Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Harry wasn´t exactly sure what he had imagined the cells at Azkaban would look like, but for some reason he was still surprised at the emptiness of it. It was literally just a square room about 20 x 20 feet long. A wooden table and chair were the only furniture in the room, they looked like they were past their prime and still hadn´t decided if they were going to remain standing or crumble to the floor.

There was no window and therefore no way to tell if it was night or day. The cell itself was lit by spheres of light high up under the celling. It gave off a soft glow that wasn´t to bright and stood in contrast to the dark stonewalls. The door was made of some sort of metal; Harry guessed iron, with a window in the middle to allow someone to look into the cell.

An array of hay was piled in one corner to act as a bed, or so Harry assumed, and the figure sitting with his back towards the wall, watching as Harry and the warden entered was a familiar one. The black hair, which was sticking up everywhere, sharp features and dark brown eyes that almost seemed black in the dim light. It had been ten years since Harry had seen this version of Lord Voldemort, or Tom Riddle, in the Chamber of Secrets. He looked slightly older now, perhaps somewhere around twenty.

“What happened to his appearance?” Harry asked the warden as they entered the cell. The last time Harry had seen Voldemort was at the final battle. Where he still looked like the man who came out of the cauldron several years earlier.

The warden, Harry couldn´t remember his name, shrugged. “Happened when we put the collar on. Seemed like he was wearing a glamour that was cancelled when we blocked his magic. Not that we are complaining, he is easier on the eyes this way.” There was a tone in the man´s voice Harry couldn´t quite place.

Voldemort looked up as they entered. Eyes moving from the warden to Harry and Harry could see surprise flutter over his face before he schooled it into a neutral mask. It seemed Azkaban hadn´t been kind the last three years, or perhaps more accurately the guards. Voldemort had a dark bruise on his left cheek, a split lip, a cut above his left eyebrow that seemed to have stopped bleeding recently. The collar around his neck that suppressed his magic barely covered the bruises around his neck. He was cradling his left arm in his lap and from the look of it the hand, arm, or perhaps both were broken and bloody. A chain went from the collar to the wall and Harry assumed it was to protect those who entered the cell from being ambushed. Although Voldemort looked like he was hardly capable of standing at the moment.

The warden put the tray he had been carrying on the table, it groaned and Harry tore his eyes away from Voldemort to see of it would keep standing or finally give in and collapse. Interesting enough it held it´s ground. A flask followed the tray and then the warden turned towards Voldemort and crossed his arms over his chest. Harry guessed the warden was waiting for something to happen as the man kept staring at the former dark lord. Though he had no clue what this something might be.

Voldemort seemed to be debating something while staring back at the warden, but in the end he dropped his eyes to the floor. The submissive gesture was so unlike Voldemort that Harry had to blink and wonder if he had hallucinated the whole thing. Looking closer however he could see that the pitiful looking boy (man?) on the floor seemed to lack the demeanor that had always surrounded Voldemort, whom had radiated power and authority.

Finally Voldemort seemed to come to a conclusion on whatever he had been thinking about and slowly moved so that instead of sitting with his back against the wall he was now kneeling. His left arm still cradled in his lap, and his right that he had used to change position was still on the floor, supporting his weight. From the way he moved ever so carefully, Harry assumed he had several cracked or broken ribs and his right ankle looked swollen and bruised as well.

The sight of Voldemort kneeling on the floor was enough for Harry to start to wonder if he was dreaming or if the warden and the guards had managed to, quite literally, beat the dark lord into submission. The arrogance and pride that had always surrounded the man were nowhere to be seen, and when Harry looked closer he could see a faint tremble in his posture.

“Good.” the warden said and turned towards Harry who probably looked like someone had just told him the moon was actually a big cheese.

“The guards have managed to teach him some manners.”

Harry nodded in reflex. Yes, that was one way of defining what they had done. Torture was of course another fitting word, but he saw no reason to tell the warden that.

“He´ll behave,” this was said with a look towards the kneeling figure, who was busy staring at the floor and didn't notice. “If he behaves and gives you what you want there are some food and water on the table you can give him as a reward. I´m not sure when he was last given anything to eat or drink, so that should be a good incentive for him to complyt. If you have any trouble then let the guard outside know.”

“Thank you.” Harry said.

The warden nodded and left, closing the door behind him. Harry turned and looked at Voldemort. He expected that whatever game Voldemort was playing to drop the moment the door closed and for the man to turn back into his usual annoying self, but nothing happened

For a couple of minutes nothing happened. Harry pushed a hand through his hair, messing it up even more, and looked around the room. His eyes landed on the table and the tray and flask of water. He took them both and set them down in front of Voldemort. The brown eyes stayed glued to the floor and he made no move to touch either thing.

“Go on,” Harry said when it became apparent that Voldemort wasn´t going to touch the food or water. Brown eyes met his for a moment before dropping, but long enough for Harry to see the uncertainty in them.

With a sigh Harry dragged the chair over and sat down, praying the bloody thing wouldn't fall apart the moment he sat on it. Not sure what he was doing he picked up a piece of the bread that was on the tray and held it out for Voldemort to take. He was starting to get a feeling that the guards had been using food as a part of their “training”. Voldemort looked to be half the weight he had been last time Harry saw him and he hadn't exactly been overweight back then.

Brown eyes looked up from the floor to the piece of bread in front of him and Harry got the distinct feeling Voldemort was battling with himself whether to take it or not.

He decided to take a chance and popped the bread into his own mouth. 

“Look, it's not poisoned.” at least he hoped it wasn´t. He held out another piece of bread towards Voldemort who kept staring at it as if it contained all the answers to the world’s questions. Carefully Voldemort leaned forward and took the piece of bread from Harry´s hand with his mouth. Harry almost dropped the bread when cold lips came into contact with his fingers.

Damn, he thought. He hadn't meant for Voldemort to humiliate himself further by eating from Harry´s hand, but apparently Voldemort had interpreted that as Harry´s intention. The food disappeared quickly and Harry waited to see if Voldemort would continue to eat by himself now that he had gotten him to eat the first piece.

Apparently not.

Harry sighed and nudged the tray towards Voldemort again. “Eat. I´m assuming you would prefer to feed yourself rather than to have me feed you?”

Again the brown eyes rose briefly to meet green ones before returning to the tray. Still he didn't touch it and Harry was starting to get a bad feeling that Voldemort was convinced it was a trap of some kind. Presumably the guards might have played similar games before. This was ridiculous, Harry thought. He was starting to feel like he needed an instruction manual on ´how-to-get-the-ex-dark-lord-to-eat´.

“Voldemort, I´m not playing or trying to trick you or anything. I need your help with something and you look like you need to get some food down so that you don't pass out halfway through my explanation.”

This time the brown eyes held his gaze for a couple of minutes. They seemed to be searching for some sort of sign that Harry was lying. Harry waited patiently. After what felt like an eternity Voldemort slowly reached out and took a piece of bread from the tray. His eyes were trained on Harry the whole time and he seemed to be waiting for the other shoe to drop or for Harry to tell him he´d messed up.

When nothing happened he pulled the tray closer and slowly started to pick through the food. It was nothing grand, just bread, cheese and some fruit.

“Don´t eat too much if you haven't eaten in a while,” Harry cautioned. Last thing he needed was for the ex dark lord to get sick. He bent down and picked up the flask. There was no way Voldemort was going to be able to unscrew the cap with one hand. He took off the cap and held the flask out. 

Voldemort carefully took it and drank slowly before handing it back.Slowly the tray was emptied and the water disappeared. Harry levitated the whole thing over to the table and turned towards Voldemort who was carefully moving himself back to a sitting position, his back against the wall. Harry could see him flinch slightly as his back made contact with the wall and frowned. There was probably more damage and bruises under the prison uniform Voldemort was wearing.

Voldemort was looking at him. Brown eyes were weary and he looked completely exhausted. The calculating gleam that spoke of someone who was used to manipulate, trick and lie his way to what he wanted was nowhere to be seen.

“So,” Harry began, pulling a picture out of his pocket. It was a polaroid picture he had taken on the job. He loved to bring it to work because it gave him the possibility to capture moments and study them further back at the office. Of course it was muggle technology but that mattered less, although his colleagues and boss didn't understand how the camera worked and were skeptical of the whole thing.

He handed the picture over to Voldemort who took it and looked at it.

“Do you know what that is?”

Voldemort studied the picture before nodding.

“Great.” Harry beamed. This was at least a good start. “What is it?”

Voldemort looked up from the picture to Harry. “Egyptian hieroglyph.” The voice was raw as if he hadn't used it in a long time.

“What does it mean?”

“Reversed, or opposite, depends on how it is used.”

Harry leaned forward. He was getting excited. They had been stuck on this case for what seemed like forever and no one had been able to figure out how the hieroglyphic fit into the mix. He had come to Azkaban on a whim, not actually expecting Voldemort to help, but they were out of other options and time was running out.

“What if I told you it was used as a rune to strengthen a ward?”

Voldemort studied the picture before handing it back to Harry. “I would say you are out of your depth if your last resort is to ask me for help.” The voice seemed to grow stronger with use. The moment the words were out, Harry could see a fleeting look of panic cross the handsome face before disappearing when Harry did nothing.

“Fine. We have no clue what to do.” Harry stood and started wandering around in the cell. He had no problem admitting they were at a loss if that would please the dark lord enough to help.

“Last year there has been an increase in the amount of Chimaera eggs that have been smuggled into the UK. They are a class A non-tradeable material as you well know. We have been able to track one of the smugglers for the last year and a couple of weeks ago he brought a shipment to the UK using a muggle shipping company, Transsea LLC.

The crates arrived by boat from the far East to the port in Dover. The papers claimed it was a cargo of ostrich eggs meant for a restaurant in London, but we got a tip that the paperwork was fake and that the eggs were meant for the dark wizarding market. Unfortunately, due to a misunderstanding, the crates were not detained at the port in Dover, but were brought to London. 

By the time we realized this we arrested the smuggler, who refused to answer any questions and apparently didn’t know where the eggs went.

We managed to track the delivery to a warehouse on the outskirts of London but when we tried to enter we encountered wards. Our wardbreakers have been working on disabling the wards but they keep coming up empty. The wards themselves seem to be nothing out of the ordinary, except for the runestone in the picture. I´m assuming that the runestone gives a clue on how to disable the wards, but so far we have no idea what it means.”

Voldemort watched him as he paced back and forth explaining the situation.

“And so, yes, here I am.” Harry sat back down on the chair.

“And why should I help?”

Harry shrugged. “Karma points?”

A shadow of a smile actually appeared on Voldemort's face before disappearing.

“Fine, bloody slytherins.” Harry threw his hands up. “What do you want?”

Voldemort seemed to consider the question for a little while before answering. “A chess set.”

Harry did a double take. “What?”

Voldemort rolled his eyes. The gesture was as surprising as the answer and Harry waited for an explanation.

“I´ll give you the answers you want, if you return with a chess set and a promise to play with me every so often.”

Of all things to ask, this had to be the last thing Harry had expected. He hesitated, but saw no traps in the request. If anything it would be an opportunity to pick the former dark lord's brain on other topics beside the one he was currently pursuing. He wasn't a good chess player, but he could hold his own. Then again, against Voldemort he would probably lose spectacularly.

“I´m not a very good chess player,” he admitted.

Again that ghost of a smile passed over Voldemort´s lips. “Everything can be learned.”

“Fine. I'll return in a fortnight with a chess set, and I'll promise to play with you every now and then.”

Voldemort nodded, and seemed to accept the answer and the promise. “The runestone does give a clue on how to disable the wards. It´s rare to mix hieroglyphs with runes, but if you know what you are doing then it´s quite useful. Tell your wardbreakers to do the disablement charms backwards and in the reversed order than one would normally do them. That will bring the wards down. A word of caution though, it seems like you are up against something more than just a common smuggler.”

Chapter Text

“I can´t believe you went to him for help!”

Harry sighed. This was the third time at least that Draco Malfoy had spoken the same sentence. “So you have mentioned,” he said. He cast a glance at Neville who just rolled his eyes and turned to watch their wardbreaker Angelica Tyson work.

Angelica was standing in front of the warehouse with a concentrated look on her face. She wasn´t someone you would consider exceptionally beautiful but she was good at her job and pleasant to be around. At the moment she was trying to take down the muggle repellent ward, as that was one of the easiest wards to take down. Since it was meant for muggles it didn´t have the same strength behind it as muggles couldn´t disable it anyway. After humming in concentration she suddenly sighed and turned towards the three people behind her.

“What did he mean? Am I to speak the words backwards, or do the wand movements backwards or what?” She waved a hand in the air to illustrate her confusion.

“He said to do the charm backwards.” Harry hesitated. “Try to use the same words, but do the wand movements backwards.”

She nodded and turned back towards the wards and started speaking and moving her wand.

Harry pulled the red Auror cloak tighter around himself to ward of some of the November cold. It wasn´t all that cold really too be honest, but it was still nippy. They had decided to give the wards another go after Harry´s little visit to Azkaban. He hadn´t dared to tell his boss where he had gotten his information from, just vaguely talked about a source with dark magic experience. He had however told Draco and Neville and Ron about his little trip. Draco apparently still hadn´t gotten over just how much of a bad idea he thought it had been.

“What did you have to give for this information?” Malfoy hissed just low enough to be sure Angelica didn´t hear him. “Your first born? Half your soul?”

“Stop it,” Harry snapped. “He just wanted an item, nothing dangerous.” Perhaps it would be smart not to tell them what kind of item and that he promise to visit. He still wasn´t sure why he had agreed to come and play.

Probably my bleeding heart, he thought with a snort. There was something wrong about seeing Voldemort so broken and beaten down. Harry had debated about whether to report the abuse or not, but he was pretty sure no one would lift a finger because the dark lord was being tortured. After all, how many people hadn´t the man killed, tortured and raped? Including Harry´s own parents.

If it had been possible to kill him, he would have been executed, but with the bloody horcruxes still in play that wasn´t possible. They were still looking for them, but as time passed and it became clear Voldemort was safely contained in Azkaban the hunt had lost it´s priority.

“Yes!”

Harry was torn from his thoughts at the sound of the ward breaking. Angelica turned around a wide grin on her face. “It worked! Whomever your source is Harry, keep him around.” She turned around and went to work on the rest of the wards.

He could hear Neville try to disguise a laugh as a cough behind him and Draco muttering a curse under his breath. Good to know Voldemort actually could be useful and tell the truth.

Now that she had gotten the hang of it the wards came down fast and 30 minutes later they were making their way into the building. They spread out, everyone had their wands out and they were moving quietly. Reports from the Aurors who had been assigned to watch the building said that no one had entered or left the building and the wards they had placed to notice anyone appareting onto the property had not been disturbed.

The warehouse was like any other. One large room, piles of crates stabled along the walls, a couple of containers in the middle of the room. A truck stood abandoned near the gate. The amount of dust on it told Harry it hadn´t been used in a while. Another truck loaded with crates was parked just inside the gate leading to the parking lot outside. A quick search revealed that they were alone and that the warehouse was empty.

They gathered at the middle and looked around.

“Well, it doesn´t look like someone has been here in a while,” Draco commented looking around yet again. “Do we know which crates we are looking for?

Harry withdrew a folder from the bag he was wearing over his shoulder. He flipped it open and searched for the security footage from the Dover harbour.

“Here,” he pulled out a picture showing a stack of crates being lifted of a container ship. The crates where made from wood, square, about 3x3 feet long. One of the sides was marked with Chinese or Japanese words in red.

“Shouldn´t be to difficult to find,” Neville commented. “I´ll start over there, you two take the containers and that wall,” he nodded at Harry and Draco, “and you can check out the truck.” The last was directed at Angelica.

“What in the name of Merlin gave you the idea it was okay to ask Him for help?!”

“Draco, calm down. Nothing happened. I asked, he answered and here we are!” Harry made a sweeping gesture with his hand to include the warehouse. Draco stopped and shoved him against one of the stack of crates.

“Listen, Harry. He always has an agenda, a plan, an angel or what not. You think you know what you are getting into, but you don’t!” The blonde’s face was serious and Harry got the impression Draco was actually worried about him. “Just, be careful, okay?” Draco backed away and pushed a hand through his hair.

Harry nodded. “I will.”

After the final war Lucius Malfoy had been up for trial. Draco had escaped any charges and had pleaded with Harry to speak for his father. Harry had agreed only if Draco joined the Aurors, which the blond had agreed to. He had managed to get Lucius released without any jail time by speaking at his trial and confirming that Lucius had not participated in the last war, but instead fled to protect his family. That combined with an excellent lawyer had seen that Lucius had been sentenced to house arrest for two years, but that was that. He had managed to keep his fortune and somewhat his name, and with Draco joining the Aurors and working along side Harry, the family name had survived the scandal, yet again.

“Good. Let´s find those crates.”

Turned out they didn´t find the crates.

“How,” Neville was moaning as they came back to the Aurors offices at the east wing of the Ministry. “No one entered after they was delivered and no one left. How did the crates just disappear?”

Harry let himself fall into his office chair and rested his head against the top of the chair. Draco was pacing back and forth, seemingly agitated. Angelica had disappeared to her next assignment. Wardbreakers shifted between departments depending on where they were needed.

“They can´t just have walked out on their own.”

Harry laughed. “No kidding, Draco.” The comment earned him a mild stinging hex. He glared at the Malfoy heir and sat up in the chair. “Fine. Let´s see what we have.”

“No crates,” Neville said from his desk across from Harry´s.

“No clue,” Draco sneered from where he was pacing between them.

Harry sighed. Great.

***

“You´re back.” It wasn´t a question, more of a statement.

Harry tried to give the warden a polite smile. “Yes. I did promise him something if he gave me what I needed.”

The Warden, Andrews, didn´t look convinced. “He is not allowed anything. That is why I suggested you use the food as leverage. What did you agree to bring him?”

Harry placed the box he was carrying on the Wardens desk and opened it. It contained a chess sett in black and white wood. It was nothing fancy, but also nothing that could be used as a weapon.

“A chess set?”

Harry shrugged. “He asked for it. It can´t possible do any harm for him to have it?”

The Warden sighed and waved a hand in the air. “Fine. Give it to him. If he chokes on the pieces it will be a relief I guess. You remember the way?”

The cell was the same as before. Voldemort seemed to be asleep, curled up on the pile of hay in the corner, when Harry entered. He set the box with the chess set down on the table and moved a bit closer to the sleeping, or unconscious (?), figure.

It had been eight days since his last visit. After the disappointing raid at the warehouse they had tried to find another lead, but no luck. The smuggler hadn´t talked and they were back to square one. It had been Neville who suggested that perhaps another visit to Harry´s “source” could be helpful. Draco had voted no. Harry figured it couldn´t harm.

“Voldemort?”

The reaction was almost funny. The figure bolted awake and sat up, wincing in what Harry assumed was pain. Voldemort blinked a couple of times before moving into a kneeling position, which made it clear he was not in better shape than the last time Harry had been there.

“Easy.”

Voldemort dragged his right hand over his face and finally his eyes seemed to focus and met Harry´s. He bowed his head. “My Lord.”

Harry took a step back, confusion and surprise battling in his head. Yes, he was Lord Harry Potter, Lord of the Potter estate, and the Black estate, but he didn´t think Voldemort was aware of that. And why would the former dark lord even address him by the title?

Unsure he retreated to the wobbling chair and sat down.

“It worked.”

Voldemort glanced up but didn´t comment.

“Your advice regarding the wards. We managed to bring them down.” Harry let his voice die out before lifting the box with the chess set and putting it down on the floor in front of Voldemort. “It´s nothing special. Just a set made from wood. I wasn´t even sure the Warden would let be bring that in,” he explained as he pulled out the board and the pieces.

Acting on a whim, Harry went to the door and demanded the guard bring some food and water. Sometimes it did help to be the saviour of the wizarding world, he thought as the guard almost ran to find what he asked for.

Turning back he could see Voldemort had set up the pieces for a game. Placing the chair back towards the table he sat down on the floor and saw Voldemort had given him the black pieces and himself the white ones.

His left hand, Harry noted, was about as damaged as the last time he had seen it, although the damages to his face had healed somewhat.

Voldemort moved one of the pieces across the board.

They were about half through the game (with Harry loosing) when the guard returned with a tray with food and water. He placed it on the table and bowed towards Harry before retreating outside. Harry couldn´t help but notice that Voldemort had tensed up when the guard entered.

Summoning the tray he placed it beside the chess game and pushed it towards Voldemort who looked from the tray to Harry and then back down to the board. He moved his bishop, capturing one of Harry´s knights.

“Check mate.”

Harry laughed. “Of course.” He shook his head.

“What did I do wrong?”

Voldemort glanced up before concentrating on packing the chess game away in it´s case. “You are predictable, you are also easy to lead.”

“Great thanks. I still managed to beat you though.” The words slipped out before Harry could think better of it.

Voldemort froze, a panicked expression crossing over his face.

“Don´t,” Harry began and pushed the tray towards the dark haired wizard. “I didn´t mean it like that. Eat.”

Like last time, Voldemort just stared at the food.

For the love of everything, Harry thought and picked up a piece of cheese and held it out. Just like last time Voldemort seemed to debate something with himself before taking the food from Harry´s hand using his lips.

This time Harry picked up another piece of cheese on top of a piece of bread and held out towards him. Again Voldemort accepted the food, this time faster.

“What, you can eat if I feed you but not on your own?” Harry finally asked, holding out a third piece of food, a bit of chicken.

The chicken disappeared and Harry once more pushed the tray towards the former dark lord. “Eat.” This time Voldemort slowly started to pick at the food, just like last time.

“We broke through the wards, but the warehouse was empty.”

Voldemort looked up from the food.

Harry continued. “We have had the place under alert wards and observation since the crates arrived there, but when we entered the crates were gone without a trace. It looked like no one had been there for a long time judging from the dust and lack of magical signature.”

Voldemort finished a piece of bread and chicken. “What else was in the warehouse?”

Harry shrugged. “Crates, two trucks, a couple of containers. Nothing special.”

“Did you look into the containers?”

Tilting his head slightly to the side Harry answered. “Yes…”

“And?”

“One was empty, the other two filled with farming equipment. What are you getting at?”

Voldemort smiled slightly. “What if I told you the empty container wasn´t empty at all?”

“That´s not possible. We used spells and walked into it to check it out. There was nothing in there.” Despite his words Harry found himself leaning forward. Apparently Voldemort had some insight into this.
“Would you come back to play again if I told you it was and how?”

Harry smiled.

Chapter Text

The whip managed to hit the exact same place it had before and Voldemort bit back a scream as he could feel the skin tear open even more and the blood flow even more. He fought to get air into his lungs before the next lash landed, this time across the small of his back, sending him lurking forward and into the wall he was chained to. Before he could manage a breath the next one landed across his shoulders then over his ribs, which were already bruised, cracked and broken, and he howled in pain as he could feel one of the ribs on his right side move with the hit.

The guard, Stanley, chuckled behind him somewhere before the next lash landed, this time across the sole of his right foot, reopening several of the healing wounds that were already there.

You would think the guards would get tired of the meaningless beating after a couple of years, but for some reason they seemed to find a never ending pleasure in beating him within an inch of his, although immortal, life.

The next lash landed over the sole of his left foot, before the right one and then back on the left. Voldemort managed to refrain from screaming, but he couldn’t stop a groan of pain. It was clear he wasn’t going to be able to stand, nor walk for a while longer. He could hear Stanley getting short breathed behind him, which normally signaled that there would be a break in the never ending lashes while the man got his breathing back.

Predictably he could hear the guard move over the floor and the sound of him sitting down into one of the two chairs in the room. The other was occupied but the second guard, who’s name Voldemort couldn’t remember. Taking the break for what it was he let his forehead fall against the wall in front of him and tried to calm his racing pulse and his breathing. He had been through this more times than he could count by now and knew the guards were far from finished.

The stonewall was cool and helped ground him as his thoughts started to wander and his body complained in high tones about its condition. His knees were starting to ach from the kneeling position he had been chained in.

Behind him he could hear the guards talking about the weekend, the children (Stanley had two, a boy and a girl) and their wives. Voldemort knew that Stanley had a bad relationship with his wife, because every time they fought or he couldn’t get her to sleep with him, he took it out on Voldemort one way or another.

Stanley had a sister also, but she had been killed during one of the Death Eaters raids not long before the final battle, and Stanley still felt the need to punish him for that particular death.

After three years one actually got used to being in constant pain. The first year they had done some real interrogations. Asking questions about his organization, names of Death Eaters, safe houses and so on. Now it was just for fun.

Not that it mattered. He could survive the pain, the humiliation, the rapes and forced sexual encounters, but he couldn’t ignore that they did affect him. He had been fine the first year and a half, but there was a limit to how strong even his mind was, and he had started to notice that piece by piece the warden and the guards had actually managed to somewhat break him. It would have been nice if they could have been content with that, and left him alone to serve out his sentence in peace, but no of course not.

Too lost in thought he didn’t notice Stanley had moved back behind him until the whip came down over his back, catching him off guard. He screamed and sucked in a breath, while Stanley laughed.

“Didn’t notice I was back?” he heard the man goad.

Pulling another shaking breath into his lunges he waited for the next hit to land. A part of him hoping he could pass out soon.

Several hits later Stanley stopped. Voldemort swore. It was too early for the man to stop. He normally continued until Voldemort passed out. That could only mean Stanley had either been grieving his sister again, or he had been in a fight with his wife, either way it wasn’t a good thing.

The ropes keeping his wrists tied to the wall loosened and Voldemort crumpled to the floor in an ungracious manner. Before he could push himself up with his good arm Stanley grabbed his collar and dragged him over to the table in the middle of the room, slamming his face first down on it.

“You think this hurts you bastard? Think of what your pathetic followers did to my lovely Everlyn.”

His right arm was forced behind his back and twisted upwards, making him groan in pain and whatever speech Stanley was giving was lost in the pain. He considered kicking the man, but the last time he did Stanley had broken his ankle in retaliation.

“By all means, do fight me, and I’ll break your other arm.”

Yes, Voldemort thought. Lashing out at the man hadn't been the best idea either.

The first times Stanley had tried to rape him he had fought tooth and nail to get the other man of him. Unfortunately with no magic and a body weak from pain, injuries and hunger he hadn’t been much of a challenge for the man when he had gotten help from his colleague. After a good while he figured it didn't matter much what he did, said or threatened with, but the less he fought the quicker Stanley finished and they could get on with the day.

Unfortunately the warden was waiting in the cell when Stanley and the other guard dragged/carried him back after Stanley had managed to reduce his sexual frustration by taking it out on Voldemort.

He couldn’t stand on his own even if he wanted to. The wounds underneath his feet made it impossible to stand. The moment the bare feet touched the stone, his brain decided that the pain was too great and he would crumble to the floor.

They let go of him near where the warden was sitting on the chair that seemed to refuse to die. Voldemort had waited three years for the chair to finally give in, but it seemed to be more stubborn than he was for it kept standing there. Almost mocking him.

He landed in a heap and for a moment he considered just staying there. He wanted to close his eyes and just sleep, sleep for a year and let his body heal and pray the warden and his goons would leave him alone to serve out his sentence.

Just as the black nothingness was starting to creep into his vision, a sharp kick to his stomach brought him back to reality all too quickly. He gasped and coughed, curling in on himself.

“Thank you Stanley. You can go. Check on the new prisoners that were delivered today please.” The voice was as always calm and collected, confident that he was in charge and in no danger from the ex dark lord on the floor before him. Unfortunately he was quite right about that last thing.

While he spoke, Voldemort managed to push himself to his knees and bow his head. His body was shaking in exhaustion and both his shirt and trousers, that he had managed to get back on somehow, was bloodied and torn.

A hand was placed under his chin and the warden lifted his head. Voldemort allowed his eyes to briefly meet the cold steel blue eyes of the warden before dropping them to the floor. He was too tired and hurt too much to piss the warden off as well.

“Think we need to clean you up a bit before Lord Potter shows up the next time. What are you giving him since he keeps coming back, mhm?”

Harry, yes. Voldemort had been surprised to see Harry in his cells a couple of weeks back. Even more surprised that the boy had come for information on a case he was working on. He had given the boy the information he was looking for in a fit of desperation for some human interaction that didn’t end in pain and suffering.

It had been… nice to have someone to talk to, even more to play a small game of chess with. He didn’t know if Harry was coming back again. He loaded to admit that he hoped he did.

“He had some questions, sir.” Voldemort managed not to choke on the sir .

The blond man before him hummed thoughtfully. “About?”

Voldemort swallowed and tried not to pull his head from the man's grip. He didn’t want to tell him that he had helped Harry on a case. It wasn’t a big deal, just small pieces of information the Aurors would have figured out by themselves eventually.

“Information about a rune they hadn’t seen before.” That was partially the truth at least.

The warden sighed and finally let go of his chin. “Fine.” He turned towards the table and pulled something towards him.

Voldemort couldn’t help but hope that it was food. He hadn't eaten in a couple of days and he was starving. His body was having a hard time healing itself also with so little nourishment.

The warden looked down and caught Voldemort looking towards the table, and probably the hungry look he didn’t manage to conceal properly.

“Hungry, pet?”

He dropped his eyes. It was tempting to let his pride take over and say no, but he knew that if he did then the warden would leave the food just out of reach and leave and he would be left to starve a couple of more days. He had tried that a few times over the years after all.

“Well?”

Not answering was not an option either, because it would result in the same thing, plus another beating for being impolite. He bit his tongue, tasting blood before forcing the words out like he had done a couple of hundred times over the years.

“Yes, sir.” He kept his eyes firmly on his hands in his lap. The question now was whether or not the warden decided to put a price on the food. The warden wasn’t one for physically hurting someone, but the man did love the mind games. Games Voldemort was a champion at and had managed to hold his own against just fine the first years, but as his body weakened his mind couldn’t keep it up and once he had started slipping downwards there had been no way back. Andrews preferred humiliation to violence. He wanted the mind to break, not the body.

He swayed for a moment, darkness creeping into his vision again. A loud buzzing sound took over in his head, and he blinked and tried to focus. A thug on the collar made him shuffle slightly forward until he was kneeling between Andrews’ legs. A hand cupped the left side of his face and he got the impression perhaps Andrews was speaking, but he couldn’t hear anything over the loud buzzing. Again he swayed and he could feel the darkness closing in. Blinking several times he put a hand out to steady himself. Slowly the world came back into focus and the buzzing sound slowly died down before disappearing completely.

The hand on his face moved up and into his hair tugging him slightly more forward. Blinking the world back into focus it became clear that there was a price on the food, apparently Stanley wasn’t the only one who was sexually frustrated that day.

“Well, do you want the food?” The tone was playful as Andrews pulled on his hair again to get his attention.

Voldemort closed his eyes for a moment. His stomach was protesting against the thought, and for a moment he thought he was going to throw up. Swallowing he nodded and moved closer. Luckily the man was quite aroused already so getting him off wouldn’t be too difficult.

It wasn’t either, but the humiliation of the act and the condescending “good boy” at the end while Voldemort tried to get his breath back on the floor and Andrews was cleaning himself, was always the worst part. For some reason it was easier with Stanley who threatened him with violence to get his way. With Andrews it always felt like he had a choice, and that he was choosing this. Which was a lie as he didn’t have a choice, the warden simply set the situation up to create the feeling.

After the warden was finished putting his clothes back in place he pulled the tray over to the edge of the table and first offered Voldemort a cup of water that he gulped down to get rid of the taste in his mouth and throat.

“Easy now, or you just throw it back up.”

He slowed down slightly but finished the cup faster than he normally would. From experience he knew the warden would refill it and offer him more during the meal. Taking the cup from him, Andrews held out bread with cheese on and Voldemort accepted the food. It tasted good. To be honest at the moment everything would probably taste good. It was followed by egg, bacon and fruits and all in all Voldemort wondered if it was his last meal or something. Normally the warden would just give him some old bread and cheese. He wondered why the sudden change in quality.

He didn’t ask, however he simply ate the food he was given, trying not to feel too much like a dog begging for scraps at his master's table. As the hunger was sated the pain in his feet and back started coming into focus. The clothes were sticking to his body because of the blood and it would be hell to remove them once the blood dried. He didn’t expect the warden to do anything about it though. If he were lucky then Stanley would drag him to the washroom and wash him down in cold water the next day.

The collar blocked his magic, but it also blocked any magic from being used on him, a problem since they couldn’t use healing spells or cleaning spells on him, but a good thing seeing as it put several dark curses of limits.

As the last of the food disappeared and Voldemort took the last piece of apple from the man’s hand, he could feel the last of his strength bleeding out as well. The warden seemed to notice because he wiped his hand on his thigh and more or less dragged Voldemort over to the pile of hay where he attached the chain to his collar. Voldemort let himself collapse and just before he could feel himself falling into the darkness he wondered if he could talk Harry into giving him a blanket the next time in exchange for information.

Chapter Text

“How does it work again?” Neville was eyeing the flashlight in Harry´s hand with a sceptical look.

Harry turned the flashlight over in his hands and pushed the button on the end. A blue light hit the concrete floor of the warehouse.

“I´m not entirely sure how, but the blue light somehow picks up something in the blood and turns it white.” He shone the flashlight over the ground in front of the container before moving to the right side and checking both the inside and outside of the doors that were standing wide open.

At first there was nothing to be seen and Harry suddenly remembered that he had to use the glasses he had been given along with the flashlight. He pullet out the glasses from his pocket and exchanged them for his usual once.

“Can you kill the light?” He asked Neville, pushing the glasses in place. A wave of a wand later the warehouse was completely dark except from the small bluish light that travelled up and down the container. Finding nothing on the outside Harry moved in and started checking the walls inside.

“You sure about this?” Neville asked.

Harry shrugged but then remembered Neville couldn´t see anything in the dark.

“No, but it´s worth a try.”

“Isn´t there a spell that can do the same thing?”

“Probably, but he said it would be better to do it the muggle way because cleaning spells can block detections spells, but most wizards and witches doesn´t know a lot about muggle technology and doesn´t guard themselves from it. If we find the runes then it might give us a clue about where the crates disappeared too.”

He could hear Neville enter the container behind him. When he finally reached the back wall of the container he found what he was looking for. The wall gleamed with white runes, six in a circle and the last one in the middle of it, all painted in blood.

Harry grinned.

“Found it. Look.” He handed the glasses to Neville who put them on and stared at the wall.

“I´ve never seen runes like these,” Neville muttered. He leaned in closer to take a better look, trailing his hand over the invisible ink.

“Me neither, but I assume Voldemort will be able to tell us more.”

Neville leaned back and pulled out a pen and paper and began to sketch down the runes.

“How was it, seeing him again?” The tone was casual, but Harry could hear the careful way he asked.

They hadn´t talked much about Harry´s two visits at Azkaban.

“You mean the first time?”

“Yes.”

Harry stared at the wall and the runes. “Strange. I didn´t think I´d ever see him again. Although he doesn´t exactly look like himself.”

“Oh? Worse than he did at the battle?”

Harry smiled. “No,” he laughed. “Much better.”

Neville turned towards him and pushed the glasses back up on his nose. “Better? Has he grown a nose or something?”

“Or something,” Harry smirked. “He looks like Tom Riddle in the beginning of his twenties.”

“What? How´s that possible even? And what does Tom Riddle look like anyway?”

“Tall, black hair, brown eyes. All straight lines and angles.”

“Handsome?” Neville teased.

Harry laughed. “Very.”

“Still the same arrogant prick?”

“No.” Harry remembered the defeated look on Voldemort´s face, the exhaustion and the bruises and marks. “He´s a bit more subdued.”

Neville went back to sketching down the runes. “Why is he helping?”

“I don´t know. Perhaps he is bored. There isn´t much to do in a cell except being used as a punching bag by the guards.”

“Plenty of people who would love to kick him around for everyone he´s killed, tortured and destroyed the lives of.” There was a dark edge to Neville´s voice and Harry knew he was thinking of his parents that Bellatrix had tortured into insanity.

“Yes. He was right though, again.” Harry waved a hand towards the runes that Neville had finished sketching. Neville waved his wand and the light came back on. The runes disappeared and Harry pocketed the flashlight and the glasses.

“Yeah, he was. Let´s get back to the office. I really would like to go home for the night.”

***

He waved to Neville who was heading home. The clock was well past eight in the evening and the Auror´s office was deserted except from him. It was Friday evening and he didn´t have any planes. Instead he spread the sketch out on his desk and was leafing through a book on runes in hopes of perhaps being able to figure out what the runes meant by himself.

The coffee had gotten cold again and he reheated it with a wave of his wand. Sipping he flipped another page and was suddenly staring at one of the runes from the container, or half of it at least.

The location rune is a necessary rune when making

a ritual of travel. The proto-Germanic name is

“raidô” and the rune itself looks like an R.

The rune is normally appears together with

another rune that marks the location from

which one is travelling and then again

to mark where one is going.  

Harry looked over at the sketch. On the top of the circle there was an R with another rune attached, and the same at the bottom. That would be the to and from then. It would mean that the rune at the top was indicating the container and the one on the bottom the location of where the crates had disappeared too.

“Getting somewhere?”

Harry jumped and turned. “Merlin´s sake, sir. You scared me.”

Gawain Robards, Head of the Auror Office, smiled and pushed a hand through his salt and pepper coloured hair.

“Sorry, lad. I was just leaving and saw that the light was still on here. Still working on those crates?”

“Yeah, we found another lead tonight.” Harry turned and picked up the sketch with the runes on. “These were painted in blood at the back of the container.”

Robards pulled over a chair from the neighbouring desk and sat down. He looked at the runs with a frown. “I´ve never seen runes like these.”

“Me neither, but that,” Harry pointed to the R on the top, “indicates where one is travelling from, and that,” he pointed to the one the bottom, “indicates where one is travelling too.”

“Travelling? Isn´t this that container that was empty?”

Harry nodded, his voice becoming excited as he explained. “It is a vanishing cabinet, or it was. It isn´t anymore.”

Robards looked sceptically. “Okay?”

“The runes, sir, they make the container into a temporary vanishing cabinet, along with a spell I can´t pronounce. The crates were brought into the warehouse as we saw, placed into the vanishing cabinet/container, and then transported to somewhere. After the blood of the runes was removed and off they simply left and we were none the wiser.”

The older man nodded. “Impressive. How did you figure out they had used it as a vanishing cabinet?”

Harry hesitated. “A source gave me a tip.”

Roabards raised and eyebrow. “The same source that helped with the runestone on how to take the wards down?”

“Yes.”

“I see. And just who is this source? He seems to have a lot of insight into the criminal world.”

“I´ll rather not say,” Harry muttered, turning to close the book on runes and shuffling some papers around on his desk.

Robards placed a hand on his arm. “Harry. Sources can be both useful and dangerous. There is a fine line between a trustworthy source and a source that will use fake information to trick you into a dangerous situation. I´m not judging, but I need to know that my employees are safe on the job. “

“I know, sir, but I don´t think you´ll approve of the source.” Actually Harry knew his boss would not approve.

“Try me.”

Harry almost smiled. “Voldemort.”

Robards managed to not flinch at the name. “What?” He asked and looked like he was hoping and praying he had heard wrong.

“The source is Voldemort.”

The man looked like he was considering getting his hearing checked. “I see. So, he is the reason we are making headway in this case?”

This time Harry did smile. “Yes.”

“And you went to see him?”

“Yes.”

“To ask him for help on a case?”

“Yes.”

“And he volunteered the information?”

“Yes.”

“I see.”

Then after a couple of seconds he added, “and why did he help?”

Harry shrugged. “I don´t know. But, it was information that wouldn´t be dangerous to check out. Worst thing that would have happened was that we couldn´t take down the wards, or that we found nothing in the container,” he hurried to add before Robards could ask why it seemed like a good idea to test theories given from a mass murder and terrorist.

“And I assume you are planning to go back to Azkaban and ask him to translate those runes for you?”

Harry nodded and he picked up the sketch, staring once more at the runes.

“We do have a team of codebreakers on staff you know?”

Harry smiled. “I know, but Voldemort is like a living, walking encyclopaedia of information.”

“He has also tried to kill you multiple times.”

Yes, that was true. Voldemort had tried to kill him more times than he would like to count, but in the end he had lost and Harry didn´t have the will to hate him. If anything he felt sorry for him. If Albus and the other grownups had been a little more attentive in the earlier days then perhaps Tom wouldn´t have turned into Voldemort. Perhaps he would have stayed as Tom and gone on to do something remarkable.

For all the things one could say about Voldemort he was still smart as a whip and had an impressive knowledge of everything magical. He also seemed to have some sort of photographic memory.

“Yes, the prophecy seemed to have scared him into becoming desperate.”

Robardos nodded. “Fine. If you think the information is good and reliable, then by all means ask him.”

“Thank you, sir. I´ll go back tomorrow.”

***

The cell was empty when Harry entered. The Warden had just waved him of when he had popped in to say hi. He was apparently getting used to Harry´s frequent visits so Harry had just made his way to Voldemort´s cell by himself. To find it empty however was a surprise.

Unsure he figured he´d wait, which he did. He waited nearly two hours at the wobbly table before the door to the cell opened and two guards carried a soaking wet dark lord in and let him fall into a heap on the straws. The guards gave Harry a nod and a polite “My Lord” before vanishing out the door.

The soaking wet form on the hay curled in on him self and was shivering like a leaf in a tornado.

Harry swore and stood. It was the middle of November and the cell was freezing. He walked over to the trembling form and tried to get Voldemort´s attention. It didn´t work as the dark lord curled in on himself even tighter.

Giving up Harry cast a drying charm on the clothes the man was wearing. He couldn´t use magic one the man himself because of the collar, but he could dry the clothes. That done he withdrew a handkerchief from his pocket and transfigured it into a fluffy, dark blue wool blanket. He draped the blanket around the former dark lord.

He carefully rubbed at the shoulders and back to help the warmth to settle back in.

“What was it this time?” he asked when he thought Voldemort could hear him

“Waterboarding,” came the rasped response eventually.

That would explain why he looked like a drowned rat. Harry noted how Voldemort actually leaned into his touch and kept rubbing at his shoulders and back until Voldemort seemed to come to his senses and pulled away. Harry let him go and moved to the chair.

“You back with me?”

Voldemort was still shaking, but nodded and pulled the blanket closer.

The way he was curled gave Harry a view of his feet and he suddenly understood why Voldemort never stood. A crisscross of welts and open wounds was visible under the sole of his feet and Harry could only imagine how painful it would be to try and stand and walk on them.

“Do you want me to ask for some warm soup or something?” He felt like an idiot for asking.

Voldemort shook his head.

“We found the runes at the back of the container. Drawn in blood as you said.” He eyed Voldemort carefully. The man was still shaking badly and Harry wasn´t sure he was listening.

“Saints,” he swore and walked back over to the curled up figure. He cast a warming charm on the blanket and used his hands to rub over the shoulders and back to help the raise the temperature of Voldemort´s body. Voldemort seemed to be too far-gone again to notice and in the end Harry ended up sitting on the hay, with Voldemort more or less curled up in his lap.

It had to be the strangest position Harry had ever been in. He was sitting in a cell in Azkaban, with his parents killer curled up beside him, with his head and arms in his lap. He was pretty sure that if Voldemort had been more alert he wouldn´t have allowed the touching, but he seemed to be too far-gone in his own mind. The trembling stopped after a while, and several warming charms later and as the breathing became less erratic Harry assumed Voldemort had either passed out or fallen asleep.

Chapter Text

It was strange to feel the raise and fall over Voldemort´s chest underneath his hand as the other man slept. Harry couldn´t help to think how innocent he looked while sleeping. Thick black eyelashes flushed against pale skin. His left, injured arm curled protectively against his chest, while his right was curled just underneath his chin. His head was resting on a pillow against Harrys left thigh. The pillow had been an afterthought that Harry had conjured up when it became clear that Voldemort was either unconscious or fast asleep.

The black hair had dried somewhat during the time Harry had been sitting on the floor. He didn´t know how long he had been sitting there, but from the ach in his body, probably too long. The question was what to do. He really wanted answers about the runes, but he didn´t have the conscience to wake Voldemort from what seemed like a much needed sleep. He could leave of course, but he had the feeling that his presence might be the only thing that kept the guards from continuing their little games.

He sighed and pushed a hand through his hair. When had all this become so damned complicated? He just needed help with the runes. Now he was sitting with a tortured ex dark lord asleep in his lap. Considering all the things Voldemort had done during both the first and the second war, he did deserve what he got. Why should he care if the guards thought it fun to torture and humiliate Voldemort? Didn´t the man really deserve everything they put him through?

His thoughts strayed to his parents. What would they think if they had seen him sitting there, their killer in his lap? He showed the thought away. It wouldn´t do anything good to go down that road.

Voldemort moved slightly in his sleep, muttering something that sounded very close to please. Unsure, Harry ran his hand through the dark hair watching as Voldemort settled back down. A small frown visible on his forehead, but it disappeared as he seemed to fall back into a peaceful sleep.

It might have been easier if Voldemort still looked like the half snakelike monster that had come out of the cauldron that horrible day at the graveyard. The Tom in his lap looked like he wasn´t much older than Harry himself. Looking at him sleeping, it was hard to reconcile the fact that the handsome youth in his lap was a cold-blooded killer that had killed and tortured so many.

What had the Warden said again “made him easier on the eyes”? Harry had a sneaking suspicion that the abuse Voldemort had been subjected to did go further than just beatings and torture. If it had been like this for the last three years then Harry had no problem believing that they somewhere along the way had managed to somewhat break Voldemort. There had to be a limit to what even a Dark Lord could handle before the mind started to unravel. From the way Voldemort had kneelt and the submissive behaviour, Harry was pretty sure the Warden and his employees had done a thorough job in teaching him some manners as the Warden had put it.

To be honest he didn´t mind a slightly more subdued Voldemort, rather than the arrogant monster he had fought so many times. And if he was to keep being honest, this version of Tom Riddle did look a bit too good on his knees.

He blushed at his own thoughts. There was no denying that Voldemort was handsome, incredible so, but he was still the ex Dark Lord. A killer with no conscience, who had no qualms about using threats and torture to get what he wanted. A beautiful killer, but still a monster. The thought made Harry think of cats. Beautiful creatures, but they killed for fun and without care. And then they curled up in your lap and slept peacefully without a care in the world for their victims.

Harry could tell the moment Voldemort woke. The breathing changed and the whole body tensed. Curious he waited to see what Voldemort would do. Waking up in Harry´s lap was probably the last thing he had been expecting. Just because he could, Harry let his hand rake through the dark hair and felt Voldemort tense up even more. He was probably trying to make sense of the predicament he found himself in.

***

Voldemort woke slowly from what had for once, been a deep sleep. The first thing he noticed was that he was warm. There was a blanket wrapped around him and a pillow under his head. From what he could tell, he was still in his cell, but he was curled up against someone. Blinking slowly to try and get the last of the sleepiness to let go, he tried to figure out how and who.

The last thing he remembered clearly was the water being poured on his face, the feeling of drowning, without actually drowning gripping him tightly and making him panic even though he knew he was in no danger of being killed. He lost count after a while how many times he had ´died´, but he could feel his mind shutting down and awareness bleeding out of him like blood from a cut main artery.                                                                                                     

The cell was freezing when they brought him back, but someone had conjured up a blanket and draped around him. His memory went blank as he tried to remember the details.

A hand in his hair made him tense. He didn´t like being touched, but he couldn´t bring himself to move either. He was warm for the first time in ages and comfortable. The pain in his body lingered in the back of his head, but at least waterboarding didn´t physical hurt him, if you didn´t count the amount of water he had swallowed.

In a flash the rest came to him. Harry of course. The bloody saviour of the wizarding world had been in the cell when they had brought him back. He remembered the worried look on Harry´s face, the questions and how he had tried to help Voldemort get the temperature in his body back up. It was Harry he was curled up against. If he had managed to find the strength he might have laughed at the absurdity of the situation. The boy he had tried to kill so many times, the one who´s parents he had killed, along with several close friends and other family members. The same boy who had been filled with concern that his sworn enemy was shaking and freezing after being tortured. Not that the experience was a new one. He had been subjected to waterboarding before and left to freeze in the cell until he dried up somewhat.

The physical torture was still to be preferred over the Wardens mind games and unwanted sexual attention. In a flash he wondered what Harry would demand in return for his kindness. He wasn´t blind, although his mind was working slower than he liked, and he had noticed Harry´s reaction to his new looks. The same one the guards and the Warden had shown back when he first arrived at Azkaban.

In hindsight he really regretted absorbing the Huffelpuff cup and the Gaunt ring horcruxes, but it had been necessary to undo some of the mental damage he had done to himself when splitting his soul so many times. It had left him a lot more stable and sane. The constant need to hurt and torture had gone away, together with the bloodlust. He had kept using a glamour around his followers though. Voldemort knew his snakelike appearance would help gain fear of his name, and that the handsome appearance of Tom Riddle wouldn´t have had the same effect, especially not a twenty something looking Tom Riddle.

“Voldemort?”

The voice made him flinch and all pretence of still being asleep went out the window. With a sigh he pushed himself to his knees, pulling the navy blue blanket close around him as he settled on his knees a meter or so from the sitting Gryffindor in his cell. Harry was leaning against the wall, his left leg stretched out, the pillow resting against his thigh and his right leg bent at the knee. His right arm was slung over the bent leg and green eyes were carefully watching him.

He was dressed in muggle clothes. Jeans, a thick black sweater, a thick black winter coat and a black scarf around his neck. His hands were bare, but there was a pair of gloves on the floor beside him. He looked like a poster boy for one of the muggle shops that catered to young adults.

The glasses was gone, and Voldemort suspected he either was using lenses or had gotten his eyesight fixed in the muggle world. There was after all no spell, legal at least, that could fix ones eyesight. The lack of glasses made his green eyes stand out even more against the dark hair and scarf. He had grown out of the boyish looks Voldemort remembered from the final battle and had settled into the body of a young adult. He radiated a lot more confidence and authority now than he could remember from the battle where it had seemed like half the things Harry had managed to pull of was based on pure luck rather than skill and planning.

“My Lord,” Voldemort carefully muttered, keeping his eyes on the floor. He didn´t think Harry cared much about ´manners´ as the Warden liked to call it, but seeing as he was stuck in Azkaban it was better to just keep to the rules set so that he didn´t forget around the Warden or the guards. Not that there was much chance he would forget after having the rules beaten into him for three years. He vaguely remember rebelling against them the first year, until he at some point realized he was going to be locked up in Azkaban for a very long time, unless of course Harry made headway with the horcruxes and they could execute him. That thought made his stomach rebel and he could feel the white hot panic starting to gather in the pit of his stomach. His breathing increased and he had to force himself to calm down before the panic took over.

Death. The concept terrified him. The unknown of what would happen after death, the finality of it. One could not beat death everyone said, but he had done it with the horcruxes. Reabsorbing two of them had been a necessary evil, but as far as he knew Harry didn´t know how many horcruxes he had made, nor where or what they were. Except from the diary of course. The one he had entrusted to Lucius Malfoy, which the idiot had managed to let fall into Harry´s hands. He really hadn´t punished Lucius enough for that mistake.

He had gotten the impression that Harry perhaps wasn´t that actively looking for the horcruxes as none had been found the last three years. That didn´t mean that he wouldn´t start up again if Voldemort managed to make him angry enough to remember just why Voldemort was still alive. In other words, a good incentive to keep the Gryffindor happy.

Harry got to his feet, carefully stretching his limbs and Voldemort assumed he was feeling the pain from sitting so long on the thin bedding of straw. He watched through his lashes as Harry stiffly walked over to the ever so unsteady chair and sat down. The gloves were placed on the table and Harry seemed to be searching for something in his inside pocket. After a little while he pulled out a sheet of paper. He held it out towards Voldemort who shuffled a bit closer and took the paper while trying to keep his grip on the blanket. His left arm was still useless.

Stanley had not taken it well when Voldemort had tried to push him of by lashing out at him. The arm was broken at the wrist, although Voldemort suspected it might be broken further up as well. His hand was a mangled mess of broken bones after Stanley had made sure to stamp on it hard a couple of times. Without medical care or a healer the bones had not set right, or at all, and the hand remained completely useless.

“We found these at the back of the container. Painted in blood as you said.”

Voldemort stared at the paper he was holding, six runes in a circle with a seventh in the middle. Seemed Harry´s smuggler wasn´t an ordinary smuggler at all. They normally didn´t turn containers into temporary vanishing cabinets as the spellwork and knowledge on how to do it wasn´t exactly something you found in a how-to book in Knockturn Alley. This type of work required a powerful wizard or witch. Voldemort was starting to doubt that this was about the eggs at all. Why go through all this trouble for Chimaera eggs? They were rare, and expensive and sold well on the black marked, but there were easier ways to get them into the country.

He studied the runes closer. Noting that the vanishing cabinet was tied between two containers from the look of it. The bottom rune identified the object, but not the location as vanishing cabinets could be moved around. The runes on the right specified when the vanishing cabinet where to activate, and the ones on the left when it stopped being active. From the looks of it the cabinet had been active from sunset until sunrise on the day the runes had been drawn.

“Well?”

Voldemort handed the paper back but kept his eyes on the floor. “It does not specify where the other cabinet is located.” His voice sounded like gravel and he desperately wanted something to drink, although the thought of water made his mind race back to the painful experience just a couple of hours earlier. “It does look like it´s a container from the fact that the rune on the top and bottom are identical.”

Harry accepted the paper, looking down at it with a frown. “And the runes on the sides?” he inquired.

“They specify when the cabinet becomes active, and when it stops working. This one worked from sunset until sunrise on the day the runes were drawn.”

He could se the Gryffindor nod through his lashes, seemingly lost in thought.

“And the one in the middle,” Harry asked after a minute of silence, tilting the paper towards Voldemort and pointing to the rather detailed rune in the middle.

At least the boy wasn´t stupid, Voldemort thought wryly. He seemed to be a quick study and eager to learn. He wondered for a moment what kind of grades the young man had acquired in his O.W.Ls and N.E.W.Ts.

“It grants access to a specific person, but it´s not possible to read who. The person would have to have carved the same rune into his skin and used the blood to draw these runes. The cabinet will then only allow the person with the right blood and the rune to use it.”

This was why temporary vanishing cabinets were illegal. It was considered blood magic, and of course all blood magic was considered dark in the eyes of the Ministry.

Harry seemed to deflate some at the last bit of info. “Great. I admit I had hoped it would be possible to track this guy further, but it doesn´t look like it.”

Voldemort debated a bit whether or not he should help him further, but found himself suggesting a course of action before his brain seemed to have made up it´s mind. “These kind of temporary vanishing cabinets are often used several times unless there are signs that the Aurors are on the trail. If you didn´t disturb anything at the warehouse your smuggler might use it again. It´s not easy to lock two places up against each other so that they can be used as a vanishing cabinet, it takes time, planning and it´s not your everyday spell work either.”

“Wouldn´t the smuggler notice wards being placed on the warehouse? And that the previous wards are taken down?”

The Dark Lord sighed; perhaps he had been a bit too quick to deem the boy intelligent. He stared down at his hands, trying to ignore the pain in his left.

“If you close the container and put the wards on the doors, so that you are alerted if they are opened, and then put back up the outer wards they should be none the wiser. Unless they check the container, which there would be no reason to do if the outer wards are intact. You know of to disable the outer wards now, so that shouldn´t take long and you might catch them in the act as the process of putting up the runes and the ritual and spellwork to activate the cabinets takes about an hour to finish.”

Harry smiled. “Thank you.”

Voldemort nodded. “You are welcome,” he managed to say even though the words seemed to stick in his mouth.

Business now out of the way, Voldemort expected Harry to get up and leave, hopefully not taking the blanket and the pillow with him. He knew the Warden would eventually take them away when he discovered them, but he would like to keep them as long as possible. Perhaps he could manage to convince the Warden to let him keep them if he played good.

Lost in thought he didn´t catch the fact that Harry had asked him something until the young man was snapping his fingers right in front of his face.

“Voldemort?”

He flinched and looked up, meeting the green eyes before lowering his eyes to the floor. Damn, he should have learned to pay attention by now.

“I´m sorry, My Lord,” he mumbled, wincing slightly at the ´my lord´. “I wasn´t paying attention.”

“I asked if you wanted to play a round of chess?”

Voldemort nodded before he even processed the question. He really wasn´t mentally up for a game, but anything was better than his own thoughts and memories at the moment.

A tickle in his throat made him cough as he watched Harry bring the chess set over from the table and set it up on the floor. Setting the pieces in their place and then sitting down on the stone floor with his legs crossed.

“White or black?”

Voldemort managed to stop coughing. “White.”

Harry turned the board so the white pieces were in front of the Dark Lord, and the black in front of himself.

“Your move,” he smiled.

Voldemort studied the board in front of him, considering strategies before settling on a Bird´s Opening move.

Chapter Text

Another round of coughing left him gasping for air and his chest felt like it had been trampled on by a herd of Hippogriffs the way it hurt. Even drawing in a breath felt like trying to swallow a hedgehog. He shivered at the same time as it felt like he was going to burn up. Merlin, how he missed the blanket and the pillow. The Warden had taken both away the same day he noticed them, proclaiming that Voldemort might get them back if he behaved. If he behaved, he thought annoyed. Like he was some sort of pet to be trained. Then again, they had managed to ´train´ him somewhat with the rules. Saints, he was tired.

He was half aware of someone leaning over him and a cool hand on his forehead before the darkness closed in and he allowed himself to drift off.

When he came to in a coughing fit he thought he was going to cough up a lung the way each cough raked through his body. Finally able to breath he suddenly felt something pressed against his lips and an order to swallow. Something warm slid down his throat, easing the soreness and leaving behind a distinct taste of ginger. It felt good, and he couldn´t remember the last time he had something to eat or drink that he had managed to keep down.

It had started as a simple cough that had developed into a worse one, and then his chest had started to ach, as well as his throat. His head and rest of his body was pounding and he kept switching between being too warm and too cold. The last day he had been coughing up blood as well.

Stanley had dismissed the coughing as nothing and continued on with the days as always, but that morning Voldemort hadn´t manage to get to his knees without keeling over and the coughing had been worse than ever. When Stanley had seen the blood on Voldemort´s palm he had left and Voldemort hadn´t seen him since.

Now someone was in the cell. More than one from what little Voldemort managed to gather around him. Trying to think was like trying to push through a heavy fog that wouldn´t yield. Deciding that he couldn´t be bothered to care he simply curled up on his side once the cup was taken away. Something cold and long was pushed into his mouth and he belatedly realized it was a thermometer. It was left there for a little while before it was removed.

“The fever is far too high!”

The voice sounded angry and pissed of, and familiar although Voldemort couldn´t place it. He blinked and tried to focus on the conversation that was taking place over him, but all he could see was black spots dancing in front of his eyes and a buzzing sound in his ears. He started coughing again and someone moved him up into a sitting position. A cold cloth or something was placed on his neck and a pair of arms supported him as he coughed into his hand. It was shaking by the time he removed it, and he saw that there was a fair amount of blood on it before someone used a cloth to wash his hand.

Breathing was hard as it felt like he was breathing through a straw. He couldn´t get enough air down and ended up heaving, panic setting in as he didn´t get enough to breath.

“Easy,” he heard a voice mutter beside his ear as something, a blanket he thought, was draped around him. “Lay down.” He was carefully placed back down on the floor, this time a pillow was placed under his head before he could feel the person standing up and moving a way. He wanted to ask what they were arguing about, but his mouth felt like cotton.

The darkness moved at the edge of his vision and as it moved inwards he allowed himself to be sucked under.

***

He woke slowly. His eyelids were heavy as stones and his body felt sluggish. He lifted his hand to rub at his eyes and was surprised at the feeling of a mattress underneath him and a duvet over him. Forcing his eyes up he was met with the sight of a white ceiling with a lamp in the middle. Confused he let his eyes fall down and was surprised to see he was in a bedroom.

Using his right hand he pushed himself up into a sitting position and looked around. He was in a double bed that was covered in a navy blue duvet and pillow. On each side there was a dark brown nightstand with lamps on, the type with a metal foot and a white top. One was on and he was surprised to notice it was running on electricity. Not many wizarding homes at electricity, they preferred candles or enchanted sources of light.

The floor was a dark brown wall-to-wall carpet that worked well with the cream coloured walls. There were two windows, one on each side of the bed. On the opposite wall there was a fireplace, a wardrobe and a dresser, with a mirror on top. A desk and chair, and an empty bookshelf were against the right wall along with a door, and on the left wall there was another door.

He assumed one led into a bathroom and one into a hallway. A green, gigantic plant was standing between the door and the desk and helped to give the room a more homely feel.

Two bottles of pills on the nightstand caught his attention and he reached out and picked one of them up. Doxycyclline 50mg. He frowned as he looked at the label. According to it a Doctor Percival had issued the pills to one Tom M. Riddle a week earlier. He looked at the name of the drug again. He thought it was an antibiotic if he remembered correctly. The instructions read one pill every 12 hours.

He picked up the second bottle. Apparently sleeping pills from the information on the label. These were also issued to one Tom M. Riddle a week earlier. Might explain why he felt a bit groggy.

Where in the world was he? It wasn´t a hospital, that much was clear. Nor was it Azkaban or the Ministry. It simply looked a guestroom in some house.

He wasn’t restrained in anyway but to his surprise he found that his left arm was in a cast from the elbow and down to his fingers. He tried to wiggle the fingers a little and was rewarded with a sharp pain that radiated up his arm. He hissed and made a mental note not to do that again.

A quick inventory told him that he was mostly uninjured and that most of his previous injuries had nearly healed. His back felt better than it had in ages, and his ribs were wrapped in bandages under the t-skirt he was wearing. Pulling one of his legs up to his chest he noticed that they were wrapped in bandages and as he swung his legs out from the bed and carefully tried to stand he found that he could actually stand on his own. He couldn´t help but smile as he took a couple of careful steps. How long had it been since he had been standing and walking on his own? He could feel the lack of muscles in his legs, but the feeling of being able to move around was giving him a real thrill. He stumbled and probably looked like a new-born colt trying to walk for the first time, but he didn´t care.

Slowly he made his way over to the window and looked out. He was staring out into a street and a park that was across from the house. On the ground he could see muggles and cars moving back and forth in the snow that was falling quietly, painting the world white once more.

Curious he tried to open the window and it swung open easily, letting in the cold air and the smell of winter. He took a deep breath as he breathed in fresh air for the first time in years. The smell was wonderful and the feeling of air against his face even more so. For a moment he just stood there enjoying the feeling of peace and the fact that he seemed to have quit coughing and felt more or less in good form. A bit groggy, but that was nothing the fresh air couldn´t cure.

In the end the cold started to seep into his body and he shivered. Closing the window he made his way over to the fireplace. He stumbled slightly and had to put a hand on the dresser to support himself. A quick search made it clear the fireplace wasn´t connected to the Floo.

Opening the wardrobe he found some clothes, all in dark colours, same with the dresser. Unsure he looked between the two doors before choosing the one on the left side of the bed. It led, not surprisingly, to a bathroom. The room contained a toilet, a shower and a counter with sink and a mirror, all in a cream colour, with grey tiles on the walls and dark grey tiles on the floor. He looked at the shower. A hot shower would be heavenly. He hadn´t had one in several years. Normally Stanley brought him to a washroom, which more or less just was a room with a hose and a drain in the middle. He was normally chained kneeling up with his arms out to each side as Stanley used cold water to wash him down and then dry him with the coarsest towel imaginable.

Voldemort stared down at the cast on his arm and swore. He couldn´t take the cast into the shower. It would have to be covered with something and he had nothing to use.

Slowly he closed the door and headed for the one on the right side. He expected it to be locked. After all, who would be insane enough to leave him alone in a bedroom and not lock the door?

To his surprise the door was unlocked. The handled turning easily as he twisted it and pulled the door towards him. Frowning he stepped out onto the landing and glanced over the banister. A long elaborate stairwell led down to the ground floor four floors down. One the landing where he was standing there was one other door. He assumed it was another bedroom and ignored it.

Using the banister for support he slowly made his way down to the third floor. He noticed the elegant carvings of snakes that twisted and made up the banister. The walls where however mostly empty. No portraits or pictures. Just smooth cream coloured walls that was a contrast to the dark wooden stairs and banister. A couple of lamps that was mounted on the walls gave of a warm glow.

Reaching the third floor he was met with a hallway with several doors. One was opened enough for the light to shine out and soft music from what Voldemort assumed to be a radio could be heard. Glancing downwards towards the second and first floor, he decided to check the room on the third floor before going further down. Ideally he should probably bolt down the stairs and run for the exit, but in his condition and in this weather that would be just plain stupid.

Apparently whoever had bought him to the house had no intention of hurting him, at least not at the moment.

He stopped outside the door and peered in. It looked like a study of some kind. The music was playing a slow tune, by the sound of it Voldemort thought it was a wizarding radio. He was proven right when the music was interrupted by a voice reminding everyone to listen to the Minister speech later that night a 9 o´clock.

Slowly he reached out and pushed the door open, before walking in.

The study was small. There was a desk at the other end of the room, several bookcases along the left wall and windows against the right with bookcases in between. On the short wall to the right there was a large fireplace with a couch and two armchairs in front, a coffee table in the middle. The room was done in a light shade of wood, with brown walls and a darker brown wooden floor. Under the desk and the couch and armchairs there were identically looking carpets in a light brown colour.

The figure at the desk seemed to be engrossed in the paper he was writing on because he didn´t look up until one of the floorboards creaked as Voldemort stepped on it.

Green eyes looked up and smiled.

“Hey. You´re up.”

Voldemort couldn´t figure out what to say. Why was he in Harry Potter´s home? Was this some sort of new form for torture they had devised or something worse?

“How are you feeling?” Harry rose from the chair and came around the desk. He quickly approached and when he reached out a hand Voldemort instantly flinched back and dropped to his knees. He closed his eyes and swore. The reaction was so ingrained in him after all the years that he had reacted automatically. Harry probably wasn´t approaching to punish him for not kneeling, he most likely wanted checking for a fever or something. His thoughts was proven correctly as Harry simply put a hand on his forehead and looking pleased when it felt cool to the touch.

“I see the fever has broken. How´s the cough?”

Voldemort glanced up for a moment before focusing on his hands instead.

“Better,” he said, his throat feeling like sandpaper. Harry most have noticed because he went back to the desk and returned with a goblet in his hand. He held it out and not knowing if he should take it or not Voldemort ended up staring at it like he had never seen a goblet before. The rational part of his mind knew Harry wanted him to take the goblet and drink from it, but the more traumatized part of his brain kept reminding him of all the times he had tried to take a goblet from the Warden and all the painful ways the man had found to punish him for the act.

In the end Harry lifted the goblet to Voldemort´s lip and held it as the Dark Lord drank deeply. He tilted it so that Voldemort didn´t drink too much too fast, and took the goblet away once Voldemort indicated that he had enough. He swallowed the last of the water and cast a glance upwards.

“Thank you, My Lord.” The words came easy for some reason. Merlin, he was pathetic, he thought, closing his eyes. Three years of torture and abuse had managed to reduce him to an obedient pet. He hated himself in that moment, but he couldn´t find the will to stand back up either. The fear of what could happen kept him firmly grounded on his knees.

“Your welcome.” Harry sounded thoughtful.

Voldemort watched as Harry turned the nearest armchair around so that it was facing Voldemort and sat down. Pivoting on the spot Voldemort turned 45 degrees so that he was facing the Lord of the House. He assumed Harry was going to give him some sort of explanation on why he was currently in what he assumed was Harry´s house and not in Azkaban.

Again the thought about standing and sitting down in the other armchair occurred to him, but again the fear kept him from acting. He assumed Harry would have invited him to stand if he wanted Voldemort off his knees.

He sighed soundless. Well, apparently Harry appreciated his new, forced, manners. That was fine. He was long beyond caring about any humiliation the boy could put him through anyway. If it would keep the Gryffindor happy and away from any thoughts about horcrux hunting and Voldemort from being in pain, he would happily oblige.

“This is Grimmauld Place nr. 12. It belonged to the Black family and I inherited it when Sirius died at the Ministry several years ago. I have to admit it took a couple of years to actually make this place liveable. Took forever to get the old portraits out, not to mention all the cursed objects they had stored around. Anyway,” Harry waved a hand to dismiss the train of thought.

“It seems like waterboarding isn´t good for ones health. You developed bronchitis and pneumonia. Not to mention your fever was skyrocketing and you had trouble breathing. Because of the collar a magical healer was out of the question. Taking of the collar was also out of the question. In the end I got a special dispensation from the Wizengamot and the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to take you to a muggle doctor.”

What? Voldemort assumed he looked about as confused as he felt. Well, that explained the pills.

Harry smiled. “Yeah, I know. Not something you would approve of, but you were in such a bad condition we really didn´t have much of a choice. Seeing as the Warden isn´t one to be trusted with your health I also got permission to bring you here. Just to mention it before you get any stupid ideas about running, the house is warded and the collar is fixed with a perimeter spell, which will choke you if you try to step outside this house. The Floo is disconnected and there are no vanishing cabinets in this house. The dispensation lasts until your fever breaks and you can be returned to Azkaban, which would be now then.”

The thought of returning to that hellhole of a place made his pulse racing. He opened his mouth, but had no idea what to say. Please don’t send me back? No, he hadn´t fallen so far that he was going to beg Potter to let him stay. And on what grounds should the argument be made that he should be allowed to stay? He was a convicted criminal who was serving a lifetime sentence.

He settled for nodding. The thoughts running around in his head like a herd of wild horses.

“Why?” he finally asked.

Harry looked confused. “Why what?”

“Why did you help?”

“You were sick. The fever might have broken on it´s own, but it could also have killed the vessel your currently in, and since I don´t know how the horcruxes work exactly, I wasn’t going to risk you being turned into a wraith again or what ever happened last time. I would prefer for you to be able to continue to help me with my case.”

Purely selfish reasons then. Voldemort could accept that. He looked down at his hands and the cast. Harry seemed to notice because he continued.

“Ah, yes. The doctor took care of some of your other injuries. The arm had to be broken and set correctly before the cast could be fitted. Your back was in a horrible state of infections and open wounds. That´s mostly healed somewhat. The soles of your feet will need a little longer, but as long as the bandages stay on you should be able to stand on your own. You have two broken ribs on your right side and two cracked, as well as three bruised on the left side. The bandage around you middle should help keep them in place as they heal. The various bruises on your hips, neck and arms will fade in time. Your ankle was in a bad shape, but only sprained and has mostly healed on it´s own by now. We have kept you more or less asleep for a week only waking you to get you to eat and drink. You were hardly lucid during any of it so I don´t expect you to remember.”

Perfect. He was as good as new and in good shape to be tortured all over again. The Warden would be so pleased, so would the guards.

“I´m assuming you might be hungry?”

What, a last meal before he was ushered back to Azkaban? Nevertheless he wasn´t exactly fed regularly in Azkaban so he should take the chance to eat when he could. Still the question made his mind jump back to all the previous times the Warden had asked that same question.

Are you hungry, pet?

Would you like to eat today?

I assume you want to eat?

The voice sounded so real at Voldemort for a moment thought the Warden was in the house and felt himself freeze. The blood was pounding in his ears, and his vision blackened. He remembered the rules however and nodded. “Yes, My Lord.”

Well, you know the price, pet. The voice was teasing as the man leaned back in his chair, opening his legs. Voldemort closed his eyes. Of course, the bloody price for the food was always the same. Get the man off and he got to eat. Refuse and he would not eat that day and Stanley would beat him into submission for disobeying. Damned if you do, damned if you don´t as the muggle proverb went.

He shuffled forward and put a hand on the mans´ knees pushing his legs apart. As he settled between the legs he heard a sharp intake of breath somewhere over him. Strange, his mind thought. He couldn´t remember the Warden ever being anything other than eager. Unsure about the unusual situation he reached for the belt with his good hand, wondering slightly how he was going to get it open with just one hand.

Before he could ponder on the problem a hand grasped his wrist, stopping him. A hand lifted his chin and through the blood pounding in his ears he could hear a voice that was distinctly not the Wardens.

“-mort? Tom?”

The sound of his given name made him slam back into reality. Everything shifted into focus and he found himself kneeling before Harry, his wrist held in the younger man´s grasp and Harry´s other hand was under his chin lifting it. He blinked and tried to make sense of the situation.

“Hey, you with me, Tom?”

He wanted to snap and tell Potter his name wasn´t Tom, but he couldn´t find the words. Instead he just nodded slowly. His thoughts felt like a jumbled mess. He closed his eyes and felt the whole world tilt slightly and himself falling against something solid.

“Easy,” he heard a voice over him and a hand was pushed through his hair. “Perhaps we should get you back into bed.” 

Voldemort just kept his eyes closed and waited for the vertigo to tilt into a normal position. He opened his eyes again and stared into the fireplace. He was still sitting between Harry´s legs, this time leaning against his right thigh. His body was shaking slightly and for a moment he wondered what was wrong with him. He wasn´t used to having so little control over himself. He would have been embarrassed if it hadn´t been for everything he had been through over the last couple of years.

A flashback he realised. Harry´s words had brought forward a flashback and his mind had thought he was back in Azkaban and with the Warden, instead of in Harry´s house with Harry asking him if he wanted something to eat.

Harry was still pushing his hand through his hair and muttering nonsense. It was comforting in a way he didn´t want to identify. His breathing slowed, as did his pulse. The world came back into focus and he looked up and met the green eyes over him.

“Hey,” Harry smiled. “Back with me?”

Voldemort swallowed and nodded. Looking down he saw that Harry was still holding his wrist. He tugged slightly and the younger man let go and allowed Voldemort to pull his hand to his chest.

“I take it you had a flashback?”

He nodded again. “I´m sorry, My Lord,” he muttered, dragging a hand over his face and trying to figure out what to do.

“Do you want to go back to bed?”

“Thought you were returning med to Azkaban, My Lord?” he croaked, his voice cracking at the end.

The silence was answer enough.

He sighed. Better just get it over with and go back. “Just take me back. It won´t get any better if I go back now or after a meal.” Behind him Harry rose from the chair, leaving Voldemort on the ground, trying to compose himself enough to stand without falling down. At the moment he wasn´t sure if his legs would hold him.

“Actually, I had planed to show you this after you ate, but perhaps you should take a look at it first.” Harry walked towards his desk and picked up something. As he turned around he called out. “Kreacher.”

A pop later and an old house elf appeared in the middle of the room. It looked vaguely familiar but Voldemort couldn´t place it. Harry quickly asked him to bring up food and water and after bowing the creature disappeared.

“Here.” Harry sat back down in the chair and handed Voldemort a sealed envelope.

Confused he looked at the wax seal on the back that bore the seal of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement before turning it over. The front only said Tom M. Riddle.

“Go on.” Harry looked strangely pleased.

He broke the seal and opened the letter, quickly scanning the content. After reading the letter once he looked up at Harry before reading it once more, this time more closely. Somewhere in the middle of the letter the house elf returned with a tray with food and water that was placed on the coffee table. Voldemort hardly noticed, he was too engrossed in the letter.

Chapter Text

Harry watched from the armchair as Voldemort read through the letter once, then once more. His forehead wrinkled in what Harry assumed was confusion. Harry didn´t know what the exact wording in the letter was, but he knew some of what it contained. The question was how Voldemort would react to it. At the moment it seemed like the content didn´t quite register with the dark haired man. He was staring at the letter as if he had forgotten how to read.

Kreacher appeared with a tray of food and a bowl of porridge that was sprinkled with brown sugar and small pieces of fruit. He put it on the coffee table beside Harry´s chair and poured him a cup of tea, before disappearing with out a sound when Harry had thanked him. Voldemort didn´t seem to notice.

He blew on his tea a couple of times before carefully taking a sip from the cup. Ginger. Not his favourite, but it would be good for the sick ex Dark Lord on the floor. Ginger would help to clean up the airways and help ease the breathing when one was sick. Kreacher had made it just on the wrong side of strong for Harry´s taste, but he swallowed it down anyway. Looking up over the cup he noticed that Voldemort was no longer staring at the letter, but out into the room. He was still close enough that his clothes brushed against Harry´s right leg if he moved it slightly.

Voldemort looked better at least. A lot better than when Harry had found him in his cell with a fever of a 104 ^OF. The doctor had assumed the fever would break around now and it was a relief to see that the man apparently knew what he was talking about. As soon as Voldemort was completely recovered he would need to Oblivate the man unfortunately, but he would be left with a pretty handsome amount of money that good doctor would think he had won at lottery. It hadn´t been that easy to find a doctor that wouldn´t report Harry to the police after seeing the state of Voldemort.

Harry had considered just removing the collar, but the risk was too great that Voldemort would be well enough to actually use his magic before they managed to get it back on. And then there was the potential of accidental magic since the magic in him had been supressed for three years, more if one counted the time between the battle and the trial.

Luckily he had found a down on his luck doctor with a small practise at the outskirt of London who didn´t mind making a house call and keep questions to himself.

After taking another sip of the cup he placed it down on the tray and picked up the bowl of porridge and the spoon. He considered trying to get Voldemort to eat the meal by himself, but after his reaction to the question about food Harry wasn´t so sure it would be the best idea.

Three years of torture and conditioning was bound to have set a mark on the previous Dark Lord as Harry had experienced several times over the last weeks when he had visited Azkaban, and this evening. He had considered trying to get Voldemort back up on his feet when he first knelt that evening, but he figured that it would be simpler to let him act as he would normally instead of trying to force new rules through his head at that moment.

He also had to admit it was somewhat of a turn on to have Tom Riddle on his knees for once, obedient and quiet. He remembered the graveyard. How Voldemort had taunted him, made him bow before torturing him. For a moment anger flared in his mind, but he pushed it away. The anger wouldn´t help, and torturing Voldemort more wouldn´t do any good either. That didn´t mean he couldn´t let the man show a bit of humility.

“Tom,” Harry said, using his given name to be sure he gained his attention. He filled the spoon with porridge and held it out. Voldemort seemed to come back to himself and turned his head slightly, accepting the spoon without looking at what he was eating. He swallowed and looked slightly eager for more, which Harry took as a good sign. It wasn´t much he had gotten Voldemort to eat the last week and he had lost even more weight.

After a couple of more spoonful’s Harry held out the cup of tea after checking with the back of his hand over it that it wasn´t too warm to drink. Voldemort grimaced slightly at the strong taste of ginger, but didn´t comment.

“I know,” Harry laughed. “Kreacher did go a bit overboard with the ginger, but it should help with your breathing.”

Voldemort didn´t look too convinced. He still had the letter in his right and, and kept glancing down at it as if he thought it would suddenly combust and disappear. He was sitting on his side, his left arm curled in his lap. The white cast clearly visible.

The arm had actually required surgery to get the bones set correctly. Whoever that had broken it had done a good job, and when it hadn´t been healed it had set the wrong way, making the arm useless. Fortunately Harry managed to find an alcoholised surgeon who also needed money and they smuggled Voldemort into one of the small local hospitals late one night. Harry oblivated the guards and nurses, as well as the surgeon. That bit had taken a bit of convincing to get the Ministry to agree with. The Head of the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes had not been pleased, but had relented after the Minister himself had called him to his office for a meeting.

He managed to get Voldemort to eat a couple of more spoons before he became clear that he couldn´t get down more of the food. Harry glanced into the bowl and was pleased to see that at least 2/3 of the food was gone. It was more than he thought the man would eat.

Voldemort had gone back to looking at the letter and Harry ate one of the sandwiches Kreacher had made for him with ham and cheese.

“Well?” he inquired after a couple of bites.

Voldemort moved slightly, looking uncomfortable. He looked up for a moment, brown eyes looking into Harry´s green ones - they seemed to be searching for something.

“If you don´t want to consider it at all, that´s fine and I´ll return you to Azkaban tomorrow morning. If you want to consider it, then I´ll set a meeting tomorrow morning.” He finished the sandwich and called for Kreacher to come and clear away the tray.

He couldn´t help wonder what was going through the other man´s head at that moment. Confusion sure. Uncertainty perhaps. Well, this wasn´t a decision Harry could make for him.

After a long silence Voldemort finally spoke. “I will take the meeting.”

Harry smiled. “Great. I´ll send them an owl straight away.” He jumped to his feet and made his way over to the desk, sitting down and finding a blank sheet of paper and a quill. He did prefer a muggle ballpoint pen for his own notes, but to avoid confusing the wizards and witches he used a quill for correspondences. He looked up as he wrote and noticed Voldemort had moved so that he was in front of the fireplace. He had his legs drawn up to his chest, arms resting on top of his knees. He stared into the flames and seemed to be lost in his own thoughts.

Pulling out his wand Harry levitated one of the wool blankets that were sitting on one of the shelves in the bookcase closest to the windows. He let it land more or less on top of Voldemort, who seemed to startle as the fabric landed on him. Harry watched as he pulled it around himself and almost over his head. He cast a warming charm on the blanket as well before returning to his letter.

When finished he went downstairs to try and locate his owl. After Hedwige he purchased a black and brown barn owl by the name of Vince. He wasn´t nearly as special as Hedwige had been, but Vince was reliable and good at his job. He normally preferred to hang out in the drawing room on the first floor where he could look out the window from his place in one of the corners.

When Harry entered he saw that the owl was sleeping, nothing unusual at that time of day. He gently coaxed it awake and asked it to take the letter to the Ministry. After giving him a treat he opened the window and watched as Vince disappeared into the sunset. Closing the window he returned back up on the third floor and his study.

Looking at Voldemort as he entered he saw that the man had fallen asleep against the armchair. He was probably exhausted, Harry thought. He went over and carefully tried to wake him.

“Tom,” he called, slowly reaching out to touch his shoulder. He knew the man hated the name, but it was getting difficult to think of him as Voldemort, when he looked like Tom Riddle, and if this was going to work he couldn´t keep calling him Voldemort either.

Voldemort´s eyes flew open and as expected he flinched back from the hand on his shoulder, a panicked expression blooming on his face once he realized he had flinched away from the touch. Brown eyes watched him carefully. Probably waiting for some sort of reprimand, Harry thought.

“Come. You are exhausted and you´ll sleep better in a bedroom.”

The brown eyes were still wary, but Voldemort-Tom nodded his head and managed to get to his feet without assistance. For a moment Harry thought he was going to fall back down, but he only swayed for a couple of seconds before moving to follow Harry back up to the fourth floor.

The door to the guest bedroom was open and Harry gestured for Tom to enter before following him inside. He noticed the look Tom gave the bathroom door and a thought occurred to him. Tom had probably not had a decent shower during time he had spent in Azkaban. Harry couldn´t see weekly, warm showers as something being offered by the Warden or the guards.

“You want to take a warm shower before bed?” He asked.

Tom looked like he had been given a trick question and Harry sighed.

“I´m not trying to trick you.” This was getting old. “I´ll put a water repellent charm on the cast and you should be fine. There are shampoo and conditioner in the shower along with soap. Towels are under the counter. I assume you remember how to change the setting on the water? You´ll have to remove the bandages around your middle and feet.”

He walked over to the dresser and pulled out a fresh set of clothes and underwear that he handed to Tom. He lifted his wand and quickly muttered, “Impervius”, tapping his wand against the cast. That done he then placed a hand on the small of Tom´s back and more or less shoved him into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

For a moment he thought Tom wouldn´t do anything, but after a couple of minutes he heard the shower turn on and sighed. Good. He sat down on the bed and buried his head in his hand. Why had he gotten involved again? It would have been better if he never had visited Azkaban that day. Then he would have been happily ignorant of everything. Instead he had a traumatized ex Dark Lord in his house who looked like he was expecting Harry to either hurt him or abuse him most of the time.

Suddenly tired he let himself fall backwards onto the bed and closed his eyes. He really was a bloody fool with a saviour complex.

Neville, Draco, Ron and Hermione were going to give him hell for this. Of all the stupid ideas he had managed to come up with, this absolutely had to be the worst. They didn´t know anything yet, though. As far as they knew he had been home sick for a week with the flue. The flue wasn´t serious, but it was enough to keep them from trying to visit, especially Hermione who was three months pregnant. He had talked to them over the Floo however, assuring them that he was fine and that Kreacher was looking after him. He had to fake a cough and sniffles, but as far as he knew they had bought the act.

Telling them he was home nursing Voldemort back to health would probably not have gone over as well. They would most likely have brought him to St. Mungo’s before he could open his mouth to explain.

A pop announced the arrival of Kreacher who bowed and held out a letter. Apparently Vance had returned. Harry thanked him and broke the seal on the letter folding it out. He smiled. Good, they had a meeting at 10 o´clock the next morning at the Ministry. The letter was signed Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister of Magic.

He needed to find a winter cloak for Tom to wear. It was freezing outside with the temperature dropping to 5^OF. And shoes, and some warm clothes. Harry frowned. Getting up from the bed he returned to his own bedroom next door and pulled out some clothes he thought would fit the dark wizard. It didn´t matter if they weren´t Tom´s exact size, he could use magic to make them fit. Returning to the guest bedroom he put the clothes on the desk.

Casting a quick Incendio spell at the fireplace he watched as the flames took hold of the wood and started to burn. He sat back on the bed and twirled his wand between his fingers.

The shower was still running and Harry assumed Tom was enjoying his first warm shower in three and a half year. It took a good while before he could hear the water getting turned off. A little while later the door opened and Tom emerged. He seemed to hesitate before coming into the room and before Harry could open his mouth to tell him to get into bed he had knelt down. Great, absolutely fabulous. Harry sighed. He rose from the bed and made a gestured towards it with his hand.

“Come on, get into bed. We have a meeting at the Ministry at 10 o´clock and you look like you need a good nights sleep.” He waited as Tom slowly crawled under the covers.

Was it his imagination or was Tom actually getting more and more submissive and obedient? He would have thought it to be the other way around. Harry had more or less expected Tom to jump back into his arrogant, annoying self once he realized he was out of the Wardens grasp. Apparently he had been gravely mistaken.

Instead of pondering on the question he went over to the nightstand and took a pill from each of the boxes. He handed them to Tom before walking into the bathroom and filling a glass with water that he handed to Tom when he came back. Tom swallowed the pills without commenting and placed the glass on the nightstand before curling up on his side and closing his eyes.

“Sleep well,” Harry said before flipping the switch to turn of the light on his way out. He closed the door and wondered for a moment if he should lock it, but decided against it. His own room was heavily warded and the charm on the collar would make it impossible for Tom to enter without permission.

***

Harry wasn´t sure what Tom was feeling once they arrived at the Atrium on level 8 at the Ministry of Magic. Tom hadn´t been there for years as far as Harry knew. At his trial he had been taken directly from one of the holding cells at the Ministry and to Courtroom ten on level 10, just below the Department of Mystery. It was the same courtroom they would be going to this time, but the whole of Wizengamot wouldn´t be in session.

They came out from one of the fireplaces furthest down on the left side. Tom stumbled a bit, mostly due to the fact that he wasn´t used to standing on his feet for longer period of times. He was dressed in a black winter cloak, grey scarf and grey gloves and looked like any other visitor to the Ministry. The collar was hidden beneath his scarf and since the papers had never printed a picture of his new looks, at least not as far as Harry knew, there was no reason to fear that he would be recognized.

He had warned Tom against doing anything stupid while they were outside, and reminded him that the proximity spell was still active. Tom had simply nodded without saying anything and Harry got the distinct feeling Tom was looking forward to getting out into fresh air, even if they were only going to the Ministry.

The floor sparkled in polished dark wood as they passed between the people moving back and forth. Tom drew his fair amount of looks too, but Harry knew that was because of his handsome looks, and not because someone suspected Lord Voldemort to be strolling through the Atrium along side the Saviour of the Wizarding World.

They moved past the Fountain of Magical Brethren that was standing halfway down the room. It had been restored after the final battle, having been completely destroyed by Voldemort during the duel in Harry´s fifth year. He could see Tom looking at the fountain with an unreadable expression as they went past it.

Eric Munch was sitting at the security stand as usual. He had worked at the Ministry for most of his life and was responsible for registering the wands of every visitor who arrived at the Ministry as well as issuing Visitor’s passes. He glanced up as Harry approached him and smiled.

“Harry! How are you doing mate?”

“Well, thank you, and you? How are the kids?”

Eric beamed and started telling him about his oldest daughter who had just gotten her third child, a girl, which was doing just fine. Harry nodded as he spoke and regretted asking. As the tale came to an end he nodded and smiled at the appropriate places. Tom looked to have lost interest in the conversation a long time ago and was quietly studying the people walking back and forth. Harry assumed this was the first time Tom had been out in public looking like himself.

“But, I´m wasting your time, Harry. You and your – friend, have an appointment at 10 o´clock if I remember correctly? If you could just hand over your wand for registration, Mr. Riddle, then you can get going.” Eric smiled at Tom.

Harry had to bit the inside of his chin before he burst out laughing at the surprised look on Tom´s face upon being addressed as Mr. Riddle. It took a couple of seconds before Tom seemingly understood that Eric was waiting for a response.

“I don´t have one with me,” Tom finally said, glancing over at Harry.

“Oh, of course. That´s fine. I´ll just need a drop of your blood then to verify your identity.”

It wasn´t until the three drops of blood hit the paper that it suddenly dawned on Harry how much of a bad idea that had been. For a fleeting moment he expected the security alarm to go off and for the Aurors to come storming from all sides ready to apprehend the Dark Lord Voldemort. But, to his surprise, nothing happened. Craning his neck slightly he saw that the blood had spread out over the paper identifying Tom as Tom Marvolo Riddle, born 31th of Decemeber 1926. He could see Eric frown a bit at the birthdate looking between the paper and Tom, before apparently dismissing the whole thing as a filing error.

“Great! Here.” He handed over a white card with red letters that showed a large V in the middle and the words Visiting pass underneath. Tom clipped it to his cloak and Eric waved them past the golden gates. The gates automatically recognized Harry as an employee of the Ministry and let them both pass with out problem.

“Where are we going?” Tom asked as they entered the elevator.

“Courtroom ten on level ten, but we have to take the stairs from level 9 as the elevator doesn´t go down to level 10,” Harry explained, pushing the button for level 9. The elevator doors closed and they were yanked backwards and the downwards. It didn´t take many seconds for them to arrive at level 9.

“Level 9 – The Department of Mysteries,” the voice announced as the door opened and they stepped out into the dark corridor.

“This way,” Harry nodded and walked down the hallway. He pushed open the door on the left side of the one that led to the Department of Mysteries. They moved down the stairs and came into the long corridor that opened up into courtroom ten.

Up ahead they could hear two voices talking and Harry could see Tom tense slightly from the corner of his eyes. The last time Tom had been in courtroom ten had been his trial. A trial, which had been rather swift, as Tom had refused a lawyer and the evidence against him, was overwhelming. Harry hadn´t attended. He saw no reason to. He had done what everyone had expected of him and defeated the man in a duel. The rest was of no interest to him. He had hoped at that time that the battle had been the last time he had seen Voldemort, but fate didn´t seem to want it like that.

They entered the open floor of the courtroom and were greeted by two wizards. One was the Minister himself, Kingsley Shacklebolt. The other was an older man, who looked to be about Dumbledore’s age. Harry recognized him as Marcus Sommerseth, the current Chief Warlock who was also the Head of the Department for Magical Law Enforcement and had been the one to lead Tom´s trial.

Kingsley smiled and came forward to shake Harry´s hand. He gave Tom a nod but didn´t hold out his hand. Tom gave an incline of his head and muttered a polite “Minister”.

Marcus came also shook Harry´s hand before turning towards Tom.

“Hello, Mr. Riddle.”

“Your Honour,” Tom replied, looking tense and somewhat uncomfortable.

Not sure how this was supposed to unfold, Harry leaned against one of the walls and waited to see if either of the two men in front of him would take the lead.

“Well, we know why we are here and I assume, seeing as you are her Mr. Riddle, that you might be interested?” Sommerseth crossed his arms over his chest. “But, before we go into the details I would like a word alone with Mr. Riddle.” He looked from Kingsley to Harry. “Gentlemen, if you would please wait in hallway.”

Somewhat surprised Harry and Kingsley shared a look before moving down the corridor and into the stairwell, shutting the door behind them.

***

Marcus looked at the twenty-something looking youth in front of him, and had to remind himself yet again that this actually was the Dark Lord. The boy in front of him looked like nothing more than another Hogwart´s student that had come to the Ministry to apply for a job or to take a meeting.

“It´s been a couple of years, Mr. Riddle.” He smiled gently at the boy noting the tense shoulders and the eyes that didn´t seem to leave the floor. Well, something had changed at least.

“Yes, sir.”

Marcus nodded. “We have questioned Warden Andrews and the Auror Stanley and found Lord Potter´s claims to be true. Although an apology from the Ministry won´t do much good, I still want to express that this kind of behaviour from Aurors guarding the prisoners at Azkaban is not tolerated, not matter the crimes they might have committed.” He had been astonished to learn how the guards and the Warden had threated one of the prisoners in their care, and had promptly dismissed every one of them, and they were currently awaiting trial for their crimes.

That got a reaction. Riddle looked up, seemingly surprised, before he managed to school his features into a neutral mask. He simply nodded.

“We have appointed a new Warden and replaced several of the guards. Unfortunately I can´t guarantee that similar crimes won´t happen again during your imprisonment, as you are well aware your crimes against our society are sever and by all rights you should have been executed.”

He could see Riddle pale slightly at that statement, but it was true. The sentence he had passed had been one of execution, but after being informed by Lord Potter about the horcruxes it had been overturned for one of life in prison. They had talked about hunting down the horcruxes, but as Voldemort seemed to be safe and sound in Azkaban they had not bother too much with the search.

“Alas, Lord Potter informs me you have been great help on one of his cases. Before we proceed I´m bound by law to inform you of your right to have a lawyer present in these proceedings if you want. It that something you want?”

“No, sir.”

Good, Marcus thought. That would speed things up. The boy was intelligent enough anyway to hold his own. Marcus could still remember the copies of the results from the O.W.Ls and N.E.W.Ts that had been a part of the documents during the trial. To this date no one had come close to beating Riddle´s scores.

“Well, let´s begin.” Marcus waved his wand and a blue quill and a parchment rose from the banister between the open courtroom and the rows of seats along the wall. He also made a gesture towards the chair in the middle of the room, indicating that Riddle were to sit. The quill darted back and fort for a moment before it started to scribble. After a minute or so it stopped and peered over the top of the parchment. The black dots in the blue feathers almost made it look like it had eyes.

“This is an official hearing to consider changing the verdict permanently or temporary for one Tom Marvolo Riddle after a petition from Lord Harry James Potter, with the support of The Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt.

Mr. Riddle was on October the 4^th 1998 sentenced to be executed, a verdict that was changed on October the 10^th to a life sentence in Azkaban with his magic bound. The honourable judge and Chief Warlock Marcus Sommerseth is preceding.

According to the Wizarding Penal Code taken into effect on the 3^rd of March 1780 the Chief Warlock can alter a verdict if the reasons behind the petition give grounds. In this case Mr. Riddle has suffered abuse at the hands of the Aurors set to guard him at Azkaban, this in direct contradiction with the Fair treatment of Prisoners Code.

The verdict cannot be changed if the convicted himself refuses. Therefore, I ask, Mr. Riddle, are you here willingly and of your own free will to follow these proceedings with hopes that they will lead to a change in your verdict as described in the court documents you have been given before these proceedings began?”

Marcus stopped and waited for Riddle to answer. He couldn´t do anything unless the boy actually wanted him to, no matter how insistent Lord Potter had been.

“Yes, I am, Your Honour.”

“And you have the right to have a lawyer present for these proceedings, to represent your interest. Do you wave your right to have an attorney present?”

“Yes, Your Honour.”

Marcus nodded. Good.

“Lord Potter has petitioned that you be released on a temporary rehabilitation program working with the Aurors for a year. If this arrangement seems to be beneficial for everyone involved, the contract can be extended with five years the first time, then for 10 years at the time. Should you at anytime want to terminate the contract you can do so, which will result in your original verdict of life in prison will take effect and you will be transported to Azkaban or another prison specified by the Ministry of Magic. You will be in Lord Potters care for the duration of the rehabilitation program. Do you have something to add regarding the petition?”

Riddle shook his head. Marcus nodded and signalled that the quill was to stop writing for the moment. Instead he walked down the corridor and told Lord Potter and the Minister they could come back. He was ready to rule on the petition.

Once they were back he nodded to the quill, which promptly started to write again.

“I have heard the petition set forth by Lord Potter, with the backing of the Minister of Magic. After deliberation I find that I cannot accept the petition as it has been set forth.

Out of the corner of his eyes he could see the disappointment on Lord Potters face.

“However, it is the Wizengamot’s right to make a new suggestion for an alternative verdict that the convicted can choose to accept or decline.” Three sets for eyes were watching him closely now.

“Mr. Riddle, you have been convicted for treason against the British Wizarding World, for murder and torture of both witches, wizards and muggles. For the full list I here refer to the court documents of case 98/35187-CR. I cannot in good faith simply let you go free on a work release program, even if it is to help our Aurors. The public expects the Ministry to uphold the law and to let a convicted mass murder simply off with something akin to community service is just not possible. I do however recognize that you have been ill treated by our government, for which we are at fault. However the severity of your crimes cannot be overlooked.

I am willing however to respect the right of Conquest should Lord Potter make such a claim. In which case I´ll accept that you are stripped of name and citizenship in the magical world and turned over to Lord Potter as his property to work for him in any way he sees fit to make up for your crimes. If Lord Potter then wishes to let you accompany him at work and that is all right with the Department Head, then the court will have no objections as long as the Code of Conquest and the Code of Indenture Slaves are followed.

If Lord Potter decides not to claim his right, or you decline to accept, you will be returned to Azkaban as soon as these proceedings are over.”

Lord Potter looked like question mark. Riddle on the other hand looked like someone had suddenly poured a bucket of ice cold water over his head. The only one not affected was Kingsley as the two of them had discussed this outcome before Lord Potter had arrived with Riddle in tow.

“Lord Potter?” He inquired.                                                   

Chapter Text

Azkaban really hadn´t changed over the years, Harry thought as he followed an Auror he didn´t know thorough the stone corridors of the triangular shaped building. Or, one thing had changed. The Dementors were no longer guarding the prison. The first thing Kinglsey had done as Minister had been to terminate the contract with the Dementor Lord, who hadn´t been too happy about it. Free access to souls of the prisoners had been a sweet deal for a race of creatures that thrived on the happy memories of poor humans. Not so ideal for the prisoners, seeing as they normally went completely mental after a year or two. Fine and all if they were serving lifetime sentences, but a bit more impractical for those who were supposed to return to the society after serving out their time.

Harry wasn´t sure exactly where the Dementors had relocated to, and Kingsley had been rather tight-lipped about it, but from the gossip Harry had heard around the office it seemed like the Dementor Lord had gotten a similar deal with the Chinese Ministry of Magic, as they enjoyed with the British. If that was true, then Harry was more than happy. Better to have the foul creatures half way around the globe, than just outside the Isle.

They reached the correct cell and the Auror murmured a quick unlocking spell, and opened the door for Harry. “I´ll be just outside.”

This one was apparently new, Harry thought. Normally the guards didn´t bother with escorting him to the cell, or waiting outside. Well, he assumed this one was just following protocol. He thanked him and entered.

The cell looked exactly like last time, with the exception that the hay had been removed and someone had put in a cot with blankets and pillows. Other than that it looked the same with the wobbly table and the chair that apparently still was alive. Harry was starting to wonder if it wouldn´t be better to either repair it or put it out of it´s misery. At the moment it was kind of neither here nor there and it was like playing Russian roulette every time you sat down on it.

Dismissing the thoughts about the chair, Harry´s eyes landed on the kneeling figure in front of the bed. He sighed. Still kneeling then it seemed. He debated trying to explain to the dark haired youth that he wasn’t expected to kneel, but thought better of it. One, Tom looked very good on his knees (Harry hated to admit it, even to himself), and two, it didn´t hurt Tom to show some humility. A therapist would probably disagree with that logic, but Harry wasn´t planning on asking one.

The low voice was soft and familiar. “My Lord.”

“Tom,” Harry greeted, eying the chair with suspicion before slowly sitting on it. For a moment both he and Tom seemed to be holding their breath waiting to see if it would hold up for another day.

Apparently it would, Harry thought, placing his wand and a folder on the table. Looking up he saw Tom slowly change position so that he was no sitting with his back against the frame of the cot. Still staying on the floor then. He did how ever look much better. There was a fresh bruise on his right cheek, but other than that he seemed unmarked and his movements didn´t suggest that there was any damaged under the clothes.

He noticed a tray on the cot with an empty plate on it and goblet. On the floor there was a jug that Harry hadn´t seen right away as it was almost the same colour as the floor, and was partly hidden behind the corner of the cot. Apparently he had eaten. That was good. It seemed like the Minister had managed to clear up the corruption and problems among the employees then.

Tom was fidgeting with the cast on his arm, using his right to pick at the end of it, fingers scraping along the top as if he was trying to pull of one of the layers. Eyes firmly fixed on his fingers. The cast would stay on for 4 more weeks according to the doctor. Ideally they should then get an x-ray to se how it was progressing and decide whether or not to take the cast of. Then he would need some physiotherapy to build up the strength in his arm again. Harry wasn´t completely sure how that was going to be accomplished, especially since the patient in question was severing a lifetime sentence in a prison in the magical world.

The silence stretched out for a few more seconds, both Harry and Tom wondering which of them would be the first to speak.

“Why did you say no?”

***

The shadows danced in the light as the sun slowly sank down behind the horizon, signalling the end of another winter day. As the sun disappeared so did the shadows as they flickered once more before fading from existent, only a few stayed, wavering in the light from the streetlights in Diagon Alley.

One shadow stood out as it moved along side the buildings, keeping to the darkness just outside the reach of the streetlights. The hour wasn´t late. There were plenty of wizards and witches of all ages out in the streets. Looking in the windows, buying food and drink from the street carts and generally just enjoying the beautiful winter evening. Christmas was approaching, as was Yule. Some celebrated Yule, mostly the purebloods as it was a tradition they had grown up with. The halfbloods and muggleborns seemed to prefer Christmas as the muggle tradition was stronger in those families. Some mixed the two together and made something new.

The moving shadowed sneered under his hood. Mixing them together was as close to blasphemy one could get. Yule was an old tradition, kept intact by those who knew how. Christmas was something Christianity had made up to try and incorporate old traditions with the Christian ones, to make the transition from believing in heathen gods to God and Jesus easier. They even managed to proclaim that the son of God was born on Christmas Eve. Quite a feat considering the man wasn’t born at all that month. Muggles seemed to believe everything you told them if you just repeated it many enough times and sprinkled some sort of reward on top. It was like watching sheep.

Stepping out of the path of a running child he made his way down the main street. Ideally he would have preferred not to be here at this time of day, or at all for that matter, but this time he didn´t have much choice.

