Harry stared at the blank parchment with zero ideas about how to begin. What would he even say? Somehow writing the words 'Hi Ron, I'm sorry you were kidnapped, and they destroyed your house because of me. I really hope everyone is alive. Hopefully, you don't have to worry anymore. I've taken the mark of the man who killed my parents. Even better, I've agreed to be his apprentice to try and keep you all safe. He threatens you and the rest of the Order often and likes to torture me, so I'm not sure how well this will turn out for any of us. Anyways, what's new with you?' Yes, he thought, that all sounded very inadequate.

He didn't even know the state of his best friend's family. Were they all alive and well? How much had Ron and Hermione been tortured when they'd been held, prisoners? Harry would not be surprised if the whole lot of them hated the raven-haired teen because their association with him had caused them so much pain.

Sighing, he swept a hand through his already very disheveled mop of black hair. He would just have to write it and hope for the best.

Dear Ron and Hermione,

I am so sorry for what you've gone through because of me. Please tell me you're both alright. How is your family? Is everyone safe? Don't go into any details you don't want others to read; my post is monitored. But I'm allowed to write to you, at least for now.

Harry paused, his hand shaking slightly as he tried to figure out how to write the next part. He needed to let them know that they shouldn't try and rescue him, at least not until he figured out the mark. He felt confident that Voldemort had not left many options of escape open to him, and Harry would not be able to live with himself if more people died trying to save him.

You don't need to worry about me. I'm alright…

Harry couldn't bring himself to lie and say he'd been treated well. He'd been tortured multiple times and knew he had no real power to resist Voldemort. The Gryffindor felt lucky he'd been treated as well as he had been, but it still wasn't an actual existence. Not when he was spending his days with his parent's murderer and would be learning dark magic that would taint his soul.

Closing his eyes, the teen dropped his forehead against sweaty palms. How was he going to tell them he'd joined Voldemort? That he agreed to stay with the murderous Dark Lord voluntarily? What would the entire wizarding world do when they learned of his betrayal? He would not need to worry about escaping because no one would take him back. He felt the ghost of the mark on his arm stir as if sentient, aware that Harry was contemplating it. And maybe it was, for all Harry knew. Perhaps Voldemort would know anytime he tried to study the mark, he'd know if the teen attempted to remove or neutralize the magic. Not that Harry honestly thought he had a chance with that. Dumbledore had never managed to remove Snape's. Both wizards were forces in their own way. If neither of them could remove the Dark Lord's control, what chance did Harry have when Voldemort made this mark specifically for the teen he knew would stop at nothing to get away?

A small moan escaped his lips as he stayed in his hunch position, eyes squinched tight. Was this it? Had Voldemort won? Did it actually matter if Harry escaped if he had nowhere to go? Should he just tell his friends to forget him and move on with their lives? That any relationship with them would only serve to put them at greater risk?

~~s~~S~~s~~S~~s~~S~~s~~S~~s~~S~~s~~S~~s~~S~~s~~S~~s~~S~~s~~S~~s~~

"You're not telling your friends the truth?"

Harry ducked his head in shame. He'd written ten different letters and felt like a coward that he could not find the words to say what had happened. The teen didn't know how to tell them about the mark, that he swore himself to his parent's murderer. Each time he'd written it, the words made the tiny hope of escaping that still remained in him shrink a bit more. He started and tore up multiple sheets, even incinerating a few wandlessly, such was his emotional state. The green-eyed youth had never felt more like a failure in his entire life.

"I don't know how..." he trailed off awkwardly, having zero desire to engage with Voldemort about how his captivity impacted his mental state. About how hopeless he felt.

"It's not that difficult; I know you're not illiterate."

Scowling, Harry turned away. Gazing outside the library window, vainly wishing he was free, that he was somewhere else than in Voldemort's library about to begin more research on dark arts, which the Dark Lord would soon start teaching him. "I've betrayed them, all of them." He whispered. A cloak sweeping over the carpet was his only indicator the Dark Lord had stood from his desk, a breathed warning that the dark wizard was moving towards him.

