Voldemort was reluctant to admit that he was grateful to have been able to spend more time with Potter. Meeting up to discuss tactic and involvement in Sweden felt almost like it had been for their own civil war. It was, of course, far better than then, however, as it was very rare that it did not end in some form of sexual satisfaction; he had lost count of the number of humiliating sexual defeats he had suffered at the hands (and mouth) of Lord Potter, but it was likely the same number of victories he had won, so he supposed it could be a lot worse. Still, there came a point where exclusively diplomatic and sexual encounters were not enough. Voldemort had not known what it was that he wanted, only that he wanted it, and so he had merely pushed his frustration into further attempts at sexual dominance. It was Potter who had finally been able to put it into words.
"We should go on dates," the man had exclaimed one evening, mid-sex.
It had taken Voldemort a moment to process exactly what Potter had said, and he was completely taken aback. Dateswere something he associated with teenagers, simpering over their crushes and fussing about trivial relationships. Voldemort was in his 50s, Potter in his 60s, and though neither of them necessarily looked that old, thanks to Voldemort's horcruxes and Potter's vain use of youth preservation rituals, they were still in no position to go on dates.
"You're mad," Voldemort had stated. "You're not even middle-aged and you've lost your mind."
Potter's eyes shined with mirth, but he had stuck with the idea.
He was not entirely sure what he had imagined a date with Potter, a date between two Dark Lords would be like, but it was apparent that he had set his expectations far too low, as always was the case with Lord Potter. Potter had not meant a date in the traditional sense, which Voldemort was incredibly relieved by, though he could have corrected Voldemort on it earlier. He merely meant... an outing.
"An adventure!" Potter had called it, looking around 40 years younger as he spoke.
Voldemort also had not been expecting to be taken up on his agreement to explore the mountains of Norway with Potter, from a conversation on a balcony that seemed like a lifetime ago. But in all honesty, he was quite excited for the trip; he had been in politics for so long, he had almost forgotten the excitement of exploring the unexplored, discovering the mysteries of magic, pushing the limits of his mind, magic, and body to see the beauty of the world in its rawist form, away from the intervention of humanity. He had set aside a month for the expedition, hoping desperately that his government would not mess up too badly while he was gone, and was finally ready to set off. They had spent about three months meeting and discussing where exactly they would go, what equipment they would need, researching the area to have some idea of what to expect, which was not much; it was a largely unexplored area, which made it all the more exciting. They both decided that it would be wise to take journals so that they could document their experiences, and later be able to publish it if they wished. Voldemort was not sure if he wanted to publish what they found, rather liking the idea of being one of the only people to know, but he was also very tempted by the idea of people knowing his successes.
Their starting point was at the base of the largest mountain that could be seen from Potter's Norway base. They were each carrying large bags with the feather-light charm, containing the basic supplies, such as tents, food, and even magically enhanced muggle climbing equipment if they needed it. First, though, they were waiting for the sun to set. It was Potter's idea, again, to start out in the dark, in the hopes of encountering some more interesting magical creatures, and Voldemort was happy to follow this plan.
Potter was sprawled out on the grass, basking in the orange of the sunset, while Voldemort was perched more regally on a large rock. He looked the other man over, admiring the shadows of his face, eyes closed, and the way the wind brushed his messy hair over his forehead.
"You're going grey," Voldemort observed aloud. Potter's eyebrows furrowed into a frown, but he remained sprawled.
"Am not," the man protested.
"Acting like a child will not make you look like one, I hope you're aware."
"It's alright for you, you and your bloody immortality. I'm aging. Soon enough I'll be middle aged and I'll begin my descent into old aged dependence and I'll have to start planning for my death and working out who will take my position and what food to serve at my funeral..."
"You are far too dramatic for your own good, Potter," Voldemort sighed, but he was trying his hardest not to laugh at the other man. "Knowing you, you'll be one of those anomalies who live to something ridiculous like 500 and I'll have to deal with you for 3 times as long as I was prepared for."
"Spending so much time with you has probably halved my life expectancy, I don't think you have to worry."
