Note:

Wow, thanks for following and favoring this story. I hadn't expected that. And thanks for the reviews. I'll try and post a chapter at least once a week.

Apparently, his apology satisfied the Dark Lord. He let go of Harry's chin, but seized his neck and shoulder firmly.

"Get up," said Voldemort and began to stand himself. Harry followed him; his back feeling sore and painful. Voldemort let him go and made a wave with his wand. Harry felt his robes getting repaired, forming painfully around his body.

"Follow me," said Voldemort, while sliding towards an semi-circular arc next to the fireplace. Harry's legs trembled a bit while he shuffled behind Voldemort, following him to, by the looks of it, a large dining room. The space was filled with a huge, mahogany table full of candles, plates and dishes. The room was lit by a few lanterns, attached to the red painted wall, and the candlesticks on the table. On each side of the table stood a red dining chair, inviting guest to sit comfortably.

Voldemort waved at a chair; it slid away from the table so Voldemort could sit. After he did, the chair brought him closer to the dining table. Voldemort pointed his wand at the remaining chair. It didn't move, but Harry got the message. He was to sit down as well.

Harry looked at the engraved, gold plate and cutlery and reluctantly sat down as well. The plate started to fill itself immediately, making the dishes and bowls on the table filled with food quite unnecessary.

"Eat," demanded Voldemort. Harry looked from his plate to Voldemort's face and suppressed a shiver when his red, narrowed eyes bore into his own. At first, he didn't want to eat with Voldemort across the table, but the hunger took over his will. Voldemort on the other hand, didn't eat. He watched Harry's every movement with a thoughtful gaze. Harry tried to ignore him; feeling a bit awkward as Voldemort kept staring at him.

Do you mind? Harry thought while cutting a little piece of potato. He brought it to his mouth and looked up to Voldemort again. His lipless mouth curled up in a humorless laugh.

"Be careful, Harry. You're a thought away from getting marked again," said Voldemort and leaned closer to Harry, "and you don't want that to happen, now do you?"

Harry didn't answer; instead he focused on his plate again. What would everyone say when they found out he was dining with Voldemort right now? He imagined Mad Eye Moody berating barks about naively accepting food from Voldemort, Hermoine's upset gasps, Ron's looks of disgusted astonishment. He missed them; missed them so much, it ached. He put down his fork.

"Are you finished?" asked Voldemort. Harry nodded; he felt nauseous.

"Good. Now, Harry, I'll explain some rules to you."

Harry looked up. Rules? Voldemort smiled again.

"From now on, you will address me as 'my lord', understood?"

Harry gave him a bewildered look.

"Answer me," whispered Voldemort dangerously, his red eyes captivating Harry's. He felt sick. No way, no way in the world would he address Voldemort as his lord. He'd already begged, apologized and obeyed enough, this was getting too much.

"You have lost it," said Harry shakenly. You murderous, sick piece of – "Ah!"

His scar burned to no end. His hand shot to his forehead, his vision became blurry again. A hazy, black figure stormed towards him. He felt his chair getting removed, felt the blow from the floor against his shoulder. He was trapped in the anew agonizing world of fear.

Please, don't, Harry thought when he felt his robe getting torn apart again. The familiar sensation of white hot strikes made him gasp; he rolled over the floor, away from Voldemort's whipping curse. To his surprise, the pain stopped. With his hand still on his forehead, he looked up through pinned eyes at Voldemort, who towered above him. His scar still felt like it was going to rip open any second.

Slowly, his vision came back to him. He saw Voldemort's outstretched wand, pointing at him. His breathing was heavy and uneven.

"I will give you one last chance, Harry," Voldemort said finally, stepping dangerously closer. Harry backend away over the floor. "One last chance to beg for forgiveness. Beg for Lord Voldemort. Now."

Harry felt exhausted; close to giving up. This was getting him nowhere. He let escape another breath of fear and closed his eyes.

"Please forgive me," said Harry, pushing the words through his gritted teeth. He paused, swallowed all his pride and pinched his eyes more tightly. "My lord." He spat out.

"It will do for now," answered Voldemort and waved his hand. Harry felt his body rise, as if an invisible hand pulled him up. He opened his eyes and glared at Voldemort; hating him with every fiber in his body.

"Furthermore," said Voldemort, as though there had been no interruption, "you'll obey my every command. Understood?"

"Yes," answered Harry. When it didn't look like Voldemort would continue, he added "my lord."

"Very good, Harry," whispered Voldemort, his nostrils dilating with excitement. "You might be not so obstinate after all.

"Now, for the house rules," Voldemort continued, waving at Harry for him to follow him, "since you're my little guest here, you'll behave like one. You are not to wander around. I will show you your room. You are to stay there. Have I made myself clear?"

