Summer was approaching yet again as the day grew longer and lighter. In the garden the plants and trees were blooming, sending the smell of fresh blossoms drifting over the garden in the light breeze. The birds were chipping in the bushes, but not loud enough to be disturbing – just simply enough to heighten the feeling of summer.
Harry had taken his place at the table on the terrace and was for once not working, but actually enjoying a book. He had decided to leave work behind for the weekend and fled to the country house and his unwilling houseguest that he hadn't checked in on for a long time.
Oh, he knew the man was still there, the wards couldn't be broken, least not by Voldemort. Voldemort might be all powerful, but he had nothing against the wards put up by the Master of Death himself. Not that Harry used the tittle much, or any of the Hollows, but the power, the access to ancient magic that had been granted him when he had accepted the Hollows, that was power the Dark Lord knew not.
He could feel him push against the power for the cuffs, trying to use brute force to find a crack in the warding, but the attempts had become fewer and fewer as the last two years had dwindled by. Voldemort was not broken nor tamed by a long shot, but he had changed his approach. After realising that fighting back outright would only land him in more pain, he was now more or less faking obedience to avoid it as much as possible. Not that it always helped.
Harry had managed to come to terms with his own dark desires, although it had not been easy, but it had been a relief. In the end though he had talked to a muggle therapist who had explained, on a general note, that the need to dominate, to be on top and to inflict pain, was not necessarily something unhealthy and he had recommended several books on the topic of BDSM. Harry had neglected to tell him that he had a chained up, unwilling houseguest that he tortured on a regular basis, especially after the man had gone on about the importance of consent.
The conclusion he had reached, was that it was probably better to keep Voldemort chained up than trying to find someone who would willingly allow him to dominate and hurt them. He had a nasty feeling such a relationship would get out of hand quite quickly, not to mention if the press got wind of it. He shuddered. He could hear the moral and ethical speech from Hermione when she found out. No, better to just keep Voldemort around. The positive side about keeping the defeated Dark Lord was that he could somewhat justify his actions as no one would dispute that Voldemort deserved what he got for starting two wars and been the architect behind so many deaths and so much suffering.
Harry had a slight feeling that for all he put Voldemort through, the Ministry would have done worse. Looking up from the book he located the man in question where he was sitting under the large tree in the middle of the garden reading a book of his own. The blue blanket that he seemed to never be without was curled underneath him, acting as pillow.
Yes, Harry thought, the Ministry would never have allowed him any of the comforts that Harry was currently offering. And even Harry's thirst for blood had diminished somewhat after Voldemort had become sick the year before. He had been forced to acknowledge that Voldemort was mortal once more and that if he pushed too hard, then he would end up killing the man. Which ironically had been his plan. Now however, he did find pleasure in watching Voldemort bow, obey, and in punishing him if he didn't, which did happen several times.
He could break the man if he put enough time and energy into it, but as it was, he preferred the man to retain some of his personality. The last two years had worn him down somewhat though, but Harry could still see the calculated glint in the brown eyes whenever he thought Harry wasn't paying attention. But that was alright. It was much more fun to see him bow and kneel when Harry knew he wasn't broken. And if the man wanted to waste time plotting, then by all means.
Looking at the watch, he closed the book and exited the rooms that Voldemort was confined to. The house itself was much larger, but for the moment he preferred to have Voldemort restricted to a smaller section of it. The wards were stronger the smaller area they were meant to contain, and he had felt Voldemort trying to sense out the wards more than once. He didn't however, out of fear of getting burned.
He located the kitchen and began preparing a meal, losing himself in the process of cooking. It was comfortable, familiar and allowed him to let his mind wander.
As he still found pleasure in humiliating Voldemort by demanding he eat from his hand if he wanted something other than the porridge, he made sure to prepare something that would suit that purpose.
The thought of a submissive Voldemort who did as he was told without question brought a strange sense of victory, and Harry assumed it was what the therapist had referred to as the dominate side off him. The need to control another human being, but also then being aware of the responsibility he had for caring for the person in his charge, whether the person was there willingly or not.
He brought the tray back out to the terrace and sat down. He knew Voldemort hadn't eaten that day, he assumed he would be wanting food. Looking up, he saw Voldemort watching him. "Hungry, Tom?" he called, gesturing to the tray.
