Chapter 3

Harry said there for a while, looking wide-eyed at the door, which closed behind Voldemort. Going out of his stupor, Harry looked around him, taking in the minor details of the small room he was in.

All the furniture and doors were made from dark and expensive looking wood, as well as the bedding, canopy and curtains. The room in general was nicely-looking and, what surprised Harry a bit, it was made not in Slytherin green and silver colors, but quite neutral dark-blues, dark-grays and rich browns. The sheets were made of silk, which was not strange for such person as Harry perceived Voldemort to be, and curtains around the bed and on the windows were made of rich velvet. There were no other decorations aside from that, although Harry noticed a brass candelabra on the shelf above the fire place, with the remains of six candles in it. The fireplace itself was lit, despite the warm mid-Summer temperature, and the flickering flames made the room seem even more comfortable, adding homey tint to the neutrally-pleasant atmosphere of the place.

Harry once again found himself looking at his own reflection in the mirror between wardrobe and the bathroom door. He still looked a wreck, though now some color returned to his cheeks, probably because of potions and the broth he consumed earlier.

Harry quickly glanced at the door, behind which Voldemort disappeared, before slowly standing up and going to the bathroom.

There he once again was frozen in surprised stupor: the bathroom was huge in size, almost as big (or maybe even bigger) as the bedroom outside, and most of the space was overtaken by the enormous bathtub, looking rather like the one in Prefects' Bathroom at Hogwarts. Also there were big shower cubicle, sink and toilet. All of these were made of dark blue and gray marble. There was of course another mirror above the sink, which frame, too, was made of dark blue marble. Several hooks along the walls were occupied either by dark-blue towels and fluffy bath-robe, or by some wizarding clothes (robes, slacks and such). Several pairs of shower slippers were lined up along one of the walls. Which surprised Harry even more, there was laundry basket with something in it and several wash-basins, both small and big, were occupying the little space of the floor left around the borders of the bath. Two of them even had some pieces of clothing soaking in them.

Harry blinked slowly, processing the view. For a moment there he thought he had seen this pinkish water somewhere -

Shuddering, Harry turned to the shower pensively. He would rather like taking long and steaming hot shower, washing away everything, as was usual, almost ritual for him for the last sixteen years.

He didn't even managed to remove the bandages from his chest, when he heard an annoyed growl behind him:

"Just what do you think you're doing, Potter?!"

Jumping on the spot, Harry turned around to face angry-looking Voldemort.

"I wanted to take a shower. If I'm allowed to, of course," Harry quickly added.

He'd got furious hiss as an answer to that.

"No shower, then," Harry sighed and tried to go past Voldemort to return to the bedroom.

"Potter, stop!" came harsh command.

Harry flinched, but not at the tone, as he was used to getting the same quite often, while being at his relatives'. It was just that Voldemort grabbed his wrist, when Harry passed him, and Harry was anticipating the inevitable pain, which usually followed any touches of him by the Dark Lord in the past. Only, this time there was no pain. Confused, Harry looked at the man in front of him, who was still holding him by the arm.

"What now?" Harry grumbled. "Are you going to -?"

He was interrupted by abrupt movement of Voldemort: he pushed Harry towards the bathtub.

"I am merely displeased by those moronic and depressive thoughts of yours. Don't mind the laundry now and undress. You can do that by yourself, don't you?" Voldemort asked mockingly.

Harry uncertainly looked at the gigantic bath. He had a feeling, that it should be deep like the Lake at Hogwarts.

Voldemort snorted, quite possibly guessing his thoughts.

"There is no Giant Squid or Mere People there, you know. And it won't eat you. Here," and before Harry could protest, Voldemort was gently taking away the bandages, which covered his upper body. "All my work for nothing now," Voldemort muttered lowly and chuckled, seeing Harry's dumbfounded expression. "Did you, per chance, think these were put on you by some Healer, who happened to pass by?" Voldemort was snorting again.

"Yo-you put them on m-me?!" Harry stuttered.

"Yes. Is it so hard a concept to grasp for your measly brain?"

"Bu-but -" Harry trailed off, at a loss for words.

Voldemort finished with the bandages and led Harry to the tub, before he could process all the bits and pieces of information and put them together.

"I will return in exactly three minutes. You can remove the rest of the bandages and sit in the water, while I retrieve some clothing for you," Voldemort gestured towards the tub, which began to be filled with water, coming from the brass crane in the form of a snake head. "The water will stop on its own, when there is enough."

