Wandering the halls of the large castle, Harry couldn't help but think of how much it had changed. Not just the castle of course. The entire Wizarding Britain had changed since the war had ended, but Hogwarts more than anything else.

The walls were still the same of course, Harry mused as he pressed a palm against the cold grey stone, but the people were different, as were the ideals of those who taught the children. Most importantly however, was that it was now, finally, Harry's permanent home, just like he had wished it could be ever since his first year.

To think all he had to do to make it happen was lose the war.

The loud voices and footsteps from approaching students had Harry look down at the floor. He pressed his body closer to the stone wall, trying to disappear into it as the group of teens passed by. They barely even glanced his way, and when they did, it was with fear in their bright eyes. Harry understood their fear, but he still hated it. He hated the looks he was given by students, teachers and even Him.

No, especially Him.

A tingling warmth spread over his spine, moving from between his shoulders all the way down to his tailbone. It was a pleasant feeling, but Harry still flinched. The meaning behind it was less than pleasant after all, as was the mark covering his entire back that made the feeling possible.

The young man's hands curled into fists and he slammed one of them in the wall behind him, ignoring the slight twinge of pain accompanied with the action. Why couldn't He just leave him alone for one day?! He just wanted some peace and quiet for a few hours, but it seemed even that wasn't granted to the man who was once known as the Boy-Who-Lived.

The tingling intensified and Harry knew he shouldn't wait any longer to obey. With a soft growl, he turned back from where he had come and marched towards the Headmaster's office. Better get to the bastard and give him what he wanted, maybe Harry was allowed to wander the halls for a while longer after, or he would be killed. The last thought made him smile bitterly.

No, for the past three years, death had no longer been something he had to fear, it had become a wistful dream. Something he couldn't achieve but still yearned for, just like he still wished for freedom no matter how impossible it was. His master liked playing these games too much to allow Harry to leave like that. In fact, He had made it clear several times in the past that he'd keep Harry alive for all eternity, even if He'd ever tire of the games, Harry would just spent the rest of his immortal life locked away somewhere where no one could find him.

He walked slowly, as if on his way to his own execution, dragging his bare feet. Shoes were a luxury that bastard hadn't given him for the past three hellish years. What he was given however, was a silver collar in the form of a snake biting its own tail with bright emerald gemstones as eyes, as if trying to mirror his own in color or as a mockery of how he'd survived the curse that had that very same color when cast. That had been the start of their horrid Game after all, so it was only fair He'd give him a reminder to carry with him anywhere he went.

The last time they'd spoke, Draco Malfoy told them those eyes were creepy, which had been during their stay at Malfoy Manor for two weeks last summer. He had to admit his former rival was right. Every time he looked into the mirror, those green gems stared at him, as if mocking him for all of his failures.

When he heard the many voices of laughing students, Harry stopped in his tracks. To get to his destination, the shortest path would be to cross the courtyard, but most students were out there at this time of day. He contemplated on taking another path, one where he could avoid the crowd but the burning of his back quickly dismissed that thought and he continued on walking.

"Looks like the Lord's slut is loose again!" someone shouted.

Harry didn't need to look up to know who it was. He sighed and chose to ignore it. No reason to indulge them anyway. The whole thing was pretty hilarious if he thought about it, after all, he was 20 years old and by no means a student anymore, yet he was still bullied by Slytherin prats. Only this time it was worse, because there claims were right and he was in no way allowed to fight back. He would punish him when he did.

A hand grabbed his shoulder from behind, but the heath radiating from the mark on his back forced him to shrug it off and continue walking. Loud footsteps could be heard behind him and Harry gritted his teeth. It seemed no one wanted to leave him alone today. That theory only stuck more when the same hand as before grabbed the back of Harry's too big black shirt, forcing him to halt his steps.

"Can I help you?" he asked snarky without turning around to face whoever was holding him.

"Sure. By bending over. That's what you're good at, right?" the person behind him sneered.

To further his shame and annoyance, Harry could feel the over-sized shirt being lifted up over his hips. Several students snickered at that, since Harry wasn't allowed to wear anything but the shirt. Rage seared through him, as well as a useless sense of pride he had hoped he'd gotten rid of already and he turned around to push the offender off of him.

