Pairing: Harry/Voldemort.

Rating: PG-13, implied sexual content.

Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended. Characters owned by J.K. Rowling.

Summary: Webmaster: Summaries would be unjust to this divine comedy. :) Read it and weep. Laugh. Whatever.

Author's Notes: Written as part of the second wave of the Booze Fuh-Q Fest.  Harry is 17 or 18 - that summer, anyway; Voldemort is... er, Voldemort.
GROOVY RETRO SURFER LEXICON (wisdom courtesy of http://cougartown.com/surf-slang.html):

• Gremlin: A surfer n00b; a young non-surfer.
• Sand Facial: The result of wiping out and being dragged along the bottom, face first.
• Neptune Cocktail: The stomach full of water one acquires on a truly heinous wipeout.
• Selling Buicks: The, er, reverse.
• Meatball: The yellow flag with black circle used to indicate "no surfing". 

Harry stretched.  His flip-flops hung over the edge of his lounge chair, dangling from between his toes.  He took a last slurp of his Mai Tai and sighed.  "Bollocks.  Out of petrol again." 

The steady beat of hula music and the "oohs" of tourists as they watched fire dancers narrowly avoid self-immolation saturated the air.  It was a warm night, humid, with a salty breeze wafting up from the beach.  Harry pushed himself to his feet and looked around at the Tikis watching benignly from every corner.  He dragged his carcass - Hawaiian shirt and all - to the bar.  "Oi!  Another one!" 

The bartender, a sour-looking, pasty man in a sarong and shirt stitched with "Lali's Trade Winds Resort", sidled up to him and gave him a suspicious look.  Taking the empty coconut shell, he asked, "You sure you're twenty-one, kid?" 

"Yeah, it's what my passport says, isn't it?" 

The bartender snorted.  "Haole na opio," he muttered as he stalked off. 

Harry perched on a stool and tapped his fingers on the bar.  He glanced around, smirking at his anonymity.  Not a single person had recognised him in a Muggle resort on the other side of the world.  Then, that was what he'd wanted.  Between Sirius reaming him every ten minutes about the three NEWTs he'd failed, and Voldemort breathing down his neck (the very reason he'd failed the damn things), he was ready to strangle something.  It was only with the aid of a few anti-tracking charms and some seriously fucked-up Apparative hopscotch across four continents that he had managed to get away without half a dozen self-appointed bodyguards on his arse. 

There was only one other person at the bar, a pale, skinny bloke in a black shirt with green Tikis printed all over it.  He stared at the rows of shiny bottles lining the back wall, fishing a cherry out of his drink and popping it in his mouth.  Harry watched as, a moment later, the man plucked the stem from his lips and dropped it, neatly knotted, on a cocktail napkin.  Perhaps it was the three Mai Tais he'd had already, but Harry broke out in applause. 

The man glanced at him.  Harry's green eyes flew wide the same instant as the man's red ones.  Harry yelped and fell backwards off his stool, fumbling for his wand. 

Before he could reach it, a sandaled foot pressed down on his wand hand.  "What the Hell are you doing here, Potter?" Voldemort hissed.  "Bloody Hell, I try to have one week without you trying to do me in - one bloody week - and the next thing I know you're all but gobbing in my Zombie!"  He hovered over Harry, drink in hand and shorts barely covering knees even knobbier than Harry's.  "Well?" 

"Well, what?" 

"Are you going to let me have my holiday or not?"  There was a smudge of zinc oxide down the middle of his flat nose. 

"What are you doing here?" 

"Trying to avoid you and every other idiot who's wanted to bump me off."  Voldemort crouched.  He leaned in close enough for Harry to smell the rum on his breath.  "Dark Lords like a bit of peace and quiet too, you know." 

"Uh-huh."  Harry freed his hand and crawled backwards on his elbows.  "So do Boys Who Lived." 

"Well, then."  Voldemort got back to his feet.  His shirt flapped in a passing breeze.  "I trust we'll be content to leave each other alone until circumstance forces us back to civilisation?" 

"Bet your arse." 