Harry was getting used to general abruptness and sudden departures of the Dark Lord, but he still eyed the retreating form warily before taking off the pants and removing the bandages under them. He was pleased to see that there was no serious damage there, or at least it was not visible. Although he felt discomfort every time he made a step or shifted wrongly. Harry then proceeded to carefully and slowly low himself into the tub, wincing, when the hot water reached some of his wounds.

When Voldemort returned, as promised, in about three minutes, Harry boldly asked:

"Why?"

Voldemort blinked in surprise.

"Why what exactly?"

"Why all this," Harry gestured around him. "Why you stay in bathroom with me? Why bandages?" 'Why are you being nice?' remained unsaid, though they both knew the question was there.

"To begin with the easiest one, I don't trust you in the shower all by yourself," Voldemort pointed at the scar on Harry's throat. "I was able to get the glimpses of how you've come to receive this."

Harry winced at his bluntness.

"It was, err, an accident of sorts. And anyway, why do you care?" he snarled, suddenly enraged. "Shouldn't you be glad if I were gone? What's the difference? Or are you not happy, because it was not done by your hand?"

"I do not know," came simple and honestly sounding reply.

"What do you mean, you don't know?!"

"If you continue with such tone the potion for your throat would be another "work for nothing". I'd appreciate it if you'd just get on with your washing instead," Voldemort suggested. "And in silence," he added acerbically. "Your clothes," he motioned to the nearest hook. "You can utilize any towels in here, though I'd suggest you avoid using my personal bath-robe," finishing his instructions Voldemort turned his back to Harry, but clearly this time he was not going to leave.

Huffing in annoyance, Harry quickly washed, trying not to move too much, so as not to make splashes on the water. He suspected, if Voldemort heard any sounds he would decide Harry was trying to get himself drown. Harry was not eager to know how Voldemort would act upon this assumption.

After several minutes of heavy silence the Dark Lord decided to remind Harry of his presence.

"The blood would not stop. Last night, no matter what spells I used, you continued to bleed severely. The only thing that helped somewhat were bandages. Any magic I tried did not sink in properly, before I remembered the muggle way of stopping the blood." Voldemort's voice was thick with some strange emotion, but Harry could not comprehend what it was. Anger? Disgust? Loss?

"Then why - ?"

"You were right. For some part at least. At first I had sincerely thought, it was wrong merely because it was not by my hand. But then I thought – and still think, mind you – that I should learn of the person who did so much damage, when I had not been able to even get a scratch on you. Not mentally, at least. Maybe in terms of physical pain I am more of an expert -"

"You are not," Harry snorted, but with bitterness in his tone. "There are worse 'experts' -"

He was interrupted by continuation of Voldemort's speech:

"Why do I care? Because there is something, some magic pulling me to you, bidding me to do something, anything to help you."

"Did you say magic? And here I thought you suddenly grew a heart!" Harry said with a sniff. "And if you want to help you can begin with these blasted bandages. Looks like I'm bleeding again -" Harry was cut off by sudden movement: in a blink of an eye Voldemort was on him, eagerly grabbing him by the upper arm and dragging him out of the water and out of bathroom in an instant.

"You can dry and dress in the bedchamber, no need to stay there."

Harry decided that from now on he won't be surprised at anything anymore. All of this was too much, too bizarre, but his nerves were too thin as they were, so he had no more surprise left in him.

"Wha-"

"Healing balm, blood-replenishing potion, another for your throat. I'll put the balm, and you should drink your medicine," Voldemort commanded. "Turn around. No, don't put on clothes yet, I need to check the progress of the healing first and to put the balm on the wounds, remember."

"I still don't get it," Harry muttered. "You can put it with magic, no?"

"And I've said already," Voldemort grumbled annoyed. "Half of my magic is not working on you for some reason. So we'll resolve to muggle ways for now."

And then he took the pot with the herbally-smelling concoction from Harry's hand and began to gently apply it onto Harry's back. Then his hips. Under knees. When the Dark Lord crouched down to put some of the medicine on his calves, Harry was practically melting under his touch. It didn't help, that the balm was slightly cool, which was pleasant in itself, as it soothed the small pains Harry had almost everywhere. Harry gulped audibly and staggered slightly, blindly grabbing first thing that happened to be there for support. He heard low hissing, and realized with a pang of slight fear, that he grabbed Voldemort by his hair. Definitely, this should be the last snowflake, bringing down an avalanche of Cruciatus, angry shouting and pain. A lot of pain. He shuddered.

