being teased by James and Sirius.”
Harry chuckled and hugged his son closer to him.
“That’s wonderful, love,” he whispered.
.              .              .               .              .
Only a week later, Harry’s illness became a serious risk for both him and the
unborn baby. The Healers had no option but to operate and get the babe out.
Harry had cried in horror, begging them not to do it, but after Nott explained
that it was the best chance for him and his son to survive, he’d given in.
The child and Harry both survived, but they were both so weak that it took
another three days before Harry could finally hold the tiny boy in his arms.
Draco and Voldemort were both present at the moment, the blond smiling amused
at the expression of intense happiness as he handed the baby over.
“His first name will be Morpheus,” Voldemort said.
“But it’s to you to decide a second name for him.”
“Draco,” Harry replied in a soft whisper.
“Yes?” Draco asked, looking confused.
This made Harry chuckle and he looked up from his son.
“No. I want that to be my son’s middle name,” he explained grinning.
“Morpheus Draco Slytherin. The sleeping dragon.”
The blonde stared at him with wide eyes before his expression softened and he
dipped his head.
“I’m honoured,” he murmured.
.              .              .               .              .
Voldemort hurried through the corridors of his Mansion, it had only been ten
days since Morpheus was born, and already, there had been complications, as was
of course expected of a child born two months too early.
He stormed into the nursery room, but instead of his Healers fussing over his
newly born son, he found Harry crying over the little cradle. With a regretful
sigh, Voldemort walked over and fell to his knees next to the young man and
took him into his arms. The two sat together for hours, just holding each other
as Harry continued crying over his son’s death.
.              .              .               .              .
Harry fell into a depression after that. He was quiet and spend most of his
time lying in bed. The only times he seemed to come alive again was when he was
with his kids, taking care of them, playing games or reading stories to the
twins.
He was still there for Voldemort, catering to his sexual needs as he was meant
to do. However, because of Harry’s lack of reactions and the hollowness in his
voice, the Dark Lord found himself losing interest quickly. After a while,
Voldemort stopped visiting him, leaving Harry’s care to Draco and the House
elves.
Finally, on July first, Harry’s five oldest children came back home. He greeted
them with cheer and listened to them tell him their stories from school. He was
happy to find that both James and Sirius were planning to join the Gryffindor
Quidditch team once they went back for their second year.
“Mother?” Tiberius asked tentatively.
Harry looked up at his oldest son. The thirteen year old boy was looking very
sad and worried and he grabbed Harry into a hug.
“I’m so sorry about Morpheus,” the boy whispered.
Harry could feel his tears burning behind his eyes, but he blinked them away
and hugged his son back.
“So am I,” he choked out.
He stepped back and grabbed Tiberius by the shoulders, keeping him at arm’s
length while he gave the boy a watery smile.
“But at least we all still have each other,” he said.
“You, me, your father and all your siblings. We need to stick together.”
Tiberius nodded in agreement and leaned in to kiss Harry’s cheek.
“You’re right, mother,” he said.
“And you’ll still have Morpheus too. He’ll be in your dreams.”
.              .              .               .              .
That night, Voldemort went to his own personal bedroom, only to find Harry
already lying in his bed, stark naked and already sleeping. It was quite the
shock to see the young man there. Harry had his own room in a completely
different wing of the Mansion and rarely left it these days. Even before,
whenever Voldemort wanted Harry’s company, he would go to his room, never the
other way around.
Slowly, he took off his own robes and crawled into the bed. He hugged Harry
from behind and started planting gentle butterfly kisses to the back of his
neck until the young man stirred and turned around in his arms. Harry smiled
sleepily and wrapped his arms around the Dark Lord’s neck, opening up his mouth
as Voldemort leaned down to kiss his lips.
“I was waiting for you,” Harry said softly.
“Were you?” Voldemort chuckled amused.
“Yeah. I wanted to apologize,” Harry replied.
“After Morph… I… ignored my tasks, and I shouldn’t have.”
Voldemort hummed and kissed Harry again.
“It’s a very natural response after losing a child.”
“Still… I’m grateful that you’ve been so patient,” Harry muttered blushing.
The Dark Lord chuckled and rolled on top of the young man, slowly rolling his
hips against Harry.
“I know how you can show your gratitude, my Harry,” he whispered huskily,
making the younger laugh.
.              .              .               .              .
School was already going on for two months by the time Harry found himself
pregnant again with yet another child. The Healers had been trying to convince
the Dark Lord to stop, but the man refused to give Harry any anti-conception
potions, even though he did say he no longer intentionally impregnated Harry.
It was something that simply happened as the young man still shared his bed
most nights.
While terrified that this one too would die, Harry still couldn’t help but
smile every time he put his hand on the slowly growing belly. Another child for
him to love and fill the empty hole in his life that somehow always seemed to
reappear whenever he was all alone with his thoughts and memories.
Maybe with another child to take care of, he wouldn’t feel that horrible
emptiness anymore…
.              .              .               .              .
Within a month, Harry was once again bedridden. Christmas Break came around
shortly after, leaving him with more than enough company to stand by his
bedside every day as he suffered from terrible stomach aches and a high fever.
He stayed like that for a month until suddenly his condition worsened
overnight. All twelve children sat outside their mother’s room the entire night
as Healers and servants ran in and out. Draco sat by them, holding little
Harriette close to his side, shushing her crying while their father never once
left their mother’s side. Voldemort held Harry’s hand throughout the entire
night, worried red eyes not once leaving the contorted, sweat-slick face.
.              .              .               .              .
“Won’t you name her, Harry?” Voldemort asked softly.
Harry didn’t reply. He stayed curled up in the bed and stared blankly at the
wall. His ashen face was gaunt and his eyes sunken. If Voldemort hadn’t seen
his chest move, he’d have thought Harry had died along with their daughter.
“We can’t have her buried nameless,” he tried again, stepping closer.
Still, Harry didn’t speak or move. Voldemort didn’t really know what he was
doing when he crawled into bed with Harry and pulled the shivering male into
his chest. Harry buried his face in Voldemort’s and started crying while the
Dark Lord gently rocked him and kissed his head.
“If you won’t name her, then I will,” he whispered.
“N-no more,” Harry cried hoarsely.
“Please. Don’t make me do this again.”
“No more, my Harry,” Voldemort agreed softly.
“You’ve done your part. From now on, I will only adore you, like you deserve.
Like you adore our children.”
.              .              .               .              .
Three days later, Voldemort held Harry once again as they silently watched the
funeral of little Marzena Thana Slytherin along with their twelve living kids.
Medea was crying as well and held tightly onto Tiberius, as were Lily and
Remus. Sirius and James seemed to understand the gravity of the whole thing,
but weren’t as undone since they had never met their unborn sister. The others
were all still too young to understand and just watched their mother cry.
None of them saw how their father had to blink away tears as well.
 
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