It had been five days since Harry's visit to Hogwarts and he knew he was grumping around Grimmauld Place like a bear with a sore head. The reason? He couldn't make up his mind. The conversation he'd had with Ron and Neville had stuck with him, repeating itself in snatches every time he allowed his mind to wander. Should he try to be an Auror or not?

Reasons for and against the idea ran through his head on repeat, and every time he thought he'd settled the matter with himself, a new thought or reminder of a previous thought rose to prove himself still undetermined. That it was making him irritable and grumpy was an understatement, he knew. Tom had been keeping out of his way as much as possible, and he didn't blame the man. As soon as he entered a room, his slave would kneel, then ask politely to be excused. The exception was over their shared dinner, but those were always silent and eaten quickly.

To be frank, since his outright refusal to kneel until the collar forced him a few days ago, Tom had been behaving well. Harry wasn't foolish enough to think that it meant anything other than the man being keen not to be punished, but at least that was a step in the right direction. If he was honest with himself, Harry was slightly disappointed at that.

He'd meant what he'd said to Tom: torturing the helpless was not something he could forgive himself for, but Merlin if he didn't wish that Tom would give him a reason! He didn't want to go and destroy a room that he'd worked hard to renovate, but he was itching to expend some magic somehow. Then a brainwave hit him. He was currently living in the house with a man who was notorious for his fighting skills, and he had the ability to control his use of magic…

Harry had the nasty feeling that Hermione would say this was letting his emotions rule him – logically, allowing Tom Riddle aka Voldemort the use of destructive magic was a bad idea. But honestly, Harry was far too frustrated to be thinking of reason. Still, he knew that he would have to put some very careful thought into the instructions he gave Tom – the man might not be able to kill him without dying himself, but that didn't mean he couldn't go too far if given the opportunity. And Harry didn't want to risk that he had some spell which he could cast on Harry to enthral him and take control.

After some time thinking and writing and rewriting his instructions, Harry decided he was ready. Now they just needed to have a room. Another twenty minutes of hunting through Grimmauld Place, he thought he'd found it. He'd suspected that the Blacks would have had a duelling room, and his thoughts had been proved true. It was rather dusty and Harry wasn't certain the duelling wards were up to scratch, but he had a way to find that out. Now it was time to find his opponent.

The search for Tom took a lot less time – he'd actually seen the man during the previous search, so he just returned to the dining room. Pausing by the doorway, he took a moment to appreciate the sight in front of him: Tom Riddle on his knees, scrubbing the floor. Harry's eyes ran over the lines of his shoulders, the muscles he could see clearly outlined since Tom had taken off his shirt. The sweat coating him, the reason for his half-nakedness, gave the appearance of oiled skin that glimmered in the light from the fire. Then Harry realised he was staring at Tom Riddle and abruptly tore his eyes away.

He might appreciate the sight of a male body a lot more than he would have expected, but staring was inappropriate on multiple levels. Tom having been Voldemort was one of them, but more importantly, he was Harry's slave – his consent in any situation such as that would be dubious at best and Harry felt sick at the thought of raping someone, regardless of that having clearly been the use for slaves in the past.

Harry cleared his thoughts with a sharp shake of his head and then cleared his throat to signal his presence to the man in front of him. Tom jumped slightly, then twisted round, bowing his head slightly.

"Master," he said neutrally. "Do you need something?" Harry had got used to the more polite tone Tom had used since his punishment five days ago, but it still made him wonder what the man was plotting. As of yet, he hadn't seen any signs, but that didn't mean anything…

"Come with me," he ordered. "Leave the cleaning equipment." He led the way to the duelling chamber and then looked at Tom expectantly. "Can you tell if the duelling wards are still intact?"

"Yes, master," the man told him, a note of curiosity in his voice.

"Yes they're intact, or yes you can tell?"

"Yes, they're intact."

"How do you know?" he asked, curious himself. His slave's jaw firmed slightly, showing his lack of desire to explain, but he did so anyway.

"I can feel them, master." Hmm…that was interesting. Harry wondered whether everyone could do it, and since he had a walking encyclopaedia here, he decided to satisfy his curiosity.

"Can anyone learn to feel wards?" The man's jaw twitched. Well, too bad for him if he was feeling irritated – Harry had been feeling that way for much longer. Tom could deal.

"It takes practice, master, but…yes." Then maybe Harry should get Tom to give him instructions at some point, but not today.

"OK, thanks. Now, I know you'd love to curse me, so I'm going to give you the opportunity," he said brightly. Tom's expression was fun to watch. It flicked through a few different emotions - desire, apprehension, excitement, fear – before settling back into neutrality.

"Master?" he questioned, as if not sure he'd heard correctly.

"You heard me," chirped Harry, in a better mood than he had been all week. "Within some strict rules, of course, but we're going to duel."

"But, master, what about the collar?" asked Tom. "And a…wand." As he said the last, an expression of deep longing crossed his face. Something inside Harry squirmed at the look and he abruptly pushed it away – whatever that feeling was, it wasn't pleasant.

The wand, at least, was an easy solution. At the awards ceremony Kingsley had forced him to attend as promised, he had been presented with an Order of Merlin First Class along with the wand of his defeated enemy. He had been keeping it in his room under strong wards, but had fetched it before getting Tom. He pulled it out now, watching Tom carefully.

XXX

Lord Voldemort looked at the familiar pale wand and felt hunger rise inside him again. He longed to snatch it from the boy's hands and cast an Avada Kedavra, watch the green light wash over the boy who dared to call himself his master and…The daydream was abruptly shattered by pain lancing into him from the collar. Tom, he reminded himself. Lord Voldemort had been retired. For now. Until he could find a way to be free. And regardless of how much he desired to have his wand back in his hands, this was not the moment to lose control.

He didn't have either a spell that he could use against the boy to kill him without killing Tom too, nor did he have a spell which would reliably bend the boy to his will. Sure, he had the Imperius Curse, but the boy was known for being resistant to it. Other magic he knew for the swaying of an enemy's mind were either potions or enchantments, all of which required more preparation than he had been able to do.

So snatching his wand, attempting to cast magic on his master would be worse than useless – it would actively work against him. The fact that the boy was going to allow him to use magic, even under strict rules, was a major step forwards. He wasn't going to ruin his chance by being Gryffindor-like and rushing in without preparation. No, a true snake waited until his prey was in his carefully prepared trap and then would strike when the outcome was assured. But if he saw an opportunity, he wouldn't hesitate to take it.

Therefore, instead of snatching his wand, he waited patiently, his hands unmoved from his side, where they had been all along. After a pause which he realised his master had used to carefully observe his reactions, making Tom even gladder that he hadn't done something hasty, the boy continued speaking.

"We're going to duel, so I am going to make some temporary changes to the rules you have to follow. These exemptions only apply when we are in this duelling room with fully functioning duelling wards and when I say the following words: 'Kitten, let's duel'. Is that clear?"

"Yes, master," Tom replied dutifully, his mouth twisting slightly at the nickname the boy had used. He deeply hoped that it wouldn't be used in any other situation – he wasn't sure he'd be able to control himself otherwise. This close to using his magic…it was just about bearable.

"OK, good. The exemptions are as follows. You are allowed to attack me both physically and magically, as long as you do not hold the intent to kill, severely harm or control me. If I say 'stop', you are to stop immediately or be incapacitated by the collar. You are only allowed to use spells which are on the current syllabus at Hogwarts; ones which could appear on the final exams for each year. You are not allowed to use any spells which might silence me or deafen you as their effect. You are allowed to use healing spells on either me or yourself during the duel or immediately afterwards. If you think that you cannot continue the duel for whatever reason, you are to call out 'stop' and drop your wand. You are not allowed to use any wandless magic, ever. You are not allowed to touch my wand or the wand of anyone else. Do you understand these rules?"

"Yes, master," Tom said, a slightly impatient note in his voice. He understood – his master wanted a school-type duel and wanted to make sure his slave couldn't gain an advantage over him. Well, it might not be a very interesting duel, but at least he would have access to his magic. He was almost salivating at the thought. The boy considered him for another long moment, before nodding as if to himself and holding the wand out. He held it out tip first, which would normally be a deadly insult, but Tom really couldn't care less: he had his wand for the first time in months.

Holding it was like meeting an old friend again, a rush of pleasure far superior to the effect of the collar. He'd felt similarly when rising from the cauldron four years ago, but due to the horcruxes he had still held, all sensations had been muted to a fraction of their power. Not that he'd known that at the time – even the muted sensations had been far superior to the experience of being a wraith.

The memory of that time and the reminder of his new state made the old rage rise once more. He looked back at his master and knew that his eyes would be almost glowing blood-red. The boy stiffened slightly, but then a small smile grew at the corner of his mouth.

"Yeah," he said softly. "That's what I want to see – the fire." He hesitated for a moment, then seemed to make a decision. "For today only, you are allowed to use the Cruciatus in the duel, if you wish. But if it hits, you may only hold it for a maximum of five seconds, and must not cast it more frequently than at one minute intervals or be incapacitated by the collar." Tom almost couldn't believe his ears. Was the boy really…? It appeared so. If anything, he felt even more eager for the duel to commence.

The boy seemed to pause for a moment as if he was having second thoughts, but then walked to the duelling platform, Tom following. A blood-thirsty smile grew on Tom's face, and he was unable to force it away. In the end, he didn't bother – it wasn't as if the boy didn't know or couldn't guess that he deeply desired to cause him pain. Taking in a deep breath and letting it out, the boy met his eyes.

"Ok, Kitten, let's duel." A non-verbal seventh year spell was out of Tom's wand and heading towards the boy before he could blink, but he managed to deflect it with a protego and a dodge. He retaliated swiftly with a hex that Tom batted away easily enough, but that opened him up to a follow-up spell. Tom was slightly impressed – that had been some quick spell-casting. But it wouldn't save him.

They exchanged volleys of spells, both verbal and non-verbal, taking advantage of every opportunity they could. Most spells were deflected or dodged, but a few crept through. By three minutes into the duel, Tom's right arm was useless from a curse he hadn't been able to counter yet, so he'd switched to his left hand while Harry was bleeding from his nose and from a gash in his leg. The last proved to be his undoing as it caused him to miss a beat when his leg gave out briefly as he dodged. Tom took advantage to use one of his favourite spells.

"Crucio," he cast, putting behind his spell the full force of the rage he had built up over the last months of being treated like dirt, like a slave. He gloried in the screams that rent the air and the dark feedback of the spell. Then a searing pain cut through him, sharp enough to make him drop his wand – and therefore the spell – and crumple to the ground. The pain gripped him mercilessly for a few seconds before letting up.

When he looked up, his master was on his feet, the gash on his leg and his nose already fixed. Tom pushed himself to his knees, then looked at the boy, trying to see whether it would be safe to stand. After all, he'd just held the Cruciatus on his master for longer than the time proscribed, had gloried in it. Plus, Tom had a sneaky suspicion that Harry might have felt the Cruciatus Curse often enough to be able to tell how much force Tom had put behind it. In fact, Tom was rather surprised that he was already on his feet – as Lord Voldemort he had held Death Eaters under curses with less force for less time who weren't able to stand directly after.

"I didn't realise I'd held it for longer than five seconds, master," he said, trying to cut off any reprimand before it happened. The boy looked at him searchingly, then shrugged.

"Doesn't really matter if you did or didn't. The fact is, you couldn't hold it for longer than you did, so no harm was done." Tom stared at him. Was that really it?

"Well?" his master said impatiently. "Get up, then. I haven't said to stop yet, have I?" Tom pushed himself to his feet, not so steady himself, and nodded slightly.

"I suppose you will forbid me to use the Cruciatus, master," he said, a note of mockery in his voice. The boy looked confused, which in turn confused Tom.

"Uh, no. Why?"

"…because it hurt?" suggested Tom, pointing out the obvious since it apparently needed to be done. Harry scoffed.

"Who do you think I am? Some pansy Death Eater who can't take a bit of pain? If I can't avoid the Cruciatus, I deserve to be hit by it. I'm able to control how long you use it for, but I won't be able to do that with anyone else."

"You have decided to become an Auror, then?" guessed Tom. He quickly added on the requisite 'master' before his collar activated. It hadn't been hard to work out why his master had been in a particularly bad mood over the past few days, not when he kept muttering to himself. Nevertheless, the boy looked taken aback at his words.

"No, I hadn't. What made you think I had?" Tom shrugged at the question, but the boy didn't seem to accept that as answer. "No, really. What made you think that?"

"I suppose," he started slowly, "it was the knowledge that being an Auror would suit your personality, added to the realisation that you're trying to use this duel to prepare for being in fights with others. Master."

"Why do you say it suits my personality?" Tom looked at him, hoping that his expression conveyed his utter disbelief that the boy would ask him that question. "I mean, beyond the fact that I've spent the last two years hunting down your Death Eaters and horcruxes, that is, since that's why I didn't think I'd want to be an Auror." Mood souring at the reminder, Tom fought to keep the scowl off his face.

"How about the fact that, from what I've heard, even when I wasn't involved, you seemed to spend more time chasing down dark wizards in Hogwarts than you did learning? Master." His tone was a bit sharp, and the collar reminded him of that, but his master didn't seem to care. He was off in his own little world. "Besides, what else would you do? Work in a shop?" he could barely hold the scoff inside at the thought. Harry Potter standing at the counter of a shop, smiling politely at every person who came inside…no. It just didn't fit. The boy just shrugged.

"I hadn't really got that far. I just didn't want to be shoved into the role just because of my work during the war. Or because my dad was an Auror." Tom tired of the conversation – he'd much rather be throwing curses at the boy than playing some sort of confidante.

"If it means anything, master, you have some talent with duelling. You managed to last three minutes against me just now. Most fully trained Aurors couldn't say the same." The boy scoffed.

"Yeah, but you're restricted to Hogwarts level spells. It's not a fair comparison." Tom sighed in irritation.

"I'm not giving you another compliment, so you can stop fishing, Pot-master," he snapped, but limited the amount of irritation leaking into his voice. When the collar didn't punish him, he continued. "However, I will say this: duelling is not about the level of spell you use; it's about how you use your repertoire." The boy nodded thoughtfully.

"I suppose."

"But, while we're on the subject, shall we have a duel with a little more challenge to it?" he asked hopefully. "Maybe raise the level to Auror spells, master?" The boy shot him a sharp look.

"We'll extend which spells you can use once I've learnt them. Until I know exactly what a spell does, I'm not risking you using it in combat."

"As you wish, master," Tom replied slightly grumpily, but mostly happy to hear that this was likely to be a repeated event – he already felt worlds better after using his rage in that Cruciatus. The boy nodded shortly, then returned to his position on the stage.

"Ready?" he asked. Tom nodded. "Then let's go."

XXX

An hour later, Harry called a stop to their duels and retrieved Tom's wand. The man gave it over reluctantly, but he did so nonetheless before returning to his cleaning. Harry watched him go. Lines of tension that had been in his back earlier had been released and the man in general seemed to have a lighter step. Harry himself felt better too. The frustration which had been plaguing him earlier seemed to have vanished. Its absence plus the unexpected conversation he'd had with Tom had given him some clarity on what to do next.

Maybe they were right, all these people who kept telling him that his personality suited him to being an Auror. He had spent his formative years at Hogwarts chasing after one mystery or the other, despite the number of adults trying to stop him. And then, of course, he had spent the last two years combating dark forces in both the Death Eaters and the various defences around the horcruxes, not to mention the objects themselves. He hadn't liked the person he had become who tortured Death Eaters, but then that shouldn't really be part of an Auror's job, surely? They had rules and regulations to follow in that regard, he thought.

As for the fighting, he had felt alive again in the duels with Tom, despite losing three times out of four – the man did, after all, have a fifty year lead on him in terms of experience, even if he wasn't allowed to use his full repertoire of spells. Somehow he knew that a career without any adrenaline would eventually bore him to death. Sure, he had definitely enjoyed rebuilding Hogwarts, but he wondered whether maybe a big part of that was just appreciating Hogwarts and less to do with the type of magic itself.

But he still felt like he needed more information and he knew exactly who to contact. Going to the floo in the sitting room, he dropped a pinch of floo powder into the flames.

"Minister's office, Ministry of Magic," he said clearly, sticking his head in the green flames. It took a few seconds of nauseating whirling before the flames cleared to reveal Kingsley's secretary's office.

"Minister of Magic's office. How can I help you?" a professional voice said. "Oh, Mr Potter. I didn't realise you had an appointment."

