Harry allowed his arm to fall to his side, the whip he was holding, making a slight noise as it coiled up on the floor beside him. He breathed deeply a couple of times and felt his pulse slow down. Once his breathing had even out, he coiled the whip up in his hand and walked out of the cell to put it in the box he had outside the cell, which housed the different implements he could choose from every time Voldemort disobeyed. Returning to the cell, he flicked his wand and the bonds keeping Voldemort tethered to the wall fell away.

The man himself fell to the floor in a heap as soon as the bonds disappeared. Unlike Harry, he was still gulping for air and his naked back was a mess of blood and open wounds. The blood was trickling slowly downwards, making small patches of blood on the stone floor as Voldemort tried to twist into a sitting position. His face was wet with tears that had most likely escaped against his will. The hair was a mess and the arm his was supporting his weight on was trembling, making it clear he was only keeping himself up by the share force of will. Despite his pitiful appearance, Harry could not help the feeling of arousal that made its way through him. Not that it bothered him. He had no problem acknowledging that Voldemort had to be one of the most attractive men Harry had ever seen.

That he was completely at Harry's mercy didn't discourage the feeling either. Harry had realised after the war that he seemed to have developed a rather dark need for control, and that he found pleasure in dominating his partners in bed. That had become a problem with him and Ginny, and they had mutually decided on ending things. Still, the thought of forcing Voldemort into bed just because Harry found him attractive was not one he could stomach.

On the floor Voldemort's strength gave out as well as his arm, and he ended up curled up on the floor.

With a sigh Harry walked over to him and crouched down. Grabbing a handful of the dark hair, he forced Voldemort's head back. "Why are you being punished?" He asked, his tone sweetly nice. Voldemort swallowed and kept his eyes firmly stuck on the floor. To be fair, Harry wasn't entirely sure that Voldemort knew why he had been dragged down from the upstairs room and chained to the wall.

Harry had not been by for a couple of months, work at the Ministry had kept him busy, but after another setback with the Sacret 27 when it came to the legislation he and Hermione was trying to push through, followed by whispered comments from the highborn purebloods about his and Hermione blood status, Harry had really needed an outlet for his anger. Luckily, he had his own Dark Lord chained up to punish.

On arriving at the house, he had found Voldemort curled up on the couch with a book. He had looked up as Harry had entered, a blank look on his face as he watched Harry enter and put his cloak on the back of one of the chairs. And Harry had figured that the lack of a respectful greeting was good enough reason to punish the man.

"Well?" Harry asked again.

Voldemort worked his jaw, his whole body tense, but there was not answer to his question. Harry sighed.

"You don't need a reason." Voldemort finally said almost as a whisper. That was true, Harry thought and entertained the idea of allowing that to be the answer, but no, he decided.

"That is true," he did admit before continuing. "But that's not the correct answer, pet."

Voldemort kept quiet and Harry decided he would not force him further. "Your punishment is for the lack of a respectful greeting and for using the furniture in my presence." That made Voldemort look at him with a look of incredulity. "Ah, ah," Harry continued. "I could just keep you down here for the rest of time if I was so inclined. I could starve you, beat you, torture you and hell, rape you as several of your followers did to innocent men and women," he finished in a dark tone, remembering how some of the victims of the Death Eaters had been found, and watched as Voldemort flinched at the last part of his sentence. "Instead, I have gracefully given you rooms and a bed, which you are allowed to use whenever. In return I do expect some deference and respect. Am I clear?" He allowed his tone to turn cold and added a note of steel to it as he finished.

Voldemort stayed silent. Harry let go of him and muttered a quiet tempus. Swearing as he saw that time it was, he rose to his feet and left the cell. Voldemort could spend a week in the cell he decided, modifying the wards as he left and correcting the necessary spells to change where Voldemort's bowl of food was delivered.

A week turned into a fortnight as real life took up most of Harry's attention. He attended dinners with Hermione and Ron, sometimes with the rest of the family. He went to work and tried the best he could to make some headway with the projects that he and Hermione was working on. Once he got home, he collapsed in the sitting room, completely exhausted until Kreacher would announce that supper was ready. At which point he would drag himself into the kitchen to eat before he collapsed in his bedroom and fell asleep.

