The Handsome Dark Lord[Comprehensive]

They emerged from the fireplace in the Defense Against the Dark Arts office.

Harry's stomach rolled back and forth from the spinning sensation, and he retched while holding onto Voldemort's shoulder.

Voldemort carried him halfway on his shoulders and strode towards the bathroom: "...spit on me and throw you into the washing bucket."

"You're on my - stomach!" Harry cried in agony, "I'm - going to throw up -"

Before he finished speaking, he was placed in front of the sink in the bathroom.

"Spit up."

Freed of scruples, Harry suddenly relaxed, and the contents of his stomach poured out.

Voldemort turned up the tap to the fullest when he vomited for the first time.

The rushing water washed away the smell of vomiting and woke Harry up a bit.

Feeling a lot better after vomiting, Harry finished rinsing his mouth and propped himself on the sink in a collapsed state.

Voldemort leaned against the wall, studying him in the mirror.

"Do you know that you have class tomorrow?"

Harry shook his head and said lazily, "I know..." He hiccupped, and his thoughts flew to another universe, "How...how do you know I'm there?"

"I know magic." Voldemort reminded hypocritically.

"Oh..." But he didn't know much about the magic of finding someone, "My scar seemed to be uncomfortable for a while... Did you feel it... Then, come to me...?"

"Yeah. You've managed to interrupt my punishment of an evil Death Eater so that he can be more active in his dark cause."

Harry turned and staggered towards him.

"I did not mean it……"

He grumbled and leaned over, reaching up to touch his face.

Voldemort didn't hide.

Harry lowered that face a little, nose to nose, and finally saw the details clearly with his bleary drunken eyes.

"……it is true."

He grunted.Put your arms around each other's neck, leaned forward and kissed.

Voldemort pressed him against the wall, knees on legs, steadying his limp body.

Harry closed his eyes drunkenly, silently feeling the softness of his lips, soft from body to spirit.

He couldn't think, alcohol paralyzed his mind, and only emotion and desire drove his body.

He felt a long-lost, pure joy.

There is no torture from Hermione, no torment of hatred, only happiness.

He grasped the other's neckline with strength.

The tip of the tongue suddenly tasted a bit of fishy salt.

Voldemort pulled him away and stared at him intently.

"...what's wrong?" Harry asked.

Voldemort frowned slightly at this question, and carried him to the bathroom.

"Wash the smell of alcohol off of you."

"Let me go...I can, I can walk—" Harry staggered and struggled, feeling that Voldemort was as strong as a troll tonight.He was involuntarily dragged into the bathroom, which was as luxuriously furnished as the prefect's bathroom, probably standard for Hogwarts staff.

As soon as they entered the door, several faucets started to release water, but some of them only released bubbles and fragrance.

The bath was huge, and by the time Harry was put in without delay, the hot water and bubbles had filled it with unimaginable speed.

It's a pity that both Voldemort and Harry turned a blind eye to this, and the latter was thrown in after being stripped of his coat.

Ignoring the soaked shirt, Harry pawed at the edge of the pool angrily, staring at the dry Dark Lord on it: "You despise me!"

Although delirious, he still clearly remembers why the half-kissed person let him go.

Voldemort knelt down, picked up a beautifully carved wooden ladle, scooped up water and poured it on Harry.

Harry tried to dodge, but unfortunately, his body couldn't control himself, and half of his messy black hair was wet.

"Don't move." Voldemort said dissatisfied.

Harry was so angry that he splashed the water and was about to climb up to fight him.

Voldemort sighed secretly, and said softly, "Just now... you cried."

The sound of splashing water stopped immediately.

Harry tried to reach out and touch his face, but his hands were already wet.

The hands on the bank took off his glasses which had started to fog up, and Harry couldn't see anything clearly, only a blurry black figure in the center of his field of vision.

The black shadow wiped the water marks on his face with a thin finger.

Harry didn't know if it was tears or water...but he did taste a little salty.

"...I didn't," he said.

Voldemort didn't answer.

Harry left the edge of the pool and sank under the water, letting the endless current wrap him around.

The world suddenly became silent.

Confessing to a friend is a forced reflection.

All experiences have to be stripped of the sweet cloak of love, and nakedly reveal the ugliest contradictions and interests.

Harry had to face the fact that he was so powerless.

