Notes: There is a scene in here which is the most uncomfortable thing I've written so far in this story (intentionally) - I'll be interested to see what you think about it. Also, there is a graphic description of an open wound near the end, so if you're squeamish, maybe skim over that bit.

Gardening was a lot more interesting than cleaning, Tom thought as he cast a spell at a vine reaching towards him, smirking as he saw it wither away and heard a high pitched screeching noise. At least ninety percent of that was probably the fact that he could use magic, but he was pretty sure that he'd still find gardening more interesting than cleaning. Though, that might just be this type of gardening which was a lot less about making plants grow, and more destruction of all the overgrown monsters. As expected of one of the most notorious dark families in the British Wizarding world, most of the specimens which had taken over would be better placed in Hogwarts' Greenhouse Four, or banned completely. A vine tried to wrap around his ankle, aiming to yank him off his feet. Tom cast a fire whip and his bloodthirsty smirk widened as it turned to ash at the first touch.

It has been almost two weeks since the Ministry had visited, since Tom had been chained to the wall like a dog. He grimaced at the memory. That punishment had not been pleasant. For all that it had seemed so easy at first, kneeling up for hours without respite had been pure torture. His knees had started aching after less than half an hour, and his thighs had started protesting not long after. By the end, all that was keeping him upright had been the sheer force of his will and his aversion to hanging in the collar, gasping and choking.

He still didn't know why, upon being released, he had sought comfort from his master. He had been somewhat out of his mind from the pain, boredom, and exhaustion, after all. Perhaps it had been a case of knowing he couldn't escape from the room in his state, and wanting to be certain that the punishment was over. Perhaps a small part of his brain had recognised that if he was leaning against his master and the man was stroking his hair gently, then it meant he was safe.

Tom felt very uncomfortable at that idea, because it meant that the collar was maybe starting to win. That it was succeeding in its aim of creating an obedient pet. He would much rather believe that it was his manipulative side recognising that if he made himself seem vulnerable, the boy would rather protect him than hurt him further.

But that didn't really fit, either. Perhaps it was simply that Tom had understood why Harry had decided to punish him, but had also appreciated the steps his master had taken to protect him from the Ministry. After all, no one had ever really defended him before, not when there wasn't some tangible benefit to them to do so, at least. All this was added to the very real fact that he would have found it difficult to climb the stairs to his room and had wanted to be comfortable.

Either way, Tom had been turning several thoughts over in his mind. The first was the question about why he had leant against his master's knee and enjoyed him stroking his hair so much that he fell asleep, despite his master being surely the last person he should feel comfortable with. The second had been the revelation about Harry's childhood. Or, really, it had been a complete revision of what he had thought he had known about the boy. He had been considering the image he had had from various people, Severus especially – which, given what he now knew about the man's loyalties, he should have considered more carefully long ago – and had found it definitely didn't match the reality of what he had observed over the last month and a half.

He had been told that the boy was arrogant, lazy, not stupid but certainly not all that smart, brave to the point of foolishness, and really only good at sticking his nose where it didn't belong. While possessing Quirrell, he had been unable to pay much attention to the world around, though he had observed the boy who had defeated him. What he had seen in First year hadn't impressed him – a little scrap of a boy who didn't try very hard at his assignments and who was never the first to learn a spell. At the end of that year, he had been mildly impressed at the strength of will shown by this otherwise unremarkable child, though it had been frustrating to him at the time. The way he had forced Lord Voldemort out of his host, however, had been sheer luck and his mother's sacrifice – nothing otherwise special about the boy at all.

Similarly, the boy's performance in the Triwizard Tournament had been unimpressive except in his ability to avoid death by the skin of his teeth and in his bravery to stand up to threats which would have made a grown wizard run away in fear. His spell-casting abilities at the end of his Fifth year might have been somewhat remarkable in another student, but for the prophesised vanquisher of Lord Voldemort…they had been somewhat subpar. Once more, it had been sheer luck and the sacrifice of others which had won the day for him.

Lord Voldemort had had to revise his opinion slightly of the boy during the years following, however, as Harry turned from a mere annoyance like a biting fly to a semi-serious threat with the help of the Resistance. Still, Lord Voldemort had been close to winning, when the wretched boy had pulled that ridiculous ritual out of nowhere, and now here they were.

But now, having spent some time with Harry, Tom had come to realise something – they were actually remarkably similar. With the revelation of his less than stellar childhood, Tom could see things in a different light. Where Tom had used the knowledge of his remarkableness to gain power and thereby dominate the people around him, Harry had chosen to hide in plain sight, to be what the people looking at him expected to see.

Sorted into Slytherin, Tom had been forced to fight for his place – as a 'mudblood' in Slytherin, at least until the revelation of his heritage, he had had to either fight to be at the top, or allow himself to be at the bottom; there hadn't been any other choice. Sorted into Gryffindor, Harry hadn't needed to fight, but if what Tom had observed of the Gryffindors in his day had held true in more recent years, he had probably been faced with the knowledge that if he didn't fit in, he would be an outcast. So he had chosen to fit in. And Gryffindors weren't known for either their studiousness or their work ethic; they were known for their bravery. So Harry had been a Gryffindor, whether it had been a conscious or unconscious choice.

The boy he'd seen in the last few weeks had been very different. Out of Hogwarts, away from the pressures of school life, and with something to aim towards that he desperately wanted, his studious and hard-working self had been revealed. Tom had been somewhat amazed at seeing his master spend every minute of the waking day working, especially when he remembered how many times he had had the impression from others that the boy was lazy.

Then there was how he had treated his slave. It hadn't been how Tom had expected. Upon finding out that he was to be his nemesis' slave for the rest of his life, he had had two ideas of how it would go. The first was how he would have treated the boy had the positions been reversed – pain and humiliation filling every day until he became bored. In that case, Tom had been determined to last through it, unbroken, and then find a way to get his revenge later. The other had been more of what he would have expected from Dumbledore's protégé – barely being treated like a slave at all, but expected to show signs of 'redemption' as a result of the 'generous' treatment, always the reminder that should he not seem appropriately 'grateful', all the 'privileges' he was allowed could easily be removed. Had that happened, he would have made sure to say the right words, make the right gestures; all the while attempting to find a way to escape.

What he'd actually experienced… well, it was a mixture of the two. His master certainly enjoyed his pain, his humiliation, but he seemed to have enough morals not to do either of those without provocation of some sort. Though it had seemed like should he arrive home in a bad mood for some reason, he was happy to provoke a reaction which could then be punished without guilt. Yet at other times he made gestures which threw Tom off guard – giving him a flashlight soon after his arrival so he could read at night if he couldn't sleep because of nightmares, coming to his defence against the apothecary and then the Ministry, giving him a cushion when his knees hurt after a punishment….

It was strange and Tom was coming to fear that this approach was affecting him more than the other two would have. Not to mention, of course, that Tom had an uncomfortable awareness that his influence had shaped the boy's life, and not for the better. There was no doubt that Harry's poor childhood could mostly be laid at the feet of those who had left him with his relatives, and those who hadn't taken action upon noticing no doubt obvious signs of mistreatment. There was, however, also no question that had Harry's parents not been killed, he wouldn't have been at risk of it in the first place. There was a niggling feeling of something unfamiliar in Tom's stomach, and he suspected it was what they might call guilt…

Still, maybe he didn't need to think too much about it all – it would soon be just another period of his life which he put firmly in the past where it belonged. He had made some good progress in his research: he had discovered a spell which could help him greatly in mapping the arithmantic diagram of his collar. Once he had done that, he would have a better chance of finding its weak point. And then…then, he would be free.

XXX

Harry was just leaving Hogwarts, his head full of information that he had learned from his professors that day. It was strange, but he had to say that Tom was in reality more engaging than most of his actual teachers…He wasn't sure why, but perhaps it helped that the man really wasn't hard on the eyes… Not that he allowed himself to think along those lines very often, inappropriate as they were. Still, the combination of looks and voice somehow made even the driest of subjects interesting. Of course it also helped that Tom was focused on him and him alone, where the professors divided their attention between all the students in their class at that time.

After Harry had managed to catch up with his work for the Aurors, he had started engaging Tom's help with his NEWTs work again. Because of that, even in just a week, he felt he had gained a lot more understanding of the basics of Magical and Potions theory. He still marvelled that he had managed to get to NEWTs level in his studies without actually understanding all the basics. Maybe that said something about the school examination system, but he'd leave that sort of thing to people like Hermione to sort out.

They'd also being doing a few duels recently. The thrill of fighting a skilled opponent without the worry of death or significant injury was both refreshing and relaxing – he was pretty sure Tom felt the same way. Certainly, they'd managed to get on better in recent weeks ever since Harry had punished Tom and the Ministry had visited; perhaps the regular stress-relief was why.

"Hey, Harry!" Harry stopped and turned as the familiar voice of his best friend met his ears. He smiled as the red-head ran towards him. "Wait up!" Evidently Ron hadn't realised he'd already stopped.

"Desperate to escort me to the gates, are we Mr Weasley?" he asked teasingly.

"What? No, ew," Ron said, his face screwing up as he understood Harry's implication. During their time sharing a tent, sexuality had inevitably come up, and their long-lasting discussion had revealed two things: first, Harry was most likely bi since he had admitted to finding several guys – including Ron's brother Bill – hot; second, Ron was a good bro and didn't have any problems with Harry being bi, but he'd really rather not know all the details, especially about any member of his family, Ginny included. Of course, the chances of love with the last had died a swift death after the war, and Bill was married, so… "No, mum's asking if you're coming over this week for Sunday lunch."

"Of course," Harry said. "Wouldn't miss it." Ron broke out in a smile.

"Can I just say how relieved I am to hear you say it, mate? 'Cause if I went home and told mum you weren't coming, I think she'd take up shooting the messenger…" Harry frowned.

"Why wouldn't you expect me there? I mean, I know I didn't come the last couple of times, but there were kinda extenuating circumstances." Ron grinned at him.

"Well, with your boy-toy at home-"

"He's not my boy-toy," replied Harry sharply. More sharply than was really necessary, if he was honest. Ron looked at him curiously.

"OK, Mr Touchy. Your slave, then. Better?" Not really, but Harry just gestured impatiently for Ron to go on. "So, we weren't sure whether you would want to leave him alone for that length of time." Ron hesitated. "I don't think bringing him to the family gathering would be the best idea." No. Harry was fully in agreement there. Bringing the instigator of the two most recent Wizarding wars into a household where three members of the matriarch's immediate family had been killed by Death Eaters and others had been badly scarred…no. Not the best of ideas.

"It's OK, I leave him at home alone for lots of time during the week when I come here and go to Auror training." Ron eyed him.

"And you trust him to behave?" Harry grimaced.

"Not exactly. More like I trust the collar to stop him from doing anything too bad." Ron shrugged.

"I suppose. But it's Voldemort, you know. If it were me, I wouldn't trust him as far as I could throw him." Harry shrugged in response.

"In the end, there's a limited amount I can do, you know. If he tries to hurt someone with magic or physically, he is prevented from doing so by the collar. Everything else is less important whether he does it or doesn't. And it's not like I could keep him chained up all the time, is it? I've got to give him some trust, or at least trust the collar."

"I don't see why not," muttered Ron darkly. "It'd be what he deserved for what he did – being chained up in the basement." Harry raised his eyebrows at Ron. "He killed Fred," his friend finally said. "George…isn't taking it well."

"Technically, he wasn't the one who did it," defended Harry weakly, not knowing why he said it when he was thinking the same thing. Ron looked at him angrily.

"He as good as did it! And you know it." Harry shrugged slightly – what could he say? There was silence for a few moments until they reached Hogwarts' gates. "Anyway," Ron continued, his voice calmer. "I guess I'll see you on Sunday." Harry nodded and tried to smile. Ron tried to give him one in response, but Harry wondered whether his own attempt was as poor as Ron's. With an unspoken mutual decision, they apparated away at the same time.

Harry arrived on the doorstep of Grimmauld Place and went in. He couldn't see Tom, but there was the sound of spellfire echoing through the corridors. He followed it into the garden and stood in the doorway, watching Tom doing battle with the plants of the garden. At the moment, he was fighting something that looked rather like the Venomous Tentacular in Greenhouse Four at Hogwarts. For a moment, Harry found his eyes tracing Tom's elegant limbs, found himself admiring the graceful gestures and how he transitioned from one spell to another in smooth movements. Not a flick was wasted, the final flow of one spell shifting directly into the beginnings of the next, each spell wordless. It looked more like a dance than a fight, but its effectiveness could be seen on the threatening plant.

