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Harry knows better than to accept mystery drugs from Luna Lovegood, but in his defense, his day was absolute shit. Chef Snape has been riding his arse even harder than usual. The restaurant got a less than stellar review from a critic and Snape decided that Harry’s apricot reduction was to blame. When Harry gently informed Snape that he hadn’t been working the day the food critic came by, Snape then changed course and started chastising him for not being dedicated enough.
Also, it wasn't Harry’s fault that the new hostess, Romilda, abandoned her post to linger in the kitchen and try to talk to him. Harry basically ignored her anyway.
“You are here to work, not find a date, Potter,” Snape had chastised him in front of everyone.
Harry, sensing that this would not be the best moment to come out to his boss, wisely kept his mouth shut.
Therefore, by the end of his shift, Harry is fuming and desperate to unwind. That's why, instead of just saying no to the weird sparkly powder Luna offers him, Harry says “Fuck it,” and takes some.
Harry is happy with his decision at first. He is floating on air, the memories and stress from his day far below him. Much of the night's activities are a blur but somehow he, Neville, and Luna have ended up lying in the grass in the middle of a field, surrounded by a flock of fluffy sheep.
That's when things take a turn.
Harry considers himself a fairly open-minded sort. He accepts that there might be things out there beyond his comprehension, he just doesn't think about it all that much. There have been times where he's been high enough that Luna's ramblings about aliens have even sounded plausible.
“Look!” Luna says, awed, pointing up at the sky.
There’s something up there that ought not to be. Not a bird, not a plane-
Neville’s blunt nearly drops out of his mouth and he scrambles to catch it before it lands in the grass and catches the field on fire. “Is that a UFO?”
It truly looks like a classic UFO right out of a sci-fi film. Heading right towards them is a large silver disc, flashing with green lights.
“No way,” Harry says. “It’s gotta be a drone or something.”
Luna sits up, hugging her knees to her chest. “A visitor from outside our celestial plane! I knew this day would come!”
“I need to take a picture of this,” Neville says. He pats his pocket and the ground around him. “Shit, have either of you seen my mobile?”
Luna and Harry make twin hums of dissent, both still staring up at the sky.
“Reckon we should run?” Harry asks.
Even if it is just some kids fucking around with a drone, the thing is getting far too close for Harry’s comfort.
Luna looks scandalized. “Run? I'm not running from something I've waited my entire life to see!”
“Harry,” Neville hisses. “I can't find my phone. Will you take a picture of that thing and send it to me?”
“Sure,” Harry says.
He pulls his mobile from his pocket and opens the camera. While the object in the sky looks clear in his field of vision, it looks blurry and fragmented through the camera lens. Harry takes several snaps, but none of them turn out right. He leans over and shows a photo to Neville, who frowns.
“Can I try?” Neville asks. “Maybe it will show up better if you use the night sight setting.”
“Sure,” Harry says, handing his phone over. “But I don't know if my camera does any of that fancy stuff.”
“Christ, Harry, where did you get this phone? Temu?”
Luna gasps, directing their attention to the UFO speeding up in its path towards them. Harry barely has a moment to blink before it's hovering directly over them.
“Are we getting abducted?” Harry squeaks.
“I think you are, mate,” Neville says.
Sure enough, an acid green beam of light is coming down from the UFO, aimed right towards where Harry is sitting. Cursing the drugs, Harry stands up on wobbly legs, intending to scurry away. However, as he begins to run, he lifts into the air.
Harry’s legs flail mid-air as he shouts. The momentum of his movement causes him to flip upside down. “Somebody help!” he screams.
Harry is quite sure that Luna has been dreaming of being abducted by aliens her entire life, but she's never been the jealous type. She does not get up to help rescue Harry from his predicament; instead, she beams up at him. “You're so lucky, Harry!”
Somewhere amidst the blind panic, Harry thinks that Luna ought to be the one being abducted instead. However, what awaits him on the spaceship is probably not the sunshine and rainbows experience Luna would be expecting. Harry’s most likely going to be facing probes, tentacles, and slimy green hands slapping him about like an inflatable clown punching bag. He doesn't want Luna to go through all that. He also knows that there's no way Neville would be able to cope with such a harrowing experience. It's for the best that Harry is the one going through this.
Neville does try to help, bless him. He scrambles up and runs to Harry, jumping up to grab at his hands. Unfortunately, Harry is already fairly far off the ground. Their fingers brush together but not much more.
“I'm sorry!” Neville cries.
“It's okay!” Harry yells at Neville’s crestfallen face. “I’ll be back when the drugs wear off, I reckon!”
This is a bad trip; that's the only plausible explanation for any of this.
Harry lifts up, up, and up. Neville is crying. Luna is waving. Nonsensically, he waves back.
There’s a click and a whir above him as the door to the UFO slides open, sucking him inside. Harry tumbles in and slams down on the cold steel floor arse first. He winces as his buttocks throb in pain.
“Harry Potter,” an inhumanly high and cold voice intones.