Harry remained rigidly turned away, hatred and misery consuming him. He was an utter failure. The hand on his shoulder drew a jerked flinch.

"I won't dictate what you tell them," the Slytherin murmured, long fingers digging into his neck. "But for your sake, I hope you've accepted your place here. You should not give them foolish hope; your lack of explanation for remaining here will only falsely inspire them to try and intervene on your behalf. They will try to rescue you, and I promise they won't survive entering this mansion. Do you think you can be rescued, Harry?"

Throat incredibly dry, Harry tried desperately to swallow. To shake off the hollow feeling coursing through him. Did he think he could escape? He didn't know. He doubted it. The Dark Lord certainly seemed sure enough of Harry's place by his side. He twisted, reaching out his hand, silently asking for the letter back. The Dark lord wordlessly obliged; a perfectly sculpted brow raised as red eyes washed over him with unmasked interests.

Harry stepped towards the corner desk he'd claimed as his, lifting his quill with shaking hands. His green eyes roamed over the messy print before him. Dipping the quill in the jet-black ink, he quickly lined through his last few sentences.

You don't need to worry about me. I'm alright. I hope I get to see you soon. But I don't know how long that will be. Please don't do anything foolish. Stay safe, and keep your family safe. I will write to you as soon as I can. Again, I am so sorry for everything, one day, I hope I can make it right.

Not even bothering to get a new paper, he dipped the quill again, starting directly under the scratched-out section. His hand shaking more than ever, his writing an even great mess than it usually was, he wrote the truth.

Please don't try and rescue me. You can't. I've taken his mark and agreed to remain at his side as his apprentice. There is nothing anyone can do. I've made my decision. Stay safe; it's the only thing giving me hope, that you and the others are alive.

Harry

Trembling, Harry grabbed the paper and handed it back before he could rethink his actions. He owed it to his friend to tell them what had happened, what he had agreed to. This was his way to protect them, the only way he still had the power to.

Voldemort's eyes quickly roamed over it. The Dark Lord nodded, a slight twitch of his lips indicating his satisfaction and amusement. "Well done, Harry." The praise did nothing for the raven-haired teen. For once, he did not have any conflicting emotions over the Dark Lord's motives. He only felt small and defeated, wanting nothing more than to flee the gloating wizard's presence.

"You may finish your research for the rest of the morning. This afternoon we will be casting."

Nodding, Harry turned dully away, returning to his desk and plopping down. The Gryffindor felt even more empty than usual. Admitting his situation on parchment almost made it more real, though he could not discern why. Would they read it and listen, choosing not to put themselves at risk for a hopeless rescue?

Deep down, Harry knew he still secretly had hope that he could escape, that they would come. Was writing that the Dark Lord's way of forcing him to reject their help, making it all the more difficult for him to flee? Had he played directly into Voldemort's hands by admitting on paper to the Order that he'd been weak and taken the man's mark?

Would they all despise him now? Or worse, what if this was his rightful place? He had an affinity for casting dark magic. Perhaps he'd never truly belonged with the light in the first place? An even softer voice in his mind seemed to whisper the last. One that made him want to cringe.

Even if he did find a way to break free, he now doubted they would want him back. The wizarding world's chosen one had turned his back on all of them. He'd taken the Dark Lord's mark willingly. Was there any worse thing he could have done to ensure he was isolated from the light? They would never trust him again. The permanent mark on his arm assured the young teen of that. They would always wonder if he was dark, if he had wanted to give himself over to Voldemort and betray them. And he knew the following days, weeks, and months even would be filled with him practicing dark magic. His wand and core would be tainted with it. Own actions were damning him, tying him even tighter to the Dark Lord with the passing of each day he spent here.

Hanging his head, Harry stared unseeing at the book before him. Suddenly it seemed to make a lot more sense why Voldemort had allowed him this reward, to correspond with his friends. It only firmly cemented Harry's misery. With minimal prodding, the Dark Lord had masterfully gotten Harry to tell the Order he'd swapped sides, that he was the apprentice of the Dark Lord and that he was willing to practice magic under Voldemort's tutelage. Gut clinched and his brain in a fog, the young Gryffindor turned to glare at the mound of books next to him.

