Harry Potter 1. A Beating

**Disclaimer **Roses are red, violets are blue, I no own so you no sue…(except for original characters that is)  
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**AN:** So you decided to give this story a try, Je t'adore! But beware child abuse, clever Death Eaters shock horror and a review lover await you.  
Yeah, you guessed right, I'm the review lover but on a more serious note reviews allow me to find areas that need improvement and help me to provide the best quality writing possible…if you're still reading the AN at this point, you need a life…get one by reading the story…

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Thwack…

The birch rod land brusquely on the prostrated figure causing a sharp intake of breath from the boy but he bit his lip and made no other sounds.

"Harry, are ready to apologize to Headmaster Snape yet?" the firm tones of the tall, dark man with deep green eyes filtered into Harry's pain clogged brain. He could almost feel Snape's gaze on him and the smirk that must be adorning the professor's face. Gathering all his resolve Harry shook his head defiantly. The dark haired man was not deterred, it was only the fourth stroke and the boy would break soon enough.

Thwack 

_Thwack…_

More strokes, and hisses professed pain in a language only the dark haired man understood. There was a pause as always, the deliberate strokes ceased and Harry whimpered. The pause was there for the pain to take effect, concentrated pain that accumulated with each stroke of the birch rod.

"Harry," the firm, cool tones of the disciplinarian hung in the air, "you have a choice, apologize or we shall continue,"

_Or I cry, _thought Harry as he stared at his small flushed hands gripping the footstool at the side of the large leather armchair. _His Lordship never continued after tears fell, unless he was using his belt for the more serious transgressions._

However once again Harry's defiant side won out against his rational sense. His pride was too much to swallow. _His Lordship charmed the birch rod, I'm sure of it!_

Two more sets later he was almost yelling in pain. Resting fully on the arm of the armchair he was leaning over, his face flushed from the humiliation of Snape's gaze. _If being beaten wasn't enough punishment, he had to invite Snape to witness it!_, thought Harry as he desperately screwed up his eyes to forget about the third person in the room. However his predicament was partially deserved, _had I not mouthed off at Snape for the entire hall to hear, perhaps he wouldn't have beaten me in front of the damn greasy git! _

"Harry, must we continue?" asked the Dark Lord as he caressed the polished birch rod barely the width of his finger. He could see how the boy was in two minds, rational sense dictated obedience, after all he had never required the boy to do more than say a few words, but Harry's pride was ever present. After nearly a year he was still stubborn, reckless, unthinking.

"My lord, I must say that your discipline has taught the boy well, he is not as stubborn as he used to be," Severus Snape's silky smooth voice was laced with humour.

"He has shown signs of improvement and acceptance," said the Dark Lord as if he was discussing a son's progress at studies. "Well, Harry, you have a choice,"

_His Lordship always gave you a choice. He values choices like Dumble-… no mustn't think about them…but Voldemort's version is twisted. There was never any real choice, the idea was dangled in front of his victims and used as a training device to make them obey._

"No," Harry groaned through clenched teeth, the pain was building up after each deliberate stroke, calculated to bring the maximum amount of pain. The disciplinarian resumed but always pausing after two strokes to ask the question.

Beatings were common things in Harry's new life. At the beginning, nearly every night after school the belt would be slashing down on him welded by the disciplinarian. The man even set aside half an hour after Harry's arrival home, no at the residency, for these matters. Every evening Harry was flooed home with the headmaster instead of living at school as the other charges of the new regime did. Snape then took the opportunity to report a list of his transgressions to his master. Later on he learned to arrive before his traitorous professor and admit to his transgressions himself. That way his punishment was much reduced as the Dark Lord valued honesty. Harry couldn't help snorting at that concept, the Dark Lord expected him to be honest, such a hilarious double standard.

Trying not to visualize the deep red welts that would have formed underneath his green silk robes, Harry shook his head with a lot less defiance than before. He was cracking and both men could see it. Unfortunately for him, Nagini was not there to rationalize at this critical stage and his Gryffindor pride force him to endure more strokes.

_Thwack…_a cry as his body convulsed in pain.

_Thwack…_a wail and the dam broke.

Hot tears blurred his vision and dropped onto the black leather surface of the footstool his was facing. They marred the surface that Harry knew so well from the many hours spent staring at the patterns on the leather. He gave up trying to bite back his sobs and cried outright. The cane was withdrawn but still remained in the spidery hands of the Dark Lord.

"Stand up Harry and apologize to the Headmaster," Harry elevated himself from his position on the armrest, clambered down and resisted the urge to sniffle. Bowing his head like he had been taught he said,

"I apologize for my misconduct, Headmaster," both men continued to look expectant. Knowing that he would end up with another session in the armchair Harry added, "I will not defile the creed nor question your judgment ever again," With his part done he stood on the green rug in the middle of the office and wiped away the tears the continued to well up.

"Have you learnt your lesson?" inquired the Dark Lord as he stared at Harry through his dark green eyes. Harry nodded and clenched his jaw together to keep himself from saying something he might later regret.

"You will do well to remember your words," said Snape with a smug air of satisfaction. Harry could do no more than glare helplessly at him through tears that caused the image of Snape to split into thousand pieces. "I must be on my way back to Hogwarts, my lord, there is a staff meeting before dinner I must attend."

"Ah, yes, tell Rodolphus that I will be calling a meeting on Friday night,"

"I will, my lord," Snape swept out of the office with his classic billow of black robes and disapparated in the hallway leaving Harry alone with his master.

The handsome face of whom Harry had once known as Tom Riddle stared down at him from a height. Some grey hairs lined his temples and there was wisdom reflected in the deep green orbs but those were the only differences that age had bought. Harry shuddered involuntarily as his memories strayed back to the events in the Chamber. They seemed a lifetime away but he quickly pushed all thoughts of his previous life away in case the Dark Lord decided to read his mind again. Think or talking about his previous life was one of the worse transgressions and punishable by the belt.

"Harry," he hissed in parseltongue, "you know it is for your own good. You must learn obedience," Harry nodded mutely and waited to be dismissed, "Go to your room and I will send Woody to clean you up. I expect you are hungry too, dinner will be served in twenty minutes."

Harry slowly limped away down the corridor to his room near the master's private chambers. With ever step it felt as if the birch rod as back and small explosions of pain erupt. Breathing deeply he collapsed on his bedspread and felt the uneven embroided patterns on the silky smooth fabric. Lying face down on the bed, he felt as if he had just been on the receiving end of several doubts of _Crucio_ but with all the pain concentrated on one area. In the privacy of his room he allowed himself to rub his sore body.

He had often wondered why Voldemort had given up the habit of using _Crucio_ on him when he became a ward of the Dark Lord. _He wants to show everyone that I'm just a little boy and I'm not worthy of the unforgiveables. He wants to physically beat me into submission. It's so much worse when you know he is welding the stick instead of a magical charm and the prostrating position; he likes that too._ _I suppose he picked up the idea from the orphanage._

However, compared to others Harry lived like a prince. In his gilded cage everything was provided for him, the best food, the best clothes and the best education on offer. He felt rather like Daniel in the bible, taken captive by his enemies and forced to learn the creed of another.

The last battle had ended in tragedy, knocked out by a powerful dark arts spell no doubt created by the Dark Lord for that purpose; Harry awoke three weeks later in the lair of the beast. Too weak to resist, he was simply told he had been made the Dark Lord's ward. Other bits of information seeped in later like how Dumbledore had died and how many people had been taken captive but there were good tidings like when Hermione had managed to sneak a message to him telling him of how Remus, Tonks and Hestia Jones were alluding the Death Eaters and how the Weasleys had escaped abroad with the rest of the rebellion.

Such secrets he had been forced to betray when the Dark Lord forced himself into his mind. It was the worst kind of violation more so than anything the perverse Macnair could come up with. Of course that was a figure of speech, Harry had only heard of the famed Macnair from secondary sources. It was strange how well he was protected from all the unpleasantness of the new regime. He suspected and heard many rumours but the Dark Lord had always deemed him too young and innocent to hear of such terrors. The Dark Lord protected him in a way only a parent could but a twisted parenthood it was. His greatest enemy providing all the comforts of home he had never been given by the people who should have provided it.

The Dark Lord had once punished one of his Death Eaters, Avery, for enlightening Harry to what a "ward of the court" meant. No one else dared to talk about such filth in front of Harry after that and in some ways he felt selfishly contented in his cocoon of ignorance. However at times he felt so guilty, his life was such a luxury and the punishments so light in comparison to what he had heard. _I'm going to rescue everyone, _he kept telling himself with resolve _I'll make it better I won't fail not this time._

He met very little of his previous friends at school these days. He was required to attend school by the Dark Lord. His education was first and foremost in his master's mind. Susan Bones had been spared because of her pure blood even though Death Eaters had killed her family previously. Roger Davies, the Ravenclaw captain had been spared too, along with Michael Corner. Apparently both came from very pure bloodlines. There were some Gryffindors but only one that Harry knew well, Neville Longbottom. There were no more houses, as Slytherin numbers would by far out weight any other house. Instead dormitories were organised by age group and the four Quidditch teams were give new names, Scorpio, Orion, Ursa and Canus.

Harry nearly winced as the crack of apparition cause him to jump up abruptly but it was only Woody, the house elf had come to tend to his wounds.

"Master tells Woody to give Harry ointment, sir," squeaked the elf with something akin to sympathy in its voice. In one spindly hand it held a small jar of brown oil and a soft flannel. "Would sir wish for Woody to help?" asked the elf kindly as it stared at Harry with its huge black eyes. Woody was by far the most amiable house elf in the manor, most of the others were either crazy or petrified of humans. Woody was often there to provide as much sympathy as she was allowed by the master and it comforted Harry to know that there were beings in the house that actually cared.

"Thank you, Woody," said Harry gratefully and took the jar of oil, "I don't think the master will be too happy if you help me, though,"

"Woody will be gone then sir," said Woody and then lowered her voice in a conspiring way, "if sir needs anything at all Woody will do her best to help." With that the house elf disappeared with a crack.

Gingery pulling off his outer robes Harry applied the ointment as directed and immediately relief flooded through his body. The cooling sensation of the oil counteracted the magical pain. However before all the pain had been relieved the jar was empty and Harry groaned in discomfort.