In that moment, Harry truly understood how Tom could have been considered a formidable opponent – it wasn't his power, although he had that in spades, but how he effortlessly controlled the pace of the fight. And then Ron's words echoed in his head, 'He killed FredI' and Harry forced his eyes away. Casting tempus, he nodded. Tom had five more minutes before he needed to put his wand away and go in for dinner. Harry didn't want to be caught watching when he did. Turning away, he went back into the house.

XXX

That Sunday, Harry left Tom at home with strict instructions to 'behave' and a list of chores to be done. He then apparated to The Burrow. Walking up its path and seeing its familiar chaos, he smiled, a weight seeming to fall off his shoulders. Entering the door, he immediately felt at home, as he had from the first time he had entered.

"Harry!" exclaimed Mrs Weasley, coming forwards to embrace him tightly. "It's been too long!" Pulling away, Harry blinked away a slight wetness in the corners of his eyes. He hadn't realised how much tension he had been under recently, even in his own home, before he came here again.

"It has, Mrs Weasley," Harry replied, trying to stop his voice from croaking badly. Mrs Weasley gave him a knowing look, but didn't say anything which Harry was grateful for.

"Ah, well. Don't be such a stranger next time, then. You know you're always welcome – you don't have to wait for our monthly family dinners to come around." Harry nodded, though he knew he probably wouldn't take her up on it, just as he hadn't for the past four months. He just felt too much guilt at how his presence had impacted this family, not to mention how he was harbouring the architect of both wars.

"Thanks, Mrs Weasley." She gave him a stern look.

"None of that, now. What have I told you?"

"Sorry, Molly," Harry apologised, a slight smile playing at his lips. It was a familiar dialogue – had been since she had cornered him more than a year ago, telling him to call her Molly 'for goodness sake!' since he had been like one of her own for years. Harry had an idea that she would like him to call her 'mum', but that didn't feel right. Harry had had his own mum, even if she had died, and Molly hadn't really filled her role, much as Harry was grateful for her presence in his life. He knew she had been disappointed when he and Ginny hadn't picked up their relationship again once the war had ended, but he was done fitting everyone's expectations just to be accepted, well-meaning as they may be.

Molly huffed, but couldn't help the smile from curving the corners of her mouth. How she had managed to keep a straight face throughout Fred and George's childhood, but still be affected by Harry, he really didn't know.

"Well, get on with you then," she admonished him playfully. "Go and help the others, if you don't mind – they're in the back yard setting up the table. Since it's still lovely, despite being October, I thought we could eat outside." Harry nodded and moved towards the door.

Pausing in the doorway, he took in the always-overwhelming sight of a flock – or was it a pride? – of Weasleys. Five…no, seven red heads ran hither and thither, somehow managing to avoid barging each other. Probably sheer practice, Harry guessed. He saw the bushy brown head of his other best friend, and the beautiful blonde locks of his honorary sister-in-law. Huh, he was pretty sure he caught sight of Angelina when the red filling his vision cleared for a moment. Had she come with George?

"Harry!" his name being called once more pulled him out of reverie. In a moment, he was smothered once more in another embrace, this time curly brown hair trying its best to choke him.

"Hermione!" he protested, spitting out strands that had got in his mouth as she pulled back.

"Well, what do you expect when I haven't seen hide nor hair of you in almost two months?" Harry worked it out.

"Hermione, it's barely more than a month since we last saw each other." Her face clouded over as the memory of that brief and uncomfortable encounter resurfaced.

"Oh, yes." Her tone was subdued and she eyed him warily. "How are you? And how's…he?" Harry examined her expression. It was both troubled and uneasy. If he had to guess, he'd have to say that she was troubled about Harry being forced to live with Voldemort, and uneasy because of the whole master/slave thing. He was careful to be nonchalant in his response.

"Oh, we're doing fine. A few small hitches here and there, of course, but it's surprisingly easy to avoid each other most of the time." She examined him as if to check whether he was lying, though Harry wasn't sure which she would be most upset about: if he was miserable living with his nemesis; or if he was beating said nemesis to a pulp every evening.

Their moment was disrupted by George coming up and clapping Harry heartily on the shoulder.

"Hello stranger," he said cheerfully. "You missed the last two times." Harry shrugged, smirking.

"I was worried about what you'd do to the food." He winked as George chuckled.

"Then maybe you'd better run away, o' fearful, and soon to be feathered, one." Harry put on a mock expression of fear.

"Not canaries again!" George winked at him, gasping in mock-outrage.

"Nope, as if we'd-" he halted, wincing. Harry felt for him. "As if, I'd ever be that uncreative!" George finished, a lot more subdued than when he had started.

"So," Harry said, hoping to steer the conversation away from painful subjects. "Are you the one who brought Angelina around?" George regained his grin, though it had a hint of pain to it that Harry had never noticed before.

"Who else is handsome and clever enough to convince the angelic chaser of the Holyhead Harpies?" he asked rhetorically.

"Weasley!" Angelina called, and seven heads turned to her. "Oh for Merlin's… I meant the stupid one. Quit making plays on my name!"

"Well, that told you," Harry muttered to George who looked a bit crestfallen. He drew himself up.

"Alas," he continued, winking once more at the amused Harry and Hermione. "It seems like my lady love needs some soothing. Onwards!" he cried, pretending he was on a horse and charging towards Angelina who looked rather alarmed. Harry shook his head, smiling, then exchanged a look with Hermione. It was good to see some things never changed.

They were called for dinner shortly after and Harry found himself thoroughly enjoying the rest of the afternoon and then the evening. Enjoying it too much, perhaps. Fleur had made an announcement during dessert – she was pregnant! Of course, that was the signal to bring out the booze to toast the witch (for getting pregnant), her husband (for getting her pregnant), Harry (for ending the war), Weasleys in general (for being ridiculously fertile), and basically anything else they could even vaguely link to the wonderful news. Heck, they had even toasted The Burrow and France because those were where the happy parents-to-be had grown up.

Needless to say, Molly had been ecstatic at the news of an impending grandchild, but when she had started rounding on the unmarried members of her family, Charlie in particular, people had started giving her a wide berth. Also needless to say…Harry was more than slightly tipsy. In the end, he had flooed home, not trusting his ability to apparate in one piece. It would be rather embarrassing to be splinched on his doorstep and have to ask Tom for help.

Staggering through his fireplace, he sighed, smoothing a hand over his face. Glancing at the clock, he squinted for a moment before the hands resolved themselves into positions that made sense. Almost 3am… Much as he just wanted to go to bed at that moment, he supposed he ought to check on his unwanted house-guest. And if he was going to manage to check on him without waking him up, he probably ought to be more sober. Heading to the drinks cabinet, he rummaged around a bit before finding the sobering potion. Wasn't it a good thing that the shelf-life for sobering potions was so long? He was pretty sure these were from when Sirius had been in residence.

Throwing it back and grimacing at the obligatory terrible taste, he soon found his head clearing and the world settled down from its previous listing. Becoming aware that his clothes smelled of firewhisky from when one of the Weasleys – he wasn't sure which one – had bumped into him, he cast a quick cleaning charm. Then, moving quietly up the stairs, he gently turned the handle of Tom's bedroom. Looking in, he frowned. The bed was smooth, made. It hadn't been slept in, that was for sure.

Harry lit his wand and used it to illuminate the rest of the room in case Tom, inexplicably, had decided to sleep on the floor. Nothing. Anxiety started clenching at his stomach, but Harry calmed it down with the reminder that his slave couldn't leave the house, not with that collar on. He cast a quiet point-me spell, and followed the wand's direction up the stairs. It led him to the library. What a surprise! Harry rolled his eyes. Tom was as bad as Hermione when it came to libraries, it seemed.

Tom was asleep, his head cradled on his arms on the table top. Harry moved closer, his wand-tip illuminating the man's relaxed expression. Tom Riddle awake was gorgeous, sure, but asleep…there was an innocence to his expression which really shouldn't be there, all things considered. But it was, and it was…enchanting. Harry found his hand reaching out without his permission towards an errant lock that had fallen over Tom's closed eyes, and tucked it behind his ear. He then withdrew as if he'd touched something red hot, a thrill of panic running through him at the thought that the man would wake up. But no. He was deeply asleep.

"Tom," he said, quietly. No response. Sighing, Harry decided that he was too nice to leave the man to sleep on a library table all night – his neck and back would be killing him the next morning. Incanting the Locomotion spell, he lifted Tom gently with his magic and carried him down the stairs. Opening the door of his room again, he set the man gently on his bed. He wasn't going to tuck Tom into bed, but at least the man would be more comfortable.

Leaving the room and closing the door, he paused for a moment, looking towards his own bedroom with longing, but a thought had occurred to him. Normally, Tom was very careful about tucking his books away, and Harry hadn't been so anxious to know what he was reading to go searching for the slightly less dusty tomes. Now, however…Tom had fallen asleep on top of whatever he was reading and Harry was rather curious about his slave's research. He justified it with the excuse that the man could be researching something dangerous. A reasonable concern, given the person he was thinking about.

Heading back up the stairs, he used lumos again to see what Tom had open on the desk. A few minutes of scanning the pages and Harry had his answer. He wasn't really sure what to feel about Tom researching the collar and other binding enchantments. Of course, he knew why. And frankly, he didn't really blame the man for trying to break his chains – it was what Harry would do in his place. So in that respect, he understood it. But still, he wondered whether he should forbid Tom from his research.

He could, of course. With the right words, he would be able to close down any avenue Tom could use to find information. With the right words. And therein lay the rub. The problem with that thought was that Tom was a consummate Slytherin – an expert at finding loopholes in the law, the unspoken in the spoken. Merlin, he had found enough loopholes in the edict that Harry had made about gardening that he was able to research the collar's enchantment at all. And Harry had thought that his words had been pretty specific! Going by his failure in that avenue, he couldn't be guaranteed that he would succeed any more in an attempt to close those loopholes down. And that meant that Harry wouldn't know what he was doing. He would end up constantly worrying that Tom had found a way around his orders without his knowledge. Like this, at least, he would know for certain that Tom was doing his best to escape. That was better than uncertainty, in Harry's opinion.

Harry had, as well, a significant amount of interest in whether Tom actually could find a way to break the collar's enchantment. He rather doubted it, considering it was Lady Magic who had done it, but he supposed that if anyone was going to find a way out, it would be the man who had been one of Hogwarts' most brilliant students. And like this, forewarned was forearmed – Harry knew he was trying, so would hopefully not be caught off guard if he was successful. And if he wasn't…well, that was important to know too.

If he blocked Tom's efforts, the man would never fully submit to his role – there would always be the part of him that said he would be able to find a way out, if only he was given the opportunity. If the man tried, and failed, he would have no choice but to accept the reality of the situation, which might lead to a slightly more peaceful life for Harry.

So, ultimately, Harry left the library and went to bed, leaving the books untouched on the table and having no intention to speak of what he had learned with Tom.

XXX

Tom woke up in his bed. Or rather on his bed. He frowned. It wasn't that sleeping in (or on) his bed was anything particularly noteworthy in or of itself; it was the lack of memory of how he had got there that had him racking his brains. The last thing he remembered was researching the spell he'd found along with general information about enslavement enchantments. He'd decided to spend the time his master was out with his friends doing research, taking advantage of the cat being away and all that. Harry had been out very late, though. Past midnight, at least, and Tom had started feeling really sleepy.

His eyes widening, he took in the fact that he was on his bed, in his clothes, and that he couldn't remember how he had got there… Oh hell. Had his master put him to bed? Then another thought followed swiftly on the heels of that one, making the bottom drop out of his stomach. If his master had put him to bed…he would have seen the books Tom had been reading. Jumping out of bed, he tore out of the room and took the stairs two at a time. Entering the library, his heart racing, he saw the table exactly as he remembered it from last night – strewn with books and now bearing the slight imprint of his arms in the slightly crumpled pages.