The rest of the morning passed in a blur. Harry was barely able to shake himself out of his gloom. He'd somehow managed to fill out the rest of his notes on the remaining spells but barely knew what he was reading and writing. He retained none of it like he had the day before. Found none of the joy and intrigue he'd allowed himself to feel during the previous day's research. Such were his thoughts consumed with how the Order would respond to his letter. In some ways, he felt relief that it was in the open. In others, he felt even more caged, this time by his own words and actions.

Lunch came and passed quickly, Tipsy had brought him pumpkin juice and a sandwich he managed to nibble on. The dryness in the back of his throat never left, constricting his breaths, making each swallow feel constrained.

Before he was ready, the morning melted into the afternoon, and Harry was summoned to follow the Slytherin heir back to the dueling room. They walked silently, Voldemort's long black robes whispering over the stone passage as they moved. If the Dark Lord noted Harry's melancholy, he did not note it. He'd simply stood halfway through the afternoon and bid Harry to come, that their practical session would begin.

Reaching the dueling room, Harry stood stiffly across from the dummies. What would Voldemort select first from the list? Many of the spells were not dark. They were ones Harry would never have questioned learning. But several were very dark, extremely lethal, and would be difficult for Harry to ever justify to his friends.

"Which one do you want to try first?' Voldemort asked, shocking the teen.

"The fog spell," Harry muttered, his voice too soft; it felt too weak. He could feel the assessing gaze wash over him. Scarlet orbs ever probing, wondering if this meant Harry had given up or if this was a disguise for rebellion from the unruly teen who had defied him so many times. Harry only wished he could summon the strength to be defiant.

"Nebula Murum," Voldemort nodded, seeming satisfied with whatever he saw. "Show me the wand movement."

Taking a steadying breath, Harry raised his eyes, lifting his wand. He could do this, he told himself, trying to snap out of his funk. Learning these spells would make him stronger. He would be able to defend himself and others. He just needed to keep his eyes on his ultimate goal. Remaining weak and defeated would not get him there. It would not help him escape or defend his friends.

"It's a twirl followed by a sharp jab down, then a flick to the right," Harry cited, grateful he'd spent some extra time on this one because he'd found it so interesting. If done right, the fog was dense, impenetrable, and besides knowing the counter, there were few ways to dispense with it.

"Demonstrate it," Voldemort nodded.

Harry did, lifting his right hand and clumsily making the motion.

"Your first movement, the circle, is more of an oval. It needs to be proportionate, equal circumference the entire way," Voldemort instructed.

Harry nodded and repeated the motion again.

"Better, but you still pull out of the circle early, too eager to start the next motion. You must commit to the full circle. Again."

Nodding slightly, Harry did the motion again, prolonging the finish, exaggerating the circle, then dropping it down and cutting it to the right.

"Good."

Ears burning, Harry nodded his head in acceptance.

"Now the incantation."

"Nebula Murum." The emerald-eyed teen wished his voice had come out stronger, that he wasn't coming across as meek and afraid to the man who'd killed his parents. Rolling his shoulders back, Harry straightened his spine, mentally scolding himself for still being down. Now was not the time to be patheretic. He'd deal with his decisions and what his friends thought; for now, he needed to survive and learn.

"Mer-um, not mu-rum," Voldemort correctly. There wasn't any bite to the words, to Harry's surprise. The book had made the distinction as well, Harry should have known that.

"Mer-um," Harry repeated.

"Correct, now try the spell."

Gazing out of the dueling hall, Harry lifted his wand, envisioning the thick gray fog emitting from the tip of his wand, filling every nook and cranny of the room. "Nebula Murum!" He incanted, twirling and cutting his wand as he'd just practiced. To his shock and delight, a thick, dense fog quickly filled the room, making it impossible to see. The mist felt cool against his skin and breathing it in refreshed his lungs.

"Now cancel it," Voldemort instructed.

