Title: Coming Home
Rating: A, for somewhat explicit sex;
Characters/pairings: Lord Voldemort, Gellert Grindelwald; Voldemort/Grindelwald
Warnings: Ignores canon as was written before release of Half-Blood Prince; attempt at crack.
Author notes: Written for alittlewhisper and magistera, evil entities who speak of griddlesex and still owe me Peter/Ginny.
Word count: 2051
Summary: Voldemort met his match, in more ways than one
Critiques: Pile them on. Nicely.
‘Where am I,’ demanded Voldemort, glaring at the lone figure which was wearing robes that were clearly outdated. ‘Who are you,’ he aimed his wand. ‘Avada Kedavra!’
The figure leaning against the strange, swirling wall lifted its head and Voldemort got the shock of his life. It was a face that had been the terror of every magical being, decades ago.
‘Grindelwald,’ he whispered, his red eyes huge in his white face.
Grindelwald - for it was indeed he - straightened and dusted off his robes. Voldemort noted absently that there was no dust but somehow, his vision shimmered - as though he was seeing through the surface of water.
‘Welcome to the Beyond’, murmured Grindelwald. He was rather tall, Voldemort saw - taller than himself.
‘Avada Kedavra,’ Voldemort screamed again, brandishing his wand at Grindelwald.
Grindelwald started to laugh - a deep, amused sound. He walked over to Dark Lord and seized the bony white wrist that held the yew wand. With a snarl, Voldemort clawed at the hand, his curving nails breaking skin. Grindelwald gripped the wand and easily yanked it from the Dark Lord.
Voldemort realised he was breathing heavily and stepped back, an expression of fear on his face as he watched Grindelwald examine the wand carefully.
When the older wizard looked up, there was a smirk on his face. ‘You fool,’ he whispered softly, blue eyes narrowing. ‘Do you not realise where you are? This is the Beyond!’
Voldemort's eyes flashed. ‘The Beyond?’ he scoffed, ‘this? If this is really The Beyond, why aren't the other dead here? Why only you?’
Grindelwald clicked his tongue in the manner of someone not bogged down by the fact that he was the Late Grindelwald. ‘Tell me your name. I cannot hold a conversation with an impudent, mannerless whelp whose way of greeting is a common killing curse.’
Voldemort's fierce eyes narrowed to slits and the rage was quite palpable on his face. ‘I,’ he began in resounding, stentorian accents that would have seemed more fitting to that auror Shacklebolt or Lucius, ‘am Lord Voldemort!’
There was silence for a second, and then Grindelwald burst out laughing again. ‘Y-you?’ he sputtered through his chuckles, ‘you call yourself Voldemort?’ He spoke the name in the correct French way, with the D soft and the T silent. He then proceeded to go into paroxysms of laughter.
Voldemort let out a sound rather like the hiss of an infuriated tabby and stomped over to the other wizard, who had just begun to slap his knees in time with his laughter, and seizing fistfuls of his robe, started shaking him, enraged beyond belief.
In an instant - and it really did happen in the blink of an eye - he found himself on his back on the ground with Grindelwald sitting on his legs, effectively trapping him, and no longer laughing.
He leant over the prone, agitated form of Voldemort and ran the tip of the yew wand down the sharp cheekbones of Voldemort’s three-year old body.
‘Perhaps languages were not your strong suit, Vol-de-mort,’ he murmured, his teeth and tongue visible in the light, slowly forming the syllables.
‘Your name means “Fly from Death”... So, little Vol-de-mort, did you fly from death?’ he breathed, his face leaning closer to the Dark Lord's. ‘Hmm? Or did Death finally find you’, he prompted, his breath now ghosting over the younger Dark Wizard's face.
Voldemort eyes blazed and he did something very Muggle - he spat at his interlocutor.