Voldemort snorted and muttered something under his breath.  He glanced at the bar, fished a bill out of his pocket, and slapped it on the counter.  When his hand came back, he was holding a coconut.  He thrust it at Harry.  "Here.  And don't ever let me hear you say I never did anything nice for you." 

Frowning suspiciously, Harry reached out and took the thing.  "Thanks," he drawled.  He sniffed it carefully before taking a tiny sip.  When nothing dissolved, froze, or burst into flame, he took a larger one.  Getting to his feet, he brushed himself off.  "Well.  See ya." 

"In my nightmares," Voldemort muttered and perched himself at the bar again. 

Glancing back over his shoulder the whole way, Harry trotted back to his lounge chair.  He flopped down, Mai Tai in hand.  Hula music and "oohs" still filled the air, but Harry ignored them.  His eyes never left the black-shirted figure hunched over his Zombie; if he wasn't mistaken, he was being watched as well. 
 

* * *

"Gremlins need to stay on the beach, Potter." 

Harry glanced up and narrowed his eyes.  "As if you could do better." 

Voldemort smirked and popped a Brazil nut in his mouth.  He crunched away for a few seconds.  Swallowing, he said, "I've hit the surf once or twice in my time.  One of the rats I inhabited during my downtime found itself on a ship bound for Australia.  One learns rather a lot flitting between members of the Great Barrier Reef Surf Club." 

"Do you ever go away?" 

"No."  Voldemort popped another Brazil nut into his mouth and offered the bowl to Harry.  "Go on, I haven't poisoned them.  I told you, I'm on holiday." 

Harry gave the nuts a suspicious look.  Very carefully, he picked out a macadamia and inspected it before stuffing it in his mouth.  "Thanks," he muttered, chewing. 

"Would you care for another Mai Tai?" 

"Why?  What are you putting in it?" 

Voldemort sighed.  "I am trying to be nice, Potter.  As I just said, I am on holiday.  Slaughter and pillage are work.  Do you work on holiday?" 

"No, but--" 

"Precisely.  Now, are you going to make some attempt to be civil, or do I need to take my business elsewhere?" 

"I was going to say, 'but I hate my job'.  S'not easy going around trying to kill you."  Harry picked through the bowl of nuts until he found three more macadamias.  He stuffed them in his mouth. 

"As if I'm any happier trying to slay your insolent young arse." 

Harry wasn't quite sure what to say to that, so he said nothing.  While he picked out the rest of the macadamias, Voldemort ordered a Mai Tai and another Zombie. 

"I'm going to have to see your son's ID, sir," said the bartender, this time a native young man who didn't look any older than Harry himself. 

"I'm not his son," Harry snapped, trying not to gag.  He hunched between his shoulders and went back to the nuts. 

"He's not my son." 

"Then I need to see your boyfriend's ID, sir." 

Harry lifted his head to stare, jaw slack.  Stabbing a finger at Voldemort, he yelled, "You think this loon is my boyfriend?"  He heard Voldemort making a gagging sound, and had to fight an unexpected smirk. 

The bartender shrugged.  "Sorry.  But I'm still going to have to see your ID." 

With a harsh sigh, Harry tugged at a zipper on his shorts.  He reached in and fumbled through the charmed waterproof pocket where he kept his wand, his passport, his wallet, and more condoms than he knew what to do with (a boy could dream, right?).  He tugged out the passport and threw it open without looking.  Voldemort snorted into his drink. 

"What?"  Harry threw his arms wide. 

"Interesting photograph, Potter." 

Harry glanced down.  He groaned.  One of the condoms - pineapple flavoured at that - had gotten stuck on the passport.  Snatching it back, he tugged at the little plastic packet, trying to ignore the shade of red his visible skin had gone.  "Not a word," he muttered. 

"Always knew you were a fruit." 

"Shut up." 

"A big, spiny one at that." 

"I said shut up." 

"Where's your boyfriend?" 

"I'll hit you." 

"Ooh."  Voldemort grinned and took a long slurp of Zombie.  "You might actually leave a mark this time." 

