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

Any Bowie fans reading this may understand my choice of chapter title XD

It was dusk, Harry was gazing out of the window, lost in thought. All he could see were the endless hills, broken up here and there by clumps of trees. It all looked so peaceful, so serene; who would ever suspect that the infamous Lord Voldemort lived here?

'No one,' thought Harry, 'No one is coming for me.'

As his eyes fell upon the horizon, Harry couldn't help but wonder where exactly he was. From the surrounding scenery, it seemed that Hogwarts could be just out of sight over the hills.

Hogwarts was the only place Harry has ever felt at home. He yearned to be back, enjoying the start of term feast or visiting Hagrid; he wouldn't even mind being in potions class with Snape after this.

There were moments when Harry felt relatively safe, but he was fed up with feeling trapped, cooped up in his room with only the view from the window proving that the world outside still existed. He longed to be playing Quidditch, soaring through the sky like he owned it, it made him feel so free…

But he was not free.

And then there was Voldemort. Harry shuddered. At times he felt oddly grateful for his care, even though he knew he was working up to killing him. But every other moment was spent in fear, dreading the moment he'd return, perhaps to tell Harry that it was time for him to die or worse, that someone else he loved was now dead.

He always struggled to suppress a shiver when he met Voldemort's menacing scarlet eyes, and every now and then he would see a sinister smile, a malevolent grin, that would remind him who he was dealing with. This was the man that killed his parents, that was going to kill him, the man who was incapable of love, gloried in terrorising others and killed without remorse.

His despair did not go unnoticed and Voldemort was soon sauntering through the door.

"How is it you always know to come in when I least want you here?" asked Harry angrily.

Voldemort's answering smile only infuriated him further.

"I take it back," he spat venomously at Voldemort, "If I ever get the chance, I will kill you."

With inhuman speed, Voldemort was pinning Harry against the wall, a dangerous look on his face, his cruel eyes narrowed.

Harry gasped in alarm, not anticipating such a sudden change of mood, and trembled when Voldemort leant in so far that his serpentine face was only millimetres from his own.

"I would love," he whispered softly, "to see you try."

Harry struggled pointlessly against Voldemort's vice-like grip, desperate to get away. His scar was screaming, presumably due to both Voldemort's proximity and his anger.

"Are you frightened now Harry Potter?"

Voldemort forced Harry to face him, but his eyes were screwed tightly shut in fear, he couldn't bare to look into those callous, unfeeling eyes, not when they were so close.

Voldemort too closed his eyes, but in ecstasy, not fear. The boy's terror was intoxicating and he could not hold back now.

Harry felt one of the hands release him and he opened his eyes just in time to see why.

"Crucio!"

Harry screamed. Every inch of his skin felt as though it was on fire, it was far, far worse than he remembered. But Voldemort did not release him, keeping him pinned to the wall, chuckling softly.

After what felt like an eternity of pain, Voldemort lifted the curse and relinquished his hold on Harry's shirt. Harry fell to his knees, gasping for breath.

And then they both screamed.

Harry writhed on the floor as if still under Voldemort's curse, clutching his forehead while Voldemort fought to stay standing, clutching onto the curtains for support.

They were back at the Dursley's, Harry was in his cupboard, doing chores, being hit, being called a freak. Then they were at Hogwarts in the infirmary, Voldemort saw a young bushy-haired witch who looked as if she'd been petrified.

There was a brief pause in the stream of memories, barely long to enough for Voldemort to think about what the hell was happening.

Voldemort's eyes flashed with recognition on seeing his younger self in the Chamber Of Secrets with a young red-haired witch, who was lying still and pale at his feet. Then there was the basilisk, then dementors, lots of them, and a large black dog, a werewolf and a man he recognised as Sirius Black.

Then Voldemort understood. Harry was having flashbacks. Though, why he was also experiencing them, he did not know. He could hear Harry whimpering on the floor, and then, feeling a very potent wave of pity wash over him, he was sucked back into Harry's worst memories.

He saw his mark, a newspaper with Harry gracing the front page, a boy who could only be the Malfoy's son, the pretty dark haired girl that Harry liked…

With another twinge of sympathy, Voldemort saw that Harry was drenched with sweat now, his voice hoarse from crying out and tears running freely down his cheeks.

He saw his father's grave, a flash of green light and a dead body, Harry being cut, himself rising from the cauldron, he saw his own face, heard Harry's screams as he touched his scar, as he tortured him.

His mind was dragged from the torrent of memories as he felt hands grasping the front of his robes, Harry's hands. He seemed unable to speak through the pain, but his wide green eyes were silently pleading with him.

'Make it stop.'

The message came through loud and clear and at that moment, Voldemort realised that he wanted to. Not quite believing what he was doing, he crouched beside Harry, eyes still wide with shock.

"I…I don't know how…" he said uselessly. He put a hand on Harry's shoulder to steady him but it was no use and Harry fell into him, shuddering and feverish, before being swallowed once again by his flashbacks.

A boy at least three times Harry's size had him pinned against the wall, a fist was heading towards him fast and then there was blackness.

Harry was convulsing so much now that Voldemort worried he'd hurt himself and so, gritting his teeth, he wrapped his arms tightly around him, pressing him to his chest.

Harry dragged a kitchen knife across his already bloodied arm and there was darkness again. Then there were Voldemort's eyes, Voldemort taunting him, pinning him against the wall, torturing him again…

And then it was over.

Harry's body went limp in Voldemort's arms and he loosened his hold a little.

It felt as though it was taking all of Harry's energy just to keep breathing, his mind was swimming with echoes of his worst recollections with reality occasionally cutting in, telling him to get away from Voldemort. He wasn't safe, he knew that, but whenever he tried to determine what was happening, images would flash across his mind, interrupting his thoughts. He felt dizzy from his internal chaos, disorientated by his efforts to think. His head ached painfully and his scar throbbed.

Voldemort relaxed his hold on the boy to get a proper look at him. His face glistened with sweat and tears, and he trembled in Voldemort's arms. Moving a stray strand of hair off Harry's face, he could feel that Harry was cold.

With a heavy sigh, Voldemort decided, just this once, to let the emotions rule him. Nothing but pity for Harry could make Voldemort give him what he needed, nothing but this curse of sympathy would help him bring Harry back from this. He needed to care about the boy to save his life…

So he would.

Yes yes, I know it's short, but it's a pretty juicy one and that just felt like a good place to end it. Anyway, I've already written most of the next chapter so will update again soon.