Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.


He watched the kitten sleep silently with curiosity. It wasn't like him to consider how such a simple act could affect him and yet, here he was watching a kitten sleep fondly. As a mother would someone else's child! It was preposterous! And yet, it was true. He was watching a kitten fondly.

And not just any kitten. Lord Voldemort in kitten form.

Had he shown up of his own free will, Harry would have no doubt grown bored of his arrogance and killed him long ago. But Severus was right. Since he was forced to have that brought to light, he supposed that it was because Voldemort was in such a cute and cuddly form that he learned to get over his annoyance.

But he wasn't really ever annoyed at the cat. How could he be annoyed when the feline was too stunned by his new form to be annoying and anything but helpless and slightly panicked? Or when, by the time the irritating traits came back, he had grown used to the sense of humour and personality quirks; therefore making him immune to being easily annoyed at Tom. It was something he hadn't noticed or thought about until it was brought to light for him.

He didn't take his eyes from the silvery fur, too caught up in the way it shined in the soft sunlight from the doors to the balcony.

"Maybe you are right Severus. I know I no longer am irritated by him as easily as before. I rather like having his company around to be completely honest. It's calming to me, to have someone around that understands-somewhat-my views on all of this. And it does amuse me when he thinks of how my reasonings and arguments and doings make far more sense than any that he had. And I know it amuses him when he thinks that even the great Dumbledore didn't see the options I have. Dumbledore-a weary old man-can't come up with more wisdom and wise choices than a child!" He laughed heartily, the noise rousing the furball.

He watched as the kitten stood shakily, unstable on the mattress and blankets. It wandered around the bed and he let it, watching its movements carefully. Eventually Tom stopped and started licking his paw calmly, facing the french doors-and through them, the outdoors. If he wasn't much mistaken, he could have sworn that the expression on the cat's countinance conveyed the great dislike for the outside world at this moment. He couldn't help the urge to laugh, and he did so quietly.

The kitten spun around quickly, its momentum pulling its bottom over the edge before Tom could gain any hold on the sheets. The look of utter terror on the feline's face as it fell was priceless and had both Harry and Severus on the floor, laughing.

Severus's laughter sputtered out into a shout of alarm and a string of curses. Harry looked over to see Tom attacking his old follower's face with a vengeance. He laughed as he pulled the cat away, holding him high in the air by the scruff of his neck.

"Severus go heal yourself while I deal with this one." He put the cat down on the bed and stopped Severus before he was out the door. "Oh, and make sure no one comes anywhere near here for a month at least. When I want them, I'll call for them." Severus left with a curt nod and Harry turned back to the cat. "Do you want to be human?" The kitten nodded vehemently and he held out the vial with the potion. "Take it then."

Tom looked at the vial apprehensively but let Potter tip the contents into his mouth anyway. The least he could do was poison him and the only difference that would make would be that he wouldn't get to watch Potter control his followers. The liquid slithered down his throat and made him want to gag. He repressed the urge and swallowed several times trying to get the taste out of his mouth and throat.

It wasn't until several minutes later that he felt any kind of change. He had laid down while waiting and was glad he did so when the searing pain started. It wasn't like a burn you would get from touching something hot-it was like someone took a white-hot rod and was slowly trailing it around in his body, searing all of his organs only to be felt after it had moved on to another organ. It took away his breath and he couldn't form a decent thought.

His pain was so great that he couldn't even pass into the void of darkness that one visits when they faint. He couldn't scream, he couldn't breathe, he couldn't do anything but endure it.

How Potter could be so cruel as to put him through this kind of torture he had no idea. He wouldn't even have put anyone through this kind of displeasure and that was saying something. Oh sure, he'd have people-both followers and opposers-disemboweled while living. He'd have them endure the worst poison Severus could concoct and he would even have some of them eaten slowly, healed, and then eaten again. None of that compared to this-none of it even hit the same plane of pain. They didn't come close.

How a teenager could watch someone go through this he would never know.

All of these thoughts were stored in a small recess of his mind, to only be found after the searing and gut-wrenching agony had dissipated somewhat.

How long he was in his torment he didn't know. He had no way of keeping track of time and every time he thought he could find a steady breathing or heartbeat to keep track of he would lose count before he could hit ten and would have to start over. It was enough to make him go mad had it only stayed around for a few hours. But even he knew that it had to be longer than that to keep him sane.

It had been that way with the Longbottoms. When Lestrange tortured them to insanity they were left for dead, only to be found by some of his other followers who tortured them some more, believing them to be dead bodies in which to take their anger out on.

What had happened was one of the only things that could surprise him back then. They had brought the married couple back to him to show him their coherency and completely healed minds.

He had kept them in a privately set dungeon to do some research on the two and came up with only one logical answer: the human brain can repair itself with what had damaged it in the first place. It worked somewhat like Stockholm Syndrome: the brain would endure through enough pain to be considered insane and would be broken beyond repair. It would then remain that way-hiding the same parts of thought in a small space that nothing could get through to-until more pain would eventually break its way in and let the sane thoughts take over once more.

Was this what they had to go through when they had been tortured to insanity and back again before being murdered?

Oh sure, he had thought ahead enough to transfigure two of his smaller followers to their shapes and tortured them accordingly until they were just coherent enough to walk around aimlessly. He did that only after changing their memories to match those of the Longbottoms. His tracks had been covered well, for he was the only one to know the truth about the two people that were visited by their 'son.'

