Chapter 09: Pleasures of Boredom: Be My Sacrifice

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"What are we to do with the boy, now that he is awake?" Snape drawled, any previous form of concern hid well.

"It depends." Thoughtfully said by the other occupant accompanying him on the brief walk to the floo. "I will keep you informed of any changes to the plan, as I see fit." Voldemort responded back, obviously having no interest to continue the conversation. Nodding rigorously, the potion master let it drop. It was in his best interest not to displease the Dark Lord, any more than he already has.

Snape approved inwardly, recalling the recent meeting. Things were not going as expected, even with Dumbledore out of the way. The Order still needed to be found, their previous location dispersed, moved to secret meetings. No one trusted him, and undoubtedly so, even more with the death of the former headmaster, the leader of the light.

Now, the conditions were changing due to Potter waking. Snape doubted that even his lord knew what to do. With a silent nod of dismissal, the two parted ways. The dark-haired man to his home, and the other to the current living quarters of a certain thorn in his side. Though, if he admitted, the teen became less of a pain.

Upon entering, Voldemort almost stopped in his tracks. The boy once deathly pale, looked less so, Harry's eyes were trained outside of the window from which he perched on a window seat. Crimson red eyes trailed, as if desperate to see: What the youth looked at from inside the room? A small frown dancing across his countenance, "Would you like to be moved?" At the sound of his own enemy's voice, someone who aided in saving him, only confused him more. The teen didn't know what to call the man standing in the room, didn't want to acknowledge the comforting feeling of floating on a warm lake. Couldn't ignore thoughts of wanting to sink in to them, as if it were the sea.

If, he did resounding feelings ensuring he would surely disappear, be forgotten, flitted across the forefront of his mind. The fear he felt sparked a shiver down his spine. He didn't want to discover what would become of him, if he were to truly embrace that darkness, and let himself get swept away. Harry refused to let himself be lulled once more in to a false sense of security. The only way that it was safe for him, was in his own mind, clinging to the alien-presence there. 'No, not alien, always here.; Something inside him conceded, allowing him a small moment to breathe.

The images of red-tips again surfaced, he couldn't trust another again, not that he ever would come to trust the figure standing in the room. Voldermort, would never earn such things from him, and he wouldn't show an ounce of gratitude either. Still, the idea whispered from nowhere, that he should, that he could? Because, if the dark lord really planned on killing him, this would be the least expected time in his life. Not during this healing process, it would defeat the purpose.

Rejection.

Why couldn't he get his emotions, heart, and mind to settle?

Why should he fear being rejected?

Eerily calm in his presence, if Harry bothered to turn, he would see a non-existent brow twitch. "No," The ravenette finally answered," I like it. I'm just admiring the view." The faint traces of a thought reached through, because he let it. ''The fragrance smells nice.'' Which, Voldemort took note that the window wasn't open, it was spelled close in case the troublesome teen tried to escape. It seemed unlikely at this point, and he felt himself wanting to dive deeper in those exposed thoughts.

"I could move you closer, if you wish?" A small smile crept across the once crestfallen face, staring across the large gardens kept on the grounds. "That would be nice, Mr. Marvolo. Hope you don't mind? Knowing that you hate being called by first or even last name." Here, the annoyance filled him, becoming irate. Today was not the day to test his favor, he would not allow it, now that the boy was conscious of all his actions.

"But, riddle me this: Why would someone like you, The Darkest of souls, rescue and save me?" A small smile of reprieve, thinking in earnest, which is something the once brave Gryffindor should never be allowed to do. "Or, is it because the tormentors were filthy muggles?" The snarl that followed as he finally turned his gaze upon the other being in the room. Harry would not fall for this! And, just could not feel the geniality of anything given for his sake from the older man.

Really, the question he wanted to ask was something different; the migraine coming back as he feared what would happen. If, he was to be moved closer to that beautiful garden. It conjured a mirage, even the faint itch he felt at his forehead. Voldemort was trying to remain in control, 'As always.' Harry scoffed at the echo of the voice scratching from the depths of his subconscious.

'So, hallow.' Voldemort's first view at peering in to those empty eyes. The next, there was a slither of taunting, wishing to push him along the way of losing his temper. Harry wanted to be punished, he could tell by the look in those green ethereal eyes. The smirk that slightly quirked, crawling up the right side of his face, forming a lazy smile. "Is it because, they tortured what they shouldn't have? Something that wasn't their own to do so?" The fleeting yet defying question being read there under cover, being replaced quickly by something indiscernible.

