(TW: Whoops this became a double. Sexual scene, graphic torture and murder. This chapter gets QUITE DARK.)

Jars, Chevelle

Put into jars
We'll save this earth

We can't both become the same pawn
That's made to fall
Oil that tastes like blood
Stole the summer scent from me to you
You're stabbing me through you
You're stabbing you through him
And betting most of this world
We'll add enough of the whole world

Harry had taken three more solid swigs from the bottle before he asked, "So what's the plan with Hermione? Squib snaked forever? Are you gonna kill her? What do the notes say?"

The sun was beginning to set over the water, blue waves glowing orange. The Dark Lord held half a bread bun. Harry would have thought he'd forgotten it was in his hand if he didn't keep looking at it.

"I think you'll find I don't care at all what she does," Voldemort said, mimicking Harry's nonchalance. "Her valiant Easter egg hunt is in vain; my followers pluck the warnings from wherever she hides them. She is, however, consuming resources I would like elsewhere. A lack of proper reconditioning has made her bolder."

"Reconditioning?"

"Mmm." His smile was vicious, momentarily himself, before the exhaustion reclaimed his face. "Reconditioning."

"You'd think a Squib Snake down the throat would be conditioning enough, but I guess it is Hermione." A twinge of sadness came with her name.

Her steadfast and unwavering loyalty to what she thought was the truth would be the end of her. Relentlessly swinging to the grave, too late to undo. If ever it were possible, the window was missed.

"Do you believe she thinks she can change anything?" Voldemort asked.

"Do I think she thinks she's gonna save the world from you by leaving notes in pot plants?" Harry took another long draw from the bottle and noticed he was tipsy, his words coming out warm, "I know she hopes it will."

"…Good."

"You're twisted."

He smiled again. "I watched you put the snake in her mouth. I saw your face."

"Yeah…? Who's to say it wasn't Tom?"

He dropped the grin, and for an instant, he looked disgusted, "…Was it?" The words felt like a dare, and Harry hesitated.

"No. It was me."

"Resisting your true nature, I see."

"You sounded like you knew the answer already, so thought I better not lie." He took another sip even though Tom was pinging warnings.

"Incredible, I have witnessed the birth of a brain cell."

"I'll let that slide. What is the plan with her, though?" Harry asked.

"Oh, thank heavens, whatever would I have done had you not let it slide. I am open to suggestions, though I must admit, allowing her to watch her world crumble was an unprecedentedly inspired idea. I would believe my Horcrux to be behind it if I did not know otherwise."

He was hypnotized by the serpent tongue, unconsciously leaning into it, "Yeah, again, I more meant in that moment."

"Go ahead and tell me you think it is sick and villainous," the Dark Lord's face flashed through several emotions too fast to comprehend.

"Oh, both of those things. And possibly perverted. Definitely a human rights issue—that's what Hermione would say. Mistreatment of prisoners of war. Stop looking at it and eat the bread. What else… Self gratifying, probably a security risk. Actually, definitely a security risk." Harry paused to watch his eyes narrow, "I like it, too; I wish it were my idea. Every time I see her in the halls, and she looks like she's about to- to cry—I get a little punch of adrenaline. I feel like she's earned it. I want to read the notes; it'd almost be like art. Do you think this counts as art?" He took a drink from the bottle, and it was silent in his head and on the beach.

'…Beautiful.' Tom thought after a moment, and Harry's cheeks were red with more than Dom Bénédictine.

"It scripted you," Voldemort said, still holding the bread, squeezing it harder than necessary.

"What?"

"Scripted you. Just now. My Horcrux."

"I- What are you talk…? Oh, no. He said it was beautiful, though. You didn't answer my question?"

"…Liar," he demanded, though he sounded unsure.

Harry didn't need to prompt the mental clean-up that Tom performed, "Look in my head?"

"It would take little more than a fool to know at this point I cannot trust anything I find in your deception-riddled brain."

"…I wouldn't say riddled."

"I just did. Your next Runes class is on Friday."

"Okay…? Are you gonna join me?"

"You will not miss it."

"Sure, stop being cryptic and do something with that bread."

The Dark Lord held it up sharply, making Harry startle and sway on the spot, drunker than he thought. He put down the bottle.

"Why do you care about bread?"

"Why do you care about Runes? Because you look like you're going to die? I don't understand why you won't just eat. You're stressing… Nagini out. You're holding it, so eat it? What's the big deal?" Harry felt the insistent tapping of his Horcrux in the silence, bugging his eyes before he pretended it was heartburn making him squirm. Tom let him in, and Harry picked up the bottle.

'Keep going and he'll CRY.' He sounded positively gleeful.

'Go away; what do you want? This is the worst possible time.' Harry thought, as the Dark Lord said:

"I have no appetite. I will not die."

'Wrong again, fuckhole, this is the best possible time. I want to be fed; tell him to feed me or I'll end US ALL.'

'…Tom. No. He just called me a fuckhole? And then threatened murder?'

'That's what you're trying to be, right? NOT a word of dishonesty from me.' His Horcrux paused, 'Ever. I'm hungry.'