Tom blushed slightly at the confirmation of his thoughts on the events of last night, but his heart started calming down at the lack of change as it pertained to the books. Could his master have simply not looked at them? He supposed it had been dark; maybe Harry hadn't bothered with casting a lumos and had just levitated him out of the room and to his bedroom? The moment of panic had given way to a gnawing anxiety in his gut at the uncertainty.

Since his master hadn't shouted after him to find out what the racket was about, Tom guessed that he was at Hogwarts already. Maybe he hadn't seen anything, but maybe he had and he would come back and punish Tom at the end of the day….

XXX

Three days later and Tom still hadn't heard anything about his books from his master. And by that, he meant that he hadn't heard anything. No comment, no order, no question, nothing. Even Harry's tone and eyes hadn't revealed any sense of heightened awareness or suspicion. After spending three days walking on eggshells, Tom was feeling a bit of a nervous wreck.

Deciding enough was enough, he put the whole situation out of his mind. If his master hadn't said anything, surely it proved that he hadn't seen anything, didn't it? Obviously, when he had moved Tom, he hadn't used any spell that produced light – not surprising, since it was impossible to cast two channelled spells through the same wand at the same time, and he doubted that Harry was capable of any wandless magic, or of dual-casting. And then he must have not been curious enough to do anything more than go to bed. Nodding decisively, Tom felt more relaxed than he had for days. That evening, he even joined his master in the sitting room again, relaxing by the fire with a book.

Since that evening a few weeks ago where he had knelt by his master's chair, leaning against his legs and feeling his hand card through his hair, he had found himself occasionally wondering what would happen if he did it again. Then he would catch himself and furiously deny that the sensation he had felt of safety and relaxation held any appeal. And then he would wonder whether actually it would be a good tactic to use in order to slither his way into his master's good graces… The debate continued in Tom's head. He figured he probably would repeat his actions at some point, if only to see whether he felt the same when not half out of his mind from pain and exhaustion. But it wouldn't be that evening, he decided.

Of course, that's when Harry had to upset the applecart.

"Tom," he said suddenly, breaking the almost-comfortable silence between them.

"Yes, master?" His heart started hammering. Was this it? Was this when he would be punished? Ordered not to pursue his research any further?

"We'll be having two guests over on Saturday." Oh. The sense of relief was overwhelming, then his master's words registered. Guests?

"Master?" he said, allowing his confusion to show in his voice, twisting to face Harry.

"They'll be coming for dinner. I want you to prepare a decent meal for all of us, though you'll be eating in the kitchen." He paused as if thinking. "Unless you wanted to eat on the floor at my feet, that is." Tom was pretty sure his revulsion at the idea was written clearly on his face. Harry chuckled. "Thought not. I've put a couple of muggle recipe books in the kitchen in case you're interested. It'll be a three course meal – something I know you haven't really practised." This was sounding better and better. Note the sarcasm, Tom thought with irritation. "And of course," Harry said, almost as an afterthought, "since they're guests, you'll be expected to act accordingly, no matter who they are."

"Meaning…?" asked Tom leadingly, his mind puzzling over the question of the guests' identities. With the way his master had emphasised 'who', he had a feeling he wasn't going to like it at all. Well, at least he knew it couldn't be Dumbledore.

"Meaning you'll need to be polite, refrain from hurting or damaging the property of both guests, speak only when spoken to, serve us at the table and be available throughout the meal in case we need something…That sort of thing." Tom couldn't wait.

"As you wish, master," he grumbled, knowing that he really didn't get a say in this. Oh, but when he succeeded in getting rid of this collar… The thought calmed him enough to meet his master's gaze with equanimity. After a long moment, Harry made a humphing noise, and then turned back to his book. Tom smiled to himself – evidently he hadn't got the reaction he was looking for. How terrible for him…

XXX

Saturday evening had arrived and Harry greeted it with a mixture of apprehension and anticipation. He was having second, third thoughts about his invitation, but still felt that Snape deserved some closure after what he'd done for their side during the war. And after he'd offered the invitation, he couldn't very well say no when Kingsley had approached him during the day on Wednesday, could he? Even if he doubted that he'd be able to get through an entire meal in close quarters with the acerbic Potions Master without losing his temper…. He was starting to regret that he'd told Tom to make a three course meal – a two course meal would have been polite enough, wouldn't it? Too late now, though. He still hadn't chosen to tell his slave who was coming, and the revelation of that identity was one of the few things he was anticipating.

A knock fell on the door and Harry hurried to open it. Actually, they could just walk in, but he appreciated the courtesy. As soon as the door was open, he was met with Kingsley's easy smile and a bottle of wine.

"Good evening, Harry. I figured we'll probably need this as the evening wears on." Accepting it with a smile and a word of thanks, and privately agreeing, Harry stepped aside to let them enter.

"Potter," was Snape's much less effusive greeting, but at least his tone was almost neutral for once.

"Would you like a drink before dinner?" Harry asked, gesturing towards the stocked drinks cabinet in the corner. Not that he had stocked it, but there were plenty of alcohols which hadn't even been touched by the neglect of the house, and were still perfectly good. Kingsley considered it.

"I'll have a firewhisky, if you have it," he said. Harry nodded – he knew he had at least two bottles of the stuff, though honestly couldn't tell the difference between them. Looking expectantly at Snape, he got a stiff nod.

"The same, please." Pouring the drinks and passing them out, he searched for a conversation topic. "Where is that slave of yours, then?" asked Snape, sounding like he was struggling to control glee at being able to call his former master a 'slave'. Harry supposed he deserved some pleasure at the thought, after the hell Voldemort had put his followers through over the years, and the risks he had taken with his spying – that was the purpose of this evening, after all. But something in Harry still felt slightly uneasy at his expression…

"He's in the kitchen, cooking," Harry replied shortly. Snape shot him a disbelieving look.

"You trust him not to poison us?" For some reason, Harry felt like bristling at that – what did he think Tom was, some amateur? But then, it was a valid concern, wasn't it?

"He knows better than to try," was his answer. Snape harrumphed, but didn't reply.

"So, Harry, how are you finding the Aurors?" asked Kingsley, breaking the silence. Harry smiled – a conversation topic he could happily talk about.

"As you warned, it's been a lot of hard work, but it's really interesting!" the dark-skinned man smiled, his white teeth a flash in his face.

"What have you found the most interesting so far?" They got into a cheerful conversation about the various classes Harry was taking, Snape silently swirling his drink around his glass, looking bored. Then, like a hunting hound spotting prey, he stiffened. Harry noticed the difference and followed the man's gaze to the doorway. Tom had appeared, and he too had become very stiff. His eyes blazed and his hands had clenched into white-knuckled fists.

"Are these your guests, master?" he asked quietly, but intensely, his voice fighting to keep itself level. Harry nodded. He wondered whether he should remind the man that he should treat his guests with respect, but looking at his careful control, Harry suspected it wasn't necessary. Tearing his eyes away from glaring at Snape, he looked at Harry, fire still making his eyes a vivid scarlet. "Are you ready for me to start serving?" he asked, still with the same forcible calm. Harry considered it. Normally he would expect there to be a bit more pre-dinner conversation…but in this case, he suspected it would be best to get to the main part of the evening as quickly as possible.

"Yes please, Tom." The man disappeared almost as quickly as if he had apparated and Harry turned to his guests. "Shall we?" he asked gesturing towards the door. The other men stood and headed towards the kitchen. "Ah, no," Harry called after them, flushing. "I thought we could eat in here." Moving to one of the other doors, he opened it and showed them the now-refurbished dining room.

"Fancy," commented Kingsley with a smile. Harry ignored Snape's muttered comment of 'the kitchen no longer good enough for you, Potter?' with the ease of long practice. If the Dursleys had managed to teach him anything worth having, it was that being polite to visitors was important, though he refused to ever go to the smarmy extents they had when hosting 'important' clients. Settling at the table, they made some awkward small talk before Tom appeared carrying the plates.

"Impressive," Snape remarked, in a voice that was far too smooth for any of their comforts as Tom handed the plates out elegantly, without a word. "Who would have thought that a dark lord would ever be able to make a living as a common server?" Harry watched as the words hit home and Tom almost knocked over one of the glasses as his hand jerked. Retreating to the doorway, he hovered as Harry had previously instructed, in case any of them needed something. Which, it turned out, Snape seemed to regularly. Everything from wanting his glass refilled, to 'accidentally' dropping his fork and telling Tom to pick it up.

Harry's hands grew tighter around his own cutlery as he caught the greedy gleam in the Potions Master's eyes when Tom had needed to stoop down in a pseudo bow to reach the fallen item. It's his closure, Harry kept reminding himself. They would never have to be in contact with each other again – Merlin knows Harry wouldn't want to repeat this painful experience. He tried to keep himself distracted with talking to Kingsley about the Aurors, his new endeavours in the Ministry, even reminiscing about the war in a desperate attempt to ignore what was happening on the other side of the table.

The rest of the meal didn't improve things. In fact, they just deteriorated with every course. Snape made snide comments whenever Tom was in earshot, drinking in his reactions greedily every time his hands clenched, his eyes flashed or his jaw twitched. Tom, of course, was unable to respond in kind, Harry's order for him to treat them as guests making sure of that.

With every sarcastic comment of how good Tom was at serving, how well he looked waiting on the side-lines for orders, how beautifully he took commands, Harry grew more and more uncomfortable. The unease he had developed when his visitors had first arrived had grown into full-blown discomfort. Sure, maybe he enjoyed it when Tom was humiliated, but only when he did it. Tom was his slave, their fates were interwoven and had been for longer than Harry could remember. They had intimately affected each other without even knowing it. Heck, Harry had been his horcrux! When Snape did it…it felt cheap.

And as time wore on, this situation started to feel less and less like closure, if it ever had, and more like…bullying. In fact, Snape reminded him rather too much of someone Harry had hated as a child: Aunt Marge. Whenever she had visited, she had made it her job to make his life as miserable as possible when they were forced to spend time together, like at the dinner table. She had made the same kind of snide, insulting comments about him, about his parents, about how grateful he should be for the generosity of his Aunt and Uncle for taking him in… And Harry had reacted in the same way as Tom – unable to respond, he had bottled it up until in Third year, it had all erupted as a burst of accidental magic. With the threat of severe punishment from the collar if he lost control, Tom didn't even have that outlet.

By the time they were finishing up the pudding, Harry had had enough. He caught Kingsley's eye and saw a similar troubled look in his gaze. Nodding with finality, Harry interrupted Snape's last jeer by giving Tom an instruction.

"Tom, please go and wash these plates up in the kitchen," he said, controlling his voice as much as he could. The man shot him an unreadable glance, but then gathered up the plates, his haste in doing so the only indication of his strong desire to be out of the situation. As soon as he was out of the room, Snape rounded on Harry.

"Why did you send him away?" His demand sounded awfully like a petulant child being denied a treat.

"Because I felt that it was more than time to do so," Harry replied, meeting Snape's eyes glare for glare. Merlin, being able to escape him for more than two years, except for at Order meetings near the end of the war, had allowed him to forget how much he hated the man on a personal level. Sure, he respected Snape's contributions to the war, and he had even reluctantly acknowledged that the man was a lot more complicated than his eleven year old self had thought, but by Morgana, it wasn't like he did himself any favours! Plenty of people had had a bad childhood and difficult teenage years without turning into an unmitigated bastard. Heck, Harry's life hadn't exactly been a bed of roses, but that didn't mean he took out his spite on every person who stood still for long enough.

"Typical Potter," the man sneered. "Ruining everyone's fun just because you're not the centre of attention." Harry's lip curled in disgust.

"Do you even listen to yourself? The only one who's been having fun this evening has been you. By taking your spite out on someone who can't fight back. Just like you always did in Potions at school. What does that make you?" The man snarled at him, his hand reaching for his wand.

"Severus," Kingsley interrupted, a firm note in his voice. "That's enough; we're going home." There was a finality to his tone that made even Snape pause. He examined the dark-skinned man's expression, then scowled.

"As you wish, master," he spat and stomped out of the room.

"I'm sorry, Kingsley," Harry said miserably. This wasn't what he had thought would happen, but then maybe that was the problem – he hadn't really thought things through; had just made the offer. And given what he knew about the miserable bastard Snape was, and how much he could hold a grudge…how could he have imagined it would go any differently? Kingsley put his hand on Harry's shoulder.

