The force behind the backhand that cut across his face knocked him to the floor. His tongue flickered out and tasted the metallic taste of blood from where his lip had been cut. Glazing upwards Voldemort saw the Warden heal his hand from where Voldemort's teeth had pierced the skin, just as the guard behind him forced him back up on his knees at the same time as the man pulled his arms behind his back and tied them together. Settling on his knees he continued to glare as the Warden finished up with his hand.
"That was a very stupid thing to do," the Warden said quietly, belaying the furious anger underneath. He came closer and weaved his hand into Voldemort's hair before twisting his head backwards. "I should pull out your teeth for that little stunt, pet." The seriousness of his tone sent a flicker of concern through Voldemort. The man had already proven that he had no moral qualms about torture and pain. Perhaps biting the man when he had tried to hand fed him hadn't been the best idea. The Warden let the silence stretch out and when he reached for his wand, Voldemort felt the briefest sense of fear curdle in his stomach. The man wouldn't really?
"Unfortunately, the time it will take to reset those back into your mouth is more than I care to waste." Then he smiled. A smile that was all teeth and no warmth. "There are after all more appropriate ways of dealing with pets that bit."
Before Voldemort could contemplate just what he meant about that, or protest at the comparison to a pet, the Warden let go of his hair, and flickered his wand. Something appeared in his outstretched hand.
"You can't be serious," Voldemort rasped out, his mouth parched from not having had anything to drink for a good while.
The cold smile he got in return, told him that the man was very serious. As he came closer, Voldemort started to struggle in earnest, but weakened as he was from lack of food and sleep, and the damage to his body, he wasn't much of a match for the two wizards. A kick to his midsection and then the ribs left him gasping on the floor. The Warden took advantage of Voldemort being distracted and pushed the ball gag into his mouth, locking it behind his head with help of magic.
Voldemort gagged and coughed as the gag was forced into his mouth. The gag itself wasn't that much of a problem, but the bloody thing was not round nor soft. It was hard and the surface consisted of a multitude of small, sharp spikes that pressed into his gums and tongue unless he actively forced his mouth to stay open. The guard let go of him and in lack of strength to do much else, Voldemort stayed on the floor, concentrating on keeping his mouth open enough to avoid the painful spikes.
The looming figure of the Warden crouched down beside him and ran a hand through his hair, ignoring Voldemort's feeble attempt to pull away. "I think this will serve as a lesson to remind you to behave." The voice was soft and soothing. "You're already pushing the limit of how long you can go without food and water because of your pride and stubbornness. I hope that a little time like this will make you see reason. I'll leave the tray of food over her to remind you just of what you lost with that little stunt of yours."
With that he rose, and both he and the guard left the cell.
"Tom? Come on. Wake up, Tom." The urgent voice registered in his head, and he shot up, gasping for air. Doubling over he felt himself tremble and he was freezing from the cold and sweat. His pulse was racing, and his heart pounded so loud he couldn't register any other sounds but his own heartbeat and gasps.
Two arms pulled him backwards and he panicked for a moment, trying to pull away, but a sudden calm bleed into him from the bond and his body relaxed on its own as it recognised the person behind him as Harry.
He didn't have the strength or awareness to fight the pull and he let himself be guided back down on the bed; his head pillowed on something soft but firm. A hand kept carding through his hair and the steady calming sense he got from the bond continued to help soothe the panic and stress. His heart calmed slowly, and he was able to find a more even breath. As his body calmed down, he could feel himself slipping towards sleep once more as his mind was too exhausted to do anything else.
Blinking he tried to stay awake. The pillow shifted underneath his head, and he realised that it was propped up on Harry's lap and that the man was sitting on the bed, leaning against the headboard. A part of him screamed at him to move away, that the feeling of safety and calm that came from the bond at the contact, wasn't worth the humiliation of being cuddled like some child, but the rest of him snarled at that voice to shut up as the hand came back to card through his hair. It smoothed over his forehead, through his hair and down to his neck where Harry would occasionally rub small circles with his thumb just below the collar.
Moving slightly, he shifted so that he was laying more on his side, and curled up a bit, taking the covers with him. He blinked against the dark and tried to free himself from the trembles that occasionally wrecked his body.
