"How odd that we spend so much time treating the darkness, and so little time seeking the light. The ego loves to glorify itself by self-analysis, yet we do not get rid of darkness by hitting it with a baseball bat. We only get rid of darkness by turning on the light."
― Marianne Williamson, Tears to Triumph: The Spiritual Journey from Suffering to Enlightenment
Harry watched as Voldemort tried to pull himself together on the floor. The man was currently gasping for air, his breath making damp appear in the air due to the cold temperature in the cell. He was curled on his side, face hidden by one of his arms, the hand on the other was curled into a fist. The body shaking in the aftereffects of the Cruciatus Curse.
Twirling his wand around his fingers on his right hand, Harry leaned against the wall and waited. He was itching to curse the man again, but he knew he had to be careful unless he wanted to ruin the former Dark Lord's mind. Something that would be a pity as it would take all the fun out of it.
"I don't take lightly to things being thrown at me, Tom," said Harry, looking towards the bowl of food that the man had hurled at him as soon as he had entered the warded cell. He had managed to duck in time and the bowl had flown through the wards and crashed against the wall on the other side of the hallway, breaking into several pieces before landing on the stone floor.
He had cursed the man without thinking, fury and anger welling up in him at the pointless gesture. If the man wouldn't eat then Harry would force him, but perhaps there was another way to go about this. He couldn't blame Voldemort for being tired of the tasteless slop after six months.
On the floor Voldemort stirred slightly, his breaths becoming more even as the racing puls he no doubt had, was calming down. Slowly he tried to raise his head, but even that seemed to be too much of a strain on his body because he quickly gave up and stayed curled on the floor. The black robe was pooled around him in stark contrast to the pale face and dark hair. It was wearing was torn and ripped in some places, but mostly clean as the cell was charmed to send a cleaning spell through it every other day.
A slight feeling of power rushed through Harry's body at the sight of his once nemesis having been brought so low. A small part of him however felt guilty for what he was doing – torturing an unarmed and helpless man. However, that thought was quickly covered by pictures of dead and mutilated bodies strewed across the great courtyard of Hogwarts. The victims that had survived but was permanently scared for life both psychologically and physical. Harry could feel the dark anger rise at the mental images of the full ward of St. Mungo's the days after the war, the blood, the pain.
Even know, six months later, the Wizarding world was still suffering. Kingsley had done a remarkable job pulling the Ministry back together, but even they could not perform miracles. The Wizarding world was still hurting, badly, and the only thing that could heal those wounds was time. How much time nobody knew.
A whimper drew his attention from his dark musings as Voldemort seemed to try and lift his head once more. This time he did succeeded in pushing himself to a half sitting position. His head was still bent, and he was struggling to even out his breathing. The dark hair that grown somewhat was obscuring his face, but Harry assumed the eyes were burning with anger. Apparently being left alone for three months had not helped on the man's mood.
Walking over, Harry bent down and sized the dark-haired man by the hair, pulling his twisted his head enough to see the hate that burned in the brown eyes. Ah, good. It wouldn't be any fun if the man gave in to easy. Alas, this was Lord Voldemort, so Harry highly doubted six months in relatively isolation, combined with a few rounds of the Cruciatus curse would break him. None the worry though, Harry was pretty sure even the infamous Dark Lord had a breaking point, it was just a case of finding it.
"I am assuming you won't try to repeat that in the future?"
The anger and frustration in the brown eyes and in the gritted teeth and set jaw was like a balm on Harry's anger. "Well?" He said as Voldemort refused to answer. The man gritted his teeth even further and for a moment Harry wondered if it was possible for the man's molars to crack at the pressure of which he was apparently clenching his teeth.
When no answer was forthcoming Harry sighed and let go of the dark hair. The sudden release of the tight grip on his hair seemed to come as a surprise to Voldemort as he nearly collapsed on the floor.
Harry crouch down on his hinds and watched as Voldemort found his balance once more and pulled himself to a sitting position with his legs out to one side, his right hand supporting his weight, no doubt to keep him from toppling over again. The eyes were glaring a hole in the floor from the looks of things.
"Am I to take it that you are tired of your current diet, or that you wish to end your life by starving to death?" Harry asked reaching out a hand towards the handsome face and smirking as Voldemort couldn't contain a small flinch as Harry gently let his fingers grip him around the jaw and lifted the face. With a snarl Voldemort wrenched his head away and with a surprisingly amount of strength managed to back away.
The vicious backhand across his face at the action took him by surprise however and Tom crumbled to the floor once more as his right arm failed to support his weight.