"I know you meant well, Harry," he responded, but Harry could read in his eyes the same thoughts that were going through his own head. "But I think we'd better go." Harry nodded, avoiding his eyes.

"Look, I'm sorry for…well, I bet he's going to be an arsehole to you about it for a while. I didn't…" he trailed off. Kingsley chuckled slightly.

"I wouldn't worry, Harry. Sure, he's not going to be happy with either of us for a bit, but he'll settle down again. Just…if you need me, I recommend you send an owl about it unless it's urgent – I'll come through here. If I'm welcome, that is," he said, questioningly. Harry gave him a weak smile.

"Of course you are, Kingsley. Come over whenever." The Minister nodded slowly.

"Well, thanks for the meal – it was very tasty." Harry smiled wryly.

"With all the practice Tom's been having lately, he's getting pretty good at it. But I'll pass on the compliment." Kingsley nodded, then glanced towards the door.

"I'd better go before he comes back here for another round," he said with a hint of humour, then left the room swiftly. Hearing the door open and then close, Harry sighed. To say that the evening had gone sideways was an understatement.

Trudging into the kitchen, he saw Tom cleaning the dishes so hard Harry was worried they would have their patterns scratched off. Picking up a dish towel, Harry decided to start drying by hand, not wanting to rub the fact that he could use magic in Tom's face once more.

They worked in an uncomfortable silence for a few minutes. Then Harry sighed.

"Kingsley said he enjoyed the food at least," he tried. Tom kept silent, his movements becoming even angrier if that was possible. "Look, I'm sorry," Harry attempted. Red eyes flashed to his, glowing brightly in their owner's heightened emotions.

"For what?" the tone was completely flat.

"For…for Snape. I didn't realise he would be like that, and I should have. He was an unmitigated bastard at school; I don't know why I thought he'd be anything different outside school." The man just turned back to his chore without saying a word. For some reason, Harry felt…hurt. "Tom, speak to me, would you?"

"And say what, master?" The word was spat out with just as much force as Snape had used just ten minutes earlier. Harry shrugged.

"I don't know!" he exclaimed in frustration. "Tell me I was stupid. Tell me I was naïve to think that an evening with Snape could do anything but go badly." Tom paused in washing up and turned towards Harry, an unreadable look on his face.

"May I speak plainly, master?" he asked. Harry waved at him with a frustrated gesture.

"Sure, not like you can say anything worse to me than I already am to myself."

"Then, do you know what it did to me to have that traitor in the same house as me? To be forced to bow and kneel and scrape in front of a man I fundamentally despise?" Harry didn't speak for a moment, so taken aback by the sheer controlled force the words had been said with. He had expected raging, snarling, attempts at violence. Not this…distilled fury. Then, speaking past the lump that had started to develop in his throat, he said the only thing that came to mind.

"Why does it seem like you hate Snape more than me, the one who forced you into this position – who forced you to become a slave and keeps you in chains of bondage?" Tom looked at him searchingly for a moment.

"Because I do." Harry frowned.

"I don't understand," he said, slightly plaintively. He wasn't sure why the idea that he mightn't be at the top of Tom's most hated list made him feel slightly…rejected. He should be glad about it, surely? Tom sighed and ran a hand through his hair, not seeming to notices the soap suds it left behind.

"Tell me, Harry," he said quietly, the same intensity still in his voice and his eyes. "Who do you feel most anger at for your parents' deaths? Me…or Wormtail." A surge of anger rose in Harry at the name of his parents' betrayer, though it was tempered slightly by his knowledge of the man's death.

"Wormtail," he said finally after careful consideration.

"Why?"

"Because he was their friend," snarled Harry suddenly, twisting the dishtowel between his hands. "Because he went knowingly to their enemy to betray their most precious secret." Tom nodded slowly.

"So is it really that hard for you to understand why I hate Severus, the man who swore himself to me, benefited from my teaching, then turned around and went to my enemy? The man who returned to me, all unctuous loyalty, lying with words, body and mind to assure me of his continued belief in my cause, in me, only to report back to my enemy every scrap of information he could thieve. And now, to make it worse, to have it rubbed in my face that because of his betrayal, he is all but free for the short time he will wear the collar, while I am sentenced to wear it for the rest of my life!" By the end, Tom was panting and he had pressed close to Harry, staring down angrily into his eyes. A moment of silence passed between them before Tom withdrew and continued washing up. Harry breathed properly for the first time since Tom had started approaching him.

He could make the point that Voldemort had been a mass-murderer whose aims of genocide were completely predicated on his desire to gain control, rather than any real belief in the ideals he spouted. He could say that any follower with an iota of brain would have left Voldemort when he had started tossing crucios around like candy. He could even say that to Snape's mind, Voldemort had betrayed him first, by killing the only woman he had ever loved. But he didn't. Because he understood the sting of betrayal all too well.

He had first experienced betrayal with the Dursleys, who had promised him something only to take great glee in denying it to him once he had done whatever they had wanted him to do. He had been betrayed by teachers who had recognised that his under-fed appearance paired with his ragged clothes and the occasional bruise were signs of something wrong, had promised him they would tell others about it and then had brushed him off shortly afterwards. Ron had betrayed him in Fourth year, and in a way, that one had stung the most because of the levels of trust which had been so much greater for Ron than for the others. He had been betrayed by his mentor, by Dumbledore, who had portrayed himself as omniscient and benevolent, and who had turned out to be raising him as a pig for the slaughter. Yes, he knew the feeling of betrayal, the sick curl in the stomach of first disbelief, then rage, then bargaining, then grief, then acceptance, and then a dull ache which never truly healed and made trusting in others ever more difficult.

And so there was truly only one thing he could say.

"I'm sorry." It wasn't enough, he knew it wasn't nearly enough to touch the pain he knew he'd aggravated by inviting Snape around. Once more, he was a mess of contradicting emotions: anger at himself for inflicting the evening on Tom, when it hadn't even achieved what Harry had expected it to achieve; anger at Snape for being such a bastard; anger at Tom for seemingly being the victim in this; guilt at what he had enabled Snape to do; suspicion that Tom was manipulating the situation to his own ends again; pain at the memory of the betrayals he had suffered; frustration that it was never simple with this man…

"Again, sorry for what?" At least this time there was more life to his tone, even if it was resentful. Harry shrugged.

"I'm not sorry for you having a life sentence – frankly, I think you deserve worse than a life sentence with me, and it's not exactly pleasant for me either. I'm not sorry that Snape betrayed you, because I think you set yourself up ready to be betrayed. I'm not even sorry that Snape's getting away with minimal punishment, because he actually tried to redeem himself. But I am sorry for bringing up the feelings of betrayal for you again, and for not thinking things through and realising that Snape is the kind of bastard who would take great joy in kicking a man when he's down." Tom stopped cleaning once more and stared at him.

"Do you realise how hypocritical you sound?" Harry frowned.

"Huh?" he asked eloquently.

"Perhaps I do deserve this, because I was on the side that lost – I was the leader of the side that lost. And Severus changed sides, so he should be treated better than me. But if that's the case, then don't pretend there is anything moral about this. If Severus, who joined willingly, who begged me to be allowed to join along with his classmates, for revenge on his father and all those who had hurt him on the light side, who took joy in killing and showing off his skills in creating deadly potions, who only turned away from me because he unintentionally set into motion the events which led to the death of his obsession, not because of any moral qualms…if he does not deserve punishment, why do I?"

Once more Harry was lost for words and feeling uncomfortably off-balance. He screwed his eyes up in an effort to block out the situation around him enough to think. Was he being hypocritical? Was he really willing to forgive Snape for his actions as a loyal Death Eater, just because afterwards, he had turned his coat and seen the light? Lady Magic apparently didn't forgive him – if She had, Snape wouldn't have been enslaved.

But then was it actually up to Harry to decide? And then Harry realised the impossible dilemma Tom had falsely put him in. Opening his eyes, he felt more settled than he had been all evening. Tom seemed to realise his shift in emotions because there was curiosity in his eyes for a moment.

"The situations aren't comparable, Tom," Harry said, his tone coming across as tired, but firm. "Whether I do or don't forgive Snape for his actions, it doesn't matter – he's not my slave. I'm not responsible for him – Kingsley is. And if Kingsley decides he doesn't want Snape to suffer, that's his right as the master. Honestly, I hope I never have to see him again, let alone spend time with him. You, however, are my responsibility. And I do feel that you deserve punishment. Your actions are not comparable with Snape's – he made a whole load of mistakes and bad judgements, but eventually tried to make up for them, putting himself at huge risk, whatever the original instigation of his change of heart was. You haven't even admitted you were wrong.

"You started a war because you felt like you were the most powerful wizard in the world, and everyone should bow down at your feet because of that. You instigated the murder of hundreds of people for your own vanity. You made a bad decision to rip up your soul in the pursuit of a flawed immortality, which then created subsequent bad decisions because it made you unstable. You further compounded your mistakes, bad decisions, and outright malicious actions by repeating the soul-splitting until you were nothing more than a mad, spitting shadow of your former self. You think I haven't noticed the difference between you and Voldemort?

"So yes, I'm sorry that I brought Snape into our home. I'm sorry that I allowed him to behave so badly before stepping in. But I'm not sorry because I don't think you deserve it – I'm sorry because it made me into an accessory to bullying. Had I been a different person, that kind of treatment might have been simply an everyday activity, don't forget." Harry continued to stare into Tom's eyes, gaze as unwavering as his voice. "However, because I did bring him in, and because I am sorry for bringing up his betrayal, knowing intimately how horrible it feels, I am willing to agree to a reasonable request of yours."

There was silence for several long minutes. The fire in Tom's eyes had largely died away, being replaced by a thoughtful look. Harry felt more settled within himself – he'd been struggling recently with his own concepts of right and wrong and how they applied to his present position as a master of a slave. Somehow, this event had helped him crystallise in his own mind how he felt about it all. The guilt he realised had been curdling in his stomach since Kingsley's office more than a month ago was largely gone. Because it was true – Tom was very different from Voldemort, in that he was sane and much more reasonable, but Harry had no doubts that if he managed to succeed in the scheme Harry suspected he was trying, he would just start the war again. He hadn't realised he was wrong. He hadn't even taken the first step onto the path to redemption.

And that was OK. Harry wasn't going to be like Dumbledore – he wasn't going to keep offering second chances and giving people the opportunity to betray him. He wasn't going to push everything else aside in the pursuit of Tom's redemption. He wasn't going to live in anguish worrying that Tom would never be 'good'. But that meant that they could never be anything other to each other than master and slave. They could never be colleagues or friends like Kingsley and Snape seemed to have managed. In a world where Tom Riddle had not even acknowledged the error of his own actions as Voldemort, there could only ever be peace when Tom knew that Harry was the master, and that he was the slave.

So there wasn't any question of what Tom deserved. He was a slave because the actions he had taken to enslave others had caused Lady Magic to lay that punishment on him (and Harry highly doubted, no matter what Tom clearly thought, that he would find any way out of his punishment). As a slave, his sole purpose was to please his master. So it wasn't really about what Tom deserved, it was about what Harry wanted – for once. And Harry didn't want a broken pet who kneeled at his feet because he feared the consequences if he didn't. He would much rather have a companion who would push and challenge Harry when he needed it, but would also go along with what he said with no questions asked at times because he recognised Harry could be trusted with both of them.

But maybe that was asking too much. Maybe a less antagonistic relationship was all he could reasonably expect. A relationship where Tom obeyed him because he accepted his position, without having lost the spark that made him who he was. Harry hoped Tom didn't force him down the route of having to break him because it was a choice between that and losing complete control. But now, having finally sorted out his head, Harry knew that if that was the choice Tom forced him into, he knew what his response would be.

"My wand." Harry was roused from his thoughts.

"What?" he asked in confusion.

"I want my wand." Harry narrowed his eyes at Tom.

"Asking for your wand in perpetuity is not a reasonable request." Tom narrowed his eyes back.

"What would you consider 'reasonable', then?" Harry considered it.

"Three hours." Tom raised his eyebrows superciliously.

"Three hours, that's barely enough time to cast a few spells. Twenty-four hours, at least!" Harry looked at him flatly.

"Tom, I don't think you realise your position in this. This is not a negotiation. You either have your wand for three hours, or you don't have it at all. What's your choice?" Tom glared at him.

