Thank you all so much for your reviews! I didn't expect anyone to still read this story, so your support was a huge but really, really pleasant surprise! Here, have another chapter. Hope that you enjoy the read!

Chapter 15. Closer to Insanity

Strangely enough, the Dark Lord wasn't such a bastard as to leave Harry wounded and untreated.

"Y-you are going to heal me?" Harry stuttered, his eyes immediately wide open and unblinking. He even didn't bend to pick up the wand Voldemort tossed on the ground. Had one of his spells actually damaged the insufferable man?

The Dark Lord's face only mirrored his astonishment.

"Why would I?" he asked, honestly puzzled for the first time in Harry's company. "It would be illogical for me to break someone's spine only to regrow it with a spell mere minutes later. What would my followers think?"

Spinning around, Voldemort strolled back to the building. Harry noticed with bitterness that his robes bore no damage at all; not a single scorch mark, or a tear, or a dirty spot.

Once the duel ended, the shadows around them dissipated as well. The people returned to being people, worshipful and clumsy as they scrambled to bow before their leader, or too inebriated to care, or wary as they trembled in fear… And yet, they were no longer pale phantoms hidden by the mystique. Harry saw faces instead of masks.

"That you actually care about their health?" he asked innocently, now finding it easier to breathe.

"I care in all the ways that matter. A few slight injuries here and there do not belong in that category. Come, I shall lead you to the healing room where you may find the potions to soothe the pain."

…And nope, all Voldemort's bastardly bits were still intact.

Voldemort lounged comfortably in a lavish chair while Harry, his blisters and grazes throbbing, tended to his wounds. His spine tingled with discomfort as he rummaged through the cabinets with his back turned to Voldemort. At least, if the man hadn't killed him during the duel, why would he do it now?

"Was I impressive enough?" Harry asked. He tried to ignore the feeling that Voldemort enjoyed watching his backside as he leaned down.

"Satisfactory." Of course, Merlin forbid Voldemort would ever compliment anyone. Not that Harry wanted to be praised, of course, but he did prefer to have his efforts acknowledged. "I would give you an Acceptable... But for your terrible defensive stance, predictable moves, and overall defeat. Actually, scratch that. I am giving you a Troll."

"I almost got you! Well, once, and it probably wouldn't have changed anything- Still. Don't I deserve something a bit higher? Plenty of people would've done way worse than me against you - not everyone is a genius Dark Lord who has likely spent years mastering his craft and magic."

Harry finally found the needed potions and gulped them down, so the end of his indignant outcry sounded garbled.

"The fact that I am surrounded by imbeciles does not in any way mean I am obliged to lower my standards," Voldemort responded. Now it was his turn to look indignant, and look indignant he did: his arms and legs crossed, albeit elegantly, and his lips curled up.

Harry wondered if he was going crazy when he got the urge to snort at the Dark Lord instead of sneer in disgust.

Not for the first time, he thanked himself for having taken the Verum Promettere Vow back at the end of August. Voldemort was dangerous. Not just his deadly magic - he was dangerous when he acted charming, just like now, and humorous, and almost nice (well, he did allow Harry to treat his own wounds after beating him into a pulp, even though the jerk could have easily fixed him with several wand motions himself).

The Vow, that invisible shackle that tethered him, reminded him of his purpose. The goal. Even if the Dark Lord hoodwinked him into adoring his Darkest Majesty, Harry would have to kill him anyway. The teen didn't want to die; he had seen too little of life for it to end so abruptly and in such an unfair fashion.

There should be at least one Potter who survived Voldemort. He just smiled and steeled himself.

He didn't have any experience in seduction, but perhaps if he channelled Bella, it could work.

His footsteps carried him to the Dark Lord's armchair. For a second, Harry floundered. He didn't have the courage to land on the Dark Lord's lap, but the armrests were too thin for him to sit there either. The bed was too far away.

To hide his embarrassment, he rested his hands on the armrests, nails scraping the polish of the redwood, and bent forward. He fumbled when their faces were inches away.

Voldemort made the decision for him.

"If you are going to kiss me, Mr Potter, I suggest you do it now. Otherwise, I have business to attend to," the Dark Lord drawled. He didn't smile or smirk, though, unlike back in the ballroom. Time for games was over.