"Hi," Harry said, smiling at the man on the other side. He felt a bit guilty that he didn't know his name – he knew Greta who did the opening hours from Monday to Friday, but he didn't know the two other secretaries who switched off to make sure that there was always someone in the office in case of emergency. "I don't have an appointment, but I was hoping to speak to Kingsley. Is he there?" The man smiled at him

"No, Mr Potter. I believe he's at home – it's the first Saturday he's been able to take off since he accepted the job." Well that made Harry almost rethink trying to contact him. If he didn't worry that he'd lose his nerve by delaying, he would wait longer. But as it was… "Would you like me to take a message?"

"No thanks, I'll try his home floo."

"As you wish, Mr Potter. Have a good day,"

"Thanks, you too." With the end of the pleasantries, Harry pulled his head out of the floo. Then, taking another pinch, he repeated the process with Kingsley's home address and password. After the war, Kingsley had given it to him, telling him to make contact if he ever needed help or advice. 'It's the least I can do, after what you accomplished' he had insisted. Harry hadn't used the information until now, but it seemed like a good time.

"Harry?" Kingsley's voice came after another sickening whirl of green flames.

"Hi Kingsley, I was wondering if I could talk to you. I'm considering applying for the Aurors." A big smile broke out over the older man's face.

"That's great, Harry! Sure, no problem. Why don't you step through – it'll probably be more comfortable for you than kneeling in your fireplace." Harry definitely agreed – his knees were already protesting the position. Withdrawing his head, he took a moment to regain his equilibrium before properly stepping through.

Emerging into Kingsley's sitting room, he found himself appreciating its warm and cozy colours, so unlike the dark and foreboding theme in Grimmauld Place. It wasn't anything like The Burrow which was always chaotic, but the neutral tones of ochre, terracotta and cream along with the good quality, but understated, furniture gave the impression of being somewhere further south. The colourful patterns of the rug and wall hangings gave a bit of excitement to the room in their contrast. Kingsley saw him looking.

"Do you like them? They were gifts from my grandparents."

"They're very interesting," said Harry truthfully. He wasn't sure he'd call them pretty, exactly – the patterns were too complex and intricate for that – but they certainly added to the room. Kingsley seemed to get what he was saying as he laughed in response.

"They're that, it's true. Now, care for a spot of tea?" Harry agreed and thanked him. Kingsley invited him to sit down in one of the extremely comfy chairs before disappearing for a moment. Coming back with tea, Kingsley joined Harry on a chair. An expectant silence fell.

"So," Harry started, searching for how to begin. "Um, how would you describe being an Auror?" He winced at the lame start but Kingsley indulged him.

"It's frustrating," he started honestly. "It's stressful. It's hard work. If you do it, prepare to give up on a life when you're leading a hot investigation." Harry wondered at Kingsley's comments – he thought the man wanted Harry to become an Auror, not put him off. "But, it's also deeply satisfying. I can only think of two other careers where you know every day that you are making a difference to people's lives – healing and teaching." OK, that sounded more like it. Kingsley's eyes took on a distant cast.

"As an Auror, we are the line of protection between the general populace and those who would prey on them – we are the protectors of the sheep from the ravenous wolves who would tear them to pieces." Harry thought privately that 'sheep' as a descriptor for the general population was more on the nose than Kingsley perhaps intended. "We are the well-trained, experienced, and dedicated force that ensures the abusers and predators of the magical world never feel too comfortable, never take control. We are both the Ministry's best weapon and their conscience." Their conscience? Harry's question evidently showed on his face as Kingsley expanded.

"Yes, their conscience. Did you know that every Auror has to pass a course on ethics? Otherwise they fail automatically. Because of our training in ethics as well as magical abilities, investigative skills and tactics, we are able to hold the Ministry to account when it goes too far." Harry's face must have expressed his doubt, considering how the Aurors hadn't stood up against Voldemort. "Recent times are a bit of an exception – the Aurors had been gutted initially by the first war with Voldemort and then subsequent cuts to funding over previous years. To make things worse, Voldemort managed to turn some of the senior Aurors to his cause due to recent policies making the Aurors more answerable to areas of the Ministry which the Death Eaters had corrupted. As a result, the chaos meant that the Auror force was unable to fulfil one of its most important roles at the worst of times. But it has done so in the past. One of those times actually heralded the previous end of slavery." Harry's eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"Wait, what?" Kingsley smiled.

"Indeed. As you may already know, years ago the same type of slavery was used for the worst of criminals as has been invoked once again to punish Voldemort and his supporters. But in the early 19th century, the demand for slaves overtook the numbers of criminals sentenced to slavery every year. In its greed, the Ministry decided to lower the bar at which criminals were enslaved instead of fined or given a sentence of indentured servitude." Seeing's Harry's expression, he quickly clarified. "Indentured servitude was not the same thing as slavery, I promise you. As I was saying, the Ministry was greedy. At the worst point in the 1850's, even a petty criminal who was caught stealing from a shop twice could be sentenced to years as a slave."

"The Aurors decided that enough was enough. As a group, they agreed that what was being perpetrated was exploitation, not justice, and they refused to be party to it any longer. Without the Aurors, the Ministry struggled to catch the criminals, and when there started being blockades of highly-trained wizards preventing the trials from taking place, the Ministry was unable to do anything but acquiesce. That was when Azkaban, the recently conquered fortress of the Dark Lord Herpo the Foul started being used." Harry thought that over and winced a bit.

"And now slavery's back." Kingsley shook his head.

"No, it's not. Not in the same way, at least. As a punishment from Lady Magic Herself, we must accept that the sentences are just, but once these slaves finish their sentences, no more criminals will be sentenced to the same punishment." Harry nodded, considering Kingsley's words.

"It's true that one reason I've been a bit reticent to choose to apply is because I hated what the Ministry was doing during my Fifth and Sixth years under Fudge and Scrimangeor. Not to mention what happened in the last two years." Kingsley inclined his head.

"It was a travesty," he agreed. "Which is one reason I have decided to become interim Minister for Magic, and then aim to win the election in a couple of months. I want to make sure that the Auror department is given the funding and support it needs to become that powerful force it was, not that long ago. If I didn't think I could do more good in this position, I never would have left the Aurors." Harry nodded slowly. "Harry…What's holding you back? I thought you've wanted to apply for years. Sirius talked about it in your Fifth year." He said the last with a note of apology, as if knowing the sharp bolt of pain that went through Harry's heart at the mention of his deceased godfather.

The pain wasn't even for Sirius, not really. It was for never having been really able to get to know one of the last connections to his parents. It was for the man who was unjustly imprisoned for nearly the whole of his adult life, and even after escaping the physical prison, found himself still imprisoned by fear and hatred. And Harry realised anew the desire he had felt all those years ago to make sure that such injustice never happened again.

"It's been hard to decide," Harry started slowly, "because the last two years have been so terrible. Constantly being faced with the deaths of those I fought with…constantly being on the edge of despair and a sense of fighting against the clock…the knowledge that if I failed, thousands would suffer, and that I was failing every day I didn't find a solution…it crushed me." It was the first time he had actually put his feelings into words. During the war, he hadn't even allowed himself to acknowledge his emotions, perhaps out of fear that if he did, he would just lie down and not get up again. Then, after the war, he had been so wrapped up in rebuilding and mourning that he hadn't had a chance to really feel it. And perhaps there had been an element of guilt that he should feel those emotions when there were so many people who couldn't because they were dead. Because he had been too slow. Because he hadn't been willing to follow Dumbledore's plan. Sure he hadn't known whether it would work, still didn't, but just the possibility that the war could have been over a year ago…

Kingsley seemed to sense that he was in deep thought because he didn't disturb Harry for a long moment. Then he started speaking, his solemn and deep voice just the thing Harry needed to pull him out of his thoughts.

"Harry, I can't say that there's never a sense of fighting against the clock, nor can I say that there's never a feeling of guilt, of failure when chasing a criminal and finding broken bodies of people you were too slow to save. But what I will say is that a war isn't the best guide for living in times of peace. Being an Auror isn't all high-adrenaline chases and duels. In fact, that's perhaps only five percent of our job." He chuckled slightly and Harry found the sound lifted his spirits slightly. "I'd say at least four fifths of our job is paperwork, unfortunately. Putting in requests for information from other departments, requests for search warrants or arrest warrants, reports of the actions you've taken, action plans for the avenues you're going to search, poring through old trial transcripts and criminal records….It's a lot of hard grind before you actually start chasing your man.

"And as for the losses, again, I can't say that an Auror is never killed, but I can say that in a normal situation, it's rare. We only accept the best, and we make sure that our Aurors' skills are kept sharp, even those on a desk job, as well as being outfitted with the best protective equipment we can afford. Then as well, because Aurors always investigate in pairs, there's rarely the occasion where an Auror is put in a situation where they will die before being given medical care. I can tell you that the Deaths Eaters were not good examples of the general abilities of criminals – most criminals don't have the power or intensity of feeling to throw out a Killing Curse at all, let alone being like Inner Circle members who were able to send out multiple in a single duel. In fact, the last time we saw something like that was during the war with Grindleward." Harry nodded slowly.

"And do you think I'd be a good fit?" he smiled depreciatingly, "I mean, I'm not exactly known for being good at following rules." Kingsley shrugged.

"In the end, you're the only one who can answer that, Harry. But for what it's worth, from what I've seen, I'd be proud to work alongside you."

Harry felt a blooming of warmth inside and tried to hide it behind the cup of tea. Kingsley looked up from Harry and focused beyond him.

"Severus, why don't you come on in," he said warmly. Harry twisted around, his stomach dropping. How had he not considered that by coming to Kingsley's he'd risk running into Severus Snape? The other man's expression was not reassuring, either. In fact, the frown looked rather set in stone.

"I guess I'll go," he said, hurriedly standing up and putting the half-finished cup of tea down. "Thanks for the tea and chat, Kingsley." The dark-skinned man put his hand out.

"Wait, Harry, you don't have to go." Harry shook his head, still backing away towards the fireplace.

"It's OK, I don't want to make things…make things worse." And he didn't. From what he'd learnt from the guidebook, slaves were expected to be respectful and polite to any friends their master had around. Snape had never been polite to Harry, and the idea of it being forced because of an action Harry had taken, after all the man had done for their side….Well, he would never like Snape – the man had an abrasive personality at the best of times and his pettiness at bullying Harry and others at school simply because of personal dislike had always rankled – but he could appreciate the danger Snape had put himself in time and time again to get them information, to protect others, even fighting on the front lines once his loyalties had been exposed. He didn't deserve to be a slave, and he didn't deserve to be forced to act like one either.

"Harry, it's OK-" the Minister tried to say, but Harry cut him off.

"Kingsley, I've read the book as much as you have – I know what Snape will be forced to do if I stay."

"But-"

"Potter, it would benefit you to stop acting like a dunderhead and listen to what Kingsley is saying." That smooth, irritated voice with the same note of derision as always was what actually got through to Harry. He stopped moving towards the fireplace and instead whipped around to stare at the Potions Master open-mouthed.

"But…what?" he managed. Yes, the collar was there – thick and black against his neck with a number '2' on it. So Snape hadn't managed to get free somehow.

"Eloquent as always," Snape said snidely. Harry just blinked. Kingsley sighed.

"As I was trying to say, it's not a problem for you to stay." Harry's gaze snapped to the amused man.

"But how? How is he able to act…normally? He called you by your name! Tom's forced to call me master and speak respectfully." Looking between the two while he spoke, Harry caught the flash of satisfaction in Snape's eyes as he spoke of what Tom was reduced to.

"What have you learned about the slave collar, Harry?" Harry shrugged.

"That there are a number of basic rules coded in which it enforces, and that I can add or change the rules as I see fit."

"Exactly." Harry frowned. He didn't see what was 'exactly' about it. How did that mean that Snape was able to completely ignore all those rules? Snape sighed in exasperation.

"The collar is an extension of its master's will, Potter," he said pointedly. Harry thought over those words.

"Oh!" he realised. "Then that means…" he looked at Kingsley. The man nodded.

"Yes, I've made it clear that Snape is not obliged to follow any of those rules in the house."

"None of them?" clarified Harry. "Like, he can use his magic," Kingsley nodded, "…attack and kill you?" Kingsley smiled in amusement as Snape snorted.

"Harry, we've been working together as colleagues for four years – I highly doubt he's going to want to attack or kill me. And if he does, I'll probably deserve it." Harry shook his head slightly, stunned at what he had just learned. Then he realised something.

"You said in the house…" Kingsley's smile disappeared.

"Yes. And that's why I won't force him to leave the house – once in a public or semi-public place, Severus would be obliged to follow the rules or risk having a complaint made about him, causing an intervention by the Ministry." Harry nodded once more. Then, turning back to Snape, he took in a breath. Letting it out, he decided to act like the man hadn't been enslaved. Though, first…

"Sir, I'm sorry this has happened to you," he said sincerely. "If I'd been given the option of choosing who would undergo this punishment, I promise you wouldn't have been on the list." Those dark eyes seemed to bore into him for a moment, and Harry suddenly remembered that if Snape was allowed to use his magic, he would also be able to use legilimency. But then he thought that he would probably at least feel the attack, even if his rudimentary barriers wouldn't be enough to keep the man out, so it probably wasn't that. Just a very searching gaze.

"No need to apologise, Potter," the Potions Master said his tone surprisingly conciliatory. "I would have undergone much worse to know that the war was finished." There was another flash of that same dark satisfaction. "And if I might say so, the knowledge that my erstwhile master has found himself the chattel of the boy who defeated him is…rather delicious. Even had Kingsley not been kind enough to ensure that I did not have to endure the punishment many of my compatriots are no doubt suffering, the satisfaction at that knowledge would have sustained me for a long time." Harry suddenly wondered whether Snape thought that he was torturing Tom all the time.

"I'm not, you know," he said quickly. Snape raised an eyebrow. "Torturing him, that is. Sorry to disappoint," he continued, slightly defiantly, because if they expected him to do that… To his surprise Snape actually started chuckling.

"I know that, you stupid boy. I did teach you for six years – I know you're not the type to take advantage of your enemy being helpless. No, I speak of the daily struggle Tom no doubt goes through – the struggle to submit to the humiliation of calling you 'master' and whatever menial task you set him, or be forced by the collar. His rage building as you refuse to treat him with the awe and reverence that he feels is his right, but his inability to express that without risking punishment. I speak of the fear of losing his mind to the collar's coercion, his despair at this being endless for him…." Harry was a bit uneasy at the look of glee on Snape's face, unwilling to think of his actions in that light. He cleared his throat and changed the direction of the conversation.

"So, what do you do while Kingsley's at work?" Snape blinked and the almost rapturous expression was wiped clean from his face as if it had never been there.

"I make and experiment with potions."

"Oh." Harry rubbed the back of his neck, not sure where to go from there. Kingsley rescued him.

"Do you have any other questions about the Aurors, Harry?"

"Just one, really. Do you think Robards would accept me in the program? This late? I know they've already started, and I still want to take my NEWTs."

"I'm sure he'd be willing to take you in," Kingsley assured him. Harry heard a sarcastic murmur of 'Saint Potter' coming from Snape, but he ignored it.

"Without using my name, without any sort of celebrity status. Do you think he'd take me in?" For some reason, it was important to Harry that this wasn't some sort of special allowance made for the 'Man-who-Conquered' or something. If he couldn't get in this time, so be it. He would try again in the future when applications opened up again. Kingsley took a moment to think.

"To be honest, he probably would: we're so short on Aurors at the moment. You're not that far behind – the other candidates only started two weeks ago. If you had access to the memories of their lectures and watched them during your free time, along with doing the assignments you've missed, it should be possible." Kingsley eyed him for a moment. "If you choose this route, you probably won't be sleeping much for the next month," he warned. Harry shrugged.

"It's worth it," he replied honestly. And he suddenly realised he truly felt that way – after months of waffling one way or the other, not knowing what to do, it was immensely freeing to finally have a goal. Kingsley nodded.

"Then write your letter of application ASAP. I will speak to Robards on Monday and make it clear that you're not expecting any sort of favouritism, but that you're prepared to work hard. Is that satisfactory?"

"Very," said Harry with a grateful smile. "Thank you so much, Kingsley. For everything." The man smiled back at him.

