Harry's head snapped up, wide green eyes met Voldemort's red ones. A sudden rage swept through him. His hands trembled with it. He buried them in the quilts draped over his legs as he tried to form coherent thought. He dared speak of that night? NOW? Here, of all places?

Gaze never leaving the pale, snake-like face, Harry took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Why do you have to ask?" His voice rose, and he forced it back to some semblance of civility. He was in Voldemort's territory, here on his sufferance, and he needed to keep that in mind. "You were there."

"As were you. Despite this, neither of us knows the full truth." Voldemort tilted his head as if he were a snake and Harry a fretful bird. "We spoke somewhat about that night, on the occasion of my rebirthing, you recall."

As if he could forget! Cedric's blank, dead eyes, the Cruciatus, his mother advising him on how best to escape, once her ghost had been freed from Voldemort's wand by the Priori Incantatem. He recalled some of what Voldemort had said that night, about the protection his mother had given him by dying, but he would not admit it, not to this man.

"I was a bit busy," Harry said instead. "Screaming, I think. What with the Cruciatus and all."

Voldemort waved the statement away with his hand. "That was later, to prove a point." His gaze appraised Harry shrewdly. "I gave you your first taste, did I not?"

"What?"

"It was your first time, yes? In the throes of that Unforgiving embrace."

Harry couldn't help it. He was so disgusted he snorted a laugh. Then he shook his head. Was Voldemort trying to get a rise out of him? Perhaps trying to see how controlled Harry's uncontrolled magic was under stress? In a tight voice, he said, "Yes."

"Then I am impressed. Many wizards older that you, or more sure of their own courage, would have succumbed to the first wave of agony. After the second, I certainly did not expect you to rise again. And for that to be your first time. . . ."

"Yeah, well, I'm good at handling pain." He'd had loads of experience, even, or especially after starting at Hogwarts. It seemed like every year he got mangled somehow, by possessed DADA teachers or basilisks or Dementors or Quidditch.

Voldemort gave him a searching look, then his gaze sought the fire in the hearth, and he stared at it for quite some while. "Let me ask you then, the night your parents died--"

"The night you killed them," Harry pointed out.

"As you like. Do you know why you were left in, what is it called? Little Whinging?"

"Yeah. Blood wards. Like you said."

Voldemort nodded. "But ones not used to best effect, if those whose blood bound the wards to protect you, relinquish their hold."

"By leaving me, you mean, leaving me alone when they fled. Isn't that what you're getting at?" Harry's hands curled into fists, and his chest felt tight, like he had not enough skin to cover his ribs, making the rest stretch and pull.

A long pause, then, "Do you like your relatives, Potter?"

Harry frowned. What the hell was this anyway? "Why do you want to know? Never mind. I don't care. It doesn't matter anyway, as I'm never going back there."

Voldemort made some kind of non-committal noise, and the red, snake-eyed gaze found his again. Harry flinched involuntarily. He had the pain of their connection through the scar fairly well under control, but sometimes the intensity of it was enough to overcome his blockade.

Head starting to pound again, Harry glared. "Why are you here?"

"In this room, or in the world?"

"The first one. I know why you're here," Harry snapped, and gestured to imply the whole of reality. "You want absolute power."

"And immortality," Voldemort said quietly. "Don't forget that."

"Right. So, why are you in this room with me? Do you think I'm going to get all sappy and sentimental with you and cry on your shoulder because I'm so misunderstood and my childhood was as crap as yours? Do you think I care that you had to grow up in an orphanage because your bastard of a father abandoned you and your mum died? The only thing I care about is that you killed my parents and my godfather and want to kill me. Everything else is rubbish."

Harry was shaking badly by the end of his tirade. The fire in the hearth shot up so high it engulfed the stones, blackening them with soot. The pitcher of water on the small table between the chairs rattled ominously.

Voldemort smiled. "Ah, good. You were listening. I should not like to have to repeat myself."

"Are you listening to me?" Harry seethed. Merlin, he wanted to strangle this man. "Why are you here?"

Abruptly, Voldemort stood. "I believe we'll save that for another time. Perhaps when you are further along in your recovery."

A growl formed in Harry's throat. The only thing that kept him from launching himself at Voldemort and punching his ugly face in was that he'd started wheezing again. The fact that Voldemort knew he was unable to continue their conversation just made him angrier, which further impaired his breathing, resulting in a vicious spiral that left him coughing and sputtering and pressing his arms against his abdomen.

Without another word, Voldemort departed, along with his two Death Eaters. The door shut behind them.

Wresting his rage -- and magic -- back under his tenuous control, Harry tried to take slower, measured breaths, but had little luck. Voldemort's smile bothered him a lot. It was if he thought Harry had performed some complicated trick. And he had, hadn't he, with his yelling and the fire spouting up like that. Shame washed over him for having risen to such obvious bait. He was so stupid! His temper had gotten the best of him again, just like always, and he'd shown his enemy exactly where his weaknesses lay.

But he was tired, so tired. Tired of thinking of Cedric and Sirius and his parents, all of whom died for him, because of him, and he just didn't want to hear anything else Voldemort had to say about them. Trying not to think of the triumphant look on his captor's face, he hung his head in his hands. When the tears came, for once he let them flow.