"Back with me?" The soft voice of his master asked as he let his hand move through Tom's hair. Not trusting his voice, Tom simply nodded. "Good, good," Harry muttered. Tom could feel him shift underneath him and before he could consider what he was doing he reached out a hand and took a hold of the one that wasn't carding through his hair. "Don't," he whispered, afraid that Harry was moving to get up from the bed and return to his own.
Harry stilled underneath him. "Don't what?" he asked, tone soft as if speaking to a scared animal. Tom thought he should be insulted but didn't care. He didn't want to be alone. He was tired of being alone. The realisation hit him like a sledgehammer, and he flinched. Harry immediately thought it was a reaction to his question and tried to pull away, but Tom just tightened his grip on the man's hand and Harry stopped moving.
Tom had been alone his whole life. In the orphanage the other children had shunned and tormented him until he had made an example of two of them and showed them just what he could do. They had left him alone after that. In Hogwarts he had been seen as having friends, but none of them had been real friends, not someone he could confide in and that he trusted, and after he had graduated, he had travelled the world. After that, well, it wasn't like Lord Voldemort had friends. He had followers and allies and the closest thing he might have come to a friend had to be Nagini.
And then he had lost the war and been thrown into Azkaban for the rest of his life. Still alone, but now vulnerable to those who were set to guard him. And then Harry had shown up. The very boy who was prophesied to kill him. Whose parents Tom had killed in cold blood, although he had been insane at the time. The boy that had gotten his whole childhood and youth destroyed because Tom had been hell set on killing him to ensure that he had no weaknesses or treats left.
A boy that, despite all that, had taken allowed Tom to talk him into a situation he didn't want to be in. And as angry as Tom had been the last three weeks, he couldn't blame Harry for doing what he had. Looking back at Azkaban and everything he had endured there, he had to admit, still rather painfully, that the rules Harry was forcing him to follow might be humiliating, more in public than at home, but it was a small thing compared to the humiliation and torture he had been met with in Azkaban. Being degraded to something not even human and threated as if he had no value expect of that of a plaything for people with more power than him.
As for behaving as such it public… Tom had to admit that it wasn't like anyone was outright commenting on it. Most times people simply ignored him, and if they said something it was more related to it being a suitable punishment, rather than mocking him for kneeling or being polite. There had been a couple of instances where some of the Aurors had bothered him, taking advantage of his helplessness to get some small revenge. That had been the times he had been on his own and not close to Harry. The man had demanded to know what had happened, but Tom had refused to tell him and after Robards had re-assigned the Aurors Harry had let the subject drop. Tom had however learned to stay close to either the team members, Robards or Sommerseth if Harry wasn't there.
The feeling of helplessness had been the worst. The realisation that without his magic and with his options to fight back restricted he was completely reliant on Harry to keep him safe. And that, that realisation had brought back too many feelings and the same sense of panic that had accompanied him in Azkaban.
The biggest aversion to behaving seemed to be in his own head, and he didn't know why. Was it the last shred of pride he was clinging on to, or was it fear of embracing his knew life in fear of … something? Tom wasn't sure, and he was too mentally tired to try and figure it out at the moment.
As for Harry's question… In the end he just answered truthfully. "Don't leave." The words were barely more than a whisper.
"I won't," Harry answered and for some reason it felt like he was answering something more than just Tom's plead for him to stay there and then. The nervous ball of feelings in his stomach gave away to a sense of relief and he felt himself relax more deeply into the bed. A small sense of his mind worried what this developing need to be close to Harry meant. Was it the bond that was pushing at him, or was it his own sense of self-preservation that was feeding of his experience in Azkaban and trying to please Harry in some way?
Harry shifted, probably to make himself more comfortable and pulled one of the discarded pillows towards him, putting it behind his back before returning it to card through Tom's hair. His other hand, Tom suddenly noticed, was still trapped by the wrist in Tom's hand. Feeling embarrassed he slowly let go of the wrist and pulled his own back to his chest.
"I'm not going to force you, and I'll respect if you say no, but sometimes it helps to talk about the nightmares." The suggestion was given in a tentative voice as if Harry was afraid to break whatever was going on between them and send Tom scrambling out of the bed.
Tom hesitated. It wasn't like he enjoyed speaking about his feelings, but on the other hand, Harry knew more about his time in Azkaban than most other people. It really should be embarrassing to be curled in the lap of a boy 50 years his junior, because he had woken up scared from nightmares, and then asked if he wanted to talk about it, he thought. Instead, it felt oddly … nice, that someone cared enough to ask him about the nightmares, and he found himself opening his mouth and the words spilling out.
