Warning (just to be safe): some violence and reference to non-con

"My lord has been in a foul mood lately," whispered one of the maids, after another of their own – the fourth this week and it's only Tuesday – has practically ran out of the room in terror.

"It's no wonder," an older matron said, careful to keep her voice low and not stopping the motions of cleaning the ornaments. "None of the healers or potions masters has managed to cure Mistress Black. The stasis spell won't hold up much longer, I heard."

Harry kept quiet near them, outwardly appearing to be immersed in his own chores. He felt a little guilty but remembered how that witch had hurt Sirius. Serves her right, he thought as he scrubbed viciously at a spot that refused to come out.

"Those Gryffindors don't know anything about the poison?"

"No idea. I'm sure the Master has already questioned them."

Harry paused. He knew they wouldn't say anything. But would Voldemort resort to more drastic measures to make them talk? He wrung the rag worriedly before realising what he was doing and immediately relaxed his hands, glancing to see if anyone saw his reaction. No one was paying attention to him. He sighed. He really should get a grip on his emotions and reactions.

But the more important thing now is to devise some way that can let him check on the others without being noticed. The house elves usually handle dinner for the prisoners so bringing dinner to them as an excuse wouldn't work. The guards tend to change shift around meal times so it's unnecessary to bring them food. It might work if someone has a double shift and some wives or lovers occasionally drop by with something for their man. But he heard the guards tend to want company and by company it means groping and quick tumbles rather than harmless conversation over food. Harry shuddered. No, not if he can help it.

Maybe he could sneak by the guards? After stealing someone's wand to disillusion himself, of course. He frowned. He wished he had mastered the Animagus transformation. Stealing wands from the Deatheaters would be tricky-

Oof. He stumbled and dropped the pail he was carrying as someone bumped into him, splashing water over the floor and even some on his and the other person's clothes.

"Damn it! Watch where you're going, boy!" the man snarled, casting a drying spell on his clothes and looking up to glare at him.

Harry bit back the retort bubbling in his throat and bent down to pick up the pail and cleaning rag. "Sorry sir," he murmured and bowed shortly, planning to be on his way when a hand grabbed his wrist and jerked him forward. His gaze flew up to the man's face, startled. He had been properly respectful and apologetic. What did the other man want?

The once-through, speculative look that the other man gave him made him extremely uncomfortable and he even felt a bit dirty.

"So you're the pretty boy that our Lord has an eye on," he said softly, leaning in closer. Harry struggled to get away, feeling increasing trapped, but the tight hold on his wrist wouldn't budge and twisting away would definitely result in a sprained or broken wrist.

"Now, don't be in such a hurry to go. I wouldn't mind having a taste of you myself," the man leered and squeezed his arse with his other hand.

Harry struggled to keep his voice even as he said, "Please sir, I have to go. Mdm Livine's expecting me in the kitchens."

He grinned unpleasantly and said, "Well, I hope you're good at blowjobs 'cause I'm not letting you go 'til I come."

Harry's eyes widened and he stumbled as the man pushed him to his knees and fumbled with his trousers. He hit the man between the legs and broke free of his momentarily slackened grip, running away as fast as he could. Harry looked back briefly and cursed. The man was getting up, his wand in hand. Harry managed to dodge a few spells but his shoulder and arm got grazed by a cutting curse while dodging the stunning spells. He ignored the stinging pain and wet stickiness. He knew he'd be worse off than a few superficial injuries if he got caught- his body suddenly froze up and he fell face first onto the floor.

Shit, shit, shit! Harry panicked mentally, struggling against the bindings of petrificus totalus. Someone grabbed him by his hair and slammed him against the wall. He winced but couldn't facially express it as the spell was still in effect.

"You're going to pay for that," the man snarled, half choking him. He frowned slightly at the lack of reaction and lifted the spell.

Harry immediately coughed and scrabbled at the man's hand on his throat. The man pressed his body closer and inserted his right thigh between his legs, effectively pinning him against the wall and preventing Harry from kicking him.

Desperate, Harry swung his free hand at the man, the bottom of his palm aiming for his nose. The man swore as the bridge of his nose snapped upon impact and twisted Harry's wrist hard. Harry gasped at burning pain, almost drowning out the sickening crack.

"You'll be wishing you'd just sucked my cock by the time I'm through with you." He crushed his mouth to Harry's lips but Harry pressed his lips together and twisted to the side. Harry gasped as the man broke another finger and shrank back uselessly against the wall to avoid the invading tongue. He wrinkled his nose in disgust and bit down. The man jerked back and backhanded him twice.

Harry glared at him weakly through his bleary vision and ringing ears. He blinked at the fuzzy images. Maybe he should stop fighting, suddenly felt so tired... He slumped bonelessly to the floor as the man abruptly stepped away from him. He blinked slowly. There was another pair of booted feet up front.

Voldemort eyed the boy on the floor, taking in his various injuries. "Macnair, what was the rule about dallying with the servants?"

Macnair licked his lips and bowed a little as he answered, "Only if they're willing, my lord."

"And?" Voldemort said.

"I was just teaching him to respect his betters," he muttered. "Damned boy didn't say no, just attacked me."

Voldemort arched an eyebrow. "Struggling and running away would have been a sign."

Macnair glared at the boy out of the corner of his eyes and swallowed his anger beneath his Lord's less than pleased stare. "I was overzealous. Forgive me."

Voldemort turned to Harry. "Are you satisfied with the apology?"

Harry stared wide-eyed at him and shuddered at Macnair's menacing glare. "Yes, sir," he said, not looking at either.

The corner of Voldemort's lips tightened at that reaction and he turned back to stare at Macnair. He is off limits, he warned him mentally.