He did return to the house though in the end, remember his pet Dark Lord and changed his plans so that he could visit the house for the weekend.

Upon arrival he first checked on Voldemort's upstairs chambers to make sure that they were in good condition before he ventured downstairs to check on the man himself.

Peering into the cell he frowned. Something wasn't right. Voldemort was shivering, sweating and had an unhealthy skin tone. As the man turned over, Harry swore. The wounds on his back were clearly infected from the look of them. A harsh cough broke the silence and Harry swore again. Entering the cell, he reached Voldemort who looked at him with unfocused eyes. Damn it, Harry thought. The man had probably caught an infection. Resting his hand on the forehead he noticed the high fever.

Deciding quickly, he levitated the body and brought him upstairs to the rooms there. He tucked Voldemort away in bed and then left. He went straight home and raided the medicine cabinet, finding a book on magical healing in the library before he went back to his secret house.

For the next week Voldemort swam in and out of unconsciousness as he battled with the infection and fever. Harry pretended to have caught the flue and stayed "home" for a week.

He healed the wounds on Voldemort's back and then stayed around to feed the Dark Lord potions three times a day. It was a long, sleepless week of being constantly on edge as he wasn't prepared to lose his pet now. He would wake Voldemort and take his temperature, feed him potions and change the cold cloth on his forehead and neck several times. When he wasn't doing that he would try to get Voldemort to eat some broth and drink water to preserve his strength.

A part of him wondered why he cared so much about Voldemort's health. After all, Harry was the reason the man had gotten an infection in the first place. This whole thing had started out with the intention of torturing the man and then kill him. Now, now, he didn't know. He wasn't ready to kill him, or for him to die because of Harry's action. Not out of some sort of guilt or compassion, but because Harry had come to enjoy having a pet that he could let out his darker desires on. He had come to enjoy having Voldemort at his mercy and to watch them man break bit for bit, and he wasn't willing to let that go. Perhaps out of fear as he didn't know how he would satisfy his dark desires if he didn't have Voldemort as an outlet.

Finally, the fever did break and at one point Voldemort opened his eyes and Harry could see that he was aware of his surroundings for the first time in a long week. He sighed in relief and smiled. Lifting the cup of water with the straw for Voldemort to drink from. The man frowned and seemed confused but drank from the straw.

"Welcome back, pet."

Voldemort frowned even more the lines between his lines growing even better. "You have been sick," Harry explained with a sigh. "You caught an infection."

"And who's fault is that?" Voldemort muttered, closing his eyes. This time it was Harry's turn to frown. As much as he wanted to punish Voldemort for that sentence, he didn't think it would be wise. Instead, he clicked his tongue. "You disobeyed, pet. And disobedient pet's gets punished. You know this." He could see Voldemort swallow.

"I'm sorry, sir." The words were forced from the sound of it, but Harry decided to let it go. He was impressed that Voldemort had apologised.

The next week Voldemort stayed in bed but kept regaining his strength. Harry went back and forth between his two houses and made sure that Voldemort was getting better food for the time being, to help strengthen him. Voldemort was able to get out of bed and into the bathroom after a week. The first time he had tried he had collapsed from exhaustion in the bedroom and stayed there until Harry arrived and could help him back into bed. The man had murmured a quite 'thank you, sir' as Harry had helped him back into bed. The words had made Harry smile inwardly.

As Voldemort had seemed to be recovering, Harry then left him for a week. This time making sure that he was getting two decent meals a day to aid in his recovery. He would have stayed longer, but his real life demanded that he returned to it.

He returned two weeks later. When he entered the bedroom, he found the bed empty. A twinge of worry went through him even though he knew Voldemort couldn't escape the wards. Walking through the bedroom he entered the combined living room/library.

Voldemort had apparently been reading in front of the fireplace, but as Harry appeared in the doorway, he got up and knelt on the floor, his head down and the book he had been reading was in his lap. The quiet, 'welcome, sir' caught him by surprise and Harry stopped short. He had not expected Voldemort to actually learn something from the experience, but apparently, he had.