DISCLAIMER: Anything you recognise belongs to J.K. Rowling, not me. I do not own Harry Potter. *sob

WARNING: Slash, OOCness, definitely limes and possibly lemons, torture, abuse, self-harm.

A/N: This is my first fanfic so please review and let me know what you think =)

Whoah, I wasn't expecting that many people to follow my story, no pressure then! Sorry if it turns out crap guys :P

Thanks to all those who have reviewed so far, more please! Con-crit more than welcome.

Many days passed with no excitement. Their previous conversation had left Harry completely drained and he could do little besides sleep. Voldemort would check in on him every hour or so to make sure he took all of his potions. Harry had no objections to the potions for sleep and pain-relief, but the blood-replenishing draught made him gag and arguments often broke out over the nutrition potions, Harry wanting to know why he couldn't just have proper food.

"Because your body isn't ready for it yet!" Voldemort told him for what felt like the hundredth time.

"There's nothing wrong with my body!"

Voldemort was going to argue when he realised that the boy was almost right. He was still thin and pale, but his cuts had faded to thin white scars and his bruises too, were fainter.

"If you would stop being so stubborn and just tell why you're so thin I might be able to help you. Until then you will take your potion."

Harry swatted the bottle away, causing it to spill over the bed.

Voldemort hissed angrily at him. Why was the boy being so difficult? What bothered him most was the sudden surge of emotional distress that trespassed on his mind when he mentioned Harry's weight or his bruises.

"Remind me why I don't just kill you?" he asked in a tired voice, his head in his hands.

"Because you're an evil, remorseless sadist." Harry muttered bitterly.

Voldemort smiled at that.

"Yes… it would be such a shame to lose that title… Very well, I'll make a deal with you Harry."

Harry looked very apprehensive.

"You tell me who's been attacking you," he tried not to grimace as the familiar rush of anguish hit him, "and I will take away this barrier." He gestured around the bed.

Harry was torn. True, it would be nice to leave the bed, it was frustrating not being able to stretch his legs or look out of the window, but that meant telling Voldemort about the Dursleys. He would have to tell the truth of course, Voldemort always seemed to know when he was lying, Harry wasn't sure how.

On the other hand, Harry remembered some of the stories about Voldemort from when he was last at large. People said that he would invade the minds of his victims and, equipped with their memories, dreams and fears, he would create visions that would eventually drive them into insanity. Everything Voldemort found out about Harry he could use as a weapon against him. But then… if he could read people's minds then he could (and most probably would) attack Harry's, consent wasn't necessary. He didn't have much of a choice. Either he told Voldemort and won himself a little freedom, or he waited for Voldemort to break into his mind and would have to stay trapped in the bed.

Harry had made up his mind, the time for pride was long-gone.

Voldemort heard Harry's decision the second he made it, but did not let on. He wanted to hear Harry to say it.

"Ok." His voice was small. He sounded exhausted, despairing.

Voldemort tried to look calm but on top of his own burning curiosity, the boy's despair was weighing heavily on his mind.

"If you lie I shall know, Lord Voldemort always knows."

Harry nodded to show that he understood and opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. It was more difficult than he'd imagined.

"Can I ask you a question?"

Voldemort raised an eyebrow but said nothing, so Harry proceeded.

"Can you read my mind?" he blurted out.

Voldemort paused before answering, choosing his words carefully.

"Some things on the surface of your mind that are not well-hidden are open to me."

"Is that all?"

Voldemort frowned at him.

"Do you know anything about legilimency Harry?"

Harry shook his head.

"Legilimency is the ability to extract another person's memories and feelings from their mind. I, being a fairly accomplished legilimens, could invade your mind if I so desired. However, I do not think it wise to attack your mind at the present time."

"Why not?"

Voldemort smiled.

"Yes, it would make things much easier for you wouldn't it? You could simply allow me to slip into your mind and steal the truth from you. But your mind, Harry, is not at it's strongest and I think that, for now at least, we should be careful with it."

Harry started to protest that there was nothing wrong with his mind but Voldemort held up his hand to silence him.

"I believe I was asking the questions."

Voldemort leaned towards him expectantly, much to Harry's displeasure, his smile gleeful in anticipation.

"Who hurt you Harry?"

Harry sighed. This was it. The sooner he said it, the sooner he'd be able to leave the bed. He raised his head to look defiantly into Voldemort's gleaming red eyes.

"My cousin." There, he said it.

Silence.

Voldemort's smile faltered and something stirred in his eyes that made Harry look away.

Harry's cousin was a muggle, he lived with muggles… he was lying, he had to have been lying.

Voldemort grasped Harry's jaw firmly, forcing him to meet his eyes, searching…

"You do not lie." It wasn't a question.

Harry shivered.

Voldemort could feel his fear and his shame intensify and then, as tears began to form in the boy's eyes, threatening to fall, he felt something else. Furious, he released Harry and swept out of the room.

Pity.

No feeling he'd felt of Harry's compared to this. He'd never pitied anyone before, but Harry's tears had… This was ridiculous. Nearly all the children he'd killed had cried, had pleaded with him to spare them, as had many of the adults. He had always relished those tears, people could be so weak in the face of death.

He had never felt sorry for anyone.

What was it Harry had called him? An evil remorseless sadist. What was he now, an evil remorseless sadist with a conscience? Why was this happening to him? Voldemort brought his fists down hard on the table in front of him. This was going too far. Feeling Harry's pathetic human emotions had been bad enough, but Harry wasn't feeling pity. No, this was new.

The pity was completely his own.

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