He was alone in the bathroom.
The first time Voldemort had left him alone in the bathroom weeks before, he'd looked at the window, judging whether he could fit through, looked at the razor, wondering whether he could use it as a weapon against Voldemort, but his mind didn't wander down those routes again. Instead he felt happy. Voldemort had left him on his own. He could undress and shower without his help, and an odd combination of excitement and relief filled his chest.
He sat down on the toilet, struggled out of the trousers and then tugged his oversized t-shirt over his head. He steadied himself on the sink, hopped closer to the shower, then grasped the chair, Voldemort had left for him
When the shower's spray hit him, he winced, leaning to avoid the first downpour of ice. It warmed fast, and he sat upright, sighing to the steam. He could feel the grime and dirt being stripped from his body, and when he started massaging shampoo into his hair, he moaned at the sensation. The hum of pain in his head became even more distant. His whole body felt refreshed, clean, and he smiled into the spray.
For the first time in weeks, he was happy, and Voldemort had given him that happiness…
Harry stopped smiling the second the thought crossed his mind. He shouldn't have been grateful to Voldemort. He was keeping Harry prisoner; he was a murderer. He should hate him and try to escape but…
Why couldn't he?
His heart began pounding beneath his chest as he thought back on the past few days. He'd helped Voldemort in the kitchen breakfast, lunch and dinner. They talked, laughed, filled in the crossword. Voldemort had even started sleeping right next to him because of the nightmares he still experienced. They lay side by side on the bed each night, never touching, but together.
Harry leaned forward in his chair, gasping for air. The steam added to the claustrophobic feeling. He was trapped, and his mind had been taken hostage, too. It had been twisted, reshaped, and he didn't recognize it. He liked spending time with Voldemort. He was touched by him gifting Harry crutches, and grateful he'd allowed him to use the bathroom alone. Voldemort had stripped down his walls, crawled inside his head, and was helping him rebuild them, with him still inside.
Harry reached behind himself and turned the dial on the wall. He gritted his teeth as the cold water poured down his back, so cold it felt painful, and his back spasmed. Harry stopped tensing, accepted the pins and needles down his spine, and started shivering.
He closed his eyes and his whole body went numb. He preferred a numbed mind to a compromised one.
"HARRY!"
Harry hadn't heard the shower door open, and his eyes felt heavy when he tried to open them. He realized his teeth were no longer chattering, and he wasn't shivering. He blinked the drops from his lashes, then looked at Voldemort. His brown eyes blazed with anger, and his nostrils flared. Before Harry could do anything, Voldemort had grabbed him under his armpits, and pulled him out of the shower.
The minute his chest was against Voldemort's, his sluggishness vanished, and he found himself clinging to the heat. He didn't want to. His clear head told him to shove Voldemort back, keep him away, but his arms wrapped around him on their own accord, and he pressed his body into Voldemort's solid chest, taking the warmth from him.
Voldemort didn't moan about getting his silk shirt wet like he'd expected him to. He didn't shun Harry for wanting affection. Voldemort wrapped his arms around Harry in return and held him impossibly closer. Harry took his warmth, cushioned himself in Voldemort's chest, and let him take most of his weight.
"You'll make yourself sick."
He was already sick, a sickness of the mind where he'd become attached to Voldemort. Where he'd seen beyond Voldemort's evil deeds and liked what was underneath. Harry mumbled,
"Why does it matter?"
"It matters to me."
Harry gasped,
"Don't… Don't say things like that. Don't act like you care."
"But I do."
"You're lying."
Voldemort's hand roamed into Harry's hair, and he gripped the strands, gently pulling Harry's head away from his chest. They stared at each other, and Harry waited for the wolfish smile he hated, but it didn't come.
"I am not lying. You are the one person in the world I have not had to lie to. That makes you special. Very special to me."
His gaze dropped to Harry's mouth. His lips burned under Voldemort's attention, the hottest part of Harry's body, but in seconds it had a rival. His cock filled, pressed to Voldemort's thigh, brushing against his pants as he clung to Voldemort's shoulders.
Voldemort tugged Harry's hair, and his scalp tingled, and a soft noise left his parted lips. Voldemort saw it as an invitation, some kind of green light, and he dropped lower, eyes still targeted, as he swooped, pounced, struck, attacked. Harry didn't know how to describe it, but he caught the predatory glint in Voldemort's eye just before they connected and turned his head.