Harry froze, he'd written down the counter as part of his research, but he'd not spent any time learning the movement. It wasn't a part of the list he'd created. Eyes darting around the fog, Harry searched for the Dark Lord but could not sense or see him. He suddenly felt very small, vulnerable, and foolish for putting himself in this position.

"Harry," Voldemort prodded, more bite to his name than was previously present.

"I don't know how," Harry admitted, glad the fog blocked the blush burning through his cheeks.

Suddenly a stinging hex hit him in the thigh. Harry let out a howl of pain. Spinning, he tried to see where the attack had come from. Emerald eyes darted around fearfully; he'd lost his sense of surroundings, no longer having any clue where the Dark Lord stood.

"You mean to say you cast a spell you can't cancel?" While there was amusement in the Dark Lord's tone, it wasn't joyous but dark, raising the hairs on the back of Harry's neck. "I thought we discussed this yesterday, was my instruction to you in vain?"

Harry nodded, crouching down, slowly taking a step back so that he was no longer in the same position should Voldemort continue to be hex-happy. Learning to see heat signatures was on the list, a spell Voldemort had added. Quickly seeing his own folly in reasoning, Harry realized he should have learned that spell first. Or any other spell which would have helped in this situation. Of course, the Dark Lord would not be so kind as just to teach him the spell and then cast the counter. Begrudgingly, Harry realized it was an important lesson. Instructed in the ways a man used to battle would teach it, not how his safe and sheltered school usually taught.

Another stinging hex shot forward, this time painfully striking his right forearm. Grunting, Harry only barely managed to keep ahold of his wand. If he dropped it in this fog, he knew he'd be screwed. Cursing inwardly, Harry frantically tried to think of what to do next. He didn't know how to cancel the fog and could think of no way to identify the Dark Lord's position. Not that he thought that would do him much good. He took another step, then two to his right, to where he thought the entrance was. Voldemort had said this was a good spell to use for escape. While he was certain the Dark Lord knew exactly where Harry was within the fog, maybe if he tried to use it to conceal his movements, Harry could try and get to the door and back to a place where he could see. It was his only hope.

Another stinging hex took him, this time in his collarbone. He could smell the burnt fibers of his shirt as the hex seared his skin. Aggravated, Harry spun and took three quick steps. And ran straight into a pillar.

"Shit!" he hissed, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose.

"Language, apprentice of mine," came a hiss. Harry spun; the voice sounded directly behind him.

"Incendio!" He shouted, fire shooting out of his wand and quickly fading into the thick mist.

"You'll have to do better than that." Another hex struck him in the back of the leg. This one is more powerful than the others. Harry dropped a knee, cringing in pain. He glanced around again, desperately trying to sense anything. Even where the pillar stood was lost again in the thick fog. He had no clue where the entrance was, even where the Dark Lord was. If he wasn't getting his butt kicked, Harry might have felt proud of how well his first casting of it was holding up. It would have begun to fade if he'd done a weak casting, but it was as strong as ever to his chagrin.

Think Harry, he scolded himself, his grip on his wand tightening. He doubted he'd succeed at hitting the dark lord; he could think of no way to banish the fog. So, he needed to get out of the room.

"Point me," he whispered, recalling the spell which had come so handing in the maze his fourth year. His wand at once pivoted to the left. The exact opposite direction he would have guessed the door was. Harry pushed himself up and made quick, cautious steps in that direction. Pausing after four, Harry whispered the spell again. The wand held firm, pointing directly ahead of him. Another hex stuck him, this time in the back. It was the most painful yet, slamming into Harry and making him stumble. Letting out a shuddered breath, Harry jerkily moved forward, ducking down low, hoping to make himself a smaller target. Harry stretched his left hand out with his wand tucked against his side. After two steps, he blissfully touched wood. A door! Feeling over it quickly, Harry found the handle and pulled. It was locked. Panic now coursed through him as Harry spun, his back against the door. He was locked in!

"Shit!" he exclaimed again, eyes darting around. Another hex hit him, this time in the gut, dropping Harry to hands and knees. Eye-watering, Harry wasn't sure what to do. He could cast another attack but doubted he'd be able to hit the Slytherin. He knew nothing strong enough to end the impromptu dual.