"No problem, Harry." Harry headed towards the floo, but paused for a moment before using the powder. Snape's clear glee at Tom's position had made him uneasy…but on the other hand, he could understand it. After all, because of Voldemort, either directly or indirectly, he had lost the woman he loved – first emotionally and then to death. He had been tortured countless times. He had been forced to do actions he no doubt personally hated to keep his cover. He had had to bow and scrape while keeping his loathing hidden. It was perhaps that understanding that made Harry offer his next words.

"If…if you would like to come around for dinner, I can assure you that no one would complain about Snape's behaviour to the Ministry. Then you could say and do whatever you wanted to Tom. Get a bit of closure." Both of them just stared at him for a moment and he shifted uneasily under their gazes.

"Perhaps I was wrong," Snape said softly, a calculating glint to his eyes. "Perhaps you have more of a capacity for cruelty than I had thought." Harry shivered slightly at the words, though from Snape, they actually sounded like a compliment. Kingsley was more unreadable.

"Thank you for the offer, Harry," he replied eventually, not giving a hint as to whether he actually appreciated it or not. "We'll consider it." Harry nodded and then headed back through the floo.

Going to the area of the sitting room he had designated as his study, he started to write the letter to Robards. He then spent a good half an hour constructing a letter to send off to the Head Auror – it was surprisingly difficult to do. He wanted to avoid sounding like he was expecting a favour because he had defeated Voldemort, but at the same time convince the man of his sincerity. He started a pyramid of screwed up balls of parchment as he rejected one effort after another.

By the time he had sent the letter off, it was dinnertime, so he made his way down to the kitchen, sniffing appreciatively at the scents wafting up the stairs.

XXX

Tom watched his master through hooded eyes. They were renovating one of the rooms, as normal. Harry was doing the spell work to detect anything dangerous and then either disenchant it, kill it (if living) or vanish it, whichever was most appropriate. Then Tom would move in and start the cleaning. He hated it – knowing that the boy could just wave his wand and vanish it all in a moment instead of the hours he had to spend, rankled.

But he hated it slightly less than the usual cleaning – at least when he finished this one, it actually looked like he'd had an effect. Cleaning the normal occupied areas was an exercise in frustration – as soon as he'd cleaned it, he'd turn around and find more dirt. Or Harry would walk through and drop mess as he went. Though it looked like that would be the only cleaning he'd be doing soon – there were only three more rooms after this one to clean.

Nevertheless, his master hadn't been behaving normally today. He kept going downstairs every so often, then come back up a few moments later looking more and more impatient. Tom just tried to stay as inconspicuous as possible, hoping slightly that if the boy got too frustrated, he would want another duel.

Ah, how wonderful that had been! Feeling his magic run through him…engaging in the give and take of a duel that he had always enjoyed…. He was brought out of his thoughts as Harry once more went downstairs. This time, he didn't come up soon after so Tom decided to follow him down. Leaning in the doorway to the kitchen, he watched as the boy looked at two letters. From his vantage point, he saw the symbol of the Auror's office on one and Hogwarts on the other. So, the boy had decided to go for the Aurors after all, had he? His master turned slightly and then jumped as he noticed Tom in the doorway. He'd have to work on his situational awareness a bit if he was going to join the Aurors…

"I got in, Tom!" he exclaimed, a grin going from ear to ear. Tom raised an eyebrow.

"Into where, master?" As if he didn't know.

"Into the Aurors! Well, into the Auror recruitment process, anyway. Isn't that great?!"

"Indeed," Tom murmured. Actually, it was pretty good: the busier his master was, the more he'd be out of the house, the more Tom would be able to do research – when he was permitted to do research, that was. Unfortunately, it seemed like history books were not considered novels, though Tom privately thought they really should be considering the historical inaccuracies in some of them.

"And the other letter, master?" Tom inquired, more interested in this one if he was honest. Harry waved a hand.

"My results from the assessments last week at Hogwarts. Nothing unexpected." He absentmindedly tossed the letter to Tom, looking more closely at the one from the Auror office. Tom scanned the results. Apparently the assessments had been graded according to the standards required by the NEWTs. As the boy had said, little unexpected here. Apart from in Potions, the practical scores were significantly better than the theory scores – Defence and Charms both being Os, and an E for Transfiguration. Even Potions was an A in practical which signalled that Harry could take those practical exams now and pass at the least, though not necessarily well in the case of Potions. The theory, however, ranged between Poor for Defence, Dreadful for Charms and Transfiguration, and Troll for Potions.

"Master, why exactly are your Potions scores so…poor?" he asked with a note of distaste. The boy glanced up at him.

"Because I had a Potions teacher who hated my guts for five years…and I spent Sixth year cheating," he admitted.

"You're going to have a lot of work to catch up, then," Tom pointed out. Harry rolled his eyes.

"I know. "

"And why is your theory so bad when your practical is…not terrible?" At this, his master glared at him.

"Hmm, let's think about this," he started angrily. "What exactly have I spent the last two years doing? Chasing horcruxes and Death Eaters. What have I not spent the last two years doing? Learning theory at school. I'm better at casting spells than the theory behind them. Big surprise." Tom could see the rage rekindling in him and desperately searched for a way to soothe it – so far, his master getting angry with him had led to nothing but pain, and he didn't feel the need to test his boundaries so much after releasing so much of his stress recently.

"Why don't I teach you?" The words were blurted out without real thought, some frightened bit of his brain latching onto the first suggestion that might help him. The boy stared at him, his anger completely derailed. Tom smirked internally, somewhat relieved that it had worked rather than making him angrier.

"What?" his master asked in confusion, perhaps wondering if he had heard it correctly.

"Why don't I teach you Potions and Magical Theory, master?" repeated Tom, warming to the idea. The more he thought about it, the more he liked his desperate suggestion. If he could set himself up as a trusted teacher, that might be a way for him to gain more freedom. After all, the boy had talked about trust in their first proper conversation a few weeks ago – what better way to do it than provide the boy with all the information and expertise he could need? Yes, once more it was proof of his genius that even in times of immense pressure, he could still create the perfect plan. Now he just had to convince his master of its benefits. The frown on his face wasn't encouraging, but on the other hand, he hadn't outright rejected it. Tom could work with that.

"Can you?" was the boy's first – insulting – query. Tom stopped himself from bristling at the slight to his academic excellence, confining his offence to a small eye roll.

"I did get Os in all my subjects at both OWL and NEWT levels, master," he pointed out. "And I took seven NEWT subjects – Defence, Transfiguration, Charms, Potions, Arithmancy, Rituals, and Ancient Runes."

"Rituals?" Of course he picked up on that one. Tom waved his hand dismissively. It wouldn't do to look too eager, though the thought of the boy wanting to learn about rituals almost made him salivate.

"A subject that the old fool did away with once he became headmaster. But, more to the point, I am perfectly capable of tutoring you in your weaker areas, master. I'm not the Potions Master that Severus is," he couldn't help hissing slightly when saying the traitor's name, "but I continued studying even after graduating Hogwarts, albeit in somewhat specific directions." He neglected to mention that those directions would almost certainly not appeal to the Light's Saviour.

"I bet you did," the boy muttered, eyeing him somewhat dubiously. "Alright, say we do this – what do you get out of it. Don't even try to pretend you'd do this out of the goodness of your heart." Tom couldn't help from smirking at that – the boy might be a Gryffindor, but he had evidently learned something about Slytherins. Time to use a judicious bit of truth to misdirect and obscure his true motivations. Shrugging almost disinterestedly, he answered.

"I'm bored. Cleaning is…not the most scintillating of tasks." Harry smirked in response.

"Don't I know it. But it's good for you, or should I say your ego, to be crawling on the floor, wiping up dirt." Tom gritted his teeth at the wave of anger that pulsed through him. Clearly the boy saw it and was satisfied, because he continued in a slightly less mocking tone. "I'm not going to let you do anything you want, just because you're helping me out," he warned. Tom lowered his eyes.

"I wouldn't dream of it, master," he replied demurely. The snort he heard as a response was both irritating and somewhat endearing – frustrating as it could be, there was something refreshing about someone who could see through his bullshit. He decided not to respond. The hook and bait were set – now to see if he could catch anything. There was a period of silence as the boy evidently thought things over.

"If you taught me stuff, how would you do it?" Tom shrugged, looking back up.

"Well, first we'll need to see what you already know, and what you need to learn. Potions theory is best taught with the practical – in order to really master the subject, you have to understand the way the ingredients interact and why they are treated the way they are. The others, well, from the fact that your practical scores are so high, I would imagine that you know how to cast something, but not why it has to be done that way. We will explore that while revising the spells that you have learned."

"There is a Potions lab here," mused Harry. "I've been leaving it until later because it's one of the worst areas, but maybe it's time to sort it out." Putting the letter from the Auror office down, he walked out of the kitchen, his steps so full of energy, Tom wondered that he didn't end up hopping from foot to foot. Following a bit more sedately, Tom allowed himself a small triumphant smile. Hook, line and sinker.

XXX

The Potions lab was not as bad as Harry had implied: it was worse. They had spent about ten minutes finishing the room they had been doing – which had made Tom seethe once more as his earlier thoughts of the pointlessness of his cleaning by hand were proven – then moved on to the Potions lab. It was down in the basement of the house. Tom's master had questioned why Potions labs always seemed to be in the dungeons with exasperation, giving Tom his first chance to prove his knowledge. He had explained how with proper ventilation charms, the lowest floor of a building was the best place for containing possibly significant explosions. Not to mention that the idea of a spilled potion dripping through the floorboards into the rooms below was stuff of nightmares.

The reason for the terrible state of the lab was, as expected, because of the neglect of numerous magical ingredients which had not only attracted various pests, but also allowed a devil's snare to grow happily. Tom stayed on the sidelines, his mouth twisted in irritation as he had to allow Harry to deal with the magical threats: without his magic he was useless at those tasks, and the thought rankled.

Of course, once they had cleared the room, and Tom was put to work sweeping up the debris and cleaning the long-unused equipment, they suddenly realised that due to the neglect, they didn't actually have any ingredients to start Harry's first lesson with.

"Never mind, master," Tom said eventually after they had exchanged looks – the first time they had actually been thinking along the same lines that either of them could remember. "We can talk through your understanding of some potions for today, and go and get some potions ingredients tomorrow when the shops are open."

"Can't," the boy said. Tom frowned.

"Why not? Master." Harry shrugged.

"I've got Hogwarts tomorrow." True. Tom hadn't thought about that.

"Then Tuesday."

"The Aurors all day." So he was starting immediately? That was quick…

"When are you going to Auror training? Master," Tom asked, trying not to sound too eager.

"Every day from Tuesday to Friday."

"Then next Saturday will be the first opportunity to buy potions ingredients," Tom concluded. "Unless you wish to owl order them, master."

"Why don't we do that, then?" The boy seemed to perk up at the idea of not going shopping. Tom barely held in a snort.

"We can…unless you want to actually get a decent price for decent ingredients." Tom took great pleasure in raising his hopes before cruelly dashing them. And it wasn't as if the collar could punish him for it – he had told the complete truth. Potions Masters like Severus might be able to get decent ingredients delivered to him, but that was simply because the apothecaries knew that if they tried to cheat him, not only would they lose his custom, but they'd probably also become ingredients themselves. As the Dark Lord, his name would have had a similar effect, but now…well, a no-name slave wouldn't stand a chance and 'Harry Potter' didn't generally inspire fear.

"Fine," the boy agreed grumpily. "We'll go out next Saturday. But for now…" he trailed off expectantly, sitting down in one of the chairs in the room.

"May I…?" Tom asked, waving at the other chair. The boy nodded shortly, so he quickly took his place, appreciating not having to kneel or stand in his master's presence for once.

"First, master – " Tom cut himself off. Here was another opportunity – maybe he could rid himself of the hated 'respectful' appellation. "May I call you something other than 'master'? If I'm teaching you, it feels…strange." The boy took his sweet time in considering it, but finally acquiesced.

"Fine, call me Harry. But only when you're teaching me. I quite like hearing 'master' from your lips," he finished, slightly maliciously. Forcing himself not to react to the jibe, Tom reminded himself that it was a victory if he didn't need to use 'master' every other sentence or risk being punished.

"Thank you, Harry," he said, humbly enough that the boy's eyes narrowed in suspicion. Smirking inwardly at eliciting a reaction, he continued briskly. "What is the difference between an OWL level brewer and a NEWT level brewer?" The boy eyed him dubiously.

"Uh, a NEWT level brewer is better?" Tom held the eye roll in with great effort.

"But what makes a NEWT level brewer better?" Seeing the blank incomprehension, he felt like sighing. Truly Severus had clearly been a terrible teacher if this was the result of his efforts. Not that it was surprising, really – people like Severus who had a natural talent for Potions would never understand the struggles of those who were not naturally talented. Add that to his general acerbic personality and inability to suffer fools, and it was a recipe for disaster, or at least, disastrous teaching. That any students managed to graduate with a NEWT in Potions was testament, Tom felt, more to their ability to endure and learn despite the teacher than because of him.

"Um, they can do harder potions?"

"Yes, Harry, but why can they do harder potions?"

"I don't know," the boy exclaimed angrily. "Why are you asking all these questions?"

"Because," answered Tom with remarkable patience, in his own opinion, "there is a vast difference between an OWL level brewer and a NEWT level brewer and it is necessary to recognise the difference before attempting to surmount it." Seeing the anger born of frustration had disappeared from the boy's eyes, he nodded sharply before continuing.

"By gaining a passing grade at OWL level, the brewer announces to the world that he or she is capable of producing passable basic potions, that is, potions which will have the desired effect on the drinker without causing unintended side effects. The difference between a simple A at OWL level and an O is that of potency. Due to the O student's superior skills at brewing, his potion is significantly more potent than that of the A student. The criteria for a passing grade at NEWT level is not simply being capable of brewing a passable version of a more complex potion; instead, it is that the brewer must understand why certain steps are necessary, why the ingredients must be prepared in a specific way. It is why no Potions Master would ever take an apprentice with less than an O at NEWT level – a Potions Master is such because he or she is capable of changing potions, and as such must have an intimate understanding of all components of potions. Can you think of any reason why a Potions Master might be necessary, Harry?"

Harry startled as if surprised to be asked a question.

"Er…To make a new potion?"

"Are you asking me or telling me, Harry?" Tom fought to keep his tone neutral – he had always disliked it when people answered him with a question. The dirty look thrown his way at the comment reminded him, however, that this was not just one of his students – this was his master, and if he pissed him off, he would be in pain. The thought brought him abruptly out of the pleasant mind-set he had fallen into – he had always enjoyed teaching when he had a student who was worth his time. Harry was not someone he would have chosen to take under his wing, but needs must. He would do well to tone down his sometimes biting criticism, though.

"Well?" Harry said pointedly, looking at Tom warningly. He took the hint. He was still the slave, even if he was the teacher, he thought bitterly.

"Making a new potion is certainly one of a Potion Master's roles. Can you think of any others?" The boy thought for a moment.

"What about making potions taste better?" That actually startled a chuckle out of Tom. True…but he would dare Harry to have the courage to ask a Potions Master to do something as puerile as that. "For children," added Harry, glaring at Tom. That stopped Tom's laughter in its tracks. That was actually a good idea. "I wonder why it hasn't been done before – I bet there are loads of children who refuse to take potions because they taste horrible." Tom conceded the point.

"Perhaps, but I believe that it's already been done with the potions that are able to be altered for taste without being altered for effectiveness. Unfortunately, most of the most important ingredients in the usual healing potions taste bad, and removing them or adding in sufficient numbers of other ingredients to change the taste renders the potion ineffective or downright dangerous. But that was a good idea. Indeed, healing is one area where Potions Masters are always welcome, though for a different reason than the one you mentioned. What do you think might happen if a patient is required to take a potion which contains ingredients they are allergic to?" Tom saw the light dawn on Harry's face.

"I see, so a Potions Master is employed to find a different recipe which has the same effectiveness, but a different ingredient from the one the person is allergic to," he mused. Tom nodded.

"Indeed. As you can imagine, it is not an easy process, nor is it necessarily guaranteed to succeed, but for those who are passionate about Potions, it is a rewarding one." He left a few moments of silence to allow Harry to absorb the information so far.

"The half-blood Prince," he heard the boy mutter. Tom frowned in confusion.

"What did you say, master? Harry," he quickly corrected himself, horrified at his slip. Was the collar already managing to indoctrinate him without him even realising? He was brought out of his thoughts before he managed to actually start panicking by Harry's voice. The boy clearly hadn't noticed what he'd said.

