Disclaimer: I am not J. K. Rowling, neither do I won Harry Potter. No money is earned from writing this fanfiction.

A/N: I know that this chapter can be a bit confusing, but I think Harry's problem can be understood - or at least I hope so.:P Once again - if you see any grammar mistake, please tell me so I can correct it.

Enjoy!

Warning: Blood and gore, nothing too graphic.


The Cleaner

Don't Worry About Cleanliness

Voldemort stared critically at Harry's unmoving form, scrutinising him for any movement that would signify an attack. He did not deny that he was an arrogant man, but he never let it go to his head. Especially not when someone like Harry acted out off character so suddenly.

Harry was standing eerily silent; his head still thrown back as if he was staring at the roof. Though it was unclear if he actually was doing such a thing because pitch-black locks of hair were obscuring Harry's eyes. Sighing, Voldemort leaned back in his chair, though he was careful to keep his wand firmly gripped between slender fingers.

After another minute in complete silence, Harry inhaled forcibly; it sounded as though he had held his breath.

Lifting his head, sharp green eyes clashed with red ones. Harry grimaced in disgust and ruffled his already messy hair. "Fuck." He murmured irritatingly.

Glancing annoyingly at Harry, he drawled disapprovingly. "Language, pet."

Harry, who had been staring interestingly around the room, looked angrily at Voldemort. "What did you call me?" He snapped, his voice rougher and sharper than normal.

Voldemort leaned forward in interest over the sudden mood change Harry had gone through. "You are a pet, an animal." He murmured, studying the anger rising in green eyes. "Who do you think you are?" Harry replied coldly, tilting his head to the side as he studied Voldemort through emotionless eyes.

"Your owner." Voldemort answered.

Harry smirked as he shook his head in humour. "No, you are not." He murmured calmly. Strolling disturbingly silent up to Voldemort, he leaned forward as he whispered. "You're just a bloodbank."

Voldemort glared annoyingly at Harry. "Excuse me?" He was a dark lord; no one had the right to call him a bloodbank. Not even his own pet.

"Oh, did the truth hurt?" Harry replied, grinning widely. He glanced away from Voldemort and without further notice thrust his foot into the small table beside the dark lord's chair, sending it and the two glasses flying before it smashed against the floor. The glass shattered and the wooden table splintered. "I bet it did; you humans have such problems accepting that you're nothing more than our food. Only meant to be sliced open and splattered across walls!" As he talked his controlled voice disappeared, and a more wild, untamed one appeared. Like a wild animal loosing control. He was standing above the splintered table, smashing it into bits with his bare foot. The splints were pushed into his foot, and blood flowed through grotesque wounds.

Voldemort stared at the commotion with emotionless eyes, only sighing over the state of his expensive tea table.

When the glass and wood had been crushed into small fragments, Harry ceased his movements. Glancing down at his mutilated but healing foot, he inhaled in pleasure. "Imagine it, blood dirtying clothes, coloring walls; it's best when there's not a clean spot left." He sighed, rolling his shoulders in relaxation. "Everything covered in red." The last part came out as a whisper, but it had been enough for Voldemort to understand the situation.

"Clearly you too need disciplining." Voldemort murmured.

He seemed to have calmed down as cold eyes shifted his stare towards Voldemort. "Disciplining..." He said before an understanding light entered his eyes. "Oh, I see; he became your pet. Poor Harold. Poor, poor Harold." Harry said piteously.

Voldemort massaged his temples tiredly. "Sit." He commanded.

The other man crouched down to pull a splint out off his foot, and murmured quietly. "Forget it. I'm not going to sit anywhere on your command, baldy."

"Sit, and I will get you some dinner." He said not desiring to argue with the stubborn vampire.

Glancing up, Harry licked the splint free from crimson liquid before muttering. "Bribery..." Nodding he stood up. "All right." Harry strolled up to the empty chair, where he cautiously leaned his body against the armrest. He was much more paranoid than 'Harry' too, it would seem.

"Tittup." At once, the restless houseelf popped into the room. "Yes, master?" It muttered, jumping back and forth on the floor.

Voldemort glanced away from the irritating creature. "A-" He began, but the houseelf broke him off. "Master wants tea? Coffee? No...? Water?"

Sighing he shook his head. "A Muggle from the dungeon." Voldemort ordered, and Tittup nodded somewhat disappointingly back.

Just as Tittup was about to pop away, Harry took a strong grip around its thin arms."Creature." He whispered threateningly. "Get a young man, in his 20s would be preferable." Green eyes stared down at the little creature in disgust and Tittup squeaked fearfully.

