A/N I am planning on keeping this quite tame, sex-wise, until Harry is eighteen. You can imagine what you will, but nothing explicit until then. That will be in just two and a half months, story-wise. Innuendo will continue to build, plot happen, etc. etc., between then and now.

I have updated the rating to Explicit, but for now this will be for violence.

Also a big thank you to the fine folks on the CoS (Tomarrymort) discord server for any and all canon checks. I don't know what I'd do without you guys. Go crazy looking up minutia, probably. Thanks for not letting that happen.

"I have the Map finished for you, Master." Harry pulled the Mokeskin pouch from his neck, and held it out to the Dark Lord. "At least, I hope it is. I lied to the rebels and said I didn't have it, so I was unable to take it out and check to see if it was complete." He bit his lip, hoping that he hadn't missed anything. Voldemort was in a volatile mood, and Harry didn't relish displeasing him again.

Voldemort took the pouch and drew out the Marauder's Map. He unfolded it and scanned it for the new addition. "Yes, the Chamber has been added. Now rise and choose your prize."

His prize? Harry got to his feet, but looked stupidly around, as if this prize would manifest before him.

"Which girl!" Voldemort snapped, making Harry jump. "Pick one up and we can return to the Manor."

Choose. Hermione. Ginny. Perhaps Luna?

Hermione. What kind of life would she, a Muggle-born, have in this new world? But she was so clever, had worked harder than all of them for her accomplishments. And Voldemort had said she would prove useful; that sounded promising. Besides, Ginny would never forgive Harry for submitting to the Dark Lord. Most, if not all, of her family had been cut down because of his cause. Also, and Harry felt selfish for allowing this to even sway his decision, he no longer felt the same way about her as he used to. His affection for her now was purely familial. What if, despite everything, she still wanted to be with him romantically? It was unlikely. She would be more likely to curse the living daylights out of him! Either way, being around her had already felt really awkward. Luna was such a wild card, he decided. Not to mention she was petrified, and though Harry knew it was wrong to doubt his Master, he decided that it was safer to choose a friend more easily revived. Perhaps if he was very good the Dark Lord would restore her at some point, along with any other rebels that weren't too great a threat.

Hermione was heavier than she looked, and Harry was exhausted. It took all his strength to hoist her up, and then he realized that he still needed to carry her out of the Chamber. He hoped his Master had an easier way up than the pipe leading from Myrtle's bathroom.

"If she is such a burden to you, Harry, feel free to set her down. I will send a few of my other Death Eaters to recover the remaining prisoners. She could be retrieved then, though I am not certain how gentle they will be with her."

Harry didn't trust the smug amusement lacing his Master's words. "I can carry her, my Lord. She is my prize after all."

Nagini had been ignoring the conversation so far, it being in English and unintelligible to her, but the sound of her Master's quiet hiss of laughter drew her attention. "What is funny, Master?"

"Harry is worried that his Mudblood friend will be harmed by my soldiers, pet," he told her. "I had agreed he could keep one of the rebels as a prize. He chose, but now is unable to carry her out of the Chamber. He won't admit that he is not strong enough and needs help. And he does not trust my men to bring her out safely."

Nagini glanced at Harry and tasted the air with her tongue. "Brother is too small. Perhaps Master can make the prize lighter so brother can do it?" she suggested, slithering down the Dark Lord's side to the ground once more, then moving closer towards Harry. He silently thanked her, and hoped Voldemort would consider her idea. But then she looked at Hermione and hissed. "But Nagini does not think that little snakeling should be carrying it at all. Brother belongs to Master and to Nagini. He should not be touching this prize. Perhaps Master can make it fly instead?"

Fly? Harry wasn't quite sure what Nagini meant, but the Dark Lord must have as his wand was quickly out, and soon Hermione was weightless in his arms after Voldemort cast a quick Levitation charm on her.

"Release her, Harry. We can float her out. I had no idea that having two willful Horcruxes would be so vexing. There, Nagini, Harry isn't touching her anymore. And I hope you are grateful, Harry, that I am bringing her with us now. She doesn't truly deserve my consideration. But if it will make you happy…"

"Thank you, Master."

The way back to the Chamber entrance was easier with his Master lighting the way. When they came to the tunnel up to Myrtle's bathroom, a hissed "stairs" from Voldemort caused a low grinding, as stone steps emerged from the bottom of the cavern floor. "Up, Nagini. Follow closely, Harry. Do not fall behind," he warned.

