It was close to midday when Harry entered the corridor and followed it down to Voldemort's cell. Peering inside, he leaned against the brick wall outside the cell, arms crossed over his chest and a slight tilt to his head. Through the invisible ward that kept his captive dark lord firmly in check, he watched as the man slept. He was curled up in the corner furthest away from the wards. The blanket Harry had given him almost six months ago, wrapped around him tightly. From the distance it looked like he might be shivering. That wouldn't be a surprise if it was the case. The cell was cold, it was always cold. The stones from which it was made up didn't let any of the May warmth in. Harry could use magic to raise the temperature in the cell, but why make Voldemort more comfortable than necessary? The whole idea was for the man to be suffering.
On the other hand, there was no way Voldemort was feeling anything resembling comfortable after what Harry had put him through the night before. Harry had arrived at the house in a bad mood after spending the whole day at the Ministry, jumping through hoops and trying to get some of his projects to move forward. It was a never-ending game of dead ends, and not even his name and his status as the Saviour of the Wizarding world had been enough to make the Sacred 27 give an inch.
All though, if he was to be honest, that hadn't been the whole reason for his bade mood. Yesterday had also been the anniversary of the battle at Hogwarts. There had been a celebratory dinner, speeches and everyone remembering their beloved friends and family that was no longer among them. Safe to say that Harry had been more than a little emotional and angry once he had set his eyes on the prisoner.
He hadn't actually seen much to Voldemort in the last six months, something he assumed the man had been happy for. It had also allowed for the man to heal, if he hadn't then he was pretty sure he might have accidently killed the man the night before. As it was, he had still been breathing when Harry had left.
Spending a year locked up alone with no distractions, no one to talk to and nothing to do hadn't done Voldemort any good. He had lost weight from refusing to eat and Harry had force fed him more than once. On the positive side he had stopped insulting Harry and trying to attack him. At some point Voldemort seemed to have come to the conclusion that Harry had actually managed to put up wards strong enough to hold him. The realisation seemed to have been quite the blow to the man's conviction that he would somehow escape. He had tried to the cuffs off on several occasions too, once by breaking his own thumb to slip the metal over it. Unfortunately for him Harry had considered that means of escape and the cuffs had stayed on.
Carefully he entered the cell and made his way over to the sleeping figure. Coming to a halt, he crouched down. The black hair was tousled, and Harry could make out the vivid dark bruise on Voldemort's face from where Harry had struck him the day before. He was still beautiful, even with the bruise. It somehow made him more youthful, vulnerable. He had no idea how Voldemort had gained back his good looks, but once Harry had fitted him with the cuffs to block out his magic, the glamour the man apparently had been wearing had been broken.
The strands of hair felt like silk under his fingers as he carefully brushed his hand through it. It needed to be washed thought. The cleaning spell could only do so much. There was something intoxicating about having a helpless and powerless Voldemort locked up. The feelings he experienced when he forced the man to his knees, or even better when he managed to make the man kneel on his own in exchange for food or reprieve from the torture and pain, made him feel strangely aroused. He was pretty sure it wasn't healthy, or normal, or something the Golden boy, the saviour, should feel, but he didn't care. The burning darkness in him that had grown during the war would not go away. It twisted and turned in him, and the only way to avoid doing something he would regret to his friends or lovers was to find an outlet. Something Voldemort provided. The fact that he got to punish the man for his actions at the same time was a bonus.
Looking at the sleeping man on the floor, he noticed the slight frown on his forehead and the tremble in his body. Harry wasn't sure if it was from the cold or from pain. He let his hand slide over Voldemort's cheek. The movement, however, seemed to wake Voldemort.
The man opened his eyes and flinched backwards and away from Harry when he noticed he wasn't alone. Unfortunately, he was already in the corner and thus didn't get far. The brown eyes were wide, and Harry could see the panic and fear in them for a moment, before Voldemort managed to school his features into the indifferent mask he normally wore. He pushed himself as far back into the corner as possible and Harry thought he reminded him of a scared animal, trying to get away from a predator. The sight of the infamous Dark Lord Voldemort afraid and timid sent blood flooding through Harry's body and down south. There was something beautiful about the sight, something that stirred feelings in him that he had never experienced before.
Voldemort didn't move, he simply pulled the blanket closer, as if afraid that Harry would take it away. Harry had considered removing it on several occasions when Voldemort had been particularly difficult, but in the end he had not done so. The look in the brown eyes and in the way he swallowed betrayed his nervousness. Harry could understand. Normally Harry left for his house in London straight after. It was uncommon for him to stay until the next day. Voldemort had no doubt believed that Harry had left, and to find out that he was still there was putting him on edge.
