Unlocking the lavatory door with his wand, Lord Voldemort's worst fears were confirmed; the window on the west wall stood wide open. Harry was gone.

The sky was growing dark, the sun had set fully. Thrust into a panic he grabbed his cloak and ran to Draco's bedroom, poking his head through the open door. The boys sat idly on a bed playing a not so friendly game of Exploding Snap. "Can you tell me what's outside of here? I portkeyed here and well Har- my friend went for a walk and hasn't come back yet. He's got an hour's head star- I mean, he's been gone for an hour. I was wondering if there was anywhere he might have been able to esca- Gods, I mean reach, you know...to call for help or something…get away. Ugh." He tried to remain innocent looking with his flooded confessions but none of the boys either cared or noticed.

"Umm, just a lot of woods, hours from any sort of civilisation," said Draco, tossing a card at Goyle as it exploded.

Voldemort's eyes lit up gleefully. "Ah, great! Er, that's terrible, I hope he's all right. I'll have to go find him."

"Want us to help?" asked Draco, fanning the awful smell of burned hair away from his nostrils. Crabbe cringed as Goyle fell off the bed, then shrugged.

"No, I can find him. You stay here. Thanks, though." Voldemort ran out to the back door, leaving it wide open as he surveyed the angle from the window to the woods. He wrapped his cloak around his shoulders and headed in the direction where all the brush had been disturbed.

Harry held in his sobs, determined not to cry. There was no turning back now. Tom would kill him if he caught him. Wolves bayed at the moon, brambles snagged his pyjama top and cut into his bare legs. Dead leaves crackled loudly with each small step. His scar had been burning for nearly ten minutes, causing him worry. Perhaps Voldemort had found out he'd escaped and was angry. Maybe he was looking for him, maybe he punished Tom for being too thick to lock the window in the toilet.

He stopped dead in his tracks feeling extremely guilty. What if - hundreds of scenarios ran through his head. He could have just gotten that boy killed for escaping. Tom, albeit being a Death Eater sycophant, was a pretty decent bloke who did save his life. "Sod it," he murmured and trotted off again. He ignored his lack of shoes and clothing. He'd been in worse situations, he could get through this.

Voldemort snarled as he followed the broken twigs and bramble, thinking of all the horrible tortures he was going to inflict on Harry once he caught up with him. He couldn't have gotten very far, not the way he was dressed.

Harry cupped his forehead with his hands. His eyes were useless anymore; the pain blinded him and the darkness swallowed up everything else. He knew someone was following him now, he could hear them in the distance shouting his name. He didn't care. He knew once they caught him he'd be killed.

"There you are," whispered Voldemort to himself, spotting Harry stumbling blindly through the woods.

Harry yelped in pain as his scar seized up all remaining energy and will left in his body to keep him moving. Without being able to see, he knew there could be only one person in the world standing behind him now. His hands dropped to his sides and his head fell forward in defeat. "Just get it over with."

Lord Voldemort sucked on his teeth angrily looking down at the boy in front of him. "You're wandering around out here in the darkness in middle of nowhere in your knickers like a git." He pointed to the chateau. "Start walking."

"You?" Harry cried, looking up behind him to see Voldemort but seeing Tom instead. "But I thought- where's Voldemort? I know he's here!"

"You really are that stupid, aren't you?" Voldemort said under his breath. "I said move it, Harry," he ordered, but the boy's expression began to change as if he was suddenly beginning to understand. Voldemort panicked and plunged his hand in his pocket for his wand.

"I see you found your friend."

Voldemort froze, unable to determine which direction the voice had come from. He pulled Harry into his embrace and covered his face up with his hand. He looked behind him and spotted Draco standing in the kitchen with him.

He tossed on a fake smile and nodded. "Yes, he's asleep, very tired. Must get him to bed. If you'll excuse me." He tried to push past but Draco blocked his path.

"Is this another one of my father's rent-a-tarts? He looks nice. Take him to my room, boy, I need some company tonight."

Voldemort's jaw dropped. "I said he was tired," he repeated. He glanced around the kitchen and spotted a tea cloth. Dropping it over Harry's face, he turned back around. "Go away, this isn't one of your father's playthings; he's my boy. Understand?"