Nagini obediently climbed back up to her Master's shoulders and Harry moved so close to his Master that he nearly trod upon the man's robes. As soon as they were all on the steps, the entire stone staircase moved upwards towards the distant washroom opening, similarly to the steps leading to the Headmaster's office.

There were three cloaked and masked Death Eaters waiting in the washroom when they emerged, all of whom fell to their knees as Voldemort stepped out of depths of the tunnel. He ignored them and immediately strode out into the castle corridor, with Harry trailing closely behind. The Death Eaters rose as soon as the Dark Lord left the room, and followed behind them.

One of the Death Eaters was bold enough to hurry forward and take up pace right next to Harry. "Did the mission go well, my Lord?" It was Bellatrix. Harry edged away somewhat, though making sure to stay as close to his Master as he could. Hermione floated on his other side, and he didn't want the Dark witch getting near his friend. She had enough scars from their last encounter.

"Exceedingly, Bella. Our newest recruit proved himself most admirably. He has even won himself a prize. Lead a team into the Chamber and remove the remaining rebels. Some are petrified, and others merely stunned. Keep them in those states, with no further injury, until I have the time to further consider their fate," he told her.

"And the Basilisk, my Lord?" Bellatrix asked, warily. "Is it still…" she trailed off.

"Salazar's familiar has been most gloriously resurrected by myself. She has retreated into her lair and should not pose a threat to you. If she does emerge, I strongly advise not looking at her. Though if there is a mishap, I may be inclined to bring the fool who disregarded my suggestion back to life. If I feel they are truly loyal to me and worthy of my time, that is."

"Of course, my Lord." Bellatrix sounded relieved. Harry hated that she felt confident enough to not doubt that the Dark Lord found her useful. Harry knew, from his visions and his Master's own innuendoes, that the witch's usefulness was not solely relegated to the battlefield. That knowledge made him a bit queasy. "I will take a unit down immediately."

Bellatrix peeled back and motioned to the other Death Eaters following them, though not before smirking at Harry and saying, "If you need help breaking in your prize, I can spare an evening to help you train her. Though you went and lost my favourite knife."

He glared at her, but said nothing, confident that his Master wouldn't allow Bellatrix to hurt his friend. Hermione was Harry's prize. He had earned her. Not that he knew what to do with her now. Mostly he just wanted to keep her safe.

"I can guarantee the Mudblood's life, Harry, so long as she remains obedient and respectful of me," Voldemort said, even as he took long strides down the castle corridor that Harry had to nearly jog to match, carefully steering Hermione alongside him. They had to round a corner too quickly, and her head nearly smashed against the stone. The Dark Lord didn't slow to accommodate Harry's burden, and Harry had to pull her along at a run once they came to a straight hallway. "Her 'safety', or rather her continued comfort, depends on both your own performance, as well as her ability to adapt to her new circumstances."

"Master?" Harry questioned, not certain what exactly it was that he needed clarified. What more did he have to do to prove himself to the Dark Lord? Had he not given everything already? His very life, as well as his wand and all ties to his family and past in the form of the Map and his Invisibility Cloak. He had given his devotion…

"Oh, you can be far more devoted to me still, Harry," Voldemort replied in an almost teasing tone, even as he slowed to look back at him from further up the corridor. The wicked smirk on the man's pale face made Harry stop suddenly, and he could barely nod his acquiescence back to his Master.

How much more devoted could he get? He regularly kissed the man's feet…

Voldemort turned back and resumed his quick progression down yet another hallway, then descended a steep set of steps. But not before Harry had watched as that smirk become something more sinister.

He gulped and, dragging his friend along, hurried to catch up.

Harry was not permitted to keep Hermione with him once they reached Malfoy Manor. After the Dark Lord had Apparated them to the opulent receiving hall, he had used Harry's Dark Mark to summon Narcissa.

"Take this Mudblood somewhere reasonably clean. Secure her from escaping, but make certain she suffers no further damage in your care." The Dark Lord sounded bored when he gave the orders, but, as always, when he spoke there was the underlying threat of dire punishment should he be disobeyed.

Narcissa wrinkled her nose in disgust at Hermione, only briefly, then set her face into a carefully polite mask as she turned back to Voldemort with a formal incline of her head. "At once, my Lord."

