Millions and millions of interminable thanks to the most wonderful beta that exists in this entire world (~˘▾˘)~ Vanillaghost. Thank you for your patience and most of all, for your time 💕💕💕

In the dark, all monsters were at home.

This may very well be the reason why Harry took notice of him far too late for the ending to ever have the chance to change.

Nagini's venom travelled up his arm like stains on a clean cloth while the monstrous snake hid itself where Hermione had blasted it, the girl herself standing a few feet behind Harry with her eyes set on where the beast had disappeared. There was utter silence for a few deep breaths, when the cold air from outside reached through the broken windows and Harry mustered just enough strength to push himself to his knees, wand no longer in his fingers. Not even close to them.

Why was it so quiet? Why did Nagini hide from her wounded prey? Surely Hermione had not finished her off that easily… ?

The golden locket around his neck tugged at the same time something deep inside his own chest did, and the answer revealed itself by standing at the end of the rundown hallway as if he had been there all along.

Lord Voldemort pinned Harry with light eyes and Harry forgot how to breathe. A thousand questions twisted in and out of his mind. Where was the pain that usually announced the man's grim arrival? Where was the pale-skinned monster from the start of the summer? Why was this monster wearing his long forgotten human face?

A nightmare in the form of one man; a boy with venom flooding his veins. In between them stood eternity.

"Harry Potter. At last," that familiar and cutting voice spoke, making Harry wonder for how long he had waited in the shadows, watching them battle Nagini as Harry struggled for each pound of his heart. "And a little stolen gift. One for me to kill, and the other to retrieve."

It was the end. He was going to die, Hermione was going to die, and the horcrux would once again fall into the hands of Lord Voldemort where the terror would spread and spread. Harry did not want to die!

Yet he still drew breath — the chance of living still there for the taking. It was not quite the end just yet.

Nagini and her shiny scales had slithered into the corner of Harry's vision by the time he acted and set the trap. He reached with his sluggish left hand for the thick wooden stick under a crowded table. Fate and luck appeared to be on his side as there was no blinding spell that flew toward his quivering form. It was the muggle way instead now.

Lord Voldemort lunged at him as the blurry silhouette of Hermione raised her wand in a brave yet feeble attempt to fight the Dark Lord, unknowing that Voldemort now danced to Harry's tune.

The very moment those crushing fingers closed around his upper arm, Harry Apparated them away, keeping her safe by taking the monster into another land.

Specifically, one of the many forests Harry had been in during his hiding.

Voldemort's fingers dug into the exact same place Nagini's fangs had before the impact with the ground brought separation. Three thuds reached his ears by the time the blinding light left his eyes at the same time his glasses did. Three… why three? Had Hermione — ?

Mere feet away something alive slid between piles of snow ever so softly.

The snake.

Harry was going to die. The wooden stick in his palm was utterly useless now and no more than an old decoration for furniture, a stupid trinket that had bought Hermione's life. And ever feeling like the noose around his neck, Slytherin's locket called out for its master without a voice.

Harry was going to die.

At least he should have, if it weren't for the snake.

By the time he managed to raise his head and focus enough to glimpse the human monster pointing the bright green end of a familiar wand at him, Nagini made his fear come true. But in a way that was so horribly, horribly wrong.

"Master's blood floods my mouth. The blood of our kin, my brother, your kin… yourself. The boy… Master…"

Harry's eyes were filled with tears, blurring his vision further while the Dark Lord turned into a statue. A cold sweat gripped Harry as Nagini hissed some more and deranged cackles shattered the nearly holy silence of the long since visited woods.

There was a cutting edge to Voldemort's mad laughter. One of wrath, resentment, futility. One that promised pain. The golden pendant round Harry's neck pulsed in perfect tune with the Dark Lord's howling. And for the first time it seemed relieved to abandon the heat of Harry's body when he took it off and threw it at the other man's feet. It landed among all that white, glimmering in the pale moonlight.

Then with a faint blow of wind, Harry's vision came into perfect focus.

