Warnings: mild psychological torture
Voldemort's steps echoed in the vast, damp chamber underneath the Hogwarts Castle. Snake-like eyes immediately settled on the figure that lay, still bound, beneath a gigantic statue of Salazar Slytherin. The boy had ceased to struggle; he simply stared at the billowing black robes of the most feared wizard in all of Britain as he approached. Voldemort's lips curled in a dangerous smirk.
"Harry Potter," he drawled, "How very glad I am to have you. I certainly hope you enjoy your time with me. I shall make sure it is… remarkable for you."
Harry grunted through his gag in reply. Voldemort watched him struggle with amusement, then spoke.
"Shall I give you a tour of my humble abode?"
Not waiting for an answer, Voldemort levitated Harry towards a large door behind Slytherin's statue. The man touched the door, muttering something in Parseltongue that Harry could not quite hear, and the doors magically swung open. As the two passed the threshold, Voldemort flourished his wand and blue-green flamed spewed from a large fireplace. Harry craned his neck as far as he could in both directions, attempting to absorb as much of the room as he could – perhaps he would find something useful that might help him escape.
The room was large, though rather bare. Two armchairs stood on a rug by the fire, the blue-green light reflecting off the green silk of the seating. Across from the fireplace a small wooden table with matching chairs, intricately carved with coiling vipers, sat under a majestic tapestry of the Greek monster Echidna. Small steps led up to a large four-poster bed, its curtains open to reveal Nagini coiled upon the pillows. To its side Harry spotted a wardrobe and an ornate wooden trunk. Aside from the fire, the only other source of light was a small chandelier that hung at the center of the room. This combination made the room both dark and cold, which was not surprising, considering its main occupant.
"Is this not a fine place to call one's private chambers, underneath the home of the monster that belonged to Salazar himself? Of course, had you not done away with her, she would have made quite the attraction."
Voldemort twirled his wand and Harry fell onto the stone floor for the second time that morning. If he was in pain, the boy made no outward sign of it. Voldemort continued.
"I'm sure we'll find somewhere for you in here. If you're good, perhaps I'll let you sleep at my feet."
Harry made a muffled sound of disgust. As if he had just realized his prisoner was still gagged, Voldemort turned to Harry and taunted, "Would you like me to remove the gag, boy? Would that make it easier for you to speak?"
Unable to spit out any clever retorts, and too proud to nod and ask for his gag to be removed, the young man glared at Voldemort, conveying all the hatred and spite he felt onto one look. The dark wizard chuckled.
"Tsk, tsk, Potter. Being rude will get you nowhere." He bent down menacingly and forcefully yanked out the gag.
Staring defiantly at his captor, Harry spoke in a calm and confident voice, "I don't see why you plan on keeping me, Tom. I fear neither pain nor death."
This comment only served to widen the wizard's dark smile. "I'm aware. Your performance in the Forbidden Forest was remarkable, and you proved yourself worthy, if foolish."
"Then just kill me already," Harry challenged, sounding almost annoyed.
"I will not indulge in your heroic delusions, boy. I've got better ways to extract revenge," a dangerous look settled over the already dangerous man, "I'm going to torture you with pleasure."
Harry's eyes shot open, and a look of confusion passed over his eyes.
"I can sense your puzzlement, but you will come to understand in time." The older man's face approached his prisoner's. "I'm going to do things to you, Potter, and I'm going to make you like them. You will relish being in my presence; you will worship me and that which I give you. Mark my words."
The younger boy's face grew red in both anger and embarrassment.
"You're crazy."
"Sticks and stones, Harry Potter," Voldemort purred as he ran a long-fingered hand down the bound body below him. Harry shuddered, and Voldemort smirked.
"What's the matter boy? Have you never been touched by another man?"
Harry mumbled through gritted teeth, "No."
"Have you ever wanted another man to touch you, boy?"
Again, Harry strained against his bonds. "Not… Interested… Ginny…"
"Ahh, the Weasley girl. Do you love her?"
There was a short pause in which Harry deliberated divulging this information, but he soon settled on the truth. "Yes."
"Weak."
Harry opened his mouth, ready to shout and unleash his fury and outrage, but Voldemort bent over his ear and cut him off before he could start. "She's probably in bed with the young Malfoy right now. How many times do you think he has spilled his seed inside of her? Three times? Four? He is young; I doubt she'll have much rest tonight. I'm told she's quite a beauty naked, just like your mother."
