Word Count: 4429

Warnings: Captivity / Passive Suicide Ideology / Kidnapping / Possible Stockholm Syndrome

Held Captive (Held Free)

Harry woke up to stone walls and rusted bars.

There was an ache in his head, and his limbs felt heavy, almost impossible to move. Forcing himself to push past the pain, he slowly sat up. He wasn't chained up, but given the heavy lock on the cell door, and his lack of wand, he may as well have been.

He tried to remember what had happened to land him there, but he couldn't. Thinking made his head hurt even worse, and he gave up when he realised that it was pointless.

The last thing he remembered was being in the forest. He remembered speaking to Dumbledore (he still didn't know if that had just been in his head), and he remembered the scent of the forest floor, when he came around from the second Killing Curse he'd been hit with and survived.

But that was it.

Did anyone even know that he was alive? Did Ron and Hermione? Were they safe? Were they alive?

With effort that he wasn't sure he even had, Harry managed to get himself onto his feet. On shaking legs, he stepped over to the bars that formed the door, and tried to peer out into the corridor, hoping for a clue as to where he was. Unfortunately, the darkness was too dark to see through.

Only the luminous moon through the high window provided light, and it didn't stretch beyond the cell.

Wondering if he should call out, and quickly deciding against it, Harry decided to just wait it out. Someone would, more than likely, come to him at some point. Or they wouldn't, and he'd die there. He didn't really feel anything about either option.

He returned to the corner he'd woken up in, and lowered himself carefully to the floor, leaning back into the corner of two walls, with his legs pulled up to his chest, and his arms wrapped around them.

It was cold, and he'd been left in just his t-shirt and jeans, with not even the most threadbare of blankets to warm him.

Harry let his head fall back against the wall and closed his eyes. He wondered, if he tried hard enough, if he'd be able to get back to that foggy Kings Cross, and make a different choice.

He should have gone on.

He should never have come back.

…

A clatter against the cell bars made Harry open his eyes. Lucius Malfoy stood in front of the door, a tray in his hands.

He looked awful. His usually lustrous blond hair was limp and thin, and his facial features were sunken and waxy. The tray in his hands rattled slightly, with the way his hands shook.

He couldn't seem to bring himself to meet Harry's eyes as he slid the tray through the small space at the bottom of the door.

Harry watched him leave, frowning slightly to himself. He couldn't eat or drink anything from the tray—he wasn't entirely stupid—but having it there was the worst kind of torture.

The tall glass of water was particularly tempting to him, and he had to wrap himself tighter in a ball, his eyes closed once more to stop himself from looking at it.

He was so thirsty.

He didn't know how long it had been since he was in the Hogs Head, but it had certainly been a while, and he was feeling the lack of hydration.

Still, he knew that he couldn't accept the offerings left for him, and for now, at least, he could manage to stay strong against the temptation.

…

Blood red eyes were boring into his own the next time Harry opened his eyes.

Harry stared back at Voldemort, refusing to show him any fear. The worst that Voldemort could do was kill him, and Harry wasn't afraid of death. He'd been there, and he knew that he had nothing to fear if he returned.

He wondered if, perhaps, he'd at least be told the notice for holding him captive instead of just ending him.

"Harry Potter."

"Voldemort," Harry replied, refusing to flinch as the thin lips stretched into an eerie smile.

"I'm told that you've been leaving the trays brought to you untouched. That simply won't do. I will not have you dying until I wish you to be dead."

"You've wished me dead for years," Harry replied, his tone flat. "I thought that I'd be doing you a favour."

"Had I wanted you dead, you would have never woken up," Voldemort pointed out. "You will eat, or you will be forced to eat."

Harry shrugged. "Then force me."

…

Voldemort was true to his word. He had Lucius force feed him the next tray that was delivered. Harry did take great pleasure in biting Lucius' finger, but ultimately, he couldn't stop the blond man from forcing the food down his throat.

Nothing happened.

Harry wasn't forced to tell the truth, he didn't randomly fall in love, and he wasn't in any pain from an undoubtedly imaginative poison.

Unless it was an extremely slow acting poison—which honestly seemed unlikely—his food and water were clear of any interference.

Harry fed himself after the first day.

It was boring in the cell. Time passed at a glacial pace, and with nothing to do, Harry was slowly going mad.