"The half-blood Prince. You know I said I spent Sixth year cheating?" Tom inclined his head – he did recall that. "Well, it was because of a used Potions book I was given because I hadn't thought I was getting into the class, so hadn't bought a copy. There were all sorts of edits to it – different ways of preparing ingredients, adding an extra stir or waiting a few seconds longer to add an ingredient, things like that."

"And they worked?" Tom asked, interested despite himself. For these to be in a Sixth year textbook, it would have had to have belonged to a real prodigy if he was making workable edits at that age. Harry nodded.

"Not only worked, they improved the potion. Some of the edits improved it significantly." Tom's eyebrows went up.

"Whose book did you say it was? I wonder if I knew them." Harry chuckled, though there was a note of mockery in it.

"Oh, you definitely knew them. The half-blood Prince. Severus Snape. The man who turned against you because you killed my mother." Tom closed his eyes in frustration at himself. Of course. It would be him. He'd forgotten for a moment that Severus's mother's maiden name had been Prince, otherwise it would have been obvious. Well, he'd always known the man had been a prodigy. That was, in the end, the main reason he had been admitted into the Death Eaters, the reason for Voldemort taking a greater interest in him and teaching him magic he would never have dreamed of. And look at how he had been repaid for his kindness.

He opened his eyes to see Harry looking at him intently, no doubt interested in seeing the reaction to his intentionally provoking words. Determined that his master wouldn't have any more control over him than he already did, Tom made sure to push down all his rage at the betrayal of one he had thought was loyal to him and him alone, regardless of the role he played at Hogwarts. Down, down until he could feel but a hint of heat keeping his belly warm with hate.

"Yes, that is what I am trying to explain. Severus was a prodigy, and the fact that he was making the kind of edits in Sixth year that most people would start considering during their mastery studies demonstrates that, but the idea is sound. A NEWT level student is not expected to be able to produce workable edits to a potion, let alone improve a potion. They are, however, expected to understand enough of the interactions between potion ingredients, their preparation and the method of combining them to at least suggest edits which will not make the potion explode or turn it into a poison. In addition, they are required to be able to recognise a number of potions by their colour or smell, and brew an antidote to various poisons based on their reactions to a set of standard tests." Harry looked despairing.

"And I'm supposed to learn all of that in one year?" Tom smirked, his enjoyment at Harry's misfortune managing to lift his mood slightly from the depths it had sunk to after talking about him.

"You will," he reassured, "if you work hard. Now, we don't have any ingredients, but we can talk through what you already know about interactions. So, let's go back to basics. The Cure for Boils, the first potion you ever brew in Hogwarts, why exactly are the snake fangs ground into a fine powder? Why can they not be ground merely into a coarse powder, or not ground at all?"

XXX

Harry slumped at the table while Tom made dinner, looking unseeingly into the distance. OK, that had been…confusing as hell. And also, he thought he'd learned more about Potions in two hours than he had done during his entire career at Hogwarts. Not that that was a surprise, bloody Snape. Still, if Tom was to be believed, he had been a real prodigy in Potions, not just very good at them. Maybe that's why he had never explained all of this – he expected it to be instinctual like it probably was for him.

They had talked through the Cure for Boils recipe and then another few potions from First year. By the end of the two hours, Harry was able to see how some of the common ingredients reacted in different ways according to their preparation or when they were added and with what. He also realised something he hadn't noticed in First year – they had only used a few ingredients. But because each of the ingredients was prepared differently in each potion or was added at a different stage or with a different combination of ingredients, it created very different results. Still, he had noticed a couple of commonalities already. He resigned himself to poring over loads of potions recipes in the hope that he would notice the patterns. Maybe Slughorn would be able to give him some advice when he went to Hogwarts the next day…

But one reason it had been confusing as hell was because…Tom was actually good at it. Teaching, that is. He had some kind of…charisma when he spoke passionately. His voice was so engaging, Harry had almost stopped listening to the words he was saying, so enraptured was he by its tone. But then Tom had seemed to notice his attention wandering somehow and had swiftly regained it with a question.

Harry found his mind flashing back to when he had been in Sixth year and Dumbledore had shown him memories of Voldemort, to that memory where the Dark Lord had asked for the teaching position at Hogwarts. For the first time, he wondered whether any of Voldemort's motivation in applying had been because of genuinely wanting to teach. And he also found himself imagining what it might have been like if he'd had Professor Riddle as his Defence teacher…

Looking over at the man, he absentmindedly watched his graceful movements as he monitored the pots and the precision of his movements as he chopped vegetables. Tom had clearly not appreciated the mention of Severus Snape, Harry thought. He'd hidden it well, but Harry had been watching closely and had seen the hints of anger and something else which had passed over his face. He wondered whether it had been a good idea the previous day to invite Snape and Kingsley over…Well, it was too late now. Maybe they'd never take him up on the invitation, anyway. Besides, like it or not, and Harry wasn't sure whether he was actually starting to like it, Tom was his slave – he'd do as he was told or suffer the consequences.

XXX

Harry apparated home after a long, gruelling day at Hogwarts. Minerva had explained the new setup to them when they had arrived. Teachers would run theory tutorials in the morning and practical tutorials in the afternoon. Each student was given a recommended list of books according to the gaps shown in their tests. Harry was embarrassed to realise that some of the texts on his lists had been magical theory books assigned in Third and Fourth year.

The students were responsible for reading these books and putting any questions raised to their teachers during the appropriate times. The teachers would also be handing out a number of essay questions – anything from one to three – per subject, per week which the students would be responsible for completing and turning in before the weekend, so it could be marked and handed back during the next Monday session. Thus, any questions raised by the essay could be asked of the teacher while the information was still fresh.

Harry was rather impressed with the way they had decided to organise it, and very appreciative of his teachers' efforts – an extra thirty essays or more to mark every week was surely no small addition to their load. There would be no chasing of homework or attendance – the onus was purely on the student to get as much out of the opportunities they were being given as was possible. He was starting to wonder if he had bitten off more than he could chew, though, especially since he'd be trying to catch up on the Auror training as well…

Still, he tried to reassure himself, the others didn't have live at home teachers. Given how well Tom had explained Potions the previous day, despite not even having any ingredients, Harry had more faith in him being able to explain Magical Theory.

Walking into the sitting room, he was surprised to see Tom sitting in one of the chairs, reading a book. Upon noticing him enter, the man raised his wine-red eyes to meet Harry's, before closing his book carefully and sliding nonchalantly to his knees, bowing his head.

"Master," he greeted easily. Harry felt a slight hint of annoyance: it wasn't satisfying to have Tom on his knees at his feet and calling him 'master' if it didn't bother him. That irritation made his response sharper than he had intended.

"What are you doing, relaxing? You're supposed to be cleaning."

"I've finished, master," his slave replied. Harry raised his eyebrows.

"Finished? It's a massive house! How can you be finished?" At that point, Tom raised his head and looked defiantly into Harry's eyes.

"Perhaps I'm just more efficient, master," he said slightly mockingly. Harry heard the unspoken end to it: than you are. Giving a thin smile that showed more teeth than it should, Harry responded.

"Then you won't mind showing me your efforts, will you?"

"Of course not, master," Tom responded, his sweet tone in contrast to his eyes. He started to get up, but Harry just clicked his tongue making him freeze with one knee still on the floor. "Master?" he asked, irritation thinly covered. Harry almost smiled at the sound.

"I didn't say you could get up." He let that sink in, revelling in the confusion, then humiliation, then anger that spread across his slave's face.

"Master, you don't mean…?" he asked, sounding as if he was both hoping desperately that he'd misunderstood, and fearing that he hadn't. Harry couldn't have stopped the grin from spreading across his face if he'd tried, which he hadn't.

"Come now, pet. If you've done a good job, there's no fear that your hands or knees will be dirtied, is there?" Watching the emotions flash through those crimson eyes, he drank in the defiance warring with the anger, turning into pain, which in its turn gave way to reluctant submission. Oh and the humiliation, the delicious humiliation that clung to every pore of Tom's skin as he reluctantly crawled towards the door.

Harry's slave gave him a tour of the house, his seething anger clear in every 'master' that he spat and the flashing in his eyes every time he met Harry's amused gaze. Harry had to admit grudgingly that Tom had seemingly done a good job. There wasn't actually any dust anywhere that Harry could see. Though, he still found it hard to believe that the man had somehow cleaned every room in Grimmauld Place, by hand. He knew personally how long it took to clean a four bedroom suburban house, with a vacuum cleaner, so didn't want to imagine how much more time it would take to clean a ten bedroom townhouse which, along with the usual slew of rooms, also included a potions lab, a duelling room and a ballroom. A small ballroom, perhaps only fitting fifty people in at a maximum, but a ballroom nonetheless. Even if they hadn't actually cleared all the rooms yet.

Still, by the time they'd reached the kitchen again, Harry's desire to see Tom suffer had been satisfied, and he was now hungrier for food than for Tom's pain.

"OK, you can stand up," he said. The man glared at him once more, but slowly obeyed. Harry made a show of inspecting his hands and trouser legs below the knee. "Hmm, good enough, I suppose." Then a thought occurred to him and he smiled brightly. Tom looked appropriately wary. "Well, since I'm so lucky to have such an efficient slave, I guess I'll have to find something else to occupy your time."

"It's not necessary at all, master," Tom rushed to 'reassure' him, his eyes all the while telling Harry of his desperate wish that the younger man would just suddenly drop dead.

"Oh, but I wouldn't want you getting bored," Harry said with faux concern. The man didn't have any response to that, he thought with satisfaction. "So, when you've finished cleaning, you can go and start taming the garden. I believe you got an O in Herbology at OWL level, didn't you?" The man clearly gritted his teeth before answering.

"Yes master." Harry had to commend him – it was hard to speak that clearly through clenched teeth. Evidently, Tom had had enough practice somewhere.

"Good. Then I expect to see some progress every day. Oh, and you're cooking."

"But I cooked yesterday, master!" the man protested. Harry raised his eyebrows.

"Uh, who's the slave in this relationship?" When the man just crossed his arms, looked away and refused to reply, Harry crossed his own arms and stared at him.

"Tom, who's the slave? Answer me," he commanded, adding a note of steel. The man resisted for a few beats longer before giving in.

"I am, master," he replied softly, a note of tiredness creeping in.

"Which means when I order…"

"…I obey," he finished reluctantly.

"Exactly," Harry replied. "And I'm ordering you to do all the evening meals from now on." There was a beat of silence. "Tom?"

"Yes, master," the man replied finally, his tone subdued. Harry nodded sharply, then turned and left the room. His last glance into the room revealed his slave standing in the middle of the kitchen looking remarkably small considering his height. Perhaps it was the slight slump, perhaps it was the collar, but whatever it was, Harry wondered why it caused a twist of guilt to tug at his gut.

XXX

The next day, Harry woke feeling nervous. The letter he'd had from Robards had accepted him into the Auror's recruitment process unconditionally, but Harry couldn't help but think that if he messed up in his first days, he'd be out.

He dressed in the robes he'd set out the night before, popped down to the kitchen for a quick breakfast and then went to the floo. He hadn't seen Tom yet, but he wasn't really surprised. The man had still been wandering around when Harry had been in bed – he had heard the floorboards creaking. So, it was likely he was lying in a bit since it was pretty early: Robards had asked him to come in for 8am so he could go through some things before starting the actual classes at 9am. In the end, Harry shrugged. He'd given Tom the instructions. In the end, whether he followed them or didn't, wasn't particularly major – he couldn't escape, couldn't do significant damage, couldn't hurt anyone…everything else was really incidental.

Flooing through to the Auror's office, Harry stepped out into an area he'd only seen once before. Unlike before, it was pretty quiet with only a few red-robed Aurors working in their offices. A man was waiting by the fireplace. He was dressed in the usual red-robes of the Aurors, and had brown hair and brown eyes with an olive coloured skin. In short, he looked rather nondescript. Then he smiled and his expression changed completely.

"Mr Potter, good to meet you finally." He held out a hand and Harry shook it. The grip was firm and immediately reassuring. Harry breathed properly for the first time in what felt like all morning.

"Good to be here, Head Auror Robards." The man scoffed.

"Now, we can't have the Man-who-Conquered calling me by that long thing. Call me Gwaine." Harry's smile became a little fixed.

"Sure, uh, did Kingsley speak to you about that?"

"About what, Mr Potter?" Harry grimaced slightly.

"Well, about the fact that I don't want to use my…my fame to get into the Auror programme."

"He did say something about that," Robards admitted, but then he gave Harry a conspiratorial look. "But I know you're just saying that to be nice." Harry's grimace deepened into a frown.

"Sir, I'm not," he protested. The man looked at him disbelieving.

"But did you honestly think that we would admit someone into the Auror programme two weeks late if they weren't the saviour of our world." Harry's heart sank. Damn it! This is what he'd hoped he could avoid – favouritism for ending a war which he had a hand in starting in the first place.

"Sir," he tried again. "If you're only accepting me because I defeated Voldemort, then please tell me now and I'll leave." The Head Auror looked at him searchingly, seeing the way he had turned towards the floo, already prepared to depart.

"You really mean that," he mused.

"Yes Sir," Harry replied firmly. Robards nodded slowly before another smile broke out on his face, but this one didn't have the smarmy edge which had been in his initial expression.

"Well done, Potter," he said, his tone also changed. It was now business-like, professional in a way the overly flattering one hadn't been. Harry frowned.

"Sir?"

"I had to test you, I'm sure you understand."

"Not really," Harry admitted. The man's smile took on a wry tint as he explained.

"Kingsley said that you didn't want to use your fame to get ahead, but I had to make sure of it. It would do the Auror department a disservice if I allowed someone into the programme without knowing what kind of character they might be bringing to it."

"So if I hadn't protested…" Harry started slowly. Robards nodded.

"Then you would have failed," he replied simply. Harry took that in. "It wouldn't have been obvious, but your grades would have slowly got worse, until you finally didn't make the cut and failed out."

"And now…?"

"Now, it depends on you. You have as much of a chance to succeed or fail as any other candidate in the programme. Kingsley explained how much you would have to work to catch up, didn't he?" Harry nodded.

"Yeah, he said I would have to study memories of the first two weeks teaching while attending the classes from now."

"Exactly." Robards started moving away and Harry followed him. They entered an office, probably Robards', Harry thought. The older man sat down and pulled out a row of vials containing what Harry recognised as memories. There were about sixteen vials. "The morning and afternoon sessions from the last two weeks. You're lucky – the practicals start this week so you haven't missed out on too much. If you'd left it much longer to apply, it would have been a lot harder to catch up." Harry nodded, standing awkwardly in front of the desk. The Head Auror waved him to a seat. "Sit, sit. Now, here's your induction pack, your timetable for this week and the timetables for the previous two weeks."

Harry had a look at the induction pack. It was several sheets long, including a kit list, a code of conduct as an Auror recruit, plus a list of all the subjects he would be studying. He scanned the last taking in the names of the different subjects with excitement. No Charms or Transfiguration on this list - instead it was subjects like Investigative skills, Arrest procedure, Concealment & Disguise, the Legal system, Wizarding Laws, and many more. Looking at the timetables, Harry noticed Ethics was every week, as Kingsley had suggested. He noticed one difference between the first two weeks and the coming week, however. The Legal System had apparently finished after six sessions over two weeks, and was now turning into Self-Defence.

"Now, Potter," Robards started, having given him a few minutes to investigate the induction pack and timetables, "as I said to all the recruits at the beginning, at the moment you are Auror recruits not trainees. What is the difference?" Harry realised it was a rhetorical question when he opened his mouth to answer it but the man barrelled on regardless. "The difference is that Auror trainees have proved that they are perhaps worthy of the title of Auror. Recruits have not.

"As recruits, normally you would have to have at least five NEWTs with grades of either Outstanding or Exceeds Expectations, but the Minister and I have decided that, in light of the whole war situation, we are waiving that requirement this once. But even if you had the grades, it wouldn't prove you were at all suited to Auror work. That is what this year is about. At the end of the year, you will undergo various assessments. These, combined with your teachers' reports about your contributions and abilities in class determine whether you are allowed to pass onto the actual Auror training programme.

"Please note, however, that you can be ejected from the programme at any time. If you have a failing grade twice in a row in any subject, you will be called in for a review. Should your interviewer feel that you are not meeting the standards required, you will be ejected from the programme. The same is true if you have several failure grades in different subjects." Robards fixed Harry with a stern gaze.

