Chapter 3
The next time he awoke was to see the Dark Lord moving around the room, having a quiet conversation with his snake. He debated going back to sleep before the man turned and caught his eye, cutting off mid sentence.
“You’re awake, good. Now you’re waking up regularly, we can get some proper food into you.” The red eyed man made his way over, picking up a tray with a few dishes on it. “You won’t be able to eat anything solid for another few weeks, so I had the elves prepare something light.”
A wave of his hand had the pillows rearranging themselves and the covers wrapping tightly around Harry, and ignoring the started yelp, pulled the sixteen year old into a sitting position before covering his lap with the tray.
Harry ignored it for the moment, even as the aroma made his stomach flip, and turned to the man standing over him.
“What should I call you?”
The man raised a perfectly groomed brow in question, conjuring a seat next to the bed.
“I’m not calling you Voldemort. So, what do I call you?”
“You could always call me My Lord,”
Harry's lips twitched, “there's no need to call me Your Lord, Tom”.
The man's eyes narrowed, “Don’t get smart, it doesn’t suit you.”
He took advantage of Harry's outrage by feeding a spoon of creamy broth into his gaping mouth. Harry's eyes fluttered closed at the taste, humming in approval. All the food in Azkaban tasted like dust, and often seemed to only make him hungrier than he started.
The two sat in silence for a few moments, the Dark Lord feeding the Boy-Who-lived. Nobody would ever believe it. Eventually, Harry had to turn his head away when his stomach started to twist uncomfortably, a pained whine leaving his lips. Shame flooded him as he harshly bit his lip, disgusted at himself for showing weakness to this man.
The Dark Lord released a short breath before the tray in front of him vanished, suddenly leaving him strangely vulnerable.
“Marvolo.”
His head snapped up, blinking owlishly. “What?”
“My name. Marvolo.”
Not sure how to respond to that, even though he had asked, Harry nodded, more focused on the covers he was picking at. The pale blue material felt so smooth and soft between his fingers, not irritating his skin in the slightest. He wondered what they were made of?
His thoughts were abruptly cut off when the material vanished from the bed, leaving him shivering slightly. “Hey -”
A yelp leaves his mouth as the older man scoops him up like some damsel, carrying him across the room and into the bathroom before Harry's mind reboots enough to realise that the Dark Lord is carrying him. Before he can begin to complain he’s set down on the counter, leaving him a blushing and stuttering mess as Marvolo turns towards the water.
He vaguely registers Marvolo pouring some potions into the water before his clothes suddenly vanish, leaving him completely naked. Embarrassment and anger flood him, turning his face bright red as he flounders helplessly for a moment.
Marvolo finally seems to take note of Harry’s obvious discomfort and the bastard just smirks at him, deliberately running his eyes over Harry's blushing form. “Who do you think cleaned you of all that grime?”
“I, I don’t, house-elves?! Or anyone other than you? ” Those red eyes darken with something that Harry can’t even begin to decipher before abruptly clearing of all emotion, leaving the man's face closer resembling marble than a human being.
“Nobody else will ever touch you again.” He shivers at the promise lining Marvolo's word, while something in him relaxes. But no, that's not right. He should be spitting mad that this man would dare to say such a thing to him.
Before he can begin to unravel the strange concoction of feelings mixing together inside of him after feeling nothing for so many months, the man moves closer once more and offers a hand. “Let’s get you in the water, then you can yell at me all you wish.”
Harry quite likes that idea, though his eyes do narrow suspiciously. Dark Lords aren’t exactly ones that volunteer for anything unless it benefits them. Regardless, he grips the man's calloused hands and allows himself to be lifted into the water.
The water is, infuriatingly, perfect. The warmth of the water seeps into his muscles, finally chasing away that bone deep chill that seems to cling to him like a second skin. He reluctantly allows Marvolo to move him how he wishes, leaving his head resting against the man's shoulder as Marvolo - still fully dressed - slips into the water behind him. A few seconds later all of his muscles suddenly go lax, the man's unfairly strong arms being the only thing keeping his head above the water and his mind flashes back to the veils that he saw Marvolo pour into the water. “Traitor,” he mutters, before his eyes slip close once more.
He swears he feels the man chuckle.
His summons come’s as a surprise.