Trust His Lordship to do this to me! But what did I expect, he wouldn't let me off that easily, I just hope that I can walk tomorrow or I'll have to face Malfoy's smirk and I'm not sure whether I'll be able to restrain myself from breaking his nose again.

Enough pain remained for walking to be an irritation and sitting to hurt. The clock on the mantelpiece in his room chimed six and Harry hastily pulled on a set of silver evening robes from the wardrobe. The Dark Lord did not like tardiness and Harry hurried as fast as he could towards the dinning room.

They often dined in the smaller dining room on the first floor. The main hall was used only for important social events and Death Eater meetings. The smaller dining room was still very large by Harry's standards. It had shocked him when he found he was required to dine with the Dark Lord every morning and evening. Voldemort had not struck Harry as a particularly sociable person and would certainly not desire the company of his worst enemy but since the historic victory Voldemort had regarded Harry in a different way.

The dining room was panelled with oak and chandeliers hung at regular intervals along the plastered ceiling. The table that occupied the room was long and plain without many decorations. In total the table could seat about twenty people but as usual only two would be dining tonight.

The Dark Lord looked up as Harry entered trying to disguise the awkward limp. The table had been set with a moderate number of dishes and one chair had evidently been prepared for him; the only chair in the room with a plush cushion on.

"Come Harry, you must be hungry," Voldemort motioned for the house elf to fill Harry's plate. Some families now employed Muggle-borns as servants but the Dark Lord deemed house elves to more useful. Harry gingery lowered himself into the chair facing the Dark Lord in the centre of the table. "Apart from being obtrusively rude to Professor Snape, what else did you do at school today?" the tone was nearly paternal.

"I…nothing really," said Harry, inwardly amused at how much they sounded like a normal family eating and chatting together but he was too experienced to be lulled into any false sense of security.

"Surely you did more than nothing…perhaps your education is not as effective as I believed it to be, perhaps you are getting distracted…" there was a small hint of an underlying threat to the statement. It was fully intended to goad Harry into relaying more about his day at school.

"We had apparition lessons today," said Harry hastily; he did not want to give the Dark Lord any excuse to pull him out of Hogwarts. The chances of that happening were very remote but his voice never ruled the possibility out.

"Apparition lessons, did you enjoy them?" asked the Dark Lord as he gazed at Harry from across the table, shadows flickered on his features from the chandeliers above. The tone sounded genuinely interested.

"Yes, I do enjoy my lessons," that at least was only a partial lie. He despised the Illusionary Magic class taught appropriately by Lestrange. The Death Eater singled out Harry more than any other student for stripes. However transfiguration and charms remained his favourite subjects, now taught by two foreign wizards from Drumstrang. Initially Harry had expected terrifying dark lessons but to his surprise both subjects continued the curriculum as McGonagall and Flitwick would have done. He had quite a flare for both transfiguration and charms and the Dark Lord, for reasons of his own, often praised Harry on his accomplishments in the classes.

"I am glad to hear that, however there is a question of what to do once you finish Hogwarts," hissed Voldemort suddenly changing to parseltounge. Harry stiffened, over the course of the year he had spent as the Dark Lord's ward his future had never been discussed. "It will be in two years time, you will only be twelve then." Harry's eyes flared to betray his annoyance,

"I will not be twelve, I will be seventeen!" he insisted glaring back at Voldemort, his food quite untouched. Voldemort chuckled darkly,

"Children now a days simply want to grow up too fast." He was very amused, "You remember the spell I cast on you in November, do you not?" hissed the Dark Lord and Harry was drawn into obedience by the cold voice.

"Yes," three months after his capture the Dark Lord had cast a dark spell on him, one that he did not fully understand.

"Do you not remember me telling you that the spell would remove your scar? Have you fully understood how it removed your scar, Harry? Or were you not paying attention during my lecture?" the last sentence as drawn out with an underlying tone of menace.

"I did listen, my lord," at times like this Harry found it was better to be a little submissive. Voldemort chuckled,

"All magical things loose…abilities if exposed to the muggle world or absence of magic for too long. By the time you were ten your scar was merely a normal mark on your skin. However after you entered Hogwarts you were exposed to perhaps the most concentrated amount of magic anywhere in the world. That alone was enough to cause the magic in your scar to revitalise making it once again the mark I used to _"mark him as my equal"_ but without your scar you are no longer my equal or even the chosen one," Harry nodded, he had heard this before.

"The power that I know not was going to channelled away from harming me once I removed the scar. No doubt it will have other purposes later on. Do you remember the potion that Professor Snape produced, the one that reduced your age? It regressed you both physically and magically to the point when your scar had been but a mere mark and easily removed. Do you remember what I told you about your age?"

"You said that I would have to grow out of it because artificial progression in age would bring back the scar," muttered Harry.

"Yes, and with your scar gone you are no threat to anyone, least of all me. I have no need to kill you anymore." There was cold amusement in the voice and it left the most important part out. _Why did Voldemort not want to kill me?_ That particular question, though not forbidden was never answered. "You do realise that you are physically, magically and mentally ten years old." The voice was cruel in its delight and Harry paused to look at his hands, soft white and plump but most of all very small and fragile.

Physically he had been very small as a ten year old which was probably why he was the prime target for bullies at his muggle primary school. His complexion was fair and soft, his face innocent and delicate, something that Malfoy had once said men like in their "partners".

Standing only four foot four, he was dwarfed by nearly everyone in the school and he often had the fleeting suspicion that even Dennis Creevy had been taller than him in first year. Not that he ever saw Dennis after the final battle; hopefully he had been able to get away abroad but Harry didn't want to think about it.

However he hated to feel vulnerable in front of anyone, least of all the Dark Lord and besides he did not believe that he had the mental age of a ten year old. He was much wiser than he was at ten, he was sure of it. _Ah but_, said the nasty voice inside his head,_ your pain tolerance level is greatly reduced, you're scared of the dark and you can't even sleep without Nagini next to you_. Apparently, all Harry had left of his previous life was the memories and knowledge, which was why he had been allowed to continue his sixth year at Hogwarts.

Harry sat and said nothing as the Dark Lord leisurely surveyed his young charge. "You must be hungry, Harry, eat up" the tone had become more gentle now, "we shall discuss this after dinner". The rest of the meal was spent in thankful silence.

Unfortunately all good things came to an end and Voldemort beckoned for a pleasantly full Harry to follow him into his study. The room itself was enough to bring back many memories of pain and humiliation. He couldn't help remembering when he had been made to apologize to Malfoy after breaking his nose in a fistfight. The despicable blonde never let him forget the way he had cried for mercy under the birch rod.

That night had not been the first time Snape had witness Harry being beaten and the Headmaster often found it was necessary to discipline Harry himself on occasion. The Headmaster's desk was never as comfortable as his master's leather armchair and the Headmaster used a thick stiff rod of ebony that look far more painful than his master's birch rod but in reality his master had ways of making the ebony stick feel as if it was made of putty.

The study was moderate in size and very comfortable. The walls to the right of the door were lined with bookshelves, one of which was draped with a banner depicting the dark mark. To the left of the mini library was the magnificent fireplace made from white marble as pale as the Death Eater's masks. A merry fire was burning in the grate and warmed the entire room. Two straight back black leather arm chairs faced the hearth with a small coffee table in between that held a bottle of liquor. To the left again of the hearth stood his master's desk, armchair and footstool. The birch rod still lay across the table and the polished wood glinted in the firelight.

The Dark Lord seated himself in the armchair and Harry automatically sat on the footstool next to his master's feet.

"Harry you will be finishing school soon but you will be too young to start on a possible career. I have decided that you will be privately tutored until you are of age. You tutoring will be focus on the skills required to work in government more specifically law enforcement and fieldwork." Harry breathed sharply, so his future had already been decided, he was to become one of Voldemort's minions in the new regime, perhaps even a Death Eater. He felt disgusted at his relief, _but at least you're still going to be alive for a while yet_, said the sly and cunning part of Harry that was definitely Slytherin. "Do you like my proposals, Harry?"

"Yes," said Harry as he felt thin fingers gently ruffling his hair.

"It is nearly time to retire to bed, Harry," said Voldemort as he glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece, "we won't want you to be late for school tomorrow morning." The Dark Lord rose and Harry bowed before leaving.

In the soft light of the white candles that floated above his bed, Harry slipped on his white nightshirt and crawled beneath the soft warm covers. A hiss and the large head of Nagini poked in through the doorway,

"Already in bed, Harry?" she asked as she slithered onto the bed via a positioned chair.

"Yes, I'm tired today," whispered Harry as he snuggled under the quilt. His bed was perfect moulding into his body shape to give maximum comfort. Nagini lead her head on his chest as she did every night since his first stay at Voldemort's manor. "You know, guarding me has become a bit redundant," said Harry through a yawn.

"I'm not here to guard you, I'm here to guard against your nightmares," whispered Nagini in his ear as his thoughts blurred and he felt wrapped in a tender loving embrace, so content like a small child. _I love my life _was the last thought he had before peaceful sleep claimed him.

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AN: Hope you enjoyed it...please review thx


	2. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizard...

**_Disclaimer _**Roses are red, violets are blue, I no own so you no sue…(except for original characters that is)

**Thx 2: **_Picsou, MizSatie, Parselmouth Girl, Sword Wielder, ShatteredDream, Artemis Spezlee, Wolfawaken, Sarah, HarrySlytherinson, Headncloud, Giara and Dragon Girl_ for your wonderful reviews. I really appreciate your support and advise. Personal notes at the bottom…

**C2 Community:** I got my own C2 Community now called "Because not All Love is Eros" and it all about the relationship between Lord Voldemort and Harry Potter. **_If you want to join just tell me in a review or send me an email_**. Good Stories Guaranteeded!

**AN:** Chapter two and its all about school…not as much action but a lot more information...enjoy and please review thx.

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The school day started with the chiming of the bells at eight in the morning. All the boarders filed out of their dormitories to registration or prison count as some called it, in the great hall. All boarders were "charges of the school" that had been spared during the Trials after the war. Most were orphans while some had lost siblings or other close family members. 

Neville Longbottom was one such boy that could be sorted into both categories. Spared because of the Longbottom's long and pure family line Hogwarts had become his permanent home. There was very little discrimination in sleep arrangements now as the house system had been abolished. Still he was often singled out by the Slytherin professors, more often than Harry.