Moving back to face the window he continued with the usual cheek he'd been known for in his former days as a student. A part of him more than taken aback by surprise that Voldemort would even let him. "If, I were in a magically induced fire, then obviously I started it." This time Harry could feel as the older man twitched a brow, sensing his agitation. The magic wanting to crack and break apart the very air they breathed, to cause ill-will, he smiled and picked back up where he finished.

: Meaning, I wanted to die.: The amusement he felt rolling thickly in the air, turning his attention back to the tall dark figure, the young man took notice of the gleeful light of mirth in usually hard to read eyes.

"Who says, I saved you?" Menacing, drawing closer with each word escaping. "It is a message, Potter." A sense of dread crawled up his skin, itching, but he couldn't turn away as the man was finally upon him. Staring down, taking a firm grip of his arm, yanking him up. Towering over him still, "You shall not die by your own hands, or that of another."

Harry frowned, the feeling of floating on water starting to pull him under, a warm sensation prickling at his skin. The entangled emotions of fear, pain, curiosity, and confusion coming back full force. Tickling at the back of his throat making him unsure, egging him closer, and stuck between wanting to vomit or faint. Maybe, both were a good idea in this moment. :"No other hands, but mine.":

Harry tried to pull himself from the grip, refusing to stare in to eyes that reminded him of blood, the nausea he felt doubled ten-fold. "Perhaps?" Harry still felt torn between acceptance and rejection, craving hostility to return to them, the same as usual. With the man as he was now, it was too unpredictable, and he needed that balance of normalcy to stay sane. "Maybe, the dungeons would have been a more suitable place." The ravenette finished not interested in where this was going. Just knowing that sinking feeling needed to be stopped, all contact needed to cease immediately.

"I could arrange that." With a snap of his fingers, a house-elf popped in, taking hold of Harry's arm.

With a wink from the dark-haired youth, Harry and the elf disappeared. Sputtering for a moment, Voldemort had not expected the last reaction from the adolescent adult. A yell, yelp, something to show protest, at least terror! But he simply smiled and winked at him, promising to see him soon. He thought it best to give it a few hours before fetching the troublemaker from the murky bows of Malfoy manor.

Huffing so slightly, he found himself quite riled up, the meeting from earlier that morning came back to mind. Perhaps, he could visit sooner? If, the foul mood didn't lift from his shoulders, he could always get his point across to the stubborn boy, and torture some of the other prisoners being kept nearby. With a notable nod of the head to confirm these plans, Lord Voldemort made his way from the smaller room, back to his own quarters. "For now, there is work to be done."

Mainly one: What should he do with the child of prophecy? 'Riddle manor would be a favorable place to start.' Ending his debate there, he made way to the forgotten place, working on preparations for the arrival of his new guest, and restoration of old.

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Harry whistled lowly to himself, fighting back tears, and laughter of madness. This is what he wanted! To get away from the person once known as Tom. Needed this punishment, certainly craved for something more to happen. Judging by the occasional meal-or snack as he called it-he received, it couldn't have been a little more than a day down there.

The current occupants mumbling, a shriek of terror every now and then. But it did nothing to quell his disturbed mind, he needed something more. Staring at whatever appeared, he left it untouched, not hungry at all. If, anything he could truly say he didn't have an appetite. The red tips haunted him, eyes growing wider by the second.

A calming voice would come in, soothing him, a presence he could feel inside of him. Promising to protect him, once he accepted it completely. The truth that he refused to believe, he shoved back further in to the recesses of his mind. Tears welled uncontrollably, he wasn't weak! A strange feeling of arms encircling him, drawing him in to an unseen embrace, he couldn't shake it. The comfort kept panic attacks at bay. Harry couldn't understand the why, he just knew he needed it. The presence inside him always wanted to protect him, but he knew better than to trust such things. Fearing what would happen if he relinquished his hold over to it.

Would he find they were just empty promises?

His scar stung at the idea, a new wave of emotions courting him. Along with the comfort came anguish, hurt, loneliness; all afraid of the dark. Taking a shaky breath, he exhaled in to a sigh. He was bored, and wondered when Voldemort would come to visit?

A reassuring weight settling over his shoulders, another in the pit of his stomach. It gave encouragement, suggesting not long. His hands came up, placing them on either side of his shoulders like he could really embrace fingers with his own, not accepting but acknowledging whatever it was, or whatever it wanted.

