Chapter 54

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Summary: Madness is not a state of mind. Madness is a place. What happens when Harry stumbles into it and gets trapped there? A Harry Potter version of Alice in Wonderland but a thousand shades darker.

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Voldemort conjured a chair and pushed Harry down in it. He still had his eyes closed as if blocking out the sight might help him ignore the situation but that wasn't going to be the case today. He had had enough. He was going to get the truth out of Harry, no matter what. He hadn't expected to see Harry so vulnerable but he was also certain that it was temporary. Harry was going to slip behind his façade again and lash out as soon as he got back some semblance of calm. He was prepared for that. The weight of guilt rested heavily on his chest because this was his fault. Harry's current state was his fault. He should have been more sensible that day. He shouldn't have allowed his sentiments to dictate his actions. He should have locked Harry up somewhere safe when he'd had the chance. His gaze flicked to Harry's hands and he wondered if Harry would be able to use them again. He mentally scoffed at himself. Was he accepting defeat without trying? He was going to break whatever curse Dumbledore had used on Harry and then he was going to murder the old fool as slowly and painfully as possible.

He conjured a seat for himself and sat down in front of Harry,

"Harry, open your eyes."

Harry didn't. He inwardly prayed for patience because he was certain Harry was going to as difficult as he possibly could. Their conversations never ended well,

"What happened?"

Harry opened his eyes and met Voldemort's gaze. He stared into those emerald eyes and realized that the vulnerability was gone along with the pain, he had seen in them a few moments ago. Harry's caustic shield was back in place. A smirk curved his lips and his tone was light as he echoed his question,

"What happened?"

This really was going to be difficult. He kept his gaze fixed on Harry's, attempting to employ his legilimency skills but they had never worked on Harry ever since Bella had brought him here. It was as if Harry had erected a barrier inside his head. A barrier that perhaps even Harry himself was unaware of. He almost missed the old Harry. The one that had been terrified of him. The one that he had so easily tortured in the graveyard that night. The one that been so easy to control and manipulate last year when he had wanted him to retrieve the prophecy for him. The one he had possessed. This Harry was so different on so many levels. Sometimes he regretted using his Godfather as bait. If his bloody Godfather hadn't died, maybe Harry would still be the same. He sighed inwardly and rephrased his question,

"What happened to your hands?"

He expected a sliver of vulnerability to make an appearance again in Harry's eyes at the mention of his hands but it didn't. Harry's expression grew thoughtful and he was certain that he was concocting a lie to feed him,

"It was a wand accident."

Voldemort kept his amusement at bay as he observed Harry's body language. He seemed calmer and much more relaxed now. His eyes betrayed nothing. Harry was a perfect liar. If he hadn't known what had really happened, he might even have accepted that lie,

"A wand accident?"

Harry nodded solemnly,

"When I was away, I decided to practice duelling. The wand was messed up and it backfired."

Voldemort leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms over his chest,

"Which curse backfired?"

Confusion and a little panic flitted through Harry's eyes as he attempted to think of a curse. Voldemort inwardly smirked in satisfaction. Harry shook off the confusion and spoke,

"It doesn't matter."

Voldemort held back a chuckle. There was no harm in indulging Harry a little more,

"It does matter, Harry. I shall reverse it and your hands shall recover."

Something like realization dawned in Harry's eyes but he smirked playfully and spoke in a mock hopeful tone

"Oh really? You're going to fix my hands?"

Voldemort leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms over his chest,

"Do you believe otherwise?"

Harry leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially,

"I think my disability suits you."

Harry was right and it unnerved him. It did suit him because Harry couldn't go anywhere in his current state. Having Harry under his power was what he had wanted and the fact that Harry could no longer move his hands worked in his favour. No wonder Harry didn't trust him or anyone else for that matter. He had seen Rabastan's memories and no matter how amicable Harry had been towards him, he was certain that Harry hadn't trusted him. He knew that because Rabastan knew nothing more then what he had witnessed or inflicted upon Harry. Harry hadn't trusted him enough to tell him about what Dumbledore had done to him. Had Harry used him? Was Rabastan nothing more than a pawn for Harry? Harry laughed softly and he was brought out of his musings,

"You won't heal me, Lover. You like me better this way. Admit it."

Voldemort rose to his feet. He should like him better this way. He should like Harry, weak, vulnerable and entirely dependent on him. But he didn't. Seeing Harry like this sickened him and infuriated him. He felt Harry's pain because it was his fault. This was all his fault. He rose to his feet and Harry reclined back in his seat lazily,

"I'm sure you're wishing you could take my tongue as well so I could be the perfect little prisoner for you. Defenceless, voiceless…completely at your mercy. You want that, don't you?"