He refused to call Voldemort by his made-up name, but the last six months he had stopped calling him pet unless he was being punished. He had to give the man something for his obedience, although he wondered if Voldemort might prefer 'pet' over Tom. The man didn't answer at first and Harry just shrugged. He didn't care either way, but he did conjure up the bowl of porridge and put in on the edge of the terrace in case the man did want something to eat. Feeling generous he added some fresh fruits and brown sugar on top.
He picked his way through the tray as he returned to his book. The bowl of porridge was gone by the time he returned from having put the tray back in the kitchen.
Voldemort was reading on the floor by the fireplace as the evening started to draw close. Harry was at the window where he was staring out into the garden, letting his mind wander. It was a lovely evening, he thought. Almost too fine to be inside.
"Tom, do you want to go for a walk?" The words were out before he registered what he had asked. Turning his head, he saw Voldemort's head shot upwards. He blinked. "Sir?"
"Outside. There is a small path that goes through the woods. You haven't been outside the garden for a couple of years." He could see the wheels turning in Voldemort's head, not doubt trying to figure out how he could use it to his advantage. The calculating look was back in his eyes as well making the brown eyes harden. Harry smirked inwardly. He wasn't afraid to bring him outside. It wouldn't be possible for Voldemort to escape, but Harry had no doubt he probably would try, but not that day. He would be on his best behaviour the first trip, and perhaps the second and third. Then he would try something. But no matter. Harry would be ready for him.
"I wouldn't mind," Voldemort finally answered, sounding reserved but Harry could hear the eagerness shimmering just below. The man probably assumed that the offer would be rescinded the moment he showed any interest in it, or Harry would use the opportunity to mock him. As he was Harry just nodded and entered the bedroom. Shuffling through the wardrobe he found a cloak and shoes that he handed to Voldemort as the man slowly came into the bedroom after him.
"Here. It is still a bit chilly outside."
Voldemort took the offered cloak but still looked like he was expecting the whole thing to be a cruel joke and that almost made Harry feel bad, almost. Waiting for Voldemort to fasten the cloak, Harry crossed his arms over his chest.
"Just to be clear. I am putting a proximity spell on you that allows you to be no more than 10 feet away from me. If you step further than that the spell allows it will render you unconscious. You are not to talk to anyone, not that I am expecting us to meet anyone, the nearest village or houses are miles from here. Try anything stupid at all and I will take it out on you when we get back." He allowed his voice to harden at the end. Voldemort flinched across from him and lowered his eyes, no doubt thinking about the previous punishments Harry had administered. Harry waited.
"Yes, sir," Voldemort finally murmured, toying with the edge of his cloak.
Harry nodded. Good. He reached out and Voldemort flinched back instinctually. Harry just sighed and waited for the man to step back within touching distance before taking him by the arm and leading him out through the wards, first the ones covering the rooms and then the ones covering the property.
Voldemort was quiet as they walked, but his head kept turning from side to side, taking in everything around himself. They entered the path that led through the forest and their surroundings turned darker as the little light that remained was stolen by the high trees.
Something sparkled to his right and Harry turned his head. Midnight orchids, he thought surprised. Stepping out of the path he crouched down next to them and conjured up an airtight container. The orchids were midnight blue that glowed in the darkness. They were not large, but their leaves were a decent size. The roots however were long and sought after by potions masters everywhere and the price was horrendous. The only known orchids in the UK was those who were bred in greenhouses, to wild ones, and this many was spectacular.
"Midnight orchids," Voldemort said somewhere behind him, a note of awe in his voice, just before he knelt next to Harry, his hand reaching out slowly to carefully touch the flower. "There are not many of these left in Britain," he said, looking around. "They are quite valuable, but I guess you don't need money."
Harry smiled as he carefully unearthed a plant, roots and all. "No. I don't. But I have a friend who would be very grateful for these."
"One of your sidekicks perhaps?" There was a barely concealed not of disgust in Voldemort's voice, but Harry didn't comment on it. "These will need a special environment to grow, a special greenhouse."
Nodding, Harry stood back up, Voldemort mirroring him. "I know," Harry said and shrunk the container, putting it back into his pocket. "Come on, before it gets to dark."
