Disclaimer:

The following disclaimer does not belong to me:

Strangely enough, since the last chapter I have not acquired the ownership of Harry Potter.

Chapter Nine

Non

"Come with me," Voldemort said rising from his dinner place. Harry followed obediently behind until Voldemort came to a large room.

"I want you to practice your magic in here. Wandlessly."

"But I'm -"

"Particularly gifted at it. It's a branch of magic few ever learn. It's a sign of power."

"Okay... How do I -"

"I have a few books in here," Voldemort said gesturing to the table. "But most of it is instinctual. Just... Believe I suppose."

"Believe," Harry muttered.

"Tell the House to raise that book," Voldemort said offhandedly. Harry frowned but did it anyway.

"Rise," he hissed. The book lifted up into the air shakily.

"Move it around the room."

Harry rolled his eyes but did it anyway. "Move."

Voldemort spent the next fifteen minutes telling Harry to summon, lift and move objects. Suddenly Harry was exhausted.

"Why am I so tired?" he near panted, sweat starting to for on his brow.

"I don't know," Voldemort said rising from the throne he had Harry summon and headed for the door. "It might be something to do with the fact I warded this room so that you can't draw House magic from within it and you've just spent fifteen minutes doing extensive wandless magic, but I wouldn't trust me... I'm a liar."

Harry stood gobsmacked in the middle of the room as he watched Voldemort leave. A cross between disbelief in what he himself had done, and how insane Voldemort was.

He did have a point however...

***

Harry was in the library studying. He frowned and put the book he was studying down onto the table in front of him. He started as he felt Voldemort's fingers plunge into the back of his hair but soon relaxed into the touch automatically. Suddenly he tensed. He wasn't suppose to find Voldemort's touch relaxing, in fact nearly every time Voldemort touched him he hurt him.

"Hard at work?" Voldemort asked lightly.

"I suppose so," Harry answered cautiously.

"What on?" he asked running Harry's hair through his hands.

"Ancient runes," Harry said shifting.

"Something the matter?" asked Voldemort picking up on the shift.

Harry hesitated. Answering was dangerous, but so was not answering...

"I don't like you touching me, is all," he said hoping Voldemort would just ignore it.

"Oh," he said into Harry's ear. "Oh really?"

Voldemort swung Harry's chair round forcibly so that they were facing. Harry immediately looked down so he wouldn't have to face him, but Voldemort simply crouched down.

"Look at me, boy," he said gently. Harry slowly moved his eyes over. Voldemort ran his hands over Harry's knees.

"You see, boy," he continued, sliding his hands up Harry's thighs as he talked. "I think you're lying. I think that you do enjoy my touch, my affection," he said, leering at him and straddling him as he reached as far up as he could go. Harry gasped involuntary as he felt his body react to Voldemort's hands. Voldemort smirked and ran a finger over his arousal. "Admit it, boy," he said cruelly, bringing a hand up to Harry's face as the other continued to stroke him. "Tell me... You appreciate my affections. My touch," he said digging his nails into the side of Harry's face. Tears ran freely down Harry's cheeks as he choked out an answer.

"Yes," he wept. Voldemort placed his hands on both sides of Harry's face.

"Don't lie to me, understood?"

Harry nodded his head and Voldemort swung off him.

"I'll see you tomorrow. Good night."

Harry wiped his face after Voldemort. Then froze. His tears, they were on top of the mask.

Fear flooded his system as he tried to remember the last time he had taken the mask off. It had been weeks maybe...

Harry ran full pelt to his room, still the only place he could take his mask off. His hands went up to find the edge of the mask, but he couldn't find the seam. His nails ran over his face, cutting viciously at his half-skin-half-mask meld.

It wouldn't come off. The mask would not come off.

Harry felt his insides churn at the thought of never seeing his face again - not that he would recognized it anyway, with the rituals Voldemort had done.

No. There had to be a way to fix this. Reverse it. Voldemort probably did it on purpose, just to freak him out.

Harry tried to calm himself down and sat on his bed.

He woke up the next morning not quite remembering when he had fallen asleep. He jumped up and ran to the Dining room where Voldemort was having breakfast.

Voldemort paused slightly when Harry burst through the doors, but continued on eating anyway.

"The mask won't come off. What did you do?" Harry rushed out.

"A little experiment. I imagine you could take it off, but your skin fibers and the mask fibers have combined into one. It would literally be like tearing your face off. Quite nasty. Painful too."

Harry stood enraged by Voldemort's can-do attitude towards his abuse against him, but he supposed he not ought to be surprised, after last night.

"The mask... It's like my skin now?" he asked slowly.