Turning of the main street, he entered the small access path to Knockturn Alley, leaving behind the lofty, carefree Christmas shoppers and entering the more quiet and darker Alley. There were no shops in Knockturn Alley that was decorated with Christmas décor. Had there been he was sure the owner of said establishment wouldn´t have lasted long.

Quickly side steeping a vampire that was lurking just outside The White Wyvern, he pushed the heavy, brown oak door open and entered. Vampires, he frowned. Awful creatures. They where slaves to their own desires and their constant need and hunger for blood made them completely unreliable as an ally. Or, the more established families like the Dragons in Transylvania and Løwenborg family in Sweden where large enough and old enough, not to mention sane enough, to be worth talking to. There were a couple of other families in Greece and Italy too if he remembered correctly.

The pub was half full when he entered. Good. It was just enough people. And they were from the looks of things, just drunk and loud enough. Keeping his hood up, he slid past them. At a table near the back he found who he was looking for: a bald, short man with too much around his middle and too little in his head. He seemed to be engrossed in his half full glass of firewhiskey and didn´t hear him approach. The watered-down useless excuse for whiskey they served at the place didn´t seem to be to the man´s liking though.

“Mr. Tassler,” the Shadowed greeted, finally removing his hood.

“Oh, there you are. I didn´t see you there,” Mr. Tassler looked confused for a moment. Apparently surprised that the empty seat across from him suddenly wasn´t empty anymore. “Can I get you anything?” He made a gesture with his glass towards the bar.

If I want to get poisoned, sure, the man thought. Still, he answered. “Same as you,” he said with a tight smile nodding towards the glass. There wasn´t a chance in seven hells that he was drinking that, but it would look suspicious to be sitting in a bar of this calibre, and not having a drink in front of you. He could always spill it at some point or another, accidently of course.

Just another drunk wizard drowning his sorrows in alcohol, he thought looking around the room. Unfortunately these places were the best to conduct meetings and conversations one didn´t want others to overhear. The room was filled with just enough drunk and loud people, and creatures he conceded noting that the vampire had entered and was no sitting at the bar, that it was near on impossible to overhear something.

A far from clean glass was put in front of him and for a moment he just stared down at the amber liquid wondering for the second time how anyone who cared for their health would dare to drink anything the bar served.

“What happened?” He tore his eyes from the drink and looked up to meet the blue ones across the table. Tassler shifted in his seat and cleared his throat.

“Ay, yes,” he muttered, picking up his glass and taking an unhealthy swallow of the brewage. The Shadow managed not to flinch at the sight. “They broke through the wards. I´m not sure how.”

The Shadow frowned. “I was assured that the wards were well beyond the wardbreakers of the Ministry´s capacity. How is that possible? And with four junior Aurors working the case. Well, fair enough to mention that one of them is your British lot’s Golden Boy, but still.” ´

Tassler emptied his glass and mumbled something incoherently.

“Well?” He could feel anger bleeding into his voice and made an effort to contain it. It wouldn´t do to get angry with Tassler. He was just the messenger, and he was too easy to scare if the Shadow did loose his temper. And at this point in time he really didn´t have time to find a new one. One the other hand, he might have to if the man managed to kill himself by drinking the whiskey.

“It would seem as they might have gotten some outside help.” The words seemed to be forced out in a rush and the Shadow barely managed to understand the tangled together sentence.

A thought occurred to him. “What about the container. Do they know what it is?” That would be a problem. If they had just entered the warehouse without finding anything, then that was fine. He could fix that. If they had discovered the container and it´s use however, then that was a whole other problem. A big problem.

Tassler looked uncertain. “I don´t see how they could have figured that out.”

“You also told me they couldn´t break through the wards because of the precautions we took, and look – here we are.” The Shadow hissed, nearly managing not to slam his fist into the table to underline his point. It landed on the table, but softer than intended. Tassler still flinched. “Who is this source then? It can´t be a run of the mill criminal. Lucius Malfoy? He flipped on all his brothers and sisters after the war, but as far as I know this I magic beyond what he is capable of.”

“Not exactly.” Tassler seemed to be trying to become smaller, fiddling with his empty glass, shoulders hunched over and his head bent almost down to the glass.

Annoyed, the Shadow reached over and exchanged the empty glass for his full one. If he had to get the man drunk to get the words out of him then so be it. The glass was shaking so badly when Tassler lifted it to take a drink that the Shadow was happy it was only half full or the whiskey would have been all over the table, and Tassler. The urge to strangle the man was back.

He watched as Tassler gulped down half the whiskey and put the glass back down. He used the back of his hand to wipe over his mouth, then seemed to think again and gulped down the rest of the whiskey. The Shadow felt his eyebrows go up. The man seemed scared, actually genuinely afraid. He could see the whiskey working however as the trembling stopped and a glazed look was directed at him.

“The Dark Lord.”

The Shadow flinched. Damn it. “What about him?” He forced out, trying to disguise the flinch as him just leaning back into the chair. He wasn´t too sure he succeeded.

Tassler just stared at him and the Shadow put two and two together and managed to come up with the correct answer. Oh, damn.

“The source is the Dark Lord? How do you know that?” He demanded, leaning across the table and grasping Tassler´s right wrist.

“I, he – you see,” the man was stuttering and the Shadow closed his grip more tightly around the wrist, making Tassler shake even more and trying to get his hand free from the iron grip. Coming to the conclusion that perhaps this wasn´t the way to go, the Shadow released the wrist and sat back.

“Go on,” he encouraged.

“I, my wife,” he began stuttering. “She saw, at work you understand, she saw him. Apparently several times. And, I, well, seeing as they broke through the wards – one could assume – it seems logical. Ehm…” he stopped. The Shadow stared. He had no idea where Tassler´s wife worked, or even that he had a wife.

“And your wife works where?”

“A, eh, ah – she´s a secretary.”

The Shadow sighed. Did he really need Tassler? It couldn´t be that hard to find another, perhaps more competent messenger? “How nice. And she works where?” He tried again.

“Az-Azkaban.” At least they were getting somewhere.

He dragged a hand over his eyes and hair. Closing his eyes he tried yet again. “And she saw who visiting whom?” Actually he could guess the answer to that question, but asked anyway.

“Potter, he, he visited Him. Several times.”

He had to agree with Tassler that it seemed plausible that Potter had gotten help from the Dark Lord. The wards wouldn´t have been a match for the dark wizard, nor would finding out about the container. That complicated things, a lot of things. He hated complications. A better question however was why would the Dark Lord help Potter in the first place? As far as the Shadow knew there was no lost love between them, and the Dark Lord was serving a lifetime sentence in prison. What could Potter have offered to get him to help. Why had he gone to Him in the first place to ask for help?

So many questions, and absolutely no answers.

“This complicates things. I need to you to find out exactly what your wife knows, and I need you to reach out to Van der Hoest and tell him to delay the next shipment.”

Tassler nodded, probably eager to get home to his wife. He rose from the chair and the Shadow followed, bringing his hood back up as they pressed between the other patrons to reach the door. Outside the temperature had dropped even more and the wind had picked up sending snow flying all over. The cold had driven most of the people indoors and the street outside was more or less deserted.

“And, Tassler, either you get your wife to tell the whole story, or I´ll personally come by to ask her.”

***

(A week earlier.)

“Lord Potter?” Marcus asked again. The young lord seemed to have become frozen in thoughts and Marcus had to restrain the urge to wave a hand in front of his face to get his attention. On the other side of him, Riddle was still sitting in the chair, looking somewhere between concerned and worried.

Lord Potter seemed to be able to gather his wits about him and dragged a hand through his hair before the green eyes went from Marcus to Riddle and then back to Marcus. Marcus waited. He was more or less sure that Lord Potter didn´t know how to make a claim of Conquest, nor what one was. Although he might have given the boy some idea when mentioning Riddle becoming his property.

“I´m not turning him into a slave!” The anger in the voice was a bit unexpected, but Kingsley had warned him that Potter probably wouldn´t think the whole idea was a good one and might refuse. Marcus on the other hand argued that it would probably be Riddle who refused. He couldn´t see the Dark Lord giving up his freedom just to get out of prison. Either way they had discussed the problem and as Marcus had explained, they couldn´t just let Riddle out of prison and give him a job - he was the the most dangerous criminal in the country. That would undermine the whole justice system and put the Ministry in a bad light.  

“Technically it´s an indenture contract,” Marcus said before he could think better of it. There really wasn´t that much of a difference between the two terms other than in the eyes of the law. In the common world they were more or less seen as the same thing. He didn’t feel the need to add the last part.

Lord Potter just stared at him. “I don´t care.” He waved a hand towards Riddle. “I´m not taking away his freedom and turning him into nothing more than a household pet. Although I´m assuming even they and house elves are above, what did you call it, idendturees or something?”  

“Harry,” Kingsley started, holding out both his hands and taking a step towards the boy. “We can´t just release him with 3 year served on his sentence. How would that look to the public? The most dangerous wizard of our time, simply released on a work program?”

Marcus watched as some of the anger bled from the young lord and he seemed to calm down somewhat. Interesting enough, Marcus thought, the dark lord in question hadn´t spoken a word. He had gotten up from the chair and was pacing back and forth, keeping an eye and an ear on the conversation by the look of things, but not saying anything. One should think the prospect of being stripped of ones identity and rendered nothing more than a possession would bring forth a verbal reaction.

“And how is this better?”

Actually that was a valid question. It was better for the Ministry as they could stand behind the law, which give Lord Potter right to claim Riddle. It was an old law, which catered mostly to the whole eye for eye philosophy that he knew a lot of the pureblood families would accept. As for the rest of the public, Marcus assumed seeing Riddle stripped of everything and forced to serve the Saviour of the Wizarding World would be humiliating enough to satisfy even them. If Riddle actually managed to behave in accordance with the Code, then there should be no complaints of him getting of easy. There was also the nice little fact that Lord Potter intended to use what Riddle knew to help the Aurors, so one could make the argument that it would be better for all parties if Lord Potter claimed the Dark Lord.

The Ministry would appear strong, the Dark Lord would get what he deserved, the Aurors would get help, Lord Potter would get to help Riddle and Riddle could stay out of Azkaban. Wasn´t that what the muggles used to call a win-win situation?

Marcus decided to jump in before Kingsley could manage to romanticize the whole thing to sell Harry the deal.

“Upon defeating Mr. Riddle, a debt appeared between you in the eyes of Lady Magic. If you wish you can claim the right of Conquest, a claim that will take precedence before any court issued rulings. In other words if you claim that you want him, the court has to accept. Normally such a thing would have been set forth right after the final battle, but there are no time limits as far as I know.”

Lord Potter looked slightly confused. “And what exactly does the claiming him mean?”

Marcus shrugged. “I would assume it sounds more or less like it is. You get his life. He will belong to you and is to serve you in anyway you see fit, until his debt is paid. He will be stripped of name and citizenship, which means he can´t own anything, sell or buy anything, well you get the drill. Only difference between a normal indenture slave and this claim is that you can´t sell him.” There was a couple of other differences too, but Marcus figured it was best to perhaps keep to the basics for this explanation. He considered telling the boy it was like getting a human dog, but he didn´t think Riddle would appreciate the comparison.  

“Until his debt is paid?” Potter repeated looking even more confused.

Yes. It would have been nice to know up front, exactly what Magic meant Riddle´s debt looked like, but that wasn´t possible. Magic decided herself when and how a debt was paid. That wasn´t something they could interfere with. It was the one weak spot in this plan. If and when Magic decided Riddle´s debt was paid, then he would be released and his name and citizenship restored. They couldn´t put him back in Azkaban if Lady Magic decided that was two weeks from now.  

“Yes.” Marcus didn´t elaborate though. They could go through all the details later.

Riddle was still pacing back and forth. He seemed somewhat anxious, and Marcus wondered if he was hoping Lord Potter would agree, or hoping he wouldn´t. If he said yes, then Riddle could still say no, but if Potter said no, then there was no possibility for Riddle force him.  

Although, legally the claim didn´t rest upon consent of the defeated party, but Marcus would prefer that Riddle willingly signed his life away instead of it being forced from him.

“What is the Code of Identure Slaves?”

It was basically just a how to behave book for slaves. Marcus wasn´t sure Riddle had ever read that particular law, but from his reaction earlier he apparently had heard about both of them.  

“A guide on behaviour and general rules of conduct.”

To his surprise it was Riddle who answered. All three turned to look at him. He shrugged, coming to a stand still with his arms loosely wrapped around himself, but he offered no explanations as to how he knew this.

“Yes,” Marcus confirmed, looking back to Lord Potter. The youth seemed to think about it, looking at Riddle, who was busy studying the floor and didn´t notice. Marcus had a feeling he knew which way this was going to go.  

“No. I´m not issuing that claim.” The voice was firm.

Was it his imagination, or did Riddle seem disappointed? It was just a brief change in his posture that was gone in a blink of an eye, but it made Marcus wonder.

He exchanged a look with Kinglsey and then nodded. “Very well.” Taking out his wand he produced a patronus in the shape of a goose that took of down the hall towards the prisoner’s entrance to fetch the two Aurors that was waiting there. “Mr. Riddle, these gentlemen will escort you back to Azkaban. I´m assuming you won´t give them any trouble?”

Riddle looked at the approaching Aurors. Both had their wands out and looked a bit apprehensive at the thought of being in charge of delivering the Dark Lord back to prison. “No, sir.”

They took up the places on either side of the boy and the oldest one held up a set of handcuffs and proceeded to chain Riddle´s hands behind his back. Riddle didn´t do or say anything he simply let the men work, and when one of them lightly tugged on his arm, he allowed himself to be led down towards the entrance they had come from.

  A thought suddenly struck Marcus and he called after them. “Mr. Riddle?”

The trio stopped and Riddle turned his head.

“Just out of curiosity, if Lord Potter had made the claim, would you have accepted?”  

Brown eyes flickered from Marcus to Lord Potter, then back.

Chapter Text

“Why did you say no?”

Harry looked thoughtful. He wasn´t fidgeting or showing any other signs of being nervous, he simply seemed to think about his answer.

Voldemort stopped picking at the cast. He had been doing that a lot the last week, and the end of the cast was becoming frayed. That and thinking. He had been doing a lot of thinking. Not that there was much else to do in the cell.

The Aurors had been polite and professional. They had escorted him back and handed him over to two new guards Voldemort had never seen before. Luckily these two had barely looked him over before taking him to the registration room. Here he had been signed back into Azkaban, he assumed Harry had made sure he had been signed out, before being given new prison clothes and left in the showers to take a shower and change. The guards had been watchful, but not cruel or in anyway anything other than polite. Voldemort had appreciated the privacy for once and the opportunity to take a warm shower. Apparently Sommerseth had been honest about making changes to the prison.

His cell had been upgraded with a cot, with blankets and pillows, and except for the brown haired Auror delivering a tray of food twice a day, he hadn´t seen anyone all week. It felt strange after the years of abuse and unwanted attention to suddenly be left completely alone for a week, or nearly alone.

He had to admit he had been surprised when Harry had taken him to the Ministry for the hearing. Even more surprised the young Lord had managed to get him the hearing. He wondered for a moment how Harry had managed that. Getting the Wizengamot to consider changing the sentence of the most dangerous dark wizard of their time couldn´t have been easy. Unfortunately Voldemort had known the moment he saw Sommerseth that there was no way the man would accept Harry´s proposal. It would mean letting him of all to easy.

The surprise however had been Sommerseth´s counterproposal. The one Harry had turned down. Magical Conquest was an old rule, barely ever used as most duels of this kind ended with one of the parties dead and buried, not alive and in prison. It was however still valid, and there was no time limit to it.

His first reaction had been to ask the man if he had lost all his marbles. Why in the world would he let Harry turn him into nothing more than – what had Harry called it again? A household pet? Why would he put himself under Harry´s control like that, let him strip away both his name and freedom?

Luckily Harry had been as opposed to the idea as Voldemort himself was. That was, until a couple of days ago.

Sommerseth hadn´t fired every guard in Azkaban unfortunately and one of the ones that had been good friends with Stanley was still there. Gunderson hadn´t been happy to learn that Stanley was facing charges for making sure Voldemort got what Gunderson labelled as “what he deserved”. The man had explained this in great detail while Voldemort had been twisting on his knees, trying to get air into his lungs. It had ended with a solid backhand across his face, which had sent him reeling to the floor, watching as stars danced before his eyes. Gunderson had then placed his foot on top of his right hand and pressed down until Voldemort saw black and for once considered begging the guard not to break his other hand.

Fortunately Gunderson had stopped short of breaking anything and left, promising that Voldemort would still get what he deserved, new Warden or not.

He could of course tell this to Harry, who would get the man fired, but he didn´t. He knew that no matter how many guards Harry managed to replace, the underlying hate towards him would still be there, and there would be enough guards over the years who would be happy to abuse their positions and power. Harry wouldn´t always come around looking for help on some odd case or another.

Merlin, he was tired, and now that he was somewhat healed psychically, he could feel how much the last three years had affected his mind. He hated that his mind seemed more content to kneel and obey than to fight and lash out. It made him feel like he had lost a part of himself, the one that had made him the most dangerous wizard of all times. But, at the same time he didn´t care. He was exhausted. A lifetime sentence was what it was, and he wasn´t getting out of Azkaban. Nearly all of his followers where either dead or had betrayed him to save themselves. The only way out would be the blasted claim.

The bloody deal that would get him out but at a high price. His initial thought had been that it was too high, but after a week of being more or less isolated in Azkaban, he had realized that perhaps it wasn´t.

It had felt good to be in a house again, to sleep in a bed, take a shower and just be allowed to move around on his own again, the simple things like opening a window or leaving the bedroom to go downstairs.

Harry was also Harry. He was a Gryffindor with a saviour complex the size of a continent. Voldemort knew that the Golden boy wouldn´t do anything to hurt him, even if he had the power to, and if the boy should suddenly turn vindictive, then it would still be better than being stuck in a cell for rest of eternity with guards that had questionable morals.

The whole situation was so surreal he nearly laughed. Here he was, the Dark Lord, the most powerful wizard in the world, trying to figure out how to get a 20-year-old boy to adopt him like some other stray at a shelter. One other upside of the claim would be that Harry could, in theory, not that Voldemort was holding his breath, allow him to use his magic. At the moment the magic was locked away, just out of reach. He knew it was there but reaching out towards it was like standing on the wrong side of a wall made of ice. He could feel the magic on the other side, almost see it, but he couldn´t touch it. It was strange not to have access to it after all these years. He felt empty, powerless and like he was missing a limb.

A sigh came from Harry. “Did you want me to say yes?”

Voldemort blinked, meeting the green eyes before looking down at the cast once more. Sommerseth had asked more or less the same question. Would you have accepted? No, was the first thought that came to mind, but he hadn´t said so. He hadn´t said anything.

Not that it actually mattered. His consent wasn´t necessary for the claim to be recognized, nor did it matter if he said no, so why Sommerseth presented it like he had a choice was a mystery. Or, it wasn´t really. He assumed Sommerseth would prefer for him to agree rather than force him. It would look better for the Ministry if they could document that he had agreed to the terms, and not had them shoved down his throat.

Did he however want Harry to say yes? To give him a way out of Azkaban that would only cost him his freedom and will? Then again, he wasn’t much more free in Azkaban either, but the chances of being hurt and abused were a lot higher there than with Harry. Or so he assumed. The boy could surprise him, but he didn´t think so. Considering all the trouble Harry had already gone through to make sure he got medical attention, muggle medical attention, but still. Allowed him into his house and arranging for him to have a hearing before the court. It was sure a hell of a lot more than Voldemort would have done if the roles had been reversed.

Why hadn´t Harry said yes? Did he want Voldemort to beg him to accept? In which case he´d rather stay in Azkaban. He hadn´t fallen so low yet that he would beg Harry to take him in.  

***

Harry sighed. “Did you want me to say yes?” Harry countered. He frowned as he looked at Tom.

Tom hadn´t answered the question about whether or not he would have accepted, and Harry didn´t know what Tom would have done.

It didn´t matter however, Tom was in no condition to decide what he wanted or not. The problem was that it was the traumatic part of his brain, the one that was seeking comfort and peace that was urging Tom to wanting Harry to set forth the claim. What the more rational part of his brain wanted, nobody knew.

The claim was permanent. Harry couldn´t reverse it if Tom somewhere along the years got his bearings back and suddenly realized that signing his life away wasn’t what he wanted. On top of that Harry didn´t think pushing Tom, in that condition, into a role of a slave would help him heal either.

The Code of Conduct was strict. Tom would be spending more time kneeling and behaving as a trained pet, than an actually human being.

Tom was looking at him, but when Harry met his gaze, he lowered his eyes to the floor. Instinct, Harry thought, the same that had sent him kneeling when Harry had entered. He had to give it to the Warden - he had actually managed to break the Dark Lord. Not an easy feat.

“Tom, you don´t know what you want me to agree to,” he tried. He got up from the chair and started moving back and forth in the cell, suddenly feeling restless. He pushed his hand through his hair and made a gesture towards the dark haired man. Tom was still staring at the floor and Harry wanted to snap at him to at least look at him. Not that it would do any good. It would probably have the opposite effect.

He continued to walk back and forth between the door and the chair. “I can assure you that you are perfectly fine her. Sommerseth fired the guards and have hired new ones. You won´t have any problems.” He could hear his own voice getting slightly louder and firmer. Out of the corner of his eyes he could see Tom getting to his feet and he seemed to be backing away.

There was however the issue about the bruise on his cheek that Harry hadn´t asked about. He doubted it came from the guards though. Sommerseth had assured him they had fired the once responsible for the assaults and there was no reason to fear it would happen again.

Tom would be better off in Azkaban. Better than having his freedom and will stripped on a whim.

“I´m not doing it.” He finished firmly, crossing his arms over his chest.

Tom seemed angry or perhaps frustrated, it was hard to tell. He had backed slightly away from the bed, but Harry could see the wariness in his posture. “Why not?” He demanded.

Saints, Harry thought. Why was he so hell bent on signing his life away?

“Because I won´t,” he replied, anger creeping into his voice as he raised it. He could see Tom flinch.

“But why?!”

Before Harry could answer the door to the cell opened, making him turn in confusion. The guard from before stood there, wand in hand, and looking worried.

“Lord Potter. Is everything all right in here? I heard raised voices.” The guard looked from Harry to Tom and back and seemed to deduce that there was no real danger from the prisoner as he put his wand away.

Harry tried to smile politely and knew he was failing. “Yes, everything is all right. It´s just a minor disagreement.”

The guard, who´s name he couldn´t remember, nodded slowly, but he didn´t leave. Apparently the guard was worried that something would happen. Irritation rose in him. First Tom pressuring him and now the guard interfering. This was getting annoying.

“Why?” Tom demanded again behind him and Harry could feel the little patience he had left snap as he turned towards the stubborn ex Dark Lord.

“I´m not accepting because you´re in no condition to consent!” he growled at the dark wizard. That earned him a strange look from the guard and a confused one from the dark wizard in question. Harry could feel the anger and irritation rise further.

“You have been abused and raped for three years and your mind is searching for anything that even remotely resemblances safety. In your mind everywhere except here is safe, and the only way out of here is through that claim. That is the only reason why you want me to accept. You are not considering the impact the decision will have on your life, you are panicking!”

Tom seemed to take that as an insult. “I´m perfectly able to decide what I want to do with my own life!” he seethed, crossing his arms over his chest.

Swiftly he stalked towards Tom. As expected the more traumatic part of the other´s mind took over and he flinched before dropping to his knees and cowering. Harry had no intention of hitting the Dark Lord, he was simply proving a point.

Retreating he turned towards the guard and smiled reassuringly. The man was understandably starting to look somewhat concerned about everything.

“Fine,” he growled at Tom when he turned back around. “Seeing as you are so eager to please, pet, then come here.” He watched as his words sunk in, and the change that came over the previous Dark Lord as his damaged mind scrambled to protect itself and it´s body by doing the only thing it knew wouldn´t get him hurt, obeying.

He watched as Tom knelt down in front of him. “Good boy,” he muttered, letting a hand slide over the dark hair and noting how Tom relaxed at the praise. His mind was too desperate to protect itself and Harry knew Tom wasn´t thinking clearly enough to take the consequences of the claim into consideration.

“My Lord?” The guard inquired. Clearly confused as to what was going on. Harry just shook his head at him. He had thought the presence of the guard would make Tom hesitate somewhat to slip into the submissive mind-set, but apparently not. He had dropped so fast that it made Harry worry. “Leave us, please,” he requested. The man more or less ran out the door. Harry didn´t care.

“What to do about you then?” He murmured more to himself than Tom. He summoned the chair and sat down, Tom beside him. Carefully he lifted the head and saw that the pupils in the brown eyes were slightly dilated. “You dropped all too fast.”

“Tom?” he called softly, watching as the other blinked a couple of times before his eyes started to focus. Good, at least it wasn´t that hard to bring him back up.

“My Lord.”

“Good boy. Come on back.” Harry watched as the flashback ended and Tom came back to himself, blinking a couple of more times before settling and looking around. He seemed confused as to how he had gotten from the bed over to the chair. Harry sighed and pushed a hand through his hair. This was ridiculous. He couldn´t leave him and he couldn´t take him. What a mess.

Pushing the chair away from Tom he put his head in his hands and groaned. Why had he gone to Azkaban that day? If he hadn´t then he wouldn´t have been in this predicament.

Glancing up he saw that Tom had sat down on his side and was currently rubbing his hands over his face to clear away the fog.

“That’s why, Tom,” Harry said, dragging his right hand through his hair once more before standing up. He walked over to the bed and grabbed the goblet and filled it with water from the pitcher on the floor. Taking the goblet back over he handed it to Tom who took it slowly and drank.

Taking advantage of Tom´s state of mind, Harry asked again. “Did you want me to say yes?”

Tom finished the goblet and played with it for around a minute before answering. “Yes,” he confessed, looking up and meeting Harry´s eyes and for once he didn´t drop his eyes right away.

Harry nodded. He was tempted to ask why, but didn´t. Instead he focused on the bruise on the other man´s cheek. “Where did that bruise come from?” he asked calmly while reaching out to take the goblet back.

Tom glanced away before shrugging and then looking back up at Harry. “Guard.”

Of course. Getting to his feet he went and got the folder he had brought with him. He handed it to Tom who took it and opened it to find several sheets of paper inside. After looking through them he looked up at Harry with a question in his eyes.

“That’s the paperwork needed to file the claim.”

“Why did you bring these?”

Harry shrugged. “I had a bad feeling I would be changing my mind after coming here.”

Tom was looking at the last page, which was the petition for the Court to recognize the claim. At the bottom two signatures were missing. His and Harry´s.

“Tom,” Harry sat back down on the chair. “Last chance, and I mean that literally. I can´t undo this when you snap back into your Lord Voldemort persona somewhere along the road and want to go back to ruling the Wizarding World as a Dark Lord.”

“I know.”                                     

“Because these feelings you are having at the moment is because of PTSD. Post traumatic stress syndrome, which is a muggle diagnose, but it applies here as well. I don´t think this is the best solution, but I´m starting to think that leaving you here in this state might be a worse one.”

Tom looked up and for a moment Harry saw irritation there in the brown eyes. “I know, Harry. I know what I´m doing.”

Harry held his gaze but couldn’t help but think no you don´t.

“Fine.” He took the papers from Tom and walked over to the table. “Come here then.” Dipping his hand into one of the pockets in his coat he pulled up a quill and ink. Inking the quill he signed before he could change his mind. There. Done. He was going to be in so much trouble when Hermione found out about this.

***

“I see you changed your mind, My Lord?” Marcus was practically humming. Kingsley too looked far too pleased with himself Harry thought.

“Yes, apparently I did,” he sighed. They were standing in the cell in Azkaban, which was getting rather crowded with the four of them and the Warden present. Harry hadn´t bother to take Tom back to the Ministry and after a quick chat with Marcus, and a couple of hours of waiting, Marcus and Kingsley had arrived at Azkaban. Marcus was carrying more files and papers, along with his blue, fluffy pen that was writing eagerly. Stopping only to peer at them once in a while.

“And, Mr. Riddle, you are accepting the terms of this agreement?”

“Yes, Your Honour.” Tom was standing with his arms crossed over his chest, leaning against one of the walls. For once looking like the Tom Riddle Harry remembered from the Chamber of Secrets.

“Good, good.” Marcus hummed as he was standing bent over the paperwork spread out on the table. He signed with flourish before taking out his wand and pointing it to the parchment, muttering under his breath. The whole thing glowed red for a moment, before changing into a light green colour. At the bottom of the page the Ministry’s seal appeared in black and gold.

“Minister, if you could?” He smiled towards Kingsley who came over and put his signature below Marcus’ and repeating the wand movements and incarnation Marcus had used. A second seal appeared as the parchment once more glowed green.

Waving his wand once more the parchment duplicated and Marcus rolled up one of them and held it out for Harry to take. “Here is the formal document, with signatures. This declares that you have claimed the life of Tom Marvolo Riddle under the Code of Conquest and that he and everything he owns now belongs to you. You are responsible for looking after his assets, which you can use within reason, but they are to be returned to Mr. Riddle once Lady Magic decides that his debt has been served.”

Looking at Tom, suddenly suspicious, Harry asked, “What do you own?” Except from the bloody snake Harry hoped he´d never see again?

Tom shrugged, apparently not in a sharing mood.

“His belongings were seized by the Ministry when Mr. Riddle here was arrested. I´ll send a copy of this,” he tapped his wand once more to the parchment, which duplicated once more, “to Gringotts and I´ll tell them to send you a complete inventory of his assets and properties. I then suggest you take a meeting with the account manager and decide what to do with it.”

Harry nodded and put the rolled up parchment into his inside pocket.

Marcus started gathering several other papers on the table. “These are just case documents. Here is a copy of both the Code of Conquest and the Code of Indenture Slaves. Make sure he,” Marcus gave Tom a pointed look, “behaves as expected. Petition from a third party for the Ministry to administer a punishment for breach of the code, if the owner himself hasn´t addressed this, is possible. And not pleasant.”

Tom looked at his hands, but said nothing. Harry assumed Tom had read the Code, or he hoped. If not the Dark Lord was in for a bit of a cold shower.

“Yes, well, that concludes the paperwork. Then it´s the matter of the ritual.” Marcus clapped his hands and waved at Tom and Harry to come out into the middle of the room. “You two,” he turned towards the Minister and the Warden, “will act as witnesses. Lord Potter, I assume he is keeping his first name?”

“He, - what?” Name? Harry looked at the Head of Magical Law, completely lost.

“My name, My Lord,” Tom explained. “I don´t get to keep it, so you are free to name me anything you like.”

“I´m not naming you Voldemort.” Harry blurted out with out thinking. He had no idea where that comment had come from but it made the Warden flinch, while Tom actually smirked. It was such a Tom Riddle smirk that Harry was suddenly reminded of just whom he had in front of him.

Kingsley coughed. “Yes, I think it would be wise not to.”

“Tom then?” Marcus asked, raising his wand and looking at Harry, waiting for an answer.

“Yes.”

“Good. Tom, come here and kneel please.” Marcus gestured to the floor in front of him and Harry. Tom knelt gracefully, hands in his lap and his head bent. Perfect picture of submission, Harry thought. Trying not to let his mind wander the wrong way.

A paper was put in his hand and he looked down at a long verse of Latin. Great. He hated Latin. Why couldn´t these rituals be in good old English?

Marcus was talking and Harry tried to pay attention. “Keep you wand at his forehead, My Lord, and read the verse. You´ll feel a connection starting to form between you two, and there will probably be some light of a sort. I don´t know for sure as I´ve never seen this ritual performed before.”

Harry gave him a look. That sounded reassuring.

“Tom, I`m not entirely sure how this will affect you, but I wouldn´t be surprised if there is some pain involved. I did however bring some healing potions just in case.”

That was thoughtful of him, Harry thought. Wondering for a moment why Marcus was so positive to the whole thing.

“Just start at the top?” Harry asked, nodding towards the parchment as he withdrew his wand and pointed it at Tom´s forehead.

“Yes.”

Harry started reading, a bit slow to begin with, but as the words left his mouth it became easier and easier and the words were soon flowing in a low tone. A golden light emerged from the tip of his wand and spread around Tom in a circles until he was completely covered in golden threads. They moved over his limbs, twirling and moving like snakes. Harry could hear Tom gasp, but it didn´t sound like pain. He continued to read and the golden threads seemed to tighten around Tom, pulling at something.

“Relax, Tom. It will be easier if you don´t fight it,” Marcus murmured, from somewhere beside him. A quick glance up told him that Tom was trying to relax, but the tense shoulders and jaw told Harry this probably wasn´t the most pleasant thing Tom had been subjected to. He continued on the third paragraph and now he could se the gold threads coming back up towards the tip of the wand, before starting to move over his forearm and up his elbow. He tensed, expecting pain, but felt nothing except a light tingling as the threads continued to wash over him, twisting and twirling in an unknown pattern.

At the same time he could feel an awareness in his head, like a strong golden light. It pulsed and twisted a bit before settling at the back of his mind. He came to the last sentence and let his voice die out as the golden threads retracted back into the tip of his wand. He blinked, waiting for the world to come into focus. The presence in his mind was still there, but mostly hidden. Carefully he reach out to it and could feel something that was definitely Tom.

“Easy,” he heard Marcus say and blinked again, looking down. Tom was shaking and gasping for air, his good hand supporting his weight as he was doubled over. Marcus had summoned a blanket from the cot and was pulling it around the shaking figure. “Breath. Lord Potter, can you feel his precence in your mind?”

Harry nodded.

“Good. Reach out to whatever the presence feels like and order it not to use magic in any way or form. Those exact words. The presence should glow if the order registers.”

“What?”

“Just trust me, I´ll explain afterwards.”

Harry slowly reached out to the golden feeling and as he touched it he thought as clearly as he could Tom, I order you not to use magic in any shape or form with out my permission. The golden light glowed for a few seconds and Harry could see Tom flinch on the floor. “Done. Now what?”

“Now,” Marcus began and held his wand to the silver collar around Tom´s neck, “we can remove this and get some potions in him.” He muttered and waved his wand before pointing it at the collar, which sprang open and fell to the floor. Tom gasped as his magic, at least Harry assumed it was the magic, rushed through his body before settling. Harry could feel the magic, how powerful and strong it was as it spread around the room, making the air thick with magic before it diminised. For a moment he wondered if Marcus knew what he was doing.

“Is, is that a good idea?” The Warden stammered. Harry had completely forgotten he was there.

“It´s fine,” Marcus said dismissingly as he was looking around in his bag, coming back up with a couple of vials. One was the blue colour of a Calming Draught, the other looked like the green of a PepperUp Potion. He made Tom drink both of them. As Tom calmed down, Marcus motioned for Harry to get him to the cot.

“What did I do?” Harry asked as he helped Tom sit on the cot, where he curled up against the wall looking miserable. “You okay?” he asked Tom.

Tom nodded. “Yes, My Lord, just not that pleasant to have my will stripped away.”

Harry could´t imagine it would be.

Marcus had gathered the empty vials and was putting the paperwork back into order.

“Did you use the exact words I said, Lord Potter?” Marcus looked up from the table. Harry nodded.

“Yes, no magic unless with my permission.”

Kingsley was rubbing a hand over his chin. “Should perhaps add ´no intentionally harming or killing humans or creatures´ or something like that.”

Marcus nodded in agreement and Harry reached out once more and ordered the presence in his mind not to in any way intentionally harm or kill humans or creatures. It glowed and out of the corner of his eyes he could see Tom flinch. “Done.”

“Good. The bond between you two gives you the ability to give him specific orders he can´t go against, as you have done now. You have to be in the same room as Tom when you give these orders for it to work, remember that. That´s the reason why I could remove the collar,” Marcus explained as he put the scrolls and papers into his bag. “You can of course use that method for every order, but that would be pointless and time consuming. Give him the most important rules this way, no magic, no killing or harming, no leaving your house, no wandering further from you than 30 feet etc.”

“What happens if he disobeys?”

Marcus shrugged. “We could test it, but I don´t think he is any shape for it. My guess would be a sharp pain which either last until you remove it or he passes out. Either way you need to get him a collar, preferably with your coat of arms on it.”

Harry frowned. “A collar?”

Kingsley jumped in. “Yes, he´s not allowed outside without a collar that shows who he belongs to and his status as it was.”

On the cot Tom seemed to be coming around. The shaking had stopped and he had gotten some colour back in his face. “I know a place, My Lord,” he said, voice tired, but strong enough.

Of course you do, Harry thought. He dragged a hand through his hair. That was really starting to become a bad habit he thought. “Fine. I´ll buy him a collar later today.”

The Warden seemed to have become tired of standing and sat down on the only chair in the room.

“Would you like me to buy a leash as well?” Harry added sarcastically.

Marcus smiled. “They normally come with a leash so that would probably not be necessary.”

Harry sighed.

To his side there was the sound of wood giving in and breaking as the chair collapsed under the weight of the Warden, and he tumbled to the floor amongst what had once been a chair.

Chapter Text

“Welcome home then,” Harry said as they arrived at the entrance hall of Grimmauld Place.

Volde-Tom, he guessed it was better to get used to the name again, nodded and pulled the cloak he was wearing better around himself. He only had the thin prisoners clothes underneath and had borrowed Harry´s cloak for the trip back, or home as he guessed it was.

He had never actually had a home, he thought as he looked around. Or, he had always thought of Hogwarts as home, as far as a school could be considered one, but no real home in the traditional sense. As an adult he had more or less drifted from one place to another on his travels. As he had established himself as the Dark Lord during the first war he had used a permanent headquarter, which no longer existed, but it had been filled with his followers most of the time and had never felt like home. Not that he had missed having one, it was strange what one could get used to when you had no experience with the concept at all. After his resurrection he had used Lucius home, much to the man’s despair.

Harry’s house seemed nice though. It was done in warm, brown colours and soft fabrics, and ha been renovated recently by the looks of things. The entrance hall was huge, with a large fireplace, the stairs leading to the floors above and a door that he assumed was leading outside. There wasn´t any portraits on the walls, it didn´t seem like there were any in the house at all. The few pictures Tom could remember seemed to be muggle pictures and not wizarding ones. A few plants were placed here and there to soften the room.

From the hall he could see through a door to what looked like a kitchen and another that looked like it led into a dining room. He hadn´t done much exploring the last time he had been at the house, there simply hadn´t been time for it. Now he did have all time in the world. It was strange, knowing he was free to walk the house as he pleased after spending three years in a small stone room.

He cast a quick look at Harry, who was busy looking through the mail that was placed on the round table in the middle of the room; along with a gigantic flower decoration that Tom hardly believed Harry had picked himself. Probably the house elf, what was his name again - Kreacher or something, had picked out. Most elves took great pride in making sure their masters and mistresses houses looked like something out of a muggle interior magazine.

It was strange how things had changed. He hadn´t thought Harry would agree to claim, but in the end he had, possibly because of Tom´s flashback and the bruise, agreed. Tom hated the flashbacks, or he wasn´t sure it was flashbacks exactly, more like his traumatized brain deciding to take over, and he was completely powerless to stop it. It was humiliating, but it wouldn´t kill him.

The ritual itself had been painful though, but no more than the torture he had been put through the last years. The biggest surprise was that the judge, Sommerseth, at brought pain relief potions just in case it was needed. The man had seemed genuinely nice, something Tom wasn´t sure how to handle. Even the Minister had been polite and supportive. There were plenty of risks by letting him out of Azkaban and he wondered for the second time how Harry had managed the get them to agree to this. There was nothing in it for them really. They had put their own necks on the line, as no one knew how long it would take for Tom to actually fulfil his debt. It could be days, months or years. Although, if he was going to be realistic he assumed it would be years rather than months. He wasn’t even sure he would ever reach the point of having paid his debt.

He didn´t feel any different. There was a slight connection to Harry in the back of his mind, like a slight golden light that felt like Harry for some reason, and when Harry had issued the commands it had tingled painfully for a moment as to make it clear that this was rules he couldn´t go against. He had felt the rules settle in his mind but he wasn´t completely sure how it worked until he had tried to reach out for his magic to do something as simple as to make a small ball of light appear in his hand. The pain had started small as he formed the idea of using his magic and became stronger as he put more will into the thought, only to diminish once he let go of the thought. He was pretty sure that if he had actually connected with his magic the pain would have knocked him of his feet in an instance.

The best part however was that he could feel his magic again. It was amazing. He couldn´t use it, but he could feel it flowing around in his body, twisting and turning. A familiar presence that he had nearly forgotten how much he had missed. Harry had of course issued the order for him not to touch or use with out permission and Tom wasn´t stupid enough to try. The feeling of it being close however was fantastic. He had to admit he might harbour a small hope that Harry might let him use some of it, but he guessed that was a long way down the road.

“You okay?”

Tom looked up and saw Harry was staring at him, a concerned look on his face. He nodded and pulled at the cloak, he was freezing. “Just been a long day,” he confessed. He felt completely drained of energy.

That made Harry laugh. “You think? I hadn´t actually planed on taking you with me home.”

“Sorry, My Lord,” Tom said with out thinking. He had more or less pressured Harry into the deal, not that he felt sorry for it, self-preservation and all. Harry sighed.

“Don’t be. Well, it´s already late afternoon and I guess we´ll have to get you that bloody collar. Where are we going? I can´t imagine it´s something they sell in Diagon Alley?”

“The muggle world. I´ll give you the address.”

“Somehow I had assumed we were going to Knockturn Alley,” Harry muttered and went over to the closet that took up the better part of the wall by the entrance door. “Why don´t you put on some real clothes, and burn what you are wearing and then we´ll get the shopping out of the way?” He suggested over his shoulder. “We need to get you some clothes as well, and probably a hundred other things.”

“Yes, My Lord.” Technically he guessed the correct title should be master, but he didn´t think he could force that word out of his mouth without choking on it.

He slowly made his way up the stairs. He assumed the room he had been in last time was to be his, unless Harry had planed to have him sleeping on the floor, which he doubted.

The door swung up easily and the room looked more or less the same as last time. Closing the door behind him he allowed himself to sink down along the door to the floor and rested his arms and head on his knees that he had drawn up to his chest. Suddenly he started laughing; it was a strangled, broken sound which sounded nothing like his own voice.

“Saints,” he swore as he laughed. Who would have thought this was how it was going to end. His laughed died down and he swallowed. Dumbledore would probably have delighted with the outcome. The words the older wizard had spoken in the Ministry during their duel all those years ago when Tom had asked him if he didn´t seek to kill him, rang in his head.

There are other ways of destroying a man, Tom.

Unfortunately he had to agree that Dumbledore had been right about that. He also knew this wasn´t going to be a walk in the park as the muggles used to say. There was no way for him to go back to his old ways, trying to take over the Wizarding World. He couldn´t kill Harry, or anyone else for that matter. He just had to play the part he had landed for himself and hope that somehow down the road he might be free. In the mean time he just had to make sure Harry was happy.

That would, unfortunately, necessitate a lot of humiliation on his part. One thing was that he had to obey the damned Code of Conduct while in public, but based on his last interactions with Harry he probably had to get used to get used to playing the submissive indenture slave in private as well. Not that it would be a problem, he thought with a broken laugh. His mind was far to concerned with it´s own and it´s body´s safety to care much about what the rational part of it thought of everything.

Sommerseth had said something about the Aurors however and Tom did have a sneaking suspicion Harry was going to take advantage of his knowledge to help the Aurors out. That would mean going out into public with all the humiliation it would entitle for him. Then again, he guessed that punishments weren´t supposed to be nice for the person being punished. Tom sighed. Well, he´d made his bed and now he guessed he was stuck with it.

***

The middle-aged shopkeeper looked up from the belt he had been working on when he heard the bell over the entrance door chime. Tom could see the surprise that came over his face at the sight of the Saviour of the Wizarding World standing in his boutique.

“Lord Potter. Please, come in.” The man took of the glasses he was wearing and put them down on the counter. He glanced at Tom, but there was no recognition in his eyes, nor should there have been. The man had never met Tom or Lord Voldemort. He had however a very wealthy client by the name of Lucius Malfoy, which was the reason Tom knew about the shop in the first place.

It was a small store located in one of the many alleys of London, near Piccadilly Circus. Placed on the corner of the alley it sold handbags, belts, gloves and everything else that could be made in leather. From Lucius, Tom knew the man also catered to the Wizarding World and was a wizard himself, which would make it a lot easier to explain what they wanted.

“Sir,” Harry nodded politely and shook the man’s hand as he came out from behind the counter and held out his hand. The man glanced at Tom, but when Harry made no move to introduce him the shopkeeper decided to ignore Tom for the time being and waved at Harry to follow him into the back.

“Trevor,” he called out as he opened the door to what Tom guessed was either an office or a backroom. “Mind the counter please, I have a costumer.”

The office was small, but tidy. A desk in the middle with two chairs in front dominated most of the space. Against the wall to the right there were bookcases filled with folders, ring binders as well as a filling cabinet and a safe. To the left there was a window that showed the outside street, but at the moment the curtains was drawn to ward of the sinking afternoon sun. The floor was dark wood, with a bluish carpet under the furniture. A small table held a muggle coffee machine along with cups and a pitcher of water.

“I understand that you know of me and-,” Harry trailed of, seemingly unsure on how to continue.

“And our world,” the man finished with a smile and gestured towards the chairs in front of the desk as he took his seat on the other side. He put the glassed back on his nose. “Yes. I´m a wizard, but it does help financially to also cater to the muggles.” He smiled as he sat and folded his hands on top of the desk. “I must admit I was rather surprised to see you, Lord Potter. What can I do for you and your,” the man hesitated, “companion?”

Tom almost smiled, but it quickly disappeared as Harry sat down in the chair. Come to think of it he really hadn´t thought this through. He should have just sent Harry along alone. The Code dictated that he knelt beside Harry, which he absolutely didn´t want to. Which was a bit contradictory seeing as he had told himself it wouldn´t be a problem only an hour earlier. Perhaps this wasn´t going to be as easy as he first had thought.

On the other hand this was a muggle establishment and one could therefor argue he shouldn´t. The Code only applied for the Wizarding World, but on the other hand the man in front of him was a Wizard. He closed his eyes; this was giving him a headache. Not being able to decide he simply wandered over to the bookshelf. If Harry wanted him to kneel he could order him, he thought irritated and picked up a product catalogue and started leafing through it. Behind him he could hear Harry starting on what Tom assumed was going to be an interesting explanation as to what Harry needed.

“Yes, you come highly recommended, Mr.?”

“Franklin,” the other man replied. “Can I offer you tea or coffee, My Lord?”

Tom went back to studying the vast selections of custom-made belts on page 45. Highly recommended was perhaps taking it a bit too far, but Lucius did speak warmly of the man though. And he was discreet. Not that it would matter much longer. Neither Harry nor the Ministry could keep the claim a secret for long before the public found out. The plan was for the Ministry to issue a press release regarding the claim, that way they could spin the story in their own favour and control the narrative. Tom would have preferred to keep the whole thing a secret. Unfortunately that wasn´t much of an option.

“No thank you. I´m in the need of a collar.”

“Of course, that won´t be a problem. We have a large selection of collars, all handmade and of the best quality. If you want to design it yourself then that can be arranged. What kind of animal are we speaking of?” Tom smirked down at page 50 and the handbags shown there. A snake perhaps? He was, had been, the Heir of Slytherin after all.

Tom could hear Harry take a breath. “Ah, yes, well, as it was I need a special one. A indenture collar.” Well he did manage to master the terminology at least, for someone who didn´t know what an indenture slave was a week earlier Tom thought.

The silence that followed was so loud that Tom considered dropping the catalogue just to scare the other two in the room.

“I see,” Mr. Franklin said and Tom could see out of the corner of his eyes the man was staring at him openly from his desk with a thoughtful look on his face. Apparently the man had managed to put together two and two. He sighed and put the catalogue back in it´s place. This was going to be fun. “And am I to assume that this collar might be for your companion here?”

Companion was at least better than slave, Tom thought.

Harry rubbed a hand over the back of his neck and cast a look at Tom before answering. “Yes, you would be correct to assume that.”

Tom leaned against the shelf and crossed his arms over his chest. He kept his eyes averted but it wasn´t difficult to feel the weight of the man’s gaze as Mr. Franklin studied him.

“Very well.” Mr. Frainklin waved his wand and a catalogue went by Tom´s head, missing it by an inch, and spread out on the desk before Harry. “If you could just look through this and see what suits your taste. We have everything from just plain leather to the more elaborate versions. It will of course be fitted with a tracking charm, an identity charm as well as a muggle GPS, if there are any other charms you want to add we can do that. Proximity spells are always popular. The collar will be magically locked and can only be removed by your blood, and only as long as you are doing it voluntarily. If you could have him come over here then I´ll take some measurements and find some samples for you to look at.”

Tom was impressed how casual the man made the whole thing sound. The amount of indenture slaves in the Wizarding World could be counted on two hands. This wasn´t a sort of collar the man sold everyday, or every five years for that matter, but he made it sound like he sold ten of them each month.

“Tom,” Harry said distractedly as he was looking at the catalogue.

You choose this, Tom reminded himself and forced his feet to move over to the desk and he knelt down beside Harry, hands in his lap and his head bent. It wasn´t as bad as he had thought it would be, there was a sense of familiarity about kneeling after all this time, and normally he would be safe from being harmed while he was kneeling, give and take some exceptions. The traumatized part of his brain was at least happy; apparently it associated kneeling with safety. Tom was starting to feel like he had a split personality, which said something considering he had been more or less insane until he absorbed the souls in the two horcruxes.

Mr. Franklin came around the desk and stopped in front of him.

“The scarf,” he said and Tom remembered he was wearing the thick, grey wool scarf around his neck. He slowly unwrapped it and placed it on the floor. A hand lifted his chin. The touch was gentle and professional, but Tom still had the urge to flinch away. A flying measuring tap came into view. It wrapped around his neck and then measured from his collarbone to his chin. Mr. Franklin wrote down the numbers before excusing himself and leaving the room. The measuring tap hung in the air staring at Tom who stared back, wondering what on earth the bloody thing wanted. It twisted like the tail of a cat before flying back to the desk where it curled up into a coil and went still. Tom frowned. Strange.

“Here,” Harry shoved the catalogue at him. “You´re the one that´s going to wear this, what do you want? Brown leather, black leather, synthetic, diamonds/sapphires?” Harry waved a hand in the air in indication that he didn´t care.

Tom tried not to laugh. What did one want in a collar? He looked at the pictures for a moment before handing it back. They all looked more or less the same, just different styles. “How about just plain black with your coat of arms? Not to wide.” Glancing up he could see Harry nod. It was just a bloody collar. It wasn´t an engagement ring they were picking out. There was no reason to spend too much time thinking it over. Except he was going to wear it for Merlin knows how long. Perhaps he should suggest sapphires and diamonds just to see how much Harry was willing to spend on the bloody thing. He discarded the idea.

With a sigh he let his head rest against the chair Harry was sitting in. Maybe he hadn´t thought this completely through. A hand carded through his hair, making him flinch slightly at the contact, but he couldn´t help but close his eyes and just let the feeling wash over him. The hand continued and as much as he wanted to pull away, he didn´t. His traumatized brain was very content, so seemed the bond as it was more or less humming at the contact. Where it had emitted pain earlier when he had thought about using magic it now seemed to do its best to calm and reassure him that he was doing something right.

The warm, strange feeling was starting to pull at him after a couple of minutes, lulling him into a comforting space where nothing really mattered. The hand in his hair was comforting and helped ground him somewhat. The touch seemed to prevent him for drifting completely away. Instead he was caught somewhere between awareness and a comforting nothingness. He could hear the sounds around him and watched as Mr. Franklin came back with a tray with what Tom assumed was samples. He listened as Harry and the shopkeeper spoke, but the words didn´t really register in his mind. He thought they might if he concentrated. Blinking a few times didn´t help to bring things into focus either.

Mr. Franklin rose and left the room again, or Tom assumed he had left. At that point he could feel a hand under his chin as Harry lifted it.

“Tom?”

Frowning he looked up at Harry.

“Focus, Tom. I need you to come back up a little.”

The voice was getting louder and slowly everything floated into focus and he blinked. Feeling like he had just surfaced from swimming under water. Confused he shook his head and dragged a hand over his face. What happened?

“Back with me?” Harry asked. Tom nodded. “Good. You okay? You didn´t seem to drop as far as the other times.”

“I-,” he stopped. He frowned. For once he had actually no idea what had happened. He kept slipping into this strange headspace that he couldn´t explain. Harry kept referring to it as him dropping, not that made more sense. Before he could get around to asking Mr. Franklin came back. He had another tray with something on it.

“Let´s see. Since you went with a standard model we can have it fitted right away, as opposed to if you wanted a custom made.”

Tom looked up and saw the man hold a simple black collar with white lining and an intriguing pattern woven into the leather. In the middle the Potter coat of arms in red and blue was clearly visible. It looked both soft and expensive. The reality of the situation suddenly hit him at the sight of the collar and white, hot panic curled in his stomach. He wanted noting more than to bolt out of the door and out of the store. There were no magic restrictions on his movements at the moment and he would be gone before Harry could manage to issue an order through the bond.

And then what?

There were nowhere for him to go, nowhere to hide. He didn´t have neither any muggle identity papers nor any allies in the muggle world to relay on.

A hand on his neck made him jump.

“Easy,” he heard Harry murmur. The boy had probably felt his panic through the bond. Mr. Franklin came around the desk once more and Tom felt himself freeze, but the hand on his neck warned him to stay still before disappearing.

The collar was soft and the familiar weight of it settled around his neck as Mr. Franklin tested the length before making some adjustments before trying again. Not quite happy he adjusted it once more before nodding.

“Now, My Lord, if you would take the knife and make a small cut on your thumb, then let a couple of drops of your blood drip down where the to two ends meet.”

Harry made the cut and then pushed slightly at the back of Tom´s head to get him to bend down to make it easier to get the blood to land where it was supposed to.

Tom could feel the collar’s ends connect as the circle became whole. He closed his eyes and wondered one more time if he actually knew what he had gotten himself into.

***

The pub in Knockturn Alley hadn´t changed. It actually looked more like time had frozen. The patrons at the bar looked to be the same as the last time he had been there, minus the vampire. It was late in the evening and most of them were more than a little intoxicated. They talked loudly, slapped each other on the back and yelled at the bartender to get more to drink. The lights were dimmed enough that he could pretend the place was cleaner than it actually was, not that it really helped, even his imagination wasn´t that good.

The man wrinkled his nose. He really hated this place. Hopefully this would be the last time he had to enter the downtrodden establishment.

He found Tassler at the same table as last time, whiskey in hand and by the looks of things it wasn´t the first or even third drink the man had downed.

“Mr. Tassler,” he greeted and was met with a glossy stare. Great. The news had to been even worse than he expected for the man to drink himself into a stupor before his companion had even arrived.

“I assume you have some news since you called me here?” He leaned forward with his elbows on the table, wand easily accessible in his left sleeve. One could never be too careful in a place like this.

Tassler nodded and finished his glass. “Yes. Yes, I do.” He stared down into the glass as if he could will it to fill back up again and fell silent.

The other man soon got impatient and leaned more forward. “And?” He inquired.

“What?” Tassler looked confused as he looked up from the glass. Good grief.

“The news?” the man pressed, the urge to hex the man ever present in his mind.

“Yes, yes, the news. My wife, she, eh, she received some paperwork today. She took a copy.” He fell silent again, staring into the glass.

For Merlin´s sake, the man though and reach out to grasp Tassler’s wrist. “Which I assume you brought with you?” He let a threatening tone slip into his voice. Tassler flinched but nodded several times. He put a hand into his inside pocket and came out with a scroll that he handed over. The man accepted the scroll and rolled it out. At the bottom he noticed both the seal of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement as well as the seal of the Minister of Magic.

He stared at the paper. “This has to be a joke?”

Tassler shook his head, the hand holding the glass trembling slightly.

“Bloody Gryffindors,” he swore and rolled the scroll back up. He pointed it at Tassler. “HE is not going to be happy when I tell him about this. This means we have to change our strategy completely. Get words to the others that we will met in four days time at the usual place.” He got up from the table and stalked out of the bar, pulling his hood up as he strode out into the street.

Why the hell couldn´t that damned saviour just be content with his life and get a hobby or something. But no, he had to go and adopt a stray from the prison. What the hell had the Ministry been thinking, agreeing to this? Well, perhaps it could work in their favour he mused. Strays were prone to run away sometimes.

Finally reaching the Apparation area he apparated with a crack.

Chapter Text

It was midday when he finally woke. The low winter sun casting rays of sunlight over the floor through the small crack in the curtains. It would soon disappear over the rooftops of the nearby houses. They were still headed towards the middle of December and the sun wouldn´t turn for a couple of more days. After that the days would once again become longer.

The fireplace was burning and crackling on the opposite wall, making the room pleasantly warm. He assumed the house elf had been in at some point because the room was tidier then when he had gone to sleep the night before.

He sat up, yawning and trying to avoid putting weight on his bad arm. Glancing down at it he wondered if he could get Harry to just use a healing spell to speed up the process instead of waiting for it to heal on it´s own.

Looking at the sun that spilled through the curtains he wondered what time it was. Well past breakfast at least. Harry must have decided to let him sleep in. Probably thinking he needed it, which he guessed he did. He still felt exhausted even though he had probably slept for twelve hours. It was tempting to just lay down and let sleep claim him for a few more hours, but his stomach was starting to remind him that it also had been twelve hours since dinner. With a sigh he figured a shower would probably wake him up. Luckily the waterproof charm Harry had used the day before would last for another couple of days before it needed to be replenished.

Grabbing some clothes from the dresser he headed into the bathroom. The mirror showed that he at least looked a lot more awake than he felt, that was something he guessed. The black collar was clearly visible around his neck, the red and dark blue coat of arms seemed to catch your eyes when you looked at it. Sealed with blood. He smirked. For a Ministry that thought everything that had to do with blood was dark magic, they did seem to easily accept the use of it when it suited them.

He lifted a hand to touch it. It was heavier than it looked, but the spell on it made it more or less weightless and he could hardly feel it. It didn´t have much of a function other than to mark him as someone´s property. Harry´s property.

You chose this, he reminded himself again. Well, that was kind of debatable really, the more rational part of his mind argued. The choice was either to stay in Azkaban or this. He wasn´t sure that really constituted as a choice.

***

The sound of music from the floor below told him Harry was probably in his office, working on something or another. He descended the stairs and debated about going down to the kitchen, or stop by the office. He decided that hovering on the landing wouldn´t do much good either way and figured he could get what he assumed would be a painful conversation with Harry out of the way.

They hadn´t talked much the night before. Tom had been exhausted when they came back and Harry had gone back out after dropping him of. He had managed to get down a sandwich that had appeared out of nowhere before more or less falling into bed.

The door to the office was slightly ajar as it had been the last time and Tom got a sudden sense of déjà vu. He pushed the door open and as an after thought, knocked on it before entering.

“Come in.” Harry was bent over something on his desk; a brown owl perched on the chair he was sitting in. He looked up as Tom entered and smiled.

“Finally awake?” he asked and Tom could detect a teasing tone in his voice that he didn´t quite know how to handle. Unsure what to do, Tom remained standing awkwardly in the middle of the room. He really didn´t know how to behave around Harry at the moment. A part of him wanted to kneel and the other part to keep standing.

Harry moved some of the papers on his desk and picked up an opened scroll, holding it up for Tom to see. “This came this morning. From Gringotts.”

Tom found himself nodding.

“For a convicted Dark Lord you don´t lack money.” Harry made gesture towards the chair in front of the desk and Tom took it as an in invitation to sit. He accepted the scroll Harry handed over; glancing down to see the list of assets the goblins had assembled. He knew his vaults contained a good amount of money and then there was a couple of estates, among them the Riddle mansion. He wondered if the building was still standing.

The list didn´t list every single item in his vaults, but he knew Harry could get one if he asked. The goblins had only listed “various other items” at the bottom. There was of course a lot more things not included on this list, but that was mostly because they weren´t in any of his vaults. They were hidden away other places. Mostly because he didn´t have the luxury of being able to enter Gringotts every time he wanted. The money he could get to easily enough by having the goblins transfer the amount he wanted to a specially charmed purse.

“Do I want to know how you managed to make money during the war?”

Probably not, Tom thought. He opened his mouth to answer, but Harry waved him of. “You know what. I don´t want to know.” Tom closed his mouth and handed the list back. Crossing one leg over the other he picked at his cast. It was becoming a bad habit.

Harry was shuffling papers around again before coming up with a sheet of paper that he handed over. Tom glanced at it and noticed it was a list of companies, both wizarding and muggle ones. “Unless you have objections I would like to take some of your money and invest it in these. That way you´ll probably get a better return on them than just the interest from Gringotts. As for the Riddle house you either have to do something about it, sell the property or it will probably fall down on it´s own. I checked with the muggle property register and I´ve paid the missing taxes for the house for the last couple of years and transferred money to a muggle account I set up so that the bills are paid automatically from it. I´ve alerted the Ministry of you new address. They were actually quite happy to finally have an address for you at all.” Harry reached out for his cup and took a sip. He grimaced and cast a heating charm on it before drinking from it again.

“Other than that most of your affairs seem to be in order.”

They should be, he hadn´t neglected them after all. Well, he had neglected the Riddle house, but in all fairness he didn´t like the house or the reminder it gave him of his father and the family.

“Here.” Something was thrown at him and he caught the plastic card. Frowning he looked from the card to Harry. “I assume you know what it is?”

“A debit card.” He turned the card and noticed his own name on the back.

“Yes. It´s linked to the muggle account. The goblins will transfer an amount to the account each month. You can use it on anything you like. Just don´t tell the Ministry about it. As for the wizarding world, there I can´t do much, but if there is something you want or need I´ll get it. Within reason.”

Tom assumed he looked about as confused as he felt. He turned the card over in his hand, frowning slightly.

“Any questions?”

Lots, Tom thought, but shook his head.

“Listen, I don´t know exactly how this normally works, but I guess we´ll just have to try and make it work somehow. On the positive side you get to help med solve my case with the missing crates.” Harry smiled and pulled his hand through his hair, making it stand up even more than usual.

Tom sighed. “There hasn´t been a case of a claim under the Code for a couple of decades. Mostly because the type of duel it takes to make the claim possible normally ends with one of the persons dead. The last time would have been possible would have been when Dumbledore defeated Grindelwald. ” He turned the card over in his hand again, his thumb toying with one of the corners. “I was surprised when Sommerseth brought it up as an alternative.”

Harry leaned back into the chair, his hand twirling a feather quill. Above his left shoulder the owl looked to be sound asleep. “Yeah, me too. I didn´t want this you know.”

He almost cringed at the admission, but managed to stop himself. “I know,” he agreed because there really wasn´t much else to say. He leaned back into his own chair and lifted a hand to rub at his eyes.

“Have you read the Code of Conduct?”

He nodded and pushed a hand through his hair. He had read it a long time ago and he remembered most of the content, but he assumed that he should probably refresh his memory. “Yes, a long time ago, My Lord.” The title was wrong, which he knew, and he half expected Harry to tell him to use the correct one.

Harry nodded. “Think you can try using my name while we are at home?” There was a small half smile on his face when he asked. The feather quill moved in circles around his fingers.

Tom stared. Slowly he nodded. A strange feeling of gratefulness washed over him. “Yeah, I think I can manage.”

“I know the Warden had his, eh…, rules, and what not, but I don´t expect, or want, you to keep following them.” Harry looked to be slightly conflicted about what he was saying. Tom got the impression he didn´t quite know how to phrase what he was saying. “I know that in public things will need to be as expected, but in the house no one will care. Kreacher will make you anything you want to eat at anytime. I know you can´t call him the normal way, but he´s normally easy to find in the kitchen downstairs. You have your room and free range of the house. I would appreciate if you stay out of my study and my bedroom.”

Tom nodded again. It seemed to be the only thing he was doing during the conversation. He wasn´t exactly sure how to process everything Harry had said at the moment, but the conversation hadn´t gone how he had expected in any way. He had expected Harry to somehow take advantage of the situation, but apparently the moral in the Gryffindor was stronger than Tom had thought. He shouldn´t be complaining thought. Harry was giving him more freedom than he probably deserved.

Harry sighed and leaned forward, putting his elbows on the desk. “Tom, I´m probably going to screw this up at some point, and I assume you are going to hate me half the time we´re out in public, but I´m flying blind here.”

“I know.”

Harry kept looking at him and Tom let his gaze fall to the floor. He was still picking at the cast, and at this rate he would probably damage the thing soon. “Well, anything we haven´t covered?”

Tom swallowed and wondered if he should ask or not. He assumed the answer would be no. “My magic?” He finally asked, not looking up from his hands, feeling embarrassed at how desperate the question sounded.

Harry was silent for a couple of seconds before answering. “I´m sorry, but at the moment I don´t trust you enough not to try and kill me or something equally stupid.”

The disappoint he felt at the answer shouldn´t really be as strong as it was. He had known it was a long shot. At least Harry hadn´t completely ruled it out.

The sound of a pop announced the arrival of the house elf, who bowed low. “Lunch is served, master Potter.” At least the house elf managed to get the title right, Tom thought with wry smile.

Harry rose from the chair and motioned for Tom to follow him. “I assume you´re hungry?”

As on cue Tom´s stomach rumbled and Harry smirked. “I´ll take that as a yes.”

***

Harry disappeared after lunch, muttering something about going to get yelled at by his friends.

Tom used the afternoon to explore the house before ending up in the library. He remembered that Lucius had used to complain about the loss of access to the Black library after Sirius Black inherited it, and after looking through the titles of some of the books he could understand why. It was amazing that the Ministry hadn´t confiscated half of the books in there. Pulling out one he hadn´t read about Ancient runes he wandered over to the window seat and curled up with a blanket and a couple of pillows. He cast a look outside and noticed that it actually was a beautiful winter day with a nearly cloudless sky and the sun was still up. The snow was covering the streets and the park across from the house, helping the waning sunlight to spread more light. He itched to go outside and stretch his legs.

His thoughts turned back to the conversation with Harry. The boy did continue to surprise him. He hadn´t expected any of it. Not that he was complaining, considering their history Harry was being more than generous, but he couldn´t help but wait for the other shoe to drop at some point.

“Lost in thoughts?” The voice startled him out of his musing and he turned to see Harry in the doorway, the winter cloak still around his shoulders. He wandered into the room and stalked over to the tray on a sideboard closer to the fireplace. It contained several crystal decanters and he poured himself an unhealthy amount of firewhiskey. The whiskey went down in two swallows before Harry refilled the glass and came back towards Tom and sat down on the arm of the sofa, staring into the glass. Tom watched, getting slightly curious as to why Harry felt the need to drown his sorrows.

“Meeting go well?”

Harry snorted and took another swallow of the drink. “Yes, absolutely bloody fantastic.” He finished the drink and summoned the decanter and filled his glass back up. Looking up for a moment he summoned another glass and poured a second drink that he handed to Tom. Tom took it and took a small sip for the beverage. He hadn´t had a drink in three and a half year and he could feel the alcohol go straight to his head. It didn´t stop him from taking another sip, larger this time.

“My friends think I´m completely insane and Hermione wants to have me committed to St. Mungos. Ron is sure I´m under some sort of imperius curse, Neville, actually I don´t know what he thought as he didn´t say anything, and Draco looked like he´d seen a ghost.”

Tom finished the glass. Yes, it sounded like it had gone very well then. Harry topped it of before downing his own glass in one go. “Hermione is strictly against slavery, and feels I´ve become morally corrupt.”

“It´s an indenture contract, and I talked you into it. How does that make you morally corrupt?” Tom commented closing the book and putting it down beside him on the seat.

Harry snorted and slid from the arm of the sofa onto the seat. “Yes, I did try to tell her that. She seems to think we forced you. She´s of researching the whole concept. Hopefully it will take a while.”

The sound of footsteps in the hallway made Tom frown. There wasn´t anyone else in the house beside the two of them. Harry turned his head towards the sound and sighed. “Or not,” he muttered just as a brown-haired women came through the door, a book in her hand and an angry expression on her face. Tom assumed it was Hermione. He could vaguely remember her from the war. She was pretty in a way, and pregnant from the look of her stomach. The black dress she was wearing hugged her body and the purple winter cloak billowed around her as she walked, or stormed rather, into the room. 

“It´s permanent. You didn´t mention it was permanent, or exactly what is expected of him!” she hissed, waving the book in the air as if that somehow should make it more understandable what she was talking about. Her eyes were fixed on Harry, but as she came into the middle of the room she suddenly seemed to notice Tom sitting in the window. That stopped her in her tracks. The brown eyes met his with an intensity that was hard to match and Tom let his gaze drop to the floor.

“Oh.” She suddenly seemed unsure, as if she had´t actually expected Tom to be there, even though Harry had told her he would be a couple of hours earlier. Tom glanced up and watched as she studied him for a moment, before turning towards Harry. He could see her look from the glass in Harry´s hand to his face, an unhappy expression on her face. Apparently she didn´t approve of Harry drinking so early in the evening, or perhaps at all. She didn´t look like the type who drank much. Tom swirled the liquor in his glass around before taking another sip, finishing of the glass. 

Harry sighed from the sofa and started on another glass. “What did you expect, Hermione? That I´d locked him up in a dungeon or something? Or was having him clean the floor with a toothbrush?” He waved a hand around. The tone was level, but bitter. 

Tom looked up and saw Hermione blush. “Of course not!" She argued. "You did however fail to mention something else apparently.”

Harry looked up, confusion on his face. Hermione waved the book towards Tom. “His looks, perhaps?” Realisation bloomed over Harry´s face. He shrugged. 

“Oh. Yeah. Well, Hermione, you remember Tom, or perhaps not this version, but still. Tom this is Hermione Granger a good friend of mine.” He put emphasise on friend and gestured with his glass between them. “Ron didn´t come?”

Tom was starting to think he might need a couple of more drinks to survive this meeting. “Ma’am,” he nodded politely, bowing his head. Hermione looked perplexed for a moment at the polite address. What had she expected? For him to curs og hex her? Or insult her? He remembered that she was a muggleborn, but it was completely stupid to cross Harry at this point by insulting his friends. 

“Yes, he has manners. Not surprisingly,” Harry muttered. The alcohol was apparently working well on the Gryffindor. 

“Mr. Riddle.” Hermione nodded her head and came further into the room, frowning once more at Harry and the glass in his hand. She had either decided to ignore the fact that he didn´t have a last name anymore, or she didn´t know. 

“Just Tom,” Harry injected. Apparently she didn´t know. “Why are you here, Hermione? I thought we had finished this discussion. You made you dislike for the arrangement quite clear." 

“I´m worried about you!” She exclaimed, shooting a dark look at Tom. Tom had the feeling she was expecting him to murder Harry in his sleep, not that it would be possible at the moment. He lowered his eyes back to the floor.

Harry sighed and stared longingly at the decanter, apparently debating if another drink would be a good idea or not. Coming to a decision he filled his glass and let the decanter float over to Tom to fill his glass as well. Hermione seemed to think it was a bad idea for she slammed the book down on the coffee table making both Tom and Harry jump and the decanter would have ended on the floor if Tom hadn´t manage to grasp it mid air. “It´s permanent,” she repeated, before pointing a finger at Tom who was carefully putting the decanter down on the floor. “He is stuck in this situation for God knows how long. What where you thinking?” He had to admit it was a bit entertaining to watch Harry get yelled at.

“Yes, he is.” Harry didn´t seem to be inclined to elaborate, which made the girl even angrier by the look of things.It sounded like they had been over the same argument several times already and this was just a repeat. 

“How could you agree to this?! I don´t know what Sommerseth was thinking proposing this.” She was starting to pace back and fort on the floor between Tom and Harry. Again she gesticulated towards Tom. “And a collar, really?”

“Actually that wasn´t my idea. It´s the law,” Harry defended.

“Still! How can you accept to strip someone of their name and freedom?” She stopped again and put her hands on her hips. "And how do you know he won´t harm you? It´s not like he hasn´t tried to kill you before." 

Tom opened his mouth but before he could answer Harry´s voice shot in. “He can´t harm me. I told you. The bond forbids it, and he can´t use his magic so he´s pretty harmless, as harmless as an ex dark lord can get anyhow.” Harry was definitely getting tipsy. “And it was his idea! I tried to talk him out of it.”

Hermione turned her angry brown eyes on Harry. “You still agreed!”

Tom used the glass to hide the smile that was threatening at his lips.

Harry sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. “Did you come here just to yell at me some more? Although I´m sure Tom finds this quite entertaining, I don´t. It´s done, and it can´t be undone not matter how many hours you spend at the library.”

That didn´t seem to calm the girl down at all. Tom could swear she was vibrating with anger. Harry continued before she could get going once more. “He´s fine, I´m fine! Or I´m fine, he´s traumatized, but other than that.” Tom tilted his head. He wondered for a moment what exactly Harry had told his friends of the reason behind Tom wanting so badly to get out of Azkaban. From the sound of it and Hermione´s reaction it didn´t seem like they had gotten the whole story complete with all the sordid details. 

“And your solution to him being traumatized is to make him a slave?!” She was speaking even louder and Tom flinched slightly at the raised voice. The girl noticed because she made an effort to lower it when she continued, "How the hell is that going to help?" 

“Technically it´s an indenture contract.”

Tom was surprised the girl didn´t hit Harry at that moment. She looked like she was considering it though. “How is that any different?” she seethed. Tom smirked, remembering Harry asking the exactly same thing.

“Ehh, Tom?” Harry looked at him pleadingly, apparently hoping that Tom would consider helping him out of this. Tom shrugged. “There really isn´t much of a difference, My Lord.” He added the title just to rile the girl up. It worked as she looked even more flustered and angry. It wasn´t nice of him, and he probably should help Harry out, but there was no reason he couldn´t enjoy this a little bit. It was more or less the best entertainment he had witnessed in years, and Harry couldn´t punish him for being polite. After all, they did have company and he was expected to follow the Code. He smiled innocently as Harry´s eyes narrowed to glare at him. He felt a twinge of fear in the back of his mind at Harry´s displeasure, but he fought it down. 

“And you,” she turned on Tom who managed to wipe the smile of his face just in time. “You´re a murder who deserves nothing more than to rot in prison for what you´ve done! I had to oblivate my own parents and send them out of the country just to be sure they wouldn´t become casualties of your insane ambitions.” Tom assumed there wasn´t much point in trying to apologise so he kept quiet. “However, I can agree with Harry that what you´ve gone through the last years is horrible and distasteful, but I don´t think this is a morally good solution. You would be perfectly fine in Azkaban now after the Minster has fired the Warden and the guards.” Some of the anger seemed to leave her at that. She sighed and dragged a hair through her hair.

“You are an idiot,” she said to Harry. “And this is possibly the worst idea you have ever thought up.”

Harry shrugged and gave her a small smile. “Most likely.”

Hermione went over to the sofa and picked up the book she had put on the table. Tom half expected her to start berating Harry again, but she didn´t, instead she turned towards him again. “If you hurt Harry in any way I will find the rest of your bloody horcruxes and destroy them before killing you slowly,” she threatened before sweeping out of the room. The door slammed shut behind her.

“Yes, so, that was Hermione.”

“She seems nice,” Tom answered without thinking, sarcasm clear in his voice. He froze the moment the words left his mouth, but Harry just snorted and finished his glass.

Chapter Text

“What did you tell them?” Tom rolled the now empty glass between his two hands, looking at it intently as he asked. He wasn´t sure if he preferred that Harry had just told them the whole truth or a watered down version of it. Out of the corner of his eyes he saw Harry rise to pull off the winter cloak before flopping down on the sofa again.

“Not enough, evidently,” came the muffled response as Harry slung an arm over his face and looked like he was trying to melt into the furniture. “I told them you had been mistreated by the guards and that Sommerseth suggested the claim if I wanted to give you a way out of prison, that I refused, but you talked me into it. I didn´t go into detail about the abuse, but perhaps I should have. Hermione thinks you would be better of in prison as the warden and guards that mistreated you have been removed, instead of being turned into an indenture slave. Which as I recall, is more or less the same argument I made to you as well. That and your lack of clear thinking.”

Tom worried at his bottom lip with his teeth. Not hard enough to draw blood, but hard enough to hurt. The whole situation was really rather ridicules. If Harry had only told half the story to his friends then Tom could understand Hermione´s anger. From her point of view it probably looked like they had forced him into a helpless position, and if her objections to slavery was that strong that would explain why she thought Harry was morally corrupted. If he did tell her the rest then she might agree that this was better for Tom in the long run than staying in prison, but he wasn´t sure he actually wanted them to know everything that had happened to him. None of it was his fault, he knew that, but still, the humiliation and embarrassment was still real.

“I´m sorry.” The words were so quiet that Tom almost didn´t hear them. He frowned and turned his head towards the sofa, not understand what the boy was apologising for.

“I should have reported the Warden and the guards the first time I visited Azkaban, but I don´t think the reality and seriousness of the situation quite registered in my mind before that third time I visited. Not that it is an excuse, more an explanation. And a part of me thought you could use to loose some of that damned arrogance and pride you always carried with you as if it was a cloak. I didn´t want you this broken.”

Broken. Was that what he was at the moment? There was still whiskey left in the decanter on the floor and Tom poured the rest into his glass before putting the decanter back down on the floor. The alcohol gave him a slight buzz and seemed to be relaxing his mind. Pride and arrogance yes. He had to admit he didn´t have much left of either of those. They had disappeared sometime during the last years. Perhaps in a lot of ways he was broken.

He wasn´t sure why Harry was apologising though, none of it was his fault.

“Don´t be,” he said, drinking from the glass. “It doesn´t change anything.” Perhaps he was getting drunk himself. He did feel slightly tipsy. “And I killed your parents. We can call it even.” That earned a snort from the sofa. Harry managed to get himself into a sitting position and reached for his glass. The last of the whiskey disappeared.

Tom pulled his legs up to his chest and rested his arms and chin on his knees. He pulled his blanket closer around and looked out the window. The sun had gone down and the evening darkness was spreading, not quite able to get hold as the snow reflected the lights from the streetlights and the buildings around. People were still out, walking back and forth on the sidewalk, some with large shopping bags after having been out on Christmas shopping. It was two weeks to Christmas and Tom knew it would be the strangest Christmas he´d celebrated.

Behind him he could hear Harry get up and move. From the sound he was a bit unsteady on his feet. There was a sound of glass clinking and Tom assumed Harry had decided to keep drinking. One or two more glasses and the boy should be properly drunk. Tom wasn´t too far behind if he was being honest. The alcohol did help. It numbed out the feelings, and made it easier to think somehow. Easier to talk.

He jumped when Harry suddenly was at his side. As the Gryffindor reached out Tom flinched back out of instinct, hitting the window hard and one of the hinges pushed painfully into his thigh. His pulse automatically rose and he could feel fear starting to spread through his body.

“Sorry,” Harry held up his hand and Tom saw the glass of clear liquid in his hand. “Thought you might want some water.”

Tom stared at the glass for a moment before accepting. “Thank you,” he murmured. He downed the glass in one go before leaning his forehead against the window enjoying the cold against his skin. Harry stayed by the window, leaning against the wall, sipping his drink.

“How are you doing?” The question took him by surprise and he hesitated. It was the first time anyone had ever asked him that as far as he could remember. How was he doing? He didn´t know. The last three weeks had gone by in a flash and it felt like he was just trying to survive each day. He was mentally exhausted and all he really wanted to do was sleep. He huffed a laugh and answered honestly. “I don´t know.”

Harry shrugged across from him. “I guess that´s understandable.”

***

Harry watched as Tom continued to stare out the window. He looked so lost and uncertain, curled up in a grey wool blanket, that Harry really didn´t know what to do or say. It seemed Tom´s ability to hide his emotions was either reduced or he wasn´t trying. Harry assumed it might be the last reason. The Tom sitting in the window was nothing like the Tom Riddle he had encountered in the Chamber of Secrets, nor the one he had seen in any of the memories and as far from Voldemort as it was possible to get. It was like trying to get to know a completely new person.

Taking another sip of the glass he realized he was getting more than a little tipsy, but he didn’t care. He wasn´t going to work the next day, and after having had to listen to Hermione for the better part of the day he really needed a drink, actually several. Perhaps he should divulge the whole story instead of the shortened down version he had given them. He wasn´t sure why he hadn´t told them the whole story, perhaps to spare Tom or because he felt he couldn´t tell them. Either way it seemed to have backfired.

The sound of Kreacher popping into the room made both him and Tom jump slightly. Kreacher seemed to take in their state of drunkenness before speaking. “Do master Potter want dinner to be served?” Dinner yes. It would perhaps be wise to actually eat something. “Yeah, I guess we should eat something. Tom, anything in particular you want?” 

The look Tom gave him made him feel like he had just asked for the answer to “what is the meaning of life?” “Chicken, beef, pasta? Pizza?” Actually pizza sounded good. Kreacher hated making it though. Filthy muggle food as he liked to call it.

“Anything is fine.”

Well Harry would assume anything would be fine when you had been living on bread and water for three years. “Something to soak up the alcohol, please. And something we can eat here.” That made the elf look at him like he had suddenly grown a second head, but for once he kept his tongue and disappeared. Tom looked curious at the behaviour.

“He came with the house. He doesn´t like me since I´m a half blood. He accepts me, but he would have preferred Bellatrix I think.” He needed more alcohol. He wandered back over to the side table and picked up the decanter. Bourbon. Well, he guessed that would have to do. He brought the decanter back over to the window and took the seat opposite Tom. The window seat was more than large enough for the both of them. Lifting the decanter he filled Tom´s glass when he held it out. Getting the ex Dark Lord drunk could prove to be interesting after all.

“What happened to Bellatrix?” The question was asked after Tom had taken a good swallow of the liquid, grimacing slightly as it went down. He stared down into the glass before resting his head against the wall behind him.

Harry looked out the window at the darkness. “She´s dead. Ron´s mum killed her.” When he looked back he was met with brown eyes and for once Tom held his gaze. Harry assumed it was the alcohol making Tom more daring. He did seem to be doing better though. “Most of the rest of them is either dead or in Azkaban. Some managed to escape. Lucius gave us a lot of names to avoid spending time in prison. He got two years house arrest.”

Tom snorted. “Of course he did. Just like last time. Nagini?”

Harry grimaced. The bloody snake had been nowhere to be found. “No idea. She disappeared during the battle and no one has seen her since.” Tom nodded and looked out the window. Harry thought he could see something akin to longing in his face, but whether it was for the snake or for the possibility to go outside he didn´t know. “You can go outside anytime you want. There is no restriction on you that confines you to the house. Just stay away from the Wizarding World.” The Minister would probably have his head for this, but he didn´t care. He couldn´t keep the man locked up in the house day in and day out.

“Not afraid I´ll run of?” The words were soft, and Harry could hear genuine curiosity in his voice.

“Are you going to run of?” He countered. If Tom ran, then he ran, but the amount of tracking charms and the muggle GPS in the collar would make it difficult to stay hidden. The former Dark Lord couldn´t use his magic and they both knew there was no way to counter the claim, the magic of it was as old as time itself and only Lady Magic could reverse it when she thought the time was due.

Tom continued to stare out the window. Harry saw that he was biting on his lower lip. A nervous tick perhaps. “No.”

“Good.” Harry sipped at his glass and stared out the window. The silence settled between them. Not uncomfortable in any way. Harry had to admit he did enjoy having another presence in his house except the owl and the elf, even if the presence in question was Voldemort.

“Thank you.”

The words made Harry straighten. Tom was still looking out the window, but he glanced over at Harry before resuming to stare out in the darkness. “I know you didn´t want this, but I´m grateful. I know I´ve done horrible things and you had no reason what so ever to help me out. Most wouldn´t. They would have been content to leave me there to the amusement of the Warden, or they would have used the claim to their own amusement.” Harry assumed it was the alcohol that made Tom talk, not that he was complaining, but the voice was laced with a vulnerability Harry had never thought he would associate with Voldemort.

He just nodded. “This isn´t going to be easy,” he warned. It wouldn´t be. The Wizarding World was not going to be welcoming Tom back with open arms, claim or no claim.

That earned him a small, humourless smile from the dark lord. “It can´t be worse than the last years.”

“Do you regret it?” The words slipped out before he could take them back.

Tom looked at him. “What I did? Both no and yes, I guess. Splitting my soul so many times made me mentally unstable. If I hadn´t done it, then perhaps things would have been different as I would have done things differently. What done is done, and I don´t think that anything will change if I take the rest of the night to explain my views and reasons.”

Harry nodded. The horcruxes. There was a question that kept bothering him thought and he took a good drink from the glass before asking. “How did you get you looks back?”

The other flinched slightly at the question and was biting at his lip again. “Does it matter?”

“No, but I´m just curious as to way you bothered. The appearance you had going for you would strike more fear into people than this.”

Tom seemed to be thinking about what to say. Then he sighed. “I absorbed two of the horcruxes to stabilize my mind. As they were made when I was younger, the looks came with them. I used a glamour for most after.”

The horcruxes. If he had absorbed two, and the diary was destroyed that meant there was only 3 left. Tom seemed to notice his reaction because he palled and Harry could see fear and worry building in the brown eyes. He held up a hand. “Don´t, I´m not going to go looking for the rest of them if that is what you fear.”

“Why not?” It looked like Tom regretted the question the moment it was out.

He sighed. “I´m not interested in killing you.”

“You think you can reform me?”

“No.” He really didn´t think that. Tom was who he was. Harry could show him how the world worked, but he couldn´t force him to change. And, as things were with the claim, it actually prevented him from killing Tom. The whole idea behind the claim was that the losing party was given a chance to redeem himself through the indenture slave contract. That also meant that the holder of the contract, or owner, which was him in this case, couldn´t kill the indenture slave.

Tom fell silent before speaking, his tone low and soft. “Harry, what do you want from me?”

The use of his first name, threw Harry of. He shrugged. “Nothing.”

“Everyone wants something.”

Harry laughed at the Slytherin response. “I want you to behave and be respectful, to follow the Code so I don´t get dragged into the Ministry for a complaint, I want you to try and live somewhat normal, and I want you to help me at work. In return I promise you will have a home here and as much freedom I can give you. And I´ll protect you as much as I can.”

“I killed you parents and my followers killed a lot of your friends and loved ones.”

Harry felt a surge of anger at the matter of fact tone Tom used. “Yes, and would you like me to string you up and beat you into submission for it, pet?” The use of the endearment term threw Tom of. From what Harry had gathered the Warden had normally used it and Harry knew he was being cruel to utter it.

He watched as Tom flinched and lowered his head. “No, My Lord.” Well enough into his cups not to care Harry decided to push things a little. “You know that´s the wrong title.”

Tom shifted on the seat before him. He could see the confliction emotions and thoughts that went through Tom´s head. He opened his mouth before closing it again. Harry waited. He didn´t know why he pushed this. It didn´t matter as he had told Tom to call him Harry at home, but then there was the problem with when they was in public. My Lord, was a common enough title that everyone that was a Lord was afforded. An indenture slave however was expected to address their owner as master or mistress, Lords and Ladies as My Lord or Lady, and everyone else as ma’am and sir.

If Tom couldn´t utter the word, then they would be in trouble.

Kreacher suddenly appeared, floating two trays beside him that he placed on the coffee table, before bowing and with a pop went away.

Harry left the window seat and took a seat on the couch and drew one of the trays towards him. The food was simple, mushroom pasta with bread on the side.

Tom was still sitting on the window, a look of uncertainty on his face.

"Come," Harry said and gestured towards the food. Tom rose and to Harry's surprise he did kneel and pulled one of the trays towards him. Well, at least he was trying. 

Harry sighed, deciding to address one of the problems, which was the "my Lord" title Tom was using.  “Tom, I need you to be able to use the titles correct in public." 

“I know,” the words was hissed. The other looked like he was having a lot of trouble debating on what to do. Harry sighed and reached out, ignoring the way Tom flinched as he put as hand on his neck to ground him like he had done in the shop when they bought the collar. “Tom, giving up control is not the end of the world. I´m not going to hurt you and I think I´ve proven that by know.”

Tom nodded, but didn´t look up.

“Well?” He could order Tom to use the correct title, but he didn´t think that would do any good at the moment.

On the floor beside him Tom seemed to have finally reached some sort of conclusion because there was a determined look in his eyes as he opened his mouth.

Chapter Text

Harry wondered if it was possible for a hangover to last two days. He had a horrible headache, one that had been much worse the day before, but still lingered. Rubbing at his eyes he waited for Tom to finally get finished dressing and to come down. He was pretty sure the Slytherin heir was still angry with him for the idiotic stunt he had pulled that night.

He shouldn´t have pushed at Tom for using the wrong title, but the continued mentioning of his parents and the alcohol had made something snap and he had taken the irritation out on Tom in the worst possible way. No wonder the other man had avoided him like the plague the day after. He had apologised but he knew he had screwed up and made Tom even more wary of him. He would have been wary too if the person holding your life in his hands went from reassuring to demanding in less than five minutes. And Tom had actually talked to him that night and seemed to be doing better, before Harry decided to ruin everything of course.

The problem was still standing though. He needed Tom to be able to use the correct title in public, which he still wasn´t sure Tom would do. For some reason it seemed like the use of that word struck at something in Tom. Well, he guessed today would show.

Picking up the red Auror winter cloak he threw it over his shoulders just as he heard the sound of Tom coming down the stairs. He looked up and paused. Tom was dressed in the formal robes of the Potter estate, black robes, with crimson lining and navy blue and red trimmings. At his neck the collar matched the robes perfectly with it´s black colour and the coat of arms in red and blue, which was also shown on the chest of the robes. Harry had seen the robes when they arrived, but never on Tom. If the man had been handsome before the robes made him straight out gorgeous.

As Tom reached the floor Harry held out the heavy winter cloak that had come with the robes. Tom accepted and pulled it around his shoulders and fastening the claps. The collar was still visible at his throat.

“Ready?” Harry asked, pushing a hand through his hair. Brown eyes rose to meet his for a moment.

“Yes.” The tone was curt.

Harry sighed. “You still angry with me?”

The silence was probably answer enough. Tom did have the right to be angry, Harry thought. He had acted like an idiot. “I suppose it won´t help if I promise not to drink again?” Still no answer.

“Tom, you need to talk to me.” They really should be going but Harry didn´t want the issue to hang over them for the rest of the day.

A muscle twisted in Tom´s face, as he seemed to grind his teeth. “I´m not angry. I just,” he huffed a breath and dragged a hand over his face. “I don´t know how you want me to act and…” He trailed of.

Harry nodded. “I know. I am sorry for pushing. I guess today will not be the easiest of days either.”

“Probably not.” Tom agreed.

“Well, let get this over with.” Harry led the way over to the fireplace and picked up some of the Floo powder. Pulling Tom into the fireplace with him, he cast the powder down and ordered “Ministry of Magic.”

There wasn´t a lot of people in the Atrium at seven pm in the morning. They emerged from one of the fireplaces in the middle and walked the familiar way over towards the golden gate. Harry had set the meeting with the Head of the Auror office early to avoid most of the Aurors. It would give Tom a chance to settle in before the rest of the office arrived. He wasn´t entirely sure how they would take the news about the Dark Lord being there, but he hoped it wouldn´t go too horrible. If it did then he would have one more thing to feel guilty about.

They stopped at the registration desk where Eric was sitting, having already been there for an hour. Harry knew from the letter he had received that Sommerseth had arranged for something that would grant Tom access through the gate. Normally it was tied to the person’s magical signature and name, but with Tom´s status being what it was, the gate wouldn´t recognize him.

“Good morning, Harry,” Eric smiled, but it faltered at the sight of Tom behind him. His eyes lingered at the collar before reaching into a draw and pulling out something that looked like a silver bracelet. “Here. Mr. Sommerseth had me prepare this. It will open the gates for him.” He nodded at Tom.

Harry smiled and thanked him. Just outside the gate he turned and held out his hand. “May I?” He asked.

Tom placed his hand in his and watched as Harry fastened the bracelet around his right wrist, the only possible solution seeing as the cast was still on his left. “There, hopefully that will grant you access. Care to try it?”

The gate seemed to hesitate for a moment when Tom approached it, but then it swung open, allowing them inside. Harry took the lead and headed for the elevators. The Auror’s office was on level 2.

The office was quiet and empty, but the lights were on so Harry assumed Robards was in his office. He stopped by his own desk and took of the cloak and hung it over the chair. “This is my desk. Draco and Neville have those two,” he pointed to the desk directly opposite of his own and the one beside it. He had no idea what Robards had planned in regards to the newest addition to the team though. “Ron sits behind Neville, but he is currently on leave. Have you ever been here?” To be honest Harry didn´t know how much of the Ministry Tom actually had experience with.

Tom shook his head and unclasped his cloak when Harry held out his hand for it. He put it over the chair along with his own. “No, I´ve never been here. Never had reason to.” Harry nodded.

“My boss wanted to talk to us before the rest of the Auror´s gets here. I´m assuming he´s in his office since the lights are on.”

The sound of “come in” floated out when Harry knocked on the door and the proceeded to push it open. “Good morning, sir,” he smiled as he entered the office, Tom close on his heels. The office looked about as much of a mess as usual. Stacks of papers were everywhere. On the floor, the shelves and the desk. Pilled so high some places that Harry always expected them to come tumbling down any minute. How in the world the man got anything done was a mystery. Even the visiting chairs were filled with papers and books and Harry moved some out of the way to make room for sitting in one of them. Tom seemed to drift of somewhere behind him, and when he turned his head he saw the Dark Lord was leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. Definitely still angry, Harry thought.

“Good morning,” Robards smiled, putting down his coffee cup. He glanced up at Tom and Harry could see his eyes lingering at the Slytherin. For a moment he wondered what people thought when confronted with Lord Voldemort. The Dark Lord that had terrorised the Wizarding World for so long, but now looked like nothing more than a young student out of Hogwarts. Did they feel a pang of fear, or relief or perhaps anger?

“Tom I presume?”

“Yes, Sir.” Tom gave a polite nod as he glancing up.

“So this is you version of getting information from a source, Harry?” The voice was teasing and Harry found himself blushing. “At least it will save time,” he defended. Robards laughed.

“Yes, the Minister himself and Mr. Sommerseth was in here yesterday more or less ordering me to allow you to bring Tom here with you to work. I guess I would be stupid to turn down the opportunity to have one of the most powerful wizards of all time, with his wealth of knowledge at my disposition. Have you talked to Mr. Longbottom and Mr. Malfoy?”

Harry nodded. Neville had taken it nicely; Draco on the other hand had looked like he considered resigning. Tom had after all tried to turn him into a murder, so Harry could understand the impulse. “Yes. Draco is sceptical, but he´ll come around.”

“Good. I´ve cleared out meeting room one for you. I thought your team could use that as an office from now on. It will be easier than working in the bullpen.” Robard´s was muggleborn, which showed sometimes in his choice of words.

“And you, Tom, are you going to terrify my employees with you presence?”

Harry turned in his chair. Tom looked up and looked between Robards and Harry before concentrating on the floor alone. “No, sir. Not intentionally.”

“Good. And his magic?” The last was directed at Harry. He shrugged. “It´s currently blocked.”

“I assume you´ll agree that you are not taking him out into the field with you if he can´t defend himself? Sommerseth and the Minister will have my head if something were to happen to him in the field because I let you drag him with you on one of your idiotic hunches that normally end with you in the hospital.” Robards leaned back into his chair and folded his hands over his stomach.

Harry groaned. Of course the man had to bring up the times he´s screwed up in the field and gotten hurt. It wasn´t like being an Auror was the easiest job in the world. “That has only happened three times, sir!” From the corner of his eyes he could see Tom have something that looked like curiosity on his face.

“Yes, and you are still not taking him into the field. That´s an order Potter.”

He knew there was no arguing with the man so he just bowed his head. “Yes, sir.”

“Now go and set up in the meeting room, I want to talk to our new addition here.” Dismissed apparently. Harry nodded and rose. He cast a quick look at Tom who didn´t look all too happy about being left alone with Robards. Sorry, he mouthed before leaving the room.

***

Robards studied the youth in the corner of the room. Dressed to the nines in the Potter estate colours as was expected of an indenture slave. The collar was easily visible at the neck and Robards found himself somewhat fascinated by how well the collar seemed to fit the former Dark Lord. For a mass murder he was incredible handsome with the sharp features, black hair and what he thought was brown eyes, but they had been trained mostly at the floor so he wasn´t completely sure. Robards had little problem imagining how the boy in front of him at used his looks and charm to build and army of followers. Unfortunately the boy wasn’t a boy at all, but just a decade or so younger than himself, but it wasn´t possible to think of him as anything else the way he looked at the moment.

He had never seen or met the Dark Lord when he had been at the height of his power, nor attended his trial. The boy, (man he amended), before him was one of the most powerful wizards of all time, perhaps second only to Dumbledore when he had been alive. He still had the power, only locked away. Robards let him self wonder for a moment what it would mean for the Auror’s to have that kind of magic on their side.

Rounding the desk he sat down on the edge. He could see Tom tense and take a step back, then another before colliding with the wall. His whole demeanour was one of unease and he looked like he wanted no more than to bolt out of the office. A hint of white peaked out from the left sleeve and Robards realized it was a cast.

“Easy,” he murmured, feeling like an idiot for using the same tone as when he was trying to console one of his father’s horses. “Skittish aren´t you?” The words slipped out before it could stop them. They were not appropriate considering what the man in front of him had been through the last couple of years, but he had been too lost in the thoughts about the horses.

They earned him a glare. Yes, definitive brown eyes, he thought. Robards spread his arms wide, palms showing. His wand was well tucked away.

“Easy,” he repeated. For a moment regretting that he had dismissed the Potter heir. “I just want to apologise. I´m the Head of the Auror office and so responsible for those who guard Azkaban.”

That gained a reaction. Something flashed across the youthful face in front of him, something that was torn between fear and something else.

“I am sorry. I didn´t know, not that it´s an excuse. I should have known. They were my Aurors. If you want to blame someone then blame me. If I had known I swear I would have had them removed. We have established new routines at the prison to avoid something like this from happening again. I know that doesn´t change anything, and I can´t undone what has been done, but I am sorry.”

The brown eyes were watching his own and Robards remained still. He had not lost any relatives to the dark lord during the last two wars, and didn’t personally have anything against the man, but he did understand those who did, but hadn´t the former dark lord paid enough already?

Chapter Text

“Harry, a word, please,” Robards said as he opened the door to the meeting room and let Tom walk in first. Tom watched as the door closed behind Harry as the other walked out. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair and over his face. He had to give it to the light side, they sure loved to apologise for everything. He didn´t think he´d ever before had so many people tell him they were sorry in such a short time period, unless you counted the Death Eaters though. They had always stuttered out one apology after another in a babbling mess every time they messed up and understood he was about to punish them for it.

Looking around the room he wondered if it was possible to use their apparent bad conscious against them. It worked on Harry at least. The guilt he was feeling over not having reported the Warden at once was quite clearly eating away on the boy. Which was useful as it made Harry less inclined to actually use his newfound authority over his nemesis. So far the only thing that actually was different from him being free and not a bound slave was the collar around his throat. Harry had no expectations of him behaving like a slave at home, and so far hardly in public either. That could of course change. He knew that. There was the danger that Harry would change the rules when he got more comfortable about being an owner and the power that came with it. The guilt would eventually die out when Harry felt he had done enough to ease it, and power was a dangerous thing.

Did he know what he had gotten himself into? Probably not. He had read the Code of Conduct the day before and after reading it he had to admit to himself maybe he ought to have read it before forcing Harry to accept to put forth the claim. The parts he remembered hadn´t been half of it and it had been a lot stricter than he had thought. Strangely enough Harry hadn´t done anything to correct his behaviour in public so far even though Tom had broken several rules already in the short amount of time they had been outside the house. The problem with being out in public was that it wasn´t Harry´s choice as to how he behaved, it was the law, and anyone could complain to the Ministry if they thought he wasn´t behaving as expected.

One could ask why he deliberately chose not to follow the rules of course. Unfortunately he didn´t have a good answer for that. Perhaps it was the last shred of his pride that had decided to protest. Perhaps it was because he didn´t want to accept that this was his life now, a life he had chosen, asked for even. Perhaps, just perhaps, Harry had been right that he didn´t know what he was doing and it was his panic and fear of staying in Azkaban with the abusive guards that had led him to where he was at the moment.

Tom leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. He couldn´t deny that the last three years had affected him. In the beginning he had assumed he would just suffer through it and come out unscratched mentally at the end of it. He had fought and threatened the guards and the Warden, which hadn´t helped a damn thing, but as time passed he had started to give up. Or his mind had decided to start protecting itself, and against his will he had slowly let the abuse and the torture affect him to the point where it changed him. Perhaps Harry had a point when he had called him broken. He had assumed it would take more to break him, but perhaps he was only human after all. A human that couldn’t die though. He still had 3 horcruxes left.

He hated how his mind and body betrayed him though. It reacted to touch and people and situations regardless of how he wanted it to react. On the other hand he had broken people with torture in less time than three years before. He knew how to break a mind and the body, and unfortunately that knowledge made it even clearer to him that the Warden had succeeded in breaking him, if not completely so at least to the point where he didn´t recognize himself. The question was if he was able to regain enough of himself to build himself back up. And then? He was stuck with Harry for the unforeseeable future. Perhaps he should have stayed in Azkaban with the new guards and waited for his mind to heal? On the other hand, he would then have been confined to Azkaban for the rest of time. Now he had freedom to walk the muggle world as he wanted at least.

Before he could deliberate further on the idiotic choices of his life the door opened and Harry came back in. He tried to gauge a reaction as to what Robards had wanted to talk to him about, but the boy gave nothing away.

“You have a habit of ending up at St. Mungo´s then?” He didn´t know why he asked.

Harry laughed and dragged out one of the six chairs that stood around the large oak table in the middle of the room. There were two bookshelves against the far wall, and a fireplace on the other with a couch, table and two chairs in front. “Not intentionally, no,” the boy answered as he sat down. “But yes, it has happened a couple of times over the last three years. Being an Auror isn´t the easiest job in the world, all though I guess it´s better than having you trying to find imaginatively ways to kill me once a year.”

Tom flinched. Yes, perhaps reminding the boy that he was currently stuck with his nemesis for the rest of his life wasn´t the best course of action. “Not every year,” he muttered, glancing at the fire in the fireplace.

“No, but you did manipulate a whole tournament on the off chance that I would actually touch the cup.”

Yes, that had perhaps not been his most brilliant idea, but it did work though. Surprisingly enough. He refrained from pointing that out to Harry. As far as he could remember Wormtail had killed the boy´s friend that day too and Tom was not too eager for Harry to remember all the people who had died because of him. He assumed that would be a good way to loose privileges.

“And you spent a year manipulating my dreams to get me to break into the Department of Mysteries to get that blasted prophecy for you.”

