Harry thought that after this, he would be tortured in the dungeon just like last time, but his father didn't treat him that way.
The barrier around the castle was vast, not just the castle itself but also the lake, the grasslands, and a large forest, similar to Hogwarts. The ancestors who originally built the castle had designed it based on the layout of Hogwarts.
Voldemort had created an empty space in the area and moved the house they lived in while in the Muggle world to this place, including the rose garden Harry had planted in the yard by the window.
Harry lived in the same house as before. Food and water appeared automatically on the dining table every day. Harry took a sip from the glass of water and tasted the distinct flavor of a Manaclaus Draught - which could inhibit a wizard to use magic by suppressing the magic core. Voldemort sometimes brought him magical world snacks, like Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans and Sugar Quills (but no Chocolate Frogs). However, Harry wasn't in the mood to eat and didn't care to tend to the roses by the window. Those flowers had originally been a bouquet his father gave him, and Harry had later propagated them with magic. He had once thought they symbolized affection, but now he realized it had all been a lie.
The crystal ball containing the sandcastle he had given his father sat on the table by the fireplace, serving as decoration. When shaken, the fine sand shimmered in the firelight, just like snow. The sand would fall back into the shape of a castle, just like when they built one together on the beach. Harry vividly remembered the feelings he had when he gave his father that crystal ball.
The closeness between him and his father, it seemed, didn't even last as long as the sand particles themselves.
Back then, his father had probably been mocking Harry for being so naïve. Hadn't he been pretending all along?
Now, Harry lived in this house, and the more everything remained the same, the clearer it reminded him that all of it—the past—had been fake.
Harry pushed open the half-closed door, walking through the rose bushes he had planted himself, across the yard, and reached the white picket fence. The gate wasn't locked, but beyond the fence was a circle of confinement magic. Harry couldn't leave the house. As soon as he reached out and touched the barrier, a sharp pain shot through his fingers, as though he had been electrocuted, and his hand instinctively jerked back.
This place was nothing but a prison for him now, feeling like ruined walls with no remnants of the joyful life it once had.
It was already November, and the weather was grim. The wind outside was cold. Harry wrapped his robe tighter around himself, took one last look at the towering castle in the distance, and returned to his room, sitting down in the armchair by the fireplace. The two candy wrappers from earlier had already been cleaned up, and the crystal ball, which Harry had carelessly tossed aside, was now carefully placed back on its stand.
His thoughts shifted, and he called out, "Talis? Are you there?"
No response.
As expected... Harry had lost his authority over the castle, and the house-elf no longer listened to him. Perhaps his father had also ordered the house-elf not to interact with Harry.
"If you're there, Talis, I miss you. Don't punish yourself... If you can't see me, it's not your fault," Harry said, then wondered if he was just being overly sentimental. Perhaps the elf wasn't even there to hear him.
Did he even deserve anyone's love and loyalty? His classmates... They must all hate him now. If they had never met Harry, they wouldn't have suffered through torment and pursuit, having to take refuge with Dumbledore. They could have gone on with their lives, peacefully.
He was a cursed existence, only bringing misfortune to those around him.
Harry then thought, perhaps his father forbade the house-elf from interacting with him because the elf had always had the authority to open portals. The elf would often go out for supplies and didn't need to rely on the Dark Lord every time to open a portal.
But Harry ironically thought, didn't his father anticipate this? Even if Talis were willing to open a portal for him, would Harry dare to leave? He didn't want to get Talis killed. He had already caused too many innocent lives to be lost.
"If you're there, Talis, please listen to your master and stop worrying about me... I don't want to harm you. And please, don't punish yourself... I'm no longer your master. I can't give you orders. This is my request as a friend." He spoke, whether anyone was listening or not. His voice echoed in the lonely air.
Harry tried to starve himself and refuse water to resist the Draught, secretly disposing of it, but of course, his father noticed.
"Not drinking water is not what a good child does," Lord Voldemort said dangerously, snapping his fingers. Several ropes of magical twine shot out from the air, tying Harry tightly. Then Voldemort forced Harry's mouth open and poured the entire bottle of potion down his throat.
The bitter liquid slid down his throat, and Harry coughed. The effects of the draught made him dizzy.
"Don't do anything foolish, Harry. We both know you can't escape this," Voldemort declared from above.
Voldemort didn't return often during the day, and Harry had been feeling mentally unwell recently. He wasn't sure if it was because he'd been sleeping too much, but he found himself growing more and more tired. He climbed out of bed, feeling dizzy, weak, and cold.
He didn't even have anyone to talk to.
Of course, there was no internet in the barrier, and there were no other visitors. Even the mosquitoes were frozen to death in the winter. The only living being he could see was his father, but Harry wasn't sure if he even wanted Voldemort to return—he only had his father, but he didn't want to see him.