He saw without aid, a horrifying gift forced upon him by Lord Voldemort. There was no autonomy anymore, no boundaries, not when he shared with this one man what he shared with no one before. Something that shouldn't be shared in the first place: His soul, or perhaps… the Dark Lord's.

Silence creeped back into the forest and Nagini's venom travelled farther into his body while her monstrous master inched closer to where Harry unwillingly knelt.

Snow crunched underneath Lord Voldemort's feet as if it felt pain, forced just as Harry was to endure the man's defeating presence. He was all grace and contained elegance in an inky coat with dark hair ruffled by the faint wind. The middle-aged man crouched down to his eye-level. And Harry could now see it all, forever indebted to Voldemort's sadistic gift for his own sadistic pleasure.

"I loathe your existence. You are the closest thing to a punishment there is for me. But so am I to you. You, an unworthy weakling carrying my precious soul. How the old cockroach must have laughed, how he must have rejoiced at the thought of me splintering my own existence…"

Harry's scalding fever made his attention cling to all the wrong words. "Riddle…" he managed around his numb tongue that just wouldn't move swiftly enough. "You're one to talk about old people."

Faster than Nagini's strike, Voldemort clasped his chin as if he burned with the desire to crush Harry's skull. "You — You dare insult me? You, who were nothing before you met me," the Dark Lord spat, his nostrils flaring as his handsome face came dangerously close to Harry's own. "You, who are nobody on your own. Your name, Harry James Potter, would equal nothing without me. You wouldn't be who you are… wouldn't know who you are without — "

"Then let me be nothing!" Harry shouted right back. "Let me die! Lose a sliver of your precious soul and gain another from my death. Get rid of your punishment forevermore! Let me go once and for all!"

There was a fire in the Dark Lord's gaze; a warning, a promise. Regret instantly enveloped Harry's feeble body. A grave mistake had just been made.

"Your wish is my command. Yet remember, Harry Potter, my Chosen One, my horcrux… you wished for it. You did. Cry, beg, scrape your knees and scream for me or any other savior of your liking. You still won't die."

Sharp nails and scorching magic sunk into Harry's flesh while Voldemort's expression contorted into one of utter malice. Harry was so shaken by the sudden cold following their second Apparition that the burning in his veins — or more strangely, the lack of it — passed unnoticed.

When he was released from the man's claws, only pearly white met his stare. Everything was completely white with snow, surrounding him from all sides along with the pale blue of the sky above — nearly as pale as the monster's eyes. The sharp wind had no shape to curse. It bit into his flesh far deeper than Voldemort's nails had, without leaving any mark to cover in hopes of warmth. This was a whole other world.

"Where did you — ?"

"That's none of your concern." The Dark Lord's perfect teeth did not clink together like Harry's did in the cold. "This is nothing more than a fulfilment of your wish. You asked for nothing, so now I'll have you be nothing. So be a good boy and don't allow this lesson to be in vain. Learn what your consciousness offers and do not fear death as it will not reach you this time. Not by Nagini's venom, starvation, or freezing. You will not die, yet you will learn." Straightening to his full, impressive height, Lord Voldemort offered one last glance promising unfathomable pain.

Harry's knees had already gone stiff half buried in the snow. He shivered from head to toe while Lord Voldemort simply Disapparated, for once leaving Harry behind. Was there any point in running after the Dark Lord when not even his shadow met Harry's now-flawless vision?

Harry trusted his words. In spite of it all, he wouldn't die. Suffer like crazy, but not die. Was he glad for it? Between this grim reality and the absence of Voldemort's presence, a rift was making itself known.

Cold. It was so cold the scarf around Harry's neck may as well be made of thin paper. Yet still he secured it around his neck, nearly choking himself. Even screaming for help would have been unwise in all that icy wind.

Three days had come and gone, three dark and terrible nights in which Harry laid down in the midst of another snow storm. During the day he travelled, when the light was blinding but the wind more merciful and didn't cut quite as deep. He travelled…

But to where? It made little, if any, difference. The act itself of monumental insignificance. But Harry needed a purpose, something tangible, something else besides waiting for the monster to return. For he would come at a certain moment, and until then Harry was forced not to lose his mind.