"Is this the only reason you followed me here?"

"Led you here, Mr Potter. You should never take me for someone who follows anyone, for any reason." Slender hands gently landed on his waist.

Harry realised just how deep he was in; this man wielded tenderness as well as he did cruelty, but the former hurt the most. The moment this gentle treatment grew into torment and torture was a finishing blow that obliterated enemies completely.

"Another reason is that I wish to ensure you don't die of blood loss or something equally undignified. You are a promising leader of your generation, and any failures of yours reflect on my government. Furthermore, you dying would put me on a bad standing with Bella. She loathes people who break her toys."

Voldemort still kept his voice soft and tender, but-

"I'm sure that, just this once, she'd forgive you, My Lord," Harry replied. He kept his voice and expression polite, swallowing his snips about the 'toy' comment.

Just like the shackles of the Vow, the notion cooled off his developing emotions. Voldemort? Kindness? Don't make me laugh. I'm not gonna be a moron and believe he might treat me as someone special.

Mere lust would do. Would do perfectly, even. He would taste the pleasures of the flesh without any pesky emotional connections forging. An ideal setting for exploration, really.

Perhaps someday, once he learnt to use his body effectively, he would bedazzle and ensnare wizards and witches for his aims. He was a perfectionist at heart, and having a body that in itself was a powerful tool would certainly be a good thing to perfect.

"Indeed," Voldemort responded, oblivious to the destruction of his previous hard work. He cupped Harry chin, nails dragging across his bottom lip. Harry bent his knees a bit so Voldemort could reach him. "One of the best advantages of being a Dark Lord."

"I'm sure it's not the only advantage you can think of. After all, a nice relationship with people and friendly atmosphere at work isn't really the only reason people usually stay at a job."

A momentary sharpening spell, and blood from his bottom lip tickled down his chin. Harry resisted a glare. He hated being punished.

"For your cheek," Voldemort pleasantly explained. He brought the bloodied finger to his mouth and licked it, his eyelashes fluttering. "Hmmm... Vampires would love you."

"Urgh, that'd be a nightmare," Harry deadpanned. "I'd hate to be anaemic and faint all the time just because someone refuses to go vegetarian. Oh, and My Lord... It's not like I'm complaining, but standing like this isn't exactly my idea of comfort. Being wounded doesn't really help."

"Young people these days. Batter them, and they are whining already. Any more degeneration, and they will be begging me not to Avada them."

"I know you're extremely busy to notice, but they sort of already do."

"Ignoring and not noticing are different things."

Before Harry had the chance to reply, the Dark Lord tugged him down in an awkward heap of still unhealed flesh. Demanding lips sought his, while Harry made a note to give Voldemort lessons on proper romancing once he would be sure he wouldn't be killed for it; seducing someone to reach an end was good and all, but he would like to have some fun while he was at it.

His dissatisfaction abated when the Dark Lord forced him to put his knees on either sides of the man and ground their arousals together. (When had Harry become aroused at all? He must be slipping.) A small gasp left his mouth. Voldemort smirked into the kiss.

"Now this is a sound I would like a repeat of."

Harry nipped the man's lip in response. Such insufferable people should be outlawed, a thought dimly scraped the surface of his mind before a tide of different, new, lustful emotions swept it away. He focused on the silky feel of hair through his fingers, his free hand crawling to unbutton Voldemort's shirt, the throbbing of his manhood stroked by an agile palm through the fabric of his trousers.

The younger man pulled away and licked his lips, breathing in quiet huffs.

"What do you wish to achieve with your actions?" Voldemort asked. He caressed Harry's cheek, gently but for the scrape of the opal ring on his middle finger. A little half-smile fleeted across his face when Harry briefly leaned into the graveyard coldness of the stone.

"I would have thought it easy to figure out. My Lord... you don't look like the morality and ethics of going out with a 17-year-old are going to stop you, but I don't really want to be presumptuous... Would you go out with me?"

"No one has ever attempted an amorous relationship with me using such a uniquely articulate proposal," Voldemort drawled. The man actually blinked. Harry counted it as a victory since he amused the man rather than irritated.

It was done on purpose. Harry had noticed that such small, non-political things entertained the Dark Lord and put him in a good mood, and Harry was a good enough servant to the state to want his dearest master as happy as possible.

