(A/N. All the work has been done with the fixing of Harry's 'holiday'. Sorry to those that this P*ssed off, but this story was originally just fun and games for me, so the time weirdness didn't worry me as such. But its all fixed now, since this story has taken up a special place in my heart. As have all of you. *love* I believe it affects chapters one through seven. Feel free to read them again, but if not, below is the gist of it. If you plan to go back and reread, don't read any further than this point- so basically, Harry has to return to Privet drive, at the request of Dumbledore, because the blood wards are apparently failing. This is because Harry's magical core has begun to reject the protection, since it is predominately light. So Harry does return, not for long though, and decides, 'screw the wards, I'm out.' Problem solvered, me thinks. End of bit that explains stuff. Carry on ladies and gentlemen.)

Harry was sitting across from the Dark Lord, staring blankly at the man, trying to picture him once again in his true Tom Riddle form. It was getting harder to do, since it had been two days since he had laid eyes on the much sexier version of Voldemort. The Boy Who Lived had no idea how he was supposed to fulfill his earlier promise to himself, because neither he nor the Dark Lord had mentioned anything about what Harry had witnessed. And he knew that if he brought it up, he would likely be cursed for it.

The Chosen One sighed loudly, forgetting where he was.

"Is there a problem, Potter?" Harry realized that he had been staring right through Voldemort, and blushed slightly.

"No, I'm all good." He looked away from the Dark Lord, his eyes landing on the hook that the dead rabbit used to hang from.

"Do you think that three days is the limit, or I can only bring something back three times?" Harry continued, effectively killing anything that the Dark Lord had been about to say.

"That's a good question, we'll have to test that theory. Though I believe you can only bring a something back three times. Otherwise, you could effectively keep someone alive forever, assuming they never left your side. And that would basically overrule Death. Even though he gifted you, I doubt that he would want you to cancel out death completely."

"Yeah, that makes more sense, I guess. Then how long can I really wait before I bring something back? Or, maybe, I can bring something back more than three times, but I can't bring something back after three days. Man, this is confusing." Harry grumbled.

"Yes, I suppose it is." That was apparently the end of the discussion, because the Dark Lord lowered his gaze to the books on his desk. However, Harry wasn't done.

"What about people? I've never brought back a person. Not successfully, anyway. Maybe they're different."

"Possibly." Was all the Dark Lord said in return, not looking up.

Harry sighed once more. Here we go again, he thought. This was the hundredth time Voldemort had ignored him, and the Boy Who Lived was sure the man did it just to piss him off.

"Can I try?"

"Pardon?" He still did not look at Harry.

"Can I kill someone and give it a go?" He repeated.

"I wasn't aware you were so bloodthirsty, Potter." Harry gave him the finger, feeling safe in the knowledge that the man wasn't looking at him to see it.

"Hey, I've killed before." He replied indignantly.

"The Weasley spawn did not count. He was hardly alive to begin with." The Dark Lord turned the page of his book lazily, and something about the action made Harry's stomach jump. He couldn't figure out why, though, so he dismissed it.

"He wasn't the only one," Voldemort finally looked up and frowned at Harry.

"The mudblood did not count either, she killed herself." The boy who lived rolled his eyes.

"What would make you think that I would count her? No, I'm talking about the guards in Azkaban."

"Oh? I wasn't aware that you had even encountered any."

"Well, yeah, I did. And I can safely say that they are all dead now. Or soulless. It was kind of hard to not encounter them, with the racket Ginny was causing."

"Hmm. I'm quite impressed. I have to admit I did not think you capable of killing yet. Torture, yes, killing, no."

Harry smirked.

"So? Got any Death Eaters that you don't care about?"

"I can tell you now that I don't care for any of them. Though some are more useful than others. But I have the perfect candidate."

"What about me? Do you care for me?" Harry asked, putting the same emphasis on the word 'care' that the Dark Lord had. Voldemort seemed to think it better to completely ignore that Harry had said anything. Instead, he stood and raised his wand and called out the Death Eater's name. Obviously this was how he called his minions.