"It's a strict standard, I know, but we only take the best into the Aurors – it would be irresponsible to accept any less when we are charged with the well-being of our world." He left a moment of silence to let that sink in. "Due to your late arrival, you will be given a period of grace until halfway through October to catch up. That does not mean you can do what you want, merely that you don't need to worry about the consequences of failure. Come the end of October, however, if you are still keen on continuing, that period will be over and you will be held to the same standards as all other recruits. Any questions?" Harry shook his head.

"No Sir." Then a thought occurred to him. "Actually Sir, do you have a pensieve I can borrow – I don't have one." The man seemed to look a little surprised.

"Oh? Then yes, we can lend you a pensieve for the next month. You'll need to sign it out from the quartermaster. I'll write you a pass. You can pick it up at the end of the day from the quartermaster, along with the memories. Anything else?" Harry thought about it, but then shook his head. "Then let's give you a quick tour of the office and the places you'll be expected to go for your classes." Harry stood up as Robards did and moved to the door in response to his hand directions. Before Robards opened the door, he paused.

"You do not have to worry that you have been accepted merely because of your actions to end the war…but I find I must express my gratitude that you did." Harry looked up at the Head Auror, seeing his sincerity shining through his gaze. He wasn't sure what to say, so he just nodded. That seemed to be good enough as the man nodded back at him and then his expression returned to the professional demeanour it had held before.

XXX

Tom woke slowly, his consciousness risking to wakefulness like a slow-moving balloon through water. Looking at the alarm clock on his bedside table, he groaned. It was already half past nine! He had rarely slept this late – there had always been things to do, things to learn, order to give. The exception was probably when he had been a wraith, but then he hadn't really slept, so he didn't think that counted. Or perhaps when he had been a homunculus, but again, he had slept most of the time so didn't consider that as a good example.

But now…. What was there for him to do? Cleaning? Gardening? He made a moue of distaste. Thankfully, his master hadn't actually specified the number of hours he was supposed to spend doing these menial activities. Though, given his reaction to seeing Tom relaxing last night, he felt he would do well to at least appear to be busy when the boy returned, if nothing else. He shuddered once more as the memory of his humiliating crawl through the house returned to his mind. Not to mention the way the boy had completely walked over him in the kitchen.

Tom worried that the boy was becoming increasingly used to the idea of him being a slave. At first, he had barely been able to say the word; now he was forcing Tom to acknowledge his subservience aloud… Thanks to his experiences as a child and then teenager, Tom was unfortunately very aware of the progression of abuse. It started with small things, cutting words, perhaps, and then as the person became emboldened by his victim's lack of forceful response, it often increased to physical hurt. The boys at the orphanage had been like that – when he had stopped responding to their insults, they had started shoving him around, tripping him up, damaging his few things...

It was only when he'd responded with overwhelming force which proved his superiority and filled them with fear whenever they thought of him that it had all stopped. And the same was true at Hogwarts, though that had only taken a few years thanks to his already-strong control of his magic.

And now he was faced with it once more. This time was more dangerous than ever before. He couldn't use overwhelming force to prevent his master from treating him how he wanted. He couldn't escape. He couldn't even seek the protection of anyone else, much as the mere thought made his stomach turn. All he could do was take whatever subtle actions he could think of to deflect, to distract or to delay his master. Tom fought down the building panic in his stomach with thoughts of finding a book in the library which would free him. Then he would be able to satisfy his desires of revenge and Lord Voldemort would rise again, greater and more powerful than ever before!

His dreams of making the Wizarding world bow at his feet and seeing all his enemies suffer and die – though he was careful to keep those enemies faceless in order to avoid a punishment from the collar – sufficed to quell the panic, for now. So, how was he going to do this?

Offering to teach Harry had definitely been a genius idea. Tom could see how that alone, treated carefully, could change the dynamics between them completely. But he would have to be careful – as he had experienced, treating the boy with any sort of censure or disdain would lead immediately to a backlash. Instead, he was going to have to exercise an uncharacteristic amount of patience, giving positive feedback where possible instead of negative. That way, Harry would slowly become dependent on him for his emotional well-being…His master being emotionally dependent on him would be crucial for ensuring the taste Harry was developing for his pain and humiliation would go no further.

The second…Tom thought carefully about the situation the previous night, trying to move past his own memories of humiliation and helpless rage to understand his master's motivations. It was difficult – Tom was not terribly good at seeing things from other people's perspectives, but he was a sight better at it than Voldemort had been with his soul torn into pieces. Tom suddenly realised he felt some disgust at his old self – truly, horcruxes had not been the best idea he'd come up when it had meant he'd slowly lost control over his mind, his magic and his genius. When he realised he was feeling the faintest stirrings of gratitude towards Lady Magic for piecing his soul back together, he pushed the sensations down, horrified. He was not grateful towards the loathed being who had dared to force him into this position.

So, last night. He forced his thoughts back on track. When Harry had come home, he had been annoyed to see Tom relaxing with a book. Why? Was it because he felt envy: that Tom could relax when he had been at Hogwarts all day? Was it because he felt Tom didn't deserve to relax? Well, whatever the reason, it was simple enough to fix – when Harry fell into a routine of being out of the house, Tom would be able to organise his tasks to ensure that he was always thoroughly occupied whenever his master came home.

But then what had prompted that humiliating tour of the house? He had kneeled without a murmur, without the collar even having to remind him. He had managed to be respectful without sounding like the words were being forced out…. Why had his master been so…so aggressive? While he thought about that, he got out of bed, having a quick shower before going into the kitchen for breakfast.

At the table, he munched on some toast with jam and butter, still turning the question over in his brain as he planned the day's activities. Yesterday he'd tested a method of cleaning that had proved to work. Instead of giving every room a thorough clean every day, which would keep him occupied from dawn to late into the night – probably the boy's intentions – he simply made sure that there was no obvious dirt in any of the rooms, while making sure to clean something in all of the rooms, just so he could say he'd cleaned the whole house. Of course, the areas they used most often needed more attention than the other bedrooms, for example, but when done efficiently, it only took him half a day or so. Though it looked like now he had to factor garden-care into his daily events…

It was as he headed to the cleaning cupboard than an answer to the question he'd been absently musing over came to him. When they had duelled, his master had been happy to see the 'fire' in his eyes…perhaps he had been too docile. Perhaps he had been mistaken in believing that Harry wanted an obedient pet, but would simply be suspicious if it happened all at once. Perhaps what Harry really wanted was a challenge. It would fit what had happened last night – he had been submissive and respectful, so Harry had pushed until he got a reaction. Then he had clearly enjoyed crushing that reaction and reminding both of them who had won.

Not what Tom would have expected from someone Dumbledore had mentored; more like something Tom himself would have perpetrated. Tom found himself torn between irritation and amusement. For all Dumbledore had tried to raise his Golden Boy as the antithesis to Lord Voldemort, he had ended up being just the opposite side of the same coin. Tom found himself wondering how, exactly, that had happened – he knew how he had become who he was, but found it strange to believe that a loving childhood and blessed Hogwarts experience might have resulted in someone similar.

So what was he going to do about it? How could he test his theory? If it proved true, how could he use it?

The thoughts and possible ideas accompanied him as he started the mind-numbingly boring task of cleaning…again.

XXX

Harry arrived home at 7:15pm, his mind already exhausted, but he knew he still had hours of work to do – he had all those pensieve memories to go through, after all, not to mention get started on the essay titles they had been assigned on Monday. He started planning his evening as he walked in the door. Nine hours of classes, approximately, every day, Tuesday to Friday…That was thirty-six hours in a week, so seventy-two hours for two weeks. He had thirty days to catch up, maximum, so that meant he had to watch memories for at least two and a half hours every day, including weekends, to cover all the memories. Plus he had assignments from the Auror training, as well, though he'd only missed three so far, fortunately. So that was at least three and a half hours he needed to dedicate to his Auror work. Then there were the Hogwarts assignments which were due on Friday. He had been given two essay titles each for Potions, Transfiguration and Charms, and then one title for Defence. So that was seven assignments.

Harry moaned as he slumped into a chair in the sitting room. What had he let himself in for? He resigned himself to at least five hours of studying before he would be able to go to bed. He'd have to concentrate on his essays for Hogwarts first, and then do his catching up for the Aurors later in the week and then over the weekend. Wistfully, he missed Hermione. If they were still at Hogwarts together, she would have already written a timetable for him which would have exactly what he needed to study and when, and she would already be badgering him to start. On second thoughts, maybe he didn't miss it so much. But he did miss having his friends around – this was the first time he had ever lived in a house alone. Or, not alone, he thought as he suddenly remembered his unwelcome house guest.

Thinking of Tom…where was he? It was past seven – he should be making dinner, Harry thought with annoyance. If he was relaxing in the library or something, Harry didn't know what he would do, but he was sure it wouldn't be pleasant for the man. Well, time to test whether the collar would be able to communicate to his slave that his master needed him.

"Tom," he called quietly, as if calling for a house elf. He really couldn't be bothered to go searching, but he would if the man didn't appear shortly. When his slave suddenly materialised in the doorway and knelt, an annoyed look on his face, Harry couldn't help but grin in triumph. Lord Voldemort, obedient house elf! Then he actually took in Tom's appearance and his mouth fell open.

"What in Merlin's name were you doing?" he asked, not sure whether to laugh or to be horrified. The man looked completely dishevelled and disgruntled. His clothes were dirty and ruffled, a hole having appeared in his trouser leg, his face and arms were smeared with muck and he had a few cuts and bruises scattered over the visible areas of his skin.

"Gardening, master," the man spat out, with heat. At that Harry did laugh.

"What, were the plants attacking you?" His laughter stopped abruptly as the man responded.

"Yes, actually." Harry looked at Tom searchingly, trying to see if he was being sarcastic, but all he saw was irritation and frustration.

"Wait, the plants actually were attacking you?"

"It's a bloody wizard's garden, master, which has been allowed to run amok. Of course it attacked me. And considering I'm not able to use magic, it…won," Harry couldn't help chuckling at the sheer disgust in the final word. Tom Riddle, beaten by a plant. Now he'd heard it all. Though the man did have a point – Harry didn't know what plants were in the garden, but considering the previous owners, he wouldn't be surprised if they were highly magical…and highly dangerous. Not having magic was a significant handicap. He considered the matter. It would need careful wording but…

"Fine. You are allowed to use magic only in the garden and only for the purpose of subduing plants which you are otherwise unable to deal with. You are not allowed to use magic if there is another possible solution. Better?"

"Yes, master," Tom's tone was relieved. To be fair, Harry didn't really blame him not wanting to fight with plants all day that he knew wouldn't be tamed except by magic which he wasn't allowed to use. And Harry did want the garden sorted, eventually. "May I use reference books in the library to study which spells to use?" he asked semi-politely.

"I thought you had an O at OWL level," Harry pointed out.

"Yes master, but Herbology was never one of my interests and I haven't studied it in years." It was a good point – Harry really couldn't see Voldemort doing anything to do with plants. Not unless it was to murder someone. And what was the harm of letting him look stuff up about them?

"OK, fine. You're allowed to look at any book in the library for the purpose of researching how to deal with a plant causing problems in the garden. However," he emphasised, looking at Tom pointedly, "before you're allowed to use a spell, you must write a succinct summary of its name, incantation, wand movements and all possible effects on plants, people, creatures, the environment and anything else. The information must be complete and wholly truthful to your knowledge and include the name of the book in which you found it. I'll just remind you here of the consequences if I find you've tried to lie to me…" He left a pause for the memory of his warning to come back to Tom's mind. When he saw the man's small flinch, he was satisfied. And yes, maybe he was giving himself more work here, but the number of spells he'd talked to Neville about that were designed for plants, but also worked very well on people…well, he didn't want Voldemort learning more spells to hurt than he already knew. "Anything else?

"…my wand, master?" Tom asked, his tone tentative. Harry considered it. He didn't really want to allow his slave access to his wand all the time…

"I'll leave it in a kitchen cupboard under a timed ward," he decided. "You'll be able to use it between five and half past six pm. Otherwise, the door won't open for you. If I come back and it's not in the cupboard, you'll be punished. It will also be a good reminder to make dinner," he said pointedly. The man flushed, but held his head up, meeting Harry's eyes and letting him see his defiance. "Understood?"

"Yes, master," Tom replied reluctantly.

"Good, well, go on and make dinner, then. I'm hungry."

"May I clean up first, master?" the man asked, keeping his voice as neutral as possible, though Harry could see his struggle. Harry pretended to consider it.

"No, I think you look good like that," he replied mockingly. A muscle ticked in Tom's jaw, but he forced himself to look down submissively.

"As you wish, master," he said, the undercurrent of anger as clear in his voice as his words were clear in his submission despite it. That dark part inside Harry purred in satisfaction at subduing his enemy, at controlling his actions. Then Harry realised what he was thinking and swiftly shoved it away. He waved his hand at Tom, making it clear he was dismissed, then turned his attention to the first of his essays, figuring he might as well start while the other man made the food.

XXX

If Harry had seen Tom a moment after he had stood up and turned away, he wouldn't have felt so satisfied in his control over his enemy. A triumphant grin spread across Tom's face. Finally, finally! If Harry had known how many loopholes he had left with his library permission, he would have withdrawn it immediately. As it was, Tom would use this opportunity to its fullest extent.

The first loophole he could see was that Harry had specified spells, completely missing the fact that there were a number of subjects which were not classified as spells – rituals, potions and enchantments being only some of the biggest. The second loophole was that he only had to tell his master about the spells he intended to use. He wasn't required to say anything about spells he just wanted to learn, but not use – yet. The third and biggest was that he could read any book in the library for the purpose of dealing with the plants. However, he thought virtuously, but with a hint of wickedness, how was he to know which books in the library contained really important information? It would be such a shame if he ended up wasting his time reading a book that actually had nothing to do with plants, but that he had hoped might because of something in its title, on its cover, the name of the author…

And then…and then he would finally rid himself of this tombstone around his neck. This collar that had acted so much like a leash when his master had summoned him – pulling at him and giving him shocks until he found the boy. He would be rid of the limits on his magic, the influence on his mind…he would be free!

It was a shame about his wand, though. Those rules were a bit stricter, and at this moment, he couldn't see a way around them. But the first task was finding information about the collar – it wouldn't be much use having access to his wand, but not knowing what to do with it. No, he could be patient about the use of his wand.

Despite his eagerness to go and explore the library, now he had finally got some permission he could work with, he forced himself to go to the kitchen. No need to earn a punishment and draw his master's attention when he could just go and explore after dinner.

XXX

It was Thursday night and Harry was starting to panic with one of his essay titles. He had been doing well so far that week – he had managed to watch three of the Auror's memory vials, and do all but one of his essays. It was just the last one that he was really struggling with. 'The Levitating Charm is the best first charm for wizards and witches to learn. Discuss.' He didn't have a clue why it was the best charm to start with, simply that Flitwick had chosen to do so in his First year. Not only that, but he'd tried doing research about the Levitating charm, and all the theory had been too confusing for him. Then, he was hit by an idea. Didn't he have that walking encyclopaedia living with him, under his control?

"Tom," he said quietly, knowing his slave would be forced to his side, wherever he was. The man appeared a few minutes later, looking rumpled and sleepy.

"Master, it's past midnight. I was in bed," he protested, yawning widely before covering his mouth. Then he winced briefly and dropped to his knees, glaring up at Harry as soon as the yawn subsided. Harry felt a flash of guilt but pushed it away.

"You can sleep in tomorrow," he said dismissively. "I need to do this tonight."

"It couldn't have waited until tomorrow, could it master?" the man grumbled. Harry fixed him with a stern stare.

"No. But even if it could, if I wanted you to get up-"

"I'm your slave, I get it," Tom interrupted rudely. "But can we get on with it so I can go back to bed?" He winced again as the collar evidently punished him for his disrespect. "Meaning no offence, master," he added in a conciliatory tone. Harry sighed; he supposed he couldn't expect anyone to welcome being dragged out of bed. Not even if they would be able to sleep in the next morning.

"I have an essay I'm struggling to write," he admitted, getting to the point immediately. Tom's crimson eyes sharpened and he looked far more awake.

"So you would like me to teach you, would you?" he purred. Harry eyed him before nodding dubiously, wondering if this was a bad idea… "Then may I sit in a chair, Harry?" Oh it was too late to be dealing with Tom's machinations. Harry waved a hand absently.

"Fine, whatever." The man smirked and, standing up, pulled a chair over to sit at Harry's desk, perpendicular to him. Harry shifted slightly – Tom was a bit closer than comfortable and his eyes were far too piercing.