His surroundings passed as a nightmare — a pearly one, but a nightmare nonetheless. An immense stretch of whiteness in whichever direction he turned his head. Arms tight around himself, Harry placed one foot in front of the other, searching for something as mundane as a tree, a protector to shield him if only for a moment. But there was none. Only this colorless sea lacking an end.

No, it has to have an end, everything does. I need to just… keep going.

In the next few moments, where he carried his own legs against their will, Harry doubted his own sanity. What if this was a dream? Another vision gifted by Voldemort to teach his precious lesson? But could your bones be stiff in dreams? Could you feel hunger clawing in your belly?

Warming a fist of snow into his mouth, Harry trod into the unknown with only himself for company.

He often wondered about Ron and Hermione. One likely with his family and the other still in hiding. Both hopefully safe. Then his teeth clinked like bells and Harry thought about no one but himself, of the part with the monster's soul.

All his previous plans had faded into nothingness, ash and dust and everything in between. Harry knew he would not be allowed to die, the Dark Lord had promised so. But the pain, the cold, the feeling of futility, the shadows at the corner of his eyes. It teared his sanity to shreds in a special kind of death.

The only salvation was not giving up. If he fell, he got up. And continued to do so, for as many times as needed. In a sick and twisted way, he was making Lord Voldemort proud.

Yes, very proud.

But how far until salvation? This lesson… how long did it aim to last? For Harry was learning nothing but the desperate need for warmth and a place far from all kinds of death… Did the Dark Lord want something else?

Harry took a deep and painful breath, the wind nearly sending him to his knees. "You won! You won! You won…" His voice dissolved with each word. Then with another brief show of bravery: "Riddle! I said you won!"

Only the wind called back.

Harry came to notice his own tears only when his lashes glued together, joined by the cold. He desperately scrubbed the icy layer off and, with swollen eyes, shaking limbs, and the realization of another continuous torment, Harry had no other choice but to face the vast mystery before him again.

How long? How long until he collapsed? Would Voldemort arrive then? Was this the lesson he so patiently waited to serve?

Dawn arrived with a bright hope — Trees. The edge of a pine forest waited not so far away. In his habit of gazing down at his feet, Harry was not surprised he had glimpsed this welcoming sight so late. His face broke into a smile at the promise of shelter from the cutting wind, excitement prompting him to move quicker, to get there faster than his tired legs could possibly carry him. His breath was laboured and panting when Harry reached the middle of the distance between him, the pines and larches.

Then the ice broke.

In the first few moments, he experienced nothing at all except perhaps the wonderful sensation of not being — of nonexistence at its finest. It even briefly passed his mind that he may have fallen asleep.

But soon the piercing weight of water dragged him down, stinging like no other as it seized his twitching limbs which struggled to swim toward the surface. To the promising light filtering through the blackness. To the opening from which he had fallen through, and his only way out.

Clawing his way up for a gasp of breath would have been a far easier battle if he had an actual surface to sink his fingers into. But there was only icy daggers gashing his skin.

So down Harry sank, in spite of all the struggling, where darkness circled him and all the lights in the world far above were behind a thick ice that guarded the entrance to the living world.

Harry finally entered that place of nonexistence where thought itself was nonexistent, and all hope was swallowed by the wet and numbing cold. It was truly nonexistence at its finest.

Then came a vibration against his ears. The only sound in that infinite wasteland where he was at some unknown point in his journey to the bottom of the lake. On the verge on labelling it as his wild imagination or the beginnings of a hallucination, a solid pair of arms sneaked beneath his legs and scooped Harry up and away.

The hands tightened around his stomach and, four heaves later, Harry's abused lungs expanded, chasing the hurt away yet hurting just the same.

Salvation had come at last, as did the feeling of his paper-like skin freezing on his bones.

