"Is anyone looking for me?" I ask Tom as I attempt to turn off the lights the way he did.

He notices me struggling.

"Whatever you're trying to do will require you to clear your mind, Harry," Tom says lazily while reading the newspaper.

"I can't clear anything with you sitting there," I mumble.

"And why is that?" he asks.

"Because you make me fucking nervous, that's why!" I say.

"Language," he says.

I slump in my chair.

"What's distracting you? You were doing so well before," he says.

I don't say anything. I keep staring at his stupid fingers and thinking about them in my hair, in...other places, thinking about how well I've been sleeping, and thinking about the dreams I've been dreaming.

They involve his stupid bloody fingers and- I turn away and twist my ring furiously.

"Harry, look at me," Tom says.

He puts the paper down and moves in front of me. I stare at the floor.

"Look at me," he says.

And damn it if I can't resist parseltongue, which of course, he knows. He's using it against me. He looks into my eyes and then into my mind. I can feel his fingers and he sees. He always sees.

Tom smirks.

"What a silly thing to keep from me," he says.

He runs a finger down my face, following it as I shake and pull away. He picks me up and kisses me deeply. I wrap my legs around him. To avoid falling, of course. To avoid falling.

He tosses me onto the bed.

"What a silly thing to lie about," he says.

And then he's moving inside of me and I fall to pieces and he puts me back together again and we're kissing and-

"I love you," I say, even though it's mad and he found it in my mind and he knows, he knows that I mean it.

He cradles me in his arms. I'm happy to stay there. I hope they never find me.

"Are they looking for me, Tom?" I ask, my earlier question not forgotten.

"They haven't announced your disappearance yet. A year though it may be, I'm certain they're still looking. The question is, do you want to be found?" he says.

I shake my head against his neck.

"Then they'll never find you," he says.

"You would think after a year they would've found me by now. Says a lot. I hold a letter from Draco in my hand. Just twelve months for history to become legend. How long until I am a myth? An impossible boy who gave his soul to an impossible man?

I sit against the headboard in our bedroom. I wonder at myself. Should I let myself care for Voldemort? A bit too late, I suppose but..Some would say it's too soon. Some would call me crazy. He's literally Voldemort.

I don't care. Maybe I should care. But I don't.

I know they'll take me from him if they ever find me.

"Do you think they'll stop looking?" I ask.

Tom looks over at me.

"I can't imagine why they would," he says

"Is that sentiment?" I ask.

He says nothing.

"Do you want to keep me around?" I ask.

Nothing.

"So you would, like, never stop looking for me if I was taken from you?" I tease.

He gives me a scathing look.

"You aren't scary," I mutter.

"Patronus, I suggest you find something to occupy your time that has nothing to do with me. Just how many of those have you eaten?" he says.

I tuck the bowl of cucumbers and vinegar behind the pillow.

"An amount," I say.

He beckons for the bowl. I hiss and hold it tightly.

"I'm hungry," I say.

"That's disgusting," he says, "We do own pickles, there's no need to make your own."

"You don't want me here, then," I sniff.

He sighs and puts down whatever it is he was working on. I tug on my necklace. It's not unusual, to be unwanted. I'm used to it.

"You shouldn't have kidnapped me, if you feel that way," I say.

He rubs the bridge of his nose.

"If I tell you it was sentiment, will you go bother a Malfoy?" Tom asks.

I shrug and pop a cucumber slice into my mouth, the vinegar dripping down my fingers. Tom winces.

"I'm sure Narcissa requires your company, then," he says.

I hold my cucumber bowl to my chest as I walk out, my head high.

I've been spending more time with Narcissa. I believe Tom has given her the job of "Harry's Minder." She's nice. Funny, too. Something I didn't expect. Draco has nearly no sense of humor, unless tripping first years counts for anything.

"You're quite the cook. I didn't expect it, if I'm being honest," I say.

Narcissa smiles. I swing my foot against the chair I'm sitting on. I should order someone to buy shorter chairs. I'm in charge of things, aren't I?