"Alright, I get it. You've made your point," Harry snapped, staring frantically into the deep fog.

Fabric ghosted across the stone. Harry's head jerked to the side, trying to see the shadow formed of the Dark Lord, who he knew was circling him, a vulture over his dead prey. "And what is my point?"

Harry released a breath of frustration. There were actually many lessons the teen was sadly learning. "To know the counter before casting," he murmured.

"What else," another hex hit his crouched form. Harry jerked but otherwise remained on his knees. Pain was cursing through him from all the wilts he knew were forming on his body. It would be pointless to try and run or fight back. Since he doubted the Dark Lord would suddenly kill him in one of their first sessions, Harry felt resigned to take his punishment, to accept that this was entirely his fault.

"To have a plan, an escape," he added. Though truthfully, he'd found the door. It was just locked. Suddenly, feeling extremely foolish, Harry turned, grabbing the knob again. "Alohomora," he whispered. The door clicked open.

Pulling it open, Harry stepped into the blissfully fog-free hallway. Taking in a deep breath, Harry leaned himself against the wall, moving out of view from the doorframe in case Voldemort was still feeling in an instructing mood. He glanced down at his body; deep gashes lined his slender frame where the powerful hexes had struck him. He gingerly lifted his shirt taking stock of the deep gash under his ribs.

"That was an abysmal display." Harry's eyes jerked up, staring warily as the Dark Lord strode through the open door. With a silent flick of his wand, all the fog in the room disappeared. "You cast a spell you could not cancel with no plan in place once cast. And you remained frozen, vulnerable for far too long. You would have been dead with my first hit, or any of them, had I desired."

Feeling berated, Harry ducked his head. It wasn't like Voldemort had said this was a dual, that he would begin attacking the teen immediately. "I thought we were just practicing spells," Harry muttered defensively.

"And had I not been there? Or what it if it had been a more deadly spell? Do you normally just jump into spell casting with no appreciation of the finer arts for how to use them, how to cancel them and how to protect yourself if you're successful? You do not appreciate the damage you may cause to yourself or others. For being the light's little golden boy, I'm surprised at you, Harry."

Swallowing, Harry wasn't sure how to respond. Outside the classrooms, Hermione was the only one he'd tried to learn spells with. Harry realized how naive he'd always been by trusting her to keep them safe. He wondered if the brilliant witch had approached new spells as Voldemort suggested. Learning the counters or ways to protect herself and them first?

"I haven't practiced with many fighting spells," Harry realized aloud. He glanced back up, meeting the assessing red eyes. "I do understand your point, where I failed." He would need to be better prepared before future casting, especially with how Voldemort instructed.

The Slytherin heir's gaze washed over him, assessing him. "Good," he said, at last, pocketing his wand. "That is all for today. Take care of your wounds and be ready for our next lesson. I expect you to have a better plan for what you want to learn and the order of the spells. This isn't your coddling school. You will learn the hard way if you are foolish enough to make yourself vulnerable." With that, Voldemort turned and disappeared down the hallway, leaving the somber teen in his wake.

~~s~~S~~s~~S~~s~~S~~s~~S~~s~~S~~s~~S~~s~~S~~s~~S~~s~~S~~s~~S~~s~~

They continued that pattern for several days. Harry would study in the library all morning with the Dark Lord then in the afternoon, they would practice spells. Harry was careful always to learn the counters first and then not to pick any spells, which left him vulnerable to attacks. To his surprise, their interactions mainly went smoothly. Voldemort had not diverted much from the spells Harry chose to learn, not forcing his own Dark supremacy views on the teen as it had felt like the first day Harry had arrived.

Occasionally, Voldemort would tell Harry he had meetings or errands to run and leave the raven-haired youth to his own studying devices. On those days that the Slytherin was gone, Harry did not go to the library, instead remaining in his room, hidden behind the closed door with nothing but his studies and the window to stare yearningly out of. He hadn't received a response from his friends and was fearful to ask. He did not know what he would do if they had just not responded versus the Dark Lord holding the letter from him until he earned it.

