Harry stared at the blood staining the floor with a sort of detached feeling of...he didn't think it was horror, it should have been, but it felt more like resignation.

The Dursleys had always been rough with him, he had been hit more times than he could count, clipped, whacked, shoved. He had broken bones in this house, he had been starving in this house, but they had never spilt his blood before. But really it was probably more surprising that they hadn't done so before now than the fact they had finally done it.

There was a lot of blood as well, he stared down at the blood staining the carpet in a regular flow, at least he would cause a problem for them, they would have to clean that up, and he wouldn't be here to do it for them. They would also have to do something about his body. They definitely weren't smart enough not to get caught for this.

He blinked at a sort of pop and then realised that someone had just apparated into the hallway. He might not die after all, someone seemed to have come for him at the right time. But...the pop hadn't been one of apparition, it was the wrong sound. He frowned and looked at the doorway to the living room, along with Vernon and Petunia who had been arguing loudly about what they were going to do with him, having gone too far, further than they had before with their abuse of him.

And the thought that he wasn't going to die went out of his head as he looked up into crimson red eyes. The face was different, it wasn't the snake face that he had seen in the Ministry only a month ago, instead, it was a slightly older but still familiar looking face of Tom Riddle from the Chamber of Secrets. He was looking right at him where he was kneeling pathetically on the floor, dripping blood from the stab wound in his shoulder, finished off by his own family, Voldemort would only have to finish the job, he already had his wand drawn.

"Who are you? His guardian angel? A freak like him d...deserves everything that he gets!" Petunia shrieked.

"Oh, you need not worry," Voldemort said smoothly, stepping a little further into the room, adjusting the cuff of his robes. "I am no angel," He smirked now standing over Harry.

The green-eyed teen lifted his head to meet Voldemort's eyes, if he was going to die on his knees in the middle of the house he hated, he was going to die looking him in the eyes at the very least. Voldemort was so close that Harry could practically feel the whisper of his robes brushing his face, the man's feet touching his knees.

Strong, pale fingers gripped his chin as the Dark Lord bent over him and forced him to keep looking at him, and Harry felt the wash of wandless magic rippling over him, and he tensed himself ready for whatever Voldemort was going to do to him and felt...the blood flow slowing down from his shoulder.

"I am definitely no angel, quite the opposite in fact," Voldemort straightened himself. "I possessed your nephew a month ago, took over his mind, and saw everything in there, I saw who he is, what has happened to him in his life, everything that has happened to him in his life. I have seen everything that you have done to him, I saw how he felt growing up in this house, I saw it all," Voldemort said the last part straight to Harry.

He was feeling so empty, weak and now a little high from the sudden lack of pain in his shoulder as a cooling, soothing spell spread over the burning agony of his ripped skin, he had no idea what to feel about the fact that Voldemort had seen everything, that his enemy, the man who had tried to kill him multiple times was the only person out there who knew exactly what had happened to him. He made a slightly confused, pained sound when he was lifted from the floor with magic and levitated over to the armchair.

"So...so what, you're here to arrest us?" The Dursleys were both clearly terrified about the fact that Voldemort was using magic so uncaringly in front of them, and the fact that he had so casually commented on the fact that he had possessed Harry. They were terrified of this wizard who wasn't anything like the wizards that they had met before, even Hagrid's terrifying large figure paled in comparison to the cold, hard, unapologetic magic of the Dark Lord.

"Oh no, nothing like that. In fact, I am going to start by thanking you," Voldemort smirked. Harry blinked tired green eyes at him, he felt like a puppet being moved around unable to summon the energy in his exhausted, starving body to do anything, instead just watching through burning eyes at what was unravelling in front of him, and just waiting to see when Voldemort would decide to kill him.

"Tha...thank us?" Vernon stammered.

"Yes indeed," Voldemort nodded, taking Harry's hand in his and lifting his arm, sliding the too-long shirt sleeve down Harry's arm revealing his forearm. Red stared down into green as Voldemort ran his finger over the long, deep scar on his arm from where his blood had been taken to bring Voldemort back.