Tom couldn´t say he really liked the direction this conversation was moving in. The tone in Harry´s voice was not all too friendly and the narrowed eyes wasn´t the best sign either. He wondered if it was possible to change the topic somehow with out looking like he was trying too hard. All though in his defence, the ploy to get Harry to remove the prophecy had worked splendidly, except from the part about the prophecy getting destroyed and he had to show up at the Ministry himself to get Bellatrix out. He guessed he couldn´t claim it had been a complete success come to think of it.

Luckily, or unluckily, depending on ones view, the conversation came to a halt as the door opened and a blond boy walked in. Tom had a vague recollection of meeting the boy at some point, but he could see from the looks alone that this was Lucius´ son. The one he had threatened into killing Dumbledore, or trying to kill Dumbledore.

“Draco,” Harry said, tilting his head far enough back to smile at the boy upside down. Draco let the door close behind him and nodded at Harry, but his eyes were fixated on Tom. He could see the boy study him and how the eyes lingered at the collar around his neck before coming up to meet his eyes. Tom watched as different emotions seemed to war against each other before settling on something that looked like hate. Tom swallowed and the feeling of helplessness crept over him. There wasn´t much he could do if the boy decided to hex him, other than pray that perhaps Harry would protect him, and wasn´t that just the top of irony?

“Mr. Malfoy,” he greeted with a nod. Draco didn´t answer. Instead he rounded on Harry. “You seem to have forgotten a small detail in you explanation,” the blond hissed, waving his hand in Tom´s direction. Harry looked lost for a moment. “Oh, yeah. I suppose I did. Well, Draco, you remember Voldemort, or Tom as it was, Tom I´m sure you remember Draco, Lucius´ son?”

The Malfoy heir looked like he had grown somewhat in the last five years. Although Tom was surprised that he was working as an Auror. Considering the wealth the Malfoy´s had he didn´t have to work. Then again, with Lucius convicted perhaps this was a good way for Draco to somehow rebuild the Malfoy name.

Before Draco could say anything the door opened again and a dark haired boy came in. He looked vaguely familiar too and Tom tilted his head slightly, trying to remember where he had last seen him. He assumed it had been during the battle at Hogwarts.

“Harry,” the boy nodded, his eyes glancing over at Tom before going back to his two colleagues. “I see you brought your pet with you.” Tom flinched. Merlin how he hated that word. Andrews had never called him anything but that the three years Tom had been misfortunate enough to be around the man. It still made fear and panic unfold in his stomach whenever he heard it.

“How is this going to work exactly?” It was Draco who asked. Arms crossed over his chest and a murderous look on his face. “We´ll just continue as we always have and he´ll stand quietly in a corner and answer any questions we might have?”

“Considering he´s a slave I assume he would be kneeling in a corner,” the second boy muttered. Tom bit his lip. Apparently this one was a bit more vindictive than Draco and Harry. He made a note to try and avoid the boy as much as possible. However he did have a point. Tom shouldn´t be standing, leaning against the wall when his master was seated at the table. His place was beside the chair. Left side if one was to be very specific. He had no intention of moving however.

Before Harry could explain exactly how he envisioned this to work, and Tom had to admit he was curious himself, the door opened for the third time. Tom groaned. He really hoped there weren´t more people on Harry´s team. Two people that apparently hated him were enough for one day.  

“Hello boys.” Sommerseth smiled as he entered. His scarlet and black robes and cloak showing that he was the Head of the Department of Law Enforcement.

“Sir,” the three boys nodded and greeted their boss respectfully.

“Playing nice?” Sommerseth let his eyes move from where Tom was standing and then back to the three Aurors.

“Trying,” Harry replied. “What can we do for you, sir?”

“I need to borrow Tom for a little while.”

What? Tom looked at the man. Why? He couldn´t come up with a single good reason why Sommerseth would want to borrow him. He looked at Harry, meeting his eyes as the boy looked at him. He knew Harry wasn´t going to deny his boss the request, but that didn´t mean he couldn´t let the boy know he didn´t want to go.

“Of course, sir.” Tom almost rolled his eyes, but managed to refrain.

“Good,” Sommerseth smiled. He waved his hand towards Tom in a ´come here´ motion that Tom wanted to refuse. Not that it was an option. With a small sigh he pushed himself from the wall and with a glare towards Harry that made the boy frown, he followed the older wizard out the door. As it closed behind him, Sommerseth turned and Tom nearly walked straight into him. “Where´s your cloak?”

“Harry´s desk, sir.” Looking over at the desk he saw that several of the other Aurors had arrived at the office. A couple was whispering to themselves, while others glared at him or just ignored him.

Sommerseth looked around and walked over to grab the black, red and blue cloak that was hanging over the chair. He seemed to be looking around for something else as well. After giving up the search he walked back over to the meeting room and popped his head in. Tom heard him ask Harry something but he couldn´t make out the words.

When he returned he held out the cloak and Tom slowly accepted it and pulled it around his shoulders, fastening the buckle at the throat. When he looked up he saw the man study him before taking a step closer. Automatically Tom took a step backwards and away. Sommerseth looked thoughtful for a moment before shaking his head. “Come on,” he smiled.

Wary Tom followed him out of the office and to the elevators. Once they reached the Atrium on level 8 he was starting to wonder where exactly they were going. “Sir, where are we going?” He asked, trying to keep his tone polite and not betray the nervousness that was starting to build in his stomach.

Sommerseth didn´t answer, he merely smiled and grabbed Tom by the wrist as they entered the Apparation point. The world went dark and spun as they apparated away from the Ministry. When they landed the first thing Tom noticed was the sand he was standing on and the sound of waved crashing into rocks behind him. He looked up and felt panic uncurl in rapid fashion at the sight of the looming building of Azkaban. He stumbled back and would probably have fallen if Sommerseth hadn´t had one hand on his wrist still.

“Easy, we´re just going to visit, then we´ll go back.” Sommerseth let go of his wrist and waited. Tom assumed it was to see what he would do. Not that there was much he could do. He couldn´t get back to the Ministry on his own.

“Why?” He managed to croak. Why the hell were they there?

“I´ll explain, but come, let´s get out of the cold.”

Not having much choice in the matter he followed Sommerseth.

The Warden was waiting for them at the entrance hall, a guard Tom couldn´t remember beside him. In his hands was what looked like two visitor´s passes. Sommerseth greeted him and the guard with a handshake and small talk. Tom kept back, the feeling of wariness strong and he wasn´t that happy about the memories the prison managed to drag up either. The Warden handed the passes to Sommerseth, who turned and gave one to Tom.

They started walking up the stairs from the entrance hall and Tom followed.

“Shouldn´t he be restrained or leashed?” The question came from the Warden and Tom looked up confused. What?

“Lord Potter forgot to bring it with him. I figured since we were just Apparating here and then back it would be fine. Unless you are planning on making a complaint?” Sommerseth shrugged.

“No, by all means. I´m just happy I´m not in charge of him anymore.”

Tom watched them as they walked. The conversation made an uncomfortable feeling spread through him. Before he could ponder anymore on what it meant Sommerseth continued. “Has he become any less manic since before the weekend?” From the question and where they were Tom assumed he was asking about a prisoner. There wasn´t really all that many other reasons to visit Azkaban.

The Warden sighed. “No. He keeps raging on about the cause and the glory and, well, to be honest he looks like he belongs in a mental ward and not a prison. Against his will Tom was starting to get curious. He didn´t think Sommerseth had dragged him of to the prison just because he could.

Sommerseth hummed. “Perhaps. We´ll see. Any luck with the interrogation?”

Beside him the Warden shook his head. “No. Nothing. We´ve tried veritaserum, but the problem isn’t that he´s lying, the problem is that he can´t string together a coherent sentence, or answer a question properly. We tried to medicate him, not that it helped. Any particular reason you think this will work better?”

“No, but I´m out of other options.”

They went up two flights of stairs before turning into the part of Azkaban where the cells were. On either side of the corridor there was small stone cells. Some empty and some filled with prisoners. Tom couldn´t help but wonder if some of his old followers were there. Not that they would recognize him at the moment. Something he was thankful for. He wasn´t too sure about how his once followers would react to seeing him helpless and bound to the very boy who had defeated him. Some would probably relish in the delight. He hadn´t actually been kind to them. Half the time they simply did what he told them to do because the alternative was getting tortured.

Lost in his own thoughts he startled when they three people in front of him stopped outside one of the cells. Curious Tom peered into the cell. A man was sitting on the cot, head in his hands and rocking back and forth, muttering to himself under his breath. Long, grey hair fell around his face.

Looking back at Sommerseth he saw the man was looking at him. “Do you know who he is?”

Tom looked back into the cell. He couldn´t actually say he recognised the man, but then again, his face was hidden. “Should I?” He frowned.

“Perhaps, perhaps not. There was an attack two days ago on a small Wizarding village further up north. When the Aurors arrived they were met with the sight of your mark hanging in the sky above. There was a fight and this one,” Sommerseth made a gesture towards the cell, “was apprehended. We´ve tried to question him without much luck. He only keeps repeating that Dark Lord is back. Coincidently this happened the day Harry claimed you.”

“And you think I had something to do with this?” Tom asked incredulously. Fear as well if he was being honest. He looked back towards the cell. As far as he knew he´d never seen the man before, and he wasn´t exactly in a position of giving orders and arranging raids. The bloody dark mark however wasn´t hard to conjure. The incarnation wasn´t exactly a secret.

“No, I don´t, but I don´t know what to believe. There was one last night as well. This time the Aurors got there too late and all that was left was the dark mark hanging in the sky.”

A thought occurred to him. “Does he have the dark mark?” The mark in the sky was one thing, but the process of burning it into his followers was a well kept secret, and not easy to do. He turned towards Sommerseth. “Well?”

“Watch you tone, slave,” the Warden said, frowning and crossing his arms over his chest. Tom flinched at the anger in the man´s voice and his mind wanted to recoil and hide. He glanced over at Sommerseth and saw the man narrow his eyes. Apparently he´d crossed a line. He swallowed.

“Yes. Are there by any chance any of your followers who could have decided to start up where you left off?”

Was there? Tom wasn´t exactly sure. He didn´t think so. This could of course just be a random group that wanted to cause havoc and pain. It didn´t mean that there had to be much more behind it. Then again he could understand why Sommerseth was worried. Having gotten rid of one Dark Lord, he probably didn´t want another one. Back to the question at hand though, were there any of his previous followers who could have decided to rise up? That depended on who was still alive and free he guessed.

“Without knowing who´s imprisoned, and who´s dead it rather hard to guess, sir.”

Sommerseth nodded. “I´ll get you a list. As for now I would like you to try and get some information out of him.”

Tom raises his eyebrow in confusion. “Sir?” How exactly was he going to do that? If they had tried to interrogate him without success, how was he supposed to get him to talk? Torture?

The Warden must have had the same thought because he bristled. “I´m not letting him torture a prisoner! That is against the law.”

Both Tom and Sommerseth turned to look at the man. Had he forgotten just why he had gotten the job in the first place? It seemed to dawn on the man however because he blushed once he realized his mistake.

Sommerseth seemed to decide to let it go. “I want you to ask him as Voldemort.”

Yes, this was not exactly becoming less confusing. “And how am I suppose to do that, sir?”

“A glamour.” Oh, wonderful. Tom wondered if the man was insane or if it just happened to look that way. His disbelief must have shown. “I wouldn´t have done this if I had any other alternatives. I should be able to cast a half decent glamour to fool him. If he recognizes you then we at least know who he believes the Dark Lord is, and if he don’t then we at least can rule out that you have someone running around pretending to be you.”

“It´s illegal to coerce or mislead a confession out of a prisoner.” The Warden folded his hands over his chest as he spoke. Tom looked at the Warden. Sommerseth smirked. “Ah, well, this isn´t an official interrogation so we should be fine. Let´s call it a … friendly visit.” He drew out his wand and Tom felt the magic wash over him as the glamour settled. Looking into the cell he held out his hand. “I need a wand if I´m going to make this believable.” Not that he could use magic on the man, but it would be strange for Lord Voldemort to appear without one. 

The Warden sounded like he was choking on something. Sommerseth handed over his wand, much to Tom´s surprise. He had expected the man to outright refuse. As the wand came in contact with his hand he hissed. Apparently the wand didn´t like him. A good thing it would only be for a short while. The Warden unlocked the cell and Tom walked in, wondering why he had agreed to this. Not that he had much choice.

***

They arrived back at the Ministry and Sommerseth led him back to the Auror´s office. As they entered the office several of the Auror´s turned to look and the conversation seemed to still. “Back to work,” Sommerseth snapped, irritation rolling of him in waves. He motioned for Tom to come with and headed for Robards office. Inside they found the Head of the Aurors and Harry.

“That took a bit of time,” Robards said as they came in. Tom made to move over to the wall to lean against it but to his surprise Sommerseth grabbed him by the back of the neck and unceremoniously pushed him down to kneel beside Harry´s chair. Tom used his right hand to make sure he didn´t completely crash against the floor because of the force behind the shove, and glared up at Sommerseth as he moved to sit down on his heels, arranging the robes and cloak around him. “Don´t,” Sommerseth said, the warning clear in his tone.

Harry looked down at him and from the confused look on his face he wondered what Sommerseth was talking about. Tom looked down. The humiliation of kneeling was grating on him, but at the same time he could feel the familiarity of the position wash over him. The bond all but hummed in approval sending a warm fuzzy feeling through him. He could feel his mind relax and how the tensions bleed away to a content feeling.

“How did it go?” Robards asked as Sommerseth moved the stack of papers that was sitting on the second visitor chair so that he could sit down.

“Well, he didn´t recognize Voldemort, which I guess is a good thing. Tom says the mark on his arm isn´t of his making and has been faked. It has no connection to the Death Eaters. Which means we are about nowhere. Do you have a list of the Death Eaters?”

Tom glanced up and saw Robards hand over a piece of paper. Sommerseth looked it over before nodding and handing it down to Tom. As Tom started reading through it Sommerseth turned to Harry.

“Another thing. I understand that you don´t want him to suffer anymore than he already has, but you can´t treat him as a roommate Harry.” Sommerseth was talking and Tom got a distinct feeling he wasn´t going to like how this conversation was going to end. “It´s not fair to him to have to shift between two roles.” Tom wanted to object, the list in his hand completely forgotten. “It will only make it harder for him to remember his place when you are out in public. Having the same rules, more or less, both at home and in public will be easier.” Couldn´t the blasted man shut up? A hand settled into his hair and started stroking through it. The bond almost purred in joy. You chose this, he reminded himself for the hundred time.

Chapter Text

Harry was drinking, or trying to get completely wasted was probably a more accurate description. It was not a healthy thing to do, nor a smart thing considering how it had ended the last time he had been drinking, but at the moment the only thing he wanted was to be free of his own thoughts and worries – not to mention the guilt. If he was being honest then it was mostly the guilt he wanted to get ride of. It was fretting on his stomach and mind constantly, together with the worrying and the combination was not a pleasant one.

For a moment his thoughts strayed to Hermione and the disappointing look she had given him that day she had stormed into the house and found him drinking. He quickly pushed the memory away – he might actually get compelled enough to stop drinking if he thought too much about that look, and he didn´t want to stay sober.

The content of the whiskey glass disappeared and he poured himself a new glass. In retrospection he should have eaten something he thought has he sipped at the glass and stared into the fireplace in his office. Behind him, on the desk, the radio was playing at some Christmas song or another. It seemed that was the only type of songs available at this time of the year. He considered calling Kreacher to ask for some food, but he didn´t feel hungry. And hopefully he would soon be inebriated enough not feel too much at all, whether it was hunger or guiltiness.

He could of course, in theory, always call his slave to bring him something, but unfortunately his unwanted houseguest was the whole reason he was drinking, again. Ostensibly adopting a Dark Lord wasn´t healthy. Why had he agreed to this again? It had so far not brought him anything other than guilt and troubles and evidently now a drinking problem.

At least a adopting a dog from the shelter came with the option of returning it. Then again, a dog was usually easier to control than a Dark Lord. Why hadn´t he gotten a dog instead? They were great company, obedient – unlike former Dark Lords – pretty to look at - well, actually come to think of it Tom was more attractive than a canine so he guessed that argument was void. He sighed and finished the glass. Reaching for the crystal decanter he noticed that his coordination was slightly off. Considering how many glasses he had already downed, he was surprised it wasn´t more off. He still managed to pour himself a glass. Speaking of obedient pets. He actually had no idea where his was. The owl he knew was out hunting. And Kreacher never left the house unless he had to. His slave on the other hand… Identu-something-or-another, he corrected himself.

He considered casting a tracking spell, but in his condition he assumed the chances of him managing to correctly pronounce the incantation was slim to none. Well, if Tom didn´t show up before Harry went to bed then he guessed he would have to take a sobering potion and actually try to find the man. Showing up at the office the next day without him would lead to questions, and Harry wasn´t about to tell Sommerseth that he had lost the Dark Lord. That would not go over very well, especially not with the raids and attacks that had been happening the last days.

Harry had to admit he had a hard time believing that there was a new Dark Lord, but someone was behind the attacks. The question was if it was something more organized than just some previous Death Eaters returning to their old ways. At least no one was running around pretending to be Lord Voldemort, and considering the state Tom was in at the moment both physically and mentally, there was at least no chance that he had anything to do with it.

Tom seemed to be doing better mentally, and by all means physically, which should have been considered a good thing, if not for the fact that the man seemed to be completely unable to act as he was supposed to. Where he had almost dropped to his knees when Harry had raised his voice a couple of weeks back, he now seemed almost incapable of doing it. Unfortunately that was creating a problem. Actually, more than one problem – they kind of seemed to just multiply at their own will.

Harry assumed that the still rational part of the man´s brain was getting stronger and more able to handle the traumatized part of it. That of course led to Tom being less submissive and completely terrified, and more ´normal´, if one could associate that word with the Slytherin Heir. Tom Riddle had never been normal. On top of that it seemed like Harry had been right in his thought that day in Azkaban: Tom didn´t know what he had gotten himself into. Now that the reality of the situation had dawned on him, Tom was flailing and apparently having no clue how to handle the mess he intentionally had put himself in. The panic and fear that had made him push at Harry hadn´t exactly been taking into consideration how it would change his life, the way other people saw and treated him.

It had been easy to see when they had gone out to buy that blasted collar. Harry finished the glass and managed, barely, to pour himself another without loosing the decanter. Lifting it to his lips he frowned slightly at the inappropriate thought of just how good Tom did look with a collar. Especially one with Harry´s coat of arms on. Perhaps best not to continue down that path of thoughts. Forcing his mind to abandon the very nice image of Tom with the collar, Harry returned to the problem he was trying to find a solution to.

Tom had knelt when asked, but the reluctance to do so had been clear. Harry had almost ordered him to kneel as he sat down and realised his charge wasn´t moving to sit beside him, instead going to the bookshelf. He wasn´t entirely sure why he hadn´t. Mostly because it had been a long day, and he was tired and just wanted to get the whole purchase over with as soon as possible.

Then there was his behaviour at the Ministry. Tom had again elected not to kneel, actually several times. Harry knew he should have ordered him, and forced him by using the bond, but again he hadn´t. It wasn´t just the kneeling Tom seemed to struggle with. The other rules of eyes on the floor and only speak when spoken to seemed to completely have eluded the man. Harry hadn´t managed to get him to use the right title either.

He knew that he of course could enforce the rules through the bond which would then force Tom to act as he was supposed to, but for some reason doing that didn´t feel right. After all the suffering and pain the man had gone through, Harry had a hard time forcing him to bend to the rules. In the house it wasn´t much of a problem as he had tried to give Tom as much freedom as possible, but now, in hindsight, that might not have been the best course of action. The problem was his damnable conscience that rebelled at forcing the Dark Lord to bow. Sommerseth on the other hand didn´t seem to harbour the same problem. The surprised and confused look on Tom´s face, that then turned to anger and annoyance of being physically forced to kneel had been almost amusing to watch. Luckily he had stayed on his knees. If he hadn´t Harry wasn´t too sure what Sommerseth would have done.

He could probably still get him to drop with the right words and gestures, but the problem was that the method sent Tom into a headspace where he wasn´t aware of half of what was going on around him, and Harry would have to drag him back up. It would be more practical if Tom could just kneel on his own accord and stay somewhat cognizant.

And this all led back to why he was trying to drink his problems away, he thought with a sigh and finished of the glass. This time it was harder to fill it back up.

The dilemma he had was that he either had to somehow manage to get Tom to act in accordance with the role he had chosen for himself, or he would have to force him. Neither of t he options seemed very tempting. Trying to talk him into it would probably just lead nowhere, and forcing him wouldn´t exactly help their relationship. Damned if you do, damned if you don’t. Why had he agreed to this again?

He tilted his head back to rest against the back of the couch. Staring up towards the ceiling without actually seeing anything he let the alcohol wash away most of his feelings. Sommerseth did have a point when he said that having two set of rules would probably not do Tom any favours, and Harry was drunk enough to admit that he wouldn´t mind having the Dark Lord on his knees both at home and in public. If Tom continued to heal, if one could call it that, mentally at the speed he seemingly had been doing so far, then Harry was running the risk of him actually turning too much back towards his Lord Voldemort persona, which could be disastrous. On the other hand, he had given Tom as much freedom as he could, and it felt cruel to take it back so fast.

He sighed as the thoughts went around and around; the same questions, answers and deliberations turning over and over again in his head.

The sound of Kreacher suddenly appearing in front of him, made him jump. The elf seemed to be scowling in discontent at the glass in Harry´s hand. “Master is drinking.”

“Yes,” Harry answered. Returning his eyes to the ceiling. Now the elf disapproved as well. Great.

“Will master Harry be wanting dinner?”

Dinner? He glanced up at the clock on the wall. Oh, yes, dinner. He had completely forgotten the time.

“Is Tom anywhere to be found in the house?” He asked, overlooking the question about dinner.

The elf shook his head. “No, master.”

With a sigh Harry sat up and noticed that the world was spinning a bit faster then he would have appreciated. It was looking more and more likely that he was going to have to chase down the erstwhile Dark Lord. “We´ll hold of on dinner until Tom, hopefully, returns without me having to chase him down.” He groaned and rubbed at his eyes. Hopefully the damnable man would show soon.

“Perhaps master shouldn´t have let his slave go out on his own,” Kreacher remarked. Rather unhelpful, Harry thought. “Yes, thank you Kreacher.”

The elf bowed and popped away. Harry stared at the spot where he had disappeared. Perhaps Kreacher could give Tom some lessons on correct behaviour?

Sommerseth would have his head if he knew he had let Tom out on his own, doing Merlin knew what. Although it wasn´t as if the man could harm anyone, and he couldn´t get the collar off or break the bond. Then again this was Lord Voldemort. The brilliant, but poor boy, who had deceived all his teachers with his charms and had nearly taken over the Wizarding World twice. Harry groaned again. It was one thing that Tom couldn´t harm anyone, but he could still talk to anyone, plot and make plans and schemes. Just because Tom had chosen to accept the arrangement it wasn´t the same as saying he wasn´t plotting or planning.

Why hadn´t Harry just stayed away from Azkaban? His life had been rather peaceful and uncomplicated. Now it was just a mess of complications and difficulties and no solutions and one very stubborn Dark Lord.

Glancing a the clock once more he started to resign himself to the fact that he would have to go out hunting for his errant slave if he didn´t turn up during the next half an hour. Pouring himself yet another drink, he had lost count at this point, he settled back down on the couch. His mind turned back to the dilemma at hand as he swirled the liquor in the glass around in his glass. He had no intention of talking to Tom in his current state, but he should probably get the talk over with before they returned to the Ministry the next day. If Tom continued to act the way he had then Harry was pretty sure Sommerseth would do something more than push Tom to his knees. Actually he knew he would because the man had told him as much before Harry had gone home. He hadn´t said much more in the office than the initial warning, but he had pulled Harry aside later, when Tom hadn´t been within earshot.

He knew Sommerseth wasn´t doing this to punish Tom in anyway or to humiliate him. The man genuinely seemed to like Tom, as strange as the thought of someone liking Lord Voldemort was, and Harry got the impression he was doing this to make sure that they didn´t get into trouble with the Ministry. It was almost tempting to do nothing and let Sommerseth take care of the problem.

Only, he couldn´t do that. He had agreed to this, as Hermione had countlessly reminded him. Tom was his responsibility; and as much at Harry would love for it not to be the case, he couldn´t change the facts. Apparently being cruel to be kind was a part of that package. Tom was going to hate him more than he probably already did. He thought back to how the man had thanked him two nights ago, and felt the guilt of what he had to do gnaw on his inside. Wasn´t the alcohol supposed to deaden feelings?

He almost missed the slight shift in the wards as Tom came back into the house. A strange wave of relief washed over him that the man had come back. On the other hand, there wasn´t exactly many places he could go, and he knew as well as Harry did that it wouldn´t be a problem for Harry to track him down.

“Kreacher,” he called, rubbing a hand over his eyes. Perhaps it would be best to just get this over with.

“Master?” Kreacher bowed.

“I take it Tom came home just now?” He was drunk enough to admit he could have imagined the slight disturbance.

“Yes, master. Your slave just came home.”

Harry wondered if he should ask Kreacher to stop calling the man a slave, but then again it was what he was. With a sigh he put the glass down. “Can you get me a sobering potion from the liquor cabinet in the sitting rom and ask Tom to come up here?”

“Yes, master,” Kreacher popped away. Not many minutes later he heard the sound of footsteps in the hallway and Tom appeared in the doorway. He was dressed in a grey turtleneck sweater that covered his collar and black pants. His hair looked slightly damp from the snow that had gathered there during the walk only to melt when he had come back into the warm house.

It really should be illegal for a Dark Lord to look as good as Tom did, Harry thought. With a sigh he took a last sip of his glass as Kreacher popped back into the room and handed him a vial filled with the sickly sweet sobering potion.

“Drinking again?” Tom asked and came into the room. “Thought you said you wouldn´t drink again.” His tone sounded slightly wary, and Harry couldn’t blame him.

“And I thought you said you knew what you were getting yourself into,” Harry retorted. He suddenly felt both irritated and angry with the man in front of him. Harry had told him this was a bad idea. He had explain why it was a bad idea and Tom had still managed to guilt him into agreeing to it with the assurance that he knew what it would entail. And now Harry was stuck with the unhappy job of being a bastard and forcing Tom to act the way he had assured Harry that he could, because Tom had bitten over more than he could chew. All because Tom was now Harry´s responsibility and it was up to him to apparently protect the man from his own bad ideas.

Perhaps drinking hadn´t been the worst idea. If nothing else then at least he had been able to sort out his own thoughts. He had also come to the conclusion that he hadn´t know what he had gotten himself into either. He was now responsible for another person’s wellbeing. The impact of that hadn´t really hit him until just now. Looking back he knew that if he could turn time back, then he would have left Voldemort in Azkaban.

“I told you this was a bad idea. I told you that you didn´t know what you were getting yourself into. You assured me you did,” Harry continued, the anger and irritation making his voice louder. “I can´t undo this just because you are apparently feeling better mentally!”

Tom looked down and started playing with the end of the cast. His whole posture was stiff and Harry wondered for a moment if he should start with ordering Tom not to leave the house just in case he actually decided to run of by the time Harry was done with the bad news. Harry let the silence stretch out and downed the sobering potion. He could feel his head start to clear as the potion took effect and removed the alcohol from his blood. As awareness returned so did all his currently confusing feelings and for a moment he regretted not staying drunk.

“I know,” came the quiet response and for some reason that only fuelled Harry´s anger. He more or less slammed the vial down on the table before standing.

“Then why the hell can´t you just act as you are supposed to? How in the world did you imagine this was going to work?”

Tom looked up for a moment before he stared of into the fireplace. Harry could see the emotions warring on the other man´s face before landing on annoyance. Waiting to see if Tom would care to try and explain how he thought this was going to work. Harry pushed his hand through his hair and sighed when it became clear he wouldn´t get an answer.

“Fine, but I´ve been doing a lot of thinking since we came home and you ran of.” That made Tom look back over at him, his eyes narrowing in suspicion as he probably realized where this conversation was going to end. Good.

“Hermione was right. I didn´t want this, but I did agree to it. I didn´t completely understand what I was getting myself into either, even though I thought I did. You are my responsibility for the foreseeable future until Magic decides you have paid your debt. That means it´s my responsibility to take care of you, not only when it comes to practical things like food and clothes, but when it comes to protecting you from your own idiotic ideas.”

“I´m not a pet or a child, Harry,” Tom snarled, crossing his arms over his chest. “I´m perfectly able to look after myself with out your help.

Only that all the evidence pointed to the contrary, Harry thought. “No, you are neither a child or a pet – what you are is a slave. My slave. A position you put yourself in, willingly.” He could see the words hit as Tom tore his eyes away and looked like he wanted to bolt out of the room.

Strangely enough it felt good to have this conversation. Harry had thought it would be awful, but it felt satisfying to finally have sorted through everything in his head and as much as he felt guilt for what he was going to do, it still felt right. The realisation that Tom was in fact his responsibility now had helped. Initially he had thought he could just give Tom as much freedom as possible and that the man would put on an act out in public. Apparently that wasn´t possible. Or perhaps it would have been possible if Tom hadn´t started to get cold feet after two days. Harry had a sneaking suspicion that the evening when he had last forced Tom to kneel had been the last drop that made the glass flow over and for Tom to start questioning if he could really do this.

Again he marvelled at how stupid he had been to agree take Tom. He should at least have thought it through better.

“I have no intention of leaving you at home while I go to work. I want you to help me with my cases, which is the least you can do. That means you have to be able to actually act your part unless you want to figure out just how the Ministry punishes slaves. For as much I don´t want it to be the case, anyone can report you for your lack of correct behaviour and apparently that would mean that the Ministry would either force me to punish you, or they would do it. I would get a fine for not being able to control you and if there are filed enough complaints then the Ministry will take you away to make sure you receive the ‘appropriate’ training.” He hadn´t actually know that, but Marcus had been kind enough to fill him in.

Tom was still staring into the fireplace. Harry could see the muscles in his jaw move and he assumed the man was gritting his teeth, hard. He sighed and pushed his hand through his hair before addressing the man.

“Tom, look a me.” Tom continued to stare into the fireplace and there was no indication that he had heard him. “Tom,” he repeated. Still nothing. “Tom,” he snapped. Getting irritated. Finally the man turned his eyes away from the fireplace and looked at him. Harry wasn´t sure what feelings he had expected to see in the brown eyes, but for some reason the burning anger there surprised him.

“Fine. Anything else?” Tom snarled. Harry was so taken back with the response that he almost laughed. After all that this was the man´s response? When Harry didn´t answer, Tom turned to leave. Oh, no you don´t, Harry thought. Moving quickly he drew out his wand and sent the door slamming shut.

Tom stopped abruptly when the door closed and for a moment he just stared at it. “Open the door, Harry.” The voice was ice cold, but he didn´t turn around. When Harry neither answered nor opened the door he turned back around. His hands were balled into fists. “What?”

The anger Harry had felt had calmed down somewhat and he ignored Tom´s question. “This is going to end in one of two ways, you can chose which. You either start behaving, or I´ll force you using the bond. I´m not going to stand by and watch as you get yourself reported to the Ministry.”

Tom opened his mouth, but Harry cut him of. “And I don´t mean just in public. Until you actually can be trusted to behave as expected in public I expect you to behave as the Code dictates both here at home and when we are outside. And I mean all the rules. I´ll let up on some of them when you´ve shown that you can be trusted to behave when necessary.” For a moment Harry was glad the bond made it impossible for Tom to hurt or kill him, for the man looked like he wanted nothing more than to torture Harry into a slow death. Tom was going to hate him, but for some reason that didn´t actually bother Harry that much. The guilt had disappeared too, which was a relief. He wasn´t doing this to be cruel to Tom, or for the purpose of humiliating him, it was to protect him from himself.

“Do you understand?”

“Are you completely insane?”

Not entirely sure what Tom was getting at, Harry just shrugged. “Perhaps, but let me remind you that this was your idea. You asked me to do this. I warned you against it. If you had been able to actually act as you are supposed to, then this wouldn´t be necessary.”

Tom opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it. Apparently he didn´t quite know what to say.

“Well,” Harry said. “Are you going to behave on you own, or do I have to order you through the bond, which I suspect will be rather painful for you?”

He did feel a bit sorry for the man. Tom was apparently struggling to figure out how to come to terms with his own choices and this was probably not helping, but he couldn´t coddle him either. Finally Tom spoke and it sounded like the words were torn directly form his mutilated soul. “I´ll behave.”

Harry nodded. Good. Now time to test and see if Tom would actually be able to. “Good. Kneel.” That should be an easy one as Tom had knelt for him more than once, although he hadn´t been completely cognizant those times. He could see Tom warring with himself again, his eyes staring a hole into the floor. Harry sighed. “Tom,” he warned. This was never going to work. Taking a step closer he reached out and put a hand on his neck and pushed. Tom resisted for a moment before letting himself fold to the floor. Settling down on his knees he placed his hands in his lap. “Good boy,” Harry praised and felt Tom stiffen under his touch. If he was being honest he kind of missed the more traumatized version of Tom. It had been easier to handle. And then he remembered the events that had changed Lord Voldemort into Tom and felt a little guilty.

Chapter Text

The confused look on Tom´s face when he arrived down for breakfast was almost comical. He came into the kitchen a couple of minutes later than Harry and for a moment he looked perplexed when he saw that the table had only been set for one, where it previously had been set for two the other mornings. Then what looked like recognition hit the former Dark Lord and something akin to anger raced over his face, before something that seemed to be a mix between acknowledgment and mortification.

Harry watched from where he was making himself a cup of tea. The amount of feelings that crossed the man´s face left Harry confused. He watched as Kreacher set breakfast on the table – the sound seemed to jag Tom out of whatever considerations he was lost in. The man turned and disappeared out of the room.

For Merlin´s sake, Harry thought exasperated. Hadn´t the man just the night before confirmed that he would behave? Harry had made it clear that he would expect all the rules in the far too long Code, that was written in old English and barely comprehensible, to be obeyed. Apparently Tom had yet again agreed to something without really understanding the complete consequences of his decisions. Perhaps, Harry thought, it would be easier to just use the bond and save him self the trouble and irritation. Then again, the idea still didn´t sit quite right with him. Tiredly he rubbed at his eyes and wonder if he should go after Tom or just wait and see if the man would return by himself. One thing he did have to put into the bond however was the rule about not leaving the house without permission.

Harry hadn´t slept well. The conversation from the night before and his own feelings had kept him awake long into the night. He didn´t regret it, actually it was more the other way around. His musings and contemplations had made it even more clearly to him that as much as Tom hadn’t know what he had gotten himself into, neither had Harry.´

It was tempting to keep reflecting on what ifs, but that wouldn´t change the facts. Harry had claimed Tom under the Code of Magical Conquest and Tom, although his consent wasn´t necessary had accepted. The problem at hand was that neither of them actually had known what they had agreed to. Tom had been panicking and had seen the claim as the only way out of Azkaban in fear of being continually abused by the guards, a sentiment that Harry could very well understand, if he was being honest. Living with the Dursley’s had not been easy and he knew that at the worst of times he himself would have agreed to roughly anything to get away from them. Adding sexual and mental mistreatment to that in Tom´s case and Harry did recognise Tom´s desperation.

What he couldn´t quite put words on was why he had agreed to take Tom. He had said no when Marcus had asked, and when Tom had pressed him. Why had he altered his mind? Perhaps because he hadn´t expected to find Tom with a discolouration on his cheek when Marcus had discharged and exchanged half the staff assigned to Azkaban.

Harry remembered the shattered, subservient character he had been met with in Azkaban. The Tom that was presently in his house was neither Voldemort nor Tom Riddle. Voldemort had been exhausted, broken and despairing. Tom Riddle supercilious and far too ingenious and manipulating back in time when Harry had met him in the Chamber of Secrets. This Tom, the one in his house, was wary, still somewhat broken and submissive, but questioning his own action all too much. Perhaps that was the whole problem. If Tom spent less time considering and thinking, and more time just acting, then the whole problem could have been avoided.

Harry could though somewhat understand him. Kneeling and being submissive in Azkaban when confined to a cell, when being beaten and abused was one thing, kneeling in public was another. Tom had done what he thought was best, but as time past and the requirement of the position became clear, Tom was second guessing himself. Not that he really had any reason to. Harry had not treated him as a slave in any way, which in hindsight might have been a mistake. Not that he could do much about that now. Tom was, and would be, his responsibility for a long time. Harry wasn´t in any way inclined to abuse or otherwise take advantage of his slave, but he would do what he could to protect Tom from himself, even if that meant treating the man as a slave for his own good.

“Tom,” he called, but the man didn´t come back. Harry sighed, so much for behaving apparently.

“Master´s slave is not very obedient,” Kreacher snipped from where he was putting the teapot on the table before fetching the last plate that hadn´t yet made it to the table because the kettle going of announcing that the water was boiling had pulled Kreacher away. Harry tried, and failed, to not roll his eyes. “Yes, thank you. I´ve noticed.”

With another sigh he set his teacup down on the table and went looking for his slave. The wards hadn´t been disturbed so at least he knew Tom was still in the house.

He checked the ground floor and the first floor with out luck, but in the end he found Tom in the library on the second floor. No surprise there. His slave, it was actually becoming easier to think of him that way, was standing at the far end of the room, looking out through the window, arms wrapped around himself. He barely turned his head when Harry entered.

“Tom,” Harry said with a sigh then he stopped, not knowing what to say.

“I know,” came the clip response. There was anger in the voice, but also a vulnerable note that made Harry wince. A part of him wanted to relent and tell Tom to forget about the conversation the night before, but he pushed the feeling away. He was doing this to protect Tom, not because he would enjoy it. Oh, but a part of you do, a strange voice whispered. Harry growled at it.

“Come,” he settled on saying instead. Turning halfway towards the door he waited to see if Tom would obey. The seconds ticked past and Harry could see the tension in the shoulders of the other man. He was still gazing out the window, making no indication he was to move. “Tom,” he repeated, hearing the exhausted note in his own voice. This was giving him a headache and it wasn´t even seven am yet. Oh for the love of… Turning back around he walked over and grabbed Tom by the arm. “I said come,” he said, irritation bleeding into his voice, but before he could do anything Tom twisted free and shoved at him.

Harry stumbled back, but the push wasn´t hard enough for him to completely loose his balance. Tom, on the other hand, crumbled to the floor with a pain filled scream. He curled in on himself, twisted and turned and whimpered. Harry stood as if frozen before comprehension dawned on him. Of course – the bond. He had forbidden Tom from hurting anyone; apparently shoving someone in anger was enough to trigger it. The seconds ticked by before Harry realised the pain wasn’t stopping on it´s own.

Still not sure how to stop the bond from punishing Tom, but in lack off better options he reached out towards the presence in his mind and put his will for the punishment to end into it. For a few seconds he was unsure if it had worked or not. Tom had stopped moving, but was still curled into a tight ball, breathing heavy and occasionally whimpering in pain.

Harry crouched down beside the former dark lord and reached out a hand. “Tom?” He wasn´t sure if the man was still conscious, and worried as there was specks of blood on the floor near Tom´s head. Hopefully the man had just bit his lip or something.

Tom flinched away from the hand as soon as it came near his head and his whole form was trembling. Harry sighed and pushed the hand through his own hair in stead.

Well, at least he knew the bond worked, he thought slightly sarcastically. There wasn´t anyway for Tom to hurt anyone without apparently hurting himself worse. On the other hand, the pain seemed to be pretty bad, and Harry couldn´t help worry about how the punishment would affect Tom´s still fragile state of mind. The darker part of him, which he didn´t want to really acknowledge, was strangely pleased that the bond had punished Tom. It would perhaps make it easier for Tom to actually behave without Harry using the bond to force him since Tom now knew how painful it would be to disobey the rules enforced by it.

“Tom?” he tried again. Tom stirred slightly on the floor, uncurling a bit, his face still hidden by he hands. “Come on. Try to sit up. I´ll get you a pain relief potion.” He called for Kreacher who popped into the room two seconds later. After ordering the elf to fetch the potion from the lab, Harry sat with his back against the wall and managed to get the still shivering former Dark Lord to curl against him. Conjuring up a pillow and summoning a blanket from the couch he put the pillow between his leg and Tom´s head, and pulled the blanket around him. He pushed his hand through the dark locks and murmured completely random things, occasionally letting the hand fall down and rub his thumb around the area beneath the collar.

The quivering form in his lap was starting to calm down after a few minutes and Harry could feel the tension in the shoulders and neck starting to bleed out. The heartbeat slowed, as did the breathing. The weight on his leg got heavier as Tom slowly relaxed his body.

Kreacher popped back into the room with a vial in his hand, which he handed over to Harry. “I think you need to put a stasis charm on the breakfast,” Harry said, and tried to get Tom to lift his head enough drink the potion. Tom turned his head away, but Harry insistently pushed the vial against his lips. “Drink,” he ordered, pleased when Tom did as he was told and drank the whole vial. He handed it back to Kreacher and let Tom curl back up on the floor. Apparently a mere 30 seconds of punishment from the bond was enough to render Tom completely useless.

“Kreacher, could you please pop into the Auror´s office and tell Robards that I´ll be in late today?” It would have to do for one day. Harry hardly thought Robards would punish him for being late, the man would most likely understand if he explained the situation to him. And he didn´t want to leave Tom home by himself after this, nor was he currently in any form to actually move.

With a sigh he leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes. There was no possible way this would have had any positive effect on Tom´s fragile mind. The man was constantly warring with himself. The part of him that was so traumatised that it would do anything to protect itself, although that side of him hadn´t been present the last couple of days, and the more rational part of his mind which was wondering what the hell he had gotten himself into and which had a hard time coming to terms with his new reality.

The question was if this would send Tom scrabbling back to his more submissive mind-set, or if it would strengthen the more rational part of his mind, making it even harder for him to submit to the role he had chosen for himself. Harry rubbed at his forehead with the hand that was not carding through Tom´s hair. At the rate this was going he would have to find himself a psychologist. He was not equipped to deal with a traumatized torture and rape victim. A sentence he would never thought he would use about Voldemort for Merlin´s sake. Perhaps finding Tom a therapist wouldn´t be the worst of ideas. Perhaps a muggle one? It wouldn´t be that hard to conjure up a believable story about a kidnapping, or something similar that would fit and sound believable. He put the thought away for now and concentrated on the curled up figure in his lap that was finally showing signs of coming back around to the real world.  

***

When they arrived at the Ministry, Harry was still unsure if Tom would actually get through the day without breaking any rules. The only positive thing about it was that they were in the Auror´s office and Harry was pretty sure no one there would report Tom. Robards wouldn´t allow it, neither would Sommerseth. It was still strange that Sommerseth seemed to have a soft spot for the former Dark Lord.

Tom had been quiet, reserved ever since the incident just before breakfast. He had managed to sit up and get to his feet in the end, but had only nodded to Harry´s concerned question if he was okay. Not wanting to push Harry had led the way back to the kitchen and the still warm breakfast. A look of surprise had briefly passed over Tom´s face that there was now two table settings and not the one he had seen at first.

Wanting to clear something up Harry had quietly told him that he was not interested in hand feeding Tom the meals at home, and that he was expected to use the table and chairs in the kitchen. Tom had only nodded, but a look of gratefulness had replaced the previous confusion in his eyes.

As they walked towards the golden gates, Harry noticed that Tom had fallen a step behind him and the brown eyes were on the floor, as the rules dictated and smiled. Good. Perhaps there was hope for the man after all, although it was perhaps best not to get his expectations up. He nodded at Eric in greeting as they walked past him and led the way to the elevators. Just as he was to enter one he heard Draco calling his name and saw him and Neville coming towards them, the red winter cloaks flowing behind them.

“Harry! We need to go, there is another raid happening right now.”

Harry swore. Damn. Turning to run after Draco and Neville to the Atriums’ Apparition point he suddenly remembered his charge. Oh, bollocks. He couldn´t take Tom with him. Unsure he turned towards the man who was standing still with his eyes trained on the floor, but his whole demeanour was tense.

“Go, I´ll look after him.” The voice came from the elevator that just opened and Sommerseth stepped out, waving his hand at Harry.

“Thank you, sir,” Harry breathed in relief and turned slightly towards Tom. “Behave.” He warned. Sommerseth had made it clear he wouldn´t tolerate anything else from the former Dark Lord. Tom looked up briefly his eyes glancing at Sommerseth before settling back on Harry. “Yes, my Lord,” he murmured quietly. Harry sighed. It was starting to look impossible to get Tom to use the right title, at least not without forcing him.

***

In the end they appeared somewhere north. Harry wasn´t entirely sure where, but somewhere near the boarder to Scotland if he was to guess. Since one couldn´t Apparate somewhere one didn´t know, they had taken the Floo to the nearest location and use brooms to get to the actual village. It looked like a small village, or something that had used to be a small village.

People were running, screaming and tripping over bodies on the ground. Several of the houses were on fire, the wooden roofs feeding the fire the energy it needed to take a hold of the building. Smaller fires were burning her and there, and between the smoke of the still dark morning and the people running scared it looked like a scene out of one of the muggle movies Harry sometimes watched. Figures clad in black with their hoods up were throwing hexes and curses around; some was engaged in duels with the locals that had been brave enough to fight back.

A red hex came hurdling towards Harry and he had to duck behind a tree to avoid it. It sizzled past and hit one of the trees further into the woods, making it explode.

“Watch out,” he called at Neville as the tree started falling towards where the man stood. Neville turned and managed to get out of the way, only to have to turn back around and put up a protective spell at the curse coming his way from a wizard or witch who was completely dressed in black.

“Aurors!” he heard a female voice call as more of the Aurors Apparated onto the field.

“Get the Disapparition wards up and running,” Harry yelled as he saw that the wizards and witches were starting to Apparate away. Ducking another spell, he raised his wand and sent of a stunning spell towards one of the retreating figures. The man ducked behind a house and before Harry could get around the corner, the man had Apparated away. Swearing Harry looked up as the heard the familiar sound of Morsmordre being uttered somewhere between the houses and then the Dark Mark appaeared in the sky, looking completely identical to the one Harry remembered from the Quiddicth cup so many years ago.

“Harry!” He turned just in time to shout out Protego. The shield came up just in time as the purple curse smashed into it, making the shield rattle. Damn, that was one powerful curse. Looking up he saw the caster standing the middle of the now ruined courtyard - tall and thin, his hood drawn up to shield his face. The black cloak twisted around him in the wind. The wand in his hand was pale and thin and for a moment Harry thought it was Tom´s wand, but he knew that it was safely tucked away back home in the safe. There was something familiar about him though, something Harry couldn´t quite place.

The stranger watched, not lifting his wand, and Harry kept his shield up, not sure what to do and his ability for dual casting wasn´t the best. To hex the man he had to let the shield go.

A red hex came at the stranger, but he just waved his hand and it smashed against the shield, the moment it hit the familiar green colour of the killing curse was shot towards someone on Harry´s right. Turning his head Harry saw Draco´s eyes widen as he was forced to take cover to avoid the curse.

“Draco!” Harry yelled, letting go of the shield and shooting a blasting curse at the man. It was returned with a curse Harry didn´t recognise, but thankfully it smashed into the building he was running along side. Diving forwards he rolled and came up at the point where Draco had disappeared. Praying the blond had managed to take cover in time, he looked over the rubble of stones and was met with Draco´s wide grey eyes. Thank Merlin. Looking over towards the courtyard he saw that the strange was still standing there. The head was slightly tilted to the side as if he was considering something. Then with a loud crack he disappeared.

“Harry! Draco!” Robards was running towards them, Hanna right at his heels. “You okay?”

Harry nodded, pushing himself to his feet and holding out a hand to help Draco. “Yeah, everyone else?”

Robards pushed a hand through his hair, a relived look on his face. “No casualties, but a couple of injuries. Nothing permanent. Unfortunately I can´t say the same for the people who lived here.”

The smoke was clearing as the fires were put out one by one. As it cleared and the sun started coming up on the horizon, Harry looked around the courtyard. He felt bile rise in his throat at the sight of the mutilated bodies of men, women and children. Along with the nausea came a sudden burst of anger. Why would anyone think that this would help his or her cause? With the anger came also the flashbacks of the previous war and the damage Voldemort had done on their society. Had they really just gotten rid of one Dark Lord only to be saddled with another three years later? And honestly, it wasn´t as if Harry had got rid of the previous Dark Lord, the blasted man was currently living in his home for Merlin´s sake because Harry had been idiotic enough to accept a claim he did not want. The anger gave away for fury and he could feel his magic crackling in the air around him.

Chapter Text

Tom was starting to get bored out of his mind. He was currently kneeling on the floor beside the coffee table in Sommerseth’s office. Sommerseth was seated in an armchair beside him. The man was sorting through a pile of folders. Luckily, he had been nice enough to cast a cushioning charm on the floor, which made kneeling easier. On the other side he had expected Tom to kneel to the point where he had simply gripped Tom by the arm and then pushed him down beside the chair. Tom wasn´t all that happy about being pushed around like a possession or pet. He could understand words for Merlin’s sake.

But isn´t that what you are? Whispered the very unwelcoming voice in his head. Tom mentally growled at it. Unfortunately he couldn´t argue with the voice. The incident this morning had proved that. He had barely touched Harry, his master, but the bond had reacted and the pain had been like something he had never experienced before. Wave and wave of pain, each one stronger than the last until his master had succeeded to put two and two together and order the bond to stop it´s punishment. He shuddered slightly at the thought. The pain had lingered a long time, long enough for him to start to be grateful that Harry hadn’t decided to use to the bond to force him to behave as he had threatened with. If he had, then Tom suspected he would be in a lot more pain that he cared to admit.

On the other hand, the patience Harry was showing regarding his poor behaviour was also surprising. The Warden at Azkaban hadn’t been half as patient. Tom had hardly been at the prison for more than two weeks before the Warden had laid down his “expectations”, which Tom of course had laughed at and dared the warden to do his worst. Unfortunately, the man had taken him up on that…

And yet, even after having suffered the bond’s punishment, he still couldn´t manage to force the correct title out of his mouth for some reason. Shaking his head slightly he decided that he wouldn´t go down the road of examining just why that was. Instead he let his mind wander to the conversation the previous night, or it hadn´t been much of a conversation really...

It had more been Harry suddenly realising he now had a slave, and that the slave in question wasn´t exactly behaving the way it should, and that for both their sake Tom couldn’t continue to behave as if nothing had happened.

And the whole reason that conversation had come to be was because of the man who´s chair Tom was currently kneeling beside. And yes, he understood that Sommerseth wasn´t pointing out the obvious to be cruel, the fact was that was doing it to protect Tom, but he still didn´t enjoy it, nor did he understand why the man was protecting him.

Although if he was being honest with himself, something he rarely was, he could probably have avoided the whole discussion with Harry if he had just managed to behave as expected the day before. If he had, then Harry would most likely have accepted that he behaved as he wanted in the house as long as he was able to conduct himself in accordance with the code while outside. Of course he had to mess that up and now he was stuck behaving as a slave both at home and out in public.

You chose this, he reminded himself. The stupid mantra not helping one bit. He had known there would be a chance of Harry taking advantage of the situation, but he had hoped he wouldn´t. And he couldn´t really say that Harry was wrong in forcing his behaviour. The man was after all, or so Tom assumed, doing it to protect Tom from having an unpleasant encounter with the Ministry`s Correctional Department, not because he enjoyed forcing him. All though, Tom was starting to wonder if an unpleasant meeting with the Ministry wouldn’t happen anyway at some point unless he could manage to force himself to behave. And his thoughts continued on in circles, one thought leading to another and he went back and forth over the old arguments without managing to reach some sort of solution. Or, he knew what the solution was, but he wasn’t sure he could do it.

It’s just a bloody title, he reprimanded himself. No worse than calling the Warden sir. His followers hadn’t had any problems calling him master, kneeling before him and prostrating themselves. Unless you counted the threat of pain that always hung in the air should they disobey. Tom grimaced. Perhaps he should have absorbed those horcruxes earlier. Splitting his soul so many times had not done his soul and mind any favours.

Thinking back, he couldn’t clearly remember why he had decided to split his soul so many times. There was of course the fact that seven was one of the most powerful magical numbers, but as far as horcruxes went it really wasn’t necessary with six. One or two should have been enough, but it seemed that the more he had split his soul the more paranoid he had become.

Lifting a hand to rub at his forehead, he could feel a headache starting to form. He was getting tired of having the same conversation with himself over and over again trying to decide what to do.  

 “You alright, Tom?” Sommerseth was looking down at him and Tom noted that there was real concern in his eyes when he flickered his eyes up to meet the other man´s blue ones.

“Yes, sir. Just a headache.” Trying to prove that it was nothing he picked up one of the red files Sommerseth had handed him and started looking through it. They were going through all the files on the escaped or unaccounted for Death Eathers, trying to figure out if one of them, or several, could be behind the recent attacks and raids.

Tom had his doubts. Most of his inner circle had either been killed or was rotting away in Azkaban. Flipping through the folders he stopped as he reached on of the last ones. Staring at the name written on the flip on the right side in white letters, he put the rest in a stack on the table, almost dropping the lot as he was too preoccupied with the folder in his hands to notice that he hadn’t put the rest far enough onto the table for the stack not to overbalance and fall to the floor. He managed to catch them in the last second. After shoving them further onto the table he returned to the folder in his hands. Flipping it open he stared at the picture on the inside.

“What about Walden Macnair?”

Having completely forgotten about Sommerseth for a moment, Tom looked up confused trying to make sense of the question.

Sommerseth glanced up from the file and probably noticed his questioning look because he elaborated. “He escaped on the transit from the Ministry to Azkaban. Don’t ask me how. Any chance he could be involved?”

Tom shook his head without thinking. Macnair had been among his first Death Eaters back when he had first risen to power, but the man had had more muscles than brain. He had loved violence and Tom hadn’t been surprised to learn that the man had worked as an executioner for the Committee of the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures while Tom had been disembodied for thirteen years. “No. He had his uses, but he doesn’t have the brain to be behind this,” he answered frankly.

Beside him Sommerseth sighed as he closed the file and threw it on the table along with the others they had discarded over the hours they had been at it. The pile of possibilities was starting to dwindle down to only a handful of folders left. “Great. Seems we are getting nowhere.” Looking down the man apparently noticed the file Tom was sitting with. “Something interesting?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. Bending down slightly Sommerseth looked over the top of the file. “Ah, Lucius Malfoy.”

Curious if the man would continue, Tom only nodded.

“Considering how many names Malfoy gave us in exchange avoiding serving time in Azkaban, I don’t see him starting up where you left off. He also owes your master,” Tom winced at the word, quickly lowering his eyes to avoid Sommerseth seeing the annoyance in his eyes at the reminder that he now did have ha master, “a debt as Harry vouched for him at his trial, which resulted in Malfory serving two years of house arrest. He kept his family fortune and seat on the Wizengamont, though not his influence. Not to say he isn’t working hard to regain it, and Harry speaking up for him at his trial did help a lot in that department. You met his son yesterday.”

Met being the operative word, Tom thought. He had saddled the boy with the impossible task of killing Dumbledore to punish Lucius five years ago. Deciding that if Sommerseth wasn’t aware of that little fact then Tom wasn’t going to mention it. “Yes,” he said instead, letting his eyes roam over the pages in the folder. Lucius, whose father, Abraxas Malfoy, had been one of his earliest Death Eaters, back when they were still called Knights.

Lucius who had chosen his family over him at the last battle. A traitor, much as Severus Snape. Anger swept through him, his magic reacting and trying to lash out, but the slight pain from the bond reminded him of his current inability to access it and he gritted his teeth.

But as much as Tom wanted to hate Lucius, he couldn’t really blame the man. Where Snape had played both sides and turned traitor and spy, Lucius on the other hand had fled after Tom had mistreated and humiliated him for several years after the man’s failure to recover the prophecy from the Department of Mystery. By the time the last battle came around, Lucius had been nothing more than a shadow of his former self. Thinking back, Tom couldn’t even recall if he had returned Lucius’ wand to him before the battle. At the time he had been so obsessed with how close he was to winning, how he at that moment had killed Harry Potter (or so he had thought).

He had to agree with Sommerseth though, it was highly unlikely that Lucius would try to pick up where Tom had left off. The fact that Harry had spoken in Lucius’ defence, however, was a surprise. As far as Tom could remember there had been no lost love between Harry and Lucius, especially not after the whole mess with his old diary and Harry freeing Lucius’ house elf. The man had been bitter about that for years. 

Tom sighed, pushing a hand through his hair and feeling the headache thumping against his temples. “I don’t think he has anything to do with this, but Lucius has always been slippery, and his fortune is not built all on legal transactions. Considering how far he was fallen in the eyes of the society,” Tom pointily avoided thinking about how much further he himself had fallen in the eyes of society. “He might have need to make money some other way than through legal matters. And even if he is strictly making money the legit way now, he most likely still have his network of informers.” There was an old saying about the Malfoy family if Tom remembered correctly – that you will never find one at the scene of a crime, though their fingerprints might be all over the guilty wand.

For a brief moment he wondered if Lucius still collected dark artefacts or if he had deemed such too dangerous after recent events. He thought about his conversation with Harry several weeks ago about turning containers into vanishing cabinets. If he was to venture a guess as to where one might find information on such a procedure, he would put his galleons on the Malfoy library.

“And you?” Sommerseth reach for his cup of tea, lifting the delicate porcelain cup to take a sip of his mint tea.

Tom shrugged, a bit unsure how to respond. Sommerseth was surprisingly easy to converse with, all thing considering, but he still didn’t trust the man enough to lay all his waste knowledge and secrets on the table to help the Ministry catch a dark wizard. He would help of course, that had been the deal with Harry after all, and he would much rather work on the cases with Harry rather than being stuck at the house doing nothing, or even worse been expected to clean or some other mundane task that slaves was supposed to do. In the end he settled on a partial truth. “The network is still there, but I hardly believe anyone of them would want to speak to me, or am I incorrect to assume that it’s no secret that Harry-“

“Master,” Sommerseth corrected, interrupting him midsentence. It threw Tom completely off and he found himself asking, rather ineloquent: “-what?”

Putting his cup back down, Sommerseth made a gesture with his right hand. “Master. In public you address Harry by his title, not by his name.” Of course, the bloody title. Tom wondered if he could manage to get through the rest of the day without having to utter the word and figured that if he only formulated his sentences carefully, he might manage.

“Of course, sir,” he said, lowering his eyes, his mind wondering how to phrase what he had started on. Thinking quickly, he tried again. “Have the Ministry issued any press release regarding the claim?”

Sommerseth nodded. He picked up another one of the files, opening it. “Yes. The claim is public knowledge if that is what you are asking. Any missteps on your part and failure to act in accordance with the law could be filed as a complaint.”

For some reason that information made the humiliation in Tom rise. The thought of the whole of the Wizarding world knowing that he had been reduced to nothing more than a slave for the Boy-who-lived made his blood run cold and panic started to increase in him. He quelled it by the thought of the humiliation he had suffered in Azkaban, of what the Warden had managed to reduce him to. The only solace he had at the moment was that thankfully his mind was staying on the more coherent side instead of slipping into that unwanted submissive headspace that he never could predict when took over.  

Again, as he had done countless times before, he reminded himself that he had chosen this. Perhaps not his best thought out idea but considering the last three years he had to admit that things could be considerably worse. Holding on to that thought he tried again to figure out why calling Harry master was bothering him so much. It was just a stupid title. It didn’t mean anything as it was just a word.

Or was it by acknowledging Harry as his master he would have to face up to his choice of future, and by not doing so he still kept his last shred of pride and illusion that this was anything other than what it was? Some illusion he thought bitterly. And why? He could hardly be brought lower than what he had been in Azkaban. A plaything for the Warden and Stanley. Something to be toyed and used, but not seen as anything resembling human. He barely remembered the first year. How he had threatened and fought, to no avail. Without his magic, and at mercy of those who could still use it, there had been little he could do. The infrequent meals and beatings, and then rape and sexual abuse har slowly, but surely worn down his defences. As much as he had prided himself on being Lord Voldemort, the most feared wizard of this time, it hadn’t matter much in the long run when imprisoned and stripped of everything.

At first, he had thought he could keep his mind, no matter what they did to his body, but as time passed it became clear that once his body broke, his mind was sure to follow. For a moment he wondered what would have happened if Harry hadn’t come along, looking for help on the case. A shudder ran through Tom at the thought of still being stuck in Azkaban. Perhaps… perhaps calling Harry master wasn’t the worst of it, considering how things could have been if the man had not come looking for help. His musings had only made his headache grow he noticed, lifting his hand to rub at his forehead.

“Slaves are not supposed to fidget,” Sommerseth comment. The comment made the last of Tom’s annoying thoughts spill over and he snapped before he could think better.

“And you are an expert on how slaves are to behave are you? From personal experience perhaps?” He regretted the words the moment they left his mouth. Hadn’t Sommerseth just explained to him just how much his own wellbeing depended on him managing to behave in public? Looking away he bit his lip, an annoying habit he thought he had rid himself of, but apparently not. “I’m sorry, sir.” He forced the words out through clenched teeth, hoping that it would be enough to starve of any punishments.

Sommerseth didn’t answer and Tom risked looking up and meeting the icy blue eyes. There was no anger or annoyance to be seen in the man’s face, only a slight frown and something that resembled concern.

A knock on the door startled them both. Sommerseth call for whomever it was to enter and as the door swung up his young, blond secretary poped his head in. A fearful look was directed at Tom before the wizard swallowed and directed his eyes at his superior. “Should I have lunch brought up, sir?”

Tom wanted to groan. As hungry as he was, he wasn’t even sure that Sommerseth would feed him. The annoying code did after all specify that slaves weren’t allowed food without their master’s approval and it wasn’t as if Harry was present to give any consent on the matter.

Luckily, it seemed that his fear was unfounded because the secretary returned with two plates of sandwiches and Sommerseth sat one of the plates down in front of Tom without a word and tucked into his own. With a glance towards Sommerseth, Tom reached out and picked up on of the sandwiches with ham and cheese. Interesting, he thought. Apparently Sommerseth wasn’t a stickler for the rules himself. It seemed to be more that he was concerned about the rest of the wizarding world. The knowledge that he could behave more or less as he wanted around the man, with the condition that he followed the basic rules of kneeling and being polite, made something in his chest unclench.

***

They continued to work through the files after lunch. Boring and utterly pointless, Tom thought. If some of his previous Death Eaters and followers was behind the recent raids, then he would be very surprised.

“Fine,” Sommerseth sighed as he put yet another file on the table. “How did this work then? Did you mark all your Death Eaters?” The man lifted a hand and pinched the bridge of his nose, the frustration of getting nowhere seemed to be grating. Tom could understand. As the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement the whole of the wizarding world would be looking to Sommerseth for him to close the case and throw someone into Azkaban for the crimes. Although, these crimes might end with a kiss from the dementors, a fate Tom himself had been sentenced to until the horcruxes had been revealed.

“We have files on all the known Death Eaters from the last war, but not all of them were marked if I remember correctly.” The man lowered his hand and reached towards the teapot. He glanced at Tom and the empty cup in front of him. “Refill?”

Tom nodded his head and held out the cup for Sommerseth. Waiting until the cup was full, he carefully blew on the hot beverage before taking a small sip, grimacing slightly as he burned his tongue. “The once who was called the inner circle were marked. Some of the others too, but a lot of the followers I didn’t have much contact with. They were organised and controlled by the Death Eaters in the inner circle.”

Sommerseth sighed again. “I am tempted to ask you why you thought a war, rather two wars, would lead to anything good for our world, but I’ll refrain as I’m pretty sure you weren’t in possession of your full faculties when you came back the last time. The mark however, would it still work today? In theory, could you call your followers to you now?”

Tilting his head slightly, Tom considered the question. It could be possible, but it would require him to access his magic. “I don’t know. Perhaps. It would require me to be able to access my magic, which you had H-…, advised against me being able to.”

“Considering who you are, there weren’t any other options on that matter. I’m not having a Dark Lord, not matter how defanged and harmless you do seem at the moment, running around the Ministry with access to your magic.” There was no anger in the tone, or mocking, it was even and simply stating the facts, which was the only reason the words didn’t make Tom’s hackles rise. Instead he glanced down and risked taking another sip of tea.

Throwing another file onto the table, Sommerseth groaned and pushed both hands through his short, cropped hair. “We finally got rid of you, only to having to start from scratch with nothing to go on.”

Putting the cup back onto the table Tom asked: “Are you sure this is so serious? Can’t it just be some dark wizards wanting to rebel or get attention or something?” Considering how much work and effort he himself had put into becoming Lord Voldemort and gaining enough alliances and supporters to be able to take on the Ministry, not to mention the funds necessary for the plan to work, Tom didn’t see anyone he knew of to be able to do the same in three years.

The knock on the door interrupted Sommerseth just as he opened his mouth to reply. Closing it, he opened it again and call out: “Enter.”

His secretary came into view, still throwing anxious glances towards where Tom was half sitting, half kneeling. “Yes?” Sommerseth inquired when the man failed to enlighten them as to what the reason for the interruption was.

“Auror Potter sent his patronus. He requests that you met him at the village that was attacked. He also ask that you bring eh.. his-, the…”

“Tom,” Sommerseth finished for him as the words seemed to completely fail the secretary. The man nodded, apparently relieved at not having to try and finish the sentence. Sommerseth smiled and nodded at him. “Thank you.” Glancing at the surprisingly muggle clock on the wall that showed the time he then looked back at the wizard. “If you are done with the copies we discussed, you can take an early day.”

The secretary smiled brightly at the thought. “Thank you, sir! I have some last-minute Christmas gifts to buy for my wife and kid. I’ll see you tomorrow then, sir.” With that he disappeared out the door.

Standing, Sommerseth stretched like a cat after a long sleep and wandered over to the door. There was a standing coat rack just inside the door and he picked up both his own winter cloak and Tom’s, bringing the black, red and blue garment back to the table with him. “Well, duty calls,” he smiled as he handed Tom his cloak and flung his own around his shoulders. Tom accepted his with a slight frown. He wasn’t too sure he really wanted to visit the crime scene to be honest. There was bound to be a lot of Aurors there, which meant he had to behave. Honestly he couldn’t think of a reason why Harry would deem it a good idea to bring him out to the village since the man knew how much Tom was struggling to behave in the first place. With a sigh of resignation, he fastened the cloak at his throat and pulled on the wool mittens he had stuffed in his right pocket.

Winter had decided to stay in Britain this year and the whole of the isle was covered in snow, so much that London was having trouble with its transportation system due to the snow and cold. Tom much doubted it would be warm at wherever they were going. Pulling the last mitten on he looked up and met Sommerseth eyes. The man was frowning slightly at something and looked like he was preparing himself for something he knew he wasn’t going to like. To hung up in the man’s expression, Tom didn’t notice the leash in the man’s hand before he came a step closer. Feeling his eyes widen slightly at the sight of it, he stepped back as panic crept up his spine. A memory forced its way into his mind, blocking out everything.

He was breathing hard, trying to recover from the kicks Stanley had landed to his stomach and back. Laying on his side he gasped air into starving lungs, curling his arm around his midsection. A figure crouched down in front of him, and an unwelcome hand was carded through his hair. “Now, now, pet,” the voice crooned. “This doesn’t have to be such an unpleasant experience.”  

Voldemort snarled, snatching his head away from the hand and trying to kick out at the blasted man in front of him. The kick landed, but the force behind it was pretty much none existent and the Warden only laughed softly as he stood up. “Still defiant are we, pet? I guess we can fix that, don’t you?”. Voldemort clenched his eyes shut, thinking of all the different ways he would love to torture the man in front of him. Still, the rage and vengeful feelings was somewhat dampened by the feeling of helplessness that had started to worm its way into his mind as time passed and it became obvious that there was no way of escaping Azkaban or the Warden’s unwanted attentions.

“One last chance, pet. Kneel.”  

“Go to hell,” Voldemort muttered, trying and failing to push himself into a sitting position. They had been at this stupid game for a couple of months now. The Warden trying to get him to kneel without being forced, and Voldemort cursing and threatening with what they both knew were empty words, but it did feel less like he was giving in when he fought back. Even though the only thing the fighting was sure to give him was more wounds and bruises. Still, his pride wouldn’t just let him just give in. 

The Warden sighed. “Suit yourself, pet.” He gestured towards Stanley who forcefully pulled Voldemort up into a kneeling position and chained his wrists to the wall, and his ankles to the floor, leaving him unable to move except from a few inches. A sudden apprehension and something he pointily refused to acknowledge as fear curled and twisted in his stomach. Whatever Stanley had planned, Voldemort doubted it would be anything pleasant for him.

There was a sound of something moving quickly through the air before a whip or stick or something landed across the soles of his left foot. The pain was intense, and Voldemort had to bite his lip to avoid crying out.  

Behind him Warden spoke. “This method is called Bastinado and was practised in the middle age. As the nerve endings under the soles of the feet do not adapt to recurring sensations or impacts, the pain reception does not alleviate through continuous beatings. On the contrary the perception of pain is further intensified over the course of additional impacts through the activation of  nociceptors . Over a sequence of impacts applied with nearly constant force the perception of pain is therefore progressively intensifying instead of the body getting used to the pain. Of course one rarely pierced the skin, but in this case I think more drastic measures are in order.”  

Half of the speech was completely lost on Voldemort. The pain was, as the Warden had said, only intensifying as Stanley kept on hitting, putting his whole strength behind the lashes from force of the impact. He could feel something trickle down to his toes and assumed Stanley had broken the skin several places. Breathing through the pain he tried his best to keep the sounds to groans, but a particular well-placed hit on what was already an open wound, made him cry out in pain.

By the time Stanley released him from the chains, his mind was consumed with pain and he hardly noticed that he crumbled to the floor. Moaning he curled up and wondered for a moment if refusing to kneel really had been worth it. The soles of his feet felt like they were on fire and his nerves being dipped in acid. Unfortunately it seemed like the Warden wasn’t quite done for the day, because he came sauntering over and crouched down beside him.

“Tsk, tsk, and this could have been so much easier and pain free of you could just do as you are told,” the man said. Voldemort recoiled as the man reached out a hand but couldn’t get far as he already was pressed against the wall behind him. The Warden ignored him, and Voldemort suddenly noticed the chain in his hand. It looked like a dog chain leash with a padlock at the end. Panicking he tried to move, but with nowhere to go it was easy for the Warden to attach the leash to his collar and using it he pulled Voldemort to his feet.

The pain that came the moment Voldemort put his weight on his bruised and damaged feet almost made him black out. Struggling to find his balance he didn’t notice what the Warden was doing until he felt the leash grow tight and the Warden was backing away. Glancing up he suddenly understood what the Warden had in mind. The leash had been attached to a hook in the wall. It forced him to stay on his feet unless he wanted to be strangled by the collar. He couldn’t move or sit down. Feeling real panic grip, he looked at the Warden. Surely the man wasn’t going to leave him bound like this? The pain in his feet was already unbearable and he had to shift from foot to foot in order to try and elevate the pain enough to keep himself from passing out.  

The Warden only smiled. “There we go, pet. I think a couple of hours bound like this would make you think twice about disobeying my orders in the future.”

Voldemort opened his mouth to protest, or plead, he hadn’t decided, but the Warden cut him off. “Now, now, pet. There is nothing you can say or do to change this. Disobedient pets get punished. We’ll see if you are more amendable once I return.” With that both of them left the cell, closing the door behind them.

***

If there was one thing Harry was sure he was tired of then it was death. It seemed to follow him everywhere. Of course, he had known that the job as an Auror would bring him in contact with death on a regular basis, but he hadn’t expected to be faced with the extinction of a whole village so soon after finally getting rid of Voldemort and his pesky band of followers.

They had moved all the bodies into the church in the middle of the village. Why there was a church in the middle of a wizarding village made absolutely no sense to Harry, but he assumed it might have been standing there for a long time and had simply been adopted. It wasn’t in use if one was to judge by the cobwebs and dust that was covering the place. After having levitated the bodies inside they then had to go through the process of trying to identify each of the bodies in order to notify the next of kin. A process Harry heartily would swear to was the worst part of the job. The sight of the dead children would haunt him for years, he was sure.

They had found a couple of survivors, some seriously injured, while other had managed to hide and had escaped the massacre. None had been in any shape to be questioned and had been sent straight to St. Mungo’s. They would have to take a statement and collect memories once they were back on their feet. Harry was not looking forward to going through their memories, but it was unfortunately important because it gave them a visual of what had transpired, and no verbal statement could give that sort of detail.

Feeling nausea starting to overcome his senses he quickly exited the church just as Sommerseth apparated into the courtyard with Tom at his side. The anti-apparition wards had been taken down as soon as it was clear that the attack was over. There was little to no chance that the culprits would return when they knew the place was crawling with Aurors, and it was necessary to bring other departments in to secure the crime scene and try to get something that could point them in the right direction. Everyone had come up short so far, which was the reason he had asked Sommerseth to bring Tom. Robards had been sceptical but had agreed in the end when Harry had pointed out that there was little advantage in having one of the most powerful wizards of their age available and not benefit from it.

“Sir,” Harry smiled and hurried towards the par. Just as he came close Tom knelt down on the ground, eyes downcast. Harry frowned. Tom had problem enough kneeling in the house with just the two of them present, so for him to kneel so easily in a public space was disconcerting. Looking from Tom to Sommerseth he lifted an eyebrow in a silent question. Sommerseth made a gesture with his head towards an abandoned building behind them that had escaped the flames. Tugging slightly on the leash attached to Tom’s collar, Sommerseth led the way into the building.

Inside Sommerseth stopped and Tom once more knelt. Bending down Sommerseth unclipped the leash and after folding it up, handed it over to Harry who pocketed it. There was no need for the leash while Tom was in the presence of his master because of the control the bond offered, but if he was outside Harry’s presence then he was required to be leashed. Tom didn’t move at all except from breathing and Harry could feel worry and concern bloom in his chest. Had Sommerseth done something? He knew Sommerseth had been quite clear on the fact that he expected Tom to behave if he was to be allowed at the Ministry, but Harry couldn’t imagine Sommerseth doing anything untoward towards Tom to ensure his behaviour.

Sommerseth seemed to understand what he was wondering about because the man pushed a hand through his hair before sighing. “I’m not sure what I did,” the man admitted, looking guilty and confused in equal masseurs. “He was fine the whole day, but as we were leaving to go here. I tried to leash him, and he panicked and back away, tripped over his own legs and fell. He looked like he was lost in his own thoughts. I finally got his attention after a few minutes, but his been quiet and submissive and more or less unresponsive since then.”

Ah, Harry thought. Seemed Tom might have had another flashback that had sent his more coherent mind running. “It’s okay. This has happened before,” said Harry. He crouched down and gently reached out to lift Tom’s head. Just as he suspected the pupils were blown and Tom was showing all the usual signs of his more submissive mind having taken over control in other to protect itself. “His mind has been so traumatized by the time in Azkaban that sometimes the mind simply shoves the coherent part of him to the background in other to protect itself and the body. This part of his mind knows that the only way to avoid punishment and pain is by obeying and when it feels like the coherent part of him is doing something that could bring about pain and suffering, it simply takes over.” Reaching out he let his hand card through Tom’s hair and smiled when Tom nearly leaned into the touch.

“Tom,” he called softly. “I need you to come back up a little. Come on, Tom. I need that brilliant mind of yours to help me with this case.” Slowly he watched as awareness bled into Tom’s brown eyes. The pupils retracted to a normal size and Tom blinked. Looking around confused.

“Hey,” Harry smiled, removing his hand from the soft, dark hair of his indenture slave. Tom’s eyes darted around, taking in his surroundings.

“You are at the village that was attacked,” Harry explained. Tom nodded. “I’m going to assume you are quite good at detecting magical signatures?” Tom looked up for a brief second before nodding again. “Good.” Harry pulled out his wand from the holster on his forearm and held it out. Tom got an expression of both wariness and longing on his face as he stared at the wand.

Harry wasn’t sure the wand would work for Tom. It was not his Holly wand, but the Hawthorn wand Ollivander had made for him after the war. It was not the same as his old one, but Harry had come to like the wand. It was a temperamental one, but once they had overcome the first initial trial period the two of them had settled with each other. The core was a Horned Serpent horn which was partial to parseltongue and offered everything Harry wanted from a wand.

“Harry,” Sommerseth began, doubt colouring his voice. “Are you sure about this?”

He shrugged. It couldn’t do much harm now, could it? “We have nothing to go on, what harm can it do?”

Tentatively Tom reached out and took the wand from Harry’s hand. Harry held his breath, but the wand hummed and seemed quite content in Tom’s hand, and the smile that spread across Tom’s face made Harry’s heart ache. Tom hadn’t held a wand or used magic for over 3 ½ year now, and Harry knew that if it had been him being cut off from his magic for so long, he would do anything to feel it once more.

Then came the difficult part. Reaching out towards the presence in his mind he gave Tom permission to, just this once, use his magic to detect any magical signatures or traces of whoever had been behind the attack.

The sight of Tom waving the wand around in the courtyard, twisting and turning the magic to his will was a beautiful sight. The air was electrical and filled with a magic that was so distinctly Tom’s. As Harry watched he realised he had never actually seen Tom use his magic for something other than trying to kill him. It was mesmerising to watch. Tom moved with an elegance and grace that Harry could only wish to master.

One spell faded into the next one in graceful movement. And through the bond Harry could feel Tom’s ecstatic pleasure at being able to perform magic once more, even if it was just simple detecting and tracing spells, and he couldn’t help a smile from spreading across his face. 

Chapter Text

Harry swore as he sat down on the floor and pulled one of the cardboard boxes towards him. Inside he could see that in his haste to take down the Christmas tree the year before, he hadn’t properly folded up the lights. They were now a mess of tangled cords that refused to cooperate with him. Swearing once more he considered throwing the whole thing away and just go and buy new ones at the store.

A movement in the corner of his eyes made him turn his head. Tom was standing in the doorway to the sitting room, dressed in a brown turtleneck sweater and black pants. In his hand was a book. He looked from the cords which now tangled more or less around Harry’s leg and raised an eyebrow. The sight of his collar covered by the sweater brought forth a strange feeling of irritation that Harry quickly pushed away.

“Don’t just stand there,” Harry muttered, trying to untangle the cord from where it was curled around his left leg. Could think the bloody thing was alive the way it curled around his body. “Help me untangle the bloody thing.”

Tom looked at the boxes and the tree as he came into the room. “Decorating?”

Harry tugged at what he assumed was the end of the cord and tried to figure out how exactly it had ended up behind his neck. “Yes, it’s a few days until Christmas, so I figured it was time to get the tree up. Only problem is that these bloody lights seem to live a life of their own.” He tugged fruitlessly at the end. Tom knelt down and started to try and untangle the cord.

“Why are you using electrical muggle lights?” He muttered as started untangling the cord from Harry’s leg.

Harry shrugged. “Old habits?” Together they managed to fold the cord into a seemingly orderly heap. Just as Harry opened his mouth to speak, he felt the wards shift. Frowning he turned towards the door. He wasn’t expecting anyone, but only a handful of people was keyed into the wards and allowed access. “I’ll be right back,” he said and stood. Walking out into hallway he peered down the stairs to the entrance hall and saw Hermione staring up at him. Smiling, and waving he gestured for her to come up. Just as she reached the top of the stairs, Tom’s voice floated out from the sitting room.

“Why can’t you just charm some candles to float around the tree like a normal wizard?” The voice was disgruntled and held a note of frustration.

Hermione’s eyes shifted to Harry’s and he could see the unspoken question in them as she raised her eyebrows. With a sigh he re-entered the room with Hermione behind him. Tom was still on the floor, now sitting cross legged and trying to keep the lights in a manageable coil, and apparently failing as it twisted and turned. At the sound of more than one set of footsteps he looked up. Surprise fluttered across his face before it was schooled into a more neutral mask once he realised that they had company.

“Miss Granger,” he greeted in a polite tone, his eyes trained on the floor.

“Tom,” Hermione smiled. Harry noted the warmth in the smile and tone and wondered once more if it had been a good idea to tell Hermione the whole truth about Tom’s experience in Azkaban. Tom looked confused at the tone if the slight frown was anything to go by. Not surprising, considering that the last time he had seen her, she had threatened to kill him.

Hermione turned towards him once the greetings was done. “Harry, I just came over to deliver something, it’s downstairs, do you have time?”

Harry smiled. “Of course.” Then he turned towards Tom, who still had his head bent and was toying with the lights. “I don’t know how to charm candles to float around the tree without setting it on fire, therefor I’m using muggle lights.” He turned to leave the room with Hermione but hesitated as he reached the door. Putting one hand on the doorframe, he turned slightly back towards his slave as a thought occurred and formed an idea. ”Do you know how?”

Tom glanced up, and Harry’s heart ached at the slightly hopeful look he could see there, it disappeared quickly. He knew what Tom was hoping would be the outcome of the question and Harry didn’t have the heart to disappoint him. “Yes,” came the response, just as Harry had expected.

He nodded and patted the doorframe. “Fine, here.” He pulled out his wand and handed it to Tom and focused on the bond as he spoke. “You have permission to use magic to decorate the tree – nothing else.” The slightly hopeful look morphed into downright excitement as Tom accepted the wand. He hadn’t used magic since the day in the field where Harry had asked him to do some magical scans and detection spells. The slight smile one his face was enough to make Harry feel like the small allowance on the man’s restriction, although temporary, regarding magic was worth it.

Of course, Hermione rounded on him as soon as the came downstairs. “You’re letting him have access to his magic?” she asked. Her tone unreadable, but the arms crossed over her pregnant belly indicated that she was not all too pleased about it. Harry sighed.

“No.” He held up his hands to stop her as she opened her mouth. “He doesn’t have access to his magic at his own will. I can however give him permission to do certain spells or charms and only those, and restrict how long etc. In this instance he will be able to do the necessary spells to decorate the tree, and nothing else.”

Hermione stared at him, her gaze incredulous. “You do know just how many loopholes there are in that ’permission’ of yours, right?”  

Harry frowned. Thinking over his words he suddenly realised that perhaps he had been a bit too lenient. Decorating was vague enough that Tom could more or less conjure up whatever he wanted as long as he did it with the intention of using it to decorate the tree. Looking towards the stairs he suddenly felt a need to run back up and check what Tom was doing, but in the end he just sighed.

“Look, he hasn’t been able to use his magic for the last three and a half year, and it’s not like he can go anywhere, and I hardly believe he has any intention of harming me in anyway, the bond wouldn’t let him. Remember what happened when he shoved at me? The order to do no harm, should prevent him from using that permission for anything sinister. That and the fact that he isn’t stupid, and I hardly think he would do something he knows will displease me if he hopes to gain my permission to use his magic in the future.”

Hermione didn’t look convinced. “I know it hasn’t been easy for him the last years, and I’m still not convinced that enslaving him was the best solution here, but that can’t be undone,” she hurriedly added, probably seeing the irritation in Harry’s eyes when he thought they were going to have another discussion about that. “But, Harry, you can’t forget who he is, what he has done. How many lives he has ruined. For all as subdued as he seems, he is still Voldemort. Promise me you’ll be careful.” Her face was full of concern and Harry said the only thing he could. “I promise.”

Nodding, she unfolded her arms and reached into her purse. It had to be fitted with an extension charm, Harry thought, because there was no way the two presents would have fitted without it. “Here,” she handed them over. To his surprise the top one was marked with Tom’s name. “You bought a present for Tom?” he asked, disbelief colouring his voice.

Hermione shrugged and a slight colour rose in her cheeks as she glanced away, studding the massive flower decoration in the middle of the table. Harry wanted to ask why but refrained. Instead, he put the two presents on the table and gave her a hug. “Thank you. I’m sure he’ll appreciate it.”

After seeing Hermione off, he headed upstairs. A slight feeling of dread curling in his stomach as he approached the sitting room. Peering inside he found Tom in front of the now fully decorated tree, complete with floating candles and a star at the top. As he entered the room, Tom held out the wand for Harry to take.

***

The clock was ticking closer and closer to midnight. Another year was coming to an end. Marcus leaned against the rail of the second-floor balcony and looked down onto the dancing floor beneath him. Happy, more or less drunk, couples were using the last of the year to dance and enjoy themselves. It was the last dance of the year before everyone had twenty minutes to gather themselves in order to count down to the new year. Then the fireworks from the, now famous, Weasley brothers would light up the December sky and everyone would sing the obligatory song.

Marcus took another deep mouthful from his fire-whiskey. The annually New Year’s ball, held by the Ministry, required his presence whether he wanted or not. It was just something that came with his position. Normally it would be a pleasant affair, but this year, with everything that had happened, he couldn’t quite find the festival spirit.

“Drowning your sorrows, Marcus?” Turning his head slightly he saw Kingsley approach him, a glass of his own in his hand. Marcus nodded in greeting before turning his eyes back down towards the crowd. Out of the corner of his eyes he could see Kingsley taking out his wand and casting a privacy spell. Interesting. Apparently, the Minister didn’t want the conversation to be overheard.

“Something like that,” replied Marcus and took another swallow.

Kingsley came to lean against the rail looking down as he lifted his glass of red wine. After swallowing he rested the glass on the rail and slightly tilted his head. “I saw Harry down there, with his friends.”

Ah, Marcus could see where the conversation was heading, and the need for the privacy spell. “Yes, it’s good to see him out and about. He is doing a remarkable job as and Auror according to Robards.” It had been good to see Harry at the event. After everything that had happened in December the boy needed some time to unwind and have fun with his friends. And the boy was a good Auror. Sharp as a whip according to Robards, although the boy’s Gryffindor traits of running headfirst into things without thinking had landed the boy in more than one pickle. Fortunately, his bad luck of ending smack in the middle of everything was outweighed by his good luck of getting out alive. Marcus hadn’t had much dealings with the boy until recent events, but he did impress.

“I am assuming he didn’t bring Tom with him?”

“No, thank Merlin,” Kingsley muttered. “Can you imagine the panic or worse. On that note, I wanted to ask. How are things with Harry and his new charge? I haven’t spoken to him in the weeks since Azkaban.”

Marcus couldn’t help but chuckle. Harry and his charge yes. Who would have thought three years ago that the infamous Dark Lord Voldemort would agree to let himself become bound to Harry Potter? Wonders never seemed to cease.

“Problematic would be the best word I think,” answered Marcus. “Not in problematic as in Harry can’t control him, but problematic as they haven’t managed to find their place in that strange new relationship that they have suddenly found themselves in.”

Kingsley nodded and lifted his glass. “I’m assuming that would explain the several feet high pile of letters of complaints on my desk about Tom’s behaviour. The Head of the Department for RCMC was kind enough to drop them off earlier today with the question as to what he was to do about those. He had read up on the law and, considering he lost his wife in the last war, he was more than ready to call both of them in. I managed to stop him, just barely, on the excuse that this was an unusual situation and I needed time to review the complaints and the law.”

Marcus groaned. Of course. Tom wasn’t exactly a well-behaved slave. The boy was stubborn and head strong.

“Well,” Kinglsley prompted.

“What do you want me to say?” Marcus replied. That made Kingsley frown.

“The law is the law. If Tom isn’t behaving, then the claims are in accordance with the law, and he has to be punished unless Harry has already done so, and we both know how unlikely that is!”

“Come on, Minster,” Marcus snapped. “You know as well as me that those complaints have just been filed on the grounds that the person could. Are the complaints even valid? I am not going to tell you that Tom’s behaviour has been perfect, but he has been more or less polite, and as well behaved as he could be given the circumstances.” He guessed well behaved depended on what definition one was putting into the sentiment as Tom failed constantly to behave as the code dictated, but no need to tell Kingsley that.

“Meaning what? This whole idea was yours. I was content with leaving him in Azkaban for the rest of eternity. Yes, he has been tortured and abused, but if we look back at the last two wars and his own action during those, can you really say it wasn’t deserved? Look at how many people we lost due to his useless wars.” Marcus interrupted the Minister before he could launch into yet a repeat of Voldemort’s many crimes.

“Fine!” He said, pushing one hand through his hair. “But if the dog disobeys, can you really blame the dog? Or do you blame the owner who has not seen to that it has received proper training?”

“Are you suggesting the whole problem is Harry?” The disbelief in Kingsley’s voice was almost funny. The man turned to look at him fully. His eyebrows raised and his mouth slightly open.

Marcus shrugged. “As far as I can see there are several factors in play here. The main one I guess is that neither Harry nor Tom knew what they were getting themselves into. I’m not sure how Harry thought this was going to work, but I think he assumed Tom would be able to act as expected in public. Tom, on the other hand, I actually thought would be able to behave in accordance with the code based on his demeanour and general behaviour the previous times I’ve met him. If I am to venture a guess, I think that perhaps Tom was so desperate and not thinking clearly when he said yes to the claim, and now that he is faced with the reality of the situation it turned out to be too much. From the times I’ve spent with him it seems to be a reluctance to fully accept the reality and submit to it. He keeps struggling with his own emotions and Harry is unfortunately no help in that department.”

Kingsley looked him. “Are you a psychiatrist as well as a lawyer?” he deadpanned.

Marcus laughed. “No,” he shook his head. “But Tom is actually very easy to read.”

With a sigh Kinglsley downed the rest of his red wine. “What do you mean about Harry not helping?”

“I think this whole situation would have turned out better if Harry had just been the master he should have been from the beginning and not trying to make up some idiotic attempt on something like a partial slavery. Instead of simply making his expectations clear for Tom and give him the rules to follow. He seems to think that if he just gives Tom enough space and time, he will come around on his own. Which I pretty sure won’t be happening. I think that if Harry continues on this way Tom’s behaviour will get worse and not better. The more he resists and fights this the more the defiance against behaving will strengthen and, in the end, Harry will probably have no choice than to use the bond to keep him in check. Something that unfortunately will probably make Tom more opposed and the relationship between them strained.” Marcus downed the rest of his own glass and rubbed a hand over his eyes. It had already been a long day, and a long evening. He longed for the clock to strike midnight so that he could go home and sleep.

“You seem to have given this a lot of thought,” Kingsley remarked, looing thoughtful. Marcus shrugged. Perhaps he had.

“Robards has approached me couple of times. He has been worried too, but more about Harry’s ability to control Tom, than Tom’s inability to behave. That and there was an incident where one of Harry’s colleagues took advantage of finding Tom alone to harass him. Don’t worry,” he continued as he saw the concerned look on Kingley’s face. “The Auror didn’t come to any harm and Tom got away with a few bruises and some wounded pride. Robards have reprimanded the Auror, but as the man had lost both his wife and teenage daughter in the war, the actions he took was somewhat understandable. They were taken in a raid a couple of months before the war ended. When they were found the bodies were hardly recognisable. They had been raped and tortured.  The Auror has been asked to take a couple of weeks off and will be reassigned on his own request.

Kingsley closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why did you think this was a good idea again?” Before Marcus could answer he caught sight of Harry over Kingsley’s shoulder. The boy was studying them with a slight frown on his forehead and a glass of white win in his hand. Kinglsley, having noticed that Marcus’ attention had moved, turned around. When he spotted Harry he waved him over and extended the privacy charm to include the Potter Lord.

“Harry,” Marcus smiled. “Enjoying the party?”

“How is Ron?” Kingsley shot in.

Harry smiled. “He’s fine. The healers say he can come back to work sometime close to the end of next month. At the moment I think he enjoys the vacation and been pampered by his mother. Hermione is going stark crazy of having her in the house, apparently she has more or less taken over the household.” That made Kingsley throw his head back and laugh. “I can imagine. Molly is like a mama bear when one of her children gets sick or injured.”

Marcus smiled as well. He didn’t know Molly as well as the two of them but from the impression he had been left with after meeting the woman for the first time, he could imagine her being the overprotective sort. “How’s Tom?” He asked, thinking about the conversation Kingsley and he had just had. The smile on Harry’s face contracted a fraction, but he was still smiling. “He’s doing okay. Keeps to himself. It’s his birthday today actually.”

“It is?” Kingsley said, looking surprised. Marcus was left with the feeling of being surprised himself even thought he logically knew that the dark lord had been born at some point, it just seemed strange for it to be on new year.

“Did you get him anything?” asked Marcus.

Harry ducked his head and shuffled his right foot a bit, looking slightly embarrassed. “Two books. Muggle novels. Part two and three of the Lord of the Rings series. Hermione gave him the first book for Christmas, and he seemed to enjoy it, so I bought the second and third one for him for his birthday.”

“Hermione bought him a present for Christmas?” Kingsley looked like he was convinced he had heard wrong. Harry gave a crooked smirk. “Yeah. I was surprised too, but you know Hermione always trying to be nice and decent. I told her the whole story about why Tom isn’t in Azkaban still, complete with all the sordid details.”

“Wait, what did you initially tell her?” Marcus asked.

Harry shrugged. “A watered-down version where I skipped the brutality of the torture and the sexual abuse. That backfired somewhat as she thought I had forced him into this, instead of it being the other way around. So, I thought it would be best to just tell her the whole story in order for her to understand why Tom had been so desperate to get out from Azkaban and why he seems so different form the Voldemort we defeated 3 ½ years ago. She was shocked and appalled, but in the end she actually said that given the circumstances and Tom’s condition she could understand why I had accepted to claim him. Then she followed up with a long speech about how slavery is wrong and how power can corrupt and change people, and how simply small things that don’t look like abuse actually is,” Harry waved his hand in the air indication that the speech had continued like that for a while.

Marcus exchanged a looked with Kingsley, both of them thinking about their previous conversation. This could help explain Harry’s inability to actually behave as a master. Perhaps he thought it would complicate things with his friends if they thought he was misusing his power over Tom and forcing him behave. From breeding horses, Marcus’ knew that sometime tough love could look like it was borderline on abuse from the perspective of someone who didn’t know how to work with horses. Considering how headstrong and wilful Tom was, Marcus assumed Harry would have to be pretty strict to keep him in line.

“Harry,” Kingsley began with a sigh. “The head of the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures came by earlier today with a stack of complaints regarding Tom’s behaviour.”

Marcus watch as Harry paled slightly. “What?”

Finishing the last drops in his glass, Marcus put it on a nearby table. “Can you honestly say you are surprised? For all Tom’s polite behaviour, he still isn’t acting as a slave. He isn’t one of you colleagues, friends or family or whatever,” Marcus had to draw a deep breath to reign in his irritation. “He is a slave and if therefore expected to behave like one.” He cut himself of before he said something he might regret but continued on a couple of seconds later. “You can’t risk him regaining too much of his old self and suddenly try to take over or manipulate you. At the moment he his more or less harmless, but if you don’t establish rules and boundaries now then you are going to lose control over him somewhere down the line. It’s like working with a young horse, if you give them an inch the first time then they’ll try and again and again, and in the end that inch becomes several more inches and if it continues down that way you end up with a spoiled, unruly 17 hand animal that is a danger to both itself and its handlers.”

Harry crossed his arms over his chest, face set in a frown. “So what? You want me to beat him into submission the way the Warden did? Torture him until he is too afraid to disobey?”

Marcus sighed, but Kingsley answered before he could. “No, Harry. There is a big difference between torturing someone and setting some ground rules, in this case the ones the code dictate, and keeping Tom to them, and disciplining him if he breaks them. If Tom knowingly breaks the rules, then he also has to know there will be consequences.”

“I’ve tried! I talked to Tom after our last talk and made it clear that I expect him to behave as the code direct both at home and outside. He tries, he’s gotten better, but I,” Harry cut himself of and sighed. “I don’t know what I’m doing here. I don’t know how I’m supposed to correct him or what I’m doing. It’s not like having a bloody dog in the house. He disobeys and I don’t know what to do, and it just seems cruel to force him using the bond. I could force him to drop, but I don’t have any experience with that either and he his pretty useless in that state. Saints,” Harry swore. “I can’t believe I let him talk me into this.”

Marcus felt a pang of sympathy for the young man. Perhaps this hadn’t been the best of ideas.

“Why did you?” questioned Kingsley, a look of confusion on his face. Ah, Marcus thought. The Minister probably still thought it was the other way around, that Harry had wanted to do this.

Harry waived his right hand. A look of pure frustration mixed with irritation and something that looked like resignation passed over his face.  “I don’t know. I mean he started two wars over some delusional idea of blood supremacy instead of using his brain and climb the ladder to the position of Minister. He was the architect behind events that led to the death of several thousand people and scared and maimed just as many. By all rights some torture should be his due as a punishment, but somehow – for some reason,” Harry stopped talking and shrugged, looking lost and uncertain.

Behind them the sound of countdown started and as the crowed reached zero the ceiling erupted in fireworks. 2001 had come to an end and they were entering into 2002.

***

Harry stumbled slightly as he came through the Floo and nearly fell flat on his face, but in the last second, he managed to grab the table in the middle of the room. Dragging a hand over his face he sighed. The conversation with Kingsley and Marcus had not been a pleasant one.

After hanging up the winter cloak he started at the stairs. As he came to the second floor he frowned as he saw dim lights on in the library. Strange. He would have thought that Tom was fast asleep. Stepping towards the library he quietly pushed the door open. Expecting to see Tom reading in the window seat as he usually did, it took a few seconds before he spotted the other man. Stepping further in, he silently sat down in one of the armchairs in front of the still burning fireplace. The flames crackled and ate at the remining kindling, casting a warm glow over the thick, plush faux fur rug in front of the fireplace.

Harry pushed a hand through his hair and looked down at the sleeping Slytherin Heir. Tom was fast asleep on the rug with a blanket covering him. He was curled slightly on his side, his head pillowed on folded arms. Beside his head there was a book. It was open but laying upside down. Harry glanced at the title and saw it was one of the books he had given Tom for his birthday. Reaching out carefully he picked up the book and, after inserting a bookmark, he closed it and put it on the table beside the armchair.

Looking back down he slowly and carefully reached out and ran a hand through Tom’s hair, enjoying the feeling of the silken locks against his fingers. It was slightly damp, and Harry assumed Tom must have showered before coming down to the library to read. It was strange to find him on the floor. Normally he preferred the window seat, which wasn’t classified as a furniture. Forbidding Tom from using the furniture in the house without permission had felt cruel, but Harry had given him explicit permission to use the chairs and table in the kitchen and the bed in his room.

Careful not to wake him, Harry let his fingers trail down along his cheek and down to the neck where the collar felt warm against his touch. The sight of the collar around Tom’s neck, with the Potter crest on, still made warmth go through Harry and puddle in his belly. He felt a bit ashamed every time it happened. It could not be a good thing that he felt aroused at the sight of his nemesis collared and bound and completely at Harry’s mercy.

Tom mumbled something in his sleep, and twitched slightly, but he didn’t wake. Harry pulled his hand away with a sigh. What was he supposed to do about his nemesis turned slave that couldn’t manage to behave himself?

That evening when he had laid down his expectations for Tom’s behaviour, he had felt settled, decisive and relived at having finally figured out his own emotions. He thought they had come to an agreement and that Tom would follow up on that.

The problem was that Tom had tried, he managed to kneel when entering Harry’s presence most of the time and keeping his eyes on the floor, but the man struggled more than Harry had hoped. Every time he broke the rules Harry knew there had to be consequences, but he had no idea how to discipline the man who looked frustrated and irritated every time he couldn’t force himself to behave, and sometimes ended up snapping back when Harry pushed at him. Harry winced as he remembered Tom’s reaction to Harry forbidding him to leave the house alone. Sahara would have frozen over by the glacial glare Tom had given him.

At this point Tom still wasn’t able to force the correct title from his lips and Harry had given up hope that he would. He had toyed with the idea of using the bond several times the days after their little talk, but after he had told Hermione the truth about Tom’s experience in Azkaban just before Christmas and she had given him a long speech about abuse of authority and how power corrupts, the idea had seemed less and less appealing. So, for all his decisiveness that he would demand that Tom behaved himself both at home and out in public, Harry hadn’t exactly followed up on his own decisions. He simply had no idea how he was supposed to enforce the rules, expect from using the bond. Apparently for all the thinking he had done that night, he had failed to actually think out how he was going to see the whole thing through. Simply telling Tom to behave was not working, or it was working partial. Tom had tried and some days where better than others.

As it had been so close to Christmas when he had taken Tom home with him, the two of them had only spent a week at work, and most of the time had been spent on informing Tom about the currently active cases his team was working on. They had settled in front of the fireplace with the files and Harry had run through the cases, answering the few questions Tom had asked about a detail or a picture. It wasn’t ideal to use the coffee table, but as Tom was expected to stay on the floor or standing, the large conference table had not been an option.

While among the rest of the Aurors, Tom had been polite and quiet, but not exactly behaving as a slave should. Then there had been the incident where Tom had ended up at the bottom of the stairs after an altercation with one of the Aurors. What exactly that had happened, was never clear. Tom wasn’t forthcoming and the Auror in question had been whisked away by Robards. Any attempts on Harry’s part to get some answers had ended with Robards requesting that he take an early Christmas break.

Harry sighed. Draco and Neville had more or less accepted Tom’s existence on the team, and mostly ignored him when it was possible. The rest of the force however… Apparently both Sommerseth and Robards had neglected to consider how the rest of the department, and wizarding world, would react to having the architect of so many deaths and misery in their midst. From the chatter Harry had heard at the New Year’s ball that evening it seemed that Kingsley had been busy handling both the press and his employees.    

Withdrawing his hand from his slave he sat back in the armchair. His thoughts went to the stack of complaints Kingsley had mentioned receiving. A feeling of dread curled in his stomach. If there was anything valid about those complaints, then he risked having Tom punished by the Ministry. From the reading, and the information he had gotten from Marcus, the type of punishment the Ministry would administer would be brutal and bloody. The point was, after all, to both discourage the slave in question from misbehaving, but it also worked as a warning to other slaves who might consider disobeying in public. There was also a third factor in this and that was to ensure that the owners of the slave would understand the need of training the slave correctly and ensure his or her obedience unless they wanted to pay a rather high fine.

Suddenly feeling bone tired, Harry pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. Looking back down at the sleeping man on the floor he concluded that it wouldn’t be good for him to spend the whole night on the floor. Crouching down on his heels, he reached out a hand to waked Tom. It was really not fair just how beautiful a mass murderer could look. Tom’s relaxed face as he slept gave him a look of pure innocence. It was almost a shame to wake him, Harry thought. If it was possible, he might have been able to spend the rest of the night just drinking in the sight of Tom sleeping peacefully.

***

He wasn’t sure how long he had been asleep when a scream woke him. The sound made him bolt to an upright position and grab for his wand that was on the nightstand. For å moment he just froze like that, until a second scream sent him scrambling into action. He pulled on a t-shirt, noticing that the alcohol in his blood was still active as he struggled with the garment. He hesitated on the landing outside his room, but then knocked on the door to Tom’s room. He wasn’t expecting an answer and was therefore not surprised when the only thing he heard was the sound of whimpering. Pushing the door open, he entered.  Normally he wouldn’t enter Tom’s room without permission, but if the man was having a nightmare… Harry was also concerned that he might end up injuring himself in some way. The room was dark, but Harry could make out the furniture and Tom’s restless form on the bed. He was tossing and turning, moaning. Putting his wand away, Harry walked over to the bed and sat down on the edge. Tom turned, his hands twisting and gripping at the bed sheets. He sobbed again and Harry could hear him whisper under his breath. “Please don’t. Please.” The pleading continued as the man turned and tossed. His face was set in a frown and Harry could see that his cheeks were wet from tears.

