Glass
Harry struggled against his bounds, a growing sense of despair building in the pit of his stomach when the bindings refused to budge. He had to get out, get away before he—
“Hello, Harry”
Harry’s blood went cold, a sense of dread overtaking what little hope he had for escape.
No. How had he gotten here so quickly? How had he known?
“What an absolute pleasure to see you again.”
Voldemort’s form was more shadow than man as he glided through the old abandoned warehouse. His feet made no sound, his clothes didn’t so much as flutter as he moved. Harry balled his hands into fists, already anticipating what was going to happen.
You don’t just steal from Voldemort and expect to get out of it alive.
“Voldemort,” Harry said with as much bravado as he could muster, ignoring the rapid thrumming in his chest and the nervous wrench in his stomach. “Can’t say the feeling is mutual.”
Voldemort cocked his head to one side as he approached before a devilish smile curled over his lip, one that Harry knew all too well meant that he was in serious danger. The last time Harry had seen it was in prison, when Voldemort had proceeded to slit a man’s throat with the end of a pen he’d stolen from one of the orderlies.
Fuck.
“Oh? This is news to me. I thought that we had a wonderful relationship, you and I.” Voldemort’s voice was as smooth as the dark curls on his head, as the subtle pause he made directly in front of Harry’s seated form. “One built on mutual understanding and…trust.”
Harry cringed at the knowing tone in Voldemort’s voice, at the not-so-subtle way he enunciated the word trust before bringing a pale hand to Harry’s cheek.
“Yeah, well, about that—“
Voldemort didn’t give Harry an opportunity to finish.
Voldemort backhanded him in the face, hard enough to split Harry’s bottom lip and make his world spin. Harry blinked, struggling to make sense of what Voldemort was doing to him, but there was no time. Voldemort’s hand shot to Harry’s chin with a harsh grip, squeezing Harry’s jaw with enough force to make Harry cry out, to struggle harder in his bounds.
“Silence.”
Harry clammed up without meaning to, eyes suddenly drawn to the violent swirl of Voldemort’s eyes, to the unmistakable rage and hurt lurking in those inky depths. Harry flinched, surprised that the man was even capable of being wounded, of feeling—
Stop it, Harry. He’s only trying to manipulate you. Like he always does, like he always has.
“You dare to steal from me, after all that I have done for you, you ungrateful little wretch.”
Harry spat at him, a sense of overwhelming satisfaction overcoming him when his bloody spittle landed on Voldemort’s cheek. It served him right. It was the least Voldemort deserved for what he’d done, for what he would continue to do.
“You think I should be grateful to you? You are the reason I was orphaned, that I was sentenced to years in prison for a crime I didn’t commit. That you took me under your wing, made me a part of your fucked up organization cannot make up for the life you destroyed, for the lives you continue to destroy.”
Voldemort slapped him again, harder this time, but Harry was prepared for it. He didn’t so much as flinch when Voldemort continued to hit him, when his jaw exploded with excruciating agony with each hit. From the way it throbbed, it was obvious it was going to bruise, but Harry still held on.
What did he care if Voldemort beat him to death? What he’d taken was already in the hands of the police. If anything, Harry would go down a bloody hero.
“Go ahead. You’re only proving me right,” Harry said as Voldemort raised his hand again, that same fierce glint in his eyes before it vanished into nothing, something colder replacing it.
Something brutal and almost like—
Harry forced himself to laugh, to do something other than shake. This was it. This was the precise moment he died.
“Oh, Harry, Harry, Harry—“
Voldemort’s voice took on a condescending hue, his eyes flashing with something Harry didn’t recognise at all. It wasn’t mischief. It wasn’t rage. It was different, something that promised a far worse fate than a beating.
“I’m going to enjoy shattering you like glass.”
Harry braced himself for what was to come.