Harry's head fell against his savior's shoulder, lacking the necessary strength to push away from the offered warmth. He craved to completely sink into it, to drown in it, and let it chase away the tremor biting into his flesh. A glimpse from between his lashes revealed snowflakes trapped in his dark mane and grey eyes blinking down at Harry.

Yes, him — Lord Voldemort, the monster, the murderer, the nightmare… But also Harry's sole source of warmth. And more strangely, the one with whom he shared said warmth. Just like his gruesome soul; both having been forced down Harry's throat just the same. But would the curse be worth the price?

Harry got one last glimpse of the sky that perfectly resembled the color of Voldemort's gaze before the Dark Lord put an end to the nightmare.

Only to begin another, this one far more intricate and subtle.

Him, there was no one else but him.

The action of opening his eyes was one of tremendous effort but Harry had no other choice. Once again there was water up to his chin, grazing his lower lip from time to time, and he jerked like a wild beast in the face of danger before he was greeted by the sight of him.

Harry froze, countless words dying on his lips as the Dark Lord's fingers closed around his spasmodic throat, trapping Harry in place in this… bathtub. The arm in question had its sleeve rolled up, guarding the expensive material from the hot water submerging Harry's trembling, bare body. And Voldemort, his unwilling savior, was looking at Harry as if he wished for nothing but the chance to sink Harry's head underwater until his existence was wiped from the face of the Earth and his legacy faded into nothingness.

"Your luck announced itself a worthy opponent to my greatness," the man drawled, his grip on Harry's throat tensing to the point of nearly choking. "Here I was… waiting for the last days of your madness to meet their end, for your punishment to be delivered… When you decided on getting yourself drowned, forcing me to come to your aid without a single wail from you. Tell me, boy… How is this fair?"

Harry gasped for breath, soaked hands covering Voldemort's own, before he was finally released, pushed, and the back of his head sharply collided with the edge of the tub. And despite being far from safe, he was safer now that he was no longer in the Dark Lord's physical grip.

From a single yet lengthy stare, the monster was monstrous in his apparent mundanity. An impressively handsome man in appearance and attire, a man leaning above Harry's bathtub staring not at his naked body like a common predator, but into his eyes. Eyes that pledged unimaginable pain, nights and days of terror, and all the opposites of peace and security. Promising himself.

"I… Where am I? What —"

"If you leave this bathtub before I allow you to, I give you my word I'll sever both your legs and watch you bathe in this water while it fills with your blood. Perhaps I'll even force you to drink it, just because I can. Technically speaking, I do not need your whole body as a vessel for my horcrux to grow and thrive. The purpose behind this bath in the first place, you ask? To prevent sickness," he spat the word, a strand of hair obscuring his burning gaze. "Pneumonia is the last thing you may want in these dark times, Harry Potter — blessed horcrux yet anything but — so stay here like a good boy before I make good on my promise. Once all is done, dress yourself with what is waiting on this chair— " he gestured to the sole piece of removable furniture in the marble bathroom — "and come meet me. To our mutual dismay, dire circumstances have pushed us into a tentative truce in hopes of survival."

There came another piercing glance accompanied by a grimace, as if Voldemort's words were poison in his own mouth, before the man stood to his freakish, towering height. His shadow reached the tall ceiling before he faced away from the tub and left the chamber like an actor departing from the main stage where the public — Harry — could only tremble in anticipation.

There was the click of a door being shut and Harry's hands pressed over his mouth as his entire body shuddered with his scream. It was too late for anything else but denial and terror, both of which intertwined with one another to the point of complete union. All that was good in his life was crashing down around him, leaving nothing but the monster's amusement.

What now? Everything had gone to shit and, for once, Harry could do nothing about it. He didn't know where to start. The overconfident horcrux hunting proved nothing but childish play now that his own sacrifice was demanded to finish it. His death, a death he'd crawl away from if needed.

The thrill abandoned him for cold fear which usurped its place as Harry steadily lowered both his hands back underwater where it was warm and life itself felt less real. Because reality was too much to take in all at once at the moment.

