Alright, for those of you who are curious as to what this new little piece is, it is just a little snippet I thought up after reading until 5:30 in the morning. It is angsty, contains slash, sex abuse and one nutty Boy-Who-Lived. This may end up being a one shot but I make no promises and take no prisoners, except maybe Meihoukai Kitsune. You rock, girl! I do apologize for any errors. It is, like I said, very early in the morning and I have not slept at all.

Disclaimer: I claim nothing.

A Cleansing Touch- Chapter One.

Harry watched the man standing in his doorway blankly, a stoic expression on his face. The Dursley's home, once so filled with the delicious screams of his dying relatives, was silent. It was a change that Harry found he enjoyed very much. The Dursleys deserved to die for what they had done. Everything. They were sick people. Or maybe it was he who was the sick one. After all, he hadn't fought back. So, did that really make it bad? Voldemort stared at him with an interested expression on his face while Snape stood behind him, looking at the heavy padlocks on the door with a sickened, yet somehow unreadable look in his eyes. The teen pasted a brilliant and more than slightly disturbing smile on his face. Why not? After all, he was crazy, right? That's what all of the papers said. That's why no one was mailing him. That's why…Everyone thought he was a freak. Just a crazy, disgusting freak.

"Tom! How nice of you to visit. I'm actually glad you're here. Making a lot of noise my relatives were. It's nice and quiet now that you're here. I like it. You should kill people more often!" He declared, gesturing to the threadbare bed for them to sit.

The Dark Lord moved silently into the room while his professor needed more encouragement. Harry had to take him by the sleeve and guide the potion's master inside, sitting him down himself. Snape sat down, only to jump back up in disgust as he saw the large blood stains on the bed. Hedwig's rotting corpse sat, still in it's cage, staring up at them. It was rather miraculous that it didn't smell nor had any sort of insects gotten to it. Small miracles, he guessed. Or magic, Harry thought with a wry grin. His beloved owl still had bits of her blown on the wall by the cage where his uncle had shot her during one of Harry's more creative punishments. Tom was staring at him now like he had never seen him before, especially not a few short weeks ago. The mirrors in his room were all shattered but Harry had taken to gluing the shards to the wall in a parody of their once whole forms. The images they reflected were distorted and just as disturbing as the child who had made them. Harry thought them rather accurate in describing his state of mind. He was crazy after all and he liked the way they looked. They were broken. Just like him…

"Potter, are you…alright?" The Dark Lord asked, trying not to look at the dead owl's desiccated corpse.

Poor Snape looked disgusted and green. He had probably believed Harry to be a pampered, spoilt child. The very image of him sitting proudly in front of the couch, looking rather like Dudley, while he ordered his, too skinny, humbled cousin around made a giggle erupt from the teen's throat. Voldemort winced lightly at the sound. It was harsh and grating because of the abuse his vocal cords had suffered over the past few weeks. That was okay, though. Tom needed to be surprised form 

time to time. Harry walked over to his wall of glass, imagining the shard worming their way into his flesh, scissoring him to pieces on their way to his lungs and heart. His lungs definitely felt like they had glass in them. With every breath, they burned anew. He touched the glass with that same disturbing smile pasted on his face. That was when they saw the scars. Scars dribbled down his hands, his nails just beginning to grow back. They disappeared under his long white sleeves. They look like they had been shoved in acid.

"I'm fine! Peachy keen, actually. Ask Hedwig. She'll tell you. Everything is just fine." He answered, his voice maybe a little too high pitched for some reason while he gestured at the dead bird. "Everything will be just fine…" Was his whispered reply.

Snape touched his shoulder, probably trying to see his hands more closely to check for infection. Harry however, felt disgust, shame and hatred well in him in an instant. He shoved the man away furiously, causing the professor to stumble back into the stained bed.

"Don't touch me!! Don't you ever touch me!!" He screamed with rage bubbling from within him like a massive dragon come to devour him.

His yells brought Death Eaters running up the stairs to see what was happening and to defend if needed. Tom tried to ease Harry down with a calming gesture and low tones.

"It's okay, Harry. No one will touch you, I promise. If you don't want it, it won't happen."

Harry snorted at the comment and his snort became outright hysterical laughter. He was panting for breath, clutching at his aching chest. He had never heard such lies in his life! Or funnier still, perhaps Tom actually believed them? His laughter pushed him against the glass covered wall, slicing his skin and shirt with every touch.

"No one will touch me!? Unless I want it?! Please don't tell me you actually believe that drivel? Now everyone says I wanted it!" He managed to get out in between laughter. Like a light switch, his grin was gone to be replaced by the most despairing expression Tom had ever seen on a person. Harry touched the glass against in an almost loving caress, " I never…I didn't want…Touch…Never touch…"

The teen moaned pitifully, biting it off with a whimper of agony.

"The freak deserves it though. I'm a freak, I deserve what they gave me. I deserved what they did…" He whispered once more, his gaze seemingly far off and distant.

Tom and Severus shared a distraught look. What had happened to the boy before them? What had been done to him to make him such a wreck? Worse yet was an even more horrible question. Did Dumbledore know?

"Harry?" Tom asked, pausing to wait for the teen to acknowledge his presence. Harry's eyes flicked to his own before flicking off to stare at the floor, " Would you like to come with Severus and I? We promise to not let a single person touch you again. We aren't here to hurt you."

Harry continued to stare at the floor, not giving an answer. His soft lips trembled as Snape stepped closer to him. He shrank against the glass further as if it were a safety blanket.

"Potter? Harry…What happened to you? Who did this?" The potion's master asked with the horror in his eyes that the situation deserved.

His student did not look at him but instead began running a disfigured hand over his stick thin wrist where the scars were bad.

"And what shall we pray for those who have lost, Not sight of the goal, But sight of the cost? Many a finish, Many an end, For enemy for lover, For betrayer, for friend."

The small rhyme was the only thing that he would say more. Without looking up at them, Harry curled up on his bloodstained bed and just shook his head to everything else that was said to him.