'Fine, you're on.' Harry pushed the thought back, a small smile curling at the corner of his lips as he felt something respond happily inside of him, only serving to make him more nervous than he let on. His scar no longer stinging, but a tingling sensation overwhelming him, and quieting all images that would come as scattered pieces to mind. If he could, he'd rather not see them anymore. Wish them away to a place he would just forget about until the day he died. What felt like an agreement shook him to the core, his eyes being clouded by black dots that danced. The raven-haired teen could now see the smile of a person he thought familiar fading. Flashing before his eyes, finally passing out on the cold stone floors.

'Why, Tom Riddle?' The thought subdued by losing consciousness, darkness taking him further in to its hold.

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Silence reigned for hours, to put it bluntly, the darkest wizard of all time sighed. Something he would never do outwardly in the company of others. Harry Potter was a conundrum to even him. Just when he thought he wanted to kill him, to snuff out that annoying light, he couldn't bring himself to do it. Every time he thought about it, something inside threatened to strike him back as a retaliation. Yes, he could have sworn he felt something buried deeply, more than just the connection of minds. But, the intensity and recent events that played out only led him to doubt any further plans of what he would've done, once he got his hands on the boy!

It ruined his mood.

Voldemort needed something new to focus on. He wouldn't try and convert the already scarred teen to the cause he was fighting for, even if he could convince him that was the best side for him to be on. That was a novice thing to do. Either way, he wouldn't bring it up, nor push the issue. For now, the snake would simply draw the attention at hand further out to let him have the choice. A chance to conclude himself, if wanted. But, he, would not coddle or hold his hand, Harry would have to have that thought cross for himself. Until then-he cast a tempus-he would check on the unruly and contemptuous teen. Maybe the change of scenery, and conditions would have improved such a tongue. Maybe, change his mind, and appreciate what he was given?

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The Weasleys' were more troubled than they thought they ever could be. Harry had disappeared off the radar, but they refused to stop looking. In times like these, when all leads failed, they could hardly pull themselves together to not think about such a huge loss. Molly's youngest, her baby boy, taken away before his time. Hermione yet to be found, but she knew what others were thinking.

The once bushy haired girl, was in no doubt, dead. Perished, possibly worse than her little Ron. The grief, she couldn't out live, nor could she just seat upon it. No! She refused to think about it. The order, falling apart.

What was she-no, her family-to do? With all their hopes resting on finding the only adopted son she could think about. She couldn't deny that she would break, if no word was to come out to find that the dark-haired teen was safe. Molly needed that, or else the world that she held together for not only herself, but for the rest of her family would break. More than anything, she wished a simple charm would do, but she was not that naïve.

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Harry was bored.

That was an understatement!

He was beyond bored, sitting in the dark, dank dungeons of Malfoy Manor. He needed a source of entertainment, and as if on granting his wish the universe gave way to potentials. A few guards stumbled upon him while transporting in a few more prisoners. All scared, worn, possibly tortured out of their minds. Not that he cared, there was nothing he could do for the unfortunate souls. Not unless he recognized that he was one of them too.

Stubbornness made him refuse to accept that jaded truth, instead deciding to try his luck at taunting. If fate was on his side, then they wouldn't know who he was, but that was impossible. The scar on his head would give him away immediately, the glasses, the wild fringe of black hair. He didn't want to chance it, instead choosing to remove glasses and move hair to cover his ill-famed mark. Truth be told, he really didn't need the hinderance, he could see just fine without, but he preferred to keep them.

They reminded him of a life once pure and innocent, filled with such foolish hope that maybe, he could win just this once. Could outsmart fate and beat all odds. That Lady luck would forever be on his side, but that time ran out when he ran in to that unknown named group. Faces blurred out, voices a buzz, a fuzzy memory. No true outline remained, just the sensation of torture untold. Things he couldn't explain but didn't need to feel good the way he did now.

Harry found a simple smirk besmirching his countenance, constricting in to the most devilish and manipulative that ever wrought on his face. And knew, without a doubt that they would fall to it, be his victim. The best way to carry on with life, was to make others know his suffering, to pass it on; so that it would never be forgotten. Whistling out loudly, he caught the attention of the unlucky group. Three men, in cloaks with hoods down. Seems the group they captured were ordinary people, but looks could be misleading, he knew better than anyone.

Smiling as gracious as he could at an insult thrown his way, he welcomed it with a bark of laughter. Finally, boredom would be overcome, even if for a short while. As the guards raked across his cell, he whispered a small sentence making them draw closer and laugh out as if in delirium. There was no way, the maniac being held in a cell could harm them or fulfill his words. "Be my sacrifice." Simple words, from a simple captured fool. They would indulge in this, but none would live to regret it. Harry was sure of the promise lingering as an enigmatic wisp.