He felt feverish yet his body quivered as if terribly cold, his mind a storm with no end in sight as the monster awaited for him to ready himself. God, Lord Voldemort wanted to talk! This particular day of Harry's life surpassed any previous nightmare.

After gazing at the ceiling for a long time, a single knock sounded on the bathroom door to signal his much dreaded cue for the discussion.

Harry dressed in record time while trembling all over, the act of putting on his socks being the most challenging as balance problems and clumsy hands were at the root of it all. He really didn't want to do this.

The provided clothing was warm, comfortable, and black as night. Harry took a deep breath that delivered a wave of aches to his lungs before hiding his freezing hands in the puffy sleeves of the turtleneck sweater. Then he left behind the last piece of normality of his existence.

He really didn't want to do this.

The house was far from big. It was more of a cabin than a house, with only two rooms beside the bathroom and what looked like a kitchen. Harry made his way passed its closed door toward the inviting smell and sound of a crackling fire. More heat — wonderful, wonderful heat.

True to his hopes, when he arrived in the sitting room, the chimney was burning hot and the fire casting mysterious dark shapes over the cozy space. There was a sofa with far too many pillows, a library stuffed with books to the point of being ludicrous, and a table with only two chairs.

Giving no sign he had heard Harry enter, Lord Voldemort faced away from him as he gazed into the darkness behind the windows. Harry's feet froze, not daring to make a judgment on where he stood just yet. Especially with the promise from earlier about… his legs…

"A self-heating blanket is waiting for you on the sofa," the Dark Lord spoke, still not gracing Harry with his demanding gaze.

The monster's need for him alive was just as horrifying as it was fascinating.

Conscious of the threat to the apparently caring words, Harry tentatively wrapped himself in the grey material and a lulling warmth seeped into his bones. Hugging himself, Harry took refuge among the pillows, heart menacing to leave his chest.

The duality of the situation was madness. While his body was in a private paradise, his mind sat on edge, threatening to tumble over into darkness.

Lord Voldemort finally grew bored of his stargazing… or perhaps he grew hungry for something else. Paralysing fear danced in Harry's blood as the man leisurely came his way. Harry secured the blanket around his shoulders instinctively but Voldemort merely summoned one of the two chairs, not breaking out in violence just yet.

Once he'd sat, the staring contest commenced. They were both winning after tense moments of Voldemort provoking and Harry answering said provocation. His entire skin prickled with the need to look away and sever this mental violation… and yet, the Dark Lord's eyes were entirely against the idea. The damn monster had always been unnaturally fixated on him.

With dry lips, Harry talked into the unknown as a strange hysteria demanded boldness from him. "Are you going to take me apart now?"

Voldemort's expression could be described as terribly smug, as if Harry's words provided a great source of entertainment. Not that he smiled or anything… Just his eyes. It was all about the eyes… perhaps it was in the lazy blinks.

"Should I, boy? Tear you limb from limb? Keep nothing but your head stuffed prettily in an ornate box for me to gaze upon any time I wish? Or perhaps you mean a different way of taking you apart? One more intimate, less permanent, but far more fitting. I could summon my followers and let them have your thrashing body while I watched, until your hole dripped with cum from each man who mounted you."

Shivering in spite of the new clothes, blanket, and burning fire, Harry raised his chin. Face red, he willed the sickening threat far from his mind. Or so he tried. "Please. You'd rather have them watch you while you did what you have so thoroughly described. You wouldn't allow anyone else to defile your soul," Harry hoped.

The utter stupor of Lord Voldemort uttering those nauseating words paled in comparison to the look in his eyes at that moment. His stare was downright filthy. "There's still hope for you, it seems," the man mused, voice lowering to the point of being menacing. "Then, my soul, tell me. How badly do you wish to live?"

"Bad enough to scream for you in that freezing land."

