In Essence Divided

[ The Manservant ]

Summary: Harry tries really hard not to check out his mortal enemy. He fails.

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"I can touch him now."

Harry felt the cold tip of the long pale finger touch him, and thought his head would burst with pain. Voldemort grabbed his chin, forcing Harry to look in his mottled red and black eyes. Images and sounds rushed through Harry's mind... Quirrel removing his turban... a hooded figure, mouth dripping from unicorn blood... Wormtail standing in a darkened room...

After what felt like an eternity, but was probably no more than a few minutes, the pain stopped as abruptly as it had started. Voldemort was still looking at him, a frown on his handsome face. He finally let go of Harry, who slumped against his bonds in relief.

Some of the Death Eaters had started to fidget, made nervous by their master's strange silence. However, Voldemort resumed his monologue as if nothing had happened, explaining how he had captured Harry.

"Here he is... the boy you all believed had been my downfall. Harry Potter poses so little threat to me than he is not worth killing. He will spend the rest of his life as the lowliest of servants, attending to all my needs."

Not worth killing? Voldemort was not known for exercising restraint in regard to murder. He had tried to kill Harry not once, but multiple times already. Why would he suddenly change his mind and decide to spare him? That made no sense.

The Death Eaters were clearly sharing Harry's opinion, as they stood there in shocked silence. The only uncovered face among them - Wormtail's - was the picture of astonishment. Of course, none dared to question Voldemort's decision.

"Avery, I believe I will enjoy your hospitality first. You are all dismissed, besides Wormtail. Nagini, you may eat that corpse."

Harry watched in horror and disgust as the snake swallowed Cedric's body whole.

"His wand," said Voldemort curtly to Wormtail, who handed it over. Harry suppressed an unhappy sigh as he saw it disappear in his enemy's pocket.

Voldemort then drew his own wand, pointing it towards Harry's leg. He felt the Acromantula venom seeping it out of the wound, then the skin painfully knitting itself back together. It wasn't gentle, but it was healing. What was Voldemort doing, healing him?

He murmured another spell that Harry didn't recognise. "I've placed an Anti-Disapparition Jinx on you. You cannot make a Portkey without your wand. As for running, you will either be in my or one of my servants' line of sight, so I would really recommend against trying. Have I made myself clear?"

Voldemort turned the full force of his stare on Harry. He braced himself for his scar to hurt, but no pain came. "Yes," he mumbled. There would always be time to try running away later, when he knew what the hell was going on.

"No, Harry. You will not run, now or later. I would prefer not to remove any of your limbs, but I will if I have to. Have I made myself clear?"

"Why do you care?" Harry couldn't help thinking. "Yes," he repeated absent-mindedly, his mind focused solely on his enemy's puzzling behaviour. "Good," said Voldemort. "Untie him, Wormtail, and explain his duties to him."

Harry had just been freed from the gravestone when another hooded figure Apparated in the graveyard and knelt in front of Voldemort. "My Lord." It was Snape's voice, and Harry felt a sharp spike of hatred.

"Severus," said Voldemort softly, dangerously. "You're late. Having second thoughts about your allegiance?"

"Not at all, my Lord. I merely had to convince that fool Dumbledore to trust me still. He has realised you've stolen the boy from under his nose and is frantic with worry about him."