Harry gripped his head in his hands.  "Shut up." 

Voldemort chuckled.  He took the bowl of nuts and picked through.  "Bollocks," he muttered.  "You would eat all the macadamias, wouldn't you?" 
 

* * *

"Shut up." 

"You've got a brilliant future ahead of you in car sales." 

"I said shut up!"  Harry plopped down at the bar.  He touched his raw, red face again and hissed.  "Ow." 

"Gremlin," Voldemort muttered from the side of his mouth. 

"I'll kick your arse at Quidditch." 

"And I'll kick yours back on a longboard."  Voldemort rubbed his chin, giving Harry an appraising look.  "What was it that the boys in Oz always ordered after a Neptune Cocktail?" he mused. 

"So I fell off my board.  Big deal.  Where're the nuts?"  Harry glanced up and grabbed the small wooden bowl.  He picked out a handful of macadamias and tossed them, one at a time, in his mouth. 

"Yes, and you proceeded to swallow and regurgitate half the Pacific." 

"What were you doing there, anyway?" 

"Catching some waves." 

"I meant, why did you have to choose my beach?" 

"It's a free country."  Voldemort paused.  "Well, it will be until I take over." 

Harry snorted and shook the bowl to get the Brazil nuts.  "Right, as if that's gonna happen." 

"And why wouldn't it?  It's not as if you've managed to take me down yet." 

"So?  I'm getting better.  Anyway, we've got better people." 

"Like who?" 

"Dumbledore."  Harry held up a finger.  The bartender - the pasty one again - held up a Mai Tai coconut and Harry nodded. 

"Please.  That old lunatic wouldn't know a Dark Lord if it bit him on the arse." 

"I don't need to hear about your sex life." 

Much to Harry's amusement, Voldemort shuddered.  "Now I feel like selling some Buicks." 

"Maybe we can go into business together," Harry chuckled. 

Red eyes fixed on him.  They narrowed.  "Can I drive one over your head?" 

"Ew." 

Voldemort sighed and motioned for a Zombie.  "Who else?" 

"Why should I tell you?  You'll only go after them." 

"Trade names?" 

"What?" 

"I give you a name, you give me one back." 

Harry narrowed his eyes.  "That's ridiculous." 

"Why is it ridiculous?" 

"How do I know you're telling the truth?" 

"How do I know you're telling the truth?" 

They stared at each other for a moment.  Voldemort finally said, "Lucius Malfoy." 

"Everyone knows that." 

"Well, everyone knows Dumbledore's on your side." 

Harry snorted into the bowl of nuts.  He started fishing out the almonds.  "All right.  Severus Snape, ex-Death Eater.  How d'you like them apples?" 

"Bollocks.  Snape's on our side." 

"Nope, he's on our side." 

"Look, brat," Voldemort stabbed a finger in Harry's face, "Snape's on our side.  And he's the nicest piece of arse between Torquay and the Shetlands." 

"Snape's an ugly git.  And he's been a spy for ages." 

"I knew that.  And ugly or not, he's got a backside you wouldn't believe.  He's spying for us, though." 

"No, he's spying for us."  Harry cracked a knuckle. 

"Then how do I know you were caught playing strip truth or dare with Draco Malfoy in the Astronomy Tower last year?" 

Harry gulped.  "Er... Lucius?" 

Voldemort waved a hand.  "Please.  As if he'd ever stoop to mentioning something like that.  His precious chip off the old block doing filthy things to you?" 

Voice cracking, Harry snapped, "Well, if Snape's spying for you, why'd he tell us about the time he caught you and Wormtail playing Find The Snake in the graveyard?" 

Voldemort went even paler.  "That's a vicious rumour.  I was coerced.  It was the Seventies." 

"Hah!  It was last month!"  Harry stabbed a triumphant finger in Voldemort's face. 

"Well, fine, if he's not spying for you, and he's not spying for me, then whose side is Severus on?" 

They looked at each other.  After a long moment, they said together, "His side." 

"Bugger," Voldemort muttered, slumping on the bar.  "Back to Wormtail, I suppose."  He made a face. 