"Crystal," answered Harry, keeping his robe together before they could fall off. He sensed Voldemort seeing this little act, because suddenly his robe was knitting together again.

"Be careful, Harry. I'm offering you a more comfortable place to stay, I can easily take that away."

Harry kept silent, but Voldemort didn't wait for an answer this time. He strode towards the staircase, and Harry followed. They went up this time, taking five flights of stairs, before halting for a yet another big, heavily engraved door. Voldemort waved his hand; unlocking the door. A long corridor became visible. Voldemort waited until Harry stepped through and then locked the door. Suddenly, the door shrank until it wasn't visible anymore.

Harry felt extremely vulnerable again, he knew he couldn't escape anyway, still a vanishing door didn't make him feel any better.

Voldemort started walking again. After a little moment of doubt, Harry followed. The corridor was much longer than Harry initially thought. They seemed to walk for an half hour. Finally, the reached their destination. Another door appeared which Voldemort unlocked, again with a single wave of his hand.

"Enter," he demanded and Harry obeyed. He stepped into a large, welcoming bedroom. This room was, too, lit by lanterns attached to the wall. On his left, Harry spotted a king-sized bed. Next to it stood a desk, covered with books and parchment. On the other side of the room stood several bookcases, also covered with books. There was one window, decorated with snake-like bars.

"You'll find a bathroom behind that door," said Voldemort, while pointing to the wall, were another door appeared.

"Meals will be provided for you. My faithful death eaters will fetch you for the evening diners, that you will attend with me. Understood?"

"Yes," answered Harry silently. He still couldn't believe what was happening. Ever since he was one year old, Voldemort had tried to kill Harry. Now, he was to stay in Voldemort's mansion and be treated as a guest.

"You will show Lord Voldemort some gratitude, won't you?" The imminent undertone was undeniable. Harry stared at him, not really sure how he was feeling. It still dazed him, standing here with Voldemort, who was showing him his accommodation; a comfortable room instead of the dungeon he'd slept in before. At the same moment, he felt anger, for getting told how he should behave, like he was a child, by no other than the man who murdered his parents.

The silence was knotting his insides painfully together; he felt Voldemort's building anger radiate against him, his scar seared with additional nasty burn. It wasn't easy to give in Voldemort's will; to play along with this sick game, but at the same time, Harry didn't want to provoke Voldemort any further. So, he swallowed again, letting out a deep breath.

"Thank you," he said. It didn't calm Voldemort's anger, but to Harry's relieve, he wasn't getting tortured either.

"You can show me your appreciation by behaving, Harry," he said, while stepping alarmingly close to Harry again. "You will show respect to me, and to my death eaters. Any misdoing will be severely punished."

"Understood," answered Harry, before Voldemort could say it himself.

"Good." Voldemort turned around and the door they went through before, appeared again. He strode through the opening, walking out of sight. The door vanished behind him.

Harry blew a long breath and collapsed on the bed. Without removing his robes, he closed his eyes and fell asleep immediately.

It was dark when Harry opened his eyes. He felt like he could sleep for an eternity, but a nasty feeling crept up his mouth; his throat felt raw. Parched, he got up and stumbled to the bathroom Voldemort had pointed to him. He ignored the beautiful, grotesque bathtub and went straight for the sink.

He splashed cold water in his face, and shivered. Everything was cold around him. After drinking liters of water, he considered the bathtub. He wouldn't mind getting warmed up by relaxing, hot water.

Almost two hours later, Harry got up and dressed himself with the clothes he found on a stool next to the desk. It looked similar to his school robes. The fabric felt soft, almost silky, and warm around his still aching body. Thoughts of his friends, of Sirius, pained his brains. He shut them out; trying not to feel, if only for a second.

What was Voldemort planning for him now? He still felt scared, wondering what will happen next. He stepped into bed, and automatically went for his glasses. Oh right, Voldemort restored my vision. This is so weird.

If he hadn't felt so scared and angry, and more importantly, extremely tired, he might have tried to sleep again, before the headache was getting stronger.

"Wake up, Potter!"

Harry shot awake. He looked right into Bellatrix Lestrange's face. It was dusk already, as his room was dim lit by the twilight from outside his window.

"Get away from me," said Harry angrily. He stepped out of bed and backend away from Bellatrix. She cackled her annoying, insane laugh.

"Oh, but little baby Harry, the Dark Lord requests your presence for diner. You ungrateful little piece of half-blood swine," she added.

Diner? Was it evening already? Harry groaned inwardly. He could do for a long time without Voldemort. Bellatrix went for his wrist, but Harry pulled his arm away.

