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Everything was a blur for a while there. Steady lines of coke and the liquor Voldemort had poured down his throat would do that to a person. He woke up one day…..hell if he knew what time or day of the week it was. After three tries he lifted his head off the pillow, squinting at the blinding light. He was trapped on a strange bed, flanked by Bella and Rodolphus, in a room he didn't recognize.

His bed partners were naked, and he made out restraint marks on Bella's wrist. Deep red gouges on Rodolphus' shoulders. Damn. Voldemort shifted and Bella rolled off him with a murmur. At least he still wore his jeans. What the hell had he done last night? Usually when he woke after his binges, he didn't care to remember what he'd done under the influence of his vices.

Today...

He remembered Harry's eyes when Voldemort yelled at him before walking away. The middle of his chest hurt. A sharp twinge that made him look down, touch the spot. Why did it hurt? Why? And why was he here when he had so many things happening in his life? Voldemort inched to the edge of the bed. Bella's eyes flicked open. Over on the other side, Rodolphus snored, wall shaking rumbles that never failed to irritate him.

Bella parted her legs when he crawled over her, her heat reaching up to him, musky with the scent. She pressed into him in a silent invite. One he'd normally accept, but right now he just wanted to brush his teeth and take a shower to wash away the days he couldn't remember.

He swung his leg over the side of the bed and sat on the edge. His head pounded and he winched, putting his face in his hands. Damn. He was a mess. Finally, he asked a sleepy Bella,

"Where are we?"

She pouted, eyes at half mast, as she crawled toward him.

"My house."

She reached out a hand to touch him but Voldemort jumped to his feet.

"Where is your home?"

He'd never been to Bella's house in all the years he'd been sleeping with her, all the time she'd been managing the candy store. He couldn't even remember her last name,

"South 4th Street? Are you okay, master?"

Was he? Voldemort felt around in his pocket for his phone and quickly dialled Avery while ignoring her. He needed out of there. Avery answered instantly,

"Yes, sir."

"Avery, do you know where Bella lives?"

Avery paused.

"Uh…yes, sir."

Voldemort let out a deep breath.

"Good. Come get me. Bring coffee."

"Yes…"

He hung up before Avery could finish the sentence and looked around for his shirt. If he could remember what he'd been wearing. He spotted his shoes easily enough and pulled those on as Bella watched him from the bed. She finally asked,

"Who is Harry?"

Voldemort spun around and speared her with a hard stare,

"What did you say?"

She paled, but repeated the question. Softer this time,

"Who is Harry?"

Voldemort reached her side in two strides.

"Where did you hear that name?"

He grabbed her by the face, fingers pinching into her cheeks as he demanded,

"Tell me."

Fear lit up her gaze, it coloured her chest and throat red.

"Y-You kept whispering it. When you were high."

Her lashes swept down, hiding her eyes briefly before she looked back at him.

"You looked sad."

He was high, how the hell could he be high and sad at the same time?

"No one."

He swallowed.

"He's no one. Forget whatever you heard."

That wasn't a question and he made sure she understood, staring deep into her eyes until she backed down and glanced away.

"Yes, master."

Satisfied, Voldemort released her and walked out the room. He felt... Outside Bella's bedroom, he stood, shoulder braced against the wall, and tried to figure out what he felt, the panic he'd experienced when Bella spoke Harry's name. The pain in his chest when he'd turned away from Harry that night. His inability to forget Harry's touch and his face no matter how high or how wasted he got.

His new toy. That was what Harry was. He needed to refer to him like that, keep him at a distance. Well, he'd already made his escape. He just had to find somebody else. Someone who intrigued him as Har…his toy, did. He kicked Bella's bedroom door open and poked his head in.

"Did we have sex?"

He nodded at the bed.

"The three of us?"

She shook her head.

"You just wanted to watch, master."

Voldemort closed the door so she didn't witness his relieved sigh. Then he caught himself and had to wonder why it mattered. He didn't know. The answer remained elusive, but it mattered that no one had touched him since Harry.

In the four days since he'd last seen Harry, Voldemort did his best to not think about him. He did. He busied himself with getting his streets in order. His people wanted him to launch a full on assault on the order and while Voldemort thought about it, salivated even, he couldn't go there. He'd lose lives and that didn't sit well, not with him, not when he knew everyone who worked for him by name, knew their families, their children. The old heads might be all set to wage war, he wasn't. He'd never be. That was the reason he'd made sure his hits, when he did hit, were orchestrated to do the most damage. Effective, but quiet.

Since he'd tipped off the police to the shipment of marijuana headed to Moscow, the streets had been quiet. There was talk of something big going down, and the media was of course hyping things up, but the streets were always talking. He didn't put much credence in it. Still, he kept watch, kept his ears to the wind, and made sure his men stayed on their grind.

Morfin was always in his face, trying to get more involved in whatever he was doing. No dice. It wasn't even that he didn't trust his uncle. He liked Morfin but he didn't like his ways.

And his ways for exactly what had gotten him locked up. Being locked away like that, you're supposed to change. Thing was, he didn't think Morfin changed for the better. Morfin was an act first think later sort of fool, and while Voldemort could be as impulsive as the next guy, he knew when to lock it down and act like the business man he was. Because what he did, he was a businessman. The cops and people who picketed outside his candy shop might not think so, but he was. He made money, he was in the business of making money. Any means necessary.

So, he kept Morfin at arm's length when it came to the business side, ignoring the look of betrayal his brother kept shooting at him. Being in charge of the girls was as good a job as any. Morfin had no reason to complain or want for something he'd never have.

Voldemort shouldn't either, but at night he'd lay in his big empty bed, windows open and the sea breeze floating over his body, he'd stare at his phone and hover his finger over Harry's number.

He sometimes found himself wanting to talk to Harry, about his life, his business. How hard, how difficult it was. It would surprise him, jolt him, that want, and instantly he'd shut it down. His toy. What Harry was. His title. Nothing more. But the want never fully went away, never got completely smothered. Harry would likely go back to one of those women, someone like Ginny, who needed but didn't demand like Voldemort did. Who wanted him, but didn't want anything beyond their own pain. Unlike him.

He didn't even know what he truly wanted from Harry. Pain and pleasure, mutual relief? More? He didn't have an answer, still didn't have one when he got the call from the guy he'd paid off at the club.

Harry had finally put in an appearance at the club. Was he alone or with someone? Didn't matter because Voldemort was already out of bed, pulling on his shirt as he headed for the door.

Check out my other fanfic named "Ensnared". It's actually a Harry Potter Version of "The Beauty and the Beast" Let me know what you guys think. Just follow the link below or visit my profile. Looking forward your feedback

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Check out my other fanfic named "No Escape." If you haven't checked it out yet. Just visit my profile or click on the link below

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