'Just get out! Go, and bring breakfast. And a healing potion. And don't EVER walk in here without knocking, EVER again if you value your life!'

'Yes master, of course master...' A grovelling voice replied.

Draco lifted his head from the pillow, he was almost completely covered with the duvet. He often slept like that, wrapped up in the blanket, even his head. It made him feel safe.

'Where am I? What am I doing here... Oh. Oh fuck.'

Voldemort was sitting up in the bed, he had clearly been awake for some time and had let Draco sleep. Draco looked up at him, ashamed and frightened. Draco felt very, very awkward. What was the etiquette for this situation? It was not one of the social scenarios his parents had ever taught him about.

'Good morning, Draco.' Voldemort said casually. 'You slept well?'

'Yes. My Lord.' Draco replied, sitting up and looking to Voldemort for some kind of clue about what he was supposed to do now. Voldemort passed Draco his dressing gown.

'Go and splash some water on your face, it will help you wake up.' He told him.

Draco followed his instructions and was grateful of a few moments alone in the cold white bathroom, to wake up and compose himself. He only vaguely remembered being in there the night before, but it felt like a calming, safe retreat. He gave very little thought to what would happen to him and simply returned to the bedroom. He had reached the point where he had no plans and tactics. He could only respond to what ever happened next in the best way he could think of at the time. There was still a chance he might get to go home.

Draco returned to the bed, voluntarily climbing back in and sitting almost exactly as he had been before he had got up. Voldemort leaned over a kissed him. Kissed him as if they were two ordinary people waking up in bed together, kissed him as though this was the most normal situation in the world. Draco's raised eyebrows must have given away his surprise.

'Something wrong, love?' Voldemort mused in a careless tone.

'Errr, no. My Lord.' Draco lied.

'Perhaps you always look so dazed and confused first thing in the morning?' Voldemort's smile had a sharp sting to it, but he gently stroked Draco's face as he spoke. Draco flinched a little, mostly because it was unexpected.

Just then, the door flew open, and they both to looked up sharply. The man Draco had heard Voldemort speaking to before had returned with a tray in his hands. Draco did not know who he was, this rodent-featured man. He looked like a servant, someone lowly and dirty. But no matter how lowly he might be, he was now a witness to Draco's current circumstances, and that gave him power over Draco, as Draco did not want anybody to know about this. Draco hung his head and stared down at the sheets to avoid eye contact. He knew the man was staring at him, he could feel it. Was Draco one of many companions the Dark Lord shared his bed with? Was this servant staring simply to get a look at the latest conquest? Perhaps there was a different one every night? Surely Voldemort didn't do this every night, and by day have the energy to plan a military campaign for world domination?

The servant scuttled over with the breakfast tray and set it down on a small table at the side of the bed.

'Breakfast, my Lord, as you ordered.' He simpered. Voldemort simply nodded at him. The rat-like man crept round to Draco and leered at him for a moment before extending a scabby claw to lift Draco's chin in order to look at him.

'Lucius Malfoy's son!' He said with a smirk of admiration, as though he were congratulating Voldemort on the conquest. Embarrassed, Draco jerked his head away from the man's hand. The man laughed, but Voldemort was not amused.

A flash of light sent the servant flying across the room. He hit the wall and crumpled to the floor. Draco looked at Voldemort, who had his wand drawn, his face clouded with fury.

'Touch him again, Wormtail, and I'll torture you until you forget your own name, you wretched piece of scum.' Voldemort spat, his voice angry, but just cool enough to let Wormtail know this was no empty threat.

Wormtail scrabbled to the door.

'So sorry, master.' He grovelled as he left the room as quickly as he could.

Voldemort put his wand down and turned to Draco, once more calm and composed.

'I must apologise, Draco, for the poor behaviour of my servant. He will not act that way towards you again.' Voldemort said in a civilised voice. Draco simply nodded, he did not know what to say.

Voldemort turned towards the table and handed a teacup to Draco. Draco eyed it suspiciously. The contents looked like tea, and he would have practically killed for some, but he didn't quite trust it. Voldemort had a cup also.

'It's perfectly safe, love!' Voldemort smiled and drank some himself to prove it.

'Hell!' Thought Draco, 'Even if it's poisoned, I don't care!' He drank it gratefully. Voldemort attentively poured him some more. He held a plate towards Draco, with some dark brown toast on it.

'Eat something, Draco.' Voldemort encouraged. 'You are quite thin, I don't think your parents feed you enough.'

Draco sat up a little at the mention of his parents. He tentatively took a piece of the toast and tried his best to eat. Draco was not a good eater at the best of times, and right now he found it very difficult indeed.

Draco almost wanted to laugh, the way people do when they are nervous and know they shouldn't. This was, without doubt the strangest situation he had ever been in. Having breakfast in bed with Lord Voldemort? How had this happened? And why was breakfast stranger and more uncomfortable than sex? Sex was animalistic, Draco could claim some degree of mindlessness, some loss of control over his actions, but this, this was something else entirely. This was civilised. This was the sort of thing normal people did. Voldemort was not a normal person. Draco had been once, but he was pretty sure he wasn't now. Somehow he managed to eat half a slice of toast.

'More?' Voldemort offered.

'No, thank you.' Draco replied, the one piece had been hard enough work. Draco did accept more tea, however.

Voldemort picked up the potion bottle and shook it.

'You need to take some of this.' He told Draco. He looked at the scratch marks on his own arm... 'And so do I, it seems!' He gave Draco a stern, but playful look.

Draco recognised the potion immediately. It was a long acting healing potion, the kind that worked many hours after the injuries had taken place. Many healing potions had to be taken right away to be effective, but there were one or two that worked hours, even days after. Voldemort poured half into each of their tea cups and drank his right away. Draco watched as the deep scratches on his arms began to close up and heal leaving the skin as smooth as they had never been there at all.

'Drink it, Draco.' Voldemort insisted. 'I can't very well take you home looking like that, now can I?'

'You're taking me home?' Draco asked, so amazed that he nearly dropped the teacup.

Voldemort smiled at him. 'I'm afraid you can't stay here permanently love. You have to go back to school, don't you?' How touching, he thought, that Draco wanted to stay with him.

'Oh.' Said Draco. 'Yes.' A little confused about this conversation. He drank the potion and felt the familiar tingle sweep over him as it healed all of his cuts and bruises. Voldemort took the teacup from him and placed it back on the tray.

'I think we will shower before I take you home.' Said Voldemort decidedly, and he got up, took Draco's hands and lead him to the bathroom.