FICLET: Ain't No Grave ~ Harry Potter ~ Harry/Voldemort ~ Teen

[batsutousai]

Title: Ain't No Grave
Fandom: Harry Potter
Author: Batsutousai
Rating: Teen
Pairings: Harry Potter/Lord Voldemort
Warnings: Darkish!Harry, Voldemort is resigned, implied murder
Summary: "Can I change my theme song?" Harry asked, as he pushed his way into Voldemort's office.

A/N: From a list of prompts on tumblr, cubedcoffeecake requested No grave can hold my body down, Harry/Voldemort, but instead of it being Voldemort... saying this? I guess? It’s Harry. Like, w Voldemort going on in some form w ‘ugh he just won’t stay dead’ instead of the other way around?
Not quite what it sounds like you were looking for, but hopefully still a fun read? ;)

You can also read this at Archive of Our Own, tumblr, or LiveJournal.

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"Can I change my theme song?" Harry asked, as he pushed his way into Voldemort's office, somehow avoiding setting off the dozen or so curses and wards Voldemort had cast on the door when he'd sequestered himself in there early in the morning, in desperate need of some peace and quiet to do some paperwork. (And absolutely not because he was concerned about Harry never coming home the night before.)

Voldemort bit back a sigh and reached up to rub at the skin between his eyes; it was a pity he'd already killed the idiot who'd introduced the concept of theme songs to Harry, because he should very much like to watch them choke on their own entrails.

There came the familiar sound of Harry dropping into one of the chairs in front of Voldemort's desk, very likely wearing the familiar wide grin as he prepared to start singing yet another horrible rendition of some muggle song or another.

"Why–" Voldemort started as he looked up, hoping to perhaps put Harry's tone deaf singing on hold for a moment, but he lost all his words when he finally caught sight of the young man.

Harry was hardly the most clean-conscious person Voldemort knew – flying hard and vanishing into the greenhouses were two of his favourite responses to stress, and he would rarely bother to bathe before dinner after taking part in such activity – but this was the first time he'd ever looked like he'd taken a nap in a hole full of dirt.

Harry grinned, wide and a little deranged, in that way he always did before he started singing, and then he belted out, "There ain't no grave, can hold my body down–"

Voldemort snapped out a silencing charm before Harry could get any further, rage burning through him. "Who?" he demanded. "Who would dare–"

"Mixed signals," Harry informed him way too quickly; with Voldemort's luck, he was developing some sort of resistance to silencing charms. "You can't shut me up, then demand answers."

"Harry," Voldemort hissed, using that tone that any sane person would take to mean they needed to stop being difficult and actually answer the question.

"You know," Harry said, completely ignoring the implication of danger to himself, as he always did, "it's a wonder you don't have blood pressure problems. Unless you do. How recently have you seen a medi–?"

"I will curse you," Voldemort threatened, even though he wouldn't. If only because Harry would make him regret it. Probably with singing. While screaming.

Harry rolled his eyes, but he also straightened a bit in the chair, losing a little shower of dirt. "As if I'd leave someone who beat me over the head with a bloody guitar and buried me alive for you to punish; idiot's already dead."

Voldemort really should have foreseen that; Harry hadn't flinched away from meting out his own revenge in quite a few years. "And the ones who put them up to it?" he had to ask.

Harry waved a hand at him. "They'll keep."

Voldemort took that to mean that they were either in the dungeon, or Harry knew exactly where he could find him when he decided they'd been free long enough. Either way, Voldemort wouldn't get a go at them until Harry decided, because he could be irritatingly stubborn when it came to having things exactly the way he wanted.

(Not that Voldemort wasn't the same way.)

"Go take a shower," he ordered, because every time Harry moved, a little bit of dirt would fall off, and Voldemort didn't doubt there was already a sizable pile in and around the chair, not to mention trailing him into Voldemort's office; the house-elves were very likely beside themselves.

Harry leant forward. "Just me?" he asked in that tone that he thought was seductive or some such.

Voldemort glared and motioned to the paperwork he'd been dealing with when Harry came in. "Some of us have work to do."

Harry nodded, looking unconvinced. "So you're saying you don't want to make sure I get every speck of dirt out of my hair before climbing into the bed?"

Harry may have said the words in an innocent tone, but Voldemort knew a threat when he heard one; he'd be sleeping in a dirt hill if he didn't join Harry in the shower.

He let out his most irritated hiss, scowling when Harry grinned, then announced, "I suppose I should make sure you're not hiding any wounds to avoid going to the mediwitch." Because Harry had a long history of doing so.

(So did Voldemort, not that he would ever admit to such.)

Harry made a face, but he didn't complain. Which meant he probably wasn't wounded. But it could also mean he wanted to take a shower with Voldemort more than he didn't want to deal with their resident mediwitch.

Well, Voldemort would find out for certain soon enough.

.