‘I’, Voldemort hissed, angered even more that Grindelwald did not move back or flinch, ‘am the Dark Lord! They know me as He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named! I am the last descendant of Salazar Slytherin! I...ngh,’ he grunted in sudden pain, and struggled futilely against the hands that tightened hard on his wrists, pinning them down on either side of his head.
‘And I,’ Grindelwald murmured, ‘am appalled at your manners, your poor language skills, your witless behaviour, and that such a creature as you could ever be the descendant of Salazar Slytherin.’ He bent his head lower and rubbed his lips - glistening with Voldemort's own spit – on the Dark Lord's hollowed cheek.
Voldemort froze at the contact. He tried to move his legs, shuffling them about, frantically turning his head this way, thrusting his chest forward in his mad struggle to get free of Grindelwald, but stopped suddenly when he felt a weight pressing against his thigh. No, it couldn't be...
Grindelwald's face had a gleaming smile, and his blue eyes had darkened. He probably took Voldemort's stillness for acquiescence for he lowered his mouth to the sharp chin mere inches away from his.
Voldemort felt a tongue slowly lick a stripe from his chin to his cheek. His breath hitched at the unusual contact.
Grindelwald licked his lips. ‘You have very smooth skin. Never needed a shave, eh? I like it.’ And without further ado, he pressed his lips to Voldemort's – or where Voldemort's should have been.
It was extraordinary – to say the least – the feeling of lips on the edges of his mouth, pressing, plucking at his skin, pushing his mouth open.
Voldemort did not quite know how to react – he exclaimed aloud but the exclamation dissipated in the sound of ‘whrrff’ as his tongue was touched by another. He gasped at the contact as Grindelwald kissed him deeply and did not realise that he had started kissing him back, his tongue sinuously rubbing against Grindelwald's, his own mouth nipping at Grindelwald's.
He felt lips moving to the corner of his mouth, down his jaw-line, gasping when he felt them touch – and suck – at that thatssoTICKLISH spot on his neck. He felt a broad chest rubbing against his through his thin robe and parted his legs for the knee that was pressing so insistently at the space between them.
That clever mouth had returned to his and Voldemort was lost in deep kisses, his pelvis rubbing against Grindelwald's.
He felt the wind against his chest and exclaimed loudly at the feeling of Grindelwald's wet mouth sucking and biting at justherewhereitaahhh. He grasped Grindelwald's hips and started thrusting his cock against them, unaware that his hands were free.
He vaguely realised that his nails had gripped and torn most of Grindelwald's robe away from their legs, and that Grindelwald had lifted his body from Voldemort's enough that he could hitch up the rest of the Dark Lord's robe to his mid-riff.
When Grindelwald lifted his mouth from his chest, Voldemort felt the air sting on his nipples where Grindelwald's beard had rubbed so sharply. He hissed four-letter words in Parseltongue, hating the sudden freedom he'd got from Grindelwald's body.
But fortunately, that was remedied very quickly, for Voldemort felt his legs being raised and the tip of Grindelwald's cock brushing against his bared buttocks. His eyes - that had fluttered open at the loss of contact - squeezed shut as his arse was slowly penetrated.
And then Voldemort - He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named - was lost as Grindelwald fucked him, at first slowly, then with gathering momentum, thrusting faster. As if by magic, one hand had gripped his cock - he didn't know or care whose hand it was - and was bringing him off, and he was screaming and feeling his body explode and his mind stop working altogether.
Red eyes stared into blue as conscious thought returned. ‘What...’, Voldemort began, aware of and disliking the husky quality of his voice.
Grindelwald looked as amused as before and nudged his nose to where Voldemort's should have been. ‘You are undoubtedly Salazar's descendant. Even in Parseltongue, it was not difficult to understand what you were saying.’
Voldemort sat up cautiously and realised that his robe was torn apart at his chest, right down till his stomach where the lower half of the garment was bunched in thin folds.
He asked the question that he should have asked in the first place: ‘What is happening?’
Grindelwald nodded and clapped Voldemort's bare shoulder: ‘A sensible question, finally! Attaboy! You, my friend, are in the Beyond with me. Did you come through that veil at the Ministry of Magic, now?’