"Yeah.  Tell me about it," Harry said, slumping as well. 
 

* * *

The pasty bartender, scowling as usual, trudged up.  He was wiping a glass.  "Haven't you had enough?" 

"I've barely started." 

"You've had four.  One of those is usually enough to floor anybody." 

"Well, I'm not just anybody, am I?"  Voldemort arched an eyebrow.  He tapped the counter.  "Another Zombie, and don't skimp on the one-fifty-one." 

The bartender stared at him for a moment.  He took a deep breath.  "Sir, I'm afraid you have exceeded our limit.  I can't serve you any more alco--" 

"Imperio!" 

The bartender stiffened.  A glaze washed over his eyes, and his scowl melted away to a stupid grin.  He turned his head to Harry, who was just tucking away his wand.  "Could I get you anything, Master?" 

"Yeah, another Mai Tai, and get my friend here that Zombie." 

"Yes, Master."  The bartender flashed an even stupider grin and all but floated away. 

Harry knocked back his Mai Tai as Voldemort turned his head with a stunned look.  "Well done, Potter.  I'm impressed!" 

"Was nothing." 

"Have you ever considered switching sides?" 

Harry snorted into his ice.  "Uh, no.  Have you?" 

"Please.  You lot can't even surf." 

"Bite me, okay?"  Harry grumbled, ignoring the day's fresh Sand Facial sting.  Combined with the one he'd gotten the afternoon before, it had left him somewhat grumpy. 

"I tried." 

"That was mouth-to-mouth!  And don't remind me.  Geez, if it ever gets out I had your lips anywhere near me..." he trailed off, grumbling. 

"Potter?" 

"What?" 

"I haven't got any lips." 

Harry gave him a sidelong look.  Picking up his coconut to slurp at the melting ice, he muttered, "Details." 

A few moments later, a fresh drink sat in front of each of them.  Voldemort immediately dived on both their cherries.  Harry tried to snatch his away.  "Oi!  Ask first!" 

"Dark Lords don't ask."  Voldemort dropped it into his mouth.  A moment later, he spat out the knotted stem. 

"How do you do that?" Harry asked, poking it with the plastic sword that had come with his drink. 

"This helps."  Voldemort flicked out his narrow, forked tongue.  The second cherry followed; this time he pulled it out of his mouth with the fruit intact.  "You may bow down before me." 

"In your dreams."  Harry glanced at the knotted cherry sitting happily on a napkin.  "Bet you pull a lot." 

Voldemort smirked.  "Let's just say I'm seldom lacking." 

"Jammy bugger.  I haven't been able to get a date since Draco said he didn't want to be seen in public with me." 

"I can't blame him.  I don't want to be seen in public with you either." 

Harry smacked him on the arm.  "Oi!" 

"Well, I don't.  Can you imagine what that would do to my reputation?" 

"Wouldn't do me any favours either." 

"There you are, then."  Voldemort picked up his drink and took half of it in one.  His eyes crossed.  "Salazar's balls!  He didn't skimp."  Peering into the Tiki-shaped glass, he mused, "Almost as potent as Severus' recipe." 

"Can I try?" 

"Only if you let me have a bit of yours." 

Harry shrugged.  He handed his coconut over, and took the Zombie in exchange.  While Voldemort took a sip and smacked his mouth thoughtfully, Harry tipped the Tiki back and took a mouthful.  He immediately spat it across the bar.  "BLOODY HELL, HOW MUCH RUM IS IN HERE?" 

"Quite a lot."  Voldemort took another sip.  "Bah.  This is for gremlins."  He handed it back and retrieved his Zombie.  He took a long drink and set down the glass, a contented smile on his zinc oxide-coated face.  "Bliss." 

"You're barking."  Harry wiped off the rim of his Mai Tai with the tail of his shirt and started to lift it to his mouth.  He paused.  "Did you gob in this?" 

Voldemort snorted.  "No.  I've completed puberty, thank you very much." 

"Oi!  So have I.  Still wouldn't stop you gobbing in my drink." 