The Dark Lord and himself had never exactly seen eye to eye, but he liked to think they respected each other. At the very least he respected the cause, and the Dark Lord had yet to kill him for his insolence. Maybe that was why the man didn’t summon him often. Hard to gain allies when you kill them all.
Regardless, he found himself strolling through the Dark Lord's castle the day after he’d gotten the summons, figuring the man could use a lesson in patience. The office door swung open before he could knock and he grinned at the deadly looking glare the Dark Lord was sending him, dropping onto the dark green divan that faced the desk.
“Greyback.”
Oh he was pissed, the werewolf noted. “Your Lordship.”
“You’re late.”
“Hmm. My pack comes first, Lord.”
The muscle in the other man's jaw fluttered in irritation, but the curse the werewolf was braced for never came. They sat in silence for a few seconds, two glasses of amber liquid that reeked of alcohol materialising on the mahogany desk.
“A few days ago,” the Dark Lord started, taking a drink, “my Death Eaters were liberated from Azkaban. While they were there, one of them found a young man that had recently come into a creature inheritance. I was hoping you would take a look at him.”
“What kind of creature?”
“A Fae. Though I know not which kind.”
Greyback inhaled sharply, looking the Dark Lord over for any signs of lies. “Why call me?”
“You’re a Healer, are you not? At the very least you’re an informed second opinion.”
Greyback hummed, leaning forward, looking into red eyes. “And what will you do, when the fae is healed?”
The Dark Lord held his gaze as he took another sip, letting the silence carry. Just as Greyback was about to snap at the man, his greatness finally graced him with an answer.
“That depends on what he wants.”
“What he wants,” Greyback deadpanned. “And if he doesn’t want to get involved in this war?”
A flash of humour danced across the man's face, “it’s much too late for that. Will you do the rite or not?”
Of course he was doing the rite. And the Dark Lord surely knew his answer based on the smirk gracing the man's lips. Either way, he agreed, and the Dark Lord dismissed him. He tampered down his pride at being waved off like some pup and got to his feet, striding for the door.
“Oh, and Greyback?” He paused before the door. “I suppose you’ll be wanting the name of your new patient.”
His skin prickled at the amusement in the man's voice, and he turned his head curiously.
“I’ll take you to see Harry Potter tomorrow.”
Greyback swore.
“I can walk,” Harry snapped.
The Dark Lord had returned from doing whatever it was he did when he wasn’t out murdering babies a few minutes after Harry had woken up, and had waited for Harry to push away his bowl of broth before snatching him from the bed and carrying the younger man towards the bathroom. Lucky enough, Harry’s brain didn’t shut down this time. Unlucky enough, he could feel every movement the older man made and it was too much, after so long of nothing.
Marvolo raised a brow and, surprisingly, placed Harry down and took a step back gesturing towards the bathroom door. “By all means.”
Harry's jaw clenched because he was angry at Marvolo’s audacity, not because it was taking all his effort to remain upright. Determined to ignore the shaking in his knees he took a step forward - And promptly collapsed. The only reason he remained upright was the strong arm that had suddenly snapped around his waist, taking all of his weight.
“I don’t want your help,” Harry whimpered, trying to bite back the sob clawing at his throat. He hated this feeling, the utter powerlessness he had over himself. Even when he was trapped with the Dursleys he’d been able to fight back in small ways, to defend himself. Now, he was completely at Marvolo’s mercy, and he hated it.
“What you want and what you need are two very different things, little one.” Marvolo’s voice was calm, carrying that constant note of authority, and Harry hated him for his composer. Harry found himself hating a lot of things these past few months.
“Don’t call me that,” he muttered pathetically, allowing the man to once more sweep him off his feet. Predictably, the man ignored him, instead banishing his clothes. Harry’s skin darkens with his blush, but grits his teeth and doesn’t argue, unconsciously leaning into the warmth radiating from Marvolo. If there's one thing yesterday proved, it’s that the other man doesn’t need him to be conscious to have him naked.
The bath is already full this time, undoubtedly by the house-elves, and Marvolo barely pauses to toe off his shoes before stepping into the water and lowering them both down. Whatever Marvolo adds to the water seems to be weaker than yesterday, as he remains conscious as the man arranges him in his lap. After a few seconds all of his muscles go lax, and he feels floaty. Not unlike the time he and his friends got high.
He feels a pang of longing at the thought of his friends.