"Peter Pettigrew." The Boy Who Lived's eyes bulged at the name, and Voldemort took his seat once more.

"Once you bring him back, if it works, I give you permission to do whatever you like with him."

"Oh really? And what is it you want in return?" Harry knew, logically, that the Dark Lord gave nothing away for free.

"You are rather astute, aren't you? I want simply this, to remain present when you resurrect him."

If Harry himself had not felt the powerful rush of the magic first hand, he would have thought the request odd. But he had felt it, and it was addictive. No matter how much the Dark Lord denied it, he was addicted to the Boy Who Lived's magic.

"That sounds fine to me. Better even. I don't even have to do anything." Harry grinned.

"Quite so." The Dark Lord agreed, seemingly relieved that Harry had not mentioned the strangeness of the request, and had agreed so easily.

Not long afterward, the loud pop of Apparation interrupted their thoughts.

"My Lord," The Boy Who Lived heard the snivelly voice come from behind him, and he turned to face the man who betrayed his parents.

"My Lord! You caught him!" Peter exclaimed, clearly not noticing how at ease the Chosen One seemed to be around the man who had supposedly captured him.

"Hello, Ratface," Harry greeted. Pettigrew seemed confused by the nature of the greeting, and how cheery the Boy Who Lived seemed, but continued to praise Voldemort on the capture.

"I think that you will find that I did no capturing of any sort. The boy came to me." The Dark Lord had a sneer on his face, and it was clear that he had no respect for the man now groveling at his feet.

"That is even better, my Lord! The brat can tell that you are superior and bound to win!"

"How dare you speak of him that way!" Voldemort hissed, kicking the man in the ribs. And once again, Harry's eyes bulged. Was Voldemort defending his honor? If so, why? He couldn't really care, could he?

"My- my lord?" Pettigrew seemed to finally take in the strange companionship between the Dark Lord and the Boy Who Lived, and became appropriately wary.

Voldemort drew his wand and quickly Crucioed Peter. Harry had not taken his eye's of the Dark Lord since he had reprimanded Pettigrew for his rude behavior, and he couldn't seem to look away. The Dark Lord glanced at Harry, and smirked at the wonder that was written all over the boy's face. He had not yet lifted the Crucio, and the rat-faced man at his feet was screaming helplessly.

Apparently, Voldemort was not going to silence the man. He seemed to be enjoying the man's ear splitting screams too much. Harry raised an eyebrow in question, but the Dark Lord just continued to smirk at him, his eyes slightly hooded.

When he finally released the curse, he had not yet looked away from the Boy Who Lived, and in turn, the Boy Who Lived had not taken his eyes of the Dark Lord.

"Would you like to do the honors?" Voldemort finally asked.

"With pleasure." Harry smirked. He took his dead ash wand from within his robes, and pointed it at the man on the ground, still panting.

Peter seemed to realize that this was not a good thing, and quickly began to grovel at Harry's feet, instead of the Dark Lord's.

The Boy Who Lived sneered in disgust.

"You're going to die now, Peter, but I can't guarantee that it will be the end of your suffering." If Harry had looked up at the Dark Lord at that moment, he would have seen the fierce lust burning in the man's eyes. But he did not look up. Instead, he was relishing the fear that was clearly written on Pettigrew's face.

"Please! Please, I never meant you disrespect, you understand don't you? You're such a smart boy, of course you do! You wouldn't be here if you didn't! So what do you say? Spare your Uncle Peter?" At the last part, Harry jabbed his wand sharply into Pettigrew's face.

"You're disgusting, you know that?" Harry spat.

"I mean, honestly. What makes you think that I'm even going to consider sparing you? Wait, don't answer that. Avada Kedavra." Peter slumped forward, and his head landed on Harry's lap. The Boy Who Lived stood quickly and made a disgusted noise. He looked over at the Dark Lord, who had long ago masked his emotions.

"You ready?" Harry asked.

"Of course." Voldemort stood as well, and had the sense to cast a sticking charm on his feet. Harry did the same, because he had no desire to go flying into a wall. Without the euphoria that he used to experience, all he would get out of it would be pain.