"What is the subject, Harry?" Harry explained what he was supposed to do. His slave turned teacher looked thoughtful. "And what is the problem you have?" Harry sighed in frustration.

"I don't know where to start! I mean, the wand movement is pretty easy, but I remember so many of my classmates having trouble with the pronunciation. I think only Hermione managed to make her feather float by the end of the lesson. Seamus blew his up." Tom chuckled abruptly, sounding surprised.

"Would I be right in thinking that this…Seamus…became known for blowing things up?" Harry shrugged.

"Yeah, and trying to turn pumpkin juice into rum." Tom shook his head, a smile playing on his lips.

"Well, your friend's pyromania and burgeoning alcoholism aside, what aspect of casting magic is the Levitating Charm supposed to teach children?" Harry thought about it and then shook his head in irritation.

"That's the problem – I don't know! That you have to pronounce spells carefully? Or use proper wand movements?" Tom shrugged.

"Those are useful lessons to learn, but not the key aspects. Harry, I'd like you to cast the Levitating Charm on this piece of paper, thinking carefully about every step of the process you take." Harry followed instructions, frowning in concentration as he tried to notice every step. The piece of paper floated for a moment before he cut the charm.

"Now?"

"Explain what you did, every last detail."

"I waved my wand in the correct pattern, said the words, and the piece of paper lifted."

"Did you have any sort of image in mind?" Harry shrugged.

"The piece of paper lifting, I suppose."

"Exactly!" exclaimed Tom. "Casting magic relies on will, visualisation and magical control." Harry frowned.

"What about the words and the wand movements?"

"Master, will you give me permission to demonstrate a wandless levitation?" Harry considered it, but decided that it wasn't too dangerous.

"Fine, you may demonstrate one wandless levitation on this piece of paper." A moment later, the piece of paper lifted. Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise – Tom hadn't moved, he hadn't said a word. In fact, had he not known that it was him casting it, he would have wondered why the piece of paper was floating. Then Tom stopped casting and the sheet of paper settled back down to the desk top.

"You see, I didn't use any sort of gestures or words, but the piece of paper lifted. Why?" Harry considered the problem.

"Because you thought about it?" he suggested. Tom made an impatient gesture.

"Not simply thought about it – muggles think about levitating pieces of paper; it doesn't mean they will lift. No, I visualised the piece of paper lifting, then I focused my will on it conforming to my thoughts, and finally I directed my power to acting out my thoughts. If words and gestures were required to do magic, no child would ever have accidental magic, would they?"

Harry had never really thought about that, but it was true. He had turned his teacher's hair blue because he was angry with her accusing him of cheating, and wanted her to look bad in front of the class. Then he had apparated onto the top of the school building because he had desperately wanted to get away from Dudley. Each time, he had been emotional, which he supposed focused his will, and had had a strong intent. Then, the power must have acted, otherwise he wouldn't have been able to cast magic. But that raised another question.

"Then why do we have wands when we could do all magic wandlessly? Why are we taught gestures and words?"

"Because wandless magic requires the caster to be able to clearly visualise their aim, to have an uncompromising will and a not insignificant amount of magical power. Wands level the playing field in terms of power – a wand which has chosen its wizard is a marvellous tool for focusing and maximising the wizard's power, making spells more efficient by several orders of magnitude. That wandless spell I cast required enough power to have lifted perhaps a medium-sized boulder with a wand." Harry couldn't help gaping – that was a crazy difference. "As for words and gestures, again, they level the playing field in terms of visualisation and willpower. Casting a spell with words, gestures, or both is in fact initiating a ritual, but one which has been rendered so efficient and effective by hours of careful arithmancy calculations that it takes seconds and requires only power from the caster."

"A ritual?" Harry couldn't help but ask. He'd never heard of all of this. Tom waved his hand dismissively.

"Yes. We learned all about this theory in my NEWTs Rituals class. If you are interested, I can direct you to some books on the matter." About to say 'yes' eagerly, Harry considered the pile of work he still had to do…and the additional work he would have as soon as Monday came around, and changed his mind.

"Maybe later," he hedged instead. Tom shrugged.

"Very well, Harry. As I was saying, this levels the playing field – wizards with poor willpower or visualisation have a crutch which enables them to cast spells they would otherwise be incapable of learning. A certain amount of visualisation and intent is still required, however, especially for the first few times casting the spell. Based on what you have learned so far, can you think of any reasons why the Levitating Charm might be a good first spell?"

Harry mused over the information. So casting a spell required either lots of power, willpower, and visualisation if done wandlessly, or a bit of all of those if done with a wand, gestures and words. What made the Levitation Charm easy? What made it easier than, for example, a charm for cleaning the room?

"It's a simple effect?" he half-asked, half-suggested. Tom smiled at him, and for once, Harry actually got the idea that it was at least somewhat sincere. It also made him rather handsome, though Harry quickly pushed that thought aside.

"That's certainly part of it," the man agreed. "But there's another aspect which makes the Levitation Charm a better choice than making a pineapple dance, for example." Harry continued to think. Making a pineapple dance was also a simple effect, but it would require much more complex visualisation, he thought. Suggesting that, he was rewarded with another smile. Tom looks so much better with a smile, he found himself thinking again, looking into those red eyes that glowed warmly with a genuinely happy expression. Shaking the thought out of his head once more, he refocused.

"Good, exactly. It is relatively easier to imagine a feather lifting than it is to, for example, visualise water coming out of your wand. There's a reason a feather is used instead of a rock, too. Do you know why?" Harry thought he had an idea.

"Because a feather looks like it should be flying."

"Precisely. If you breathe on it, it flutters into the air. It's very easy to imagine lifting up from the desk on a current of magic. Casting magic is almost as much about self-belief as it is about everything else – if you can visualise the feather flying, are able to will it to fly, and have the power to do so, it still means nothing if you don't actually believe it will."

"Huh," Harry acknowledged, his mind spinning. Once more, he thought he'd learned more in less than half an hour than in six years at Hogwarts. Why didn't they teach it? Or maybe they did, but Harry had never learned it…

"I would suggest you look in whatever magical theory books you have been assigned for references to support your arguments," Tom suggested briskly. "Now, do you have any more questions, or may I return to bed, master?" Brought out of his thoughts, Harry remembered that it was late at night.

"No, it's fine. You can go to bed." Tom nodded, then stood up and walked towards the door, his expression back to its customary neutrality. "Tom?" Harry said, just as the man reached the doorway. His slave stopped and turned back enough that Harry could see his profile. "Just…thanks. I was really struggling with that, so…thank you." For a moment, he thought the other man was just going to continue walking, but in the end, he turned a bit more to make eye contact. Then he nodded once and then turned and disappeared into the shadows of the hallway.

Harry looked at the spot where he had disappeared for a thoughtful moment before turning back to his work – this essay wasn't going to write itself, after all, and he did want to get some sleep that night.

XXX

Harry rose from sleep languidly, warm and comfortable in his bed. Sleepily, cast a tempus. At the 9am rising from his palm, a shot of adrenaline shocked him awake. He was late! It wasn't until he was halfway out of bed and reaching for his wand that he realised he didn't need to panic – it was Saturday.

He fell back into bed with a grunt and jammed the heels of his hands in his eyes. Merlin, he had been burning the midnight oil recently. There hadn't been a night that week that he'd managed to go to bed before midnight, and on Thursday night – or rather, Friday morning – he hadn't managed to finish that damn essay until it was almost time to get up to go to the Ministry. He'd survived off pepper-up potions for that day and then crashed as soon as he'd got home.

Still, it had been worth it. He had completed the essays for Hogwarts, two of the assignments for the Aurors, and had watched four vials in total. He planned to watch four more this weekend – for a total of eighteen hours – and do the last assignment for the first week. That would put him in a good position to finish catching up by the end of the next week. With any luck, they wouldn't be given too many essay titles the coming Monday… After he had caught up, he would have a bit more time to spend on general study and perhaps learning some spells and…potions.

Oh yes, they'd planned on buying some potions ingredients today. Fun. Thinking about his houseguest, Harry realised something. He thought carefully, calculated the dates…yes, he was right – he and Tom had actually managed to cohabitate for a month without somehow killing each other, despite the various restrictions in place… Somehow miracles did happen!

With that thought, Harry realised that he was far too awake to fall back asleep. Groaning slightly because he could really do with more hours, he decided to quickly grab some breakfast, then start watching one of the memories. Better to get it done first and then go out to Diagon Alley in the afternoon. A hint of amusement passed through him at what Hermione would think of his work ethic right now as he got up and dressed.

XXX

Tom was cleaning. Again. Damn this bloody house for seeming to manufacture dirt from the air! And because his master was home, he couldn't do his usual lick and a promise just to ensure he fulfilled his orders just enough to avoid punishment. No, he actually had to do a thorough job, so as not to raise his master's suspicions. It was logical, and he supposed that by doing a proper job now, it would enable him to do less work during the week, but he still hated it.

Frankly, he kept his mind away from the future, because the prospect of months, years, maybe even decades of this…well, he reminded himself that he was a genius; he would find a solution. And so far, what he had found had seemed promising. Nothing specific to his situation, of course, but he had found several pieces of research to reinforce his own experience that everything could be broken – it was just a matter of either carefully applied power or finding the right key.

Even the muggles knew that – look at their numerous stories where one character fell into the power of another, whether it was being unable to change back into a selkie, falling into an enchanted sleep, or being transformed into a beast. In each case, there was a specific action, emotion or word which would break the enchantment.

The books he had read had explained why: it was a balance. An enchantment that was 'unbreakable' was in reality incredibly fragile. Just the smallest disturbance to its subject could shatter it like glass. Instead, wizards long ago had realised that by intentionally building in a specific way of breaking the enchantment, it actually strengthened the rest of its effects and made it more resistant to all other avenues of attack. The nature of the world was change; and the nature of magic even more so.

Given the strength of the collar's enchantment – no matter whether he'd cut it, hit it with a rock, drilled into it with a knife, nothing had happened except pain from the collar's punishment – it should have a very specific release clause. He would imagine that for all the other slaves, the release clause was simply the time written on its front. As soon as the time ran out, the collar would release its wearer from its enchantment. For his, however…there was no such thing as eternity, and giving an unrealistic time limit would just weaken the enchantment. It had to be something else…

So what Tom planned to do in the next week was to research the collar. He wanted to know if there was anything similar recorded in the books. Maybe the previous time of enslavements of convicts could hold some clues….

His collar started jerking and a brief shock of pain ran through him. Grimacing, Tom put his cleaning materials down and stood up. His master was getting into a rather bad habit of simply summoning him like dog. He had really not appreciated being woken up by the collar shocking him as a result of having ignored its initial signals because he was asleep! Though, in a way Tom was glad his master had started to become dependent on him for help, at least as it pertained to academic matters.

Following the pressure on his neck to the sitting room, he knelt just inside the doorway.

"Yes, master?" he said, not bothering to hide the irritation in his voice: why waste the effort when he had verified that the boy was happier when he knew Tom was unhappy?

"We need to get some potions ingredients from Diagon Alley." Tom's heart leapt…and then sank the next moment. He was tired of this house – he hadn't been outside for weeks, well, except for working in the garden, but that didn't count. But then then he remembered that he was a slave with a collar around his neck. Even if most people wouldn't recognise him as Lord Voldemort, he disliked the thought that they would be staring at him in either disgust or (worse) pity.

"You said 'we', master," he started neutrally. "Is it really necessary for me to come?" The boy shrugged.

"You're the teacher – do you honestly think I would do a good job picking out decent ingredients?" Tom thought about it, wanting to say 'yes', because then he could get out of this trip, but both he and Harry knew the answer.

"No, master," he replied reluctantly.

"Well, there you are, then." Tom's master surveyed him critically. "You'll need to change your clothes – those have dust all over them." Then he hesitated. "Also…Tom, when Kingsley…gave you to me, he said that I should use restraints if ever you were out in public, unless I could trust you to behave." Tom remembered. He had been in the room too. But his spirits sank even further at the thought of being forced into public with chains binding his wrists, or his ankles, or both. Perhaps even a gag in his mouth. His skin crawled at the image. "Can I trust you?" Wait? He was being given a choice?

"Yes, master. I'll behave." The boy eyed him dubiously.

"You'll behave according to the expectations of public behaviour set out in the guidebook? No eye contact, stay close to me at all times, kneel at my feet if I sit, no speaking to anyone, no touching anything?" Tom grimaced.

"I would rather not go out at all, master." His master shook his head.

"That's not an option, Tom. I need you in order to choose different potions ingredients – we already established that. No, it's a question of whether you will behave without restraints, or whether you require them." Tom gritted his teeth – he could see that spark of sadism which had been appearing in those emerald eyes with greater and greater frequency since he had first arrived. Faced with the impossible decision, there was really only one answer he could give.

"I'll behave, master. There's no need for restraints." Harry nodded, seemingly unsurprised.

"See that you do. If you cause me any problems, I'll punish you when we get home. Understood?"

"Yes, master." Absently, Tom wondered whether one day his teeth would actually crack from how hard, and how frequently, he seemed to be clenching them in recent times.

"OK, well, go and get changed. Come down here in a few minutes and we'll go." Standing up, Tom walked swiftly to his room, picking a set of clothes that hadn't yet been ruined by either the garden or his cleaning. Maybe he should keep this set as his decent clothes? Merlin knows the others had been damaged quickly enough by all the menial tasks he had been charged with, and he didn't know when he would next be allowed to choose new ones. The further reminder of his sheer dependence on his master's goodwill didn't help raise his mood from where it had plummeted.

Returning downstairs, his master looked him over before nodding in approval.

"Come here," the boy instructed. Tom obeyed slowly, coming within arm's reach before starting to kneel. "No need for that," he said and Tom straightened. "I need to be holding you when we leave the house's wards, remember." Yes, he remembered, and then thought of what might have happened if he had tried to floo without that contact made Tom feel slightly sick. So saying, his master took hold of his upper arm and urged him into the green flames, calling out their destination as he went.

The whirling deposited them into the Leaky Cauldron and Harry immediately started striding through the pub, whispers following him as Tom hurried to keep the requisite distance from his master. He already hated this trip as he caught several of the not-so-subtle comments.

"-see the collar-"

"-Death Eater scum!"

"-didn't know Harry Potter had got one. Maybe we-"

"-what they deserve, after-"

"-not right!"

Then they were out of the crowded area, through the brick wall, and into the alley. Here, it was a bit less crowded – being late afternoon, most people were either heading home or into the Leaky for a drink, but there were still people walking around. Tom kept his eyes on his master's back to ensure that he didn't either get too far away, or run into the boy if he suddenly slowed, but also to avoid looking at all the other people on the street. Still, at least his theory that other people wouldn't recognise him had proved to be true, given that there hadn't been a huge hue and cry about 'You –Know-Who'. He had thought it would be the case, but had considered that maybe the papers could have published his picture at the time of The Event.

Fortunately, the apothecary wasn't far down the road. It was as miasmic as usual: the wave of stench almost hitting Tom like a wall as they walked in. No, Tom thought as he looked around, nothing had changed much. The thought made him pause for a moment, longing clenching at his heart like a fist. What wouldn't he give to go back to the time before his enslavement? To be able to walk in here by himself, for his own purposes. Maybe scare the shopkeeper a bit so he got the best deals…Not even as Lord Voldemort, perhaps – at this point, he would even take going back to plain Tom Riddle…

"OK," his master said, stopping just inside the door. "Here's a basket – go and get the ingredients we need. As you do so, explain to me how you choose the best ones." Tom would do so happily if it meant they didn't have to repeat this painful process again, and the boy would be able to go on his own in the future.

"Yes, master," he acknowledged, keeping the usual grudging tone out of his voice with respect to their surroundings – he wasn't sure how much his master had wanted him to stick to the guidebook in terms of behaviour, but better safe than sorry. And if someone heard him speaking disrespectfully to his master, he knew from his reading that the person could complain to the Ministry. At that point, the Ministry could choose to investigate to ensure that the 'convict' was being suitably treated. If not, they could either take the slave away or perform punishments for 'errant behaviour'. Originally it had been put in place to ensure that relatives or friends of the enslaved convict didn't buy them and give them a 'cushy' experience, but it had developed into just another way for the Ministry to interfere in everyone's lives.

Given that he was with Harry in the first place because his collar wouldn't accept another master, he wasn't afraid of being taken away and given to someone worse, but the punishments the Ministry could apply did make him slightly more cautious. As a slave with no access to magic without his master's permission, and no way to defend himself, he didn't want to know what sort of punishment they would choose to apply. So, caution was the order of the day.

