Author's Note: I realize it's been a year since the last update. I promise I won't do this again: the next chapter is written, so it'll be out this weekend. Let me know who you want to see after!

Warning: brief depictions of graphic violence, psychological abuse

In a dimly lit bedchamber far below Hogwarts Castle, Harry Potter was having a nightmare. He was a snake again, only this time he was attacking Ron and Hermione instead of Mr. Weasley. He watched helplessly as he lunged and tore at their flesh, blood spattering everywhere. They were pleading with him to stop, calling him by his name. "Harry! Harry!" they yelled, "Make it stop!" and Harry yelled back that he couldn't stop, couldn't make the snake stop, and that he was sorry. He was so sorry.

With a gasp for air, Harry awoke from his torment only to remember that reality offered little reprieve. Please keep my friends safe, he begged the universe, feeling hopeless and alone. Harry had not had a nightmare-free sleep since coming to Voldemort's chambers eight days past and he doubted he ever would again. Whether this was due to some cruel enchantment placed by the evil wizard or just a side effect of being near Voldemort so frequently, Harry did not know. He only knew that he was more exhausted than he had ever been.

Harry disentangled himself from the bedsheets, grabbed his glasses from the bedside table, and stepped with bare feet onto the cold stone. He had not been allowed clothes since his arrival, and had grown quite accustomed to it. Voldemort had insisted that Harry sleep in the Dark Lord's bed, and Harry had no ability to protest. Not that Voldemort ever slept – he was far too inhuman for that – but he seemed to enjoy reading in bed while Harry was sleeping. Sometimes he would reach out and touch the boy just as he was falling asleep, jolting him awake and sending shivers down his spine.

Harry walked over to the table where a breakfast had been laid out for him. Voldemort was nowhere in sight, but this was not unusual – he was often gone for long stretches of time, sometimes overnight. He never told Harry anything about his plans, so the boy was often the last person to know when his captor was leaving or arriving.

Harry made himself sit down and eat, but only got one bite of toast down before his stomach started tying itself in knots and he began feeling ill. No longer able to look at the food, Harry stood up quickly and sat down in front of the fireplace to calm his queasiness.

Eating had been difficult since his arrival at the Chamber of Secrets – he could hardly place food in his mouth without gagging, and when he forced himself to swallow, his stomach soon began protesting: he had vomited twice in the first three days. This displeased the Dark Lord greatly. When it became apparent that threats of punishment would not serve, Voldemort promised to flog Ron if Harry continued not eating. To emphasize the point, Voldemort put into Harry's mind detailed images of Ron tied to the columns of the Great Hall, being whipped by a merciless Severus Snape until his back was unrecognizable with blood, tattered skin, shards of bone, and glistening muscle. In the vision, Ron screamed at Harry, "Why? Why did you do this to me, Harry? I trusted you!" The whip would crack and Ron would scream in raw anguish and pain. It was the screams that haunted Harry most of all.

Harry closed his eyes tightly to will the memory away, but it seemed seared to the inside of his eyelids. It didn't happen, he told himself, It's not real. As long as I eat, it will never happen. I can keep Ron safe.

This is true, a different voice entered his mind. Harry was startled, but not entirely surprised. Voldemort's visits into his mind had become a daily occurrence.

How long have you been watching my thoughts?

That is my business, the voice echoed in his ears, though I did catch a glimpse of your snake fantasy. It seems we share something.

Harry physically recoiled, despite the fact that he was alone in the room. Unable to quiet his mind, Harry broadcast his feelings freely to Voldemort. It was not a fantasy; it was a nightmare. I don't want to hurt my friends. I hate the nightmares. I want them to stop.

The Dark Lord mused, Perhaps, if you behave well and eat your breakfast, I will allow you some dreamless sleeping potion.

Harry's inability to perform Occlumency again betrayed him. But I don't want to eat breakfast. And I don't want to behave. I don't want to give you the satisfaction of being a well-behaved captive. I want to hurt you somehow. But I don't want to put my friends in jeopardy. I wish I had a plan.

Voldemort laughed, the raspy sound echoing in Harry's ears. Potter, you are very amusing. I will remind you, however, that any more of you plans will result in consequences for your friends.

Harry had lost count of how many times he had planned to ambush Voldemort and escape the dreadful bedroom. Every time he had a new idea, however, Voldemort would soon find out and Harry would hear the Dark Lord's voice inside his head letting him know how foolish it would be to try and escape. On a few occasions, Voldemort had let Harry get most of the way through a scheme, only to catch him at the last minute and reveal in dramatic fashion that he had known all along. After a week, the boy had given up trying, not due to lack of will, but because Voldemort had become annoyed and threatened to maim Ron and Ginny if Harry attempted any more escape plans. Until he mastered Occlumency, there was nothing he could do.

