True to his word, Voldemort had given Harry a book to read for the day. It hadn't been a book trying to persuade him to the dark side, nor a book all that dark at all. Harry would have much rathered a book like that, it would at least have been interesting. Reading the title, Harry recognized it as one of the required texts for Hogwarts. It must have been one for the sixth-year students.
The book was quite old as the spine seemed to be on its last legs. He could tell from just a quick glance that the pages were yellowed. An older edition perhaps? Achievements in Charming. It was definitely the same book, but it felt different from Hermione's copy. The one he had used to help her study for their O.W.L.S.
He remembered laughing with Hermione after she had hit him with the book. She had been so frantic, and when quizzed her on the contents she wanted to check the text herself. It rendered Harry quite useless.. 'I'm sorry, Harry! I just need to be sure it's right!' Harry had no doubt in his mind that she would receive O's in every subject. Maybe none of that mattered anymore.
Had Voldemort really wanted him to read a textbook? What could the point be, he couldn't even do magic. Maybe it was a way to torture him or rub in the fact that he was powerless here. 'Here Harry, have a book on spellwork even though you won't get to practice any of it.' It didn't make sense.
Shaking his head, the teen pulled out the chair and sat at the desk. He didn't have anything else to do, so he might as well. He hadn't really studied this book himself, only looking at it when helping Hermione. Maybe he really could learn something.
Fingering the cover, he trailed his hand along the beat-up edges. This book seemed well-loved. He opened the cover and was surprised to find the usually blank page before the actual index to be covered in a familiar scrawl. Notes. A lot of them. It was like a personal index, listing page numbers, and then other titles that Harry assumed tied together with the subject at hand. In big black letters, at the top right-hand side, read Jane Court in beautiful cursive writing. It didn't match the written notes.
She must have owned the book first before the Dark Lord got his hands on it. It was the Dark Lord's handwriting. It looked so very similar to the writing in the diary. Staring at it gave Harry some serious deja vu and he ran the pad of his fingers over the ink. Voldemort's writing was so much nicer than Harry's. His was chicken scratch, Hermione used to joke about him having the perfect hand to write doctor notes.
Voldemort had the smooth calligraphy, perfect points, not a drop of ink was out of place. He couldn't believe he was jealous of the Dark Lord's writing. He roamed his eyes over the notes, and couldn't make much sense without checking the coordinating pages. So that was how he began reading it, starting from the first notes and going page to page that way. On each page, there were more notes, updated information, or crossed out lines and re-written to be more accurate (in Voldemort's opinion of course).
He carefully read every line. Snake-man wasn't going to quiz him on this, right? He sure hoped not, as interesting as some of this was, Harry wouldn't be able to read off pages like Hermione. What if he had to write an essay? Merlin's beard, he really would drown himself in the tub.
One thing that kept catching his eye, was a title that was often written in. The name Corpus Leporem: Details of the human anatomy and their reaction to magic had been on several pages. A couple of times it had been shortened to CL, due to space constraints. Was it wrong that Harry wanted to read it? It almost sounded like a book that could be about torture.
Medical books about anatomy had gathered a large majority of their knowledge from terrible times in history when men experimented on prisoners. The tragedies had offered closer looks into biology. It was an ugly thing, yet so very interesting. Like serial killers, or other violence and horror.
Not that Harry liked those things... maybe he did a little. If he was allowed a book from the library, it was often a mystery or thriller. Something about the unknown drew him in. He much rather liked it in fiction, however, than in real life.
By the time Harry had finished the book, re-reading a couple of different sections, it was dark out. He hadn't even realized how late it had gotten. Dinner was not served, the tray never appeared. Putting the book down, Harry stared at it. Was he to go to bed hungry? It wouldn't be the first time. He shouldn't be expecting anything from Voldemort anyways. He should be in a cell right now, surrounded by stone and chained up. Not being practically pampered like a pet. People were suffering, and he was sitting here cozied up with a book.
A rush of guilt made his belly feel hard, filled with stones. What if his friends were dying? What if Sirius was captured, and tortured for real? He had to get out. He had to try. He owed them all that much. He abruptly got up from the chair and looked around. Could he use the book to push the handle, tricking the door into not thinking it was him? He picked up the tome and fast-walked to the door. The handle was long, not so much a knob.
He held onto the corner of the book and pushed at the handle. The jolt of electricity hit him faster and harder than before. Less of a shock this time, and more of a bolt of lightning, hit him. The book went flying as his body jerked painfully, his knees gave out and he fell to the floor. His upper body kept the momentum and his head flew into the solid wooden door, only nearly missing his nose. He heard his body hit the ground before he felt it.
The electricity was now in his veins, and his every muscle spasmed. He couldn't even cry out in pain, as his vocal cords wouldn't work for him. Just when he thought it wouldn't end, the electricity left through his toes again. Harry swore he could smell burnt hair.