He didn't talk much to Harry these days, it was forbidden by the Headmaster Snape and Neville was not going to upset professor Snape. However they did manage to sneak a few words here and there but there was very little in the way of information that Neville could tell Harry. He himself was locked away from the real world in the school and while life was often unfair it was much better than being a "ward of the court".

There were three categories of students at Hogwarts now, the day students who were nearly all children of the rich and powerful, the boarders who were regarded as second class charity cases and the "wards of the court" who were merely servants in a sense, clever slaves who needed some primitive education. Hermione was in the third category.

Neville didn't see Hermione at all these days; most classes were restricted to the third class students. They were mainly trained in book keeping and academic research. However Harry had once told him that Hermione was well and had managed to get some valuable information to him. What the information was, Neville could only guess at.

There was a new rumour going around that the Headmaster had told the Dark Lord about Harry Potter's defilement of the pureblood creed and Harry was now in fact half dead in Azkaban. Neville was too wise to believe such a thing, these rumours were only passed around by the insecure and bewildered children who did not understand why Harry of all people had been spared and given a prince's life. Many of them were highly jealous and would have sold their souls for a small portion of the luxuries that Harry received everyday.

Apparently some said that he was going to be the Dark Lord's right hand man soon and more excitingly, Malfoy had not denied this. Some said Harry was kept by the Dark Lord for personal reasons, which Neville could not fathom, but others where adamant that Harry was really a relation of the Dark Lord's and was expected to carry on the Slytherin bloodline.

Harry was very small these days; he said that it was result of a spell cast by the Dark Lord leaving him looking like a little child. Although Neville had never been particularly tall, he now dwarfed Harry by at least a head. However not everyone was entirely convinced with Harry's explanation, one of the few things that hadn't changed since the war. Some rather unorthodox explanations suggested that Harry was kept in his dwarfed state for his "good looks".

Harry was skinny by nature (Neville remembered this from his first year) and not as a result of maltreatment on the Dark Lord's behalf. In fact Harry looked a lot healthier now than he did five years ago. His scarecrow style hair had been replaced by a longer wavier variety and his joints no longer jutted out at awkward angles from his clothing.

Today as usual the chiming of the bells broke Neville from his reverie and he hastily dressed in the given uniform. Non-boarders were not required to wear uniforms in order for the segregation to more visual. However this rule had enabled school to become fertile ground for fashion parades and disputes. The robes were dark grey in colour with the Dark Mark embroided on the chest where his Gryffindor badge had once been. Underneath the outer robes were white under-tunics, long white shirts that came to the knees and were held tight around the waist by a cord. Trousers were discarded as they were seen to be muggle inventions and therefore despicable.

Registration in the sixth and seventh year common room was a silent affair. Professor Lestrange slowly marched up and down the rows checking that each student was in their correct place and immaculately dressed. Neville stiffened as he approached, painfully aware that the collars of his robes were standing up and his tie was only half done up. If only he had spent less time daydreaming.

A sharp slap resounded through the silent room as the bony back of Professor Lestrange's left hand collide swiftly with Neville's cheek. It was more for humiliation than pain; the real punishment would come later. Nothing moved in the room and the only sounds were Neville's shallow breathing.

"My office at lunchtime, Longbottom," came Lestrange's smooth drawl, like honey tricking from the edge of a knife. "twenty stripes for laziness and ten extra stripes…_for not looking at me in the face when I talk to you!_"

Neville hastily pulled his graze from the floor to look at the velvety white skin of his Illusionary Magic Professor and the murder of his parents. He never looked into Lestrange's eyes for fear that he would once again see the maniac gleam that had once shone in the blue orbs as he tortures Neville's Grandmother to death.

"Yes, Professor," said Neville meekly.

"Fix you clothes then, boy," drawled Lestrange in sadistic tones. Neville fixed his clothing until he looked much the same as everyone else. Lestrange never took his eyes off the boy.

Harry didn't know what possessed him to hit Malfoy with a silencing spell. It really wasn't turning out to be a good week for him. First he insulted the Headmaster and now he attacked Malfoy, apparently unprovoked. However it was an illusion, Malfoy had been whispering about "wards of the court" again and with each passing moment his language and the described scenes had become fouler.

_Well, at least it was a rather harmless hex,_ thought Harry, _that would take a few stripes of the total. _However that was if Malfoy reported him to the Headmaster and Snape wanted to witness Harry being beaten by the Dark Lord again. Otherwise if Malfoy went to Lestrange…the consequences would be unpleasant. It was not that Lestrange could hurt him very much; the leather straps were never charmed when used on Harry. It was the humiliation that Lestrange liked; a session on The Block with the eyes of the whole school watching was a favourite punishment.

Unfortunately for Harry Malfoy was clever enough to deduce that Lestrange would most likely cause Harry more distress, which was why Harry was currently standing outside the professor's lair waiting for the beast to return. He felt vaguely suicidal as he contemplated the various sarcastic remarks he planned to say to Lestrange.

The sound of footsteps echoed through the corridor above the dull din of the main student body milling through the lower parts of the school during the lunch hour. They were heavy and rather clumsily, not the elegant and graceful foot falls of Lestrange. It was Neville lumbering towards Harry with something akin to a resigned expression on his face.

"Neville," cried Harry with surprise and joy, he had not seen Neville all week as they attended different classes. Neville glanced cautiously over his shoulder as if he was being followed and then cringed.

"Hi Harry, we're not supposed to talk you know," whispered Neville. Seeing the large red hand print and burn marks on Neville's cheek Harry understood his sensitive behaviour. Neville was a prime target for students and professors, unlike Harry who was nearly untouchable within the school apart from a few choice individuals. Unfortunately one of them was Lestrange.

There was no more time to talk as the devil himself purposefully strode towards them with an expression that made the hand print on Neville's cheek lose colour.

"Good afternoon, boys, I hope you enjoyed your dinner," said Lestrange with a wicked smile as he opened the door to his study. _Thank god,_ thought Harry, _at least he hasn't decided to show me up in front of the whole school!_ Neville on the other hand did not look relieved at all. "Come in, boys, the sooner we get this over with the better,"

Feeling as if he was walking to the electric chair, Harry entered first followed slowly by Neville.

"Now, boys, do you know why you're here?" asked Lestrange his lip curling nastily as he perched on the edge of his desk. The office was functional in its entirety; nothing frivolous was ever kept here, not even the long display case with various unorthodox instruments was not for show. The glass case contained a whip, several different coloured leather straps of variable width and a snakehead cane, amongst other things.

"I am here because I hexed Malfoy _when he deserved it!_" hissed Harry with poison in his tone.

"Tut tut, Mr Potter, I believe a more serious punishment is in order," said Lestrange in his silkiest voice, "what? You don't believe that I would hurt you, Mr Potter. Well I do favour humiliation more than outright pain so if you will be so kind as to removed your outer robes, Mr Potter." Neville paled at the words but Harry's face was suddenly flushed with hot blood. Lestrange was going to beat him…naked.

Breathing deeply Harry stood there transfixed with horror; he had only ever removed his garments in front of Voldemort. It sounded rather strange but somehow Harry knew that the Dark Lord would not "do anything" because he simply wasn't that kind of person, but Lestrange…

Suddenly Harry, for the first time in his life, wished for the protection of the Dark Lord. In his panicked mind, Voldemort lost the menacing connotations and began to warp into something human, strong, fatherly.

"Remove your robes, Mr Potter," came the command, "remove them before I start on Longbottom here and I am not pleasant to anyone when disobeyed." Hesitantly Harry pulled off his outer robes and started on his inner tunic with trembling hands.

Suddenly Lestrange laughed with abandon and Neville's face registered outright confusion.

"Gullible boy, Potter. You don't have such an innocent mind now do you? I'm sure the Dark Lord would be most interested to hear how your mind jumps to…conclusions," Lestrange let out another burst of laughter, "I'm not interested, boy! And even if I was, would I really chose _you_?"

The angry flush in Harry's cheeks subsided with relief and returned full force with embarrassment.

"Why do I have to remove my robes than?" hissed Harry

"It hurts more that way, don't you agree, Longbottom?" Neville jumped at being addressed and muttered several incoherent phrases. "You know I don't charm my instruments and thick robes therefore reduce the effectiveness. Hands on the wall, Potter, I don't have all day."

Seething with embarrassment and indignation Harry stood in his under tunic with matching grey socks with his hands against the wall in an altogether familiar position.

"Longbottom, get me a strap from the case," snapped Lestrange. A few seconds later, Harry risked a look over his shoulder. Lestrange was calmly weighing the heavy leather strap in his hand as though he was in no hurry to end the punishment.

"Count, Potter," The first strike always took him by surprise and an inaudible gasp escaped his lips. The strokes came with a fast ferocity landing expertly in the same place each time. There were no pauses for questions like Voldemort, or even for the terror of waiting as Snape did. It was designed to make you scream, cry, beg.

Five minutes later it was all over and Harry was left gasping for breath, vaguely wondering how he had managed to keep count. Tears were falling again and he felt dimly disgusted at his tendency to cry so often.

"Move, Potter, I still have Longbottom to do," drawled Lestrange in a bored voice, "with some luck, you might be able to walk straight…in a few days," His soft snide laughter rang in Harry's ears as he hastily dressed himself. Lestrange had been right, without his thicker robes on the physical damage was much greater, he would be glad if he managed to sit down without crying. With the welts from the beating he had received yesterday still unhealed the pain was worse than expected.

Neville was de-robeing now, pale clammy fingers fumbled at the clasps and buttons. Harry lingered uncertainly whether his presence would give Neville moral support or serve to embarrass the boy further.

"Leave, Potter," snapped Lestrange and pointed to the door with his wand. The strange sensation of being sucked into a whirlpool followed and Harry found himself planted firmly on the other side of the wooden door listening to Neville's muffled whimpers.

Advanced Spell-Work was the first lesson of the afternoon. Like charms the subject encompassed many different types of magic. The sixth year class were currently studying apparition. Unlike before the war, apparition was now taught as school subject under strict controls from the government. Before, apparition had been like muggle driving; private lessons were available to those who paid.

The Advanced Spell-Work class was an elective and not a particularly popular one at that. The entire class encompassed seven people, most of them part of what Harry had eloquently dubbed "Malfoy's Gang".