Voldemort only hummed in response, letting the sounds of the wildlife replace their talk. Potter was aging, despite his attempts to preserve his appearance, but Voldemort knew that the man did not really care. He was perfectly comfortable with the concept of death, often joking about Voldemort's immortality being an abomination. It was not. Voldemort did not need to worry about such things as death and funerals, and instead could focus on his political work, and researching magic in order to become the most knowledgeable being to walk the earth. He had time, time that nobody else was powerful enough to have access to, and though he had agreed to not make any more horcuxes, he was still pleased at his advantage over the rest of the population. He would live through centuries, and become a god among wizarding kind, and eventually, once Potter was no longer badgering him, perhaps a god above the muggles. Not that Potter would stop badgering him any time soon – despite what the man said, Voldemort simply could not imagine him dying at the average age, he was simply too powerful.
"Some people look good with grey hair," Voldemort suggested, thinking of a co-worker with silver hair, thick lashes, and a sharp cheekbone.
"Not me," Potter scoffed. "My face is too round, I'll just look stupid."
"I keep telling you, Potter, if you just let yourself age naturally your youthful mind will show through, and Merlin knows you have the mind of a 10-year-old."
"Stop teasing me and leave me alone will you? Look, the sun has nearly set."
When they finally did set off, they walked in silence, side by side, working out where they could tread without disturbing their pace. It had not been walked through before, so this was an arduous task what with bushes and rocks littering the ground, but they did not want to disrupt the nature in the area. The ascent was incredibly steep to begin with, and Voldemort was mildly embarrassed to find his thighs protesting the exercise already, but he could ignore the feeling. Though it was dark, they were in an open field, and the moon shone down onto their path as they walked. In the first hour or so, they did not encounter any particularly interesting wildlife; only a large number of ox, who respectfully left the two wizards alone as they intruded on their habitat. It was a truly beautiful landscape. Voldemort felt as if they were walking to the sky, and if he were still a child he would have been certain of a fountain of gold at their destination. What truly struck with him, though, was the feeling of the natural world enveloping him and comforting him, removing all of the stresses he had been experiencing in politics. Logically, he knew that spending so much time indoors in manmade structures was bad for both his mind and his magic, but he was always too busy to care, but now he was out again it seemed more important than ever.
"The outdoors..." he started, trailing off in wonder, already feeling more at peace and less irritable.
Potter merely continued walking in silence, letting Voldemort continue his train of thought in his own time.
"Nature is how you're so powerful. You're a powerful wizard anyway, but you don't confine yourself indoors like I do. You get out, and let your magical core absorb the power of Mother Nature."
Potter hummed in agreement. "There are so many wizards these days who forget the power of the natural world, and I confess it is information I quite like to keep to myself, selfishly. But it goes back to the time I always speak of, the time of balance between Light and Dark magic. Witches and wizards performed magic in harmony with Mother Nature, using the winds to guide their magical spirits, the plants to enhance their cores. Potions and weather magic are some of the oldest varieties of magic we have, and yet both have been restricted time and time again by the Light."
Voldemort did not respond to this. Somehow, he knew that no matter how much studying and practicing of magic he did in his spare time, Potter would always be just that bit more knowledgeable. Voldemort knew next to nothing about the most natural forms of magic, and yet he was sure that these were probably the most powerful. Potter was far more likely to make up his spell use than Voldemort, because he understood magic at its basest form. Voldemort knew more than most, of course – he was one of the most knowledgeable and powerful wizards to ever live – but his knowledge did not match up to Potter's. The difference was wisdom. As much as it pained Voldemort to even think it, Potter was probably wiser than Voldemort would ever be, and it had nothing to do with age.
It was nearing midnight when they reached the beginnings of a forest. Tall fir trees blocked them from seeing what was beyond their current path, and the moon was no longer lighting the ground. It was here that they decided it would be wise to set up camp, so that they could enter the forest in moderate light, and so they both removed their bags and got to work with putting the tent up. Although it had an extension charm on it to make it larger on the inside, it was still a modest tent, with only two sleeping spaces and a main room. Once that had been sorted, Potter had insisted on sitting outside with a fire, because even though they had magic to keep them warm and food that would not need cooking, he wanted the experience to feel 'authentic'. This did not make him sneer as it once would. And so, they sat outside with a fire. The fire flickered and created shadows of the two Dark Lords' faces, crackling in the near silence of the wilderness. There was very little evidence of humankind to be seen – around them were mountains and valleys and rivers, but all untouched. The only human structure they could see was Potter's mansion, a faint glow visible from the windows.