Macnair paled just a little and nodded jerkily. A slight motion of Voldemort's hand signaled his dismissal.

Harry stood up slowly, bracing himself against the wall with his uninjured hand. "May I go too, sir?" Harry murmured, still looking down. He flinched and tried to shy away as Voldemort lifted his chin and looked over his face. A little blue light from his wand healed his split lip and made his cheeks feel less swollen.

"Roll up your sleeves."

He did so quietly, still in shock, partly from being knocked around by Macnair and partly because it was Voldemort healing him. The red finger marks disappeared before they could turn blue-green. He moved his finger and wrist tentatively; they were tender and weak but no longer broken.

"Are you hurt anywhere else?"

Harry blinked. "No sir," he said, voice seeming to come from far away. This is really strange. Maybe he's hallucinating from the hard knock Macnair gave him. He swayed unsteadily. The world whirled around him and faded to black.

Voldemort caught the boy as he fell, and the hand around his shoulder came away sticky red. He frowned and felt around the boy's head for a bump. It seemed Macnair had done more damage than he thought. Perhaps he should declare him off-limits to prevent such from happening again.

-oO-

The sheets beneath him were soft and smooth, unlike the slightly scratchy cotton used in the servants' quarters. His head felt tight and his upper body cool. Harry sat up slowly, lightly feeling the bandage around his head and shoulder. The room looked familiar. He shivered a little as cool wind weaved through the room and wrapped the sheets around him more closely. He got off the bed and exchanged them for the robes draped over a chair after debating the merits of dragging the sheets across the room with him versus 'borrowing' someone's robes.

It was dark outside, streaks of yellow and red faded to dusk. Harry didn't see anyone else in the room. He stood there uncertainly, wondering if he should go. He felt uneasy, alone in Voldemort's room. Still, it would be rude not to thank him before he leaves. Maybe he should wait.

A glint of silver and green on the other side of the room caught his attention. He headed towards it, drawn by a tugging sensation around his core. It was his dagger. He smiled and picked it up, twirling it between and around his fingers, the familiar feel of it in his hands soothing.

"You seem pretty handy with the dagger," Voldemort observed coolly, leaning against the door frame, half in shadows.

Harry startled and dropped the dagger. "Merlin you scared me!" he said, trying to calm his racing heart, thinking how much Voldemort saw and how he can explain any suspicions away. "Don't do that to the person playing with a sharp object. It's hazardous to my health," he joked.

Voldemort's gaze lingered on the dagger then returned to his face. Harry picked it up again and started twirling it between and around his fingers, looking at the motion. Not too fast, he cautioned himself, letting it wobble and slip a little in between rotating pivots. "It's a fancy trick I picked up. Used to practice while chopping vegetables in the kitchen. Pretty neat huh?" he laughed it off.

Voldemort stared at him for a while. Harry's smile faded. "Well, Sirius was impressed," he muttered and stopped playing with the dagger, covering his unease with childish sulk.

"Yes, quite." Voldemort moved towards him and stopped in his personal space, too close for comfort. He plucked the dagger from his hands and tilted it in the dim light, reflecting the glare of the blade. "Not bad, you managed to avoid getting nicked too."

Harry smiled wryly and said, "It wouldn't be much of a trick if I got hurt doing it."

Voldemort smiled, a slight upturn at the corner of his lips, amused. "No, I suppose it wouldn't." He placed the dagger on a thin stack of clean parchments on the table, the only 'tidy' area amidst curling scrolls of scribbled notes and crooked stacks of books.

He turned back to him and Harry's breath caught a little as Voldemort took his chin between his thumb and forefinger and tilted his face side to side. He stared, slightly wide-eyed as Voldemort slid the back of a finger down his cheek and said, "You're healing nicely."

Harry lowered his gaze, feeling a slight flush creeping into his face. "Thank you for your help earlier," he said, looking at his hands.

Voldemort stepped back and he found it easier to breath but at the same time missing the tingly feeling he got at the man's nearness. His brow furrowed in annoyance as he tried to figure out his weird and conflicting reaction. Maybe he's just grateful that he saved him?

"You can stay here tonight."

Harry blinked and looked up, sure that he had misheard. "What?"

"For observation for signs of concussion."

"Oh... it's ok, I'm fine now," he said, uncomfortable with what 'staying here' would entail. And why does he have to stay here anyway? Don't they have a hospital wing or healers' room or something?

"As you wish," Voldemort walked behind his desk and sat down. "Take the day off tomorrow if you don't feel well. You may go."

"Yes sir. Thank you." Maybe Voldemort really was just being nice without the ulterior motives, however foreign that thought may be. Harry bowed a little and moved towards the door. He paused when he realised he's still wearing the borrowed robes.

Voldemort was still watching him when he turned back. "Erm, the robes?" he gestured self-consciously, half-moving to take them off.

Voldemort raised an eyebrow. "You want to walk back topless?"

Harry blushed and mumbled, "No, but I can't find my clothes."

Voldemort smiled faintly. "Keep the robes."

"Yes sir. Thank you," Harry murmured and frowned mentally. He seemed to be repeating that a lot today. Voldemort was being awfully nice; it was upsetting his perception of the man. He left with a jumble of thoughts, almost missing a few turns to the servants' quarters.

Thanks for all the encouragement and suggestions and for sticking with this story despite long periods between updates :)

I'm not really satisfied with this chapter but it's been sitting in my com for some time and going nowhere better so I thought I'd just post this. I felt Harry was 'thinking' too much (ie. redundant thoughts) and some dialogue doesn't flow and some characters' actions don't make sense. sighs. What do you think?