"The Warden had a … hobby one might call it, that got him through what I assume was a terrible boring job as the Warden of Azkaban. From what I could gather it seemed like he had gotten the position as some sort of demotion because of something he had done in an interrogation, but I'm not sure." Stanley had said something about the Warden having been a bit too heavy handed with a captured Death Eaters and apparently torturing the man for information.
"As several of the prisoners that are sent to Azkaban are sent there because they have been given life sentences. Most don't have any family or friends that visit, which I assume the Warden found to be convenient. He thought that about me too until you showed up, which I think threw him of a bit, but as I am who I am, and you were the one to defeated me I assume he thought you wouldn't mind a couple of bruises and a broken arm.
He liked to break prisoners, the stronger and more wilful they were the more pleasure he took in what he did. If they by all odds were to be released, then people would just assume that the stay in Azkaban and the isolation itself had been enough to reduce them to a shell of their former self. And if anyone of them tried to bring charges, who would believe them?"
Harry made a noise that sounded like agreement.
"In the beginning it was just the small things, standing when he entered the room, being polite and grateful when he brought food by, which was every day in the beginning. It was easy enough to fake to the point of him perhaps not believing in it, but at least accepting it." He remembered those first months. The frustration and irritation at having to be polite to the blasted man, the struggle to keep himself from snapping and cursing the Warden. How naïve he had been at that time, believing that simple curtesy would leave him in piece to serve out his never-ending sentence.
The hand drifted down to draw circles on Tom's neck, just below the collar. The slight pressure of his thumb against his skin felt nice. The bond also seemed to enjoy the contact because it hummed every time they were in direct contact. The feeling was soothing, and he could feel the last grips from the nightmare starting to recede. "I take it that changed?" Harry asked, his voice still lower than normal. The emotions in it were difficult to grasp, Tom thought.
Tom nodded. He closed his eyes before continuing. "Yeah, it did. The demands got worse, more humiliating and when we reach the point where I started to refuse his requests, to fight back, he brought in Stanley to teach me some manners as he liked to call it."
He swallowed and took a deep breath before telling Harry about the dream, about the demands, his refusal and the spiked gag that the Warden had used. When he came to the point where he had woken up, he trailed off. As he spoke, he understood that the part of him that didn't want to talk to Harry about Azkaban was the part of him that was afraid of Harry's reaction. He was scared that Harry wouldn't care. That he would see at as a fitting punishment for the crimes Voldemort had committed. That he would tell him that it was his due. This even though the realistic part of his brain knew that Harry wouldn't. If he had been of that opinion, then he could just have left Tom with the Warden and never returned or said anything.
"Saints," he heard Harry mutter behind him, this time disgust and traces of anger was clear in his voice. Tom kept silent. He remembered that night or day, he wasn't sure which, the pain of the spikes that pierced his mouth every time he got too exhausted to keep his mouth open. "How long did he leave you like that?"
Tom shrugged with the shoulder that wasn't trapped against the bed. "I don't know. The lights in the cell were kept at a constant level. I never knew if it was day or night. The Warden loved his little mind games. He would always set the situation so that you felt you had a choice, something you really didn't. Whereas Stanley simply used brute force to get things how he wanted, the Warden on the other hand set the situation up in way where you had to agree to whatever he wanted you to do. Over time, when done enough times, you mind starts losing the knowledge that you really don't have a choice and starts reorganising around a mindset that pleasing the man is the only option. I was utterly depended on him for the most basic things like food and water. And he only granted those if I obeyed him. I tried to outlast him, thinking that he wasn't going to kill me and that he would eventually be forced to feed me to avoid that I died. As far as I know the horcruxes isn't public knowledge?"
"That's correct," Harry confirmed.
"Well, one can say it backfired. He did feed me eventually but the managed to find the most excruciating painfully way of doing it, making the whole feeding process feel worse than starving." Tom closed his eyes for a moment, swallowing against the bile that threatened to rise in his throat as he remembered that one time. He had never tried it again, although he still had refused the Warden again, but those time they both knew it was only a matter of time before Tom gave in.