"Might not die, but you'll be pretty easy to push over." He snapped the words almost unwillingly. "Have you thought about how it looks? Tom has, so I assume you have. You look weak. Eat the fucking bread."

He laughed humourlessly and dropped the bread in the sand. "What is it you want?"

The question was loaded, and Harry's Horcrux was pressed to the proverbial backs of his eyeballs watching the Dark Lord, in turn observed carefully by Tom.

"What do you think I want?"

"Sometimes I believe I know. Others, I cannot make an iota of sense," Voldemort said.

"Yeah, that sounds accurate." He'd drunk half the bottle, his elbows in the sand, leaning back. The sky was purple by then, almost dark. "None of it makes sense."

'Tell him his mum was a STUPID BITCH,' his Horcrux demanded, and Tom immediately hummed in his head.

'…Harry. We use our inside voice in this mind.'

'Fuck off, I do whatever I want.' Though he was significantly quieter, 'I'll blackmail you.'

'And then what will you have? You will lose access the very same instant, I assure you,' Tom thought.

'Aw. That's… I don't like that. Shut up.'

Tom fell silent, but he radiated smug.

"What do you want? Why are you here?" Harry asked Voldemort, the outside conversation distracting him from the inside.

He was slouching in the sand as well, undeniably bone-tired. "I want to destroy you. I want you to beg me for it. I want to watch the light leave your eyes." He said it absently, blinking glassy-eyed at the waves—black in the late sunset.

Harry almost scoffed, "Are you doing that with bread and threats?"

"The bread was you."

"Why do you blame me for my Horcrux? And why would I beg you for destruction?"

"You plead for it with your eyes every time you look at me." Voldemort was staring at him, and Harry couldn't meet it, glaring at the sand with an overly warm face.

"You didn't answer my question."

"You did not answer mine."

'…Tell him his nose is crooked,' his Horcrux told him, in a dramatic mental whisper, 'He hates that.'

Tom pulled Harry's Horcrux into the unreachable space in his head without another thought.

"You made your Horcrux by accident, and if I even made mine, it was done the same way," Harry said, gripping handfuls of sand and grinding the grains together.

"I hear your voice screaming in my mind day in and day out. It does not need sleep; when it hungers, so do I. It wants to watch it all burn. Everything." He inexplicably laughed, and he sounded genuinely amused before his face fell, and he sucked his teeth.

"I'll just ask you again, then, why you're here?"

"Why are you here? I did not make this beach for you."

"I don't see a sign."

The Dark Lord narrowed his eyes, and Harry smirked at himself.

"I hear your voice in my head every day, too. In the beginning, I was terrified. I know you're happy to hear it—just shut up. When I woke up, and he was moving my arms and legs-"

"Don't." Voldemort sat up partially, as though electrocuted.

"…When I woke up, and he was moving my arms and legs, I'm pretty sure I've never been that scared. Not any time I fought you, not through any of it. Not like that. I can see you're afraid of him. My Horcrux. And I get it. He's- scarier than you are."

"It is nothing. I am not scared of it." He snarled the words and seemed to want to grab Harry's throat. Instead he relaxed into the sand like his muscles had given him up.

"Whatever you say, liar."

"How is it that I cannot be free of the both of you at once? Does attempting to kill an infant earn biblical punishment? Is this hell?"

"I don't know. Probably? And I don't think so."

"Hell might have been less complicated." The Dark Lord was fully reclined with one arm behind his head, watching the stars appear, always scowling.

"I've heard it said that you needlessly complicate things."

"Godforsaken vampire."

"It might not have been Cassiopeia," Harry said.

"It was, wasn't it?"

"Yeah. Yeah, she says it a lot." Harry had given in and laid back on the sand as well, his eyes heavy—when he closed them, the world tilted slightly, the alcohol skewing gravity—his heart pounding. Instead of thinking, and without Tom to stop him, he reached out and put two fingers on the back of the Dark Lord's hand. Voldemort didn't remove it; he simply exhaled forcefully as though enduring a medical necessity.

The movement brought his Horcrux bounding clear out of his head, like a dog to a dinner bell. Tom rolled out behind him, cowed until the blissful warmth washed it away.

'Got a boner again, I see,' he thought.

'Partially.' Tom corrected.

'Fun distinction.'

'…Involuntarily. Harry, I did watch you cum on Voldemort's leg.'

He groaned, and the sand shifting signalled that the Dark Lord was looking at him. He didn't glance to find out for sure. His eyes were fighting him, choosing to close without direction and refusing to open.

"…Maybe this is hell. Maybe we both died." He muttered.

"Were you baptised?" Voldemort laughed at himself, and the alcohol and bliss took Harry under.

The sun opened his eyes, blazing as it rose. The bread, alcohol, and the Dark Lord were gone.

He sat up with a mild headache but was otherwise finally well-rested.

"Ah. Shit. Am I- I can't fucking sleep unless he's touching me, can I?" He asked out loud, standing, shaking what seemed like a supernatural amount of sand free.