"Fine," he said. "I know how to walk myself."

Bellatrix looked like she could curse him any minute, but she didn't do anything. Probably instructed not to touch me, Harry thought and gave her an extra defiant stare. He watched her struggle, but then she started to walk towards the appearing door. Harry followed.

"I shall have to inform the Dark Lord about your rudeness," she said, her baby-mock voice was gone.

"You do that," said Harry in return, trying not to look scared. She cackled with her deranged laugh.

They reached downstairs, where Voldemort stood by the fireplace. Harry's scar prickled painfully again. Bellatrix took a deep bow.

"My lord," she said and pushed Harry, while bowing, forward. Harry halted himself, not wanting to stand so close to Voldemort. He turned around and inspected him.

"Thank you, Bella," he said, not taking his eyes of Harry. "I trust he behaved?" Harry could almost feel Bellatrix' smirk rising up.

"Little Potter possesses a smart mouth, my lord," she answered. He was yet again in trouble, Voldemort's red merciless eyes told him so. Waves of fear twisted through his stomach.

"I see," Voldemort said. Harry looked away, getting uneased by Voldemort's obsessive stares. "That will be all, Bella."

She took another deep bow and left the room.

"Tell me, Harry, what was my first demand?" asked Voldemort and grabbed Harry by his collar. He led him to the armchairs, next to the fire. There, he gave a push and Harry fell down.

"To call you my lord," answered Harry obediently. He watched as Voldemort took a sit opposite of him.

"Before that."

Harry relived the torture session he'd went through the first night Voldemort had abducted him. He suppressed a shiver. Obedience is a virtue, rhymed through his mind.

"Ah yes, I see you remember," whispered Voldemort. "And yet, when I told you to behave, to present yourself as a grateful guest, you disobeyed. Didn't I make clear to you, to treat my death eaters with respect?"

Harry didn't answer. Instead, he kept looking at Voldemort, not wanting to show defeat by looking away. Voldemort gave a soft, humorless chuckle.

"Tell me, Harry, what did I promise you for any misdoing?"

"Any misdoing would be severely punished," Harry said quietly. He hated how weak his voice sounded. Hated how sick and humiliated he felt. Voldemort rose from the chair and stepped closer. He braced himself for another mark, but Voldemort shook his head calmly.

"You will not only be marked, Harry. You will feel my wrath a little more steeper than that," said Voldemort with his high, cold voice. Harry watched him move, pushing himself apprehensively tighter in his chair.

"I will show you mercy. You can decide what your punishment will be."

Voldemort's face was now inches away from Harry's. Despite his fear, he gave Voldemort a look of hatred. How on earth was he supposed to respond to this? He wasn't going to suggest anything, asking him to punish him. Voldemort started to laugh, a soft, maniacally laugh.

"I will let you think about it, Harry. Think hard, and then beg me for your punishment," said Voldemort. He sat down again and rolled his wand lazily through his long, white fingers. "First, we have other business to attend to."

Harry was taking deep, calming breaths and ignored the pain in his head.

"Like I told you before, I cannot kill you anymore. Not for the time being, anyway," he started. Without thinking, Harry interrupted him.

"Yeah, because I'm some sort of vessel?"

"Exactly, Harry. You must have experienced a connection between us these past few months."

Harry thought back to what Snape had said, why he'd to learn Occlumency. It seemed like another lifetime ago. Voldemort's eyes narrowed.

"Have you never wondered what this connection means?" continued Voldemort, "well, of course you have. I can see the questions in your worthless mind. A worthless mind I'll have to invade, I'm afraid, to learn everything what you might already know, what that old senile fool might have told you."

Harry shifted in his chair. An unpleasant premonition fell down upon him. He remembered his Occlumency lessons, how Snape had penetrated his mind, how he had never been ready.

Clear your mind, Harry thought in an idle, failing attempt. Don't let him in. What secrets could be uncovered if Voldemort were to turn his mind inside out? Think of nothing, think of nothing…

"You are familiar with the experience, I see. Resisting me will be useless, Harry," said Voldemort and raised his wand.

Think of nothing, think of nothing—

"Legilimens!"

The room swam in front of his eyes and vanished, image after image was racing through his mind like a flickering film so vivid it blinded him to his surroundings. He stood before Dumbledore's desk, Harry looked up at him — they were very close together — and Dumbledore's clear blue gaze moved from the Portkey to Harry's face. At once, Harry's scar burned white-hot, as though the old wound had burst open again. He felt the same unbidden, unwanted, but terrifyingly strong hatred again so powerful, he would like nothing better than to strike into the man before him.