The accusation was deemed unworthy of a reaction. "Fair enough. But for now, listen; misfortune has it that you're my horcrux. I won't bother explaining what this is, considering you had my blessed locket in your possession and your purpose for it was well-known. The details of its creation are also painfully obvious. So it is onto other details that we must now proceed…" There was a dramatic pause in which Voldemort tilted his head for an even more dramatic purpose: To terrify. "Far from me is the thought of ending your pitiful existence in these conditions… Until I discover a proper way to extract the piece of myself from your feeble person, that is. But until then, you are to remain here."

"'Here?'" Harry quietly asked in hopes of finding out more about this mysterious location.

"Here."

The cruelty of this response left no room for speculation, or perhaps far too much room.

"And… what's going to happen to me after you take back your soul?"

Voldemort studied him, still with utter filth in his grey eyes. Harry hated it. Hated him. Only this man could bring such terror with a single glance, with his mere presence. Only he could make Harry feel so small. Like nothing more than a child before the monster which ghosted over him, threatening and intimidating, demanding Harry's best behavior. This man whose very taunts always crawled under his skin like a disease.

"Depends," the Dark Lord cryptically responded long past the moment of unbearable silence. "Depends on you, to be more specific. So tell me, boy, are you a zealot? Do not lie, for I will know. "

Harry was at a loss for words. "I — What?"

"So terribly eloquent. In light of my future plans, it felt appropriate to clear this error of communication as soon as possible. Extremism has its own story to share. Different approaches are in store." The level of hypocrisy of this man was astonishing. "I no longer wish you any terrible harm—"

"Yet you took pleasure in making me suffer while I lost my mind in that land of winter," Harry interrupted, his sharp tongue getting the best of him.

Stupid stupid stupid!

Voldemort's fingers buried themselves in the arms of the chair and Harry flinched as a silent threat was exchanged between them, so that the man's following words were not truly necessary when he said, "Interrupt me again and I'll carve out your tongue, right after taking care of those legs. Foolish child. You try shame me for my pleasure? You? Yes, I felt it. Same as you would have, had our roles been reversed. Do not preach to me."

"You're wrong. I'm not cruel. Other people's misery doesn't bring me any joy."

"And how would you know? Have you tried? You have not, I know. My horcrux, some advice: Until you know all of yourself, refrain from throwing accusations like mindless curses. It takes a lifetime and them some to grow familiar will all of oneself. But you did not offer a clear response to my question. Are you a zealot? Yes or no?"

"No," Harry let out through clenched teeth. Not like you are, you murderous, megalomaniacal piece of shit.

The corners of Voldemort's lips twitched as if aware of each and every single one of Harry's thoughts."I am very convinced."

"You don't believe me," Harry stated the obvious yet completely taken aback by the assumption.

"You have time to prove me wrong."

Did he? Harry lowered his eyes to the raging fire before meeting Voldemort's piercing gaze once again. "Okay, I think I understand. You want something from me — something more than simply living for your horcrux's sake before and after its removal. But why? You've said it yourself… my fate after the soul transfer is tricky. There's nothing stopping you from throwing me into a cell and being done with it until the long awaited moment arrives. Sever my legs, my tongue… rape me as you've said, before finally uttering the killing curse. Instead you bring me to this house, offer clothes, prepare a bath. Why? Because you want something. Speak clearly. State your terms."

The Dark Lord acknowledged him with stormy eyes and a cruel arch of his lips. "You struggling to negotiate is an amusing sight. Like a mouse playing at being a cat. Or a cat playing at being a dog. Such a childish attempt, yet negotiate we shall. You crave it, don't you? Freedom?"

In hindsight, the question was rather stupid but Voldemort always had a tendency for the dramatic. Harry nodded.

"What you desire is clear. Your life, your freedom. What I happen to desire is far more complicated. But for an easier understanding of this discussion, I'll simply call it control over the wizarding world. Something I've already achieved. But… not completely. On the political scene there are still worthy adversaries even after Dumbledore's death. Some who have even been fuelled by it, one could argue. Child… you must know that I have no intention of being a constant public figure, seeking the masses approval. This is not how I operate… But the world still does, and Lucius Malfoy is not the appropriate individual to calm the troubled waters."