Draco blinked. "Do you know who I am? Give me that boy right now or I'll make sure Father hears about this!" He stepped forward as Voldemort stepped back. And for a moment he thought his eyes flashed blood red, giving him second thoughts about separating the two boys for the evening. "Okay, okay…you can keep him- tonight. I'm tired anyway. I do expect to see him tomorrow though, as I'll be staying here for a week with my friends and I always get my way." He reached out and stroked Harry's limp arm, smiling softly. "Well, good night, prostitute-boy," he said, still leering at the unconscious boy as he walked away.

The soft sounds of pleasant sleep irked Lord Voldemort to no end. There was no peace for him, no happy slumber to be had. He paced the floors, wearing holes into the Persian rugs, deep in thought. It seemed every single time he'd think of a suitable way to get out of this mess he'd created, Harry would make some sort of noise, causing him to lose the brilliant vision forever. The thought of throwing a pillow over his face occurred to him more than once but he didn't want to endanger the newfound trust the boy seemed to be showing him. Having personally kept him out of the clutches of Draco Malfoy and his two best friends over the last few days, Harry was now looking upon him with slight trust.

A loud knocking at the door snapped Voldemort's eyes to the sound. He knew who was on the other side and what he wanted. The game would have to end soon. Draco was becoming a very serious problem anymore.

"Hey, Tom!"

Harry sat up quickly, shaken from the loud words. His breath came out in quick puffs, his hands gripped the sheets covering him. "You're not going to let him in, are you?" he whispered, eyeing Voldemort for answers.

"No, of course not, go back to sleep," he whispered, keeping his eyes locked on the door. Inwardly, he dared the haughty boy to try and open it. It would be quite refreshing to take a bit of frustration out on the spoiled brat. The same spoiled brat he allowed to call him a series of derogatory slurs over the last few days. Whatever he said it was pushed away in order to keep the identity of the *mystery guest* hidden. He couldn't possibly permit Draco to know that Harry Potter was being held captive in his house.

Draco leaned against the door cackling, holding a copy of the Daily Prophet in his hand. "Is your little twink still in there with you? I think you both might want to hear this!" he shouted at the door. "My father sent me this paper, it's got an article about Lord You-Know-Who in it. He says you might want to see it, Tom, for whatever reason. He said you'd be very interested in it."

Voldemort flinched. Harry sat up fully, preparing himself for the article to be read. His eyes darted back and forth between Tom and the door with keen interest, watching every tiny bead of sweat form over the other boy's brow. "Shall I read it then?" shouted Draco, a soft titter in his voice was plainly heard. "What's a twink?" Harry asked. Voldemort held up a finger to silence him.

"Draco, I'll be out in a moment," he replied, keeping his eyes fixed on the boy in his bed. Harry sighed and slumped down into the bedding in defeat. "I'm afraid this might be something you shouldn't hear yet. Just go back to sleep like I told you."

Voldemort opened the door carefully not allowing Draco any sight into the room. He closed and locked the door, then gave the wicked blond a rough shove into the hallway. "I've killed finer people than you for much less than this. What do you think you're doing?" he demanded.

"Er," said Draco, looking up at the returning glowing red eyes currently boring holes into him. "what my father told me to do. Give his friend this paper." He held it up with a nervous hand.

The paper was snatched away and the blond was dragged into the kitchen with him. Draco was shoved into a chair. Voldemort pulled another up in front of him and sat heavily down in it. Unrolling the paper, his eyes honed in on the lead story.

Lost in Love: A story of pain and heartache from a Death Eater who asked us to call him Tormwail. By Rita Skeeter

He sits in the shadow for fear of revealing his true identity. A Death Eater, he calls himself, although this reporter cannot see the likelihood in that. He slumps in his chair, his hair spiked up in dirty tufts, reflecting his prowess upon the future.

"I love him," he says through deep heart-felt moans of sorrow, "he means everything to me." I watch as his silver hand brushes crocodile tears away from his chubby cheeks. Pools of them have escaped his grasp, forming a drizzle between the saliva leaking from the corners of his mouth, now running down into the collar of his lovely black robe.