"Fuck," Potter muttered, frowning into the distance. "I forgot to turn the lights off... I'm sure Lin will do it for me when he finds it."
"You really are quite something," Voldemort said, amused. He had not left anything out of place prior to the trip; he never did when leaving anything behind.
"Something amazing? That I am," the man responded.
"Not quite what I was thinking."
"Shame." Potter leant back into a lying position, hands beneath his head. There was a short silence before he spoke again. "When I was younger, I always dreamt that I could go out and stargaze with someone."
It was a clear night; the clouds had all cleared to show the open expanse of the night sky, of the universe and all the wonders that this strange concept held.
"My aunt and uncle kept me inside the house whenever they could, see. Didn't want the neighbours catching any strange behaviour from me. But I longed for the outdoors and the fresh air, for the wildlife just to exist around me, while I observed, fascinated. When I was older, my aunt would let me – make me, I should say, but she didn't know that I enjoyed it – look after the garden, and that was something of a solace to me. When I went to Durmstrang, I would spend hours of my free time outdoors. Finn – did I ever tell you his name? – used to think that I was mad, but he grew to love the outdoors just as much as I did in the end. But we never got to stargaze, and I haven't had the heart to do it since for missing him."
As the man spoke, Voldemort felt a gnawing inside his stomach. He knew that Potter had had many lovers, but to hear him speak so intimately of this boy, Finn, was... strange. He was not overly comfortable with it.
"And yet here you are," Voldemort commented, lying back himself and staring into the sky.
"Here I am," he agreed. "Did you go out often, when you were younger?"
"Outside... meant other children. It was far easier, in the Orphanage, to remain inside to study, or to practice my magic. At Hogwarts, I spent my time in the library."
"That'd explain why you're so pale."
They lay for a while, staring at the stars. Voldemort had a fair knowledge of the constellations, having taken the time to excel in many subjects, but he had not found the stars particularly important enough to retain the information in great detail. Maybe one day, in a few centuries or so, he would get bored of Earth magic and study more about what was beyond.
Slowly, Potter started to move towards Voldemort, until he was leaning against him lightly. Voldemort shifted slightly, turning his head to kiss Potter firmly on the lips, his eyes fluttering shut as he did. It was a blissful moment, the softness of Potter's lips, the warmth of his body, the crackling of the fire, and nobody around them for miles... It was the most content he had ever felt. As Potter placed his hand on Voldemort's hip, they deepened the kiss, leaning further into each other.
"I'm absolutely exhausted," Potter murmured against Voldemort's lips, before kissing his neck gently.
"So what?"
"If you carry me to the bed I'll let you top."
Voldemort rolled his eyes at the suggestion, but despite how ridiculous it was, he rose, lifting Potter up around his hips, and walked them both into the tent, nibbling teasingly at the man's neck as they went. He threw Potter down onto the bed, straddling him, and begun to work at the buttons of his shirt.
"I really shouldn't be encouraging this," he muttered, kissing all over his chest.
"Encouraging what?" Potter asked innocently.
"You, thinking you can get me to do anything in the world in return for sexual favours."
"What's the problem if it's true?"
He chose to ignore this, running his hands gently down Potter's sides, over his hips, kissing his stomach.
"You've been putting on weight," Voldemort murmured between kisses, pinching his stomach slightly.
"Is that a bad thing?"
"No," he responded simply, sucking at it harshly before moving back up to Potter's lips.
After he had taken Potter, he rolled off the man, and, too tired to get up again, fell asleep in the same bed for the first time.