He had occasional company in Lucius, who still refused to meet his eyes, and, on occasion, another Death Eater that Harry didn't know, but none of them were exactly filled with scintillating conversation.

They tended to sit silently while he ate, likely ordered to make sure that he did eat, Harry supposed.

With each day that slipped past, Harry wished more and more that he hadn't been so moral at that train station.

…

High pitched screaming woke him from an already restless sleep, and Harry sat up in his cell, looking around.

Whoever it was that was making such an inhuman sound was clearly in an insane amount of pain. He wondered what was happening, and if Voldemort was torturing someone.

It certainly sounded like torture, whatever it was.

The screaming lasted for hours, and for the first time since he'd woken up in the cell, Harry wished for silence.

Anything would have been better than listening to that.

…

A finger stroked down his cheek. Harry blinked his eyes open, confused when he saw a handsome man standing over him, dark brown eyes peering down at him.

His skin sizzled along the trail that the man's finger left on his cheek, and Harry's eyes widened when he felt an instant connection to the man.

Soulmate.

Hermione had read about it once, Harry remembered. She'd been excited at the prospect of soulmates, until she'd realised how very rare it was to ever find that one person that was perfectly meant for you.

Ron and Harry had laughed off the idea. They'd been so young.

But Harry remembered the way Hermione had explained the feeling and this… it was the only explanation.

Harry scrambled away from him, pressing himself into the corner of the cell. "Who are you?"

"You know who I am. You felt it."

Harry looked at him closer. There was something oddly familiar about the man, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what it was about him. As the man stepped away, Harry felt a twinge in his chest, as though his heart was reaching out to the man.

Footsteps in the corridor outside of the cell drew Harry's attention, and he looked around the man to see Lucius pausing in the open doorway. Harry hadn't even realised that the door was open.

"My Lord," Lucius murmured, bowing deeply to the man, and it clicked in Harry's mind.

Deep brown eyes sparkled with amusement, and Harry realised that the last time he'd seen them, they'd been bright scarlet.

"Voldemort," he muttered, aghast, recoiling away as best he could in the tiny cell.

Lord Voldemort was his soulmate.

"Tom Riddle," the man corrected, with a charming smile. "Whole once more."

"The screaming," Harry whispered, his brow furrowing. "It was… you. You were the one that I heard screaming."

"It was an arduous ritual," Tom allowed, tilting his head slightly in acknowledgement. "But worth it, I think."

Tom turned to look at Lucius. "Have the room beside mine prepared for Harry. I want him to have the best of everything, and I will be checking."

"My Lord," Lucius repeated, once more bowing low before he scurried off.

Tom looked back at Harry, and then held out his hand. "I wish for you to dine with me this evening. You won't be staying in this cell any longer."

"Why?"

"You are my soulmate," Tom replied quietly. "Mine to keep, mine to protect, mine to cherish. That is how the stories go, is it not?"

Harry wanted to argue, he really did, but when Tom took his hand, he felt that spark once more and he found that he couldn't bring himself to disagree.

He let Tom help him to his feet, and let him guide him through the maze of corridors. They walked slowly, because after how long he'd spent in the cell, Harry's legs were less than stable.

They reached the stairs, before Harry realised the obvious. He was out of his cell.

He would have a chance to escape.

…

There was a kitten sitting on the purple sheeted bed when they reached the bedroom that Tom said was to be Harry's. As Tom inspected Lucius' work, Harry walked over and sat down beside the kitten, stroking her head gently.

She was beautiful, with dark brown fur speckled with lighter spots, and tiny white paws. She headbutted his hand, and he smiled slightly.

"Are you pleased with your room?" Tom asked.

Harry looked up at him, and then around them, nodding half-heartedly. Honestly, anything was better than the cell he'd been in before.

Tom nodded, and then shifted slightly where he stood. Harry got the strange idea that he was actually nervous.

"What is her name?" Harry asked, nodding to the kitten, who'd rolled onto her back and was purring as Harry stroked her belly.

"She is yours to name, if you wish to keep her."

Harry blinked. "She's mine?"

"Of course. You should have all that you desire, Harry."

Except for his freedom, Harry thought, though he didn't bother to voice it.