Harry was only able to make out Narcissa drawing her wand and casting a number of cleansing charms on his friend—and she was clean already!—before Voldemort gripped his shoulder and steered him into the depths of the Manor. There were far too many stairs with their polished bannisters and galleries with unending fair-haired portraits for Harry to keep track of the direction. But soon enough they had reached what Harry now recognized as his Master's wing of the house. The door to his own suites came into view. Voldemort didn't stop there, but continued down to the next door. Harry paused outside his own door, not sure if he was expected to follow or not. The venomous glare that his Master bestowed on him when he turned and realized that his Horcrux was not directly behind him nearly made Harry yelp and rush to catch up.

"Sorry," he mumbled. This was met by an irritated harrumph from his Master and a laughing hiss from Nagini. He was promptly pushed into the room. Voldemort entered after him and immediately cast a ward of some kind on the door.

The room was clearly an office. It was smaller than Harry would have expected. An ornate desk took up far too much space, and the shelves along the walls were crammed with ancient looking tomes and scrolls, many precariously stacked to the ceiling. It should have been a quiet room, nearly silent, but an ominous muttering enveloped the place, as if the books were filled with a deep disquiet and resentment, which made Harry involuntarily shudder.

In between the bookshelves, on either side of the room, was a set of matching tapestries. They mirrored one another, each depicting the Dark Mark. Just like the tapestry in my own room, Harry realized. The one alongside the wall adjoining his room was likely linked so that his Master could pass through without needing to exit into the public space of the corridor. He wondered where the other led to, if it was indeed similarly connected to another chamber.

The Dark Lord had seated himself at the desk and was ignoring him, so Harry moved towards the tapestry on the left side of the room, gingerly touching the fine threads that made up the image. It seemed as solid as the one in his own rooms.

"I may tie you into the wards allowing you access in time, Harry. We shall have to see how things progress, yes?"

Harry murmured a quiet "yes, Master," and turned back to the desk. He seemed to have Voldemort's full attention now, which was both wonderful and horrifying in its intensity. The Dark Lord's eyes were narrowed and it seemed to Harry the sort of expression that he might have right before he struck down an enemy.

"Come here, Harry." Voldemort's voice was too quiet.

Harry stepped forward and stood awkwardly in front of the Dark Lord's desk. What had he done wrong? Should he kneel?

The air seemed charged all of a sudden, and he didn't know why.

It seemed that, yes, he should kneel. But as he began to sink to the floor, his Master gestured to one of the chairs before his desk. "Take a seat. We have much to discuss and I want you sitting properly for it."

Harry nodded, hastily obeying. He sat nervously, biting his lip as he waited for his Master to resume speaking.

It took a few minutes, the Dark Lord scrutinizing Harry the entire time. Harry didn't know where to look…down at his folded hands? Up at his Lord? He found his gaze nervously wandering, taking in everything and nothing as he waited.

"You did not choose Miss Weasley," Voldemort finally stated, his voice flat. He betrayed nothing with his tone, but his eyes were still narrowed. In thought, Harry realized. Not anger. But it was a dangerous contemplation and Harry was not relieved in the slightest. "I must admit that I had not expected that. I certainly hope that you have not dallied with the Granger Mudblood…"

Harry's eyes flew up the his Master's then. He shook his head quickly, and stuttered, "N-no. I…she was Ron's…"

And Ron was dead. All the Weasleys were dead.

"I do generally abhor seeing a Pureblood line end," Voldemort stated, picking up on Harry's last guilt-ridden thought. "Blood Traitors or not. I always hope that there is at least one male to carry on the family line, even if in exile. However, I believe one Weasley remains alive. They are simply too prolific to wipe out, if nothing else. But we were not discussing the Weasleys. The Mudblood. Why her over Ginevra Weasley?"

Harry had thought that his Master had followed his train of thought in the Chamber when asked to choose his reward.

Or maybe this was a test?

A show of his devotion.

"Hermione is my friend," he said, hoping it was enough explanation.

"Was your friend," Voldemort corrected. "Death Eaters do not befriend Mudbloods."

Harry gulped and reddened. "I…" He wanted to agree with his Master, on principle. He wanted to disagree, because…

How could he not be friends with Hermione?

"Should I have chosen Ginny?" he asked instead.

Voldemort surveyed him coolly for a few moments. "No."

Harry didn't know why this whole situation felt so dangerous. Voldemort's words were knife-edged, it seemed. And Harry hadn't realized until just recently what a coward he, himself, was. Two weeks ago he would have countered Voldemort with biting snark.

Now he only wanted to soothe his Master's…his ego?