He could tell by the sun's position that it wasn't time for class yet, that it was barely time for breakfast. He was hungry for the first time in… He couldn't remember. He debated staying where he was, calling Kreacher to him with breakfast. Instead, Tom decided on the hall.

"You do not seem to be sleeping without physical contact."

"…When did you notice?" Harry asked.

"Immediately."

"Right. Of course." He let Tom take them up the cliff path, frowning at his feet the entire way.

He sat alone at the Slytherin table, rejoined by a guard who had apparently spent the night outside the Vivarium. The table and hall were around half-full with the early-rising students. The staff table was similar. Cedrum and Eugenia were locked in discussion, the necromancer becoming as animated as his fuchsia robes.

Harry took a stack of toast from the centre and ignored every eye in the room, trained on him. His first class on Thursday was Dark Arts, and the Dark Lord hadn't yet bothered to fill the position.

'What did my Horcrux say this time.' He wondered.

'Nothing that will help. That he is starving. He threw a tantrum. He said you get everything you want, and so do I. Which is untrue, but I suppose from his perspective, we are treated like kings. I made some suggestions, but he is not very receptive when he is hungry.'

'What suggestions?'

'He asked why the Dark Lord would have moved to protect him. In the dream. I told him there seems to be a part of his mind that cannot tell the difference either. That he could use that. He essentially told me to… Suck my own dick off.'

'…And you got an erection?'

'Harry, not about that.'

'About what, then?'

Tom bit the toast, watching Daphne Greengrass and her sister muttering to each other at the other side of the table. Harry scowled, and they flinched and stopped whispering, assuming it was targeted at them.

'What else did he say.'

'He told me, without prompting, that the Dark Lord is keeping 'that Granger girl around' in the hopes that you will kill her.'

Harry squawked a loud laugh, and the hall fell silent, a gradual wave of quiet spreading from where he sat. 'Sick and twisted.'

'He also indicated that he is not free to move in the Dark Lord's head, that his knowledge of his plans and thoughts is not omnipotent.'

'He's more useful every day.' Harry raised an eyebrow at his breakfast.

In Healing class, Lydia had created anatomically correct practice torsos, outfitted with 'working and accurate' skin and organs. She let the class inflict their 'patients' with wounds to heal and insisted that Harry try it. He told her it was her job to clean it up, whatever happened.

He shredded his patient with the curse, tearing the skin to ribbons, blood pouring onto the white sheets and the floor. Again, everyone was staring at him. He attempted the incantation for quick skin repair, non-verbally, and quickly found that while it 'technically' worked, no one would ever, for any reason, need that much skin.

"That's just not right." Someone behind him said.

Harry agreed. His patient's torso was lost somewhere under a grotesque amount of flesh, hanging off the sides of the narrow bed.

"Well. It's not bleeding anymore?" Lydia said. "…Points to Gryffindor for effort." She grimaced, and so did Harry.

Thursday night meant duelling in the Chamber of Secrets, and he was essentially alone as he descended to the dungeons, flanked by his perpetual and silent entourage of Death Eaters.

The Slytherin Common Room was cleared of students not invited to the class as standard. The first thing Harry noticed was the proximity of Reed, Draco, Pollux, and Ruby. None of them spoke a word as they stood watching him enter, not more than a foot apart.

Cassiopeia was whispering at Lydia, and the healer nodded repeatedly, before she pointed at Harry, drawing the vampire's attention to the staircase.

He was the last one to arrive on purpose. He didn't meet Ginny's eyes as he opened the way—sitting with Avalon and Eris in an isolated group—and he said nothing as he descended the stairs first, two at a time.

The sight of Nagini standing next to the Dark Lord made Harry pause in the water before he shook it off and sat down in the usual spot, allowing plenty of room for a wide berth. They gave it to him, the students sitting at least a metre clear, not looking at him in the same way he didn't look at them.

Cassiopeia sat beside him, though, grinning wide at Voldemort as she did. Lydia sat down on the other side of the vampire, and her apprentice, Hannah, decided against it, sitting away from him with the others.

Despite Cassiopeia's rebellion, the Dark Lord seemed ridiculously pleased with himself. He also appeared well-rested, the dark rings around his eyes already lightening.

Regardless of the risk that Tom's potential arrangement with Reed presented and the discomfort it would probably cause, Harry got a thrill out of the deception. The fact that Draco seemed to be doing the legwork for him, applying pressure, made it feel like a sure thing.

Ginny felt like far less of a sure thing. He gnawed his tongue and resisted the urge to look at her, his eyes fixed on Voldemort and Nagini instead. The Dark Lord's familiar periodically grinned at him, then looked up at Voldemort.

His Horcrux was peppering his skull at around the same time that she crossed the chamber to sit on the other side of him. Harry raised his eyebrows at Voldemort as Tom let the worst version of himself into his head.

'Prince fucking bread boy and his loyal cucklord.'

'Fuck off.' Harry thought, struggling to think of an insult.

'Here to be rewarded for doing BASICALLY NOTHING YET AGAIN.'

Tom bristled, and his Horcrux followed suit.