"Well, I didn't lie when I told you this is my first relationship with someone."

"It is hard to believe you are still a virgin, considering your looks. I have heard quite a number of comments regarding your looks, and vulgar words abounded among them."

Harry gave a thin smile.

"Virginity and relationship isn't the same thing. Besides, I'm pretty sure I know my personal business better than your esteemed Death Eaters, no offence. I've only ever had an intimate prolonged relationship with my right hand - this has been my one true love and ardent lover since puberty."

Voldemort took this in stride, not at all bothered by Harry delving into a more intimate range of conversation.

On the contrary, pleasure sparked in his eyes, and when the Dark Lord's hands clutched Harry's shoulders to the point of bruising, he knew he had made the right choice.

"Do you prefer fingers up your arse or stroking yourself?" the man asked breathily.

Even obscenities slid smoothly off the Dark Lord's tongue.

'Are we talking about the weather here?'

Honestly, the man was shameless. No change at all in his posture and behaviour-

Harry snuck a look down and rethought the previous statement. Realisation hit him. The reason Voldemort crossed his legs and arranged his robes just so obviously wasn't due to irritation or amusement. At least, not in its entirety. Now Harry could clearly outline a very telling hardness, the one he had felt only minutes ago.

A desire to reach and touch settled in his veins, that innocent curiosity of a kitten playing with a ball of yarn. Or, rather, two balls. And no, he probably should stop making metaphors right now, because they just got more and more suggestive in his mind.

"I'd like to preserve my modesty here, if you don't mind," Harry replied instead. He refused to show that the topic excited him as well. He willed his arousal down; while Voldemort could cover everything up nicely with the heavy fabric of his robes, Harry stood in such a position that any shift in posture would tell on him and draw a smug smirk from the man.

"Such a shame. This is personal research. After all, I do care enough to please you in our future intercourse. You should feel grateful."

"You're so charming and caring, My Lord," Harry kept his voice perfectly polite. "No wonder at all how you managed to bed that multitude of people Witch Weekly mentioned."

A pale hand, quick as a spell, grabbed his throat. Their positions reversed, and now Harry sank fully in the armchair, blinking and gasping.

On his feet, the Dark Lord loomed over him, his crimson eyes revealing just why he deserved the title.

"If you don't watch your tongue, you'll receive no pleasure at all," Voldemort threatened. Harry just gasped in response as his hands clasped the man's robes. Humiliation hurt more than the lack of air. "I give out pain just as easily and eagerly. Do you want that, Potter? A splendid night of me fucking you raw until you bleed out all over the bedsheets, while your rivals watch. Sounds dreamy, does it not?"

"S- stop!" Harry managed to croak out. Voldemort kept pressing. Fingers, unrelenting. Eyes, inhuman.

His mind faded as the air in his lungs disappeared.

"I tolerate a lot of cheek from you, because it amuses me and doesn't harm me at all. But, you see, it goes against my principles to give my servants too much leeway, however innocent the matter is. Sometimes you have to curb your tongue as well. Life mustn't entirely consist of fun and games."

His hands unclenched. Harry immediately felt his neck, knowing the bruises would loom by the next day. After staying silent for a second, he said slowly, "I'll obey your every command, My Lord, but your being my master doesn't mean you get to use my body in such a way. I'm your servant, not your prostitute."

"I was led to believe you might hold feelings towards me."

"I do." Wasn't hatred a strong feeling as well? "But…"

Harry put on a small, wistful grin and raised his hand to trail a finger down Voldemort's lips and chin. "You're above this, My Lord. Wouldn't it be so much more pleasing to conquer me based on your charm and mind rather than status?"

"You seem to believe you know a lot about my character."

Actually, I'm just bullshitting to weasel out of a probable death sentence.

"And in this regard, you have a point," Voldemort continued. "I rarely seek to actively harm my lovers. I admit I have had quite a share of them, but none was left unsatisfied. For all my care, there is just one condition: honesty. I share my heart with every new flame, isn't it fair that they return the sentiment?"

"This isn't a chore at all, My Lord, when I've already pledged loyalty to you and to your- no, our cause."