He hasn't even formed a really clear vision for the future.

It was not until the end of the narration that it could be formed on the lips.

Before that, he just naively wanted to fight for it.

He didn't know when it started...Maybe it was the time he thought his identity was exposed, and Tom told him 'don't ignore your own wishes'.

He knew it was just a rhetoric meant to fool him, but he did draw strength from it.

This false Muggle love has taught him the importance of self-will.

Even after the showdown, he followed through with his ideas.

Whether he chose to trust Roald, fight him, throw away his wand and let him manipulate him... he couldn't think about the terrible meaning of them when he did these things.

He just followed his deepest desires.However absurd it may be, he is only willing to succumb to the misery of practice.

But Hermione had dragged him out of his naive delusion.

He always knew that question stood not far away, Shi Shiran was waiting for him.

It's just that before today, no one forced him to go there.

——What if he doesn't change?

Every time he had a tendency to think about this question, the happy little beast in his chest would become irritable, tearing and dragging him away.

Harry had always succumbed to it.

But as he sat on the bedroom floor with the question still playing in his head, he realized that he could no longer submit like he had before.

There was no way he could force Voldemort to change, nor could he face his cruelty.

He wanted to find a way to compromise, but he was so powerless, except for the false name of a savior, even Ron was often better than him.

He didn't know what he could do to convince Voldemort.

Is it just love and justice?He felt that Dumbledore was clearly better at it.

If evil had to come...was heartbreak the only option?

So what is everything in the past?Why can't he be happy simply because he likes it?

Obviously things haven't come yet, but he has already started to feel pain in advance.

He was terrified by this, and he was ashamed of his own terrified.

In the end he fled even more cowardly.

At a bar no one knows, I want to drink till dawn.

Dumbledore said he had valuable qualities, Aberforth said he never cheated, Hermione said he was great, Sirius said he was like a father...he was going to disappoint them.

Harry thought drunkenly.

How could he not disappoint them?He couldn't guarantee anything, so he was with the enemy.

Enemy... Speaking of which, what did Voldemort say about him?

...as if nothing has been said.

—I told you that your ass is up.

said a naughty voice.

…Harry grabbed the bottle and tried to strangle it.

Drinking can really make people forget their worries.

The brain will be sluggish due to paralysis, unable to think about the complicated present and future, and only be simple and foolishly happy.

Harry missed that feeling.

It had been a long time since he had escaped reality like this last time he failed.

He feels very happy.

Even just looking at the unblemished skin of a lover puts him in a good mood.

He likes pretty people.

The feeling of kissing couldn't be better.

...if he hadn't cried.

He didn't cry.

The feeling of suffocation gradually piled up in his chest, and Harry finally couldn't hold back and emerged from the water, panting violently, and saw Voldemort's black shadow still standing by the pool.

"...you—cough, you're just looking at me holding your breath?" Harry complained as he returned to the pool.

"Holding your breath is not an easy way to die," Voldemort said calmly, "and the bath is equipped with anti-drowning magic."

"..."

Harry moved very close, but didn't look at him.

Without warning, Harry threw himself on his legs and rolled sideways.

The results of years of Quidditch training were condensed at this moment—in less than a second, the two of them had already splashed water half a meter high, and fell into the pool together with the turbulent sound.

Voldemort's other hand quickly grasped the marble surface of the pool.

It was a pity that there was almost no friction on the water-stained smooth surface, and Harry was pulling down hard again, and it didn't take long for them both to sink to the bottom of the pool.

Harry's scar was burning—

Damn - bastard - puberty - brat - what are you doing! !

Harry had never experienced a soul connection ringing like a microphone in his head.

But he adapted very quickly.

pull you - into the water -

he answered cheerfully.

Let's wash together!

and also--

and also……

Glad you came to see me.

... When he passed out drunk in the music bar, he thought about some messy questions.For example, why did you run into this bar.

He wanted to escape from reality, but this place was not far enough from reality.

If he hadn't passed by the Moen Bar by accident, was stopped by accident, and discovered Nichols' Imperius Curse by accident... Maybe he would have escaped further.

So far away that even magic can't be found.

He thought it was because the guitarist at the door was a bit handsome.

Until he was drunk and saw that murderous guy standing unambiguously by the table, he understood in an instant.

...he wants to be found.