"I want it," he said grudgingly. Harry nodded slightly. Heading over to the cabinet in which the wand was stored during the times Tom wasn't allowed to use it. Taking out his blackthorn wand, he dispelled the ward keeping it secure. Pulling the pale wand out of its hiding place, he hesitated before handing it over, despite the increasing impatience showing on Tom's face.

"I suppose you'd actually like to do more with this wand than just hold it," he commented. Tom frowned.

"Of course!" Harry raised his eyebrows in mock surprise.

"No 'of course' about it. You asked for your wand, not to be able to use magic." He saw a flash of disbelief pass across his slave's face, followed quickly by apprehension mingled with fury and a touch of respect. Harry handed the wand over.

"Fortunately for you, I'm generally inclined to uphold the spirit of the law rather than its letter," he remarked. "You are allowed to use magic for the next three hours. You may not use it to damage anyone. If you damage anything, you are expected to repair it flawlessly before the end of your time, unless it is something you know is unwanted. You may not enter my room. Any questions?" Tom immediately shook his head.

"No," he responded, clearly impatient to start.

"Then your time starts now. But Tom," he said, catching the man before he had left the room.

"What?" demanded the man rudely. Harry looked at him levelly.

"The grace period is over. I'm your master and I expect you to behave in recognition of that." Tom held his gaze for a few moments before dropping his eyes to the ground.

"Yes, master," he acknowledged, an unreadable note in his voice. "May I go, master?" he then asked, flicking his eyes back up. Harry nodded.

"You may. I expect you in the sitting room in three hours. Do not go over your time," he warned. If the man did, he would have to be punished, but Harry hoped he didn't.

XXX

Tom almost ran out of the kitchen, so excited he couldn't breathe properly. Finally! His restrictions had been lifted enough to at least make some progress in his escape. Just a few days ago, he had found a spell which would map the arithmantic calculations that went into an enchantment. It was difficult magic, and three hours really wasn't much time for even him to master a spell that complicated, but Tom didn't have a choice. Who knew when the next opportunity would be for him to learn and cast it without revealing what he was doing to his master?

With the arithmantic diagram, he should be able to identify the weak points of the enchantment…eventually. No doubt it would be a highly complex diagram, and he would have to study and understand every section of it before he could even hope to find his solution. On the other hand, once he had understood it completely, he would be able to make his own versions. And, thinking darkly of the traitor, he knew exactly who he would use his new knowledge on first.

His manipulations had finally worked…kind of. He would almost thank Severus for it if he hadn't utterly despised the stain on the universe that the man was – the Potions Master's execrable behaviour had proved to be just what he needed to get a hold on Harry. Not that it had all been a lie, of course. The best manipulations, in Tom's experience, were those which were thoroughly based in truth.

Seeing the traitor had immediately set his blood to boiling; when he had realised that the man wore a collar but yet was being treated normally while Tom himself had to continue with his servile behaviour had been…irritating. Irritating in as much as Vesuvius' fury had been a little inconvenient for the people of Pompeii. As for when Severus had started taunting him, constantly rubbing his face in the fact that he was being treated like a guest, while Tom was a slave who could do nothing to prevent it…. Suffice it to say that Tom's anger in the kitchen had not been at all faked or exaggerated.

Tom would have felt more grateful to Harry for giving him an exit strategy, if he hadn't been fully aware that the only reason he had to put up with the annoyance in the first place was because of him. Nevertheless, when Harry had come into the kitchen, guilt rolling off him in waves, he had seen an opportunity. Using carefully crafted words powered by real feelings, he had managed to finagle a boon out of his master.

But there was something telling him that he hadn't come out completely the victor in this. Instead of being able to send his master completely off-balance, not knowing which way was up and perhaps feeling more sympathetic to Tom as a result of his guilt, it had…backfired slightly. The way Harry had been at the end…. Calm. Decided. Unyielding. Tom had a nagging feeling that he might have accidentally bitten off more than he could chew…

He pushed the feeling to one side – this was an achievement, and he didn't have much time to do it in, given the three hour time limit. He would worry about his master later, if he had to.

XXX

Just under three hours later, Tom was getting desperate. He had managed to make the spell work on some simpler enchantments, testing whether the arithmantic diagram matched his understanding of the magic he had cast on an object. It had worked, but so far, every time he cast it on the collar, it had failed.

His wand buzzed, the timer he had set to remind him when to go downstairs going off. No! He was so close! He could feel it. He tried to cast the spell again, but fruitlessly. Snarling in frustration, a dull pain starting to vibrate through him, the collar's reminder that he was beginning to disobey his master's orders, he tried once more. This time, to his almost disbelieving eyes, a diagram started to spiral on the parchment to which he set his wand tip. Could it be…? Had the problem been that the collar hadn't been active? Was the enchantment only readable when it was actively doling out pain or pleasure?

Hungry for information, he shoved the pain he was feeling to one side. He would endure this until the spell had finished, and then go down. His master would have to deal with it. Tom's worst fear was that the boy might come upstairs to find him, but there was no helping that. At least, he'd probably have some sort of warning if that happened.

The minutes dragged on like hours, the pain in Tom growing and growing every second that he resisted his master's command. The diagram which was spreading its self over the parchment in loops of calculations was one of the most complex he'd ever encountered and would probably take months to decode. Not surprising, really, considering how it was semi-sentient, reacting to both master and slave, learning and storing information from one order to another, deciding how important an order was, even able to distinguish whether the infraction was intentional or not and modulate its response. Still, by the end of the fifteen minutes it took to set the ink down, Tom was gritting his teeth and half-closing his eyes in agony.

And then, once the actual spell had finished, Tom needed to cast the magic which would bind the ink to the page so it wouldn't smear, and then cast a few complex charms to allow him to zoom in on a section of text without using his wand – otherwise, given how densely the page was populated, it would be impossible to distinguish one calculation from another. Fortunately NEWT level Arithmancy had taught him various charms to help with that.

Then he was done. He slipped the parchment into a dusty book on the bookshelf, somewhere Harry wouldn't see it at first sight, and bolted out of the room. Almost running down the stairs, he slowed as he entered the sitting room. The pain in his collar vanished and a wave of pleasure overtook his senses. He gritted his teeth through that as much as he had through the pain. His master was writing at his desk and didn't look up.

"I'm here, master," Tom said, a note of insolence in his voice, despite his best efforts to sound apologetic. After his success with the spell, he was riding a high which was hard to think clearly through.

"I'm aware," Harry responded coolly. "Put your wand on my desk and then kneel. I'll deal with you when I'm ready." Feeling uncomfortably like a scolded schoolboy, Tom shuffled towards the desk, laid his wand down carefully, though not without regret, and then backed away and knelt.

It was late, he realised, looking at the clock over the fireplace. Almost one am, in fact. Well, he supposed that their guests had left around half past nine, and then it had been more than three hours… He realised that in the end he had arrived almost twenty-five minutes late. Tom was slightly impressed with his own endurance. Maybe he was getting used to the pain? Or maybe it had been the adrenaline pushing it to one side.

His master was taking a long time to finish whatever he was doing. Tom fidgeted. He was tired, but knew that he wouldn't be getting any sleep that night. In fact, he was itching to get back to the diagram, start figuring it out. Harry would be at home tomorrow, but the day after, he would be at Hogwarts, so Tom had a good opportunity to work on it then. His thoughts were interrupted by his master's voice finally addressing him.

"I don't know why I'm disappointed," Harry remarked, and for some reason, Tom felt his heart jerk at the tone. It wasn't angry – that would have been better. It was just tired and…disappointed. "But I am. Do you have anything to say for yourself?" he invited. Tom shook his head. It wasn't as if he could tell the truth after all. Lying would just make things worse as it would be pretty obvious what he was doing when the collar activated.

"I got caught up in something, master," he said finally, the only thing he could say which was both truthful and uninformative. He hoped beyond hope that Harry wouldn't ask him what he was doing in specific, though prepared a couple of answers that might work, just in case.

"Didn't you set an alarm?" Harry asked. Tom winced.

"Yes, master." The boy's expression shuttered.

"Then you deliberately disobeyed me," he said with finality. Tom didn't answer: it wasn't a question. Harry sighed. "You leave me no choice," he said heavily. "You are banned from your wand and all types of magic for the next week." Tom grimaced, but eventually nodded. That seemed…surprisingly fair. He'd known he was courting punishment the longer he had stayed in the library. Besides, while it wouldn't be pleasant to be cut off once more from his magic, he didn't actually need his wand for anything until he had figured out the collar. "And I will be using punire on you, one second for every minute you were late." Tom's heart dropped at the second punishment. Twenty-five seconds…that was a hell of a long time to be under the collar's punishment.

"Master, please," he started. "It's – it's too long!" Harry's gaze was flinty.

"You should have thought about that before deciding to deliberately disobey me." If his tone had been angry, Tom would have been able to take it better. As it was, its stern implacableness removed all possibility for Tom to escape or ameliorate the punishment.

"What if I go insane?" he asked, his voice higher-pitched than normal. The possibility terrified him, especially this close to escape. Harry's gaze softened slightly and for a moment, Tom hoped he'd succeeded in getting him to rethink. His next words removed that hope completely.

"I'll do it in two bursts. The first for fifteen seconds, the second for ten." Tom searched his master's gaze desperately for some sign, any sign that this was a joke, or that guilt would overtake him and stop this punishment in its tracks. But no. Nothing. So, instead, he pulled himself up, took a deep breath in preparation and unconsciously tensed. There was a beat of silence, then another. The anticipation was almost worse than the punishment itself, Tom thought. Then it came.

"Punire," he heard before the pain took over. It felt like an eternity before it stopped. Surely, surely that had been the whole of the punishment, not just over half of it? He had wished he could die during it – surely it was over now? But apparently not. After a few desperate pants for breath, his master repeated the dreaded word and he was submerged in agony once more.

When he came back to full consciousness after drifting in the timeless anguish that was the collar's punishment, he realised his master was crouching beside him. He flinched slightly, tiredly, when a hand touched his head, stroking through his locks. In his prostrate position, it was easy for his master to first stroke the back of his head, and then move to stroking over his shoulders and back. He felt he should have protested at the action – he wasn't a dog – but frankly, after all of that, he didn't really feel human either. And it felt nice. Tom was also starting to subconsciously react to the gentle soothing as being the end of the punishment, allowing him to relax.

After a few more moments of that, by which point his pain and exhaustion befuddled mind had decided to start slipping towards sleep, his master stood up. Tom lifted his head, staring up blearily, a part of him wondering why the nice feelings had disappeared, and how he could get them back. The rest of him very quickly jumped on that thought and shoved it away, by which point, he was much more cognisant of what was going on. Harry looked down at him, his lips set in something that looked like disapproval, but his eyes revealing something different. They held each other's gaze for a long moment.

"Go to bed, Tom," Harry said tiredly. Tom nodded and pushed himself unsteadily to his feet. It took a few tries, and he knew he'd need to use the wall to help him upstairs, but eventually he managed to stand with the support of one of the chairs. Making his slow and painful way out of the room, he paused in the doorway and looked back. Harry was back at his desk, bent over his parchment once more, writing who knows what. Nodding again, though Tom wasn't sure why, he started the long, slow climb up the stairs. He had hoped to spend time on the diagram, but with the punishment, plus the order to go to bed, it would be better to get his rest now. He would have time enough on Monday.

XXX

Tom sighed heavily as he dusted one of the many pieces of furniture littering this blasted house. The words from a few days ago still echoed in his head. Not Severus', of course – that traitor wasn't worth wasting a thought on. No, it was Harry's words that went round and round in his head, distracting him from studying the collar's diagram. 'You think I haven't noticed the difference between you and Voldemort?'

Had he really changed that much? He didn't think so. To Tom, Lord Voldemort had been retired, simply because his skill set wasn't useful in the present circumstances. But…well, was that actually proving the truth of Harry's words, if Voldemort was so easily put aside? He had already acknowledged to himself that the horcruxes had been…not the best of ideas. So much time and effort had been wasted when he could have achieved his goal much earlier and more efficiently, if he'd maintained his sanity.

So how was he different from Lord Voldemort? Apart from the obvious, of course. As much as the body of Lord Voldemort had been useful for intimidating both enemies and allies alike, he had…missed his good looks. It took more effort to use charm than intimidation, but after having used both methods, he had to conclude that charm seemed to have fewer negative consequences. Tom found himself wondering whether he could use charm with a certain green-eyed master, but quickly diverted his thoughts away from the dangerous topic. Who knew how the collar would react to him plotting how to use his good looks to sway his master's thoughts?