That was it!

Lord Voldemort wanted Harry to choose Him. Not his friend. Not his ex-girlfriend.

This was devotion.

Harry gulped, but forced his cowardice aside. He steeled himself and met his Master's gaze. "In the Chamber you told me I would have to 'make it up to you'. How can I do that?"

Voldemort's smirk was back, even as his eyes narrowed further. Harry forced himself not to shrink back in his chair. The Dark Lord's attention was terrible. "Do you even know what you are asking, Harry?" Voldemort whispered.

"No," he admitted. "But I want to. I want to know how."

The pause that followed was extremely uncomfortable. Voldemort sat watching Harry, his right hand trailing over Nagini's back. Harry wished she was curled up next to him, so he would have something to keep his useless hands busy while he waited for his Master to respond.

After what seemed an eternity, the Dark Lord stood and strode to one of the overflowing bookcases. He trailed his hand along the spines, contemplatively, before he pulled out a thin volume bound in white leather. He dropped it in front of Harry. "Make yourself useful and search for anything regarding the transference of vital energies."

"Yes, Master," Harry replied, trying to keep the wariness from not only his voice, but from his mind as well.

The book's title didn't help calm him one bit:

Advanced Rituals in Sex Magic.

No, Harry decided. He had no idea what he was in for at all.

The book was surprisingly dry. Given the title, Harry had expected lurid illustrations at the very least. A Wizarding version of the Kama Sutra, perhaps. He'd blushed terribly when Voldemort interrupted his initial inspection of the book with "The Kama Sutra is a magical text, Harry. Remind me and I will procure a copy for your birthday."

Harry resolved to do nothing of the kind. The Dark Lord's amused hissing at his thoughts were not reassuring whatsoever.

There was no index and the Table of Contents was unhelpful, the topics all seemingly about conception and fertility. Harry wasn't even certain what his Master had meant by 'transference of vital energies,' at least not in relation to the information presented in the work before him. He tried flipping through, hoping that key words would pop out at him. It didn't help that the book was handwritten, old enough that the very lettering was unfamiliar. It was even harder to understand than the novel his Master had given him.

The Dark Lord kept pulling more and more off the shelves, until the stack rivalled any Hermione might have built during their OWLs. Another hiss from his Master—a displeased one, this time—made Harry vow to never compare their habits again.

Still, it was an idea, if it wouldn't get her killed or him tortured for daring make such a suggestion. Perhaps if he worded it just right…

"Master," he began. Voldemort didn't pause in his work at heightening the towering stack on the desk, continuing to pull seemingly random books from the shelves around his office. When Harry didn't continue, thinking perhaps he should wait until the Dark Lord had finished, his Master made an impatient 'hurry up and talk' gesture.

"Might I offer up my…" he trailed off, not really comfortable with the wording he was about to employ. "My prize to help with this, Master? She is quite good at research."

Voldemort stopped short in the dissection of his office to glare at Harry, who pulled out the remaining dregs of his Gryffindor courage. He waved his hand at the mound of books and scrolls overwhelming his Master's desk, and said, "She would be far better at searching through all this than me. You did say that she would be useful to you, Master. She can—"

"Enough Harry," Voldemort said, though gently. "And it wasn't a bad idea. I will, in time, give her a number of tasks to perform. Research tasks, if she is well-behaved and dedicated to the work. But not yet. She is not ready, and nor are you. And never with anything this sensitive."

Harry nodded, and turned back to his slim volume while his Master tackled the rest.

They were at it for hours, it seemed. Harry had managed to get through his one small volume, only for Voldemort to thrust another at him. Potions For Use in Ritual Sex. Merlin. At least this one was type-set.

And this one was illustrated. Graphically so.

Voldemort pulled it from his hands as soon as he realized that Harry's attention was caught on a puzzling diagram involving three wizards and a house elf.

"Why would—" Harry began to ask, unconsciously reaching for the book that was now in his Master's grasp.

"Perhaps I should be censoring these for you," Voldemort slyly suggested. He passed over a far more boring scroll.

Harry hadn't known he could blush and pout at the same time.

The scroll was nearly indecipherable. It seemed to be half written in runes, though they could have been Chinese characters for all they meant to Harry. He had never bothered to even glance at Hermione's Ancient Runes textbook. His life had always been complicated enough without adding seemingly dead languages to the mix, no matter how useful his friend had assured him they were. The magic he had felt he'd needed had been of the more immediately practical kind.