A strange feeling of protectiveness washed over Harry. The feeling came as surprise, as Harry couldn’t claim he was particularly fond of his unwanted possession. Perhaps it just was another result of the bond? Harry reached out to wake Tom but paused. He remembered vaguely that it could be dangerous to wake someone from a nightmare. Or was that just some old superstition? The next round of pleading that came from Tom’s mouth, made the decision for him. He couldn’t leave Tom trapped in whatever hell he was currently dreaming of. Reaching out he placed his hand on Tom’s shoulder and shook it. “Tom? Tom,” he repeated when he didn’t gain a reaction. “Wake up.  You’re having a nightmare. Tom?” He raised his voice towards the end, trying to cut through the nightmare his slave was experiencing.

Tom’s eyes opened, wide in fear and terror. He pushed away from Harry, which resulted in him reaching the other end of the bed and toppling off it and onto the floor with a solid thump, the bedsheets following and covering him from view.

Cursing, Harry waved his wand, and the room was flooded with light, twisting the wand slightly, he dimmed the lights down to a more comfortable level. Getting up, he walked around the bed and sat down on the edge on the other side. Tom was fighting the bedsheets on the floor. He managed to get his head free and scooted backwards until he reached the wall. His eyes were still too large and fearful. “Please, I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he muttered over and over again, giving the impression that he was still trapped in the nightmare. Harry wasn’t sure exactly what Tom was sorry for, or if he even knew where he was at the present moment.

“Tom?” Harry tried, leaning forward and resting his albus on his knees. On the floor Tom had pulled his knees up to his chest and was hiding his face against them, arms around his legs. “Tom!” he tried a bit louder, letting his voice take a slightly more commanding tone. Tom stilled and lifted his head. He was frowning. As Harry watched the eyes seemed to take in his surroundings because the pupils became more normal in size and the wealth of emotions in them started to retract. Looking around, Tom seemed to finally register where he was. A hand came up to drag across his face and he pulled the covers even more tightly around himself.

“You had a nightmare,” Harry stated. “Your screams woke me up.”

Tom nodded. “I’m sorry, my Lord,” he said, looking slightly worried. Perhaps he thought Harry would punish him for disrupting his sleep. Harry sighed. It seemed like Tom was in the more submissive mindset. The “my Lord” title he had used more or less the entire time had become less frequent just before and during Christmas.

“Don’t be,” Harry said. “How are you?” he asked instead, noting the slight trembling in the man’s posture. “I can fetch a calming draught if you want,” he offered, but Tom just shook his head.

Nodding, Harry got to his feet. “Come on, get back in bed,” he ordered. At the look of panic that crossed over Tom’s face for a second, Harry swore in his head. Right, perhaps ordering a rape victim into bed wasn’t recommended. Swallowing down a sigh he stepped away from the bed and waited to see what Tom would do.

The man tried to get up, but as soon as he was standing, he started swaying. Harry moved before he could crash back down onto the floor and put his hand around Tom’s arm and helped him move over to the bed. As Tom settled on the bed, he shot Harry a glance which was both grateful and apprehensive. He pulled the covers around him and laid down, pulling the pillow towards him and resting his body on the side, turned towards Harry. Harry moved slowly as to not spook him and sat down on the edge of the bed. As the bed dipped under him, he could see the guarded expression on Tom’s face intensify. This was the first time Harry had been in his bedroom since the ritual at Azkaban. Harry had made it clear to Tom that his room was his, and that Harry would not enter without permission. It was tidy and clean. A book on the nightstand and two more on the desk, but other than that there wasn’t any clutter. The door to the bathroom stood slightly ajar.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asked, not expecting Tom to share anything which Tom confirmed by shaking his head. Harry nodded. Standing back up he made to leave the room, stopping by the door to turn off the lights.

“Don’t.” Turning slightly Harry looked back towards the bed. “You want the lights on?” Tom started to shake his head, but then nodded. He looked slightly frustrated. “I- Can,” he paused, looking like he wasn’t sure he wanted to finish the sentence. Harry waited patiently but allowed the hand that was about to turn off the lights to drop to his side. In the other end of the room Tom took a breath, closed his eyes and apparently managed to force the question out. “Stay, please.” The words were so soft and said in a voice so low that Harry first thought he had imagined them.

Harry froze. He hadn’t expected Tom to wanting him to stay with him. His mind was running a mile a minute but, in the end, he simply let the lights stay on and walked over to the bed. A bit unsure if that had been what Tom had wanted, he hesitated before sitting down on the bed. When Tom didn’t do much else other than turning over so that he was facing Harry, he took that as an accept. After pulling his legs back up on the bed he laid down and pulled the covers over him. For a moment he wondered if Tom would tell him something about the nightmare, but the man simply sighed softly and after a while his breathing evened out and he fell asleep.

For a long while Harry just lay awake, watching him sleep. Again, it hit him how innocent Tom looked while sleeping. Eventually he too drifted off to sleep. 

Chapter Text

Harry yawned, covering his mouth with his hand, as he made his way down the stairs from his room. His head was pounding slightly from the wine he had been drinking at the New Year’s ball the night before, but not enough for him to take a pain killer.

He had woken up in his own bed, having left Tom’s sometime in the early hours of the morning. He didn’t think Tom would be happy to wake up with Harry still there, and Harry didn’t need the awkward tension that would no doubt have occurred if they had woken up together.

Tom’s request for him to stay the night before had taken him by surprise, but he hadn’t had the heart to say no, not when Tom was looking so lost and unsure, eyes big and scared. The vulnerability Tom had shown had taken him by surprise as well. Although Harry assumed that it was most due to the fact that he had been torn from a nightmare only moments earlier. It was better than the snappish, borderline aggressive behaviour he had exhibited the last two weeks. Most of the time Harry had just stayed out of his way, hoping that Tom would work through his own emotions and finally settled into his new life. A notion that had turned out to be futile. The only thing giving Tom space and time had done was to make him even worse.

Where Tom had been seemingly getting more submissive before Harry’s last visit to Azkaban and the following days after, he had turned around and gotten progressively less submissive after Harry had corned him about his behaviour and forcing him to agree to behave. Christmas had been tense with Tom staying mostly in the library or his room, and Harry preferring his own office or the sitting room.

As he started on the last stair down to the ground floor, he suddenly remembered the complaints Kingsley had mentioned the previous night. Pinching the bridge of his nose he realized that the situation couldn’t continue as it was. He was actually starting to worry that Tom would reach a point where he would do something that would land him in serious trouble. For all that Harry wanted Tom to have a normal life, or as normal as possible, he had come to the conclusion that as much as that had been what he had tried to do in the beginning, it wasn’t a solution that would work. Tom was bound to him, as his slave and no matter what Harry did, he couldn’t change that. There was no way to give Tom a normal life, at least not outside the house. He wondered if that was the realization that Tom had come to as well, and that was what was fulling the panic and his current bratty behaviour.

Reaching the ground floor, he headed towards the kitchen. The dinner had been early the night before and his stomach was not too happy about the long time between meals. The sound of utensils and sounds of something being chopped on the chopping board drifted out and Harry frowned. Kreacher had his own kitchen in the basement where Harry was forbidden from entering. He also had his own freeze and pantry and Harry had never in all the years seen him make something in the upstairs kitchen. Coming around the corner, he was met with the sight of Tom chopping what looked like cucumbers and tomatoes, while what Harry assumed was eggs and bacon, was cooking away in the skillet on the oven. Raising his eyebrows, he took in the sight. He had never seen Tom cook before, hell he didn’t even know the man could cook. Kreacher had made all the meals as far as Harry knew.

“Are you cooking?” Harry asked with a smile, coming into the room. He leaned against the wall and watched as his slave, apparently startled by his appearance, jumped slightly before turning around. Some emotions crossed Tom’s face too fast for Harry to pick up, but the man looked tense and apprehensive. Harry wondered if it wasn’t the memory of Tom asking Harry to stay with him the night before that was plaguing the man in front of him. Tom had never been good a showing vulnerability, always having seen it as a weakness, something to exploit, so it would not be surprising if he was somewhat on edge.  

“Aren’t that what good slaves are supposed to do?” The words were snapped in a tone that was border lining on the wrong side of rude. Harry sighed and closed his eyes. This was getting tiresome. Opening his eyes again he saw something that looked like guilt pass over Tom’s face as the man turned away to save the eggs that was threatening to burn in the skillet. Turning of the heat he pulled the skillet of the oven.

“Tom..” Harry started, but trailed of. He wasn’t sure how to proceed. On one hand he wanted to ask Tom how he was, but on the other hand he wanted to get angry at the man for disobeying and being a brat. Not able to decide he simply sighed again.

“I couldn’t find the elf,” Tom suddenly said, pulling two plates down from the cabinet. Harry watched, surprised, as Tom transferred an egg to each of the plates, along with bacon. Following was cucumbers, tomatoes and toast. Picking up two forks and two knives as well as the plates he put the whole thing on the table. Butter followed along with salt and pepper. Harry stayed standing by the door, somewhat perplexed that Tom had cooked for both of them. After putting everything on the table, Tom seemed to hesitate. His hands were gripping the back of the chair he normally used. For a moment Harry wondered if he would kneel as he was supposed to when entering his master’s presence. Not that Harry really had enforced the rule, or any rules…

“Tom,” began once more, shoving away from the door frame. Reaching the table, he gave the man a small smile. “It looks good. Thank you.” He took his seat and pulled the saltshaker towards him. Putting some salt on his eggs he started eating. After a few seconds Tom took his own seat and picked up his fork.

Glancing at Tom from the corner of his eyes, Harry noted the dark circles under them, and the pale complexion. Even his hair seemed more unruly than usual. He was supporting his head with his hand, elbow propped up on the tabletop. He looked exhausted. Perhaps the nightmares where more frequent than Harry was aware of. Considering what Tom had been put through the last years it wouldn’t be surprising if there was trauma. Tom should probably see a professional to help him.

Kreacher suddenly popped into the kitchen, frowning as he noticed the two wizards eating at the table. “Master didn’t call on Kreacher. Has Kreacher displeased Master with the food?”

Harry hurried to reassure the elf. “No, not at all, Kreacher. Tom simply wanted to cook.” Kreacher moved his eyes over towards Tom. “Master’s slave finally starting to behave as such.” That statement apparently was the last straw for Tom, who threw a glare that could kill at the elf and stormed out of the room, leaving his half-eaten breakfast behind.

Harry buried his head in his hands. “Give me strength,” he muttered. It was too bloody early in the morning to deal with a disobedient and unruly slave and a vindictive elf. He had a suspicion that Kreacher might had realized who Tom was and remembered how the man had left him to die in the cave in Albania.

“Tom, come back here,” he called as he raised his head, turning in his seat towards the door. As expected, Tom didn’t return. “Was that necessary, Kreacher?” he growled at the elf, which in turn just bowed his head. Pulling something out of his tunica, Kreacher held up the post that had arrived. Among the usual letters and the Daily Prophet there was a thick and large envelope bearing the seal of the Ministry of Magic.

With a sinking sensation, Harry accepted the post, placing it on the table beside the empty plate. He opened the envelope from the Ministry, finding a letter from Kingsley at the top. After a leafing through the rest of the documents quickly, his fears were confirmed. It was copies of the complaints made regarding Tom’s behaviour. Swearing under his breath he returned to the letter from Kingsley. It was short and to the point. The headache that had been just a dull ach at the front of his mind seemed to intensify as he read. Coming to the end of the letter, he closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.  “Kreacher, clean up please.”

The elf sprang into action. “Of course, Master.” At least one of his possessions was obedient Harry thought dryly. Leaving the kitchen, he headed for his office.

***

Tom blocked out the chatter from the three Aurors in the room and concentrated on their latest case that had come in the same morning. Turning a page, he stared at the picture of the dead Mr. Turner sitting in an armchair, head tilted slightly back and to the left, on the floor there was a gun that looked like it had slipped out from the hand that was dangling not far above it, and the gaping hole in the man’s right temple didn’t make it all too difficult to guess what the cause of death had been. The right side of the man, as well as the chair and floor were covered in blood and other things.

Scanning the picture, he turned it over and looked at the next. Mr. Tyler was a 56-year-old muggleborn wizard living in muggleworld with his wife of 30, a Mrs. Greta Tyler, a half blood who had grown up in the wizarding world. They had been married for two years, no children. According to the report Mrs. Tyler had come home from spending New Year’s Eve with her sister and had found her husband dead in the living room when she had come home in the early morning. He had been feeling unwell for quite some time, which was the reason he had stayed home on New Year’s Eve.

She was due to come to the Ministry that afternoon to give her statement.

Tom tilted his head as he looked through the pictures. Shifting slightly, he leaned against the couch behind him, moving his legs to avoid them falling asleep. They were all gathered around the coffee table as usual since Tom couldn’t use the chairs around the conference table. It made it easier to follow the discussion and add to it, when it wasn’t conducted way above his head.

He knew he wasn’t allowed on the furniture out in public and so he did appreciate that they had moved their working space to the coffee table, but at the same time he was irritated that they had to for him.

You chose this.

That Harry had banned him from the furniture at home as well as just added to his irritation.

“This has to be a clear suicide, why are we even interviewing the wife?” the Malfoy heir asked, throwing the file down on the table and stretching his arms high above his head. “And why did he kill himself with a muggle gun?” The man sounded almost affronted at the thought that a wizard would stoop so low as to kill himself using muggle technology.

Out of the corner of his eyes, Tom saw Longbottom share a look with Harry before the man rolled his eyes. “Because it’s procedure, Draco. And it’s not like he could cast an Avada Kedavra at himself.”

Malfoy muttered something incomprehensible which sounded close to Riddle managed. Harry laughed and turned back to reading the report from the autopsy. Longbottom exhaled and stood, stretching like a cat after a nap. “All right. I’m getting lunch. Draco, your usual roast beef sandwich?” Draco answered without looking up from the file with a nod and a thumb up gesture. “Harry?”

Harry looked up from the report. “Shrimp if they have it, if not just get roast beef for me too.” Longbottom nodded. He turned to leave the office, but then seemed to hesitate before turning back. The look on his face was complex and unreadable. “Tom?” The man questioned.

Confused Tom tilted his head slightly. What was the man asking? Apparently seeing his perplexity Longbottom elaborated. “I’m going to the cafeteria to get lunch. They have a lot of sandwiches. What kind would you like?” As he asked his eyes darted towards Harry. Tom assumed it was to check with his master that it was allowed. After hesitating for a moment, and wondering if it was a trick, Tom responded. “Club sandwich if they have, please.” He assumed he should have tacked on a sir somewhere in his answer but couldn’t bring himself to do it. Longbottom nodded and left.  

Tom stared after him. Stupefied that the man had offered to bring him food, and still aware that he couldn’t actually eatthe food without Harry’s permission. The thought rankled, but the memory of the conditions the Warden had presented for most of the meals made him realize that perhaps Harry’s permission was not such a hurdle. He doubted the man would refute him, if he wanted to deny Tom food then it would have been more sensible to tell Longbottom not to ask him.

He was aware that Harry and Malfoy had started talking again. From the little Tom bothered to notice it seemed like it was an old discussion they seemed to have going on repeat. Something about Quidditch. Looking back down at the file he held in his lap, he tried to make sense of what it was about the photos from the crime scene that just seemed wrong for whatever reason. Frowning he looked between the ten different pictures, before looking back at the one that showed the dead body in the chair. Something was amiss but he couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was.

His thought process was interrupted by the door opening as Longbottom returned with four bags for sandwiches. He slung himself down in the chair he had left and opened the first bag. Looking into it, he then tossed it. “Here, Tom,” he said before looking into the next one and tossing it to Draco.

Tom caught the bag with his hands and took out the sandwich. Unsure he cast a look at Harry, wondering if the man was expecting him to ask for permission. But Harry simply started eating his own. Deciding that Harry would have said something by now if he was planning on denying him lunch, and considering he never had done so, Tom assumed there was no danger. There was of course the possibility that Longbottom had done something to the sandwich, but Tom doubted it. He didn’t seem like the type. Taking a bite, he chewed as he continued to stare down at the pictures. The wrongness of the room and the dead body kept nagging at him, almost like an itch he couldn’t reach.

Then he saw it, and the whole thing suddenly clicked into place.

“Where’s the mortuary?” he asked, interrupting Harry midsentence. Looking up he met Harry’s eyes. Luckily the man didn’t seem angry at being interrupted. “Basement.”

“I need to check something,” said Tom, rising to his feet. Behind him he heard Malfoy mutter under his breath with sarcasm. “One well behaved slave you got there, Potter.” If Harry answered the answer was lost on Tom as he opened the door to the office and stepped out. The sound of footsteps behind him announced that the other three was following him. Entering the bull pen, he slowed and allowed the three Aurors to take the lead.

***

The witch who was responsible for the mortuary looked surprised at first at the delegation of people that suddenly found themselves in her realm of the Ministry. Malfoy was still munching on his sandwich and was told to either leave it outside or finish it outside. As they entered the large, sterile room the witch seemed to notice Tom for the first time. Her eyes widened at the sight of his collar and she looked like she was about drop dead and join the rest of the cadavers in the room. Luckily, Longbottom seemed to notice before she fell over and ushered her to the other side of the room.

There were three tables in the middle of the room. Long, metal slabs that was used when working on the bodies. Alongside one of the walls there was cabinets filled with positions and solutions. A sink to the left, which was currently cleaning scalpels that, after being dried by the floating cloth, settled into place on a tray. A body covered by a white sheet was on the table the furthest into the room.  

“Is this the body of Mr. Tyler?” Harry asked over his shoulder as he approached the bench.

“Y-yes,” stammered the now apparently petrified woman behind them. “I-I took him out for his wife to identify him.”

Harry pulled away the sheet. The man looked more or less the same as in the pictures, minus all the blood that had coated his face and chest. There was a gaping hole on the right side of the man’s temple, and quite a large piece of his head was missing. Harry grimaced at the sight, while Tom moved closer. “What are you looking for?”

“I’m not sure, yet” Tom muttered letting his eyes run over the man’s face and down his chest. He was short and not exactly what one would call skinny, more the opposite of the scale. Noticing the white gloves on the table nearby he picked up two and put them on. Carefully he pried the man’s eyes open. They eyes were blue and lifeless, but other than that they were normal. Picking up the hand closest to him next he inspected the tip of the fingers and the nails. There was some dirt under them, but nothing unusual there either. Biting his lips, he frowned. Using both hands he manged to force the man’s mouth open and looked at the teeth and tongue. Everything looked ordinary.

“What are you looking for?” Malfoy’s voice floated over as the man approached, apparently having finished his sandwich outside. “The man shot himself.”

Tom couldn’t help the slight smirk that formed as his lips. He glanced up for a moment before continuing his search. “Does it not seem strange to you, Mr. Malfoy, that a man that is left-handed would shot himself in the head on the rightside?”

“The right side?” Malfoy repeated, sounded confused. Out of the corner of his eyes he could see Harry putting the case file on the nearby table spreading the documents and pictures out. Malfoy walked over to take a look. “How in Merlin’s name do you know he was left-handed?” Malfoy asked, shifting through the documents.

“Look at the pictures from the living room. The table is on the left side of his chair, the mug he used is also on the left side, as is the book he apparently was reading. Why have all these things on the left side, if you are right-handed?” He stood up and turned towards the now slightly calmer witch. “Ma’am, did you find any toxins or potions or the like on the scans?”

The woman shook her head. She had sat down on a chair. Longbottom walked over to the other two and looked at the pictures. “He might be right,” the man said, moving a couple of pictures with his hand. “If you look at the picture on the wall there, you can clearly see that he is holding his wand in his left hand.”

Malfoy swore.

“You think he was poisoned and then shot to make it look like a suicide,” Harry stated. Tom nodded. But with what he wondered. Most poisons would show up on the scans that were done.  

“There were no poisons detected,” the woman said, looking to have gotten a bit more colour into her face as she possibly came to the conclusion that Tom wouldn’t harm or kill her. “We scan for most of the natural, muggle and magical poisons. He had taken some potions during the last weeks, but nothing that should have killed him.”

“Something unusual then?” Longbottom asked, turning to lean against the table and crossing his arms over his chest.

“Sure this isn’t some new muggle thing then? They keep inventing newer and newer ways to kill themselves of in their pointless wars.”

Tom shook his head. He doubted that. Walking back over he stared at the pictures. The house was an old cottage or something by the look of the interior. Wooden furniture that stood in stark contrast to the overwhelming number souvenirs they had bought back home with them after their travels. Egypt seemed to be the most popular country. Frowning he felt something prickle at the back of his mind.

“What does his wife do for a living?” He asked, sorting through the papers to find the correct document.

“Curator at the British Museum, magical part of it anyway. Think she’s an expert on old Egypt. Would explain the horrid interior of their home,” Longbottom answered, turning to look down at the documents along with Tom. Old Egypt. Tom tilted his head as he vaguely remembered something he had read once and then there was that annoying sensation for something he should remember. Turning he eyed the cabinets at the end of the room. Striding over, he glanced over at women. “May I?” She nodded and he opened the cabinets. Roaming through the shelves he looked around for the right one.

“What are you looking for?” Harry asked as he came over.

“Something,” Tom muttered as he moved the bottles aside. There! A small bottle sat on the shelves. It was marked with SnCI₂. Pulling it out he smiled at Harry.

“That’s the poison?” Malfoy asked, sounding sceptical.

“No, Mr. Malfoy, but it might give us a clue as to what is,” Tom responded as he walked back to the dead body. The witch’s curiosity had apparently won out over her fear, for she too came closer.

“Stannous chloride?” She asked, having correctly identified the label on the bottle. Tom nodded his head. Looking towards Harry he indicated towards the dead body with his hand. “Can you open his mouth, please?” Looking intrigued, Harry came over. After putting on gloves he carefully pried the man’s jaw open as far as he could. “Hold them there,” Tom instructed as he pulled out the cork of the small blue vial. Bringing the vial over the man’s face he let a couple of drops fall on the tongue. Waiting a couple of seconds and then the muscle started to gain purple spots where the drops of liquid had landed. Tom grinned at Harry who just looked back with confusion written all over his face.

“Oh my,” the witch to his right muttered. “He was poisoned.”

***

Tom and Malfoy waited outside the interrogation room and watched through the one-way mirror as Mrs. Taylor broke down and confessed to killing her husband and then making it look like a suicide. The story was told between gulps of air and tears as she rocked on the chair. The words spilling from her in an almost incomprehensible mass of half sentences and words. The charmed quill that was supposed to write down her statement as she gave became more and more agitated as the story went on. Tom would be surprised if the document would make any sense afterwards considering how the story jumped back and forth. The quill did after all write down every word the way it was spoken.

As the story started to take form an image begun to puzzle into place for the three Aurors and Tom. An unhappy marriage, domestic abuse, finical difficulties. A desperate wife who saw no other options than to poisoning her husband to avoid risking him killing her.

“You need to do a medical exam and record her injuries,” Tom commented. “It will help her defence lawyer to lower the sentence. It not quite self-defence in the legal sense of the matter, but a good lawyer should be able to bring it down considerably.”

Malfoy turned and leaned against the wall, eying Tom with something that wasn’t quite as hard and cold as it had been the week before Christmas. It was more considering as if Malfoy was reconsidering what his opinion on Tom really was. “How did you know she had used gold?”  

Tom shrugged. He hadn’t exactly known. “I wasn’t sure, but it seemed like a plausible possibility. The old Egyptian used gold to treat some illnesses, but there are also records of the dosage being wrong over too long a time, causing the patient to die, rather than becoming better. It’s also a good poison because it’s not something that is normally checked for. Had she not messed up the shooting part then we would most likely have assumed it was a suicide and never checked.”

“Strange she didn’t remember her husband being left-handed and not right-handed.”

“Perhaps, but remember that she has just found her husband dead, and even though she knew he was dead I do imagine that the process of actually shooting him in the head can’t have been an easy one for her. I hardly think the thought about right or left side was something that crossed her mind. There is a reason why poison is normally a woman’s choice.”

Malfoy turned and looked back into the interrogation room. “Well, we can’t all be a professional murder like you,” he snapped.

Tom raised an eyebrow but kept silent. There was no reason to reply.

The door from the hallway opened and Robards came in. “She confessed?”

Malfoy nodded. “Yes, sir. Harry and Neville are taking down her statement now. She’ll be transferred to a holding cell afterwards.”

Walking up to the glass Robards looked in. “I hope you informed her of her right to have a lawyer present before you took her statement.”

“Of course, sir. She didn’t want one.”

“Good. Good.” Robards nodded and turned to leave. Stopping as he reached the door, he turned and fixed Tom with a stare. “Good work, Riddle. Nice catch.” With that he left. Malfoy glared at Tom. “Of course, you get all the credit,” he grumbled.

Tom bit back a smirk.

***

Tom felt a sense of dread go through him when he heard Harry call his name that evening.

“Tom, come her please.” Harry’s voice drifted down from the third floor to the second where Tom had just exited the library. The words were polite, but the tone was very controlled and very cold. They had eaten dinner as usual, and Harry had been going through the post. One letter had seemed to catch his interest because he had disappeared soon after.

They had managed to co-exist in relatively peace for the last two weeks. Tom had preferred to stay in the library and the window seat there, while Harry had preferred his own office. There had been some instances that had resulted in Tom snapping or getting angry. The had mostly been connected to the times when Harry had tried to remind Tom that he had promised to behave as the code dictated, a promise that Tom was failing miserably at keeping.

He just couldn’t force himself to do it. Everything in him pushed against it, and at the same time another part of him was terrified for what Harry would do if Tom continued to misbehave. But Harry had just looked disappointed and had shook his head when Tom snapped at him. Not rising to the bait and not doing anything. Which just made the whole thing worse. If the man at least could get angry and snap back it would have been easier, but the look of disappointment and hurt just made Tom feel even more guilty.

Harry hadn’t done anything except being nice. The only thing he wanted in return was for Tom to behave as the law required. Not because Harry wanted him to, but because failure to do so would land Tom, and subsequently Harry in trouble. And the knowledge that Harry cared enough to try and protect Tom from himself made his stomach and feelings twist and turn in unfamiliar emotions.

Adding to his morass of feelings he didn’t know how to handle, was the fact that he couldn’t seem to get a decent night’s sleep. The nightmares plagued him. Memories of Azkaban of the Warden and the guards. Sometimes he didn’t even know where he was when he woke up and a couple of times the nightmares had been so real that he had actually thought that being at Harry’s had been the dream.

It had been only a question of time before he ended up waking Harry. He didn’t remember what he had been dreaming about, only that he had shot awake and when he came around to be aware of where he was, he had found himself on the floor with Harry sitting on the bed.

Walking up the stairs to the third floor where Harry’s office was located, he tried to remember why he had asked Harry to stay. It had been a moment of insanity he decided. It wasn’t like he wanted anyone in his bed. Not after, well, everything. His thoughts started to drift towards the first time Stanley had decided there was a more pleasurable use for the prisoner he was set to guard other than using him as a punching bag and try out interesting torture methods. Crossing the threshold into Harry’s office he managed to push the memory away. Entering he saw Harry sitting in one of the armchairs in front of the fire, a letter in his hand and a cold look on his face.

The earlier sense of dread intensified as Tom walked over to the armchair, knowing he was supposed to kneel, but not able to go through with it. There was a sense of panic that overtook him every time he considered it. Harry fixed him with a look that didn’t ease the feeling of foreboding.

“Kneel,” he said, and Tom could feel the bond registered it for what it was – and order.

***

Harry watched Tom hesitate for beat longer before sinking gracefully to his knees. Settling with his hands in his lap and his head bent. It was bad, Harry decided, that the sight made unappropriated feelings stir in him. Unfortunately, those feelings couldn’t quite squash the anger he was currently feeling.  He wasn’t sure if it was anger at himself or at Tom, the only thing he was sure about was that things couldn’t continue as they were.

“Here,” he said, hearing the coldness in his own voice as he handed the letter to Tom. The man took it and read through it. Once he was finished, he just stayed like that, staring at the letter, head bowed.

“Tom,” Harry started, trying to force the anger from his voice. “Talk to me.” Tom raised his head, looking into the fire. “We discussed this before Christmas.”

“We didn’t discuss this,” Tom countered.

Harry lost some of the control he had over the anger. “Fine,” he snapped. “Perhaps we didn’t discuss this, but you did agree to behave, which you have failed miserably at ever since. It’s been two weeks and you can barely force yourself to kneel in my presence. Not to mention in public. You’ve been snappish, irritable and downright a pain to live with the last two weeks. I spent the last part of the New Year’s Eve ball getting berated by Marcus and Kingsley for your behaviour. You said you knew what you were getting yourself into. Were you really?”

Tom opened his mouth, but before he could answer Harry cut him off. “And don’t lie to me,” he ordered, using the bond this time. Tom’s angry eyes snapped to his, but Harry didn’t relent. “Answer me,” he ordered.

On the floor Tom looked away and Harry could see him clenching his teeth. After a few seconds of silence, he suddenly flinched as what Harry assumed was pain latch into him. “No,” he finally answered, voice unreadable. “I thought I did.”

Harry nodded. “And how did you imagine this was going to work?”

Tom looked frustrated. “I don’t know,” he finally admitted. “I hadn’t thought this far.” The last bit was said in a soft, low voice and Harry could clearly hear Tom’s annoyance.

And wasn’t that just a good summary of the whole situation. Neither of them had apparently considered how this was going to work. Harry sighed. This was just hopeless.

“We can’t continue like this,” he said, voice hard. They couldn’t either. The letter he had handed Tom was from the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, the department that Tom was sorted under at the moment. It was a summon to the Ministry a week later to go through the complaints that had been made towards Tom. Harry wasn’t sure what the outcome of such a meeting would be.

Leaning forward he rested his elbows on his knees and buried his face in his hands. He felt completely exhausted. “How do you suggest we are going to make this work?” he asked. He only really saw one option and that was the one he had been trying to avoid. Looking up he saw Tom staring into the fire. Harry sighed and felt something settled within himself. He thought back to the night he had gone through the whole internal discussion the first time. The conclusion he had reached that it was his responsibility to protect Tom from himself as well as the rest of the world. He was apparently failing at that as much as Tom was failing to behave.

That begged the question, who was responsible for ensuring Tom’s behaviour? As tempting as it was to say that Tom was responsible for his own behaviour, he couldn’t. If Tom was his responsibility, then Harry was ultimately accountable for his behaviour. Groaning he got up and walked over to his desk. Picking up the sheet of paper he had written earlier he brought it back to the chair. Tom looked up as he sat down. A slight curious expression on his face.

Taking a deep breath, he sat back down. “I’m sorry, but I don’t see any other way of doing this.” Tom opened his mouth, but Harry cut him off. “Be quiet”, he ordered, using the bond. “I have given you two weeks to come to terms with this, which in hindsight looks like it has just made this whole thing worse. I am responsible for you, as much as I know you hate to hear that, and therefor liable for your behaviour. Which means that it is my fault that we have to appear in before the RCMC next week. Since you obviously can’t be trusted to act as you are supposed to, given how the last two weeks have gone, I don’t see any other option than to use the bond.”

Rage, irritation and something that looked like fear flashed across Tom’s face and Harry felt a stab of guilt at the sight. He pushed it away and picked up the sheet of paper he had collected from his desk and quickly rattled of the summarised list of expected behaviour, but this time using the bond to enforce each of the rules. When he was done, Tom looked slightly paler than he had. Harry wasn’t sure if it was because of the slight discomfort that came with each order being backed by the bond, or because of the fact that he was using the bond to enforce the rules. Either way, his eyes were closed, and he was rubbing at his temple with his right hand. The lines in his body betraying how tense he was, although Harry assumed it was a mixture of that and probably anger. He couldn’t blame Tom for being angry, but Harry refused to let him be angry at him. This hadn’t been necessary if Tom had either thought the whole idea through from the beginning, or if he had managed to behave as he should in the first place.

“Tom?” He asked. He wasn’t sure what was going on in Tom’s head. Tom opened his eyes and glared up at Harry anger clear in his eyes. A second later he flinched and lowered his eyes. Well, apparently the bond was working. Harry wasn’t entirely sure how the bond worked, so he had tried to summarize the rules down to simple orders. He could always change things as time went on if something wasn’t working, or not working the way he had intended. “You are allowed to look me in the eyes,” he said, amending the freshly given order slightly. Tom would be in a lot of pain if not, and it would be impractical as well, seeing as they were living together.

“Thank you,” Tom sneered, the words dripping with sarcasm. That apparently triggered bond as the order to be polite and respectful was broken, and Tom winced in pain. This time he put out a hand to catch himself against the floor as he slid sideways to rest his weight on his hip. He was breathing harder and from the slight movements in his body it seemed like pain was stilling running through him. Harry frowned. Why would the bond still be punishing him?

“Tom?” he asked, concern colouring his voice was he leaned forward, wondering if something was wrong with the bond since it was still active. Tom bit his lip and cast a furious look at Harry, anger burning in the brown eyes. Then he closed his eyes and seemed to shudder. He opened his mouth a couple of time before he finally looked like he was able to force the words out. “I’m sorry for my disrespect,” with an effort that looked like it was almost killing the man he then forced the next word out, “master.”

He then almost collapsed in what looked like relief as the pain seemed to fade. Taking a couple of deep breaths, he then pushed himself back up so that he was sitting with weight on his hip and his feet out to one side.

“May I be excused?” The tone was barely polite, but then he seemed to flinch and added on, “master”.

Harry nodded. He could understand that Tom would like to get away from him after what they had just gone through. “Yes, but Tom, I’m sorry it had to come to this, but in all honesty, you did bring this on yourself.” He had a feeling Tom was biting back either a glare or a remark he would be punished for as he rose to his feet. He looked slightly unsteady but found his balance and disappeared out of the office, barely managing to not slam the door shut behind him from the way he had to catch the door before it hit the frame.

The whiskey reflected the light from the fire as Harry summoned himself a glass. Letting his breath out of his lungs he slowly closed his eyes. Taking a sip from the glass he allowed his head to fall back against the top of the chair. There was no way this was going to be a smooth sailing, but he couldn’t see any other option than using the bond. He tried to find some sort of consolation in that and used it to push the guilt he was feeling away.

There was nothing else he could have done.

Chapter Text

“Just bloody well kill the damned thing!” Trevor Parkinson hissed as he retreated back towards the door, bumping into Neville who was standing there. He slammed into the door, which was already barely hanging on one of the hinges after being blasted open by Draco. The impact was too much for the poor thing and it hit the half rotten, wooden floor with a thud, making every one of the four Auror’s in the room jump.

They were in a run-down house in Knockturn Alley which had seen better times. It looked like something out of one of those muggle horror movies that Dudley had preferred. Harry hadn’t been sure the roof would hold up when they had entered, but thankfully it still did. The house did however give a slight stir every now and then as to remind them that it was just still standing out of its own will, and that there was a time limit on how long it would remain.

The current problem however wasn’t the fear of the house collapsing on them, or the three dead bodies, it was the seven feet long runespoor in the middle of the room. The three heads were changing directions continuously, snapping and snarling at the four Aurors. The orange and black body was posed to strike. Behind it on a table, there was a large glass container, which Harry assumed had housed the snake until something had made it break. There was glass all over the floor, and from what he could see of the belly of the snake there was several wounds from where it had glided over the broken pieces. Harry assumed the container had been caught in the crossfire of whatever fight had taken place in the room.

“We can’t kill it,” he heard Draco say behind him as he too inched closer to the door, moving carefully as to not agitate the snake even more. The left head snapped forward and Harry scrambled out of the way. Pushing at Draco, the four of them tumbled out through the door. Neville scrambled to his feet and quickly set up a simple ward, trapping the furious snake within the room, along with the three dead men. Harry allowed his head to fall back onto the floor in relief as the ward came up and prevented them from dying from being bit by a runespoor.

Trevor was dusting of his robes which had been coated in dust as he had fallen to the floor when Draco bawled into him. Standing back up, he adjusted the cuffs of his robes before looking at Neville with and incredulous look. “Why in seven hells can’t we kill it? It probably killed the three in there, and it will kill us if given the chance.”

“Because, you idiot, the wizard who reported this mentioned a lot of spells being cast around in the house, and that snake can’t do magic, which means the snake knows what happened, and is currently our only witness,” Draco snapped from the floor, gesturing towards the snake that had slid up to the ward and the right-side head was pushing its nose against it as if testing the ward. He jumped back when he saw how close the snake had gotten. With a grimace he too pushed himself to his feet and held out a hand towards Harry to help him get up. Harry eyed the hand, and then sat up and took it, letting the Slytherin pull him to his feet. Well up he too dusted of his robes, keeping an eye on the snake that was slithering along the ward, seemingly looking for a weakness in the magic.

Trevor looked like he thought Draco had lost his marbles. Eyes wide and his jaw slightly open. “Witness? And how exactly do you propose we talk to it? There aren’t flushed with parselmouths around and Harry lost his ability during the war. At least stun it.

“We can’t do that either,” Neville broke in, he too was keeping an eye on the snake to ensure the ward he had set up was holding. “Snakes don’t react well to stunning spells; it might kill it. Not to mention that they are red listed as being nearly extinct and it’s therefor illegal to kill them.”

Trevor stared at him. “What? Why the hell would we want to keep those things from disappearing of the face of the earth.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Harry tore his eyes away from the snake who had gone deadly still. The right head seemed to be studying them, while the middle and the left head was engaged in some sort of discussion. “That is our only witness, so we have to keep it alive.” Only problem was that he couldn’t speak to snakes anymore, not after the war. There was of course the most obvious solution to that problem. It wasn’t unheard of using animals as witnesses, primary snakes though as there were few wizards or witches who had the ability to speak to other animals. Their testimony was not recognized by the court of law thought, as it was too easy for a translator to either translate wrong by intention or by mistake, but it would help them in the investigation.

“Unless you in some magical ways have regained your ability to talk to snakes, then I don’t see how,” Trevor said, crossing his arms over his chest.

Harry exchanged a looked with both Draco and Neville, before he sighed. As much as he didn’t want to fetch Tom, there really wasn’t any other options. That would mean he had to return home and get him. He hadn’t brought Tom with him to work that day, wanting to give his more or less pissed of slave a chance to adjust to his new reality. He hadn’t seen Tom that morning at breakfast and hadn’t gone looking either. He had however instructed Kreacher to bring Tom whatever he wanted to eat and drink. That was one of the rules he hadn’t used the bond to enforce.  

“No, I haven’t,” he told Trevor. “Fortunately thought I do have an indenture slave that does.”

***

The fire crackled as it attacked the new log that Tom had just reached in to place on the coals to prevent the fire from going out. Eagerly it licked its way up the sides, the fire growing as it was fed, casting warmth out into the somewhat cold room. Tom followed the fire’s progress with his eye, trying to focus on what he was seeing in order to get a break from his own thoughts that was just a complete chaos at the moment. He pulled the blanket he had taken from the bed better around himself and pulled his legs up to his chest. Resting his head on top of his folded arms.

His stomach growled. He hadn’t gone down to breakfast and Harry hadn’t come to get him either. He wasn’t sure what that meant. A quick look at the clock on the nightstand told him that Harry must have left for work without him. He didn’t know how he felt about that either. Logically he assumed Harry had wanted to give him a day to adjust to everything.

Why the hell did slavery always come with an abundance of stupid and humiliating rules? The question was of course self-explanatory even if he might not want it to be. Kneeling and the title were a show of respect to the winning party, acknowledgment as to who had won, to show the world who had lost. The whole reason behind the rules of conquest was that the winning party could claim his enemy as a spoil of war. The laws and the rules were in place to punish, to humiliate. And Tom had to admit it really worked. Having to ask for permission for almost everything, kneel and bow his head, not meet the eyes of a free person was a lot harder than he had thought it would be.

The thought about the night before and his master’s decision to use the bond to enforce the rules made anger rise in him, and on the heel of the anger there was the overwhelming feeling of helplessness. He buried his face in his arms as slow tendrils of cold panic started to wrap around him, silently gliding over his skin and slowly, oh so slowly started suffocating him, making him tremble and shake. He bit his lip in hope that the pain would ground him somewhat. It didn’t work. The panic felt like a wave that was slowly cutting of his air supply as it reached higher and higher. His breathing became laboured, and he struggled to fill his lungs. The slight pain he suddenly felt came as a surprise, until he realized he had gripped his hair with both hands and was pulling on it to the point of it being painful.

He gasped as he suddenly couldn’t breathe. You have to calm down. There is no reason for you to panic. Everything will be fine. Taking small gulps of air, he managed to get his breathing under control. Letting go of his hair he instead rubbed his hands over his face. Breathing deeply, he slowly let the air back out. Again. And again. Slowly he could feel his heart slow down.

The room came back into focus. He blinked and tried to focus on the flames in front of him. A loud rumbling from his stomach reminded him that he hadn’t eaten yet. He had become used to eating regularly the last three weeks, and his body was protesting at the lack of breakfast. He hadn’t felt up to facing Harry that morning and now that Harry had left for work, he wasn’t even sure if the bond would let him eat. He tried to remember the rules his master had put in place the day before and if the rule about asking for permission to eat had been one of them. His memory came up blank. He could of course just try and see what happened, but the risk of having his fear about the rule being in place confirmed made him hesitate. It wasn’t like he hadn’t gone without food for long periods of time before. Both the Warden and the guards had used food as a motivator and reward for good behaviour. It was strange to think that the body got used to intermittent eating when given enough time.

It was painfully in the beginning, but after a while the pain dulled to a more consistent ach. It was followed by fatigue and dizzy spells, but as long as he had been fed eventually, he had survived. The price for the food however had always been decided by the Warden, who used it as he saw fit. In the beginning he had withheld the food to aid in their effort to break him, later it had been to further humiliate and degrade him. He hadn’t been allowed to feed himself for more or less 2 years, not until Harry had come to his cell for help and had refused to hand fed him.

He could feel himself slipping and tried to blink and focus his eyes on the fire to avoid being pulled under by his memories, but a recollection swam to the front of his muddled brain despite his best efforts.

Voldemort stumbled and clutched the wall to try and avoid falling back down. It worked for a couple of seconds until he took the next step and put weight down on the other foot. The soles were more damaged on that one and the moment he put his whole weight on it, his brain shut down and he fell to his knees. Swearing he sat back on his heels and punched at the floor with his right hand, almost relishing in the pain that radiated back up his arm.

 T he feeling of helplessness and panic that had been growing in him for the last year and a half had grown from being subtle to being ever present in his mind. He couldn’t do anything about the abuse and lately the unwanted sexual attention. Nothing. There was no one to complain to, no one who could or would come to his aid. The panic grew and the thought of this, being treated like a toy to someone’s amusement, without any consideration to his wishes or well-being, was going to be how the rest of his life would be like was devastating. He tried to breath, to force himself to take a deep breath, hold it for a couple of seconds, before letting the air out slowly. Closing his eyes, he tried to keep an even pace as he pulled air into his lungs before slowly letting it back out.

Opening his eyes, he stared down at the stone floor. His vision was blurry, and it wasn’t until a drop of water landed on the back of his right hand, that he realised that his vision was blurry because of tears. Blinking in surprise, he lifted his hand and wiped it along his eye, staring in surprise at the moisture he could see there.

The sound of the door opening, shocked him into motion and he quickly wiped his eyes, not wanting the guards to see the weakness. Looking up he saw the Warden enter, a tray in his hands which he placed on the table.  The poor thing trembled slightly before regaining its balance and steadying itself. Voldemort tried to use the seconds it took the Warden to turn back around and sit down on the chair, to school his features into neutral ones but had a feeling he wasn’t completely successful.

“Good boy,” the Warden praised, apparently thinking that finding Voldemort on his knees for once meant that he had elected to kneel out of his own will when he heard the door open. Voldemort didn’t bother to correct him, or to mention that he was as far from a “boy” as possible. He was over 70 years old for Merlin’s sake. If the misunderstanding could save him though, from some pain and humiliation, then all the better. The sight of the tray however made his stomach come back to life and it growled painfully. Voldemort frowned. He wasn’t entirely sure when he had eaten last time, as the days seemed to blur into each other due to that fact that there were no windows in the cell and the light was kept at a constant level no matter if it was day or night. He did know it had been quite some time thought. The last times the Warden had brought the tray and demanded that he kneel and call him sir, Voldemort had either ignored him or told him just what he thought about that.  

That had of course led to only more pain as he had been punished for his disobedience, and his stomach was currently feeling like it wanted to eat itself. The only good thing about starvation was that it had turn into more of a dull ach as time went on and the stomach had concluded that it wasn’t getting any food. The downside was the lack of strength and dizzy spells that followed as the body started eating on the only other thing it had available, muscles.

“Hungry, pet?” The words were slightly teasing, no doubt because the Warden knew just how hungry Voldemort had to be after all this time. The man seemed to have an uncanny ability to know just how far you could push a human before you pushed too far. Voldemort was sure the Warden knew and played a part in the abuse Stanley administrating, if only to make sure the guard didn’t go too far. Not that Voldemort could die, but he had a suspicion that the Warden and guards didn’t know about the horcrux’s.

Silence stretched as Voldemort considered his options. He was already kneeling, and the Warden seemed to believe it was out of his own free will. It wouldn’t hurt his pride all too much to tack on a “sir” somewhere in his response. Worst thing that could happen was that the man saw through his ruse and denied him food. The polite sir he didn’t have much problem forcing out. He had, after all, spent seven years at Hogwarts calling his professor by their title or sir.

In the end, he lowered his head and tried not to let his anger and distain for the man in front of him show when he spoke. “Yes, sir.”

“Good boy,” the man said again, and made a gesture towards the floor in front of him as he spoke. Voldemort’s answer had apparently been convincing enough, or the man simply didn’t care.

Voldemort closed his eyes for a moment, before speaking. “The chain, sir.” The chain that kept him tethered to the wall made it impossible for him to move over to kneel in front of the Warden. At hearing his words, the Warden rose and unclipped the chain from the wall before sitting back down.

Following the slight thug on the chain Voldemort moved so that he was kneeling in front of the Warden. He made sure to keep his head down and his hands loose in his lap. He wasn’t desperate for food yet, but he would take the opportunity he was offered. Normally it was the demand to kneel that spoiled the whole thing as he couldn’t bring himself to do it, and if he now could get away with the Warden thinking he had knelt on his own, then he would take it.  

He barely managed not to flinch away from the hand that reached out to card through his hair. He was though surprised when the hand gripped his hair and forced him closer so that he was situated between the man’s spread legs. The other hand came up to run alongside the left side of Voldemort’s face before softly letting the thumb ghost over his lips.

The panic started up again as he tried to pull away but had nowhere to go. He lifted his hands to push away, but the Warden captured both his wrists in one hand.  

“So beautiful for a mass murder, it’s almost unfair. I can’t really blame Stanley for his actions. Come here and be a good boy, and I’ll make sure you have a week of rest and food.” The voice was soft and lower than usual and there was an undertone that Voldemort couldn’t quite place.

Not grasping the situation, Voldemort struggled against the hold until he connected the dots as the Warden let go of his hair and loosened his belt and pants before shoving them down. Revealing just how he felt about the situation as his member was standing tall and erect.

Apparently, the price for food had gone up. Voldemort tried to force himself to struggle, to refuse, but in the end, he knew that it was futile. This was going to end how the Warden wanted. Just as it had when Stanley had first tried to rape him.

The feeling of helplessness that had plagued him lately came back in full force and the panic started back up as he realised that his life had become even worse, if that was possible. If this was what he had to look forward to for the next eternity, then he wasn’t sure he wanted to survive. That though and admission alone broke something in him, and he could feel his body move, but his mind retreating into its own little world and Voldemort could feel himself losing control over his body’s movement as it moved and acted on its own.

The sound of something hard knocking against wood threw Tom out of his memory and he gasped in air until his brain managed to grasp that the sound was someone knocking on the door. Before he could muster enough air to answer, the door opened slowly, and Harry came into view.

“Tom, are you all right?” Was the first question from his master. The man looked like he wanted to rush over but seemed to manage to stop himself just in time. Tom nodded and took a couple of deep breaths. The order to not lie was still active and he was all right after all. And he was all right, wasn’t he? As he finished the thought a sharp pain hit him. It felt like needles were forced into his skull and he flinched. Before the bond could intensify its punishment, he rearranged his limbs so that he was kneeling on the floor. The pain faded away as the bond more or less purred at his obedience. He gritted his teeth at the pleasure as much as he normally did against the pain.

Of course, his stomach decided that was correct time to complain about the lack of breakfast and growled loudly. Loud enough for his master to hear at least.

“Did you eat breakfast?” Harry asked, coming into the room and taking a seat in the chair in front of the desk, turning it so that he was facing Tom on the floor. “I didn’t want to wake you after yesterday.”

Tom wondered if he could get away with a shake of his head.

“Why not?” Harry asked.

Tom knew he didn’t have choice other than answering. Still, he hesitated as long as he could, not sure how to answer. When the bond shocked him though he picked the first words that came to mind. “I wasn’t hungry.” The lie was exposed a couple of seconds later when the bond lashed into him again. Greeting his teeth against the pain he tried to amend the situation. “I’m sorry,” he forced out.

The bond still wouldn’t relent though. The longer he waited the worse the pain became. He fell sideways and had to catch himself against the floor with this right arm. He breathed through the pain until he could manage to speak the true reason out loud.

“I wasn’t sure if the order to ask for permission was active, and I didn’t want to test it.” The bond shocked him once more and he bit his tongue before forcing the last word out, “master”. The humiliation made him blush as he lowered his head, but there was no laughter or anything from his master. When the silence stretched too far, he finally looked up and met Harry’s eyes. There were only filled with concern and something that looked like regret.  

As much as Tom wanted to, he realised that he couldn’t blame Harry for using the bond to force his behaviour. The man had given him two weeks to come to terms with things, weeks Tom had spent ignoring the whole thing – the promise he made, the situation, everything. Although he did know deep down that the problem wouldn’t go away and that the only thing he was doing was delaying the inevitable.

Harry sighed and rubbed both hands over his face. “I didn’t put that down as a rule,” he explained as he lowered his hands. His face was serious and his hair slightly wild, not that Tom ever had seen his hair resembling anything close to orderly. “It would just be impracticable for you to seek me out every time you wanted something to eat. Eat and drink whenever and whatever you want.”

Tom didn’t reply. If he had paid attention last night instead of panicking, then he probably would have noticed that Harry hadn’t used the bond to force that rule. For a moment they stared at each other and for the first time Tom noticed how green Harry’s eyes were. A strange feeling, like an itch under neat his skin drew his attention. It wasn’t quite an itch either, more of a pull perhaps. It was distant and he had to focus in order to feel it properly. Harry rose from the chair and walked over to the fireplace. He leaned against it and stared into the fire for a couple of seconds. Tom wondered if he had come home just to check and see if Tom was in the process of tearing down the house or something equally stupid.

“I was planning on leaving you home today after,” he waved a hand in air and Tom took it to mean ‘after everything’. “But as it happens, I need your help with a witness.” He gave Tom a crooked smile and Tom could feel his curiosity lifting its head.

“We are having a slight problem with communication,” Harry continued, and Tom could hear the amusement in his voice. “Luckily, you will be able to help with that.”

The last thing Tom wanted to do was to leave the house to help the Aurors with the rules in place through the bond. He did speak several languages of course, but the bloody Ministry should be able to find a decent translator to help them out without having to resort to Tom’s help. His disdain for the idea must have shown on his face, because Harry sighed and the slightly amused look on his face faded away to a more serious one. He walked over and retook his seat by the desk.

“We really do need your help, and it won't help you much hiding out in the house. At some point you will have to go outside,” he said. Tom felt anger rise in him although a part of him knew he was being ridicules and childish. He wasn’t hiding. Sure about that? A small voice in his head asked. 

Tom swore inwardly and could feel the slow tendrils of panic slowly starting to spread, almost choking him. He’d really had no idea what he was getting himself into. You chose this, he tried to remind himself. No, I didn’t, he thought, there was no other options. There weren’t any other choices.

***

The small room outside the interrogation room was filled to the brink with Aurors. They stood completely packed, and every time one of them moved Harry could feel an elbow or a hip or something poking into his side or back. Everyone was watching the one-way mirror on the wall, quietly muttering between themselves as they watched.

The reason for the large turnout of people was of course Harry’s slave. The rumour that the only witness from Knockturn Alley was a runespoor had spread like wildfire and adding to that the information that the dark lord was going to interview the snake, had drawn every Auror that weren’t out on a mission to the viewing room.

A couple of witches whispered among themselves to Harry’s right, and from the little he could pick up they were discussion how wildly unfair it was that the defeated dark lord looked so handsome. Harry couldn’t blame them. It seemed like the universe was playing some cruel joke. One should not be able to be a dark lord and look like Tom Riddle did. And then it hit him. Somewhere during the last weeks, he had stopped thinking of Tom as Voldemort. He had also completely forgotten just how much suffering and pain the seemingly harmless youth in the other room had caused. The deaths, the torture, the torn apart families. At some point Voldemort had gone from the monster in his memories and dreams, to a half-broken human that had gotten a taste of his own medicine and now was struggling to cope and was completely dependent on Harry for everything.

The thought of Tom being entirely reliant on Harry shouldn’t give him a power rush, but it did, and Harry frowned. He wasn’t sure he liked his own reactions to the whole thing. The long speech that Hermione had forced him to sit through about how power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely came to mind. He pushed the whole thought process away; he could ponder on it later in the silence of his own room.

Tom was sitting on the floor. His left leg was bent at the knee, and he was resting his left arm on top of it, a quill in hand. He occasionally twirled it around his fingers. In his right hand he had a sheet of paper pinned to a wooden pad to make it easier to write on. Every now and then he would write something down. The sounds in the room were audible for everyone in the viewing room, but all everyone could hear of course was hissing sounds from the conversation that was being conducted on the other side of the glass. The runspoor was curled up on the floor in front of Tom. It weaved from side to side as Tom seemed to have a conversation with the right-side head. The left head seemed to chip in every now and then, while the one in the middle seemed to be lost in its own thoughts.

Thank Merlin that Tom had been able to calm the creature down and had been able to convince it to come with them and tell them what had happened. They had conjured up a carrier for it and Tom had coaxed it into it. While they had set up the interrogation room, Harry had floo-called Charlie Weasley. He had wanted to know if he knew some sanctuary where they could send the runespoor. It deserved better than being locked up somewhere. Charlie had checked around and had found a sanctuary for magical creatures in Africa. The director of the foundation that was responsible for the sanctuary was due to arrive later that afternoon to pick up the snake. From what Tom had told him, the runespoor had been very pleased with the solution and it had helped convince the creature that they could be trusted.

As Harry listened to the conversation, he felt a stab of sadness that he no longer could speak or understand parseltongue. That ability seemed to have been connected to the horcrux, and when Voldemort had killed it, the ability had seemed to vanish with it.

“It’s beautiful to listen to,” someone in the crowd said, and that gained a couple of affirmatives from several others.

“Harry, is it a magical language or? I thought you had restricted his magic.” The voice belonged to Dennis Frostwood, a muggleborn wizard that had joined the force recently. Out of the corner of his eyes he could see several of the room’s occupants turn their head slightly to follow the conversation. Harry could understand their curiosity. Robards seemed to have been very light on the details when he had told the Aurors about their newest addition. Draco had told him after that the news that the dark lord would be working with them hadn’t been well taken by everyone. Several had voiced the desire to show the defeated dark lord just what they thought about him, while others had believed it was something of a poetic justice that the dark lord was enslaved and forced to help the Aurors in their work, the very same people who had hunted him and his followers all those years.

“I don’t know,” Harry answered honestly. “His magic is completely restricted, and he can’t access it, so I would assume it isn’t. From what I’ve gathered – the ability to speak to snakes is genetic in some way and has been passed down through his bloodline.”

“Riddle isn’t exactly a pureblood name?” Someone commented. Harry hesitated. He wasn’t sure how much he wanted to reveal about Tom’s past, but at the same time anyone who wanted could figure his past. He was pretty sure the new edition of Hogwarts: A history, that had been released the previous year had contained a chapter about the Heir of Slytherin.

“He’s a half blood.” Harry turned his head and locked eyes with Draco. “His mother was from the Gaunt line which is a descendant from Salazar Slytherin. His father was a muggle whom his mother dosed with amortentia,” Draco continued. Harry wasn’t sure if he wanted to strangle Draco or thank him for having taken away the choice about sharing the details of Tom’s past or not.

Someone snorted. “Well, that explain the lack of empathy. Children conceived under the influence of amortentia is said to lack empathy and to be unable to love.”

“They can love,” a witch said from behind Harry, “but the lack of empathy and the fact that they often grow up in toxic homes makes it more likely that they become sociopaths.”

Harry nodded. That made sense. “He grew up in an orphanage during the second muggle war. The conditions and rations made surviving a struggle. His mother died in childbirth and his father abandoned them,” he said quietly. He heard a couple of “ohh” behind him, probably from some of the muggleborns who had learned about the second world war in school.

“What happens to the snake after this?”

Harry couldn’t be more thankful for the change in topic.

“We’re shipping him off to sanctuary in Africa,” Neville said, coming to the front of the room, staring in. Tom was nodding to something the snake was saying and looked to be sketching something on the piece of paper. He nodded again before asking a quick question. The snake flicked its tail in an irritated movement and seemed to draw closer. A shadow of fear snuck up on Harry. He was suddenly a bit worried for Tom. He hoped the snake wouldn’t suddenly decide to bite Tom. Neville had the antidote in his pocket, just in case. The first thing Neville had done when Harry had gone to get Tom was to apparate to St. Mungo’s and get the remedy.

The door to the room opened and Robards came in, Sommerseth close on his heel. Sommerseth took one look at the crowed and simply demanded “anyone who isn’t assigned to this case, get back to work. The cases won’t solve themselves and that snake can’t solve more than one.”

The Aurors ducked their heads and shuffled out, some muttering under their breath about the unfairness of it all, and they reminded Harry of disobedient children having been chastised and sent to bed. In the end it was only Harry, Neville and Draco left, together with Sommerseth and Robards. Trevor had been called away on a rush case with his normal team, much to the man’s annoyance.

“You can’t blame them, Marcus,” Robards said as he came up the window and looked in. “It isn’t often we have an animal as our only witness, and even more rare that we actually have someone on staff that can communicate with the animal. It could seem like this little idea of yours Marcus wasn’t so bad. At least not for the Auror department. Riddle seems like he is well suited for this. If you could only get him to behave Potter, so that I don’t have to get more creative complaints from people who have no good intensions.”

Harry ducked his head. “Yes, sir.” The reminder of the meeting he would have to take Tom to after the weekend was not something he was looking forward to. He felt irritated too that people had used the law to complain just because they could, irritated that Tom’s behaviour was anchored in legislation, but as irritated as he was, he could still understand them. The part about the slave’s behaviour was affixed in a bill was though harder to understand, and the insane rule that anyone could report the slave if it was not acting as it should. Although, since the slavery was supposed to be both a punishment and redemption, he assumed it was to make sure that the slaves weren’t given a cosy living.  

“How is it going?” Sommerseth asked, leaning against the wall and peering through the glass. His black and crimson robe was impeccable as usual, and for a moment Harry thought that the black and red would be gorgeous on Tom. When he realised what he had been thinking he almost slapped himself. Looking into the room he let his eyes trace the outline of Tom’s face. There was a lock in front that always slipped down over his eyes, and Tom would push it away ever so often with an impatient flick of his hand. The cast had come off during the Christmas break and Tom had regained full strength and function of the arm with the help of a couple of potions.

“Honestly?” Draco asked, crossing his arms. “No clue. Tom keeps nodding every now and then, which I hope is a positive sign and the snake is talking, but other than that? No idea.”

A silver cat came bounding through the door and the voice of the witch who acted as an administrative coordinator for the Auror department announced that the director for the sanctuary in Africa had arrived. “I’ll go,” Neville volunteered, heading for the door.

“Good, Longbottom,” Robards said, nodding his head. He turned his head slightly and caught Harry’s eyes. “You didn’t bring Riddle in with you this morning – everything alright?”

Harry really didn’t want to explain why he had left Tom at home that day. “Yes. Everything is fine.” He didn’t believe his own words, and from the look Draco threw him, neither did he. Luckily the chance of any follow up questions was delayed when Tom looked up from his notes and directly at the window. He waved a hand in a “come in” movement and Harry assumed he had gotten everything he needed from the snake.

“Be careful,” Sommerseth cautioned as they approached the door, “you can never be too sure about a runespoor.”  

As Harry came into the room, Tom switched from his sitting position to a kneeling one for a couple of seconds, before pushing himself to his feet. Harry nodded slowly to himself. That had been a smooth way of both fulfilling the bond’s requirement, and not look like he was kneeling. He straightened his robes and then handed a sketch to Harry. Draco took up position beside Harry and they both stared at a drawing of a face. A middle-aged man, moustache, bald, large, round glasses. He wasn’t what Harry would call attractive, nor someone you would notice if you walked past him on the streets.

“Okay?” Draco said, looking from the sketch to Tom, then the snake and back. Tom met his eyes, before flinching slightly and moving them to the wall.

“This is Taylor Tassler,” Tom began. “He’s a smuggler and scoundrel. Not too bright, but he has his uses. He killed the three people in the building.”

Harry glanced briefly at the snake behind Tom, but it seemed to be in a quiet conversation with itself as the left and right head talked quietly while the middle one still looked like it was lost in its own thoughts.

“And how do we find this upstanding citizen so that we can give him a fair trial for murdering three people?” Draco asked, his voice turning sarcastic at the ‘upstanding citizen’ part.  

Tom glanced over at Harry and met his eyes. There was something in them Harry could quite grasp. A seriousness combined with hesitation. When he spoke, he clearly was addressing Draco, a smart move to avoid having the bond punish him for not using the correct title when addressing Harry. “I need to talk to Lu-,” Tom hissed in pain before trying again, “I have to talk to Lord Malfoy, your father.”

The look on Draco’s face was hilarious. He simply stared at Tom as if he couldn’t quite catch what he had said. Then he blinked. “Oh yes, I’m sure he will be thrilled to see you again, and in his house.”

Chapter Text

The force behind the backhand that cut across his face knocked him to the floor. His tongue flickered out and tasted the metallic taste of blood from where his lip had been cut. Glazing upwards Voldemort saw the Warden heal his hand from where Voldemort’s teeth had pierced the skin, just as the guard behind him forced him back up on his knees at the same time as the man pulled his arms behind his back and tied them together. Settling on his knees he continued to glare as the Warden finished up with his hand.

“That was a very stupid thing to do,” the Warden said quietly, belaying the furious anger underneath. He came closer and weaved his hand into Voldemort’s hair before twisting his head backwards. “I should pull out your teeth for that little stunt, pet.” The seriousness of his tone sent a flicker of concern through Voldemort. The man had already proven that he had no moral qualms about torture and pain. Perhaps biting the man when he had tried to hand fed him hadn’t been the best idea. The Warden let the silence stretch out and when he reached for his wand, Voldemort felt the briefest sense of fear curdle in his stomach. The man wouldn’t really?

“Unfortunately, the time it will take to reset those back into your mouth is more than I care to waste.” Then he smiled. A smile that was all teeth and no warmth. “There are after all more appropriate ways of dealing with pets that bit.”

Before Voldemort could contemplate just what he meant about that, or protest at the comparison to a pet, the Warden let go of his hair, and flickered his wand. Something appeared in his outstretched hand.

“You can’t be serious,” Voldemort rasped out, his mouth parched from not having had anything to drink for a good while.

The cold smile he got in return, told him that the man was very serious. As he came closer, Voldemort started to struggle in earnest, but weakened as he was from lack of food and sleep, and the damage to his body, he wasn’t much of a match for the two wizards. A kick to his midsection and then the ribs left him gasping on the floor. The Warden took advantage of Voldemort being distracted and pushed the ball gag into his mouth, locking it behind his head with help of magic.

Voldemort gagged and coughed as the gag was forced into his mouth. The gag itself wasn’t that much of a problem, but the bloody thing was not round nor soft. It was hard and the surface consisted of a multitude of small, sharp spikes that pressed into his gums and tongue unless he actively forced his mouth to stay open. The guard let go of him and in lack of strength to do much else, Voldemort stayed on the floor, concentrating on keeping his mouth open enough to avoid the painful spikes.  

The looming figure of the Warden crouched down beside him and ran a hand through his hair, ignoring Voldemort’s feeble attempt to pull away. “I think this will serve as a lesson to remind you to behave.” The voice was soft and soothing. “You’re already pushing the limit of how long you can go without food and water because of your pride and stubbornness. I hope that a little time like this will make you see reason. I’ll leave the tray of food over her to remind you just of what you lost with that little stunt of yours.”

With that he rose, and both he and the guard left the cell.

“Tom? Come on. Wake up, Tom.” The urgent voice registered in his head, and he shot up, gasping for air. Doubling over he felt himself tremble and he was freezing from the cold and sweat. His pulse was racing, and his heart pounded so loud he couldn’t register any other sounds but his own heartbeat and gasps.

Two arms pulled him backwards and he panicked for a moment, trying to pull away, but a sudden calm bleed into him from the bond and his body relaxed on its own as it recognised the person behind him as Harry.

He didn’t have the strength or awareness to fight the pull and he let himself be guided back down on the bed; his head pillowed on something soft but firm. A hand kept carding through his hair and the steady calming sense he got from the bond continued to help soothe the panic and stress. His heart calmed slowly, and he was able to find a more even breath. As his body calmed down, he could feel himself slipping towards sleep once more as his mind was too exhausted to do anything else.

Blinking he tried to stay awake. The pillow shifted underneath his head, and he realised that it was propped up on Harry’s lap and that the man was sitting on the bed, leaning against the headboard. A part of him screamed at him to move away, that the feeling of safety and calm that came from the bond at the contact, wasn’t worth the humiliation of being cuddled like some child, but the rest of him snarled at that voice to shut up as the hand came back to card through his hair. It smoothed over his forehead, through his hair and down to his neck where Harry would occasionally rub small circles with his thumb just below the collar.

Moving slightly, he shifted so that he was laying more on his side, and curled up a bit, taking the covers with him. He blinked against the dark and tried to free himself from the trembles that occasionally wrecked his body.

“Back with me?” The soft voice of his master asked as he let his hand move through Tom’s hair. Not trusting his voice, Tom simply nodded. “Good, good,” Harry muttered. Tom could feel him shift underneath him and before he could consider what he was doing he reached out a hand and took a hold of the one that wasn’t carding through his hair. “Don’t,” he whispered, afraid that Harry was moving to get up from the bed and return to his own.

Harry stilled underneath him. “Don’t what?” he asked, tone soft as if speaking to a scared animal. Tom thought he should be insulted but didn’t care. He didn’t want to be alone. He was tired of being alone. The realisation hit him like a sledgehammer, and he flinched. Harry immediately thought it was a reaction to his question and tried to pull away, but Tom just tightened his grip on the man’s hand and Harry stopped moving.

Tom had been alone his whole life. In the orphanage the other children had shunned and tormented him until he had made an example of two of them and showed them just what he could do. They had left him alone after that. In Hogwarts he had been seen as having friends, but none of them had been real friends, not someone he could confide in and that he trusted, and after he had graduated, he had travelled the world. After that, well, it wasn’t like Lord Voldemort had friends. He had followers and allies and the closest thing he might have come to a friend had to be Nagini.

And then he had lost the war and been thrown into Azkaban for the rest of his life. Still alone, but now vulnerable to those who were set to guard him. And then Harry had shown up. The very boy who was prophesied to kill him. Whose parents Tom had killed in cold blood, although he had been insane at the time. The boy that had gotten his whole childhood and youth destroyed because Tom had been hell set on killing him to ensure that he had no weaknesses or treats left.

A boy that, despite all that, had taken allowed Tom to talk him into a situation he didn’t want to be in. And as angry as Tom had been the last three weeks, he couldn’t blame Harry for doing what he had. Looking back at Azkaban and everything he had endured there, he had to admit, still rather painfully, that the rules Harry was forcing him to follow might be humiliating, more in public than at home, but it was a small thing compared to the humiliation and torture he had been met with in Azkaban. Being degraded to something not even human and threated as if he had no value expect of that of a plaything for people with more power than him.

As for behaving as such it public… Tom had to admit that it wasn’t like anyone was outright commenting on it. Most times people simply ignored him, and if they said something it was more related to it being a suitable punishment, rather than mocking him for kneeling or being polite. There had been a couple of instances where some of the Aurors had bothered him, taking advantage of his helplessness to get some small revenge. That had been the times he had been on his own and not close to Harry. The man had demanded to know what had happened, but Tom had refused to tell him and after Robards had re-assigned the Aurors Harry had let the subject drop. Tom had however learned to stay close to either the team members, Robards or Sommerseth if Harry wasn’t there.

The feeling of helplessness had been the worst. The realisation that without his magic and with his options to fight back restricted he was completely reliant on Harry to keep him safe. And that, that realisation had brought back too many feelings and the same sense of panic that had accompanied him in Azkaban.

The biggest aversion to behaving seemed to be in his own head, and he didn’t know why. Was it the last shred of pride he was clinging on to, or was it fear of embracing his knew life in fear of … something? Tom wasn’t sure, and he was too mentally tired to try and figure it out at the moment.

As for Harry’s question… In the end he just answered truthfully. “Don’t leave.” The words were barely more than a whisper.

“I won’t,” Harry answered and for some reason it felt like he was answering something more than just Tom’s plead for him to stay there and then. The nervous ball of feelings in his stomach gave away to a sense of relief and he felt himself relax more deeply into the bed. A small sense of his mind worried what this developing need to be close to Harry meant. Was it the bond that was pushing at him, or was it his own sense of self-preservation that was feeding of his experience in Azkaban and trying to please Harry in some way?

Harry shifted, probably to make himself more comfortable and pulled one of the discarded pillows towards him, putting it behind his back before returning it to card through Tom’s hair. His other hand, Tom suddenly noticed, was still trapped by the wrist in Tom’s hand. Feeling embarrassed he slowly let go of the wrist and pulled his own back to his chest.

“I’m not going to force you, and I’ll respect if you say no, but sometimes it helps to talk about the nightmares.” The suggestion was given in a tentative voice as if Harry was afraid to break whatever was going on between them and send Tom scrambling out of the bed.

Tom hesitated. It wasn’t like he enjoyed speaking about his feelings, but on the other hand, Harry knew more about his time in Azkaban than most other people. It really should be embarrassing to be curled in the lap of a boy 50 years his junior, because he had woken up scared from nightmares, and then asked if he wanted to talk about it, he thought. Instead, it felt oddly … nice, that someone cared enough to ask him about the nightmares, and he found himself opening his mouth and the words spilling out.

“The Warden had a … hobby one might call it, that got him through what I assume was a terrible boring job as the Warden of Azkaban. From what I could gather it seemed like he had gotten the position as some sort of demotion because of something he had done in an interrogation, but I’m not sure.” Stanley had said something about the Warden having been a bit too heavy handed with a captured Death Eaters and apparently torturing the man for information.  

“As several of the prisoners that are sent to Azkaban are sent there because they have been given life sentences and most don’t have any family or friends that visit, which I assume the Warden found to be convenient. He thought that about me too until you showed up, which I think threw him of a bit, but as I am who I am, and you were the one to defeate me I assume he thought you wouldn’t mind a couple of bruises and a broken arm.

He liked to break prisoners. The stronger and more wilful they were the more pleasure he took in what he did. If they by all odds were to be released, then people would just assume that the stay in Azkaban and the isolation itself had been enough to reduce them to a shell of their former self. And if anyone of them tried to bring charges, who would believe them?”

Harry made a noise that sounded like agreement.

“In the beginning it was just the small things, standing when he entered the room, being polite and grateful when he brought food by, which was every day in the beginning. It was easy enough to fake to the point of him perhaps not believing in it, but at least accepting it.” He remembered those first months. The frustration and irritation at having to be polite to the blasted man, the struggle to keep himself from snapping and cursing the Warden. How naïve he had been at that time, believing that simple curtesy would leave him in peace to serve out his never-ending sentence.

The hand drifted down to draw circles on Tom’s neck, just below the collar. The slight pressure of his thumb against his skin felt nice. The bond also seemed to enjoy the contact because it hummed every time they were in direct contact. The feeling was soothing, and he could feel the last grips from the nightmare starting to recede. “I take it that changed?” Harry asked, his voice still lower than normal. The emotions in it were difficult to grasp, Tom thought.

Tom nodded. He closed his eyes before continuing. “Yes, it did. The demands got worse, more humiliating and when we reach the point where I started to refuse his requests, to fight back, he brought in Stanley to teach me some manners as he liked to call it.”

He swallowed and took a deep breath before telling Harry about the dream, about the demands, his refusal and the spiked gag that the Warden had used. When he came to the point where he had woken up, he trailed off. As he spoke, he understood that the part of him that didn’t want to talk to Harry about Azkaban was the part of him that was afraid of Harry’s reaction. He was scared that Harry wouldn’t care. That he would see at as a fitting punishment for the crimes Voldemort had committed. That he would tell him that it was his due. This even though the realistic part of his brain knew that Harry wouldn’t. If he had been of that opinion, then he could just have left Tom with the Warden and never returned or said anything.

“Saints,” he heard Harry mutter behind him, this time disgust and traces of anger were clear in his voice. Tom kept silent. He remembered that night or day, he wasn’t sure which, the pain of the spikes that pierced his mouth every time he got too exhausted to keep his mouth open. “How long did he leave you like that?”

Tom shrugged with the shoulder that wasn’t trapped against the bed. “I don’t know. The lights in the cell were kept at a constant level. I never knew if it was day or night. The Warden loved his little mind games. He would always set the situation so that you felt you had a choice, something you really didn’t. Whereas Stanley simply used brute force to get things how he wanted, the Warden on the other hand set the situation up in way where you had to agree to whatever he wanted you to do. Over time, when done enough times, your mind starts losing the knowledge that you really don’t have a choice and starts reorganising around a mindset that pleasing the man is the only option. I was utterly depended on him for the most basic things like food and water, and he only granted those if I obeyed him. I tried to outlast him, thinking that he wasn’t going to kill me and that he would eventually be forced to feed me to avoid that I died. As far as I know the horcruxes aren't public knowledge?”

“That’s correct,” Harry confirmed.

“Well, one can say it backfired. He did feed me eventually but he managed to find the most excruciating painfully way of doing so, making the whole feeding process feel worse than starving.” Tom closed his eyes for a moment, swallowing against the bile that threatened to rise in his throat as he remembered that one time. He had never tried it again, although he still had refused the Warden several times after that, but those time they both had known it was only a matter of time before Tom gave in.  

“He came back sometime later,” he continued quietly, keeping his eyes closed. “At that point I was too out of it from the lack of water, food and sleep to even notice that he entered the cell.”

The hand in his hair startled him and he pulled away, whimpering as the movement made him close his mouth and the spikes immediately found something to dig into. The metallic taste that had dulled somewhat flared to life as new wounds opened. He tried to blink and to focus, but his mind felt like cotton from the lack of food and water. Everything swam in front of his eyes and his body was sluggish and wouldn’t obey his commands.

He could feel hands at the back of his head as the gag was loosened.

“Open your mouth wide, pet”. The smooth voice was accompanied by a hand stroking through his locks.    

He opened his mouth as much as he could as the gag was pulled out. His jaw protested as he tried to close his jaw, but by trying bit by bit he managed. He tried to swallow but his throat was so dry that it felt like he was trying to swallow a mouthful of sand. Looking down he saw that the once blue gag was tainted red with his blood.

“Careful, your jaw will be sore for some time after being forced into that position for so long.”

Something cool was pressed to his lips and after a few seconds he recognised it as a cube of ice. Carefully he opened his mouth and accepted the ice cube. He almost moaned at the feeling of cold ice soothing the aches in his jaw and the wounds in his mouth from the spikes. Once the ice cube was dissolved, a hand encouraged him to sit up. After a couple of tries he managed to push himself into a sitting position.

 “Good boy.”  A cup was pushed against his lips, and he drank deeply, relishing in the feeling of cold water that ran down his throat. When he started coughing the cup was pulled away. “Easy, don’t drink too fast. I’m guessing you are very hungry by now,” the voice continued, and the cup was replaced by a cube of cheese. Voldemort could feel the slightly soft texture against his lips and the scent tingled in his nose. His stomach growled loudly, and then it twisted painfully.  

His instincts yelled at him to fight against accepting food from the man’s hand, but at the same time, the fear of the Warden putting that gag back on was outweighing the feeling of humiliation. There were also no one around to watch him give in, and from the time he had spent in the prison he knew no one would come either. He was utterly alone in the world, and completely depended on the Warden for absolutely everything. Perhaps this, the refusal to comply, just wasn’t worth it?

 “Did it get better once you gave in?” Harry asked. Did it? Tom asked himself. Some things perhaps. One could also make the argument that things had just gotten worse.

“Some things I guess got better as the years went by, better as in he stopped having Stanley beating me senseless every time I, according to him, misbehaved. Not that the lack of orders stopped Stanley from beating me anyway. Somethings just got worse because he lost interest when I eventually gave up and stopped fighting him, as such he upped the scale so to speak. It was the fight and the chance to force someone to bow he most enjoyed I think.”

Harry shifted again and Tom lifted his head momentarily to allow him to find a more comfortable position. “And Stanley?”

Tom hesitated, trying to figure out where to start. Harry, apparently taking his hesitation for unwillingness, jumped in. “You don’t have to tell me, Tom, but I have seen the medical reports, and as such I do have some insight into what you have been through.”

A flash of embarrassment hit him at the thought of what those reports must have revealed about his condition and about what had happened. Then again, Harry had never used anything of what he knew against him in anyway, and that knowledge helped starve of the discomfiture enough for him to continue the story.

“Stanley was like every other bully. He tortured and beat others in order to feel better about himself. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was bullied in school. However, he did have a reason to hate me more than the rest of the prisoners. His sister had been killed in a raid some years back. Apparently, she had been sexually abused as well.” Tom hesitated. He didn’t like to remind Harry about the war or how many lives he had taken or destroyed. For all as caring as Harry appeared now, Tom knew it could turn quickly. Power would always and had always changed people.

“He also had a bad relationship with his wife, I think due to the PTSD he most certainly incurred during the war. He was good at taking that out on me as well. Another hobby was reading up on interesting torture methods as the collar restricted both my use of my magic and what magic could be used on me. Half the time he just tortured and beat me for the entertainment, not because the Warden had decided I had disobeyed him in any way.”  

***

A couple of hours later Tom let the last sentence die out. He wasn’t sure how long he had been speaking, but it felt like forever. He wasn’t sure how he felt after having told Harry everything either. Telling him about the last three years had made his voice hoarse. He hadn’t told Harry every single detail of what had happened, but he had told him most of them.

Suddenly he felt too tired to keep his eyes opened and he let them close. It felt strangely nice to be held to for once, to give into the illusion that he was safe and cared for, even though he knew it wasn’t the case. Harry tolerated him in his home because of the deal Tom had talked him into against his wish.

“Tom, when you first came here you didn’t seem to have much problem with some of the rules, now you do. Why?” With a sigh Tom moved away from Harry. He was suddenly feeling irritated, but not sure at what. There was a slight pull on his hair as Harry hadn’t expected him to move and had his fingers woven into Tom’s hair. He also looked slightly surprised as Tom knelt on the bed, pulling the covers around him. Brown eyes met with the clear green ones of his master before Tom glanced away. “I don’t know. There is a sense of panic that comes over me every time I consider giving into the bond.” That had come out a lot more honest than he had intended, Tom thought with a slight wry sense of humour. He glanced up and saw Harry’s thoughtful look. The man studied him for a moment before speaking.

“I might be completely wrong here, I’m not a shrink, but could this fear you are experiences might not have anything to do with the rules themselves?”

Shaking his head slightly in confusion Tom frowned. “What do you mean?” he asked.

Harry played with the edge of the pillow Tom’s head had been resting on, looking somewhat undecided as if he wasn’t sure if it was a good idea to voice whatever he was thinking about, in the end he seemed to draw in a breath before speaking. “From what you told me the Warden upped the rules and the demands every time you gave in, making it impossible for you to get on top of them. To reach a point where you knew that there would be no more changes and you could relax.”

Tom nodded slowly, although still not seeing where Harry was going with this.

“Perhaps,” he hesitated again, glancing away before meeting Tom’s eyes once more. “Perhaps that is what your subconscious is afraid of will happen again. Perhaps you are fighting this because you are afraid on some level that if you follow the rules set by the law, then I’ll grow bored and find some more painful, more humiliating rules for you. And to avoid that you refuse to give in to these rules because your mind thinks that as long as you are fighting the once set in place now at least they won’t get worse.”

Tom stared. He ran the possibility of what Harry had said through his mind several times, each time a bit of the panic he normally felt seemed to subside. It was true, every time he had given into the Warden’s rules there had been peace for a couple of weeks or months, depending. But after a small period, the man had always come in with a new rule, something more humiliating. Perhaps, just perhaps Harry did have point. If he looked back and let his mind analyse the last three years, then he had to admit that he could see how his mind had been conditioned to expect things to get worse if he gave into the smaller things.

Harry seemed to realise where Tom’s mind was taking him because he continued but this time his voice sounded more decisive as if he had taken Tom’s silence as a sign that he was on the right track even if Tom hadn’t concluded that he was at the moment. “I know you have no reason to believe me, but I have no intention of changing the rules or adding to them unless absolutely necessary, unless it is to let up on them. I only expect the law and the code to be followed.”

Tom tore his eyes away and stared at the wall. His mind was working a mile a minute trying to reconcile Harry’s theory with his own emotions. Could he be right? A small part of his mind agreed with Harry’s thoughts, but the rest of it was screaming at him that it was just another trap, just another game that he would lose. And what Harry was asking – to trust him and just give in. That prospect was more than a little terrifying. He could feel the panic start up again and he breathed deeply to try and keep it in check. There was of course one way of testing it, but…

Could he do this, could he force himself to trust the boy, man he corrected himself? You chose this, the voice in his head remined him as it had done countless of times before, only this time he didn’t disagree as much. He had chosen Harry, that much was true. And the man had kept good faith with him this far.

He could have turned around once they were back from Azkaban and decided that he felt Tom needed to be punished more for killing Harry’s parents, his friends, for the destroying the wizarding world, twice, for the deaths and ruined families he had left behind in his wake.

Looking back at how he had behaved the last three weeks both at home and out in public it was a small wonder that Harry hadn’t punished him. Especially after being made aware of the complaints made about Tom’s behaviour and the upcoming inquiry. Harry could be facing a rather steep fine if the inquiry decided that Harry hadn’t properly punished his slave for the disrespect he had shown.

Instead, he had given Tom time to come to terms with his own demons, and when it had become clear that Tom was unable to do so and had bitten over more than he could chew, Harry had forced him in order to protect Tom from himself and the Ministry. Not because he could or found pleasure in Tom’s humiliation, but because it was necessary in order to protect Tom from his own bad ideas and inabilities to think things through.

For the first time since that day in Azkaban when he had realised that he wanted Harry to claim him, Tom felt a sense of relief, of a puzzle that was clicking into place.

“I understand you have a hard time trusting me,” Harry said, “and that you might have never had anyone in your life that you actually trusted. But we are bound together for only Lady Magic knows how long, and if we are going to make this work you need to trust me to some degree. I’m not going to “up the game” as the Warden did if you stop fighting and start behaving. I know your subconscious doesn’t necessary believe that, but I’m asking you to take leap of faith here.”  

The old power corrupts saying twirled in Tom’s head along with a steadying increasing hope. A hope that perhaps, just perhaps Harry was telling the truth.  

It wasn’t until later, just as he was drifting back to sleep, Harry still beside him, that he realised that the bond had been quiet during the whole conversation. There had been no demand for him to call Harry master as it usually demanded nor did any of the other rules seem to be in place. He was too tired to ponder more on why that had been, he decided and allowed sleep to claim him once more as he focused on the hand that was still carding through his hair.

***

Harry couldn’t keep his eyes from wandering every so often from the book he was reading to the curled-up figure in the window seat. Tom was, as per his habit, curled up in the window seat facing the front of the house. The same thick, wool blanket around him and several pillows to make the window seat a bit more comfortable. He had a book in his hands, but his attention seemed to waver as he kept staring out of the window ever so often, seemingly lost in thought. It could be the book he was thinking about of course, but from what Harry could see it was the third one in the Lord of the Rings trilogy that he had gotten the man for his birthday. Apparently, Tom’s love for books didn’t discriminate against muggle books. Harry had tried to tease him about it at one time during Christmas when the atmosphere between them had been almost pleasant. Tom had scowled and retorted that all knowledge was power. Harry couldn’t disagree with him about that.

Normally Harry would mostly stay in his office and read, he rarely used the library but that evening he had sat down in one of the armchairs by the fire with a book. After a while Tom had appeared from whatever he had been doing the last couple of hours. He had hesitated in the doorway when he noticed Harry and Harry expected him to turn and leave, if nothing else then to avoid having to kneel as he entered the room. To his surprise Tom had stepped into the room and gracefully knelt, giving a dip of his head as he murmured a quiet master, before rising again. He seemed to hesitate though, but Harry just smiled at him and returned to his book. Tom seemed to take that as a que as he moved over to the window seat, picking up a book from the coffee table along the way.  

Harry had watched him from the corner of his eyes as he settled with the book.

His mind kept returning to the conversation they’d had Friday night. Harry had once more been woken by the sound of Tom screaming bloody murder, as well as a feeling of something tugging at him mentally, a feeling of protectiveness pushing at him to move to protect Tom from whatever was threatening him.  A bit more used to the nightmares by now, Harry hadn’t automatically reached for his wand, but instead dressed in trousers and a t-shirt. He didn’t bother knocking this time as he knew from previous occasions that it wouldn’t matter.

It had been more difficult to wake Tom this time, but in the end the man had come to startled and still panicking. Harry could feel the emotions bleed through the bond and out of instinct he pushed against it, trying to sooth it. Perhaps it was the same instinct that had made him arrange Tom so that he was resting in his lap, Harry’s hand running through his hair.

He had expected his suggestion for Tom to talk to him to be meet with an immediate refusal and perhaps Tom moving away from him, but no. Tom had actually elected to talk to him, without being forced to do so. If someone had told Harry two months ago that Voldemort would voluntarily talk about his time in prison, his fears, the panic attacks then Harry would have sent them to get checked out at the hospital as soon as possible. But that was what had happened. Tom had told him what Harry assumed was more or less everything. Some things had perhaps been left out, but Harry didn’t think that could be much.

His heart had hurt as Tom had talked him through the last three years. The struggles and humiliations, the frustration and helplessness he had been feeling being trapped in the cell with no hope for help. The torture and sexual abuse hadn’t been explained in detail, but Harry had read the medical reports and could fill in the blanks himself.

A dark part of him had purred at the realisation that Lord Voldemort was subjected to how he had treated so many of his victims. He, who had tortured and killed so many muggles, wizards and witches, Harry’s parents and friends included, finally getting to feel how his victims had to have felt.

But, as much as the thought of Voldemort being punished for his crimes felt right, the way it had been done simply felt wrong. What did that say about them, the light side, if they were to stoop so low as to commit the same crimes against a wizard as the wizard in question had done? Did it make it more right or just more wrong?

He had let Tom talk until he stopped, at which point a couple of hours had passed. Harry had only listened as Tom spoke and made some noise in agreement every now and then. As Tom talked however Harry could see an outline of what it had taken to bring Tom from Lord Voldemort to the man who was currently curled up in the window seat. Harry hardly thought he himself or anyone he knew would have been able to come out of Azkaban after so long and so much torture and still be as functioning as Tom was at the moment.

The Warden had taken his time to grind down both Voldemort’s spirit and body to a point where he hardly knew up from down. Denying him access to even the most basic of needs and using those things to force his compliance.  

Perhaps the talk had been a necessary one, he mused. The realisation Harry had come to regarding Tom’s fears seemed to have some truth to them. And Harry could understand them. Tom had become a lot more cognisant during Christmas and Harry couldn’t remember the last time he had dropped into his much more submissive mindset, which made sense. As Tom’s mind and body became more aware it was only natural that his grip on reality also should get stronger. And in there lay the problem Harry thought.

Where his mind had always associated obeying with being the best route to go, his more aware part of the brain had started to see a pattern in the Warden’s behaviour over the years and reached the conclusion that obeying only led to more rules, more demands, more humiliation. That it was better to fight the simple rules and keep the fight centred around those, instead of giving in and then having to fight over even worse rules. It would explain why Tom had suddenly found even the simplest rules difficult to follow without being able to pinpoint why. His mind was doing what it had been trained to do over the years, although in a different way this time. 

And the solution to the problem? Harry sighed. That wasn’t an easy fix. He could promise Tom until he was blue in the face that the man could trust him to only demand the same of him as the law did, but that depended on Tom actually trusting him. And if there was one thing that had defined Tom Riddle and Lord Voldemort after him, it was that neither of them trusted people. Tom had been let down too many times as a child, and as grownup there had been no one around for him to trust. And once he had risen as Lord Voldemort the whole notion of trusting someone had gone out the window for good. He hadn’t trusted his own followers enough to ask them for help to resurrect his body, instead relaying on Wormtail of all people.

And Harry mused with a feeling of dread running through him, he himself had perhaps not acted in a way that set him up as trustworthy either. He had first told Tom that he didn’t expect anything of him, then he had turned around and told Tom to come to terms with his own choices and instead of trying to find a way to help the man to reach that point, he had simply left him alone to work out his own problems, watching as he was struggling to do just that. That had probably been the biggest mistake he had made, he realised as he looked back. Tom had been in no shape to be able to find a way out of his own problems. He had bitten over more than he could chew, and the pressure of the expectations of society and the law had pushed him further into a mindset of panic.

Combined with what Harry assumed was a feeling of being completely lost with no one to turn to, it was no wonder Tom had reacted the way he did. Instead of being there for his slave to support and guide him as he probably should have done, Harry had simply pushed him away and told him to fix his own complications. A small part of him recognised that he had probably done so because he in part was still angry at Tom for talking him into the situation in the first place and then forcing him to become brutal to protect Tom from himself.

When he then had sealed his mistakes by using the bond to force Tom to follow the rules, he suspected that had been the final straw that destroyed whatever little bit of trust Tom might have had in him. Harry closed his eyes and groaned inwardly. Merlin, he had really fucked up the whole situation.

He should have gone about it in a completely different way. Tom was lost, struggling to try and find a place in the world, fresh of an experience that Harry could barely fantom. Instead of staying with him, helping him to figure things out and being a master that Tom could rely on for guidance, someone who would show him the way and stand by him as he found his feet once more and to help him settle into his new life. Instead of doing any of that, Harry had simply thrown him out into the deep end of the pool and told him to learn to swim or he would drown. Apparently, Tom wasn’t that good of a swimmer.

A sudden anger at Sommerseth and Kingsley grew in him. If they hadn’t been pushing at him as much as they had, then perhaps he would have handled things better. The anger bled out a few short seconds later and he sighed. No, he couldn’t blame them either. Harry couldn’t blame anyone but himself for his mistakes this time. Perhaps he could argue that he hadn’t know what he had gotten himself into, and that his lack of family and growing up with his abusing uncle and aunt had made him less able to be there for Tom as he didn’t know how, but what was the point?

He had concluded after New Year’s that he was responsible for Tom behaviour, and he had used that to convince himself that using the bond was the best thing to protect Tom from himself but thinking back perhaps that wasn’t strictly correct. If he had been there for Tom from the beginning, then perhaps Tom would have been able to work through his fears and panic if Harry had stood by him and guided him through it. Instead, Harry’s choice to leave him alone had only led to the point where Harry didn’t have any other choice but to force him. A sense of guilt gnawed at his stomach at the thought that the only reason that Tom was subjected to the bonds corrections now was because Harry had failed him in the beginning by not being the master he should have been.

Merlin, Harry thought. Having a slave was apparently a lot more responsibility than he had first thought. He looked back towards Tom who once again had stopped reading and was looking out the window. From his position Harry could see his expression and his heart hurt even more and the guilty feeling in his stomach grew even more, if that was possible, at the utterly lost and uncertain look Tom was sporting on his face. It was mixed with something that looked like frustration from the way he was pressing his thumb into the palm of his right hand in a repetitive manner. Harry could feel the guilt expand until it was almost chocking him. How was he any better than the Warden when the only thing he had done was setting Tom up to fail which resulted in Harry using the bond to force him, putting the man in even more pain?

And now? There wasn’t much he could do other than stepping up to the task of being Tom's master. He thought back to how Tom had knelt when he had entered the room earlier. It seemed like the man was at least trying to give Harry a chance to prove that he wouldn’t turn around and demand more of Tom than he already had, and Harry was for once determined not to disappoint again.

A pop announced the arrival of Kreacher who was bearing a letter with a recognisable seal. “Letter arrived for master Harry from the most noble and ancient house of Malfoy,” the elf announced, holding the letter out like it was made from gold. Harry barely managed not to roll his eyes. The damned elf thought the Malfoys were still the most highly thought of family in the Wizarding World all thing considered.

“Thank you, Kreacher,” he smiled instead and took the letter.

“Will master be wanting dinner soon?” The elf asked, casting a glare towards Tom, which the man luckily didn’t catch.

“Yes, please, Kreacher. In 30 minutes or so?” Harry answered, pulling out his wand to accio the letter opener he could see on the desk that was pushed against one of the walls between to large bookshelves.

“Of course, master,” the elf said, bowing his head. “Will master’s slave also be eating with master?” This time Harry did sigh and roll his eyes. He could see Tom’s shoulder tense; the man was probably still waiting for the other shoe to drop and Harry to turn around and disappoint him.

“Yes, Kreacher. Tom will be eating with me as usual. Now, I’m tired of you asking me this. Tom is allowed to eat and drink whatever he wants. If he asks you for anything to eat or drink, I expect you to get him whatever he asks for. You will also from now on refer to him by his name, do I make myself understood?” He fixed Kreacher with a stern look, making it clear he expected the elf to obey him. Kreacher bowed, his long ears touching the floor.

“Yes, master. Kreacher is sorry for having displeased master. Kreacher will iron his ears in punishment.”

Oh, for crying out loud. “For Merlin’s sake, Kreacher, we have talked about this,” Harry groused. “You are not to punish yourself in any way or form. Just simply remember this in the future and everything will be all right.”

The elf bowed even lower if possible. “Kreacher thankful for master’s leniency.” The voice was off, and Harry wasn’t sure if the elf was mocking him or not, but he decided to let it go. He and the elf got on most of the time, but there were times when Kreacher had no problem expressing just what he thought about some of Harry’s decisions. Harry had given up trying to understand the creature a long time ago. Kreacher popped away and Harry growled in frustration as he hit his head on the back of the chair. Looking towards the window he saw that Tom had twisted his head to watch the interaction. There was an unreadable expression on his face.

“He’s just insufferable sometimes,” Harry muttered, finally getting around to summoning the letter opener and using it to break the seal on the envelope. The letter was from Draco. It was as usually short and to the point. Lucius had come back from his travels over sea to France and was willing to meet with Tom to help with whatever information the previous Dark Lord claimed that he was in possession on. The wording in the letter made it quite clear that Lucius was only doing this because he owed Harry a debt from when Harry had spoken for him at his trial. Harry nodded to himself as he folded the letter back up. Lifting his eyes, he met Tom’s brown ones.

“Lucius is back from his travels. We are invited over for tea tomorrow afternoon.”

Chapter Text

“Are you sure you want to come with me to talk to Malfoy?” asked Harry as he finished up the breakfast they were eating. His tone showed the doubt he was feeling at the prospect of putting Lucius and Tom in the same room. He couldn’t for the life of him see how that meeting would go over well.  

Once again Tom had woken before Harry, and when Harry had come down, he had found the man in process of finishing up a batch for pancakes, enough for two persons. The table had been set for two as well and Harry had sat down, smiling and complimenting the food as Tom had put a stack of pancakes in front of him. The praise had been met with a quiet thank you and a dip of the man’s head.

Harry’s order for Kreacher to bring Tom what he wanted to eat should, apparently, have included a way for Tom to call Kreacher. Not that Tom had complained or shown in any way that it was bothering him that he had to make his own food. If anything, he looked more at ease while cooking than Harry had seen him so far. Not to mention, that he was rather good at it. Better than Harry would have thought Voldemort would be.

Tom swallowed the piece he had been chewing on before answering. “No.” “Master,” he then added on after a flinch. “I’d rather not go at all.” He pierced the next bit of pancake before putting it in his mouth.

Harry leaned forward, putting his elbows on the table on each side of his now empty plate, his eyes unconsciously tracking the lips that closed over the fork and the togue that came out to lick away a stray drop of syrup. “Then why are you coming?” he asked in wonder. If Tom didn’t want to go, and Harry most certainly thought it was a bad idea, why was he still coming? He knew Lucius had nothing good to say about his former Lord. He was also concerned about what Lucius would say about the Tom’s current status. Considering that Tom, or rather Voldemort, had nearly destroyed the Malfoy family, Harry assumed Lucius would be pretty pleased with how low Voldemort had fallen.

“Honestly I don’t think he’ll tell you what we need to know. It’s more likely that he’ll accuse me of lying to you.”

Harry smiled. “Which is impossible due to the rule and the bond.” Although Harry was pretty sure that Tom would find a way around that if he wanted to. He was a Slytherin after all. A slight uncomfortable looked passed over Tom’s face, which Harry assumed was because of the mentioning of the rules, or perhaps because he wasn’t allowed to lie to Harry. It could be either.

On the positive side, things seemed to have changed slightly after their talk two nights ago. Tom’s whole energy and demeanour was more relaxed, more settled than it had been since Harry had brought him home. Surprisingly enough he also seemed to be actively trying to behave as the code dictated. Well, at least in the house, they hadn’t been out in public since their talk. Harry hoped that Tom would continue to try regardless, but the meeting with the Malfoy familied worried him.

***

“The diplomate from Hungary who was kidnapped back in ‘78? His name was,” Robards trailed of as he peered down into the file he was holding. “Marcus Nazalsky. Do you know where he is?”

Tom grimaced. So far, this had not been one of the more pleasant mornings at the Auror’s office. Harry was of doing something. Tom had no idea where he had scurried off to. Robards had poked his head into the office not long after they had arrived and asked if Tom could come with him. When Harry nodded his head, Tom had sighed and pushed himself to his feet. It was not like he disliked working at the Auror’s office, some of the cases where interesting, but he was wary of going of with anyone who wasn’t Harry. Previous experience had made it painfully clear just how vulnerable he currently was with his magic locked away and behaviour monitored by the bond.

It turned out that his wariness was not without cause. Robards had found a new project, one which he was more enthusiastic about than Tom was. “I have been thinking,” he had said as he had closed the door to his office behind him, “that you being here is an excellent opportunity to close several old cold cases.” The words had been accompanied by a wave of his hand towards a large stack of files on his desk, and Tom inwardly groaned. Going through his old crimes wasn’t exactly what he would prefer to do with his time. Nevertheless, he didn’t have much of a choice and settled in for a long morning as Robards picked up the first file and wanted to know about the museum heist in London back in '79 where an ancient artifact had been removed, no trace of the culprit and no one could understand how someone had entered the museum without disturbing the wards

Tom rubbed at his eyes, trying to elevate the growing headache that was starting to form in his mind before answering the question about the ambassadore. “The Lestrange brothers were, unfortunately, not too careful when they whisked him away. He sustained injuries which unfortunately killed him,” Tom admitted. He remembered the case. He had been planning to use the diplomate to blackmail the Hungarian Ministry for some very rare, and highly dangerous dragon teeth that they were denying that they had, but Tom had known that they were locked away in the bowls of the Ministry building. To say he had been angry when he had been told about the man’s death would be as to say a Niffler was just a tad interested in shining objects.

“That explains the lack of follow-up. They never received at ransom note and couldn’t understand why he had been taken in the first place,” Robards sighed, and put down a couple of notes in the file. “Do you know where they buried him?"

“I’m pretty sure they burned him, sir,” Tom answered. It had been in the middle of the winter and the ground would have been frozen solid. He hardly thought the Death Eaters would have bothered with making a hole in the frozen ground with magic when there was an easier alternative.

Robards seemed to have come to the same conclusion as he didn’t follow up with another question about why not. “Well, at least we can tell his family something.” With that statement he closed the file and put in the pile for those who could be closed. Picking up another he opened it, frowning slightly.

“Child abduction?” He asked, sounding doubtful.

Tom shook his head. He had many crimes to answer for, but he hadn’t been in the habit of abducting children. “I don’t believe we had any part in that. Just one?”

Robards handed the black file of the cold cases over. Tom let his eyes roam over the documents. It was more than one. In fact, there was seven of them spread out over a period of seven months. He frowned. There was something that tickled in the back of his mind. Looking at the date he saw that the year had been 1977. Seven was one of the most magical of all numbers, and it seemed to appear a tad too often in the case he was holding. Tilting his head slightly he searched his memories for whatever it was that was bothering him.

“You think it was one of yours?” Robards asked, apparently taking Tom’s hesitation for something other than it was as his voice sharpened slightly.

“No, sir,” Tom answered slowly. “But there is something familiar about it. I was trying to form an alliance with a conservative pagan coven back in the '70s. They were unusual strong because of the way they unified their magic and used it as one. I wanted to see if it was something I could do with the Death Eaters. Unfortunately, they were very conservative, and wanted nothing to do with a Dark Lord. My approach was not taken well, neither was my offer for an alliance. I do remember that they still worshiped the old pagan Gods and Goddesses. When I started to search for them it was rumoured that they lived in the forests on the border between England and Scotland, not far from where these children were abducted. There was also whispered rumours that they practised human sacrifice to appease their Gods. Seven children, taking around the full moon, one each of the year’s first seven months. That sounds like a sacrifice ritual for prosperity and fertility.”

A map was levitated down on the floor in front of him, Robards eagerly leaning forward in his chair with his elbows on his knees. “Do you think you can point out on the map where this coven is located?”

“I’m not sure how much that would help, sir. If I remember correctly, most of these rituals requires that the sacrifice is burned alive, and the ashes then shattered on the fields.” Still, he drew the map closer. “Could you enlarge this part, please?” He asked pointing to an area near the border.

It had been over 20 years since he had tried to find the coven. Still, he remembered staying in one of the wizarding villages located along the border and using that as a base for his hunt. Pointing it out he glanced up, forgetting that he wasn’t supposed to meet the man’s eyes. The pain hit immediately. Not terribly, just a quick shock to remind him that he was misbehaving. Almost like the jolt you got when you encounter one of the electrical eels that lived in the lake beside Hogwarts. A quick sting that disappeared swiftly. He rapidly lowered his eyes, but as he did, he could see that Robards had noticed the slight flinch at the unexpected pain.

