Beautifully Broken

VIII

Harry awoke slowly in the morning. He had exhausted himself with his Lord the night previously, and he was extremely pleased with that, but he didn't like the groggy feeling he currently held. He pulled himself up carefully, knowing he would have the familiar pain in his lower back, and headed for the shower. The hot water did him wonders and he was reluctant to come out. He walked to his wardrobe prepared to get dressed, but when he opened it he found he had a slight problem; everything was gone. All of his jeans, even his extremely tight ones, his shirts, his joggers, his robes and his cloaks, they were all gone and he blinked in shock. It was full yesterday, he was sure of it, and now he had nothing. His left arm suddenly flared with pain and it took his two seconds to realised what that meant,

"Oh shit," he scored his room to see if there was anything left lying around and he nearly cheered when he saw clothing on his desk chair. He darted over to see what it was and groaned; it was his outfit from yesterday. His arm flared again and, however much he wanted to hide in his room, he couldn't, so he threw on the clothes, noticing suddenly that the white top was a lot tighter than yesterday and his marks were quite visible through the fabric. Harry cursed again as he grabbed his trainers and ran from the room, even his mask was missing and he had no idea how he was going to explain this. He took a deep breath when he reached the meeting room before walking in, he was well aware his face was cherry red, but he forcefully kept his face blank as he walked up the centre of the room. Luckily it was only the elite, but it didn't stop them from gasping when they set eyes on him, and Harry was mentally cursing all the entities in the world nine ways to Sunday. He bowed to his Lord, but couldn't bring himself to look at the man.

"Please excuse the attire, Master, my clothes have… vanished." Harry told him speaking with difficulty. He couldn't believe this had happened, of all the things, why did his clothes go.

"Ah yes, I thought as much." There was something in the Dark Lord's tone that made Harry's head snap up. The man was, again, eyeing him like a piece of meat, and Harry was sure his face darkened another shade. "There was an incident with the laundry, your clothes must have been misplaced; accidently of course." Harry's eyes widened and his jaw dropped a little, he wanted to believe he was imaging it, but the Dark Lord felt a little too pleased with himself as he looked him up and down.

"You didn't…" He breathed horrified. The smug, shark like grin he got in response to that accusation was his answer, he covered his face with his hands and fought to keep himself from having a fit.

"When will my clothes be found, master?" He asked not moving his hands.

"I believe they will be returned to you within a week." Voldemort told him, he even sounded smug. Harry's hands dropped and he looked up so fact that his neck cricked, not that he paid any attention to it.

"A week," he mentally applauded himself for keep his voice steady when he spoke, "I have to walk around like this for a week?"

"Yes, I do not see a problem with that arrangement." The Dark Lord confirmed. Harry took a few deep breaths and, once he had himself fully under control, he gave an elegant bow despite looking like a whore.

"As my master wishes,"

#I wish it very much so# Voldemort confirmed and Harry steadfast ignored the blush that came up.

"Is there anything you require from me, master?" Harry asked,

"No, you only need listen. The plans for Hogwarts are being finalised." He replied and Harry nodded. The plans were simple. They were going to seize the castle from the inside out, but they were not taking the full army, the Dark Lord believed it only needed the elite and a few others such as the twins. He did not want to kill of the next generations of witches and wizards, he only wanted Dumbledore and his loyal in the ground. They had had reports back on the growing size of the order, but the Dark Lord was not worried about them being out numbered, he was sure they still had the advantage.

"Harry, how many can you fight at once?" Voldemort asked him. The Dark Lord's eyes had not left the teen since he had entered the room, and Harry had been fighting not to make eye contact because he knew he would blush.

"16 without injury master, 17 to 20 with minor injury, 20 to 25 with damage and anything above 25 I'm likely to collapse." He said after a minute. He was basing it off the dummies he used to practice on, his magic could protect him most of the time, but with greater numbers, despite their lower power levels, he was spread thing.

"You are certain,"

"As much as I can be, master, while not being in identical circumstances." Harry confirmed.

"Very well. The plans are in motion, we leave in a month."