"I admit that your inability to keep up a decent facade makes me feel at ease. This is the reason I allow you to get away with so many things; you don't strike me as a spy, child." Voldemort's lips twitched. "Too foolish and hot-headed."

Harry responded with a smile and a kiss.

They both lied in the end, but what else could he expect?

Harry expected the challenges to be over, but when he left the room – feeling much better after the healing potions and a heavy make-out session – he found another menace waiting for him with a mad grin and unnecessarily revealed cleavage.

"Aunt Bellatrix," he greeted, remembering to keep the emotion in his voice to the minimum.

She just waved in return, sauntering to him with the steel heels of her shoes clicking on the uncarpeted floor. Harry bit back a curse.

"I'm so proud of you, my lovely," Bella whispered and pressed her forehead against his, standing further on her toes to reach his height.

"Thanks. Coming from you, it means a lot."

"Obviously. Bella doesn't compliment people easily, I swear."

"No need to swear, I know this perfectly."

She giggled, disregarding the sarcasm in his response.

"There's a teensy bitty present I'm going to make you, my dearest!" she proclaimed, spreading her arms wide before enclosing him in an embrace. Harry watched her warily even as she pecked his cheek.

"I release you from your punishment." She smiled. A sense of dread settled in Harry"s stomach along with suspicion. "Your fabulous duel made me realise just how much of your life I've been missing. So, you will now write to me every fortnight just so I know what you're working on and how many mudbloods you're killing! Isn't this sweet? Family quality time!"

She patted his cheek and, as always a whirl of leather robes and deadly magic, flounced away. Only her goodbye of "don't forget to share the details, lovely, or I will be a little cross!" echoed in the hallway.

Harry honestly wished Voldemort punished him himself.

"I already love this sort of missions," Harry declared as he strolled down the Diagon Alley with Draco Malfoy in tow. "No need for the whole team to tag along! I just command myself!"

"What am I, then? A flobberworm?" Draco murmured sullenly.

"Well, okay, myself and a moron."

"I beg your pardon!" Draco shrieked. Harry's phrase effectively made him turn away from perusing his reflection in the mirror.

"Don't worry, Dray, I'm sure not all people have realised what a failure you are, so you've got a chance to redeem yourself until someone's noticed. I'm making you a favour by pointing out something everyone doesn't dare tell you."

"Do you believe that just because you won-"

"Yes. Didn't I prove I'm a better wizard? On your own terms, no less. So, you're officially my slave until half our squad dies and we'd be forced to disband. Hail Harry Potter, your one true master."

"Congratulations, you're tempting me to kill off our teammates just so I'm far away from you."

"I thought you liked me? Wasn't it you who invited me for Samhain?"

"Father told me to."

Such an interesting bit of information. Harry filed it away for future perusal.

For now he could keep on teasing his teammate.

"Interestingly, your father seemed surprised we came together," Harry drawled, putting a finger on his puffy lower lip and pressing down. "So, there is something he hasn't heard about your life?"

"Shut up, Potter!" Malfoy's blush was almost cute. "There are some things you, an orphan mudblood, will never understand!"

"Indeed." Harry smiled coldly. "And it works the other way as well. There are some things you, a spoilt pureblood child, will never understand about the world. And you know what? Until you do, you're going to lag behind. Have fun staring at my back and clinging to your father's coattails, Drakey, as I move forward entirely on my own."

Harry knew he struck the vein there. Draco wanted to please his father, make his parents proud, achieve success... he just didn't realise he had to accomplish those things on his own. The teen, however, preferred to close his eyes on that fact.

And until he opened them, Harry would always be one step ahead.

Confidently, he strode up to their target's shop, and he channelled the victory brimming in him into desire to complete the mission. Strangling the sliver of pity threatening to come up, he imprinted the decorated windows and the lively wallpaper seen through them into his mind.

"You are going to guard the area and prevent anyone from entering," Harry ordered. "We have no idea if the Order knows about this mission, so better play it safe for now. You don't want to get caught up in a potential serious fight, Draco, trust me. So, you get the easy job. I hope you can manage this, at least."

The blond scowled. "Next time I'm going to get Rosier send you on the most tedious mission he knows of!"

He didn't brim with the desire to do everything himself, however.