Voldemort nodded. He vaguely remembered Harry Potter standing in front of the prone form of Lucius’s traitorous brat, and flinging a cauldron full of Floo powder at him. It had struck him squarely in the chest and he had fallen back through a tattered-looking black curtain.
Grindelwald smiled at his glum look. ‘Don't worry. It's not so bad. We had one of the Blacks some time ago - I don't even remember how long it was... Time, you know,’ he gestured vaguely, ‘never quite still, that, but here we are outside time. He was quite a taking lad – the most speaking grey eyes and hair that would have put that Warbeck woman’s to shame. Very fetching, very fetching,’ Grindelwald’s eyes kindled at the memory. ‘Bit of a pity he didn't stay here longer. His friends came for him a while later and they passed on. I miss him. Quite enjoyed his company while he was here.’
Voldemort interrupted him. ‘Is there no way back? I cannot stay here! I must go back!’
Grindelwald frowned slightly. ‘No, no. I'm afraid you are quite dead. See,’ his voice became cajoling at Voldemort's gobsmacked expression, ‘to the living, you have died. To the dead, you are not quite dead. Take a look at you and I,’ he pointed to Voldemort, then to himself. ‘We have our bodies intact. We have not become ethereal. In fact, we can still feel – joy, sorrow, pleasure, pain - oh, did I hurt you back then?’ he jerked his head backwards. ‘I’m usually not so enthusiastic when welcoming new people but you…you see, there was just some thing about you -’
Voldemort interrupted him again. ‘No, you didn't. My body is… different from others’.’
‘Really?’ Grindelwald put his hand on Voldemort’s thin, hairless chest and moved his fingers delicately over it, lightly running them over his nipples.
Voldemort’s breath caught. ‘Y-yes,’ he stammered, ‘I had it specially made for me,’
‘Really?’ said Grindelwald, again, his face taking on an earnest, interested expression, ‘tell me how, please.’
Voldemort gasped as the fingers skimmed the side of his stomach, tickling him dreadfully. He grabbed Grindelwald’s wrist, holding it still, and sharply exclaimed, ‘No! I must go back! Tell me how!’
‘I can see the concept of manners is lost on you,’ Grindelwald sighed. ‘And you can't go back, my dear chap,’ he removed his hand from Voldemort’s grasp. ‘Magic doesn't work in the Beyond. You can do what you like here, except use magic.’ He regarded the mixture of expressions of denial and anger on Voldemort's face and stood up suddenly.
‘Come along,’ he stretched his hand towards Voldemort. ‘It’s not so bad here,’ he indicated the area behind him – and Voldemort saw a garden with a small cottage at one end - with his other hand. ‘The Beyond is exactly what you want it to be. That’s why I’ve stayed. It gets lonely sometimes, yes, but I like it here.
'Why don't spend some time with me? You can decide if you want to stay here or pass on to the other side. I'm really sorry but there is no way back.’
Voldemort closed his eyes for a few seconds, and to his surprise, felt his murderous rage faintly ebb. He just felt so tired. He wanted to sleep for a good long time. And once he awoke, refreshed, he would find try and find a way back. After all, Grindelwald was the most powerful wizard of his age, too, just before Dumbledore had managed to fell him. There would certainly be a way back.
Voldemort opened his eyes and took Grindelwald's hand, hoisting himself up. His robe fell, covering his legs, and they walked towards the house.
Grindelwald threw open the door and with a sweeping flourish, invited his guest in. Voldemort frowned as he saw the door and paused at the threshold. He peered at Grindelwald. ‘You did go to Hogwarts, didn't you?’ The older wizard nodded. ‘Indeed, I did, for my final year. Passed my N.E.W.Ts in 1905. Why?’
With deep foreboding, Voldemort glanced at the badger-shaped knocker and asked, ‘which was your House?’
- Current Mood: anxious
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