The scene changed. Harry was standing with Fred, George, Ginny and Ron, listening through Extendable Ears. He heard Moody's voice in a vague distance – "the boy's seeing things from inside You-Know-Who's snake. . . . Obviously, Potter doesn't realize what that means, but if You-Know-Who's possessing him-"

The scene changed again. Colors whirled before his eyes, reminding him vaguely of the large kitchen in 12 Grimmauld Place, were he had a conversation with Sirius.

"What's he after apart from followers?"

"Stuff he can only get by stealth . . . like a weapon. Something he didn't have last time."

The whirling stopped and the features of the kitchen became more sharp now. Harry sat next to Sirius, with Snape across the table.

"Why do I have to study Occlu — thing?"

"Because the headmaster thinks it a good idea," sounded Snape smoothly. "You will receive private lessons once a week, but you will not tell anybody what you are doing, least of all Dolores Umbridge. You understand?"

Suddenly, the kitchen disappeared from Harry's retina. Harry was still at Grimmauld Place, facing the window in his and Ron's bedroom, watching snow now falling thickly outside.

"Well, that was a bit stupid of you," Ginny's voice sounded through his ears, "seeing as you don't know anyone but me who's been possessed by You-Know-Who, and I can tell you how it feels."

Ginny's face came into view. He heard himself speak. "I forgot."

"Lucky you," Ginny echoed.

"I'm sorry . . . so do you think I'm being possessed, then?"

"Well, can you remember everything you've been doing?

"Are there big blank periods where you don't know what you've been up to?"

"No," he heard himself answer.

"Then You-Know-Who hasn't ever possessed you. When he did it to me, I couldn't remember what I'd been doing for hours at a time. I'd find myself somewhere and not know how I got there."

Suddenly, Voldemort's snake-like face replaced Ginny's. He was back in the room with Voldemort, sitting across him; his red eyes watching him observingly.

"Interesting," Voldemort said, almost not understandable. Harry felt exhausted. Getting his mind penetrated by Voldemort was so much more worse than Snape had done. He panted, while gripping the rug of his chair extra tight. He wished that Voldemort had seen enough. His scar was burning past endurance now; Harry tried his best not scream when another painful strike seared through the old wound.

He looked up at Voldemort's face and flinched. His red eyes abnormally narrowed, filled with anger. What had Voldemort seen that angered him this much?

"Who is that girl?" hissed Voldemort dangerously.

"Nggh," moaned Harry, unable to keep silent when his scar seared again. He closed his eyes, trying to shut off the pain.

"How come this girl experienced possession by me, while I have never met her?" Harry heard Voldemort ask. "Answer me. Now! Legilimens!"

Another film flickered before Harry's eyes. It stopped with the image of Ginny, lying unconscious in the Chamber of Secrets. This time, his vision was blurred and Harry vaguely remembered the Basilisk's poison, spreading through his body. He saw the younger version of Voldemort, the sixteen year old Tom Riddle, and a whirl of red and gold, flashing before his eyes. A small, dark diary fell in his lap. The Basilisk's fang came into view. Harry watched as the fang sank into the diary, followed by the blinding pain from his scar. Riddle's screams were ringing through his ears…

He heard another high-pitched squeal, right above him. He opened his eyes and stared into Voldemort's face, with the ceiling in the background. He didn't remember falling out of his chair. Voldemort stood above him, looking more insane than ever. Harry backend away hastily, and crouched behind the chair. He quickly rose when he sensed Voldemort coming closer. Stumbling, he moved around the chair, stepping away from the sight of Voldemort, nearly invisible due to the blinding pain in his scar. He felt something hard slam against his back; he'd backend to the wall. Harry breathed hard, as though he'd been running.

He was trapped. Unwillingly, he opened his eyes. Voldemort's face was only inches away from Harry's. Anxiously, he waited for his next move. Voldemort raised his wand, poked it at Harry's forehead – at his scar – and moved a little closer.

"So, you destroyed my Horcrux?" whispered Voldemort in a dangerous, deranged voice. Harry could almost feel the words pressing to the skin of his face. His scar was burning so fiercely, he thought it was going to rip open any second now, though he didn't dare to close his eyes.

"H-horcrux?" he stuttered and cringed when Voldemort gave his head an extra hard poke. His insides froze with fear.

"Silence!" hissed Voldemort. Harry swallowed hard, the tension was getting unbearable. His legs started to tremble heavily. His chest went up and down with unsteady breaths. He felt the air getting sucked out his lungs, twisting them painfully together.

"You are going to regret this, Harry. Crucio!"

Note:

Maybe I ought to write what Dumbledore, Hermoine and Ron are doing, but I always skip these parts when reading fanfictions myself. It'd probably be welcoming, though, next to all this Harry and Voldemort violence…