The first week had not brought them anything particularly interesting. They had continued their ascent up and around the mountain, through forest and over rivers, but had only really seen non-magical creatures, other than the odd doxy infestation, which they had avoided. But Harry was not disappointed by the start of the trip, and this had nothing to do with the wildlife or the views that they were being graced with. No – Harry was pleased that he was spending so much time with Voldemort. True, they did not get along all the time, but nobody ever did, that was merely the nature of human relationships. They did, however, consistently get along at nights, and they slept in the same bed, every night since the first. Now, Harry was not necessarily the cuddly type. The bed sharing had not entailed spooning and cuddling and whatever nonsense it meant to the more romantic of wizards, but there was something undeniably intimate about sleeping in the same place for a whole night. Evolutionarily speaking, of course, it meant a great deal of trust, and so Harry was sure that his hormones were doing most of the work on the intimacy. Why it felt so intimate, though, was not Harry's concern; he just enjoyed it. He had never really been one to share a bed. He'd taken lovers, and some of them had slept overnight with him, but that was neither here nor there. With Voldemort, however, it meant more. He and Voldemort had never shared a bed. He had never expected them to, to be frank. He had never expected them to still be in contact by his 60s. But neither of them had thought to question it, and so every night after sex, neither of them bothered to move to the other room – there was just no point. But Harry was sure that their relationship had taken a significant step that first night.
It was after just over a week before they came across any significant magical creatures.
Their tread in the forest had been light, careful not to disturb any of the wildlife, merely there as observers, and this was their saving grace as Harry heard loud movement further ahead of them. Spelling silent charms onto their feet, the two wizards had crept onwards, keeping to larger trees for cover. Harry was grateful to whatever Power existed beyond that he had the restraint not to swear aloud when he saw them; Graphorns. The sight astounded him. Their tentacle-like mouths were furrowing in great leaf piles, humongous bodies barely able to squeeze through the many trees without knocking them down. The scaly legs, the horns, the-
Harry was tugged out of his admiration by a vice-like grip on his arm, pulling him at an alarming speed in the other direction. Not wanting to be dragged, he quickly adjusted, running alongside Voldemort as best as he could. Once they had got far enough away that the Graphorns were well and truly out of sight, Voldemort dropped Harry's arm, and they both leant against a tree, panting.
"Fucking hell, Potter," Voldemort panted. "I had no damn clue that Graphorns were like Veela to you!"
Harry chose not to respond, feeling minutely embarrassed by himself.
"You could have got yourself killed! They would've devoured you if you'd been seen! What on earth were you doing?"
"They're meant to be endangered!" Harry protested, indignant now. "I've never seen one in my life and I never thought that I would; I thought Newt Scamander had the only remaining two."
"Well clearly they've been breeding," Voldemort muttered.
"Thank you, though," Harry said, honest. "You're right, I probably would've had my arse shredded to pieces if you hadn't got me out so quick."
"Damn right you're grateful."
They both took a moment to recover from their escape, before Harry started laughing. It was quiet at first, mostly a giggle, but it grew into full hearty laughter. Voldemort looked astonished.
"What's so funny?" he demanded, frowning. "You nearly died!"
"We've seen Graphorns, Voldemort!" Harry exclaimed, grinning. "We've seen some of the only remaining Graphorns on earth, and we lived to tell the tale!"
It took a moment, but eventually, Voldemort allowed himself a smirk.
"I suppose that is quite amazing," he admitted, and Harry just laughed harder.
"You and I, Voldemort. We saw Graphorns. Out of everything I've done, that must be my greatest achievement. Write it on my gravestone, will you?"
Harry enjoyed a warmth in his chest at the fact that he had finally gotten Voldemort to smile about the whole thing, and that Voldemort had saved his life. He felt absolutely elated by it, and his heart fluttered at the implications. He was feeling exhilarated, he was feeling jubilant, he was feeling-
"I know that look, Potter," came the dry remark, "and we are not having sex in the middle of a forest, disturbingly close to a small herd of Graphorns. I do not want insects crawling up my arse."
Damn, Harry thought. It was okay though – they would be making up for it in the evening.
After checking his watch, Voldemort sighed at the discovery that it was 5am. Potter was taking up most of the bed, snoring lightly, and though the man's nudity nearly made up for it, it was still 5am. And Voldemort was awake. His legs were aching from the walking, having scaled a ridiculously steep slope the day before, and his arse was sore from the night. Potter was the worst pain in the arse he had ever felt. Suspecting that he would not be able to get back to sleep for another couple of hours, he got out of the bed, got dressed, and went to make himself some tea. It was disturbingly domestic. He was disturbingly content with it.