'Oh, don't start with your shit. I'M—SO—HUNGRY. Make him FEED ME. Strangle him. CHOKE HIM OUT TO DEATH.'

'This is great Tom. Great plan.'

"Uagadou, Jaadoo Seekhana, Koldovstoretz, and Durmstrang are confirmed as attending." The Dark Lord said, staring exclusively at Harry as he spoke. "You are expected to study each school's curriculum in your own time."

'Does he mean me too?' He wondered, deciding on the spot that he wouldn't do it.

'I doubt it,' Tom thought.

'Yeah I doubt it too.' His Horcrux added, nearly startling him. 'Are you aware that when you look at him you LOOK LIKE A WHOR-' He was yanked away before he could finish, silenced by Tom.

"Smith. Delacroix."

Avalon and Zacharias stood at Voldemort's command, and Harry didn't watch their spells fly. He was too busy 'watching' the place in his head that he couldn't go. His thoughts periodically wandered to the unguarded secret, and panic made his hands numb every time it registered.

"He was gone all night?" Nagini whispered in Parseltongue, hidden under a barrage of spells, echoing throughout the chamber. "He seems to have slept?"

"I think he did. I fell asleep, too. In the Vivarium."

She nodded, smiling, bumping his shoulder with hers. "Did he eat?"

"A little."

She grinned wider, then expertly vanished it when the Dark Lord looked away from the duel.

"Tsss sss hiss, shhsss." Cassiopeia said, and Harry snorted, blurting in the silence between spells.

"You said part of the word 'diagram', or maybe 'diagonal'?" Nagini said.

"I didn't even hear that much," Harry said.

"Which part?" Cassiopeia asked. Nagini just smiled.

Avalon had bested Smith; the bone in his left arm broken, his wrist hanging at an angle. He was pale, sweating, and refusing to make a sound as he presented it to Lydia. He glared at Harry all the while as though he'd done it.

"…Pollux, Ruby." It was clear that the Dark Lord was irritated with Cassiopeia and Nagini—his vindication vanishing when Harry was joined by the vampire and moreso the Maledictus—and perpetually seething at him.

But he could also see the relief, almost feel it as a tangible thing. His Horcrux absent and, as a result, silent in Voldemort's head. The few seconds Harry had to endure his Horcrux were enough for him. He often found himself wondering how the Dark Lord hadn't already been driven completely insane—or to murdering him. He also found it astonishing that Tom and his Horcrux both seemed to think he stood any chance in the face of it.

Ruby seemed more than keen to fight her brother, bouncing on her heels as they took to the walkway, already wielding blood whips and demanding he fight 'fairly'.

When his Horcrux exploded out of his head, it was painful, a slowly fading thunderclap that made him wince.

'It was a perpetual tantrum. Impossible to stop. He said that Voldemort is going to have us fight Eris as a… Reward, of sorts. That is what he called it, but I do not believe the Dark Lord sees it that way. We will do it, and enjoy it, but we will not go too far. That is what he wants,' Tom thought. He seemed anxious, and there was no semi-erection, only a racing pulse.

'What?'

'He is starving. It is… Firstly, it is disconcerting to witness. He cannot think clearly, and he is not receptive. He begged me to find a way to stop it. It was… I don't know how to do that. I don't know what to do? Should he be kept weak or fed? Which brings the greater risk, if either?'

Harry tuned back into Pollux and Ruby's duel to find that he was not fighting 'fair'. Stealing Ruby's blood and using it against her until she had to abandon the strategy in favour of spellwork, not her strong suit.

'Which felt like more of a risk to you? When I refused to feed you, or when I did?' Harry wondered.

'…Sometimes, when you would not relent, I felt I could have initiated it regardless of your intent. With not much thought to whether it would eviscerate you. Or… Bystanders.'

Harry could feel himself staring bug-eyed at the Dark Lord—busy, as far as he could tell, pretending to watch the duel—then at the students, all of them avoiding him. Ginny looked pained by the effort. 'Okay, that's fun. Do you think he could do that too?'

'It is not something we want to be possible.'

Ruby lost the fight, conceding when she started screaming.

'And we can't warn him, can we?'

'Not unless we want Voldemort to know your Horcrux is… Collaborating,' Tom thought.

Harry rolled his eyes at the term, then glanced at Eris, stomach jumping in anticipation. He felt his pocket to be sure he had an adrenaline booster. When he felt one, he smirked at the necromancer and received narrowed eyes.

"Zabini. Malfoy."

The blonde sprung to his feet, bowing as he passed the Dark Lord without stopping, wand in hand. The dark-skinned Slytherin was slower to follow, glaring at Draco as he took the closer end of the runway.

'How long did it take you to start… Feeling like you'd do it anyway?' Harry wondered.

'Ten days.' Tom answered rapidly.

Draco and Zabini had started with spellcraft, each peacocking until it devolved into a savage punching match.

'He is feeding him more often than that for the sake of the schools, but once we are done… I believe it will be a case of who is most stubborn.'

'Of course it will.' Harry thought.

'As though it was not exactly the same for us.'

