Disclaimer: HP's not mine.

The room was silent. No one dared to move, fearing that they would draw the Dark Lord's attention and suffer under his wand.

Red eyes swept across the crowd of kneeling followers, glaring icily at all that was present and the unrelentingly cruel glint in the rubies lingered on the useless follower he cursed. The man panting at his feet slowly stumbles to an upright position. "My lord," He starts, stopping to pant for breath. He gathers his courage and forges onwards. "I apologize for my incompetence and ask for another chance."

Those glacial eyes narrow and he speaks, a quiet yet resoundingly loud voice echoes throughout the stone room, "Stand."

The man does so shakily, his head still bowed. The Dark Lord brings out his wand. He points it at the trembling man. "Look up," He commands. Terrified eyes meet ruby red before it falls shut and the body is dead.

"The world is in our hands. We have worked far too hard, lost far too many to allow space for incompetence in our ranks. I will not tolerate failures that will lead this empire to be degraded to what it once was," He speaks with a dire threat underlying his words and all present understood the message: "Screw up and you die."

Still, everybody applauded at his words. When the room was calm once again the Dark Lord said, "Dismissed." And with a wave of his hand, he turned his back towards his followers and reseated himself on his throne. As everyone started to file out the room and the boy standing at the side of his throne also started to move he turned piercing eyes towards the boy and sharply said, "Not you Harry. Not you."

The boy immediately stopped, silently moving back to the spot he had occupied, his emerald eyes not once meeting or acknowledging that he had been spoken to. Voldemort frowned, but said nothing against it.

A few stragglers had lingered to see what this is about and wondered if they were about to enjoy another show when their Lord turned glaring eyes to them and they hurriedly fled the room. When the room was cleared, Voldemort called to Harry. Still, he elicited no response from the teen. "Harry," he snapped. The Chosen One turned his head slightly to the side, indicating that he was listening. Voldemort stood, walking gracefully down the steps from his throne to where Harry was standing as a pureblood would- though they both know that Tom isn't one.

The Dark Lord brought his fingers up to Harry's face, lightly tracing along his jawline. "Harry, my love." The boy flinched, he pretended to not notice. He tried to catch his lover's emerald gaze but the boy stubbornly kept his head down and face hidden from his view. Dropping all pretenses, he growled, "What is it that you want!?" he gripped Harry's jaw tightly, jerking his face to up to meet his. Blank, dead eyes stare into his own glowing crimson and the pain from the sight causes Voldemort to jerk away himself and turn around, his anger and subtly hidden guilt that he hadn't even known he possessed rolling off of him in waves.

The frustration with the boy not willing to be as he was before was bothering him, much as he is loathe to admit it. Ever since that incident that the boy had witnessed along with the effect of the child then disappearing for two days before coming back all beaten up, the boy has been unwilling to be near him or even in his presence. He had even went as far as moving out of the room they had shared. The contact and interaction between the two has diminished to not even the stage of strangers anymore, but lower than even that. He has tolerated all those, since the boy had helped him gain the world. But this! This is something he cannot tolerate any longer. What does the boy want him to do?! Throughout all these months, he has done as the boy wished and had avoided contact. Even when the boy had retracted from all traces of life or existence, he has allowed him to go on. Yet the boy still refuses to even look at him. For some reason, that thought brings a stab of pain to the Dark Lord's heart and his throat starts to constrict from fear- but fear of what? He doesn't know, but he knows that this is all because of Harry Potter and his patience with this feeling is about to run out.

He heard the teen move towards him, but he made no indication that he's noticed. It was probably foolish of him to have turned his back towards a once enemy, but he knows that Harry loves him and even if he can't return that sentiment or even experience the feeling that possessed the boy to stay with a man who has hurt him more times that he should've in a life time, he knows that it's that feeling that would prevent harm befalling him with Harry. The boy stops right behind him and by the shuffling sounds of robes and a low resounding thud, Voldemort could tell that the boy is on his knees. He turns around, wondering why is it that the boy did such, and finds his head still bowed.

Having heard his Lord turn towards him, Harry spoke in a quiet voice that was cracking from disuse. "I want nothing my Lord." The monotony and deadness of the voice angered the Dark Lord all the more, but if it was anger at himself, at the boy, or at something else entirely he couldn't yet tell. He sent the boy out, dismissing him with a wave of his hand. Harry stood, bowed slightly again and hurried out of the room, as if not wanting to stay in his presence for even a moment longer and for some reason that hurt. But Voldemort could do nothing about it as of now. What's done is done, and he shan't regret it now. He has the world in his palm and everything he has ever wanted is his, he should be happy.

But, he isn't.

Dead. Can he use that to describe what he feels? He doesn't know, he's never been dead before so he isn't sure if this is what it feels like to die over and over again, having your heart ripped out over and over again with fresh blood pouring it of it every second but yet still not dying. Everything is in black and white, nothing has color. He hasn't been able to see the beautiful colors of the world for quite some time now. When did it start again? Oh yes, that's right. It was because of that time that this has occurred.

He shakes his head at himself. No use crying over spilled milk. He should've seen this a mile away, before the Lord had even approached him. But he didn't. He was desperate and hurt. In fourth year, no one dared to trust him- no one even wanted to do so. Then in fifth year, Sirius had died. It was hard for him to cope, he didn't know who to trust anymore because they could all betray him at a moment's notice again. Then his Lord came and convinced him of lies that he himself didn't believe. But now it's too late, he's fallen too far.

Bitter, unbidden tears slowly fell. He stopped in the empty corridor and brought his hand up to his face, his hand flinching away from the skin as if it was burned when he felt the warm droplets. Features slowly twisting painfully, he dropped to the floor and brought both hands up to cover his face, trying and failing to stifle his sobs and tears.

He's lost, broken, and the only one who could fix him doesn't know how to.

The figure hidden from view clenched his hands and held it at his chest, restraining himself from letting out an accidental burst of magic at whoever had done this. Hie eyes gleamed eerily. He'd have him. That's the only reason he's here. He'll not let him slip from his grasp again.

All the while it was unnoticed by the two who were caught up in their emotions of a man who had just happened by. Uninterested eyes lingered on Harry's keeled over body before training itself at the spot where someone was hiding. Well, this will prove to be an interesting pastime.