Pansy Parkinson was currently leaning by the large bay windows over looking the Quidditch Pitch with an air of refined boredom. Despite the many times Hermione had complained about Parkinson's intelligence Harry could now see that there was a definite rivalry between the two. Pansy was both ambitious and intelligent, a sure match for Hermione. However she possessed a ruthless streak, quite unlike any other Slytherin. Her actions were solely decided on the basis of logic with out any emotional or moral interference, quite a contrast to Malfoy's aimless sadism.

She smiled at him as he entered, a cold but not insincere smile. Perhaps she was unaccustomed to overtly displaying emotions. Never the less, she was always polite towards Harry but never in the blatant degrading way that some people tended to "suck up" to him. No doubt Pansy was too proud to do that but a polite acknowledgement from time to time was well worth the effort. After all Harry very close to the Dark Lord.

"Good afternoon, Harry Potter," she said inclining her head in a modest gesture of welcome.

"Hi," said Harry casually. He had always maintained his untailored responses; it prevented him from becoming "one of them".

"I believe we will be testing apparition spells on pumpkins today, it would more of challenge than water."

"Yeah, perhaps,"

"I suppose you do not find this class as hard as some others might, is that why you chose it?" asked Pansy regarding him with a calculating look that Harry was very used to by now.

"No, I chose it because, well, it's a pretty practical topic, you know," said Harry shrugging nonchalantly. The truth was in fact that Voldemort dictated what subjects he could and could not do leaving him, as always, with a small and inconsequential choice. Between Advanced Curses and Advanced Spell-Work Harry had chosen the latter solely based on the name.

Seeing that he was not going to divulge any more information, Pansy turned back to the windows on the right side of the classroom.

"I heard Canus are playing Ursa next week, will you be attending the match?" she asked offhandedly.

Harry's heart shrank, it had been nearly two years since he had played Quidditch or even mounted a broom. Of course Voldemort had encouraged him to be involved in sports activities, "physical activity keep you healthy and stimulates the mind" he had said. However Harry could not bring himself to play for any of the teams, all captained by Slytherins. Every time he saw a captain's armband the grinning form of Oliver Wood appeared in his mind's eye, "You're a great seeker," the apparition would say before disintegrating with painful screams of help just like it's real counterpart had done over a year ago.

"No, I'm spending the weekend at home," said Harry instinctively and mentally berated himself. It had been several months since he first referred _mentally_ to his residence as "home" but somehow saying it out loud felt like a betrayal of everything that was righteous.

If Pansy had caught any of his thoughts she didn't show it.

"They say the match will be a close contest, even if Canus has a higher quality of skill than Ursa. After their main chaser is still suffering from torn ligaments and even the captain has admitted that Nott might not be able to play in the match. I suppose that might even out the playing field a little and Ursa does have a fairly good seeker…" her voice trailed off as some more people entered.

Anthony Goldstein was the only person in the class, apart from Harry would was not a Slytherin. He sat in his usual seat in the front of the class and spread out his books over the double desk. It was not as if anyone would have sat next to him.

Harry sat in last of the three rows at the centre desk. It was a strategy devised to ensure that he would not be surprise attacked during the lesson. However he had soon found out that no one dared to attack him, they had to wait for him to strike first.

The other eight double desks were sparsely occupied in and irregular pattern by the rest of the class. Malfoy sat in the centre front desk with Blaise Zabini while Septimus Algrove and Augustus Belforth occupied a desk each in the second row. Pansy sat on par with Harry but on the other side of classroom and stared intently ahead.

A few seconds later Professor Kaspov arrive, long fur cape swishing impressively behind him but in a restricted way, as they were too heavy to billow like Snape's robes.

"You all have you homework, I believe," said Kaspov in a business like tone. He was one of the few teachers at Hogwarts that spoke normally without coldness, sarcasm or cruelty. With one flick of his wand all seven pieces of parchment appeared on his desk, "You will get those back on Friday." he said shortly.

"Now as I said before I will be testing you all on your apparition spells. If you have learnt your theory well enough, you will have no difficulty with apparating your pumpkins. I will give you all half and hour to practise you spells before the test begins."

Instinctively Harry moved to the clear space at the back of the classroom and carefully selected the smallest looking pumpkin in the pile that had appeared. From Septimus's look of distain, Harry knew that he had taken what Septimus had set his sights one. Harry felt a stab of savage vindictive pleasure and proudly look his price to a secluded corner of the classroom. However Malfoy saw fight to persue him.

"Hey, Potter, did you enjoy your time with Professor Lestrange?" hissed Malfoy under his breath so that no one else could hear. Only Malfoy had the political stability to be able to insult Harry so bluntly.

"Get lost, Malfoy," said Harry in a bored tone and proceeded to place his pumpkin on the floor.

"Bet it hurt, huh, it you cry again like you did last time?" Malfoy drawled as he saw that Kaspov was busy instructing Septimus. Calming himself, Harry ignored Malfoy and turned back to his pumpkin. There was not point in letting Malfoy get him into trouble again.

"Well, Mr Potter, have you attempted to transport your pumpkin?" asked a voice behind him and Harry whirled around to see Kaspov and a smirking Malfoy.

"Um, I was going to, sir, before Malfoy asked me for help," said Harry and pulled an innocent expression over his face.

"Well, I'll be happy to sort out your problem, Mr Malfoy," said Kaspov as he smoothed his long goatee that nearly hung down to his collar.

"Professor, I assure you that I have no problem at all, it was Potter who approached me," hissed Malfoy indignantly while Harry tried his best to look equally outraged.

Sensing that a fight was about to break out between the two most influential pupils in the school, Professor Kaspov reacted very professionally,

"Regardless of what happened please move both of you, as you are disturbing the rest of the class," It was quite true that everyone even Anthony Goldstein, who usually acted as if he was an emotionally detached fish, was looking in their general direction.

Malfoy was the first to move and levitated his pumpkin next to Blaise while throwing Harry a particularly dirty look over his shoulder. Harry picked a spot by Anthony and dumped his pumpkin on the ground. Anthony for his part immediately turned back to his pumpkin and started to work the spell.

Even though Harry was powerful magically, everyone from Hermione to Voldemort had admitted that, he had not studied any theory last night and thus he was unable to perform as well as Anthony who was steadfastly ignoring Harry's presence.

Anthony Goldstein was one of the few boarders Harry met in his classes and he only saw Anthony in Advanced Spell-Work. Therefore their communication had been non-existent for most of the year and Harry was getting the distinct impression that Anthony did not want to be any where near him.

_Does he think I'm a traitor_, thought Harry, _does he blame me for what has happened! I am responsible for the damn defeat but it's not as if I didn't try…_he cut of his thoughts before he could feel the prickling sensations at the back of his eyes. His nightmares were best kept in his private rooms.

Despite spliching his pumpkin twice during the practise session Harry managed to do very well in the test, better than Malfoy, he was happy to acknowledge. Any mess he had made was instantly cleared away as Harry had become adept at fixing things during his time as Voldemort's ward. During the early days he would often have, "fits", for a lack of a better term.

They were very much like the tantrums he had during the last days of his fifth year and needless to say Voldemort's possessions had not fared any better than Dumbledore's. However instead of the killing curse or multiple torture spells, Voldemort simply locked him in the room until all his anger had been spent and did not let him out for many hours afterwards. His stomach always betrayed him within a day or so and he would be begging to be released. However Voldemort always made him fix the damage personally, but never by the muggle methods. Harry was taught to use his wand but even so the rare instruments were very hard to fix and Voldemort would not let him eat until he had done everything to his satisfaction. It was one of the lightest punishments he ever got.

"Class dismissed, and remember read the chapter on human apparition in your textbooks. I will be questioning you all on Friday," said Professor Kaspov as all seven students milled out of the door.

"Nice going Potter," hissed Malfoy maliciously as he pushed past, "bet Kaspov was too afraid to fail you,"

"Well it might have also been something to whit you splattering pumpkin juice over his robes, Malfoy. I heard they need a juicer in the kitchens," said Harry, smirking at Malfoy's flushed face.

"Just wait Potter," seethed Malfoy, "just wait 'til the Dark Lord has his way with your mudblood friends. I'm sure Grange would make a nice slave, I might just buy her." Wisely Malfoy removed himself from the scene before Kaspov appeared behind them to lock the door.

Despite the heat of his anger pounding in his face Harry felt wilted inside, as if he was slowly dying from the inside out.

"Move along, Mr Potter," said Kaspov as he ushered Harry from the corridor towards the din of students chatting.

Harry signed as Snape dusted the soot of his black robes in front of the fire. The Dark Lord stood a few yards away survey them both as he always did when Harry was escorted back to their residence.

"My Lord," said Snape as he bowed deeply, "I have informed Roldolphus of the meeting,"

"Good, Severus, anything else?" Voldemort asked as he beckoned for Harry to stand next to him.

"Well Potter has been fighting in school again with Draco Malfoy and Lestrange saw fit to discipline him,"

Harry said nothing and stared absently into the grate. It was unlikely that the Dark Lord would punish him again after Lestrange's beating.

"I see, well thank you Severus, Harry is certainly not having a good week,"

The Headmaster bowed and marched out of the room presumably to the apparition point. Harry stood wearily looking up at his master waiting for further instructions.

"There will be a meeting of the inner circle on Friday night, I wish for you to attend," said Voldemort levelling an intense gaze at Harry.

"I would be most eager to do so," muttered Harry as he had been taught to do when his master offered anything.

"Good, go to your room and come down to dinner when Woody calls you," commanded Voldemort. Harry nodded and disappeared.

_So, Voldemort has deemed me mature enough to attend a meeting_. The small bubble of pride that welled up inside him was very worrying.

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**AN:** Next chapter we meet…the Death Eaters. Prepare for "Mad axe man Macnair", "Ambitious Lucius" and "Bossy Bella". Please review … I love you all **weeps dramatically **

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**Personal Notes: (for the reviewers)**

Picsou: merci pour la revue, and my inspiration will definitely not break down (is my French okay?)

MizSatie: the plot gets even more twisted from now on. The rating may rise actually but anyway thank you for the encouragement.

Parselmouth Girl: thanks for all the support you have given me for all of my works

Sword Wielder: I feel honoured that you have chosen to review my story and I have updated so you can all off your evil minions.

ShatteredxDream: Your review fells my heart with warmth, thank you (I am over dramatic, I know).