Their dinner had been weird, and awkward, and the conversation stilted, but it hadn't been… awful. Harry didn't want to ruin it now, not before he'd even had the chance to lie down on the criminally comfortable bed he was sitting on.

"I think that I'll call her Ophelia," Harry said, after a moment. "It suits her."

…

Harry was given free range of the Manor.

He thought that it was somewhat weird, until he tried to walk around the grounds, and found Tom by his side in seconds.

"Were you trying to go somewhere?" Tom asked, striding down the corridor towards him.

"I was just going to have a look around the grounds," Harry said, nodding to the double doors he'd tried to open. "It's been a long time since I've been outside."

Something in Tom's eyes seemed to soften, and he offered Harry his arm. "Then allow me to escort you for a walk around the grounds. You only had to ask, Harry. Please do remember that."

"It's hard," Harry said, after a moment. "To connect you with the man that you were. To know what I can and can't ask you for."

"I will provide you with whatever you desire, if I'm able."

"I want to know what happened," Harry said, glancing up at him. "I want to know what happened at Hogwarts while I was unconscious. I want to know if my friends are alive and safe."

Tom sighed. "Are you sure that you want to know?"

"Yes."

"The… resistance is still ongoing, but many of those that stood against me have either been killed in battle, or have run abroad. I'm afraid that I cannot tell you who, or when, simply because I don't know the answers, Harry. It… saddens me that I cannot give you closure, or the good news that you desire.

"And Hogwarts?"

"What about Hogwarts?"

Harry frowned slightly. "Is it still standing? Is it still a school? Is Professor McGonagall—"

"It is still standing, yes, and it will be open in time for the new term in September," Tom interrupted softly. "Minerva McGonagall was amongst those that perished in battle. She was a formidable opponent, and I'm afraid that I could not allow her to live."

Harry bit his lip hard. How could he be walking arm in arm with a man that could stay such callous things, and still have a part of himself that wanted to be there?

Soulmate or not, Harry should have a choice, right?

Except he didn't, because just the thought of running, of hiding, of never seeing Tom again, was more painful than anything Harry could think of. He had no doubt that if he tried it, he would be crippled before he got far.

"The resistance… I want you to promise me that you won't kill them, unless you're given absolutely no other option. I…" Harry shook his head. "I don't want any more deaths."

Tom looked down at him.

"For you," he agreed, after a long pause. "For you, I will be merciful."

…

Harry settled into his new life, with his little Ophelia by his side. It was better—it was getting better all the time—and he was… content.

Never before would he have believed that he could possibly be happy in the presence of Voldemort, but he couldn't bring himself to hate his soulmate.

He so clearly tried his best to make Harry happy, and though Harry knew that he was using the bond between them to manipulate Harry, he couldn't bring himself to care about it all that much.

Part of him thought that it was nice to have other people worry about the important things.

He missed his friends dearly every single day, but he hoped with all of his heart that they were okay, wherever they were, and that they were together. Looking after each other.

He tried not to think about them being amongst the dead, because it hurt less to believe that they were out there somewhere, perhaps somewhere hot and sunny all the time, building a life for themselves away from Britain, away from all of the danger, and the fighting.

He missed magic, too. Almost as much as he missed his friends. He'd asked Tom, once, if he would ever be allowed to have his wand back, and Tom had simply smiled at him, and said, 'perhaps.'

It was galling. Occasionally, Harry would come across a Death Eater in the hallways, and he'd automatically reach for his wand, only to find that it wasn't there.

Not that he really needed it where the Death Eaters were concerned. Whenever he did see them, they bowed to him, and scurried away.

Tom thought it was hilarious when Harry had asked him about it, horrified and confused by their actions and lack of insults.

"It is because you are my soulmate, Harry. My other half. Should one of them ever hurt you, or cause you any kind of pain, they would know torment like they've never known it before. They are all very aware of that, and they act accordingly."

Harry didn't know what to make of that. He didn't really know what to make of any of it.

But… he wasn't unhappy.

And that was a step up.

…

"Harry? Are you quite alright? Lucius has informed me that you've been sitting here for almost an hour."

Harry glanced away from the window he'd been gazing out of, and sighed. "It's a beautiful day. I miss flying."