"Don't pull away from me," Harry warned, letting a note of steel slip into his voice, making it clear he expected to obey. Not surprisingly he didn't get an answer.
Voldemort had hardly spoken a word to him the last few visits. The man har tried, and failed several times to attack him physical, but as his strength dwindled with no exercise and lack of proper food, Harry's advantage had just increased. The last two times Voldemort had simply seemed to have given up on that approached and had more or less ignored Harry from the moment he arrived.
Not that Harry cared much for whatever curses Voldemort felt the need to yell at him, and the lack of response had worked fine as an excuse to punish him. Not that Harry needed an excuse. Lord Voldemort had after all handed out the Cruciatus Curse as if it was candy and enough of his followers had stayed followers simply because they were too afraid of the promise of torture and a painful death, to leave.
Standing back up Harry conjured up a chair and sat down. On the floor Voldemort pushed himself backwards until he reached the wall where he leaned against it, head hanging low and eyes closed.
"Which is it then, tired of the food, or trying to starve yourself to death? I can assure that if it's the last one I'll be more than happy to force feed you, although I'm pretty sure you haven't reached the point of wanting to die just yet. Considering you split your soul by the means of murder when you were sixteen in fear of dying. Your first victim however was killed by your pet basilisk. She still haunts the second-floor bathroom." Still no reaction. Mhm, seemed the man was hoping that by not letting himself be provoked he might manage to starve of any more punishment. Too bad for him then. Harry didn't actually need an excuse.
Waving his wand, he conjured up a small table. Standing up he left the warded cell to pick up the tray of food he had placed out of sight in the hallway. As he came back through the wards, he could see Voldemort lifting his head slightly to follow his motions. Sitting back down he placed the tray on the table and took one of the grapes and put into his mouth.
The sound of Voldemort's stomach growling made him smile as he bit into the green grape, feeling the slightly tight skin give away as his teeth pierced through it. He had no doubt the man was hungry. The bland mix he was fed was designed to keep him alive, not to be a gourmet meal.
Harry bit into another grape before picking up a piece of bread with cheese. Standing up he walked over and crouched down in front of Voldemort. Apprehension and wariness clouded the dark eyes, but there was also a glimmer of hunger and Harry could see him swallowing at the sight of the food. Good. Holding out the bread he waited. Voldemort's eyes flickered from the food to Harry's eyes. Whatever the man saw in them made him swallow once more and look away.
"Go to Hell, Potter," the man muttered in a voice hoarse from screaming. It was just loud enough for Harry to hear it. A smirked spread over his face as Harry answered. "Oh, I think I've had my share of experience in what hell constitutes as. And this isn't a request. It's an order. Eat," he finished, his voice hardening with the expectation of being obeyed. Still the former Dark Lord kept staring out into the air, pretending to haven't heard him. Harry's smirked widened. Good, it wouldn't be fun if Voldemort gave into the game to early.
"Let me make this easier. You either eat this or I'll put you back under the Cruciatus Curse, or perhaps I'll leave you starve until you are an inch from starving to death, before bringing you back. I have heard it is quite painful. When the body doesn't get enough food, it will start eating on the muscles. You've already lost weight from lack of exercise-"
"And who's fault is that?" The question was snarled as Voldemort turned to face him, his eyes blazing with anger, frustration and what looked like despair. Still, among the other feeling, the hunger stood out in contrast as Voldemort's eyes were focused on the bread still held in Harry's hand.
Feeling the dark anger rise at the question, Harry snapped back. "Your own fault. You are the architect behind two damnable wars that have brought nothing good our world. You claim you only wanted what was best for the Wizarding world, but that was just excuses to pad your own ego and need for power and control to make of for the lack of it when you were growing up! Yes," he continued at Voldemort's slightly surprised look, "I know all about your childhood and your school years. Dumbledore was kind enough to share before you forced poor Draco to try and kill him. Who punishes a man by turning his sixteen-year-old son into a murderer?" The itch to curse or beat the man in front of him was once more overwhelming, but he managed to reel back the anger in the last second.
Voldemort opened his mouth, probably to make excuses Harry didn't want to hear. "Be quiet," Harry commanded softly and was for a second surprised when Voldemort closed his mouth. The brown eyes were still shining with emotions, but the fact that he obeyed made a curl of satisfaction unfold in Harry's stomach.
"Now, would you like to figure out how it feels to starve combined with more pain, or would you just eat?" Holding up the bread once more Harry surveyed the different emotions on Voldemort's face were warring against each other. In the end it seemed to settle on something that looked like resignation. The man sighed and reached out to accept the food.