They continued down the path until Voldemort caught sight of something between the trees. He stopped abruptly and Harry almost forgot to stop before he ventured to far from the man. Tilting his head slightly Voldemort stepped of the path. "Can you cast a lumos?" He asked, turning his head to look at Harry. Now it has his turn to frown, but he pulled out his wand. The light showed four plants with red flowers and sharp teeth. It looked familiar.
"Where in Ireland are we, exactly?" Voldemort asked, crouching down to look at the plant, but not approaching it.
"North-west."
"Like the Midnight Orchid, the Fanged Geraniums are also assumed to be extinct when it came to growing wild, but here they are. It seems like you have a very interesting, magical forest growing beside your home, Harry." Voldemort rose and turned towards Harry. Harry wondered if he should say something about the use of his name, but it was the first time in two years he had ever heard the man utter it, and it was a little bit strange to have Voldemort address him as 'sir' when they were on a walk like this and for the first time actually talking.
They continued, stopping twice more as Voldemort noticed several rarer plants that seemed to thrive in this strange forest in the middle of nowhere. Voldemort made a comment here and there and some small talk, always perfectly polite and respectful.
Not that Harry was surprised. Voldemort was trying to take advantage of Harry's willingness to show him a little bit of kindness by trying to make Harry see him as something more than a punching bag to take his anger out on. A tactic that he probably hoped would take the risk of being killed off the table. It was a classic tactic used often in muggle videos when someone was kidnapped. By telling your kidnapper about yourself you also made yourself more human, more like him or her, perhaps remind them of a relative, daughter, father, mother. Anything that would make them think twice before killing you.
By allowing Voldemort to use his name, to come on a walk, to talk to him about normal things Harry was also opening the door for Voldemort to try and position himself better. To be seen as an asset beyond just a captive kept for Harry's entertainment. The man probably hoped this approach would help starve of the torture and perhaps get him more privileges while Voldemort kept plotting to find a way to escape. And that was fine, Harry thought. He didn't have the dark need to simply blindly torture Voldemort anymore, it had become a lot more interesting to have Voldemort submit without Harry having to physical force him.
And over time the conditioning would slowly change the man, not matter how hard Voldemort probably fought against it, and thought himself able to avoid that trap.
As they returned to the house the light caught on the healing bruise on Voldemort's face, and the split lip. The man turned his head as Harry opened the door and yet again Harry was caught by how handsome the man was. Sharp profile, high cheekbones, hair falling slightly into his eyes and brown eyes that looked almost crimson in the slight light. Voldemort dropped his eyes and bowed his head.
"Thank you for the walk, sir," he murmured as Harry held the door open and allowed him to go in first.
Harry tried to hide the small smile at the blatant manipulation the man was doing but said nothing. He assumed Voldemort knew that Harry knew what he was doing, but apparently the man was confident that his method would work.
To Harry's surprise almost five months and five walks went by without an incident. Voldemort knelt, he spoke politely and hardly ever met Harry's eyes whenever he was there. He took the food from Harry's hand, and he tolerated that Harry ran his hand through his hair.
The only thing that had changed was that Voldemort had noticed the main library when they had come home from another walk and had respectfully asked if it would be possible for him to get some new books as he had gone through most of the ones in his room. Harry didn't see the harm in that and had levitated the books Voldemort didn't want in his room into the main library and the books Voldemort found in the main library into his room. There was after all no book in the world that could tell Voldemort how to counter the Master of Death's wards, but if it kept the man busy then why not.
Unfortunately, Voldemort's plan also seemed to be working somewhat. Harry's dark desires seemed to be satisfied by the submissive act Voldemort was putting on, and the urge to drag him to the basement had been somewhat quelled. Some days however he still punished him for smaller infractions, but then mostly using magic and he didn't bother to drag him down. Instead, he focused on the pleasure he found in making Voldemort submit, especially the times when the man couldn't completely hide his annoyance.
His lack of violence, and the fact that autumn had been very busy, and he had stayed away for long period of time, also seemed to strengthen Voldemort's confidence in his approach to the problem, which made the man more willing to accept the humiliating rules Harry set in place simply to avoid having to be returned to the basement.
Harry assumed the strange peace couldn't continue forever.