"Tingles?" calmly asked the man at his feet.

"What- Yeah!" Harry quickly agreed. He didn't dare turn and look at Voldemort, but he very much wanted to do so.

It was getting curiouser and curiouser!

"Your potions," reminded him Voldemort. "We still need to talk, so I recommend to drink the one for your throat immediately. It needs time to make its work."

Harry sighed, but obediently drank the potions.

"Take the balm. I recon, you'll be able to finish putting it on your arms, chest and below yourself."

Harry hurriedly grabbed the pot from the Dark Lord's hand, before this unbelievable man changed his mind. Harry was sure it would be even more awkward if his chest was touched by those strangely gentle hands, and the area below his waist was just – eww -

"Come," beckoned him Voldemort, when he was finished with the balm, and reluctantly accepted help from the Dark Lord with the bandages and clothes. "We will talk in the parlor."

Harry followed him out of the room, shaking his head in disbelief and snorting lowly.
Bedchamber! Parlor! I wonder if he has dungeons here, too?

"Talk, Potter." urged him Voldemort, when they were seated in two comfortable armchairs by yet another fireplace in the "parlor". This room was on the floor below the bedroom and on his way here Harry noticed the staircase leading even lower, either on the ground floor, or in the dungeons, as he thought earlier.

The parlor was, too, done in blue and gray colors, with bookshelves along all walls bar the one with the fireplace. In front of the later two armchairs stood on the small round carpet of undefined blu-gray design.

"I still would like to hear how you'd come to my place and in such a state." This time Voldemort was more calm. "You should understand that this is indeed a very guarded and very secret place, known and accessible only to me. So I am very curious to how you managed to get here and how it was possible without disruption of my warding spells."

"I have already told you, I do not know!" Harry responded with annoyance.

"One minute I was at my summer house in the shower, and next – I am here."

"What did you think of at that moment, before appearing here?"

"I – I don't -"

"Was you, by any chance, willing to be somewhere else? Anywhere?"

"I don't know," Harry mumbled, hanging his head. "I was tired – Wanted it to stop – Everything to just stop -"

"Why were you tired?"

"Listen, if you think I'll spill my guts to you simply because you fed me and healed my wounds, you are mistaken! It's none of your business, why I was tired or what I was thinking at that moment!"

Voldemort took loud intake of air, exhaling it afterwards in one long breath, seemingly calming himself.

"You don't seem to realize that it is very serious matter, Potter. I have seen and felt your flashback, I know you tried to kill yourself. I, however, don't understand the reason behind such a drastic action. Do not get me wrong, I am no psychiatrist and do not wish to become one for a suicidal teenager. But you need to talk about it, nevertheless. Or we can do it the painful way, I can easily use Legilimency on you, taking your memories and thoughts by force." - Harry's face lit up with hope at that words. - "And then we will still need to talk about it." - Voldemort added nastily, which visibly deflated Harry. -"But then the discussion may include much more than you're willing to talk about right now, like, for instance, the location of the Order of the Phoenix or other secrets of the war going on." - Voldemort raised a mocking brow.

Harry stubbornly shook his head.

"You may try Legilimency on me, drug me with truth serum or whatever. I am not talking."

"Then Legilimency it is," Voldemort sighed resigned. "I'd apologize, but you're not leaving me a choice."

And just like that, before Harry could have braced himself, Voldemort turned to him fully, lightly touched his temples with his fingertips and locked his eyes with Harry's.

Harry felt like he was falling, no, flying, or no, falling it was – right into those dark-blue and bleeding to red eyes, which were turning to purple whirlpools, drawing in them -

And suddenly he once again was at Privet Drive, in the broken shower cubicle, looking enthralled at the nicely-pink water and ice-like shards in it. Taking huge chunk of glass, weighing it on his palm and thinking -

All those thoughts were once again flooding his mind: exhaustion, disgust and loneliness, and at the same time strange detachment, when thinking of how the Dursleys would explain his disappearance, and what Dumbledore would do now without his poster-boy, and how glad would be Voldemort at this -

And then he was simply tired, and everything was of no importance anymore. He wanted all of this to stop, true, but -

But even more he wanted to there be somebody, anybody to care. Not about the bloody boy who lived, may he rot in hell which was his life anyway, not the chosen one for whom everyone waited to save them. No, he wanted for at least one soul, even tiny one, or a part of a soul, to care about him, just Harry. To care and to save. To help -

He came to the present with a sob, shaking all over, feeling nauseous and dizzy in the head.