"He left a week ago. He promised to be back soon. We're all waiting for our beloved master to return to us."

Rumours and speculations about an erroneous affair between the Dark Lord and Mr. Lucius Malfoy have run rampant around the darkened circle. Hundreds of followers are growing anxious about them, literally pining in the open over someone so gruesome.

"He's beautiful! I love him!" cries a woman who asked to be called Voldie's lady; but looks strangely similar to escaped convict, Bellatrix Lestrange. She, too, has come forward in hopes of her master's safe return. She frets, wringing her bony hands together as she reflects on his whereabouts. Her voice pierces the room and we suspect she may possibly be part banshee. "Lucius is to blame! He's always getting the best of everything. Why wouldn't he want the Master, too?"

Tormwail sniffles as she leaves the room, watching her despair as a likeness of his own utter anguish. Once more it seeps out through tears and guttural moans. "And now Harry Potter has gone missing. He was our only hope of keeping our master grounded. Maybe Lucius stole them both away. I wouldn't put it past him! Lucius Malfoy is pure evil! He is a dead man and we'll kill him if he returns to our circle!"

It is true; for some time now our hero has been missing but authorities believe there is a connection between the Golden Boy and his blood relatives. Cousin, Dudley Dursley, claimed he saw him last alive and well nearly a week before, but having left him unprotected with two of his gang members. "They hated him! I would have helped the poor sod but I'd been drinking and was either passed out of retching all weekend," he was quoted as saying. Gang members at the scene were unavailable for comment. Two are currently at St. Mungo's hospital under care for Unforgivable curses performed on them, presumably delivered by Mr. Potter, himself.

Albus Dumbledore denies these charges, adamantly putting his foot down on the matter. "Harry would never use magic, especially wandless magic on unarmed Muggles unless his life was in danger. Harry, if you see this, please come back. We're all very worried about you, my boy!"

In the end I pass several tissues to the supposed "Death Eater" in hopes to control his woe. He swears to me that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is a changed man, at least physically. "He's not the pale, creepy snake-faced man you remember. He's gorgeous!" I, myself, would love to believe this but as you know Death Eater's can be very manipulating.

Voldemort swallowed hard. Everything was getting more complicated. Draco and his friends refused to leave, informing him that the floo network had been disabled in the cottage for their own protection. Lucius's only way of communication was now by owl and there was absolutely no way to get a birthday present for Harry without disapparating away; leaving poor boy alone with the younger Malfoy while he was gone.

Draco shifted in his chair, having read the article himself. "So, is it true?" he said, looking curious.

"Huh?" Voldemort dropped the paper in his lap and stared up at the boy.

"About You-Know-Who," murmured Draco, allowing a tiny smile to curl. "He's handsome now. My father says I'd be very surprised by him if I were to see him."

Voldemort sighed heavily, letting himself fall deeper into his chair. "He's a cursed man, Draco...a cursed man."

"Yeah, but is he hot?"

With a growl, Voldemort stood up and walked away leaving the young blond alone in the kitchen.

Lucius sat back in an overstuffed chair, mulling over the dread he was faced with. He had barely been able to retain his status as acting Dark Lord while Voldemort was away on holiday. He was angrier than anything else; those simpletons had thoroughly tarnished his reputation.

Wormtail knocked heavily at the door outside of the library in hopes his fellow Death Eater might listen to him. Bellatrix pouted next to him with her back against it. She chewed on her overgrown nails, listening to both men bicker between rooms. "I don't know what came over me, Lucy! I didn't mean to say those awful things about you! Can't we just make up and forget about the newspaper article?"

"It's a bit late for that! My mother reads that paper, you rat! I didn't want her to know I was a Death Eater, she'll be so disappointed!" he cried back at the door.

Bellatrix whirled around and rammed her nails into the wood. "Lucius, please forgive me!"

Lucius crossed his arms over his chest and scowled. He didn't like the company he was being forced to watch over. He wallowed in self-pity, wishing he could think of something, do anything to be able to return to his château.