Draco won the duel by slamming both fists into Zabini's nose while he was on his knees—dropped by an uppercut—and knocked him out cold, needing to drag him back to Lydia, smirking all the way.

"Harlow, Magnus."

Reed predictably won any fight where she employed her powers, apparently happy to disregard her rules to please the Dark Lord. Something that made Harry and Tom both uncomfortable. a threat held at bay by an Unbreakable Vow.

Draco duelled a second time, fighting and winning against Daphne with a permanent grimace and an enthusiastic thumbs up from Avalon.

Harry stood before his name was said, grinning at Eris as though it was Christmas morning, gesturing for him to stand up and follow with both hands. He turned, and Tom took the adrenaline out of his pocket, broke to top off and drained the tiny vial. His heart jumped immediately, and he avoided Ginny's concerned face—side-eying her for only a second. He could only give so many warnings, and he was not above taking the bait presented to him, hook, line and sinker.

Voldemort was smirking at him, and he smirked right back, confident in Tom's ability to not murder the necromancer in front of his girlfriend.

Eris seemed to have enough knowledge of the curse by then to be sufficiently apprehensive. Sneering at Harry, approaching slowly, shields already up. He didn't bother following the necromancer's lead, arms at his sides, eyebrows raised, waiting.

Harry barked a laugh as Eris began a slow approach. The necromancer shot the first stunners, and Tom reacted, slicing the spells out of the air with the darkness. Though Tom had said they wouldn't get carried away, Harry found it harder than he thought it would be to restrain his desire to pull Eris apart.

He controlled it, assisted heavily, but barely. He was walking forward with the blackness billowing from both arms, fighting the smile on his face. Fully aware he was being watched, judged, and swallowed the necromancer with the curse anyway, pressing down on his shields until they gave a satisfying crack.

Tom didn't hold it long—much to Harry's irritation—he let it graze Eris' skin, drawing blood in warning and forcing him to his knees; then he retracted it. The necromancer was panting and still seemed to want to fight, though it was disappointingly over before it had started—face bloody, brow sweaty, swaying on his knees with his wand semi-raised. Harry pushed him over as he passed.

He came to stand in front of the Dark Lord, trying not to show how hard he was breathing as he silently demanded to be side-along Apparated. Voldemort turned and glanced at Nagini and Cassiopeia before he took Harry's arm and Disapparated.

They reappeared outside the warded house, familiar and shimmering green in the nearly freezing air. The Dark Lord was already walking across the lawn, opening the front door with a wave.

Harry followed to find the chair where it usually stood. He rolled his eyes at it, then at Voldemort for good measure, before he sat down and watched the metal clasps snap shut over his wrists.

The Dark Lord moved to gag him, holding the fabric in front of his face before he stilled, then held it against his neck instead, pulling Harry's head to rest on his torso.

"Did- you eat the -bread?" It was difficult but not impossible to talk.

"Ceaselessly talking about bread." He let him go sharply and sat down, two fingers on the back of his hand as usual.

Harry fought sleep, and it came in waves, tricking him into closing his eyes. At no point did Voldemort move to do any work, and when he snapped his eyes open to look at him for what felt like the millionth time, the Dark Lord was face down on the desk, head tucked into his arm.

"Could you extinguish the lights? If we're just sleeping with extra steps?"

They were plunged into darkness immediately. Harry could just make out his outline, sitting upright in the quiet. He was suddenly wide awake as he watched Voldemort turn to look at him, stomach somersaulting.

"You say you have never felt anything like it. Killing Dumbledore. Tell me, will you do it again?" He was almost whispering as though the dark demanded silence.

"Dumbledore scared me as much as I… Liked it. Maybe more. My whole life he was… supposed to be- he was something else to me. And I found out it was all wrong. Then I had no choice. I was disgusted when I couldn't stop feeling so-"

"Oh, you had a choice. The pieces were all there: hatred, the desire for vengeance, a thirst for pain, and a means to inflict it…"

"…All that."

"Will you kill again?"

Harry understood that the Dark Lord knew he would, had seen it in his head—be it by command or elsewise— that he just wanted him to say it out loud, to hear it acknowledged.

"Yeah. Yeah, sometimes I want to. Jager. Zabini… Granger. Pettigrew. You."

"I can tell you any flirtatious thoughts I endure regarding my own end have included you. Quelle mort douce tu offrirais, if given no other option…"

'He said 'what a sweet death you would offer.'' Tom thought.

"Likewise, I guess. You think about me killing you? Flirtatiously?"

"I think about death more now, with seven Horcruxes, than I ever have." He stood up, and took Harry's chin in his hand. "I am having thoughts, Harry. Of disregarding Cassiopeia and Nagini's senseless infatuation and executing you. Of ending this torture."

He leaned into it, eyes adjusting to the night as he stared up at the Dark Lord, "Doesn't really surprise me. Do you want me to be scared? Because I'm not. I don't think you want to kill me. Not really. I mean. Who are we kidding? We don't want to kill each other more than we want to fu-"

He squeezed Harry's face and interrupted.