Marvolo, of course, remains unaffected. The only benefit is that he can barely feel the touch of cloth gliding across his skin as the man starts to clean him, everything feeling disconnected. At some point Harry’s eyes start to wander around the room and for the first time he takes note of how ridiculously opulent it is.
For one, they’re not even in a bathtub. The very floor seems to have been carved out and turned into a pool, the bottom charmed in a way to make the water appear like starlight, sparking silver. A narrow ledge on the adjacent wall was lined with fat, guttering candles whose glow gilded the dark, glassy surface and wafting tendrils of steam. He spots a few runes that seem to glow in the candle light, but he can't make out what they mean.
Surrendering to the devil, he allows his eyes to slip close, his head lolling onto the clothed shoulder behind him. The cloth gliding across his stomach pauses for a second before resuming. Harry wonders, briefly, if Marvolo plans to keep him in a gilded cage even after he’s been nursed back to health. If so, he’s going to be for quite the shock.
Harry doesn’t take well to being caged.
When they were done Marvolo carried him not back to bed, as he’d expected, but rather to one of the couches surrounding the fireplace, which was burning away. A blanket materialised around his shoulders and he whispered a quiet word of thanks to the house elves, drawing his knees close to his chest. Green eyes slipped close for a moment, basking in the warmth, before his neck prickles uncomfortably with the feeling of being watched.
“A Healer will be here tomorrow,” Marvolo told him, the second they made eye contact. “I expect you to cooperate.”
“A Healer?” Hadn’t he already been healed? He certainly couldn’t feel anything broken anymore.
Marvolo hummed in confirmation, turning his head towards the burning fire. “I healed what I could but I would prefer someone who's knowledgeable about creature inheritances take a look at you. Make sure nothing went wrong.”
Something cold unfurled in Harry’s chest as he registered what Marvolo was saying. Not just the implications of having to interact with someone else, but the fact that Marvolo knew.
“Creature inheritance?”
Marvolo just raised a brow, completely unimpressed with Harry’s play at ignorance. “Yes, Harry.” His voice was low, and seemed to reach right inside his chest and squeeze his heart. “Creature inheritance. You can’t hide it from me. I know what runs through your veins.”
“I’ve no idea what you mean.”
Red eyes snap to him, something dangerous lurking beneath the surface as the Dark Lords magic coils tightly, becoming impossible to ignore. “Do not,” he murmurs quietly, more dangerous than any yelling, “lie to me.”
“I’m not lying.”
Harry can see the exact moment the man's muscles tense and a shot of adrenaline is the only thing that allows Harry to lurch to his feet, just as Marvolo moves.
One second, they are both sitting calmly. Next, they are stood nose to nose (Nose to neck really, why the hell is Marvolo so tall?), teeth bared threateningly. It’s not until the other relaxes with a smirk painted across his face that Harry’s realised what he’s just done.
Anger rushes through him he straightens, brushing his tongue across his elongated canines. Marvolo tracks the movement with his eyes, his own canines glinting slightly, but makes no move to retreat back to his chair and Harry will be damned if he backs down first, silently willing his racing heart to slow down.
“I’ll make you a deal.”
“Oh?” Something like intrigue flashes in Marvolo’s gaze as he takes a few steps back, putting some much needed distance between them.
“I’ll cooperate with your Healer,” Harry declared, relaxing slightly, “and in exchange, I want to contact my friends.”
“You seem to be operating under the assumption that you have any power here, Little one.”
“Don’t I? You want something from me. Why else would you have me here, in a comfortable room, being personally attended by you?”
“Maybe I enjoy having my enemy at my mercy.”
“And is that how you see me? Because I don’t think it is. Why else would you let me call you Marvolo, why else would you even entertain this conversation? You haven’t been my enemy for a long time, Lord Voldemort.”
“And why is that?”
“Let me contact my friends.”
“Hmm”, the man is silent for a moment, and Harry’s legs are on the verge of giving out but he refuses to give in, using every drop of will power he possesses to remain upright. For a moment, he’s convinced that the other is just waiting for him to collapse and the conversation can be forgotten, until, “How do you know that they won’t go running to the Order?”
Harry snorted, “I know my friends. Their loyalty is to me, not the Light.”
“I will read the letters before you send them.” Harry sways as relief threatens to crush him, and Marvolo is instantly in front of him. “Let’s get you back into bed.”