Tom cupped his cheek with a gentle hand. "What have I told you about asking me for the things that you would like? Come with me."

Harry took the offered hand, and followed along behind Tom, wondering what on earth was going on. Surely Tom wasn't going to let him—

But apparently, Harry was wrong, because Tom led Harry straight outside to a shed, which, when opened, was clearly stocked with brooms.

"You… you're going to let me fly?"

Tom smiled. "Whatever you desire is yours for the asking, if it is within my power to give it to you. I believe that I've told you this numerous times now, Harry."

It was days later, when Harry was curled up on his bed with Ophelia on his chest and a book open beside him, that Harry realised that not once, while was in the air, had he thought about trying to escape.

…

He was reading in the library on a chilly morning, when the door burst open, banging as it rebounded on the wall.

"Harry, we have to go! We're running out of time!"

Harry stared at Neville Longbottom, amazed that he was there at all, never mind what he was saying. Honestly, Harry had thought that all of his friends—those who'd lived, which he tried not to focus on—would be abroad by now, beginning new lives.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, his head tilting to the side slightly.

Neville blinked, wrongfooted. "We're here to rescue you, of course! Whatever he's done to make you comply, we can fix it, Harry, but we have to get you out of here now!"

"I…" Harry paused. Was Tom doing anything to keep him there? He didn't really think so. They were soulmates, and… Tom was different, with Harry. He was affectionate, kind, and… loving. Everything Harry had always wanted someone to be with him. "I don't want to leave."

"I know he's—"

"No," Harry said, shaking his head. "I don't… I'm not leaving, Neville. You need to go and find whoever it is that's here with you, and you need to leave. Go to Europe, Australia, or America, or anywhere that isn't Britain. Just… go. Please."

"Harry, I don't—"

"He knows that you're here," Harry insisted urgently. "Nothing happens here without Tom knowing about it. He's giving you the chance to escape for me. If you take too long… he's not the most patient."

Neville was staring at him, horrified. "What has he done to you?"

"Tom hasn't done anything to me," Harry replied softly. He looked down at the cover of the book he'd been reading. "I had to adjust to the new world, just the same as everyone else. He looks after me, Neville. He… he makes the pain go away. He's my soulmate."

"How can he be your soulmate when he doesn't have a fucking soul?" Neville demanded. "He's a monster! He killed your best friends, Harry!"

Harry flinched and looked away, the confirmation of Ron and Hermione's deaths unwanted and harsh. "You need to leave, Neville. If he finds you here, he will kill you. There's been enough death already."

Another bang, and Kingsley Shacklebolt appeared in the doorway. "What's taking so long?"

"He… he won't come with me," Neville said, his disbelief evident in his voice. "He doesn't want to leave."

Kingsley sighed sadly. "We knew that he would likely be under an enchantment of sorts, Neville." He stepped forwards towards Harry. "I'm sorry about this, Harry. You… you'll thank me later."

Harry tried to dodge the spell, but he wasn't fast enough. Darkness beckoned, and Harry didn't have the strength to fight it.

…

When Harry woke up, he knew immediately that he was no longer in the Manor. The blankets around him were soft, but they weren't satin. The room was brighter than Harry was now used to, he could tell before he even opened his eyes.

When he did open his eyes, he found himself in a small, cosy bedroom. He frowned slightly, as memories flashed in front of his eyes. Neville and Kingsley had assaulted him.

He wondered where they'd brought him.

It was unexpected that Tom had let them take him, unless he was planning to ambush whatever safe house they were currently in. He didn't like to think that he would be happy to use Harry as bait, but it did seem like the kind of thing he would do.

"Harry?"

Harry turned his head to look at the door, and his eyes widened slightly when he saw Molly Weasley in the doorway, her eyes filling with tears.

"Oh, Harry dear, thank Merlin we got you out of there!"

Harry didn't reply, not really sure what he was supposed to say. It didn't matter that he didn't want to be there; Kingsley and Neville were evidence enough that they'd continue to believe that he was under some kind of spell or enchantment.

None of them understood. He didn't really blame them for that. How could they?

Few of them had found their soulmates, and even those that had, they hadn't done so in the middle of a way. Even more than that, none of them could possibly understand the layers in the connection between him and Tom.