"I beg your pardon?  Mister 'I've-Got-Chest-Hair-No-Really-Look'?" 

Harry hunched, flushing.  "I have.  I'm naturally smooth, s'all." 

"For the next three years, perhaps."  Voldemort drained his Zombie and stared at the bottom of the glass.  "I can still see.  This is not good." 

"Want another one?" 

"Make it a double." 

Harry gave him a very odd look.  "At least we know you really are immortal, then?" 

Voldemort chuckled.  He ruffled Harry's hair and nearly knocked off his glasses.  "You're not so bad off the killing field." 

"I could try harder."  Harry necked back the last of his fifth Mai Tai.  The edges of his vision were a bit watery.  He lifted a finger anyway and called, "Barkeep!  Two doubles!" 

"Right away, Master!" 

Harry smirked.  "I think I'll keep him like that.  Makes things easier." 

"At least you won't have to show him your plans for the night." 

Harry groaned.  He buried his face in his crossed arms.  "Shut up." 
 

* * *

"What?"  Grinning, Voldemort perched in his seat and held up a finger for drinks.  "I didn't do anything." 

"You got every snake in the zoo singing 'I'm Henry the Eighth, I Am, I Am'!  And the lizards.  I didn't even know we could talk to them." 

Voldemort waved a hand at the air.  "It's only a matter of dialect."  He paused.  "I talked to a tortoise once." 

"Really?  What's it like?" 

"Very time-consuming." 

"Figures."  Harry looked up to see the young native bartender walking up.  He sighed.  "Should go I ahead and curse him?" he muttered from the corner of his mouth. 

"May I?" 

"Be my guest.  More your area than mine." 

A few minutes later, they each had a double and a bowl of macadamias, and a pupu platter from the luau next door sat between them.  "Wow," Harry said, his eyes easily as large as the platter.  "You're good." 

Voldemort smirked.  "Now do you see why I'm Dark Lord and you're not?" 

"Starting to."  Harry grabbed his cherry before Voldemort could nick it.  He stuffed it in his mouth.  A bit of a frown grew on his face.  "Oi, can I ask you something?" 

"What?" 

"Um, well, y'know you killed my mum and dad..." 

"Yes..." 

"Why?" 

"Hmm."  Voldemort swished his drink.  He pinched a shrimp from the pupu platter and gnawed thoughtfully.  "Why did I kill them, or why did I kill both of them?" 

"Both.  Both questions, I mean." 

Voldemort shrugged.  "It's all part of the job, Harry.  Dark Lords do things like that.  I'd have let your mother go, but then she had to be brave and self-sacrificial and... oh, it was just a big mess."  His brow furrowed.  He muttered something. 

"What?" 

"Sorry." 

Harry arched an eyebrow.  "O-kay.  It's ages after the fact, and you're only now apologising." 

"It's not as if we've been on holiday together before.  Last holiday I got to take, you hadn't even been born yet!"  Voldemort shot Harry a hurt look.  He stuffed another shrimp in his mouth.  "It's not easy, you know, Dark Lording.  There've been plenty of times I've wanted to relax, but no, it's always kill this person, torture that one, perform a brutal interrogation straight after.  All I've got to rely on is my spies, and if one of them bollockses up then the whole thing comes crashing down and guess whose job it is to set it right again?" 

"You could quit." 

Voldemort gave him a very strange look.  He leaned close.  "How?  It's what I do." 

Harry shrugged.  "I don't know.  Just up and say, 'I quit'.  You could go back to Australia.  You really seemed to like it there." 

Voldemort smiled.  "This is true." 

"Lots of snakes there, aren't there?" 

"Millions."  A wistful look crossed Voldemort's reddened face.  He shook his head.  "Nope, nope, got to pay the bills somehow." 

"You've got bills?" 

Voldemort shrugged.  He looked a little embarrassed.  "An ominous lifestyle doesn't come cheap.  Have you looked at the prices on intimidating robes lately?  It's scandalous." 

"That's a stupid excuse."  Harry dived into the pupu platter himself.  "Look, if you're so miserable, why not just hand it over to someone else?" 