Voldemort still returned at night to sleep with him, just like before. It seemed like Voldemort was intentionally ignoring everything that had happened and wanted to maintain their living situation as it had been when they had pretended to be in a relationship.
Harry resisted a lot lately, even using the Imperius Curse, but still managing to resist it successfully.
Voldemort mocked him, "I thought you liked this? We both remember how eager you were before."
"I don't want this anymore, let me go!" Harry protested and asked, "If there are no feelings, why are you doing this? You never wanted this! You hate romantic relationships! Aren't you tired of pretending? Why won't you stop?"
"Isn't this what you always wanted? After all, you're stuck here and can't escape. The Dark Lord doesn't mind giving his little prisoner a bit of indulgence—"
"I told you I don't want it! If it's fake, what's the point? Enough, stop reminding me. I'd rather you lock me in the dungeon—don't you fear I'll stab you while you're asleep?"
"Our eternal magic ensures my safety. We both know that, don't we? But it might hurt a bit..." Voldemort answered ominously. "If you dare try, you know how I'll punish you. You'd rather see me suffer, but I can't bring myself to hurt you. I won't torture you, but I can make you watch as I torture many innocent people, waiting until their screams die down before I kill them. How does that sound, Harry?"
Harry knew that these words were likely just more of Voldemort's acting, but the threat was real.
"Fine, I won't," Harry relented. It was pointless anyway. The Dark Lord couldn't be killed.
Afterward, Harry began to think of ways to appease Voldemort, hoping to save at least a few people. He'd always had this ability to pretend and please others. Maybe it was a gift from fate, as the strange skills he'd learned in the past were still useful.
When Voldemort was in a good mood, Harry would start to act soft, pleading, "Please, Father, no more unnecessary attacks~"
Though Harry had learned that this didn't really help, it was all he could do now.
Sometimes Voldemort would agree, "Oh, yes, there's really no need for extra attacks recently. You're such a naughty child, ruining my ritual... Too many deaths would be a waste before I can rebuild it."
Harry listened carefully to the tone in his voice, detecting a mix of sincerity, complaint, and mockery. He couldn't tell if he was being dismissed.
Sometimes they still slept together. Harry couldn't sleep, lying awake, staring at the handsome face of the man sleeping next to him, feeling a mixture of emotions. In the end, he sighed softly. He felt Voldemort's arm tighten around him. His father didn't open his eyes but whispered, "Harry, sleep."
Everything in this house seemed to automatically reset. Harry had tried flipping over tables and smashing windows, but no matter how much he tried to create chaos, everything always returned to the way it had been.
At night, Voldemort would still mock him, "Harry, why are you still destroying the house? I thought I had a cat."
Harry had no choice but to give up on causing more destruction. He was feeling extremely tired and drowsy, barely even having the energy to break things anymore—probably because of the side effects of the Manaclaus Draught.
Everything would restore itself, except for the roses outside. Harry hadn't watered them in days, and the once-innocent flowers were beginning to wilt.
Additionally, the scar on his forehead had been aching from time to time. Harry stood in front of the mirror in his bedroom and saw only a thin boy, with his shirt collar open, showing some suggestive red marks on his pale neck. His face was pale, his hair messy. He lifted his bangs, revealing a faint, slightly off-center lightning-shaped scar on his forehead.
This scar... was from the killing curse the first time he had met his father. Harry wondered again, if that killing curse had actually worked, how much better it would have been? Why did Salazar insist on placing that protective charm?
And after all these years, why was it suddenly hurting again? It seemed to have started after their soul bond... But that kind of bond between lovers didn't come with a painful side effect, did it?
The draught mixed into his daily food and water had that unique bitter taste, which had been lingering on Harry's taste buds lately. "This tastes awful," Harry had protested to Voldemort, but of course, Voldemort wouldn't let him off for such a reason.
Although Harry was trying hard to break free from the Manaclaus Draught's limitations, he had failed. He couldn't use magic, so he couldn't even detect what was going on with his scar.
He rubbed the scar that was throbbing slightly, feeling a bit of warmth. When he touched it again, his whole forehead was hot. Oh... he had a fever. No wonder he felt so cold.
Harry thought indifferently, can a fever kill you? If it could, that would be great.
Every evening, Voldemort would visit the small villa he had built on the grounds to find Harry. This time, when he arrived, he saw that most of the roses by the window had withered, likely because they hadn't been watered in a long time. As he walked by, he casually plucked one of the still-blooming flowers, crushed it in his hand, and let the broken petals fall carelessly to the ground.
He entered the house and found Harry was missing. The barrier he had set around the house had been broken.
"Damn it, the boy drank the Manaclaus Draught, how could he still run away?"
But even if Harry managed to escape the house, the independent space outside was one that he couldn't get out of. After all, it was the product of countless generations of powerful dark wizards, with an incredibly complex and powerful barrier that had even carved out the entire space independently.