Artemis: I'm glad I intrigued you, I wasn't aiming for anything less. Thank you for your comments.

Spelzee: it is always a wonderfully feeling when your work leaves people speechless (hence the wow…wow). On a more serious note, thank your for your praise I will aim for all the characters to achieve the same depth

Wolfawaken: Nice name, and thank you for the review.

Sarah: Here's the next update I hope it was worth the wait

HarrySlytherinson: Nice name, very creative, and I agree poor Harry although my sadistic streak enabled me to enjoy every moment of writing that scene.

HeadnCloud: I will take your wonderful advice and ensure that all characters are three-dimensional, thx

Giara: An update! I hope you like this chapter as much as the first one

Dragongirl: Thanks for your review, it will be a while before Harry comes of age and a lot of interesting stuff will happen to him, I can guarantee that.


	3. The Death Eaters

**_Disclaimer _**Roses are red, violets are blue, I no own so you no sue…(except for original characters that is)

**AN:** All your favourite Death Eater make an appearance and beware they all have distinct personalities unsuitable for cardboard villains…please review thx… si vous voulez rester vivant

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The entrance hall or foyer of the Dark Lord's Manor was the primary apparition point and it was appropriately decorated with what Harry deemed to be "creep décor". The ceiling was a high, vaulted, cavernous as if the foyer was a place of worship, and decorated with elaborate masonry designs mostly of ivy and snakes. The bare, stone walls were partially covered by two huge tapestries depicting the Dark Mark and several smaller ones with scenes of mythical creatures. 

On two opposite walls of the foyer were stone ledges that jutted out from the wall at the just the right height for an adult to sit on. Although they were not comfortable they were the only seating arrangements in the room, anything else would have looked out of place. The ledges had been worn smooth as if generations of people had take their seats their and it vaguely reminded Harry of the benches in the Wizagemot.

The foyer was always under heated and draughty. Even Britain's sturdiest front doors could not keep out the howling gales that ripped through the Scottish countryside. The wind wailed outside like a forlorn dog, pawing at the doors begging fro entrance. The breezy draughts swept small pieces of dust from the floor to form tiny tornadoes in the form of a flurry of grey specks. The house elves had not been cleaning well this week and Harry had learnt long ago not to ignore small inconsistencies.

Hagrid had once, so long ago now, told him that ants would block their nests up with fine silt before the rain fell and if you looked closely you could see the small mounds of earth appear between the cracks in the pavement. Thus you could predict the future more accurately by understanding the workings of nature than sitting a smoky room gazing into crystal balls.

Harry shivered and wrapped his long woollen cloak tighter around his small lithe body. He picked a place on the left ledge, clambered on, and found that his legs were dangling nearly a foot above the ground. Feeling slightly ridiculous, Harry pulled himself to his full height and waited for the Death Eaters to arrive.

It did not take long for the first crack of apparition to tear through the fabric of the room. Theodore Nott Senior appeared with his wand raised and his dark mark exposed. Harry could see that he was not surprise to see him, as the Death Eaters had stopped covering their facing at meetings long ago. There was no one for potential traitors to turn to. Nott settled for a nod of the head and seated himself on the opposite ledge.

There was strained silence for several minutes as both avoided eyes contact and settled for pensive thought or observing the décor. A series of cracks slashed the tension like whip as several Death Eaters appeared at once.

The first person Harry registered was none other than Macnair, the bloodthirsty mad man who had murdered many of the finest aurors in the Ministry. Of course he had only heard these stories second hand, just like the disgusting tales of Macnair's indecent exploits.

His eyes were not bloodshot, as Harry had imagined them, but perfectly clear black orbs of malice. His prominent chin and strong jaw line dictated a man of might and purpose. His heavy build continued in his torso, even under the thick lining of his fur cape Harry could see the muscles moving and bulging. However the most unnerving part of Macnair was the gigantic axe that he was holding in his left hand like a staff.

The axe blade was directly in proportion with the length of the staff, which Harry judged to be taller than himself. It glinted wickedly in the dim light of the floating candles as if recently sharpened. Coupled with the feral expression that had formed on Macnair's face Harry was beginning to feel the prickling sensation of fear creeping up his spine.

"Hello, Harry," boomed Macnair's voice and despite the loudness of it, the tone reminded Harry of Snape's dangerous whispered threats. Gathering all of his famed Gryffindor bravery Harry jumped off the ledge.

"Good Evening, Macnair. Is than any need to bring a weapon to an advisory meeting? Surely you don't think there will be any threats inside the Dark Lord's castle," snapped Harry but it was more of a suppressed hysterical shout.

Macnair sneered and turned his head down to face Harry and the candlelight illuminated the huge red scar that ran from the left temple to the chin that served to make Macnair seem even more like a deranged serial killer.

"I don't really think that you're in any position to criticize my attire, huh, Harry," said Macnair in silkily polite voice. Harry inwardly winced; his recklessness was always getting him into sickly situations and now there was no one here to protect him.

A large velvety black hand landed on Macnair's shoulder but the broadness of his shoulders prevented Harry from seeing whom the hand belonged to. Then out of the darkness slid an arm, a torso and finally a face, all smooth and black like marble. A shining gold earring dangled from the left ear like a star in the night sky. The head was shaven and shone in the light as if he was truly carved from stone. The man was exquisite, like a statue of black marble sculptured by God's finest angels, a symbol of strength, power and ultimate beauty.

The man moved further in from the shadows and Harry could finally see him clearly. His features were better proportioned than Macnair's but contained the same suggestions of strength. If Macnair's figure was intimidating than this man's stature was imposing, regal and mystifying.

"Good evening, Harry, I am Mulciber" said the man. His voice was like a deep, dark whirlpool, dangerous and enigmatic.

Harry jerked himself out of his reverie to find that both men were looking at him with amusement, although Macnair's amused expression looked far more sadistic. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind Harry saw another dark, tall, man with a booming voice laughing with Tonks over a glass of butterbeer.

"Good evening," muttered Harry still captivated by the man in front of him. Mulciber, he had heard very little about Mulciber. He was quite sure that the man had spent some time in Azkaban before Voldemort's second rise but apart from that Mulciber had never been mentioned.

"How are you doing, Harry?" hissed another voice, this time high pitched and feminine. For one panicked instant Harry felt two cold hands slide over his eyes and the booming laugher echoed across the foyer. "So, Harry, remember me?"

He hated it when they called him Harry as if they were on familiar terms with him, a mock show of twisted affection.

"Get off me, Jugson," said Harry in a controlled voice. He didn't want to struggle; it would only make them more amused.

"Oh he does remember me, how sweet," the hands were removed and moved down to pinch his cheeks until they hurt. "Isn't he such an adorable little boy, so soft and _innocent_," Harry didn't even tense at her tone, he was well used to it by now.

"Really, Andorra, leave the boy be," said Mulciber, in a low stern tone.

"Oh, I just missed the little tyke that's all," Jugson cooed as if Harry was some sort of small furry animal.

"Leave him be, Jugson," repeated Mulciber in much the same tones as before. Macnair also nodded reluctantly as if to give his approval for the action. Jugson snorted and pulled away to stand on the other side of Macnair.

She looked very much the same as Harry remembered from the last time he saw her, short blonde hair sticking up in bizarre angles to her head so she looked rather like the top of a pineapple. She was wearing large hoops on her ears that dangled down to the nape of her neck that was very much exposed. In fact the collar of her robes was much lower than standard. Although she was wearing black robes they were more like women's dress robes, which flowed around and highlighted the curves of her body. From what Harry could see there were also black jewels sewn onto the fabric, which shimmered like sequins.

Jugson was a frequent visitor to the manor and Harry gathered that she must be some sort of secret operative for the Dark Lord. An individual agent that was doing something separate from the Inner Circle. She often met Harry before her appointments with the Dark Lord while waiting in the manor and she always treated him as if he was five years old. However she was his only adult source of information besides Voldemort so Harry often endured her cheek pinching and patronising tones.

Occasionally she would bring him sweets or a small toy, for some reason he could not fathom. More importantly she also divulged some tip bits of information when given the right kind of stimulus. However she had not visited the manor for over two months and Harry believed that she must have been on a very long mission but whatever for he could not deduce.

Jugson raised on eyebrow when she saw that Harry was observing her and he quickly turned away out of embarrassment. However before she could say something exceptionally cutting, that she had no doubt intended, the cracking of apparition resounded through the room.

"It will be the Lestranges," muttered Macnair as he fixed his intent gaze on the three figures that had just appeared in the centre of the room.

For an instant Harry very much considered hiding from Rodolphus Lestrange but one look around the room showed there were no places of sanctuary. The professor smirked when he could sight of Harry's rather flushed face and panicked expression.

"Hello, Potter, have you been behaving yourself?" drawled Lestrange was he elegantly closed the distance between them with long powerful stride. "I would hate to have to _discipline _you again." The taunting laughter of several Death Eaters rang through the room at the remark. However Harry was rather surprised to see that Macnair was not laughing.

_Perhaps he doesn't like the Lestranges. Jugson once said that Macnair disliked the Malfoys so it is entirely possible he doesn't like the Lestranges either. They must be different fractions…like political parties. Perhaps the Lestranges stand for one policy while Macnair stands for another._

"Ah widdle baby, Harry, how sweet he looks with his widdle dwess wrobes," cooed Bella from behind Rodolphus. One thing that had not changed about Bellatrix from the first time Harry had met her in the Ministry of Magic was her ridiculous baby voice. Now she had somehow regained her previously exquisite looks, and her sanity, although that was debatable.

Like her brother in law, Rabastan, and her husband she was wearing conservative style robes, very unlike the ones that Jugson sported. She took the time to spare Jugson a disgusted look while Jugson just twirled her hair with one finger and smirked back.

"Has widdle Harry missed me?" she asked bending down so her face was nearly level with his. Harry refrained from rolling his eyes, _what was with Death Eaters and asking whether he could remember them or not, as if they were my long lost relatives or something._

Like Jugson, Bellatrix and Lucius Malfoy were also frequent visitors to the manor but for a different purpose. Voldemort often called them to his private discussion sessions about political and financial dealings. Harry was sometimes allowed to remain in the room but he never understood what they were talking about as the meetings were conducted in Latin.