Glancing over at Voldemort with blank eyes, it whispered. "Master?"

Voldemort nodded. "A young man." Harry smirked in satisfaction and let Tittup go so it could pop away.

"Your name, vampire." Voldemort ordered, hoping the other would answer without further discussion.

Harry shook his head before asking. "What makes you think I'm not Harold?"

Green and crimson eyes classed, both cutting into the other. "He does not call himself 'Harold'." Voldemort replied.

"He doesn't? Oh - that's right, he doesn't." Harry whispered quietly to himself. "Why should I give you my name? And have some more respect young man, I'm years older than you." He finished, glancing down at Voldemort as tough he was a pile of dirt.

Eyes narrowing in anger, he twirled his wand threateningly. "'Harold' did not mind."

"I'm not him." Harry said.

"Clearly." He murmured. "You are the one who have given him a reputation as an assassin." Voldemort remarked.

"You're not invalid, it seems." Harry said pleasantly. "Very well, you may talk to me as though we're equals, but don't you dare call me 'pet' again. I'll slit your pretty throat." He grinned broadly, showing off pearly white canines. "And to answer your question; yes, I'm the assassin. Harold is not capable of handling such dirty situations, just as I'm not able to handle meetings with clients." Shuddering in disgust, he furrowed his eyebrows. "The human race is... disgraceful."

Voldemort leaned forward in his chair, studying the other man. "Does he know that you exist?"

"Harold?" He asked nonchalantly. "Yes, he does..." Harry pursed his lips, green eyes chilly. "Though I don't think he wants to acknowledge my existence."

"Intriguing." Voldemort muttered. "Though if you are in charge of the assassination, why did 'Harold' come after me and not you?"

"When he gets worried he refuses to let me out... when I think about it, it's all your fault that I've been locked up the last weeks." Harry said calmly; it did not sound as though he cared.

Voldemort knew that Harry was blaming him since he had kidnapped 'Harold's' beloved snake, Baldwin. "Really?" Was his only reply.

"Shut up, your arrogance is irritating." Harry murmured.

"Are you sure you are the one to talk, vampire?" He replied, resulting in a cold glare from Harry. "You are not any less arrogant than me."

Harry shook his head. "At least I have a reason." Brushing his hand through his messy hair, he tugged painfully at it. "I'm immortal, why should I not be arrogant?"

"Indeed, then we agree."

Shaking his head in denial, Harry looked into the flames flickering in the chimney. "Agree? I never agree with anyone."

Following the other man's stare, Voldemort smirked. "Obviously."

After a moment of silence, Tittup popped up together with a young man. Harry glanced down at his food, studying the man's face before nodding in delight.

Voldemort excused the small houseelf. "Now eat and be silent; you talk as much as Harold." He ordered.

"Don't order me around." Harry whispered, but listened nonetheless as he reached toward the man's chin. Tilting the Muggle's head back, he ran his hand down the man's neck. Harry leaned down to his ear, whispering. "Hello, you're a handsome young man, aren't you?." The mentioned man shuddered in fear.

"...Let me go." He coughed.

Harry's face was emotionless, cold green eyes already in the process of consuming the Muggle's life. "Shut up, I don't want to listen to your complaining when I'm eating." He murmured, casting a wandless silencing spell and a binding spell. He walked up to the annihilated glasses and tea table to pick up the biggest fragments before he returned to the bound Muggle.

"Don't be scared." He murmured as he stabbed a wooden piece into the man's left eye. Smiling widely, he did the same thing to the other eye.

Voldemort sighed in irritation. "Refrain from staining the carpet too much."

"No way! This carpet will be crimson red when I'm finished." He heard Harry answer followed by a cracking sound. The sound of bones breaking.

After half an hour, Harry glanced down at his masterpiece. It was beautiful when the human body were shattered beyond repair, so wonderful he could do nothing else but lay down in it.

Voldemort studied the boy in front of him. "Why can you not share Harold's OCD?" It was a mess; the crimson liquid was splattered across the entire carpet and Harry himself was laying in the middle of it all.

The white shirt was completely red; even his hair had attained a crimson shine. Harry glanced towards Voldemort. "It would be a nightmare. I don't care if I get dirty; I just want to have fun." He massaged blood into his already bloody face, eyes closing in enjoyment. "And I cannot have fun without splattering crimson liquid across walls and floors."

To be continued!