"Did you hear me, Lucius!" screamed Bellatrix. He said nothing back; there was just no talking to that woman. He waited for her to continue her torment but the room grew silent. Curious, he stood up and tiptoed over to the door, placing his ear against the wood in hopes they'd finally given up and left him alone. What he heard gave him a jolt. Soft whimpers penetrated the cherry barrier, sounding very suspicious. Wormtail was mumbling something under his breath. There was shuffling on the floor, tapping and light bumping against the door. Lucius cringed as Bellatrix began grunting louder, listening as it mingled with Wormtail's heavy breathing. Within a minute they both groaned out in unison, pounding their bodies together in a rocking motion that threatened to burst through the door.

"You two can not honestly be having se—" he cried as flung the door open. Instantly, Bellatrix and Wormtail fell inside, knocking Lucius flat on his back. Bella was hanging against the door attempting to wrench her fingernails out. "Help me out, will you?" said Wormtail, shrugging. "She's stuck again."

Harry looked around the darkened bedroom with grim frustration. Sure, Tom was nice but that worried him all the more. Death Eaters weren't supposed to be nice. Tom was handsome and sweet and kind. No matter how angry he got, no matter how many times Harry had tried to escape or said things to upset him he had managed to keep his temper in check. That was certainly not the type of thing one would do to further their own ambitions with the Dark side.

Harry sighed. Tom was probably just a babysitter. A Death Eater wannabe who probably couldn't perform a single Unforgivable if his pathetic life demanded it. He wouldn't be able to keep him safe from the Malfoys for long.

And then there was Voldemort.

Tom told him Voldemort had brought him there himself. He had delivered him straight to the chateau with his own hands. How many times had he felt him since his awakening in the home? Several, it seemed. He must be popping in from time to time checking in on his stay. But why hadn't he just killed him? Why hadn't he come to taunt him? It seemed very much out of sorts. Their last encounter was a mere season back, and Voldemort had clearly stated that he was a pain in the arse that needed removing.

Maybe this was all a huge lie? No. He had seen Lucius Malfoy only a few days back with his own blurry eyes. And worse, Lucius had seen him. He wouldn't keep this sort of thing from his master; this would be exactly what he would use to profit with. Harry cringed. It was true; Voldemort knew he was here. He was allowing Tom to keep him hidden here for some bizarre reason, keeping him out of the way from the rest of the world.

The door opened and Tom dragged himself back into the room.

Harry squinted to see the look on the other boy's face but it was hard to distinguish sadness from anger. He certainly hoped it was sadness though, which was a lot less painful to handle when it came to Death Eaters.

"How important is Draco Malfoy at your school- Would he really be missed?" mused Voldemort to the boy but held up a hand to keep him silent. "No, don't answer that. I really need Lucius on my side right now even if he is acting very strangely."

Harry scowled. "He's a prat. I hate him nearly as much as I hate Voldemort."

Tom nodded in understanding but Harry wasn't finished.

"But at least he's not ugly like that old pervert."

Tom bit his lip.

Harry tapped his chin, deep in thought. "Or uses these silly, over-dramatic speeches no one cares about whenever makes his presence known."

"Okay, I think I unders-"

"He just drones on and on. He really thinks he's something special, it's embarrassing. Gods, he's so incompetent, too!" he cried. He was on a roll now. "I swear Voldemort is about as thick as my Uncle Vernon sometimes. I mean honestly, he can't even kill a baby—"

"I get it!" cried Tom, shaking with anger.

Harry looked up at him with a smirk. "Oh, did I hit a nerve? You know, being Malfoy's tart got you this gig but do you really think he or Voldemort respects you? I've heard all about them and their "ranks", Tom. Getting to the top involves a lot more than sleeping your way there."

"Sleeping my- I did not sleep my way anywhere. I earned my respect a long time ago." He walked quickly over to where Harry was sitting and loomed over the young boy, fists clenched. The lightning bolt scar on Harry's forehead began to sizzle with an intense throbbing pain built up behind his eyes. Harry gripped the sheets under his hands to keep him sitting upright.

