Shades of Grey

I pace the length of the room, look up at the ceiling and sigh in defeat. I know what’s going on up there. My fears are confirmed when an anguished scream tears through the enormous mansion. I’ve failed. I told Dumbledore what the Dark Lord had planned, and he told me that the boy was safe, the protections surrounding his home were strong.

‘Were’ is the key word in that sentence.

As much as I adore the old man, he’s still a Gryffindor. He’s presumptuous, thinking that he’s better than everyone else. He thinks that his judgement is right. His perception of right is different from mine, from Voldemort’s, from Potter’s.

Just because he has a famous face and a just name, doesn’t make him right. He could be wrong in everything he says and does. He may think he’s right, but this time he is wrong. It’s not the first time, either. He thought Potter’s house was safe. It wasn’t. He wasn’t safe from his relatives who neglected him and he wasn’t safe from Voldemort who has him now.

There is no right or wrong, good or evil, there is only power and those who are too weak to seek it. Harsh words, I know, but in a lot of ways, they are true. My perception of ‘right’ is someone else’s ‘wrong’. It took me this long to figure that out.

The screaming has finally stopped. Whether the boy has died or Voldemort has finally been satiated, I don't know. Neither prospect is particularly comforting.

I cease my pacing and stand up straighter as He comes down the stairs. He has lost his ‘hideous snake look’ in favor for a more attractive look, that of his youth, Tom Riddle. I must admit, even if it is reluctantly so, he is quite lovely. At least Potter lost his purity to a very beautiful man.

Voldemort, or Tom, smiles at me, it’s far from pleasant. I bow gracefully, the action would hopefully prolong my life.

"Severus." Voldemort purrs, my name rolling off his tongue like molasses.

"Yes, M'Lord? What is it that you command?" I ask, making my voice as mellifluous as I can.

"Remove young Harry from my chambers and take him to yours." Voldemort says and then, with a sweep of his silk, black robes, he gracefully ascends the stairs to his study.

I glare at his back and make my way up the stairs. When I had arrived earlier this morning, I was met by that disgusting, poor excuse for a man, Pettigrew. I was led to a room in the far corner of the house. It was large, over looked the woods and was lavishly furnished. With a large bed that donned silk, red sheets, and a large desk in the corner. There was a wardrobe near the window which had a window seat, a fire place directly across from the bed and a book shelf next to the door.

That was when I was told that I would be staying in the Mansion for a few days. I was and am far from pleased. I was hoping to rub this information in Dumbledore’s smug face. Wait until the old codger finds out that his precious little Golden Boy has been tainted. I gulped. This is bad, all joking aside, I never wanted or wished this upon the boy. He doesn’t deserve it. But he would be subjected to all sorts of torture until he dies.

I inhale deeply and turn the knob. My stomach is twisting in tight knots. I’m afraid of what I might find. Would the boy be half dead? Unable to contain my curiosity, as morbid as it is, I push the heavy, oaken door open and look around the room.

It is much bigger and more extravagant than my own. And why shouldn’t it be? It’s Voldemort’s room. There is a bay window with a window seat that over looked the garden which was filled with black roses and deadly nightshade. There is a large wardrobe near the window, a desk in front of the window, a large bed across from the huge fireplace and a door leading to a bathroom, most likely. The bed is a large four-poster with black sheets and a black coverlet.

Amongst the black sheets is the small, pale body of Harry Potter. I move forward to get a closer look. I can tell that he’s malnourished as his ribs are sticking out painfully. His knees are pulled to his chest and his hands are tied above his head by a silk robe, most likely enforced by magic.

I carefully untie the rope, but his arms don’t move. I have to check the boy’s pulse to make sure he is still alive. He is, yet it doesn’t seem like it. The narrow chest barely rises and falls and the emerald eyes are closed for now. I pull his legs away from his chest to take in the damage I can’t see. He’s covered in cuts and bruises and I can barely touch him without getting my hands bloody.

As I move him, I catch a glimpse of his back, I gasp in shock and disgust. There is a giant Dark Mark burned into his flesh. It is pitch black against his pale skin, the cuts and bruises. I sigh, there are probably more injuries that I can’t even see. With great care, I lift the boy into my arms.

He makes a strangled, gurgling sound, stirs and then falls limp once more. I hold him against my chest and quickly make my way to the other end of the house to my chambers. Once I’m inside, I lay the boy on the bed and begin to whisper healing charms. When I’m satisfied with the amount of damage I’ve healed. I cover the boy with my cloak and go into the bathroom to start a warm bath. I need to clean the boy, he’s filthy.

I turn on the tap and let the warm water flow into the marble tub. I wait, sitting on the toilet, for the tub to fill. I let my eyes move to the next room where I can just make out a black lump, which is the boy. When the tub is filled to my liking, I turn the tap off and move back into the bedroom.

Scooping the boy up, I move into the bathroom and place him into the tub. I wave my wand so Harry’s (when did he become ‘Harry’?) head stays above water. I lather up a small cloth and begin to clean him. It’s all I can do to keep from vomiting. I never, in my life, thought I would be something so...so...unorthodox as washing the son of my school rival.

When the boy is clean enough, I get a towel and lift him out of the tub and lay him back on the bed. I notice some pajamas laying on the bed, two sets actually. One green and one silver. The smaller, silver ones are for the boy, I get green. I clothe the boy in the pajamas and lay him under the covers on his stomach, I don’t want to harm his bottom or his back.

Fuck.

What the hell has Dumbledore gotten us into?

Goddamned Gryffindors.

Act then think.

Fools.