Harry gritted his teeth, dropped one of his crutches, and swung his fist at Voldemort. He didn't react quickly enough, and Harry caught him. He bumped into the doorframe, lost balance, then fell to the floor. He looked up at Harry, wide-eyed, with his lip bleeding, and the guilt was immediate.
Immediate, but confusing. Harry gawped at Voldemort on the floor, focusing on the damage he'd done. He'd knocked down his captor… a killer… the monster, but he didn't feel good about it.
There was no time to think. He had to get away.
Harry bent down to retrieve his crutch, then as quick as he could walked through the corridors and navigated his way outside until he found himself halfway across the first field. It was cold on his bare feet, and so hard each step jarred his spine. The ground was uneven and his head was starting to spin, so he staggered, struggled to stay upright, and carried on. He tripped and hit his head against a rock. The pain went straight through him, stealing his breath, spinning his head.
It took him a moment to get it back under control and get back on the way. Somewhere, Harry lost one of his crutches, dropping it while he staggered onwards with the agony surging through his head and darkness flickering just on the edges of his vision.
He was soon out of breath, rasping and tired, and ended up sinking to the cold earth, staring at the journey ahead he knew he couldn't make. Voldemort was right… he wasn't strong enough.
Maybe that's why he hadn't followed him…
His fall to the ground wasn't graceful. He couldn't land on his knees…he collapsed in slow motion, until he was lying on his side, between the molds of mud. The smell of earth filled his nose, and he looked into the distance, to the freedom he knew was there, but all he could see was gray mud, and gray clouds.
Voldemort appeared beside him, staring into the distance. He was dabbing a handkerchief on his bloodied lip, then looked down at him,
"You are welcome to continue if you wish to… I shall not stop you."
Harry closed his eyes as he shook his head subtly. He couldn't continue,
"Let's get you back in bed then."
Voldemort crouched beside him and examined his head before tsking,
"You hurt yourself again."
He helped him to his feet, slung one of Harry's arms over his neck to take almost all his weight,
"Apparating would be easier but I do not believe you can handle it in your current state."
They walked back to the castle, and instead of feeling disappointed his great escape had failed, he only felt relief when he stepped inside. The castle that smelled nice, that was warm, and somehow comforting. They passed through the corridor where the kitchens were, and Harry saw the newspaper still open on the kitchen table… The scene was domestic, strange.
Voldemort helped him into the bedroom, then laid him down gently. He just stared straight up at the ceiling, didn't speak, didn't move, just existed as Voldemort tended to the cuts on his feet and the bump on his head.
When he was done, he sat by him in silence for a couple of minutes and that bothered him. For all intents and purposes, Voldemort should be torturing him for what he'd just done…for hitting him…for trying to escape… He should have locked him up in some dungeon.
After a couple of minutes of silence Voldemort spoke,
"Here…Drink some tea."
Harry didn't look at him, but he could smell it. The rich aroma, Voldemort liked his without sugar, Harry recalled. Harry said nothing, only continued his staring contest with the ceiling wishing Voldemort would leave him alone or simply torture him…He couldn't bear his kindness…Finally he broke his silence,
"Why aren't you torturing me?"
Voldemort sat down on the bed beside him,
"Your frustration is understandable. It was due time you let it out."
Harry couldn't look at him. Voldemort's swollen lip made him feel all sorts of conflicting feelings, the ugly lump he'd put on his perfect face. Harry only just stopped himself from apologizing, but he wanted to. He wanted to say sorry despite the times Voldemort had hurt him before… Despite who Voldemort was.
"When I get in a sulk…"
"I'm not in a sulk."
Voldemort lifted his hands up in surrender,
"I did not say you were, I am just saying, when I get in a sulk, I read jokes out from a muggle joke book I have until it goes away."
Harry covered his eyes with his hands. He couldn't imagine Voldemort sulking or telling muggle jokes…It was too much…
"Please spare me."
"Why can you not hear a pterodactyl go to the bathroom?"
Harry spoke incredulously,
"Are we really doing this?"
Voldemort didn't deign his question worthy of a reply, instead he finished the joke,
"Because their pee doesn't make a sound,"
Harry pressed his lips together, refusing to smile.
"You seem to be a bit of a tough crowd… Sometimes I tuck my knees into my chest and lean forward… That's just how I roll."
Harry went from pressing his lips together, to biting them shut.
"What do you call someone with no body and no nose?"
Harry didn't answer so Voldemort spoke,
"Nobody knows."
He laughed, removing his hands from his face. Voldemort beamed a smile at him, then poked his cheek.
"Made you laugh."
"It's a pity laugh."
Voldemort shrugged,
"A laugh is still a laugh."
"I'm one joke away from asking you to torture me."
"That is harsh. They are not that bad."
"They're awful."
"They are designed to make you laugh, and they did. They have served their purpose, and I have served mine by cheering you up."
Voldemort helped him sit up,
"Why do you even care if I'm upset?"
"I do not particularly enjoy seeing you so miserable."
Harry chuckled, shaking his head. Voldemort handed him the cup of tea and spoke softly,
"Drink."
Harry whispered,
"Thanks…"
He finished his tea in silence and then Voldemort gave him a pain relief potion. He drank it down in one and then Voldemort lifted his arm, making his intentions clear, snaking it around Harry's neck to pull him closer. Harry didn't protest. He leaned into him, relaxing until the side of his face was resting on Voldemort's chest.
Why did this feel so right?