Harry hissed a little at the burning pain that crept into his arm, but he couldn't find the strength to pull away, and he watched confused as ink spread across his skin, covering the scar, watching with absent fascination as the dark ink spread across his skin and started to take shape.

He was a little confused when it did not take the shape of the dark mark as he had expected it to, thinking that this was going to be something Voldemort could mock him with before he killed him, instead, the ink slowly took the shape of a snake twined around a lightning bolt. The colours were stark, and it was actually quite pretty he found himself thinking as he stared at the tattoo covering his arm, he could just see the scar through the tattoo.

"I would not be here if it were not for you," Voldemort said to the Dursleys, still looking at Harry, talking as though the five minutes between his last words and these had not taken place, ignoring the fact that the Dursleys are staring at him horrified, unable to move apparently.

"O...oh?" Vernon stammered when it became obvious that he was waiting for a response.

"Yes, I am sure that you are aware of the blood wards around this house,"

"Yes, to keep out...the man that killed my sister and her husband," Petunia said with dawning understanding.

"Indeed, I was prevented from being able to enter this house while those wards stood, unable to find him, track him in any way, and I wouldn't have been able to get within 20 miles of this house. But you spilt his blood within this house in an act of hatred and violence, and that destroyed the wards, allowing me to find him and come here," Voldemort hummed, finally letting go of Harry's arm, placing it down onto the arm of the chair and looking to the Dursleys.

"What are you going to do?" Petunia asked with utter terror on her face.

"I am going to take him to my manor, I am going to heal him from all the damage that you have done to him, and I am going to take care of him," Voldemort said, and Harry blinked up at him utterly baffled as he absorbed the words. "As for you, well, you're not going to live to regret ever laying a finger on him,"

Voldemort stepped forward and Harry watched from the armchair as he slashed his wand at them, dropping them to the floor screaming loudly. He quickly realised as their screams continued that Voldemort had clearly silenced the house considering none of the neighbours came running despite the fact that the living room window was wide open to allow for the heat of the summer.

He reckoned that he should feel a little bad as he watched what was happening, as he watched their blood join his own staining the carpet, and then drowned it out as more and more of their blood covered the floor, the walls, he was sure that there was even some on the ceiling, but he couldn't find himself to feel bad for them, especially not with the ache that was still going through his shoulder, the feeling of his blood still wet and tacky where it was sticking to him with his own blood.

Finally, Voldemort was finished, and he had definitely kept his word to them. He turned and walked over to Harry, covered in blood, and uncaring about it as he reached down to tilt Harry's chin up and stared down at him, his red eyes seeming to burn through Harry. He reached up with his free hand and brushed Harry's fringe away from his eyes, then his forehead, revealing the lightning bolt scar.

Harry tensed when he reached up and brushed his thumb along his scar, waiting for the pain that came with the contact between them. But there was nothing, and he opened his heavy eyes again to see Voldemort looking contemplative as he stroked his thumb along the scar, small pulses of magic going through Harry from both points of contact which soothed the pain that was crawling through his body.

"Are they dead?" He heard himself asking.

"Yes," Voldemort nodded.

"Why?"

"They hurt you, repeatedly,"

"Ok," Harry frowned. "What are you going to do with me now?"

"I am going to take you back to my manor and heal you, make sure that you are recovered from everything, from there we will see what happens," Voldemort answered.

"Why?" Harry blinked.

"We will also have that conversation, but not right now, you need to be healed and recover," Voldemort shook his head.

"What did you do to my arm?" Harry asked, unable to move when Voldemort tapped him with his wand and then bent to lift him from the chair, clearly he had used a feather-light charm before he easily held Harry to his chest.

"It is my protection for you," Voldemort answered before suddenly Harry felt as though he were being squeezed through a straw.

The last thing he saw was a huge entrance hall before darkness took him over as the pain and blood loss became too much for his strained and already weakened body.