"Harry... Potter..." Voldemort sighed and sipped his Zombie.  "Look at it this way.  I'm the descendant of an evil wizard, I talk to snakes, I look really smashing in black, and I've got an insatiable lust for power that cannot be sated until I've got the world crushed within my grasp.  With that sort of CV, there's really nothing else I can do." 

Harry hummed.  "S'pose you're right," he muttered reluctantly.  He took a bite from a pineapple stick.  Waving the rest of the stick at Voldemort, he said through his mouthful, "Still doesn't explain why you killed my folks." 

Voldemort set his drink down.  He looked a little embarrassed.  "I don't want to talk about it." 

"Why not?"  Harry narrowed his eyes suspiciously. 

"Because... ah... Harry," Voldemort put a hand on Harry's shoulder, "hear me out, and understand that we all make mistakes sometimes." 

Harry arched an eyebrow.  "This had better be good." 

Voldemort looked innocent.  "Ah... I got the house number wrong."  He picked up his drink and necked it back.  Looking up at the sky, he said, "Nice night, isn't it?" 

"Er..." 

"A bit humid." 

"You what?" 

"Well, these things happen.  Your parents were at number forty-two, I was supposed to kill the Harry and James Potter at number sixty-two, but Wormtail's handwriting," he shook his head, "it's atrocious, really, completely and utterly illegible."  He looked at Harry, eyes round and apologetic.  "If it's any consolation, the next week they both fell into an open sewer and died." 

Harry stared at him.  His eye began to twitch.  "You mean to tell me you killed my parents and made my life a living Hell because Wormtail can't use a quill." 

Voldemort shrugged.  "It was an honest mistake." 

"Hell."  Harry picked up his drink and drained it.  Waving his coconut in the air, he called, "Bartender!  Get me a Zombie!"  He gave Voldemort a sidelong look.  "I'm not talking to you." 
 

* * *

"Can I get you anything, Master?" the pasty bartender asked.  Harry could barely make him out in the noonday sun. 

"Hair of the dog that bit me," Harry muttered.  He dragged a hand down his face.  "Where's Vols?" 

"I don't know, Master." 

Harry snorted.  It sent a burst of pain ricocheting through his splitting skull.  "What's the use of having a mindless slave if he doesn't know anything?" he muttered.  "Go shave the dog." 

"Yes, Master." 

A few minutes later, a beaming Voldemort plopped down next to him.  "Good morning!" 

"Fuck off." 

Voldemort arched an eyebrow.  "That's what happens when a mortal has seven Zombies." 

"I thought I wasn't talking to you."  Harry groaned and tried to push himself erect.  He only managed to smear the puddle of drool that had formed beneath his mouth.  He lay there, limp, his arms dangling towards the woven reed mats around the bar. 

"I think that ended around the third Zombie.  You started going on about your godfather's arse and a vat of chocolate ice cream.  I tried not to remember very much." 

Harry moaned.  "Oh, god, not that.  It was only a dream, I swear." 

"And I'd be happy ruling a small corner of Belgium, but nobody's going to believe that either."  Voldemort turned around and propped his elbows on the bar.  Surveying the scenery, he sighed.  "Last day." 

"Nn." 

"I've got to Apparate home tomorrow.  Work to do, Boys Who Lived to kill, that sort of mess." 

Harry flipped him a rude gesture.  "I think the bartender did it for you." 

Voldemort rolled his eyes.  Pulling out his wand, he tapped Harry's head.  The black hole that had formed there in the night spat his brain back into place and disappeared with a small pop.  Harry smacked his cottony mouth, still squinting in the sunlight.  "Thanks," he muttered. 

"My pleasure." 

With a soft sigh, Harry put his chin on his folded hands.  "We don't really have to go home tomorrow, do we?" 

"I do.  It sounds a bit dull without you around." 

"Hmm." 

Voldemort glanced at him.  "Have any plans for the day?" 

Harry shook his head.  "Nope.  Didn't even get to do half of what I wanted.  Think I pretty much spent the week getting sloshed with you." 