"What had you been trying to accomplish, Harry?" Laying there, feeling buzzed in the worst ways, Harry struggled to turn his head. "You've already tried the door. Perhaps the window next?" Sadistic amusement.
"You know," He forced out, trying to sound casual and not as he'd just been suffering. "I'm really beginning to hate this floor."
"The floor?" Voldemort hissed out, humoring Harry.
"I can't seem to stop finding myself on it. I think it's cursed." He looked over at the man, Voldemort had sat at the very chair Harry was in not even ten minutes ago. It was so casual, so domestic looking. Harry snorted, eliciting a suspicious scowl. "You look so common sitting there," Harry explained. The Dark Lord clenched his jaw, and Harry could see him holding back a curse.
"Nothing about Lord Voldemort is common." He spat indignantly.
"Talking about oneself in the third person is uncommon, I guess."
"I should sew your mouth shut." A terrifying image, yet the threat felt like it held no weight.
"Trust me when I say I will still be extremely annoying without my voice." Voldemort seemed to think about it, taking a moment to ponder.
"Yes, I can certainly believe that. Considering your mere existence is annoying." Not really taking offense to that, Harry decided not to comment. He didn't like how easy it was to converse with the man who killed his parents. Instead just stared at the man, who in turn stared right back at him. Voldemort was leaned back into the chair, his barefoot crossed over the other. His hands were in his lap, fingers laced.
Harry knew his wand to be up in the dark sleeve.
He was horribly out of place, in a simple chair at an empty desk in front of a window with a boring scene. Looking at his face, Harry tried to find features that resembled young Tom. There wasn't much left over from his youth, the eyes however held the same shape. The color was different, gone the deep brown, replaced by the more familiar crimson. Sometimes Harry swore they shone. Like rubies, maybe. Harry finally sat up from his lying position, and he turned around, resting his back against the door.
"Do you miss how you used to look before?" He questioned, not expecting a response. There was a small buzz over the link, but nothing definitive.
"The only practicality my face held was the ability to charm most. My current appearance shows how much I have evolved, how in-human I am. Now that I have gained the ultimate immortality, I believe it to be quite fitting."
"People are afraid of you."
"As they should be."
"No one who rules with fear lasts long."
"I'm immortal, Harry. I will rule for centuries, if not longer."
"Okay, but- did you ever stop to consider the impacts of the long term?" Voldemort tapped his long finger against his knuckle, the only sign that he was even listening. "Nothing will get better, because no one will ever want to speak out about things that need change. It'll become all about surviving, no one will be truly living. What kind of life is that for magical folk?" He asked, sincerely. "Fear makes people only think about themselves, how to get by day-to-day. Trying not to step on toes. They lose interest in the big picture."
"It seems you've thought of this quite a lot." He looked bored.
"I've lived almost my entire life in fear. I think that makes me a bit of an expert."
"Are you trying to help me rule my people, Harry?" The Dark Lord leaned forward in his chair, hands still entwined. "Do you truly believe changing my face will accomplish anything?" It was a rhetorical question, Voldemort wasn't going to listen to anything he had to say.
"It sure would make my life a lot easier, not having to stare at that all day." Harry raised his hand and motioned to all of Voldemort. The easy air that had formed was broken immediately, and Voldemort stood up. He was back to his old self quickly. A displeased wave made its way through the link.
"Worry not, dear Harry. You needn't see my face for a while, as I have better things to do with my time than to indulge you." The man summoned the fallen book silently, catching it in his outreached hand. "Allow my gifts to touch the floor once more and you shall feel true boredom, as I will remove every single item from the room and leave you with nothing but the paint on the wall." Harry swallowed audibly, and Voldemort apparated out of the room.
That went horribly sideways, and the Boy-Who-Lived was mad at himself. Why'd he have to go and call the man ugly, to his face? What was he hoping to accomplish with that? Groaning loudly into the empty room, Harry decided it was time for a shower, then bed. He really doubted he'd be getting supper tonight.
Once again true to his word, Voldemort had stayed away for a while. Five whole days. Harry was losing his mind. He started reading the books out loud to himself just so he had an excuse to talk. He was terribly lonely. Even banter that may end in torture was better than this. Each book he was given got more and more boring. The material was dry, and none held notes. Just plain boring texts. He'd really pissed the Dark Lord off, huh?
Drawing his second bath for the day, because he had nothing better to do, Harry decided to see what would happen if he let the bathwater run. Magic was a strange and wonderful thing, and he wanted to know if there was a spell or charm that stopped it from overflowing. It was pure boredom driving him now. If he didn't think the shock spell from the door would continuously get worse, he might have shocked himself just for the fun of it.
