Note: Unbeta'd since I have no beta yet. This is the third chapter in as many days, I am hoping to see more people reviewing though. I know it's a little shorter than the rest, but I didn't want to make it a long chapter, what happened should be enough to entice readers, if you like this sort of thing. Believe me - it'll be Harry/Bella, but I'm building to it.

Chapter 04
• Trepidation •

Harry awoke to a bed that was not his, to a woman that meant nothing to him. He shoved her away, pushing through the four on his bed. Two of them were not even Death Eaters, and one had been a muggle who'd been imprisoned, a muggle who had been willing to come to his room if only to stay alive for a while longer.

Staring at her, he found himself appalled at what he'd done. She was already awake, and in the corner of the room. There was a guard outside, someone that would have kept her in, so she could not escape. She looked at him, tears poring down her face. "Let me go," she said with a whimper.

There was another moment, a moment that Harry returned. He could see the woman standing crumpled in front of him begging for life, and something stirred, an anger for causing her pain. "Get out!" he yelled whipping around to the bed, where the other three woman had suddenly awakened. All of them were confused for a moment, and none were dressed in a shed of clothing. "OUT!" he roared with such force that several of them fell backwards, raising his wand.

Each darted from the bed, heading towards the door. The room was empty in a matter of seconds, empty except for the muggle woman and him.

Dropping to a knee, he raised her head to his. Her blue eyes were nothing special, just a light shade with tiny flakes of green embedded. Her straight black hair was plastered to her skin from a night of sweaty activities and no longer straight. The tan skin, the thing he'd found himself touching much of the night, was trembling from the empty cold of the room, or perhaps his anger.

"What is it you want?" she asked, her voice quivering. "I'll do anything if you let me live."

Something inside him fought, fought to be unchained, and the control Harry had was lost. But, he did not raise his wand and kill her on the spot. His lips spread in a smile, a sickening smile. "You wish to live?" he asked enjoying the emotions that Harry had shown towards this woman. It was not the only one, but she would suffice for now.

The woman nodded.

"What is your name?" he asked. He did not know, nor did he care, he wanted Harry to know, and Harry knew this, he could feel the thoughts that were coming, and he tried to fight again, tried to fight what was going to happen.

"I am Christine," she said weakly.

"Christine, then." Harry said. "How is it you came to be here?"

This was something he didn't know yet, Death Eaters had been abducting muggles from all over, some to kill, some to torture, all to pleasure themselves in one way or another.

"I... was working..." she said, faltering, "it was only my second night..."

"Where do you work Christine?" he asked, sauntering over to his desk to write a note he would attach to her.

"The..." she stopped, looking down again.

"Christine," Harry said, his voice quite, but carrying a dangerous edge to it. He continued to write, feeling odd to write a note to himself. Perhaps he wouldn't remember everything when he returned and that's why Voldemort was writing him.

"Oxford, Oxford Street."

"You work a street?" Harry asked, pausing. He smiled, as it dawned on him what she'd been doing. "You work a street," he said, repeating himself, but in an understanding tone. "Why choose such a job for yourself?"

"I... I... left home and my parents told me never to come back. At first it was alright, I had money, but my money went away and I couldn't keep my apartment. I lived in my car and tried to find a job... but there was this man who helped me get a job carrying things, and then he made me try them. After that, everything went wrong. I lost my car, and my job, because I couldn't leave the stuff alone," she said, sobbing. "They told me if I worked the street I'd make enough money to buy some, but I couldn't do it right. Tanya showed me, she showed me how to get them to come to me. The man that brought me here told me he could give me everything I wanted..."

Promises, such sweet promises. Whores on the street that needed something were easily swayed even without magic. He was happy that Harry had enjoyed this one, it was much easier to do this because she wasn't magical, because she couldn't fight back.

"And now you want to live, you've forgotten about the other things you found necessary, and you want to live."

She whimpered, he'd seen her act like this in the cell as she walked past and he could tell that she would be perfect for Harry's tastes, so weak and in need of a strong person to hold her chain. She was a natural slave, and it was something that he'd discovered he liked, at least while Harry was with him, he enjoyed marking them, making them his own. Harry would enjoy the gift too.

Again Harry fought it, trying to control himself, all he had to do was walk to the door and command the guard to return her to the street. It would take only a minute, and she'd be free. The pen stopped writing for a second as his emotions built. "Stay calm," he whispered. "Accept the gift, for it is something you'll enjoy. You can see how badly her life has gone, do you want her to return to the streets, only to die?"

Some of the emotions that had strengthened died again, and all the control was lost.

He finished the note, then turned to the woman, Christine. "I can offer you life," he said, taking the quill and dipping it in ink. "But there will be a price."

"What?" she asked, quietly, tears still sliding down her cheeks.

"Do you remember last night, when I marked you?" he asked, approaching and pushing her head down with his hands. On the back of her neck, where her shoulders came together was a wide mark where he'd drawn blood at least once the night before.

Christine whimpered. He touched the quill to her neck, pushing just hard enough to break the tender coating that had formed. She whimpered again.

"Did you enjoy it?" he asked.

The body, which had been shaking until now, stilled. She froze in terror. He raised her head with his hand, staring into her eyes. He was right though, it wasn't just terror, it was the urge to do something that she'd only dreamed of. The sort of thing she had been taught was wrong, but it was something that made her warm inside. To belong to someone, to serve them was an exhilarating feeling, something she had enjoyed. She didn't say it, but he knew.

"Would you like to belong to someone, someone who'll treat you well, better than I?"

She didn't answer, because she couldn't verbalize it. After being told for so long that it was wrong her mind was in conflict about it, no matter how good it felt. Harry smiled and tilted her head down again, this time watching the blood well up in the wound. He poked the quill into it, hard, watching as the blood turned black.

Then he reached into his wand pocket, withdrawing the long wand that lay within. He stared at it, and then at the woman, focusing because of the difficulty of the spell. He touched her neck with the wand, just enough that the blood connected to it. She felt the ink enter into her blood, the hot searing pain of it and screamed in pain but found herself unable to move.

"Maculigo," he said simply and the black blood began to form, the wound healing. He pulled the quill from it and watched as the skin glossed over a symbol appeared, a slender line, broken only once. A bolt of lightning. He turned away as she screamed in pain on the floor, knowing that while it hurt she was enjoying having it forced upon her.

"Now, she is yours Harry Potter," he said quietly. "A present from me."

He looked to the table, intending on writing something else, but what it was, Harry would not know. He felt himself shoved backwards, shoved harder and harder until he was flying through darkness, no longer in Voldemort's body, no longer feeling the pleasure of watching someone writhe beneath him, and at the same time hating himself for it.

It all snapped together, as if his body and spirit crashed into one another. He screamed in horrific pain, and found that there were people all around him, and he was in a white room, something that was familiar. A girl was looking at him, her face stricken, her bushy brown hair bobbed as she pulled away. A redhead stood next to her, a boy with a face so familiar, so terribly familiar. Then, it was gone, all of it. The room turned dark and the pain ceased as he blacked out.

• Edited 2004.12.17 •