Macnair appeared from time to time too but far less frequently than Bellatrix or Lucius. Harry sometimes thought that Macnair might be in charge of the armed forces while Bellatrix and Lucius in charge of Politics and Finance. Therefore private discussions with Macnair were not as frequent as he was not involved in the daily running of the country. Harry never saw Macnair during the visits and only heard about the meetings through house elves and Jugson.

"Ah would widdle Harry like a hug?" asked Bellatrix in not so nice way and her eyes glinted with excitement. Harry did not have the time to take cover before he found himself miraculously settled on Bellatrix's knee. They were both sitting next to Nott who steadfastly ignored them.

"Mind you don't drop him," said Rabastan in his monotone voice. He was a man of action not words.

"Don't worry, he's very comfortable," said Bellatrix as she wrapped her arms around his stomach. Harry was indeed rather comfortable in Bellatrix lap, although he was very ashamed to admit it even to himself. He was small enough to lean back without touching Bella's chin. Harry tried to arouse the sense of extreme anger he had held against Bellatrix since the death of Sirius but he could only find a dull sadness and no anger or thirst for revenge. It had been too long.

"You liking it, Harry?" asked Jugson who was now standing in front of him with an amused smirk.

"No!" snapped Harry and tried his best to move but only ended up squirming like a puppy. Bellatrix simply held on tighter and after a few more seconds Harry gave up while Rodolphus burst out laughing. Rabastan, as usual, did not display any emotion what so ever.

"You really don't have the maternal touch, do you Bella?" said Jugson, "Harry's so uncomfortable he's squirming to get away."

At this insult Bellatrix's eyes narrowed considerably.

"If I were you, Jugson, I would watch my mouth," hissed Bellatrix in such a dangerous tone that Harry felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up involuntarily, "You never know what might happen,"

Jugson was just about to give a cheeky reply when Mulciber laid a hand on her shoulder,

"Let us not bicker over small things," he boomed soothingly and dispersed most of the tension that had built up.

"I still say Harry likes me more," said Jugson and stuck the tip of her tongue out playfully before sauntering away to join Macnair on the other side of the foyer. Harry thought quite frankly that he did prefer Jugson a lot more. Perhaps it was her causal manner or perhaps it was she didn't seem quite as dangerous as Bellatrix Lestrange.

"She's gone now widdle Harry," cooed Bellatrix as she pulled him back against her robes and patted his stomach as if he was a small child.

Rodolphus and Rabastan sat down on either side of Bellatrix and waited patiently for the rest of the Death Eaters to arrive. Thankfully Bellatrix did nothing but hold him in place and hum softly in such a way that reminded Harry of an asylum inmate.

The next person to arrive was Avery, who leered at Harry and promptly sat down near Nott. He pulled out a large newspaper from his robes and proceeded to read it looking very much as if he was waiting on a train platform. Nott started to show some signs of life after Avery's arrival and within a few minutes they could be seen reading the paper together.

It was five more minutes before the next person arrived and Rodolphus had started a conversation with Rabastan about the Quidditch match due to take place at the weekend, while Mulciber and Jugson were talking in low tones over a piece of parchment.

Pettigrew was probably the last person Harry wanted to see. Although he had not killed anyone close to him during the final battle, Harry secretly blamed Pettigrew for the death of Sirius. If Pettigrew was caught than Sirius would have been free and Voldemort would have never risen.

Pettigrew looked healthier than Harry remembered from his repeated visions of the man nursing Voldemort. Harry had not seen Pettigrew in person since that final battle and that was only for a few seconds, so now he took the time to study the man.

Pettigrew had become more muscular but there were still large areas of fat on his body, most noticeably around his waist. He was no longer balding, most likely due to magic but his hair was still the same mousy colour Harry had remembered it to be. In comparison with the others in the room, Pettigrew ranked low on the dangerous scale.

He avoided any eye contact with Harry and moved to the end of the ledge that Avery, Nott and the Lestranges were occupying. He sat down gingerly as if the seat as too cold for him and proceeded to act as if he was the only person in the room.

Looking around, Harry decided that there would not be many more people to come but before he could guess who was coming three loud crack ripped simultaneous through the room and everyone looked up to see the arrival of the last few Death Eaters.

Harry felt his insides chill and berated himself for not realising. In the middle of the room stood, Lucius Malfoy, Antonin Dolohov and…Severus Snape in all their pureblood glory.

Perhaps it was wrong to say that Pettigrew was the last person Harry wanted to meet. He had not seen Lucius Malfoy since the day that Voldemort made him publicly apologize to Draco Malfoy. He was smirking at Harry in the same condescending way as Harry remembered, cruel amusement evident on his face.

"My, my, Mr Potter has certainly digressed in his mental age," drawled Lucius in the characteristic Malfoy manner.

Bellatrix smiled sarcastically at Lucius and proceeded to ruffle Harry's hair to his immense embarrassment.

"I see, Bella is having a fit of maternal instincts," came the sarcastic and cutting voice of Professor Snape who was standing just behind Lucius.

"I see Severus is having a fit of extreme agitation," was the witty comeback from Bellatrix as she hugged Harry rather too possessively. "And how are you Antonin? As well as possible, I hope, as you can be in the company of someone who neglects personal hygiene,"

"Would that be Malfoy or Snape?" asked Jugson who had decided in join in the fun. Mulciber followed closely behind, no doubt to prevent a full blown battle taking place.

"Deciding to throw you two pennies in, Jugson?" drawled Malfoy, looking overly casual.

"Why, aren't you glad, Lucius? Surely this discussion needs boarder minds," said Jugson smirking.

Harry paused from listening to observe the Inner Circle. Here were three distinct groups, he could see now headed by Macnair, Lucius and Bellatrix. All three were decided enemies and their division was so great that they even stood in formation. Each faction had three loyal members while the rest of the Inner Circle such as Pettigrew, Nott and Avery formed a sort of floating sector where the members didn't belong to any of the factions. It all looked like a muggle gang system.

"I see that your mind as become so "broad" that your hair is even desperate to escape it," said Lucius elegantly inclining his hand towards the shocks of hair sticking up into the air.

"A Malfoy unable to recognise fashion? My, my that is terrible," drawled Jugson in her imitation of the Malfoy drawl.

"He, unlike you, my lady, does not follow muggle fashion," said Snape in his characteristically silky.

"My, Severus, you voice is getting to be almost as oily as your hair," said Bellatrix but before Snape could word his retort Rabastan cut in,

"Do not bicker, the Dark Lord will not be pleased," Thankfully Rabastan's advise was taken seriously by all the Death Eaters, probably because he never spoke unless it was absolutely necessary.

"The Dark Lord will be here soon," boomed Mulciber in his calming voice, "We should be in formation,"

The combined forces of Rabastan and Mulciber ensured that silence followed. Bellatrix finally released Harry with a chaste kiss on the cheek that made Jugson snigger and led him into the half formed circle by the hand.

However before the semicircle could be fully formed the familiar loud crack caused most of the Death Eaters to turn around apart from Lucius Malfoy,

"Your late, Travers," he drawled while casually taking out his silver pocket watch.

The new arrival was definitely the most bizarre Death Eater, Harry had ever seen. His lopsided black robes hung off his thin shoulders as if he had been in a fight. His eyes were wild and flitted like restless pale blue insects. The lids were pulled back over the eyeballs so they bulged outwards and much of the sclera was exposed whenever his eyes moved.

His mouth was slack and covered in sparse brown stubble that reminded Harry of how he used to look just before he learned how to shave. The skin was naturally smooth and white but the man had done nothing to protect his complexion. There were dirty smears round his mouth and eyes consistent with a rubbing pattern.

His gait was slouched and undignified. One shoulder was elevated above the other so that the huge robes were sliding off him at a queer angle. His head was slightly tilted forwards and to the left, his arms lax at his side. The man would have been taller than Bellatrix if he had been standing upright but his unseemly posture seemed to shrink his stature. His robes were so black that it was hard to decipher their condition but from what Harry could see they were in no better condition than their owner.

Travers gaped a little at Malfoy and then straightened up with such a fluid motion that Harry for a moment thought he was mocking Malfoy. His posture instantly became regal and proud. His robes shrank magically until they fitted him tightly but left enough spare fabric for small flows. His eyes balls even seemed to sink back into their sockets.

"I'm most sorry, Mr Malfoy, have I offended you?" he slurred through his slack mouth and suddenly Harry had the distinct impression that Travers was drunk.

"Idiot!" hissed Snape and moved aside to provide room for the newcomer in the circle, "The Dark Lord will be here soon and you're invalidated!"

"I reckoned I was poisoned," said Travers and wavered slightly on his feet, "should I tell the Dark Lord?"

But there was no need to ponder as the low tones of Voldemort's chuckle crept through the room like a noxious gas.

"Travers you are getting more paranoid by the second."

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**AN: **So what's going to happen to Travers? What is the Death Eater meeting being held for? And since when does Jugson look like a mad form of Nymphadora Tonks? You may wonder…

Chapter four next Friday…'til then au revoir mes amis!

**Personal Notes:**

Acr: thanks for reviewing, I really appreciate it.

Malfoy: there'll be lots of updates coming up so watch this space.

Giara: Thanks for your continued support. I hope you like this chapter.

Mizsatie: yeah, I heard about the weirdos who stole the new book. Apparently after the book were stolen someone put a huge bet on a certain person, I won't say who, to die in the sixth book. If you want to know go to Anyway thanks for the review.

Kruz: wow, I'm so happy to know that I have been inspirational! Anyway I read your new story and I think its great! I'll be reviewing every chapter.

Sarah: Thank for the review, hoped you like this chapter.

Olivetree1: rach, you are the world's weirdest person…I understand you wish to communicate with me but still there is no need to go around and do what you did. Anyway see ya in school.

Tania G: did you get the email, if so it will probably clarify stuff. Anyway thanks for the review.


	4. Revelations

****

**Disclaimer **Roses are red, violets are blue, I no own so you no sue…(except for original characters that is)

**AN:** Hope you like this chapter... please R+R thx

* * *

Perhaps it was the trick of the light that made the Dark Lord look somewhat amused at the drunken antics of Travers. Certainly Harry had been expecting at least several bouts of immediate and painful torture, after all even Albus Dumbledore would not have tolerated Travers.