"Make no mistake, daily I fluctuate. I have no true way to know which I desire more, the satisfaction of your death, or…"

"Or fuc-"

"Can you not be so-"

"Me? Not really. Does something to me when you touch me. Did I mention that? I feel like I've mentioned that. Why won't you just ask nicely that's litera-"

"You—will—beg."

"Honestly unlikely. I feel like you've played all your cards, and now you're frustrated? You can keep carrying on like a dickhead, but you've proven it doesn't work."

Voldemort stared at him for a full five seconds, blinking, baffled,"I will not plead."

"Guess it's a stalemate then."

"You will have me insane."

"What's one word?" Harry persisted.

"Look at you. Imploring with your eyes as always. What is one word, indeed? You exhaust me. Perpetually."

"I know."

The stalemate led to blissfully uncomfortable sleep, and he awoke alone—unrestrained, as had become expected, giving Harry the impression that the Dark Lord wanted to pretend he was never there. Vulnerability and security risks be damned. He Apparated back to the castle at the crack of dawn, showering and changing robotically, while Tom seemed to be reassessing the plan.

'He would not visit any schools while your Horcrux is hungry. He is proficient in hiding the agony, but it is unshakable, and even he cannot deny it makes him weak.'

'…Every time I fed you, I felt like I was getting closer to… Something. I didn't know what it was, but I don't feel it anymore?'

'The conclusion I keep coming to is that feeding or starving him contribute to the same risk in different ways. It is a moot point, then. We cannot warn or control the Dark Lord, and there is no way to know which is worse.' Tom was shaving Harry's face with the curse, no warning, making Harry groan and grip the bench.

If he had to pick the smoothest day of classes for the year to date, it would be Friday, October twenty-forth.

Herbology, Hemolurgy, and Runes were mind-numbingly boring and without incident. Pollux sat with him in Runes and Hemolurgy, though he didn't say anything. Despite the Dark Lord's increasing and bizarre interest in his Ancient Runes class, it was the most brain-sedating of the three, and neither he nor Tom could work out why he kept highlighting the issue.

By sunset, he was thinking incessantly about the weekend ahead, speculating with Tom where two of the remaining schools would be, Mahoutokoro the only one confirmed.

Before the Dark Mark burned, his Horcrux was peppering his skull. Tom let him in without hesitation, and Harry narrowed his eyes.

'Er, about yesterday?' He seemed sheepish.

'I understand,' Tom thought.

'Disrespectfully, no, you fucking don't? No solutions either, right? Tsssh, typical. He has something else for you, your majesties. I gotta say, I'm excited about this one. Almost feels like a gift for me, too. So romantic. Mark's gonna burn. Three, two, one—See you soon.' He was gone as the tingling sting picked up on his forearm.

'…At least he is fed.'

'Isn't that bad? Fusion wise?' Harry wondered.

'I don't know. I do know he is insufferable and non-compliant when starved.'

Harry's nervous energy had him jogging down the stairs, his guard hot on his heels and getting better at chasing him down.

'He's insufferable either way.'

The Malfoy Manor was uncharacteristically quiet that night; the front doors closed. Instead of Narcissa and Lucius, two masked Death Eaters greeted him at the gate. He didn't recognise their stances, and they were silent as they led him up the gravel path, stopping at the entrance.

He was not instructed, so he headed for the dining room, searching for Narcissa, expecting her to pop around any corner. She didn't. It was eerily quiet, the fireplaces unlit despite the cold. The pull of the thread told him he was going in the right direction, and the doors were open, so he entered. They slammed shut behind him, jump-starting his heart.

It took him a little over an instant to take in the bewildering scene. The Dark Lord, in his usual seat, smiling, unobstructed, hands steepled. No Nagini.

And Bellatrix Lestrange, sitting just to the left of Harry, grinning open-mouthed at the sight of him.

'Don't react. He wants us to kill her.' Tom held his limbs in a body lock while his eyes widened, his heart falling into his stomach.

"Sit down," Voldemort said.

Harry moved to do as he was told, his legs mechanical and assisted by Tom. He was certain his pulse was both audible and visible as he moved right past a smirking Bellatrix, baring her teeth and giggling, kicking her feet in her seat like a schoolgirl.

His hands began to shake as he took his usual seat to the right of the Dark Lord, something that seemed to give Bellatrix pause—as far as Harry could tell, she thought it was some kind of show for her benefit. Tom's assumption and rapid disappearance in his head—plotting and devising—was causing a sick excitement to build in his solar plexus, making him sweat.

"You want to watch me kill her," Harry said in Parseltongue, not a question.

"I wanted to allow you to find out." The Dark Lord watched him like he was prey.

"Find out what?"

"If you are lying to yourself."

"Oh, no, I definitely will kill her, but I'm still getting the sense you really want to watch," Harry said.

"So," Tom said,"Here are my terms. You eat a full meal once a day, with us. And we fight to exhaustion twice weekly. In the chamber."

"What is it with you and this obsession with food?" He said it in English, and Harry remembered that Bellatrix was present in more than just topic, her eyes ping-ponging between them.