Harry began to concentrate on the dead form of Peter, and found that it was harder to bring back the person if he wasn't particularly fond of them. And he really didn't like Pettigrew. But eventually, it worked.

Even with the sticking charms, both he and the Dark Lord were thrown backwards. Harry hit the far wall, which he had hit once before. Voldemort skidded along the ground, coming to a halt not far from the wall furthest from the Boy Who Lived.

Peter Pettigrew was also thrown, but not to the extent that Harry was. The rat faced man came scrambling to the Chosen One, with something like reverence in his eyes.

"Let me help you master," Harry was almost certain that he had dislocated his shoulder, but Peter's words shocked him so strongly that he nearly forgot the pain.

"Pardon?" Harry spluttered.

"Let me help you master," Pettigrew repeated. Again, the Boy Who Lived was dumbfounded.

"Why are you calling me master?"

"Because you are my master." Peter looked confused. So did Harry.

"Why?"

"I- I don't know. You just are. I can feel it." Now what does that mean? Harry wondered. Was this just a ruse that Peter was putting up on the slim chance that he might let the rat go? He needed to discuss this new development with the Dark Lord. But currently, Voldemort was writhing on the ground, with soft, near silent moans escaping his lips. Right then.

"Stupify." Harry said, pointing his wand at Pettigrew.

His shoulder was definitely dislocated, he decided as he shuffled across the floor towards the Dark Lord, not trusting himself to try and stand with one hand.

"Hey Baldy. How's it going?" He asked, and Voldemort ignored him.

And he continued to ignore him for a further ten minutes. Harry took advantage of that time to heal his shoulder. He was crouched at the Dark Lord's side, sending concerned glances in Peter's direction. The stunner should have been wearing off soon. He could have been just lying there, pretending to be unconscious. The Boy Who Lived sent another stunner at the rat man, just in case.

"Hello there," Voldemort said cheerfully.

"Hello yourself, Baldy. How are you feeling?"

"Fantastic. Why does your magic do this?"

"I don't know, but I wish yours did the same thing to me. That would be awesome." Harry grinned.

"Are you insulting my magic?" The Dark Lord looked only slightly affronted.

"Only a little bit." Harry got an idea then.

"Hey, Baldy, remember the other day when I got here early and you looked like your old self?" He began slowly, hoping that he wouldn't hit a nerve. Though it was unlikely to happen, given the Dark Lord's current state.

"Yes, I do. You looked pretty good that day, if I may be so forward." Voldemort had a stupid grin on his face.

"Er, yeah sure. But, um, could I maybe see you like that again?" Harry said quickly.

"Only if you give me something in return."

The Boy Who Lived had a feeling that this might be the case.

"What would that be?"

"It's a secret. I'll tell you afterwards."

Harry frowned. He really wanted to see Voldemort as Tom Riddle, but was feeling incredibly wary of anything the Dark Lord might want him to do while high off his necromancy magic.

Eventually, his curiosity won out, and he agreed.

Watching the Dark Lord Voldemort turn into a real human being right before his eyes was a rather fascinating experience for Harry. He couldn't hold back his grin as he watched, and couldn't help the little bubble of lust forming in his stomach.

Hair sprouted quickly all over the Dark Lord's head, dark brown and incredibly well behaved, falling just above his shoulders in waves. His eyes remained crimson, though Harry could swear that he saw silvery grey flecks when he looked closely. His nose was next, and the Boy Who Lived decided that he liked the barely noticeable bump in the bridge. It must have been broken at some point, he figured. His lips were much fuller, and Harry hadn't even noticed them changing. He was to busy watching his nose.

The Dark Lord had red and patchy checks, and he looked drunk. Harry found it incredibly endearing, because he may have been the only person living who had seen Voldemort with ruddy checks and a stupid grin. He looks so human. Harry wanted to reach out and touch his face, but stopped himself.

"There." Tom said when he was done. Because Harry couldn't think of him as Voldemort when he looked like that.

"Do you like what you see?" He grinned cheekily, and Harry blushed, because yes, he did like what he saw. Very much.