"Hmm.  I see what you mean.  I'd certainly hoped to spend a bit more time on the waves."  Voldemort blinked.  "I haven't been to a single beach party." 

"That's because you're a souse." 

"Well, yes.  There is that." 

Harry snorted.  He wiped his nose on his hand.  "Did you know I bought two-hundred condoms and didn't get laid once?" 

"Considering you've spent all your time necking back those awful Mai Tais instead of sharking, I'm not surprised.  You've still got time." 

"Eh.  Nah.  Too much work." 

"Hear, hear."  Voldemort offered his palm; Harry slapped it weakly. 

With a groan, Harry dragged himself around to face the resort hotel.  It towered above them by a good fifteen stories.  "I'm going to miss this place."  He glanced at Voldemort.  "Vols." 

"What?" 

"How about if we're both alive this time next year, we do this again?" 

A wicked grin broke out across Voldemort's face.  "I believe we have a date." 

"Ugh!"  Harry dropped his head back onto the bar.  "God.  Just kill me now." 

"Sorry, still on holiday.  Ask me tomorrow after checking-out time." 

"You lazy arse."  He shot Voldemort a glare.  "It's your fault I didn't get any.  Now I've got to lug all those fucking Durex back home.  Won't do me any more good there." 

Voldemort chuckled.  He put an arm around Harry's shoulders.  "You know, I'm in the penthouse.  It's part of the ominous lifestyle." 

Harry blinked.  "Er..." 

"There's plenty of room if you want to join me." 

"Um..." 

"Master?" 

Harry glanced around.  Behind him, he found the pasty bartender grinning for all he was worth.  In his arms was a small, naked dog.  It looked up at Harry with a most pathetic expression. 

"Ahh..." Harry said, jaw dropping. 

"Did you wish the hair as well?"  The bartender beamed stupidly. 

Harry stared.  He glanced at Voldemort.  "That offer still good?" 
 

* * *

Voldemort gave Harry a rakish grin.  "You've underestimated my talents, haven't you, Potter?" 

"Just get on with it!  They're going to move!" 

"Very well.  Bombs away."  Voldemort heaved the condom with its watery payload into the air.  He and Harry leaned over the balcony railing, summoned binoculars to their eyes, watching the bright red object go hurtling down on a group of middle-aged Midwesterners stepping out of their tour bus.  It reached a tall, skinny man in a Panama hat and black socks with sandals, and splattered. 

"YES!"  Harry waved his binoculars in the air, bouncing up and down.  He leaned as far over the balcony as he dared and shouted, "TAKING BACK THE COLONIES, ONE DUREX AT A TIME!" 

Voldemort sniggered.  He stuck the end of the hose he'd conjured into the mouth of another condom and turned on the water.  "How many have we got left?" 

"I think we're pretty much down to the flavoured ones after this.  That's, what, twenty or thirty?" 

"Ambitious, were we?" 

Harry shot Voldemort a look.  "You're not the only one around here with some Slytherin traits, mate." 

Voldemort shrugged.  "It sounds like a pipe dream to me, that's all." 

"How d'you know I wasn't hoping to give a few?"  Harry looked out over the resort.  "Reckon we could hit the bar from the other window?" 

"Are you trying to water down your drinks some more?" 

Harry snorted.  "No.  I just want to see the look on that bloke's face."  He lifted his binoculars again and craned his neck around the corner to look at the ocean.  A small yellow flag with a black ring bobbed innocuously at the top of a buoy.  There wasn't a single surfer to be seen.  "Whoa, dude.  Bummer.  Meatball." 

"You're joking."  Voldemort grabbed the binoculars from Harry's grasp and nearly strangled him with the strap.  "Bugger.  Shouldn't have dropped my wand the other day, I suppose." 

"Gahh... gak... gaakh!" Harry said, waving an arm and managing to slap Voldemort on the back. 

"What?"  Voldemort looked up.  "Oh.  Sorry."  He handed back the binoculars.  Harry slumped over the railing. 