“Potter decided to use the bond I take it?”

Tom nodded. A feeling of humiliation rose in him, and he toyed with the end of the map. It almost sounded like he was a disobedient pet who had to be reminded of his place, instead of a person who could monitor his own behaviour.

“Everything alright with the two of you? I noticed he didn’t bring you last week.” The voice was completely neutral with no hint of worry, and Tom frowned slightly. There was tension between him and Harry, which was to be expected, but after their talk the other night Tom, at least, felt less lost than he had. If he could manage to try though as Harry asked him, to trust Harry, that was an entirely different story.

Then there was the inquiry with the RCMC. His stomach turned. He was dreading that meeting. From his experience so far, he knew that few of the employees at the Ministry held any sort of positive feelings regarding him. Understandably enough. It stood to reason that the Department head of the RCMC would be of the same mind. He assumed the chances of him coming out of it in unhurt and in one piece was nonexciting. The question was more how Harry would react to the fine he would no doubt have to pay and if he would take that out on Tom later.

“We are managing, sir,” he said, tacking on the polite phrase to appease the bond as he had been doing the last weeks. Through his lashes he could see Robards nod slowly. “And how is Harry treating you?” The question threw Tom. Unsure he tried to decipher the tone in the man’s voice. Giving up quickly he simply answered the first thing that came to mind.

“Good, probably better than I deserve.” It was the truth after all. The talk between them that night had made that clear when compared to his experience in Azkaban.

Robards nodded again. He looked down at his hands before clasping them and giving Tom a stern look. “You know you can tell me if he exceeds his role?”

Surprise made him jerk his head up. He flinched, but before he lowered his gaze, he noticed the utter serosity of the man’s expression. Apparently, the man was dead serious. “I…,” he began before faltering. “Thank you, sir,” he simply finished, not sure how to feel or what to think. The whole statement had taken him completely off guard. Robards looked at him for a moment before standing and grabbing his teacup.

“Good, good. It’s enough the I must send two of my Auror’s to Azkaban for mistreating their charges. I don’t need a third.” 

***

“Be reasonable, Eric,” Kingsley tried again, a look of pure frustration on his face. Harry was sure it was mirroring his own. Eric Hamilton however did not look like he wanted to be anything even remotely close to reasonable. He was a man around 45, with brown hair that was starting to grey at the sides, brown eyes that were hidden behind dark glasses, but at the moment they were flashing with anger. His demeanour being underlined by his crossed arms and the way he was leaning against his desk in the office of the Head of the Department of RCMC.

“I see no reason to be reasonable," the man snapped back. "The law is the law, Minister, not to mention that it is that menace’s fault that my wife lost her brother during the war. Why in Merlin’s name should I make any allowance for him?”

Harry had to give it to the man, he was stubborn and unfortunately right. He knew that what they were trying to achieve was a long shot. Leaning forwards, he resigned himself to one more try, and after exchanging a look with Kingsley the man seemed to agree.

“Mr. Hamilton,” Harry began. “No one knows better than I what Voldemort was capable of during the war, but Tom isn’t Voldemort, not anymore. I understand that the law must be kept, but can you honestly read these,” he gestured towards the complaints, “and tell me that these have been made because the person genuinely is worried that I can’t control him, or because they wanted him to get punished as some small revenge for hurting them. I get that he has hurt and terrorised the country, but are we going to fall down to his level and petty revenges?”

Hamilton didn’t look like he would budge an inch and Harry sighed. Looking over at Kingsley, the Minister took over. “Eric, the purpose clause in the Law about indenture slaves states that the law is to both protect the indenture slaves and the public. If you read section 17, you’ll notice that it states that if a slave is not behaving as the law dictates and it seems likely that the owner does not have the necessary control over the slave, then the behaviour can be reported to the Ministry, whom upon receiving said complaint will do an inquiry to determine whether the owner has the necessary control over the slave.”

Eric narrowed his eyes. “You forget about the part where the Ministry in any instances is to make sure that the slave has been punished for the offending behaviour unless the owner can prove he has. Can you, Lord Potter, prove that you have punished your slave for these misdemeanours?” When Harry didn’t answer he continued. “No? Well, then I am at full liberty to administer an appropriate punishment and give you a fine for your lack of control Lord Potter. You didn’t bring your slave with you I see, but I am certain you can locate him without further delay.” Looking over at Kingsley Harry hoped the other man had some way out of this.

“And what, exactly, would you deem an appropriate punishment for these misdemeanour as you called them?” Kingsley asked after sighing. Apparently he too was reaching the conclusion that Hamilton wouldn’t relent. Hamilton shrugged. “The old records recommend a whipping of ten to twenty lashes.”

Harry wondered about the man’s sanity. Apparently so did Kingsley. “Are you serious, Eric? He looked a couple of people in the eye and the rest of them is complaining about him not kneeling whenever Harry stops walking and that they have heard him speak to him in a “disrespectful” tone. A child behaves worse that that sometimes, hell, do I need to mention when you brought your own seven-year-old to a staff meeting? I don’t believe you beat your child for that offence.”

Hamilton blushed furiously. “You can’t compare the two,” he hissed. Kingsley simply raised his eyebrows. “Eric, you are not beating a man because he had a hard time settling into a new world, that’s an order. The whole position he finds himself in should be punishment enough, not to mention,” Kingsley held up a finger, “that he is helping our Auror department solve cases. As we are speaking, he is going through old cold cases with Gwain to see if some of them can be closed.”

The man looked even more furious if that was possible and Harry worried for the man’s blood pressure.  “Are you ordering me not to do my job?” He sputtered.

Kingsley rose to his feet. “No, I’m telling you to use common sense and do a real assessment of the complaints and dismiss them as you don’t find it likely that Harry can’t control his slave. If it’s the punishment part you are worried about then Harry can inform you that he has used the bond to enforce the rules after reading these complaints. Any further punishment for so small infractions as these can hardly be necessary. If you still can’t let the case rest unless the slave is punished, then find some punishment that fits the crime.”

“Thank you,” Harry said as he hurried down the hallway after Kingsley. Catching up with the man he slowed to match the man’s stride. Kingsley nodded and abruptly stopped. “I’ll get Eric to back down on this and seeing as you have used the bond to enforce the rules, this situation shouldn’t happen again unless Tom actually goes out of his way to misbehave, and if he does, I will not stand in Eric’s way.”

Harry nodded a bit too fast. “It will be fine, I think. Tom and I talked. It was helpful for both of us, I think. I know what he needs from me, and he knows what I expects from him and what he can expect from me. I’m not saying everything is fluffy pink rabbits and rainbows, but at least we are working on it.”

“See that you do,” Kingsley nodded. “I’m not opposed to having him here, but he knew what he was getting himself into.” Actually, he didn’t Harry thought to himself. “Just don’t forget who he is Harry. He is still dangerous, lacking empathy, manipulative and very intelligent. Make sure you stay on top in this relationship and that he doesn’t suddenly turn the table on you. His type only respects strong people who are willing to do what is necessary to keep power.”  

***

The Malfoy Manor was as large and unfriendly as Harry remembered it from his previous visits. impossible large, dark and looming. After waiting outside the gates for a couple for minutes for the wards to accept them, they were now walking up along the pathway that led to the house. If he turned his head slightly then he could see Tom out of the corner of his eyes. The man was walking just behind his right shoulder but instead of his head being bowed, he was looking around.

“I see he still have those white peacocks,” Tom scoffed, looking annoyed as if the birds were some sort of personal insult. Harry turned his head and looked at him, raising an eyebrow in surprise at the tone. Tom just shrugged and looked away. Well, apparently there were no good feelings between him and Lucius. There were so many ways this meeting could end badly, Harry thought with a sinking feeling. Perhaps he should have told Tom to stay at home. Oh, well, it was too late for that now.

“Behave,” he warned, his tone stern. They had just gotten out of the problem with RCMC and the last thing he wanted was for Malfoy to run to the department head and make another complaint, one which there would be merit for. He waited for Tom to acknowledge the order before knocking on the front door. He had excepted a house-elf to open the door, but to his surprise Draco stood in the doorway. He greeted them and with a wave of his hand signalled for them to enter. Harry couldn’t help but notice that Draco seemed nervous.

“Father is in the library. I…,” Draco pushed a hand through his hair. “Mother is out, she refused to set eyes on Riddle.” Draco glanced at Tom before looking back at Harry. “I don’t think this is a good idea,” he finally confessed. “Father isn’t exactly thrilled at the prospect either.”

At least they all were in agreement that this was a bad idea, Harry thought with some humour. He could feel Tom shift slightly behind him and Harry could feel some anxiety bleed through the bond. “Well, let’s just get this over with,” he sighed.

The library in the Malfoy Manor was one of the largest Harry had ever been in. Hermione had never seen it as far as he knew. Even though Harry and Draco were somewhat friends and had grown closer in the years after the war, Draco, Hermione and Ron didn’t interact or spend time together outside work. A stab of guilt hit at the thought of his friends. He had seen them over Christmas of course, but he hadn’t spent as much time as he normally did with them after bringing Tom home. Normally he saw Ron at work every day, but with him on sick leave until the end of the month they didn’t see one another as much as they normally would. He made a mental note to try and carve out more time for them. Tom would be alright at home by himself after all. Hell, the man probably preferred that Harry was out of the house.

The Lord of the Manor was standing by the fireplace as Draco led them into the room. The air of arrogance and indifference that always surrounded him was more noticeable than ever. You could almost cut the air with a knife. Harry noticed the moment Lucius caught sight of Tom as he entered behind Harry. The slight change of weight from one foot to another and the way he stood a little taller. Yes, Lucius’ distain for Tom was clear. Harry could feel the sensation of worry starting to grow. Tom had his hands clasp before him and his head bowed, but the way he held his shoulders betrayed how tense he was. Harry assumed that being around the Malfoy lord again and having to humiliate himself wasn’t something Tom wanted to do. It hit him then and there how helpful Tom was being, and how much he was willing to do help them with the case.

“Lord Potter,” Lucius greeted, his voice strained.

“Lord Malfoy.” Harry nodded back. He turned slightly and indicated with a hand towards Tom. “I’m sure you remember Tom, although I’m not entirely sure if you have seen him in this guise.”

“Tom is it now?” Lucius raised an elegant eyebrow and a slight tilt of his chin told Harry that Lucius had probably not known Lord Voldemort’s real name. “Tsk, tsk, how the mighty have fallen.” There was no doubting the malic in the voice or the hate that was easy to spot in the steel grey eyes.

“Lord Malfoy.” The greeting was murmured in a soft voice and accompanied by a slight dip of his head. Harry was rather proud of Tom at that moment as he assumed the man was hating every second of it, but he kept his cool.

Draco rubbed a hand over his neck, looking very uncomfortable. “Well, I guess everyone knows each other so there is no need to introduce anyone. Tea?” The question was asked in an almost desperate tone as if he had no idea how he was going to go about handling the situation with both the former Dark Lord in the room, the Saviour and his father. Harry couldn’t blame him.

They sat down and for a moment Harry expected Tom to keep standing and made up his mind that he would allow it, but to his surprise Tom came to kneel on the right side of his chair. Settling down gracefully and arranging his robes before putting his hands in his lap. The lines of his neck that was visible to Harry were tense though.

“Draco tells me you are here to inquire about something related to a case. I have to admit I don’t know what I can help the Auror department with.” The aristocratic drawl pulled Harry’s attention away from the bowed neck of his slave and the black collar wrapped around it.

“We are looking for Taylor Tassler,” Harry began. “I understand from Tom that you used him during the war and know how to contact him?

“I have no idea what your little pet is talking about.” Lucius looked at Harry with a complete straight face and if Harry hadn’t known that Tom couldn’t lie to him, then he would have believed that Lucius was telling the truth. Beside him Tom moved slightly. “And considering just what you have brought into your house, Potter, I would assume it that it won’t come as a surprise that he lied to you. I do have to commend you on how quickly you were able to train him though. It’s good to see him reduced to kneeling and bowing just as he made his so-called followers do to him. And to think that what we were really following was a lowly half-blood from a line known for their mental issues.” The voice was almost just a hiss at the end and looking down Harry could see Tom was close to losing the precious hold on his control. Before he could do anything to rein it back in Tom spoke.  

“Considering how I remember this house, and I did live here for some time, and your need for income I am guessing that you do remember Mr. Tassler quite well, My Lord,” the mocking tone in Tom’s voice made Harry frown, but before he could intervene, Lucius had risen from his chair and was stalking towards Tom, who also rose to his feet as gracefully as he had knelt down, and started backing away slightly from the looming figure coming towards him. The brown eyes were flashing in anger and Harry could see him flinch as the bond punished him for making eye contact and being disrespectful.

“If I was to venture a guess,” Tom continued. “Then I would say you two have an intimate knowledge of one another and that you have used him as a middleman to sell of several of the dark, and highly illegal artifacts I know you own. So, don’t lie, Lucius, you have never been good at it either. Do you know how to contact him?” The voice grew cold and hard and for a moment Tom stared into Lucius’ eyes. Harry rose to his feet. The voice and the way Tom were carrying himself at the moment was so much a remanence of the Tom Riddle he had met in the chamber and Harry could feel a tremor of something go through him. It was like he was suddenly reminded of just who he had taken into his house.

“An interesting fact about your new status, my Lord, as you are not considered a sentient being there is no limit on which curses one can use on you.” The words were growled in a soft voice and Harry barely managed to put the sentence together in his head, the moment he did though it still took a few seconds to understand their meaning.

The blast of magic slung Tom towards one of the bookshelves. He hit it with his back and crumpled to the floor with a painful sound that turned into groans as Harry recognised the red colour of the cruciatus spell.

“LUCIUS!” He growled, stalking towards the man just as Draco rose from his own chair. “Father! Cease this nonsense.”

“Lucius, let him go before I hex you,” Harry snarled as he reached the man. On the floor Tom was curling in on himself as Lucius kept the curse active, Harry also assumed the bond was punishing him for his disrespect and adding to the pain. Half running the last couple of steps he grabbed the man by the arm and pulled, thus ending the spell. Lucius pulled his arm back with a furious growl and for a moment they just stared at each other. The only sounds in the room were Tom laboured breathing and small sounds of pain as he lay on the floor.

“Don’t try to tell me he didn’t deserve that,” Lucius stated before moving past him, his robes brushing against Harry’s own. “For what he did to my family he deserves a lot worse than what I just did. That was the same punishment he put his followers through if they as much as looked at him the wrong way.” Lucius sat back down in the chair he had been occupying. Harry closed his eyes for a moment and rubbed a hand along his forehead. He couldn’t exactly deny what Lucius had said.

“I am entitled to report his lack of manners too if I should feel so inclined.”

Not this again, Harry thought. Turning around, he glared. “And I could sue you for damaging my property unlawfully if you want to play that game.” By the slight purse of the man’s lips, he didn’t. “I suggest that Tom apologises for his words, and you accept that your curse is punishment enough for the offence and we’ll leave it at that. Agreed?” he demanded, not expecting Lucius to say no. If word came out, he had used one of the unforgivable curses, although on something don’t considered human, the authorities would start paying closer attention to the family. If what Tom had said was true, then that was the last thing Lucius wanted.

“I will accept that your little pet apologises for accusing me of lying.”

Harry bared his teeth. “He’ll apologise for his manners, but not for accusing you of lying. Tom has a standing order to be truthful with me and if he tells me you have used Tassler before and know how to contact him, then I believe him.” Jackpot, Harry thought as he saw Lucius pale slightly at the words and his eyes flickered from Harry to the curled up figure on the floor.

Tom stirred on the floor and tried to push himself to a sitting position, only to fall back down as his arms couldn’t hold his weight. He tried again and this time he managed to sit up. His hair was a mess and his clothes rumpled and out of place. His face had scrapes from where he had scratched himself during everything. A part of Harry wanted to rush over and ask him if he was alright, to apologise for not protecting him from Lucius, but he didn’t. Tom had provoked Lucius, probably knowing what it would result in. The punishment had been harsh, but Tom had to know there would be consequences for his behaviour.

“Tom, apologise to Lord Malfoy.” Harry assumed the humiliation of being forced to apologise to the man was a worse punishment that the curse itself. Tom’s eyes came up to meet Harry’s and he could see the burning anger in them, but Harry didn’t relent he simply stared back, making it clear he wasn’t joking and that there was no way out of it. “Tom,” Harry warned, letting his voice harden. Tom bowed his head and Harry could see him give in.

“My apologises for being disrespectful, Lord Malfoy, and for what I did to you and your family.” The words sounded like they were being dragged out of him and the tone was soft and low. Harry nodded. Well, that had been more than he had expected. He turned to look a Lucius. He raised an eyebrow and folded his arms over his chest, daring the man to do anything else than accept.

Lucius had an unreadable look on his face. Harry assumed he would love to demand something more, something more humiliating to satisfy his rage and hatred towards the previous Dark Lord. Draco was still standing in front of his chair and didn’t seem to know quite what to do. In the end though even Lucius knew that according to the social rules there was only one answer he could give, as much as it probably smarted the man. “I accept.”

“Good, can we continue this then?” Harry walked over and retook his seat. Draco sat too, pulling a cup of tea towards him.

“Father, is there any truth to Riddle’s words? Do you know of how to contact Tassler.”

Lucius sighed, making it clear the answer was yes. “We used Tassler during both the first and the second war to smuggle dark artifacts into the country. He had a special way of doing so that made it almost risk free.”

“A temporary vanishing cabinet?” Tom had managed to push himself to his feet and by the help of nearby chair, managed to get back to where the rest of them were sitting. He more collapsed then knelt beside Harry’s chair and ended up leaning against it. Harry itched to reach down and let his hand run through the soft hair, but he refrained. He hardly imagined the gesture would be welcome.  

Lucius looked annoyed at having to include Tom in the conversation but answered. “Yes. You ordered me to find the best, which I did.” The words were bitter, and Harry could imagine that Lucius had probably not received any gratitude for the work. “It made it easy to get things in and out of the country with out being noticed. All use of port-keys and apparition leaves traces as those dark artefacts that can be traced. By using a temporary vanishing cabinet those risks were almost eliminated.”

Draco nodded, now eager as he leaned forward. “We have encountered one of those already. There were no traces to be found. Had it not been for Riddle then we would have thought it was just another empty container.”

His father nodded, glancing at Harry and then Tom. “As for you little pet’s accusations they are incorrect. I have not had any contact with Tassler since the war. I’m not even sure that Tassler is his real name. He’s a nervous man who on first encounter seems to be absolutely useless, worse than Wormtail, but he is the definition that one should not judge a book by its cover. You will not find it easy to try and get a hold of him.”

Harry could see that Lucius’ insult hit and remembered Tom’s hatred for being called pet. “He’s not my pet, Lucius, stop referring to him as one please.”

“My apologises for hurting his feelings,” Lucius snarled, slamming the teacup down on the table. Harry was surprised it didn’t shatter on impact considering the force Lucius used. “I forget. He is simply your slave, forced to follow you every command unless he wants to be punished. Does that ring a bell, my lord?” Tom flinched slightly, toying with the end of his sleeve and Harry could see he was gritting his teeth from the way his jaw moved, but he kept silent. “Some would call this poetic justice. I really should have listened to my father when he tried to warn me against allying with you.”

Draco looked startled. “I thought Grandfather was one of Riddle’s first followers.” Harry had thought so to, he looked down at Tom’s bowed head.

“Oh, he was. Back when they were still knights, but Father didn’t like the direction the Dark Lord was taking. He thought there were better ways of archiving their goals without spilling so much magical blood. It didn’t help that you became more and more unstable and frankly insane as the years past. I don’t know what you did to yourself, but it was nothing good.” The last words were muttered.

“How did you contact Tassler back during the war?” asked Harry in an effort to get the conversation back on track.

“I would leave a note with the owner of the establishment in Knockturn Alley, who in turn would set up a meeting. Before you get any good ideas about trying to trick Tassler, don’t. He doesn’t accept new clients unless you are referred from one of his exiting once that will vouch for you.”

Harry sighed. “And with our history, a referral from you would not be worth anything.”

“Exactly.”

“And we are still nowhere,” Draco sighed too.

***

“You just had to provoke him?” Harry demanded as soon as they got home. He threw himself into an armchair and stared at Tom. Feeling uncomfortable at the tone and the glare Tom opted for the safest option and knelt in front of the chair. His body protested at any movement as the aftereffects of the torture curse lingered in his muscles. The moment the curse had hit Tom had felt just the amount of anger and hatred Lucius was harbouring towards him in the power of it. Although he had been able to keep a fair amount of time, Tom still had come out of it feeling worse for wear, the positive thing about curses where that there were no lasting psychical wounds that would hurt and smart for a long time after. Unlike when Stanley had preferred to use a bull whip, which would leave open, bleeding wounds for a week, making even the smallest movement painful and unbearable.

“What happened to behaving?”

Tom swallowed, staring down at his hands which he had clasped in his lap. He really didn’t have a good answer for the question. A feeling of nervousness crept in slowly, tying itself around him. Harry had never intentionally punished him so far, but there and then Tom wouldn’t be surprised if Harry did. It had been a stupid move on Tom’s part to allow Lucius to rile him up. He had known beforehand that the man would probably try something like that, and to let him do just that had been plain stupid. It wasn’t like Tom didn’t understand where Lucius was coming from and looking back at what he had done to the family, he could very well understand the man’s anger.

“Tom,” Harry demanded, anger now creeping into his voice. Tom flinched slightly and found himself worrying at his bottom lip with his teeth.

“I’m sorry, master,” he murmured finally. The polite address grating less than it had the previous times and he hoped it would be enough to elevate some of Harry’s wrath towards the situation.

Harry sighed and it sounded like some of his ire deflated. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “How are you feeling? Do you want me to get a pain relief potion for you?” 

Tom shook his head. The pain was not too bad, and he guessed he deserved it. “Thank you, but I am fine.” A hand took him by his chin, and he felt his head being tilted upwards. “Look at me.” His eyes moved upwards and met with Harry’s green ones. They seemed to be searching for something, although Tom couldn’t fantom what it was. Once again Tom was hit with just how green they were and could feel himself getting lost in them. When Harry took his hand away and stood, Tom almost lost his balance forward and had to catch himself with one hand.

“If you ever do something like that again Tom, I will punish you for it. For this I think Lucius took care of that part of it. Am I clear?” The green eyes were hard as stone and completely unyielding. The tone demanded an answer and there was only one that would suffice.

“Yes, I understand, master.” He almost whispered the words, still caught like a deer in the muggle proverbial headlights from the intensity of Harry’s eyes.

A hand carded through his hair before Harry nodded and walked out of the room, muttering under his breath about needing a drink.

***

Tom couldn’t sleep. He had been tossing and turning for a good while but sleep just didn’t seem to want to find him. It was the middle of night and beside him Harry slept soundly. Slightly curled up on his side, one arm stretched out towards Tom. He had managed all about a week without any night terrors, but yet again he had found himself being woken from the dream that grasped him like a boa constrictor, slowly suffocating him in his own memories. This time Harry had simply slipped into bed and muttered a quiet, ‘go back to sleep’ as he made himself comfortable. Still shaking and trembling, Tom had laid back down and allowed Harry to pull him to his side. He shouldn’t allow this, he thought frustrated. It shouldn’t feel this good to be held, to be comforted, to allow the illusion that Harry cared to lull him away from the terror of his past action that now plagued him at night.

He shouldn’t allow a man who had complete control over him into his bed. The risk of Harry reading something more into it was too large, and although Tom knew that logically Harry could have demanded him into bed the first night he arrived or any day or night after, he hadn’t. The only problem was that as much as the fear and uncertainty bothered him, the feeling of contentment and safety he felt from the bond every time Harry touched him was far stronger. It was almost addictive, and he found himself wanting Harry to touch him, and that… that feeling was more frightening than everything else. He tried to ignore most of the time, but the feeling of unease simply grew and kept growing until it was almost like an itch under his skin that he couldn’t reach. It had not been like that in the beginning, but then again Tom had been a little to preoccupied with his own internal demons to notice much else, but after their late-night confession Tom had started noticing it.

He had several times opted to seek out Harry and find a spot to read in the same room as the man was in, simply because the proximity was reassuring, comforting in a way it shouldn’t be. He was starting to crave something he shouldn’t and the small gesture he had to pay as a price for the proximity didn’t seem like that much of a labour. It had become easier to kneel, to call Harry master. He knew that all behaviour would eventually become normal if repeated enough times, but that didn’t bother him as much as this sensation, the itch. The …. Something he couldn’t name.  

Still now in bed, laying perhaps 2 feet away from Harry, he could feel the itch if he concentrated. Reaching out a hand he slowly entwined it with Harrys. He closed his eyes as he could feel the bond almost purr at the contact. A sense of calm and safety washed over him and slowly he slipped off to sleep, making a mental note to research the bond more closely if he got the opportunity.

Chapter Text

“How's Tom,” Hermione asked as she put another piece of the roast to her lips. She always asked, Harry thought fondly. He remembered the first encounter between Hermione and Tom, how she had threatened him if any harm came to Harry. She had, of course, at that time not known the whole truth about the situation. He almost winced as he thought back to the horrified look on her face when Harry had taken her aside after another one of their fights about Harry claiming Tom and told her the whole story. At that time, he had not known the whole truth himself, and thinking back on how much worse the truth was from what he had told her, he was almost glad he hadn’t known at the time. 

The hand she had pressed against her open mouth had been shaking slightly as Harry had taken her through the medical reports, what Tom himself had revealed with his actions, the interrogation reports from Robards that had interrogated both the Warden and Stanley, who both had confessed to the abuse. At the end he had trailed off and watched tears assembled at the corner of her eyes, threatening to spill. She had still argued that he would be better off in Azkaban with the new guards, but when Harry had told her about the new bruises that Tom had acquired with the new guards, she finally relented and agreed that perhaps there hadn’t been any other solutions.  

Then he had been forced to tell her about the complaints and his decision to use the bond to force Tom’s compliance and of course that had turned into another argument, but in the end, he had asked what the hell else he was supposed to do and that if she thought it was so bloody easy to get Tom to obey then she was welcome to try herself. Of course, after that she always asked about him, apparently still afraid that the power Harry now held over the former Dark Lord would corrupt him. He didn’t tell her, but the same thing worried him.  

The three of them was gathered around the dining table at the quaint but homey house that Hermione and Ron had brought not far from Hogsmeade. Hermione had argued that it was close enough to Hogwarts that their children could come home to visit on Hogsmeade weekends. 

Ron had argued that the kids needed to be able to be on their own when at Hogwarts without their mother always stalking them. The house had been bought.   

It wasn’t too large. Just enough space for perhaps a family of four plus Hermione’s cat. Hermione had made it clear that she was having two children, no more, just in case Ron had been thinking about getting a large family like his own. Ron had not argued.  

There was a large garden where Hermione enjoyed growing vegetables and herbs. Some she used in her own potions and others went into the food, like the roast they were enjoying. It was made just right, and with caramelised carrots, sprouts and potatoes. The gravy was thick and full of taste. She always made it when Harry came over and he was never disappointed. It wasn’t that the food Kreacher made wasn’t good, but there was something about a home cooked meal that even the elf’s magic couldn’t match, not that Harry was ever going to tell Kreacher that. He would probably be poisoned.   

After taking a sip from the glass of excellent red wine Hermione had bought, he answered. “He’s doing fine, I think. Not sleeping well, but I guess that’s not much of a surprise,” he said in answer to Hermione’s question. He shrugged slightly before cutting of another piece of meat and after stabbing a carrot, he brought the whole thing to his mouth.  

Ron snorted. “The Dark Lord is having nightmares, just like us regular folks?”  

“Ron,” Hermione scolded, her eyes narrowing as she lowered her arm that had been on its way to her mouth for another bit.    

“What?” Ron exclaimed, putting his arms out, the knife nearly hitting Harry’s arm. “And I still can’t believe you took him with you home like some other stray that needed rescuing, mate. The freaking Dark Lord.”  

Harry closed his eyes for a moment and prayed to Gods he didn’t believe in for some strength. Ron was having a real hard time wrapping his head around the fact that Harry had the Dark Lord Voldemort living with him, and even more problems with the fact that the man was bound to Harry as a slave for only Lady Magic knows how long. As Ron also was a part of Harry’s team, he would have to come to terms with Tom rather quickly as the team now included him.  

He was actually surprised how quickly Draco and Neville had accepted Tom as a part of the team. They both now spoke to Tom as if he was one of them, asking for advice or his opinion. They included him when they took turns going out for lunch, Tom not doing so for obvious reasons. To make things easier when they were in “their” office, Harry had amended some of the rules the bond enforced. Tom was allowed to speak without permission and to look both Draco and Neville in the eyes as it made their work somewhat easier. Since they were the only team with their own office it made things easier too, as no one could see how they worked together, and thus make a complaint about Tom’s behaviour.   

“Tom is not Voldemort, not anymore,” he said in answer to Ron’s statement. “He is hardly anything like Voldemort. And with his magic bound and at my will, forced to always obey me, you can’t claim there is much of his power left either,” he pointed out.  

“I can’t believe I have to work with him,” Ron muttered around his fork.  

“Then ask to be reassigned,” Harry snapped, losing control over his temper. For Merlin’s sake. Not that he wanted his best friend to do that. He enjoyed having Ron on the team after all.   

Hermione sighed. “Ron, you haven’t even meet Tom yet. He isn’t anything like Voldemort.” Her voice sounded resigned as if she was repeating words she already had said a docent of times.  

“He has tried to kill us more times than I care to count!“  

Well, Harry couldn’t exactly refute that. “And he has been tortured for three years. I think  that perhaps he has paid for his actions, Ron. You didn’t see him when I brought him home from Azkaban. The condition he was in. The medical report was longer than Snape’s midterm essay demands. He has been beating within an inch of his life so many times that I’ve lost count. He has been starved and denied every basic human need there is, and only granted those if the Warden was in a good mood. Add other forms of torture and sexual abuse on top of that – can you really say he deserved and eternity of that for the actions he took?” His voice rose as he spoke, but then levelled out as a note of steel took hold and he stared at Ron, daring him to protest.  

Ron was gaping. He hadn’t been present when Harry had told Hermione the true story behind why he had brought Tom home with him, and apparently, she had either not retold the story, or told another version of it. “Blimey, I thought Hermione was exaggerating when she told me about his condition.” He swallowed and pushed his food around on his plate, watching the motion. “I’m sorry, mate. I didn’t realise how serious his condition was. But you can’t argue that it is kind of strange - you bringing home the one wizard who killed your parents and who made your life hell?”  

Harry nodded. Relief swam in him. Relief that Ron finally seemed to understand the situation. “I know, but Tom is nothing like the vengeful, angry and insane Lord Voldemort. He is not like the boy I met in the Camber either. I don’t know who this version of Tom is, but either way he is staying with me until Lady Magic decides that he has paid his debt. And I intend to take advantage of his skills and knowledge to help us.” At the end of his little monologue, he pierced another carrot harder than necessary and ate it.  

The silence stretched out for a little longer before Hermione spoke. “Perhaps we could come over for dinner sometimes? Met him?”   

“That should be possible,” Harry agreed. Deciding to change the topic he asked Hermione how she was doing with her pregnancy and the conversation luckily then moved over to other tropics that didn’t include Harry’s unwanted slave.  

*** 

He stumbled slightly through the fireplace, having opted to Floo home in his condition, rather than splinching himself trying to Apparate. Holding on to the table for a couple of seconds, while regretting the last glass of wine, he waited for the dizzy spell to end. Once he felt sure that he could stand he started on the stairs. A quiet tempus told him that it was late, very late, but to his surprise the lights were on in the library. Frowning he pushed the partially closed door open and stepped in. The library was bathed in a warm light from both the electrical ones and from lights that Tom presumably had lithe and the fireplace. There was an abandoned plate and a glass on the coffee table so apparently the man had eaten something during the evening. Most likely something Tom had made himself.   

“Tom?” He asked, surprised to find the other man awake still. “Why aren’t you asleep?” he asked, stepping further into the rom. Tom rose from his curled-up position in the window seat and slid to his knees.  “Master,” the voice was slightly hoarse as if he had been screaming. There was also a note of something else in his voice, something Harry assumed he had misunderstood due to the alcohol, but it almost sounded like relief.  

His frown increased as he stepped closer to Tom, noting the dark circles under his eyes and the way he seemed to be trembling slightly. Pulling at the armchair he moved it in front of Tom and sat down. Reaching out without thinking he wove his hand into the silky dark hair and used it lift Tom’s head. There was a slight resistance as if Tom didn’t want him to lift his head, but as Harry insisted, he gave in. “Everything all right?” he asked, his words slurring slightly because of the alcohol.  

When Tom didn’t answer, Harry took that as a sign that if he did, he would be punished for lying, ergo Tom didn’t want to tell him. Deciding to try another approach he asked another question, one that he was pretty sure he already knew the answer to. “Why are you sitting her, in the middle of the night, reading?”  

He saw Tom swallow. “Nightmares.” Ah, the usual suspect. Tom normally had a hard time falling asleep after a nightmare. Harry sighed and pushed his hand through Tom’s hair before removing it. A wave of tiredness hit him, and he sighed.  

“Come on,” he told Tom and rose to his feet. He led the way up the stairs and out of habit entered his own room. He crossed over and into the bathroom to fill up the glass he knew was there. The alcohol was making him dehydrated, and he knew he would have one hell of a headache the next day if he didn’t drink enough water. Re-entering his bedroom, he saw that Tom was lingering in the doorway, looking unsure as to how to understand the command to follow.   

Harry sipped his glass and pulled of his winter cloak, along with the sweater he had underneath. Turning to Tom he nodded towards the bed. “Get in. Mine is bigger than yours and I always fear one of us is going to end up on the floor when I sleep in your bed.” A slight voice reminded him once more that perhaps ordering a rape victim into his bed was not the best idea. Another voice questioned the sanity of allowing his parents killer into his bed. Tom hesitated in the doorway. “Master?” The question was filled with nervousness and wariness as if Tom was wondering if this was the point where his trust in Harry would be betrayed. If he had any trust in Harry at all. Harry wasn’t too sure he did.   

Harry returned to the bathroom and changed into his nightclothes. Tom hadn’t moved at all he saw. “You are welcome to sleep in your own bed, Tom,” Harry said to clarify that he wasn’t ordering Tom into his bed. The man had a choice. Tom nodded, but the words didn’t seem to register. Then he took a step backwards, almost tentatively as if he was afraid of Harry’s reaction. Harry just nodded. “Good night, Tom.” He slipped under the covers and the last thing he thought before sleep carried him away was that he had forgotten to close the door to his room.   

*** 

Time had ceased to be a concept he was familiar with. The days blended into each other, leaving no clear line between night and day. The guards worked in shifts, making it impossible to use the faces to tell time. The lights in the cell were kept at a constant level. He drifted in and out of consciousness, it was like being nearly awake but at the same time asleep. He would blink and notice the straws underneath his head, then he would be drawn away into the darkness where he felt nothing.     

The moments in the dark were both the best and the worst. It was the only time he didn’t feel the extensive damage to his body. Stanley had been mourning the anniversary of his sister’s death in normal fashion, which was taking it out on Voldemort more harshly than usual. As he moved ever so slightly to change position, he could feel the pain flair up from the soles of his feet to his neck. The whole of his back was covered in welts and cuts. His front didn't look much better. His muscles still trembled from the electrical shock. One thing that could be said about Stanley was that he was creative.  

The only part of him that had been spared was his face. He did have couple of bruises and a black eye, but other than that Stanley had taken care to avoid doing much damage. Voldemort knew it was because Stanley preferred to look at something pretty when he fucked him. It wasn't the first time Voldemort cursed the idiotic idea to absorb two of the horcruxes. His good looks had proven useful in his youth when his power and status had not been enough on its own. The last year before the war, his old looks had made it possible for him to visit the magical world without being recognised. Mass panic could be fun, but only when carefully planned.

In Azkaban however, his looks were nothing more than a curse. He remembered the first time Stanley had been mourning the death of his sister. It had been at a time when the temperature turned cold, and Voldemort guessed it had to be the fall the year after his imprisonment. Stanley had given him the whole story about his sister's abuse and following death. As Voldemort had curled up on the floor with a groan, Stanley had crouched down and gripped his hair, turning his head upwards. The look on his face and in his eyes had made a shiver go down Voldemort's spine.   

“ You sure are pretty for a Dark Lord,” Stanley had muttered, his eyes roaming over Voldemort's face. Voldemort tried not to put too much into the words, he had been called pretty lots of times, but this time it felt more dangerous and tried to pull away, but Stanley maintained his grip. His other hand lifted to trail over Voldemort's face. 

He pushed the memory away and concentrated on trying to breath. It hurt every time he took a breath. Well, everything hurt, but the stabbing feeling in his chest as he tried to draw air into starving lungs was definitely one of the worst. If he counted the times Stanley had mourned his sister, then he had been in Azkaban for a little under 3 years. He closed his eyes hard. Three years of this, it felt like much longer. And there was no end to it either. He had a life sentence, which meant this was how his life would be for the rest of times. Stanley would of course disappear at some point, and hopefully by then his name and crimes would be more or less lost to history and perhaps he would be left alone.   

Or someone new would come in, someone even worse than Stanley. He shivered, both from the thought and from the coldness in his cell. 

If he sat up then he could try and arrange the pile of hay into a nest, which would provide more warmth, but he knew it was a futile thought. He could get up even if he tried. His body had simply resigned for the time being. The abuse and injuries taking its toll. Closing his eyes again, he allowed himself to simply drift back and forth between the darkness and the real life.  

He had no idea how long he had been laying there when he heard the door to his cell open. Glancing upwards he saw that the Warden had entered. Panic gripped him and he tried to scramble to a kneeling position. The last thing he needed was another punishment for not following the rules. The panic grew as his body simply refused to follow his commands, and the best he could manage was to curl up and push himself up on his uninjured elbow, eyes on the floor. He held his breath and waited for the Warden to tell him off for not obeying. He could see the man coming closer, and the arm that was supporting his weight was trembling. It gave in and he crumbled back to the floor with a groan. Curling up, he closed his eyes and tried to just breath. He couldn't do this anymore. He was so tired of fighting, but every time he gave in, the Warden found something more humiliating to ask of him, something more to demand. He could feel tears pricking behind his eyelids. He screwed his eyes shut to will them away. 

He had tortured and broken enough people in his life to know all the tricks, but with time anyone could be broken, he knew that. Even him. And after what he assumed was three years, he was coming very close to reaching his limit. A part of him suspected he had reached it already because there had been several situations where he felt like he almost had been pushed back into his own mind while his body continued to act on his own without his consent. 

He opened his eyes as he heard the Warden approach. The man crouched down and seemed to be looking over the damages to Voldemort's body. A twist of his lips told Voldemort that the man wasn't happy. He reached out a hand and Voldemort didn't have the energy to even try to flinch away. He allowed his eyes to flutter close as the hand was smoothed through his hair, which was dirty and bloody, just like the rest of him.   

“ He did go a bit overboard didn't he,” he heard the Warden mutter. Voldemort could agree. The beating and assault Stanley had settled for had been more brutal than normal. The rapes he had not exactly gotten used to, no one could get used to it, but Stanley had seemed to lose some of the interest when Voldemort had stopped fighting him, and the act was normally over pretty quickly. It still left Voldemort bleeding and hurting. Luckily, Stanley wasn't very creative in the sexual department, something to be grateful for.   

“ Come on, pet,” the Warden coaxed and put an arm under Voldemort's left shoulder. Voldemort glanced at him in confusion. What did the man want now? The answer became clear as he felt himself being lifted to his feet. He scrambled as he tried to put his feet underneath himself, but by putting most of his weight on the Warden, who had draped his arm around Voldemort to keep him upright, he managed to find his balance. Gasping as pain radiated through his body, he still allowed the Warden to stare him out of the cell.   

The pain hit for every step and Voldemort closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing through the pain. He opened them when they stopped moving and he felt himself being lowered to his knees. Voldemort hissed and had to put his right hand to the floor to avoid tumbling over. He was in a shower stall. Turning his head, he realised he probably was in the guard's locker room. The white tiles and benches and lockers looked so foreign and normal, compared to his cell and the room Stanley used to hose him down in ice cold water ever so often.   

A wand came into view and Voldemort flinched, hiding his head against his shoulder.   

“ Easy, pet,” came the soft voice. “I'm simply going to spell the cloths off you.” Before Voldemort could ponder on the words, he suddenly felt his cloths disappear. Not that it bothered him, both the Warden and Stanley had seen him naked enough times. He sighed and wondered what the Warden had in mind this time. The answer came soon enough as the Warden turned on the water and after testing it with his hand moved the shower head over and allowed the water to run over him. Voldemort flinched, expecting ice cold water to hit him, but to his surprise the water was pleasantly warm. Taking a shaking breath, he closed his eyes and decided to allow the Warden to bath him like a child, simply because the feeling of the warm water against his skin was more heavenly than he wanted to admit. It was such a small gesture, something normal people took for granted, to have access to hot water. Voldemort could feel another part of him break as he allowed the Warden to wash him down like a pet.    

After having his injuries treated the muggle way, he had to be helped into the new cloths and when they returned to his cell the Warden disappeared before returning with a large tray with food and for once something other than water.   

The taste of hot chocolate almost made Voldemort moan. He knew this was just another tactic to break his mind, but at that moment, with the everything, he couldn't find it in himself to care, he just wanted to enjoy the small break he was given. 

Tom woke with a gasp, bolting upright. He gasped and put a hand to his chest. Everything was alright. He was in his room at Harry's house. A hand reached out to his right and found nothing. Turning his head, he suddenly remembered that Harry was sleeping in his own bed. A bed he had been invited to share. The idea made his stomach twist uncomfortably.  

Logically he knew that Harry was just offering because then they both might get to sleep through the night. Tom had already been woken once that night from nightmares, which had sent him downstairs to the library in search of something to distract him from his own memories. Harry had spent the whole evening with his friends, which was understandable enough, but the bond didn't like it. It wasn't an outright pain; it was more like craving to have Harry close. To see the man. Even now, in bed, with Harry in the next room the craving was there. He didn't know what it meant. He didn't know if he wanted to know. 

Closing his eyes, he laid back down and tried to will himself to go back to sleep 

*** 

The next thing he noticed was the sensation of his wards being disturbed as someone had entered his bedroom. Forcing his eyes open he had to blink a couple of times before he could focus. At first, he didn’t see anyone, but when he looked downwards, he saw Tom kneeling just inside the doorway. “Tom?” he asked, sleep making his voice rough. Rubbing a hand over his face he then turned on the light on the bedside table. The light illuminated a part of the room, but not enough for him to see Tom clearly. He could see the man was fidgeting as if nervous. Deciding to put Tom out of his misery he gestured towards the other side of the bed. “Get in if you want.” He then allowed his head to fall back down on the pillow and turned off the lamp.  

Behind him he could hear Tom slipping under the covers and curling up at the edge of the bed. “You can move further onto the bed, Tom,” Harry muttered. “Unless you want to fall onto the floor before morning.” He could feel Tom move slightly further onto the bed. Good, Harry thought and allowed sleep to claim him once more.  

***  

With a sigh Harry put the papers he was going though down on the desk and rose to his feet. Padding over he went out onto the landing and looked up towards the bedroom before turning his eyes downwards.  

“Tom?” he called, unsure where the man was. He could hear footsteps on the floor beneath him as Tom moved. “Could you come up to my office, please?” Not waiting for an answer, he returned to his desk. Sitting back down he took one the pieces of fruit that Kreacher had brought him and put it in his mouth.   

“Master?” He looked up as Tom entered the room. Dressed in a high neck sweater that hid his collar and black pants, he looked like a model from one of those muggle magazines that Aunt Petunia used to fawn over. Blinking, Harry tried to remember why he had called the man. “Come over her for a moment, would you?”   

Tom crossed the floor slowly, and a bit hesitantly before coming to kneel almost at Harry’s chair, his body turned towards the chair Harry was sitting in.  

“Here,” he held out the latest financial statement from Gringotts. Tom took the offered paper with a frown and let his eyes roam over the content. “It’s the monthly update on your assets,” Harry explained, although he knew Tom had figured that out already. “The investments seem to be doing good and seeing as you aren’t using any of your money currently the balance has gone up quite a bit due to the interest that was added to your account at the end of the year.” Tom nodded.  

“Is there anything you want or need?” Harry asked, waving his hand slightly in the air. “Books, cloths? I know the library here is extensive, but you have to have gone through at least one third of the books by now, considering how fast you read.”  

Tom tilted his head slightly. “Some books perhaps. I could write down the titles for you.”   

Harry nodded. “Good, do that. Is there anything you need from your vaults?” Tom shook his head. “Okay. I have sent Lucius an owl asking what he did with your cloths and things after the war. I am assuming it would be a good guess that he might have burned them, but...” he shrugged.  

“I think that would be a safe bet, master,” Tom muttered as he handed the account statement back. Harry smiled. No lost love between those two.  

“The second is a letter from the county regarding the Riddle house. The neighbours have voiced concern that the house is a danger and could fall. The county is demanding that you do something about it. You can either sell it as it stands or fix it up and then either keep it or sell it.”  

On the floor Tom grimaced as if just the mentioning of the house was painful.  

“Do it hold any sentimental value to you, or?” Harry ventured, wondering if Tom felt anything for his father home where he had murdered the entire family. “You know,” he said, looking out the window and seeing that there were still a couple of hours left of daylight. “Let’s take a trip.” Standing he gestured for Tom to follow him. 

 *** 

Once Harry set eyes on the building, he could understand the neighbour's concerns. The house seemed to be tilting slightly to the side, the roof was almost gone, the little that was left of it was shattered. The windows were all broken, and the front door was laying on the ground of what Harry assumed might have been a lawn at some time. All in all, it seemed like it was minutes away from simply keeling over. 

Beside him Tom shifted, pulling the dark wool coat more tightly around him along with the scarf. The slight wind tousled his black curls and in the disappearing winter sunlight he looked incredible handsome.   

“Well, it has looked better,” Tom commented, not tacking on the title as they were out in the muggle world and could be overheard.  

“Yes,” Harry sighed, and rubbed a hand over his face. “Do you want to try and fix it or just tear it down and keep the property? The location alone makes it worth quite a lot according to the agent I spoke with. Even if we use house elves and their magic, the cost for renovating the house back to a liveable condition is almost higher than building a new house.”  

Tom started at the house for long moment more before turning towards Harry. There was a hard glint to the brown eyes as he answered. “Tear it down. Nothing good has ever come from that house.” With that he turned away and started walking towards the secluded spot where Harry had apparated them.  Harry took a last look at the house before following Tom. Taking him by the arm he side-appareted them to a back ally in London that he usually used.   

Tom looked confused as he took in his surroundings. “Where are we?”  

“London,” Harry answered and fixed his own cloak and scarf to ward of the cold. “I thought a walk and perhaps a dinner would be good? We didn’t get to celebrate your birthday much do to everything.” Mostly, because Tom had been behaving like a brat and Harry hadn’t wanted to be around the man. “It’s the 31st of January today, so we are only one month behind.”   

The look Tom gave him told Harry that the man was wondering about Harry’s sanity at that moment, but he didn’t protest to the idea, if anything he looked slightly interested.  

“I’ll let you pick the place,” he offered to sweeten the deal. A slight smile played at Tom’s lips and Harry knew he had found an idea that did interest the man even if he wasn’t going to show it.   

“Fine,” Tom said and started walking down the ally. Harry smirked. He would allow Tom his freedom from the rules for the night. He had been doing very well both at home and at work and good behaviour deserved a reward and he knew that Tom loved good cooking so he assumed the restaurant they would end up at would be expensive. Well, he could always use Tom’s funds to pay for it... 

*** 

“Have you been here before?” Harry asked, casting a look around the lavish restaurant Tom had taken him to. The tables were all round with white cloths. There were chandeliers hanging from the ceiling and candles on the tables. The whole place screamed of money and wealth. The waiter that had met them at the door had given a proper bow before escorting them indoors. Apparently, they had been lucky as one of the reservations hadn’t shown and they had a free table and hadn’t been able to call anyone on the waiting list yet to offer them a last moment chance to come. The fact that Harry might have confunded the waiter slightly was not something either of them mentioned.  

He didn’t feel bad for doing it either, because there had been an eagerness in Tom’s eyes and voice as he brought Harry to the restaurant that Harry didn’t want to ruin, so he had used magic to secure them a table. It would seem like the restaurant was way more popular in this time than it had been back when Tom had been young and it had not been necessary to book a table several months in advance.  

Harry had suggested the three-course meal they offered with the wine menu and Tom had nodded in agreement. The waiter had nodded his head too, looking pleased, which Harry could understand given the price of the food and wine.   

“Yes, a long time ago,” Tom answered, looking around. “Back when the Death Eaters were still Knights. I used to come here with the inner circle. It was a fancy place even back then, but not quite as popular as it seems to be now if the long waiting list is anything go by.”   

Harry did a double take. “You planned to take over the Wizarding World, while eating in a muggle restaurant?” Tom smirked at the disbelief in his voice.   

“Well, ma-Harry, how many magical restaurants in Britian can you name?” Harry noticed the slight slip but didn’t comment on it. He had cast a notice-me-not charm around them, which should be enough to stop people for actively listening in on the conversation. Of course, he could have cast a silencing charm, but the lack of sound from their table would have been suspicious. The good thing about the notice-me-not spell was that it hindered people from noticing or paying attention to them unless they really focused. As the waiter knew they were there, having taken their order, this knowledge was enough for the spell to have a lighter effect on him as he was more focused on them.  

Considering Tom’s question, Harry realised that he couldn’t name a single one. He could name bars and smaller establishments in Diagon Ally and Hogsmeade, but he couldn’t name one restaurant like the one they were at currently.  

“I can’t name a single one,” he finally admitted thoughtfully. “Are there any?” He asked just as the waiter came back with a tray that contained to glasses of champagne.  

“A glass before we start on the appetisers,” the man smiled and put the glasses down along with bread and butter that seemed to be mixed with herbs. Harry thanked him with a smile and almost threw himself over the food. He hadn’t realised how hungry he was until the bread had been put on the table. Tom on the other hand, with his impeccable manners, simply elegantly spread butter over one of the slices of bread and took a small bit.  

“There aren’t any real restaurants,” Tom said between bites. “There are a lot more abroad. The British Wizarding World is rather a small community when compared to France, Russia or the US. Even Spain has a larger population than Britian. Egypt is another country with a large community, mostly because a lot of the earliest magical breakthroughs came there during the time of the pharaohs. Just look at what they managed to build – you can’t tell me you think they could have done all that without magic? Most of the seven ancient wonders, that the muggle refers to, was built with the help of magic. That is why the muggles are having such a huge problem explaining how they were built considering how primitive civilisation was at the time they were built.”  

Harry had stopped eating. Or, he had forgotten that he was hungry and wanted food. The change in Tom as he spoke was unexpected. The whole man seemed to come alive in a way Harry hadn’t seen before. His voice took on a tone that was mesmerizing as it rose and sank with the words. He was using his hand to underline his words and his dark brown eyes was glimmering with interest. A lock of his hair had escaped and every so often Tom lifted a hand to push it back where it belonged. The energy made him look younger, more human.  

And at that point he realised something else as he took a sip of the champagne. Tom and he had never really had a normal conversation the 1 ½ month Tom had been living with him. They talked yes, but it had always been brief. A question or a message, but not much else. They had of course had their late-night talk after one of Tom’s nightmares, and the discussions at work, but Harry didn’t include that as it was hardly a normal day-to-day conversation. He hadn’t realised how engaging Tom was when he talked about something that he obviously enjoyed, and apparently history was one of those things.  

Tom continued to explain about the different countries and just how much larger the wizarding communities was abroad. Between his explanations he took small bits of the bread and every time he did Harry took the opportunity to ask another question which would get Tom going again. The first course arrived not long after. White asparagus with prosciutto and a hollandaise sauce. Tom took a break in his explanation as he concentrated on the food.  

“I remember Dumbledore telling me that you travelled quite a lot,” Harry ventured, as always carefully when it came to asking Tom about his younger years. He never knew if the question would be appreciated or not.  

A dark looked passed over Tom’s face at the mention of Dumbledore, but he quickly schooled his features into a natural mask as he took the time to chew his food. “Yes,” he finally answered. “I’ve always been curious, and I wanted to learn as much as possible. Unlike what Dumbledore think, I didn’t travel to just study Dark magic although I will admit it was the branch of magic that interested me the most, I also studied both healing, runes and other subjects that are perceived as light.”   

“Do you miss it? Travelling I mean?” Harry regretted the question the moment it had been voiced. Reminding Tom of the time before his capture, torture and then enslavement was bound to be a bad idea. His fingers clenched around the cutlery, and he almost held his breath as he waited for Tom’s answer. When Tom elected to finish his food before answering it just made the nervous ball in his stomach grow. Not that he knew why. It was an innocent question really, but for some reason if felt like an invasion of Tom’s privacy. As the slave he had no option but answer all of Harry’s question if that was Harry’s will. He had an apology on the tip of his tongue when Tom spoke.  

“Yes,” he said simply, his tone a matter of fact. He put down his fork and knife. “I miss it. If I had the opportunity to travel now, then it would most likely feel like I was discovering the world again, as it has changed a lot since I was young. But, as things are as they are, I cannot travel even if I wanted to, not unless you give me permission and come with me.”  

Harry didn’t know how to respond to that, so he kept quiet, pondering.  

“Don’t, Ma-Harry,” Tom suddenly said, fixing him with a stern look. “Don’t try to find a way to reassure me of something. Things are as they are.” The acceptance Harry could hear in those words surprised him and he was pretty sure Tom could tell. Perhaps, just perhaps Tom had actually decided to try and trust Harry not to abuse his power over him.  

*** 

“Master! We are going to be late.” For a moment Tom wondered if his master had managed to get out of bed. While Tom had rose with the alarm and wandered into his own room to shower and get dressed, Harry had only twisted over and slung an arm over his eyes.  

Harry had been right when he had said that his bed was bigger and more comfortable for two persons. Unfortunately, that didn’t help Tom’s panic at the steadily rising need that came from the bond to be close to his master. The itch kept growing under his skin if Harry was away for too long, like when he had gone to eat with his friends. The only times it was completely silent seemed to be when they were touching, or when Tom was sleeping close enough to the man. As it was now, it was not only the nightmares that kept him sleepless, but also the bloody itch. It was worst if he had been alone most of the day and hardly seen Harry, on normal days he could manage to fall asleep, only to be woken a couple of hours later by the nightmares.  

Harry seemed to have become tired of having to get out of bed to sooth his panicking slave, since he had invited Tom to his bed. Tom wasn’t quite sure how to feel about that, or about his own lack of reservation to sleep next to the one person who had complete control over his life and could simply turn over and take what he wanted with or without Tom’s consent.  

He had turned the library upside down in his search for some sort of explanation whether or not this was some sort of side-effect from the bond. But, no, nothing. There was no mentioning anything that seemed related.  

The sound of footsteps on the stairs brought him out of his thoughts. Harry yawned as he stepped onto the floor, hiding the yawn behind his hand before fixing sleeping eyes on Tom who knelt, bowing his head. After a couple of seconds, he rose back up.   

“For Merlin’s sake Tom,” Harry grumbled, “Why in the world do we have to go to work this bloody early?”  

Tom almost managed to hold back a sigh. “Master, we are expected at the Gallery for Ancient Artifacts at seven o’clock,” he reminded Harry, as the appointment seemed like news to the man from the blank look Harry was giving him. “And it’s currently-” Not thinking Tom twisted his hand to cast a wordless Tempus and crumbled to the ground as the bond lashed into him. He whimpered as the pain seized him, the feeling of needles and pins being pushed into his head. Then it suddenly disappeared, and he was left panting on the ground. Merlin, the pain was excruciating. He had felt it once before when he had accidentally pushed Harry. The pain ebbed away, and he felt a hand in his hair. The bond purred at the contact and without thinking, Tom leaned into the hand and allowed the feeling of safety and calm to wash over him. All too soon the hand was removed.  

“Tom?” Came Harry’s concerned voice. Tom forced his eyes open and pushed himself into a sitting position. “What happened?” Harry asked, still crouched on his hunches.  

Tom breathed in a couple of deep breaths. “I forgot myself and tried to cast a Tempus to check the time, master.” Closing his eyes, he tried to find the strength to stand up. They were bound to be late now.  

“Oh,” Harry said a note of something in his voice. Tom tried to push himself to his feet and managed not to flinch away when Harry reached out to help him. Back on his feet he swayed a bit before finding his balance. Looking up he saw Harry looking back at him with a thoughtful expression on his face. “Tom, there is a reason why I have restricted your magic, and I am probably not going to change my mind about that any time soon, but I don’t see any harm in you using your magic to tell time, so I give you permission to use that spell whenever.” 

The bond registered the change in the order with the slight pain he was used to by now. The meaning however did take a bit longer to register. He was given access to his magic outside the few times Harry had allowed him at work. Sure, it was just a small time telling spell, and nothing special, but it was still magic. Magic that he could use whenever he wanted. Casting a wary look at Harry, as he still wasn’t sure he believed the man, he lifted his hand and wordless cast Tempus . He could feel his magic connect this time and flutter through his hand and the time 7 o’clock fluttered above his hand in the blue light of the spell. He couldn’t help the grin that spread on his face as he cancelled the spell.  

“Thank you, master,” he said, trying to put as much gratitude into the words as he could. Across for him Harry looked uncomfortable, not that Tom could understand why. Then he sobered and remembered the time. “We are officially late, master,” he reminded the man and turned towards the table where he had placed Harry’s winter cloak. He held up the red fabric and waited for Harry to step into it.  

“I haven’t had breakfast yet,” Harry whined. Tom did sigh this time. “Well, if you had gotten up with the alarm, master,” he snipped. Then he froze, scared that Harry would take offence. Harry just sighed and stepped into the cloak. As he was fastening the clamp, Tom turned towards the table once more and then held out the wrapped sandwich he had made when he had realised that there was no way Harry would have time for breakfast.  

“Here, I made you a sandwich to go since there was no chance you would have time for breakfast.”   

He wasn’t entirely sure what was going on in Harry’s head at the gesture because the emotions crossed his face way to fast to pick up. In the end he smiled and took the offered food. “Thank you, Tom. I appreciate it.”  

Tom nodded. “We should be going.”  

Chapter Text

Tom chewed on his quill as he tried to remember the details from the witness, they had interviewed the day before regarding a break in at the woman's neighbour. It wasn't just the wording that was important, but also the way it had been said. He was trying to remember if there had been any signs of lies in her body language or voice. Normally that wasn't much of a job, but now he was constantly distracted by the sound of spell work from the three duelling platforms in the room.  

The Aurors had their monthly training where they trained to help strengthen each other's skills. Robards normally also introduced or brushed up on some sort of technic in the first part of the meeting before they moved on to practical learning. This was the second duel training that Tom was attending, and just like last time he had found a spot on the floor by the wall where the chairs stood and tried to distract himself by doing some of Harry's paperwork. As a slave Tom wasn't expected to hand in any reports in his own name, but he was expected to contribute information to the rest of the teams of what he observed or learned. Seeing as Harry normally always was behind on his paperwork, Tom thought if was a good idea to get some done while Harry was training. 

Not he enjoyed the work, but it helped distract him from the feeling of jealousy he got when watching the different Aurors go against each other. He had been half tempted to ask Harry if he could get out of accompanying him, but in the end he hadn't bothered. They trained each month and Tom couldn't avoid the problem by staying away forever.  

He glanced over and saw Longbottom duelling a girl his own age with brown hair. She had a frown of concentration on her face and seemed to be a bit nervous as she kept biting her lip. Tom could see that her movements were too slow, and he wasn't surprised when Longbottom's  Expelliarmus  hit her, and she was thrown backwards. 

The longing for magic was strong, and he flipped his hand, casting a wordless and wandless  Tempus  just so that he could feel his own magic. The one spell he was permitted to use whenever he wanted. It was a beginning he supposed that he was allowed free access to his magic for that one spell. Perhaps it was an indication that Harry would allow him more access as time passed and they figured out how to co-exist in their new reality. 

And it was not like Harry never allowed him to use his magic. There had been several incidences where Harry had given him access to a specific group of charms and spells to help in the investigation, but Tom still longed to be able to use his magic freely without any restrictions. 

Thought, considering how many illegal spells and charms Tom knew, he didn't expect Harry to ever allow him full access. Still, he mused, this was better than the magical collar he had been wearing for the last years. At least now he could feel his magic, even if he couldn't access it. He watched as Neville and the girl went again, she was making the same mistakes he noticed before letting his eyes glide to the next platform. They were doing a bit better, but their weak points were easy to spot.   

At the third platform he saw Harry talking to some of his colleagues. The man noticed Tom looking at him and tilted his head slightly in a silent question. Tom shook his head and returned to the paperwork. As he looked down, he tried to remember just what he had been about to write.  

"Mr. Riddle?” The use of the name came as a surprise, and he almost jerked his head up before he remembered that he wasn't supposed to meet anyone’s eyes. He managed to stop before lifting them above her neck. 

"Just Tom, miss,” he answered politely. The bond shocked him for a moment until he remembered that he wasn't supposed to speak without permission either. The girl or rather woman twisted her hands and didn't seem to notice. 

“Oh, yes, of course. My apologises. It's just that Draco always call you Riddle, so...” She trailed of. Tom wondered what she wanted. The robes she was wearing indicated that she was not an Auror but a wardbreaker. They were their own division under the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and worked with the Aurors when needed. Other than helping the Aurors they were also key personnel when it came to the wards the Ministry used both on their own buildings, but also other public places where wards were necessary to ensure safety. Still, that did not explain why she was addressing him.  

“Harry told us it was possible to ask you for help if needed. I just spoke to him, and he said it was alright.” Tom glanced over at Harry and saw the man nod his head at him. Well, he supposed that counted as permission. 

The woman sat down on the chair beside the spot Tom was sitting in and pulled out a file. “I'm Angelica by the way. Angelica Tyson. I work as a wardbreaker. I was actually the one working with Harry back when you helped us with the wards on the warehouse.” 

Tom nodded. The last resort case that was the only reason he was currently sitting where he was. 

“I have to admit, I didn't believe Harry at first when he told us who had helped with those wards, but that's not why I'm here now, I was wondering if I could get your input on another matter?”  

“Of course, miss Tyson,” he replied. It was not like he could refuse when Harry had said she could ask him. And she was being painfully polite compared to what he was used to from some of the older generations of Aurors who had lived through both the wars. 

A file was handed to him. 

“This autumn Mr. Keller, whom you see in the picture, suddenly murdered his muggleborn wife and two children, as well as her parents before fleeing with their last child, a girl of five. We have been tracking him since then but have not been able to pin him down.”  

 
Tom flipped the pages and found pictures of the dead wife and children. It looked like a simple Avada Kedavra kill. Turning back to the first page he looked over the details on the man and noted that he was a pureblood with ties to the Greengrass family. A family that had always been grey orientated, but not had never joined his side. They had stayed mostly neutral. 

“We finally learned that he has an unplottable property, and we think we have narrowed it down, but we are afraid of tripping any wards that might alert him to our presence and make him disappear. And we can't cast an ant-apparating wards over a property we don't know where is exactly and there is a limit to how large an area the wards can cover. If it had not been for the child then we would just storm the place once we find it, but we can't because of the child. And all the charms and spells we have that could map out the wards will alert him as they hit the wards.” 

Yes, Tom thought. It was one thing to take down wards on visible things, but on an unplottable land that you had to stumble upon to find if it was hidden from view as well as unplottable on maps, that was another story. Normally one could not see the property before you breached the wards, and by that time you would have alerted the owner, if the wards had been set up correctly.   

Shifting the pages, he found the map where Angelica or one of her colleagues had put a circle around an area, presumably where they thought the property was located. At first, he thought he recognized the place, the Greengrass' were known for having secure locations for safety reasons, but as he caught sight of the name of the nearby village, he realized he was wrong. 

“Any ideas?” He glanced up at her and saw an almost naïve hopefulness on her face. He sighed. This was what he had chosen after all and giving away secrets was apparently a part of it. 

“Hey, Angelica, why are you talking to that?” One of the older Aurors sneered as he passed by. “It's better off being locked up forever.”  

Tom let the words pass over him as he always did. It was not the first insult to be cast his way, nor the last. And he did understand where the hate came from, thus he couldn't blame them. Or that was perhaps a half truth. He had believed in his cause somewhat, although not the part about blood purity that he had spun to draw in the purebloods, but he did believe that magic was might and that they should not have to hide in small villages when they could use their power to make cities. All protected from the muggles of course. He had only pushed the pureblood ideology because it had drawn in the old families that had money and connections that would help him further his cause. 

Angelica threw her brown hair over her shoulder and snapped back. “Oh, sod of Michael, you can't find a sensible thought if it jumped up and kicked you in the balls.” The Auror, Michael growled something too low to hear and disappeared. “Don't mind him. He's a jerk, and frankly jealous that the rate of solved cases on Harry's team has gone profoundly up sin you arrived.” 

Somewhat confused Tom almost asked if she didn't resent him as well, but perhaps she had not been a part of the last war? Her accent was not British, which meant there was a good chance that she had been educated either at Beauxbatons or in the United States. They would have heard of him surely, but without having felt the war up close there was a lot less animosity to be had. 

“But, regarding the property,” she said, bringing the conversation back on track. 

“The easiest would be to just find the wards by feeling, but only a few Wizards and Witches are powerful enough to do that. Another way is using a testing spell.” 

“A what?” Angelica asked confused. Not surprisingly, it was after all a spell of his own creation. 

Tom handed the folder back. “It's a spell of my own creation. It will allow you to send out a burst of magic that, once it connects with the wards will return to you, allowing you to map out the wards without alerting the caster of the wards. Once you have moved in a complete circle you will know the extent of the property and you can therefrom judge how high up the wards go, they normally form a dome over the property. That will make it easier for you to apply the anti-apparations wards over the property. For the strength needed to take down the wards however, there I cannot help you unless you ask H- if I could come along and do it myself. It takes power that I cannot teach.” He didn't feel bad for the last suggestion. Any chance to be able to use magic, even under controlled circumstances, was not something he would say no to. Even if it meant trudging around in the middle of absolutely nowhere in the middle of February.

“Here,” he continued, putting down the folders and using his quill to imitate a wand. “You move your wand like this,” he traced the pattern slowly in the air, watching as she pulled out her own wand to imitate him. Across from the room, Tom could see that Harry was keeping half an eye on them, which was understandable enough. It wasn't often he was left to speak with another Auror without Harry present and Harry probably wanted to make sure he did behave. 

Angelica continued practising the movement for a couple of movements. Tom corrected her a couple of times when the pattern didn't follow the exact route it would need to in order to work properly. When he finally was satisfied, he nodded. “Good. Make sure your movements are precise. If they are not, then the efficiency of the spell will be reduced, and you need it to be as correct as possible for this to work. Now for the incarnation,  Quaeris .”

“ Quaeris” , Angelica repeated, testing out the foreign word. Tom nodded. At least she managed to pronounce it correctly. “Good, miss Taylor.” That earned him a small smile. 

“You do the wand movements first, then you speak the incarnation. Focus on feeling the wards. It's like throwing out a line that you follow until you reach the wards, at that point the line stops and you should be able to judge just how many feet in front of you the wards are. There is a distance limit on the spell, so if you come up short, try another direction or move closer and try again. The spell stops short of actually touching the wards, which is the reason that it will not disturb them.” 

“Amazing,” Angelica smiled. 

Tom turned slightly towards the duelling platforms. “Why don't you try it, miss Taylor? All the platforms have wards surrounding them to protect the onlookers from being hit by a stray spell. It will be easier the first few times to practice on wards you know where are.

She took to the challenge in a good way, Tom thought as she managed get it right the third time.  

“You two seems to be getting along,” the voice of Sommerseth suddenly broke Tom out of the teaching bobble he had submerged himself in. He glanced up before bowing his head politely. “Sir.”  

Angelica was however a bit more ecstatic. “Mr. Sommerseth. Yes, Tom here has just taught me a new spell that will come in handy.” 

“Has he now?” Sommerseth asked, his tone unreadable. 

“Yes.” Tom could see her getting to her feet before turning towards Tom. “Thank you very much. I really appreciate it.” 

“You're welcome, miss Taylor,” Tom said, making sure his voice was once more neutral. She excused herself, took the folder and disappeared over to two other colleagues at the other end of the room. From her animated body language and the glances cast his way from the other two, he assumed she was retelling the story about how the previous Dark Lord had taught her magic. 

Sommerseth sat down in the chair Angelica had used. “Teaching, Tom?” This time there was amusement in his voice and Tom wasn't sure if it was good or bad. He still didn't quite now where he had Sommerseth. The man always gave a feeling of knowing more than he shared, and his acceptance for Tom to ignore some of the rules of the code of conduct, but enforcing others kept throwing him of balance. He would assume Sommerseth would be happy about him helping the Aurors, which had been the man's main reason for suggesting the claim after all. But the events of the last three years had led Tom to realize that sometimes people behaved in unexpected ways. 

“She asked for help on a case, sir.” He started, trying to judge the man's reaction. 

“Relax, Tom,” Sommerseth smiled. “I am not displeased, actually the opposite. I'm glad they are asking you for your input and help. Considering your intelligence and skills, you do have a lot to contribute to our department. If not for the circumstances which brought you here, then you would have been the next Head of the Auror department in no time.” 

Tom shifted. He wasn't used to that many compliments and wasn't sure how to respond. It had been about two months now, since Azkaban and he was still trying to wrap his head around the fact that both Harry and most of the people around him treated Tom as if they had forgotten all about Lord Voldemort. He could understand that they were not scared of him, enslaved and with his magic bound there was after all not much he could do, but the acceptance was hard to understand. There had been some initial words and insults with Longbottom and Malfoy, and latest Wesley, but they had soon smoothed out. It almost felt like Lord Voldemort was a different time, a different life. 

The thought was both terrifying and somewhat reassuring at the same time. He had used his whole life to build up Lord Voldemort, only to be defeated twice by the same man who he was now bound to. And now he was just Tom, who helped the Aurors. And the worst of it was that he didn't mind, and that was a feeling he couldn't quite come to terms with.  

Luckily, it didn't seem like Sommerseth expected a response to his words because he continued. “I do however hope that any spells og enchantments you do teach them are legal?” 

“Of course, sir,” Tom answered. Silently he thought that the Ministry's definition of legal was extremely narrow. Some were classified as such simply because of one ingredient being used, or because the spell og enchantments required blood. 

On the platforms the people switched places and Tom watched as Malfoy stepped onto the stage. On the other side the boy Tom remembered was called Taylor Parkinson stepped up.  

“This should be interesting,” Sommerseth commented and leaned back in his chair. Tom glanced up at him before concentrating on the stage again. He watched as they greeted each other with a bow before taking their stances at the opposite sides of the platform. As Harry, acting as the referee, called for go, they both started throwing spells and hexes.  

The first round ended with Malfoy disarmed and bleeding after being hit with a powerful blasting curse from Parkinson who in turn was limping but managed to dodge the next hex from Malfoy and the disarm him. They both healed their wounds, laughed and mocked each other for the mistakes before moving back into position. Robards gave a couple of instructions that Tom couldn't hear from where he was sitting. 

“What do you think?” Sommerseth asked, looking down at him. Tom titled his head slightly to the side and studied the par as they went again. This time Malfoy seemed more focused and managed to dodge two curses and block a third before sending Parkinson flying. 

“Mr. Malfoy is projecting his moves, not that Mr. Parkinson seems to know what to look for. Mr. Parkinson on the other hand lacks flow in his spell work which makes it slow and works more against him than for him. They are also too still. In a real fight they would be moving, they should work on that. To limit them to the edges of a duelling stage is counterproductive. Duelling stages should only be used for formal duels, not for combat training.” He put weight on the last sentence. It was plain idiotic to train the Aurors like this. Then he suddenly remembered his place in all of this. Perhaps he had spoken too bluntly and added. “With all respect, sir, but you did ask for my opinion.” 

The silence stretched out for a nearly a minute, and Tom could feel himself growing nervous. He might have overstepped this time, but to his surprise Sommerseth rose and excused himself. As he walked away, he called: “Gwain, come here for a moment would you.” Robards looked up from where he was most likely trying to explain to a girl with a nose twice as big what the counter curse was. 

Tom sighed and went back to the report he was supposed to be working on. His mind blanked as he tried to remember what he had been writing about. Oh, yes, the witness. As he started writing, his mind started wandering. He glanced up again and took in the different duels that were taking place. What he had said to Sommerseth was true. If the Aurors where to enter a duelling contest then this kind of training for would be useful, but for surviving in the field, agains dark wizards and witches who couldn't care less if they were using legal spells and curses – well, it wouldn't do much good against that. Melin knows he didn't train his own Death Eaters like that. 

However, the way the Aurors were trained was not his problem to comment on, although he had already done so. He sighed. Why hadn't he asked Harry to be excused from the training? 

He managed to concentrate on the report for a little while, then he got distracted by Robards and Sommerseth returning from wherever they had been. He followed them with his eyes as they walked up to Harry and waved Malfoy down from the platform. They moved them away from the rest. Tom frowned. Was something wrong? If it was about what he had said, then there would be no reason to involve Malfoy. 

They seemed to be discussing something from the gesturing. Malfoy was grinning, while Harry was frowning.  

To his right, the double doors opened once more as the Minister walked in at a brisk pace, his face set in stone. He strode up to the group and Tom caught his first sentence. “Have you two lost your marbles, Marcus?” The rest was said in a much more toned-down voice and therefor lost on Tom.  

He sighed and tried to return to the report. So far, he had managed to get through three paragraphs. He sighed again. At this pace he would be nowhere done by the time the training was finished. 

“Tom, come here please.” The sound of Harry's voice made a ball of nervousness form in his gut as he looked up. The voice was unreadable which made the nervousness even worse. Was this about the criticism he had been stupid enough to utter to Sommerseth? 

He slowly made his way over to the group. The rest of the Aurors was staring, and some was whispering amongst themselves. From the little he picked up it sounded like they were assuming he had done something wrong, which he might have done. He wasn't sure. 

As he reached the group, he was met with a smiling Sommerseth and Robards, Kingsley was frowning, his arms crossed over his chest, Harry was rubbing a hand over his face and through his hair while Malfoy was grinning. 

“Good news, Tom,” Malfoy smirked. “You'll finally get another chance at hexing me.”  

The words registered, but the meaning did not, and Tom looked blankly at Harry who sighed and opened his mouth, but it was Robards who spoke. 

“I understand you have uttered some concern regarding our training practice, Riddle?” Robards grumbled. Tom opened his mouth to apologise, but Robards beat him to it. “There might be some wisdom to your words, so we thought you should get a chance to put Malfoy here in his place – Merlin knows he needs it. Now, Harry, you and the Minister work out the rules, whilst Malfoy and I make some changes to the platforms.” 

What? An inkling of a something that felt like excitement started to form and he quickly squashed it down before it could take hold. No reasons to get his hopes up over words spoken that he probably given another meaning to than he should. 

“And of course, only legal spells,” Sommerseth added and walked away with the other two. Tom turned his head and saw them usher the rest of the Aurors over to one side before they raised their wands and started to move the platforms, expanding them into a large, raised area. 

Frowning, Tom turned back towards Harry and the Minister. “Master?” he inquired politely, while a part of him was starting to feel hopeful yet again. 

“I'm trusting you here Tom, so please don't mess this up.”  

Tom nodded, finally allowing the excitement and hope that had started growing in him to bloom. 

“Good. When you are on the platform none of the rules of the code of conduct applies. You will have full access to your magic, but you can only use legal spells and hexes, and only as long as you don't hold the intent to seriously harm or kill. You can only use it against someone who is also on the platform. If I call stop you are to stop immediately and drop your wand regardless of the situation at hand.”

His feeling outshined the slight pain from the bond as the order took hold, and a smile started to form at his lips. Harry started to smile too. “Yes, you get to hex Draco to your heart's content, just don't do anything permanent.” The tone was teasing and some of Harry's apparent hesitation about the idea seemed to be calmed. 

There was no reason for Harry to worry either, Tom thought. He wasn't stupid enough to throw away a chance at duelling, or the chance to show the Aurors just how a  real  fight looked. Using his magic, the other times Harry had allowed him had always been wonderful, being able to perform magic in general was always amazing. He had to admit though that he did miss the excitement that came with a real fight, or a duel, not necessarily the fights where it was a matter of life or death, even though they brought with them their own adrenaline kick, but also the training, the constant focus on becoming better. 

Tom's smile turned into a grin, which sobered as the Minister came closer. “I don't trust you Tom, but apparently everyone else here seems to think this is an excellent opportunity for the Aurors to learn something about fighting.” As he spoke, he pulled something out of his robe and Tom's eyes fixed on his  wand . A myriad of feelings assaulted him at once, the most prominent one being longing. It was seeing an old friend again. Then he frowned. 

“I thought it didn't survive the battle?” Although he wasn't sure why he had thought that. He simply assumed that Harry or the Ministry would have broken it into pieces and used it for kindling.  

“No,” the Minister answered. “We kept it.”   

As a trophy, Tom thought. As if having the man himself imprisoned was not enough. He should be grateful thought, he thought, after all that meant that he still had a wand. The Minister stepped closer, and Tom willed himself not to flinch away, but his body reacted on its own as usual and he took a step backwards, the familiar feeling of fear rearing its head.  

“As I said, I don't trust you, Tom, but I am going to trust the bond and Harry's control over you.” He held out the wand, but Tom didn't take it, instead he turned his head slightly and looked at Harry. 

Harry gave him a nod that somehow felt more like approval of him asking for permission than permission for him to take the wand. “You can take the wand, Tom, but like I said, no magic unless you are on that platform.”  

“Of course, master,” Tom grinned as his hand closed over the handle of his wand for the first time in over 3 ½ years.  
 

*** 

Harry watched as Tom and Draco entered the now much larger duelling area that had been altered to look like a clearing in a forest. Robards was also there talking to Draco, probably trying to prepare him as this was something very different from their normal training.  

Tom was studying the area around him, a calculated look on his face and Harry knew he was familiarizing himself in order to avoid missteps which could easily happen when the ground was uneven. 

To his right the rest of the Aurors were stood, some intrigued, some talking furiously among themselves. Some of the elder Aurors had dragged Sommerseth aside and looked to be arguing with him, probably about the sanity of the idea to allow Lord Voldemort to train with one of their young Aurors. 

Draco had jumped at the idea when Sommerseth and Robards had proposed to let Tom have a go under strict regulations of course and had volunteered to be his opponent. Harry wasn't sure how he felt about the whole thing.  

On one side he didn't actually see any harm in letting Tom have a go against Draco, especially not in a room filled with Aurors. On the other side, this was still Lord Voldemort, even though that knowledge seemed to drift further and further away as he got to know Tom better. He also knew the bond would stop any attempts Tom might try to harm anyone.  

On the other side, the more he allowed Tom access to his magic, the more difficult it became to taking it away again. If he trusted Tom to behave on the platform, why not trust him enough to have access to it all the time? Harry didn't have a good answer, but he knew that he didn't feel certain enough about Tom to allow him unlimited access at the present time. Perhaps it would come down the line.  

“Are you sure this is safe, Harry?” This time it was Kingsley who asked. The man had been dragged from his office to deliver the wand that until then had been resting in a vault under heavy wards. 

Harry shrugged and turned towards him. “He isn't stupid, and he knows that if he messes this up, then I won't give him a second chance. I'm more afraid of what would happen if he was given free, unrestricted access to his magic at all times. Then I could see him trying something to get free, although I have no idea what that should be. The bond is unbreakable.” 

“He could turn on you within the limits of the bond and manipulate the situation,” Kingsley cautioned.  

Harry nodded. Yes, Tom was a Slytherin after all.   

“Let's see how this plays out first before we start concerning ourselves with the future,” Kingsley sighed and looked towards the Aurors. “I have a feeling I'll be busy dealing with personal complaints tomorrow though,” he muttered as he watched a couple of the older Aurors disappeared out of the room, their anger clear in their sharp movements.  

Harry glanced towards the door and caught sight of the people leaving. Kingsley might have point there he thought. 

On the platform they seemed to have finished the preparation. Draco and Tom took their places at each side of the clearing. Between them there was a small three, some lumbers, stones and grass. To their sides there were more trees, some big enough to use as a shield. 

Robards stepped up between them and the Aurors that remained also moved closer. Several of them was talking excitedly amongst themselves and the tension was thick enough to be cut with a knife though. No one knew what to expect or how to react. Harry assumed the sight of Tom with a wand and access to his magic would be a terrifying sight for some of them, but then again Tom looked nothing like Voldemort had back during the war. That alone should ease the situation somehow. If it had not been for the black collar around his throat and the black robe, then he could have been mistaken for just another young Auror.

Their interest was understandable enough, Tom's reputation as the most powerful wizard in Britain had never left him. People knew what he was capable of, and what he had done, but only a few had ever seen him use his powers, until now.  

Robards took a breath before speaking. “The normal duelling rules apply, and I want a clean fight.” He looked at Tom who nodded. “Yes, sir.”  

“Good. Take your places.” 

Tom and Draco bowed to each other before both stepped back and took their stances. 

“Begin,” Robards called and stepped of the platform and outside the wards.  

Draco didn't seem to hold back because Harry could see his wand moving in the familiar pattern of the blasting curse. However, before he could finish Tom flicked his hand and the tree behind Draco suddenly started falling towards Draco. Draco stopped and turned throwing up a shield to protect him from the falling tree. Turning around he was met with a wordless  expelliarmus  and his wand flew from his hand. Swearing he cast himself to the side to avoid having the tree fall on him. 

The silence in the room was almost unbearable, then it broke as people started chattering loudly. 

“That lasted a long time,” Kingsley deadpanned, a slight frown on his forehead. Harry frowned. Draco was normally better than this in a duel, but perhaps the thought of just who he was up against was enough for his nerves to come to life. Then again, it had been some fast spellwork Tom had used, and it had been both wordless and wandless. A point that the rest of the Aurors was whispering about.  

On the platform Tom walked over to Draco and offered him a hand to help him to his feet and handed his wand back. “When you have surroundings that could be used against you, like this, it's important to never stop moving.” Harry heard Tom explain, and the chatter from the Aurors died down as they shushed themselves to hear what Tom was saying. If Tom noticed anything then he didn't let it show. 

“If you stop to cast then it's easy to use something like that tree against you. Also, keep your body angled to make yourself a smaller target.”  

Draco was nodding. “Again,” Tom said with a note of command in his tone that Harry remembered from Lord Voldemort. He felt a shiver go down his spine. 

They both took their places once more and Robards called for them to begin. This time Draco made sure to move as they circled each other. It was clear that Tom was giving Draco a chance because he waited and allowed Draco to take the initiative before retaliating. 

Draco ducked away from the stone Tom suddenly sent flying towards him and managed to send a blasting curse towards him. Tom simply let it hit his shield before moving and sending back a yet green beam of a hex or curse Harry didn't know. It slammed into Draco's shield, clearly rattling both the shield and the man and the split-second Draco was distracted Tom sent the same curse once more, sending Draco tripping over a log, which resulted in him losing the shield and his wand went flying into Tom's hand. Once more Tom went over and helped him up. 

“Never have the shield that close to you,” he said as Draco dusted himself of. “The spell I used acts like a sledgehammer and when you put the shield up that close to your body you will feel the effect on your own body instead of the shield taking the brute of it. As you might have noticed.” There was a slight smirk on his lips at the last words.  

“You don't say,” Draco grumbled as he straightened. “But it does take more power to form a bigger shield.”   

Tom nodded. “Correct, but the advantages are bigger. Again,” he said and returned to his place.   

Draco managed to graze Tom with a slashing hex across his arm in the next round, most likely out of luck, but as Tom pressed closer Draco was starting to fumble. He managed to fight off or dodge several of the hexes and curses Tom rapidly threw at him, but when Tom suddenly decided to dodge the next spell Draco cast and instead spun on his heel as he went down on one knee, crossing his arms, and sent a blasting curse at Draco, the blond had no chance to get out of the way. It hit him hard and sent him flying, while his wand flew to Tom's hand. Tom flicked his wand and conjured a mattress that Draco landed on without coming to any harm. 

“Oh, for Merlin's sake,” Draco complained from his prone position. 

Tom brushed a hand over his harm, healing the wound wandless and wordless as he walked over to Draco. “You telegraph your moves, making it easy to anticipate what you are going to do next, or where you are going. You rock back on you left heel before you throw a hex and you take a deep breath every time you plan to move, and you move your right should back slightly if you plan to move to the right and the same if you planning to go left.” 

“Impressive,” a voice said next to Harry, and he turned to watch Neville, Ron beside him looking slightly ill. “The number of details he picks up on is incredible, not to mention how he only uses wordless or wandless magic. I have to say I'm surprised at how adapt he is at teaching. It's almost a shame Dumbledore didn't offer him the position as a professor – we might have actually learned something in Defense Against the Dark Arts class if Riddle had been the professor.” 

Harry nodded. Just one more of Dumbledore's idiotic ideas. 

He had seen Tom use magic several times in the last two months, but he had never seen Tom fight, unless one counted the final battle and Tom had been reckless and desperate and not completely sane at the time. And Harry had been too occupied with trying to survive and finding a way to win to really pay attention to much other than his own rampage thoughts. 

Watching Tom fight Draco, Harry realised that he wasn't too sure that he could beat this version of Tom Riddle, not if he also was given complete access to his magic, not just the legal repertoire of it. As he thought about the words Tom had spoken to Draco, he realised that fighting wasn't all about power. It was just as much about how you used that power, or in lack of power, how you used your surroundings and your opponent’s weakness against them. 

On the platform Draco looked down. “Harry, get up here and help me. You have beaten him once at least.” 

Raising an eyebrow Harry looked at Tom wondering what he thought about going one against two. “Tom?” he inquired as he moved over to the platform, trying calm his own feelings in case Tom said no, but after watching Tom dance around the platform and the effortless way he controlled and used his power, after watching that, Harry felt very eager to be a part of it.   

Tom grinned, the brown eyes were gleaming with excitement, his hair was in a slight disarray and didn't seem at all effected by Draco pointing out how his reign had ended. 

There and then, standing on the platform thought, Tom almost looked like he was glowing with anticipation, with adrenaline and not to mention the power of his magic that almost crackled in the air. He was more  alive than Harry had ever seen him before, and that somewhat childish joy he was exhibiting was contagious. 

“By all means, master,” Tom almost purred and a couple of the people closest to Harry as he walked towards the platform, whispered between them. 

For all that Tom had been with them for two months now, it was not many who had heard Tom address Harry in that time. And, considering he had told Tom that none of the normal rules applied on the platform, the man could have used his name, but considering the audience and the setting, Harry was glad he hadn't. 

Tom made a gesture with his hand, inviting him up, his grin turning somewhat feral. Harry grinned in return and took his place on Draco's side of the platform. He could already feel the adrenaline starting to flow to his body, making his pulse rise and the anticipation of a real duel almost making him lightheaded. They bowed and moved into position waiting for Robards to give them the go ahead.  

***

Tom couldn't sleep. For once it was not because of nightmares, but simply because he had too much energy. He twisted over and watched Harry who was fast asleep beside him. Probably exhausted from the duel earlier that day. Tom smirked. Even if Harry and Draco had teamed up it had not been too difficult to beat them both, but he had taken hits from both too. He knew that if this had been a real fight, and there had been no restriction on his magic he would have ended the fight within two minutes. 

He had been forced to resort to more creative ways to disarm them since killing, maiming and illegal spells were out of the question. Not that he minded, truth be told. He relished in the challenge.   

By the time he had disarmed both he had been breathing hard, limping from a curse that had hit his leg and he had been forced to use his right hand as his left had been hit with a curse he had not had the time to counter in the heat of the moment.  

Harry had even managed to send him slamming into one of the trees once. As for Harry's fighting skills, they weren't bad, but not perfect either. He had power in spades but had yet to learn how to harness that raw power that made up his magic. With the right training and focus he could become just as powerful as Tom, but that required dedication. Perhaps Harry would allow him to train with him from time to time.  

The fact that he had allowed Tom to duel with them, with almost unrestricted access to legal spells at least was a massive step forward.  

And his wand. Tom smiled softly. The feeling of finally having his wand back was difficult to explain. It had almost felt like the first time he had picked up the wand back when he was eleven. Like finding a part of yourself that you didn't know was missing. He had thought the wand was lost forever and had not bother to ask Harry about it, but it turned out he had been wrong. Twisting around he reached out and touched the pale wood that was laying on the bedside table. His fingers closed around the handle, and he twisted it bringing the time up in a blue color.  

To his surprise Harry had not taken the wand when the duel had ended. He had expected it to be handed back to the Minister to be locked away wherever they had been keeping it in the first place, but to his surprise it had not. When he finally had mustered up enough courage to ask Harry, still afraid that simply asking would remind the man to take it away, Harry had smiled.   

“You can take it home, Tom, but I'm not letting you have free access to your magic.” He had warned, his smile disappearing as his face turned serious. 

Tom had wanted to argue that if he could be trusted with his magic to duel, then it shouldn't be much different in everyday life, but he had held his tongue. He assumed the Minister would have a heart attack if Tom was able to magic whenever he wanted. It was fine, Tom tried to console himself, after all he had been cut from his magic for 3 ½ year. At least with Harry he got to use it every now and then. And considering how the training duel had gone well, perhaps there was a chance he would get to repeat it. A small hopeful feeling bloomed, and he tried to crush it but didn't succeed. He would just have to wait and see until the next training which was a month away.  

Feeling itchy he rose from the bed, taking his wand with him. He wandered the house, allowing his hands to slide of walls and furniture he was not allowed to use. The house was familiar now. He liked it. He could feel the ancient wards that protected it. They simmered in the air, and he could almost taste them. There was also a touch to them that felt like Harry, and he assumed the man had strengthened the wards at some point.   

He stopped by one of the large floor to ceiling windows in the sitting room and look out into the garden. The darkness was all consuming and he could not see much. Turning he glanced towards the fireplace. The fire had not gone completely out.  

He hesitated to call the house for home, but at some point, it had become home.

The calendar showed it had only been two months since that fateful day in Azkaban, but it felt like longer. Was he content? He considered it. He shouldn't be. He was trapped as a slave, forced to behave as told with no option to refuse, and no one to turn to. Bound to the very boy who had been foretold to vanquish him. Forced to help the Aurors, the light side. And still he could not claim he resented this life too much.

He sank down on the rug in front of the fireplace. Turning his wand over in his hands he allowed his thoughts to wander beyond his personal conflicts. Feeling more settled in his role and having found some sort of understand with his master that made life more easy also meant that he found it easier to focus on the cases they were working and and so for once he allowed his thoughts to turn to work. 

The thing that bothered him was that there had been no news that he knew of about this supposedly resurrected Dark Lord. There had also been no more attacks since before Christmas. Then there was the runspoor and Tassler. Lucius claim that he had not seen the man since before the war. Tilting his head slightly he then remembered the case that had brought Harry to Azkaban in the first place. The smuggled Chimera eggs that had disappeared, using just the method that Tassler was famous for. Chimera eggs and runespoor. There was several uses for both of them. And that might have nothing to do with the attacks.

By why use the Dark mark? Why not invent something new? A thought went to his horcruxes. The diary had been destroyed. The ring and the cup had he absorbed. The diadem was safe at Hogwarts where he never expected anyone to find it. The locket had been destroyed by Harry before the final battle. That left the diadem and Nagini. According to the lore of Horcruxes you could not make a living being into a Horcrux. Nagini had not been intentional, and he did not think anyone but himself would suspect her of being a Horcrux. The diadem he also assumed was same. They had to be. He didn't want to tell Harry about them and bring that whole tropic back up.    

*** 

Walking to heel on a leash was apparently something one had to learn, Tom thought with barely concealed annoyance as he tried to figure out how to not get dragged along by the leash and how not to step on Robards while keeping a pace behind as the man led the way back up from the dusty archives all the way down on the lowest floor of the Ministry. They passed a couple of people on the way, but luckily none of them seemed to react to Tom being led around like some disobedient pet who could not be trusted on his own. Or Tom assumed they didn't react, but he couldn't be sure as he kept his eyes on the floor to avoid knowing for certain. The humiliation of being led around on a leash was of course also something one had to get used to.  
 

He managed not to barge into Robards as the man stopped unexpectedly and pointed to something in the file asking a question. Tom absently nodded in agreement to the question, while his mind thought back to the Code of Conduct. He couldn't remember the exact wording of the paragraph about slaves not being allowed to move around freely when away from their master. Neither could he see a reason for rule.  

Unless he corrected himself, the slave is questioned had been enslaved through the right of conquest against his will. Which was normally how those slaves ended up as slaves. He was probably the only one in history to ask for it. In those cases, the leash made sense. As much as the collar, the leash could not be removed from the collar by the wearer. Before Harry had used it the first time, he had pricked Tom's finger and allowed three drops of blood to land on the clasp. They had been absorbed by it and no matter how much Tom tried, he could not unclasp it. It simply wouldn't open for him. He was unsure if anyone could open it, or if it could only be removed by the master or the person who had put it on. Considering everything else he had learned about his not so voluntary slavery he assumed it was the last. If not, that would be a smart loophole for someone to exploit if one was trying to escape.  

So, in the cases of the people enslaved against their will the leash would make sense as it would make it quite difficult for them to run when their master was away. Of course, in the presence of their master the leash was not needed as the master could simply use the bond to stop the slave from trying to get away. Idly Tom wondered why no one had considered the possibility of the master simply using the bond to ensure that the slave was forced to obey the handler he was assigned to the same way the bond forced the slave to obey its master. 

Tom had never considered trying to find a way out of his current predicament. Which was strange considering who he was. Everyone would expect the great Lord Voldemort to at least try and find a way to be free. He wasn't sure why he hadn't thought about it. Perhaps because he had chosen slavery in a way. He knew half of the older Aurors assumed this was just another trick from his side. A way to get out of Azkaban and ensure he was in a better position to find a way to be free. 

To pick up where he had started, or ended as it was, and to try to take over the Wizarding world once more. But honestly, Tom was currently too exhausted and tired from the last years at the hands of the Warden and Stanley to muster up the energy consider that option. That, and unfortunately, he had to concede that the last three years and changed him. He didn't like to think about it, but the thoughts often came crawling in the dead of night when sleep eluded him and there was nothing else to occupy his thoughts. 

He had heard the older Aurors arguing with Robards and Sommerseth when Harry had been out in the field. 

They didn't care that Tom was listening as they warned Robards and Sommerseth that it was only a matter of time before he found a way out, or someone got hurt.  You don't keep a dog that has bitten you twice, you put it down! 

They argued that Harry was too kind to keep Tom in line.  He is barely grown up. How can you expect him to control the darkest wizard of our time.  

That he wouldn’t do what was necessary to make sure Tom knew his place. In their opinion Tom should either be put back in Azkaban og transferred to someone who would both show him and keep him in his place if it was so damned important to the two of them that Tom was available to the Aurors as an asset. 

Robards started walking again, and Tom barely registered it before the leash grew taut. 

They had almost reached the elevator when the sound of running footsteps reached them. Robards stopped and turned just short of the elevator and Tom caught the frown on his face when he turned around.  

 
“Sir,” came the breathless voice of a young, brown haired Auror that Tom didn't know the name of. “There is a problem in the holding cells with one of the prisoners and Auror Wangroove sent me to get you.” 

Robards started moving before the youth had finished his sentence, forcing the boy to finish it while jogging after Robards. Tom struggling to follow at the pace the man was going but managed somehow. “What kind of problem?” Robards asked, increasing his steps.

“Sorry, sir, I'm not sure. I had just arrived to start my shift just now.” 

They descended the last staircase to the basement of the Ministry where the holding cells of the Ministry were located. Tom knew them well. He had been held in one during the time between his capture and his trial. Dark, and damp with no windows it didn't make for a pleasant place to stay.   

There was a separate elevator located in the hallway outside the cells that went just one place and that was to the court. That way they avoided to have to bring the inmates through half the Ministry, which also lowered the possibility of escape. Tom knew there was an apparition point in the court itself under heavy guard that was used to bring the convicted prisoners directly to the shores of Azkaban once the verdict was clear. 

As they came into the hallway the sound of loud voices reached them. One side of the double doors that lead into the cells where open, and as they crossed into the Ministry cell, Robards stopped and turned towards Tom. Tom glanced up and saw Robards gesture towards the floor just inside the heavy doors. “Down. Stay here. I don't want you involved in whatever the problem here is. Kevin, you come with me.” With that he dropped the leash and grabbed Kevin by the shoulder and steered him further down the hallway.  

Tom hesitated before sliding to the floor on his knees. The hallway was built in an L-form, and he watched as Robards and Kevin disappeared around the corner, leaving him alone in the dark hallway.  

The door closed and Tom assumed it had some sort of time spell and monitor spell on it that made it open and close on its own. Silence settled over the hallway, except from the far away sounds that travelled around the corner.  

Tom shifted, feeling uneasy as the shadows suddenly seemed to draw in too close. The only light source was the torches on that was fixed to the wall on regular intervals, but those did not send light into the cells across from where he was kneeling.  

His head whipped around as he felt the sensation of someone stroking a hand over his chin, over his lips. There was nothing there, but his skin tingled.  

 
The sound of movement in the nearest cells made him jump. The clank of metal against metal, the sound of restless bodies moving in the small spaces they had available, the smell of unwashed skin. The familiar sensation of kneeling on stone as he waited to see what new humiliation the Warden would demand, or what new torture method Stanley had read up on and was eager to try. The collar suppressing his magic painfully fixed around his neck.  

He put out a hand to support his weight as he curled in on himself trying to control his breathing that suddenly didn't want to comply with his wishes. The darkness seemed to intensify and again he could almost feel a hand on his chin, lifting it to meet the amused blue eyes of the Warden. 

“ Are you going to behave today, pet?”   Asked that inquiring voice that belayed the sadistic pleasure underneath as the man watched Tom kneel, beaten and broken on the floor. 

Tom recoiled and gasped, shaking his head and trying to will the voice to go away.

“Such a pretty sight you make on your knees. Come here and show me what a good boy you can be.” 

“No, no,” Tom muttered, trying to get the voice out of his head. He lifted his hand, covering his face. The Warden wasn't here. It was just a trick of his memory. 

Still, he could feel the hand in his hair, the smell of the man as he was dragged close. The taste of him. The feeling of not being able to breath as the Warden took his pleasure. The desperation that he was so hungry that he would allow it because the alternative was being beaten senseless, tortured and then forced to follow through and servicing the Warden all the same. The hate towards himself for being so weak, the helplessness of this being permanent for the rest of his immortal life. 

“Come here, pet.” The soft voice that was like velvet on steel as it brokered no argument and expected obedience. Tom had moved before he even registered the order and found himself kneeling in front of the nearest cell. The bars not far from his face. He frowned, trying to remember how he had come to be there. Then a hand came out between the bars and grabbed the leash. Tom pulled back out of instinct, but he didn't get far because of the leash. 

He tried again. 

“Now, now, pet. Stop struggling. You know how that will end.”  

That voice. Tom's eyes shot upwards, trying to make out the man on the inside of the cell. His breathing became even more uneven, and his pulse thundered in his ears. He felt sick and nauseating. The man in the cell shifted and the weak light from the torch behind them caught the man's facial features.  

Tom froze completely, even his breathing stopped. The man crouched down on his hunches, a hand reaching out to brush over Tom's face. “Hello, little pet. It's been a long time. How nice of Robards to bring you down for a visit. We have so much to discuss before they return for you. Or perhaps there will not be anything for them to find when they return.”

The darkness closed in and at some point, Tom remembered to draw his breath. 

The next thing he became aware of was that he was running down a hallway, bouncing of the walls on each side as he kept looking back, afraid of what he would find. He stumbled up the stairs and into the hallway on the next floor. A sudden yank on the leash made him choke and he crashed to the floor. Gasping he rolled over and dimly made out three people standing over him. Aurors he thought before closing his eyes. 

One of them said something before sending a swift kick that collided with Tom's stomach. The buzzing in his ears became louder as the new pain in his stomach reached through the fog he was lost in. He was dragged to his feet and moved before they sent him crashing down onto the floor again. 

A foot collided with his back and his side. Curling up Tom tried to blink and breath. To become more coherent of what was going on around him, but his mind fought him. That stupid part of his brain that sometimes took over to make sure he did was best to protect the body. 

A sudden pain radiated through him as blunt force was applied to his ankle and he could feel something give. He screamed and the pain was enough to bring him somewhat back. He was in what looked like a storage room. Three Aurors that looked to be in their 30s were standing above him. He had seen them before, but he couldn't remember their names. They had always been whispering among themselves, sending him dark glares.

Another kick, this time to his head made his vision swim and for a moment everything went black. Blinking furiously, he tried to focus as he was being pulled to his knees, hands held behind his back and a wand pushed into his throat. The pain in his ankle intensified and he groaned in pain.   

A hand in his hair held him in place as one of the men stepped up close and Tom blinked, suddenly realising what was coming next. The person in front of him bent down so that his voice was just beside his ear. 

“Even I have to admit your duelling skills are good after the show you put on last week. It wouldn't do good for a slave like yourself to start to think you are better than your superiors. Perhaps a reminder of where your place is will help as Potter seems to be far too lenient with you. My uncle speaks so highly of what a good little pet you were for him. How good you are with your mouth. I would like to see for myself. And if you do bite, then Potter will be short one slave.” The wand at his throat was pressed even closer. 

Tom gagged as the man forced himself on him. He concentrated on breathing as he felt the control he had over himself slip. Just as he felt himself being dragged under, he was released and he fell to the ground in a heap, gasping and coughing with unwilling tears coating his cheek. 

He heard voices, but not what was being said, but he blinked as he saw three people leave through the door before one set of boots came into view and a person crouched down. The red robes piled around him and Tom recoiled, biting back a scream as the movement jarred his ankle. Not another Auror. 

“Don't,” he croaked out. “Please don't.” He didn't care he was pleading. Fear floated through him, and he found himself wanting Harry. The bond seemed to agree because it was acting up, not helping the situation. 

“Easy.” The low rumbling of the unfamiliar voice did nothing to reassure him, and he tried to move backwards but hit something solid. “Look at me,” the voice continued. Tom shook his head, that would mean breaking one of the rules. He did glance upwards and recognized the man was one of the older Aurors that had argued with Sommerseth and Robards about Tom's presence at the office. 

The man sighed. “Since you are wearing a leash, I assume Potter is out of the office. Who is you handler for today? Marcus, Gwain?” When he didn't get an answer, the man sighed again. “Can you stand? Stupid question,” the man muttered shortly after and drew out his wand. Tom flinched. 

“Easy, I'm going to heal your ankle, then we are going upstairs to wait for Gwain.” 