When the torment finally started to reach its downfall, it grew slightly in power as if to try to consume his pain and continue to feed off of that for the rest of eternity and to deny the truth. In reality it was burning itself out faster by growing larger. It consumed his entire being now, burning his bones to a crisp and evaporating any remaining moisture in his body. He was sure he was withering away to nothing.

But it did begin to disappear slowly, his consciousness starting to create solid thoughts-even if they were simple ones. But simple was better than nothing at all. Time was the next thing to come into play-he could count to twenty now without pause. Only once did he make a mistake, and when he did he simply started over. After that, he didn't know what he could do as he finally slipped into the unconsciousness he had silently begged for while he still had the ability to think properly. The blackness swarmed up around him and consumed him before he could object.

When he woke up again it was to find Potter leaning over him with a cool rag against his forehead. He shut his eyes again to make sure what he was seeing was really what he thought he was seeing. Sure enough, Potter was still there with the rag.

He was thankful to note that he had clothes on and was human once again and tried moving his arm. It wouldn't move.

"Ah, you're awake. Severus told me you might not be able to move for awhile after giving you some potion or other. He said it would numb the lingering pain and that you should be very thankful that the only side effect is temporary paralysis. He actually worded it differently, I just made it sound nicer. His way was profoundly more irritated and crude." Tom made a small noise in the back of his throat and winced at the quiet scratchy sound. He had expected his voice to be rough, but not almost completely gone.

"Another thing, he said not to talk very much. I'm assuming what you went through was extremely painful and that's why he doesn't want you talking but you never know with him. I will say this though, I trust Severus. So no talking. Would you like something to drink?" At the nod Tom gave him he got up and held a straw against his lips. "Slowly. I don't want you getting sick all over my bed." At closer inspection he realized he was, indeed, on Potter's personal bed. The straw took importance though and he took a small sip.

That gradually turned into the whole cup and he inhaled slowly trying to make the slightly sick feeling go away. He needed the fluid and he wasn't ready to give it up just yet, but his body clearly didn't like how quickly it got the hydration it so clearly needed.

He watched as Potter calmly and patiently held the cup for him until he finished it. When he got up to go refill it he watched his lithe body moved and flowed, just like the shadows around him did. Smooth, almost like there was no beginning or end between him and the dark splotches against the floor and walls.

When he caught himself it was when he was watching the hair. That damn hair swinging so tantalizing to his imagination. He could picture anyone being on the other side of the long curtain and yet no one but Potter could pull it off correctly. No one had just that color skin to make the blue-black stand out against the purple and absolutely no one, not even his late mother, could have had the eyes to match that color green exactly. Harry Potter was an enigma to him and that irritated him.

He couldn't understand why he was always beaten by the demon, even if he was a shadow demon. He didn't understand why he didn't burn with the desire to kill him the moment he laid eyes on him. He didn't understand why he couldn't find the urge to irritate him anymore. He just didn't know anything anymore when it came to this man.

And man he was. Before Tom had only considered him nothing but a boy but looking at him now he was more of a man than anything. A feminine man but a man nonetheless. No woman could hold that much power in the way Potter did and no woman could hold the sort of commanding air he had. No, this was something entirely new to him and he wasn't sure what it was. He wasn't even sure if he wanted to know.

All he did know what that he felt an inexplicable pull to Potter and he was almost positive that it wasn't reciprocated.

When Potter turned around he averted his gaze quickly settling on the window where a few birds flew past. He wasn't entirely sure but he thought he saw a raven. Why he decided to fix his mind on that he would never know, he just did.

Potter never really talked, just made sure his basic needs were taken care of. Food, water and basic comfort so he didn't get sore from being in one position too long. When he was given tentative permission to get up, he groaned at the sudden jolt of pain that attacked him. Almost instantly Potter was at his side helping him sit up, and eventually stand. He waved the long-haired demon and went to the bathroom by himself. He was highly aware that Potter wasn't pleased with him for that, probably upset that if he had fallen it would have taken him time to get to his side whereas if he were there he could have prevented the fall in the first place. Potter, always the hero.

But that wasn't true. The scene he had witnessed the other day, whatever day that was, was proof that Golden Boy Potter wasn't the hero after all but the crude and cruel mastermind that managed to play both sides with the winning hand. He had made them all think he was just a poker chip when in fact he was actually the dealer with a royal flush.

And Dumbledore didn't stand a chance.

He would see the old man crumble and fall to Potter just like he had and he would laugh as the elderly bastard went down. He couldn't wait to see the terror in his eyes when he saw that Potter wasn't on his side at all but seemingly on his! And then he would laugh harder when he would see the inevitable hope in the annoying eyes of the old man when he learned that Potter wasn't on Tom's side. It would be just too funny.

He supposed he would have to tell Potter to stop so he could enjoy watching Dumbledore go down and he wasn't sure how Potter would react to that. Would he heed his request and pause, letting him have his fun taunting the idiot or would he just kill him? Perhaps he would just capture him and take him home for his own private fun. Did Potter have a weird fetish with holding people captive? He hoped so.

When he found himself hoping that Potter had a sexual thing for holding people captive he stopped his thoughts in their tracks. He refused to let himself be in those situations at all, let alone with Potter. The mere idea was simply unthinkable! He shook his head and found himself drifting off to sleep.