He was hopeless at this. He scanned the words, the ones he could recognize at least, as thoroughly as he could for any mention of 'vital energies' or ' transference', and any synonyms of those terms that he could think of. He had long decided that he didn't need to know their context. Hell, he didn't think he wanted to understand their context, or was at least unwilling to admit that he was curious.

He was perhaps a little curious.

When he finally made it to the end of that scroll, having found nothing noteworthy, he selected a thick, modern-looking book. He bit back a sigh when he opened it, though: miniscule font; small margins; scholarly, complicated writing; and absolutely no pictures.

At least it had an index.

Voldemort returned Harry to his suite, not via the linked tapestry, but back through the hallway. Harry took the opportunity to glance down the corridor in the opposite direction, knowing that further along must be the door to whichever set of rooms the other tapestry in the Dark Lord's office led to. Perhaps they were his Master's rooms?

Perhaps they were Bellatrix's. The thought made Harry's stomach turn sour.

"You must be ready to see her again tonight. Be civil towards her, Harry," Voldemort said, not satisfying Harry's curiosity one way or the other. He ushered him into the now familiar rooms. Harry was happy that the desk here was empty. No more research! Settling Nagini in front of the fire, where she promptly curled up into a lethargic heap, the Dark Lord continued, "She has far more seniority within my ranks than you. Under normal circumstances, I would have little to no contact with a recruit as new as you. Bella would be directly responsible for both your training and discipline. I trust you do not wish for that, Horcrux?"

Harry didn't wish for that at all. "No, my Lord."

"I do not particularly want to explain my actions regarding you to her. She is a jealous creature, not unlike yourself, and will only begrudge you your connection to me."

Harry hadn't thought of that. Bellatrix seemed jealous enough already, without knowing that he held a precious piece of Lord Voldemort's very soul within him. As unhinged and as knife-happy as she was, Harry could easily imagine her coming at his scar with a dagger, intent on cutting it out of him. Then somehow attaching it to herself. Harry paled at the imagery, feeling ill.

But…something about his Master's words made Harry frown. 'Not unlike yourself.' But Harry wasn't jealous, was he? Of Ginny? He didn't even want her anymore. He had given her up, and all to satisfy what he knew were in fact his Master's covetous tendencies.

But his Master had every right to feel possessive. Harry had willingly given Voldemort everything, but had secretly kept some affection for his friends. It was painful, but he knew he would have to work to overcome his lingering feelings for them. They wouldn't welcome Harry's affection anyway, not after his betrayal. It was better this way.

Voldemort didn't comment on Harry's disorderly thoughts, but the knowing smile on his thin lips as he departed promised that this discussion was far from over.

Nagini was useless. She was coiled so tightly in front of the fire that her head was barely visible, and she refused to acknowledge Harry's hissed pestering. He supposed she must be worn out from their adventure. He was fairly exhausted, himself.

A quick nap, then a bath. Or vice versa, he decided, after a quick sniff. Harry was certain that a House Elf could easily clean the grime off the sheets had he indulged his fatigue, but perhaps the warm water would help loosen his muscles and relieve a bit of tension, both mental and physical.

The tub was quick to fill, and he poured nearly half the vial of scented bubble potion into the running water. He closed his eyes after settling against the back of the tub. He was more tired than he'd realized, and was worried that he might nod off and accidentally drown. It would be a humiliating way for the Boy who Lived to die: offed by bubble bath. He was unwilling to let his imagination wander far in that direction, though. He'd sacrificed too much to let his thoughts take such a morbid turn, no matter how amusing.

There wasn't much else to occupy his mind, though, as he relaxed and waited for his muscles to absorb the warmth and unknot themselves. He refused to think about his recently completed mission. Refused to think of Ron, so willing to believe the best in Harry, even as he was led to…

No, he refused to think on it. He wouldn't think of Ron, or George, or Luna or any of them. He wouldn't think of Hermione. She'd be okay. Of course she would be. He certainly wouldn't think of Ginny.

He forced himself to remember the tedious research he'd engaged in since his return to the Manor. Well, he tried to focus on the boring bits. His mind kept wandering to the diagram his Master had whisked away from him. He hadn't the slightest idea what it had actually been about. Something about Sex Magic, though Harry had never heard the term before this afternoon. He wondered what other images might have been in the book.

Harry didn't even notice his hand slipping under the bubbles, but through his scar he felt the warm, intoxicating pulse of his Master's satisfaction.