Harry stood up in anger and frustration, holding his head between his hands, and willing Voldemort out of his mind. He hated that the man could read his thoughts and feelings. He hated that his mind was an open book. He hated that Voldemort knew all the stupid escape ideas he had come up with.

Potter, a chuckle ran through Harry's mind, are you by chance embarrassed?

Harry sat back down in defeat and thought, Yes. I am. There was no point in lying when Voldemort could read his thoughts. He sighed and let his head fall back against the armchair. After a moment he realized that Voldemort had not responded, which likely meant the man had found better things to do than pry into Harry's thoughts. The boy focused his attention back to eating his breakfast.

Fueled by anger and fear, Harry was able to shove a slice of toast into his mouth. He gagged when he swallowed it, but managed to keep it down long enough to take a swig of pumpkin juice from his goblet. The entire process was incredibly taxing and he the effort required left him feeling drained. Harry decided to go back to bed.

A pile of books Voldemort had picked for him lay stacked on his bedside table. The books were infantile – stories one might read to an eight-year-old – and most certainly chosen to patronize the boy, but Harry didn't mind. In fact, he appreciated the easy read and simple plotlines. Reading about the adventures of Andros the Invincible took him away from his grim reality for a little while. Harry hated that he felt thankful for the books, and he loathed the fact that Voldemort knew it. Grabbing a book, Harry got under the covers and picked up from where he had last left off.

.

Harry once again found himself in a nightmare. This time, he was cradling Ginny's dead body, the words 'Harry Potter' carved deeply across her stomach. Her lifeless eyes stared off into the distance as blood poured out of her and onto his lap. His hands were red with her blood. He was so sorry, so sorry, so sorry.

A hand touched his shoulder and catapulted Harry back to wakefulness. His book and glasses had fallen onto his lap. He must have dozed off while reading.

Looking up, he scanned the face before him. Cold eyes and skin as pale as moonlight came into view. Voldemort had returned to his snake pit. His pet, Nagini, coiled herself in the corner.

"Harry Potter," he began with his slow, dangerous voice, "Quite the dream you were having just now. Care to tell me about it?"

Harry knew that asking was just a formality – if he wanted, Voldemort could very easily look into his thoughts and examine his feelings. Perhaps he already had. Harry could not be sure of what was private in his mind anymore.

"Not particularly," he replied honestly. "You can look in my mind if you really want to know."

The grip on his shoulder tightened and nails dug into his skin.

"Are you not forgetting something, boy?" Voldemort spoke darkly.

Harry thought for a moment, running through his mind until he remembered what he was supposed to say. He sighed in resignation.

"Master," Harry spoke with contempt, "You can look in my mind if you want, Master." Harry disliked the term very much, but knew better than to anger the Dark Lord. The man chuckled.

"I know you dislike the formality of it all," Voldemort purred as he slid his hand over Harry's chest, "but we really must keep our manners, Potter. I cannot bear to have you being rude and disrespectful."

Harry stayed still as the man stroked the outlines of his muscles and began lightly pinching his nipples. Voldemort kept saying this would feel good soon, but Harry felt quite the opposite. The touch repulsed him, and he could not conceive of a time when it would not.

"I am sorry that my caresses repulse you, Potter." Voldemort had been listening to Harry's thoughts again. "And I realize the prospect of you relishing this is not conceivable at this point, but give it time. You will soon come to find this... enjoyable," he hissed.

Harry grimaced. He most certainly did not find it enjoyable. At least the older wizard had not attempted anything beyond simple caresses and lustful gazes. Harry hated the looks Voldemort gave him, and he especially hated that the man did not ever try to hide them.

"In fact," Voldemort spoke, almost cheerfully. His prisoner shuddered in fear of what Voldemort may have in store. "I have brought you a gift that may help with this transition." With a nasty grin, the man conjured a small box from his robes and extended it to Harry.

The boy took it gingerly, not knowing what to expect. Will something jump out at me? Is it poisonous? Is it alive?

Voldemort replied, "It is simply a gift from a master to his slave."

Given little choice, Harry pulled open the box to reveal an assortment of oddly shaped objects within. They were relatively small, none larger than the palm of his hand, all in varying shades of silver and emerald. Harry was immediately drawn to one that looked like a snake, coiled into a circle with two gems for its eyes. He reached in to touch it before remembering that this was a gift from Voldemort. His hand snapped back before he could make contact with the silver serpent.