It was early one morning when their routine suddenly changed. Harry glanced up from his reading at the desk in his room when Voldemort arrived wearing a long thick black traveling cloak. Like the evening cloaks Harry had been given, a silver snake prominently clicked at the collarbone. Green jaded eyes glistened from the snake's delicate features; it was a mesmerizing contrast beneath the Dark Lord's own scarlet stare. "I have a surprise for you today."

Harry stood up from his chair, meeting the assessing stare with one of curiosity. "Where are we going?" His voice came out more guarded than he intended. The last time they'd left the manor was to attack the Order, an experience Harry did not want to relive, even if that meant he spent the rest of his days a prisoner in this mansion.

The Slytherin heir's lips twitched. "I thought you wanted to leave the manor?"

Fidgeting, Harry rubbed his thumb nervously over the tip of his wand. He didn't want to be a captive, but that did not mean he wanted to accompany Voldemort on attacks to further his dark agenda.

"Relax," the older wizard evoked, "I need to collect some ingredients. You should enjoy this."

That sounded harmless enough, though surprising that the Dark Lord ran his own errands. Wasn't that what all his little dark minions were for?

"Bring a cloak. It may be cold where we are going."

Having no choice and not eager to be tortured this early morning, Harry walked over to his wardrobe, grabbing the lone traveling cloak. He quickly donned it, snapping his snake pendant to keep the folds in place.

Nodding in approval, Voldemort stepped forward, reaching for the raven-haired teen's shoulder. Stoically, Harry remained stilled, the familiar form of being sucked in then back out in the blink of an eye consuming him as he side-along apparated with the Dark Lord.

"Where are we?" Harry gasped, stepping away from the Dark Lord, dropping his hands on his knees as he took in a gasping breath. That had felt worse than previous apparations.

"Andorra," Voldemort responded, giving him an amused look.

"Is that in Scotland?"

Rolling his eyes, Voldemort turned and began walking across the dry barren forest floor they'd apparated to. "Do they teach you nothing in that façade of a school? Andorra is its own nation. We are outside of Spain."

Impressed despite himself, Harry pushed himself up and followed the Slytherin Heir. Apparating into an entire other nation took a lot of power. Glancing around, Harry stared in awe at the towering trees staggering overhead. The forest they had entered felt ancient and untouched. Almost hallowed. There was a magic in the air, magic that seemed to speak to his soul more so than even the magic around Hogwarts did.

"This is a magical forest," it was more of an observation than a question.

"Astute as always."

Blushing, Harry dipped his head. He wasn't sure why he was even trying to engage freely in conversation with the man. Snape would be pleased to see how well he had adapted to his new life, a sarcastic voice whispered within. Silently he berated himself, vowing to do better, not to feel comfortable with the wizard who would just as quickly torture him as walk past him on the street.

They walked for several minutes in silence, Harry refusing to initiate any further conversation. It almost felt peaceful. Voldemort looked more human than usual, stepping over fallen logs and navigating around sharply barbed branches that looked painful to the touch. Harry kept pace a few steps behind him, allowing himself to enjoy the feeling of being outside.

The cool air felt good against his cheek and palms. He hadn't left the manor in over a week by what he reckoned. It seemed surreal that so much time had already gone by with him under the Dark Lord's thumb, and he was still alive. He was beginning to believe that Voldemort truly did not intend to kill him, at least not for a while. And he wasn't sure what to think about that. The training had been interesting enough, and he was definitely learning. But with each new lesson, he explored the dark arts more. He hadn't cast anything too sinister yet but knew it was only a matter of time.

Coming to a fork in the dirt path, Voldemort pulled out his wand and twirled it, speaking what sounded like complicated Latin. Gold sparks burst to life, swirling out of the wand's tip, then sped off to the Slytherin's Heir's right, leaving a fine trail of golden dust in its wake, disappearing behind a heavy cluster of trees.