"Ah, mi Lord, I saw just saying how I's been poisoned," slurred Travers the tip of his tongue perturbing from the left corner of his mouth. His eyes, although having moved back to a more natural position, remained glazed and unfocused. They constantly shifted from the Dark Lord as if to visually secure an escape route. Harry thought that was probably the wisest thing to do in Travers' situation.

"You were poisoned, Travers?" asked Voldemort with more than a little sarcasm. "I would have expected you to be able to protect yourself from such petty folly."

"Ah, but you see I was talking to this girl at the White Lilies," Travers paused as if realising something important and hastily inserted "my lord." His eyes darted back and forth while he licked his lips slowly, weighing his words.

"And?" prompted the Dark Lord

"Well, she was stunning like but I reckoned she was only after my money…she made me buy her a drink and she must have slipped something in mine while I was looking the other way…I dunno what but it knock me out cold…next thing I know the Mark was burning and I got here, fast as possible, mi lord!"

"I see, so you condition is in fact due to your inappropriate urge to socialise with loose women?" said Voldemort in a very logical tone.

Travers' eyes stopped moving for a moment and then he nodded vigorously causing his mop of brown hair to bounce.

"Well, I suppose we must cure you of this addiction…_Crucio!_" the word was spoken harshly and Travers collapsed, rolling on the floor and scrabbling at the flagstones.

It was over in no more than ten seconds but from his own experience Harry knew that it felt much longer. Having been so absorbed by Travers Harry suddenly realised that Bellatrix was still holding his hand and their palms were quite sweaty but whether it was his sweat or hers was impossible to tell. He briefly wondered if he should pull away but Voldemort had strolled into the front of the semicircle leaving Travers to clamber up on his own and take his place in the circle.

"Today, I have called a meeting to discuss the issues of our prisons." There was a small murmur through the circle. "It has come to my attention from several sources that Azkaban may not be as secure as I hoped." There was a growing sense of unease through the followers but did not apparently spread to Bellatrix as she remained positively relaxed.

"The Demetors grow restless, something is stirring but they cannot establish or pinpoint the cause. Apparently there has been an upsurge of hope from some prisoners. A group of linked prisoners in fact,"

"My Lord, if there is indeed some sort of a plan for an uprising, surely the Demetors will be able to cope. They have dealt with far more difficult situations," said Lucius Malfoy briefly stepping out of the semi-circle in a half bow.

_Does it mean that the resistance is moving again?_ Thought Harry with mounting excitement cruising through his veins, _Perhaps there is a plan to liberate Azkaban. Oh, I wish I knew a bit more but Voldemort wraps my world in layers of cotton wool. It's so fustrating that I can't do anything for the resistance. I have the best access that any could wish for and yet somehow it feels as if I would be betraying Voldemort in some way if I did spy on his plans. _Thoroughly confused, Harry decided to gather as much information as possible while it was still available.

Voldemort had carried on talking…

"The Demetors reported that the high security prisoners have been more than active as of late. Because the Demetors cannot see they cannot relate the activities of the prisoners."

"My Lord," said Rabastan unexpectedly but most of the inner circle restrained themselves from looking at him, "With all things taken into account it is hard to say whether this excitement is not just the product of many insane minds. It is quite likely that in their damaged minds they have been dreaming of escape and rescue prompting a release of excitement."

Voldemort nodded thoughtfully,

"To the point as always, Rabastan but Sirius Black managed to stay sane in Azkaban out of pure hatred, surely the others may have been able to do so too."

"My Lord, it is a possibility that some may still be solely focused on their hatred but most are probably too weak to cast magic," said Rabastan.

Voldemort nodded, taking Rabastan's view into consideration.

"However, I am more concerned about the influence from the _outside_, which is affecting the prisoners." The distinct sense of unease hovered over the circle like a transparent vapour. "I am concerned about possible _rebel_ insurgents and their attempts that infiltrating Azkaban," hissed Voldemort.

To the other side of the semi-circle, Harry thought he saw Macnair twitch.

"My lord, I do not believe that anyone, let alone rebel insurgent could possibly communicate with prisoners inside Azkaban," said Macnair somewhat hastily.

"Are so sure, Macnair?" asked the Dark Lord venomously.

"Yes…my lord. I can guarantee that Azkaban is safe and secure," said Macnair and Harry realised why he had been so eager to assure the Dark Lord. Macnair was the man that Voldemort had appointed to oversee the security of the country.

"Really, Macnair, would you like to swear upon your life that the prison will hold against rebel insurgents?"

There was a slight pause, but it was ever so slight.

"Yes, of course my lord," said Macnair and his voice did not waver.

"Very well, Macnair, I am pleased to know that the issue has been resolved," hissed Voldemort. "Meanwhile I want every Death Eater on full alert, the rebels have been laying low for too long, something is definitely going to happen and I want us to be well prepared."

"Master, I beg to know of the roots of your anxiety," said Lucius Malfoy stepping out of the semi-circle in a half bow. Only Malfoy, realised Harry, was secure enough to question the Dark Lord's suspicion. Although Bellatrix was probably just as favoured she kept her indecisions to herself.

"You feel that I am being paranoid, Lucius?" asked Voldemort but did not sound surprised.

"No, of course not my lord,"

"The Demetors have been sensing a particularly type of excitement from the most dangerous criminals with known ties to the outside world," the circle shifted knowingly, "although the Demetors could not hear exactly what is being said, they have been able to distinguish a certain string of sounds that is associated with the particular emotion. Might this perhaps be some sort of message that has been passed in from the _outside_?"

"My lord, we will do everything in our power to ensure that the fortress is secured and any _leaks _from the outside are eliminated," said Lucius

"I expect as such, but the search for the remaining rebel bases should be stepped up as well. You would think it was easy to eradicate such a small and insignificant band of unclothed heathens…" the tone was filled with suppressed anger and the ruby red eyes of the Dark Lord swept through the semi-circle as if trying to find someone to condemn.

"My Lord, I assure you that any remaining rebels will be rounded by the end of the year. They are becoming more desperate as we speak," said Dolohov who had also stepped forwards to speak.

"Enough said," hissed Voldemort dismissively, "we have more to do than simply confer. Although the toils are over there is yet more to do…this meeting is dismissed. Lucius, Bella, I want a word."

With that the meeting came to an abrupt halt and the Dark Lord disappeared. A sigh of relief rippled through the semi-circle as the formation broke and postures relaxed.

Harry looked around rather bewildered. _What am I supposed to do now? Should I go back to my room? Or am I going to the secret meeting?_

"Come Harry, the Dark Lord wished for us to meet him in the drawing room," cooed Bellatrix who, Harry realised, still had hold of his hand. He was calmly led away from the throng of noisy chatter that proceeded the Dark Lord's departure. The Death Eaters sounded very much like school boys released from their lessons.

However before Harry could fully register what was happening he saw Bellatrix touch the large tapestry depicting a fearsome fight between two dragons and felt the all too familiar tug at his navel. He was spinning head first in mid air and suddenly his feet smacked onto the hard stone floor of one of the mansion's numerous corridors.

"Come in Bella, Harry," hissed the cold voice of the Dark Lord from the doorway of his study. Harry had never entered the study from this door before; in fact he was pretty sure this particular door had not existed before.

A fire was burning in the hearth and the light illuminated the profile of the Dark Lord's leather armchair. Two other armchairs of the same size were placed on either side of it but Harry's footstool was not where in sight.

As if sensing his thoughts, Voldemort indicated the to rug in front of the fire.

"There is something to entertain you," he muttered. His small box of building blocks had been arranged in front of the fireplace and Harry blushed at the sight of them. Although he frequently played with toys at home, he felt highly embarrassed that Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange were here to witness it.

However Bellatrix took no notice and sat down in the armchair to the left of the Dark Lord. The right one, Harry suddenly realised, was already occupied by the lanky figure of Lucius Malfoy.

Harry gingerly lowered himself onto the rug but made no move to touch his building blocks. Instead he stared intently into the fire hoping that he looked as mature as possible sitting on the furry rug like a pet.

The meeting commence in Latin as usual. From his personal experience of the many private meetings he had attended, Harry knew that if he tried to listen too intently he would only serve to amuse the Death Eaters. So instead he sat still and let the conversational sound of the foreign syllables wash over him.

He felt drowsy…

The fire was hot against his skin…

The rug was soft like his bed…

Ron would laugh if he fell asleep in front of the fire…

_Hermione wants him to finish Snape's essay…_

_Snape was traitor and a thief…_

_Sirius, Remus, Mrs Weasely, Dumbledore…anyone…_

_He was laughing again in a way that was nearly foreign to him, the happiness wrapped him completely in its jovial splendour. Sirius was howling too, hunched over the table next to Dung. Mrs Weasely was looking disapprovingly in his general direction and Harry sobered, just a little. The twins were jugging butterbeers over his head now, perhaps that was why Mrs Weasely was so angry…but Hermione was not there, she was writing a letter _

To whom? Was it Krum…Ron would be jealous and the twins would laugh. Then Ron's face would become scarlet once more and his ears would match his hair. Neville was talking to Remus about cats as Crookshanks leapt from one chair to another. Tonks was eating her hair…which was made of strawberries. Ginny was kissing Michael Corner…in a corner.

Professor Snape was trying to teach him to sing but the Dark Lord disapproved. Voldemort was holding him, soothing him…he was crying now, crying for Dumbledore. Dumbledore had flown away like a bumblebee…he was alone now… in cold comfort.

The scent of heavy velvet…

The comforting touch of fingers in his hair…

The low chuckles of the Dark Lord penetrated his sleep-fogged brain and Harry jerked up right. He felt a wet sensation on his cheeks and hastily bought his hands to his face. There were tears trailing down his cheeks.

One arm held his curled body firmly in place while the other combed through his hair lazily. He could smell the scent of whiskey floating through the room. The hard jewelled buttons pressed into his face and neck and he shifted away.

"You had a bad dream Harry," hissed Voldemort looking down at his young charge. Harry pressed his face into the comforting softness of the Dark Lord's robes and drew in a shuddery breath. He realised that they were alone in the room now. How long had he slept for, he could not tell. The room was dark as ever and the fire still burned in the grate.

"You have been asleep for a while, Harry. Tell me what did you dream of?" asked Voldemort as he cradled the boy.