"He came back sometime later," he continued quietly, keeping his eyes closed. "At that point I was too out of it from the lack of water and food and sleep to even notice he entered the cell."
The hand in his hair startled him and he pulled away, whimpering as the movement made him close his mouth and the spikes immediately found something to dig into. The metallic taste that had dulled somewhat flared to life as new wounds opened. He tried to blink and to focus, but his mind felt like cotton from the lack of food and water. Everything swam in front of his eyes and his body was sluggish and wouldn't obey his commands.
He could feel hands at the back of his head as the gag was loosened.
"Open your mouth wide, pet". The smooth voice was accompanied by a hand stroking through his locks.
He opened his mouth as much as he could as the gag was pulled out. His jaw protested as he tried to close his jaw, but by trying bit by bit he managed. He tried to swallow but his throat was so dry that it felt like he was trying to swallow a mouthful of sand. Looking down he saw that the once blue gag was tainted red with his blood.
"Careful, you jaw will be sore for some time after being forced into that position for so long."
Something cool was pressed to his lips and after a few seconds he recognised it as a cube of ice. Carefully he opened his mouth and accepted the ice cube. He almost moaned at the feeling of cold ice soothing the aches in his jaw and the wounds in his mouth from the spikes. Once the ice cube was dissolved, a hand encouraged him to sit up. After a couple of tries he managed to push himself into a sitting position.
"Good boy." A cup was pushed against his lips, and he drank deeply, relishing in the feeling of cold water that ran down his throat. When he started coughing the cup was pulled away. "Easy, don't drink too fast. I'm guessing you are very hungry by now," the voice continued, and the cup was replaced by a cube of cheese. Voldemort could feel the slightly soft texture against his lips and the scent tingled in his nose. His stomach growled loudly, and then it twisted painfully.
His instincts yelled at him to fight against accepting food from the man's hand, but at the same time, the fear of the Warden putting that gag back on was outweighing the feeling of humiliation. There were also no one around to watch him give in, and from the time he had spent in the prison he knew no one would come either. He was utterly alone in the world, and completely depended on the Warden for absolutely everything. Perhaps this, the refusal to comply, just wasn't worth it?
"Did it get better once you gave in?" Harry asked. Did it? Tom asked himself. Somethings perhaps. One could also make the argument that things had just gotten worse.
"Something I guess got better as the years went by, better as in he stopped having Stanley beating me senseless every time I, according to him, misbehaved. Somethings just got worse because he lost interest when I eventually gave up and stopped fighting him, as such he upped the scale so to speak. It was the fight and the chance to force someone to bow he most enjoyed I think."
Harry shifted again and Tom lifted his head momentarily to allow him to find a more comfortable position. "And Stanley?"
Tom hesitated, trying to figure out where to start. Harry, apparently taking his hesitation for unwillingness, jumped in. "You don't have to tell me, Tom, but I have seen the medical reports, and as such I do have some insight into what you have been through."
A flash of embarrassment hit him at the thought of what that report must have revealed about his condition and about what had happened. Then again, Harry had never used anything of what he knew against him in anyway, and that knowledge helped starve of the discomfiture.
"Stanley was like every other bully. He tortured and beat others in order to feel better about himself. I wouldn't be surprised if he was bullied in school. However, he did have a reason to hate me more than the rest of the prisoners. His sister had been killed in a raid some years back. Apparently, she had been sexually abused as well." Tom hesitated. He didn't like to remind Harry about the war or how many lives he had taken or destroyed. For all as caring as Harry appeared now, Tom knew it could turn quickly. Power would always and had always changed people.
"He also had a bad relationship with his wife, I think due to the PTSD he most certainly incurred during the war. He was good at taking that out on me as well. Another hobby was reading up on interesting torture methods as the collar restricted both my use of my magic and what magic could be used on me. Half the time he just tortured and beat me for the entertainment, not because the Warden had decided I had disobeyed him in any way."
######
A couple of hours later Tom let the last sentence die out. He wasn't sure how long he had been speaking, but he felt like forever. He wasn't sure how he felt after having told Harry everything either. Telling him about the last three years had made his voice hoarse. He hadn't told Harry every single detail of what had happened, but he had told him most of them.
Suddenly he felt too tired to keep his eyes opened and he let them close. It felt strangely nice to be held to for once, to give into the illusion that he was safe and cared for, even though he knew it wasn't the case. Harry tolerated him in his home because of the deal Tom had talked him into against his wish.