"Thank you, Harry. It took ages before the House elves stopped crying when I wandered into the kitchen for a snack. Eventually they let me learn, taught me some things," she says.

I put down my fork.

"Could i-could I have pickles?" I ask.

"In your chili?" she asks.

Tom took my cucumber bowl away two days ago while I was sleeping.

"Er, never mind," I stammer.

Not in. With. In would be atrocious.

She narrows her eyes and summons a jar of pickles. I pop one into my mouth and bite down.

"Thank you," I say.

"Are you going back now? I imagine our Lord is fine with business," she says.

I scoff.

"He's not my lord at all," I say.

"Harry!" Narcissa hisses.

"The only thing he's lording over is my cucumbers. I want them back!" I say.

"I'm not the one who has them," she says with a slight chuckle.

"You're right. It's that utter assho-" I grumble.

"Harry, Narcissa,"Tom says.

I turn around and frown at him as dramatically as I can manage.

"Leave us," Tom says.

His eyes blaze red as he glares at me. The room seems to narrow.

"Why are you acting so childishly?" he asks.

"Does it matter?" I say.

I eat another pickle, crunching it loudly. I could cry now. Am I sad? I can't tell.

"I'm fine," I say.

He grabs my arm and pulls me into a hug..

"Voldemort," I say.

He rubs his fingers in circles on my back.

"This… I've been here eleven months.. a year? I shouldn't.." I say.

"Is that what's been bothering you?" he asks.

"I proposed to you as a joke," I whisper.

"A joke?" Tom repeats, his voice cold.

"And you! You were supposed to kill me over it. You're supposed to be scary. You're supposed to kill people who question you and talk to you like that. You don't cuddle people and-" I say.

"Harry. Calm. Stay calm," he says.

It isn't quite soothing, and that brings me back.

"I don't know why you're calming me down. I'm fine," I say.

He chuckles and sits in the chair opposite mine, done with the coddling.

"And no one said you get to touch me. All the chairs in here are so tall. I'm not tall. That's unfair," I say.

"Why do I talk to you?" he asks.

I sigh. He smiles at me, teeth sharp and flashing.

"I want to belong to you, Tom, so no one can say I don't belong here," I say.

"You do. Your soul has belonged to me since I tried to kill you," he says.

"True love's murder," I smile.

"And with your asinine request -your joke- your body belongs to me as well. You are mine. As for Dumbledore, I'll kill anyone he sends for you," he says.

"Good. I came up with an idea about Magic," I say.

He inclines his head to show he's listening.

There's a ritual. I found it in a book in your library. It's a ritual to revive Magic. It says that Muggleborns are from pureblood Squib lines and something about pollution being counteracted," I say, "and we could set up an orphanage for magical children and offer to take Muggleborns into it. That would stop abuse from magic hating Muggles like my family. Isn't that nice?"

He leans forward and kisses me breathless.

"You, love, are brilliant!" he says.

I focus on keeping my heart beating.

"Simply brilliant," he says, not noticing my struggle.

"My heart is not beating," I say calmly.

Tom places a hand on my chest. He breathes out.

"Yes, it is," he says.

"No it is not. My heart is not working properly. I have died. Yes, that's it. I'm dead. You killed me!" I say.

I hold my wrist between my fingers.

"My pulse isn't right either," I say.

Tom grabs my wrist and kisses it.

"Harry, you are fine. I didn't hurt you. I wouldn't kill you. You are fine," Tom says.

"No. The Dark Lord would never reassure me. He does not call people 'love'," I say," I have died."

He starts laughing and kissing my forehead. It's a bizarre sound.

"I love you, Patronus," he says.

It's then that I decide that I'm still asleep. Not even dying could provide anything this perfectly wonderful. I sleep through him introducing me to his followers (the non Inner Circle ones) as his equal and future husband. I sleep through him informing everyone of the new plan. My new plan. I must be so tired.