"Basically, yes."

"I'll never see my face again?" he nearly whispered.

"Every curse has a reversal," Voldemort said lightly in response. Harry snorted.

"And you're going to tell me it? Perform it yourself?"

"Hmm. Maybe later. Hungry?" Voldemort asked nonchalantly.

Harry suddenly found himself absolutely famished and slunk down into a chair.

"It's rather odd having you for breakfast," Voldemort commented. "I'm used to Boy, but that's different."

"You ought to come up with a different name for me. It's hard trying to figure out who you're talking about or to," Harry muttered.

"I'll think about it," he said stiffly.

"Or would giving me a name be detrimental to my dehumanization?"

Voldemort smirked. "So you've caught onto that have you?"

Harry stared dully into his cereal which had appeared.

"How did you sleep?" Voldemort asked.

"Like a log. Having an emotional breakdown before bedtime makes for a good snooze."

***

Bill eyed him warily. He had been quiet since he came up, and not the thoughtful patient kind of quiet you'd expect in a chess match. The silence was a building silence that could go off at the drop a hat. A troubled quiet, hateful quiet.

"Your turn," Bill said gently. His eyes snapped up to him and his foot lashed out, kicking the board across the small cell, the pieces flying through the bars.

"What's wrong?" Bill sighed. He laughed bitterly and slid over at high speed so he was right next to Bill.

"Run your hand along the edge of the mask," he nearly spat. Bill tentatively raised his hand and traced the edge. It was completely smooth. Bill frowned then closed his eyes and continued to run his hands along his face, trying to find the difference between mask and skin.

"Can't find it can you," he choked out. Bill's eyes flew open. They were sitting close to each other. Very close. His hand resting against Boy's cheek. Bill suddenly wondered if the mask joined to his skin ran just as smoothly over his lips.

Boy suddenly moved back to the other side of the cell.

"What," Bill said slowly. "What else has he done to you?"

He moved so fast Bill didn't realized it until he smacked Bill's head against the wall.

"What hasn't he done," the teen snarled in his ear, pushing him against the wall and straddling him. Bill automatically placed a hand on the teen's hips to try and keep some semblance of control. "He's abducted me, orphaned me, molested me, tortured me, spun my memories out for him to watch at his pleasure, experimented on me, screwed with my head, kept me unconscious for days, toyed with my mind, mutated my body, my magic. Tell me Bill," he said nearing close to tears now. "What hasn't he done?"

"Boy..." Bill said with sympathy. Suddenly he laughed again.

"Quite right Bill," he said standing up. Bill was oddly disappointed at the loss of contact. "He's taken away my name too. He's ripping my entire identity apart, piece by piece," he said slumping down on the bars adjacent to Bill. Bill wished he could go over and comfort him but the shackle... Bill looked at his wrist and paused. The shackle was gone. He decided not to contemplate it and instead moved to where teenaged boy was. Bill reached out and cupped his chin bringing his face up. Tears were welling in his eyes. Bill found himself leaning in, their lips nearly brushing.

"Don't," he suddenly whispered. Bill froze. "I can't. He would... I mean. Not... Please."

Bill could hear the pleading in his voice and slowly brought them apart. Bill turned himself so that they were sitting side by side, and wrapped his arm around the teen instead. Bill gently rocked him as he wept silently in his arms.

"I might as well be in this cell with you," he whispered. "For all the good I can do."

"You're cell's just a little bit bigger than mine. Don't beat yourself up about it."

"You could get out of here," he whispered. "I could..."

"Could...?"

"If you were willing to take the Dark Mark. He would let you leave. Go live your life..."

"Just be a bigger cell really."

"Would it? I mean, you have a family out there. A real one, with brothers and a sister and a mother and father. I would take it. To have my parents back, I would take it," he said quietly.

"That's because yours are gone. I know mine are out there. I don't have to fight for them back."

"I suppose," he said gently. "I wish... I wish everything was different."

"Me too," Bill said kissing his forehead. "Me too."

Lookie I updated!!! Don't you love me? Anyhoo...

So time just goes as it goes in the fanfic, it could be weeks or months or whatever gone by. I dunno. Neither does Harry either, just cause.

So it's been a little while, was in a show, very exciting. And stuff...

Lacy, remember Harry doesn't look like Harry no more, and we don't really know for how long he's been like that either. It might have been the first thing Voldemort done, and he was just lying about only doing it recently, and all sorts of intelligent reasons why Billie doesn't recognise him.

And to the rest of you, Meany, Cat in a box, brightsun89, Celestaluna, George2Bob1, Luv Dougie, thanks for reviewing!!!

Tata!

Tinks