Looking back, he somewhat had sensed what was going to happen just before it did.
They had entered the house and Harry had just cancelled the proximity spell. The next thing he knew he was falling backwards out the door and rolled down the stone steps. A pain filled scream accompanied the fall, but it was not his voice he was hearing, but Voldemort's.
Landing, he managed not to hit his head on the stone path. The wand clattered to the ground beside him and for a moment the world spun. When it kicked back into gear he shot up, grabbed his wand and got to his feet. Looking towards the door he saw Voldemort curled on the floor, shivering in pain, but still inside the wards.
Ah, it dawned on Harry suddenly. Voldemort had noticed that Harry always held him when they went through the wards, and had, incorrectly, assumed that the contact was required for Voldemort to pass over the ward line. That or Voldemort assumed Harry took down the wards when they went out or in. Either way he had apparently expected to be able to cross the wards by taking Harry by the arm and walking over. Unfortunately, that was not how the wards worked.
Anger rose in him, and he grabbed Voldemort by the hair and more or less dragged him down the stairs, the man stumbling and struggling to keep up, and hurled him into the cell.l He watched as the man tried, but failed, at catching himself against the wall and crumbled to a heap. Walking over he crouched down and grabbed him by the hair once more.
"Care to explain that, pet?"
Voldemort was clearly in pain, but for the first time in a long time he answered back. "What? Did you think I would let you turn me into some obedient pet that kneels at your feet and obeys your every command?" he snarled; his eyes almost crimson in anger.
Harry laughed; he couldn't help it. "Of course not," he chuckled. "I have been expecting you to try something like this since the first time I took you outside. I could have told you that it wouldn't work. There is no way around my wards or the cuffs."
Voldemort didn't look like he believed that. This was probably the first time the man had come across magic that he couldn't conquer or manipulate.
Suddenly he kicked out, sending Harry to the floor. He landed with a groan and had barely time to roll away before Voldemort pounced on him. Five months of peace and good meals had done wonders for the man's body, but he was still out of shape and lacking muscles. That didn't, however, mean that he wasn't dangerous. For a moment Harry considered putting an end to the fight by simply taking the man down using magic, but at the same time he was itching for a fight and to spend some of the pent-up energy.
By the time Harry ended it he was bleeding from his nose, a cut over his brow and one of his eyes were starting to swell shut. Voldemort was not better off. He was swaying, trying to stay on his feet even though his right leg wanted to give out after a powerful kick to the knee. He was bleeding from his lip and a dark bruise was forming on his cheek. One hand was clutching his side where Harry had gotten inn a couple of kicks.
The fight ended with Harry slamming Voldemort into the wall after dodging yet another hit and knocked the breath out of the other man. He crumpled to the ground, wheezing and Harry stepped back, taking a couple of deep breaths himself. Then he took out his wand. Grabbing Voldemort, he flipped him over and chained him to the wall by his wrists on his knees.
Voldemort turned his head and his eyes widened slightly at the sight of the whip in Harry's hand. His shoulder tensed but he didn't say anything. He simply turned his head towards the wall. Apparently, they were back to where they had started.
He did jump however when Harry hit him over the soles of his feet. The next time he tried to pull away, but Harry switched the whip for his wand and chained the feet to the floor to avoid them moving.
"Seeing as you are so keen un running, pet, I guess will have to make it a bit harder for you to actually move," Harry said, continuing to hit across the soles of both feet. It didn't take long before Voldemort started to fidget as the pain got worse. Harry had read up on this kind of punishment and apparently the nerves under the feet were different form the rest of the body. Where the rest of the body would get used to the pain when hit enough times, like a normal whipping, the nerves under the feet didn't. That meant that each hit would hurt just as much, or even more, than the previous one.
By the time he did stop, his arm was tired. Voldemort was leaning against the wall, his breath shallow. He was sweating and trembling and the noises he had made had told Harry that he was on the verge of pleading with Harry to stop. It didn't matter much to Harry that he hadn't, although it would have been satisfying, but there was still time.
He released Voldemort from the chains that held him to the wall and watch him crumple into a heap. Bending down Harry took a piece of rope and tied both of Voldemort's wrists together. He then used his wand to drag the man to his feet and attach a chain from the wrists to the wall. Like this Voldemort had no other option than to stay on his feet.
