Rated R

Pairings: HP/DM HP/TR


Broken Angel

Chapter 2: Harry's Confession


Voldemort looked down at the small boy sitting on the bed. His eyes were glazed over from pain and confusion. His face was pale, and his scar on his forehead was bleeding and glowing white. Voldemort watched him as he rocked himself back and forth on the bed.

His small, graceful hands clenching the pillow tightly. The light skin was covered in a layer of cold sweat, and his large emerald eyes stared at him, crinkled in a look of fear or hate. His features were cherub-like. His oval face covered with wisps of onyx hair, his full, pouting lips curled into a frown, and a small slightly upturned nose, presented the boy as pretty, no, beautiful.

Voldemort had never noticed that before. Vanity was something he'd long forgotten about.

The boy's clothes, on the other hand, were disgusting. His shirt was so large, it fell off his left shoulder, and his jeans looked as if they were so large and old, they could have been worn by the entire Weasley family at once.

Voldemort focused back on the scar, glowing brighter and watched the blood flow down over Harry's eye, onto his lips. "Does is hurt when I'm near, boy?" he asked.

Harry nodded silently.

"Well, we can't have that anymore, can we?" he said. He waved his wand at the boy and whispered a few words Harry had never heard before. The pain from the scar abruptly stopped and Harry blinked a few times from slight shock.

Voldemort crossed the room and sat on an overstuffed chair beside the bed. He looked around the room, and smiled at the warmness it omitted. "Not bad for a dungeon cell, eh Harry?"

Harry wiped the blood out of his eye and rubbed his hand on his jeans. shrugging lightly. "I can't really tell," he said finally, "I don't have my glasses."

Voldemort frowned. "Glasses are for the weak, boy. Why haven't you had your eyesight fixed yet?"

Harry shrugged again and clenched the pillow tighter. Voldemort again pulled his wand out causing the boy to shiver. "I'm going to fix your eyesight, don't move or blink until I tell you to." He waved his wand in a figure eight and spoke the charm. Harry felt the dizzying effects as the spell began to repair his eyesight. "Ok, blink." he said.

Harry blinked several times before falling back onto the bed, with a wave of dizziness and nausea.

After a few minutes, he sat back up, and tossed the pillow to the floor.

"What's the matter?" asked Voldemort.

Harry sneered. "That pillow smells like piss."

Voldemort snorted at the gull.

Finally, giving up on the blood in his eyes, he looked around the room quietly. It was decorated modestly. He was sitting on a four poster bed with warm cotton sheets in deep red. The chairs adorning the room were overstuffed and soft looking. The walls were covered in Victorian wallpaper and the carpeting was a deep red


He turned his head to look at Voldemort and gasped. "What happened to your face?" he asked.

Voldemort smiled. "This is the real me, Harry. Severus Snape, my loyal death eater, as I'm sure you know, made me a potion to return myself to my normal state."

Harry sat in shock for a few minutes, carefully scanning over the Dark Lord in awe.

He felt sick inside. His fear easily showing as he shivered in the presence of the man who devoted his life in trying to kill him, no matter how 'nice' he looked.

Voldemort sensed this quickly, and began to think of something to calm the boy down. "Tell me about this letter you sent me, Harry. Why have you given up now?" The boy closed his eyes, and trembled ever harder. "Wait, hold that thought, boy." Voldemort said and closed his eyes. "Wormtail," he whispered, "bring a calming potion to Harry's cell room, now!"

Harry felt his scar tingle as he spoke, but the pain never started. He rubbed it annoyingly until the tingling ceased.

Within a few minutes, the cell door opened and Wormtail stumbled in, causing Harry to scowl and clench his teeth. Peter averted his eyes from the boy and walked straight to his master, handing him the potion. "Wormtail, I need this bedding changed in here, and more pillows. Make do sure they are clean this time!" he shouted, waving the rat off. Peter nodded and bowed and ran from the room.

Voldemort handed the boy the potion, and he grabbed it reluctantly. "Drink it, Harry. It will make you more at ease."

Harry looked at the small vial for a moment and shrugged. He uncorked the top and tipped his head back, swallowing the vile mixture in one gulp. The contents caught in his throat and he had to close his eyes before he became sick. Within seconds, he felt more at ease, almost drunk. His muscles loosened and he felt safe, for once in his life.

Harry looked again at Voldemort and began to speak. "I wrote you the letter because I'm tired. I'm so tired of hiding, of getting everyone I love killed or injured. I'm tired of living with a family who hates me, and try to beat the magic from me any chance they get. I'm tired of being afraid. I just want to end this so I can

die and see my parents again." As he finished, a small tear slid down his right cheek and he wiped it away quickly.

Voldemort sat quietly, contemplating on what to say. The boy was clearly broken. Finally, going over what he had told him, he spoke. "First, boy, you didn't kill or injure anyone. I did. I don't like other people taking credit for my work. And second, this family you speak of..." he glowered at the thought of muggles. Filthy fucking muggles trying to beat magic out of a wizard, even if it was Harry Potter. "These relatives of yours are muggles! You allowed muggles you harm you?"

Harry flinched. He looked down at his knees as he cradled them. "It's not like I could do magic at their home. I'd get expelled."

Voldemort scoffed at him. "So tell me why the great Albus Dumbledore allowed this. I'm very curious." He shifted closer to Harry, giving him his full attention.

Harry shifted back a bit and swallowed hard. "I never told him..."

Voldemort sat back, shocked. He never told the greatest fool in the wizarding community? Hmmm. 'This was very interesting. He never told Dumbledore, but he's telling me.' he thought.

Voldemort returned his attention back to Harry. The boy was clearly sobbing in his knees now. "Harry.." he began, "I need you to relax, boy. I want to hear more. A few beatings wouldn't have brought you to me. I haven't even threatened you in over a year. I want to know what else is happening. You might as well tell me."

Harry stopped rocking and looked up at Voldemort. Pain and horror flashed over his features. "You're right, there is more. A lot more." he began, "I have visions. I see what you do when I sleep, when you hurt people. I can feel the curses you inflict upon them. I have nightmares almost every night as well. I wake up screaming, and my uncle comes in my room..." Harry stopped and returned his head back into his knees.

As much as this should have pleased Voldemort, he felt more or less indifferent to it. He had taken part unknowingly in this boy's breaking. The part that upset him the most was that Harry hadn't choked on what Voldemort had done to him, he choked on what his uncle had done. Even with a calming potion, this boy could not hold himself together.

Voldemort wanted to hear more, but realized the boy needed rest, if that were possible. He looked at the door as it opened, and Wormtail walked in carrying fresh linen. He looked to the bed where Harry sat. "Boy, get up and take a bath. Then sleep, there's fresh clothes waiting for you in the lavatory." Harry looked up and nodded, and climbed off the bed. Voldemort watched him walk slowly into the adjoining restroom and saw how small and thin the boy was. He saw the heavy purple bruise poking out from the shirt falling off Harry's shoulder. He saw the defeat in Harry's stance as he walked. He smiled.

Voldemort looked over to Wormtail as he stood nervously by the bed. "Change the sheets, and stay out of this room. I don't want you near this boy after today." He said as he stood up to leave. Wormtail bowed and began to change the linen on Harry's bed.




Part 3