Voldemort shoved him back and climbed on top on him before he could recover. Deep instinct overcame him. He found himself snarling, inhaling the scent of fear, ignoring the headache Harry was giving him back. No longer would he tolerate this childish behaviour directed at him by this brat or anyone; he was in charge now. He dragged Harry to the head of the bed, twisting his arms up from his sides to shackle them in place with his handcuffs.

"Ow, wait," cried Harry. He regretted his words, knowing he had finally gone as far as he could take it. "I didn't mean it, I'm sorry."

"Is this how a Death Eater is supposed to act? Is this what you've been waiting for?" Tom asked, grabbing his face and squishing their lips together.

"No," whispered Harry as the boy on top of him sat back. "I'm sorry, Tom. I didn't mean to upset you, I got carried away."

Tom lingered, screwing his eyes shut. His face was still in his hands, looking so innocent and frightened and so very pretty. He sat in confusion over the guilt plucking at his conscience. His heart swelled with sadness over the bruising kiss and softened with amour. He brushed the pads of his thumbs along the boy's blushing cheeks in a loving manner, wanting to make it up to his captive. He leaned back down to hover above him, their lips so close, almost touching. "Or is this what you want?" he whispered.

Harry took a deep breath and nodded. He gripped the bedstead as alarm and excitement soared through his veins. Tom grazed his lips softly against his prisoner's. A kiss, so innocent and budding with wonder, took form between them; something neither of them had expected. Tom couldn't help himself, he sipped at him many times, overcome in the blissful tingle steadily growing inside of him. He tilted his head and parted his lips, daring to taste The-Boy-Who-Lived for himself. He felt Harry gasp a wispy breath at the feeling of his tongue coaxing his mouth to open.

Harry had only been kissed once, but it had nothing on this. He parted his lips allowing Tom's tongue access to his. He leaned forward kissing him back.

"I've never felt this way before," Tom whispered, still so close to him.

"Yeah," Harry whispered back, his cheeks burning, "me neither. Do it again."

"Do what?" Tom asked through a sweet smile.

"Kiss me," he said. "Don't stop. Kiss me a million times."

Tom's eyes lit up. The handcuffs turned back into a book, as if on its own, and fell to the floor in order to take him into his arms. "Oh yes, your wish is my command."

He kissed him again, so soft and heartfelt, taking his time to feel the swell of his lips against his and linger in its power to make things seem more human to him. He pulled him closer, pressing their bodies together as one, taking in the whole of it, relishing in its warmth while Harry shifted beneath him, rustling the bedclothes in light swishes. He could have stayed that way forever but a guilty pang flicked his heart and told him to take his hands away and stop kissing the boy before things went too far.

Lord Voldemort smiled at him, loving the look plastered on his sweet face. "Hey," he whispered, giving the boy a little shake. "Need to put the brakes on. I'm not going to take advantage of you when you're not yet sixteen."

Harry blushed. "You're nothing like any of the Death Eaters I've come across before." He tipped his head, so heavy and dizzy with puppy-love. "Do you have a final exam or something you need to take to prove how evil you are to your master, because umm…you're not going to pass," he said, shrugging. "Sorry."

"I'm not going to pass? Absurd," Voldemort said, backing off him, feeling quite tetchy all of a sudden.

"I meant that in a good way," Harry said, touching his face, pulling him back.

"Oh, right," he said, relieved.

"Tell me what you're thinking, Tom," Harry whispered, watching his expression change to a dreamy state of being. "What am I to you?"

"Everything," he gushed back, breathless and flush. His face was so close to Harry's again, dying to kiss him until the roosters crowed. "From the moment I first heard your name you've been the object of my desire, but I had no idea what you truly were until this very moment. I would kill, would die for you now. Hell, I probably will…but let's not think of such things now. What am I to you?"

"I'm smitten, thoroughly bewitched," he said through a silly smile. "And even though I'm about to be murdered shortly, at least I got to experience this before I die."

He wanted to tell him, confess to him who he was. His lips parted to speak but the words were jumbled, refusing to budge. Instead, he leaned in, planting them on Harry's one more time.