Whatever will force Voldemort had used to not scream during the punishment had apparently reached an end because he howled in pain as his feet encountered the stone floor.
"I'll give you a chance to think this over," Harry said turning his back on the previous Dark Lord who was having a hard time trying to figure out where to put his weight to reduce the pain.
Harry sighed. Well, some good food and a glass of wine would be heavenly right now, he thought.
Voldemort had passed out when Harry returned the next morning. He came to with a gasp and a scream when the weight was put on his feet as Harry brought him back to consciousness.
Harry watched him struggle. After a couple of moments Voldemort seemed to give up. He looked up and his eyes met Harry's for a moment before he dropped them. "Please." The words were forced through tight lips. Harry studied him. He didn't look like he could take much more pain, but the injuries wouldn't kill him, neither would the pain.
The brown eyes widened when Harry picked up the whip from where he had left in on the floor.
Two weeks had passed, and they were touching upon December once more. Harry had made sure to visit his disobedient pet more or less every day. Not that he imagined Voldemort appreciated it. The man had stayed silent and strong through most of the beatings and torture, but slowly Harry could see cracks in his facade. He also knew just what to tell the man to rob him off all hope, but he hadn't wanted to pull that card yet, but perhaps it was time to reconsider.
At the moment he was watching Voldemort struggle as Harry held his head underneath the water. It wasn't the first time that evening and Voldemort strength was starting to dwindle. Harry could feel how his struggles became weaker and weaker as he closed in on Death's door.
Just as the body started to get lax, he pulled him out and let go, watching Voldemort falling to the ground. He was gasping for air, trying to get something into his starving lungs. As soon as he seemed to breath somewhat normally, Harry reached for him, and Voldemort tried to flinch away.
"Please."
Harry stopped, waiting.
"Please, stop," Voldemort whispered, curling in on himself. "I am sorry for what I tried to do, sir."
"No." As tempting as that was, Harry knew he couldn't. That would only teach Voldemort that he could beg, and the punishment would stop. That was not how things would see the punishment through. "This is a punishment; you don't get to beg your way out of it. You accept it and see it through."
He wasn't sure what kind of response he was expecting, but none came. Voldemort simply kept shivering and trembling. After what felt like an eternity the man nodded.
"Good boy," Harry said. "I'm going to put you under one more time, you are not going to fight me. After I'll heal your wounds and find you something to eat." Not waiting for a response, he reached out and grabbed Voldemort by the hair. The man didn't fight him, but he didn't exactly go willing either. Harry kept him under long enough that he could feel Voldemort fight against himself not to struggle, then he pulled him back up.
Voldemort crawled backwards until he hit the wall where he hurdled together.
Harry followed. Voldemort kept a wary eye on him. Turning slightly Harry summoned the blue blanket he had given Voldemort so long ago and held it out to the man. That gesture seemed to relax the man as he took the blanket and pulled it around himself.
Keeping to his word, Harry healed the injuries, although the pain of them remained. Then he summoned a plate of food which he hand-fed the man, not expecting any resistance, and not receiving any. Harry knew that this behaviour was just one more manipulation, but he allowed it. They would have several more battles down the road, but for now there would be peace for a little while.
When Voldemort had finished the food, Harry banished the tray. Voldemort was moving slightly, seemingly trying to find some sort of comfortable position in the corner. Harry considered bringing him upstairs for a moment, but reconsidered. This was meant to be a punishment as he had said, and he needed to follow through. Standing up he looked down at the dark-haired wizard on the ground. Perhaps he needed one more incentive to finally come to terms with reality. His mind made up, Harry stepped closer and gripped Voldemort by the chin.
"I disarmed Draco and became the master of the Elder wand. I have the resurrection stone, and the cloak of invisibility. I am the Master of Death. These wards, the bracelets on your wrists – they are all made with the ancient power that comes with being the Master of Death. You can't kill me, and there is no magic in the living world that can match mine. Read all the books you want, pet. Try all the tricks you can come up with. None will work, I can assure you. You are mine."
Voldemort looked like Harry had hit him once more. He was completely still, and Harry simply smiled before leaving. That should give the man something to think about.