Well, Harry thought. He was about to be even more confused. Standing back up he looked down at the curled-up figure at his feet. Voldemort shifted slightly, shivering in the cold.
"Get up," Harry commanded, gesturing with his hand. Truth be told, he wasn't even sure if Voldemort was able to stand, let alone walk. Voldemort flinched. With a sigh Harry bent down and grabbed him by the arm. He hurled him to his feet and waited while Voldemort tried, and failed to get his feet under him, and went crashing back down.
Cursing, Harry bent back down and pulled him to his feet once more. This time, between putting one hand on the wall and Harry's hand on his arm, he managed to stay standing. Harry pulled out his wand and Voldemort tried to put more distance between them, fear bleeding into the brown eyes.
"Don't," the word came out in a hoarse whisper.
Harry just smiled, which didn't seem to comfort Voldemort the slightest. He conjured up a blindfold and let go of Voldemort's arm. The man immediately back away, not getting far as he back straight into the corner. "Come here." Voldemort didn't move.
"Tom," Harry said, the warning clear in his voice. When Voldemort still didn't move, Harry moved instead. He took Voldemort by the arm and spun him around. Voldemort stumbled and had to catch himself on the wall to stay standing. "Why do you insist on making everything difficult?" Harry muttered as he tied the blindfold in place. "Don't touch this," he warned as he spun the man back around. "Come now." With that he led Voldemort across the cell and out through the wards.
Every now and then Harry would look up from papers he was going through and look towards the slowly moving figure of Voldemort who was currently exploring the garden. He watched as the man allowed his fingers to trail along the top of a bush, then along the trunk of the large tree that dominated the middle of the garden. In between he would just stand still and allow the sun to warm his face.
There was no danger of Voldemort finding a way out of the garden as the same wards that were on his cells also wrapped around the whole of the property.
After taking him out of the cell, Harry had led him upstairs and showed him to a bathroom. Handing him a new robe he had nodded towards the shower. "I assume you might want to take a hot shower?"
Voldemort had looked the most confused Harry had ever seen him. Confused, and wary as he was trying to figure out what kind of new torture this was. When he failed to figure out what Harry was up to, he had nodded slowly as if he expected the option to be withdrawn immediately once he had shown an interest in it.
Harry had waited outside while Voldemort showered and dressed. Eventually the door had opened again, and Voldemort had stepped out. His hair wet from the shower and the new green and black robe clung to his body more than the ratty thing he had been wearing. The bruises on his face and around his neck stood out against dark material. The eyes were guarded and filled with suspicion, and Harry couldn't blame him. In the year the man had been there, this was the first kindness Harry had ever shown him. Harry pushed away from the wall he was leaning against and started down the hallway. "Come," he called back over his shoulder and watched as Voldemort followed.
They entered the large library on the ground floor. The double doors that led out onto the terrace was open and a warm breeze came through them, making the curtains flutter slightly in the wind. Harry walked over to the desk where he had left his papers and picked them up, taking them with him he wandered out onto the terrace and sat down at the table outside. A slight movement to his left revealed that Voldemort had followed him out. The man stood just outside, arms around himself and gazing out into the garden with a wide-eyed look.
"Before you get any stupid ideas," Harry said while sorting the papers, "the same wards that are keeping you confined to the cell, also wards the property. You can of course try to kill me with a knife or a lamp or something, but first of all I have a wand and my magic at my disposal, and second the wards will not fall if I die, which means you end up killing yourself if you kill me as you still can't leave, but you will run out of food." He looked up and caught Voldemort's eyes. "I have some work to do, so if you want to enjoy the weather or find a book to read, then be my guest."
Voldemort played with the cuff on his right hand. He looked like he wanted to say something, but instead he simply walked down the stairs and onto the grass.
After a while he disappeared into the house before coming back out with a book. He cast an unsure look in Harry's direction, but when Harry neither said or did anything he sat down on the stairs and leaned against one of the posts there. He winced as his back made contact, no surprise there, considering the damage Harry had done to it the night before with a whip. It wasn't long before he was engrossed in his book. Harry glanced up from his work and drank in the sight of the beautiful creature sitting on the ground reading.
He wasn't sure why he had let Voldemort out of the cell for a change. Perhaps as a reward of sorts, not that Voldemort had done anything for him to reward. Whatever reason he felt it was a game changer, but not sure how it was one.