Hello Everyone!

So you liked last chapter? Good because there's more coming. Guava2: Patience, there's more intimacy coming this chapter. Kinda. You'll see ;-). FanFiction Lover: your violence is inspiring, but… Snape is not going to die; at least I don't think he is. I may kill him off, I'm not sure yet. raven1493: thank you for pointing that out, I'll get it changed as soon as I can. I'm glad I've gotten your attention. If you normally skip the torture, then I must be doing something right! Anyway this chapter is going to be the beginning of Harry's life as a member of Voldemort's army. WARNING: this chapter contains homosexual/degrading sexual acts. If you don't like, don't read. This is your only warning.

I don't own Harry Potter!

Enjoy!

~Angelia Reader

Chapter Seven: Welcome

Harry's POV

For the first time since he had emerged from the pits of hell, Harry woke alone. Always before, Severus or Lucius had roused him the moment the sun breached the line of trees outside his window. This time however, he woke when he damn well pleased, which granted wasn't any later. In fact, the sky was still dark, with the faintest hints of purple, and the sun was all but a distant memory. Harry stood at this window, naked, watching the sky slowly lighten. He remembered vaguely that he had done this with Ginny on several occasions, but where there should have been pain at the thought of his deceased wife, he felt nothing.

I could get used to this… He would have cried before, but now it seemed as if he had no tears, no nothing actually.

He made his way to the private bathroom, finding it surprisingly modern and… muggle. There was a pool sized bath in the center of the room, with a shower big enough for an orgy along the east wall. The west wall was taken up by a wall of mirrors, and a sink and counters along the north. There was a door beside the sinks that led to the toilet. When he investigated the drawers he found muggle toiletries in each and soft linin in a separate closet. He frowned slightly, but found he didn't care. Despite everything, muggles had it right in some things.

His reflection in the mirror caught his eyes. He was scarred; it looked as if someone had used his chest as a knife sharpener. There were almost artful markings across his chest swirls and slashes creating a sort of pattern. The ones on his arms and legs were less careful, straight up and down. On his wrists, stretching from forearm to palm was the evidence of his attempt at suicide. He traced the one on his right arm, shivering at the memory. He had been desperate, but that was no more. He turned to his side, observing the words on his back. "Harry Potter, the Chosen One," was spelled out across his shoulder blades. He was almost back to his normal weight, without the layer of muscle that he had developed over the years of war. He was almost disappointed. He wasn't vain, but he had enjoyed the muscle he had acquired, it made him look much less like the child that had walked out of the Dursely's six years ago.

He sighed deeply. He would have to do something about that. Turning away from the mirror, he went to the shower. He turned the water as hot as it would go, sighing in content as it stung his skin. He let the water wash over him for as long as he dared before scrubbing his body. He washed his hair carefully, using half a bottle of muggle shampoo and conditioner respectively. With his skin stinging he climbed out an hour later, wrapping a towel around his waist as he did. He dressed as he had for the past several weeks, strapping his weapons into place. When he felt he was ready he stepped out of the room and went in search of the Dark Lord.

He hadn't bothered to check the time; it was early, and the sun was just starting to rise, so he was assuming it was about six in the morning. He walked the familiar path to his office, for the first time taking in the extravagance of the Malfoy manor. The last time he had been here he had been too worried about getting he and his friends out alive to bother with the surroundings, and this time he had been preoccupied with not getting himself tortured to care. The place was actually quite lovely. All hardwood floors and antique furnishings throughout the house, giving it an old world feel. The walls of this floor were crimson, setting off the colorful tapestries and brass vases that lined the walls. It was broken by doors every few feet, all of which were bedrooms. The floor below was done in dark green, and held the most extravagant library he had ever seen. The first floor was meeting rooms, impromptu offices, and other such business, while the ground floor held the kitchen, sitting rooms (six, half of which held the most modern muggle technology), dining rooms (three in all), a full ballroom, and the basement was where the real business took place. The grounds were vast, Harry knew that much, but he had yet to explore them.