The dark wizard turned, walking after the golden trail without even a backward glance to see if Harry was following. Bemused despite himself, Harry continued to trail after the Slytherin, wondering why he'd been included in this expedition at all.

As they moved, the forest became denser and darker, the sun now hidden behind the thick foliage of the looming tree. The magic in the air seemed to change too. It felt colder. Harry shivered slightly, grateful the thick folds of his cloak fought against most of the chill. He wanted to ask where they were going, but with each step, he found himself increasingly unwilling to speak, to break the silence. The raven-haired teen was surprised that the gap between himself and his captor had decreased. He was only half a step behind the man, subconsciously unwilling to be caught further away.

"We're here," the Slytherin Heir stated, his voice calm but quiet. They'd stopped next to a steep rising cliff face, one that rose well past the trees, disappearing by the branch line which brushed up against the stone. Boulders and rock mounds littered the area, stacked upon themselves and scattered next to large tree roots which had broken the earth's surface.

"Come to me, my beautiful creature." Harry only just caught that it was hissed, not in English.

A steel gray, strikingly long-nosed snake hissed, rearing up from the stones. Harry took a step back, staring at the large serpent that had appeared. Deep royal blue, round rings interlaced in an intricate pattern were painted down its slender frame.

"Aspics," Voldemort murmured, dropping down to a knee and sticking out his hand. "A magical viper, very rare. Their venom is extremely potent." The snake flickered out its tongue, tasting the air, and sensing the intruders. Harry wasn't sure how he knew, but he was certain the viper was a she, cautiously slithered forward, pausing on a bolder only a few steps from them, fangs barred.

"My beautiful queen of the forest," Voldemort hissed, "I ask for your offering. As a speaker and lord of the darkness, I come asking for your assistance."

"It has been a long time since a speaker came," the viper hissed, head tilted to the side in consideration. Her beady eyes shifted to Harry. "This one smells of fear. I do not like it. Tell me, why should I grant you my gift?"

Harry felt the irritated red gaze direct to him. Harry only felts mildly affronted by the snake's observation. Any sane wizard would be afraid of a magical viper, especially in a forest like this.

"He is young and still learning to control his emotions," Voldemort responded, his tone not lacking any small amount of ire and bite. "I am teaching him not to act like a timid snakelet. He will learn. He is like me, a speaker, and one you would do well to obey him, just like you should obey me."

Harry forced himself not to shift. Telling the threatening snake to obey the boy she had just said smelled like fear did not seem wise. The snake hissed, raising herself higher. She was long and thin, stretching at least five feet in length. Harry had no doubt her bite would be excruciating.

"You dare try and control me?" Her hiss came out aggravated, angry.

"I am the heir of the True Snake Lord, the protector of snakes. Your law demands it."

The viper paused, tongue tasting the air again. She lowered herself, slithering from the boulder and approached the two wizards. Harry wanted to step back, but Voldemort's long fingers suddenly grasped his arm and held the teen rooted in place. "Don't move," Voldemort commander, his gaze promising worse pain than the snake's bite if he disobeyed. Nodding, Harry was released as the snake stopped directly before them. The teen suspected she would be able to strike faster than either of them could respond.

Dropping elegantly down to one knee, Voldemort held out his hand, palm facing the snake. She licked his skin, tasting him. Pulling back, she dipped her head. "Master."

Clearly pleased, Voldemort reached into the folds of his cloak, pulling out a vial. "You are beautiful and fierce, queen viper. It would please me greatly if you shared your gift."

Glancing from the vial back to the Slytherin heir, the magical viper dipped her head again, moving forward. Opening her powerful jaw, she sank her fangs into the white cloth covering the tip of the jar. Silver liquid dripped into the vial, slowly filling the small glass halfway. Finishing, the viper detached herself from the cloth and slithered back, climbing up the stones so that she was at eye level again.

"It has been some time since a speaker came to my forest," she hissed.

Voldemort nodded. "You have done well remaining hidden. Few know this is where the queen vipers nest."

"I can trust you to protect my kin and I, to not share this location with other two-legged who would harm us for our gifts?"