"Tom, when you first came here you didn't seem to have much problem with some of the rules, now you do. Why?" With a sigh Tom moved away from Harry. He was suddenly feeling irritated, but not sure at what. There was a slight pull on his hair as Harry hadn't expected him to move and had his fingers woven into Tom's hair. He also looked slightly surprised as Tom knelt on the bed, pulling the covers around him. Brown eyes met with the clear green ones of his master before Tom glanced away. "I don't know. There is a sense of panic that comes over me every time I consider giving into the bond." That had come out a lot more honest than he had intended, Tom thought with a slight wry sense of humour. He glanced up and saw Harry's thoughtful look. The man studied him for a moment before speaking.
"I might be completely wrong here, I'm not a shrink, but could this fear you are experiences might not have anything to do with the rules themselves?"
Shaking his head slightly in confusion Tom frowned. "What do you mean?" he asked.
Harry played with the edge of the pillow Tom's head had been resting on, looking somewhat undecided as if he wasn't sure if it was a good idea to voice whatever he was thinking about, in the end he seemed to draw in a breath before speaking. "From what you told me the Warden upped the rules and the demands every time you gave in, making it impossible for you to get on top of them. To reach a point where you knew that there would be no more changes and you could relax."
Tom nodded slowly, although still not seeing where Harry was going with this.
"Perhaps," he hesitated again, glancing away before meeting Tom's eyes once more. "Perhaps that is what your subconscious is afraid of will happen again. Perhaps you are fighting this because you are afraid on some level that if you follow the rules set by the law, then I'll grow bored and find some more painful, more humiliating rules for you. And to avoid that you refuse to give in to these rules because your mind thinks that as long as you are fighting the once set in place now at least they won't get worse."
Tom stared. He ran the possibility of what Harry had said through his mind several times, each time a bit of the panic he normally felt seemed to subside. It was true, every time he had given into the Warden's rules there had been peace for a couple of weeks or months, depending. But after a small period, the man had always come in with a new rule, something more humiliating. Perhaps, just perhaps Harry did have point. If he looked back and let his mind analyse the last three years, then he had to admit that he could see how his mind had been conditioned to expect things to get worse if he gave into the smaller things.
Harry seemed to realise where Tom's mind was taking him because he continued but this time his voice sounded more decisive as if he had taken Tom's silence as a sign that he was on the right track even if Tom hadn't concluded that he was at the moment. "I know you have no reason to believe me, but I have no intention of changing the rules or adding to them unless absolutely necessary, unless it is to let up on them. I only expect the law and the code to be followed."
Tom tore his eyes away and stared at the wall. His mind was working a mile a minute trying to reconcile Harry's theory with his own emotions. Could he be right? A small part of his mind agreed with Harry's thoughts, but the rest of it was screaming at him that it was just another trap, just another game that he would lose. And what Harry was asking – to trust him and just give in. That prospect was more than a little terrifying. He could feel the panic start up again and he breathed deeply to try and keep it in check. There was of course one way of testing it, but…
Could he do this, could he force himself to trust the boy, man he corrected himself? You chose this, the voice in his head remined him as it had done countless of times before, only this time he didn't disagree as much. He had chosen Harry, that much was true. And the man had kept good faith with him this far.
He could have turned around once they were back from Azkaban and decided that he felt Tom needed to be punished more for killing Harry's parents, his friends, for the destroying the wizarding world, twice, for the deaths and ruined families he had left behind in his wake.
Looking back at how he had behaved the last three weeks both at home and out in public it was a small wonder that Harry hadn't punished him. Especially after being made aware of the complaints made about Tom's behaviour and the upcoming inquiry. Harry could be facing a rather steep fine if the inquiry decided that Harry hadn't properly punished his slave for the disrespect he had shown.
Instead, he had given Tom time to come to terms with his own demons, and when it had become clear that Tom was unable to do so and had bitten over more than he could chew, Harry had forced him in order to protect Tom from himself and the Ministry. Not because he could or found pleasure in Tom's humiliation, but because it was necessary in order to protect Tom from his own bad ideas and inabilities to think things through.
For the first time since that day in Azkaban when he had realised that he wanted Harry to claim him, Tom felt a sense of relief, of a puzzle that was clicking into place.