He made his way down to the first floor by way of the grand staircase. He stood outside it for several seconds, debating if he should knock or not, when a voice came from within, "Come in Harry."

He pushed open the double doors stepping into the room. Like the rest of the house it had only the nicest furniture, but for the first time he realized it was all but empty. A bookshelf, a desk, a chair, and a widow were all it had. He hesitated in the doorway.

"Sit," Voldemort said, not looking up from the papers he was examining. As Harry neared, he could see that it was war plans. They sat in silence, with only the ruffling of paper to fill the silence.

"My Lord," Harry said finally, "You asked to see me?"

"I did." That was it, no explanation.

"About what my Lord?" he asked finally. He hoped that he had been telling the truth in his ability to speak freely.

"I have yet to decide what to do with you," he responded absently.

"My Lord?"

"You do understand you are a prisoner here Harry? Correct?" he set aside the papers, and looked intently at him.

"I am loyal to you my Lord, but yes I understand."

"Good, then that means you understand that you are not to leave beyond the wards on these grounds, if you do I will know."

"Of course my Lord."

"You are free to go anywhere within the wards, and you may do almost anything you wish. My only demand at this time is that you come to all meetings I have, be it with my inner circle or with a perspective recruit. You will be by my side whenever I need you. Is that understood?"

Harry shivered at the piercing gaze the Dark Lord gave him, "Yes, my Lord."

"My Lord?" the door cracked open, "There is a group of people here to see you. They say they're from the Order. They wish to join you my Lord?" his voice rose at the end, making it a question.

The Dark Lord nodded, a smile pulling at his lips, "And so it begins." He stood, and motioned for Harry to follow. They were led to a conference room, containing a long wooden table and chairs, all of the chairs were full, save for the one at the head, on a raised platform. There were fifty in the room, none of which had a weapon other than a wand on their person. Of those, ten looked jumpy and likely to freeze if it came to a fight, twenty looked ready to piss themselves at the sight of the Dark Lord, and another fifteen were Death Eaters that stood along the walls; ready to act as their master commanded. That left a measly five from the Order that looked as if they would cause trouble if the chance arose.

Harry noted this all in the three seconds it took for the doors to open, and for him to take his position at the Dark Lord's feet. He was little more than a machine now. Eliminating his emotions had all but taken his humanity. This is what it was like when he was in battle, calm, and ruthless.

He didn't have to be asked to kneel at his feet. He knew his role.

The Dark Lord said nothing, his gaze moving over the dirty group of soldiers in front of him. Harry recognized some of them; they were no one important. They were the ones who had all but kissed his feet when he had been giving a speech as a funeral or preparing them to go into battle. It made sense that they would be the first to come once he had, however unwillingly, switched sides. He was a god to them, and they would go where he did.

No sooner than the thought crossed his mind, did the Dark Lord's fingers curl into his hair. "Careful Harry," he hissed "Those are quite dangerous thoughts. Perhaps I should show them what has become of their…god was it."

"Forgive me my Lord," he responded, mirroring his master's Parceltongue.

The Dark Lord only smiled, continuing the weave his fingers in and out of his hair, "To what do I own this pleasure?" he asked finally.

"Well…Sir, I-We, I mean, would like to join your army," it was one of the five that spoke. She came forward slightly.

"Why? Are you unhappy with your Order? If memory serves, everyone refused to come to me when I offered last."

"Well…Sir. When Harry Potter said that he was wrong, we knew he was right…" she offered.

"Ah yes, Harry Potter," his fingers tightened suddenly, guiding his head to his crotch, "The savior of the wizarding world." His pressed Harry's face more firmly against his crotch, letting him feel the hardness there.

Harry didn't struggle, not that he could have if he had wanted. He had learned just to accept what was, it was far less painful.

"Suck," the Dark Lord hissed, binding Harry's hands behind his back with a flick of his wand.

Harry frowned slightly. This was going to be difficult. Carefully he took the zipper in his teeth. He struggled with it before clumsily sliding it down. With that done he nudged his pants open with his chin, struggling to free the Dark Lord's cock from his pants. It was degrading, more so than anything he had done, but that was the point. He understood his thinking. They needed to see him beaten, broken, no more than a slave to Lord Voldemort. When he was finally free, Harry hesitated only for a moment; he had never done this before. The fingers tightened in his hair, making him whimper, "Please my Lord," he whispered. The shame that burned in his cheeks was not an act.