"You are our main source of safety. Something happens to you and what are we? You do not need to be killed to be incapacitated. Deal?" Tom extended a hand.

He sat back in his chair, eyes narrowed and following Harry's undecided gaze to Bellatrix.

"…My Lord?" She said, her grin still in place, morphing into a nervous grimace.

The Dark Lord leaned in, took his hand, and bit the inside of his wrist in one quick motion—flicking his tongue across the pulse point and sending Harry's heart clear out of his chest. He dropped his arm almost the same instant, returning his attention to a thoroughly flabbergasted Lestrange.

"Bellatrix, I am afraid you will die here today. It is only slightly personal, you understand. A grudge needs settling, and you have vastly outlived your purpose."

At first, she cackled, shrill and shocked, before it receded with the actuality. "…No? I haven't- my purpose- my faith in you is stronger than ever, my Lord, let me prove it to you? I'll do anything, anything you want."

"You are serving your final purpose as we speak," Voldemort steepled his fingers, eyes wide and glittering.

"This is some sort of test?" She laughed nervously, standing up, her eyes on Harry only for an instant.

"He is bloodthirsty, and I am enabling him, that is all." He waved a hand; it was all business, though when his eyes met Harry's, they darkened, a manic dare in them. "Do it."

Harry shot out of his seat, knocking it back onto the floor with a resounding smack.

"Bellatrix Lestrange," Tom purred, running his hand along the table as he slowly approached her, gouging the wood with the curse, bleeding it from his fingers. "In some ways, I owe you a debt of gratitude…"

Harry kept laughing between words, startled giggling as the reality settled in.

"…No, no, stay away from me!" She either didn't have her wand or didn't draw it, moving for the door to find it firmly locked.

"I did love Sirius," Harry said, smiling ear to ear. Casual as he followed. "And you killed him."

She was stumbling and refusing, had abandoned the door and was reaching for the Dark Lord. He stood as well, disgusted as he backed away, placing the chair he'd been sitting on in her way and scowling.

Harry was spreading the curse under the table, through the legs of chairs, laying snare traps. They bit her skin when she came close, shrieking, crawling when her legs could no longer hold her. Still, she didn't look at him, her eyes firmly trained on Voldemort, grasping for him as though he might suddenly change his mind and scoop her off the blackening floor.

The Dark Lord was not looking at Bellatrix Lestrange. He watched Harry with a laser focus so intense it halved his attention.

"Crucio," his tone was relaxed, though his pulse wasn't; he didn't watch her writhe—screaming. Instead, he locked eyes with the Dark Lord—who studied him as though he was a critically endangered species, his movements slow and unflinching, eyes wide.

Harry dropped both curses, not wanting to break her just yet, and found himself wishing he could properly divide his awareness. He could scarcely breathe, pulse thundering, though he could barely feel it. Bellatrix had resumed crawling, though she finally decided away from the Dark Lord was the best direction.

She wasn't very fast. Harry pulled his eyes away from Voldemort and followed her, hands clenched and shaking, though he felt more than fine.

"We're so glad you could come to play, Bellatrix." Harry said, "I've thought about this a lot."

She was bleeding from somewhere, likely several somewheres—hidden by her robes, leaving a thin but steady trail. She almost sounded as though she was laughing, shrill sobs like cackles as she dragged herself across the floor. She raised her hand at him to wandlessly cast before she was suddenly flipped into the air and dropped on her face from a moderate height. Harry turned to look at the Dark Lord—who shrugged one shoulder, smiling manically.

"You don't have the guts-" She seemed to be trying to convince herself as she corrected, nose bleeding.

"Oh, Bellatrix, you're number four. I know you wish you were my first. I almost do, too. That would have been… Tom, what's the word?"

"Symmetrical. Poetic. Symbolic," Tom said.

"That's three words." The curse was snaking from both hands, trailing after her languidly—in perfect opposition to how his hands vibrated with adrenaline.

She was the perfect mixture of confused and horrified, and Harry stood bewitched by it—the scene burning into his retinas as she was cornered, backed against the wall. She raised her hand again, sweating, gnashing her teeth. Her eyes finally firmly locked on him. Her right arm exploded at the elbow, chunks of flesh and bone scattering on the floor with small wet slaps. Both she and Harry stared at it before her eyes went impossibly wide and she howled, tilting and sliding down the wall as the wail became a whimper.

"I have this under control, you know," Harry told the Dark Lord in Parseltongue.

"I see that."

Bellatrix was losing consciousness, so he corrected it with the curse, biting at her legs with darkness until she was screaming and scrambling again. Harry felt sure his heart would explode, or his knees would betray him and drop him on the floor. She'd sequestered herself in the corner, paling rapidly, blood pumping from the stump held tightly to her chest. Her eyes were unfocused and wild, looking through him, at the ceiling, the floor, heaving sobs all the while.

He was laughing, couldn't and didn't stop it. "Crucio."

He heard bones break, and her wheezing, breathless screams forced more adrenaline; a giddy, righteous hunger finally satisfied, stealing the air almost entirely from his lungs. He let it go to find that she no longer seemed to be in the room, staring blankly, choking automatic, absent inhales, crumpled in a heap.

