Harry didn't know what to think. It wasn't like this was new to him – the whole not being in control of his own life thing – but this was something he wasn't used to.

He was being held captive in a nice sized bedroom with clean sheets and a warm duvet on a comfortable and normal sized bed. Perhaps that was what threw him off. At the Dursley's when he was stuck in the cupboard, the bed was too small and the sheets dirty and thin. In Dudley's second bedroom the bed was falling apart and his sheets were still thin and dirty. And even if he wasn't technically ever held captive at the Dursley house, it had felt that way.

So why was he in a nice room with a nice bed to sleep on? And why wasn't he dead because it's obvious who kidnapped him even though he didn't get a glimpse of said kidnapper(s).

The door opened and Harry turned his head to see who was entering the room. From what he gathered it had been about three days since his capture which surprised him because he was sure that he was at Voldemort's base and well, shouldn't he have been killed by now?

"Potter," A man that could only be Voldemort in human form said coolly. Harry blinked in slight surprise, surely this was Voldemort, but how had he gotten his human body back? "It was obviously a potion." Voldemort drawled.

Harry jumped slightly in surprise and his head shot up to look into the man's crimson eyes. "It appears that the light's savior isn't exactly who they thought he was, hm?"

Harry lowered his eyes to stare down at his hands in his lap. The Dark Lord was right, he wasn't who the light thought he was. The Boy-Who-Lived was merely a mask. The Harry Potter that the Order of the Phoenix and the other two members of the Golden Trio knew was not the real Harry.

"So then who is the real Harry? Is he the one who killed your muggle relatives?" Voldemort questioned. Harry nodded in response, still not willing to look at the captivating red eyes again. "And is he the one who presented Dumbledore with a fake of my diary?"

Harry swallowed, remembering Voldemort's diary and wondering where it had gotten to since he always kept it with him, and nodded. "Where is it?" He inquired, the sixteen year old memory of Tom riddle was his friend after all, perhaps his only friend.

"Gone." Voldemort replied softly. Harry froze, suddenly afraid of never seeing his friend again, even if Tom was technically right in front of him, the Tom he knew was part of the diary. A light chuckle brought Harry from his thoughts. "I returned my soul piece to the original soul."

"Why?" Harry couldn't help but ask. Voldemort rounded the bed and leaned over the sitting teen. He gripped Harry's chin tightly, but not harshly.

"Because I do not share, even with myself." Voldemort licked his lips. Their faces were now just inches apart. "Now, will you be mine Harry?"

The dark haired teen didn't even hesitate to reply, "Yes." He moaned when the Dark Lord crashed their lips together and Voldemort took the opportunity to slip his tongue inside the teen's mouth.

When Voldemort pulled away to let the teen take in much needed air he smirked. "You are mine now. No one else is allowed to touch you, understand?"

"Yes, I'm yours." Harry said hoarsely.


This is a DRABBLE. And this is my take on the Harry is captured falls for Voldy cliche. I also threw in the diary because I just love the idea. If you guys like this I might make it into a chapter fic.