His time with Potter had been eye-opening, to say the least. He had, of course, spent much time with the man over the most recent decades, but never like this. Here, he was spending every second of every day with him, until the end of the month if they were not finished exploring sooner. It was irritating, at times, being in Potter's company so persistently. The man could be infuriating, had a Gryffindor brashness about him, and Voldemort fancied himself something of an introvert; he enjoyed spending time in solitude, and out here in Norway he was getting none of it. As he sat with his tea, he knew that the solitude he had here was as best as he was going to get. But at the same time, he did not really mind. He was not sure quite what it was about Potter's presence, but even as he was getting on Voldemort's nerves, he still felt like good company. More disturbing. Voldemort did not usually have patience for people like Potter; had it been anyone else, he either would have left the journey, or demanded that the other did so that he could continue. But he had always known that Potter was different. Different to him, at least. No level of annoying behaviour could put Voldemort off his company, and more often than not he would end up smiling despite himself. He knew that Potter was a charmer, certainly; he need only look at the number of witches and wizards still lusting over him even as he aged to confirm this. There was something different that went on between him and Potter, but as much as he thought and puzzled over it, he could not think what it was. Perhaps it was to do with that beginning, when Potter had stopped him from creating a third horcrux. It may be the soul connection from that, bringing them closer to each other, making their interactions mean more in a way that neither of them could quite understand.
As Voldemort waited for Potter to wake so that they could continue their journey, he retrieved the rough map they had created and spread it out on the table. So far, they had just about covered the largest mountain in the range, and so they planned to move onto the next with hopes of finding more magical areas. They had chosen the largest one to cover first largely out of childish instinct; the bigger mountain surely would be the better one, Potter had said. Certainly, had they not explored this mountain, they would not have seen Graphorns, but other than that it had not been overly exciting. The next mountain, however, was more promising. Local muggles (not that there were any particularly close to the mountain range) told fairy tales of this mountain, and they both knew that muggle myths were usually based on reality. Of course, the actual creatures and events involved would not be at all the same, but the idea of somethingabnormal having taken place was usually true. This, hopefully, was something that they would soon discover. It was not a particularly large mountain, but it was covered in forest area, and so a great potential for magical activity.
There was a grunt from the bedroom, and Potter shuffled into the kitchen area, having only bothered to put on underwear, covering a large yawn. He headed straight for the kettle, boiling Voldemort's leftover water again and making himself a coffee. It was not until the man had sat down with his caffeine that Voldemort spoke.
"I have no idea how you sleep for so long in this thing," Voldemort commented, eyeing the coffee. "And you really shouldn't be so reliant on caffeine to wake up."
"Better than the whiskey," he mumbled back, resting his head on his hand groggily.
"That's true. How've you been finding the abstinence?"
For the sake of the trip, Potter had sworn to go without alcohol for the full month; it was not hard, as they had not brought any alcohol for him to be tempted by, but Voldemort had been worried that it might take its toll on him psychologically. He had not really been sure exactly how bad the man's alcohol problem was, but he knew it was a present issue.
"It's alright I guess. Could be worse. Good to have distractions." He swallowed his coffee in thick gulps.
"I hope that's not all my sexual favours are for. Distractions from your lack of alcohol," Voldemort joked, quirking an eyebrow.
"'Course not," Potter murmured, cradling his coffee.
He was silent after that, however, and Voldemort decided that he needed to leave him a little longer before he had woken up properly. Instead, he got up to make breakfast, frying a couple of eggs with some bread. Domestic. After they had eaten, Potter seemed a little more upbeat, getting dressed into his practical walking gear with a light hum, and soon enough they had packed their items away once again.
The forest that they were trekking through was incredibly dense, leaves growing thick to catch the slithers of light, and it would be difficult to tell the time of day without a watch. For a long while, there merely common creatures; rabbits would scuttle away at their approach, curious birds would peek out of bushes, and doxies would blow raspberries at them whenever they came near. The temperature was neutral, the forest thick as it was, and there was no branch out of place. Just towards dusk, however, as they were walking, the temperature dropped, and the forest became silent.