"Don't make me tell you again, Harry," He hissed.

Harry closed his eyes and took the Dark Lord into his mouth. He felt him stiffen slightly, but that was the only reaction he gave.

"If I do allow you to join me, what could you possibly bring to the table?" his voice was smooth, as if Harry were not sucking his cock. There was shock and discomfort emitting from the former Order members.

"Well…" the woman tried to speak and failed. She looked down at Harry as he took more of his master into his mouth, almost to the point of gagging. "Well…my…my Lord, we each have been trained in…"

Harry tuned them out; focusing on the order he had been given. He pulled back slightly, going back to suck on his head. He ran his tongue around the head, and was pleased when he felt the Dark Lord stiffen again. Experimentally, he slid his head lower, taking more of his in his mouth. The Dark Lord's hand pressed to the back of his head, forcing him lower. He gaged, but the Dark Lord forced him lower, until he took every inch of him in. After he let up, the Dark Lord guided his head up and down, releasing him when he found the rhythm.

The meeting continued, and to Harry's dismay, the Dark Lord seemed unaffected. The potential Death Eaters watched in growing discomfort, but the Dark Lord acted as if there was nothing wrong. Harry wanted him to. To his surprise, he wanted to be the one that made Lord Voldemort lose it. He doubled his efforts, using his tongue to trace the veins along his shaft. His fingers tightened suddenly in his hair, and his breathing hitched. There was the softest gasp as the Dark Lord stilled; filling Harry's mouth was his seed. He gaged, and almost spit it out.

"Swallow," Voldemort hissed softly, with none of his usual malice.

Harry did as he was told, shifting his weight so that he was again facing the room. The fingers were still in his hair, gentler now, "You have made a valuable argument Miss Jones. Men, take them down to the basement for their testing."

Harry flinched, "Is that necessary my Lord?" he asked softly as they were ushered out.

"Yes it is. The rest of you are dismissed." He waited until they were alone before he spoke again. "Interesting," he murmured in Harry's ear, "Very interesting. Had I known what you were capable of with that mouth, I would have put it to use a long time ago." He gripped his hair suddenly, jerking his head back so that Harry was looking at him. "I've discovered something new about you Mister Potter," he hissed, "Perhaps I've just discovered your role here," his tongue lightly trailed down his neck, making him shiver. "I'll be in touch," he vowed. "You are dismissed."

Harry nodded once, "As you wish my Lord." He stood without another word. He had learned the hard way that when the Dark Lord commanded you listened. No questions asked.

The sun was at its highest point when he finally made his way to the massive back year (if it could be called that). He had spent hours wondering the house, or more specifically the library after the Dark Lord had released him. He had nothing better to do, so he settled on reading. The library, however, was to stuffy, despite consisting of an entire floor, so he had decided to take his book outside. It was a beautiful day, the sun was warm, but not too hot, the wind was soft and cool. It seemed too beautiful considering where he was. Harry settled under a tree, just outside of the sand pit that served as a sort of training grounds. It was surrounded by soldiers on the far side, and two men dueled with wands in the center. Farther down there were others dueling or practicing individually. There were about a hundred men and women here, and not a one knew anything except for magic.

He had come out here with the intent of reading, but this was far more interesting. One of the men, the taller one, sent a spell at the other with lightning precision. The second knew it was coming, and attempted to throw up a shield, but was to slow. Harry smirked as he collapsed to the ground, boils erupting across his skin. He was healed and the battle commenced. Neither moved much, he noted as they sent spell after spell. They didn't try and dodge, only block. It was a very poor way to fight. He couldn't understand how the Dark Lord was winning. He had fewer numbers, and no one truly fought, except for himself. He had perfected the art of using magic in conjunction with "muggle fighting." There were only two people that he knew of that had even bothered to try and do so, and both still relied heavily on their wand. He snorted loudly as the second man was dropped for the fourth time in a row.

