Chapter 55

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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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What the hell was wrong with him? He had to shut up…he had to shut his mouth…He should cut his tongue out right now because literally it was running rampant at the moment. To be fair, that bastard shouldn't have kissed him. He didn't enjoy how unsettled and needy the kiss had left him. He'd never wanted the kiss to end. He was hungry for those lips again. He wanted Voldemort's hands on him…he needed to feel his bare skin on his. Voldemort had been so right. He enjoyed it…He had enjoyed it and he was aching for more. He mentally slapped himself. Yup…this is exactly why he was spouting all sorts of nonsense and making things worse.

He hated himself…hated the hypocrite he had become…hated his own stupidity…His tongue was denying that he wanted Voldemort but his heart was screaming for more of him…more of Voldemort's lips…more of his touch…just more more more.

Well he wasn't going to get more…he couldn't afford more…so his heart would just have to suck it up and play along. Maybe he should tell Voldemort…maybe he should just tell him everything and get this over with because this whole thing was getting tiring and out of hand. Harry wanted to stomp his feet on the ground and throw a tantrum. He felt like a bloody schoolboy. His indecisiveness would kill him before his illness would but maybe the insatiable want that he felt for Voldemort would be the death of him. No…he wasn't going to tell Voldemort…he just couldn't…His inner self scoffed and spoke

Why the hell not?

Harry resisted the urge to shake his head. Why not? Because he was afraid that Voldemort wouldn't let him die. He would force him to live. Harry didn't want to. He didn't want to live. If he was honest with himself, it wasn't even about Sirius anymore. He had accepted long ago that Sirius was in a better place…he had accepted his death…Harry was just tired…he was tired of this cold world…tired of the hypocritical people…tired of everything.

You aren't tired of Voldemort though. Admit it…You'll never grow tired of him.

Harry grimaced internally. He hated his inner self…hated how right it was. He wasn't tired of Voldemort. Far from it… He wanted him and it wasn't even the normal kind of want. It was sexual and perverted and all kinds of wrong. All the things he had just accused Voldemort of wanting…he wanted them just as badly…Voldemort wasn't the prisoner, he was… and that terrified him…he was bloody terrified of himself.

He barely heard the words that were rolling off his tongue but he knew they weren't anything good. When his tongue finally stopped moving Voldemort accioed the gloves from the floor and grabbed Harry's hands.

Had he pushed Voldemort enough? He wanted him to be the sadistic bastard rather than the man that stood infront of him and visibly cared about him. If this was an act then he wanted Voldemort to cut it out. If he could infuriate him enough, maybe Voldemort would snap, show his true self and reveal his true intentions.

Voldemort met his gaze and spoke,

"It does not matter what happened to you. I shall heal your hands just for the very purpose of having you under my debt."

Under Voldemort's debt…Harry's insides burned with rage and he burst out,

"You can't indebt me. My hands are like this because of you. If anything, you owe me."

Harry instantly bit his lower lip.

Damn it…Damn him

So much for not telling Voldemort. He was really beginning to wonder about his own mental stability. He felt like he was going insane. Nope…he wasn't going insane…he was already insane. Voldemort had a very curious glint in his eyes,

"I owe you? What do I owe you for, Harry?"

Harry didn't trust his tongue anymore. The temptation to cut it out was stronger than ever. Voldemort drew closer to him and spoke again,

"I believe you are lying. I do not owe you anything. You are making this up so you may acquire favours from me."

Harry knew Voldemort was intimidating him…he was getting under his skin and it was working. It was working so well despite Harry's efforts to resist it,

"You bloody bastard…Do you have any idea what Dumbledore was planning? He had memories of your past…memories of the time when you weren't even born…I saw your mother, Merope…I saw your uncle, Morfin and your grandfather Marvolo and your father Tom Riddle…I know how they treated her…I know all about the love potions…I know all about how your father abandoned your mother when she was pregnant with you…I know how she died giving birth to you…"

Voldemort's grip went slack on his hands and he let them fall. Harry closed his eyes. Why had he done that? He shouldn't have spoken. Harry expected rage from Voldemort…he expected Voldemort to torture him for knowing…he wanted Voldemort to torture him…Deep down he wanted Voldemort to hate him for knowing, maybe that's why he had spoken,

"I stand correct in my assumption that you returned to Dumbledore but the question that stands is what did you do?"

Harry hadn't expected that question. He opened his eyes and met Voldemort's gaze. There wasn't any rage there. No hate…No dislike…There was resignation in those crimson eyes,

"You aren't…I mean…Don't you hate me for going back to Dumbledore and knowing about your past?"

Voldemort shook his head and turned his back to him,

"It does not surprise me in the least that you returned to Dumbledore like the good little pet you are. And you do seem to have a knack for knowing things that no other soul knows about me…well no other soul excluding Dumbledore."

Harry straightened up,

"I am not his pet…"

Voldemort cocked an eyebrow at him and Harry ground out,

"I didn't return to him of my own free will…He had me kidnapped from the Atrium that day."

The corner of Voldemort's mouth twitched up in a smirk but he didn't say anything and that bothered Harry. He was telling the truth now and Voldemort wasn't believing him…that bastard wasn't believing him,

What if I tell your beloved followers everything?"

Voldemort chuckled but didn't deem his question worthy of a reply,

"I'm serious. I could tell everyone, everything…You should obliviate me or kill me or something…"

Voldemort turned around and cupped his cheek. Harry met his gaze and saw something akin to affection in his eyes. He hadn't expected to see that…Where was the rage? Where the hell was Voldemort's anger?

"Or something."

Harry raised an eyebrow questioningly and Voldemort spoke,

"I choose or something from the options you provided me with."

Voldemort's thumb rubbed soothing circles behind his ear and it was distracting as hell. Harry whispered hoarsely,

"What does or something entail?"

Voldemort smiled…it wasn't sardonic or demonic. It was a real smile…bright and open. Harry was momentarily mesmerized by how beautifully it lit up his handsome features. Voldemort patted him on the cheek softly and Harry tore himself out of the trance. He hated how fast his heart was beating or how short he seemed to be on air all of a sudden or the heat that was spreading through his body,

"I shall tell you if you tell me what you did."

Harry wanted to bang his head against the wall. This was all kinds of messed up. His body was yearning to be close to Voldemort and he was willing to do anything for that to happen. It was wrong…so wrong and yet so right as well.

"I shattered the memories right in front of that old bastard's eyes. I shattered them so that he couldn't use them against you. Obviously, he didn't take it too well and crushed my fingers…one by one…he shattered them and I was conscious through it all…"

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