The bath had just passed the halfway mark and continued to fill. Harry sat on the toilet just watching it, listening to the water run. It was comforting. As the water got higher and higher, Harry started to think of consequences that this might bring if it did flood. Would he lose bathroom privileges? Would the Dark Lord even know? He hadn't seen the man enter the bathroom since he'd been here. There wasn't a reason for Voldemort to enter.
The bath had less than an inch before it would spill from the lip of the tub. Harry pulled his knees to his chest, just in case. He watched intently, and just before the water should have spilled over the plug inside the bath vanished.
"What?" That was anticlimactic. Harry was hoping the water would keep running, but the bath would never fill. That would have been cool. But no, the plug disappeared, and now the water was going down. Frowning, Harry looked to his right and stared at the towel rack. He had two plain white towels that always refreshed themselves during the night. Grabbing for the closest one, Harry plunged the towel into the tub, clogging the drain.
His robes sleeve had gotten soaked and weighed heavy. He ignored it and watched in stupid glee as the tub began filling once again. Would the towel vanish too? The water rose until the edge, and to Harry's complete satisfaction, started to flow over the edge. He snickered into his wet sleeve, feeling like a child. Maybe he was going insane. Harry was about to turn the water off when he heard a distinct crack from the other room.
"What do you think you're doing?" Harry turned and stared into red eyes. He was still sitting up on the toilet, knees to his chest.
"Oh- uh. I fell asleep while waiting for my bath. Sorry." Voldemort took only one look at the still flowing water and pool on the tiled floor, before bringing his wand out and banishing all the water. The taps turned off, and the towel that had been stuffed in the drain was gone as well. He was given a hard look before the Dark Lord turned around to leave. "Wait!" Harry jumped up from the toilet and ran, hoping to catch him before he- crack!
The room was empty, and Harry was once again left alone. This was stupid, he needed something else to do. Enough was enough. Harry stomped back into the bathroom, grabbing the second towel. He filled the tub again.
It was petty, but if this was the only way to get the man to come back, he was going to do it as many times as he needed. He had pillowcases, and underwear to use too. He was nothing if not determined.
The bathroom flooded for the second time, and Harry listened for Voldemort. This time he stood on the floor, letting the water run over his feet and soaking the bottom of the robe that dragged along the floor. Crack!
"I will take away the bathtub." Harry couldn't even get a word in this time, Voldemort was so fast. Everything vanished, his robes were even spelled dry. He had just drawn in a breath to speak when the man disapparated again.
"I literally have all day you twat!" Running to his bed, Harry took off the pillowcase. He was going to go through every article of fabric until Voldemort talked to him or really did vanish the tub away. He still had the toilet and sink. The bath had only filled up halfway by the time Voldemort arrived. Harry quickly turned off the water, then raced to the other room. The man looked furious.
"It was an accident." A lie.
"You flooded the bathroom three times, using towels to clog the drain. I fail to see how any of that was an accident."
"I never said I was smart." He shrugged, then crossed his arms.
"What exactly are you trying to accomplish?" Curiosity bled through, with a hint of exasperation.
"Nothing." This was so much better than being alone, irking Voldemort was going in his top five of favorite past times. A long pause, and then the link hummed. Amused. Pleased.
"Oh, Harry..." The Dark Lord looked at him with amused pity. Harry flushed immediately, he felt it along his neck. He kept forgetting Voldemort had the link too.
"Shut up."
"Are you lonely?" Voldemort cooed, his eyes cruel. Harry held onto his sleeves with his index fingers and thumbs. Rubbing to cause friction.
"No." He gritted his teeth.
"Are you truly that starved for my attention?" He was mocking him.
"I've been locked in here for five days by myself, there is nothing to do after finishing your stupid books! Staring out the window is pointless because it's charmed. I can't even practice wandless magic because of this stupid magic collar, and I'm going to go insane with no one to talk to but myself."
Voldemort threw his head back and laughed suddenly. Harry failed to see what part of this was hilarious. The hissing cackle subsided, and Voldemort gazed at him thoughtfully.
"So, Harry. You wish for companionship?" Harry merely glared, crossing his arms like a petulant child. "Ah... I suppose I can grant you this small token... Lord Voldemort can be kind." He felt his eyes bulge out in surprise.
Was he going to be allowed to see another human being?
Harry felt hope flutter in his chest at seeing another person besides the Dark Lord. Even Bellatrix would be alright, he could ask her how her face was doing.
Voldemort looked pensive before he turned and began walking out of the room. Harry watched the door open and then close, he sat on the edge of the bed patiently. Was he just going to go grab a random Deatheater? He secretly hoped it was Lucius Malfoy, he wanted to see the man's face when he realized Harry was very much alive.
Harry laughed to himself, imagining the reaction.
His hope at seeing shocked Lucius was squashed, however, when Voldemort came back to his room, and in tow was his huge ass snake.