The sudden feeling of his ankle being mended took Tom by surprise. He glanced upwards and saw the Auror move his wand in the familiar pattern of the  Patronus charm.  A bird of some sort appeared and after haven being given instructions it disappeared out the door. 

A hand closed around his arm, and he was helped to his feet. Doubling over, Tom thought he was going to vomit, but nothing came. Everything spun and he felt the various pains in his body telling him he shouldn’t be on his feet at all. 

“Come on. We’ll find Gwain and have him send for Potter.” Tom nodded. He had to rely on the Auror to stay on his feet for the moment. Taking a couple of deep breaths, he then tried to let go and swayed before finding his balance. Everything was still foggy and unclear, but he followed the thug on the leash and allowed his mind to take over.  

The next thing he became somewhat aware of was that he was kneeling beside a desk, and someone was pressing a glass of water to his lips. He gulped the water down, grateful for something to wash away the taste in his mouth. Then he felt himself slip away once more.   

“Riddle.” This time the voice was familiar. He blinked but couldn’t remember who it belonged to. Someone touched his face and he recoiled, whimpering and the groaning in pain as he hit a wall. That had not been there before, had it?  

“What the hell happened?” The hand was back, and Tom flinched sideways, hitting another wall. Curling up he hid his face against his knees and concentrated on breathing. He could hear two voices speaking, but the words were a meaningless gibberish.  

The bond was aching, twisting and searching for something. Something safe. Something familiar. He wanted someone to tell him it would be alright. The sight of the Warden flashed before his eyes and he swallowed, willing himself not to be sick. That would only lead to more problems.  
 

*** 
 

Worry gnawed at him as Harry yet again cursed the restrictions that made it impossible to apparated directly into the Aurors office. Instead, he had to go through the main hall and make his way to the office.  

The Patronus message Robards had sent him and been short and to the point. Something had happened to Tom, he was alright, but it was imperative that Harry returned to the Ministry as soon as possible. As he entered the bullpen, he was surprised to find it almost empty. That didn't help ease his concern. He headed straight for Robards office at the end of the room, hardly bothering to knock before entering. 

Robards and a Auror Harry recognised as Peter Townsend was talking quietly as he entered. The sight of Townsend made Harry's stomach turn. He was one of the Aurors who had argued with Robards and Sommerseth about Tom's presence at the office, and latest Tom’s involvement in the training. Looking around the office his eyes finally fell on his slave.  

Tom was sitting in the corner of the room, curled up, his head bowed. His clothes and hair were ruffled and were those bruises that had started to form around his neck and on his face?  

 
“What the hell?” Harry snarled striding over to Tom, but stopping short as the man flinched violently, hitting the wall hard.  

Turning around he glared at Robards. He had left Tom in his care after all, so how had this happened. Or better yet, what had happened? Turning around he cast a diagnostic spell and felt relief when it showed there was nothing too critical to worry about. Small concussion, bruised ribs, a sprained ankle that had been recently healed. The rest seemed to be simple bruises that a bruise balm would take care of.  

Stepping closer he once more reached out to touch Tom’s arm, calling his name gently, but again the man flinched, pushing his head deeper into his folded arms. The worry that had rescinded as it became clear Tom was not critically injured rose again at the unexpected behavior.

Before he could get the question on the tip of his tounge out, the door opened once more and Eric Hamilton strode in, slamming the door shut behind him. Turning towards Harry the man's eyes narrowed. “Do not think you can talk yourself out of this one, Lord Potter. Either you punish that slave of yours or I will do it.”  

At the desk Robards sighed. “Eric, calm down for a second. Potter just arrived.”  

“What the hell happened here?” Harry snarled, repeating his previous question and looking between Hamilton and Robards. If Hamilton was involved, then it was a safe bet that the man thought Tom had done something wrong. What he couldn't quite understand was why Townsend was involved in everything. 

Robards slammed his hand onto his desk, the sound loud in the small room. Out of the corner of his eyes Harry saw Tom flinch once more. He wanted nothing more than to drag Tom out of the office and ask him what had happened, if he was alright, something he obviously was not. The need to protect Tom was so dominating that it almost scared him. Tom was his, and only his. 

“That's enough. Sit down you two.” Robards pointed to the two chairs in front of his desk. Townsend remained standing. Both Harry and Hamilton took their seat, glaring at each other. Harry didn't care that Hamilton was technically above him on the pecking order as the man was the Department Head of the RCMC.  

“Now, be quiet while I explain. If either of you make a sound, I will use magic to silence you.” The voice was ice cold and Harry found himself nodding, not used to Robards pulling rank. Beside him Hamilton snorted, but Robards glared at him, and the man quieted. 

“I brought Riddle with me down to the archives in the basement to find some documents for a cold case we were looking over. We were on our way back upstairs when a junior Auror caught up with us. He had been sent by Jenkins who had the dayshift down in the holding cells because they were having problem with a prisoner. Once we arrived at the holding cells, I told Tom to wait by the door. What happened after I don't know, but Peter might help fill in the details.” He gestured to the Auror still standing.  

Townsend cleared his throat. “I had been down to the archives myself looking for some documents. On my way back up I came over three Aurors mistreating your slave, Lord Potter, in one of the storage rooms.” 

Harry tried to handle the hot anger that came over him and bit his lip not to interrupt and demand the names of the Aurors he was speaking of. 

Townsend looked at Robards who nodded before continuing. “The three of them told me your slave had been caught trying to flee. They had found him alone in the hallway above the Ministry's holding cells, clearly trying to run away in their opinion.” 

“And what?" Harry snapped, barely managing to keep his magic under control. He was on the edge of his seat. 

Townsend looked like he didn't want to be there, which did nothing to calm Harry down. “Well?” Harry demanded. 

The man held up both hands. “I have given the names of the Aurors to Gwain. If you want to prosecute them for damaging your property, then that's your right. One of them forced himself on your slave but I interfered before he could do much.” 

Harry sucked in a breath. He felt cold, warm, angry, helpless and so many more emotions that he didn't know where to begin. He sank down into his chair. His eyes cut to his slave, still curled up in the corner of the room. Suddenly the behaviour made more sense.  

“Leave,” he said, voice cold as he looked at Hamilton and Townsend. “If Tom ran, then there is a reason. I want to hear his version before you drag him away to punish him,” he snarled at Hamilton who in turn opened his mouth. 

“Give us the room,” Robards commanded before Hamilton could get a word out, his voice not making rooms for any arguments.  

The door closed behind the two of them, but Harry was out of his chair before it closed. He crouched down in front of Tom. “Tom?” His question was not answered. Reaching out slowly he carefully lifted Tom’s head and saw that the pupils were blown. With a sigh he let go. It would not be possible to get anything sensible out of the man at the moment and Harry wasn't sure he wanted to bring him back up before they got home. 

“Harry,” Robards started, for once looking uncertain. “Hamilton might imprint this as Tom trying to escape, but I think I might know why Tom ran from the cells.”  

“Well?” Harry asked, standing back up. How the hell could things go so very wrong in such a short time? He had left Tom with both Robards and Sommerseth before, and it had never been a problem. 

Robards took a deep breath and looked like this was a conversation he did not want to have. “I didn't know at the time I left him in the hallway, but the closest cell to where I left him contained Andrews. His trial is next week, but I wasn't aware that he had been transferred here already. If I had known I would never have brought Tom down to the cells, or left him there alone.”

It took a moment before the name registered. The Warden? Harry swore loudly. Of course - a panic attack. Tom had not been trying to escape. He had simply been trying to get away from his tormentor and had then run into the three Aurors that had taken the given opportunity to mistreated him. What a mess.  

“And now Hamilton wants me to punish him even further for running? Even after he has been beaten and raped?” Harry snapped, feeling himself shake in anger and guilt. Tom was his to protect and he had failed spectacularly at that. “I want the names of the Aurors, sir. And I am pressing charges for damages.” 

Across for him Robards nodded, holding up his hands. “I have already spoken to HR and they will receive a written warning that will go in their permanent file, for damaging property but lawfully that's the only thing I can do since he is classified as property.” 

“Harry,” the man continued, his voice sympatetic. “Take Tom home and sort him out. I will deal with Hamilton.”  

Harry nodded. Turning towards the curled up slave on the floor he wondered briefly what the outfall of this situation would be.

Chapter Text

“How is he?” Hermione whispered as she entered and slipped into the armchair beside him. Harry took the tea tray she was levitating and put it down on the coffee table. Pulling out his own wand he cast a muffliato at the sofa where Tom was asleep, curled up into a ball and covered by a thick blanket made up of faux fur. 

Harry sighed. He was getting rather tired of that question. The rumors of what had happened at the Ministry that day had spread like wildfire no matter how hard Robards had tried to keep a lock on it. The response had been as expected - mixed. Some thought it was well deserved, others were outraged. Several people Harry hardly ever spoke to had come up to him asking how Tom was doing. It was a bit unexpected, but also nice. 

Even Townsend, who had been against allowing Tom in the office at all, had cornered him when he had visited the office to pick up some files, and asked if Tom was doing any better. Harry had thanked him for his concern. To which the man nodded and turned to leave, before turning back. 

“You know, Harry,” he had sighed, catching Harry off guard with the use of his given name for once. “He might have done horrible things, but that does not give us the right to do the same thing. A society will always be judged on how it treats its prisoners. What the three of them did was not justified, it was simply abuse. I also hear Bryan had some sort of accident and has resigned from the force?” There had been some amusement in Townsend's voice at the end and Harry had tried to look innocent. 

“Oh? I haven't talked to him since the settlement talk regarding the charges I pressed for property damage,” he had lied. He had seen no reason to mention how he, Ron, Neville and Draco had cornered the three older wizards and made them understand just what they thought about their actions against Tom. That was the one time he had left Tom at home alone after giving him a sleeping draught to make sure he was fast asleep while Harry was away. 

Bryan had resigned after and the other two had asked to be transferred. Robards had not seemed to care enough to investigate the incident further and had accepted the resignation and the transfers. 

Harry accepted the cup of tea Hermione held out with a nod. He took a sip, grimacing slightly as it was still a bit too hot, and considered how to reply to her question. “I don't know,” he finally settled on with a sigh. It had been five days since the incident. Five long days of little sleep. “There is no improvement.” 

Hermione nodded before taking a sip from her own cup. She looked over towards Tom as she swallowed the ginger tea Kreacher had made. “But, he is sleeping on the couch though. That has to be progress?” She pointed out with a frown before looking at him. 

Harry laughed humorlessly. Yes, if only it had been. 

“He fell asleep on the rug in front of the fireplace after I drugged the water with a tasteless sleeping serum. You know the kind they sell for children. I levitated him onto the couch after. He has hardly slept the last five days, neither have I and I saw no other option. He needs to sleep in order to get better.” 

So do I, Harry thought. He was tired of being woken by Tom's nightmares and of not being able to calm him down. Every time he tried to get close to Tom, the man panicked and almost clawed at the walls to get away. It had hurt as Harry had never intentionally laid a hand on Tom and he couldn't quite understand why the man was so terrified of him all of a sudden. 

“Oh.” Hermione's face fell as she stared into her cup. She was nearing the end of her pregnancy and at the moment her belly was large enough to be used as a table for her cup. She looked good though and from what Ron had told him the pregnancy had been fairly easy and uncomplicated thus far. Harry hoped the rest of it and the birth would be the same. 

“Ron said you are taking time off? He said he'd come by when he is finished at work.” 

Harry grimaced. “Yeah, I can't take Tom with me and I don't want to leave him alone in this condition..” 

Tom had been unresponsive when Harry had brought him home after the incident. He had knelt on the bathroom floor, eyes glued to it, as Harry had healed the bruised ribs and rubbed bruise balm over the bruises. He had opened his mouth and accepted the sleeping draught and pain-relief potion Harry had held to his lips without any questions or sounds. Harry had helped him get out of the formal robes and then made sure he was safely in bed before leaving him alone. He had assumed Tom would feel better once he woke up and that he would be more or less back to his usual self. How wrong he had been. 

“Are you sleeping?” 

“I am fine, Hermione,” Harry said, trying to wave her off and fighting a yawn at the same time. He failed and gave in. His eyes closed without his permission. They felt like sandpaper at the moment. When he finally managed to open them again he saw Hermione frown at him. 

“Go lay down, Harry,” she said, nodding towards the couch in the other end of the room. “I'll keep an eye on Tom and wake you if something changes.” 

The offer was incredibly tempting. Too tempting. And Tom was sleeping. It should be fine, shouldn't it? 

“Okay, but wake me if he wakes,” he said, yawning again. He picked up a blanket from a nearby armchair on the way over and a pillow from the couch. He heard Hermione move and assumed she was getting a book to keep her entertained. Sleep tugged at him even before he managed to put his head down on the pillow and he allowed it to drag him under. It was easier to sleep when he knew someone was watching Tom, he thought just before the darkness descended on him.  

He woke at the sound of his name being called by Hermione. Blinking he tried to remember where he was as everything was murky the way things get when you get woken from a very deep sleep.

The sound of shuffling and a thud brought him around and he bolted upright, the blanket falling down into his lap. He heard Ron swear and watched Tom curl up on the short side of the couch from which he seemed to have fallen. He was shaking and trying to move away from Ron, who in turn was coming closer to him, looking like he was trying to calm him down or help him up. Either way, Tom was clearly too frightened to understand what Ron wanted. 

Harry swore and got to his feet, throwing the blanket aside. “Ron, your robe. He's reacting to the color.” 

Ron looked down at himself, confused for a moment before realization dawned. “Merlin. Of course, I didn't think, mate.” Turning around Ron disappeared out the door. 

Harry slowly made his way over to where his slave was curled up. This was not the first time it had happened. Anyone who even remotely resembled an Auror would send Tom running. The first day after the incident he had scrambled up the whole staircase when he had seen Harry's red winter cloak on the table on the ground floor on his way down. Harry had put it away and then spent an hour trying to coax the man back down. In the end he had been forced to order him to come down. 

That he reacted to the color was not surprising. After all, all of his abusers had been Aurors. 

Tom was curled up and trembling. After casting a look at Hermione who looked just as helpless as Harry felt, he crouched down. “Tom,” he called, trying to get the attention of his terrified slave. Tom simply kept shaking and muttering please don't over and over again. It didn't seem like he could hear Harry calling his name. Harry felt his heart ache at the pleas. It was not the first time in the last five days, but it hurt every time to think Tom was afraid of him. 

“Tom,” Harry tried again. “Tom, look at me.” The direct order took and Tom lifted his eyes. They were completely lifeless as they had been the last days and the pupils were large, making his eyes almost black. Harry bit back a sigh. The only thing that seemed to get through to him these days were direct orders. 

Tom blinked and moved into a kneeling position, still shaking, but at least he stopped muttering. 

“Master,” he murmured, bending over until his head was almost touching the floor. Harry did sigh this time. He almost longed for the time when Tom had hardly been able to utter the word. These days he couldn't seem to do anything unless Harry ordered him, and even then he looked like he expected Harry to punish him. 

Looking up at Ron and Hermione he made a gesture with his head towards the hallway, telling them to give them some space. Hermione nodded and shoved at Ron who looked confused until Hermione whispered something to him. 

Reaching out slowly, Harry tried to slide his hand through the dark hair, but Tom flinched back, shaking even harder. Closing his eyes, Harry withdrew his hand. Opening his eyes he tried once more. “Tom, come on. Come back up, please,” he tried. Watching the brown eyes for any signs of recognition. Any sign that he was reaching Tom, not this lifeless slave that was currently kneeling on the floor. 

When nothing changed he sighed again. 

“Come on, back on the couch,” he said lightly, hopeful that perhaps Tom would allow himself to be coaxed back onto the couch since he had woken up on it. Tom backed away even further, moving along the side of the couch, looking at him with large eyes. “Please, don't, master.” 

Harry swore inwardly. He wasn't sure what Tom was begging him not to do, but he could make an educated guess. 

The rug then. Standing up he walked over to the fireplace and the extra soft, charmed rug he had put there when Tom had arrived and it had been clear that he preferred to lounge in front of the fire since he wasn't allowed on the furniture. 

“Tom, come here,” he commanded, making sure not to phrase it as a question. Tom came slowly, hesitantly. He was casting fearful eyes at the fireplace as if he expected Harry to tell him to put his hand into the fire, and Harry felt his stomach turn with something that felt like guilt and worry. In the end Tom was kneeling on the rug, but as far a way from Harry as he could get while still staying on the rug. 

“Good boy,” Harry praised, happy when he could see Tom relax a fraction at the praise. It was something at least. “I'm going to be right in the next room for a little while talking to Ron and Hermione. Try to breathe and relax,” he said as he stood and exited. 

Ron and Hermione waited for him on the outside. Both with the same concerned expression on their faces. “I'm sorry, mate,” Ron began holding up his hands, palm facing Harry, and looking guilty. “I hadn’t thought he would react like that to the robes… He really isn't doing any better, is he?” 

Harry waved his hand and gestured them into the small study next door. “I know. Let's go in here and then we'll talk. Hopefully he'll calm down and perhaps fall asleep again.” 

He sank down in an armchair with a groan after getting the fire going with a flick of his wand. The fire crackled as it attacked the kindling, casting a soft glow of orange into the room. 

“He's still the same. I don't know what to do, honestly. I can't get through to him. Normally whenever this has happened before I have been able to get him to come back up by calling his name, but it doesn't work. I am afraid to leave him home alone like this, but I have to return to work, and I certainly can't take him with me.” 

Ron shifted. “You keep saying 'able to make him come back up'? When has this happened before?” 

Frowning, Harry thought back. Perhaps he hadn't explained the other times. 

“I don't know if my theory is correct, but this persona of Tom has appeared before, just never this long. It usually appears whenever his mind thinks his body is in danger of being hurt unless he obeys. Then it seems like a part of his mind takes over and forces his body to obey, no matter what his coherent part of the brain thinks. Other times a memory of a bad situation has triggered it.” Harry then told them about the first time Sommerseth had tried to leash Tom to bring him out into the field and that the action had brought forth the memory of the warden using a leash to force Tom to stay on his bloodied feet. Tom had told him about the memory that night they had talked.

“The other times I have managed to bring him back 'up' as I call it by calling his name, but this time it's like the barrier between the two personas has been shut.” 

He rubbed his hands over his face. “I can't leave him alone like this because he won't do anything other than what he is told. And considering how he reacted to your robe, Ron, I can't bring him to the office.” 

The feeling of helplessness washed over Harry once more. Tom was his responsibility. His to keep safe and once more he had failed at that and let the man be abused. Guilt bloomed in his gut, making it twist and hurt. 

Hermione put a hand on his arm, startling him out of his thoughts. “Harry, why don't I stay with him during the day?” 

“What?” Both Harry and Ron said. Hermione shrugged. “He is harmless isn't he? I'm on leave and I don't have much else to do during the day.” 

Harry stared. That would actually help. He could go back to work and leave Tom at home with her. And Tom was harmless, or he could be made so with the right wording. He had removed every rule from the bond except the no harm and no magic when it became clear Tom was not alright or in his right mind. He hadn't wanted Tom to accidentally trigger the bond. He didn't think additional pain would help. And Hermione was female. So far, everyone who had abused Tom had been male. 

“The bond can be modified,” he found himself saying. “To make sure he can't hurt you in any way or form, but are you sure about this Hermione? It's not like babysitting a cat. You can't leave him. He won't eat on his own, nor drink, so you have to hand-fed him. He doesn't speak unless you ask him a question, unless it is to ask a question or beg. I never know what will trigger a panic attack... Are you sure you want to do this?” 

Hermione just looked at him. “We will be fine, Harry.” 

***

“A word, Potter.” Robards said as soon as he saw him in the bull pen and waved towards his office. Harry sighed and followed. Stepping into the office, he closed the door behind him. 

“Sir?” he inquired, taking a seat in the chair Robards was gesturing towards. 

“How is Riddle? 

Harry groaned inwardly, but Robards must have sensed something of his frustration because he continued. “I'm sorry. I feel guilty for bringing him down to the cells that day. He's been well behaved every time you have left him with me and I honestly didn't think it would be a problem to leave him alone in a hallway. And I'm sorry that I legally could not do more, but as you know one of them has left and the other two have asked to be reassigned. I would have loved to suspend them or worse, but property is property and unless you want to spend time proving how much their actions might have reduced Tom's worth then there is not much else I can do.” 

As much as Harry would love to blame Robards he couldn’t. He had taken Tom down to the cells himself several times without any problems. Robards might be in charge of the force, but the transfer of prisoners to the holding cells before trials was not administered by his office. It was Somerset's staff who oversaw that part of it. Therefore Harry knew he was telling the truth when he said that he had no idea that the warden had been transferred from Azkaban. 

“Bryan offered me damages and I have accepted. The matter is settled. And I know that you would not have brought Tom with you down if you had known that the warden was there, so no need to explain yourself.” 

Robards nodded and it looked like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders because he sighed, sounding relieved. “Good, good. How is Riddle doing? I understand his injuries were not serious?” 

A paperplane landed on his disk and folded itself out before settling down in the basket named “inbox”. Harry followed the movements of the paper. 

“Physically he’s fine.” 

Robards nodded. Another plane landed on his desk and folded itself out. “But?” he prompted, sensing that there was something more. 

Harry rubbed one hand over his face and sighed. “He’s not alright mentally. He’s quiet, submissive, completely obedient and terrified,” he told Robards frankly. 

Robards stared at him. He looked like he was having problems comprehending what Harry had told him. “What?” He asked after a couple of seconds confirming Harry’s suspicion. “How? What?” he repeated. He leaned forward, placing his elbows on the desk. 

“Do you remember how he was when you found him?” Harry asked and thought back to how Tom had been that day.

“Yes, he was unresponsive, but I assumed that was due to what had happened,” Robards replied with a frown appearing on his face. . 

“It was, but he has still not snapped out of it.” 

Robert looked confused. “If i recall correctly this has happened before? Marcus mentioned an incident. You brought him back then, didn’t you?”

“Yes, but it’s not working this time. I can’t seem to reach him and I don’t know what to do. I can’t leave him home alone and he panicked when he saw Ron in his Auror robe the other day, which means bringing him with me is out of the question at the moment.  Hermione said she can stay with him during the day since she is on leave due to her pregnancy.” 

Robards pulled a piece of paper towards him and wrote something down. With a sigh he handed the piece of paper over. “Here, this is the name of a mind healer at St. Mungo’s. Talk to him and ask if he might have any advice to give you. 

But, have you considered if this is something Andrews might have provoked down in the cells rather than the fall out from the assault?” 

Harry blinked. He had not considered that at all. The warden had been alone with Tom and Harry did not know how long that had been. And Tom had been in the man’s custody for nearly three and a half years before Harry had claimed him. Merlin only knew how many times Tom’s brain had been forced to push the coherent part of him away to protect himself. For all Harry knew the warden had trained him to drop, especially since Harry himself knew how to make Tom drop with the right words and gestures. On the heel of that thought he wondered if perhaps the warden knew how to bring him back up. He considered it. If the warden was still held at the Ministry, was it worth a trip down to the cells to ask him? Or would it simply be counter productive. The warden was, after all, no fan of Harry after Harry had reported the man and made sure the Ministry brought charges against him for his actions. 

“I actually haven’t thought about that,” Harry admitted and frowned. “Is he still here? I haven’t paid attention to his trial.” 

Robards nodded. “Yes, there are a couple of days until his trial is scheduled, but I don’t know if you can get anything out of him. Why should he give you any pointers when you are the reason he’s in a cell to begin with?” 

Harry had to concede the point. Perhaps it was a waste of time. “Yeah,” Harry sighed. “I guess it will be better to consult the mind healer you recommend and hope that Tom will snap out of it on his own. I’ve tried every trick I know thus far but he’s not reacting like has the other times. I’ve gotten used to this version of Tom, which was something that I didn’t think would happen, and I hate seeing him like he is now.” 

“Let’s hope. For all that I know he is V-Voldemort I have to admit that I don’t dislike this version of him. He’s very intelligent, he has a vast knowledge of many areas and he’s a quick thinker. He has been a great help with the cold cases, even those that he or his Death Eaters has not been responsible for. Several times he has connected the evidence in the file in a way no one has done previously and he has solved more than a handful of cases for us. 

I honestly do not care that he was the dark lord as long as he is helping this departement catch criminals. I see his enslavement as a much more appropriate punishment than having him isolated and rotting away in a cell in Azkaban

And he seems to fit into your team pretty well?” 

That was true. The first few days had been tense, but Tom had helped by not being too forward or showing off. Instead he had waited for them to address him and then he had always been polite and demure. A little after a little thought, he had opened more and before the incident he had reached a point where at least he and Draco would banter over a point or another from time to time. For all that Tom had ordered Draco to kill Dumbledore the Malfoy Heir didn’t seem to hold that against him. 

Draco had not been happy when Harry had informed him of the claim, or that was putting it lightly. Draco had been furious and about to ship Harry off to St. Mungo’s to get checked out for spells and potions. But he had been willing to listen to Harry’s story and as Harry finished talking he had seen pity in Draco’s eyes. 

It had probably helped with the integration into the team that Harry had lifted the general rules of public behavior while in their little office. That made Tom more of an equal for all that he still had to stay on the floor in case someone else came into the office, which happened with some frequency. 

“Yes, it was a bit tense in the beginning, but it sorted itself out,” Harry agreed and nodded his head. 

“Good, good. Well, if there is anything else I can do please let me know. If you need more time off you can have it of course.” 

Harry smiled in thanks. He knew Robards would give him the time he needed, but he was already far behind on his paperwork and he would quickly use up his vacation days, which meant he would have to ask Robards for unpaid leave. He would do so if necessary but if it worked out with Hermione looking after Tom during the day then he would try that first. 

 “I will let you know. Thanks again for the name of the mind healer,” Harry said as he rose to his feet. Robards mirrored him, nodding as he rose. “No problem. Let me walk you out.” 

Harry stopped abruptly as he exited the office, making Robards almost barge into him. 

“Lord Potter.” 

It was strange, Harry thought, how Lucius could make even his title sound degrading. The blond was walking towards them through the bullpen. In one hand he had a black book, in the other his cane which Harry knew was a holder for his wand, although he had never understood why anyone would use a cane to hide a wand. 

Why was the man here? Harry knew he visited the Ministry every now and then to keep in touch with his contacts and to try and make new ones. The Malfoy’s had kept their seats at Wizengamot, but that did not mean that Lucius was popular among the other families of the Sacret 27. He did work hard to change that and he had made a good headway last year. 

“Lord Malfoy,” Harry replied in kind. 

Robards came up beside him. “Lord Malfoy. I was not expecting to see you today.” There was a questioning tone to his voice. Harry was surprised too. He didn’t think he had ever seen Lucius in the Auror’s office. 

“I apologize for not having an appointment but considering the matter at hand I thought I should bring it to your attention as soon as possible considering the meeting I had with my son and Lord Potter.” 

Worry gripped Harry, making his stomach churn. The meeting Lucius was referring to was of course the one where Tom had provoked the man and broken the code doing so. Was he going to report Tom now? If so, why now and why Robards? Every other complaint had been made to Hamilton as he was the head of the Department of RCMC.  

“Is that so, I guess we should take this inside then?” Robards said as a slight frown appeared on his face. He shot Harry a glance as if to ask what this was about, but Harry gave a barely shake of his head. He had an inkling, but didn’t know for sure.

Lucius nodded. “Yes. Lord Potter, if you would join us.” It wasn’t phrased as a question and Lucius brushed past him as he followed Robards into the office. Harry closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. The last week had been a bit too much. His head hurt from a combination of worry and little sleep and now this on top of everything. Why had he said yes to Tom that day? Well, there was nothing to do about that at the moment. He bit back a groan as he entered the office behind the two men and closed the door behind him. 

“What can I do for you Lord Malfoy?” Robards asked as he sat down in his chair. Lucius remained standing and as did Harry. 

“Lord Potter visited together with his … charge a while back,” Lucius began. Well, at least he was being more polite regarding Tom than he had been previously. “I assume you know the details behind why they did so?” 

Robards nodded. “Yes, I do. Do you have something to add to what you told them that day?” Robards was a good boss and he held weekly meetings with all his Aurors and separate meetings for the ones who worked as a team. 

Lucius put a hand into his robes and withdrew a black book that he placed on the desk. Harry felt a flashback from the diary hit him, but as he focused he could see that this book was a lot bigger, thicker and there was writing on the front. He frowned. It wasn’t English or any other language he knew. It looked more like the words were made up of hieroglyphs like the one he had shown Tom that first day in Azkaban. 

Robards too was frowning at the book. “I assume some sort of explanation will follow?” He said, pulling the book towards him. 

Lucius gave a short nod. Looking at him closer Harry could see that the man seemed to be tense. His shoulders were held a bit higher than what would be considered normal and his fingers seemed to be moving randomly across the head of his cane. 

That was interesting. Lucius normally gave the vibe of someone who saw himself above the rest of them. Even straight after the war, at the time of his trial he had held himself to a high standard and it had seemed like nothing anyone said or did affected him. Perhaps that had not been as true as Harry had believed. 

“A man paid me a visit.” Harry could hear his voice was very controlled. “He had been sent by Mr. Tassler. I did tell the truth Lord Potter, I have not had dealings with Mr. Tassler since the war ended. Although your charge might be right about his assumptions though, but I did not use Mr. Tassler.” 

Robards looked confused but Harry saw no reason to enlighten him to Lucius’ illegal sales that he had used to secure his family.

“And he gave you this book?” Harry ventured, gesturing towards the book that Robards now placed down on the desk once more. 

Lucius shook his head. “No. The book was already in my study. He asked to buy the book.” 

Harry blinked and tried to make sense of what Lucius was telling them. Why had the man not simply sold the book? Robards had apparently had the same thought because he asked. “Why not just sell it?” 

Gloved fingers kept dancing over the head of the cane. Then suddenly they stopped and instead they gripped the top hard. “Because the Dark Lord gave me strict instructions to acquire this book and to keep it safe. Which I did. However, I do not know how Tassler and his associates know that I have it. Considering everything that has been happening before Christmas, with the raids and attacks, it seemed …. unwise to simply hand the book over for a couple of gallons on the off chance it could lead to more damage.” 

Harry wanted to snort. Lucius was not doing this out of the goodness of his heart. He knew that Tom would know that he had the book, and if he had simply sold it then the trail would lead back to him and he would risk being seen as an accomplice in whatever scheme Tassler was a part of. 

Robards leaned back into his chair. “I see. Why bring it to my attention?” There was a slight sarcastic undertone to his voice that made Harry assume he’d had the same thoughts as himself. 

“I don’t know why this book was important to the Dark Lord, but that alone makes me wary of selling it. I assumed Lord Potter could ask his charge. That might shed some light on the whole situation.” 

“Isn't this contact of Tassler waiting for the book?” Harry asked. 

Lucius shot him a dark look. “Of course not. I told him I was not sure if I had it at all. That I would check and get back to him within a fortnight.” 

Robards raised an eyebrow. “And how are you to contact him?” There was a tone in his voice that told Harry he was seeing an opportunity. 

“He would contact me. Not the other way around.” 

Robards sighed. “Great. Potter, do you think Riddle can give you any information about the book? I assume you have no problem with Potter bringing the book with him back home, Lord Malfoy as Riddle isn’t currently here?” 

“Of course not.” 

Harry bit the inside of his cheek and considered his answer. On a normal day Tom would probably be able to tell him the whole story behind the book without seeing it, but these days were far from good. He wasn’t even sure Tom would recognise the book in his current state. 

He didn’t know how much Draco had shared with his father about what had happened to Tom recently. Not that Harry expected Lucius to show any empathy considering his and Tom’s history. Should he say something to lower Lucius’s expectations or simply act as if everything was fine? 

In the end he settled on: “I’ll ask him, but I need time. He has not quite recovered yet.” He left it at that. For all he knew perhaps Tom would be able to answer the question after all.

Lucius simply nodded and Harry assumed he knew more about Tom’s condition than he was letting on. 

***

Harry walked slowly into the sitting-room, making sure to take off the red robes before entering. 

He found Hermione and Tom in front of the fireplace. Hermione was sitting in an armchair with a cup of tea in her hands, while Tom was sitting cross legged on the floor. Between them there was a large, low table that Harry was pretty sure he didn't own and on it there were a lot of small pieces of something. Looking closer he recognised them. A jigsaw puzzle, a muggle one. One of those boxes you bought contained 100 small pieces that you puzzled together into a whole picture. Only this one looked to contain a lot more than a 100 pieces. 

They both looked up as he entered and Tom immediately scrambled to his knees, his head bowed. “Master.” 

“Hey, Tom,” Harry smiled, moving closer, but stopping once he saw Tom tense. Instead he took a seat near Hermione and smiled at her. “What have you two been up to today?” 

Tom kept his head down, fidgeting with the sleeve of his sweater. 

“We are trying to get this picture together, right Tom?” Hermione smiled. 

“Yes, ma'am.” It was said so softly that Harry almost couldn't hear him. He looked like he was expecting Harry to disapprove by the way he was nervously picking at the fabric. 

Harry just smiled and leaned forward to take a look at the puzzle, trying to ignore the way Tom leaned away from him. It seemed to be a landscape of some kind with a lake and trees. Tom seemed to have found the pieces to one of the corners. A glance at the box told him it was one of those 10 000 piece puzzles. Well, he assumed that should keep them busy for a couple of days. “Looks good so far,” he smiled. 

“Tom, why don't you see if you can find the second corner, while I talk to Harry for a moment.” 

“Yes, ma'am.” Tom shuffled closer to the table and started sorting through the loose pieces that were piled up at one end. 

“How did it go?” Harry asked as they moved over to the other side of the room, sitting down on the couch in front of the floor to ceiling windows that overlooked the garden. 

Hermione sighed. “Well, he's clearly traumatized but he seems to be calmer around me than you or Ron. He's been polite and quiet the whole day. He gets skittish if you come too close or try to touch him, but at the same time he's so terrified at being punished for moving away that he doesn't know what to do. 

It took some time to convince him that he was allowed to eat even though you told him so before you left.” 

Harry nodded. He had told Tom to obey Hermione like she was him and that any orders or permissions she gave he was to follow.

“Did he eat in the end?” he asked, dreading the answer. 

“Yes, I managed to hand feed him a sandwich but he looked like he expected to be hit every time he reached for a bit. Honestly Harry, I don't know what to do here. He seems completely broken. If I was to venture a guess I assume that he has never come to terms with what happened in Azkaban, or worked through it, and then there was the whole process of the two of you coming to terms with each other and your relationship, and then the meeting with Andrews and the assault. I assume it all suddenly became too much to handle and his brain simply decided to shut the coherent part of himself away as it sees that part as a threat to the body. Like a survival instinct of some sort. I'm surprised it hasn't happened before considering what he has been through.” 

“I talked to a mind healer at St. Mungo's,” Harry told her. He had tracked down the one Robards had recommended. “He said the best thing to do was to give him space, clear rules and boundaries and don't try to push him into behaving normally. He said to give him tasks he could complete to help build his self-esteem and only use positive reinforcement. If he makes mistakes, or does something wrong, then simply ignore it. He thought that Tom might come back to himself once he felt safe enough to do so.” 

Harry sighed. “And then he asked if it was such a bad thing that he had finally broke and become an obedient slave. I considered hitting him, but I managed not to.” He looked over and saw that Tom had managed to finish the bottom line of the puzzle. He was now sorting through the pieces, probably looking for the correct corner piece. 

“How did you come up with that idea?” He asked and gestured towards the puzzle Tom was bent over.

Hermione shrugged. “I thought it was difficult enough to keep him occupied but simple enough that it wouldn't take too much time to explain to him what he was supposed to do. However, I did not factor in that I would have to spend the first hour explaining that he was allowed to touch the pieces he wanted, not just the one I pointed at.” 

Harry chuckled. “Try to get him to sleep on a bed,” he muttered. He had given up even that. Tom was completely terrified of both him and the bed, and after the first night he had not been able to get Tom onto the bed without ordering him, something he did not want to do. On the verge of snapping that second night, he had finally relented and put the mattress on the floor. At least then he had managed to get Tom to lay down on it. 

“How are you, Harry? This can't be easy on you either?” 

Harry leaned back into his chair and stared at Tom. The man seemed to be completely lost in the process of putting together the picture in front of him. The dark hair was in a slight disarray and not the neat, put together way that Tom normally wore it. His face was more open as well, his emotions easy to read. On good days Tom was very accomplished at keeping his feelings under guard and he hardly ever allowed Harry to see anything other than what he wanted him to see. He did slip sometimes when he was feeling something strongly. 

“You are allowed to care for him, you know,” Hermione said softly, sounding like she was afraid he would be offended. Harry turned to look at her. She shifted in her seat and looked uncomfortable as she turned her teacup around in her hands. “I know he killed your parents, and so many other people, but you're allowed to forgive, Harry. To move on. Nothing good has ever come by holding on to the past.” 

Harry considered her words. Had he forgiven Tom – Lord Voldemort? No, he had not. He wasn't sure he could, but he had moved on. Tom was not Voldemort. He would never be again. 

Did he care about Tom? He cared that Tom was looked after, had everything he needed and was protected. He enjoyed the bantering and snippy comments whenever Tom felt comfortable enough to do so at home. The glint in his eyes and the hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth that he got when he was on a lead on a case. The grin he would send Harry when it turned out he was right about a hunch. The way he rolled his eyes at Harry whenever Draco was starting on one of his rants about one thing or another. How he patiently taught them new spells, hexes and charms that would be helpful. How he sometimes leaned into Harry's touch when he forgot himself or how Tom sought him out for comfort after a nightmare. The strange satisfaction of sharing a bed with Tom in a none-sexual way just because he slept better with the man there. 

The look of him when they had trained together came to mind. He remembered how alive Tom had been, how incredibly handsome he was when his hair was slightly out of order, grinning freely, high on magic and adrenaline.

He didn't mind the look of Tom on his knees, or the satisfaction when he obeyed an order, but he didn't want a broken pet. The terrified, flinching and completely obedient Tom that was slowly putting together a puzzle by the fire - that was not what Harry wanted. 

He thought back to when they had argued, how Harry had used the bond to force him to obey, but even back then, he would not have wanted this version of Tom. This version who trembled in fear if Harry came too close.

“Harry?”

Harry was shaking out of his thoughts by the sound of her words, and turned towards Hermione. “Sorry, I got lost in my thoughts,” he admitted and realized he had not answered her question about whether or not he cared about Tom. 

She nodded. After mirroring Harry and looking at Tom for a couple of seconds she spoke. “You are starting to become fond of him?” It sounded more like a statement than a question. 

Harry assumed it was supposed to be the latter and he nodded before he thought better of it. The second he had he started worrying that Hermione would disapprove. Tom was after all the one who had made both Hermione's and Ron's life a living hell, not to mention the loss and pain he had inflicted on their families, thought Ron's more than Hermione's. 

Hermione just smiled. 

***

It was Saturday evening and another week had passed. Tom was not getting any better in Harry's opinion. The only thing that had changed was that Tom wasn't completely terrified every time Harry came too close. It was a bit better with Hermione whom he would allow to touch him on occasions. Hermione stayed with him during the day while Harry was at work but Harry could see him reacting to being left alone with Harry when Hermione left, and that hurt. It hurt that Tom was so weary of him that he preferred Hermione. Especially since Harry had never intentionally laid a hand on him. 

Hermione had explained that it probably had to do with her being female. She assumed that Tom, in his condition, might have mixed the facts together and it could be possible that he thought Harry and warden were in some ways the same person. She didn't think he was able to tell the difference.

The puzzle had been finished and Harry had framed the finished picture and put it on the wall in the sitting-room. Hermione had bought a new one. This time it had been a picture of the Eiffel tower in 10 000 pieces. 

Tom was currently bent over the pieces, looking for the second corner. Hermione was sitting across from him, a book in her lap. She alternated between talking to Tom and reading. Harry assumed the book was a prop because he could not understand how she could follow the story in the book and talk to Tom at the same time. 

“Mate, your turn.” 

Harry looked down at the chess board and tried to remember just what he had planned to do in order to at least draw the match out a bit more, even though he knew he was losing. 

Hermione and Ron had been over so many times in the last two weeks that it almost felt like they were living there. And Harry was grateful. He had been feeling bad for not having seen them as often as he used to in the last two months. That they would help out now was a life saver. It was surprising though how they just seemed to accept Tom as a part of their little world considering everything he had done. He could understand that Hermione had a soft spot for everyone that she thought was being abused. Ron however had felt the war a bit more close with the loss of a brother, but still he seemed to have found some level of peace. 

He looked down and moved one of his pawns. He was not sure if it was a good move or not, but at least he had tried something. As he looked up to tell Ron it was his turn, he noticed that Ron was looking towards Tom. Turning his head, Harry saw that Tom was watching the board, but as he saw Harry looking at him, he ducked his head and continued with the puzzle. 

Okay. That was the first time Tom had shown an interest in something. Harry looked at Ron. 

“Check mate,” Ron said and removed Harry's king. Harry frowned. He knew he had been doing badly, but not that badly. He looked over the board and he realized that there was no way Ron could have beat him in one move. He looked at Ron who inclined his head towards Tom. Oh. 

“Fine,” Harry said, leaning back and crossing his arms. 

Ron turned towards Hermione and Tom. “Tom, any interest in chess? Harry is horrible at it.” 

Harry had to concede that at least that was true. 

Tom looked like a deer caught in the headlights of a car. The man flickered his eyes towards Harry, and Harry assumed he was asking for permission. 

Standing up, he gestured towards the board. “Tom, would you be so kind and beat him, please?” He added in a light teasing voice. Ron was very good at chess but Harry expected Tom to be able to beat him. Although, he was not sure that this version of Tom could, but time would tell. 

Tom looked wary, but there was a slight eagerness in his eyes that Harry had not seen since the incident. His eyes flickered to the board. It was placed on a normal table which meant that Tom would have to sit in the armchair to be at level with it. 

“You can use the armchair,” Harry said and gestured towards it. Tom rose to his feet. He cast another wary look at Harry before moving towards the chair. Harry held his breath and crossed the fingers of his right hand behind his back. 

Ron was busy moving the pieces back to their starting positions. Once he was finished, he looked up and he too nodded towards the chair as Tom came closer, indicating for him to take his seat. “Black or white?” he asked. 

It seemed like time stood still as Harry waited to see what Tom would do. When he sat down on the chair, or rather perched nervously at the end of the seat, Harry felt the need to scream in joy. He settled for turning around and giving Hermione a triumphed look. 

“You decide, sir.” Harry heard Tom murmur behind him.  

“You take white, and I’ll take black.” 

“Progress,” Hermione whispered towards him, tilting her head as he sank down into the chair beside her. Harry nodded. Yes. A small step forward as least. A thought hit him and he almost laughed out loud when realized that two months ago he had forbidden Tom the use of the furniture and now he was almost clapping when Tom finally sat on one of them. How quickly things could change. 

Chapter Text

“Thank you, Kreacher,” Harry automatically said as the elf put down a plate of pancakes before him. They looked good and Harry knew they were good, but his appetite was lacking. 

“You’re welcome, master Harry,” the elf said before disappearing.

Harry glanced at the chair that had become Tom’s. It was empty as it had been the last three weeks. He had assumed that he would get somewhat used to the new version of Tom as the days had passed. He had, after all, gotten rather quickly used to having Tom living in his home, but somehow this was different. He sighed and wondered if he should call Tom down for breakfast but decided against it. Hermione would make sure he ate something. 

Reaching out, he pulled the cup of coffee towards him. He had told Krecher to forgo the usual cup of tea in favour of the more caffeinated coffee in hopes of staying awake for the duration of the day. It was bad enough it was only monday. He felt exhausted even before the work week had begun. 

The liquid burned on the way down. He winced but he still took another sip which burned as much as the first one. It was going to be a long day. He had not slept well and for once it wasn’t Tom’s nightmares that had kept him up. Instead it had been his own thoughts. Three weeks had passed and Tom was still the same. The scary thing was that he was starting to become used to the submissive slave in his house. 

The weekends were the worst. He didn’t know what to do with Tom and per the mind healer’s suggestion he made a list of smaller tasks for the man to complete. It varied from folding clothes to cleaning. He had also taken Tom out for a walks in the nearby park a couple of times, just to make sure the man got some fresh air and exercise.

Tom would do anything asked of him with a quiet, ‘yes, master’ and that phrase alone was starting to irritate Harry. Some days that was perhaps the only words he heard Tom speak. Any attempt to get him to think for himself, or make a choice would normally end in Tom getting stressed and anxious, and Harry frustrated and borderline angry. 

The irony of the whole thing was not lost on him either. He remembered how Tom had refused to behave, refused to call him master, how Harry had forced him using the bond, and how much he now hated the submissive Tom Riddle he was currently living with. 

Lost in his own thoughts, he didn’t notice Tom until a movement at the edge of his vision caught his attention. Turning his head he saw Tom kneeling just inside the door to the kitchen. Harry blinked and leaned back in the chair. “Good morning,” he said. 

Tom shifted slightly on his knees. “Master.” His head was bent, and his hands were clasped in his lap and as Harry looked closer he could see they were shaking slightly. He also sounded anxious and Harry frowned. It was not a good sign that Tom was this scared already. They had barely started the day. If he were to venture a guess then he assumed Tom was afraid of being punished for still sleeping while his master had woken and was eating breakfast. 

Usually Harry would find Tom kneeling outside his room when he woke, but that had not been the case that morning and Harry had not thought much about it. Apparently Tom had though. In an effort to move things along he asked the first thing that came to mind. 

“Do you want pancakes?” 

“Master?” 

Harry counted to ten before trying once more. “Are you hungry, Tom? A yes or a no will suffice.” He knew that if he didn’t specify that he wanted a yes or a no, then he would get one of Tom’s standard answers that wasn’t an answer at all. Most of the time it was simply deflections he used to avoid voicing an opinion in fear of displeasing Harry with the wrong answer. 

Tom shifted and Harry could see him biting his lip. “Yes, master:” The voice was barely more than a whisper and he tensed the moment he had spoken as if he expected Harry to laugh at him and tell him he didn’t deserve food. Or, considering how the warden had always demanded something in return for giving him food, perhaps he was expecting Harry to do something similar. 

“Okay, then.” Harry took the second plate on the table and transferred two pancakes. He cut them into smaller pieces before placing the whole thing on the table in front of Tom’s chair. “Sit on the chair, please,” he requested, crossing his fingers that perhaps this time Tom would obey and sit on the bloody chair. 

“Master?” Again the voice held that hesitating note that was grating on Harry’s nerves. 

“The chair, Tom. You can eat at the table, you know that.” Harry turned on the chair and regretted the slightly angry tone he had used as he saw Tom flinch backwards and duck his head. He sighed. He wasn’t angry at Tom, but he was angry at the situation, at the warden, at the aurors who was responsible for Tom being this - this lost. 

“I’m sorry, master. Please forgive me.” 

Harry wanted to snap at him. Tell him that there was nothing to forgive. 

“I’m not angry with you, Tom,” he tried to reassure the man. “Why don’t you sit on the chair and eat your breakfast?” He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and watched as Tom struggled to decide on what to do. He shuffled closer, but made no move to stand. He glanced from Harry to the chair and back before lowering his head again. 

Harry stood and approached Tom, swallowing down the sigh that threatened to escape him. He held out a hand as a gesture for him to rise, but Tom was curled up and didn’t notice. “Come on. Before the pancakes get cold.” 

Tom glanced up and slowly rose to his feet. He kept his head down and he couldn’t contain a flince as Harry put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him towards the chair. “Sit, please,” he said and held his breath as Tom slowly sat down on the chair. “Good,” he said and took his own place. He pushed the plate towards Tom along with a fork. 

“Eat the food, Tom,” he then ordered when it became clear Tom wasn’t going to touch the food without permission. 

Just as Tom was chewing on the second piece of the pancakes the sound of the floo sounded and footsteps could be heard. Harry assumed it was Hermione and called: “In the kitchen.” The sound of steps on the wooden floor became louder as the person approached. 

“Good morning,” Hermione smiled as she came through the doorway. Her purple winter cloak was draped over one arm. As she entered the room she put it on the counter before looking at the pancakes on the table. “Oh, pancakes. Kreacher makes the best ones,” she beamed. 

In his seat, Tom suddenly seemed to realise that they had a visitor. He was out of his chair and had knelt before Harry had the time to blink. 

“Ma’am,” he said with an elegant bow of his head and once more Harry felt irritation at the note of happiness or something akin to that in Tom’s voice. Or perhaps it was jealousy he was feeling? He showed the thought away. Tom was not himself and there was no reason for Harry to get irritated (or jealous) just because Tom enjoyed having Hermione around. If nothing, he should be grateful that Tom felt comfortable around her. The only problem was that Hermione was seven months into her pregnancy and at some point the baby was going to come and when it did she would not have time to babysit Tom. Hopefully Tom would be back to himself by then, but there was no guarantee. Not considering it had been three weeks so far and no improvement. 

“Hey, Tom,” Hermione smiled and took a seat across from where Tom had been sitting. “Are the pancakes as good as they look? Why don’t you sit back down on your chair, mhm?” 

On the floor Tom hesitated a lot less this time before standing, but he didn’t sit down. “May I find you a plate, ma’am?” he asked politely, all though he did cast a wary look towards Harry. Harry pretended not to notice and took a bit of the pancakes instead. That was possibly the first time in the last three weeks he had heard Tom string together that long a sentence not to mention a question. 

“Oh, yes, please, if you don’t mind.” 

Tom obviously didn’t mind and fetched a plate and cutlery that he put down in front of Hermione before taking a step back. “Do you want sugar og syrup, ma’am?” 

Harry looked up in confusion and frowned. Apparently Tom was a bit more corrherent around Hermione than around him. Two questions asked in the span of five minutes and he didn’t look like he expected Hermione to punish him for asking either, not the way he always looked whenever he was addressing Harry. 

Did they even have syrup? The question suddenly hit Harry. Kreacher did all the shopping and Harry honestly didn’t know what the cupboards in the kitchen contained. He only knew that Kreacher usually filled them with things Harry normally made in the kitchen by himself. Tom, however, seemed to be more aware of what they had in the kitchen because he promptly produced a vial of syrup when Hermione asked for it. Harry blinked. Perhaps Tom had spent more time in the kitchen than Harry had realised. 

“Thank you, dear,” Hermione smiled and poured an unhealthy amount over her pancakes. Harry almost choked on the piece he was trying to swallow. Dear?  

Tom smiled, a real smile, but then he looked over at Harry and probably saw what he assumed was displeasure because the smile disappeared quick as shadows when the sun rose, and he ducked his head and looked like he was about to kneel. 

“The chair, Tom,” Harry said before Tom got any other ideas. He winced as he heard the harshness of his own voice, that had not been his intention. Tom sat on the chair, but Harry could see a faint tremor in his hands as he placed them in his lap. The food seemed to be forgotten. Hermione glared at him and Harry sighed. Lifting a hand he rubbed at his forehead and the headache that was starting to bloom behind his eyes. Perhaps it was better if he just left for work. 

“I didn’t mean to snap, Tom,” he finally said and rose from his chair. Noting how Tom tensed at the movement, he opted to walk around Hermione instead of Tom’s chair and placed his plate and cutlery in the sink. He could simply have levitated them but the sight of a wand normally didn’t help on Tom’s nerves. 

Turning around he tried to muster a smile for Hermione. “You two have fun.” 

Just as he was putting on the winter cloak he noticed Hermione in the doorway. She was frowning and Harry didn’t have to be a mind reader to know why. “Harry, is everything alright?” 

He closed his eyes and sighed. Opening them he pulled out his wand from the holder on his right forearm and cast a silencing spell around them. “I’m just tired,” he tried to explain. “I know I shouldn’t have spoken to him in that tone but frankly his demeanour and well, everything, is grating on me. I want to strangle something or someone every time he speaks “yes or no, master,” in that submissive tone and looks like he expects me to hit him or curse him. It’s been three weeks and he is not getting any better, or perhaps around you, but not around me.” 

Hermione nodded and the wrinkles on her forehead evened out. She pinched the bridge of her nose before speaking. “I know it must be frustrating Harry, but you can’t take it out on him. It’s not his fault.” And wasn’t that just the irony of it all? One could argue Tom had brought this on himself with his actions during the wars, but was that fair? 

“I know, Hermione. It’s just - what if this isn’t what I think it is? What if the last run in with the warden and the aurors after finally did break him? I have no idea what his mental stability was like before this happened, other than that it probably wasn’t good. If he is going to be like this for the foreseeable future then I’m not sure what to do with him when you can’t stay with him during the day. I hardly even trust him to clean the house without supervision. Kreacher would be here of course, but still.” 

She reached out and put a hand on his arm before giving him a wry smile. “You have to admit that six months ago you wouldn’t have thought that you would stand here worrying about Voldemort’s state of mind.” 

That made Harry laught. “No, if someone had suggested that, then I would have had them sent to St. Mungos for treatment. Hell, if someone would have suggested I’d ever visit him in Azkaban I would have thought they were crazy.” 

“Always trying to save someone, Harry, even your worst enemy.” She smiled sadly. 

“Paying for his crime is one ting, Hermione, but mindless torture and abuse of someone who can’t fight back is not okay. He trusted me to keep him safe. Something I failed at.” Harry could feel the anger building again and tried to squash it down. Hermione watched him for a moment. 

“Harry, are you angry at the aurors and the warden for abusing him, or at yourself for not protecting him?” 

The words hit home and Harry forgot to breathe for a couple of seconds. She was right, he realised in a moment of clarity. He wasn’t angry at Tom for his behaviour, he was feeling guilty for not protecting the man. As a slave, Tom could not do anything to fight back and he was dependandt on Harry for everything, and that responsibility was larger and harder to bear than Harry had anticipated.

“You’re right,” he sighed and lowered his head. “I am supposed to protect him, and look what happened.” He waved a hand in the general direction of the kitchen. “I don’t know if he ever did trust me after the whole argument over Christmas about his behaviour, but I am sure as hell that he doesn't trust me now.” Merlin, he felt lost. He didn’t know what to do or how to fix it and that was frustrating. He wanted Tom to come back to himself. 

“I don’t think he blames you, Harry. And there is no reason for you to blame yourself either. The fault lies with the aurors, no one else. You have to forgive yourself because the guilt you are feeling is not doing anything good for Tom’s recovery.” 

Harry sighed again. “If there is any recovery. Perhaps I should try and talk to the mind healer again. Perhaps there are some exercises or something that can be helpful.” He cast a quick tempus and swore inwardly. “I have to go, or I’ll be very late.” He leaned forward and gave Hermione a quick kiss on the cheek. “Thank you. That helped.” 

***

“Mr. Shadow,” Tassler said as soon as he sat down at the table. Shadow considered reminding the man that it was not his name. It was simply what they called him since he had a rumour for being able to blend in and out of the shadows. Disappearing and reappearing without any trace or sound. Then again, that might encourage the bloody fool across from him to ask about his real name, something he would prefer to avoid. It was enough that he had to change his appearance every time he went out into public; he didn’t want Tassler to get more curious. 

“Mr. Tassler,” he said and showed a supposedly clean whisky glass across the table. “A drink to starve of the cold?” It really was not wise to meet at the same place in Knockturn Alley everytime, but at the current stage of the plan it should not matter. The owner of the establishment knew to keep his mouth shut, even if he didn’t know how to use cleaning spells. 

“Yes, yes, thank you,” Tassler said and took a big swing from the glass, swallowing the cheap watered down whiskey along with the truth serum that Shadow had put in the glass. It was not as potent as veritaserum , but it would compel the man to speak the truth without alerting him to the fact that he had been drugged. 

Shadow leaned back in the chair and waited until the man had swallowed. “How did it go with Lord Malfoy?” 

Tassler sighed and took another sip from the glass. “He asked for a fortnight to find the book, he wasn’t sure if he still had it.” 

Fool, Shadow thought. Malfoy would have been very well aware that he still had the book. He had after all looked around most of the middle east to find it back when the Dark Lord had given him the task of finding it. “And?” he asked, but already knowing the answer. 

“My men are meeting him tomorrow.” 

Fourteen days to find a book Malfoy already knew he had. Why? Shadow drummed his fingers on the tabletop. “Did you put a tail on Malfoy after the first meeting?” 

“I - yes - yes I did. He has not done anything suspicious. Gone about his days as usual with the odd trip to the Ministry once in a while.” 

And there the pieces slotted into place. Fourteen days. Fourteen days to figure out if selling the book would land Malfoy in trouble with the law. Fourteen days to ask the Dark Lord why the book was important to him and whether or not selling it was worth the risk. Damned it. They wouldn’t be getting the book that way. No matter, he would have to find another way, which didn’t fit with the time shedule thought but it could be adjusted. 

It would have been easier if the bloody Dark Lord had stayed in Azkaban, where it had been possible to reach him. It would be a lot more difficult to reach him now that he was with Potter. Shadow sighed. For some reason nothing ever worked out the way it was supposed to when Potter was involved. Too bad killing him was off the table. At least for the moment. 

“Malfoy is not going to sell your men the book.” 

Tassler’s head came up in surprise. “What? How do you know?” 

“For Merlin’s sake, Tassler. Why do you think Malfoy needed fourteen days to find it? His son works with Potter. The same Potter who decided to adopt a stray Dark Lord from Azkaban. The same Dark Lord whom Malfoy supposedly served. Who do you think he wanted to talk to about that book?” 

Tassler finally caught on because he swore. 

“Try your contact in Egypt and see if she can find the name of someone who has another book. There is bound to be one or two of them in private collections. Buy it or steal it. I don’t care. Just find one of the books.” 

“And Malfoy?”

Shadow knew what Tassler was thinking and shook his head. “No. Too close to home, and taking out the head of a family that is a member of the Sacret 28 will not help. Let him lie to your men about not having it.” 

“Yes, sir.” Tassler pulled a wrapped parsell from his bag and handed it over. Shadow opened it and found a black box lined with velvet. “The crystals you requested. The owner was not too happy to part with them but he could be persuaded.” 

Shadow closed the box. “I assume he remembers nothing about the crystals or you?” 

“That would be correct. We have another lead on a runespoor.” 

Shadow stood. “Good. Don’t lose this one too and use some of your own men this time. Not someone who suddenly gets bright ideas about trying to pull one over on us.” 

He left before Tassler had the chance to answer, finding a way out of the establishment that was overcrowded. Well out on the street he headed towards Diagon Alley, only pausing in the shadows just before to change his robes and his appearance. As he stepped out from the shadows along one of the shops in Diagon Alley there was no trace of the man Tassler had been meeting with a couple of minutes earlier. A couple of people nodded to him as he passed through the streets and he smiled and nodded back.

***

Lucius’ voice was filled with incredibility and his eyebrows had risen to new heights. “The book of the dead? Is that all the information your charge gave you? No explanation as to why it was so important that I located the book in the first place? I chased after the damned thing all around the MIddle East for months.” 

Harry sighed as he rubbed at his eyes with his right hand. It was only Thursday and two days until the weekend. 

The headache he had woken with was only growing in intensity. He had been woken in the middle of the night by Tom’s screams as another nightmare had tormented him. 

Unfortunately, it had taken ages to calm the man down enough for him to go back to sleep. If Harry had been able to touch him it might have been easier but Tom was skittish as a wild animal whenever Harry came too close. That alone made calming him down difficult. When the alarm had buzzed that morning, Harry felt like he had not slept at all. He had taken three pepper-up potions thus far and was planning to take another as soon as he could get out of the meeting with Robards and Malfoy. 

“Like I said,” he repeated. “All Tom said was that it was called the book of the dead. It originated from Egypt, but it is not one of a kind, there are several versions of it.” The last bit of information Hermione had given him. Tom had not been able to tell him more than that it was the book of the dead. Apparently he was unable to access memories and more in his current state, which made sense considering that this was, what Harry assumed, a part of his subconscious that had blocked the access to the rest of his mind. 

It would make sense that it was operating on a need to know basis to avoid pain and that he wasn’t able to have more in depth conversations or reflections. His memories seemed to be jumbled together to a degree where Tom was having problems distinguishing between the warden and Harry. It seemed like he almost thought of them as the same person now and then. 

“Did you order him to tell you the rest?” Malfoy demanded. “If so, he should not be able to refuse you due to the bond.” 

Harry hesitated. How much to divulge? “He has a standing order to be honest with me,” he settled on. It was the truth after all. 

Lucius looked like he was trying very hard not to roll his eyes, something that Harry assumed was beneath the Malfoy Lord. “That I know. I take it you are naive enough to believe that the wording of that order also forces your charge to tell you everything he knows about the topic at hand.” The man turned towards Robards. “I do hope you have more common sense than this child, Head Auror Robards.” 

Robards was leaning against the front of his desk, legs stretched out in front of him and his arms crossed over his chest. “Malfoy,” he said with a sigh and his tone made it clear he was more than a little tired of Lucius’ attitude. “Have you forgotten that had it not been for Potter you might have been in the cell next to Riddle for that past three and a half years - you might even have shared his fate? Considering Andrew's preference I would think you might have been just what he liked.” 

The hands on the snake headed cane tightened until it looked painful, but other than that Lucius didn’t show any outward signs of being affected by Robard’s words. 

Harry had to admit that if Lucius had been sentenced to Azkaban then there was a good possibility that he would also have been one of the warden’s victims. He had not asked Robards about the other victims that had been tortured and abused in Azkaban. For one he had been too occupied with Tom, second, from what he had gathered, Tom had taken the brute force of the man’s attention and none of the others had been brutalised to the degree that he had been. 

“I do not see any reason to dwell on what ifs, Robards. The question at hand is why Potter here seems incapable of getting information out of someone who should be unable to refuse him. If his control over the former Dark Lord is lacking this much then perhaps he should not be in that position.” 

Fury struck Harry and for a moment he tried to remember why the hell he had helped Lucius avoid Azkaban. Before he could open his mouth Robards spoke. 

“For Merlin’s sake, Lucius. Potter has no problem controlling Riddle. The boy has been well behaved every time I have been around him. He has given Potter all the information about that book of yours that he is capable of at the moment.” 

A small smile of humour twisted at the corners of Harry’s mouth as Robards referred to Tom as a “boy”. For all that Tom looked like was just that, the reality was something else. Still, it was nice to hear that Tom seemingly had made a good impression on those around him. Just one more piece of evidence on how much different this version of Tom was from Voldemort. 

“Capable of?” Lucius scoffed and thumped his cane against the floor. “He seemed more than able to speak when he insulted me in my own home.

Robards looked over and caught Harry’s eyes, the question clear. Harry just shrugged. Robards turned his head back towards Lucius. “Be that as it might. I have no idea if that book is of any importance, but I would advise against selling it.”

Harry could almost see the wheels turn in the blond head, but he still was not prepared when Lucius turned around and fixed him with blue eyes. “Very well, then.” The voice was ice cold. “Then I guess there is nothing more to be said.” He swept out of the office and Harry followed him, eager to get back to his own office. 

“Father?” By the surprise colouring Draco’s voice, Harry assumed that he had not known that Lucius was coming by the Auror’s office that morning. He was coming from the direction of their shared office. He looked from his father to Harry and then back, and something akin to understanding dawned. 

“Draco. I was just to see if Lord Potter might have received some information from his charge regarding the book.” 

Draco’s eyes cut to Harry’s and Harry didn’t quite know how to handle the fact that Draco looked hopeful, or the eagerness in his voice as he asked his next question. “Has Tom come back to himself? I thought he was still lost to his subconscious.” 

Harry closed his eyes and tried to count to ten. Perhaps he should try twenty. When he opened them he saw that Lucius had turned around and was yet again studying him, his eyes calculated. Having no other options, Harry answered Draco’s question. “No, he is still the same.” 

“So quick to forgive, Draco,” Lucius admonished his heir. “Have you forgotten just what Tom almost forced you to do.”    

Draco bristled as his father reminded him of his failed attempt to kill Dumbledore. “No, I have not, but unlike you I am able to move on. Tom might have been Lord Voldemort, but he isn’t now. It has been nearly four years. He has changed. Azkaban changed him. It would have changed you too. It would have changed every one of us if we had been put through what he has been through.” 

Harry raised his eyebrows. Well, that was not what he had expected Draco to say. Not to mention he was standing up to his father publicly. 

Lucius looked like he was having problems comprehending what Draco had just told him. Then his face closed and he turned to look at Harry. Harry met his eyes and held his gaze while wondering what was going through the man’s head. 

“Perhaps we should talk some more, Lord Potter.” This time the voice was even and there was not a hint of the condescending tone that had colored the man's voice earlier. 

“The office is empty,” Draco volunteered and nodded towards it. 

Harry wanted to tell Lucius to piss off, but he didn't. As he walked towards the office however, he did wonder about the sanity of allowing himself to be in the same room as both the Malfoy Heir and Lord. Perhaps he too was starting to lose his mind, much like Tom? 

The door closed behind Draco and Harry leaned against the large conference table, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Lucius stopped in the middle of the room and turned to look around. Apparently he had not been there before. 

“I didn't think Auror's had offices?” he remarked, turning to look at Draco and Harry. “I assume it has something to do with your charge, Lord Potter?” 

“Tom,” Harry said and was surprised at how tired his voice sounded. Merlin, he simply wanted to lay down and sleep for a week. “His name is Tom, and yes. Robards thought it would be easier for the whole team if we had a room to ourselves. May I ask what you wanted to talk about, Lord Malfoy?” 

“Tom Riddle,” Lucius said. He turned around and walked a couple of steps until he was in front of the fireplace. “We all did believe he was a pureblood. Perhaps some of his followers that were my fathers age knew who he really was, or perhaps not,” Lucius said, staring into the fire. “By the time he came back to Britain his real name had all but disappeared. No one really remembered the poor, but brilliant Head boy that had graduated top of his classes.” 

To Harry's surprise, and by the look of his face Draco's too, Lucius continued. “He hid his parentage well. It helped that he was the most powerful wizard seen in a long time, since Grindelwald. That he knew how to manipulate people when needed, how to charm when necessary and how to lie, threaten and kill if nothing else worked.” 

The room fell silent. Harry didn't know how to respond. He had not expected Lucius to be anything other than his usual annoying self. The man turned back around. His hands were clasped on top of his cane. “How did it come about that you ended up claiming him under the right of conquest? The paper was purposely vague.” The tone sounded disinterested as if Lucius couldn't care less about the answer. Harry assumed that was not the case. 

“Sommerseth suggested it,” Harry answered. “I said no when it was explained to me what it would entail. Unlike Voldemort ,” Lucius gave a small flinch, “I don't have any interest in enslaving people and forcing them to do my bidding.” 

“And still you did claim him,” Lucius supplied. “I can't imagine that he managed to manipulate you into saying yes.” The condescending tone was back and it sounded like that was exactly what Lucius assumed had happened.   

“No,” Harry said with a sigh, not sure why he was indulging the man by answering. He did not like Lucius. Speaking up for the man at his trial had been for Draco, not for Lucius. “He didn't manipulate me. I don't think he even tried. He was desperate. Desperate for a way out of Azkaban and the unwanted attention and abuse. Desperate enough to sign his life away for the foreseeable future without thinking it through. He talked me into saying yes. I didn't claim him against his will. Sorry to disappoint.” Lucius had probably relished in the thought that Tom had been made a slave against his will. 

Lucius blinked. “And you never thought it was just an elaborate escape plan? Tricking the Savior of the Wizarding world into letting him out of Azkaban, only for him to escape and rise once more? He will take this opportunity to use you, to manipulate you.” 

The headache from earlier was making its presence known once more. Of course Harry had worried about those things himself. Often in the dead of night with Tom sleeping beside him. How much was real and how much was Tom pretending? But for all he knew how Slytherin Tom had been, and could be, he didn't think Tom was actively plotting to escape or to use Harry in any way. The man seemed to have enough on his mind when it came to dealing with his own nightmares and demons.  

“Honestly I don't think so,” he admitted. “With the bond in place there is a limit to what he can do, and I know him very well, don't forget. At the moment there is at least nothing he can do, considering the state his mind is in.” He regretted the last sentence the moment it was spoken and he could see the calculated glint in Lucius' blue eyes return. 

“I have heard rumours about the incident. I assume whatever is affecting him is linked to it?” 

Harry wondered why having this conversation with Lucius didn't seem as strange as it probably should. Still, he hesitated. 

Lucius turned around and walked over to the coffee table. He glanced at the papers on the table before sitting down in one of the armchairs. As he sat it seemed like some sort of mask fell away. He sighed, and his features softened from the hard look he normally wore, making him look older, tired - borderlining on exhausted. 

Harry had to blink to make sure the lack of sleep wasn’t making him see things that were not real. 

“Everybody breaks, given enough time, Potter. Even the Dark Lord. For all that he is more powerful and stronger than the average witch or wizards he is still, to a degree, human. Perhaps more so now than at the time of the battle. He can bleed and feel pain. The only reason he hardly did was because of his skills and power. I have seen him in agony while being healed and patched together several times in the time I followed him.” 

Draco also sat down on the couch. Sensing the conversation wasn't over yet, Harry also approached and took a seat in the other armchair. Across from him Lucius sighed again and let the cane twirl around in his hands, the tip carving a pattern in the carpet on the floor. “Why did you say yes then? You don't know how long you are stuck with him. Or was it just the normal Gryffindor reaction to the chance at saving someone?” 

“You didn't see the state he was in. No one deserves to be tortured and abused everyday for the rest of their life. Not even him.” The disgust in his own voice surprised Harry. 

Lucius stared for a moment before nodding. “I see. May I ask what state he is in at the moment?” 

What harm would it really do to tell Lucius? Harry wondered. Other than that it felt like a breach of Tom's privacy? 

“You mentioned that all he was capable of telling you about the book was that it was called the Book of the Dead. If I was to venture a guess I would assume that perhaps his latest trauma has made his mind retreat, leaving only the basic knowledge on how to survive behind. It is not uncommon in torture victims. The mind reaches a point where it can not cope with what is happening. When that happens it’s often referred to as having broken the person. He or she has been tortured and abused to the point where they simply shut down and what is left is an obedient shell of whom that person used to be.” 

Well, he couldn’t fault Lucius for hitting the proverbial nail on the head. The guess was so accurate that Harry didn’t know how to respond. He leaned back in the chair. 

“Can it be reversed?” Draco asked, an anxious note in his voice. His question did, of course, confirm Lucius' guess and he leaned back in his chair too. 

Harry had expected some sort of smug satisfaction or gloating or something. The only version of Lucius Harry was used to was the one that had been in Robards office ten minutes earlier. This - this human version of the man was something new and Harry wasn’t sure how to handle it. 

He was beginning to suspect that perhaps Lucius was putting up a front, an act whenever he was in the presence of someone other than his family. 

Lucius had avoided Azkaban due to Harry’s testimony, but he had been sentenced to two years of house arrest. It had cost him part of his fortune and most of his reputation. He had kept his family's seats on the Wizengamot as they could not be removed by the court, but his influence and reputation had taken a hit. There were not many of his old friends and contacts who would associate themselves with the Malfoy name after the trial. 

Perhaps Lucius’ attitude was just a facade to fool the public into thinking he didn’t care about them nor needed them. Perhaps it was a way to survive while trying to figure out how to restore the Malfoy name to its prime. The dislike Lucius showed towards Tom was of course understandable. Tom had not treated Lucius or his family well during the last war and Harry could not blame Lucius for his attitude towards Tom. 

His train of thoughts was interrupted by Lucius’ answer. 

“By conventional and legal means there is nothing else to do but wait and see if the person will come back to him or herself over time. A mind healer might help of course. Once broken though it will take time. The brain does not forget and it does not trust when once betrayed.” 

Harry closed his eyes and swore inwardly. He refused to acknowledge the small part of him that had hoped that Lucius might have something they could try. 

“If one finds himself not very concerned about the legal aspect of it, there is a way that might work.” 

Harry’s eyes snapped open and he stared at Lucius.

Chapter Text

“You can find a book, or go do something other than keeping me company,” Harry told the kneeling man beside his chair even though he knew he was wasting his breath. Tom lifted his head a fraction from where he had been playing with a rubik's cube. “Master?” He asked as Harry knew he would. 

“At least sit with your legs crossed or on your side. Your feet must have fallen asleep by now.” Or perhaps not. Harry had put cushions on the floor at the spots where Tom normally knelt and Tom had gotten a lot of practice when it came to kneeling over the last seven weeks. It was quite possible that his legs and knees had more or less gotten used to the position. Still, Harry knew from experience during the last weeks that Tom would never break position without permission, no matter how much it hurt. Probably something that the warden had trained into him. He shuddered as he remembered what Tom had told him about the warden’s “training methods''. 

Fortunately Tom was quite good at following orders at the moment and as such he quickly changed position. Harry turned back to the paperwork he was trying to get through before bed. As he stared blindly down at the papers, he realised that he had not told Tom that he appreciated how the man had always tried to get a head start on the papers whenever he had time to spare. 

Tom was not required to hand in any reports himself and as such he had a lot more  time on his hand than Harry did. The he, that Voldemort would choose to do Harry’s paperwork when he had the spare time was somewhat baffling. One could argue that slaves existed for that type of work, but Harry had never told og excepted Tom to contribut by doing something that was Harry’s responibillity. A pang of longing rang through him as he found himself, yet again, missing his version of Tom. 

He had talked to the mind healer again, but he had not been able to give any better advice than he had before. Kinglsey had suggested Legilimency . Only problem was that there was not a Master left in Britain except Tom himself. Snape had never tried to teach Harry Legilimency as they had focused on Harry learning how to shield his mind from Voldemort. 

Unbidden Lucius’ words from a few weeks back rang in his mind. 

“If one finds himself not very concerned about the legal aspect of it, there is a way that might work.”

Harry had declined, of course. He did not trust Lucius not to hurt Tom further. Draco had been unsure when Harry had asked him what he thought after Lucius had left with a “ you know where to find me if you change your mind” . 

“I don’t think my father would hurt Tom for all that he would love to torture him. He knows you could make his life very difficult if he did. I think his offer is genuine. His way of trying to even out the debt he owes you for what you did for him after the war.” Draco had said with a shrug. “It might be something that would work. I don’t know.” 

Perhaps he was right, Harry thought. He knew Lucius loathed to be in anyones debt, not to mention Harry’s. It would make sense that he would offer to help a man he hated if it would get him out of feeling like he owed Harry something. But, was it worth the risk? Whatever method Lucius was proposing it didn’t sound like it was something that would be risk free, or even pain free. 

Harry rubbed a hand over his forehead. He had not told Robards or Sommerseth about Luicus’ offer, nor had he told Hermione or Ron. He had asked Draco to keep quiet about it too, something the man had agreed to. With another sigh he tried to push away the thought and the annoying little voice in his head that kept whispering that perhaps Lucius could help. Perhaps whatever method he was thinking of would be able to bring Tom back to himself. 

“Tom, could you get me a cup of tea, please?” He asked. Mostly to give Tom something to do and a chance to stretch his legs. “If you are thirsty then either drink something in the kitchen or bring a cup of tea for yourself”

Tom’s head snapped up from the cube. “Yes, master.” He set the cube on the floor and rose to his feet. A bit unstable in the beginning, but he found his footing and disappeared out the door. 

Seven weeks of having a completely obedient slave had still not made Harry used to it. It was still unsettling to have Tom so focused on Harry and his needs. His only focus was on how to please Harry. He was not used to someone waiting on him hand and foot. He didn’t know how to handle it either. When he first had bought Tom home it had been with the plan for the man to help him at the Aurors office. He knew that it was probably not the normal use for slaves, but that was how Harry could see Tom helping out the most. As for the time spent at home, he had not planned for Tom to do any chores in the house. They did have Kreacher to take care of those after all and with Tom working the same hours as Harry why shouldn’t he have the same amount of free time? 

Hermione had reached the point in her pregnancy where she stayed home as the baby could be born anytime. That had left Harry with a bit of a dilemma as to what to do with Tom. Hermione had offered to have him over to her house during the day, but Harry had declined. Tom was functioning as well as could be expected. He seemed to have settled into his role as well and while he was still very afraid of Harry coming too close, he had at least stopped flinching constantly and looking like was expecting Harry to hit him everytime he opened his mouth. 

He had decided to try and leave him home alone for a day, with strict instructions given to Kreacher to tell him if something was wrong. That had backfired quickly as Tom had been too scared to do anything else than kneeling in the entrance hall where Harry had left him. Kreacher had popped into the office a couple of hours after he had left to tell him. Harry had appareted home and found Tom kneeling, his feet asleep, making it impossible for him to move them or stand. Harry had sighed before instructing Tom to move so that he wasn’t sitting on his legs in order for the blood to start flowing again. 

The next day he had left Tom with a list of chores, telling the man he expected them to be finished before Harry came home from work. He had also talked to Kreacher and explained everything. The elf had been nothing more than happy to see the slave been put to use as a proper slave should, Harry barely refrained from snapping at him. Kreacher had nodded seriously as Harry had explained that Tom was to be brought both breakfast and lunch and if he asked for anything Kreacher was to provide it. 

That had worked better. He had not given Tom an impossible list to get through. After all he knew a little about what one person could accomplish in a day from his time with the Durslys. When he had come home he had been met by a kneeling Tom, but this time it was clear that the man had just knelt, probably having heard the Floo.

***

“Where is Tom?” Ron asked, taking a sip from his glass. 

Harry had invited him over for a drink and a game of chess on a Friday night. Hermione was still a week or two away from giving birth and this might be the last chance they had for a boy’s night before the baby came. 

“In his room. Either reading or sleeping.” Harry had sent him there simply because he couldn’t handle having Tom kneeling through the whole evening. Ron would perhaps have prefered to play against Tom instead of Harry. Especially since Tom actually could give Ron a run for his money when it came to chess. 

“You sound angry, mate,” Ron said with a pointed look. “This is not Tom’s fault.” 

“I know!” Harry sighed. He did know. It was just so frustrating to watch Tom flinch away from him with fear in his eyes.  “I am just at a loss as to what to do with him.” 

Ron moved one of his pieces. “He seems somewhat content though, doesn’t he?” he asked while Harry tried to figure out how to protect his tower. It was probably a lost cause all the same but he figured he had to give it a shot either way. 

“Perhaps,” he conceded. Because Tom did seem somewhat content in his role. Comfortable in just existing for the sole purpose of following Harry’s orders. “But we both know this isn’t who he is and I have a house elf. I don’t need a slave to clean the house. I do, however, need a Dark Lord to help the Aurors.” 

Perhaps it was the firewhiskey or perhaps it was simply the need to tell someone, Harry was not sure, but in the end he ended up telling Ron about the conversation with Lucius, about his offer to help. 

Ron looked sceptical at first. “I don’t know, Harry. What did Draco say?” 

Harry moved one of his pieces before answering. “He doesn’t think his father will do anything to hurt Tom. I am a bit more sceptical considering their history.” 

Apparently the move he had made was the wrong one as Ron swiftly swept in and removed Harry’s knight form the board. Chess was really not Harry’s best game.

“If nothing else has worked, perhaps it could be worth a try?” Ron said after a long period of silence and took a sip from his glass. “I wouldn’t tell Hermione though. At least not until after.” 

Harry nodded. Perhaps he should pay a visit to Lucius? 

***

“I don’t trust you.” Harry said as he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in the chair. 

Across from him Lucius looked amused. “And still you are here?” He too leaned back into the impressive looking chairs of his office and crossed his ankle over his knee. The blasted walking stick was leaning against the side of the chair. Harry could still remember the feel of it against his forehead that day in Diagon Alley. 

He had sent an owl to Malfoy manor requesting a meeting with the Malfoy Lord. The answer had come back within the hour together with an invitation to visit later the same day. 

Harry had left Tom with instructions to water the plants in the indoor greenhouse Kreacher had set up at some point. There were enough plants in there that Harry assumed he would be busy for an hour or two. Hopefully the meeting with Lucius wouldn’t take longer than  that. He didn’t think he could stand being in the man's presence for that long. 

“Yes,” he said with a sigh. Was this really a good idea? he wondered. “You said there might be a way to help Tom back to his normal self?” 

Lucius nodded. “Yes. I did. I assume you are considering it seeing as you are here asking?”

“I would like reassurances that you will not hurt Tom.” That was what worried Harry the most. That Lucius would take the chance to get revenge. If he had a choice he would never have gone to Lucius, but nothing else was working. 

“Getting attached to your little pet?” Lucius asked in that annoying, knowing tone of his. 

Harry didn’t bother answering. What if he was getting attached? Tom was his and his responsibility. 

Lucius sighed as he realised the barb wouldn’t bait Harry. “The spell itself will cause him some discomfort and perhaps pain, but there will be no lasting effects from the spell. Any lasting effects from the last incident might have an effect on him, but I can’t be sure.” 

“What kind of spell is this?” To Harry it sounded like something that wasn’t quite on the grey side of things.  

“It is actually a spell that your charge has invented.” 

Harry could feel his eyebrows raising. Now he was curious. If Tom had invented the spell then he had probably not done so with anyones best at heart. “I have a hard time believing Tom would invent a spell out of the goodness of his heart.” 

Across from him Lucious picked up his cane and started twirling it between his hands. “That would probably be a good guess. This was mostly used on torture victims.” 

“What?” Harry wondered if he had heard correctly. “You want to use a torture spell to bring Tom out of his shell?” His voice came out a bit more harshly than he had intended. He was half a mind to simply get up and leave but decided to give Lucius a chance to explain. 

Lucius held up a hand. “Let me explain. It is a spell that makes the victim relive their memories. When combined with someone who is good at Legimilens then one can also choose which memories. I guess you can see how that worked very well on torture victims as they could be made to relive their torture without the risk of damaging their bodies beyond repair. Healing magic was never your charge’s area of expertise. My theory is that if Tom relives the memories of the last four months in your care then that might be enough to jog him out of wherever his mind is now.” 

That did not sound too bad, Harry thought. Minus the whole reason behind the spells existent. It might even work. 

“I am plausible at Legimiliens ,” Lucius continued. “I don’t have the finesse that your charge or Serverus had and I might not be able to control exactly which memories, but I should be able to at least direct him towards the right ones.” 

Was it worth the risk? Harry wasn’t sure, but his thoughts kept returning to the mindless slave in his house. Surely trying this couldn’t make the situation worse? 

“I assume we are even after this? Harry asked, simply to have Lucius’ motives for helping confirmed. 

“Yes.” He waited a beat before continuing. “I would suggest that we do this in your home as he might be more stressed if you take him here.” 

“I wonder why,” Harry bit out. He had not forgiven Lucius for that day. 

Lucius looked to the side for a moment before returning his eyes to meet Harry’s. “You have to understand Harry,” the man started. The use of his given name threw Harry a little. It was strange to hear it from Lucius. Thinking back he realised that Lucius had never once used it before. 

“The Dark Lord was not kind to my family. He took pleasure in humiliating us and torturing Draco with that impossible task. When you showed up here with him in tow I have to admit I lost control. From what Draco has told me, and what you yourself have told me, he has been punished severely for his actions during the war during his time in Azkaban. It has also been almost four years now since the battle. Perhaps it is time for the past to stay in the past. He can’t hurt anyone and this arrangement he has found himself in is probably more of a punishment than anything else.” 

That was somewhat more honestly said than Harry had expected. It did explain Lucius’ actions that day. He was glad to hear that Lucius was willing to let the past stay in the past and look to the future instead. 

“Thank you,” he found himself saying. He still didn’t like Lucius, he probably never would, but he did feel a bit more reassured that perhaps the man wouldn’t use the spell to intentionally hurt Tom during the whole thing. 

Lucius nodded and stood. “Perhaps we should get going? I assume you would like to try this today?” 

Harry nodded too and rose to his feet. Yes, if there was a chance he could get “his” Tom back then he was not interested in waiting. 

They apparted to the house and Harry unlocked the door. As they entered they found Tom kneeling in the entrance hall as usual. From the way he was kneeling Harry could tell he had barely managed to get into position before they came through the door. 

Harry could see him glance upwards at Lucius without lifting his head. Probably trying to see who Harry had brought with him home. There was no sign of recognition in his eyes as far as Harry could tell. 

“Tom, do you remember Lord Malfoy?” He asked as Tom rose to take both their cloaks. 

“No, master,” Tom answered in a low voice. He looked to be a bit uncomfortable with the unknown stranger. That was not a surprise though. Tom had not had the best track record with strangers, or men. 

Lucius leaned on his cane and observed as Tom hung the cloaks away. “You are sure he isn’t simply lying?” He inquired with a raised eyebrow. 

Harry nodded. “Yes. The order not to lie is still active. He can’t intentionally lie to me.” He turned around  to look at Tom who was standing still with his hands clasped in front of him, head bent, waiting for an order. “Tom, why don’t you get two cups of tea? We will be in the sitting room. 

“Yes, master.” 

Lucius looked a bit penesive. “None of us knew he had fixed the mistakes Wormtail had made with the ritual when he was resurrected. Now he looks more like Tom Riddle. The boy my Father went to school with.” 

That did not surprise Harry. 

“He was wearing a glamour,” Harry explained as he led the way into the sitting room and sat down in one of the chairs. Lucius opted for the couch. He kept the cane between his hands and twirled it around. Harry wondered if it was some sort of nervous gesture or perhaps simply a habit?  

“He is very obedient,” Lucius commented with a frown. “It is a bit disconcerting to see. I am having problems believing that this really is the Dark Lord.”

Harry couldn’t help laughing at Lucius’ expression. “He wasn’t in the beginning.” 

“No, I can imagine.” 

If there was one thing Harry never thought he would experience then it was having Lucius on his couch and actually having a conversation with the man. Perhaps he has been unfair and judgemental towards the man, but Lucius had not made it easy to think of him as anything else than the arrogant Malfoy Lord. 

“Why are you doing this,” Harry asked. He still wondered if Lucius had some other motive other than repaying his debt. 

Lucius looked at the fireplace for a couple for seconds before sighing. “I am not sure. Perhaps my son is rubbing off on me.” 

Perhaps, Harry thought. 

Tom arrived with a tray and two cups of tea as well as sugar and milk and a plate of biscuits. He placed the tray on the table between Harry and Lucius before retreating to kneel beside Harry’s chair. 

Lucius’ eyes follow him and Harry could see something akin to fascination in his eyes which was a surprise as Harry expected to see glee or triumph or something. 

“Thank you, Tom,” Harry said and moved a hand to let it brush through Tom’s hair but the man flinched and Harry retracted his hand. 

He looked up and saw Lucious' curious gaze. “He is completely terrified of me.” 

“Yes,” Lucius answered in a thoughtful tone. “I can see that. If you can get him to sit on one of the chairs then we can see if this will work.” 

Harry sighed. “Any chance he can simply stay on the floor? I have a hard enough time getting him to sit on a chair in the kitchen.” 

Lucius pinched the bridge of his nose. “Can you have him kneel in front of me then? It is not ideal, but I guess we will have to work with what we got.” 

Harry turned towards Tom and made a gesture towards Lucius. “Tom, kneel in front of Lucius please, and do as he requests.” 

Tom rose and knelt as instructed. Head down and hands folded in his lap. 

Lucius pulled out his wand and Tom flinched back as Harry had assumed he would, but he did stay in place. 

Being more careful than Harry had expected him to be, Lucius reached out and put a hand under Tom’s chin. He pushed upwards until Tom’s head was angled towards his own, but Tom kept his eyes on the floor. 

“Can you tell him to look at me?” 

Harry pushed a hand through his hair, still wondering if this was a good idea. “Tom, keep eye contact with Lord Malfoy until I tell you otherwise.” 

Immediately Tom’s eyes jumped to meet Lucius’ ice blue ones. 

Lucius lifted his wand slowly and held it against Tom’s temple. “Order him to stay still.” 

After the order had been given Lucius started chanting. Tom flinched, but stayed in place as ordered. 

It took longer than Harry had expected. Lucius had taken a hold of Tom’s collar at one point to keep him in place. The man in question was trembling, sweating by the time Lucius finished. Lucius let him go and he collapsed onto the floor. The spell has not been kind on Lucius either for the man collapsed onto the couch as soon as the last words died out. 

Harry was on his feet before his mind caught up. He rushed over. “Tom?” He asked as he knelt down. 

Tom was breathing hard on the floor, almost curled into a ball. He pushed himself up into a kneeling position and looked up at Lucius. “What in Merlin's name do you think you are doing, Lucius?” He snarled at the man. 

“What your master asked me to,” Lucius snapped back in between heavy breaths. 

Under his hand Harry could feel Tom tense. When he looked up Harry could see that Tom was most likely trying to put all his memories back together. There were several feelings flashing across his face too fast for Harry to be able to pick up. 

“Hey,” Harry said with a bright smile. “Welcome back.” 

Chapter Text

“Well, you missed your mark by half a year,” Tom sneered as Lucius was done telling him what they had been trying to achieve with the spell. The bond did nothing about the disrespect as Harry had removed almost every rule when it had become clear that Tom would not jump back to his former self anytime soon. Harry considered if he should correct Tom, but figured that after everything that had happened that perhaps Tom and Lucius needed to talk through some things. 

Lucius stiffened. “I noticed,” he bit back with a green look and swallowed before looking away. He was back to twirling the cane between his hands. On the table his tea cup was nearing almost half empty. 

Or argue through some things. 

“What do you mean?” Harry asked with a frown. He had his own cup in his hands but if he was to be honest, then he would have prefered something stronger. He put it back down on the table. It was still more than half full. 

Tom was half kneeling, half sitting on the floor, leaning against Harry’s chair and leg. He was still trembling, but a calming draught that Harry had forced down his throat seemed to be working. The trembling was almost reduced to a simple shivering every now and then. 

Harry was trying to withstand the need to reach down and run his hand through Tom’s hair as he assumed Tom would not appreciate the gesture with Lucius still present. He really wanted to simply reassure himself that he could touch this Tom, unlike the one he had shared a house with during the last seven weeks. 

Tom looked away and dragged a hand through his hair and over his face as a tremor ran through his body before answering Harry’s question. “I had the unpleasant pleasure of reliving the last half a year in Azkaban as well.” 

No wonder Lucius was looking rather nauseated. If he had witnessed the same memoires as Tom then Harry did feel sorry for the man. He remembered how he had felt when Tom had told him about the incidents in Azkaban that night and that had been a simple retelling for the events. To actually watch them and feel the full force of the torture. That was not something you simply shrugged off. Harry would not be surprised if Lucius ended up with his own nightmares after that session.   

“Well, I apologise for not being an Legimiliens expert like yourself,” Lucius said with a tight grip around his cane. Harry wondered if he was considering hitting Tom with it at the moment. “Perhaps I should blame my teacher .”  

Tom scoffed and reached for Harry’s cup on the table. He downed it in one go before putting it back. “You had no interest in learning, Lucius. You were only interested in adding to the Malfoy power and money, so don’t blame me for your shortcomings.”

It was a bit surreal, Harry thought, to witness Tom and Lucius argue. For all that he knew that the two men knew each other rather intimately it was still strange to watch them argue like they currently were. Pulling out his wand he summoned the tumbler of firewhiskey and three glasses. Lucius and Tom accepted as they flew into their hands and the tumbler tipped an unhealthy amount into each before Harry poured a measure into his own glass and downed everything in one go. The whiskey burned on its way down but he didn’t care. He refilled the glass and put the tumbler on the table. 

Lucius too knocked back his and refilled it without the normal polite pretence of asking Harry first. “Perhaps I was too busy looking after my family. The family you tortured and set up to fail simply to punish me.” 

“You lost the bloody prophecy and almost got a lot of you arrested! I had to reveal myself to Dumbledore to get you out of that mess.” Tom drained his own glass and reached for the tumbler to refill it. His hand was still shaking. Harry reached past him and picked up the tumbler and poured another measure into Tom’s glass before the man could reach it. 

Yes, Harry thought as he leaned back in his chair and took a mouthful from the glass. It was completely surreal to be witnessing the conversation that was currently going on in his sitting room.  

Lucius leaned forwards. “You didn’t have to put my son in harm's way!” 

A couple of things suddenly clicked into place for Harry. Lucius had never had the opportunity to talk to Tom without the risk of being cursed. Perhaps this was something Lucius had needed for quite some time. A chance to get his opinions and feelings out in the open.

“He begged me more or less for an assignment, for a chance to prove himself” Tom snapped back. His hand was tightening around the glass and Harry could feel him tense up from where he was leaning against Harry’s leg. Harry was actually a bit surprised that Lucius had not made some snide remark about Tom’s choice of sitting place. 

Lucius slammed the now empty glass down on the table. That ought to have left a mark, Harry thought. Kreacher was not going to be happy.  

“He was trying to rectify things so that you would stop punishing me and Narcissa! You tasked a sixteen year old boy with the assignment to kill Dumbledore. A man you yourself couldn’t manage to kill!” 

Harry had to admit that Lucius had a point there. 

“Which is why I don’t understand why he took the assignment seriously.” Tom shifted a bit on the ground. Harry handed him a pillow which Tom accepted without a word and put under his hip and legs. 

Lucius looked like he couldn’t believe his own ears. He was leaning on his cane and now he smashed the tip into the carpet in anger. “You can't understand why he took it so seriously? We all took it seriously! Narcissa even roped Snape into making an unbreakable vow that he would assist Draco in his endeavour.” 

On the floor Tom moved his head, breaking eye contact with Lucius. Harry could almost feel the thoughts in his head running wild. 

“I wasn’t thinking straight back then. The ritual Wormtail managed to get wrong, it messed with my mind.” The voice was lower than it had been and when Tom looked up Harry caught something that looked like regret passed over his face before Tom made sure to wipe any emotions away. 

Harry didn’t know who was most surprised at the admission, him or Lucius. 

“Come again,” Lucius said. He looked like he was considering having his hearing checked.  

Tom played with the sleeve of his robe and stared at the floor. Then he lifted his head and looked at Lucius. This time his voice was at a normal volume. “I was not thinking straight back then. I was consumed with the obsession to make sure the prophecy would not come true and delusions of grandeur.” 

Harry wondered if he should check his own hearing too. 

Tom gave another sigh and for once he looked conflicted and a bit defeated. “I am sorry Lucius. At some point I did value your advice and your expertise. I was close to your father in school and he was the closest to an equal I had. I have not been kind to your family.” 

Was the world ending, Harry wondered. Tom was actually apologising? Without being ordered?

“I will not forgive you,” Lucius said. 

“I don’t expect you to.” 

***

Harry saw Lucius out and when he returned to the sitting room he found Tom sitting in the same position. He took his seat once more and was surprised when Tom opted to lean against his leg once more. The man buried his forehead against Harry’s thigh and drew in a shuddering breath. 

The gesture made Harry frown. Tom was normally not this touch starved. Outside the nightmares and the occasional touch from Harry's side the man normally kept a distance between them. He was not sure if the gesture would be welcome, but he couldn’t stop his hand from falling down and carding through Tom’s hair. 

To his surprise the gesture was not unwanted apparently. Tom leaned into his hand with a sigh. Harry pushed his hand through Tom’s hair a couple of times. He could feel the man relax more and more until he was completely relaxed against Harry’s leg. He was heavy, but Harry found the weight rather comfortable. It felt like a sign of trust. 

His own words from before rang again. I’m asking you to take a leap of faith here. Perhaps this was Tom’s way of doing so? 

When Tom grew even heavier, Harry started to wonder if the man was falling asleep. 

“Tom,” he said, removing his hand from the black hair. 

Tom made a sound that sounded like he was already asleep. “Tom, you’ll sleep better in your bed,” Harry said and bent down to lift Tom’s head from where it was resting on Harry’s thigh. Tom blinked a couple of times and it was clear to Harry that the man was completely exhausted. No wonder considering how badly Tom had slept during the last seven weeks. 

Harry gently moved him and stood, pulling Tom with him as he did. The man got to his feet and Harry gently steered him up the stairs with a hand on his back. 

“Why is the mattress on the floor?” Tom was still dead tired and leaning on Harry, but his eyes were glued to the mattress on the floor. 

“Your subconscious was too afraid of the bed to sleep in it,” Harry explained. “In the end I gave up and put it on the floor for you to have something to sleep on.” Pulling out his wand, Harry levitated the whole thing back onto the bed and helped Tom sit on it. 

“Give me a moment,” Harry said and returned to his own room and the bathroom. 

When he returned he found Tom under the covers and half asleep. 

“Sit up,” Harry instructed and sat on the edge of the bed. He held out a vial of purple potion. 

Tom struggled a bit but managed to sit up against the headboard. “No.” 

Harry sighed and looked away for a moment before looking back. “Tom, I am not asking,” he said in a hard tone. Tom clenched his teeth and looked away, crossing his arms over his chest. “You have hardly been sleeping for the last seven weeks. You need to rest.” Ignoring Tom’s body language he held the vial to the man's lips. His head was still turned away but slowly he turned towards Harry and allowed him to pour the potion into his mouth. 

“Good boy,” Harry said without thinking. He regretted the words the moment they were out and waited for Tom to glare or snap at him, but Tom did neither. Instead he swallowed the potion and laid down on his side, pulling the covers over him. 

“Sleep. Then we'll talk,” Harry said and gave into the impulse to run his hand through Tom’s hair once more before leaving the room. Tom’s eyes were already closed and Harry wasn’t sure he even noticed the gesture. The potion would make sure Tom slept through the night. Harry had to admit he was looking forward to a peaceful night of sleep himself. 

***

To his surprise he slept in the next morning. He woke somewhat disoriented around ten. Blinking in confusion he tried to remember why. Then it hit him. Tom! Tom had bounced back to his normal self. Harry was out of the bed and dressed in a couple of minutes. The door to Tom’s room was still closed, but Harry opened it carefully and saw that the man was still sleeping. He nodded to himself. That was understandable. Moving down the stairs he called Kreacher to have him bring him breakfast. 

He ate and then retreated to his office. As the clock ticked past twelve Harry was starting to get worried. Tom had still not woken. The dosage he had given the man was not enough to keep him under for fifteen hours.  

He left his work and ventured upstairs. He opened the door once more and saw that Tom was still sleeping. With a sigh he resigned himself to the truth that he would have to wake Tom up. If not the man would not be able to fall asleep when night came. 

He sat on the edge of the bed and reached out a hand to card through Tom’s hair. “Tom,” he called softly. “Tom, you have to wake up.” 

The man stirred but did not wake right away. Suddenly his eyes flew open and he flinched back, hitting the headboard hard with his head. Tom blinked and drew a hand over his face before moving to kneel on the bed with the covers around him. “Master.” 

“Lay back down Tom,” Harry said and turned around as Kreacher popped into the room with a plate with breakfast. Tom moved and sat back against the headboard as Harry took the tray from Kreacher and extended the foldable legs so that it would stay steady across Tom’s lap. 

“You are bringing me breakfast in bed, Master?” Tom asked, amusement seeping into his voice. The exhausted note from the day before was however still present and the man had dark circles under his eyes and his body sporadically shivered. When he reached out a hand to pick up the glass of orange juice it was shaking slightly. 

Harry frowned. Perhaps it was simply the aftereffect of the spell? Either way he decided to keep a close eye on Tom. If what Tom had said the night before was true then Tom had relived the half a year including all the torture and sexual abuse. That could not bode well for the man’s mental state which was already in a questionable state. 

Tom reached for the toast, but his hand stopped midair and he glanced up at Harry. The hand reatreated. 

Stifling a sigh, Harry put out a hand and shoved the plate closer to Tom on the tray. “Eat, Tom.” 

Apparently they had taken a couple of steps back from the looks of things. Well, as long as Tom didn’t reach the defiant stage he had been going through around Christmas then Harry assumed they would be fine. 

The toast and half the eggs along with some bacon when down. Tom tried to eat one of the pancakes but gave up half the way through. Harry spent the time telling Tom about some of the cases they had covered while he had been somewhat gone. How Ron had turned into a bunny after he touched a cursed item on one of the razias of an illegal shop selling items to muggles. The hilarious scenario of a red bunny jumping around in the Auror’s office while they had waited for the curse-breaker to find a way to counter the curse. 

The story made Tom smile at least. Other than that he was mostly quiet. 

“What day is it?” He asked as Kreacher came and took the tray away. He curled up on his side but was still leaning against the headboard. There was something in his eyes that Harry couldn’t quite grasp but his gut instinct told him that Tom was not all right for all that he was pretending to be. 

“April 7th.” 

Tom closed his eyes. “Seven weeks give or take.” 

Harry nodded and settled on the bed with his legs crossed. “How are you feeling?” 

The brown eyes opened. “Tired. Phantom pains from the little trip down memory lane. The mind remembers the pain perfectly so as well as seeing the memories you also feel the same pain as you did the first time around.” Tom rubbed a hand over his ribs and flexed his left hand, the one that had been so damaged it had needed surgery. 

Harry winced. Merlin. No wonder it was effective on torture victims. “Do you remember anything from the last seven week.” 

“Bits and pieces. Lucius ended the spell before we got that far. I remember the eiffel tower.” Tom frowned as if he was trying to figure out why. “I vaguely remember some moments. Miss Granger. What I don’t get is why this happened and why I didn’t snap out of it on my own like the last times.” 

Yes, Harry had been wondering about that himself, but he didn’t have any good answers. Not sure if it was a good idea he still asked. “Do you remember the events at the Ministry that was the cause of all this?” 

Tom’s face was blank for a moment but then he flinched and the colour drained from his face. “Barely. I remember the cells. The red of the Auror’s cloaks. Sounds.” 

The colour yes. Harry nodded. “Good. Do you want me to fill you in on the rest?” 

Tom looked like he wanted to say no, but he nodded his head. 

Harry found a comfortable position on the bed and then he told Tom what had happened at the Ministry, and during the last seven weeks. 

***

The fire burned warm but Tom couldn’t claim he was paying much attention. He was curled up on the floor in front of the fireplace with his back against the couch behind him and something that could only be described as a nest of blankets and pillows around him. There was a book in his hand but he had not finished a page yet. There was also a cup of cocoa with a hint of cinnamon that Harry had put a stazis charm on to prevent it from getting cold.

Still, in slight of everything Tom was freezing. Shivers raked his body and his thoughts felt like they were in a turmoil.    

The radio was playing in the background and the sound of Harry’s quill against the paper reached his ears as well. He shivered and pulled the thick wool blanket better around him. 

He felt something akin to panic start building in the pit of his stomach as his recently renewed memories threatened to drown him. He buried his head in his folded arms but it didn’t work. His breathing became uneven as he remembered the cell. The coldness. The sounds and then that voice calling him closer. The red robes that surrounded him and held him down. The feeling of a hand in his hair, holding him in place. The sensation off-” 

“Tom, breath. You are having a panic attack. You need to breathe.”

A hand in his hair. Another on his arm. The bond relaxed immediately as it recognized his master. Warmt crept through the cold and the fog that threatened to drown him in his memories let up. He managed to draw a breath. 

“Good boy. Again.”

He really should be insulted that Harry praised him like some pet that had managed to get a trick right but for some reason the praise felt good. He managed a second deep breath. 

As he breathed out he could feel Harry settling down on the couch. His leg pushed against Tom’s shoulder and side as the hand in his hair continued the soothing motion. A couple of breaths later he felt more grounded. Without thinking he leaned sideways and rested his head on Harry’s thigh. 