But apart from his looks, what was different? Well, he didn't have all the violent urges, thank Merlin. It was a lot easier to control his temper, which Tom was exceedingly glad for given what awaited him if he snapped at his master. He was less reactive in general, he supposed. The Tom Riddle he used to be had never moved without thinking it through at least twice, except for when Dumbledore had visited at the orphanage, of course, and he'd regretted that for years. Lord Voldemort, conversely, had usually cursed first and asked questions after. The person he was now seemed to be closer to the Tom Riddle he used to be than the Lord Voldemort he had become.

What else? He was thinking more clearly than he had in years. He hadn't realised how much his ability to think had deteriorated ever since he made his first horcrux. In fact, it had deteriorated significantly when he had made his first horcrux; each one after that seemed to have had diminishing effects on his sanity and ability to plan and think things through. And with that increased capacity to think, another comment of Harry's kept echoing with the others. 'You haven't even admitted you were wrong.' Was he wrong?

About the horcruxes…yes. He could admit that they had been an…error of judgement. Fresh off the Second World War, he had been brought face to face with his mortality in a way that had made him…panic. With hindsight, he could realise that. He may not have been present for the Blitz, fortunately, but bombs hadn't only dropped then – that was just the worst period. So he had grabbed the first method that had offered him some security with both hands, not taking note of the possible side effects. And then, as Harry had so perceptively realised, 'You made a bad decision to rip up your soul in the pursuit of a flawed immortality, which then created subsequent bad decisions because it made you unstable. You further compounded your mistakes, bad decisions, and outright malicious actions by repeating the soul-splitting until you were nothing more than a mad, spitting shadow of your former self.' Each time he had split his soul, it had got worse. By the end, he had been so focused on destroying the only threat to his immortality that he had almost destroyed the Wizarding world. That had never been his intention.

Harry might have said, 'You started a war because you felt like you were the most powerful wizard in the world, and everyone should bow down at your feet because of that. You instigated the murder of hundreds of people for your own vanity.' But it hadn't started like that. Or not exactly like that. He hadn't wanted to destroy the Wizarding world. He hadn't wanted to kill all those people, at least not at first. He had been ambitious, wanting to rise to a high position in the Ministry. He had wanted to be Minister for Magic, even. He had wanted to prove to everyone who had muttered about mudblood orphans, slimy Slytherins, evil children, that he was better than them. More powerful, more intelligent; simply outclassing them in all ways. He had never met someone he truly respected. The adults at the orphanage had been blind and then easily fooled or intimidated. Dumbledore had been powerful, but weak. The other adults at Hogwarts had been as bad as those at the orphanage… And then he had split his soul, and the desire to prove himself the most intelligent, the most powerful had remained, but the patience and cunning to do so legally had vanished.

So, in the end, as Harry had said, he started a war for his own vanity, couched in terms of pureblood supremacy which he had never truly believed – how could he when he knew from an early age that he was a half-blood and yet was so much better than all the purebloods he had surrounded himself with? But it had been a useful platform, and it had attracted those with the money and the power to back him. Originally, of course, those plans had been for them to back him to become Minister, but over time…well, they had changed.

Perhaps…perhaps it would be better if Lord Voldemort didn't rise again, even once he had got this collar off his neck, and had been able to disappear. Perhaps someone else should take his place – someone who had the caution and the ambition of Tom Riddle, but the power and the experience of Lord Voldemort. Someone different.

'You haven't even admitted you were wrong.' Was he wrong? The question echoed again in his head, as it had done ever since his conversation with Harry. He still didn't have an answer.

XXX

Harry couldn't stop grinning. There were several things that were great about today. First, it was Friday, which was always a cause for celebration. Second, he had finished his work for Hogwarts, so he could relax that weekend. Third, he had a quidditch game booked for Sunday – Ron had told him about it and they had both got tickets. And fourth, he had done really well in his first set of official Auror training assessments. All that extra duelling practice with Tom had definitely paid off when it came to the practicals, and all the effort he'd put into learning the more boring stuff had certainly not been wasted.

It was a big thing for Harry. Academia had never been his thing. The Dursleys had done their active best to keep him as ignorant as possible about everything, and he had quickly learned that bringing home marks which put Dudley's own grades in a poor light was almost as likely to earn a punishment as being freakish. So, he had learned not to really bother at school. What was the point, really? Not to mention, of course, that their constant belittlement of his intelligence had stuck to some extent, without him even realising, adding another dimension – what was the point in trying if he was too stupid to learn? And then he'd got to Hogwarts and the habits had stayed. Not to forget, of course, that Ron had been his first friend to whom he had clung with the clutch of a drowning man at a straw. Harry reckoned, looking back, that he had subconsciously picked up on Ron's insecurity and so, to keep the peace and his friend, he had tried to copy what Ron did, including his lack of regard for school work. Really, Hermione's chivvying had been the only thing that had got either of them through the OWLs, he thought ruefully.

Practical was different, of course. Not even Ron's poor performance in classes had been enough to make Harry stop trying to cast spells. After all, it was magic. It had showed – Harry's spell-casting had always been significantly better than his theory, still was. Not to forget, of course, that he had been able to learn complex spells long before the normal age, when his lack of knowledge about how advanced they really were meant that he wasn't immediately hampered by his ground-in expectations of failure.

Then the war had happened and Harry had been forced to learn all sorts of magic which in normal conditions he wouldn't have even attempted. Slowly, the Dursleys' conditioning had been undone. Add that to the fact that Ron had finally gained some self-confidence as he emerged from his brothers' shadow, allowing Harry to feel more comfortable trying his best, and he suddenly started realising how much he could really do.

Having to catch up with the missed lessons at the same time as doing his work for his NEWTs had been a real test of his abilities, but he had succeeded, and now had the proof. Outstandings across all of the Auror assessments, both practical and theory. Of course, he would still have two more assessments in March and June before the Auror Trainee intake assessments in August, but he was still very happy with his result.

Getting home, he decided to share the joy. Entering the kitchen, he found Tom hard at work preparing their dinner. Leaning on the door-frame, he allowed himself to enjoy watching his slave for a moment. If he permitted himself to do so, he would be able to watch those graceful movements for hours.

"Tom," he said eventually to announce his presence, casting a wordless stasis charm on the food. The man jumped slightly, but turned around and bowed his head for a moment before meeting Harry's gaze.

"Master," he greeted neutrally. Harry smiled at him. His smile widened when its appearance caused a flash of confusion in Tom's eyes. How he loved confusing the man…

"You've been pretty good, recently," Harry told him. "Since that incident almost a week ago, you haven't been defiant or even tested your boundaries, particularly. And frankly, despite the incidents you have had, you've been taking this whole situation a lot better than I would have expected." Tom looked wary as if he was apprehensive that such outpouring of positivity would be followed with an equal amount of negativity. "So, I figure you deserve a reward. I'll buy you a book from Flourish and Blotts, if you'd like," he offered. Knowing how much Tom enjoyed reading, he figured that was a pretty safe bet – it would have been with Hermione. He saw interest flash in Tom's eyes and inwardly smirked. Gotcha.

"I wouldn't mind it," his slave said cautiously, as if suspecting that, having expressed interest, the offer would be withdrawn. Harry suddenly felt an unexpected pang of sympathy – unfortunately, he too knew that feeling intimately. Refreshing his smile, he pretended he hadn't noticed.

"Great. We'll go tomorrow morning, then."

"We, master?" Tom repeated, apprehensively. Harry nodded happily.

"Of course. How do you expect to choose your book if you're not there?"

"Owl order, perhaps?" muttered Tom, though Harry could tell it was half-hearted. If Hermione's comments were anything to judge by, owl order was only helpful if you had a specific book you wanted, not for simple browsing. Harry just grinned at him knowingly, Tom's frown increasing in proportion to Harry's smile. Finally Harry just straightened up.

"That's settled, then. I'll let you cook dinner," he said generously, enjoying the spark of irritation that caused a little too much. Waving his wand, he cancelled the stasis charm, drawing a curse from the man as Tom scrambled hastily back to the stove to stir the food in the frying pan which was threatening to catch. Smiling to himself, Harry left the room whistling.

XXX

The next day, Harry was still in a good mood. Waking up relatively early, he decided to make pancakes for breakfast. It was something he'd often made for the Dursleys, but had rarely been able to eat any, no matter how good he had been. Feeling generous, he made enough batter for two, figuring that if Tom didn't want them, he could always keep it until another day.

"Pancakes?" he offered when the red-eyed man walked into the kitchen a few minutes later. Tom looked a bit taken aback.

"Pardon, master?" he asked, cautiously.

"Would you like pancakes for breakfast? There's jam or sugar to put on them, or if you want a savoury option, you could grate some cheddar on them." Tom seemed surprisingly off-balance. Well, Harry supposed that it was the first time he'd offered the man breakfast in almost three months – since the beginning, they'd sorted out their own breakfasts and lunches, and for most of the time, Tom had been doing the dinners. Harry shrugged inwardly. He could be nice sometimes, surely.

"That…would be nice, master," Tom said finally, neutrally. Harry nodded and turned back to the stove, expertly frying the whole lot of batter and turning out perfect pancakes every time. While they ate, Harry felt like making conversation, but knew that it would probably lead to an argument unless he asked a question about his studies, and he didn't really feel like doing that today. No, he decided, today was time to relax, to recover from his recent epic bender of studying. He'd do some work the next day. So, instead of speaking, he thought about the quidditch game he was going to see. It was the Falmouth Falcons against the Holyhead Harpies. Harry was pretty sure Ron had decided to get tickets because George was going, and George was going because of Angelina. But it was probably going to be a decent game regardless of the motivations for attendance.

Finishing his breakfast, Harry levitated his plate in the sink and set it to cleaning and drying itself, sending the same spells at the pan and mixing bowl.

"Finished?" he asked Tom, raising his eyebrows. The man nodded, so Harry dealt with his plate and cutlery in the same way. "OK. Ready to go?"

"I suppose," came the reply. Harry felt like rolling his eyes: Slytherins. Would it kill them to show a little enthusiasm? Then he sobered – in Tom's position, he probably wouldn't show enthusiasm either. With the Dursleys, he had done his best to be as emotionless as possible: that way there was less they could use against him. No doubt Tom felt the same way, even if Harry felt slightly insulted at being treated the same way as the Dursleys. Ending up by shrugging, he led the way out of the kitchen and to the doorstep. Pausing just inside the door, he partially turned towards Tom.

"I don't suppose restraints are needed today either?" he half-asked, half-warned.

"No, master," was the quick reply. Alrighty then. Stepping out onto the doorstep, he reached out to grip Tom's arm before apparating them to Diagon Alley. Being Saturday, and not particularly early in the day, the alley was rather crowded. More so, in fact, than the previous time they had visited, but then it had been much later. Picking his way through the crowd, Harry started to become aware of whispers wherever they went and a few none too pleasant looks thrown at Tom. For once, Harry was actually grateful for the public behaviour rules where the slave was expected to keep close to his master – if they got separated in this crowd, with Tom unable to use magic, he would actually be at risk.

With that in mind, Harry kept his senses sharp and made a beeline towards the bookshop. He did take a moment, however, to shoot a glance back at Tom. The man seemed outwardly unaffected by the stares and whispers, but Harry could see how much tenser he was than normal.

"Stay close," Harry ordered quietly.

"Yes, master," Tom replied, just as quietly, his voice betraying his relief for the order by its very neutrality.

Inside the shop, Harry told Tom to have a look around and choose the book he'd like to read, but not to leave the building. He also made sure that Tom understood if there was any sort of trouble, he was to come to Harry immediately. Harry really didn't want any trouble, not today of all days. No, he wanted a calm, pleasant, uneventful outing, if it was at all possible.

While Tom browed, Harry did so too, picking up a few books which he felt could help him with his studies – a couple of Magical Theory books, a detailed book on the basics of potioneering, and a compendium of legal curses, hexes and jinxes. He was sure he'd know a good few of them already, but having flicked through the pages, there were definitely some which he both didn't know and which could be useful. Eventually, Tom approached him with a thick tome – something to do with Arithmancy. Harry didn't bother looking into it – never having taken the subject, he knew enough from watching Hermione work that he wouldn't have a hope in Hades of understanding what the book was about. At least, given that it was being sold in this shop, he knew it had to be legal.