----

Outside Potter's room, Severus Snape shrouded himself in the shadows of an alcove and watched as the Dark Lord left with two of his servants. As he waited for them to move out of sight, he pondered the short conversation he'd overheard, puzzling over Voldemort's words. While he could, at some later time, Legilimize one of the two Death Eaters who had been in the room, and learn the whole of the conversation that way, he rather liked the Eavesdropper spell, a variation on a baby monitoring charm used by many Wizarding parents. He'd Imperioused Nott into putting the charm on the room yesterday, before Obliviating him, and it had worked very well.

It also let him know that for the first time in days, Potter was alone.

Once the Dark Lord and the two guards disappeared up the stone stairs toward the great hall, Severus moved quickly for the door. He could still hear Potter's wheezing breaths and had a vial of Easy Breather potion already uncorked as he unlocked the door. In moments, he had slipped inside.

Potter, bundled in a chair by the fire, looked up at him, and what he saw surprised him enough that he almost retreated a step. Tears coursed down the boy's face, and his eyes were so bloodshot they gleamed almost red in the firelight. His breaths came in stuttering gasps which he was trying to control, to no avail.

As the boy hid his face and hurriedly wiped it, Severus strode forward with his potion held out.

Only then did Potter seem to recognize him, for Severus had left up the black hood of his robes, effectively shadowing his face. The look in the boy's eyes slid immediately towards loathing, and Severus suppressed a sigh. It was true, he detested the boy just as much as the boy did him, or had, at least, until recently. But he could be honest with himself enough to realize the enmity between them was more his doing than the boy's. And they needed to get past it, in order to get him out of here. They could not work at cross purposes, or it would be worse than death for both of them.

Keeping his own expression blank, he offered the potion again. Potter still would not take it. "It's not poison," Severus hissed. "It will help you breathe."

Air rattled in and out of Potter's lungs, putting the lie to his next words, "My . . . breathing's . . . fine, sir."

"Of course it is. This will help you sleep then."

Potter rolled his eyes, and Severus briefly considered slapping him. Instead, he growled, "Drink it. If I wanted to kill you, I could have done so at your Uncle's house." To appease anyone listening, he added, "The Dark Lord wishes it."

For another long moment, Potter peered into his eyes, and only by force of will did he not Legilimize the boy on the spot to teach him a lesson about staring. But then he held out a trembling hand, and Severus gave him the potion. Potter made a face as he swallowed it down, and handed back the empty vial.

"Better?" Severus asked him, though he didn't really need to. Potter's face had regained some color, and no more wet rasping sounds issued from his chest. The boy nodded, his gaze on his hands.

Severus glanced over his shoulder at the door. It was inconceivable no one else was monitoring the room, so he had to go very carefully here, and hope the boy could understand what he meant from hints. He wondered if they would be able to get past their mutual animosity long enough to work this out? What could he say, to show he wanted to help the boy?

Knowing he had only minutes before he was discovered, Severus said, "I want to extend my condolences to you . . ." He steeled himself and pressed on, "for the loss of Snuffles."

The look of pure shock on the boy's face might have been amusing to him at any other time, but he was afraid he had just made a grievous error as Potter's face reddened immediately. "You? You extend condolences?!"

"Now, Potter, take it easy. Your breathing is--"

"Sod my breathing! How can you -- you -- after what you put him -- that's -- it's unbelievable!"

"Potter!" he yelled. "Get control of yourself. There is no place for histrionics here."

"No place for -- that's a laugh!" The boy choked on a sob, hiccuping and hiding his face again. "I bet you're laughing about it all the time, aren't you? About him dying, and what a prat I was to fall such a stupid trick. You hated him, and hate me, and--"

"No." The forceful word had a note of finality to it, startling the boy into stopping his rant and peering back up at him. Severus had to stop this fit before it got totally out of hand. The boy was coming apart at the seams, and it would do him no good at all to harbor such resentment toward Severus, nor guilt for his own part in Sirius' death. He folded his arms into his cloak and shook his head. "I did not hate . . . Snuffles. Not really. And . . . I do not laugh about that."

"Or anything," Potter muttered, watching Severus' face carefully.

Had he made a joke? Perhaps all was not lost. "Yes. Well." He took a step closer to the boy, who frowned and bit his lip. Then, after flicking a glance at the door, the boy mouthed the words, Can we escape?

Severus drew a sharp breath; the boy was as subtle as a Blast-Ended Skrewt. But he nodded, still holding Potter's gaze.

Something released that had been holding the boy tightly wound, and Potter sagged bonelessly against his chair, looking relieved. It seemed his resigned despair was quiescent, at least for now.

"I will continue to make potions for you," he said, voice as bland as he could make it. "The Dark Lord wants you in good health."

"You've said. It'll make a better point when he kills me." The boy was nibbling his lip again, which Severus realized meant he was thinking. "I'm nearly there, though. Healthy." His green eyes blazed with hope so naked it was painful to see, as if he understood that when he was healthy enough to run, they would.

Severus hated to damper that hope, even a little. But for both their sakes, he had to. "I think it will be some time before you are fully healed." Before he could make any kind of plan that would not end in their demise. "Your relatives did you a disservice."

"Yeah, well, so did Bellatrix."

Good boy, Severus thought. And thus is Voldemort reminded again. "She does seem keen on causing you pain," he murmured. Another glance at the door, and he stepped back to leave.

"Thank you, sir," Potter said before he could go.

"Hm?" Severus paused with his hand on the doorknob, hoping the boy was not a complete fool.

"For the potion. It helped."

Letting out a tense breath, Severus nodded acceptance and acknowledgment of their "code." "I will get you another, for emergencies," he promised. And with that, he left, his mind already spinning through their options, few as they were.