Meanwhile, deep in the forest, Harry, struggling to escape, suddenly felt a sharp pain in his scar. He grabbed his forehead, almost crying out in pain.
The mental connection sent a faint wave of anger; his father must have discovered that Harry was trying to run away.
Harry had no choice but to continue deeper into the woods.
The forest was home to many dangerous "pets" left by famous dark wizards from the family's history. The dense shadows of overlapping trees looked as if they had faces screaming from above. This forest, full of dark magical creatures, had always carried a mysterious aura in Harry's mind. Though he used to come here often to gather magical materials, treating it like his backyard—oh, it was his backyard—he only knew a fraction of its secrets. Harry was certain that even his father didn't know all the hidden places here.
Maybe there were weak spots in the barrier? He had to look for one. Or maybe, with all the many paths in the forest, there was a hidden place where his father couldn't find him. He just couldn't stay in that house anymore—no, that prison.
Harry struggled against the restrictions of the Manaclaus Draught and tried a few non-wand spells, sending several jumping mushrooms with sharp teeth flying.
####
When Voldemort arrived, Harry was locked in a battle with a hideous, tentacled creature. Due to the restriction on his magic, he was at a disadvantage.
A blinding green light shot through the air, striking the creature and illuminating Harry's bright green eyes. Although it was just a simple Killing Curse, the sheer magic power behind it, coupled with the static electricity in the air, made Harry's hairs stand on end. The overwhelming magical force shattered the creature's magical defenses, and its many eyes slowly closed.
Harry fell to the ground, quickly retreating a few steps, gasping. But Voldemort grabbed him by the collar and lifted him off the ground. "You resist the Manaclaus Draught and still try to run? Well done. Do you really think I won't kill you?"
"No one wants to be locked up here!" Harry retorted bitterly, still reeling from the dashed hope. Let him kill him, what was there to be afraid of?
"You want to escape to Dumbledore and fight me, don't you? Stop dreaming. Don't think you'll get another chance to join forces with Dumbledore."
Harry snorted through his nose, refusing to answer, and for a moment, there was silence between them. The green and deep purple shadows of the trees around them stretched long, and the distant growls of beasts from deeper in the woods filled the air.
"Don't think he can protect you either."
"I don't think he can."
Voldemort's voice was low and dangerous. "You know, Harry... as long as I want to kill you, you will die—dead at the thought, no matter where you go."
"Then why don't you do it now? Just say the curse, Avada Kedavra. It's nothing for you, right?" Harry said with a tempting tone, looking directly into Voldemort's dark red eyes, their gazes locked. Harry had wanted to die for a long time; he almost hoped for it.
Voldemort, who had been holding Harry by the collar, moved his other hand to wrap around Harry's back, pulling him into an ambiguous embrace. With his long fingers, he gently traced Harry's forehead, skimming over the lightning-shaped scar as though caressing a piece of art.
Harry didn't resist; he just wanted to laugh bitterly. Suddenly, the old curse scar on his forehead began to sting. Harry bit down on his lip, muffling the groan that threatened to escape.
Voldemort's fingers lingered on the scar. "This scar... remember it? It's from our first meeting, left by the Killing Curse."
Harry felt the magic swirling through the scar. He had always known something was off there. The scar exuded a deadly killing intent, and he had once thought it was just residual power from the Killing Curse, but now he realized this murderous aura had a different source. "You..."
"When you were little, I left a curse here that could drain your life. Whenever I want, you'll drop dead on the spot."
All these years, Harry hadn't paid much attention to it, never considering that his father had set a ticking time bomb on him from the very beginning. "So... you've been planning against me since way back? When I still... loved you so completely." Harry's voice faltered, a different kind of sadness lacing his words.
"Now it proves that guarding against you wasn't such a bad idea, was it? My little traitor?"
Harry almost wanted to laugh. "Is it really necessary to go through all this trouble? I've always wanted to die, you might as well remove the curse that stops me from committing suicide. Then maybe you wouldn't have to do it yourself." He said sarcastically.
Voldemort's voice was soft but forceful. "I could kill you anytime. But right now, you're useful. While the Dark Lord still needs you alive, you will keep your heart beating for me. Your life is entirely in my hands."
"So you cast another curse to keep me from killing myself. Two curses, really? You control life and death... typical of you."
"I told you, don't try to dictate the Dark Lord's decisions. You have no such power." Voldemort added darkly, "And you know you're running a fever? You'd better take care of yourself, stop doing dangerous things. You belong to me, and your mysterious power belongs to me. Don't even think about ending your life without my say-so. I have plans for you, this is your fate."
"And running away..." Voldemort said ominously, "...deserves punishment. Do you want to be locked in a cage again?"