Approaching the till, Harry breathed a silent sigh of relief as they left the shop without any trouble. Starting to walk towards the apparition point, Harry was grabbed by the arm. Turning on his attacker with war-honed reflexes, his wand was out and a stunning spell was on his lips before he was able to see who had stopped him.

"Neville," he said, pleasure in his voice as he lowered his wand. They might be doing Auror classes together, but the nature of the classes didn't leave much time for socialising, and by the end they were always exhausted and just wanting to get home. As for days at Hogwarts, each student chose when to go to the tutorials, so there was no guarantee of crossover with others. Harry felt like he hadn't caught up with Neville in ages.

"Harry," the man greeted in return, eyeing him. "Were you going to attack me?" Harry shrugged apologetically.

"Never intentionally, I promise. It's just…my senses are rather highly strung at the moment," he finished ruefully, indicating the people around him giving him physical space, but staring at him with either awe, fear or a mixture of the two and muttering to their neighbours. Neville cast a glance around, his gaze seeming to reproach the watchers.

"I understand," he said simply. Then his attention was caught by Tom, and it immediately narrowed in dislike. "I hadn't realised you'd…gone to the auction," he said, a note of distaste in his voice.

"I didn't," Harry defended himself. His friend lifted an eyebrow in question.

"Then how did you end up with…a slave?" Harry shrugged.

"It wasn't my choice, I promise you. I'd tell you in a slightly more private area, but not in front of everyone here." Neville nodded.

"Well, why don't we –" he cut himself off, staring beyond Harry. "Ah, there she is. Luna!" he called. Harry turned, his gaze being immediately caught by the woman's blonde locks glinting in the sun as she wandered towards them.

"Hello," she said, as dreamily as always. Harry found himself smiling.

"Hello, Luna. How are you?" he asked, genuinely wanting to know the answer. The last time he had seen her had been just before the final battle.

"I'm very well, thank you, Harry. I decided to take daddy on a Snorkack hunting trip – after everything that happened, I thought he could use cheering up." Cheering up? More like a therapist, was Harry's personal opinion, after seeing what the man had become without Luna there to keep him somewhat sane. Still, he was Luna's father…

"Did you find any?"

"No, not yet. But we're pretty sure we found some tracks, so we're going to go back in a few weeks. Snorkacks are rather more active in the winter, we think, so that would be a good time to search."

"I see," replied Harry. He often found himself lost for words with Luna, though it never seemed to be a problem for her. Case in point, she looked past his shoulder.

"I see lots of wrackspurts around your companion. Are you alright, Mr Red-eyes?" she asked Tom directly. The slave didn't seem to know what to do, shooting a look at Harry as if to ask for permission to speak, or perhaps guidance. Harry sighed.

"You may speak," he said shortly, his gaze warning Tom to be nice.

"Thank you master. Yes, I'm alright," he answered Luna who studied him seriously, her usual dreamy expression nowhere to be seen.

"No you're not," she contradicted him gently. "But you will be." Then, her dreamy smile reappearing, she patted him on the cheek and then went to hang off Neville's arm. The latter looked at Harry suspiciously.

"Red eyes?" he asked pointedly.

"Not here," Harry reminded him.

"How about there, then?" Neville suggested, pointing at Florean Fortescue's ice-cream parlour. "We can put a privacy ward up." Harry shrugged in agreement. It was still a bit more public than he would have liked, but with some judicious spell-work, they could make it pretty private.

XXX

Tom was forced to follow his master as they headed towards the ice-cream parlour, dread curdling in his stomach. Once his master sat down, he knew what he was going to have to do. And given that the other boy seemed to have some idea of who he was…the humiliation would be complete. If there was one thing he was grateful for, it was that he had completely disassociated Tom Riddle from Lord Voldemort. It helped, of course that he had looked completely different in the two guises along with the fact that his birth name had been a well-kept secret. Even before his downfall in the 1980's, his use of the dark arts, especially to create horcruxes, had twisted his features enough to make him unrecognisable. Then, of course, his most recent incarnation had been significantly affected by using Nagini's venom in the creation of the homunculus. Take the snake-like looks away, and his only real identifying feature were his eyes. He never thought he'd be grateful for anonymity, but then he'd never imagined in his wildest dreams that he might end up in this situation.

Once at the counter, they chose their ice-creams. Harry offered Tom one, but he refused politely. He didn't have much of a sweet-tooth at the best of times, and this certainly wasn't the best of times. Finding an open table, the two males cast some charms to ensure their privacy. Tom recognised the notice-me-not, which would only hold as long as they didn't draw attention, but otherwise worked quite well. The second spell was familiar as well – one of Severus' creations. The final spell was not as familiar to Tom, but he could work out what it probably did, based on the incantation and context. It probably obscured their lips in some way, or made them seem as if they were speaking about some innocuous topic or other. No doubt Harry was worried that if he had a conversation without the spells, it would be splashed across the Prophet the next morning.

Then the moment arrived. His master sat down at the table with his friends and Tom…Tom needed to kneel at his side. In public. He knew he had to: Harry might not enforce it, especially with his friends there – if their perspectives on slavery were anything like the mudblood's – but if the notice-me-not failed for any reason (and they were finicky spells at the best of times) and someone saw him sitting at the side of the Saviour with a collar around his neck, acting like they were equals… Well, the literature he had read had been pretty clear on the consequences. Upon a complaint being made, the Ministry would get involved and, while they couldn't actually take him away as far as Tom knew, they could certainly enforce a severe punishment for his 'poor' behaviour in public. Harry had managed to explain it away last time, but who knew if he'd even try in this situation.

So, he had to follow their expectations while outside the house. He knew that. But actually putting it into practice? He saw his master looking at him questioningly as he hovered with his fists clenched and his jaw set. With a massive effort to push away his feelings of humiliation and frustration, he slowly sank to his knees. Glaring a hole in the floor, he didn't dare look up for fear his eyes were revealing too much of his feeling of vulnerability.

"Tom…" his master said, trailing off before completing his thought. Tom wasn't sure what he had wanted to say even – there were too many emotions expressed in that simple word for him to decode the real reason it was said. Wonder, surprise, a hint of embarrassment, hesitancy, discomfort… All Tom could get from it was that Harry hadn't expected him to kneel. Though why that was, he didn't know, he thought scathingly. They had read the same book, hadn't they? Yes, admittedly, Tom had probably done more research than Harry but the guidebook was pretty clear.

"Harry?" The other boy spoke. Neville, or something. Perhaps this was the infamous Neville Longbottom, leader of the Hogwarts Resistance. Taking advantage of his master's distracted attention, he peeked up at the boy through his fringe briefly before returning his eyes to the floor. He wasn't really impressed by what he saw, but knew better than most how an unassuming appearance could sometimes hide remarkable skills. And if this was the leader of that damned resistance group, his appearance was very deceptive indeed. "You said you'd explain. Please don't tell me that's who I think it might be…" His voice was full of suspicion. Tom's master sighed.

"It's Voldemort, if that's who you're thinking of. Or at least, that's who he used to be," he said tiredly. There was a long silence. Chancing a look up, he saw the shocked and slightly angry look on the Longbottom boy's face.

"You have Voldemort as your slave?" he whisper-shouted. "Why in Merlin's…? What…? How did that happen?" Harry sighed again.

"Seems like our fates are woven together in ways that even Lady Magic didn't want to pull apart. The collar wouldn't respond to anyone else, and after they investigated, they found it was because he already had a master – me. So, we're bound together until death do us part." Tom heard a hint of humour in the last part, a way of coming to terms with the idea, he thought. He'd probably be struggling with the idea too if he hadn't been certain that his genius would find a way out.

"That's…" The Longbottom boy didn't seem to know what to say. "That sucks," he said finally, angrily. "I mean, I don't agree entirely with this whole thing – in fact, I was pretty shocked when Gran took it in stride. Apparently, her family used to own a slave before she was born, when it wasn't being used as a punishment any longer, but existing slaves had to serve out their sentence regardless. But even so, I wasn't exactly upset about monsters like the Lestranges having to serve those they had wanted to rule over. But to actually live with one of them, and Voldemort at that…. No. I couldn't imagine it. How are you managing?" Tom saw his master shrug slightly out of the corner of his eye.

"It's fine, don't worry about it. We've managed to find some level of understanding – most of the time we just avoid each other as much as possible." Though that wasn't really true anymore, was it, Tom thought idly. They often spent time together in the evening, Tom reading on the floor near the fire, Harry at his desk. And the amount of time they'd spent time together duelling or Tom helping Harry with his studies… Well, it wasn't really avoiding, was it? Sure, they didn't spend much time in each other's company during the week, but then Harry was out for the vast majority of their waking hours. "Besides," Tom's master continued, "he's not really Voldemort anymore, not without his horcruxes, followers or ability to do magic at his own volition." That was certainly true, Tom agreed bitterly. Though, in recent times, he had started to wonder whether he actually wanted to be Lord Voldemort anymore.

"Leopards don't change their spots that easily," warned the Longbottom boy darkly. Tom looked up, only to quickly look down again as his eyes caught on the glare aimed at him by the boy in question. His heart raced – stupid! Technically, Longbottom could complain about him to the Ministry, since by making eye-contact, he had breached one of the rules of public behaviour. Tom could only hope that the boy would choose to take it up with his friend, rather than the Ministry if he was angered by it.

"Yeah, but leopards don't tend to split their souls into seven bits either, do they?" Harry replied wryly. "Look, Neville, I appreciate your concern, but we're managing to work it out." There was another long pause, but this time, Tom didn't dare look up in case he was still being watched by the former resistance leader.

"OK, well, if you say so, Harry. I'll back off. But if you start acting strangely, I'm going to force you to St Mungo's to be checked out quicker than you can say 'quidditch'." It sounded like both a promise and a threat. A promise for Harry and a threat for Tom, that was. Tom just kept looking down, trying to pretend he wasn't there. Suddenly he realised that he was actually more worried about Longbottom than his own master.

Rocked by the revelation, and questioning why it was, Tom stopped tuning into the conversation, which had shifted to other topics anyway. Why was he more concerned about someone who didn't have any power over him, than the person who had almost complete power over him? Mulling over the thought, Tom came to a few possible conclusions. First, he didn't know Longbottom's character – was he vindictive or petty? Would he report Tom for those few moments of eye contact and thereby force a punishment? Did he have sway over Tom's master – could he convince Harry to be stricter or more vengeful himself? He didn't know what Longbottom could do, and the uncertainty worried him.

Following on the heels of that thought was its corollary – that if he was concerned about Longbottom because he didn't know what he would do, he was less worried about Harry because he did know. That in turn was followed by the sudden awareness that in all the time he had been with Harry, the boy had rarely been petty, and never been cruel. He had provoked Tom and punished him for the provocation near the beginning, which Tom supposed could be considered cruelty, except for Tom recognising that he himself played a part in that – if he had not been so easy to provoke, he was certain Harry wouldn't have pushed it too far. Besides, the last time it had happened, the provocation had been half-hearted and Tom had kept his cool, and that had been weeks ago as it was.

And as for the times Harry had properly punished him…Tom couldn't honestly look back at them and saw it was without reason. Sure, he chafed under the rule of the collar, but the rule of his master…it wasn't so bad, he supposed. He still longed to be free, of course, but he supposed that if he had to have a master, it could have been a lot worse.

Feeling lighter now he'd actually admitted something which had been in the back of his mind for a while, Tom felt a bit more able to pay attention to his surroundings. The notice-me-not charm should mean that unless he did something blatant, other patrons in the shop wouldn't pay him any attention, voiding the risk of having his behaviour reported. A quick glance at his master and his friends showed they were deep in conversation, so he figured it was safe enough.

He cast his eyes around the room, watching the patrons of all ages chat and laugh over their monstrosities of ice-creams, but couldn't help a sense of unease. What was causing his instincts to raise their hackles? Looking around again, he didn't see anything out of the ordinary.