"Ah, your snake fantasy manifests itself again, Potter," Voldemort mused. Harry scowled.

"What even is this… junk?" he spat.

Voldemort made a noise of annoyance.

"Master," Harry quickly responded, "what is all this junk," he emphasized the wording, "that you've given me?"

The older wizard laughed at Harry's insolence, which the boy found unsettling. He was expecting at the very least a reprimand. Voldemort grinned dangerously.

"This junk, as you like to call it, is a gift. They are toys, Potter. I have purchased them for you. Even a slave is allowed to have a few belongings."

Harry looked at Voldemort with the corner of his eye. He was incredibly suspicious, especially because he was about to turn eighteen and no longer played with toys. Not that he had done much of that as a child either, but the point still stood.

…unless…

Realization hit him and Harry recognized what kind of "toys" Voldemort was talking about. His eyes bulged and his eyebrows shot up. Instinctively, he shoved the box back into Voldemort's hands and refused to make eye contact as he frantically tried to will away the mental image of whatever sex toys may be in the box.

Beside him, Voldemort was making an odd sound. Harry looked up to see the wizard laughing.

"Harry Potter, if I had known you were going to put on such a show, I would have drawn this out more for you."

Harry blushed.

"Have you used any sex toys before?"

"No, Master," Harry muttered, redness lingering on his cheeks.

"Well then, there is a first time for everything," Voldemort grinned dangerously. Harry thought it looked more like an animal baring his fangs than a smile, and served to make Harry more uneasy.

"Potter, would you join me in a bath?"

Harry was suddenly taken aback by the suggestion. A bath? Why does he want me to join him in a bath?

Yes, a bath, Voldemort answered inside Harry's mind, though he was looking directly into the boy's eyes. Harry shuddered at the sensation.

Voldemort snapped his fingers and a house elf appeared.

The older wizard continued leering at Harry while he purred his orders. "Prepare a bath for my slave and I. We will need plenty of hot water."

The elf nodded curtly and soon returned with several attendants in tow. In less than a minute, Voldemort's usual gargantuan emerald bathtub had been set out in front of the fireplace. Whereas Harry would normally have been given a small washbasin of cold water, today he had been invited to bathe in Voldemort's tub. He would have preferred the cold water.

"Come, Harry Potter. Join me."

As he walked toward the massive tub, Voldemort let his robes slowly vanish. This was not the first time Harry had seen Voldemort naked; the man was punctilious in every aspect of his life, and this included hygiene so impeccable that Harry had seen him bathe three times in one day. Nevertheless, it was an odd sight for the Dark Lord, the most evil being Harry had ever encountered, to have such a human shape. Somehow, it made him even more terrifying.

Harry watched frozen as Lord Voldemort climbed into the hot water and slowly allowed himself to sink down. He saw the muscles in the older man's back relax. For a moment, it seemed as if he had forgotten about the boy.

"Potter, I will not ask again. You are fully aware of the consequences for disobedience."

Harry couldn't remember which of his friends Voldemort was threatening to hurt this time, but it didn't matter. He knew he had no choice, yet he could not will his body to move. His desire to protect his friends was fighting the part of his brain that knew exactly what he was walking into.

Harry knew. He knew what was going to happen once he climbed into that tub. He knew what Voldemort wanted and he knew what he had just said and he knew what that gaze meant and he knew that they were both going to be naked in the bathtub.

Someone is being a little overdramatic, a voice rang in his head. Harry looked up to see Voldemort staring impatiently at him.

"If it makes you more comfortable, Potter," the man spoke lazily, "I will promise not to touch you in any way while you are in here with me."

Harry gave Voldemort a skeptical look. "I don't trust you."

Voldemort cleared his throat in warning.

"I don't trust you, Master," Harry corrected himself, but maintained the look of skepticism.

"If you want, I will make the unbreakable vow to ease your mind."

Voldemort's grin was so wide and he seemed so giddy by the prospect that Harry refused the offer outright, but he relented. As he climbed into the tub, he reminded his captor, "You promised not to touch me, Master."

Voldemort smirked, "Gladly."

The pair soaked in silence; Voldemort relaxed against the wall of the tub with his eyes shut and a devilish smile on his lips while Harry hugged his knees and eyed the man intently, ready for whatever he might do. Harry did not trust him to keep his promise.

Nonchalantly, Voldemort opened his eyes and looked at his prisoner. Harry glared back.

"Harry Potter," he spoke lazily, "you say you have never used a sex toy before. This is intriguing to me. Tell me, boy: are you a virgin?"

Harry felt his face grow hot. He looked down at the water and mumbled, "You know the answer to that question, Master."

"Do I? Remind me."