He waited for Harry to move, the man had after all been doing something at his desk, but Harry didn’t move or speak. He simply continued carding his hand through Tom’s hair. 

I shouldn’t enjoy this , Tom thought. It felt too much like giving up and succumbing to, well, something. He wasn’t sure. You chose this . The familiar mantra hit once more. Yes, he had chosen this.

The itch to be close to Harry that he had felt before the whole incident, it had nothing to do with the bond itself he suddenly realised. If it did then his subconscious should not have been so afraid of Harry. The bond should have recognised him as safe and encouraged him to seek comfort from Harry, the way Tom now was doing. 

Instead it was something Tom was feeling, unrelated to the bond. That made him frown and Harry moved his hand down to rubbed at his neck just below the collar. The man had probably felt Tom tense up. He would explain why his research had come up with nothing when he had tried to figure out if the need to be close to Harry was some sort of side effect from the bond. The answer was that it was something his own mind conducted. 

Why? The question made his head hurt. Why did he seek comfort from Harry? Because he felt safe with the man? 

Wasn’t that the irony though. The one man who held complete power over him should not be his first choice when it came to feeling safe. Harry could order him to do anything and Tom would not have a choice other than to obey. 

But, looking back, Harry had not given him any reasons not to trust him. Just the last seven weeks should be proof enough. Tom had been at his most vulnerable and instead of taking any kind of advantage off that, Harry had spent seven weeks stressed and worried. Trying to figure out simple enough tasks that Tom’s traumatised mind could handle. 

In the end he had even gone so far as to request that Lucius of all people try and help using an illegal spell that Tom himself had invented. 

That Lucius had agreed to help was a surprise, but Tom assumed it was to pay back the debt to Harry for helping him avoid Azkaban. The trip through Tom’s memories of the last half a year in Azkaban could not have been pleasant for the man. Both the warden and Stanley had increased their effort in making his life a living hell during those last six months until Harry had shown up. 

“What did it feel like?” 

Tom jumped. He had been so focused on his own thoughts that he had forgotten that Harry was there. He wetted his lips before answering. 

“I was somewhat aware of what was happening but I couldn’t process it or do anything. It felt a little like being drunk and watching everything from the outside on mute. What pulled me through was the pain of the spell Lucius cast. It jogged my mind enough for the fog to clear, but before I could do anything Lucius sent us both spiralling down memory lane. When he withdrew from my mind everything was clear once more.” His voice was barely a whisper and he closed his eyes. He focused on the texture underneath his chin and the hand in his hair in order to try and keep his mind blank and the memories at bay.

It felt safe. Like home.

Chapter Text

Harry was standing in the door to his office, a heavy cloak draped around his shoulders. April was slowly starting to shake off the winter but it was still cold in the evenings and the fire in the fireplace was burning merrily. 

“Tom, I am going to head over to Ron and Hermione for a little while. Are you going to be alright on your own?” he asked as he pulled on a couple of gloves and fixing the black scarf around his neck. 

It was a ridiculous question really. Tom was more than capable of being left home alone. He had spent most of his life alone for Merlin’s sake. 

Although after his second panic attack that morning when he had come downstairs and caught sight of Harry’s red Auror robe on the table down in the entrance hall, Harry probably wanted to make sure there weren't any more triggers laying around that could provoke another attack while he was gone. 

“Yes, master,” Tom answered with a nod and tried to sound more comfortable with the idea than he was. He ducked his head to avoid having to bear Harry’s scrutinizing look and pretended to be looking for the last corner piece. He hoped that Harry wouldn’t see the doubt in his eyes. It wasn’t quite a lie, but close. Close enough that the bond probably should have reacted but luckily it didn’t. 

Tom had dragged the last puzzle he apparently had been working on with Granger into Harry’s office and put the low table in front of the fire. It was a large 10.000 piece puzzle that showed a seaside with a lighthouse in the sunset. The simple task of completing the picture kept his mind busy enough so that the memories of the incident eight weeks back didn’t overwhelm him. 

The details of that day were slowly creeping back and he was having a hard time keeping the memories at bay. The nights were the worst but so far he had managed to get through them without waking Harry in the next room. The problem was that he was hardly sleeping. He simply fell into a slight doze only to bolt awake. Too scared to fall into a proper sleep. After three nights of that he was close to exhausted. He could tell Harry, of course, and ask for a dreamless potion but his pride held him back. A pride that was shattered anyhow, but still... He could pretend he still had some. 

He could have continued the puzzle in the sitting room, but he had found that he prefered Harry’s office these days. Even if Harry wasn’t there then the sound of the radio would keep him mostly calm as well as the sounds from the fireplace and the familiar scent of books, fire and parchment. The place also smelled distinctly like Harry and it was perhaps the sole reason he prefered the man’s office if he was being frank with himself. 

To his surprise he had found several finished jigsaw puzzles framed and hung on the wall in the sitting room when he entered it. He had been puzzled as to why Harry would frame them, but had not found the time to ask. 

“Oh, you are continuing the puzzle?” The smile on Harry’s face as he noticed made Tom feel warm. 

He nodded. “You framed the others, master?” 

Harry looked like he was close to blushing as he looked at the wall and shifted slightly on his feet. “Well, yes. I didn’t know what to do with them and I was afraid that your alter ego would react badly if I simply destroyed them and put them back in the box and the sitting room needed some paintings.” 

He coughed. “Anyway. I have instructed Kreacher to come if you call for him and to fetch me if you ask him to. I have also instructed him to come fetch me immediately if anything happens.” 

Tom assumed anything meant a panic attack. He nodded. It was not like he could object or tell the elf not to follow its master’s orders. 

A pop announced the arrival of said elf who was carrying a tray with food. “Master Harry  said to bring master’s slave something to eat.” The elf said with a bow before putting the tray down on the floor beside Tom. He looked down and saw bread, cuts of cured meat, cheese and fruits. More than enough to fill his stomach.

With a bow the elf popped away. Harry sighed and dragged a hand over his face. “Sorry. I think he is doing it on purpose. I assume he remembers that you tried to kill him in the cave.” 

Tom blinked as it hit him. Regulus. He had borrowed his elf to test the defenses of the cave. Apparently the elf had survived but Tom had not recognised it as the same one that was now bound to Harry. “Oh,” he said, not sure how to continue. That would explain the hostility towards him. 

“Yeah. Except for the verbal insults he can’t do anything.” Harry assured him with a sigh and rubbed a hand across his face. 

He looked at Tom once more as he let his hand fall to his side and Tom ducked his head once more. 

“You are sure you will be alright alone, Tom?” There was doubt coloring his voice. 

No. “Yes. I know you want to see the baby. I will be fine.” The bond didn’t react to his surprise; the order to be honest also seemed to have been canceled along with the rest. Interesting.

Hermione had given birth to a girl two days prior and Harry had been beside himself in delight. This was the first opportunity he had to visit and Tom didn’t want to deny him because of his own insecurities. 

Harry didn’t look like he believed him but eventually the desire to see the baby won out and he nodded. 

“Okay. Send Kreacher if you need me. And, I know I don’t have to specify this, but you are allowed to eat the food.” With that he disappeared from the doorway and a little while later Tom could hear the Floo activate. 

A blush crept up the side of his neck at Harry’s parting words. It really was pathetic that he had fallen so low that he needed to be reminded that he was allowed to eat when he wanted to. He stared at the food. Such a normal thing to do. Eating. People did it all the time without thinking much about it. If one was hungry you simply found some food. 

He reached out for a piece of bread, but his hand was shaking too much and he pulled it back. 

Damn it. How deep did the conditioning of the warden go? Deep, his mind whispered and he knew it was right. 

He had broken people before, really broken them. Beyond what the warden had managed to do in the three and a half years, but he knew, although it hurt to admit, that the warden had broken him. If not the warden alone, then the combination of the warden, Stanley and the last incident at the Ministry surely had done so. 

The admission made him shake even more. He stared at the food. Such a simple thing. Such a basic thing. The need to eat. Anger over his own inability to overcome what had happened to him rose like a tide. He got to his feet, suddenly restless. 

This had not been a problem before the incident. He had been eating when he wanted to without any concern before everything happened. Harry had never denied him food or water or any other basic need unlike Tom’s experience in Azkaban. And thanks to Lucius the memories of the last six months in captivity were almost too fresh. 

His thoughts spun around and around, each time bringing with them memories of the past. Of the warden and the humiliating demands Tom had to give into if he wanted food. 

It really was strange how much power one human could have over another by just withholding something as simple as food and water. The mind was so trained on staying alive that the mind and body would be willing to do anything to ensure the continued survival. 

He shuddered as he remembered how he had knelt and begged when commanded. How he had allowed the warden to rape him in hopes of a few scraps of food. Tom closed his eyes and leaned against the wall in the hallway. 

Tom could almost feel the warden’s hand ghost over his chin and through his hair. That voice that never turned angry no matter how much or how Tom tried to fight back. The warden had not once lost his patience unlike Stanly who did so often. 

He assumed it was because the warden knew he would win out eventually. He knew that Tom didn’t have any other options and in the end he would break and bend. 

“Kneel.”

Voldemort barked a laugh. “Lord Voldemort does not kneel.” He was currently standing with his arms crossed and the idiotic man who called himself the warden was standing just inside the cell. The man was tall and broad. The hair was short and a mix of gray and black and his eyes were a light blue color that shone with amusement.   

The complete lack of fear made Voldemort a bit uneasy. He had been imprisoned at Azkaban for what he assumed was at least four weeks, give or take. So far the man had demanded that he stood when he entered if he wanted something to eat. A demand that Voldemort had not fought against as he preferred to stay on his feet when someone was in his cell. It seemed things were about to change. 

The warden laughed. “Oh, but you are a far cry from Lord Voldemort now aren’t you, pet?” 

Voldemort sneered at the insulting nickname but didn’t comment. There wasn’t anything he could do about it at the moment. The leash that went from his collar to the wall made sure he could not approach anyone who entered the cell. His magic was well out of reach thanks to the collar around his neck. 

The warden tsk-ed a couple of times and put the tray he had been carrying on the table. “You are just another prisoner here. Nothing more. If I ask you to kneel, you do or you don’t eat.” 

If this had been before Voldemort had absorbed two of his horcruxes then it would not have mattered that the warden was threatening to withhold food. Now, however. Now his body could not function without access to basic human needs such as food and water. 

He gritted his teeth. It was vexing that he depended on the blasted man in front of him for both. There was no way he was going to kneel to this man without being forced. He raised his chin and gave the warden the best ‘I don’t give a damn’ look he could muster in his current position. 

To his surprise the warden simply smiled. “Oh, yes. I didn’t expect you to simply roll over. There would be no fun in that. One last chance, pet. Kneel and I’ll leave the tray for you.” 

The silence stretched on for a couple of minutes. Voldemort glanced at the tray on the table. His stomach growled.Then the warden sighed. “Well, I did give you a chance.” Then he turned and opened the door to the hallway. “Charles.” 

A man Voldemort had not seen before entered the cell. He was tall and built like an ox. His face was hard and the long brown hair was tied back in a ponytail. The gray eyes held nothing but contempt as they stared at Voldemort. This was a man who genuinely hated Voldemort. Perhaps he had killed someone close to the man? 

“This is Charles Stanley, pet. I have tasked him with the responsibility of teaching you some manners as it seems they are quite lacking. Charles, why don’t you explain what happens to pets that disobey?” 

Voldemort felt something turn in his stomach. Something unfamiliar. So far he had simply been left alone in his cell except from the visits from the warden whenever he was given food. He had expected that he would be left alone to serve out his sentence. That the employees of Azkaban would be too terrified of him to go near him. It seemed he had underestimated the warden. 

No matter. He could not be broken. If the man wanted to try, then it was his challenge to lose. 

The great Lord Voldemort. Tom almost laughed. That felt like another lifetime. It was almost impossible to remember who he had been four years ago. The most powerful wizard of this age, at the height of his power. 

He pushed off the wall and wandered into the library. The fire was lit as always. The elf almost made sure the rooms that were mostly used were warm and inviting. 

It was dark outside as he stopped in front of the floor to ceiling windows in the middle of the room. Normally he would be able to see the street and the park on the other side. Now, the only thing that reflected back at him was his own reflection. 

The black collar around his neck caught his attention. He rarely thought about the collar although he did see it every morning in the mirror in the bathroom. Harry had chosen well. The leather was soft and the lining did not chaw. To be honest he hardly noticed it anymore. He had gotten used to the weight around his neck. The only times he did notice it was whenever someone clipped a leash to it and that was not very often. 

It seemed like both Sommerseth and Robards tried to avoid having any appointments or having to leave the office whenever Harry had to leave Tom with one of them when he went out into the field. Tom had sometimes been irritated that Harry couldn’t simply leave him alone in the room they used as an office while he was gone. That would have been less humiliating than feeling like a pet that could not be left unsupervised and needed handlers. 

After what had happened eight weeks earlier though, Tom was somewhat glad Harry had not done so. Who knew how that could have ended. 

He let out a bitter laugh. How far he had fallen. 

From a feared and powerful Dark Lord to what? 

Now… now, he was just, well he didn’t know what he was exactly. Harry’s slave? He swallowed. The word got stuck in his throat. He had never identified himself as a slave. Not even when they went out for the collar. Not when Harry had used the bond to force his compliance. Not once during the last four months had he ever stopped and reflected over the consequences. 

He had completely ignored the truth of the bond he had forced Harry into. He had been too busy fighting the situation he had put himself in to really stop and think and realize what he had done. He had reflected over what it meant when it came to his behavior in public and at home, but not the legal status he now held. 

The truth of his action hit him like a bucket of cold water. 

Magical conquest was a slave bond. It stripped Tom of all rights he might have as a wizard and a human being and reduced him to property. Something that could be bought or sold. He could not own anything. Not money or property or even books or clothes. It all belonged to Harry and Tom depended on his good will to even be allowed clothes. 

The last incident at the Ministry had brought the fact into light. The Aurors who had attacked him would not be charged with assault. The worst that could happen to them was that Harry sued them for damages to his property.  

Panic started to bloom in the pit of his stomach. The feeling was familiar by now. If the old saying of power corrupts came to life down the road then Tom would not have anyone to turn to. Robards had told him he could come to him, but the reality was that Robards could not do anything. Harry would be well within the law even if he abused or tortured Tom. He could rape him, starve him, do all the things the warden and Stanley had done, but unlike them he could not be prosecuted for his actions as they were taken towards a piece of property. 

Tom put a hand against the collar, feeling the softness of the leather beneath his fingers. He took a couple of deep breaths, forcing himself to inhale, hold his breath for a couple of seconds before slowly exhaling. The last thing he wanted was for Kreacher to find him and decide to fetch Harry. 

Not that he thought Harry would be displeased in anyway if he had to come home due to his slave having yet another panick attack, but it would be humiliating that he could not last even an hour alone without freaking out. 

He tried to calm himself by reminding himself that he had been completely out of it for almost eight weeks without Harry having taken advantage in any form. He also had very moral friends, especially the muggleborn, Granger,  or was it Granger-Weasley now? He couldn’t remember. He assumed they were married. 

There was no reason for his fears. He knew Harry found him attractive but that didn’t mean he would do something untoward. 

His pulse lowered as the panic slowly bled away. Suddenly very tired he slid to the floor and leaned against a nearby couch. His body and mind was exhausted. The lack of sleep did not help. He knew he couldn’t continue like he had with barely any sleep. Sooner or later it would backfire. 

Another thing that worried him was that at some point Harry would want him to return to work. He wanted to say it would be no problem. That the incident had not affected him, but that would be a lie. The sight of red still made him flinch and his pulse rise.

It was incredibly annoying how his own mind rebelled against him. How he could not control his own responses and actions. How bloody broken he was. He couldn’t even bring himself to eat even though Harry had given his permission before leaving. 

The memories of all the times the warden had punished him for even looking at the food without permission was too fresh in his mind after the little trip down memory lane. 

He could feel his eyes starting to close at their own will and blinked to stay awake. Forcing himself to his feet he returned to Harry’s office. The food was still sitting there on the tray. Waiting for him. 

Tom glared at it. 

***

“Tom?” The voice made him jerk and he opened his eyes. He must have fallen asleep against the couch behind him. In front of him the half finished puzzle stared back at him, as did the untouched tray of food.

Harry sat down on the couch, close enough that Tom could lean against his leg if he just moved a little to the side. He tried to hide a yawn behind his hand but did not succeed. His stomach growled. 

A hand petted through his hair and Tom leaned into the touch before he realized what he was doing. He was starting to get slightly addicted to how good it felt when Harry touched him. How it soothed something in him and made it seem like everything would be alright. The bond purred at the contact. He assumed that the reason the bond appreciated the contact had something to do with its purpose. It would be counter productive for the bond not to encourage behavior that was in accordance with his status. 

“You haven’t eaten,” Harry remarked as he settled on the couch. 

Lying was not an option so Tom kept silent as it had not been a question. A small part of him hoped Harry wouldn’t press the issue, but at the same time he was very hungry. 

Harry leaned forward with a small sigh and picked up the tray from the floor. He placed it on the coffee table and popped a piece of cured meat into his mouth. Without commenting he cut a piece of bread in two, put some cheese and cured ham on it and held it out. 

“How is the puzzle coming?” Harry asked as he used his other hand to pick up a piece of cheese and bread and put it in his own mouth. 

Tom hesitated before leaning forward and taking the food from Harry’s hand. He felt a blush rise up his neck in humiliation at the relief he felt of not having to force himself to try and eat by himself. At the same time he was angry at how much that spoke of how broken he was. 

Harry didn’t seem to think much of it as he held out more food. Then again, from what Harry had told him, he had been handfeeding Tom for the last seven weeks.

“Slowly, master,” Tom answered between the bits. He looked down at the puzzle and suddenly noticed a piece at the edge of the table. He picked it up and slotted it into place making the tree look a bit more like a tree. He turned his head and accepted another bit of food as Harry leaned forward and studied the puzzle as he too chewed on a piece of cheese. 

“Mhm, that looks like it belongs there,” he said and slotted another piece into place. 

Tom nodded as he chewed and pulled a couple of other pieces towards him that looked like they could fit. 

Together he and Harry managed to finish a quarter of the puzzle in between bites of food. They mostly worked in silence except from the occasional comment about a piece or another. 

The elf came and picked up the tray and Harry rose from the couch. Tom followed him with his eyes as he moved across the room and picked up the tumble of fire whiskey and two glasses. 

When he returned he handed Tom a glass and settled back on the couch with the tumbler and the other glass. He twisted so that he was curled on the couch but facing Tom. Tom on the other hand turned sideways so that he was leaning against the couch with his side to face him. 

Harry held out the tumble and filled his glass with a generous amount before filling his own glass. “We need to talk a little,” Harry said and put the tumbler on the coffee table. 

Tom nodded. Yes, he guessed that recent events made it necessary to talk but it didn’t mean he was looking forward to it. 

Chapter Text

Harry stared into his glass and wondered how to approach the conversation he wanted to have with Tom. He had honestly thought that leaving Tom alone home for a few hours wouldn’t do any harm but Tom seemed to be even more uneasy and on edge now than he had been when Harry had left. 

That he had not eaten was another thing. So far Tom had eaten the food Harry had put in front of him the last three days and all though he had hesitated each time, he still had eaten the food when Harry had insisted. Tonight he had not touched it even though Harry had told him specifically that he was allowed to eat it. 

And he felt guilty because he had enjoyed the hours he had spent with Ron and Hermione and their newborn daughter. A chance to escape from the stress and responsibility of everyday life. The last eight weeks had been very stressful and frustrating with Tom being as he had been. Harry was not proud to admit that he more than once had wondered if it would be possible to simply lock Tom up somewhere if he didn’t return to himself. 

Now Tom had recovered, but not for the better it seemed. Or, he was better off than he had been the last eight weeks, but worse off than he had been before the whole mess. 

Harry felt way out of his depth when it came to Tom. He was not qualified to help Tom at all. Not with all the torture and abuse he had been through. He needed help from a professional and there was no one in the wizarding world that Harry could ask. Tom was a slave and as such not sean as a human being and St. Mungo’s would therefore not offer any kind of help and Harry had no idea how to help him overcome everything he had gone through. He didn’t even know where to start. And still, he had to try because Tom was his and his responsibility and completely dependent on Harry for even his own wellbeing. That didn’t mean Harry knew how to go about the whole thing. 

“Master?” 

The question broke his train of thoughts and he felt his head jerk up. For a moment he expected to find the submissive version of Tom that he had become used to but he was glad when his eyes met brown ones, coherent ones. Tom was leaning against the couch with his legs out to the side. Around his shoulders was a thick blanket and he was taking small sips from the glass of fire-whiskey. 

He blinked. “Sorry. I got lost in my thoughts.” He took a gulp from his own glass and winced as it burned down his throat.

Tom had spent the last three days wandering the house. Harry had found him curled up in the library with a book most days. He had also been acting more or less like normal. He had been quiet and polite. He had knelt if Harry entered the room and asked permission to be excused if he wanted to leave. 

They had exchanged a few sentences but there had been no real conversation. Harry had been trying to get on top of his paperwork that seemed to be a never ending project and he hadn’t wanted to overwhelm Tom right away. He also thought Tom could use some time to settle after his unwanted trip into the past.

There had been signs of course that should have alerted Harry to the fact that Tom might not be as well as Harry hoped. He had been skittish and Harry would often see his hands tremble. Loud noises made him start and his eyes darted around a lot as if he was expecting something or someone to jump out from the shadows and eat him. 

He always waited until Harry had sat down in the kitchen before sitting at the table himself and he always hesitated before taking the first bite as if he was expecting Harry to tell him it was a trap, that he had messed up and was about to be punished. 

None of these things were really new as the alter ego of Tom had been even worse, but it was a change from how Tom had been before the incident. After eight weeks of being around Tom’s more submissive persona however, Harry hadn’t really noticed the little things until he looked back at the last three days. 

The one thing he had noticed however was that he could touch this version of Tom unlike his other persona. Harry had probably been so caught up in the relief that he could touch him and that Tom found comfort in his touch that the other things had slipped by him. 

Harry remembered how carefree and full of life Tom had been up at the dueling platform the day before everything went ot hell. How normal he had seemed and in that moment Harry had seen someone he could see himself sharing his home and work with until Lady Magic decided to let Tom go.

He was yet again pulled out of his thoughts as Tom asked again. “Master?"

Harry sighed. “Yes.” He rubbed a hand over his eye brows and wondered how to continue. In the end he gave up and said the first thing that came to mind. “I have removed all the rules from the bond. Expect the one about not lying to me. That and no magic or hurting anyone. I assume I don’t have to put the rest back in place?” He really hoped it would not be necessary. It shouldn’t be either after everything. 

Tom stared into his glass. “No.” 

Harry gave a sharp nod. “Good. Now, why didn’t you eat while I was gone? I did tell you that you could.” 

Silence. 

Deciding to wait it out Harry reached out for the tumbler and filled his glass. 

“He used to do that too sometimes.” 

Harry didn’t have to ask who he was. It couldn’t be anyone else than Andrews. 

Tom swallowed the rest of his drink and rested the hand and the glass on the couch. “If I wanted food I had to eat it from his hand. That was the rule. Not that he bothered to tell me that rule at any point. Sometimes in the beginning he would leave a tray of food within reach then have Stanley beat me senseless if I touched it. Other times he would have some other guard deliver the food with the instruction to eat. I assume you can guess the outcome if I did so.” 

The silence stretched once more before Tom spoke again. His eyes still trained on the glass in his hand. “I know I could have eaten the food, logically at least. The problem was - is - that I can’t force my body to move to do so. The body remembers the situation, the pain, the suffering. It can’t distinguish between you leaving the tray for me and him doing so as a test. It simply associates the tray being left with a test. One that will leave me beaten and broken if I fail.” 

“That is why you are struggling with the other meals as well,” Harry said in realization. He should have connected the dots earlier. He hadn’t thought about it because Tom had been fine eight weeks earlier. He had even cooked a couple of times. 

Tom gave a sharp nodd. Harry reached out for the tumbler and filled Tom’s glass. Tom gave him a small smile in thanks before downing half the glass. Harry guessed he couldn’t blame him. This was probably not a conversation that Tom wanted to have. 

“How are you doing?” He could have kicked himself the moment the words were out. Badly was probably the correct answer. 

A sharp laughter escaped Tom before he rubbed a hand over his face. “I don’t know.” 

Harry hummed. “I guess that was a stuipd question. How are you sleeping? I haven’t had to wake you from any nightmares lately.”  

Tom seemed to stiffen at the question because he became more rigid and still. 

“Tom?” Harry asked, letting a sterner note into his voice. He didn’t want Tom to try and lie to him. 

On the floor his charge sighed. “I’m not. Sleeping that it. I doze and then bolt awake. If I did fall asleep I would imagine you would have to wake me.” 

Harry couldn’t say he was surprised at the admission. “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“I didn’t think you would care.” 

The immediate and cynical response made Harry recoil. How in the world could Tom think he wouldn’t care? A sting of hurt went through him. He knew Tom didn’t trust him, but that he thought so little of him still hurt.  

Suddenly Tom winced in pain and clutched his head. “I am sorry, master,” he grounded out and then his shoulders lowered in relief. 

“Tom?” Harry said, leaning forward. He assumed Tom had lied seeing as he was being punished by the bond. 

Tom was staring hard down on the floor, a frown marring his face. He bit his lip and looked for the world like he would do anything to avoid answering. 

“Tom?” He rubbed a hand over his forehead as he asked for the second time. This time a slight tone of impatience bled into it. 

There was a frustrated sigh but no response. 

“I hate feeling this weak.” The sentence was forced out between gritted teeth.

Harry waited. That wasn’t a real answer.

Tom winced then it all spilled out. “I didn’t ask because I didn’t want to acknowledge how broken I am. How much the last assault affected me - even though I should be more than used to being raped by now - how the trip down memory lane made me realize just how defeated and broken the years in Azkaban have left me. How everything is suddenly becoming too much and I don’t know who I am anymore. What I am. How I am even unable to feed myself without you being there.” 

He took a breath. “How relieved I felt just now when you hand fed me the meal because that meant I knew I was allowed to eat. How much I struggle every time you expect me to eat at the kitchen table with you and every fiber in me is screaming that it is a trap, that it is against the rules, because that is how conditioned I have been by the warden. How relaxed I feel when you touch me even though I know I shouldn’t feel like that. How I am afraid you will take things further. Unlike the warden and Stanley there will be no penalty for you if you decide to beat me bloody or rape me. Nor will there be for the Aurors who found me that day when I ran from the cells. Any actions from you would simply be within your right as the master and I know you find me attractive.” The last part was whispered and Tom looked like he was trying to force himself not to flee from the room. 

“I know you want me to return to the Ministry with you, but I don’t know if I will be of any use to you like this and that scares me. You said it yourself a few weeks back that the deal was that you claimed me as long as I helped out the Aurors. If I am now so broken that I can’t see a red cloak without panicking, what use am I to you? You don’t need a slave to clean the house, you have your elf for that. Where does that leave me? As a bed warmer? A pet?” Tom let out a humorless laughter. He downed the rest of his glass. Then he put it on the coffee table and with a small bow he stood. “Please excuse me, master.” 

Then he left the room before Harry could open his mouth. 

Harry lifted his own glass and downed it in one go. Then he refilled it. Merlin. He knew he should probably rush after Tom and reassure him of something, but the confession he had just gotten held him back. 

If he had been feeling out of his depth before then he surely did now. 

Should he go after Tom? Or should he give him some space? 

“Kreacher.” 

“Master Harry called?” 

Harry rubbed a hand over his face. “Where did Tom go?” 

The house was huge and it would take time to search through the whole of it if Tom had decided to hide somewhere. Kreacher, however, would know where everyone was in the house. 

“Is Master Harry’s slave being difficult?” Kreacher asked with too much glee in his voice. 

Harry silently counted to ten. “No, Kreacher. I know you don’t like him, but he has gone through a lot and I need to check on him. Where is he?” 

“Master’s slave has gone down into the basement. To the potions lab.” 

He nodded and stood. “Thank you.” The potions lab. Harry had not been down there in ages. It was fully operational and there were some ingredients stored there but Harry had only used it once or twice. 

The door to the room was slightly open and the lights turned on. Harry glanced in and saw Tom leaning against one of the tables with his back towards the table. His face was hidden in his hands and he looked like he was trying to pull himself together, or trying to avoid a breakdown. Probably a bit of both. 

Harry hesitated. Was this a good idea? Tom was obviously struggling with everything and the memories of Azkaban being so fresh in his mind didn't help. The parts Tom had let slip did give some insight into what was running through his head. 

He couldn’t deny that he found Tom attractive, that he had sometimes felt arousal around the man, that he enjoyed Tom’s submission, but that had more to do with his own sexual prefrences than with Tom being his slave. The idea of forcing him into bed or to service him in exchange for food had never crossed his mind. Of course it hadn’t. It was not like he would take advantage for someone who was helpless and depended on him. 

It was not as if Harry thought of him as a pet either even though he enjoyed having Tom close enough to touch and found pleasure in the fact that the man found it pleasant as well. He didn’t mind hand feeding Tom either but that was mostly because by doing so he was taking care of what was his by giving Tom what he needed and that feeling felt nice. 

Now, how to reassure Tom of this and have him believe him? 

He must have made a sound because Tom’s head jerked up and his eyes focused on the doorway. 

Harry pushed it all the way open and stepped inside. “Hi.” 

Tom slid to his knees and bowed his head. “Master.” He didn’t exactly sound trilled by the fact that Harry had found him.  

There was a chair in one of the corners of the room and Harry pulled it over to where Tom was kneeling. He sat down and pushed both hands through his hair with a sigh.  

“Tom.” He stopped, unsure as to how to continue. 

He rubbed a hand over his forehead trying to starve of the headache. “Yes, I do find you attractive but in my defense so does everyone with a pulse,” he snorted as he addressed the elephant in the room. 

“That does not mean that I have any desires to force myself on you. I know that you have no reason to believe me, but if I did want to, why wait this long? You have slept in my bed several times during your time here,” he reminded Tom and then added, “I prefer the people I take to bed to be willing.” 

“People,” Tom said with a hard edge to his voice. His eyes were trained on the floor as if he didn’t want to see Harry’s reaction to his words. He shifted so that he was sitting with his back towards the table behind him and drew his legs up to his chest. “You say you  prefer the people you take to bed to be willing. I am not seen or classified as a person. I am your property to do with as you wish without fear of any repercussions.” 

Harry couldn’t blame him for being skeptical, for expecting the worst. After all he had been raped when he still held the status as a wizard, and after having turned himself into a slave and bound himself to Harry, he had been assaulted again by wizards who wanted to remind him of his new place as nothing more than property to be owned and used. 

It wasn’t hard to understand why Tom was being vary of the one person who did hold complete power over him all though Harry was unsure why the tropic of sex suddenly had become such a focus on Tom’s part. It had not been before as far as he knew. 

“I don’t think of you as my pet nor do I want one,” he answered slowly, unsure how to calm Tom down. “Nor do I see you as my slave even though it has been necessary for me to use the bond to enforce your behaviour to avoid you being punished by the Ministry. Trust me, it was not easy to get Hamilton to back down last time. If it had not been for Kinsgley then he would have forced a punishment on you as I could not prove I had punished you myself.” 

That conversation had not been a fun one. Hamilton was a man that Harry wanted nothing more to do with and if that meant forcing Tom to behave then so be it. Not that he thought it would be necessary to do so after all that had happened. 

If he was hoping that Tom would say something then he was mistaken. 

“As for the Ministry. The three Aurors who assaulted you are all gone. Bryan, the one who forced himself on you, has resigned and the other two, Nick and Stephen asked to be reassigned. They might have been ehh… encouraged to do so. We might have encouraged it.” 

At least that provoked a response. Tom lifted his head slightly. “We, master?”

Harry rubbed at the back of his neck. “You are a part of our team, Tom, and we don’t take kindly to anyone hurting someone on our team. We simply surprised them in the field and let them know what we thought about their actions. Just, not a word to Robards though or we would all be without a job,” he warned. 

Brown eyes met his and there was a strange look in them. “Why?” He sounded like was having problems understanding what Harry was telling him.  

“Like I said. We take care of our team and you are a part of that. I am sorry for what happened. I told you I would protect you and I failed.” Harry got a distinct feeling that perhaps this was the first time someone had ever stood up for Tom. That made his heart ache. It probably was. Tom had fended for himself all his life with no one by his side to help him. No one had cared what happened to him. That feeling had probably been intensified by his time in Azkaban. 

Tom looked away. He shook his head once as if trying to shake something off. “If I hadn’t panicked then nothing would have happened. Robards would simply have collected me when he was done.” 

That was probably true but at the same time it didn’t matter. The Aurors should not have done what they had regardless. “That is no excuse for what they did and you can’t control your panic attacks. I understand you will need time before you are ready to return to the Ministry. There is no rush all right? All I ask is that you try.”

On the floor Tom bit his lip. He was still stiff as a board and a slight tremor was running through him. There was a couple of seconds of silence before he spoke. “What if I am never able to return?” There was a force behind as he almost snapped the words out. Anger, desperation and something more.

Harry was feeling like he was missing something vital. He let his mind run through what he and Tom had been talking about that evening. His mind ran over the conversation again and again until it hit him. 

Of course. Tom was a Slytherin after all. He was not used to having something for nothing. And he was lashing out in fear. He was trying to provoke Harry into proving Tom right. That Harry would be just like the rest of them in the end. That he would take what he wanted or demand something in return for basic needs. 

“I know I told you that I was claiming you with the condition that you help me and the Aurors out but that was not an ultimatum. I will not demand something else in return if it turns out you can’t stand being in at the Ministry. If you can’t then I will bring some casefiles home and ask for your opinion and we will find something you can do during the day to pass the time.” 

“Cooking and cleaning perhaps?” Tom snapped. Harry didn’t respond. He knew Tom was trying to provoke a reaction. Probably trying to judge how sincer Harry was. 

He sighed and decided to try another approach. “Tom, just how exactly are you expecting this conversation to end? Tell me honestly. Because I can’t help you when all you do is try to provoke some kind of response from me to validate your own fears.” 

Tom looked away and a pained expression crossed his face. Harry let the silence stretch out. 

The surprised glance Tom shot at him told him that the man at least suspected that Harry had used the bond to make him answer, only to find he hadn't. 

“You didnt't make it an order.” It was more of a statement than a question. 

“No. Tom, I need you to talk to me. You are trying to provoke me into confirming your own fears that I will turn and become whatever you are fearing I will. I guess someone like Andrews. I don’t know how to reassure you I won’t. Perhaps there is no way I can. I would like you to talk to me. I need to know what you need.”

“Why?” Tom asked. There was a tone of disbelief in his voice and Harry wondered for a moment if Tom had listened to a word Harry had said the whole evening. He shifted and drew one leg up to his chest. 

Apparently he had to spell it out. “Because I care, Tom. I care about you for some reasons I don’t even understand myself, but I do. But I am out of my depth here. You have been through so much and I really don’t know how to help you. You need to tell me what you need.” 

On the floor Tom was silent. 

Chapter Text

“I need you to tell me what you need, Tom.” 

I don’t know. 

“I care about you.” 

Why? I killed your parents and friends. 

“Tell me what you need.” 

I don’t know! 

Tom woke with a gasp and his hands fisted the sheet on the bed. He blinked a couple of times against the sunlight that was coming through the window. The fire across from the bed was burning merrily as it always was. The elf would come in sometime during the early hours and lit it before Tom woke up. 

He closed his eyes and allowed his head to fall back down on the pillow with a sigh. Then he struggled back up and wandered into the bathroom. A look in the mirror told him what he already knew. He looked terrible. There were dark shades under his eyes and his complexion was pale. Even a good night's sleep, thanks to the Dreamless potion Harry had given him the night before, could not undo the last eight weeks of little to no sleep. 

The black collar around his neck stood in stark contrast to the lack of colour in his face and the colourful coat of arms in the middle seemed to glare at him. 

“I care about you.”  

“ You are a part of our team, Tom, and we don’t take kindly to anyone hurting someone on our team.”

“Oh, shut up,” Tom muttered at his own reflection in hopes that Harry’s voice and words would stop running on repeat in his head. He turned on the faucet and filled his hands with cold water that he splashed on his face. A shiver ran down his back as the cold water hit. He grabbed the towel beside the sink and dried himself. 

A quick change of clothes later he descended the stairs. The house was quiet and empty. Harry was already at work and the elf’s presens was hardly noticeable unless you called for it. His stomach growled in hunger and he sighed. Harry had told him there would be breakfast waiting for him when he woke and that he was to eat it. Tom thought he might even have been on the brink of ordering him to eat to make sure he did. Luckily he had not done so. 

There was a plate on the table in the kitchen under a stasis charm. Ham and cheese sandwich. Nothing fancy. Tom stopped just inside the door and swallowed. He suddenly felt nauseating. Forcing himself to move, he sat down on the chair at the table and pulled the plate towards him. The charm cancelled itself at the movement. His stomach growled again. 

To his annoyance his hand still shook as he lifted it from the table top. He dropped it and pulled the hand back towards the edge of the table. 

Merlin. He was stronger than this wasn’t he?

The now familiar feeling of panic started to develop in the pit of his stomach. 

Stop it, he ordered as he tried to will the feeling to go away. He knew he was allowed to eat. He had even cooked in the blasted kitchen for saint’ s sake. He ate at the table every evening with his master. There was no reason in the world to be afraid of eating it. Harry had spent a couple of hours last night trying to imprint on him that he was allowed to eat and drink whenever he wanted. Like he had been doing until that blasted incident with the Aurors. 

An old memory from the earlier days in Azkaban started to form in his mind. The time the warden had poisoned the food. It had given Tom one hell of a stomach ache and it felt like he was being burned alive from the inside. He had tried to refuse but the warden had forced him to eat every single bite as a punishment for Tom having tried to starve himself to death. Or, that was what the warden thought since he didn’t know about the horcruxes.

He hadn’t tried that again. He knew he couldn’t starve himself to death. 

The hand shook even more the second time he tried to reach out for the food and Tom swore loudly. Damn the warden. 

“For saint’s sake,” Tom swore and rose to his feet. He was tempted to shove the plate off the table in anger but he didn’t. He didn’t want to explain to Harry that he had destroyed one of the man’s plates.    

“Kreacher has been instructed to fetch master Harry if master’s slave does not eat.” 

Tom jumped and turned to scowl at the elf. Merlin how he hated the blasted creature. “I’ll eat it later,” he said. He didn’t want the elf to fetch Harry. He had assured Harry he would be able to be home alone for a day while Harry went to work. That if anything happened he would send Kreacher to get him. Harry had not been convinced it was a good idea and Tom did not want to prove him right. 

“That is not the instructions Kreacher has been given.” 

“What? Did Harry tell you to fetch him if I haven’t eaten the sandwich before ten o’clock?” He snapped. The urge to strangle the bloody thing was making his hands itch but he knew the bond would prevent him. 

The elf didn’t look impressed. “Master Harry told Kreacher to fetch him if master’s slave was having trouble eating. Since master’s slave has not eaten, Kreacher assume master’s slave is having trouble.” 

Tom wondered if the elf was trying its hardest to mention Tom’s status as a slave as many times as possible in one sentence. It probably was. He rubbed a hand over his forehead. He could either sit down and force the blasted sandwich down or convince the elf not to get Harry. 

“I will eat it, just not now,” he tried. The elf didn’t look convinced. “Fine, you can tell Harry I threatened you so that you would not fetch him and then he will be angry with me and punish me. That should make you happy,” he snarled. That might work. 

It did. The elf’s ears perked up at the possible thought of Tom getting into trouble. He popped away without another word and Tom sighed. Hopefully the elf had not gone to get Harry. 

Then the reality of what he might have done hit him. His stomach turned. Damn it. Perhaps this had not been the best idea. What if Harry actually decided that this was a punishable incident? So far the man had not punished Tom for anything even though Tom had been acting like a brat throughout the Christmas holidays. 

He sank back down on the chair and buried his head in his hands. A feeling of exhaustion came over him and he considered simply going back to bed.

You know you can eat it. Harry will not be angry. He will be if you don’t. 

Harry would not be angry, but he would be disappointed. The same way he had been yesterday when Tom had been unable to tell him what he needed. The truth was that he didn’t know. He didn’t know what Harry could do to help him back to normal because he didn’t know what normal was. Lord Voldemort was well dead and buried and so was Tom Riddle. There was nothing left of either of them. 

A new growl erupted from his stomach. He was too used to regular meals by now to be able to comfortably skip breakfast. He pulled the plate towards him again. 

As he stared at the food he tried to take a step back and evaluate the problem. It was not the eating part that scared him. Not really. The food had never hurt him, well except from that one time with the warden but he knew Kreacher would never risk disobeying Harry by doing something to the food. It was what normally would happen afterwards when the warden discovered he had eaten the food, and he wasn’t here. 

Harry on the other hand had ordered him to eat. He would not come home and be angry by the fact that the sandwich was gone. He would however be very disappointed if he came home and Tom hadn’t eaten. Or perhaps not disappointed. More like worried. Worried because he cared for some forsaken reason Tom couldn’t understand. No one had ever cared about him for that matter and he wasn’t exactly sure how to feel about it.

This time his hand barely shook as he reached out and picked up the sandwich. He swallowed and waited for the panic to come crawling back from whatever dark hole it hid in when it wasn’t making his life difficult. He lifted it and took a bite. As he chewed and swallowed he could feel a sort of calmness washing over him at the thought that Harry would be pleased when he came home and found that Tom had eaten and the bond seemed to hum. 

The sandwich disappeared quickly and he washed the plate and put it away. Grabbing a glass from the cabinet he opened the fridge and hoped that the elf had bought apple juice like he normally did. 

He took the glass with him into the sitting room that connected with the kitchen. It contained a large dining table with room for twelve people and a sitting group in front of the fireplace. If there was one thing the house did have plenty of then it was fireplaces. Tom thought there might be one in every room. He stopped in front of the double doors that lead out into a terrace. He assumed the small garden at the back of the house was magical as there really wasn’t any room for a garden behind the houses in Grimmauld’s place. It looked kept but not loved. There was a greenhouse to one side that Tom had never been in. 

The door knob felt cold under his hand and he hesitated before pulling the door open. Was he allowed to leave the house? Harry had forbidden him to leave the house back in December but he had said the day before that he had removed almost every rule. If that was true then Tom could, in theory, leave the house and go wherever he wanted. Not that it would do him any good because of the tracking spells on his collar. Not to mention that he did not want to have anything to do with strangers on his own and the risk of someone magical stumbling across him. That last thought made him shiver. No, he wasn’t going to do anything as stupid as running. 

He slowly pulled the door open and took a step over the threshold while he held his breath. Nothing happened. The bond did not react, confirming that Harry had removed almost all the rules. He stepped back inside and headed for the entrance hall. It was cold outside and he needed a cloak or a jacket. Pulling the wardrobe door open he flinched when the first thing his eyes landed on was Harry’s red, spare Auror’s cloak. He stepped back and his breath quickened as his body wanted to turn and run. 

“Stop it,” he chastised himself. It was just a piece of clothing. It couldn’t hurt him. Stepping forward he tried to ignore the way his body tensed as he picked the wool winter cloak that was hanging there. He quickly shut the door and pulled the cloak around his shoulders. 

The air was crisp and cold and he took a deep breath as he closed the door behind him. The sun was shining for once and he turned his face towards it. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been outside. Not alone at least. That had to be back when he first arrived at the house. The night he and Harry had argued about Tom’s inability to behave. 

It was hot inside the greenhouse as it absorbed the heat from the sun. To his surprise there were very few magical plants grown inside. It looked mostly to be ordinary muggle vegetables. Except for the strawberry plants apparently because the red and green plants were swaying as if listening to some silent music and winked at him. 

As he looked around he saw that he had been wrong. There were several magical plants in there but not all of them were moving. The cucumber plant looked like it needed water. As did several of the other plants. The tomato plant looked like it had died. The leaves and stems were hanging low against the floor. 

He hesitated for a moment before pulling on a pair of gloves he found just inside the door on a table along with gardening tools and a small watering can. There was a tap in the corner and he filled the can with water. At the sound of water several of the depressed looking plants started moving. They stretched their stems and brown leaves towards him, eager for water. 

It took several rounds before all the plants were happily swaying and the fruits and vegetables started to gain colour and shape. The pear tree actually tried to hug him and a pear nuzzled his cheek. Tom smiled. He could sympathise with the plants. He knew how it felt to go long periods without water and food. 

He put the can back in place and was about to take off his gloves when he noticed that a couple of the plants probably could do with some new soil and a bit of pruning. The gloves were pulled back on and he fetched a garden scissor. 

There was something calming about tending to the plants and giving them what they needed. For once his head was quiet and he wasn’t worrying about anything or thinking about what had happened. The plants seemed to be very happy for the attention and they touched and curled around him as he worked his way around. Some stroked his hair while others nuzzled against him. The exception was the pumpkin plant that turned its back on him and folded its “arms” over the top of the pumpkin. He left it alone as it clearly didn’t want any attention and it was big enough that it could do some real harm if provoked. 

Due to the sun outside the temperature in the greenhouse was quite nice and he soon removed his cloak and rolled up the sleeves on the navy shirt he was wearing. 

Feeling more settled than he had in a long time he allowed his thoughts to wander to the conversation from the night before. He had admitted all his fears and concerns to Harry and that made him feel like a weight had been lifted off him. There was, of course, still a chance that Harry would hurt him or abuse him, but for some reason Tom did believe him when he had admitted to finding him attractive but not interested in an unwilling bed-mate. 

His own panic and fear of what had happened in the past had made it impossible for him to take a step back and recognise that Harry had been in the position to do what he wanted to Tom for eight weeks and he still had not done anything. The only thing he had done was trying to find a way to bring Tom back to himself. Whoever that was. 

He wasn’t Lord Voldemort or Tom Riddle anymore. And he didn’t want to try and be either of those two. He was bone tired of life. Of making plans, of being in pain, of being worried and afraid all the time. 

Now… now he did not have to worry about anything. Not money, not work, no plans that had to be worked out. He could simply do what he wanted within the rules Harry had put in place. The rest Harry would take care of. 

There was something relaxing about that he suddenly realised. He had spent so long as Tom Riddle trying to find a place for himself in the magical world and figuring out how to gain respect from his peers. Then as Lord Voldemort he spent even longer planning and plotting on how to take over the magical world. He was tired. Oh, so tired. 

Perhaps the situation he had put himself in wasn’t so bad after all. If he could look past his own fears and prejudice then he could not claim that his time with Harry had been bad. The man was kind and caring. He did his best to look after and protect Tom and the times he had not been able to do so had been Tom’s own fault. He had bucked and fought against the reality of the new life he had chosen for himself. So fearful that Harry would turn around and become just what the warden had been. A man who took what he wanted when he wanted. 

Instead Harry had done nothing of the sort. He had given Tom space, comfort. He had been patient but firm. Everything he had done had been to protect Tom. 

I care about you.

Tom sat back on his heels and stared out into the garden through the glass of the green house. Perhaps Harry really did care. The man had a remarkable ability to forgive. 

The sun had gone down behind the neighbouring houses he suddenly noticed. What time was it? He hesitated before twisting his hand and casting a wordless tempus. The time came into view over his hand and he swore. He had spent the better part of the day with the plants. Harry was bound to be back by now. Getting up he discarded the gloves and tools. He didn’t bother putting on the cloak as he jogged across the lawn and entered the house. The living room was empty and he passed into the entrance hall. Harry’s briefcase was there. His pulse quickened. He should have greeted his master when he came home. That was the least he should have managed considering he had no other chores. 

He looked up and then hurried up the stairs. He hesitated on the landing to the third floor. The door to Harry’s office was open. Would Harry be angry? He assumed Harry had been talking to the elf when he came home. Tom had after all missed lunch due to not being hungry and thus he had forgotten about the whole meal. Then he had forgotten to greet his master as he came home. His stomach turned and all his old insecurities came rushing back. The warden would have been livid, but then again the warden would never have left him alone, unsupervised. 

Well, he couldn’t avoid Harry so perhaps it was best to just get it over with. He swallowed and entered the office and knelt with his head bent.  

“Master.” 

He must have startled Harry because the man pivoted from where he had been leaning over his desk. The colour of red spun before Tom's eyes as he glanced up. He flinched backwards and landed with his back against the wall and his legs drawn up to his chest. 

“Easy, Tom. It is just me.” 

Tom nodded. He knew it was Harry but the proximity to that red uniform still made all his common sense leave his head. The figure in red crouched down in front of him but kept his distance. “Hey,” Harry’s voice said. “Take a deep breath.” 

He obeyed and drew in a shaking breath. 

“Good boy, again.” 

He lifted his head and this time he saw Harry. Not the red cloak, not the warden or his own fears. Just Harry’s green eyes that were filled with concern. For the moment at least. Tom’s stomach lurched as he remembered the conversation with the elf and how he had missed lunch. 

“I forgot about lunch,” he blurted out and averted his eyes. When he looked back Harry was nodding. “I know,” he said in a neutral voice. 

Tom could feel himself tense up even more. “I had problems with breakfast and the elf wanted to fetch you. I told him not to, that he could tell you that I had threatened him not to do so.” There. At least he had been honest. If Harry decided to punish him then he would accept it. After all, had he not just found freedom in knowing that he didn’t have to worry about anything as long as he behaved. If he didn’t then he couldn’t blame Harry for disciplining him. This was after all a situation of his own choosing. 

“I know,” Harry repeated in that neutral voice.

It did nothing to calm Tom down. He looked down and played with the hem of his sleeve. “I am sorry.” 

A hand gently lifted his head back up by his chin. Harry was smiling at him to his surprise. “Tom, I am not angry in any way.” 

The man sounded so sincere that Tom was taken back. Again he was hit with the feeling of just how useless and pathetic he had become. How he had been reduced to this insecure, frightened something. A slave he supposed. At the mercy of his master if he displeased him. You chose this all on your own and you have just spent half a day coming to terms with your own feelings and needs. Don’t ruin this now. 

“Tom?” 

He blinked. “Master?” From the question it sounded as if Harry had asked him something and was now waiting for an answer. 

Harry was looking at him with a thoughtful look. “You missed lunch. Are you hungry?” 

A growl from his stomach answered the question from him. A smile tugged at Harry’s mouth. “I will take that as a yes. Do you prefer to eat her or in the kitchen?” 

Do you want to eat by yourself at the table or do you want me to help you? Tom had no problem translating the question. He hesitated. 

A part of him knew he should push himself to act more normal but a part of him felt more settled, more safe if Harry was feeding him. Another voice reminded him that this was not normal. This was not how a free person would handle such a question. That he should not enjoy being mastere or care how free it made him feel. 

He pushed that voice into a box that he buried in the back of his head. 

It didn’t matter. He was content. And he was, wasn’t he? Yes, there were still several issues to be dealt with but he had come to terms with his own choices. With his new status. He didn’t exactly trust Harry fully, but he was going to give the man a chance. 

The fact that he and his friends had gone after the three people who had assaulted Tom spoke a lot to their characters and how much they did see Tom as a part of their team. There had been no reason for them to do what they did because Harry could, and had claimed damages from them by legal actions. Taking revenge the way they had done spoke of something else. That Tom was a part of their team and seen as one of them.  

It was such a new situation that Tom didn’t know how to react. He had never had anyone who stood up for him and here he had a whole team. A team that consisted of people he had hurt with his actions who were still willing to put it all behind them for the greater good. 

Just give them a chance. You can always go back to being difficult and disobedient. 

That was also true. Tom had not tried to simply giving into his new position as a slave. He had fought at every turn and even the few times he had given into his role it had not been wholehearted. He had always felt bad after that he had enjoyed being close to Harry. Sleeping next to the man. The way he was drawn to him. How he enjoyed his touch and how he simply wanted to curl up next to the man because he knew he was safe there. 

Give him a chance. Give it a chance. You can always change your mind later. 

Could he? A headache started to bloom behind his eyes and he closed them. When he opened them Harry was standing. “I’ll fetch something to eat,” he said and left the room. 

The feeling of relief washed over him and he let his head fall back towards the wall. After a minute or so he pushed himself to his feet and wandered over to his “nest” on the floor by the couch. He sat down on the pillows and pulled one of the blankets around his shoulders. The puzzle was almost finished. Perhaps he should finish it in the morning before finishing up in the greenhouse. There were a couple of plants that still needed a bit of pruning and a change of soil. Perhaps he could try and coax a couple of the plants to give up some vegetables as well. They would make a good ratatouille if he could gather the ones he needed. That was one of the perks of a magical greenhouse. You could grow whatever you wanted in them. 

A movement by the door caught his attention and Harry entered, now dressed in normal clothes. He was carrying a tray or something in his hand. Tom stared at it as it was put down on the coffee table and frowned. What in the world? In front of him was a circular piece of bread that seemed to be topped by cheese and ham and mushroom. It looked like it had been cut into triangular pieces. There was something familiar about the shape and look but he drew a blank when he tried to figure out what. 

“It’s a pizza, Tom,” Harry smiled as he sat down on the couch. Close enough that Tom could lean against his leg if he wanted to. “I forced Kreacher to learn how to make it. It’s kind of a fast food or comfort food. Quick to make. From italy. If you don’t like it I’ll get Kreacher to make you something else.” 

The man reached out and picked up a piece of the pizza that he put on a plate and handed to Tom. Tom accepted and to his surprise he felt no reservation at eating the food on the plate even though it wasn’t being hand fed to him in the traditional sense. Perhaps it was because Harry had handed him the plate or because he was half kneeling half sitting on the floor beside the man and as such his position as a slave was more than clear. He didn’t know but he was grateful. 

Pizza turned out to be very good. It was not classical food or fine dining that he usually preferred but it was tasty. The cheese, bread, ham and mushrooms melted together into something comforting and easy. He finished the first piece and didn’t protest when Harry took the plate from him only to hand it back with another piece. Tom smiled before tucking in. 

Harry turned sideways on the couch and leaned against the armrest with his legs on the couch. “Have you done anything exciting today?” He asked between bites. 

Exciting was perhaps stretching things, Tom thought. “I tended to the plants in the greenhouse. They seemed to be happy for the attention.” 

“Yes, the damned greenhouse,” Harry groaned and put a hand over his face. “I tried but this last year I haven’t had the time and Kreacher refuses to go near it. How bad of a condition was it in?” He looked like he was dreading the answer.  

Tom swallowed the last bit of pizza. “All the plants are alive. The pumpkin is rather angry at being ignored for so long though.” He looked at the plate with the pizza before shifting his eyes to Harry who smiled and nodded. Slowly he reached out and transferred another piece of pizza to his plate. He picked up and took a bite.

Harry grinned. 

Chapter Text

Robards called him into his office just as Harry was getting ready to head home. He sighed as he turned around and walked towards the man’s office. It was late, later than usual and he was hungry and wanted to go home to Tom. 

“Sir?” He inquired from the doorway and hoped that Robards had a simple question he wanted to ask. 

The head of the Auror’s department walked around his desk and sat down with a heavy sigh. “Sit, please.” 

With a silent sigh of his own Harry sat in the visitor chair and resigned himself to being even later home than he had expected. As he leaned back in the chair he looked at Robards and noted that the man looked exhausted. There were dark circles under his eyes and his hair was standing in all directions as if he had been shoving his hand through it several times. The desk was littered with files and empty coffee mugs. 

“As you are aware there has been a flux in recent raids and attacks from this group of dark wizards that still claim that the dark lord will rise again, or is back or something. We are not really sure. They started out using his dark mark but it has not been seen since December after it became common knowledge that Voldemort was out of Azkaban and in your ownership. We can’t find any similarities in the attacks. They seem quite random and they have even attacked a couple of muggle villages. Which is a nightmare for the Departement with all the muggles that have to be oblivated . Well, you know how it is,” Robards made a gesture with his hand. 

Harry nodded. It was a nightmare really. The logistics alone to make sure all the muggles were oblivated was one hell of a job. 

“Yes.” Robards sighed again. “What I am really wondering is if there is a chance that Riddle is well enough to come in? Don’t take it personal, Potter. You and your team are doing great work but you can’t deny that Riddle does have a lot of inside information that could prove to be very valuable.” 

“I know,” Harry answered. 

“Well, how is he?” 

Skittish. Nervous. Silent. Quiet. Harry tried to decide on how to describe Tom. 

“He is better,” he settled on in the end. It was the truth after all. 

Robards nodded and looked slightly hopeful. “Better as in good enough to come into the office.” 

Well, that was the question now wasn’t it. “I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “He is better but he is still struggling with certain things. The sight of my Auror robe, or anyones really, is enough to send him into a panic attack. I don’t think bringing him here will do him any good.” 

He didn’t add that he wasn’t sure that Tom would ever put a foot in the Ministry again unless forced. 

“That bloody incident. I should never have left him,” Robards grumbled and stared at the wall, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. 

“You can’t blame him, sir. Considering everything in Azkaban and then that, it is no wonder he doesn’t want to be around Aurors.” 

Robards looked back at Harry and blinked. “Of course. I have to admit I hardly think of Riddle as Voldemort anymore. It has been four years since the war and Riddle doesn’t look or act anything like Voldemort.” 

“Even the strongest mind breaks if put under enough pressure.” 

“Yes. Has he told you anything about those years?” 

Harry nodded. “Yes, he has told me quite a lot.” He didn’t add anything more. It wasn’t his place to tell anyone about Tom’s experience in Azkaban. Robards seemed to understand because he didn’t follow up with any questions concerning those years. 

“Well, could you ask him? We can put him in Marcus’ office. That way he wouldn’t be directly in contact with the Aurors. Or, perhaps I could drop by your house and talk to him, if he is up for that?” He leaned forward with his elbows on the desk and Harry could sense the eagerness rolling off him. They needed to get some lead on who these people were and fast. Tom would be the best source they had available. 

Harry felt like he had to warn the man. “Sir, he isn’t exactly the same as he was when you last saw him. The incident broke something in him I think.” Or, the trip down memory lane at the courtesy of Lucius had. “He is -,” Harry stopped. He wasn’t sure how to describe Tom. “I am not really sure how to explain it.” 

“I understand, Potter. I only ask that you ask him.” 

“I will, but I can’t promise anything.” 

***

“Master Harry is late home.” 

Harry sighed as he pulled off the red Auror robe and handed it to the elf. “Well, Kreacher, crimes don't only happen within working hours.”  

Kreacher’s eyes narrowed but he didn’t say anything more about the tropic. “Master’s slave had problems with the food, again.” 

Probably another nightmare Harry thought. Tom had managed to overcome most of his fear about eating by himself but some days were more difficult than others. Especially if a nightmare had disrupted his sleep. The worse the nightmare the more trouble Tom usually had the day after. 

“Has he eaten at all today?” Harry asked as he thumbed through the mail on the table. There was nothing special. The monthly letter from Gringotts and a couple of other letters. 

“Yes, master’s slave has eaten both breakfast and lunch.”

Harry nodded. Good. “Where is Tom?” 

Some days Tom would greet him in the entrance hall when he came home. If he didn’t then he would normally show up after a short time when he realised that Harry was home. He had a sneaking suspicion that Kreacher would alert Tom on those days and scold him for not meeting his master when he came home.  

Neither of them liked each other both but it seemed like they were tolerating each other if nothing else. 

“Library, master Harry.” 

Of course. The one place he could be sure to find Tom. “Thank you,” he said as he started on the stairs. “Could you bring something light to eat? I don’t think I will be able to wait until supper. Bring enough for two in case Tom wants something.” 

He stopped at the office to put away his briefcase before he made his way back down to the library. 

As he came through the door he stopped short. He could feel his eyebrow lift as he took in the complete chaos of the room. There were books everywhere on the floor. Some stacked while others were simply laying in piles. What in the world? 

He took in the mostly empty shelves as he looked around for Tom. A movement behind one of the shelves led him in that direction. 

“Tom?” he called as he looked around. 

“Here, master,” came Tom’s slightly muffled voice from around the shelf where he was climbing down a ladder with more books in one arm. Just as he reached the floor the books on the top overbalanced and crashed to the floor. Tom jumped back to avoid having them land on his feet and thus the rest of them crashed to the floor as well. 

“Careful,” Harry snapped in worry. 

“Sorry, master,” Tom mumbled as he bent down to arrange the books in a pile. He probably thought Harry was scolding him about the books, Harry thought with a sigh as he bent down and started helping him. 

“What in Merlin’s name are you doing?” he asked and gestured around himself. 

Tom looked a bit sheepishly. “Organising the library.” 

Harry blinked. “Why?” 

Tom shrugged. “There is no system at the moment. It’s annoying when you are looking for a particular book or tropic.” He looked up and Harry frowned as he caught sight of his face. Reaching out he took Tom by the chin and tilted his head towards the windows to have a better look. On his right side there was a bruise blooming. 

“Been fighting with that pumpkin plant of yours again?” he asked, trying to hide a smile. 

Tom had been in some sort of a fight with the plant for over a week. Harry wasn’t sure exactly what they couldn’t agree on but apparently the plant was as stubborn as Tom. It was not the first time it had lashed out at Tom but it was the first time it had landed a hit as far as Harry knew. 

“Not my fault it won’t come to its senses,” Tom muttered but he didn’t try to pull his face out of Harry’s hold. 

Harry stifled a laugh as he took out his wand to heal the bruise. 

Then he sat back on his heels and looked around at the complete chaos around him. 

“Well, this is going to take quite some time,” he remarked. Wondering if perhaps that was why Tom had started on the project. 

“Probably,” Tom answered. There were dark circles under his eyes which confirmed Harry’s suspicion that he had not slept well. He rose to his feet. 

“I asked Kreacher to bring some food. I have to finish a report I promised Robards two days ago.” 

Tom looked at him and his eyes narrowed. “He told you.” It was not a question. 

Harry sighed. “Tom, he always gives me a report when I come home.” 

The eyes narrowed even more. “You don’t trust me.” Again it was not a question. 

“Tom, it is not that I don’t trust you. He gives me a report because you are not good at recognizing your own needs and problems and as such you don’t tell me about them.” For all that Tom had seemed more settled and content during the last week and a half then he ever had been, he still seemed to have problems grasping that Harry cared about him. About his well-being. “Nightmare?” 

Tom looked away and gave a short nod. 

“Why didn’t you wake me?” 

The question is answered with a shrug. 

Well, Harry thought. There was still a long way to go before Tom would fully trust Harry. There was nothing he could do to speed up that process either. Harry felt more settled too after having come to the realisation that he did not blame this version of Voldemort for his parents death. That he actually liked this version of Voldemort and he didn’t mind sharing his life and house with him. That he cared about Tom. That the man had everything he needed because he was dependent on Harry for everything. There was something satisfying in having someone to take care of because Harry had chosen to do so. Not because he was being forced. 

Not that Tom was the easiest person to take care of however. The man had never experienced the feeling of being cared for and as such he didn’t know how to accept it. 

“Didn’t want to disturb your sleep, master.” Tom answered, still not looking at Harry. Instead he was stacking the books on top of each other. 

Like that, Harry thought and sighed inwardly. Tom didn’t think Harry cared enough that he could wake him in fear of Harry becoming angry. 

“I would rather you wake me if you think I can help,” Harry reprimanded in a soft tone. Tom had after all seemed to sleep better with Harry close the other times. 

Tom didn’t sound like he was convinced when he answered. “Yes, master.” 

“Good. I am going to finish the report. Come join me if you want to.” 

***

To Harry’s surprise Tom did join him fifteen minutes later. He had expected Tom to prefer to stay with his books and his new project. Still, his charge came into his office and settled down in his usual place on the floor. Harry watched him as he knelt down and noted the tension in his neck and the way he held himself. 

Reaching out to put his hand on Tom’s neck to try and calm him and he was surprised when Tom flinched sideways and ended up half kneeling, half sitting, his body turned away from Harry. Harry frowned. “Easy, Tom,” he said as brown, now terrified eyes met his for a moment before being turned towards the floor.  

Okay, that was not normal. During the last week after their talk Tom had seeked out Harry most evenings and seemed to enjoy the occasional touch. Now, however, he simply looked scared. 

Tom swallowed. “I am sorry, master,” he said in a voice so low that Harry almost couldn’t catch what he said. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Just the nightmare, master.” 

Well, nightmares normally didn’t make Tom scared of Harry. It had to have been one hell of a nightmare. Harry wondered if he should push or not as he leaned back into his chair. Deciding to wait he didn’t comment. Instead he changed the subject. 

“Except for fighting with that pet vegetable of yours, have you spent the whole day in the library?” 

“Fruit.” 

Tom looked up and apparently saw Harry’s confusion because he continued. “It’s a fruit. From the Cucurbita family, not a vegetable.”

Of course Tom would know that. He probably read it in some book. Harry hated the sodding plant. He had tried to appease the bloody thing several times but never succeeded. 

“And yes.” 

The project Tom had started on would take several weeks from the looks of it. Especially since he had to do it without magic to help him. 

A pop alerted him to the arrival of Kreacher, carrying a tray with tea and small sandwiches. Nothing too heavy as he would be serving supper later.  

“Thank you,” Harry said automatically. 

“Kreacher will be serving supper at eight o’clock, master Harry,” the elf announced before popping away.         

Harry took one of the small sandwiches with ham and cheese and cut it in three. Considering Tom’s behaviour he hardly believed the man would eat by himself. Without looking he casually held out one of the pieces towards Tom while reaching for a sandwich with his other hand. He could feel Tom’s lip against his fingers as the man carefully took the offered morsel. 

His thoughts turned back to Tom’s library project once more. Would it hurt to make things a little easier for him? 

On the floor Tom moved back to his knees and was slowly gravitating towards Harry and a sense of relief washed through Harry when he felt the familiar weight of Tom’s body lean against his legs. A bit hesitant at first but then the man seemed to relax. Carefully Harry let his hand drop to the pale swan-like neck and, except from a small flinch, Tom allowed the touch.

Harry fed him another one of the pieces of sandwich and felt the strained tendons in the neck relax more and more. Good. Harry would have been worried if Tom had continued to avoid him. 

“It will take you days, if not weeks, to organise the library,” Harry ventured. 

Tom shrugged. “Yes, probably.” 

Perhaps that was the reason why Tom had started the project after all. A way to keep his mind busy during the day.

So far Harry had not pushed at him or asked him to return to work with him. He had hoped that Tom would suggest so himself - to come back - but the man had not seemed keen on it. 

He did understand that Tom needed time. Time to come to terms with what had happened. Perhaps he would never be able to return to the Ministry. Harry doubted that but he did understand why Tom thought that might be the case.

Then again, the one place Tom was allowed the most access to his magic was at work during the cases, or duels. Harry knew that a lot of Aurors hoped Tom would return to the monthly duelling sessions. Tom had probably almost forgotten how it felt to use magic by now. First the years in Azkaban and then being cut off from it when Harry brought him home. Perhaps a reminder? 

His mind made up, he spoke. “You can use the levitation charm to help you in the library, but you can only use it in the library and only with the intention of bringing the books up and down from the shelves.” 

Tom’s head jerked up and in his surprise he could not conceal the excitement that shone in his eyes. It made him seem younger and somehow vulnerable. Harry felt a twinge of regret for what he would have to ask of him. He decided to wait. Let Tom have time to enjoy using his magic.

“Thank you, master,” Tom smiled and started to rise. 

“Oh no, you don’t get to run off before you finish the meal,” Harry said with a smile and caught him by the neck. Tom froze at the hand on his neck before settling back down on his knees. He didn’t look too happy but the pressure of Harry giving his neck a brief squeeze seemed to settle him. His eyes closed half way and Harry could feel him leaning into the touch. 

“Eat and drink your tea. Then you can run off.” 

***

The books moved and floated through the air as Tom directed them where he wanted them. Some floated down to the ground while others sorted themselves into piles. He twisted his wand and sent the first row of books he had sorted back up onto the shelves. 

He could have done the job without his wand too, but after being cut off from his magic for so long he was out of practise in the finer art of wandless magic. Even his usually so powerful magic felt dormant. Like it had been hibernating for too long and was now trying to wake up. It was like reaching for something that felt solid only to feel his hand grab at smoke. The feeling had been there when he had participated in the duel at the Ministry too but not as pronounced as now. 

It would get better, he knew that, but at the moment he felt weak. Not only was his mind and body damaged beyond what he would have thought possible, but it was an even bigger blow to discover that his magic had taken a hit as well. It made him feel vulnerable in a new way. Most of his life he’d had his magic to support him. With it he had been the strongest, the best. The magic had protected him and helped him become the most powerful wizard of his time. 

A frown formed on his forehead as he could feel two of the books furthest away from him lose momentum and were drifting towards the floor. He concentrated and felt sweat break out on his forehead as he forced his magic to respond in order to keep the books floating.

“Wow.” 

The sudden sound of a voice behind him made him flinch as he had not heard Harry enter the room. His focus shattered and all the books crashed to the floor as Tom whirled around. He knelt with his hands and wand in his lap. “Master,” he breathed, his voice slightly off from the struggle to keep the books in the air. 

He glanced up and saw Harry staring at the books that had dropped to the floor. “How can you keep five books levitating in different directions at the same time?” he asked with awe in his voice. 

Oh. Tom hadn’t thought about that. To him five books was nothing special but Harry looked starstruck. “Practise, master,” he simply answered. 

The smile on Harry’s face slowly disappeared and was replaced by a frown. The man rubbed a hand over his forehead and he walked over to the couch by the fireplace. “I need to talk to you for a moment, Tom.” 

Tom’s heart skipped a beat at the seriousness of the voice and his pulse quickened. Had he done something? He didn’t think so. 

When he didn’t say anything or moved, Harry looked up and beckoned his hand. “Come here.” He threw a pillow down on the floor at the other end of the couch. Tom rose and knelt on the pillow. The voice Harry had used did nothing to calm him. He put the wand on the coffee table, the books behind him already forgotten. 

“Master?” He asked in what he hoped was a neutral voice. 

“You haven’t done anything, Tom. Relax.” The small smile he was given made his pulse settle. He shifted a bit on the pillow until he was leaning against the couch with his legs out to one side. Harry had never been one to be stickler about how Tom knelt or sat on the floor. 

It took what felt like an eternity for Harry to speak. Long enough for Tom to start getting nervous again. 

“Robards wanted to know if there was any chance you would agree to return to the Ministry. He and Sommerseth are having a hard time with these raids and attacks and they hope you could give some insight.” Harry finally said and Tom understood why the man had hesitated. This was the one trophic Tom didn’t want to discuss. 

Before Tom could answer or even open his mouth, Harry held up a hand. “I know. We have had this talk. I am not going to force you to come to work with me. Robards mentioned that he would be willing to come here or they could use Sommerseth's office. You don’t have to give me an answer now but please think about it. It doesn’t have to be more than once or twice.” 

Tom doubted it would be only once or twice. Even Harry didn’t sound like he believed his own words. 

His thoughts drifted to the Ministry. The Auror’s office with the cubicles and masses of red robes. A shiver ran down his back. 

The phantom pain of bones in his ankle breaking made him twitch and move his legs closer. He blinked and rubbed his right thumb against the palm of his left hand to try and distract himself. 

Coldness settled over him and he felt the cold stone of the floor in the cells under his knees.  A hand in his hair. The feeling of the soft material of the red robes brushing against his side. Against his face. 

Stanley’s face as he pinned him against the floor. The warden’s smile as he forced him to come closer. 

A hand around his neck made him flinch and on instinct he lashed out to force the person away from him. The next thing he knew was pain crashing into him. It felt like pins and needles being forced into his head and he covered it with his hands as he screamed and curled in on himself. 

As sudden as the excruciating pain came it disappeared. The memory lingered however and washed over him in waves that slowly ebbed away. 

“Merlin, Tom. Come here.” He felt himself being moved so that he was laying with his head on the pillow he had been sitting on. The pillow was now in Harry’s lap and the man was pulling a blanket around him. Tom closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing as he felt Harry tuck the thing around him. 

Harry. He had shoved Harry which had triggered the bond. Just like it had done all those weeks ago. 

“Panic attack?” 

As much as he didn’t want to admit it he couldn’t exactly deny it either. He nodded. One good thing about the residual pain was that it kept the memories at bay for the moment at least. He closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on the proximity to Harry. How the closeness calmed his nerves and allowed him to relax. He was safe here. With Harry. The last thing he wanted was for Robards and Sommerseth to bring work into the house. To disturb his one safe place. 

Harry’s hand continued to card through his hair and down his neck but the man stayed silent. Tom sighed inwardly. He doubted that Harry would force him to go to the Ministry but he also knew that Robards and Sommerseth would not give up and that the question would be asked again. Perhaps Sommerseth's office? It was on a different level than the Auror’s office and Sommerseth did not wear the red robes of the Aurors. 

He felt his mind wander and then started to slip towards sleep as the last of the pain disappeared. 

***

He woke to the feeling he wasn’t in his own bed. Panic rose as he bolted upright. He blinked a couple of times before he realised he was in Harry’s bed. Beside him Harry was rubbing sleep out of his own eyes as he carefully pushed himself up onto his elbow. They were both still dressed. 

“Sorry,” the man muttered and yawned. “You refused to let go of me and I didn’t have the heart to wake you so I put you here.” 

Tom nodded and pulled the covers up to his chin. When he glanced over he saw Harry studying him. “You are free to return to your own room, you know that?” The man asked in a careful tone like someone who was afraid of scaring a spooked animal even more. 

Yes, logically he knew that. “Yes, master,” he croaked out and winced at the hoarseness of his own voice. Did he want to go to his own bed? He thought about the dark room, being alone with only his memories for the rest of the night. The thought made him shiver. 

He bit his lip before opening his mouth. “May I stay?” It was a wonder that Harry had heard him considering how the words were barely audible. His pulse rose as he started worrying about Harry sending him away. When Harry didn’t answer right away the nervousness became worse. 

A hand was placed on his arm and he almost collapsed at the relief when he saw Harry smile at him. “Of course, Tom. As long as you don’t feel like you have to.” 

He nodded and sank back down on the mattress. Harry settled back down beside him. 

After a couple of minutes the man’s breath evened out and he fell back into a deep slumber. Tom lay awake listening to the sound of his breath. Carefully he reached out a hand and let it touch Harry’s. The slight contact helped ground him. To his surprise he felt calm and at peace even though he was in bed with the one man who held all the power in the world over him. As he focused on the positive emotions he felt himself being dragged back under as sleep claimed him once more. 

***

“Look at you,” the voice crooned as Voldemort curled up on the floor. He wanted to snarl and lash out at the man for daring to think he could hurt Lord Voldemort but as soon as the thought took form in his head it was overtaken by pain as the welts on his naked back made themselves known. He clenched his eyes shut and tried to breath through the pain. For all that he saw himself as immortal he wasn’t immune to pain and suffering when he did not have his magic to protect him. 

“How the mighty have fallen.” The figure crouched down beside him and a hand pushed through his hair. Voldemort wanted nothing more than to push the man away but in his current condition he couldn’t even find the energy to lift his arm. 

The hand continued down his back and fingernails raked over the bleeding wounds. Voldemort groaned and arched his back to no avail. Pain shot like lightning through his nerves. 

“So pretty for a Dark Lord,” the voice whispered close to his ear as the man leaned closer. “It is almost a shame. But, you know, my sister was a very pretty girl too. Until.” 

Voldemort tried to pay attention to what the man was saying but he couldn’t concentrate fully on the words. 

“Do you know what happened to her?” 

He had no idea what had happened to her. He didn’t even know who she was. 

“She was attacked, kidnapped and raped. We found her dumped in a ditch. It was almost impossible to tell who she was at first sight.” The words were hissed as the man forced Voldemort down on the floor and leaned over him. A hand petter over his cheek in an almost caring manner. 

“She was barely seventeen,” the man said wistfully. “Just a child. A child lost to the war all because of your choices. Because of your men.” 

The furious look on the man’s face turned almost thoughtful. “Perhaps it would do you some good to experience what she went through.”

Voldemort could feel the rest of his clothes being removed by magic and the reality of the situation caught up with him as the man pinned him to the floor and loosened the belt on his trousers. 

He struggled and as he looked up Harry’s face looked down at him as the man used his force to hold him down as he pushed his pants down. 

A scream woke Tom and he curled up as he realised it was his own voice. 

“Merlin, Tom. You almost gave me a heart attack. It was only a nightmare.” 

Tom looked up and saw Harry leaned over him, a hand on his arm pressing him down. No please, he thought. Not again. Please, not again. He forced himself to move away and crashed off the bed and onto the floor. His shoulder and arm took the brunt of the hit and he groaned but forced himself to continue to move. Please, please, he thought.

He hit the wall and then another as he backed into a corner. Cornered he did the only thing his panicked mind could think of. He knelt and prostrated himself with his forehead to the floor and his hands beside his head. 

“Please, master. Please, I’m begging you. I am sorry, but please don’t.” He trembled uncontrollably as he begged and wondered what else he could offer for his master to leave him alone. 

Nothing but silence followed. No footsteps that indicated that Harry was coming closer. No sounds at all. The silence stretched out and suddenly not knowing what his master was doing became worse than waiting. 

Tom lifted his head enough to glance upwards to see what his master was doing. To his surprise the man was sitting on the floor with the covers around himself and his head buried in his hands and his elbows on his knees. His shoulders were shaking. 

The sight was so surprising that Tom was shaken from his nightmare. 

Harry. This was Harry. His master. Not Stanley or the warden. Damn it. This was the second time his nightmares had replaced one of the two with Harry. It had happened the night before as well which had led to him flinching away from Harry in the office. 

Tom shuffled slightly. “Master?” He called softly. Harry didn’t seem to hear him. 

“Harry?” He tried. Still no response. Worry started to gnaw at him and he shuffled closer on his knees. Close enough to reach out and place a hand on Harry’s. “Harry?” He tried again and this time the other man looked up. 

His eyes were red with tears and he looked incredibly young and vulnerable. Tom swallowed. He had never seen the man like this and it hurt. It hurt because Tom knew it was because of his actions. He opened his mouth a couple of times before he could get the words out. 

“I am sorry, Harry. The nightmare. I - it - I just got confused.” 

Harry nodded and used his hand to dry the tears away. “I know, Tom. I -,” he hesitated. “I just don’t know what to do,” he finished miserably. 

Tom swallowed. The guilt that he had brought his master to tears ripped at him. Without thinking he moved closer and settled beside Harry on the floor. He leaned against him. “It’s not your fault.” 

“I know that,” Harry snapped, but as Tom flinched his face softened. “I know that, Tom. The problem is that I don’t know what to do to help you. You probably need professional help. More than I can provide and I just feel helpless when you are consumed by your memories. When you confuse them with me. I know I am your master with all what that entails but it hurts to think that your brain confuses me with your abusers. I don’t know what I am supposed to do here.” 

“I don’t have any answers to that, master,” Tom answered honestly after thinking about Harry’s words for a couple of minutes. 

“I know,” Harry replied. “I know. I don’t either. Perhaps we just have to figure this out as we go.” Slowly Harry lifted his hand and petted through Tom’s hair. 

Tom could feel himself tense for a moment before the familiar touch helped settle him. As Harry’s hand moved it settled on his neck and Tom allowed himself to move so that he was laying on the floor with his head pillowed in Harry’s lap. He sighed and closed his eyes. 

He didn’t have any answers. Perhaps there weren’t any. Perhaps there was. Only time would tell.

Chapter Text

“What in Merlin’s name is wrong with you?” Tom snapped as he jumped out of reach of the angry pumpkin as it lashed out against him. It hit the side of the greenhouse, making the walls rattle from the impact. 

“Even the plants do not like master’s slave.” 

Tom spun around. That bloody elf, he thought in annoyance as he had to concede that the thing had managed to sneak up on him. “They like me well enough, just not this one.” 

The elf just stared at him, unblinking. 

“Kreacher has made lunch for the master's ungrateful slave,” it said as it turned around to hobble towards the door. The thing had to be ancient, Tom thought. He could remember it being around when Orion had been the head of the house of Black.  

The insult, however, didn’t even register. He had become used to them. They were mostly aimed either at his blood or his status as a slave. If it had not been for the fact that he knew that the elf could not, nor would dare to displease Harry then he would never have eaten the food the elf prepared out of fear of being poisoned. As it was he assumed he was perfectly safe. The elf might not like Harry either but it was bound to Harry, to Lord Black. 

Bellatrix would have thrown a fit if she had known how things had turned out. The memory of Bella came out of the blue and he tried to push it away as he always did when memories from before the Battle assaulted him. No good was coming from living in the past. He wasn’t sure if anything good was coming from living in the here and now either. Currently it felt like he was simply existing. 

“Thank you,” he replied absentmindedly, trying to sound sincere as he pushed the depressing thoughts away. He hardly believed he succeeded but the elf popped away. 

With a final glare towards the pumpkin plant he left the greenhouse. Outside it was pouring down. It might be May but that did not mean that the weather Gods only sent good weather. Tom jogged across the lawn and slipped into the house. 

He was met with silence as Harry was at work and the elf hardly made any sounds as it moved about doing its chores. Adding to that Harry had been working late a lot the last couple of weeks and as such Tom was spending most of the day alone. Not that he was complaining. He was used to being alone and it didn’t bother him. After Azkaban it was more of a privilege to be left alone.

Lunch turned out to be a chicken BLT sandwich. One thing he couldn’t fault the elf for was the food. Everything it served always tasted good. 

The elf appeared as Tom was washing the dish. It was still scowling but that seemed to be its default setting when around Tom. 

“Is Harry coming home at a normal time today?” Tom asked without looking at it as he dried the plate before putting it away. 

“ Master Harry is working late. He has instructed Kreacher to make dinner for his impure slave.” The clear emphasis on Harry’s title told Tom that the elf thought him to be disrespectful. Or ungrateful as it constantly pointed out. 

“Kreacher will call the master's slave when dinner is ready.” It popped away. 

Tom sighed. Any normal the elf would have asked when he wanted dinner served but apparently he wasn’t even given a choice. Well, if it dragged out too long then he could always just make something himself.

Luckily he had managed to get over the aversion to eating by himself that had bothered him so three weeks earlier. 

He ended up walking around the house with no clear direction. The house felt empty. Not that he was lonely, he was used to being alone but it still felt vacated. Harry had been working late almost every day and he had also been going into work on the weekends. 

That left Tom with much alone time. He had spent most of it in the library or with the puzzles in Harry’s office. Harry had gone out and bought him several new ones when he noticed the pace that Tom was going through them. He had come home with the most difficult ones he could find. 

Tom had even organised the potion laboratory in the basement. Throwing away ingredients that were long past their expiration date and organising the rest into a system.

He had planned to ask Harry if he could brew but hadn’t gotten around to it yet. After having been given some access to his magic he thought the man might agree. At least to some potions. 

The door to Harry’s office was open and as he stopped in the doorway his eyes landed on the two red files on the coffee table. The Auror colour still made him recoil but it was getting better. 

Harry had left the files a couple of days ago and said that he would be grateful if Tom could give his opinion on the cases. 

Tom had nodded but had not touched the files. Harry hadn’t pressed either and the files had remained on the coffee table collecting dust. 

A sense of unwillingness crept over him everytime he thought of opening the files. Like a part of him wanted nothing to do with the world outside the house. Harry hadn’t pressed either. There had been no questions of when or if Tom thought he could return to work. No signs of Harry losing his patience with Tom. 

If anything the man had been nothing but concerned and understanding. It was almost too good to be true, Tom thought. 

And that made Tom feel slightly guilty. An emotion he didn’t have much experience with until recently. Harry had been nothing but good to him. Going far out of his way to protect and care for him even when Tom had thrown a tantrum back around Christmas. How Harry had been so devastated when Tom had confused him with the warden and Stanley and thought Harry was going to abuse him. 

The unfamiliar feeling in his gut twisted. The only thing Harry had asked for was help with the Auror’s cases and Tom couldn’t even find it in himself to help him with that. Such a small request really considering what Tom had dragged Harry into. 

***

He woke with a gasp as he bolted upright in the bed. His breathing was going a bit too fast and his pulse was high. It hadn’t been a real nightmare, not this time, but fear still shot through him, making him anxious and disoriented. 

The nightmares had dimmed down as the weeks passed by. They still made an appearance every now and then but at least they had stopped being a nightly routine. 

There were still times when a sound, or a smell or just something would send him into a panicked state as memories assaulted him. Luckily those episodes happened more and more infrequently. That could have something to do with the fact that Tom hadn’t left the house for quite some time.

Pushing the covers aside he sat at the edge of the bed and buried his head in his hands as he took a couple of deep breaths. He knew that trying to go back to sleep would be futile as he was too wired from the adrenalin. Removing one hand from his face he twisted it and the time appeared in blue. Just past one. He had barely slept for three hours. 

Standing he pulled on some trousers and a t-shirt and stepped out of the room. A glance to his right told him that Harry was not home, or at least not in bed. The door to his room was open and from the little light that shone from the fireplace he could make out that the bed was still made up the way it had been that morning. 

On the third floor a noise made him wander towards Harry’s office. The light was one and he could hear the radio playing on a low note. Harry was sitting bent over his desk, scribbling at something. He didn’t look up until Tom entered the room and knelt, more out of habit than order. He rose a couple of seconds later. 

“Working later, master?” he inquired as he leaned against the doorframe. 

Harry looked, well, terrible, he thought. The hair was more of a mess than usual and he looked dead on his feet. He sighed and rubbed a hand over his eyes as if trying to rub the sleep out of them. 

“Tom,” he said. There was something in the tone that almost made Tom think Harry would have preferred if Tom hadn’t disturbed him. Then again, Tom had hardly seen Harry for the last two weeks so it couldn’t be that the man was tired of being disturbed. 

“I thought you would be fast asleep,” Harry said and took a sip from the mug he had on his desk. Coffee, Tom guessed from the look of the mug. Not something to recommend if one had plans to fall asleep and Harry did look like he needed a good night of sleep. 

“Nightmare?” 

Tom nodded. Harry leaned back in his chair and stretched his hands over his head, arching his back. 

“Yes,” he said as an answer to Tom’s original question and leaned forward again, placing his elbows on the desk. “There is a lot to do at work. How is that pumpkin plant of yours?” 

Taking the question as an invitation, Tom stepped away from the doorframe and into the room. He wandered over to the windows and looked out into the night. 

He liked the office. It was familiar, comforting. He had spent countless hours in the room. Reading, working on the puzzles, talking to Harry. Even when Harry wasn’t home it was the room he preferred. 

“It’s still stubborn, but I did manage to throw a bucket of water at it so it will stay alive for the time being at least.” 

Harry gave a short laugh. “Yeah, I guess that is something. I can find you a Dreamless potion if you want? I think there are some left downstairs in the lab.”

There was. Several in fact. Tom had sorted them when he had cleaned the lab. He shook his head. “No, thank you. It wasn’t that bad this time.” 

The room reflected back at him in the glass and he could see that the two red files that Harry had left for him were gone. Harry had probably given up hope that Tom would take a look at them. Again he felt a stab of something that he recognised as guilt. Harry really wasn’t asking for much in return after Tom had more or less lured him into their current arrangement. 

The silence stretched. Tom swallowed and asked without turning. “Do you think I could brew?” 

In the reflection he could see Harry’s head snap up from his papers. “Brew”? He asked and as Tom turned his head slightly he could see that he was frowning. 

“Potions,” Tom clarified. He figured it was worth asking. Harry had hardly refused him anything during the last months. Tom actually got the distinct impression that Harry trusted him, as strange as the notion was. 

The head tilted slightly. “You want to brew potions? Why?” The tone was one of surprise and Tom remembered that Snape had told him that Harry didn’t exactly have the knack for potions.

Tom shrugged and turned fully. He crossed his arms over his chest, feeling slightly defensive at the question. “I like it,” he confessed. And wasn’t it strange to be able to be honest about something he enjoyed and not having to worry about the admission being used against him. The joy about brewing potions was also that he didn’t need access to his magic. Still, if he wanted to use his magic he could always organise the books in the library. Harry had never rescinded the permission to use the levitation charm. 

Harry still looked dubious but then his forehead smoothed out and he gave a small, one sided shrug. “Okay. Write me a list of the potions you want to brew and a list of ingredients and I’ll send Kreacher for them.” 

Tom assumed he might run the list by Miss Granger, or was it Mrs. Granger-Weasley? To make sure he wasn't’ brewing something illegal or dangerous. That was fine. He had no such plans. 

“Thank you, master.” The title was more out of habit too. Harry had not made it a rule after the incident but Tom thought that, at this point, the man had earned his respect and as such the title didn’t grate as much as it had in the beginning when Harry had forced him. 

For your own good , a small voice whispered. Perhaps, Tom thought. Now that he was more settled in his role, and perhaps Harry in his, he could look back and admit that it had not exactly been smooth sailing in the beginning. 

He really had bit over more than he could chew when he had convinced Harry to claim him that day in Azkaban. Looking back he realised that he probably would have been just fine in Azkaban, although he would still be locked up for the rest of his life. For a second he wondered how things would have turned out if he hadn’t been so insecure and difficult in the beginning. 

“How is Mrs. Granger?” he found himself asking. He couldn’t claim he knew the woman, but he knew she had been helping Harry out during Tom’s blackout period. 

He couldn’t remember much from those weeks. Just a vague memory here, a flash there or a feeling. Something small. Logically he understood what had happened. His mind had tried to protect itself from trauma by doing what it thought was best, only this time it had gone a bit overboard. 

To think it had taken Lucius of all people to help him out of it. No, he pushed the thought away, he didn’t want to spend the evening thinking about that snake. 

Harry blinked. “She is fine,” he said. “Her daughter is doing well. She asks about you, how you are doing.” 

The strangeness of it all hit him again. He was unused to people caring about him. But for some reason these people did. Harry, his friends, his team, his boss. They all seemed to have forgotten who Tom had been. What he had done. They seemed perfectly happy to forgive and forget. It was a notion Tom couldn’t quite grasp. 

“I am sorry.” 

Harry lifted an eyebrow. “For what?” He asked with confusion colouring his voice. 

Tom swallowed. “For everything.” Before Harry could speak he continued, in a rush as the words suddenly just needed to be spoken. 

“For your parents. For your friends. For your godfather. For tricking you into this arrangement. I can’t claim I wasn’t thinking straight for I did for most of it, not for the time after my resurrection thought.” 

Silence followed as Harry only stared at him. Tom figured that he could just as well continue. 

“For acting the way I did in the beginning. You were kind enough to take me into your home and all I did was fight the situation. For-,” he didn’t get further because Harry slammed a hand down onto the desk, startling him. 

“Stop.” 

Tom froze at the icy tone. 

Harry sighed. “Thank you, but it doesn’t change anything. What is done is done. If I hated you that much I would have never visited you in Azkaban, I would never have fought the warden when you became sick. I wouldn’t have brought you back here to heal.” 

“Why did you?” Tom asked. 

“I don’t know.” Harry sounded frustrated and it was emphasised by the way he was rubbing at his forehead. “I came back for some follow up questions and found you sick. You were coughing up blood and your fever was sky high. It was clear the warden didn’t care.” 

After a moment of silence he continued. “I don’t know. It just felt wrong. We were the winning side. The side that was supposed to be right. The way the warden ran things didn’t feel or look like the right way.” 

Tom nodded but he didn’t understand. 

***

“You have been working quite a lot,” Draco said as they exited the muggle coffee shop after having stopped for lunch and a take away coffee. 

Even after all the years they had been working together, Harry still found it hilarious to watch Draco try and figure out how to pay with muggle money. He lifted his own cup and took a careful sip to test how hot it still was. Beside him Draco pulled the standard long, black coat better around himself as they strolled down the sidewalk towards their destination. 

“Just trying to make up the time I missed when Tom was, well, not himself.” That wasn’t really true, but Harry was too tired to try and explain his real motivation to Draco. 

Luckily the man seemed to pick up on the fact that Harry didn’t want to talk about it and he let it go. 

“I have to give the muggles that, they do know how to make coffee,” Draco muttered as he drank from his own. 

Harry smirked. “Your father’s house elves can’t replicate it?” 

Draco shrugged. “Probably could. But, it’s more about the experience of buying it, I think. Not to mention my mother would throw a fit if I asked for something as muggle as coffee.” 

That was probably true. 

“When do you think Ronald is back at work?” 

Ron had taken some time off to be with his daughter, which was understandable. The girl, Rose, was beautiful and Harry had visited several times but he didn’t want to intrude too much on the little family. 

“Couple of months, perhaps.” 

“More work for the rest of us in the meantime,” Draco sighed and threw the cup onto a bin. “What did Mrs. York say anyway when she floo-called?” 

“Not much. She thinks someone has broken into her gallery.” 

Draco turned his head to look at him, one eyebrow raised. “She thinks? She isn’t just making things up to have an excuse for us to come by? Wouldn’t put it past the crazy bint.” 

Harry shrugged. “I don’t know, but I couldn’t accuse her of lying either.” 

They turned down a side street and stopped outside an ordinary looking shop with a sign that informed anyone interested that the shop was currently closed due to renovation. Harry pulled out his wand and tapped it against the sign three times. 

The door shimmered before the glamour fell away. A golden double door came into sight. Golden flowers and butterflies moved at their own pace around the frame.  

“Let’s get this over with,” Draco muttered and pushed the door open. Inside they transformed the black coats back into the usual red Auror uniforms. 

“Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy! Oh, what a lovely surprise. Come in, come in.” The voice belonged to Mrs. York, a plump, middle age witch that ran a small gallery in London. She was about as wide as high and wore more makeup than Harry had ever seen on a woman. 

Harry gave Draco a nudge and gave the woman a wide smile. “Mrs. York. What can the Aurors do for you today?” 

***

“Does Harry ever go home?” Marcus asked and poured more tea into the two cups on the table. 

Gwain shrugged. “I do believe he goes home, but he has been working quite a lot the last three weeks.” He gave a nod in thanks as Marcus handed him one of the cups. Looking at the table he tried to figure out where to put the cup as the whole table was littered with files, scrolls and a large map that was spread out in the middle of it. In the end he stacked a couple of files on top of each other and as such managed to make room for the tea. 

Marcus gave a sigh of frustration and gestured towards the map. “The attacks happen without any logic at all. From what I can see they are completely random. One day it's a muggle village, the next a wizarding one.” 

“At least they stopped using the Dark mark. His mark,” Gwain commented and leaned forward with his elbows on the table. They really were getting nowhere. 

“With Voldemort neutralised for good I guess it made sense to stop using it.” 

Yes, but why use it at all? Gwain wondered. Voldemort had been locked up in Azkaban for several years before they started using the mark and the best person to answer that question was the dark lord himself. “I asked Potter about Riddle, but he wasn’t very forthcoming about how he is doing.” 

“Yeah, I tried too,” Marcus said and lifted a hand to rub over his eyes in what Gwain assumed was frustration. “It would have been useful to have his thoughts on this.” 

Gwain could agree on that. Riddle had a life experience that was worth its weight in gold. Once more he cursed himself for leaving him that day in the cells. He couldn’t have known that Andrews was there for his trial, but he could have left the boy, the man he corrected himself, outside at least. 

“Potter is being protective I think,” he muttered. He assumed so at least. From what he had seen the last six months, Potter had been taking his new responsibility seriously. 

“Well, he has a stunning ability to forgive,” Marcus muttered. “Still, this didn’t turn out quite as I had hoped. I was hoping that Riddle would be back by now. It’s been, what three months now?” 

“I saw Potter down in the bullpen. We could try and ask him once more?” 

Marcus didn’t look like he was very optimistic but he nodded. “Worth a shot,” he said. 

***

“No,” Potter said with his arms crossed. 

Gwain bit back a groan. “Come now, Potter. He is up and about, right? A few questions can’t do much harm.” From the looks of things Potter thought it could do a lot of harm. 

It made him think. Potter had been very tightlipped about Riddle. Almost over protective. Almost guilty. He had tried to protect Riddle by taking him out of Azkaban only for the man to be attacked twice while in Potter’s care. For Potter, who had been charged with taking care of and saving the whole of the wizarding world, failing at something like that could probably leave more marks than one should think. 

Marcus leaned forward as well. “I can get maintenance to connect the Floo to your fireplace. That way you can bring him here without having to go through the Ministry.” 

Potter bit his lip but he didn’t look like he was going to budge. 

“Potter, you have to stop feeling guilty about what happened,” Gwain said, going with a hunch but not knowing if he was right but figuring out if it was worth a try. “Something was bound to happen the moment you took him from Azkaban. That it went this long was actually more of a surprise.” 

The boy frowned. “What do you mean?” 

“I understand you have forgiven him, or at least managed to move one, but four years isn’t that long and some people will never be able to forgive or forget. This didn’t happen because you weren’t there to protect him. It could have happened regardless.” 

Marcus, apparently eying an opportunity, jumped in. “It can’t be good for him to only stay at home either. He seemed to be doing very well here before, well, everything. Perhaps it would do him some good with a bit of fresh air.” 

Gwain leaned forward when he saw Potter glance away and at the wall. “Not to mention that it would probably do him some good to use that brain of his a bit so he doesn’t start to plot another war.”

The hand that rose to rub at the boy’s forehead told Gwain they were getting somewhere at least. He exchanged a look with Marcus. Apparently appealing to the benefits of Riddle getting out and about was the right approach.” 

“Gwain can put on a regular robe,” Marcus coaxed and Gwain nodded. 

“Are things really looking that bleak?” Potter asked and nodded towards the map on the table. 

“Yes,” Gwain answered easily. There was no reason to lie. “We are getting nowhere. Can you at least ask Riddle?” Legally, Potter could simply order Riddle, but Gwain knew that was not going to happen. 

Potter seemed to slump and lean against the wall. “I did, last time you asked. The question and thought about returning here sent him into a panic attack.” 

Oh, well, that would explain why Potter was so unwilling to ask again. 

The boy continued and sounded about as defeated as he looked. “I tried to get him to look at two small cases that I brought home. Nothing special or particularly difficult but he never once touched them.”

“Perhaps he needs a little shove to get going,” Marcus suggested. 

“You sound rather desperate,” Potter said, looking at them with scepticism. No wonder since they had told everyone that the situation was not as dark as some believed.     

“We are. We hope Riddle might have some new idea or theory. We don’t have anything to go on at the moment and both the Minister and the press are hounding us.”

Silence. 

“Fine, I’ll go home and ask him.” 

***

“Do you think he will say yes?” Marcus asked and looked over at Gwain who was twirling his wand between his fingers. The other man shrugged. He had been down to his own office and exchanged the normal red robe of the Aurors for a plain, blue one he had in reserve. The odd colour looked strange on him since Marcus was used to only seeing him in red. 

“Hard to tell. Potter could always order him but we both know he isn’t going to do that.” 

Yes, Harry was never going to order Tom. Not after everything that had happened. Marcus had been surprised enough when Harry had ordered Tom to follow the rules of magical conquest but that too had only happened after the incident with Eric Hamilton when the Minister had to get involved. 

The waiting was the worst. Marcus hated waiting. He preferred action. “If he went into a panic attack the last time Harry asked, then I assume the chances are slim that this will work out.” 

“He is, was, a dark lord for Merlin’s sake. I still have a stack of cold cases I want to get through,” Gwain grumbled and Marcus hid a smile. The Head of the Auror department had been more or less bouncing with glee at the amount of cold cases Tom had helped him solve, mostly by admitting his own crimes or those of his followers. It had improved the statistics to an unheard of level. 

“He really showed the Aurors a thing or two about fighting,” Marcus said, thinking back at the training in february. Tom was everything Voldemort had been. Exceptionally gifted when it came to knowledge and magic, not to mention power, but where Voldemort had been deranged and obsessed, Tom was rational and sane. Without the bond in place Tom would have been ten times more lethal and dangerous than Voldemort. He felt a shiver go down his spine. If the Voldemort that came back had been anything like Tom then they would never have won the war.

And yet, it was difficult to remember Voldemort. Four years had passed and their world had rebuilt itself once more. Had it not been for the attacks and raids that happened infrequently, then it would almost have felt like peace. 

Sure, they still had crimes and a murder here and there, but that was normal. 

The fireplace flashed green, starling Marcus out of his thoughts. 

***

Harry gnawed at the inside of his cheek as he and Tom stepped through the fireplace and into Sommerseth’s office. Tom held back a step and looked around. He was dressed in a simple grey turtleneck and black pants with a light cloak over. Harry had not seen any reason for Tom to change into the formal robe he used when they were at the Ministry or out in public. 

From an objective standpoint he looked very good. He had gained some weight during the last weeks and had managed to sleep enough for the dark circles under his eyes to have almost disappeared. His hair was close to perfect as always. 

If Harry hadn’t known what the man had gone through he would not have thought there was anything to worry about at all, but that wasn’t true. 

Tom was traumatised and probably broken. Even worse now than he had been when Harry had first brought him home from Azkaban. That version of Tom had still had some fire to him. This one hardly spoke. 

Though, things had gotten better during the last three weeks. Or perhaps Harry only noticed because he had hardly been home at all. Only brief times to eat and sleep. 

He was torn from his musings as Sommerseth stood. 

“Tom,” he said with a warm smile and gestured towards the table where two chairs were being pulled up by Robards. 

Tom gave a brief look at Harry, probably seeking permission to speak. Harry nodded. 

“Mr. Sommerseth, Mr. Robards,” he greeted politely, his eyes somewhere on the floor before them. 

“It’s good to see you, boy,” Robards grumbled and then blinked, probably having realised what he had said. Sommerseth coughed and looked like he was trying to use it to conceal a smile. 

“Yes, thank you for coming. Here, sit. Tea?” Sommerseth gestured towards the chairs. Then he too stopped and blinked before looking at Harry as he probably realised what he had said and implied and now wondering if he had overstepped. 

Tom too glanced at Harry, silently asking for help. 

Harry almost sighed in exasperation. What a messed up situation. He put a hand on Tom’s back and gave him a small shove along with a nod towards the chair. “Yes, please, some tea would be nice. Tom?” 

Tom gave a nod and sat down in the chair, looking for all the world like it was the most uncomfortable thing he had done in a long time. 

Sommerseth placed cups of tea before them before sitting down in his own chair. Harry picked up his to have something to do while Sommerseth, with comments from Robards, talked Tom through the whole story. They pointed to the map and explained what they did know - which was barely anything, what they suspected - which was a whole lot of things and what evidence they did have - which was none at all. 

Harry finished his tea, as did Tom, and both of them were half through the next one when Sommerseth stopped talking. Tom seemed to become more relaxed as Sommerseth talked on and Harry could feel himself relaxing a bit as well. He had been relieved to see that Robards had changed his cloak. He was not sure how Tom would have reacted if he hadn’t. 

“Well, that was the gist of it,” Sommerseth said and leaned back in his chair. 

Tom carefully put his cup on the table, in between the papers, and leaned over the map. He studied it for a couple of minutes before looking at some of the papers that were scattered around on the table. 