He summoned the blackness from both hands once more; the vibrant green lighting the stinging darkness as it chewed through the floorboards and ate up her legs, sheering flesh from bone and rending a guttural, animal moan from Bellatrix. He wound it up her thighs and torso, directing swords of the curse to plunge into every inch, eviscerating organs, spilling chunks onto the wood. He didn't stop when she ceased convulsing; he enshrouded her entirely, crushing bone, bursting her eyes, grinding her to anonymity—screaming all the while, the rage finally demolishing the rest of it—save for the savage vindication.

When he let go, he stood staring at her mangled, irreconcilable corpse for what felt like an eon, unblinking, heart hammering impossibly fast, his breathing hyperventilation—making him dizzy. A manic, disgusting joy welled up and kept him conscious; he was cackling, harsh and interrupted mad giggles. His stomach continued to rush with adrenaline to the tune of a calm heartbeat.

"Mmm, and here is why I cannot kill you. Ma propre bête. How could I deny myself this?" Voldemort's voice was almost soft.

"Deny- what?" He turned to find the Dark Lord much closer than he'd expected, sound and spatial positioning made unreal by the ungodly amount of adrenaline.

Voldemort's eyes betrayed him, bright and frantic in the dim light. "Give in to me, Harry."

"I've been given strict instructions not to do that." His words came out in one piece, with no gaps, and his breath was difficult to catch like the air had thickened.

Voldemort was closing the short distance, watching Harry like he was starved—his chest heaving, pulse visible in his neck and forehead as he stalked him into the corner. "I have a different set of instructions for you."

"Oh, probably not," he muttered, about to choke on his heart, pressed between two walls and the Dark Lord, Tom quiet and watching. He couldn't see the body, but he could certainly see the blood, alarms ringing dully in his head—it was wrong to feel the way he did, wrong to immediately turn his attention to Voldemort, rock hard and trembling.

"I can see how you want to. The word on your lips, in every silence, in your eyes, your mind, your cock… Begging each and every way but one."

Voldemort hadn't reached him, still a foot away, and Harry was already whimpering, squeezing his eyes closed and searching for Tom in his head.

"Just say it." Voldemort pressed against him, and he made a noise that sent his face bright red. His eyes pinged back open against his will, and he found his face nearly buried in the Dark Lord's robes.

"…No?" His hands shook as they were pinned at his sides.

'It's alright,' Tom thought. 'You're okay.' He seemed far more focused than Harry felt.

He was grinding helplessly against the Dark Lord, unable to resist the friction, every movement strengthening the furious desire—boosted by adrenaline—Tom kept his arms limp in Voldemort's grip, all his attention on fawning, feigning no resistance.

"You." He hissed the word in Voldemort's ear and he gasped, then exhaled a laugh on Harry's throat.

"A stalemate." He dragged his teeth along the sensitive flesh, his breath nearly destructive in the room's chill.

He would have fallen to the floor if not held upright, his brain fuzzing—dizzy with adrenaline and desire, forbidden words everywhere but his mouth, not allowed free. The Dark Lord seemed satisfied that he wouldn't move and released one arm to graze Harry's erection with his free hand. He moaned and nearly buckled, the way he shook altering the sound, dangerously close with one wisp of touch.

"Say it," he'd returned his mouth to Harry's ear and gripped his cock tight, gasping and laughing heat down Harry's neck. "Just say it. One word, it's done; you're mine. Mine. Give in, and I'll give you all you want and more."

He choked on the words, held at bay only by Tom's laser focus—though he did nothing to prevent the way Harry was coming utterly undone, his throat closing as his eyes rolled closed, heart palpitating wildly in his throat, brain, and cock.

It hit like a slow roll of thunder, building until it shook his foundations. He yelped a scream until the sound was stolen from his lungs and mouth, frozen with ecstasy for what seemed like an impossible length of time.

As Harry came, Tom struck like a cobra, gripping the Dark Lord's robes with one hand, his cock with the other, blooming the curse from both arms and pulling him closer. He resisted only momentarily before he sank his teeth into Harry's collarbone, thrusting into his hand.

The sounds he made were making Harry's stomach roll with desire all over again, the pleasure painful, the pain pleasurable. The Dark Lord cried out, muffled by Harry's skin and robes, still for an instant, breathing hard, before he burst free as though shoved.

"Aussi impuissant qu'il soit. You will beg." Tom said.

"Get out. I said GET OUT." Voldemort shattered the wards on the room with a single movement, eyes wild.

Harry scrambled to do as he was bid, legs crumbling under him like a newborn colt twice before he was out the doors.

(AN: Next chapter is the final school visit double-double, and the one I've been most excited about. If you're curious, I have six gift chapters drafted so far, and every single one is fuckin' demented chef's kiss. You might have noticed, but I'll point it out, V is nearly impossible to get into the mood at this stage. He needs to be fed (two ways), rested, not thinking about the prophecy or fusion… You get it. Difficult. BUT WE'RE FIXING HIM.)