"I understand you have a hard time trusting me," Harry said, "and that you might have never had anyone in your life that you actually trusted. But we are bound together for only Lady Magic knows how long, and if we are going to make this work you need to trust me to some degree. I'm not going to "up the game" as the Warden did if you stop fighting and start behaving. I know your subconscious doesn't necessary believe that, but I'm asking you to take leap of faith here."
The old power corrupts saying twirled in Tom's head along with a steadying increasing hope. A hope that perhaps, just perhaps Harry was telling the truth.
It wasn't until later, just as he was drifting back to sleep, Harry still beside him, that he realised that the bond had been quiet during the whole conversation. There had been no demand for him to call Harry master as it usually demanded nor did any of the other rules seem to be in place. He was too tired to ponder more on why that had been, he decided and allowed sleep to claim him once more as he focused on the hand that was still carding through his hair.
######
Harry couldn't keep his eyes from wandering every so often from the book he was reading to the curled-up figure in the window seat. Tom was, as per his habit, curled up in the window seat facing the front of the house. The same thick, wool blanket around him and several pillows to make the window seat a bit more comfortable. He had a book in his hands, but his attention seemed to waver as he kept staring out of the window ever so often, seemingly lost in thought. It could be the book he was thinking about of course, but from what Harry could see it was the third one in the Lord of the Rings trilogy that he had gotten the man for his birthday. Apparently, Tom's love for books didn't discriminate against muggle books. Harry had tried to tease him about it at one time during Christmas when the atmosphere between them had been almost pleasant. Tom had scowled and retorted that all knowledge was power. Harry couldn't disagree with him about that.
Normally Harry would mostly stay in his office and read, he rarely used the library but that evening he had sat down in one of the armchairs by the fire with a book. After a while Tom had appeared from whatever he had been doing the last couple of hours. He had hesitated in the doorway when he noticed Harry and Harry expected him to turn and leave, if nothing else then to avoid having to kneel as he entered the room. To his surprise Tom had stepped into the room and gracefully knelt, giving a dip of his head as he murmured a quiet master, before rising again. He seemed to hesitate though, but Harry just smiled at him and returned to his book. Tom seemed to take that as a que as he moved over to the window seat, picking up a book from the coffee table along the way.
Harry had watched him from the corner of his eyes as he settled with the book.
His mind kept returning to the conversation they'd had Friday night. Harry had once more been woken by the sound of Tom screaming bloody murder, as well as a feeling of something tugging at him mentally, a feeling of protectiveness pushing at him to move to protect Tom from whatever was threatening him. A bit more used to the nightmares by now, Harry hadn't automatically reached for his wand, but instead dressed in sweets and a t-shirt. He didn't bother knocking this time as he knew from previous occasions that it wouldn't matter.
It had been more difficult to wake Tom this time, but in the end the man had come to startled and still panicking. Harry could feel the emotions bleed through the bond and out of instinct he pushed against it, trying to sooth it. Perhaps it was the same instinct that had made him arrange Tom so that he was resting in his lap, Harry's hand running through his hair.
He had expected his suggestion for Tom to talk to him to be meet with an immediate refusal and perhaps Tom moving away from him, but no. Tom had actually elected to talk to him, without being forced to do so. If someone had told Harry two months ago that Voldemort would voluntarily talk about his time in prison, his fears, the panic attacks then Harry would have sent them to get checked out at the hospital as soon as possible. But that was what had happened. Tom had told him what Harry assumed was more or less everything. Some things had perhaps been left out, but Harry didn't think that could be much.
His heart had hurt as Tom had talked him through the last three years. The struggles and humiliations, the frustration and helplessness he had been feeling being trapped in the cell with no hope for help. The torture and sexual abuse hadn't been explained in detail, but Harry had read the medical reports and could fill in the blanks himself.
A dark part of him had purred at the realisation that Lord Voldemort was subjected to how he had treated so many of his victims. He, who had tortured and killed so many muggles, wizards and witches, Harry's parents and friends included, finally getting to feel how his victims had to have felt.
But, as much as the thought of Voldemort being punished for his crimes felt right, the way it had been done simply felt wrong. What did that say about them, the light side, if they were to stoop so low as to commit the same crimes against a wizard as the wizard in question had done? Did it make it more right or just more wrong?