Taking the basket shoved at him, Tom started scanning the shelves for the basics of a reasonably well-stocked potions lab. As he found the items, he explained to his master how to tell whether they were in good condition, fresh, and in some cases, more effective. It took a while to get everything, but finally they were done and could move to the counter. Tom placed the basket on the counter for the shopkeeper to record everything, then stepped back for his master to pay.

"Tha'll be…twenny-seven galleons, 'leven sickles 'n six knuts," the shopkeeper decided. Tom's head jerked up to stare at him in surprise. That was…that was highway robbery! Seeing Harry reach towards his money pouch, he had lifted his hand and had placed it on his master's arm before he'd actually thought about his actions. Then, both the shopkeeper and the boy were staring at him, so he needed to say something. But he'd need to be respectful about it.

"Master, may I speak?" he asked demurely, looking down. Harry made a 'go on' gesture. "It's just…those ingredients shouldn't cost more than twenty galleons at the most. Usually, it would be more like seventeen or eighteen galleons." Harry looked up at the shopkeeper.

"Is that true?" he asked, his voice neutral. The man spluttered a few times, before vehemently responding in the negative.

"No! T' slave's a dir'y liar! Jus' like all Death Ea'er scum!" Tom clenched his teeth together and found his fists were also curling into fists, but he kept his temper. He wasn't sure what made him angrier – being called a liar, or a Death Eater. Please, he was the lord of the Death Eaters! The tiny amount of humour made it easier to beat back the waves of fury threatening to take over. When his master responded, his words were unexpected.

"He's my slave, thank you. I know very well that he is not lying to me – he would be writhing on the floor right now if he was." Tom swallowed dryly at the icy tone. "It leaves me to conclude that in fact you are the one lying. I would suggest that you start being honest if you don't want me to walk out of that door and suggest to everyone I know that they avoid your shop."

"Oh, and why should tha' make me worry, boy?" Tom heard Harry take a sharp breath and flinch slightly, though he wasn't sure why exactly. Then the boy reached up and pulled his fringe to one side. The shopkeeper's intake of breath was a lot louder than Harry's had been. "Mr Po'er! I didn' know!" suddenly the man's tone had turned into oil. Tom disliked it even more than the borderline aggressive one he'd been using earlier. "Sorry for tha'. 'ere, 'ave it on the 'ouse." Then he took on an even less convincing ingratiating smile. "An' if any o' yer friends wanna buy some quali'y ingredien's, please send 'em 'ere." Tom was very glad to see his master simply give the annoying man a steady look, count out twenty galleons and then pick up the ingredients. The shopkeeper deflated, but he didn't say any more, thankfully. Then, as they were heading out of the shop, Harry stopped dead, Tom almost running into him.

Looking in the direction of his master's eyes, he saw a corpulent man with blond hair and a moustache standing over a slighter boy with dark hair and a collar around his neck. Was that what was attracting Harry's attention – seeing another slave and master? On closer look, he wasn't a boy, but he couldn't have been long out of Hogwarts. He was vaguely familiar – perhaps the son of one of Lord Voldemort's supporters who had been initiated shortly before The Event? The slave was pleading with the man standing over him.

"Please, master, please! I didn't mean to!"

"You useless boy!" the master seethed, his hand gripping the young man's hair and pulling it back painfully. "Now I'll have to pay for that!" Looking down at their feet, Tom saw the cause of the incident – a jar of newts' eyes had been dropped and had spilled everywhere. But then, closer inspection of the slave's hands explained why it had happened – Tom almost winced at the angry marks covering them: it looked like the young man had been caned or something from the welts.

The master brought his hand back and slapped his slave hard enough to send the young man to the floor where he then followed up with a kick. The slave cried out, trying to curl up in a ball.

"Silence, you snivelling pile of rubbish!" the master ordered. The sounds from the slave cut out immediately. Tom looked at his own master to see how he was taking it, hoping not to see any sort of appreciation for the scene – he did not want Harry getting ideas on how to treat him from this little escapade.

Instead, he frowned at the look on his master's face. The boy looked almost…afraid. His eyes were glassy and he was white as a sheet. He was also trembling, his feet rooted to the ground but the rest of his body looking as if he wished he could run away.

"Master?" Tom asked, the note of concern in his voice surprising him. Well, of course he would feel some concern, he decided. He was utterly dependent on the boy, after all. The boy who didn't respond to his question. Tom tried again. "Master, are you alright?" Still no response. Feeling a bit helpless – it wasn't as if either Tom or Lord Voldemort had ever had to deal with this sort of thing before – he reached towards Harry to touch him on the arm. The boy flinched violently and raised his arms as if to protect his face. Tom realised he had started muttering under his breath.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" was what he was saying on repeat. Now a bit more than concerned, Tom moved closer, but didn't touch. Was this a panic attack or something? If so, why now?

"Master, can you hear me?" he said as soothingly as he could. "Master, listen to my voice." Hesitating, Tom decided to try his name – after all, he was allowed to use it when he was teaching, and he had been teaching Harry about the ingredients, he rationalised. "Harry?" he said tentatively, becoming emboldened when the collar didn't respond. "Harry, listen to me. You're safe, you're not in whatever place your mind is right now. Come on, come out of it, breathe." He kept up a litany of words until he saw those emerald eyes starting to clear, the trembling starting to subside.

"Wha'? Tom?" Harry asked, his voice faint and reedy.

"Yes, Harry. Come on, let's get you out of here." Now the boy was a bit more aware, Tom chanced touching him again. There was a flinch, but not as violent as before as Tom touched his shoulder to direct him out of the shop. Looking back, he realised that the slave and master who had started all of this had disappeared into the shelves of the shop, but that the shopkeeper was watching, calculation on his face. Glaring at the man, Tom guided Harry out of the door.

"Master, may I apparate us back to the house?" Tom asked, figuring Harry wasn't really in the state to manage it safely. The boy turned to him, a slight frown on his face.

"You don't have a wand, though." Tom shrugged, a slight smirk on his face.

"I don't need one." His master looked at him searchingly for a moment, though the usual stubborn will behind his eyes looked more like tiredness than usual. Finally, he gave up.

"Fine. Just to the house, though, and just this once."

"Thank you, master," Tom replied, choosing not to point out that 'the house' was extremely vague, and had he had the chance to set something up, he could easily have apparated the two of them to some other destination than the one Harry had in mind. As it was, luckily for the boy, Tom wanted to go back to Grimmauld Place as much as he did.

Gripping his master's shoulder more firmly, Tom visualised his destination, applied his will and engaged his magic. A moment later, they popped out onto the doorstep of Grimmauld Place. Tom opened the door, knowing from the other time he had left that Harry didn't bother to lock it – if the wards hadn't kept the person out, they wouldn't be kept out by a simple locked door, he had explained. Guiding the boy into the sitting room, he pushed him into a chair, then went to the kitchen to make some tea. Coming back with two cups, he passed one to Harry, then, hesitating, sat down in a nearby chair. When that didn't provoke a reprimand from either his master or the collar, he smirked and settled more deeply. Crossing his legs, he sipped at the tea.

"Thanks," Harry said, a moment later. Tom raised an eyebrow.

"For what? Master." The boy shrugged.

"For bringing me back? For getting me home? For the tea?" He shrugged again as if to indicate all of or none of the above.

"Ah," Tom replied. He let the silence linger for a few more minutes, waiting for Harry to take a sip of his tea. "Was that a panic attack?" he asked, breaking the quiet between them. The boy shrugged again – that seemed to be his response at the moment. Tom nodded as if the answer had meant something to him. Which, perhaps it did. Perhaps the lack of follow-up question was a response in itself. "Not your first, I imagine," he guessed, watching Harry closely. When he saw the slight flinch and shuttering of his expression, he was satisfied. "What caused it?"

"Why do you want to know?" Tom thought the question was supposed to have been said with anger, but after the events of the day, all that was in his tone was tiredness. Tom shrugged, his gesture significantly more elegant than that of the boy sitting across from him.

"Curiosity, primarily. Then, as a slave, my wellbeing is unfortunately dependent on your own – if something happened to you, it might cause problems for me." The boy snorted at that. Tom wasn't sure why it was amusing, but perhaps it was just a reaction to the irony that Tom was now completely dependent on the health of the boy who was prophesised to vanquish him, the boy he had tried to kill oh so many times. Sometimes Tom felt the same.

"Well, I highly doubt we'll encounter a situation like that again, so I don't think you have to worry," Harry told him dismissively. Tom's eyes narrowed and he leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, his chin on his interlaced fingers.

"So, it wasn't the master/slave aspect which set it off." Harry frowned in confusion.

"What?"

"You said that you doubt we'll encounter a situation like that again, but the chances of us encountering another master/slave pair are relatively high. Thus, it's not that aspect which upset you, master. It must be something to do with the people involved." Tom ignored Harry's gaping at him as he turned the information in his mind. Thinking about the incident, he realised something.

"The slave had dark hair." Studying the boy across from him, he continued. "In fact, in a certain light, master, we could say he had a passing resemblance to you…" Harry sat back in his chair, crossing his arms defensively.

"No he didn't." Tom smirked, his red eyes glinting as he sensed weakness.

"So," he mused, tracking every minute movement of his prey, "something about seeing someone like yourself being berated and punished by an older man triggered an attack. An attack, I might add, which would only appear if you had been through significant trauma on at least one occasion."

"Shut up," muttered Harry. Tom pretended he didn't hear it, ignoring the low pain his continued speech provoked from the collar.

"Now Harry, that whole scene didn't really strike me as something you would have experienced from the hands of my Death Eaters – a torture scene, perhaps; that kind of almost domestic violence, no. And apart from Slughorn, who I really can't see engaging in that sort of behaviour, there aren't any teachers at Hogwarts who resemble that man, so it's not something from Hogwarts…." Tom grinned as he worked through his thought to its conclusion. Had he known that Harry was thinking how like a wolf he appeared in that moment, he would have been proud. "I believe you grew up with muggles, didn't you?" he asked rhetorically. "Could it be that Dumbledore's little saviour was…abused?"

"Shut up!" Harry roared, leaping to his feet, the cup of tea crashing to the floor and soaking the carpet. Tom clicked his tongue in annoyance at the mess which he'd probably have to clean, but stayed silent. From experience with the collar, he knew that the more force and intent behind the order, the heavier the punishment dealt out when it was contravened – it was why he'd continued speaking earlier when the order had been barely voiced.

Harry started pacing, reminding Tom of a great cat, perhaps a lion, pacing in a cage which was too small. Finally, he came to a halt near the fireplace, staring into the flames.

"They didn't abuse me," Harry said, but Tom heard the lack of certainty in it.

"May I speak, master?" he asked quickly before hissing in pain as the collar activated. It punished him harshly for a few, long seconds before subsiding. When he opened his eyes again, Harry had turned slightly away from the fire and was looking at him. The look in his eyes was unreadable. A few moments longer, and the boy waved his hand.

"Go on, then. How much worse can it be than what you've already said?"

"What did they do to you, Harry?"

"Who?"

"The muggles." There was a long silence. For a while, Tom wondered whether Harry would actually respond.

"They…They never liked me." Tom had never heard Harry sound so defeated. Immediately, anger rose at the muggles – they weren't allowed to make his nemesis sound like that: only Lord Voldemort was allowed to do that. "You know," he chuckled hollowly, "I don't even think it was personal. They just hated magic, and I was this little boy who kept doing it when I felt scared or angry. So they hated me. And they made sure I knew it." He fell silent.

"Panic attacks don't come from nothing," observed Tom neutrally, though his eyes no doubt revealed his anger when Harry turned to look into them.

"What do you want me to say Tom? That they hit me? That they starved me? That they made sure I knew every minute of the fucking day that they wished I'd never been born or, having been born, would just go and die in a ditch and rid them of my freakish self? Yes, they did all that and more!" By the end, he was panting and his magic was rising around him, his fists clenched and his eyes flashing. But somehow, Tom knew that it wasn't directed at him. Or, at least, it wasn't all directed at him.

"Then why do you say they didn't abuse you?" He asked when the fire in Harry had subsided slightly. There was another long silence before Harry answered. And in his voice was a finality that signalled the definite end of the conversation.

"Because that would make me a victim. And I refuse to be a victim." And, mused Tom thoughtfully, whether his acknowledgement of the abuse meant anything or not, didn't that say everything about the boy's approach to life.

XXX

Of course, the semi-truce they had mutually called during the discussion hadn't lasted long. Only until the next morning, in fact, and considering they had been asleep for most of that time, that didn't say much. Harry woke in a foul mood after nightmares invaded his dreams and made him wake several times in a cold sweat before he gave up and just decided to start working around 5am. It wasn't a surprise, really, after the flashback he'd had in the apothecary.

It was just…He'd left the Dursleys behind. He'd left their house as soon as he'd turned seventeen, and he'd never even considered returning, no matter how bad things had got on the Camping Trip from Hell. Hadn't even given his relatives more than a passing thought, except in to do and say the opposite of how they would react. But seeing that man who vaguely resembled Uncle Vernon standing over a boy who vaguely resembled Harry himself… hearing 'boy' shouted in the same tones of disgust, the same attitude of complete disdain and revulsion…it had been like he had never left. For a moment, Harry had been unable to say whether it was the slave or Harry himself who was being shouted at, hit, kicked…

That Tom had had to pull him out of his haze had been embarrassing in the extreme. That his enemy had seen him so weak as to have to be apparated home… an enemy who was powerful and accomplished enough that he didn't need a wand for apparition. And his enemy had provoked him, had baited him until he had caused Harry to bring it all up again – all the hurt of being rejected and ignored, all the pain of being physically harmed and starved, all the negative feelings he had spent a long time burying.

But then, was Tom his enemy anymore? Voldemort had been vanquished, as the prophecy had said. But if he wasn't the enemy, then he was a slave. And a slave who disobeyed his master's wishes for him to be silent, who sat in a chair in his master's presence without permission, who called him by his name without permission…was a badly behaved slave who needed to learn his place.

Sometimes Harry wondered at himself – why did he so want to see Tom submit? Why did he want the man to push at him, so he had the excuse to push back and put the man down hard? Most of the time, he was wary of that part of himself, and avoided Tom to make sure it didn't come out. But sometimes, like when he was hungry or tired, it just felt so good to offload his discontent onto someone else. And when that someone else was a former Dark Lord who had tortured and killed his way through life…he had a good excuse.

Plus, he still worried about what could happen if he allowed the sneaky Slytherin more leeway. Or, well, he knew what had already happened – after being allowed to call him by his first name during their teaching sessions, he had started doing it at other times. Having been allowed to use the furniture during dinner and outside of Harry's presence, he had started doing it in Harry's presence. And, it's not that Harry was opposed to any of that behaviour per se, it was just that he worried where it would end. He may trust in the collar, but he didn't trust Tom.

The man was a predator, as much as any snake, and Harry knew he'd been showing weakness yesterday. Was it any wonder his slave had tried to push things? Well, fine, but Harry would push back. He would show the man that a lion was not prey and that he would forget that at his peril.

Mind made up, he marched towards the door of his slave's room. Opening it, he cast aguamenti, drenching the huddled figure on the bed. Tom shot awake with a gasp, falling out of bed as he flailed in the icy cold water.

"Get up," Harry ordered sharply, casting lumos to illuminate his slave's bewildered expression.

"Harry?" Tom's voice sounded just as confused as his face indicated he was feeling. Harry's determination to punish him coalesced at his name coming from those perfect lips. Wait, perfect? He pushed the thought aside.

"Punire," he said, focusing his intention for his slave to feel pain for a few seconds before relaxing. Tom whimpered, his eyes screwed shut. Something almost like guilt fluttered in Harry's stomach, but he pushed it away. This was not the time to be feeling guilt – if he didn't do this now, he'd have to do worse later or face Tom going out of control. When the collar had released Tom and he pulled himself up into a kneeling position, Harry looked him firmly in the eyes.

"You are not teaching now; you do not have permission to call me by my first name," he said quietly. Tom locked eyes with him for a long moment before looking away.

"Sorry, master," he said, sounding like the words were being dragged out of him.