"SHUT UP!"
Voldemort chuckled. "Why, Potter, you think your mother escaped this sort of treatment? Just because she was dead doesn't mean–"
"STOP IT!"
"Hum… Shall we talk about you instead, then, Potter?" Voldemort flicked his wand and the boy's clothes disappeared beneath his bindings. "I'm sure you have lots to tell me about yourself." The dark wizard used his wand to lift up the lock of hair that obscured Harry's scar. Harry shuddered again.
Then suddenly Voldemort was in Harry's mind, shuffling through memories, reliving the boy's most horrendous moments, and searching for his darkest secrets.
Harry saw himself entering the Forbidden Forest with the apparitions of his parents; he felt again the terror of seeing George's face covered in blood. Harry saw Ron stab a swirling image of himself and Hermione making out, and subsequently felt himself kissing Cho, then Ginny. He relived the exhilaration and arousal he felt the first time Ginny placed his hands on her breasts, and the first time she let him take off her shirt. While Voldemort watched, Harry experienced again the many beatings he had received from Uncle Vernon, and the time he had blown up Aunt Marge.
In his mind, Harry saw Voldemort coming out of the cauldron in the graveyard. He experienced again the visions of himself attacking Mr. Weasley, and felt the scream catch in his throat as he witnessed Wormtail strangle himself. He watched as the Dementors attacked Dudley. He relived saving Sirius from certain death during his third year. He saw Sirius die, over and over again. He watched everyone he had ever cared about dying in front of his eyes.
Voldemort emerged from Harry's mind a full hour later, full of powerful information. Harry, in turn, lay panting on the ground, his naked body covered in sweat.
"Tsk, Potter, had I known the death of the boy Diggory would have affected you so much, I would have made it much more memorable for you... However, I must say, I made a rather good move when I did off Sirius Black. I'm sure you know his cousin was more than happy to seal the deal for me."
Harry trembled, unable to speak.
"Dumbledore too, I had no idea you had been there to witness that. I suppose you also were frustrated with Draco's sheer inability to complete a simple task, but I suppose we all knew he was incompetent from the start. But why, I wonder," he mused, as he ran his fingers through the boy's hair, "Were you so distraught by the death of a house elf, the most insignificant of creatures?"
Harry twitched.
"All these people died for you, Harry. Even your stupid owl."
"Please," Harry whimpered.
"You killed your best friend's brother. How does that feel, Potter, to know that it's your fault these people are dead?"
"I… I didn't mean…"
"And to know that so many more will die as long as you continue to struggle?"
"No, no, I won't –" he mumbled.
"How will you stop me from killing all your little friends, Potter? Can you stop me?"
"Please, please," tears rolled down his cheeks, "I'll do anything."
"That's the spirit, boy. Now, roll over. I want to look at you."
The hoarseness in Voldemort's voice made his intentions clear.
Harry sobbed, "No, please, anything but –"
"Every time you say no to me, a death order flies onto the hands of my executioner," Voldemort murmured as he caressed Harry's body, the ropes dissolving under his hand. The young wizard, still sobbing, held himself motionless, neither accepting the touch, nor recoiling from it. Voldemort's words were going through his head, and Harry's brain was in turmoil: he couldn't let anyone else get hurt because of him, but what Voldemort was asking him to do to was too much. He was desperate.
"Is there anything else I could do? Anything?" he pleaded, "Use me for target practice, beat me, I don't care, but please, please, don't do this."
"Do not," the older man's voice suddenly dropped, "Make me angry, boy. You may not care about your own pain and death, but I know for a fact you care about your friends'. I don't give a damn if they live or not."
As the ropes dissolved Harry's body relaxed for the first time in hours, and he groaned as his muscles were allowed to move. This also inadvertently gave Voldemort much more access, and he continued running his hands up and down Harry's chest.
"Does this feel good, Potter?"
In response, the boy tightly shut his eyes and shook his head violently, earning him a chuckle from Voldemort.
"It will in time, boy."
In the depths of the Chamber of Secrets, Harry Potter whimpered again.
"Come on, boy, turn yourself over."
Harry slowly, deliberately, shifted so as to give Voldemort a full view of his backside. He shuddered at the noise of approval that came from the older man's throat.
"Yes, Potter, you will do just fine."