He had let Tom talk until he stopped, at which point a couple of hours had passed. Harry had only listened as Tom spoke and made some noise in agreement every now and then. As Tom talked however Harry could see an outline of what it had taken to bring Tom from Lord Voldemort to the man who was currently curled up in the window seat. Harry hardly thought he himself or anyone he knew would have been able to come out of Azkaban after so long and so much torture and still be as functioning as Tom was at the moment.
The Warden had taken his time to grind down both Voldemort's spirit and body to a point where he hardly knew up form down. Denying him access to even the most basic of needs and using those things to force his compliance.
Perhaps the talk had been a necessary one. The realisation Harry had come to regarding Tom's fears seemed to have some truth to them. And Harry could understand them. Tom had become a lot more cognisant during Christmas and Harry couldn't remember the last time he had dropped into his much more submissive mindset, which made sense. As Tom's mind and body became more aware it was only natural that his grip on reality also should get stronger. And in there lay the problem Harry thought.
Where his mind had always associated obeying with being the best route to go, his more aware part of the brain had started to see a pattern in the Warden's behaviour over the years and reached the conclusion that obeying only led to more rules, more demands, more humiliation. That it was better to fight the simple rules and keep the fight centred around those, instead of giving in and then having to fight over even worse rules. It would explain why Tom had suddenly found even the simplest rules difficult to follow without being able to pinpoint why. His mind was doing what it had been trained to do over the years, although in a different way this time. Instead of thinking that obeying was the best way to go, his mind had now realised from experience that it was actually the worst way to go as it only led to more pain.
And the solution to the problem? Harry sighed. That wasn't an easy fix. He could promise Tom until he was blue in the face that the man could trust him to only demand the same of him as the law did, but that depended on Tom actually trusting him. And if there was one thing that had defined Tom Riddle and Lord Voldemort after him, it was that neither of them trusted people. Tom had been let down too many times as a child, and as grownup there had been no one around for him to trust. And once he had risen as Lord Voldemort the whole notion of trusting someone had gone out the window for good. He hadn't trusted his own followers enough to ask them for help to resurrect his body, instead relaying on Wormtail of all people.
And Harry mused with a feeling of dread running through him, he himself had perhaps not acted in a way that set him up as trustworthy either. He had first told Tom that he didn't expect anything of him, then he had turned around and told Tom to come to terms with his own choices and instead of trying to find a way to help the man to reach that point, he had simply left him alone to work out his own problems, watching as he was struggling to do just that. That had probably been the biggest mistake he had made, he realised as he looked back. Tom had been in no shape to be able to find a way out of his own problems. He had bitten over more than he could chew, and the pressure of the expectations of society and the law had pushed him further into a mindset of panic.
Combined with what Harry assumed was a feeling of being completely lost with no one to turn to, it was no wonder Tom had reacted the way he did. Instead of being there for his slave to support and guide him as he probably should have done, Harry had simply pushed him away and told him to fix his own complications. A small part of him recognised that he had probably done so because he in part was still angry at Tom for talking him into the situation in the first place and then forcing him to become brutal to protect Tom from himself.
When he then had sealed his mistakes by using the bond to force Tom to follow the rules, he suspected that had been the final straw that destroyed whatever little bit of trust Tom might have had in him. Harry closed his eyes and groaned inwardly. Merlin, he had really fucked up the whole situation.
He should have gone about it in a completely different way. Tom was lost, struggling to try and find a place in the world, fresh of an experience that Harry could barely fantom. Instead of staying with him, helping him to figure things out and being a master that Tom could rely on for guidance, someone who would show him the way and stand by him as he found his feet once more and to help him settle into his new life. Instead of doing any of that, Harry had simply thrown him out into the deep end of the pool and told him to learn to swim or he would drown. Apparently, Tom wasn't that good of a swimmer.
A sudden anger at Sommerseth and Kingsley grew in him. If they hadn't been pushing at him as much as they had, then perhaps he would have handled things better. The anger bled out a few short seconds later and he sighed. No, he couldn't blame them either. Harry couldn't blame anyone but himself for his mistakes this time. Perhaps he could argue that he hadn't know what he had gotten himself into, and that his lack of family and growing up with his abusing uncle and aunt had made him less able to be there for Tom as he didn't know how, but what was the point?