It drew his attention and the short wizard rose, his eyes alive with misplaced fury, "You think you can do any fucking better?" he challenged, obviously not knowing who he was talking to.

"I know I could," Harry responded, turning to his book because he knew it would piss him off.

"Then fucking prove it," he snarled.

Harry smirked, and set aside the book. He could use a bit of exercise. Only when he stepped into the sand did he realize he had not fought anyone in over a year. He knew he had to be rusty. He surveyed his opponent, the better of the two wizards. A man younger than him, hardly out of boyhood it seemed. His hair was blonde, not the white blonde of a Malfoy, but a darker honey color. His eyes were green, and held equal parts cockiness and amusement. He wore a simple black robe, and the uniform of a Death Eater. There was, however no mark on his wrist so he was not Inner circle. Harry could see generous amounts of muscle under his clothes. In short, he was… attractive. Harry hardly dared to think the word, his mind immediately turning to his master. He would surly kill him if he knew he was thinking of anyone but him.

"William Pence," the youth stated, offering Harry his hand. His grip was firm and sure.

Harry only nodded, not offering his name. The trainer, a newer member of the Inner circle by the name of Shean Grey stepped between them.

"You ever been in a duel?" he snapped, eyeing Harry.

He smiled bitterly, "A few."

"You got a name?" the man grunted.

"Harry Potter," he said simply.

There was a collective inhalation of breath from the trainees.

"Well Mister Potter, you don't look like much," William pointed out, eyeing him from head to toe.

"Neither do you Mister Pence." His voice was cool, reveling nothing.

"What's the hold up?" the short wizard demanded from the side of the pit.

The trainer nodded at them both, "In position." He snapped.

Harry moved to his side, standing loosely with his hands ready at his sides. He heard the crowd of trainees snicker when he made no move to draw his wand. William stood on his end, wand pointed and ready. The moment Grey called start, Harry was moving.

Move.

He was on him before he even had time to get off a single spell.

Strike.

He rode him to the ground, drawing a blade before the boy had a chance to react.

Wait.

Harry straddled him, pinning his legs with his, knocking his wand from his hand, and pressing the blade to his throat.

This was all done in the matter of seconds.

Silence.

A stunned silence settled around the crowd.

"How?" the boy under him gasped. He strained against the blade. His eyes were wide with fear and awe.

Harry said nothing, he simply climbed off of him. They need to be taught. He thought idly. Without thinking he drew a second blade and tossed it to him. The hilt bounced off of his hand and it landed in his lap.

"Next time you'll catch it," he said softly. "On your feet. There are better things to learn than spells."

The stunned boy stood, and took his position opposite of Harry. The rest watched as they faced off. "Now try and hit me."

The boy William struck wildly, with no form or skill. Harry deflected it easily, knocking him off balance, and cracking the hilt of his blade off the back of his head as he fell. "Again," Harry snapped. There was an audience gathering.

Again the boy attacked, swinging wildly. Harry dodged smoothly, hitting him with the hilt or flat of his blade whenever he grew bored of dodging, always with the command of "Again" when he fell. He kept the movements simple, always the same.

Slowly the boy picked up on the pattern. His attacks mimicked Harrys as the fight became more structured. Harry smiled slightly as he copied the moves. He's good… I have all I need to know… He struck like lightning.

He grabbed his wrist, deflecting his attack with his free hand, while slashing with his blade. He had the boy on the ground pinned. Both of them were sweating, breathing hard as Harry straddled him, gazing into each other's eyes. Harry felt a tingle in his stomach, a spark of something. Attraction perhaps? He didn't know, didn't care. He climbed off him, and looked at the crowed that had gathered. They seemed impressed. With a small bow, he slid the weapon's back into place, and wordlessly left the training field behind.

Thank you for reading Everyone. I feel like the last part was kinda random, but oh well, what's done is done. I'm going to be developing this a bit more in the next chapter. There's going to be a confrontation between Harry and the trainer I think. Anyway, be nice in your comments.

~Angelia Reader