Harry blinks as his eyes adjust to the bright strobing lights around him. Finally, the bright spots clouding his vision recede and he is able to see the figure standing before him.
It's an alien, Harry is fairly sure, but it's unlike any that he's seen on the telly. Rather than having green skin, the alien’s complexion is as white as marble. The alien is tall and thin, humanoid in shape. However, it possesses snake-like features. It has no hair, serpentine slits instead of a nose, and its eyes are a burning crimson.
Harry isn't sure how to respond to the alien. He isn't familiar with extraterrestrial etiquette. He doesn't want to offend the alien, though he supposes he really has no cause to be polite, considering that he's just been kidnapped and all.
“Hello,” Harry says hesitantly.
“Hello,” the alien echoes. “Harry Potter, I have been searching all across space to find you.”
“You have?” Harry questions.
He's just a sous chef who lives in a shitty flat and spends most of his money on marijuana, and he is not exactly the sort of bloke that anyone would traverse the galaxy in search of.
“Yes,” the alien says. “I am Lord Voldemort, Prince of the Planet Slytherin.”
Prince sounds about right, Harry thinks. Lord Voldemort is wearing long flowing black robes, encrusted with sparkling jewels, and wears a silver circlet around his bald head.
“Nice to meet you,” Harry says. “I'm Harry, but I guess you already know that.”
“Indeed. You are Harry Potter.”
Harry laughs weakly. “You don't have to call me by my full government name, y’know. Just Harry is fine.”
Voldemort tilts his head. “Just Harry,” he says.
Then, his thin lips lift into a smile. Harry's stomach squirms as he catches sight of two rows of razor sharp teeth.
“You speak English really well for, er, an alien,” Harry blurts, then grimaces. “Wait, is that alright for me to say?”
Hermione will have his head if she finds out Harry has been committing microaggressions, even against alien lifeforms.
Voldemort laughs and the sound is rather unsettling. It's high and cackling, with an undertone of hissing beneath it. “I am not speaking your native tongue,” he says. “It is curious that you do not realize this.”
“What?” Harry blinks in confusion.
“Listen closely,” Voldemort tells him.
Harry does, concentrating on the tone and cadence of Voldemort’s words. Like with the laughter, he hears a faint hiss beneath the words.
“Oh, that's odd,” Harry says. Then, to his shock, he hears the faint hissing when he speaks as well.
“We are speaking Parseltongue,” Voldemort says. “It is the native tongue of my home planet. Beautiful language, is it not?”
Harry shrugs. It still sounds like English to him, aside from the hissing. “How are we speaking the same language? Some sort of translating device?”
“No,” Voldemort says. “You have always been able to speak this language.”
“No way,” Harry huffs. “I think I would have remembered that.”
“Have you never conversed with a serpent?”
“I grew up in the suburbs,” Harry says. “Not a whole lot of snakes slithering about.”
Voldemort laughs again and glides closer, the long train of his cloak swishing with the movement. Harry doesn't find the laughter as unsettling anymore. It's the drugs, probably, but something about Voldemort’s odd mannerisms is kind of cute.
Still, Harry is uneasy about why exactly Voldemort has beamed him aboard his ship. What are his intentions?
“Are you gonna, er, probe me?” he asks.
“Probe?” Voldemort repeats. “Please define this word.”
Harry doesn't know if he wants to define the word if Voldemort doesn't already know it. He doesn't want to give him any ideas. Though, maybe Voldemort just has another way to describe it. It's better, probably, for Harry to know exactly what he's in for.
“Stick things up my arse? Like, I dunno, tubes and sharp rods?”
Voldemort cocks his head. “Why would I do such a thing?”
“It's what usually happens when aliens abduct people in films and such,” Harry explains. “The humans are experimented on, get chips put in their brain, then get beamed back to earth.”
“Humans have very peculiar ideas,” Voldemort says.
“So, you aren't going to probe me?” Harry asks hopefully.
“I have no intention of doing so,” Voldemort replies. He offers a long and bony hand to Harry and helps him to his feet.
Harry isn't short. He stands at around six feet. However, Voldemort still looms over him, stretched out like taffy.
“Then why did you abduct me?” Harry asks. “Because I can speak your language?”
Voldemort’s eyes rake over him with such burning attention, Harry thinks that the color of his eyes might truly come from fire. “I am the last of what was once a great and powerful race. For centuries, I have lived in solitude, seeking out my destined companion.”
“And that's me?” Harry nearly squeaks.
“Yes, Harry Potter, the prophecies foretold our union many eons ago.”
“Right,” Harry says.
Whatever chemicals in his brain the drugs activated are really coming up with a wild scenario. Though, Harry can't help but wonder if the drugs have nothing to do with this. The most he's ever hallucinated was weird colorful blobs, nothing at all as specific as this.
Harry feels a pang of sympathy for Voldemort. He's been lucky to find friends in the past few years, but he spent his childhood in solitude. He can't imagine how lonely it would be to endure that for centuries.
