Disclaimer: I don't own them
Warnings: slash, dark, mental torture/manipulation, non-con
Chapter 7
It was well after midnight when Voldemort returned to his chambers. While slowly disrobing he enjoyed the picture his bed presented. His kitten was curled up in a tight ball; the covers drawn around him like a warm cocoon. Little shivers disturbed his rest, as if the warmth of the covers wasn't nearly enough to hold the cold of the night at bay.
Voldemort laid down on the bed, one arm drawing the sleeping young man tightly against him, aligning their bodies so that they were touching stomach to back. He allowed a small, satisfied smile, terrifying in its mercilessness, when his kitten not only slept through being moved but also stopped his shivering and tried to get their bodies even closer together.
Those potions were truly ingenious creations, marvellous in their malice. To make an enemy crave your touch, to bind him in that condition for life, in his case eternity, was something only a real Dark Lord would ever think of or succeed in, seeing how it took sorcerer level power to make those potions to begin with. Not even Severus, gifted and powerful as he was, would have been able to make those potions for him.
It was only two more weeks till All Hallows Eve and then his kitten would be irreversibly bound to him, bound as a spouse, needing his touch to survive for the rest of their immortal lives.
Closing his eyes and enjoying his kitten's nearness, he allowed his mind to drift off into sleep.
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It seemed to be unusually hard for Harry to properly wake up. His mind was kind of muddled and his body felt way too relaxed and warm to even consider moving. It was hard to think; in fact he couldn't even remember why he was alarmed about this condition. There was only a tiny niggling at the back of his mind, insisting that he shouldn't feel this way, that he should be on guard, that something was terribly wrong.
Still too sleepy to care about that feeling, Harry burrowed deeper into the source of all that wonderful warmth. It was the deep, amused chuckle his actions elicited, which jolted his mind into action and made alarm bells ring in his head. He knew that chuckle! He had heard it enough times in the last year to recognize it even in his sleep.
Yet, once again, his body wasn't reacting to his state of mind as it should be. Despite the adrenalin coursing through him, his body remained relaxed and curled up next to his greatest enemy.
As one hand started to stroke his hair and the other to stroke his stomach a content purr escaped his lips. While his soul screamed in despair and frustration, his treacherous body and mind betrayed him, one enjoying, one not minding the touch of his captor.
When a pair of lips touched his ear, his eyes flew open in surprise.
"As delightful as this all is, I'm afraid you'll have to get up ere you miss your first classes." a deep voice hissed, sending shivers of delight through his body.
"Wait a moment, delight? Delight! That cannot be right. What has he done to me!" Harry thought in panic.
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It was lunch when Severus first got a good sight of his most troublesome student. Minerva had already expressed her worries about the boy's state of mind. Having the Dark Lord's permission to actually talk to the boy, he inspected him critically.
There were no longer any dark rings under his eyes; in fact the boy looked finally well rested. Once again it was the eyes, those big, dark green eyes that betrayed that lie. They screamed despair and confusion in even amounts, begging someone for help.
An unfair plea, since no one would be able to answer it, ever. The Dark Lord would kill anyone who dared to interfere and thanks to the connection the two shared he was guarantied to know.
And yet, Severus couldn't just look the other way. It was laughable that he, the stereotype Slytherin, felt the urge to extend a helping hand, disregarding the dangerous path he was treading.
Cursing Albus under his breath, for obviously he had to be the source of that irritating goodness, he walked up to the boy and said: "A word if you please, Mr. Potter."
Then he swept out of the Hall in his usual dramatic style, a confused Potter following on his heels.
Entering a small, unused classroom, Severus beckoned Potter to take a seat, then closed and warded the room.
"Since Albus somehow managed to instil a conscience in me, I seem unable to ignore your plight, Mr. Potter. May I ask how you are doing?" His voice was as cold and matter of fact as always.
Green eyes widened a fraction. Then a hand moved to cover the boy's mouth.
"I know that you are currently unable to speak anything else but Parseltongue, Mr. Potter. However I do have the Dark Lord's permission to speak with you about matters concerning your health. Perhaps you might ask him to allow you to speak to at least me."
Onyx eyes registered the wild hope that rose in previously dull green orbs, only to be tempered by resignation.
To his surprise the boy shook his head.
"You won't ask him?"
Again a negative shake.
"Mr. Potter, the Dark Lord seems willing to be bartered with. You really should appreciate that fact. Take what you can get however you can get it, because let me assure you, there are dozen of young people who would give both their arms and legs to be able to barter with their owners for any privilege."
Severus didn't want to scare the boy, but it wouldn't help him to be coddled. All he could do at this point was to help the boy accept his fate and make the most of it.
"You are lucky in your plight, because your captor seems to be obsessed with you. Take what you can; barter with anything you have to make your life liveable. Forget what others would think of you, they aren't in your position, Harry. There will be no escape for you, not now, likely never. You will have to live this life, not the one you dream about at night.
I will do anything I can to help you adjust, but I won't be able to free you and I won't lie to you, ever."
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Listening to the strangely passionate speech of his formerly most hated professor, Harry felt something inside him shatter.
He appreciated that here at least was one person who would never lie to him, had never lied to him. Yet, the cruel words killed the last fragments of his dreams of freedom that he had still held, despite everything else.
Perhaps Snape was right, but Harry would be damned if he just gave in to Voldemort.
He would fight with every last fibre of his soul, till there was nothing left to fight with or there was no one to fight any more.
A wild, slightly insane fire started to burn in his eyes, making them glow just like they did in his animagus form.
He would find out what Voldemort had done to him and then he would find a way to fight the effects of whatever spell or curse he was using.
Sending a hard smile into Snape's direction, Harry stood up and left, his head held high, leaving the faint smell of cinnamon in his wake.
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Severus closed his eyes in resignation. That fire in Potter's eyes spelt trouble. And yet, he couldn't help but admire the boy's strong spirit, no matter that his resistance was futile.
Not long after the boy had left, Severus noticed a strange smell in the air, something that hadn't been here before, something the boy had left in his wake.
"Cinnamon. It smells of cinnamon." Eyebrows furrowed in thought, Severus decided to search for any potions that would leave their victims smelling of cinnamon. He wouldn't be able to give Potter an antidote, but knowing what was being used on him, might help the boy fighting its effects.
"Damn you, Albus! Your liking for the Potter brat seems to be even more contagious than your damn willingness to help all poor souls that cross your way."
TBC