Grey eyes stabbed into Harry's very soul over which the Dark Lord had some kind of ownership, as disturbing as the notion was.

"You want me as your political puppet?" Harry couldn't help but laugh, connecting the dots.

The man wasn't amused in the slightest. He frowned. "Simply put, yes. Your answer?"

Was there any answer besides the obvious yes? Perhaps, but it was one more painful than the other with the final destination being certain death. Harry did not want to die but playing by Voldemort's tune while subjugating people to it as well was an entirely different thing. He was convinced the man knew of these conflicting feelings too. Harry could read it in the challenging gleam in those eyes. But why set a task Harry had no means of accomplishing? Was it another punishment? Something else? So many 'why's…

Lord Voldemort was surely messing with him, hiding something more behind the curtain of a reluctant salvation. Maybe he wanted Harry to fail — a form of punishment, then. But it was never easy with this man, anything but easy. What to do, what to do? What was worse than the truth?

"Yes, I accept your terms. Yet you must know I'll never welcome your atrocities. So how do you expect me to publicly justify them?"

"Why do you think I've questioned your zealousness?" the Dark Lord answered with another question. He was neither angered nor pleased. He was not anything in particular. "You speak about atrocities, but my actions are so much more. Your adherent faith in good and evil is what shields your sight from such truths. Which is why it is the major setback in my plans regarding your existence. So, my unfortunate horcrux… I accept your acceptance, but until you possess a more openminded view of the world, you are to remain here. And do not lie in hopes of influencing my decision, for I will know."

"If you're going to wait for me to become vile then I'll be locked in here for a long, long time."

Was this it? The temptation of freedom was so prettily wrapped. But was Harry being played by this man? And if he knew he was, was he really being played?

Yes. Yes, he was. But Harry knew.

Damned be all, life had changed its path and masked a way down as an inviting way up. However, this manipulation served as a purpose for them both. Harry ached to keep on living while the Dark Lord was well aware of his feeble control over the masses. Of the disdain the light and moderate politicians had for his cause. Harry fit in this all like he had been painted into the very artwork. He hated it. But what other choice did he have? Continuing to hunt for horcruxes would be an attack on his own life, being captive here was not a real existence, and ending up viciously murdered after the horcrux removal was… something to be avoided at all costs.

Offering Voldemort's intimidating person another gaze, Harry came to the rational conclusion that it was not in his best interest to lose the monster's soul. Far from it. If the Dark Lord managed to find a way to take it back — something which Harry had no doubt he'd succeed in doing — Harry's chance at continued existence was on uneven ground. Until then, he needed to prove himself indispensable by other means.

A political puppet… It was as good an option as any another. In truth, a better one than Harry could hope for.

"Are you quite finished with justifying your decisions to yourself?" Voldemort had stood, his chair floating back to its usual place by the table. Something in his posture made it obvious he was getting ready to leave and desert Harry in this place.

"Yes," Harry admitted through clenched teeth, winning himself an arched eyebrow.

"Frown all you want, horcrux, but your staying here is entirely up to you. Necessities such as food or warmth will be magically delivered while everything else will rest on your shoulders. In your assigned bedroom you will find books waiting on the nightstand. Do well to read them. I won't tolerate my spokesman being a fool. Perhaps you'll even have a change of heart." With his back to Harry, he moved to what could only be the front door. "As a last observation and a token of hope: You, Harry Potter, who thought himself a saint, are viler than you give yourself credit for. Any other saint would have already sacrificed his life for the greater cause. And now it plays in your favor. Curious."

And so he left, without allowing Harry time for forming an appropriate response to his accusations.

Blanket still tightly wrapped around his shoulders, Harry left his place by the fire for the chance to peer out the windows like the Dark Lord had done before. Only darkness and silvery snow met his eyes. It appeared Harry's prison was built surrounded by the living hell he had only just survived from. Had Voldemort watched Harry's descent into insanity by this very window? Glass fogged by his own breath, he turned away.

He had never been more scared.