“You have abandoned the idea that this is some of my old followers?” Tom asked. “Did you ever ask yourself why they followed me? An unknown half-blood from an inbred family that was more known for their insanity.” There was a rueful smile on his face. 

Sommerseth and Robards glanced at each other. “We assumed they didn’t know who you were. You travelled quite a lot before you returned to England.” 

To Harry’s surprise Tom nodded and leaned back in his chair. He looked to be doing a lot better with the whole thing than Harry had thought he would. Had expected another panic attack or having to drag each word out of Tom. Perhaps the last three weeks had been good for him after all. 

“Many didn’t,” Tom continued, “but the several in the inner circle knew. The Death Eaters were merely a continuation of the Knights of Walpurgis. That was the name I gave the schoolmates I recruited back at Hogwarts. Several of them stayed with me after I came back to England and several of their children later took the mark. They knew who I was.” 

Tom took a sip from his cup. “The pureblood wizards didn’t join me because they believed in me, or perhaps some did, but most joined my side because I offered a lightning rod for their hatred and bloodlust towards muggles and muggleborns. The sacred 28, or is it 27 now? Either way, they have always been obsessed with keeping their blood clean, or pure. None so obsessed as the Black family. Some of the older generations believed that muggleborns had stolen the magic of a witch or a wizard. They didn’t understand how genetics work or DNA for that matter.” 

Robards blinked in confusion while Sommerseth nodded. Harry got the feeling that neither of them knew much about genetics or DNA. From the slight smile on Tom’s face he knew that too.  

“The attacks you are describing are not organised. There doesn’t seem to be any thought behind them. They attack both muggles and wizarding villages alike. They seem to only have one goal and that is to create fear. You said they were using my mark?” 

Sommerseth nodded. “Yes, or they did, until the claim was public knowledge.” 

Tom nodded slowly. He tilted his head slightly to the side the way Harry had learned he normally did when he was curious. 

“You didn’t have any visitors, anyone who contacted you in Azkaban? Promising to free you?” 

That gained a small laugh from Tom. “No, sir. I didn’t have any visitors until Ma-H.” Tom stopped. “There was no one who tried to free me as far as I know. Have they used any marks or such since they stopped using mine?” 

Robards shook his head. “No, not that we have noticed.”

The head tilted again as Tom looked at the map. “I don’t think you have to worry about a new Dark Lord.” 

Sommerseth frowned and leaned forward. “Why do you say that?” 

“It’s been four years since the war.” 

“And?” Robards grumbled, getting impatient. 

“This is an election year unless the Ministry has changed completely. Your Minister has had his position for four years and I assume he is running for a second term? This looks more like a plot to make the current Ministry look weak and powerless. Incompetent and lacking a strong leader. Setting the stage for another candidate to throw his, or her, hat into the ring in the race to become Minister. I would start by looking at the other candidates and the people associated with them.” 

Even Harry felt his eyebrows go up. That was a twist he had not seen coming. 

Sommerseth blinked as if someone had just told him that the moon really was a cheese and Robards slammed a hand onto the table. 

The sound startled Tom who flinched backwards, his arm coming halfway up as if to protect himself from an attack. 

“Brilliant,” Robards breathed and looked at Sommerseth who was nodding slowly. “I expect you back at work, Riddle. I need that head of yours.” 

That, Harry thought with an inward sigh, was not going to be as easy as Robards seemed to hope. Beside him Tom had gone very still and a sideways glance told Harry that the sound of the hand hitting the table had knocked him out of the surprisingly easygoing attitude he had displayed since they arrived at the Ministry. The eyes were a bit bigger than normal and he had lost some of the colour in his face. 

Perhaps time to get him home, Harry thought. Before they pushed things too far. The meeting had gone a hell of a lot better than he had assumed it would. 

Chapter Text

The evening was crisp and cold considering it was summer. The park was mostly deserted as Tom walked along the paths. A rustle of leaves to his right startled him, but it turned out to be just a deer that was helping itself to some food. 

He drew a breath and listened. The park was silent. There were some birds making sounds as the sun went down but other than that there was silence.

Following the path he walked across a small bridge before turning down the path that would lead him towards the park’s exit and then the house. Or home as it was. The house had become home during the last six months. His first real home since Hogwarts. A pang of nostalgia hit him at the thought of the school. The one he had almost destroyed in his madness. He shuddered. 

The Black house was well known in the wizarding world. It was, or had been, the ancestral home of the Black family. Of Bellatrix’s family. Acturus and Orion had ruled the family when Tom had first risen to power. Acturus had always looked down at him, he knew well enough that Tom was a half blood. Orion he had known from school although he had not been in the same year as Tom. Everyone knew who the Black’s were. 

Sirius Black had been Orion’s heir and had taken over the family. That was, until Bellatrix had killed him at the Ministry. Tom shook his head, trying to dispel the memories. The house was Harry’s now. He had inherited both the Lordship and the properties, as well as the gold. If he wanted then he really didn’t have to work a day in his life. He could live happily on the money from the Potter and Black vaults. 

Tom focused on the path in front of him, on the sounds and smells and the animals. The walks were doing him good. He had started to become restless, coped up in the house for weeks on end and most of the time alone. Or, alone with a bitter house elf that didn’t like him. 

It helped that he was allowed to brew. That gave him something to focus on, but there was only so many potions one could make every day without using a fortune on ingredients.  

Harry had been sceptical at first when Tom had asked if he could go for walks. There was nothing in the current rules that kept him in the house, but he assumed Harry would have a heart attack if he came home and found Tom gone. But, as was becoming more and more common, Harry had given his permission. The only restriction he had given was that Tom kept his walks to the neighbourhood but even that had not been an order that the bond would enforce, just a simple request. 

As for Harry, he kept working and kept so much out of the house that Tom was wondering if he had said or done something to drive the man away. Still, the few times Harry was home he didn’t act as if Tom had done or said anything wrong. The whole thing was a bit puzzling, but perhaps work simply was busy. 

Tom had not been to the Ministry since the visit a couple of weeks ago. When Harry had come home and told him that Robards and Sommerseth were more or less insisting that Tom come in, panic had started to bloom in his stomacøh but he had told himself to give it a try. He couldn’t continue to hide in the house forever. Perhaps it was a sign that his mind was finally healing somewhat. He hoped so. He didn’t like this version of himself and he was tired of the fear, the panic attacks. Not to mention the night terrors, but at least those had decreased in magnitude. He still woke in panic some nights, but it was not nearly as bad as it had been before. 

And, the meeting at the Ministry had gone much better than he had thought. It had helped that they had used the floo to go directly to Sommerseth’s office, and that Robards had chosen to put on something other than the Auror’s robes. 

He wondered if they had looked more into the theory about the attacks being staged to secure someone a place in the upcoming election. There was, of course, the possibility that Tom was wrong, but he doubted it. The chances that someone was trying to make a name for themselves as a dark lord was slim. There would have been other signs in such a case. He should know after all, having tried twice. It also made sense that they had been using his mark until it had become public knowledge that Harry had claimed him. 

A part of him itched a little to dig more into his own theory but it wasn’t easy to do that from home. The only thing he could do was scan The Daily Prophet for hints as to the upcoming election. Still, the deadline for declaring that one was running for Minister wasn’t until the end July, so there were still a couple of weeks to go. 

The sidewalk came into view as he stepped out of the park and he walked towards the house. 

Silence greeted him as opened the front door and stepped inside. 

“Master?” He called, wondering if perhaps Harry had come home while he had been out. 

“Master Harry is not home.” 

Tom almost jumped. The bloody elf always did its best to sneak up on him. He glanced at it before turning and hanging the muggle coat he had been wearing in the wardrobe. “Do you know when he will be home?” 

“Slave’s master didn’t say.” 

He almost rolled his eyes at the answer. Instead he schooled his face into a neutral expression and turned back. 

The elf was standing tall before him in his Black uniform, staring him in the eyes. It almost seemed like it was daring him to criticise him for his words. Tom was tired of the game. He didn’t like the elf, it didn’t like him. Harry wanted to keep the elf and Tom didn’t think it would be wise to suggest that he got rid of it. Although, he really wanted to. “Thank you,” he said simply and walked towards the kitchen. 

“Master Harry has instructed Kreacher to make sure his slave is served supper,” the elf informed him as it followed him. 

“Thank you, but I can make something simple for myself. I assume you have other duties to attend,” Tom forced out in a polite tone. He hoped the elf would leave it at that. 

The elf glared and turned away, walking away while muttering under his breath. “Of course Kreacher had duties to attend to. Master’s slave does nothing around the house. Useless slave.” 

Tom opened his mouth to say something but closed it again. It simply wasn’t worth the effort. 

He started up the stairs intent on continuing his latest project which was sorting out the attic. He had started on the project earlier that week and it was taking a lot of time. Not to mention that he had to be careful as several of the artefacts stored in the attic were still cursed and quick to take offence at his “impure blood”. Like anyone ever had been pure enough for the Blacks. Even their motto had been Toujours Pure - Pure blood.   

***

It was close to midnight when the Floo finally flared its customary green colour. Tom had started to doze off where he was sitting on the second step of the staircase. He jerked awake at the sound of the fireplace activating and straightened up. Blinking sleep out of his eyes, he moved down the last step and kneeled on the floor. His stomach lurched when he looked up and was met by the red robes of the Auror uniform. He swallowed’’’ and silently reminded himself that this was Harry. Not some random Auror. There was no reason for any fear. 

“Tom?” Harry asked in a tired but surprised voice. “Why are you waiting down here?” 

Tom studied the dark rings under Harry’s eyes and the stress lines around them. The hair was even more messy than usual, which was quite an impressive feat.

“Everything alright?” Now the voice was concerned and Harry started to move closer, but then checked himself and retreated, probably wary of Tom’s reaction to the robe if he came closer.

Tom had felt himself tensing up at the sight of the red colour coming closer.  

“Yes,” Tom said, shaking himself out of his thoughts. “Yes, master,” he repeated and gave Harry a small smile that seemed to do nothing to calm the concern the other man was feeling. 

Harry frowned and started to unbutton the cloak around his shoulders. 

“Then why are you sitting here?” 

“I was waiting for you,” Tom answered honestly. And he was. Harry normally came home after Tom had gone to bed, and left before Tom had woken. 

“Okay?” Harry said, sounding weary for some reason. He turned and hung away the cloak before moving over to the table and sorting through the post that the elf had put there. 

Tom took a breath. He wasn’t sure if his request would be welcomed. “I am trying to sort out the attic. 

“What?” The frown grew and was joined by confusion as Harry looked up from the post. 

“The attic,” Tom repeated. “It’s quite the mess.” 

“I know,” Harry said. “I have been ignoring it for years. I just don’t understand why you are trying to sort it out.”

Valid question Tom thought. He shrugged and answered honestly. “Curiosity. The Black family had a lot of interesting artefacts and several of them are stored in the attic. Along with some portraits that I assume used to hang around on the walls of the house” 

Harry’s eyes clouded over. “Yes, I removed them,” he said, his tone a bit sharp. Tom guessed that perhaps the portraits of long dead Blacks had been a bit too much with their obsession for blood purity, power and wealth. They might not have been too thrilled about a half blood inheriting their precious name and wealth. 

“Any for Sirius?” Harry asked in a hesitating voice and looked down at the mail in his hand. 

Tom felt a pang of useless guilt at the mentioning of Harry’s dead godfather. “I haven’t found one yet.” He hesitated before getting around to why he was waiting on the staircase for Harry to come home. “I wanted to ask if I can use the Lumos spell? The attic is quite dark and I don’t want to risk setting the house on fire by bringing up a candle.”

There was a draft in the old attic and twice Tom had barely managed to move the candle before some crispy, old papers had caught fire. 

Harry only blinked at him. “That would be appreciated. Yes, of course. You can use both the Lumos and the Nox spell. All versions of them.” He waved his hand in the air in some sort of gesture. 

The bond tingled as usual as the revised order settled. Tom could help but smile. “Thank you, master. Do you want something to eat? I can make you a sandwich while you change.” 

Least he could do as a thank you. And it would give him a reason to actually talk to Harry. They had hardly spoken the last weeks with Harry being gone most of the time. 

As a cue Harry’s stomach rumbled and he smiled rather sheepishly. “Yeah, that would be nice. Thank you.” 

Tom rose and headed for the kitchen as Harry ascended the stairs. He couldn’t help the smile that broke out on his face as he passed through the door and entered the kitchen. He missed his magic but at least now he had access to four spells he could use. And the positive thing was that Harry hadn’t even needed to think about it, he had said yes straight away. As long as Tom didn’t mess up it seemed like he would be given access to his magic over time. Perhaps even all of it at some point. Harry had allowed him access to parts of his magic several times over the last six months, but it had always been temporary. 

His mind went back to the duel at the Ministry. The feeling of having unrestricted access to his magic for the first time in years. The thrill of the mock fight. The adrenalin that had been coursing through his body. The powerful feeling of his magic answering to his call, although slow since he was out of practice after Azkaban. It had still been enough to subdue Harry and Draco. He missed it. 

If there was one reward that would make him try to go back to the Ministry, then it was that. The possibility to fight, although with restrictions but still. 

Would it really be so much of a challenge, he wondered. To go back. To fill his days with cases and people. He had enjoyed it. The challenge, the thrill of the chase. The satisfaction of being right and solving the mystery. 

He had to admit that he was starting to become bored, stuck at the house as he was, and mostly alone. Perhaps that was a good sign, he mused as he prepared a couple of simple sandwiches. 

Harry came through the door just as Tom put the plates on the table. He sat in his normal chair and Tom took his and tucked into the food. 

Across from him, Harry did the same and let out something that sounded like a moan. “Oh, this is so good.” 

Tom blinked at him. That was some reaction to a simple sandwich. 

A blush crept up Harry’s neck. “The food at the Ministry gets rather bland after a while.” 

“You have been working rather much lately, master,” Tom said, not looking at Harry, as he took another bite of sandwich. He wondered though. Why was Harry working so much? It felt like he was avoiding Tom, but that might just be Tom’s imagination. 

Harry looked down at the food. “Yeah, there has been a lot.” 

For some reason that didn’t sound quite true, Tom thought. “I see,” he settled on in a neutral voice, wondering if Harry would elaborate. 

He was a bit surprised that there had been no attempt from Harry to talk him into returning to the Ministry, seeing as it had not gone too badly at the last attempt. He had assumed that both Sommerseth and Robards would be after Harry, asking him to bring Tom back in. Still, the weeks had passed and nothing had happened. No mention of it. 

Silence settled as they ate. When both plates were empty, Tom stood to take them to the sink to be washed. It was quick work and when he turned he found Harry with both arms on the table, his fingers rubbing at his temple. The man seemed to be almost exhausted. Tom frowned. 

“Are you alright? You look like you haven’t slept for quite some time.” 

Harry sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. “Yeah.” 

Tom wasn’t sure if the answer was yes, he was exhausted, or yes, he was fine. He was given a small smile that looked completely fine as Harry stood. “You should head to bed.” 

So should you, Tom thought as he tilted his head in confusion. 

He had slept in his own bed since that horrible night when he had woken and mistaken Harry for his abuser. Which was probably the best. There was no good reason for him to share Harry’s bed. He had done so in the past when he had been woken by nightmares and had been in a panicked state, but now the nightmares were almost completely gone. 

“Perhaps you could do with some sleep yourself,” he ventured with a nod towards Harry. The man grimaced. “I am fine. I have to sort through some papers, then I’ll get some shuteye.” Another fake smile graced his face. “Good night, Tom.” 

Tom remained standing in the empty kitchen as Harry disappeared out the door, his head tilted slightly to the side but now out of curiosity at Harry’s sudden need to drown himself in work.  

***

He blinked in confusion at the owl sitting on the round table in the entry hall. It was a large barn owl that was blinking back at him, one leg extended for Tom to take the letter attached to it. When nothing happened it hooted at him and snapped its beak impatiently. The sound pulled Tom out of his own thoughts and he took the scroll with a thank you. 

The owl rustled its feathers before taking off through the window Tom had opened to let it in. 

The letter was stamped with the Ministry seal and correctly addressed to Tom. Strange. 

Curiosity won out and Tom broke the seal and opened the letter. To his surprise it was from Sommerseth. He had apparently given up on trying to get something sensible out of Harry and had decided to write to Tom, thus going behind Harry’s back to do so. 

The request was short. Could Tom at least consider trying half a day at the Ministry? He could use Sommerseth’s office and they could connect the Floo as they had done the last time, even though it wasn’t quite procedure. Sommerseth had sympathy for what had happened, but as it was almost four months ago he hoped that Tom was faring better and perhaps getting back into things would be good for him. He hoped Tom would consider. 

Once he finished the letter he read it once more. That was unexpected. He had not imagined that the Head of the Legal Department would personally write. Apparently they had been pestering Harry then, only he had not mentioned anything to Tom about it. 

He folded the letter and put it back in the envelope. Staring into the air he wondered what to do about it. He would have to tell Harry, but he wanted to settle on what he wanted to do first. Did he want to try and return to the Ministry or did he want to stay cooped up in the house?

His thoughts returned to the conversation he had been through with Harry. Back when Tom had been panicking at the thought of what would happen if he was unable to return to the Ministry, considering that that had been the deal he had made with Harry. 

Tom believed Harry, at least he did now, that nothing would happen if Tom decided to stay home and never return, but was that what he wanted? 

After all, he was feeling much better, better than he had in years. The panic attacks were mostly under control. And unless the last time he had been asked to go back to the Ministry, this time the question had not triggered a panic attack. 

A flash of red flew past his inner mind and he flinched. Perhaps a room filled with Aurors would be a bit too much, but Sommerseth had offered a solution to that with the Floo connection. 

He felt himself considering it. If it went horrible then he assumed he wouldn’t have to go back, and it had gone well the last time. But, did he want to? 

At home he had the books, the puzzles, the attic, walks and potions. It had been enough until now. 

If he was being honest with himself then he was starting to miss interacting with people. He had never had a large need to be around people, he was quite content in his own company. What he did miss though was the challenge that the work at the Ministry brought with it. The chance to outthink some second rated criminal and solve the puzzle. That gave him a real thrill. 

Although, what Sommerseth and Robards wanted was to go through and close the cold cases, which didn’t give him a thrill at all, only headache and the not so fun chance to relive all of his and his followers' crimes. Still, even that had to reach and end at some point. 

His mind kept turning the arguments over and over again as the day progressed. When evening came he felt like had reached a conclusion and he found himself yet again in the entrance hall, waiting for Harry to show up. Kreacher had informed him that Harry would, for once, be home at a reasonable hour since he was expecting Ronald over. 

Harry looked surprised when he, once more, found Tom waiting for him. “Don’t tell me you set the attic on fire?” 

Tom shook his head and stepped forward. He held out the letter from Sommerseth. Confusion coloured Harry’s face as he accepted the letter and opened it. It didn’t become less as he read the letter once, then twice. At the end of the second time the confusion had been replaced with irritation, borderlining on anger. “I can’t believe he wrote to you. Going behind my back.” He glanced up and Tom saw anger in his eyes now. “I told them you aren’t ready to return. Don’t worry, I will speak with Sommerseth tomorrow. He will not be bothering you again.” 

“About that,” Tom began, suddenly nervous in the face of Harry’s anger. “I thought I might give it a try. Once at least.” 

“No.” 

What? Tom titled his head. He had expected Harry to be happy that Tom wanted to give it a try, instead his face closed off and he shook his head to emphasise his answer. 

Slightly stumped, Tom inquired; “May I ask why not? I thought that was what you wanted. Considering our deal and everything.” 

The letter became crumpled in Harry’s hand and he put it, not too gently, on the table. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to try and go back to the Ministry yet.” There was a finality to his answer. 

“I remember you asking me to consider just that a few weeks ago,” he tried carefully, still perplexed at Harry’s reaction. 

“I have had a change of heart.” The tone was more final now. 

“And what brought that on?” Tom asked, feeling slightly irritated himself. He was not used to Harry denying him anything, except full access to his magic at all times, a restriction that was understandable considering who Tom had been. The feeling of not being able to decide for himself rankled a bit as he had become used to the freedom Harry had given him the last weeks. It felt a bit too much like how it had felt back around the beginning of the year when Harry had used the bond to force all the behavioural requirements. 

“I don’t think you are ready.” 

“Ready?” Tom echoed with raised eyebrows. What in the world had brought this on. This time he couldn’t keep the irritation out of his voice. “It went fine the last time. It’s not like I would be going into the Auror’s office. It would be Sommerseth's office.” 

“Last time I asked, you went into a panic attack,” Harry shot back, crossing his arms over his chest and now there was anger in his voice. “My answer is no, Tom. Besides, don’t you have enough things to occupy you here?” 

Tom swallowed, trying to stagger his irritation but failing. “I do, but I do miss human company and you are never home anymore and that bloody elf of yours hates me. Would it hurt to try once?”  

Just as Harry opened his mouth the Floo flared and Ronald stepped through. He took in the scene with a quick glance. “Hey, mate.” 

“Hi,” Harry nodded. “Tom, the answer is still no. Perhaps when autumn comes.” 

“What is a no?” Ronald asked, taking in the tense atmosphere while looking from Harry to Tom and back. 

“I want to try and go back to the Ministry, or rather Sommerseth’s office and help with the cases,” Tom explained, his voice becoming tight. 

“Oh,” Ronald perked up. “That’s great. Robards would be over the moon. You are the only thing he talks about these days. Hermione would be pleased too to hear that you are feeling better.” Then it seemed to dawn on him that Harry was not looking pleased. 

“Why are you being negative?” He asked, confused. 

Harry gave a heavy sigh and rubbed a hand over his face. “I don’t think it is a good idea. It’s too soon.” 

“Too soon?” Tom said, and gestured with a hand, “it has been weeks. I am the one who should be best equipped to know what I am ready for.” He had to reign in his anger at this point and he wasn’t even sure why he was angry. For some reason being denied to try was making him even more determined to prove he could. Which was a bit of a change to how much against the idea he had been some weeks ago. 

“No,” Harry repeated.

Ronald looked between them like he was watching a tennis match. 

Tom opened his mouth to argue, but Harry beat him to it. “I am not going to change my mind, Tom.” Then he turned to Ronald as he took off the red robe. “Come, I will have Kreacher make us some tea.” 

“Why are you two arguing about him coming back, isn’t that good news?” Ronald repeated as they walked through to the kitchen. 

“We weren’t arguing,” Tom could hear Harry answer. 

Yes, we were, Tom though. He felt angry and annoyed. Both at being dismissed like that and because Harry had denied him. The feelings turned into restlessness and he grabbed a light coat from the wardrobe and exited through the door. Outside he took a deep breath before walking towards the park. 

He turned the conversation over and over in his head, but he still couldn’t quite understand why Harry had denied him. That had been a surprise. Tom had expected Harry to be pleased that he was open to trying. Why hadn’t he been? It had gone well the last time. He hadn’t had a panic attack in weeks and he slept through on most nights. 

That added to Harry suddenly deciding to work almost around the clock just made everything more strange. There was something he was missing here. He just didn’t know what. 

His feet automatically took him to the park and he started on his usual route around it.

Still, when he came back to the house over an hour later, he had still not come close to figuring out what was behind Harry’ behaviour. 

Tom could hear voices coming from the dining room and he headed up the stairs. Preferring the library and the books. Not that he could concentrate. He tried to read but everytime his mind would wander. 

***

“You are never home, you hardly speak to me and now you think it is a bad idea for me to try to go to the Ministry. What is really going on here, Harry?” Tom demanded the following evening. Harry had come home late as usual. In the meantime, Tom’s irritation had only been building throughout the day.

To the point where he suddenly realised he had called Harry by name and not his title. 

Harry looked up from his desk. “Tom, we have had this discussion. I don’t think you are ready.” The voice was firm and impatient. 

Tom was aware that Harry could order him to drop the subject but he was gambling that he wouldn’t do so. 

“Actually we haven’t,” he counted and gripped the back of one of the chairs in front of Harry’s desk. “It feels like you are avoiding me. You are never home, you hardly speak to me and now you are dead set against me going to the Ministry. Something that you have asked me to do at least twice. You told me some weeks ago it was up to me, but now that I tell you that I do want to, you shut me down.” 

“Tom…,” Harry’s voice had taken on a warning tone. Tom knew he was pushing. 

“Just,” Tom sighed and rubbed a hand over his eyes. “Talk to me. Where is this coming from?” 

“It’s late, Tom. I have made my decision.” 

Tom stared into Harry’s green eyes and saw determination in them. He wished for his magic so he could use Legimens to see what this was all about. He knew Harry was not telling the truth, or at least not the whole truth. He didn’t need Legimens to know that. 

“Have I done something?” He asked. Wondering again if he had done something to upset Harry. 

“No,” Harry sighed but there was something there, Tom thought. 

“I hardly believe Robards requires you to work this much.” 

Harry remained silent. Tom wanted to groan in frustration. 

“Fine,” he said in a near growl and turned to leave the room. 

“You confused me for your abuser.” 

Tom’s head whipped around. Harry’s voice had been so quiet that he almost had missed the words. He stood still, watching Harry rub at his eyes. 

“You had a nightmare and you woke up and thought I was going to abuse you. You were scared of me. There have been other instances, before that, where you flinched if I touched you or came too close. I guess that that night wasn't the first time I turned into your abuser in one of your dreams. It would explain your behavior” It was more of a statement than a question.  

And it wasn’t. It had happened several times and each time Tom had found himself wary of Harry whenever the man came too close, or touched him. Even if he knew that Harry wouldn’t hurt him. 

“I don’t understand,” Tom said, and he didn’t. 

Harry sighed again. “I thought it would be better if I stayed away. That it would give you more space to heal.” 

That… that made sense in some twisted way. “You have been working around the clock to give me space? Is that also why you are refusing to let me go to the Ministry? It went fine last time.” He felt like a parrot repeating the same argument over and over again. 

“Did it?” Harry asked with an raised eyebrow. “You flinched and withdrew at the slight sound of Robards’ hand hitting the table.” 

Well, that was technically true, but it had not been so bad as Harry made it sound. He had been fine straight afterwards. 

“I-,” Harry trailed off and looked out the window. 

Sensing that perhaps they were getting somewhere, Tom waited.

“By law you are under my protection and I failed to do so. You got assaulted while in my care. And even now, my presence gives you nightmares that lead you to think I am going to hurt you. I am afraid something will happen again, if I let you go back to the Ministry. Something like that incident when you were pushed down the stairs. I don’t think I can handle another round of being around you subconscious.” 

Guilt. Tom wasn’t overly well acquainted with the feeling, but he had been feeling it more and more recently. So this was why Harry was denying him. Out of some notion of protection. It was a tad touching really. 

I care about you.

The words Harry had spoken all those weeks ago rang in Tom’s head. 

He sighed and walked back to the desk. Stopping he made an inquiring hand gesture towards the chairs, silently asking permission. At Harry’s nod, he took a seat. 

“Harry, what happened wasn’t your fault. If anything it was mine for panicking. Or blame Robards for leaving me there. Anyone but yourself. As for me mistaking you for Stanley or Andrews, well, there isn’t much either of us can do about that. The mind works in mysterious ways.” 

Harry was still looking out the window. “Still, I don’t think you going to the Ministry is a good idea.” 

Tom sighed. “We don’t know that until I try.” 

That made Harry look at him. “Why are you being so adamant about this? You were terrified some weeks back when you thought you never could return and were afraid of my reaction. I hope that isn’t why you are pushing this?”

“No,” Tom shook his head. “I am starting to become restless. A touch of cabin fever if you will. I assume that is a good thing as far as getting better is concerned. I have thought this through and I am not saying it will be smooth sailing, but I want to try. If it goes south then I don’t have to go back again. Just let me try, at least.” 

Harry watched him intensely. Tom held his gaze. 

“And, stop working around the clock, I am not going to get worse just because you are in the house. I might get worse if you continue working this much. That elf of yours isn’t much company.”

He got a short nod. “I’ll sleep on it,” Harry said slowly but he seemed to be warming up to the idea. “Perhaps you can try once.”

Tom smiled and got a small smile in return. 

Progress.  

Chapter Text

Tom gave a sharp rap on the door to Harry’s room as he passed by. It was accompanied by a sigh at the fact that the man was still sleeping. Not that it was the first time. Harry was good at many things but the man was not a morning bird. He had an incredible talent for sleeping through any alam that was set. 

As he descended the staircase, he adjusted the sleeves of his formal robes. It felt a bit strange to be wearing those robes once more. The cut of the robes, the black colour almost made him feel like his old self. He wasn’t sure which old self, but still. He felt better. Better than he had in a long time. Perhaps one could call it excitement, but he was too old for feelings like that, regardless that he looked barely thirty. 

He caught sight of himself in the mirror in the entrance hall and tilted his head slightly. He did look well at least. The weight that he had lost during those weeks had come back and the walks and time out in the sun had given his face a healthy colour. He no longer looked like a ghost in contrast to the black collar that wrapped around his neck.

The elf showed up as Tom prepared breakfast in the kitchen, not having to bother to wait for the creature to show up. It was glaring, as usual, from the corner of the room. 

“What, I am making breakfast for Harry. Isn’t that what good slaves are supposed to do?” he snarled in the direction of the creature as he turned the bacon in the skillet before it could burn. 

“Good slaves know their place,” came the cryptic reply which made no sense to Tom. He decided to ignore the elf in hopes that it would leave. 

For once the slave comment didn’t bother him as it usually had done in the past. It might be his legal standard but for all that the rule books were full of rules that had to be followed outside, he knew now Harry wasn’t going to enforce them in the house. Not like he had done in the beginning when they had tried to find some sense to how their new reality was going to be. 

You chose this . The old mantra came back with a sting of the old familiar panic. Before it could fester he heard footsteps. 

Sounds behind him announced Harry before the man came into view, yawning loudly as he came into the room. The sight of the red robes made Tom’s stomach clench for a moment but the feeling was fleeting and passed. He had gotten used to the colour again but he would still tense for a second whenever Harry came too close.

“‘G’morning.” 

“Morning, master,” Tom said and knelt and rose in a fluid motion. He couldn’t leave the skillet unattended for long unless he wanted to burn the bacon to crisps. 

“Coffee or tea?” He asked, taking the bacon out of the pan and turning of the heat. He turned towards the kettle on the stove, knowing the answer would be, or at least should be, coffee. 

“Coffee. Lots of coffee.” Harry sank down on his chair and hid his face in his folded arms on top of the table. 

“Sleep well,” Tom smirked as he put the mug of coffee down in front of Harry. It was soon followed by a breakfast plate and cutleries. 

“Yes. No. I don’t know.” Harry tried to take a sip from the mug but made a face as the too warm liquid made contact with his lips. “Auch.” 

“This is what happens when you burn the midnight oil too many times,” Tom chided and took his own seat and picked up the fork. “You probably need a couple of nights of good sleep before you feel better.” He tucked into the food and grimaced. Perhaps the bacon could have done with a little bit less time in the skillet. 

Harry glared at him with tired eyes, still clutching the coffee mug. “You sure seem to be feeling better,” he remarked. There was no heat in the words and Tom knew Harry wasn’t really angry with him. 

“Yeah, I suppose I do,” he said, surprising himself. He did feel better. Lighter, more alert. 

On the other side of the table, Harry studied him. “Are you sure you want to come today? It is no problem if you want to change your mind.” 

The words were neutral but Tom had a suspicion that Harry would have preferred if he stayed at home. The man had taken not one night but three to sleep on the possibility of Tom returning to the Ministry and Tom wanted to try. 

“Yes. I feel fine,” he replied honestly.  

Harry didn’t look convinced because his eyes narrowed.

Tom sighed. “Look, master. If you doubt me and think I’m lying, then order me to answer honestly.” 

The only two rules left were the one about his access to magic, and the other one about not harming or killing anyone. Not that there was much use for the last one anymore either. He had no intention of going off on a killing spree and it wouldn’t do him much good either since he would still be bound to Harry. 

“Sorry,” Harry backtracked and leaned back in his chair with a sigh. “I do believe you. I just,” he stopped and waved a hand in the air. “I don’t know. I worry, okay. That something might happen.” 

This time Tom sighed. “Master, it’s just Sommerseth's office I am going to. Not the bullpen or somewhere else. You do trust him I assume?”

“Yes, I suppose I do,” came the grungy reply as Harry started to eat. 

***

“Here,” Harry said as Tom reached for the Floo powder. His hand stopped mid air before he pulled it back and looked at the coin Harry was holding out. He frowned. Why was the man giving him muggle money? 

Harry shrugged and looked away, a hand coming up to rub at his neck. “It’s something Hermione made during our time at Hogwarts. I have modified it a bit. If you need me then just use your magic to call me through this. I have another one that will alert me.” 

Tom titled his head and studied the coin. His mind automatically started considering which spells and charms Mrs. Granger had used. 

“Tom?” Harry’s amused voice drew him out of his thoughts and he blinked. 

“Sorry. Thank you,” he smiled. It was oddly thoughtful of Harry.

I care about you. The words from weeks earlier came back. The notion of someone caring was still too strange for Tom to grasp. 

***

“Tea or coffee, Tom?” Sommerseth asked once he had finally managed to more or less push Harry out the door. He dragged a hand over his face as he moved over to the table where tea and coffee was being kept warm by a warming charm.

“Tea, please,” Tom answered and flipped the page in the file he was reading. He had pulled one of the pillows off the couch by the low coffee table and made himself comfortable on the floor as Harry talked with Sommerseth, who in turn was trying to get Harry out of the room. 

“He seems a bit - ehm - concerned,” Sommerseth said as he came over and put a cup down in front of Tom and sat in one of the armchairs and took a sip of his own. 

Paranoid perhaps, Tom thought. 

“He is just worried, sir,” Tom said. “He feels guilty for what happened.”

“I have noticed,” Sommerseth said wryly. 

Tom flipped over another page and frowned. It was a cold murder case. Wife found dead but there was no obvious motive. The husband was of course the prime suspect but his brother had given him an alibi. Not that an alibi from a family member was worth much in Tom’s opinion.

The cause of death was ruled as a heartinfarct. “Why is this a cold case?” He asked with a frown. 

“Which case is that?” Sommerseth asked as he leaned forward. 

“The Franklin death.” 

“Oh, yes. Well, the husband had financial difficulties but seemed to find a solution to those not long after his wife died. It just seemed suspicious.” 

It was. Still. “Didn’t you question him under veritaserum ?” 

“The Auror on the case did,” Sommerseth nodded. “He denied having harmed his wife.” 

“And his brother?” Tom flipped to the front of the file. His finger followed the lines on the page until he came to the name of the Auror in charge of the case. Benjamin Folly. 

He tilted his head slightly. He remembered that name. Lucius had kept complaining about him some years ago. Apparently the man was lazy and incompetent and he had been one of the Aurors who constantly had watched Lucius. Looking for proof that Lucius was a Death Eater. 

“I imagine he was questioned too.” 

“Under veritaserum ?” 

“It is not policy to dose everyone that is involved in a case with veritaserum . It is expensive to brew and there are strict regulations on when and on who it can be administered. The brother was not a suspect in this case.” 

Stuipd rule, Tom thought. He let his eyes scan over the page again. The woman had been a muggleborn. The husband was a half-blood. They did not have a lot of money. Further back in the file he found transcripts from a muggle bank and Gringotts. Tom let his eyes scan over the transactions on the muggle account until his eyes came across a line and he stopped. Of course. 

“I would bring the husband back in, as well as the brother.” 

Sommerseth’s brow furrowed. “Mind telling me why?” 

Tom put the file on the table and pointed to the transaction details from the muggle account. “The wife had life insurance. The husband’s brother probably induced the heart attack and they split the money from the life insurance. The money that was used to save his business. The husband told the truth during the interrogation. He didn’t kill his wife. His brother did however and he was never questioned under the truth serum.” 

“Life insurance?” Sommerseth asked, frowning even more as he leaned over to look at the transaction detail. 

Tom sighed. “It is a muggle thing. Insurance. You pay a certain amount annually and if something were to happen to you then your family gets a certain payout. It is meant to make up for the lost income that the dead parent or spouse no longer can provide. The muggle doctors got a report that said she died of a heartattack and that would have been enough for them to pay out. No questions asked.”        

This was the problem when wizarding raised Auror investigated crimes involving muggle borns and half-bloods that had grown up in both worlds. For all that muggleborns knew very little of the wizarding world, the wizarding world knew very little of the muggle world and its workings. 

Sommerseth hummed under his breath as he pulled out a sheet of paper and started writing down notes and instructions. “Good. Very good.” He put the notes on the file and put it to the side. 

Tom made the mistake of looking up as he reached for his tea cup and caught Sommerseth’s blue eyes. Blinking he quickly lowered his eyes. Right. No eye contact in public. He had forgotten about reality for a moment, too caught up in the case. 

“You can look at me, Tom,” Sommerseth said with a sigh. “It is simply impractical for you not to when we are trying to work together.” Then he added, “unless Harry has made that a binding rule.” 

Tom shook his head. “He hasn’t, sir.” 

“Good. Then that is settled. How about this one,” Sommerseth picked up another file. “This had been bothering us for many years. A robbery. Your Death Eaters were suspected of being involved.” 

The file landed in front of Tom. He looked down and recognised the name of the gallery. He also remembered well how he had stolen the dark artefact on display there without leaving any trace.  

***

A knock on the door made Tom jump. They had been working close to three hours. Going through file after file. The ones they had been through had been divided into three piles. One that contained files with cases that should be looked at by the Aurors again, with Tom’s suggestions written down. One that contained cases Tom or his people had been involved in that now was  considered solved. The third was the one with still unsolved cases where neither Tom nor Sommerseth could find anything new to add. 

The door to the office opened and Tom felt a flicker of unease. Sommerseth was one thing but he wasn’t too keen on meeting anyone else.

It turned out to be Sommerseth’s secretary. The man poked his head in and looked from Tom to Sommerseth. “You ordered lunch, sir. It has arrived. Should I bring it in?” 

“Yes, thank you.” 

The man nodded and disappeared for a few seconds before reappearing with take-away containers. He put one down in front of Tom without looking at him, and the other one in front of Sommerseth. 

Tom looked down and saw a cesar salad. 

The secretary left and Sommerseth pushed a fork into the salad as he opened the next file. Then he suddenly looked up with worry in his eyes and a bit of embarrassment. “I assumed. Last time, I mean,” he indicated towards the salad, seemingly unsure how to ask the question. 

Tom assumed he suddenly had remembered the circumstances behind Tom’s situation and had become unsure if Tom could eat, was allowed to. It was a bit amusing how people seemed to forget that there was a code of conduct that Tom was supposed to follow and therefore expected him to act as everyone else. How they always reacted when they did remember. Half the time they seemed more embarrassed than Tom. And that helped, in its own way. It made it easier to kneel and be polite when it wasn’t demanded and expected. 

As for the question that Sommerseth couldn’t seem to voice. “Thank you,” Tom smiled and took a mouthful of the salad. 

Sommerseth looked strangely relieved at not having to ask the question he wanted to. 

“Did you find anything on the attackers that could be related to the upcoming election?” Tom asked between bites. He had been wondering about that since the last meeting. The deadline for announcing a campaign was still a couple of weeks out, but most of the candidates should be ready about this time. 

“That was another thing I wanted to talk to you about.” Sommerseth put down his fork and leaned back in his chair. He crossed his right leg over his left at the knee and rubbed a hand over his forehead. “There are two other candidates, other than Kingsley. Ashley Parkinson and Glen Blackthorn.” 

Tom titled his head. Ashley Parkinson he had heard of. She was a cousin to Parkinson who held a seat in the Wizengamot and was a member of the Sacred 28. Or was it 27 now? 

Educated at Hogwarts and sorted into Ravenclaw if he was not mistaken. Typical good girl that had worked her way up to the ranks and was the Head of one of the departments, though Tom had no idea which one. 

“Parkinson I know of, but not Blackthorn.” 

“Half-blood. Grew up mostly on the muggle side. Attended Hogwarts. Ambitious and has been making a lot of noise about change to the Ministry. Has some support. As does Ashley.” 

A pureblood and a half-blood. 

“Still, as a war hero I assume Shacklbolt has more support? He was the one to unite the wizarding world once more and establish a new Ministry as well as getting everything back to normal.” 

After I almost destroyed everything in my delusions and insanity, Tom thought, but didn’t say it. Looking back he could see how close he had been to winning, how he would have won, had he not been hell bent on killing Harry as a boy. How the horcruxes had made him unstable and borderline insane. And then what? What would he have done after winning? Had he ever considered that? He had no interest in ruling a country. 

“He does. But, the raids and attacks have made some of the opposition ask questions. Then there is you. Not everyone agreed with Kingsley's decision to let you out of Azkaban.”

No, Tom couldn’t imagine everyone would. 

There was another knock on the door and the secretary poked his head in once more. 

“I am sorry. I know you said you didn’t want to be disturbed, but the Minister is asking for you to come to his office.” The young man really looked like he was feeling bad for disturbing his boss. He was shifting his weight and there was a nervous twitch to his hands. 

Sommerseth frowned. “Now? Can’t it wait?” 

“Apparently not, sir.” 

“For Merlin’s,” he cut himself off. “Did you tell him Tom is here?” 

The secretary swallowed. “It was his secretary that came by. It was more of an order than a request. I didn’t tell her about ehm… him. You said to keep it quiet.” 

This time Sommerseth groaned. “It’s probably about that damned budget,” he muttered mostly to himself and rose from his chair. “Do you want to stay here?” he asked, looking at Tom. “I don’t know how long this will take. His office is just right down the hallway.” 

“I’ll come,” Tom said quickly. The thought of being left alone in the office, even this office was enough to make his pulse rise. 

Sommerseth went to his desk and picked up a folder after having rummaged through a couple of others then he turned and made it for the door. As he put a hand on the door he turned towards Tom with a thoughtful expression. “I am assuming you are not going to take off running down the hallway or something equally stupid if I don’t put that leash on?”  

Tom gave a small laugh. “No. That didn’t end well last time,” he said with a shudder. And he would be happy to forgo the damned leash and nobody could accuse Tom of not behaving if Sommerseth decided not to use it.

The man gave a sharp nod. “Good. Come on. Let’s see what has gotten the Minister’s knickers in a twist.” 

***

“Harry? Harry!” 

Harry jerked his head around and blinked at Neville and Draco. The latter heaved a heavy sigh. “Sorry,” Harry said and tried to focus. 

“He’s fine, Harry,” Draco said. “If not then he would have called you or Sommerseth would.” 

“I know.” He did know. Logically at least. 

Draco rolled his eyes. “Then why are you looking like you are about to develop an ulcer?” 

“Leave him be, Malfoy,” Neville said and shoved a file over the table. “Finish your notes on this so we can hand it in.” 

“I already did,” Draco said with a frown as he turned the file around and looked at it. “Didn’t I?” 

“Unless you used invisible ink then no. I want to finish this paperwork today so we can do something a bit more productive tomorrow.” 

Harry looked down at the file he himself was trying to finish. Paperwork was boring as hell, but since he was mostly preoccupied with worrying about Tom then it was better than doing anything else. 

“He was the dark lord, Potter. He can take care of himself.” 

“Let it be, Draco,” Neville scolded and threw a rolled up paper at him. It incinerated in the air before it reached Draco. 

“What?” Draco exclaimed. “He is back to his old self. Well, not old old self. At least that was what my Father said.” 

“Lucius,” Neville frowned and looked at Harry. “What has he got to do with Tom? I thought they hated each other.” 

Damn, Harry thought. He had forgotten to ask Lucius to keep quiet about the help he had given. He couldn’t very well tell Neville that Lucius had used an illegal hex to help Tom. 

“Lucius helped,” Harry said slowly. Trying to figure out how to proceed. “He is passable at Legilimens. He agreed to give it a try to see if he could help Tom.” 

Judging by the look Draco gave him, he knew what his Father had done. Still, he didn’t correct Harry so Harry assumed they were in agreement that they would keep quiet about just how Lucius had helped. 

Neville snorted. “I wouldn’t have thought that Lucius would volunteer to have anything to do with Tom.” 

“He did it as a favour to me,” Harry explained. “It was strange however. They know each other quite well. It was a bit surreal to sit there with the two of them. Especially after everything.” 

“You have the dark lord living in your house. The man who killed your parents and targeted you through your whole childhood,” Draco said a bit sarcastically. “It can’t get stranger than that.” 

Harry laughed. “Yeah, I suppose you're right.” 

Neville shoved another file across the table for Harry to finish and one towards Draco. “But things are good, with you two?” 

Harry blinked as he looked at the file in front of him and tried to remember what he was supposed to fill in. He couldn’t remember the case. To Neville he said, “yes, things are going well. They have more or less sorted themselves out. And as for the dark lord part, I have to admit I am having a hard time seeing the insane Voldemort in Tom. They feel like they are separate people. If that makes sense.”

Draco nodded. He was the one out of the two of them, who had dealt with Voldemort in person on several occasions. “I know what you mean.” 

“Do you think he’ll come back here?” Neville asked. 

Did he? Harry wasn’t sure. Tom had improved in leaps the last two weeks and if everything went well that day then it would be another massive step forward. Still, the Aurors office was something else. Perhaps in time. 

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “That will have to be up to Tom.” 

“Not there, Malfoy,” Neville said, irritated and pulled the file away from Draco. 

“What?” Draco said in confusion. 

“Well, Tom is much better at the paperwork than either of you two in any case so it would be nice if he returned,” Neville said as he signed the last file and closed it. He gathered up the rest of the files and stood. “I will hand these in, get coffee and you two can try not to kill each other in the meantime.”   

“What? We haven’t tried to do that since school,” Draco protested as Neville exited the door. 

Harry laughed, feeling a bit more settled and less worried. Tom would call him if something was wrong, and if not then Sommerseth would. 

***

“What is so important that you couldn’t schedule a meeting like normal?” Sommerseth asked as he pushed through the door and into the Minister’s office. Tom followed at a more leisure pace. 

“Because the damned thing is due to be delivered tomorrow, that’s why,” came the irritated voice of the Minister. He was seated behind a large oak desk that was completely covered in scrolls, documents and files. 

“No stop complaining and sit down so we can finish the damned thing.” He waved towards one of the chairs in front of his desk and looked up at the same time. 

His eyes zeroed in on Tom who quickly lowered his eyes and gave a shallow bow. “Minister.” 

Glancing up he saw the Minister blink as if confused. “Riddle,” he said slowly and turned his eyes towards Sommerseth. 

“Just borrowed for the day. We are going through cold cases.” 

“I see,” the Minister said and leaned back in his chair. He was back to studying Tom as he came further into the room. Sommerseth moved towards one of the chairs. Unsure what to do Tom opted for what at least was correct according to the code, and knelt beside the chair. The carpet was somewhat soft underneath his knees but soon melted into a comfortable and soft surface as Sommerseth moved his wand. 

“Seeing as his lot is probably responsible for half of the cold cases, I assume that is going fine?” There was spite in the voice and Tom was reminded that this man had been actively working against him, alongside Dumbledore. He had lost friends and colleagues in the war.

Four years was time for the world to come back to rights, but it took time for people to heal. Some would never, others needed a long time. He wasn’t sure which category the Minister fitted into. 

"Kingsley," Sommerseth said. “We do have other criminals also. Now, what is the problem with the budget? I assume it’s mine you are talking about.”

There was a sound of paper rattling. Tom studied the carpet. It was a midnight blue one that seemed to cover most of the large room. There was a stripe of bare, dark floorboards along the white walls.  

“Yes. You have to make some cuts. We don’t have the funds you are asking for.” 

“Kinsley!” Sommerseth exclaimed and this time there was real anger in his voice. “How in Merlin’s name do you expect me to run this department without sufficient funding? We are the most important department at the Ministry.” 

“You all say that,” the Minister said in a tired voice and Tom assumed this was not the first round the two of them had been through. “What will you have me do, Marcus? I can’t make money out of thin air! We have to prioritise. The nation's income is still low after the war. Businesses that pay taxes are still not up and running to the point of what they were before the war. Donations from rich families can only get us so much.” 

The door to the office suddenly opened and Tom looked up and saw a tall, thin man walk in. He had brown hair with some grey in it and thick glasses. In his hand he held a file that he was waving in the air. 

“Eric,” the Minister said with another sigh. “How about knocking?” 

“Are you serious about this?” The man, Eric, growled and ignored the question. “You are reducing funding?” Behind him a woman came running. The Minister secretary. 

“I am so sorry, sir,” she said to the Minister and glared at the intruder. “Mr. Hamilton doesn’t have an appointment but he was adamant that he would see you.” 

This had to be Hamilton, Tom suddenly realised with a sinking feeling in his stomach. The man who had been keen on punishing him for every little infarction he could find. The one Harry and the Minister had talked out of pursuing the complaints that had been made. 

“It’s fine, Sharon,” the Minister said and gave her a nod and a smile. 

The woman, Sharon, gave Hamilton another glare before leaving the office and closing the door behind her. 

Tom made sure that he was kneeling properly and kept his head down. The last thing he wanted was for Hamilton to find something to critice. 

“Quite the manners, Eric,” he heard Sommerseth chide in an annoyed voice. 

“Like you have something to complain about, half the budget seems to be allocated to your department,” the man shot back and then it seemed like he noticed Tom on the floor because he continued. “Why is that here?” 

“Tom is helping me with some cold cases,” Sommerseth answered and a cold note entered his voice. 

“Is he now? Probably his own crimes he is helping you solve,” the other man scoffed. “I see you are certain he won’t run a second time since you have forgotten the leash. It is mandatory, you know, in public buildings.” 

“Eric,” the Minister started in a tired voice but he was cut off by Sommerseth.  

“Tom was not trying to run away that day. You know it, I know it, the Minister knows it. You're just looking for excuses. As for the leash, you can’t fault him for that. If you feel the burning need to bring the law down on that stupid rule then you have to fine me. You can’t take it out on him since that is something out of his control.” 

“He is a warlord, a criminal and a terrorist,” Hamilton snarled. “He belongs behind bars. Not running around with a child as a master who has no control over him.” 

“Eric!” the Minister growled and slammed a hand onto the desk as he rose from his chair. Tom flinched slightly at the sound. “That is enough. The bond gives Harry all the control he needs. Riddle has been nothing but well behaved. I know you are angry about the war, about your loss. We all are, but it has been four years! I would rather have Riddle here, as an asset, than locked up in Azkaban. If you can’t accept that then perhaps this isn’t the right place for you.” 

“Are you threatening to fire me?” The incredulous voice of Hamilton asked. 

“I am telling you to let the past go.” 

“Fine,” Hamilton seethed. “But I am not letting these cuts to my budget go!” He settled down in the other chair in front of the desk. 

Tom sighed inwardly. This was apparently going to take more time than Sommerseth had thought. 

***

Tom came back down to the livingroom after having showered and changed into something more comfortable than the formal robe. Harry glanced up from the cup of tea he was nursing and watched curiously as Tom picked a pillow from the couch and brought it over to the armchair where Harry was lounging. He plopped the pillow on the floor beside Harry’s armchair and knelt, leaning sideways against the chair. He gave a small sigh and seemed to relax further. 

Harry started to reach out a hand, more out of habit than anything but checked himself and withdrew his hand, unsure if Tom would welcome the touch. 

“Tired?” He asked. It wouldn’t be surprising if Tom was tired. It had been a rather long day for him, considering he hadn’t been using his mind that much at home. 

“Yes,” Tom mumbled, his voice muffled from where he was leaning his head against the wooden frame of the chair. It didn’t look comfortable, Harry thought. It possibly wasn’t either because Tom shifted a bit and rested his head on Harry’s thigh instead, yawning as he did. The weight was not unpleasant. Again, Harry had to restrain himself from running a hand through the dark hair. 

“Sommerseth said you ran into Hamilton today.” The information had nearly given Harry a panic attack. He had assumed Hamiltion would have found something wrong about Tom’s behaviour. Something punishable. To his relief Sommerseth had assured him that Tom had behaved perfectly. 

Tom made a noise that could be taken for a yes. Then he turned his head slightly. “He showed up at the Minister’s office. Mad as hell about the budget for next year. Not that Sommerseth was any happier either about his own budget.” 

“I told him that you weren’t to leave his office,” Harry said, irritation bleeding into his voice once more. He had been even more irritated when he had reminded Sommerseth of this some hours earlier. The only reason he wasn’t more angry was because Tom seemed to be completely fine. It didn’t seem that their little excursion to Kingsly’s office had done any damage. 

“It was just a short trip down the hallway, master,” Tom said, strangely reassuringly as he stifled yet another yawn. “He couldn’t very well refuse to come when the Minister summoned him. He offered to leave me in his office but…,” Tom trailed off. 

But, after what had happened the last time someone had left Tom alone he hadn’t wanted that, Harry mused. And it was not like he would be in any danger with both Sommerseth and Kingsly there. As long as he behaved, which he always had done so far. Harry had never gotten any feedback other than positive, when it came to Tom’s behaviour. He was always polite, soft spoken and helpful. 

The complete opposite of the lunatic alter ego of his that had tried to take over Britain, twice. 

“Are you hungry?” 

Sommerseth had assured him that Tom had eaten a healthy portion of salad for lunch but Harry still hadn’t gotten completely out of the habit of worrying about Tom’s eating habits. However, it did help that Tom was slowly gaining back some weight. The walks seemed to help too. 

Tom had almost seemed surprised when Harry had allowed him to leave the house, but why should he refuse him? There was nothing Tom could do to harm anyone and there were enough tracking spells and muggle GPS on the collar to make it very difficult to run. And, Harry didn’t believe Tom would do either of those things. 

The relationship between them had changed over the last weeks. Stabilised somehow. The guilt Harry had felt that night when Tom had woken from his nightmare and been terrified of him, was slowly dying down. He had come to accept that some things would take time. There wasn’t a quick fix for the trauma that Tom had gone through. Only time and patience would, hopefully, prevail in the end. And he had come to accept that there would be setbacks. 

Still, today had to be counted as a good step forward. 

“Not really,” Tom mumbled and seemed to try and shake some of the tiredness of himself. It was a bit early for sleeping. 

“I think you should stay home tomorrow,” Harry said, carefully so as not to make it an outright order. He wasn’t in the mood for another discussion about what Tom was og wasn’t ready for. And, knowing Tom, he would be prone to push himself too far, simply to prove a point. “No use burning yourself out. Whatever you are working on can wait until the day after.” 

Perhaps it was a testament to how tired Tom was, since he only nodded and made a noise of agreement. 

“Besides, you have to try and keep that pumpkin plant alive,” he teased, lifting his cup of tea. 

The mentioning of the plant made Tom groan. “Bloody thing. Perhaps I should simply let it kill itself if that is what it wants.” 

He sat up straighter and rubbed two hands over his face. 

“Master, could you accio the book I was reading from the office?” He asked after throwing a long look at the door and apparently deciding it was too far to walk to retrieve it. 

Harry too glanced towards the door and the staircase that was barely visible. He had no idea which book Tom was currently reading. “You can do it yourself,” he said, letting his intention be known for the bond. “I don’t know which book you are currently reading. It seems to be a new one each day.” 

It had become easier to control the bond. In the beginning he had needed to concentrate hard to convey any orders, and from the winces Tom had given those times, it had not been pleasant for him either. Nowadays he could do it a lot more smoothly and the process seemed to be painless for Tom at this point. 

The book zoomed around the corner and landed neatly in Tom’s hand. No words and no wand. 

Harry could do some wordless spells but he wasn’t anywhere close to Tom’s level when it came to control. 

Lost in thought he hadn’t noticed his hand reaching out before he felt the soft strands of Tom’s black hair under his fingers.  

“Sorry,” he said, hastily and snatched his hand away. 

“I am not going to break if you touch me,” came the surprisingly amused answer from Tom. He tilted his head slightly to look up at Harry. “And I don’t mind,” he added, turning back to his book. Harry raised an eyebrow in surprise but let his hand fall back down, carding through the dark curls. 

He put the cup of tea on the table and leaned back in the chair, closing his eyes. He was tired. So very tired. The last nine weeks, hell, the last six months had been one roller coaster. That he had worked more or less around the clock for the last weeks hadn’t helped much either. 

“Could you ask that meanice of an elf of yours to bring some tea?” Tom asked, shifting slightly on the floor. “Or, never mind, I will get it. I don’t have the patience for his insults today. Do you want more?” 

“Yes, please,” Harry said and removed his hand as Tom stood. 

To his surprise it took some time before Tom returned. When he finally did Harry arched an eyebrow at him in question. 

“Couldn’t get the fire going,” Tom explained as he handed Harry his cup and sank back down on the pillow. 

Oh, yes. Harry normally used magic to light the fire. Tom didn’t have the luxury. Not with most of his magic blocked, except from a few spells. 

A comfortable silence settled over the living room. The sound of Tom turning a page ever so often and the feeling of the weight against his leg provided its own comfort.

It was nice, Harry thought. To have someone else in the house. It had always felt too large, too empty. It helped that someone else was also living there. The small sounds of someone moving around even if Harry couldn’t see them. Having someone to share a meal with. Preferably someone who was not covering on the floor in fear, though. 

For the first time in a long time, he could feel some sort of peace. Tom was up and about and seemed to be back to his old self. Hermione and Ron had gotten a daughter. Work was good and he had friends. He had the Weasleys as a second family. Although it had taken some time for them to come to terms with Harry having adopted the Dark Lord. They weren’t too keen on meeting Tom, but they had stopped shouting at Harry about it. 

“You haven’t considered retiring that elf of yours and getting a younger one?” Tom asked suddenly. 

Harry couldn’t help it, he started laughing. “If you hadn’t left him to die then he might have been more inclined to like you. Some might call it karma.” 

“Still,” Tom muttered. 

“I had another, but your sidekick Lestrange, the female one, killed him.” Harry missed Dobby, but Kreacher was alright once they had worked out the kinks. 

On the floor, Tom stiffened. “Oh,” he said and Harry could hear the surprise. Then, “I am sorry.” 

Harry refused to get angry once more at the thought of Dobby’s untimely death. Nothing good was coming from living in the past. If he could accept Tom in his house, care for him, the man that had killed his parents, then he couldn’t be angry at him for something Bellatrix had done. Instead he tried to focus on the good memories. 

“To be honest I never really owned him. He was a free elf but he did like me. Did Malfoy ever tell you that I tricked him into freeing him?” 

That made Tom turn his head, incredibility in his eyes. The book was forgotten in his lap. Then a small smile graced his lips. He put an elbow on Harry’s thigh and rested his head on it looking up at Harry with amusement. “Do tell. This will be interesting.” 

So Harry told him the story about how Dobby had showed up at his house. About the cake, about the year at Hogwarts. How he had tricked Lucius into releasing Dobby. How he had come to Hogwarts as a free elf and everything that had happened during the war. 

Tom laughed at the story about the cake but sobered as they came to the end of the story and the death of Dobby. He watched Harry with a strange look as Harry ended the story. Something that reminded him of guilt was present on Tom’s face.  

“I am sorry for your loss,” Tom said seriously. “But, I would have loved to see Lucius' face when he realised that he had freed the elf.” 

Having already decided that the past belonged in the past, Harry burst out laughing. “Oh, it was quite the sight. Dobby had to keep him from cursing me.” 

He then launched into å more detailed version of Lucius’ reaction, making Tom laugh and hide his face against his arm as Harry tried to imitate Lucius' voice. Harry couldn’t help but laugh too at the memories.

It felt good to laugh properly once more. It had been too long since last time. 

Chapter Text

Harry yawned as he started on the stairs upwards. He had spent a nice evening with the Weasley family, the whole family for once, and had arrived home late. For once they had not been pestering and scolding him over his decision to bring Tom home, although they preferred not to see him or hear of him. Harry wasn’t sure how that was going to be accomplished since Tom was bound to him forever. At some point he assumed that the Weasleys and Tom would have to meet. 

There was light on in his office, he noticed as he reached the third floor. Strange. It was quite late, the clock was nearing midnight. Worry started to gnaw at his stomach at once. Sometimes Tom would seek out Harry’s office if he had been plagued by a bad nightmare and Harry wasn’t home. It seemed the office had become a safe place for Tom. Somewhere he preferred to be. Somewhere he felt safe. And a little part of Harry was flattered that it was his office that Tom found solace in. 

He tried to ignore that his steps quickened as he walked towards his office and knocked at the door before pushing it open and stepping in. He didn’t want to startle Tom. 

The soft sounds from the radio hit him first. Tom was in his usual nest of blankets and pillows on the floor by the couch. It had become his usual spot. His head jerked up from the files spread out on the table as Harry came into view. 

He blinked once before giving Harry a small smile and a bow of his head as he moved into a kneeling position. “Master,” he greeted easily. 

Harry could feel himself relax. Tom seemed to be fine. There was no tension in his shoulders or any other sign that pointed towards a nightmare being the reason for him to be up this late. 

“Hey,” Harry said, his tone softer than intended, and returned Tom’s smile. “You’re up late.” Perhaps some of his previous worry was heard in his voice because Tom sobered and tilted his head, looking a bit concerned himself.  

“I got caught up in work and forgot about the time,” he explained, as if he wanted to reassure Harry that it hadn’t been a nightmare this time. 

Harry nodded but then frowned. “Work?” 

What work? Tom had come to the office three times now, or rather Sommerseth’s office. It had gone very well and Tom seemed to become better with every trip. At least he had stayed only in the office for the last two visits. But working from home? Harry couldn’t remember him bringing any files home. 

He stepped into the office to look at the files on the table. 

Tom shifted from the kneeling position to a more comfortable one and nodded towards the files on the table. A sheepish look darted over his face. “Your physical training, the duels, combate training etc. actually. Robards came by with the Auror’s training schedule for the next three months and wanted my opinion. He sent over a lot of papers and wanted to take a look at how they have it organised at the moment and if I had any advice for improvement or changes. It arrived while you were away.”

Harry almost asked why, but managed to hold his tongue. He knew why Robards had asked Tom for his opinion. Tom had trained his Death Eaters and they had been a force to recon with. He knew battle and he knew duels. He had vast experience from two wars and from the years he travelled abroad. He knew how to fight. Both formal and dirty. From an objective standpoint, Tom would be the perfect person to train the Aurors. 

Sommerseth knew that, as did Robards. They were willing to look past Tom’s history as Lord Voldemort for the greater good, and less paperwork.

“They would like you to train them.” He didn’t phrase it as a question. 

Tom shrugged. “They haven’t asked, but I wouldn’t be surprised.” 

Harry wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Voldemort would be a terrific trainer, but was Tom ready for that, after what had happened? 

“Would you like to?” He asked and sat down on the couch. Tom moved slightly to the side and leaned against his leg, he propped an elbow on Harry’s thigh and rested his head on the back of his hand. 

After some seconds he answered without looking up. “I actually do like teaching. I know Dumbledore believes I only asked for the teaching position to hide the diadem in the school, but that was the second time I asked. The first time was just as I had graduated but Dippet told me I was too young. I genuinely wanted the teaching position at that time.” He fell silent again. 

Harry sent a silent curse to Dippet. Why hadn’t the man let him teach? They might have avoided two wars if so. Or perhaps just one, as Voldemort would have used the opportunity to gain even more followers and probably would have won the first war. 

“Do I want to teach the Aurors,” Tom continued. “I think that is an irrelevant question as none of them would want me to. Or,” he amended, “som might agree to it. That would necessitate you giving me access to all of my magic.” 

Harry knew. And while a part of him still thought that was a bad idea, another, larger part of him felt that they had reached a point where he could trust Tom not to do something stupid. And why would he. It would bring him nothing but pain. There was no freedom to be had for the dark lord. 

Tom had changed a lot. So had Harry. Being thrown together in this strange arrangement had not been easy and the road had been more than bumpy, but perhaps things were starting to even out? Harry hoped so. He was still tired after everything. 

He let a hand brush through Tom’s hair, ruffling it slightly. “I’m going to bed,” he said and rose slowly to make time for Tom to move away from him.

“Good night.” 

***

Voldemort tried to breathe through the pain. In, hold, out. In, hold, out. Again and again. He had never regretted absorbing the horcruxes as much as he did in that moment. He tried to move, but the pain shot through his nerves, lightning quick. Giving up he settled down on the straws. They itched against his bare skin but he couldn’t muster the will or energy to move to put on the tunica that was laying on the floor, stained in blood. The pain was worse in his lower and up back. The bullwhip had done quite the damage and it would not heal for quite some time. 

That was however not what was bothering him the most. No, what bothered him was the trickle of blood between his legs that mixed with semen. Stanley had not bothered with preparation, too preoccupied by his own grief and need for revenge. 

Sex was not an unfamiliar thing for Voldemort, he had bedded both men and women during his travels in his youth but rape was something he had not experienced before. He might have tortured and killed, but he had never raped someone. The intimacy of it alone appalled him. He could however, from an objective standing, understand why rape was commonly used to humiliate, subdue and punish. 

His body had not been ready when Stanley had forced himself into him and it had taken most of his willpower not to scream. He had tasted blood from how hard he had bit down on his tongue when the man had slowly pulled out before slamming back into him. Still, the pain was not the worst. It was the feeling of helplessness that had overwhelmed him. He had never been this powerless in his life and that scared him more than anything. 

He had assumed that the guards would be too afraid of him, that his reputation and status would protect him in Azkaban. As such he had been prepared for isolation, for being left alone with his own thoughts. He had assumed some torture might be a part of the deal. What he had not reckoned with was the special attention he was receiving from both the warden and Stanely. 

At some point sleep caught him and he drifted off. 

He woke to the cell door being opened and Stanley entering. Humiliation rose in him, almost choking him. He wanted nothing more than to cover himself but as it was he could barely move. 

The man seemed to be swaying and Voldemort realised he wasn’t sober. That didn’t help much. Drunk people were much more prone to bad ideas. 

He came closer and grabbed Voldemort, yanking him to his knees and turning him around…

“Tom!” 

Something cold hit him and he bolted upwards gasping for air. Water tickled down his face as he drew in a hard breath. His heart was racing. He looked around and saw Harry standing in the middle of the room, well away from the bed. His wand was disappearing up his sleeve. The man was keeping his distance and Tom instantly knew why. Harry was afraid that Tom had replaced his original abuser with Harry in the nightmare and that Harry’s presence would scare him further. 

All Tom wanted at the moment, perhaps not surprisingly, was for Harry to touch him. To sooth the bond and that bloody itch that had returned with a vengeance after everything that had happened that day in the Ministry had settled. 

All Harry apparently wanted at the moment was to stay as far away as possible to avoid traumatising Tom further. 

He drew in a deep breath and one hand reached out on the bed, closing around empty air. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. “Please,” he whispered, eyes still closed. That was the wrong thing to say. He could hear Harry moving further away. 

“I understand, I am sorry. I just couldn’t leave you in the nightmare. I’ll leave.” There was a soft sound as Harry closed the door behind him. 

Damn it. Tom heaved a breath but no air filled his lungs. He couldn’t breathe. Panic seized him as he struggled to get air into his starving lungs. He shot to his feet and swayed, but he managed to draw his breath. He was shaking as he stumbled and had to catch himself against the closed door. He managed to open it on his second try. The door to Harry’s bedroom was ajar. Tom took a step then stopped. 

No, he was not going to overthink this. He pushed at the door and as it opened he saw Harry sitting on the edge of his bed, his face buried in his hands. His head jerked up as Tom slowly came into the room and knelt. It felt more like falling however. He breathed deeply once more and tried to get himself under control. 

“Tom?” Harry asked, rather sharply.

Tom winced and suddenly felt like he had trespassed. He opened his mouth but no words came out. 

“Tom,” Harry repeated, now leaning forwards and looking concerned. “What do you need?” 

Perhaps, if Harry had asked anything but that, Tom would have been able to come up with a better answer. As it was, the question cut right to the core of Tom’s dilemma. 

“I don’t know,” he answered once more.  

***

Tom sounded so lost that Harry forgot his fears about his presence might do more harm than good. He was kneeling on the floor, but his head was up and his eyes were just a hopeless mix of emotions. 

Harry wanted to comfort him, but he didn’t know how. 

“Okay,” he said reassuringly because Tom was starting to look anxious. “It doesn’t matter.” 

Harry wasn’t sure what to do. Tom had come after him so it didn’t seem like the dream had turned Harry into the bad guy. And Tom apparently didn’t want to be alone, if he wanted to then he wouldn’t have followed Harry into his room. 

Pushing his own anxiety to the side he looked back at the previous times he had woken Tom from nightmares. How the man had curled against him, shaking, waiting for everything to pass. 

“Do you want to sleep here?” he offered timidly, not wanting to give Tom the wrong idea, but trying to with his gut feeling that Tom needed some reassurance. Someone who cared. Perhaps for the first time. “I can sleep on the couch,” he offered, just to give Tom the option of having the bed alone. 

“No,” Tom said, hurriedly and Harry’s guilt flared.

He tried to give the man a reassuring smile but it faltered quickly. “Of course. I understand. Come, let us get you back to your own bed,” he said and gestured towards the door. 

On the floor Tom closed his eyes once more and raked both hands over his face before leaning forward hiding his face in his hands. He seemed to take some deep breaths. Then he removed his hands but kept his eyes on the floor. “No, I don’t want you to sleep on the couch. Just,” he seemed to lose his courage. Then he took another deep breath. “Just… I don’t know what I need but I don’t want to be alone, not tonight. The bond,” he trailed off again and seemed to be bracing himself for a dismissal. 

“Are you sure?” Harry said. 

“Yes.” 

Harry tried to find a way to dismiss the whole thing, to say no to protect Tom from what could possibly be a bad idea, but in the end he didn’t know what to do. In the end it was easier to just give in. “Of course, then. The bed is big enough.” He scooted backwards.

Tom hesitated a beat before rising and coming around the bed. He lay down on the other side and tried to find a comfortable position. Harry did the same on his side. Just as he was about to drift off he heard a soft “thank you”. 

***

Harry woke to the feeling that he was restricted. Blinking in confusion he looked down and saw Tom’s arm across his chest and he could feel the man’s soft breath against his neck where Tom’s head rested. The man was deeply asleep still and Harry thought he needed that. Problem was that Harry needed to leave for work as well. Slowly he extracted himself from the living octopus in his bed. Putting up a silence charm he showered and got dressed. Just before he closed the bedroom door. He cancelled the spell. 

As he came to the ground floor, he called Kreacher. 

“Master called,” the elf said as it bowed. “Will master be wanting breakfast or will master’s useless slave do that?” 

Harry slung the summer Auror robe over his shoulders. He would grab something to eat at the Ministry. There was always food in the cantine since there normally was people working around the clock at something or another. 

“No, thank you. Please leave Tom alone today. I know you don’t like him, but he is not going anywhere so at some point you have to let go of this grudge.” 

“Filthy half-blood, destroying the mighty Black family,” Kreacher muttered, loud enough for Harry to hear. He rolled his eyes. 

“Yes, I know, but at some point we do have to leave the war behind. I know he tried to kill you, but you survived. You are stronger than him.” 

At this Kreacher puffed out his chest and stood taller. “Kreacher is an ancient Black elf. Kreacher does not fall for filthy tricks and deceit. Kreacher was ordered to return and as such Kreacher did.” 

Harry tried to hide a fond smile. He was getting soft on the old elf. “I know. As such, do leave him alone. If he asks for anything then indulge him. He is bound to me for the rest of his life.” 

“Master’s slave never asks for anything.” 

No surprise, Harry thought, considering how Kreacher normally reacted. “If he does then indulge him. If not, leave him alone. He is bound in slavery, is that not enough punishment?” 

Kreacher seemed to think the whole thing over because he fell quiet. “Perhaps,” he relented. “Kreacher will rise above such behaviour as being spiteful. Kreacher is after all a stronger breed.” 

Perhaps this had not been the best idea, Harry thought with a small frown but he didn’t say anything. If the two of them could find some sort of balance then it would be in Harry’s best interest. 

“Thank you,” he said and turned towards the Floo. As he walked he turned his head and said over his shoulder. “And let him sleep, please. He needs rest.” 

“Yes, master.” 

***

“There is a rumour,” Draco said as Harry stepped through the door to the makeshift office and had to take a step back as Draco crowded him against it. 

“Good morning to you too,” he said exasperated. “Can I at least take off my cloak before being interrogated?” Not waiting for an answer he pushed past Draco who crossed his arms over his chest. He rolled his eyes at Neville as he walked past him. It was a bit surprising that Robards had let them keep the meeting room as an office after it had become clear that Tom was not returning. Then again, Robards seemed set on ensuring that Tom would return. 

He hung the outer cloak on a hanger and turned towards Draco. “What is this rumour then?” 

Draco was still standing by the door. “That Riddle is going to take over the duel training.” 

What? Harry stared. “What?” 

Draco’s frown evened out. “Oh, so it is just a rumour then?” He sounded disappointed. 

“Who said Tom was going to take over the training?” Harry asked with a frown. He didn’t mention that Robards had asked Tom to look over the curriculum for the practice training. 

A shrug. “Someone who had overheard Robards talking to Sommerseth. Apparently he wanted Riddle’s help.” 

“Tom isn’t even back to helping us,” Harry reminded him. “How could anyone expect him to start training us? Half the Aurors hate him too. They would never take instructions from him. He is only recognised for what he is to most of them, a slave.” 

Draco moved and sank down on one of the chairs by the table. “From what I understood it would only be for those who were interested. It wouldn’t be compulsory.” 

They were really jumping on the opportunity of having access to a dark lord, Harry thought, a bit annoyed. It was a good thing that they saw Tom as human and not as Lord Voldemort, or a slave to be ignored, but Harry was afraid they would push too much too soon. He was also afraid that Tom would let himself be pushed into something he might not be ready for because he wanted to prove he was the same old Tom Riddle or Voldemort, that could handle anything. 

And it annoyed him that they - Robards and Sommerseth - seemed to be doing this behind his back. Not that he owned Tom, although he did legally. He wanted Tom to be able to make his own decisions within reason. The moment he thought that his guilt flared. Was that the right way of going around this? Only let him make his own decisions within reason? He was a grown man for Merlin’s sake. Who was prone to bad decisions thought, another part of his mind reminded him. 

“How about we try to get a head start on the caseload?” Neville asked from the table. “Did anything useful come from the second interview of the widow, Draco?” 

The question distracted Draco who turned his attention to his notes. “Yes, or no. There is no reason to believe she is lying or hiding something. Unless a body turns up then I assume he ran off. Which I can understand, the woman is like a niffler locked up. I can’t understand how he could stand being with her for ten years.” 

They managed to be productive until lunch, getting the paperwork done and planning how to approach the rest of the week. There was not a lack of cases. For a small community as the wizarding world was, there were enough crimes committed to keep them busy. 

***

Tom woke slowly. He felt well rested for once and a tad confused as he blinked at his surroundings. It took a second before he remembered that this was Harry’s room. By the direction of the sunlight that filtered through the windows it seemed like he had slept well into the day. Harry was most likely off to work. 

He turned and considered going back to sleep for a few more hours but he realised that wouldn’t be possible and opened his eyes. He let his gaze travel around the room. It was a cosy room and tidy. There was no clutter anywhere. Only a book and a glass of water on one of the nightstands. There was a cloak draped over a chair and a scarf loosely folded on the same desk. The door to the bathroom was slightly ajour and the door to the walk-in closet stood open.

He felt oddly content. The meetings at the Ministry had gone well, so far at least and he was half a mind to ask Harry to try half a day with the Auror’s. Working with Sommerseth on the cold cases had made him miss the actual cases, the few he had worked anyway. And things had been rather tense between himself and Harry back then when he had worked with the team, since they had been trying to figure out how to relate to each other. Tom had mostly been in denial and Harry had been in over his head trying to figure out how to protect Tom from himself which had resulted in a lot of bad decisions on both sides. 

He enjoyed Harry’s company, which had come as a surprise. It had begun with Harry as a last resort to get out of Azkaban but had turned into so much more.  

Once more he felt himself gravitate towards the man to soothe that bloody itch that had come back. He had been half afraid Harry would either push him away or take it the wrong way, but the man simply seemed to understand that Tom needed contact without it meaning anything else. Still, Harry was wary of Tom’s nightmares, too afraid to be made the villain once more. 

Unfortunately that was not something Tom could control. 

The sound of peking on the window forced Tom out of bed. Outside Harry’s owl peered back at him. It landed on the bed when the window was opened and started intently at Tom, holding out his leg. 

It turned out to be more papers from Robards. Old training schedules, ideas for a more practical approach to training the Auror’s. All in all, a lot of work to go through. Tom sincerely hoped the Ministry at least was paying Harry extra for the work Tom contributed to. 

Harry had looked a bit wary to learn that Tom was helping out Robards. It was not like he was going to run the practices, just simply help organise them. The way they were organising it at the moment wasn’t that bad either. The Ministry had been training Auror’s and Hit wizards for decades and some of them had proven a real challenge for Voldemort’s Death Eaters. 

Robards wasn’t expecting, nor did he want, for Tom to completely reorganise everything, but he had asked if Tom could go through the current set up and give his opinion and suggestions for improvement. That meant, however, going through a lot of handbooks and papers to get a better understanding on how they were training the Auror’s from first hiring them on to how to continue to improve their duelling and combat skills. 

The owl hooted at the closed door to the hallway. Tom scanned one of the pages of the documents in his hand as he walked over and opened the door. The owl took off down the staircase. Probably headed for its usual place in the living room.

He picked up the rest of the documents from Harry’s office. The amount had become too much for him to organise on the coffee table but there was a large desk in the library that Harry never used. That would mean to use the furniture, which technically was against the rules but he couldn't see Harry getting angry as long as he kept off while the man was in the house. He would ask when he came home. The elf would tell on him either way so there was no reason to try and hide the fact. If Harry got angry then he would deal with it there and then.  

Leaving the papers on the desk he made his way to the kitchen. Some breakfast, or rather lunch, and some tea would do good before he dived back into the training world of the Aurors. 

***

“There you are.” 

Tom flinched and jerked his head up as Harry moved into the library. He had not heard the man approach, too engrossed in the documents in front of him. 

Harry had changed from his robes to muggle clothes so Tom assumed he had been home for a little while. 

“I assumed I would find you here when you weren’t in my office,” Harry said brightly but there was a note of relief in his voice that was at odds with the facial expression. 

“Master,” Tom greeted easily and knelt beside the desk he had been working at. “I hope,” he started, suddenly weary that he might have overstepped by assuming he could use the furniture. “I needed a bigger workspace,” he finished, deciding to just get it over with. 

Harry looked perplexed for a moment before he seemed to catch on. “Yes, of course,” he smiled. “Getting anywhere?” He came closer and peered down at the papers and the notes Tom had been taking. Tom rose to his feet. 

“Yes, but it’s a lot of papers to go through, so it will take a while to get everything sorted out. It’s interesting though, to see how the Ministry has been organisering their practices.” 

“I assume it is very dissimilar to how you trained your Death Eaters?” Harry pulled a sheet of paper towards him to take a better look. 

Tom leaned against the desk and shrugged one sided. “Both yes and no. There are some similarities. Then I did focus a lot more on the Dark Arts than the Ministry,” he added with a wry smile. 

“I can imagine,” Harry said with a roll of his eyes. “What is Robards expecting you to do exactly?” 

“Just go through the papers and give some feedback and suggestions.”

“Well, as long as it is something you do because you want to then by all means,” Harry said with a shrug of his own. He turned towards the door. “Have you eaten?” 

Tom’s stomach answered that question for him and he looked at Harry a bit sheepishly. “Might have forgotten,” he admitted and that was the truth.

That made Harry sigh. “Of course you did. Well, I’ll ask Kreacher to make something. Why don’t you go down to the kitchen when you are ready.” 

***

Harry was on the couch in his office with one of the Auror department’s red files in his hands when Tom came into the room. He had done the dishes after the meal and figured he would leave his own work for the evening in favour of seeking out Harry. 

“Anything exciting, master,” he asked and took his customary place on the floor by the couch. 

“Depends,” Harry said, chewing on a muggle pen. He put the file down on the table. 

Tom scooted over and leaned against his leg looking down at it. “The Legacy,” he noted, looking at the picture that showed a large triangle shaped building made of stone. It looked a bit like the glass pyramid of the Louvre only it was made up of stone that would shimmer and change with the seasons. 

Harry nodded. “They have had a break in.” 

“Oh?” That was rare. The Legacy was rumoured to have some of the best protection and safety protocols in Europe. He picked up the file and started flipping through it. 

“Have you been there?” 

From the question Tom assumed Harry never had. The Legacy was an all wizarding museum that showed how the Wizarding world had evolved since old Egypt and up to their time. “Yes, a long time ago.” 

“Well, they have had a break in, according to them. They have shut the place down and we are expected over tomorrow morning to take statements. The ward breakers have been over today to try and find out how the perpetrator bypassed the security spells, the specially trained crups and the security trolls.” 

Tom flipped the pages. “Are they still using that useless excuse of a wizard that calls himself a charms master?” 

He felt more than saw Harry frown behind him. “Rickon?” 

“Yes, him.” 

“Yeah, I think so. That was the name in the report at least.” 

Tom put the file back down on the table and twisted to look at Harry, leaning more into him as he did to keep his balance. “Well, it shouldn’t be too difficult for an above average skilled burglar to break in.” 

Harry narrowed his eyes. “Let me guess, you have broken into the museum?” 

“Might have taken a look around,” Tom admitted with a shrug and felt his lips curve in a small smile. There was no reason to deny his past crimes. Harry already knew about the worst of them, a simple robbery wouldn’t add much to that.  

“Just looked?” 

“Might have taken something too.” 

Harry snorted. “Of course you did.” He looked at the file then back at Tom. “The museum will be mostly empty tomorrow. Draco and Neville can handle the interviews. If you want to tag along then perhaps we could take a look at the wards. They might tell you something?” 

The suggestion brought forth a mild panic at the thought of meeting anyone, but then curiosity took over. It was several decades since he had last been to The Legacy and with the place mostly empty there wouldn’t be many people for Tom to come in contact with. It would also be a good stepping stone for trying to get back to helping Harry and the rest of the team. 

“They might,” he conceded to Harry’s question about the wards telling him something. It would depend on the wardstone used, if they had used one. “I could take a look.” 

Harry smiled. “Good. Draco and Neville will be happy to see you again.” 

And wasn’t that a paradox. Tom had tortured Malfoy and his whole family and Bellatrix had sent Longbottom’s parents to St. Mungoes, but still they believed in second chances and seemed to be willing to let the past stay in the past. People’s ability to give and forget would never cease to surprise him.

Chapter Text

“Morning,” Tom smiled and knelt as Harry entered the kitchen. He was back on his feet by the time Harry had time to blink and was now putting a cup of steaming tea on the table by Harry’s place. There was a plate of breakfast there as well. A glance to the side told him that Tom had finished his and had started on the morning paper.

He slid into his seat as Tom did the same. At least he looked like Tom had slept well. The dark rings under his eyes had faded and he looked like his usual, neat self. The robes fitted him perfectly again since he had gained some of the weight he had lost during the “incident”. The colour scheme og black, blue and red really fitted him as well.

“You are staring,” Tom remarked with a slight smile and glance up from the paper. There was amusement in his eyes and he tilted his head a bit to the side, the way he did when he was curious.

Harry looked down and felt a slight flush. He cleared his throat. “Sorry. I was just thinking that you look like you have had a good night's sleep.”

The smile disappeared and Harry instantly regretted saying anything. Tom made an effort to put the smile back on but he couldn’t quite manage to make it look real.

“Not the best, but better than some other nights,” he said softly.

Nodding, Harry shut up and dived into his breakfast. The nightmares were probably not going to go away any time soon. His head still spun when he thought about what Voldemort had been subjected to during the years in Azkaban. Tom had told him a lot but Harry was sure that there were some details and incidents that Tom had not told him about.

At least both the warden and his sidekick had been convicted for their crimes. Harry had received a copy of the verdict and luckily the court had not cared that one of the men they had been abusing had been the infamous Lord Voldemort.

He glanced up at Tom who had returned to his paper.

Harry kept studying him as he ate. Tom really did look much better. Still, Harry couldn’t help worry that something would happen, something that would send Tom back into the state of mind he had been in those long weeks. He wasn’t sure he could take another round of being around Tom’s subconscious again for an extended period of time.

The fear of that happening was almost enough to make Harry lock Tom inside the house for the foreseeable future.

Only, that wouldn’t be fair to Tom. The man would grow bored if that mind of his was not engaged. But, as much as Harry knew that, he still wanted to do it. He had almost done it twice.

He still remembered the shared panic that had gripped him when Tom had told him he wanted to go to the Ministry after Sommerseth had sent that blasted letter. How he had to check himself before he snapped at Tom and told him he was confined to the house and was not allowed to leave.

Then, once he had relented and they had gone to the Ministry, the sight of Tom flinching back as Robards had slapped his hand onto the table and renewed the panic.

He regretted that he had mentioned the burglary at the Legacy and asked if Tom wanted to come.

You can’t keep him locked up in the house forever, a voice in his head reminded him.

“Are you sure you want to come today?” he asked, trying to keep his voice neutral.

Tom looked up and a slight frown appeared. “I am fine, master.”

Was he really? Harry wondered as he finished his breakfast.

“Harry,” Tom said and Harry looked up from his plate. There was a small tilt to the side of his mouth and his eyes were warm as he spoke. “I promise to tell you if it becomes too much. And I trust you will bring me back here if I do?”

Harry found himself nodding. Tom had probably picked up on the worry that was bothering Harry.

***

The sides of the Legacy were sparkling in the sun when they stepped through the wards hiding it from the muggles. It showed what looked like a jungle in Harry’s opinion. The pathway leading up to the massive entrance hall was made up of the same sparkling stone as the building itself.

It led through an amazing garden that had not been visible from the muggle street they had entered by. From the muggle side it had looked like an rundown, forgotten playground that had been left to rot. Overgrown and with garbage cluttering around. But, as they entered through the wards the most beautiful garden Harry had ever seen came into view. There had to be special charms cast on the area because several of the plants and trees that were growing there were not indigenous to England. Neither were the birds that chippered around in the trees. There even was a large lake with a fountain.

“It is a popular place for people to go for walks,” Tom commented just behind him.

“I can understand that,” Harry said and swallowed. He looked around with wide eyes. There was simply too much to take in.

The entrance hall itself came into view as they passed under some palms and turned out to be a large glass pyramid, smaller than the main building, but connected. It looked like the one at the Louvre museum in Paris.

Half a step behind him, Tom smirked as he saw Harry looking around with awe.

“It is quite something, isn’t it?” He asked and looked around himself.

“It’s,” Harry wasn’t sure what to call it. “Magical,” he landed on as he watched the birds and butterflies that milled around.

Two figures in red came into view, standing on top of the stairs leading into the entrance hall. Tom faulted for a step before starting on the stairs.

“Riddle!” Draco said with a warm smile and held out his hand.

After a quick glance at Harry, Tom took the offered hand. “Mr. "Malfoy." He gave Neville a nod. “Mr. Longbottom.”

“Good to see you on your feet,” Neville said with a nod. He had always been more reserved towards Tom than Draco. Polite, but keeping his distance. Perhaps because Neville had felt Tom’s actions during the war closer than Draco. His parents were, after all, still at St. Mungos because of the damage Bellatrix Lestrange had inflicted on them.

“Thank you,” Tom said with a small smile. “We’ll have to see how this goes first.” He glanced at Harry who immediately felt worry starting to build. Was this a good idea?

“Come, let’s go inside,” Draco said, almost sounding like an eager child on his first trip. “Did Harry tell you what they stole?”

Tom shook his head and waited for Harry to start walking before falling into step behind him. Draco slowed down so that he could walk next to Tom, while Neville fell into step beside Harry.

“You think this is a good idea?” He whispered to Harry with a glance over his shoulder at Tom.

Harry frowned, unsure as to what Neville was thinking about. “For the case or for him?”

“For him,” Neville clarified. “It’s a good thing for the case, hell for all of our cases if he comes back, but he has been through something traumatic.”

And didn’t that just renew Harry’s own worries. “I’ve asked him multiple times,” he said in the same low voice as Neville. “He claims he is fine. I could deny him, but,” Harry shrugged, “that feels wrong too. I know he belongs to me in the legal sense but he isn’t incapable of making his own decision. I’ll take him home if there is any sign of this being too much.”

Neville nodded and looked back at Tom and Draco who were chatting behind them. Slytherins finding together. “He doesn’t remind me much of Voldemort to be honest.”

“I know. The more I get to know him, the less he reminds me of Voldemort. Perhaps that part of him died somewhere during the years of torture.”

That earned him a searching look. “You like him?” The voice was neutral and the face didn’t give away anything.

Harry hesitated. Was he putting a friendship on the line if he told the truth?

“I have not forgiven him for the war, for my parents, for anything, but I can’t keep living in the past. We are bound together. We might not have known what we were doing but here we are. Do I like him? Yes, I do like this version of him. I care about this version of him. I don’t know if that is because he is my responsibility or because I do like him. I was worried sick those weeks when he was unresponsive and terrified of me.”

Neville fell silent as they walked on up the stairs. Just as Harry pushed the door open he spoke. “I get it. I wish I didn’t, that I could still see him as this monster who is forced to help us, but I get it. I will probably never become as comfortable around him as Draco, but I don't mind him. He is helpful and polite and I understand that you care, him being your responsibility and all.”

Harry barely had the time to give him a grateful smile before they reached security. They knew the Aurors were coming and let them through with a nod and a slightly suspicious look at Tom, but made no comment.

Inside it became more clear just how massive the building itself was. The double staircase rose upwards in what looked to be forever and Harry couldn’t cunt just how many levels there were. To the right side there was what looked like a restaurant.

There were no visitors as the museum had been closed for the day while everything was being investigated.

Just as Harry finished turning around to take in everything, elderly woman came towards them, leaning heavily on a cane, her gray hair done up in a complicated braid.

“Finally,” she barked as she came closer and Harry stopped dead. Her pale blue eyes roamed over them before stopping on someone behind Harry. He turned his head and saw her looking at Tom.

Tom had gone very still and his eyes moved from the woman to Harry and back with a look Harry couldn’t grasp. Then he dropped them to the floor as if suddenly remembering the rules of conduct.

“Tom Riddle. It has been a long, long time. How are you, boy?”

Harry did a double take, as did both Draco and Neville.

Tom smiled, it looked forced to Harry, but probably not to the others. He took a step forward and bent over the hand the woman held out while keeping his eyes trained just below hers.

“Mrs. Alistar, you look splendid, as always. It has been a long time ma’am.”

The woman, Mrs. Alistar huffed as Tom kissed her hand. “Still charming I see. I would like to know how you retained those good looks of yours after so many years, but that might be a conversation for another day. So, who are these gentlemen?” She asked, looking at the rest of them.

“I do, of course, recognise Mr. Potter.”

“Ma’am,” Harry said politely, his head spinning at the fact that she and Tom knew each other.

“Quite the mess you got yourself into, boy,” she said to Tom, with a pointed look at his collar, as she turned towards Draco and Neville.

“Ah, the Malfoy look. You must be Lucius’ offspring. And you,” she narrowed her eyes at Neville. “I would recognise your grandmother's features anywhere. So, you four are the best Gwain can send me. We will see, we will see. Come along, Tom, and I will explain everything.”

Tom shot Harry a look that was part pleading and part asking for permission. Harry just held up his hands with a ‘what do you want me to do’ gesture and smiled. It was not like he wanted to torture Tom, but apparently these two knew each other well, and he was curious.

That made Tom sigh as he walked after the woman. “Of course, Mrs. Alistar.”

Draco and Neville crowded in on him. “How does Tom know her?” Draco whispered as they followed the pair as they assumed they were supposed to.

Harry held up his hands once more. “I have no idea.”

Up front they heard Mrs. Alistar’s voice as she limped down the hallway. “Why did you spend your time and talent on that silly war, boy?”

Tom’s answer was lost in the sounds of their footsteps on the marble floor but all three of them shared an amused smile. Harry wondered if he knew that Mrs. Alistar was the manager when he had agreed to come.

***

“I didn’t,” Tom said an hour later when he and Harry were walking down the hall once more, this time alone. His hand kept raising to his temple and Harry assumed he had a headache from Mrs. Alistar’s speech about the old times.

“How do you know her?” Harry asked curiously. From the conversation it seemed like the two of them had seen quite a lot of each other back when Tom had been young.

They turned a corner and came into the gigantic entrance hall of the museum. In front of them the large, double staircase hung in the air. It twirled slowly in a circle making it possible for people on the different levels to get on and off. Harry followed the moving stairs and stepped on, Tom right behind him. They ascended the stairs in search of the top floor.

“I got to know her because of work.”

Harry turned his head, now confused. “Work? Dark lord work? I thought that was a lifestyle.”

Tom smiled. “It is. It was,” he amended. “I worked at Borgins & Burkes for a while after I graduated.”

“That scary antique shop in Knockturn Alley?”

“Have you been there? Didn’t take you for the type to go to dark shops, master,” Tom said with a teasing smile.

Harry rolled his eyes. “I mispronounced Diagon Alley the first time I used the Floo and ended up there instead. Luckily Hagrid found me.”

That made Tom laugh. A pleasant sound that Harry couldn’t associate with Lord Voldemort.

“How old were you?”

“Eleven.”

“Good thing he found you then. Young children should not wander around Knockturn Alley by themselves. Part of my job was to hunt down valuable artifacts and buy them cheap so that the shop would sell them for a profit.”

Hufflepuff’s cup. Harry suddenly remembered how Tom had come into possession of it. The woman he had murdered by proxy using the elf. He wanted to ask, but Tom usually got a bit reserved whenever the subject of his horcruxes came up. Harry knew he still had several, but absorbing two of them had at least made him more stable and sane.

“That is how I came to know Mrs. Alistar. She was a frequent customer and we met often at auctions. Used to take me out for lunch, which was nice seeing as Burke and Borgins didn’t actually pay well.”

They waited for the stairs to finish turning, and stepped off and onto the highest level.

“Why a shop?” Harry asked as they headed deep into the Egyptian exhibit. He had been wondering about that. Why take a job in a lowly shop when Tom probably could have gone wherever he wanted with his grades and all.

“I wanted to travel and for that I needed money. I didn’t want to work at the Ministry. I wanted to disappear and remake myself into someone else. Someone who wasn’t poor, orphaned Tom Riddle.” There was a bitterness to the words and a frown appeared between Tom’s eyebrows.

“Lord Voldemort,” Harry said quietly. So many things had gone wrong in Tom’s life. Everyone of them leading Tom deeper and deeper down the path to becoming Voldemort.

Tom glances at him, an unreadable expression on his face. “Yes.”

They continue in silence. Tom didn’t seem keen to continue the conversation and Harry didn’t know what to say.

***

Harry watched as Tom’s magic swept over the floor, the walls and the ceiling before extending outwards. The yew wand moved slowly expanding and retracting the magic as it searched for any tampering done to the wards.

Tom had a small smile on his lips. The same one that always showed up when he was allowed access to his magic.

A stab of guilt hit Harry, and once more he wondered if it would be so bad if Tom had access to his magic. Six months had passed and things had settled between them. And it was not like Harry couldn’t take it away in an instance if needed.

“Well, the wards seem intact. I can’t sense that anyone has tampered with them either. It has all the signs of being an inside job.”

Harry sighed. It would take ages to interview all the employees. “How did you do it?” He asked sharply.

Tom blinked in confusion. “Master?”

“You told me you broke in here and took something. How did you do it?” It was not fair to ask that really, because whoever the thief was this time, there was no chance he would be as powerful as Tom.

“I took the wards down and then put them back up. If someone had checked the wards they would have noticed. There is no way around that. I did however leave a perfect replica of the piece and as such they don’t know, even to this date, that there is an artifact missing.” There was a slight touch of pride to Tom’s voice and a small smile played at his lips.

Damn it, that was not something he wanted to know. Harry closed his eyes and rubbed at them. Should he tell Mrs. Alistar that Tom had robbed her museum and that there was something missing, something she didn’t know about?

“Where is it now?” He settled on asking.

Tom looked a tad apprehensive at the question. “My - yours - my former vault.”

Great. At least it could be returned then. “We are returning it,” he said with a stern look at Tom, waiting for him to argue.

“Anything?” Draco called from halfway down the hallway. Neville at his heels.

“Probably an inside job,” Tom called with a shrug towards Draco and added with a glance at Harry. “I don’t know where my key is. Probably somewhere at Malfoy Manor.”

Harry nodded. They would have to deal with that afterwards.

“The wards haven’t been tampered with?” Neville asked.

Harry noticed how he glanced warily at the pale yew wand in Tom’s hand. Neville wasn’t as comfortable with Tom having access to his magic as Draco was, probably for good reasons.

“The wards around the building and the ones around the entrance hall are intact which means the thief didn’t break in. The wards on the entrance hall are taken down every morning and put up every night. Either it was stolen by someone keyed into the wards, or someone stole it during the opening times of the museum, which would be a big risk with the security trolls, visitors and such.”

They all turned to stare at the empty glass container on top of a pedestal.

“Mrs. Alistar said that the Knife of Anubis was valuable but far from the most valuable item in the museum,” Draco mused, and walked around the pedestal.

Tom raised his wand and pointed it at the glass container. It glowed purple and then several fingerprints started to appear. Some was smudged, somewhere overlapping but some were also very clear.

“Aren’t there any wards on the pedestal itself?” Harry asked, stepping closer. Normally there would be to alert the guards if the glass container was lifted.

Tom nodded. “There is, and it was taken down around 2 am last night.”

Neville consulted his notes. “It alerted the security trolls, but by the time they got there the knife and the thief was gone.”

Draco sighed. “And since the wards are programmed to keep people out and not in, the thief could walk out freely.”

“Couldn’t some visitor simply have hid away and waited for closing time, before taking the knife and walking out?” Neville asked, looking around.

Tom shook his head. “No. Security protocols state that after closing all the staff and security has to meet in the entrance hall. They then cast the Homenum revelio spell to check if anyone is hiding in the building.”

That made both Draco and Neville look at him more closely. “Mrs. Alistair didn’t mention anything about that,” Draco said slowly with a curious look on his face.

Harry sighed. “Tom has broken into this place before,” he admitted with a sideways glance at Tom, who just shrugged with a small smile on his lips.

“Dark lord,” was all he commented.

Draco laughed and even the sides of Neville's mouth stretched as if he was fighting a smile.

“As such, it would be reasonable to assume this was an inside job,” Tom continued. “Which means there are a lot of employees to interview.”

Draco groaned and Neville patted him on the back. They all knew Draco hated interviews.

***

Harry was not entirely sure what he was doing when he knocked on the door to Tom’s room, which was still slightly open. The clock had just passed midnight and Harry should have been in bed, but he had become worried when he had noticed that the lights were still on in Tom’s room.

The man had seemed fine after their little outing to the museum but looks could be deceiving.

He pushed the door open just as Tom turned from his desk and knelt on the floor.

“Master?” he questioned and Harry could understand why. Harry didn’t have a habit of entering Tom’s room. He believed Tom needed to have his own place where he could retreat if he wanted space.

Harry remained standing in the doorway, and rubbing the back of his neck rather awkwardly. His eyes darted around the room as he tried to figure out what he wanted to convey. The room was tidy as expected. A couple of books on the nightstand along with the yew wand. The desk contained some scrolls, quill and ink. The plants were still alive. The door to the bathroom was open, but the lights were off.

He had never regretted getting electrical lights installed in the house, even if it had been quite the hassle to get the muggle electrician into the house with the wards and all. Not to mention getting the house itself to agree to it. Old, magical houses often had a will of their own with the bloodwards that had been powered with generations upon generations of Black blood. It had not been too happy when Harry had added his blood, but it had accepted it.

“I, just,” he began, but hesitated. “Listen,” he tried again before stopping. He didn’t want Tom to take this the wrong way. On the floor Tom looked at him with a slight tilt of his head, probably wondering what was up with Harry’s behaviour.

He took a deep breath and just started talking. “Thank you for coming today. It helped a lot. I don’t know how you feel after everything but if you want some company you are welcome in my room anytime, if things get too much.” He then held up a hand. “I know that as a slave I could order you into my bed, but I think we have come far enough that you know I won’t do that. It is just an offer, if you feel you sleep better in my room. The bed is big enough.” He added and could feel himself fumble over the words, a blush rising on his neck.

Tom tilted his head a bit more. “Thank you, Harry, but I don’t want you to be uncomfortable by sharing a bed with a man. Even if it is just for sleeping.”

“Same for you,” Harry retorted before he could think.

Tom smiled. “I have never cared about gender when it came to people I took to my bed. The latest trauma in the hands of the warden and Stanley have made things difficult as you know, but the concept of sharing a bed with you doesn’t bother me. Not now at least.”

Not like it used to. The honesty in the statement made Harry blink. And honesty deserved honesty. “I don’t mind,” he answered.

He had never been with a man, but the concept of sharing his bed with Tom if that would help the man didn’t bother him at all. And he was glad that Tom had gotten over the panic he had been struggling with some weeks ago when he thought Harry might abuse him. That panic had probably come as a result of what had happened and how Tom felt once he came back to himself.

He turned to leave.

“Harry, the Book of the Dead. I vaguely remember something about that.”

Surprised, Harry turned. “Okay?”

“It is just a vague memory from that time.” Tom was frowning in concentration, apparently trying to recall whatever memorie he was thinking about.

Harry entered the room and took a seat on the bed. Tom pivoted so that he was facing Harry, but changed his position from kneeling to sitting with his legs crossed.

“Yeah. Lucius came by the Ministry one day. He had been approached by a man who worked for Mr. Tassler, the smuggler. The one the runespoor told you about.”

Tom nodded.

“He had this book with him. The Book of the Dead. He told us the man had wanted to buy the book, but Lucius had been wary to do so because he had hunted the book down on your orders and he had been told to keep it safe. Why are you asking about this now?”

“The book and the knife are connected. They belong together. Several of the rituals in the book demand blood, drawn with the Knife of Anubis. Do you know what Lucius did with the book?”

Harry shrugged, an unsettling feeling unfurling in his gut. “No, but we could always ask.”

Tom sighed. “Yes, just what I wanted. More time spent with Malfoy.”

The sure exasperation in the voice made Harry smile. He didn’t think Tom and Lucius hated each other as much as they believed themselves.

“I could just ask him, you don’t have to come,” he offered, knowing Tom would turn the offer down.

As expected, Tom shook his head. “I better go with you.”

“Fine, I’ll owl him. I can ask him to come here if you want.”

Tom took a moment to consider before nodding. “Yes, thank you. Nacissa hates me more than her husband does and I don’t want to run into her at Malfoy manor.”

Harry stood. “How was today?” The slight worry from before wouldn’t let go.

“Better than expected,” Tom admitted. “It was nice to be outside again. Not sure about running into Mrs. Alistair, but it wasn’t as bad as I would have thought.”

Harry half expected him to ask about the Ministry again and the Auror department, but Tom just gave him a smile and a shrug. “Let me know if the interviews turn up anything interesting.”

“I will. Good night.”