"You also do not have permission to use the furniture in my presence," he continued. "I appreciated your help yesterday in the apothecary," he said, because honestly, he had. Tom hadn't had to tell him about the shopkeeper over-charging him, nor had he had to bring Harry out of his flashback. "That does not, however, give you permission to ignore other rules. As thanks for your help, your punishment will be less severe than it might otherwise have been." Tom's eyes held a hint of fear and Harry wasn't sure if that satisfied or horrified him – his emotions were being torn in two directions and he didn't like it. "Come," he ordered, turning to go.

His idea was something that he had read about in one of the few books on slavery he had read before giving up in disgust. He hadn't thought he'd use it, but needs must. Hearing the sound of footsteps on the stairs, he knew Tom was following, though he hadn't really doubted it. Going to the sitting room, he went to his desk and found the chain leash that Tom had arrived with, all those weeks ago. Turning around, he saw the apprehension in his slave's gaze and was satisfied.

"Master-" the man started, but Harry cut him off with a sharp gesture of his hand.

"You spoke enough yesterday – you don't get to speak now." Tom closed his mouth and nodded while swallowing uneasily. Looking around, Harry chose his spot. The carpet didn't cover the whole sitting room – in fact it was actually just a very large rug that covered the majority of the floor, but missed the corners of the room and a strip of bare boards around the edges. Pointing over to one of the stretches of bare boards, Harry commanded his slave to kneel. Tom obeyed, his growing nervousness showing in his slightly jerky movements. Sitting down on his heels, he looked up at Harry. "No, kneel up," Harry said. Tom hesitated, looking confused. "I mean, stay on your knees, but don't sit on your heels." Understanding dawned and Tom moved into the correct position. Harry nodded in satisfaction.

Conjuring a metal hook, he attached it to the wall near Tom's head. Clipping the leash to his collar, he fed the hook through one of the links, making it so that the chain was taut. He then used another spell to bend the hook so it closed into a complete loop. There was no way out of it without using magic or being strong enough to break the metal. Like this, Tom was stuck in his position. He might be able to crouch, though he'd risk choking himself if he tried and fell over, but he couldn't sit and he certainly couldn't stand without bending almost double.

"You're going to stay here until I feel you've learnt your lesson sufficiently," Harry told Tom, seeing the disbelief in his eyes. "You are not to make a sound unless you fear you're at risk of significant injury. In that case, you can speak to me about it, politely. I will be here for most of the day, though I will be studying." With that, he patted Tom's cheek, then went to the kitchen for breakfast.

For the remainder of the morning, every time Harry looked up, he'd see Tom, and the sight sent mixed emotions through he every time. The slave was clearly uncomfortable, shifting around more and more frequently as time went on. Harry wasn't surprised. It had to be hell on the knees and the thighs. And probably the back as well as he was forced into a straight position or risk being choked. It had to be boring as hell as well, and Harry wondered if that was actually more of a punishment for Tom than the physical aspect. From what he had gathered from odd comments the man had made, he got bored very easily and hated tasks which didn't use his mind in any sort of way. Which, Harry had to admit, had been part of his decision to use this punishment.

Then, just before lunch, and as Harry was considering releasing Tom, they had an unexpected visitor, or rather, visitors. The wards alerted him first that there were people coming up the pathway, pulling him out of the pensieve. Frowning, he had gone to the front door, opening it as the person knocked. On the other side were two figures – a man and a woman – robed in black with the Ministry's logo on their breasts.

"Mr Potter?" the woman closest to him asked, as if she hadn't already cast her eyes over his scar which was visible since he had pinned his hair back to use the pensieve.

"Yes?"

"We're from the Ministry Corrections department. My name is Julie Filgrove, and this is my colleague Ernest Brown."

"Any relation to Lavender Brown?" Harry asked with some interest. The man smiled at him.

"My niece," he admitted. "It's a great honour to meet you Mr Potter! Lavender has always spoken very highly of you." Harry smiled in response, not sure what to say.

"Be that as it may," Ms Filgrove said, shooting a quelling look at her colleague, "unfortunately we are here because of a report made by a citizen yesterday about your control over your slave. You are the owner of Tom Marvolo Riddle, are you not?"

"Yes," Harry replied, wondering first whether these two knew that Tom Marvolo Riddle was in fact the former Lord Voldemort and, second, what this was all about. Only the second seemed worth asking about. So he did.

"May we come in, Mr Potter? We would like to examine the slave in question anyway." Sighing, Harry stood back and allowed them in. He led them to the sitting room and invited them to sit. A moment later, they evidently saw Tom. Following their gazes, Harry looked at it from their perspective. Tom had started trembling slightly from exhaustion about half an hour ago and when the collar shifted with his swaying, it revealed red lines on his throat from when he had accidentally choked himself. He had lines of pain around his eyes and mouth and his gaze was downcast. In short, he looked like exactly what he was – a disobedient slave being well-punished.

"Oh, is that...well, that must be him, right Mr Potter?" Mr Brown asked.

"I don't tend to have strange men chained to my sitting room wall, so I suppose it must be," replied Harry dryly. He immediately regretted his attempt at humour when Mr Brown blushed and looked away. "So, what is this about?" asked Harry, hoping to move the conversation on.

"Did you visit Diagon Alley yesterday, Mr Potter?" Ms Filgrove asked briskly.

"I did," he answered.

"And did you take your slave with you?"

"Yes."

"Into Archibald's Apothecary?"

"Yes, I wanted to buy some potions ingredients." She made a note.

"During this time, did your slave speak?"

"Yes. The apothecary tried to overcharge me. My slave asked for permission before speaking and then told me about the unnecessary mark-up in price."

"The report says that your slave called the shopkeeper a liar. Is this true?"

"No, I called him a liar." Ms Filgrove stared at him.

"Could you expand on that please, Mr Potter?"

"The man tried to say that my slave was lying. I knew that he wasn't, so it was clear that the only person lying was the apothecary." She frowned.

"How did you know your slave wasn't lying, Mr Potter? I am very familiar with criminals and convicts, and I can assure you that most of them would lie to their own mothers, let alone anyone else." Harry smiled, but there was no warmth in it.

"Ms Filgrove, are you familiar with the collar's functions?" She shrugged slightly.

"As much as most, I suppose."

"Then when I say that I have a standing order that my slave never lies to me, I'm sure you'll understand why I can be confident that the apothecary was the liar."

"I see," she replied, making a note. "Now, moving on. The report also states that upon leaving the shop, your slave called you by your first name, touched you without permission, and then pushed you out of the shop. Is this true?" she sounded somewhat disbelieving. Harry shrugged.

"Pretty much, although that's only what an outsider would say looking in."

"And what would you say, then?"

"That as a result of the war, I am left with some small level of trauma, as are many. I believe Lavender is currently seeing a therapist," he said, nodding to Mr Brown. The other man nodded.

"She struggles to remember that the war is over, at times," he said, his voice troubled. "It was hard on them, fighting in a war when they were nothing but children."

"Indeed," said Harry, leaving a pause for them to remember that he was the same age as Lavender, younger even, and he had been fighting in the war a lot longer than she had. "Now, I'm sure you can understand that the sorts of scars left by being child soldiers do not just vanish with the end of the war. Unfortunately, occasionally I have moments when I too am not sure if the war has finished or not. One such moment happened while we were leaving the apothecary. My slave has standing orders on what he is and isn't allowed to do to help me out of my fugue. Touching me and saying my name are two of those possible methods. He then guided me out of the shop so I could apparate us home. So you see, what may have seemed to be a slave taking liberties from an outside perspective, was in fact a slave following prior orders."

"I see," said Ms Filgrove once again, writing furiously. She looked up, her eyes slightly narrowed. "If your slave was simply following your orders, why is he being punished now?"

"Do I really need a reason?" asked Harry languidly, trying to channel a bit of Lucius Malfoy, the arrogant bastard he was. "After all, he's here because of his actions during the war. Punishment is part of the motive, is it not?" He left a pause where they looked at him and then away awkwardly. "However, in this case, he is being punished because of actions since we returned home, not because of what he did while we were out. Do you have any further questions?" There was a pause while Ms Filgrove looked through her notes.

"Just one, really, then we will examine the slave and that will be the end of it. How have you found the experience so far? Have you had to punish him frequently?"

"Not hugely," Harry admitted. "He's one of the intelligent ones, so has figured out already that the more he obeys, the less he's punished. I've been letting the collar do most of the small corrections for me. I haven't had to resort to big corrections much."

"I see." Again, the quill darted over the parchment. "Right, thank you Mr Potter. We'll just examine the slave now. Ernest?" The man pulled a device out of his pocket. It looked like an aerial, but with three large balls on one end. Mr Brown went over to Tom and touched the topmost ball to his collar. The slave glared weakly at him, but closed his eyes a moment later, shivering in evident pain. Mr Brown pulled the device away and held it up. The first ball lit up red with a 2 floating in it, the second lit up amber, and the third lit up green, the last two without any numbers. Harry thought it looked rather like a set of traffic lights.

"I see you have used the collar's punishment function twice, Mr Potter."

"That's right."

"Well, that's within acceptable parameters, when the second ball is taken into consideration," he quickly continued when seeing Harry's questioning look. "That's the reading for the amount that he has been punished by the collar. If it had been red, we would have had to visit again later to make sure that you're exposing your slave to sufficient extra-collar punishment."

"And the green ball?" asked Harry, interested.

"That's the strength of the collar's enchantment. Near the slave's release date, it starts weakening. If it starts weakening before that, it's a concern." He frowned. "But it's strange – your slave doesn't seem to have a release date marked…" Harry sighed. He'd hoped he would have managed to get through this without going into Tom's original identity.

"Mr Brown, Ms Filgrove, can I have your word that the identity of my slave is confidential information?"

"Well, in as much as it is a matter of public record – anyone who wishes to see the results of the auction would be able to see the identity of the slave which you purchased."

"I didn't purchase him – I was given him by the Minister because of some special circumstances, so I'm not sure how much 'public record' there is. Can I have your word?" They exchanged glances, then turned back to Harry.

"Very well, Mr Potter," replied Ms Filgrove. "We are professionals, so are discrete in speaking about our job anyway, but if it helps, we promise that we will not speak of this visit to anyone unnecessarily." Figuring that was the best he was going to get, Harry looked at them seriously.

"My slave was the former Lord Voldemort." There were two gasps at the name, and the Ministry workers' eyes were drawn inexorably towards the much-reduced figure on his knees, swaying from pain and exhaustion.

"And you took him into public?!" exclaimed Ms Filgrove, her voice high with fear. Harry gestured towards Tom.

"Look at him," he said unnecessarily given that they were already staring at him. "The collar does an excellent job at preventing him from acting in any sort of dangerous way." Harry neglected to mention his own worries about Tom's manipulative tendencies, knowing that they would just muddy the waters. And truly, as long as the slave was never able to manipulate the ability to hurt others out of Harry, in the end, the only one he would hurt would be Harry himself, so his visitors didn't need to worry. "So, the reason no release date is marked, is because there is no release date."

"I see," said Ms Filgrove, her tone troubled, for all that it had some fear still remaining.

"Well, I think that's a damn good thing," said Mr Brown fervently. "Being in the same room as that monster is scary enough – knowing that he would one day be released back on the world…" He shuddered. "I, for one, am very glad he is in your capable hands, Mr Potter. Permanently." He shot a look at his colleague and she nodded slowly.

"I suppose. Though it does rather obviate one of the purposes of this punishment – that of reformation." Harry shrugged.

"Perhaps, but what Lady Magic wrought, is surely not up to us to undo. Now, is there anything else?" he asked, rather eager to get the two out of his house and return to his work – he was almost done and couldn't wait to relax for a bit. The two Ministry workers returned to their professional selves. Ms Filgrove wrote once more on the pieces of parchment before tapping it with her wand. It duplicated itself and she gave the duplication to Harry.

"Here, Mr Potter." Mr Brown cleared his throat and then spoke.

"This is a record of our visit clearing you in terms of your treatment of your slave. This is valid for six months, guaranteeing that you will not have another visit from us during that time. My colleague has, however, written a recommendation that you use extra force with this particular slave. If we return at any point, we would expect to see much more frequent use of the collar's punishment function, or some pensieve memories of active punishment, if that is your preference. I'm sure I don't need to remind you that the slave does not have to behave badly to attract a punishment, and that in fact, sometimes giving a regular punishment reminds the slave of what will await him should he behave badly, and therefore nip any undesirable behaviour in the bud, so to speak." Harry was starting to dislike Mr Brown – what he was suggesting sounded far too like the Dursleys for Harry's peace of mind. Punishing just because he could? Yes, he'd intimated earlier that he could but he was still irritated that it was being assumed that he would. Still, he didn't let any of that show on his face as he accepted the document.

"Thank you," he said politely. Then, with nothing more to say or do, the two Ministry workers took their leave. Harry showed them to the door and shut it after them, then returned to the sitting room. Looking at Tom, he sighed.

"I think you've got the message," he said finally. Moving over to the kneeling man, he unclipped the leash from his collar. The moment he did so, Tom crumpled to the ground, his muscles simply too overused to keep him upright any longer. Twisting slightly, the slave tapped his lips, his eyes shining a question at Harry. Harry understood the unspoken request. "Yes, you may speak. The punishment's over."

"Did you know?" asked Tom, his voice sounding rough after not having been used for several hours. He cleared it and tried again. "Did you know about the Ministry, master?" he clarified, sounding smoother. Harry hesitated. What would be the best thing to say here? If he said he'd known, it would make him seem more omniscient than he actually was. But then it might obviate the reason for the punishment – Tom might think it had been a carefully prepared show rather than a genuine correction. But if he said he hadn't known…well, that might actually reinforce the lesson about public behaviour as well as the lesson Harry had been trying to teach him.

"No," he said honestly, and saw an unreadable emotion pass through Tom's eyes. The man nodded slowly.

"Master, you lied. You said you had given me permission beforehand to touch you, to call you by your name, and that you apparated us. But you've just punished me for the same. Why?" Harry considered the question.

"First of all, I meant what I said to them, and to you this morning – your punishment today was nothing to do with what happened while we were out. You were punished because after we had returned, you took advantage of my weakened state to disobey standing rules in terms of sitting on a chair in my presence and calling me by my name out of the teaching context. Not to mention pushing me to talk when I didn't want to. No, I appreciated what you did for me while we were out – helping me with the apothecary, pulling me out of my fugue. That's why you didn't have a few rounds of punire before being chained up. And that's why I lied – when I appreciated your efforts, why would I throw you under the bus?"

"I see," Tom said thoughtfully, then added on a quick, "Thank you, master." Harry nodded, then moved back to his desk. He just had to finish this final assignment and then he was done. Absently, he was aware of Tom shifting around, moaning slightly in pain as he tried to put weight on his tortured legs and not managing. Finally, Harry realised the noises were coming closer and he turned to see Tom half-dragging himself toward Harry's desk.

"What are you doing?" he asked, confused.

"I can't get up," Tom admitted.

"OK," Harry replied, "but why are you coming this way?" As he spoke, Tom reached him. Settling beside his chair, he evidently tried to pull himself to a kneeling position, but grimaced as weight was put on probably bruised knees. Harry summoned a cushion, still not sure why he was enabling this. "Here."

"Thank you, master," Tom said gratefully, tucking it under. Deciding not to push for an answer, since he had an assignment to finish and had no desire to get into another argument at this point, he ignored Tom's movements. Besides, how much trouble could he get into, kneeling by Harry's chair?

A few minutes later, Tom shifted so he was half-sitting on the cushion, his legs out to one side, which also meant he was leaning against Harry's legs. Harry looked down questioningly.

"My knees hurt," he said in explanation. Harry ended up shrugging and continuing – again, it wasn't worth an argument. And besides, feeling Tom's warm weight against his legs was actually pretty nice. When Tom's head came to lean on Harry's leg a few minutes later, Harry found himself starting to stroke through his hair absently. And that was also pretty nice.

It seemed to be pleasant for Tom too, as perhaps ten minutes later, he was relaxing into Harry's legs even more and his breathing took on a more even tone. Looking down, Harry realised he had fallen asleep, or was at least dozing. Harry continued running his fingers through Tom's silky locks gently, enjoying the feel.

When he finished his assignment, he decided it would be a pity to wake the slumbering man, so he simply summoned Quidditch Weekly to relax for what was left of the weekend.

XXX

Headcanon – Tom has always been a good teacher, if not an exacting one, but he only teaches those he sees benefit in – Barty, Bellatrix, Severus (maybe one reason he's so annoyed with the man because he put effort into training him – flying – and then the man betrayed him). When he applied for the teaching position, he genuinely wanted to teach, as well as seeing it as a good opportunity to mould young minds.