As expected, he recognized the 6th year Slytherin and his friends. Last time he'd seen them before all this had happened, had been during his own 6th year, when these boys were still nothing but snotty nosed second years. He remembered they had been afraid of him back then, but they had also worshipped Malfoy like a God. Now, they did the same with the new Headmaster. Sometimes he wondered what would happen if he told Him what these kids were up to when he looked the other way, but then again, he couldn't imagine Him not knowing that already. He probably just didn't care.

"You gonna fight Hero?" a Slytherin with dirty blonde hair and dull grey eyes snickered.

Harry ignored him, as he did with the jeers and jabs of any of the others. The mark on his back felt like it was on fire and he knew that he had to get to the Headmaster's office soon before the pain would immobilize him.

Last time he'd tried ignoring it was still burned in his memory. He had eventually blacked out in agony and when he finally woke up again, He had cursed and tortured him while fucking him hard on the cold stone floor of their shared bedroom. Harry hadn't been able to leave the bed for two whole weeks, and not just because he had been tied to it either. He had cried and begged to make it all stop, but He was cruel and only liked it better when he did. That was why Harry had long since given up on fighting. Maybe it would discourage Him enough to forget Harry existed. Maybe the games would end and he'd be finally left alone.

No other students tried to stop him anymore and Harry guessed they had realized the reason he was in a hurry. That was good, he supposed. At least if they knew, they'd leave him alone, no matter how humiliating it was. At least this way, he'd only be humiliated by one man, not the entire school.

Eventually, he reached the Headmaster's office and opened the door with the password of that week ('Serpentine Vengeance'). Slowly, he walked the steps up to the oak door separating him from another endless day of torture and humiliation and opened it. Harry swallowed as he walked in, warily eying the snake-like man sitting behind the desk.

Red eyes stayed completely focused on his paperwork and tall, bony white fingers played with the wand that had caused so much trouble to Harry and his friends. Harry carefully padded over until he stood right in front of the large mahogany desk, his bare feet barely making a sound on the cold tiled floor of the office.

"I'm here," the green eyed ex-wizard whispered.

Red snake eyes glanced up at him for barely a second before re-focusing on the parchments in one of his hands while he calmly aimed the Elder Wand on Harry's chest with the other. Harry gulped in fear and took a step back, but it didn't save him.


Harry screamed in agony as the curse hit him and he dropped down on his knees. The torture curse was only held for a short minute before Voldemort lifted it and stood up, rounding the desk to stand right in front of the young man curled into himself on the cold stone floor.

*You're late,* he hissed in the snake tongue.

*I tried to come, but they stopped me,* was Harry's whimpered in reply.

Voldemort hissed in anger and grabbed the young man by his hair, roughly pulling him up and throwing him against the desk. Harry's head collided with a loud smack, making the dark haired man groan in pain as he slid to his knees once more. A trickle of blood dripped down his face, but Harry didn't bother to try and wipe it away. Voldemort enjoyed seeing Harry's wounds and he loved watching blood paint his body red almost as much as he loved painting it white.

"Strip," Voldemort's cold voice commanded.

Harry only hesitated for a split second, but it was enough to anger the older man. The serpent man narrowed his eyes and aimed his wand at Harry once more, which was all the encouragement the young man needed to lift the oversized shirt over his head and discard it on the floor. Keeping his gaze steadily locked with red eyes, Harry stood back up, ignoring the dull throbbing pain in his skull and the ache of the torture curse in his bones.

The Dark Lord let his eyes rake over the thin, pale body in front of him and he licked his lips in anticipation. Harry just stood there, rigid and waiting. He waited tensely for the Dark Lord to take action, but Voldemort just stood there, looking at him with burning, lust filled crimson eyes. The green eyed man shivered at the burning look and turned his head away, not out of embarrassment, but out of disgust for what it meant. That look stood for long days and long nights of forced pleasure and endless torture at the hands of his parents' murderer.