"Anything would be great so long as you are not there," Harry sniped before entering the robes shop. Draco remained outside, puffing his chest out and adopting a cold expression on his face which told plainly that whatever went on inside was no one's business. His robes of a Death Eater on a mission further proved that. People took the hint and passed by.

Meanwhile, Harry explored the shop he was rather familiar with.

The ground floor, clear.

Harry took note of the silence in the air. The wind blew through the wide open windows, making him shiver. His heart beating fast, he went upstairs. There were several rooms, very small and cramped, according to the blue prints, not warded at all; after the start of Voldemort's reign, most of the criminal activity going on in the country was connected to the Order. People were just too afraid to commit any crime when the punishment was death or torture, no exceptions.

She was waiting for him in a dimly lit room filled with mannequins, stacks of fabrics, various zippers and jars of buttons and decorative elements. Madame Malkin was a small woman with soft features and a penetrating gaze, her wrinkles telling tales of wonder and experience. She had seen the rise of two lords, the defeat of one and the victory of the other.

She had survived for so long, and now she was dying because of the wrong alliance she made. The thought saddened Harry.

"I wondered whom they'd send," she murmured. Her voice, unlike her skin, bore no signs of age, remaining clear and commanding.

Harry shook his head. Since she didn't seem willing to run away, might as well make the conversation comfortable. The wooden floorboards creaked when he stepped, only muffled occasionally when his boots landed on unrolled fabric. Landing gracefully on the table beside her, he sighed.

"If you were aware of your death warrant, why haven't you run? It's stupid. You're a wise woman, but now I can't do anything to help you since I'm already on a shaky standing with the Dark Lord. Sorry, but you are going to die today."

She didn't respond for a while. Her voice spilt from her lips only when Harry pulled out his wand.

"What is worse, I wonder? Running and betraying my principles or dying with the satisfaction of having always stayed true to them?"

"Depends on your goals in life, I guess." Harry shrugged. "Except that now you don't really have a choice anymore. Should have put more thought into it earlier."

She gave him a knowing look.

"Really? You don't seem like a person who has lived through a lot of positive moments. Judging by the information on you lying about in the Order."

"Exactly," Harry said with a strained smile. "I've got a couple of goals to complete, and after them I'll be free to do whatever I wish. Travel, research a branch of magic, hook up with a nice an' boring guy or chick… You know, this sort of thing. Of course, you're sort of standing in my way now, and I really want my vacation to come sooner."

"One has to pay for principles, and this is my payment."

"Why did the Order not save you?" Harry asked the question that had been constantly in the back of his mind all the time. "First the Bones', now you… Their number of allies honestly isn't great enough for them to throw you around like this all the time."

"The official head of the Order of the Phoenix is Albus Dumbledore." She snorted. "And most people assume he is the only leader of our movement."

Harry looked at her sharply, all thoughts of pity and compassion forgotten.

"You mean he is not?"

"There is a nasty thing called the secrecy vow, the goal of which is to keep certain things just that - secret. I cannot reveal any names, as you understand." She smiled mischievously. "There're ways and ways around, of course. For instance, it wouldn't be a trespassing of the vow's terms to state Albus' reason for not saving me-" She sneered. "-not that he's ever had the power to do that - is because he isn't my master nowadays. Albus has brought up his own bane."

"I haven't heard anyone mention this," Harry said, remembering Edgar Bones, Susan and Hermione. "Is he- or she- the new person, I mean… Are they powerful?"

"A hard question. Magically, yes, they are indeed marginally more powerful than Albus… Yet their inexperience makes the point moot. They have one thing that Albus utterly lacks. The right mindset. A clear vision of the future and realisation that brutality is essential in our position. It's all thanks to them that the Resistance is becoming more structured today, more united. They're unafraid of using any means to forge alliances."

'Sounds like a charmer.'

Harry was a bit wary of discovering a person whose qualities resembled his so much.

The grandfather clock by the window rang twelve times. Madam Malkin closed her eyes.

"I didn't lie. It really is a shame you have to die," Harry said and sighed. He twirled his wand with no real desire to put it in use.

"You remind me so much of your mother," Malkin said, and Harry's eyes zeroed in on her. "She, too, used to say that a lot when we went on missions together. You know, during that night, she kept crying and repeating it, and I wanted so much to help her... Except that no one could. I wonder if the afterlife is treating her fairly, if she's happy wherever she is now."