"Thanks," he croaked, panting.  He got his breath and glanced back.  "That thing full yet?" 

"Almost."  One tip of Voldemort's tongue stuck from the corner of his mouth as he turned off the hose and tied off the neck of the Durex.  Hoisting it in both arms, he glanced down pensively.  "What to do?" he mused.  "What to do?" 

Harry looked over the balcony.  "Another tour bus coming--" 

Something hit him in the back with a wet shlop!  His binoculars flew out of his hand.  "OI!" Harry yelled.  His sodden shirt clung to his body, his hair and shorts drenched, flip-flops squelching as he whirled.  "Whaddya do that for?" 

"I'm the Dark Lord.  It's what I do." 

Harry rolled his eyes.  "Geez.  Get me another shirt, would you?  Git." 

Voldemort chuckled.  Harry looked up to find himself being studied.  One long, thin, pale finger rested on the side of Voldemort's cheek. 

"What?" Harry asked. 

"Nothing, nothing.  Carry on." 

Harry glared.  "Carry on what?  Getting my kit off so it can dry?" 

Voldemort said nothing.  Casually, he picked up one of the flavoured condoms from the table.  His red eyes darted over the package.  "I've always been fond of cherry." 

Harry gulped.  "Er..." 

"Come, now, Harry.  You know the answer to this." 

Harry sighed.  "You're the Dark Lord.  It's what you do.  Geez," he muttered, tugging the wet shirt over his head.  He paused just long enough to glare.  "You'd better let me have a go on top." 
 

* * *

The setting sun cast long shadows across the resort.  In the distance, tourists and hula music filled the air with the same chorus they did every night.  Oblivious to the noise, Harry staggered into the bar.  He leaned over, panting, wondering why the tag in his shirt was scratching his throat.  He held up a finger.  "One of each.  Doubles." 

The pasty bartender cocked his head.  "Are you all right, Master?" 

"Yeah, never been better." 

"Where is Master's friend?" 

"Finally passed out."  Harry slumped on a stool.  He winced.  "Make it quick, would you?  S'my turn on top." 

The bartender blinked at Harry.  At his feet, a naked dog cowered in the shadows. 
 

* * *

Voldemort groaned.  "Salazar, my head."  He buried his face in Harry's naked chest.  "What happened last night?" 

"I think it was the third screaming orgasm that did it." 

Voldemort lifted his head.  He blinked bleary eyes, bloodshot even over their normal redness.  "I've never had a Screaming Orgasm in my life.  That was always Severus' drink." 

Harry sniggered.  "Let's just say there were no bartenders involved." 

Voldemort stared for a moment.  He dropped his head with a moan.  "I'm going to make you suffer for this, Potter." 

"Not my fault." 

"It is if I say it is.  I'm the Dark Lord--" 

"--It's what you do," Harry finished with him.  He rolled his eyes and squirmed out of bed, wrapping the sheet around himself like a toga.  Stretching, he stumbled to the window.  "Any idea what time it is?" 

There was a rustle and a groan, and then a louder groan.  "We've missed checking-out time.  Once again you foil my evil schemes, Potter." 

Harry shrugged.  "Eh."  He started pulling on his clothes.  "If it's past checking-out time and you're still in bed, does that mean you're still on holiday?" 

"No, it means I'm out sixty Galleons.  Some of us have still got to get home." 

"Oh.  Does that mean we're enemies again?" 

"Something like that." 

"Oh, well."  Harry finished tugging on his shirt.  He stepped into his flip-flops.  "Reckon that's that, then.  We still on for next year?" 

"If this fucking hangover doesn't go away, I may not move before next year.  Cure it for me, would you?" 

Harry smirked.  "Sorry, Vols.  You said yourself we're enemies again."  He trotted to the bed, bent, and placed a peck on Voldemort's mouth.  "See you next year." 

"Wait--" 

But Harry was already trotting for the door.  He grinned to himself, feeling only the slightest bit guilty, as Voldemort's roars of, "Potter!  POTTER!  Get back here this INSTANT!  Oh, your suffering will be legend!" echoed through the corridor.