Then, looking around once more, this time observing closely everyone his eyes alighted upon, he realised with a frisson of shock, what it was that had caught his unconscious attention. There was a man sitting on the other side of the room, alone and with an empty ice-cream cup in front of him. That wasn't what had caught Tom's attention; instead, it was the fact that the man was staring right at him. And not just staring, but glaring. If looks could kill, Tom would have been dead several times over. How could the man see past the charm? He could feel it was still there.

Except, the charm didn't work on those who were determined or paying particular attention – it only worked on those whose attention could be easily diverted. Which…didn't mean anything good. Tom stiffened as the man drew out his wand and saw his lips start moving, the tip of the wand following through in a particular pattern. He was not a lip reader, and the pattern was being slightly obscured by the people in between, but what he could interpret was that whatever was going to come at them was one of several powerful curses. And suddenly, Tom realised, with a chill of horror that felt like a bucket of ice-cold water had been dumped over his head, that the man wasn't actually aiming at Tom, but at Tom's master!

It felt like time had frozen, no, had simply slowed down to glacial speed. The man was aiming a powerful curse at Tom's master, who had no idea that anything was happening. He would be completely unprepared. With a flash of images moving in front of Tom's eyes, he could see what might easily happen – the curse would propel itself into Harry's vulnerable side, digging through soft tissue and organs to his heart, possibly killing him instantly. But even if he didn't die immediately, he might bleed out before help could arrive, depending on how good his two friends were at healing spells. Tom himself would be useless – unable to use magic without the permission which wouldn't be able to be given. Even in the best case scenario, Harry would be severely injured.

It wouldn't be possible to move Harry out of the way – already a spell was emerging from the man's wand, a deep brown colour that Tom recognised as a powerful blasting curse. He had no time to do more than grab his master's attention, make him able to face his coming doom instead of it catching him completely unaware. And then Tom realised there was something he could do. Propelling himself to his feet, time sped up once more.

"Master!" he called urgently, Harry's eyes whipping towards him, his wand already in his hand. Tom saw the moment he recognised the danger as his eyes widened and his wand started flicking quickly in the familiar motions of a protego spell. Too slow. The spell had barely begun forming when the curse hit.

Pain. Tearing, burning, breaking pain. Tom screamed as his back took the brunt of the curse, blasting apart his flesh and ripping at his bones. The partially-formed shield charm must have done something, though, or the caster had been particularly weak, as it hadn't gone all the way through Tom. He felt suspended in the air for a moment, the force of the blast taking him off his feet, and then he crashed into his master.

Later, he would rationalise that he had been simply being logical. If his master died, Tom would die too – it made sense to protect his master. He would also say that since he would be the most useless person in a crisis, thanks to the restrictions on his magic and his status as a slave, it made sense that he was the one to be injured. That wasn't, however, what he thought in the moment….

The last thing he actually thought was that this felt strangely…right. After all the curses he had cast at his master, to now be taking a curse for him felt like maybe this was a way of making up for it.

XXX

Harry didn't know what had just happened. One moment he was having a good conversation with his friends, the next Tom had leapt up and called for him in a tone filled with urgency. Of course, he had responded to the tone with his instincts fully engaged, his wand sliding into his hand with a small flick of his wrist, his eyes immediately scanning for the threat…and then he saw it. A brown bolt of magic speeding towards him – no, towards his slave who had stood up in its path. A protego at his wand-tip in a moment, it was still not fast enough to prevent the spell from hitting, though he hoped it had helped to deflect at least some of the force.

The next moment, he was falling backwards as Tom slammed into him, his body a dead weight. Panicked at the thought, and the man's closed eyes, he felt desperately for a pulse. One moment…then another as he frantically felt for a heartbeat. There!

Harry breathed out a sigh of relief as he felt the pulse beat. It was weak, which wasn't a good sign, but at least he was still alive. Shifting and wriggling until he could get out from under Tom, he was soon able to see the full damage of the spell, and his heart dropped into his stomach. Clearly, it had been some sort of explosive curse – nothing else would have burnt at the same time as torn apart. Tom's back had essentially been flayed. If Harry hadn't seen some worse injuries during the war, he would have vomited at the sight.

The whole of Tom's spinal column from his lower-back to just below his shoulders was visible and bloody. Several of his ribs had been clearly detached from it – it was a miracle that his actual column had stayed intact, though Harry suspected several vertebrae were not in the right position and hoped this didn't mean that his spinal cord had been severed. Magical healing could do a lot, but spinal injuries were tricky even for the best of healers. The rest of Tom's flesh between his buttocks, which were still covered by his slacks, and the tops of his shoulders was either bloody or burnt black and red. The logical part of Harry's brain which could keep its calm in even this kind of crisis noted that at least, with more of his flesh being burnt than open, it was reducing his blood-loss.

Springing into action, Harry started casting spells which had been literal life-savers during the war. First, one that would hold the spine in place, no matter what happened to the rest of the body. Next, a special summoning spell which would gently remove any foreign matter from the wounds. After that, a spell for burns which created a thick, moisturising liquid barrier which Harry directed to cover all the open wounds and other burnt areas. Finally, he cast a spell which caused a bandage to wrap around practically the whole of Tom's torso.

Wiping away the sweat, Harry panted. Those spell were not easy, especially for someone like him who was not a healer by any extent of the imagination, but they had been so useful for quick and effective first aid that he had put the effort into learning them. Checking Tom's pulse again, Harry was relieved to find it was still present. The man needed urgent medical care, not just the stop-gap measures Harry had taken, but he was at least somewhat stabilised.

Suddenly realising he had completely lost all awareness of the situation around him, Harry abruptly paid attention to more than his heavily damaged slave. Fortunately, he had been with Neville. His friend had clearly jumped from his seat to have a short-lived duel with the caster, if the evidence of stray spell-fire was anything to go by. Said caster was currently wrapped in ropes with Neville standing over him, his wand pointed at the man's head.

Otherwise, there was more of a stunned silence than anything else, broken only by the wailing of a small child. Everyone had vacated the central area, sheltering behind the booths and under tables. They were only now starting to emerge from their hiding places, Fortescue himself standing up slowly from behind his counter.

There was a flash of floo fire and Harry was relieved to see the red robes of Aurors come through the fireplace. Spotting Luna standing by it, he felt exceedingly grateful that she had kept her priorities straight, since she had clearly flooed through for assistance.

"Now then, what's happened here?" one of the Aurors rapped out, as the other three with her spread out to secure the area.

"This man shot a curse at us," replied Neville calmly, only the tense grip he had on his wand betraying his anger.

"At me," Harry added, more steadily than he felt.

"Mr Potter?" the same auror asked, surprise in her voice. "What were you doing here?" She walked closer to him, pulling out a notepad and a pen. In the periphery of his vision, he saw one of the Aurors walking towards Neville, and another one starting to talk to the people carefully peeping out of their hiding places. What had happened to the fourth, he wasn't sure, but if his recent studies were anything to judge by, he or she was probably securing the perimeter and checking for any further threats.

"Having an ice-cream with my friends," Harry replied, suddenly feeling a surge of anger. He did his best to keep it out of his voice and off his face – it wasn't the Auror's fault that a maniac had attacked them. "I was talking to Neville and Luna," he nodded at the two, "when Tom – my slave – suddenly stood up, calling for me in an urgent way." He then continued to relate what had happened, keeping it as factual and succinct as possible. The Auror took down notes as he spoke. When Harry told her about Tom shielding him, her face showed her surprise. Harry didn't blame her – he was still in shock that it had happened, too. More so, perhaps, given that he knew the actual identity of the slave in question.

She asked him a few follow-up questions, but when they started revising what he had already told her, Harry held up a hand.

"Please, I'm happy to answer any more questions you have, but later. I need to get Tom to St Mungo's for treatment before the spells wear off or he wakes up." She hesitated for a moment, then looked at the copious amount of bandages, and the blood liberally sprayed on Harry, Tom and everything around them. She nodded.

"Very well, Mr Potter. Please come to the Ministry Auror office as soon as possible."

"Thank you!" he said gratefully. Casting another spell to ready Tom for transportation, he became aware of Neville coming up to him.

"You're going to get him medical care?" asked Neville, a strange note in his voice.

"Yeah, going to take him to St Mungo's. Hopefully they'll be able to fix him up good as new, as long as there wasn't any damage to his spinal cord," Harry said, concentrating on his spell.

"Good!" Neville replied, sounding suddenly relieved. Harry frowned, turning to him. Why...? Then it hit him.

"Did you really think I wouldn't give him medical attention?" he asked incredulously. "After he saved my life?" Neville looked away sheepishly.

"Many masters wouldn't," he muttered. "Not many would take him to the hospital, even if he had saved their lives – they would consider it the slave's duty." Harry just shook his head in disbelief.

"Maybe they would; I wouldn't. I need to get going. Thanks for your help."

"No problem," Neville told him. "I know you'd do the same. Now, go." Harry nodded, waving briefly at Luna before quickly moving outside the wards and apparating.

Arriving in St Mungo's apparition area, he quickly strode towards the desk. Fortunately, there wasn't a queue: Harry didn't know what he would have done if there had been one. Clearing his throat, he got the attention of the receptionist. The man turned towards him, a bored look on his face before he saw Harry's characteristic green eyes and the scar on his forehead. Suddenly, he was all attention.

"Mr Potter?" he breathed. "Uh, what can I do for you, Mr Potter?"

"I've got a heavily injured man with me. An explosive curse to the back. I've given him some basic first aid, but he urgently needs care," Harry rapped out, no time to be polite. The man's eyes widened and he immediately pressed a button on the desk.

"Someone will be right with you, Mr Potter. Please just stand to one side."

"Thank you," he replied curtly, feeling impatient at the wait. Fortunately he wasn't waiting for long – a woman in healing robes came striding up.

"You signalled an emergency?" she asked the receptionist shortly. The man nodded and quickly told her what Harry had told him. The woman turned towards Harry, then her face twisted into a moue of disgust as looked at Tom. Harry thought it was rather unprofessional of her to show her emotions at whatever had happened when standing in front of the patient; besides, it wasn't as if you could even see the damage. Then she spoke, and he realised the disgust wasn't at Tom's injuries.

"We don't treat slaves here," were her words. "You'll need to get a call-in healer to visit you at home." No. There was no way Harry was going to do that. First of all, call-in healers could be a bit hit and miss – some of them had the profession because they actually wanted to do house calls, but the rest were such because they had failed to qualify for any other healing institution. Second, they were notoriously difficult to get an appointment with, unless you were a regular patient. Third, they wouldn't do any sort of round-the-clock care, which Harry suspected Tom would need for the first twenty-four hours at least. He allowed his anger to show on his face as he took a step towards the healer.

"Are you telling me," he started, quietly but intensely, "that after this man saved my life by jumping in front of a curse for me, you're going to turn him away because of a bloody collar around his neck?" The woman's face went pale with shock.

"He…he saved your life?"

"Yes he bloody well did! Go ask the current population of Florean Fortescue's in Diagon Alley if you don't believe me!" he half-shouted, drawing stares from the people sitting in the waiting area. The woman swallowed.

"I just…I just thought…" she trailed off. Harry clenched his fist around his wand until the knuckles went white as he understood what she had thought.

"I'm not in the habit of beating my slaves so badly they need a hospital!" he ground out. "Now, are you going to treat him, or am I going to have to complain to the Daily Prophet about the treatment at St Mungo's?" She swallowed again, going even whiter at the thought of what would happen if Harry Potter complained about his treatment. Finally, she took a breath, closed her eyes, and then opened them, steely resolve showing.

"Very well, Mr Potter. Given the extenuating circumstances, I will take personal care of your…your slave. You will, however, have to pay for his treatment – there is no subsidy for property, I'm afraid."

Irritated at her description of Tom as 'property', though he really shouldn't have been since that was exactly what Tom was by all the laws of the land, he nodded impatiently.

"That's fine," he replied. "Just make sure he's OK." She eyed him for a moment, but then nodded.

"I will certainly do my best, Mr Potter, though I cannot make any promises until I know how serious his injuries are. Come back in five hours to find out how he's getting on." With that, she took over the levitating charm and strode off. Harry was left feeling like something had been taken from him; something he had never realised he'd had until it was gone.

Shaking himself, he turned on his heel, ignoring the eyes that followed him until he passed out of sight. He might as well go to the Ministry, then. Get that over and done with. He'd be back – Tom was in good hands now, he reassured himself.