"…Mum could always find happiness in the smallest things," Harry whispered.

Mechanically, he raised his wand and cast the spell.

Madam Malkin's soft smile didn't leave her face even when Harry finished his business in the house and burnt her as a final sign of respect before re-joining Draco outside.

If the blond acted concerned, or if his hands kept trembling, well, he didn't notice.

Up to that moment, Harry had only killed people who deserved death: Rowle, Greyback, some bullies and scum in Knockturn Alley. This was the first time he felt grief.

"I heard about you killing Madame Malking yesterday," was the first thing Zach told him when they met up for their usual information trade meeting. Harry grimaced and drowned out the memory of the green light reflected in her eyes.

She chose that, he reminded himself. I'm not to blame, I was just fulfilling an order and struggling to survive!

"How does it feel, killing for the love of your life?" Zach continued. Harry frowned, unfamiliar with the bite in his friend's voice. It had never been directed at him. "Are you thrilled? Excited? In the clouds? Are illusions of love really enough to pay for a life?"

"What's up with you today?" He softened his voice. "I know your family was friendly with the Malkins-"

"Don't bother," Zach interrupted him, raising his hand to emphasise his desire. "They're traitors, and my family doesn't associate itself with such. Honestly, bringing down the Dark Lord! What is the Resistance thinking? Sometimes I'm convinced all their leaders have the brain size of a troll."

"Trolls actually have a large brain, it's just one of those moments when the size doesn't matter," Harry needlessly pointed out before shaking his head. Wavering, he gently touched Zach's shoulder. The blond stared at it with suspicion. Harry flushed, but didn't take his hand away. "We haven't seen much of each other lately and I haven't told you anything, but I'm actually worried. You don't speak with people half as much as you usually do - just think how much info you've been missing since the month started!"

That drew a weak smile out of the sixth year.

"The Bones', too, were dear friends," he revealed. "I don't know how Susan stands it - all those whispers and glances at day, and nightmares at night."

"Nightmares?" Harry asked with a frown. The girl hadn't mentioned anything of the sort, which strangely upset him. Wasn't he supposed to be the squad leader and her father's ally? Wasn't she supposed to come looking for his help whenever she needed it?

Honestly, she was better off not trusting him as far as she could throw him, considering that Harry would easily sell her out for a great price, still... that lack of trust got him down. Just because a desire was irrational didn't mean he could order himself to stop wanting something.

Meanwhile, Zach nodded.

"Yeah. She used to wake her entire dorm with her screams, as far as I've heard. Now she's mastered silent charms and goes down to the common room at night, where we hang out together. Hannah often joins as well."

'And why are you awake at night?' he wanted to ask, but bit down on his tongue.

Unlike Susan, Zach wasn't part of his team. So, it shouldn't matter if the boy kept small secrets from him so long as the information flowed.

Harry just had to convince himself that the hurt didn't exist.

His eyes trailed over the other's appearance, taking in glamours over his eyes - obviously hiding dark circles - and gaunt appearance. Where before Zach used to walk confidently, his chin raised superiorly, now he often hunched in on himself and drank buckets of Pepper-up potions. He used to hate them.

"Do you still want to take the Mark?"

"You ask me as if I actually have a choice-" Zacharias's eyes widened in panic and he stopped short of covering his mouth with his hands. "I mean, it's an honour. I can't imagine a higher duty than this."

Harry kept looking at him sceptically, while the blond fidgeted. Finally, the latter broke the silence.

"I believed all my dreams would come true if I take the mark... I haven't done it yet, but people with this mark are already crushing all of them. I just want to return to the times when treasons were rare and we all enjoyed afternoons together."

"Do you blame me for killing them? The Bones family and Madame Malkin?" Harry wondered why the response even mattered.

"I want to..." Zach pressed his lips together and looked away. "But you didn't have any more choice in killing them than they had in dying."

Harry could argue with that but he preferred not to. He grinned instead.

"Wow, Zach, this is actually a fair judgment of the situation. Colour me impressed."

"Git." Zacharias hit his elbow.

"You know, Zach, you keep me informed on many things... You should add your well-being to the list."

Harry enjoyed the wide-eyed look his friend gave him.