“What happened to the rest of your kind? Why have you been alone for so long?”
After he asks the question, Harry considers that it may have been insensitive. Before he can backtrack, however, Voldemort answers him.
“I eliminated them,” he says simply.
Harry's breath catches. “And now you’re going to eliminate me?”
He doesn't see any weapons to defend himself. He wonders how Voldemort would take a hard punch to his non-existent nose.
“Certainly not,” Voldemort says, as if Harry’s assumption is absurd. “There was a civil war on my planet. I was the bloodline heir, yet an usurper sat upon the throne. I was merely claiming my birthright.”
“But then you didn't have anyone to rule over,” Harry says.
“An unfortunate consequence,” Voldemort agrees. “Though it no longer matters, now that I have found you.”
Voldemort reaches out a spidery hand and caresses Harry's cheek. “Harry Potter, we shall be wed, I shall give you life eternal, then we shall mate and bring forth a glorious new Slytherin dynasty.”
Harry steps away, slack-jawed. “You do want to probe me!” he accuses.
“I have said no such thing.”
“You said you wanted to mate with me!” Harry says. Harry read a few of Luna's alien porn books out of sick curiosity. He’s not completely naive.
Voldemort looks confused. “Indeed. To mate, you will fertilize my eggs. Then, I shall lay a clutch and renew the Slytherin bloodline.”
Harry tries to picture this in his head, and fails.
“I assure you that the mating process will be most enjoyable for you. I possess two penises and a variety of orifices that can bring you great pleasure,” Voldemort says. His fingers move to the clasp of his robes. “If you desire, we shall mate now and be wed afterwards.”
“Er,” Harry says, waving a hand. “I'm a bit old fashioned. I usually like a bit of dinner before I mate with someone.”
Voldemort’s hand drops away. “My apologies. I did not know that you had a need for nourishment. I confess that I do not know what your kind consumes. Do you enjoy jellied guapopus?”
“Pardon?”
“Have you dined upon the eggs of the Watusi bird? A rare delicacy from the planet Grononton.”
“I would be happy with a cheese toastie?” Harry suggests weakly.
Voldemort stares at him.
“You don't know what that is, do you?” Harry sighs.
“I will endeavor to learn your tastes,” Voldemort says very seriously.
“Alright,” Harry says, running his fingers through his hair. “Let's see if I've gotten this right. You want to mate with me, renew your bloodline, and then what? I go back home?”
“You will live with me in my grand jeweled palace, surrounded by every luxury,” Voldemort says.
“But it will just be us?”
Voldemort nods. “And our younglings.”
“See,” Harry says hesitantly. “That's going to be an issue. I like you and all, but I have friends down on Earth. I would miss them. They’d worry about me if I just disappeared forever.”
“You would be… lonely. Even with the company of myself and our younglings?”
“If I never got to see my friends again, yes. They mean a lot to me.”
“I have never had friends,” Voldemort tells him.
“I can share mine,” Harry says. “I know Luna would absolutely adore you. I know it's killing her that you didn't beam her up.”
“Then, we shall collect your friends and we shall all live together in my grand jeweled palace,” Voldemort proclaims.
“Wait, wait,” Harry says hastily, waving his hands. “We can't just abduct my friends. They have jobs and families. And some of them aren't as easy going as I am about being kidnapped.”
“I see,” Voldemort says sagely. “Then, what do you suggest?”
“Maybe a Hades and Persephone situation? Ah, I guess you wouldn't know what that means, would you?”
“I do not.”
“We can live some of the time in your grand jeweled palace and then some of the time in my, er, not so grand flat on Earth.”
“That is acceptable,” Voldemort says after a pause.
“And maybe we can hold off on, er, younglings for now? If we have eternal life and all that…”
“But we shall still mate,” Voldemort says. “For recreational purposes.”
Harry’s throat goes dry. Admittedly, he's intrigued by Voldemort’s claims about the penises and orifices and the pleasures they supposedly hold. “Yeah, sure. For recreation.”
Voldemort glides toward Harry, snaking his arm around his waist. He leans down, warm breath ghosting across Harry’s face. “Do you still hunger? Or do you wish to learn of the pleasures I can bring you with my forked tongue?”
“I’m interested in the tongue,” Harry says, a bit breathlessly. “After, we can go to mine and I'll make you a cheese toastie.”
“I am intrigued by this cheese toastie and your flat,” Voldemort says. “Are you a member of the royal family of your planet?”
Harry snorts. “Absolutely not.”
Voldemort trails a hand down to the small of Harry’s back, causing him to shiver. “If you desire, I shall conquer your planet. Then, we shall have a grand jeweled palace on both planets.”
“Er, I don't need all that. I think one grand jeweled palace is enough for me.”
“If you are sure,” Voldemort purrs.
With no further warning, Voldemort captures Harry’s mouth in a searing kiss.
Voldemort is right about the forked tongue and all the rest of it.