*How does it feel to be the last one left, my dear Harry?* Voldemort asked, hissing in amusement as he stepped closer.
*The Weasley family in Azkaban, the mudblood dead, that Neville boy tortured to insanity, the werewolf and his mate killed, Dumbledore, your beloved Godfather, your parents… and you, you made it all possible my sweet little Horecrux.*

Harry closed his eyes in an attempt to contain his tears at the words. Voldemort often taunted him with those exact same words, but they never seemed to lose their power over him. A soft sob tore from his throat and he heard Voldemort chuckle. Deceptively comforting arms embraced him and Harry was unable to stop himself from relaxing in them.

*You failed everyone, my little Pet,*

Harry shivered at the softly whispered words in Parseltongue. He was more than aware that he had and he had cried himself to sleep more than once remembering that little painful fact.

*Do you want to forget the pain Child?*


At this point, Harry was no longer aware of his own actions and honestly, he didn't particularly care anyway. His heart was aching with the pain off his loss and the guilt he carried every day. Everyone had put their trust in him, and he had failed them. He had underestimated the Dark Lord, walked up to him with the expectation that the evil wizard wouldn't immediately realize he was a living Horcrux, and kill him. Instead, he had been captured and taken to the Voldemort's stronghold where he had stayed locked inside a dungeon cell for three months before he was taken to the Dark Lord's bedroom, where he had spent another 6 months.

Harry and Voldemort had been playing the same deadly Game ever since the green eyed boy was born – before that even – and he had made a foolish mistake and that had cost the lives of everyone he cared for.

*Do you want me to take the pain away?*

*Please!* Harry sobbed and Voldemort grinned.

This was their Infinite Game. A game Harry had lost the second he had set foot in the Forbidden Forest with the intention to die at the hands of the man that had killed his parents 16 year earlier. Even if the winner was already predetermined, they still played, because what else could they do now that they had eternity? What else could Harry do but to entertain the man that had taken everything from him?

No more words were spoken as Voldemort lifted Harry on the heavy desk. A soft whimper the only sound as the green eyed man was forcefully entered, no preparation used to ease the way for the impressive length of the ruler of Wizarding Britain, and soon the whole world.

Voldemort hissed soft encouraging words in Harry's ear as he fucked him hard, his tone soft and gentle in contrast with his rough thrusts. Still, Harry clung to them, desperately needing the approval and acceptance of this man as no one else would ever give it to him after his failure. Only the Dark Lord could love him for he had doomed the entire world. He had given it all on a silver platter, so who would want him but the man he gave it to?

The new physical pain chased away Harry's mental anguish and before long, the dark haired wizard was screaming in his release. The feeling of being filled with the Dark Lord's essence, no matter how many times it happened, still made him shudder with disgust.

Voldemort pulled back and threw Harry to the floor with a mad laugh. Reality came crashing down on the young man. Killing curse green eyes widened in horror as he realized he had fallen for Voldemort's words and false comfort once again. The young man curled into himself, sobbing in disgust at what he had been reduced to in less than three years' time. No matter how many times they played this Game, he kept falling for the same stupid trick over and over again.

"I hate you," he choked out.
"Why- why are you doing this?"

Voldemort laughed, a high pitched and insane sound as his red eyes were shining with glee. Without taking his eyes of the young man, he walked back to the other side of the desk and reseated himself.

"Because you are my precious little Whorecrux," he replied.
"Your reactions are so amusing, I may never tire of you, my Dear."

The answer made Harry shudder in terror and he quickly grabbed his shirt, wanting to flee the room as fast as he could. A suffocating pressure around his throat stopped him before he was even able to get the shirt over his head. Harry made a choking noise and grabbed the suddenly constricting collar around his neck. Green eyes looked up, begging at disinterested crimson. Voldemort leaned forward in his chair and rested his head on one hand as he stared at the slowly chocking young man.

"I didn't say you could leave yet," Voldemort told him coolly.
"Now be a good whore and crawl over here."

Harry wanted to refuse. Everything inside him begged him to fight this man, do whatever it took to get away, kill him, but Harry had already lost the Game. There was nothing he could do now, not anymore, not in a very long time. The pressure of the snake collar disappeared and Harry lifted himself in hands and knees, his cheeks burning in shame as he obeyed the evil wizard's command.

He had lost the Game the day that Voldemort chose to spare his life and take those of his friends instead. All he could do now was call the man 'Master' and hope that one day, he would lose enough of himself to mean it.