"Now, I believe we had a deal." Riddle sat up, because up until that point, he had been laying on his back with his arms propping his head up.

"What is it that you want?" Harry was once again feeling fearful of what Tom wanted, not because he afraid the man would make him do something he didn't want to do, because he could handle that. Rather, he was afraid that the man might make him do something that he really wanted to do.

The Dark Lord had been inching closer to Harry without the Boy Who lived really noticing. But when he did notice, he backed up a bit, feeling increasingly nervous now.

"It's hardly anything that you might consider hard," Tom was whispering, and the Boy Who Lived was having a hard time hearing him over the blood pumping furiously in his ears.

Riddle reached for Harry's face slowly, as if he might startle the boy out of the trance he seemed to be in. The Chosen One didn't move, and he hardly dared to breathe. He wondered what exactly the Dark Lord wanted. It was clear at that point that he wanted some sort of physical contact, but how much of it, exactly, did he really want?

Tom's fingers traced Harry's lips just as slowly, and the Boy Who Lived found that his eyes were fluttering shut, entirely without his permission.

"Hmm, you are exquisite, aren't you?" Riddle whispered, his fingers trailing from Harry's lips down his neck, once again finding that one place that seemed to make Harry insane. He drew in a sharp breath, and leaned into the Dark Lord's touch.

He knew, on some level, that he wasn't entirely sure if this was what he wanted. But that part of him was incredibly small right then.

"You're mine now, Harry." The Boy Who Lived was vaguely aware of the snake language, and the fact that Voldemort had once again used his first name. This time though, Harry wasn't on the verge of losing consciousness. Or maybe he was. He didn't know. The hand had come back up into the hair on the back of his head, and Harry found that he wanted it to be pulled. As if Tom could hear what he was thinking, Harry's head was yanked back, hard. He couldn't stop the yelp that escaped his lips, and he opened his eyes to see the Dark Lord hovering above his face.

"Say it," Riddle demanded, and Harry was confused about what exactly he was supposed to say.

"Say that you are mine," But wait. Harry didn't belong to any one, did he?

"I'm not yours. I'm not anybody's." The Boy Who Lived voiced his thoughts, and he did notice how raspy his voice sounded.

Tom let out an angry growl and pulled Harry's head back further, so much so that he was struggling to catch a breath. And he found that he really liked the feeling. He decided that he might have been quite insane, but he wanted the Dark Lord to pull harder.

Tom began to nibble on his earlobe, and once again, he got lost in the Dark Lord's ministrations.

"Say it, Harry." Again, Harry decided that he didn't belong to any one. But this time, he only really refused because he wanted Tom to pull on his hair again.

"No," He added the parseltongue, because he knew the effect it had on the Dark Lord. His efforts were rewarded immediately.

Tom jerked Harry so hard that he fell onto his back, his head supported by Riddle's hand. Tom shifted so that he was straddling the Boy Who Lived, and Harry unconsciously bucked upwards. The Dark Lord leaned forward so that his mouth was on Harry's shoulder blade, and he removed his hand from the Chosen One's hair.

He then bit down, lightly at first, then harder. Harry's hands came up to rest on the back of the Dark Lord's head, pushing it down, forcing the man to bite harder. He quickly obliged, and Harry yelped and once again thrust upward, earning himself a moan from Tom.

"Say, it," the Dark Lord was panting then.

"No." Harry said simply, and Riddle brought himself up so that he was nose to nose with the Boy Who Lived.

"Say it." The whole mood had changed, and Harry could feel it, even through his lust induced haze. It had gotten dangerous, but there was something else. Something like desperation, clear as day in the Dark Lord's eyes. By god. He is beautiful. Harry thought stupidly. But he stopped touching me. Maybe I should just tell him what he wants so that he'll touch me again. Yeah, that's what I'll do.

"I'm yours."

A maniacal grin graced Tom's features for all of a second, but before Harry could figure out what that meant, the Dark Lord had crashed his mouth into Harry's.

"Mine," Tom mumbled into his lips.

"Yours." Harry agreed, throwing his arms around the man's neck and pulling him closer.