Voldemort turned to Potter questioningly, who also had sensed the sharp change in atmosphere. The man stepped back in the direction they came, and his eyebrows shot up even further. Voldemort followed suit, and was shocked to find that it had gone back to the same temperature, the sounds of the wildlife at their normal level.
"Some sort of ward, do you think?" he asked.
They both retrieved their wands, running tests for magical activity.
"I've come up with nothing," Voldemort murmured, putting his wand away.
"I thought that might be the case," Potter responded, doing the same. "But there's definitely something there. It's not a wizard made magic, though. There's something natural about it, but there is a definite presence of magical power."
Voldemort frowned at this. He really needed to do more research into natural magic.
Potter led the way back into the strange area, and Voldemort followed, trusting the man's instincts that it was not a dangerous magic. As they continued, the trees became increasingly sparse, the air lighter, until they found a perfectly circular clearing.
The grass was long and thick here, bathing in the sunlight which was no longer blocked by trees, and in the centre were an arrangement of large rocks. Voldemort let Potter approach them slowly, crouching down by the largest.
"There's writing on it, but I can't quite work it out," he called back to Voldemort. "It looks like some variation of Norse runes."
Voldemort strode over, crouching by the same stone. When he looked over the writing, he felt a sense of wonder wash over him.
"Whatever you do, don't touch the stones," he said immediately, before leaning forward a little to read the script better.
"Why? What is it?"
As he read, he felt his eye begin to twitch, but he would not let that bother him. He read it again, and again, and again, certain that he would find some mistake that he had made and that he was exaggerating the significance of what they had found; he did not.
"This, if I'm not terribly mistake, was a gathering area of the Old Norse Elves," Voldemort murmured reverently, standing to get a better look at the area.
"Holy shit."
"Merlin, if anyone else knew that this was here..."
"They'd destroy the place in their desperation for its power."
When he had first heard about the Norse Elves in History of Magic, Voldemort had been hooked. He had raided the library of every book on the race, carried out weeks' worth of research on them, even learning to translate their scripture; not that there was many remains to go off. The Norse Elves had been a grand power many millennia ago, tall creatures much unlike the House Elves, with powers beyond imagination. It was said that the powers of the Norse Elves could shift the moon. They had lived alongside wizards in harmony for thousands of years, but eventually the wizards grew jealous. They discovered how to harness the power of the elves, draining it from them. It had been a brutal genocide, and it had always astounded Voldemort how the elves had let it happen; they were so powerful, but they believed in peace, and so not once did they fight back. They let wizarding kind drive their race into extinction. As a teenager, Voldemort had dreamed of being able to harness the power of the Norse Elves – if any wizard would acquire the power to shift the moon, it would be him. It took all of his self-restraint not to run about the place trying to extract the power now, but Potter was looking at him warily as if he had that very concern, and Voldemort was determined to prove the man that he was stronger than that. He did not need the power of the Norse Elves...
But this discovery was golden.
"This must be where the muggle tales come from," Potter commented.
Voldemort hummed in agreement. Even after the Norse Elves had fallen into extinction, the dense magic in the area would be enough to spark strange goings on in the area; elven magic tended to have a negative reaction to muggle blood, and so it made sense that they had learnt to keep a wide berth.
The Dark Lords managed to spend hours in the clearing, wandering around, lying in the sun, examining the scripts, soaking in the unique atmosphere of the area, and Voldemort was left to wonder if he was using up all of his lifechanging experiences in this one trip, before he had even surpassed his first century. If so, he would be in for an incredibly boring eternity.
It was the last day of their expedition, and Harry was shattered. They had been walking day in and day out, and he had applied a number of creams and charms to his feet each night in order to keep himself going. He was a little concerned that his age was showing, but Voldemort seemed to be in a similar position (albeit with less complaints than Harry).
The end part of their trip was, in Harry's opinion, looking to be incredibly exciting; where they were headed, it was said that anybody who approached the area was to be devoured by a serpent demon. Harry had been thrilled by this idea, and it had taken much convincing of Voldemort in their preparation months for him to agree to it. Harry was sure that they would be okay, regardless of the terrible reputation the place had. They both could speak parseltongue, and so had some chance at light conversation with the creature, and if this failed they would be able to apparate away before being chewed alive.