He sat up slowly, rubbing at the back of his head, where a dull ache had settled. Likely an after-effect of whatever spell Kingsley had used to subdue him.

"Where am I?"

"You're safe, sweetheart," she replied, sidestepping the question as she stepped further into the room. She deposited the tray she was holding on the bed in front of him. "I brought you some tea, and some food. You should eat, dear, it'll make you feel better."

"I'm not hungry," Harry replied, looking away from the tray.

He had absolutely no doubt that either the food or the tea had something in them. If they thought that Harry was enchanted by Tom, then they were undoubtedly going to try and 'cure' him.

Merlin only knew what they were trying to feed him.

"Harry, dear, at least drink the tea."

"I'm not—"

He was interrupted by an almighty bang from where he assumed was downstairs, and he glanced at Molly.

She'd gone pale, and she slipped her wand from her apron pocket as she stood up.

"You just stay up here, Harry," she said firmly. "Someone will be up to you when it's safe."

Harry wanted to scoff at her, but he didn't. He sat silently as she left the room. Really, he was the only one there that was actually safe. Tom would flay all of them, if it meant getting Harry back.

There were more bangs, accompanied this time with shouting. Harry slipped out of the bed, cursing his lack of a wand. None of this would have happened if he'd had his wand with him when Neville had shown up at the Manor.

He stepped cautiously into the hallway, and slowly looked over the bannister. Unable to see anything, Harry slowly made his way down the stairs, only to find himself looking at absolute carnage through the window.

The Order—or what was left of them, anyway—were trying to hold Tom outside, but the Death Eaters were pushing them back like it was child's play.

Tom stood in the middle, his wand twirling and spinning elegantly in his hand, as people fell from the spells he shot at them. He was fighting with a ferocity that Harry had never seen before.

The Order members were dropping like flies.

Harry made his way to the door and pushed it open, taking in the scene more fully. He didn't want this. He'd never wanted any of this.

He'd thought that, with the end of the war, there would be an end to the fighting. Everyone who had openly opposed Tom was supposed to have left.

"Enough!" he shouted, loud enough for all of them to hear.

Tom turned to him, his eyes flashing as he took him in, clearly checking him for injuries. All around them, the others froze, watching, waiting.

Tom raised his hand, palm up, to Harry and waited patiently for him to close the distance between them and take it.

Harry glanced around at the others, at those who'd 'rescued' him, and then walked down the few steps and across the grass with purpose, placing his hand in Tom's waiting one.

"Enough, Tom," he repeated quietly. "I don't want any more fighting. Let them be."

"They kidnapped you," Tom snapped angrily. "And you want me to allow them their lives?"

"Yes. There's been enough—too much—death already."

Tom stared at him for a long moment, and then slowly, he nodded his head. He looked around at those surrounding him, and he gestured for the Death Eaters to retreat.

"You live this day at the grace of my soulmate," Tom said, glaring at the members of the Order that were still standing. There weren't many of them. "I allow you to live, because to kill you would hurt him. Do not mistake my kindness for weakness, because this will not be repeated. If you try to take him from me again, I will kill every single one of you."

Harry looked first at Molly, and then at Neville. "Don't come after me again. I am where I'm supposed to be."

He nodded at Tom and felt the familiar feeling of side-along Apparition pull him away.

…

"Did they hurt you?"

They'd barely landed when Tom spoke the words, his hands running over Harry's body, searching for any indication of him being in anything less than perfect condition.

Harry laid his hands over Tom's, stilling them.

"I'm fine. I promise."

"I wasn't here," Tom said softly, shifting his hand from beneath Harry's to cup his jaw. "They never would have gotten anywhere near you, had I been here."

"Don't worry about it," Harry whispered, nuzzling his face against the hand on his jaw. "I… I want my wand back though. In case anything like this happens in the future."

Tom stared at him for a long moment, before he nodded his head. "You're right. You should have your wand. I… I am sorry that I kept it from you for so long. I thought, given the means to leave, that you would take the first opportunity."

Harry wasn't stupid; he'd known perfectly well the reason that Tom hadn't given him his wand.

"I love you," he whispered. "I won't leave you. I can't leave you. Not now, not ever."

Tom blinked, and then softened, gathering Harry into a tight, but still gentle, embrace. "I adore you, my Harry."