"Can't you just read my mind?" he asked, embarrassed.

The man responded, matter-of-factly, "I would like to hear your answer."

With a huff of annoyance, Harry answered, "Yes, Master, I am. Happy now?"

"Very. How interesting: Harry Potter, hero of the war, could not manage to get laid..." he trailed off with a smile as Harry sulked. "What about other kinds of sexual activity? The Weasley girl?"

Harry felt himself blush again. "Uhm… we did some stuff…Master..." he offered, vaguely. His mind wandered back to quick trysts in broom closets and lazy afternoons on the Hogwarts grounds. Ginny had much more experience than him, which at first made Harry uncomfortable. Soon, however, he learned to appreciate her knowledge. And, Merlin, did she have knowledge.

Harry began remembering one afternoon in particular. They had snuck away to the Quidditch pitch and climbed to the top of the Gryffindor stands. Ginny knew that if you sat down behind the last row of seats it was impossible to be seen, and you would be able to hear anyone coming up the stairs. She had teased Harry the entire way up, and by the time they had arrived at the top, he was ready to ravage her mouth. Ginny had other plans, however. "Sit back," she winked at him, "there's something I've been wanting to try."

Harry sat against the wooden frame and let his girlfriend do as she would. She nibbled at his ear before planting kisses on his neck and down his chest. She lifted up his shirt to kiss his stomach as she slowly unzipped his pants. With a devilish smirk, she pulled out Harry's member and licked the tip. Harry felt like he was going to explode.

In the bath, Harry's eyes suddenly shot wide open. He had been daydreaming, but something had brought him out of it. He had felt it. When Ginny in his memory had licked him, he had felt it.

What in Merlin's name is going on?!

"Don't look at me, Potter," Voldemort chuckled. "I made a promise, remember?"

Startled, Harry tried to think of something else to distract himself, but the memory of Ginny would not go away. Every time she did something with her tongue in his memory, somehow he felt it again.

Another small lick and a quiet grunt left Harry's lips. To his horror, he realized his member was beginning to harden. He stared at Voldemort in humiliation and disbelief. The man seemed to be enjoying himself. Panicking, Harry tried to think of something else. Anything else. Ron's naked arse. Dumbledore in a tutu. Aunt Marge. Severus Snape. But he could not. The memory and the sensations that accompanied it were determined to play themselves through, and there was nothing he could do. He whimpered in defeat as he became fully erect.

Realization hit him like a wall of bricks. "You!" he snarled at Voldemort. The older wizard made no attempt to feign innocence.

"The mind often causes us to feel sensations that aren't there. I'm just exploiting the existing circuitry. I trust you are enjoying it."

Harry was livid, but he also was incredibly aroused. And the memory would not go away, however hard he tried. He could feel a phantom mouth nibbling at the base of his member, yet when he looked down, there was nothing but water.

"Gods, Ginny," Harry murmured as he felt her lick up and down his shaft. Subconsciously, Harry's hips began making small thrusting motions. When in his memory she began using her hand, he felt a pressure on his member sliding up and down, and he threw his head back.

"Harry Potter, so unabashed. She is good, is she not?" Voldemort was lounging against the wall of the bathtub, enjoying the show.

"Go. To. Hell," Harry grunted, immediately followed by a moan as he felt a hot mouth encircle the tip and gently suck. Fed up with the humiliation, he began to get out of the tub.

"Ah, we cannot have this," Voldemort spoke with annoyance. Before Harry could get out of the water, his arms were thrown back and his wrists were shackled to the walls of the bathtub. His legs were pulled down and bound apart so they were spread open. "Let the girl finish," the older wizard smirked.

Harry didn't know what to do. Sitting in the bathtub, he was unable to get up or move his limbs. He was mortified at the noises and motions he was making in front of Voldemort, but it felt so good that he couldn't help it. In his mind's eye he saw Ginny bobbing her head up and down his shaft. He felt the smooth, hot wetness of her tongue and the pressure of her lips. Harry grunted, trying to keep his body under control. He vaguely remembered not lasting very long, but he was not going to have an orgasm in front of Voldemort, no matter how aroused the memory of Ginny was making him feel.

Deep breaths, Harry told himself. He could feel the orgasm building, and if Ginny didn't stop soon he knew he was going to go over. He tried to relax his muscles, but every time Ginny twirled her tongue over the tip, they would all tighten again. Don't come in front of him. Don't give him the satisfaction. It was taking every ounce of Harry's strength and fortitude to hold his orgasm at bay. He felt sweat on his brow, and he closed his eyes for concentration. Breathe. Relax. Breathe. Relax. It has to be over soon.