Harry clicked his tongue in disapproval as he pulled the food just out of reach. The incredulous look that appeared on Voldemort's face was hilarious. "I'm not a bloody pet to be handfed," he snarled, crossing his arms over his chest.
Standing up, Harry returned to his chair. "Suite yourself," he said, popping the piece of bread into his own mouth as he pulled out his wand. Raising it to cast the Cruciatus curse once more he watched as Voldemort's eyes widened. "Don't!". The word seemed to have slipped out without Voldemort meaning for it to happen, because he looked slightly confused at his own voice.
"Now, you have had you're chance to eat, and you refused it. I don't give second chances. However," he said as he saw a flicker of fear dart across the handsome face in front of him, "I'll give you another option just this once." He waited to see if Voldemort would outright refuse any options and just accept the pain instead. Although Harry had worn down a lot of the pride in the former Dark Lord, there was still a lot left. Enough to make Voldemort keep his cloak of superciliousness and haughtiness.
Harry waited and, in the end, Voldemort lost his patience. "What?" He snapped, seemingly having to force the words out. Good, that meant he was hungry enough to might consider Harry's proposal.
"Kneel," he said simply, watching as the word registered. He wasn't sure how he expected Voldemort to react. Perhaps laugh and ask him if he was insane or tell him once more to go straight to hell by the fastest possible route. "Remember graveyard?" Harry mused looking away from Voldemort and staring at the wall. He could still see the image of that day clear as a picture in his memory. "What was it you said again? Bow to death was it? Well, kneel as you made all your deluded followers do unless they wanted to be tortured within an inch of their life."
Turning his eyes back to Voldemort he smiled, not that there was any warmth behind the smile. "Kneel and I'll leave the tray and you can feed yourself. Alternatively, I'll be happy to torture you for the rest of the evening and then leave you here alone until my alert charms tell me you a close to death. What will it be, coming within an inch of what you fear the most in this world, or a simple gesture in a room where no one can see you?"
The decision should probably have been an easy one, but Harry knew that nothing of what was going on in Voldemort's head would be easy for the man. The pride warring with the ingrained fear of death that had led Voldemort to splitting his soul so many times that he had come as close to insane as possible.
Picking up a piece of melon wrapped in ham, Harry popped it into his mouth. Voldemort's brown, almost crimson eyes were following the movement hungrily and his stomach growled again, even louder this time.
Slowly, as if every moment was painful, which Harry thought it probably was, Voldemort moved his legs, so that instead of sitting with his back against the wall he was now kneeling on the floor. The eyes were burning with rage, but at Harry's unimpressed glare he dropped them to floor. Good, Harry thought feeling pleasure curling in his stomach at the sight of Tom Riddle on his knees, eyes downcast and looking submissive for all the illusion that it was, and on the heel of that a slight feeling of arousal.
Perhaps, just perhaps there were other ways of going about this, other than just using the man as his personal punching bag to let of steam. The humiliation and reluctant obedience that was rolling of the man was fare more intoxicating than the painfilled scream from the torture Harry had administered over the last months.
It was an interesting twist he had to think more about.
"Good boy," Harry praised and could see a muscle tick in Voldemort's jaw at the condescending praise.
Reluctant obedience was still obedience and needed to be rewarded.
He stood, taking the tray with him and put it down on the floor in front of his unwilling prisoner. "Enjoy." He reached out a hand and watch as Voldemort clearly considered flinching away from his hand, but apparently the lesson from before had stuck because he managed to keep still.
"Good," Harry praised again turning to leave the cell. Shivering slightly in the cold air he pulled his cloak tighter around himself. There was no warming in the cell and the cold November air made the cell freezing cold.
Stopping just short of exiting the wards he turned slightly.
Voldemort was still staring at the food, but not touching it. While Harry watched, he carefully reached out towards a piece of meat, looking like he expected the tray to disappear the moment he touched it. The relief in his tense shoulder when nothing happened was all too clear.
Feeling slightly generous at the obedience the man had shown, Harry found a handkerchief in his pocket and transformed it into a large, thick wool blanket. Walking back towards Voldemort he placed the blanket on the floor by the tray. He ignored the flash of wariness that flashed over Voldemort's face as he approached, the man probably thought he was going to remove the tray. Turning to exit the cell he flicked his wand silently and raised the temperature in the cell by some degrees, not enough to be pleasantly warm, but enough to not be freezing cold.