Someone cursed colorfully and loudly.

Harry didn't want to open his eyes, as the world sure was going to spin, judging by the dizziness he was still feeling.

"Potter, breathe!" Voldemort barked.

Harry startled. But this got his breath to become more even. He opened his eyes and met the furious blood-red gaze.

"What happened before?" the Dark Lord demanded harshly.

"Before?" Harry blinked in confusion.

"Why were you in such a state? What was the reason?"

"What do you mean? I thought you saw everything."

"Legilimency allows to read minds, but if the mind is blank -"

"Blank?" Harry still couldn't understand.

"Either blank, or warded. There is some kind of a wall there, I can't pass it."

Harry shrugged.

"I don't know."

"How the cubicle become broken?" This question in silky insinuating tone made Harry frozen on the spot. Once again his breath caught.

"I – I don't remember -" he admitted slowly.

"What exactly do you remember?"

"I – I came home – there was only Vernon, my uncle, he was drinking – I don't know!" Harry exclaimed frustrated. "I think he came to my room drunk, I am not sure. Then – you saw. I don't remember what happened!" Now his panic began in full force. He didn't care that it was in front of Voldemort. He didn't remember, but it should have been very important! Or he wouldn't be so tired as to try to stop it by means of suicide!

"Obliviate. And very strong one," Voldemort suggested levelly. "Or memory loss," - he hummed pensively. - "And it should be magic-induced, I suppose, or I would be able to look behind that wall. And if it's the latter case, it is very impressive, I must admit." That last bit was spoken with a disgusted sneer and clear reluctance.

They sat in silence after this for a long time. Harry was silently examining this new and surprising Dark Lord with his bizarre behaviour, while Voldemort seemed lost deep in thought.

"Potter," Voldemort called out after a while. "What was it about a part of a soul?"

"What?"

"Your thoughts. When you -" Voldemort trailed off uncomfortably. "You wished for help. From a part of a soul. What did you mean by that?" The question was harsh, as was Voldemort's piercing gaze.

Harry shrugged.

"No reason. I just – Well, I suppose I wanted help, no matter how small it was," he finished lowly, lowering his head. "May be, that's why I thought it. Don't know. Now I don't know."

"And I thought you have at least some brains in your big head," Voldemort remarked snidely. "Looks like I was mistaken."

"What do you mean?"

"Potter, you are a wizard. And quite powerful one. Think."

Harry shook his head.

"I don't know. And I have a headache right now, after you mind-raped me," Harry added acidly.

"Tell me something I don't know, Potter," Voldemort responded in the same acid tone. "If you forgot we have this mental connection from the moment I've tried to kill you -" He abruptly cut himself off, eyes widening. "Bloody fucking hell!"

Harry snickered. He couldn't help it, he felt that Voldemort was not used to cursing, judging by the clumsy way he did it.

"Silence!" Voldemort hissed harshly in commanding tone, before quickly standing up and going to one of the bookshelves. He paused in front of the one shelf, then shook his head and moved to the other, took several books from there and brought them back to the fireplace along with a pile of blank parchments and a quill with an ink-well.

Next hour and a half they sat in silence, which was disrupted only by Voldemort frantically leafing through old-looking tomes with loud rustling of paper. Sometimes he was scratching something on the parchment, which was perched up on his knee, or muttering something under his breath. Harry was pretty certain he heard Parseltongue half the time as well as some foreign languages mixed with Latin.

At last Voldemort made a satisfied sound and looked up at him. Harry shifted uncomfortably under his calculating stare.

"Did you find something?" Harry inquired curious. While he watched Voldemort with his books and parchment, all worked up about some scientific problem, Harry was strongly reminded of his best friend, Hermione. She, too, always was glad and eager to research practically anything – small or big, important or no, sometimes simply for the sake of research itself.

"Potter, remind me again, how you become a Parselmouth?" Voldemort practically purred.

"You – you tried to kill me -"

"Yessss -"

"What it has to do with anything?"

"Potter, I'd suggest you go lay down first," Voldemort suddenly said.

"Why? What did you find?"

"Potter, I think I know the reason."

"And? -"

"Tell me, Harry, what do you know of Horcruxes?"