But it wasn't over. Harry knew the memory should have ended, but somehow it just kept going and going and going. Harry now was grunting every time Ginny's head bobbed down, trying with all his might to not go over the edge. He was so close.

She licked the tip one more time. Harry moaned.

He wasn't going to be able to hold it.

He could feel his member twitch in anticipation.

He could feel the wave of pleasure about to break over him.

To hell with it all, Harry thought, and stopped holding back.

He was expecting a mind-shattering orgasm.

It didn't come.

The pleasure continued, holding him on the brink. Harry wanted to scream. He could almost feel it. He was so close.

Harry's eyes snapped open. Voldemort was staring at him triumphantly. The sucking sensations continued and Harry moaned in pleasure and frustration. He was so close.

Harry tried to maintain his composure but Ginny's hand was twisting in time with her licks. He could practically feel himself reaching orgasm. Next stroke and I'll come, he realized. But the next stroke came and though he felt he was there, he couldn't reach the peak. Just one more lick, he thought. But Ginny licked and licked and he remained tense and frustrated. He was so close.

He tried to will his body over the edge by tightening his muscles. His hips started bucking and he didn't care that Voldemort was chuckling. Moans escaped his lips and his back arched.

"Please, Merlin, please," Harry begged to no one in particular. This torture was too much. He was so close.

"Please what?" came Voldemort's icy reply.

Harry was too desperate to care anymore. Ginny's movements were drawing out whimpers as he was mercilessly dangled over the edge of orgasm. He was so close.

"Please… Master… Please…. I…"

He couldn't make himself say it. I can't give him the satisfaction.

Ginny continued to work him. His member felt so hard it might explode. Harry moaned in frustration. He needed to come. He needed to come. He was so close. So close.

"Please, Master, let me come," he blurted out. "Please, I can't take this."

"Let you come?" Voldemort contemplated as Harry whimpered and continued to buck and thrust in the water. "Potter," he responded slowly, teasing the boy, " I never forbade you from achieving an orgasm. Why are you asking for my permission?"

"Because. I. Can't. Come," Harry grunted, his eyes tightly shut. His moans began getting louder. He felt ready to burst.

Voldemort's smiled darkly, "You are unable to reach orgasm because that requires physical stimulation. Your mind can only do so much before physical touch is necessary."

Harry's head fell as he realized his predicament. He continued to grunt in time with the licking and sucking of his memory as he tested the strength of the shackles that bound his arms to his sides. If only he could reach down and finish himself off.

"The restraints are not going to give, Potter," Voldemort offered.

Harry whimpered at his situation. I can't ask him. I can't ask him. I can't give him the satisfaction.

He needed to come so bad, though. He thought his entire abdomen would explode if he didn't soon. His head was starting to hurt from holding his breath. His hips were out of his control, thrusting against the water and receiving nothing but a shadow of sensation.

"Please, Master" he whimpered.

"Please what?" the man teased again.

"Master… Please… touch me?" Harry asked, humiliated.

"Touch you where?" Voldemort smiled darkly, enjoying his power over the boy.

"Please… help me finish…" Harry mewled, "Please… touch my… my…" He couldn't finish the sentence.

"I can't help you if you don't tell me what you want me to do, Potter."

The sensation of Ginny's mouth was driving him wild. Harry's back arched in need. He needed more. Just a little more and he would get his release. He was so close. So close.

Harry yielded.

"Touch my prick! Rub me, please, Master! I need to come!" he shouted. Harry whimpered again, "Please…"

"As much as I would like to," Voldemort mused, "As I recall you made me promise I wouldn't touch you."

Harry's eyes widened in realization. He needed to come so bad. He thought he might start crying.

"I take it back! I take it back! You can touch me, Master. Please touch me, Master!"

"But Potter, you seemed so adamant that I not-"

"Please!"

"Are you entirely sure that-"

"PLEASE!"

"Please…?"

"PLEASE MASTER! PLEASE!"

Voldemort smirked, "As you wish."

With a swift motion, the older wizard pounced over Harry. He grabbed Harry's hardness, causing the boy to moan loudly. Voldemort's hand pumped once, twice, and with a whole-body shudder, Harry Potter reached his orgasm.

His entire lower body contracted, his head was thrown back. A primal grunt left his lips and he expelled his seed into the water. The sensation was so overwhelming that it bordered on painful, yet immediately he felt release from his torment. As the wave of pleasure washed over him, Harry's mind finally cleared and his entire body went limp. He let out a small moan of pleasure.

Next to the boy, Voldemort smirked in victory. "I believe you have earned yourself a sleeping potion for tonight, Potter."