He had concluded after New Year's that he was responsible for Tom behaviour, and he had used that to convince himself that using the bond was the best thing to protect Tom from himself but thinking back perhaps that wasn't strictly correct. If he had been there for Tom from the beginning, then perhaps Tom would have been able to work through his fears and panic if Harry had stood by him and guided him through it. Instead, Harry's choice to leave him alone had only led to the point where Harry didn't have any other choice but to force him. A sense of guilt gnawed at his stomach at the thought that the only reason that Tom was subjected to the bonds corrections now was because Harry had failed him in the beginning by not being the master he should have been.
Merlin, Harry thought. Having a slave was apparently a lot more responsibility than he had first thought. He looked back towards Tom who once again had stopped reading and was looking out the window. From his position Harry could see his expression and his heart hurt even more and the guilty feeling in his stomach grew even more, if that was possible, at the utterly lost and uncertain look Tom was sporting on his face. It was mixed with something that looked like uncertainty and frustration from the way he was pressing his thumb into the palm of his right hand in a repetitive manner. Harry could feel the guilt expand until it was almost chocking him. How was he any better than the Warden when the only thing he had done was setting Tom up to fail which resulted in Harry using the bond to force him, putting the man in even more pain?
And now? There wasn't much he could do other than stepping up to the task of being a master. He thought back to how Tom had knelt when he had entered the room earlier. It seemed like the man was at least trying to give Harry a chance to prove that he wouldn't turn around and demand more of Tom than he already had, and Harry was for once determined not to disappoint again.
A pop announced the arrival of Kreacher who was bearing a letter with a recognisable seal. "Letter arrived for master Harry from the most noble and ancient house of Malfoy," the elf announced, holding the letter out like it was made from gold. Harry barely managed not to roll his eyes. The damned elf thought the Malfoys were still the most highly thought of family in the Wizarding World all thing considered.
"Thank you, Kreacher," he smiled instead and took the letter.
"Will master be wanting dinner soon?" The elf asked, casting a glare towards Tom, which the man luckily didn't catch.
"Yes, please, Kreacher. In 30 minutes or so?" Harry answered, pulling out his wand to accio the letter opener he could see on the desk that was pushed against one of the walls between to large bookshelves.
"Of course, master," the elf said, bowing his head. "Will master's slave also be eating with master?" This time Harry did sigh and roll his eyes. He could see Tom's shoulder tense; the man was probably still waiting for the other shoe to drop and Harry to turn around and disappoint him.
"Yes, Kreacher. Tom will be eating with me as usual. Now, I'm tired of you asking me this. Tom is allowed to eat and drink whatever he wants. If he asks you for anything to eat or drink, I expect you to get him whatever he asks for. You will also from now on refer to him by his name, do I make myself understood?" He fixed Kreacher with a stern look, making it clear he expected the elf to obey him. Kreacher bowed, his long ears touching the floor.
"Yes, master. Kreacher is sorry for having displeased master. Kreacher will iron his ears in punishment."
Oh, for crying out loud. "For Merlin's sake, Kreacher, we have talked about this," Harry groused. "You are not to punish yourself in any way or form. Just simply remember this in the future and everything will be all right."
The elf bowed even lower if possible. "Kreacher thankful for master's leniency." The voice was off, and Harry wasn't sure if the elf was mocking him or not, but he decided to let it go. He and the elf got on most of the time, but there were times when Kreacher had no problem expressing just what he thought about some of Harry's decisions. Harry had given up trying to understand the creature a long time ago. Kreacher popped away and Harry growled in frustration as he hit his head on the back of the chair. Looking towards the window he saw that Tom had twisted his head to watch the interaction. There was an unreadable expression on his face.
"He's just insufferable sometimes," Harry muttered, finally getting around to summoning the letter opener and using it to break the seal on the envelope. The letter was from Draco. It was as usually short and to the point. Lucius had come back from his travels over sea to France and was willing to meet with Tom to help with whatever information the previous Dark Lord claimed that he was in possession on. The wording in the letter made it quite clear that Lucius was only doing this because he owed Harry a debt from when Harry had spoken for him at his trial. Harry nodded to himself as he folded the letter back up. Lifting his eyes, he met Tom's brown ones.
"Lucius is back from his travels. We are invited over for tea tomorrow afternoon."