"My beautiful queen," Voldemort all but preened. "I not only will protect your secrets, but I will ward this place so that none but me and my own can ever enter."

The viper considered his words, then nodded. "Then I am glad you came, that I gave you my gift, master speaker. Until next time." Within seconds she was gone, completely hidden in the stones as if she'd never appeared. Voldemort turned, giving him an assessing glance as he stepped past him, turning in the direction they'd come. "Another reason to improve your occlumency. So that others don't see you as a frightened little boy."

Harry scowled, "She is a magical viper. I would think it foolish not to fear her."

Voldemort sneered, shaking his head in annoyance. "You are a speaker. You bear Slytherin's gift. You should fear no serpent. It is beneath you."

Not sure how to argue such a point, Harry fought to change the subject eyeing the vial warily. "What do you need it for?"

"Poison, of course."

Of course, Harry thought, turning away. It should not have surprised him he'd just accompanied the Dark Lord to acquire ingredients for some deadly poison.

"And you'll assist me in making the potion."

Harry's eye jerked back up. "What? No…" He refused, aghast.

He sensed more than saw the Dark Lord near. "Did you just tell me no?"

Gazing at the still grass, Harry felt his heart escalate as panic surged through him. His terms were that he would not torture. Would creating a potion used for torture or killing fall outside that? He didn't know and doubted Voldemort would let his interpretation slide.

"Please," he said quietly, glancing up. "I don't want to be responsible for murder."

"I haven't said I plan to kill anyone," Voldemort countered, his intense gaze washing over the teen.

"What else could this be for?" Harry pushed back stonily, fist clenched.

Voldemort took another intimidating step forward, reaching out and gripping Harry's chin. The Gryffindor felt a warning flash of pain in his scar, but it did not remain. He had not dropped Harry to his knees which the youth knew was well within the malicious wizard's repertoire.

"To improve your subpar potion skills, teach you about rare ingredients, and aid you with sensing poisons since many originate from serpents. There is much you would learn, ignorant child," he chastised, his voice soft but a steel-like quality to it. "And to teach you not to question me. Do you understand?"

Harry swallowed, jerking his chin free. He knew he was moments away from being tortured. "Knowledge at the expense of immersing myself in dark arts," he spat, glaring.

Suddenly the yew wand appeared in long, thin fingers. Harry stilled, leaning back warily as the wand rose, hovering against the nape of his neck, pushing up against his chin. Releasing a shuttered breath, Harry stared back silently, meeting the dark red glare. He forced his shoulders to lower, trying to release the tense feeling radiating throughout his body. This was his life now. Every time he disagreed, there would be a wand in his face promising the threat of torture. This wasn't freedom; this wasn't the alleged independence Voldemort had pretended to promise his first night captured.

"You can't have it both ways," Harry said softly, meeting the red glare unflinching. "I can be your prisoner, or I can be your apprentice. But if I am to be your apprentice, then you know there are things I will be unwillingly to do. I know you will torture me, and you can threaten my friend to make me comply, but I didn't think that how you want to gain my obedience every time."

Voldemort sneered. "You think I care how I win?" His cold tone sent a shiver down Harry's spine. "I've already won, Harry. Foolish, silly child. You can't resist me." He pushed the wand in, pressing right against one of Harry's arteries in his neck. The sharp probe drew a wince. "You are marked, and you are mine. Continue to fight me, and I'll have a different lesson for you. One that I promise you won't enjoy. Agree to this potion lesson and come willing to learn, or your next will be a lesson on something much worse. We'll dive into the fine arts of breaking a mind. There are many ways I can get around our little agreement. You will witness firsthand what it takes to break a will and drive someone to beg for death. And I won't stop until you cease resisting me."

Shivering, Harry stared back, terror washing through him. That wasn't a choice, and he could see no way to resist. "I despise you," he whispered, a renewed broken feeling washing over him.

Voldemort smiled, thin lips twitching in infinite satisfaction. "I do not care."

AN: Alright, I hope you enjoyed this! Thanks for the reviews! Please let me know what you think of their relationship so far!