"What do we have here? A runt that survived pass his expiration date." Two guards chortled at the one who spoke, a mad buzz taking over the ravenette's ears. Yes, he would surely enjoy the slaughter planned in his head. Seeking enjoyment from their suffering, as he stepped closer to the bars not fearing the wands aimed his way. "What is it, brat? You gonna beg for mercy now? Is that how you made it this far?" They all laughed together, ignoring the youth now placing his hands on the metal cage.

"Yes, begging will be nice. But," Harry's voice dropped an octave as his fingers hugged the hindrance, "I don't think that will save any of you." The metal heating, melting away as he stepped through. Watching with untold pleasure as the laughter came to a cold stop. "If, you want I will give you a minute lead."

"Whaa-"The short, soon to be bald wizard barely bit out in disbelief, flicking his wrist at the sound of counting. "One. Two. Three…" Trailing off as he lost focus and sending the man back without so much as a glance in his direction. The other two death eaters remaining spectators to what they saw, as the man screamed in agony. Wand hand bending back to a loud audible snap, following by a crackling sound, and charred flesh soon filling the air with the scent.

Backing away, the remaining members looked at each other, one looking on in disbelief before bolting. Self-preservation kicking in, and the other rising his wand to throw a few curses and a protective shield. Breaking it almost immediately with a strong blast of magic, followed by the ignition up of blue flames to the fringes of the cloak. At the screams resonating, Harry begin to laugh. Turning to fully face the direction the one ran to, with a look of agony on his face for losing count.

"Where was I? Right, three." He laughed out loud finding the other guard quickly as if he apparated by his side. "Oh, did I say a minute." The last death eater standing startled to a halt, the words leaving the young man's mouth making his freeze up, and pale drastically. "I lied."

It was that moment that their great lord decided to bless them with his presence by opening the door at the top of the stairs. "Where you've been?" The teen questioned as innocently as he could, but knew he was failing at the fact that the mirth coating his voice was giving him away. "We've missed you so dearly. You really should be careful where you leave your toys." Harry continued to taunt placing his glasses back on, "You never know who might break them." The threat read clear, but the older man simply dismissed it. "Come, Harry." The voice like wisps of air escaping, a hand being held up to silence the man starting to ramble with a 'My Lord' attached at the beginning.

"Fine. Have it your way, just have to go and kill all the fun for me." His own voice returning that whisper like gasp of breath. Voldemort didn't look the lest bit amused by the scene, putting his arm out motioning for Harry to grab it. Bowing slightly, he put his hand out to take it. But before doing so looked to the left of the dark figure, his right staring at the man. "You just got lucky. Isn't that great?"

Almost heaving a sigh as Harry finally took hold of the arm offered, a huge smile broke apart his face. The last man standing burst in to flames, screaming and turning around falling down the stairs in a blaze. Harry simply tsked as they apparated away, all the sourer as he didn't get to watch until the end. Or say what was on the tip of his tongue, that once again, he was in fact lying.

Upon landing at their new destination, the teen on the verge of vomiting and passing out whispered, "Imbecile." Voldemort let him go, and he collapsed to the floor. Knees weak and body shaking, finally losing the battle that still raged on with the added contact. He hurled and passed out, and if he were still conscious he would hear the older wizard swear at the stupidity and utter mess he was.

Instead, Voldemort called for a house elf to move the now passed out boy to his new room. With that done and out of the way, he continued with carrying out additional plans. This would be no walk in the park as they say, Harry would not get off that easily, that he could assure.

AN: Yes, it has been a while, and long overdue. Agreed, just very hard trying to keep up with this story. I went back to reread the first few chapters. There is so much that I found needs to be changed. That and I WILL go back and put time stamps, might change the formatting and all. I get why readers were getting confused, those who are, are not looking at it from the view being narrated. The jumping around is the clash of presence and past, so if one moment Hermione and Ron are dead, Harry being tortured, then the next at a rave or sneaking around, it's because the previous happened after the latter. But I can't really expect people to follow such a chaotic order, when the mind is split and injured there is no chronological order, it is literally a mess. I know most things are now moving forward in an order, that's the way I intended it. Sorry for ranting here, just needed to get that out. Thanks for the patience you have shown and putting up with this fanfic. I really do appreciate it a ton. I apologize for anything and everything wrong with this story. I will try my best, but that also means I will fail more times along the way to perfect it.