Harry paused and laughed humourlessly,

"Who am I kidding? Ofcourse, you do. It'll be a wet dream come true for you."

Voldemort felt his patience snap. He turned swiftly and leaned over Harry, his lips inches away from his, his hands entangled in those raven black locks. Harry's lips were curled into a smug smile, his eyes conveying his satisfaction perfectly,

"Taking your tongue can be easily arranged."

And then they were kissing…if it could be called kissing at all, more like attacking. Voldemort ravished Harry's mouth with wet, deep kisses, with a ferocious hunger that he had never felt for anyone but Harry. He plunged his tongue into Harry's mouth, sweeping inside and plundering, owning, and Harry was kissing him back, heedless of the sharp metallic tang of blood that mingled on their tongues. The flames that were burning in his blood erupted into a sudden inferno, and he was lost, only distantly aware that Harry was gasping. Voldemort's mind was blissfully empty beyond a formless depth of want, and desire, and carnal need. So much need.

He forced himself to pull away and took in the sight of Harry's bruised and swollen lips. He had bitten his lower lip at some point because a trickle of blood was running down his chin. He leaned forward and wiped it away with his thumb,

"How did that feel, Harry?"

He could see that Harry was still breathless from the kiss and his emerald eyes were ablaze with rage. He smirked and stepped back,

"You were defenceless…voiceless…completely at my mercy and yet you enjoyed it. You enjoyed being my perfect little prisoner."

Harry rose to his feet steadily,

"You just took advantage of me. It only serves to prove my point."

Voldemort crossed his arms over his chest and gave Harry a once over before meeting his emerald gaze and smirking playfully,

"Took advantage of you? You are well informed of your status as my prisoner. I can do whatever I desire to do with you, whenever I desire it, wherever I desire it."

Harry laughed derisively but his anger and frustration were clearly visible in his eyes. Harry had a way of getting under his skin. It felt extremely gratifying to do the same to him. Harry was thinking hard. The crease on his forehead told him so. Finally, Harry shook his head and spoke with a laugh,

"No, you can't."

Voldemort stepped closer to him and spoke,


Harry met his gaze and smirked coyly,

"You can't do whatever you want to me."

Harry leaned close to him until their breaths mingled,

"I've seen your desire to undress me every time you look at me but you haven't done that yet."

Harry swiped his tongue over his lips, moistening them and Voldemort felt desire coil in his stomach,

"You said that there's a connection between us…"

He felt Harry's lips brush against his and resisted the urge to kiss him again,

"There is no connection. There is only lust…you want me…you want me naked and in your bed but you can't have that…"

Harry lips moved lower and he nipped at his neck. Pleasure coursed through his blood and the sensations running through his body were sawing at his self-restraint. It was so difficult to stand still. Harry's words melted into his skin,

"Not until I consent…"

Another nip,

"Not until I say so…"

And then another. Voldemort bit his tongue to hold back a moan. One more and he was certain he would lose control,

"Not until I want you too."

Harry stepped away from him, taking his warm breath and his soft lips with him,

"So, tell me which one of us is the prisoner?"

It took him a minute to gather his thoughts. He was aroused and extremely unsettled. How did Harry manage to do that? He cleared his throat but his voice still sounded rough,

"Do not underestimate me, Harry. I could rape you and make you enjoy it."

Harry laughed earnestly and raised an eyebrow,

"Go on then. Rape me…I can't use my hands, so I won't even be able to stop you. You'll face no resistance from me."

Voldemort knew that his threat had been empty. He couldn't rape Harry. He wouldn't. Harry grinned,

"I know that you can't. Do you want to know why?"

Voldemort was transfixed by the confidence and self-assurance in Harry's eyes. He felt unable to reply so Harry answered,

"Because if you force me into you bed and force yourself on me, you might fulfil your desire but you won't be satisfied. Your desire for me holds you prisoner and only I can set you free."

Harry was fundamentally right but he was denying his own attraction in this matter. He knew that Harry wanted him. Harry had admitted it and he was going to make him admit it again. No matter what it took. Voldemort took a step closer to him and gripped his jaw,

"How can you be so sure of yourself? I can defile you and leave you in a cell to rot on a mere whim."

Harry straightened up and held his gaze. His eyes were filled with cruelty,

"You talk like you're the villain of this story."

Harry shrugged away from his grip, rested his head on his shoulder and whispered in his ear,

"Well I've got news for you, Lover… You're not…"

Harry's breath tickled his ear and Voldemort felt his hands ball into fists,

"You're not the villain of our story anymore…you were…but now…"

Harry licked his earlobe and spoke in a barely audible voice,

"I'm the villain of our story, Lover. Accept that. I won't ever free you."

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