"I can't believe I let you talk me into this," Voldemort sighed as they set off towards the lake.
"What can I say, I'm just that good at giving head."
"That had nothing to do with it. I just think you've got a death wish, and if I didn't go with you to make sure you were sensible, you'd probably go yourself and get killed."
"I'd be fine on my own," Harry argued half-heartedly.
"As evidenced by your fantastic performance with the Graphorns, yes. You have a disturbingly calm fascination with Dark creatures."
When the lake came into sight, they approached with caution. Wands out and ready to apparate if needed, the wizards shuffled towards the waters' edge. After there was no movement from the water, Voldemort hissed out.
"Show yourself, serpent."
For a moment, there was still nothing, before great waves began to form on the water. They took a few steps back in anticipation, before the beast tore through the water with a shrill hiss. The beauty of it was astounding; the water on its scales glinted in the sunlight, accentuating the obsidian scales of its belly and the deep ruby of its back. Its jaw was wide open, showing rows upon rows of humongous teeth, two deadly fangs at the front. Before it could crash down and snap them up in its jaws, Voldemort hissed out again, loudly.
"PEACE! We have not come to harm you, only to admire your magnificence."
The serpent fell back into the water with a great splash, the soaking nearly knocking the two men over.
"You men ssspeak," it hissed in response, and Harry knew that they had won; if it were still unimpressed with them, they would be dead already.
"Yes," Harry hissed his time, stepping forwards. "I had no idea you would be so beautiful," he flattered honestly.
"I am the most beautiful of all beasts," it agreed.
"What creature are you?" Voldemort asked. "You are unique to anything I have studied"
"My kind are the Selma – no man has ever lived to tell of our existence."
It was incredible that the creature – the Selma – had so willingly engaged in their conversation, though Harry thought that perhaps it had been lonely.
"It is a great honour to be able to witness your glory," Harry hissed again. "I hope you will allow us the honour of living beyond this grand day, as well."
The great serpent paused at this, and appeared to be deliberating. Harry felt his heart speed up nervously, his instincts pumping adrenaline through his blood.
"I think you've pushed a little far, Potter," Voldemort said in English.
"I think so too."
As the Selma's eye flashed dangerously, Harry grabbed onto Voldemort's arm and apparated.
They landed in an unsteady manner back in Harry's Norway base, and Harry immediately fell into the nearest chair, taking a breath to bring his heart rate back down. Voldemort ran a hand through his hair uncharacteristically, squeezing his eyes shut.
"You nearly got yourself killed. Again."
"I got us out in time," Harry protested weakly, knowing that it had in fact been very close. "Still, we discovered a new species, did we not? I say that was worth it."
"Not worth it," Voldemort sighed.
The man walked over to Harry, sitting on his lap, and pressing his lips to Harry's. Voldemort's mouth was hot, and Harry found himself relaxing into the kiss, their noses brushing gently against each other.
"You never did tell me how you managed to speak parseltongue. You're certainly not part of the Slytherin line, there's only me left," Voldemort said, tugging Harry up as they made their way into the meeting room to dump their bags.
"How long's that puzzle been bothering you?"
"Decades."
Harry let out a loud laugh. "You could've asked sooner. I created a ritual with two lovely Naga in India. I should take you to meet them, they'd love to see you."
"You've met Naga?"
"Naturally. They're not too difficult to find, and really very social. The communication was difficult at first, of course, as they didn't know any English and I know little Hindi, but once the ritual was over they were lovely."
When they set the bags down onto the meeting table, they turned to face on another.
"Do you need any help sorting through the stuff?" Voldemort asked.
"I'll be fine, don't worry. Get some rest and sort out your minions. For all we know, another war could've started." Harry joked, though Voldemort frowned at the idea.
Voldemort pulled Harry suddenly into another hot kiss, bodies flush against each other, and when they pulled away, the man's red eyes looked only vulnerable.
"We'll stay in touch," the man said as he stepped away, but he seemed to be assuring himself more than Harry.
"As if I'd allow you any peace," Harry smiled.
Voldemort smiled back lightly, before apparating back to England.