"Nothing," muttered Harry and rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

"Nothing, I'm sure you dreamt of something…was it your friends, Harry…do you miss them?" Harry felt the Dark Lord's face inches from his hair. He could feel the breaths disturbing his sleep tussled locks.

"A little," Harry admitted and sank back into the warm embrace. He was comfortable here, he realised, lying in the arms of his greatest enemy, being coddled like a child. He didn't have to fight anymore; he didn't have to be a hero.

"Life has been hard one you, hasn't it, Harry. Do you like it here with me? If not I can always let you go…" the ominous words echoed in Harry's head and his eyes snapped open. "Yes, Harry, I don't want to keep you here if you don't want to…tell me, do you want to stay here or do you think you can try your own hand at life?"

Harry blinked in confusion. Did he want to stay here, if he was to leave he could do so much for the rebellion. However the outside world was filled with dangers, how was he to survive? But he wanted to go, he would go…he would if he could go and jin the rebellion.

The Dark Lord hovered over him like a shadow sensing his thoughts.

"You can go Harry," Harry felt stunned, was this a test, perhaps, of his obedience. "Do you know in the Middle Ages Serfs could be granted their freedom if they survived in a town for a year? Well, Harry if you could even survive on your own for a week…I would give you your freedom."

The words hit him hard in the chest like a rock. He felt jubilant and yet so frightened and the fear was not of the Dark Lord's tricks. He was _afraid to leave the Dark Lord's side_.

It was then in his life that he came to the realisation of how much he was controlled by his lord and master.

* * *

**AN:** Thanks for reading once again and please review so I can improve...

**Personal Notes:**

Morning star: wow! Thanks! I promise that its just a nightmare will definetly be updated next week so just check the lists around thursday.

fudgebaby: thanks for reviewing and nice name!

Kruz: I love your story particularly the scene where the snake eats the quills...it was so wierd but totally funny! thanks for reviewing once again.

Lucifer's Following: Thanks for reviewing and I hope this chapter was worth the wait.

acr: Here is the illusive update..hope it puts a smile on your face

Sarah: Thanks again for reviewing

ShatteredxDreams: I was reading your story before I sooo sorry that I never got round to updateing up I will and here is the update hope it was worth waiting for.


	5. The Eccentric Goat

**AN:** For those of you who are wondering why the hell I haven't updated for so long I can only say that because of some strange fluke in the system my account has been frozen for the past two weeks. All updates have been posted on my website. However for future reference if ever you find that I am taking more than two week to update please go to my website because the chances are that my account has been frozen.

Anyway enjoy,

* * *

"You can go Harry,"

He was _afraid to leave the Dark Lord's side_.

It was then in his life that he came to the realization of how much he was controlled by his lord and master.

* * *

"I have decided to allow you some more freedom, Harry," said the Dark Lord. It was Sunday and they were having a causal stroll through the rose gardens. The creepy events of the past few days were forgotten. The Dark Lord gave no indication at all that the strange conversation had ever happened and Harry was beginning to doubt his own memory. After all he could have still been dreaming at the time.

He had more pressing issues to concern himself with, such as the smarting realization that both Bellatrix and Lucius had seen him sleeping like a baby in front of the fire. _Well at least I won't have to see them again for some time. Maybe they would have forgotten it by then_, thought Harry.

"I believe that you should see more of the outside world. After all I do not think you have spent much time out of the estate for the last year. Nagini has convinced me that you should at least visit Diagon Alley,"

"Who will be accompanying me?" asked Harry

"Nagini and some of your school friends. You are not a prisoner, I see no reason to guard you,"

Harry nodded, although this was wonderful news he was listening out for the catch. It was highly unlikely the Dark Lord would let him wonder around the grounds of the mansion without some sort of supervision. He would probably be trailed by a whole platoon of shadows from the Dark Lord's Espionage department for the duration of his trip. The thought did not disturb them, he felt more secure with some sort of guard.

"Do I get to choose my friends?" asked Harry hopefully.

The Dark Lord chuckled,

"Your choice in friends has much to be desired. Pansy Parkinson, Draco Malfoy, Theodore Nott and Orphea Doleari will be accompanying you on your shopping excursion."

"Who's Orphea Doleari?" blurted Harry before he could think. He was fairly sure there were no girls in school with that name.

"Orphea Doleari has not started Hogwarts yet," explained Voldemort, "I believe that surrounded by older people must be very tedious for you. Contrary to your belief my sole purpose in life is not to make you miserable."

Harry could have snorted but decided it would be unwise, after all he didn't want his little excursion cancelled. Orphea Doleari was girl and very young girl at that, what was he supposed to have in common with ten-year-old girls? He may look like a ten year old but he was certainly much more mature.

"I don't know if we'd get along," said Harry cautiously.

"I assure you, Orphea is a well bred girl with many attributes, there is much you can learn from her," lectured Voldemort as they strolled through the orangery and the scent of ripening citrus fruits wafted through the air.

"So when will I be going," asked Harry trying to change the subject.

"Next Saturday,"

The rustling of the orange trees mingled with the call of the pet peacocks.

Saturday could not have come too soon but Harry's excitement was somewhat dispelled by the thought of spending his first taste of freedom in the company of Draco Malfoy and Theodore Nott. It had been a long time since he had held a conversation with Nott. They were in different years and perused different interests hence social interaction was non-existent.

Theodore arrived in the mansion at half past four in the afternoon, twenty minutes earlier than expected. Perhaps his father had instilled in him the importance of being punctual. From his vantage point on the balcony Harry could see that Theodore was wearing plain blue robes with minimal decoration and a tall pointed hat.

Surprisingly Theodore must have sensed Harry's presence for he turned around immediately and greeted Harry with a formal wave. Seeing as he had been discovered Harry decided to meet Theodore in person.

"Good Afternoon, Harry Potter," said Theodore in a voice completely devoided of emotional expression.

"Afternoon Nott" said Harry jovially. Nagini slithering down the steps after him and Theodore stiffened.

"I didn't know you were bringing a snake," he muttered eyeing the twelve foot long serpent.

"Oh, Voldemort order me too, but you know I like Nagini," said Harry feeling a particularly gleeful feeling of sadism wash over him. The look on Theodore's face was absolutely delightful. Perhaps he could even scare Malfoy into looking nauseous as well.

Unfortunately before Harry had any chance to practice his intimidation tactics, Pansy arrived looking bored. She eyed Theodore with annoyance and chose to lean causally against the fireplace next to Harry.

Malfoy was the next to arrive dusting off his robes and glowered at Harry as if it was his fault that Malfoy's robes were covered in soot.

"Shall we get going?" asked Harry

"No, Potter because unless you haven't noticed Orphea is not here yet," hissed Malfoy venomously.

Harry glared at him with annoyance, the soon they left the more time he could spend in Diagon Alley, after all he had to be back by five o'clock.

They waited and tense silence filled the room. Pansy obviously was not in particularly talkative mood and Malfoy was too sullen to strike up a conversation with Theodore. Perhaps he felt accompanying Harry Potter on a shopping trip was "Servant's stuff". The minutes ticked by on the face of the grandfather clock and Harry waited impatiently for Orphea's arrival.

"Let's just go now," said Pansy, "if she turns up later your house elf can send her along," Malfoy sniggered, for what reason Harry could not understand, but he was relieved that someone other than him wanted to leave immediately.

"The Dark Lord said that the mantle piece has been turned into a port key," said Harry and in unison all four teenagers gripped the cold marble before feeling the abrupt tug.

Diagon Alley had not change one bit from the last time Harry had seen it. Even the shops were identical. The high street bustled with people going about their daily business and for once Harry was content to stand and watch the world flow by. It had been so long since he had been surround with such activity.

"Come on, Potter," hissed Malfoy but abruptly went quite when to he saw the Nagini had curled herself around Harry's neck like a grotesque scarf.

"Slow down, Malfoy," drawled Harry, "I suppose we'd better go to Gringotts first," he added to Pansy.

"But you don't have a bank account," said Theodore more out of surprise than malice.

"Who says I can't use someone else's?" asked Harry as they approached the entrance to the one and only wizard bank. The entrance remained exactly the same as he once remembered it on his first day in the wizarding world, down to the pattern of scratches on the white marble finish.

The troop entered in silence and Harry saw for the first time in the last two years the interior of Gringotts. The Dark Mark assaulted his vision from every wall, door and mantle piece. The grotesque logo had been craved into walls, nailed onto doors and hung from the ceiling in giant tapestries. There was no contest as to who controlled the world from here.

The interior had been redecorated with jade and white marble. Where gold leafed ornamental decorations of flora once descended from the ceiling, slithering silver snakes now occupied the places of honour.

How the front desk was still there and behind it sat a suitably stern and wise looking goblin wearing a pair of half moon glasses. A thick ledger was open in front of him while he eyed the teenagers with interest.

"May I help you, sir?" he inquired clearly addressing Harry who was leading the group.

"I have come to collect some money from my bank account. The number is 991," stated Harry confidently. Behind him he heard the insistent mutterings of Malfoy and Theodore.

"Very well, sir. If you would like to pass through this door way we will verify your identity." The door way seemed to work like a muggle metal detector and as Harry walked across it a blue glow enveloped him before dispersing like vapour.

"How much would you like to withdraw, Mr Potter?" asked another goblin clerk from the other side of the doorway.

"Am I not allowed to go down there myself?" asked Harry looking rather puzzled.

"No, Potter, you dunce, no one is allowed down into the vaults anymore. I guess you just don't get any news these days," drawled Malfoy in his arrogant tone.

"He has access to more than you will ever get Malfoy," stated Pansy coolly but Malfoy only glared back.

"Mr Potter, how much would you like to withdraw from your vault?" repeated the goblin with a hint of impatience in his voice.

"Um…fifty galleons, please," said Harry hastily and the goblin disappeared before his eyes to be replaced instantly with a wooden set of magical scales and a bag of gold. Harry blinked in surprise at this new development and bent down to read the scale.

"Hurry up, Potter," muttered Theodore, "I'm sure they haven't cheated you out of any gold."

Harry straighten indignantly and marched purposefully out of Gringotts with his heavy bag of gold. Unfortunately in the hot and sunny street the weight of the gold was only a hindrance.

Many witches and wizards hurried about their daily affairs in the busy shopping parade. New shops selling everything from pets to peanuts had sprung up in time that he had been absent. It looked as if after Voldemort's take over most of the old shops had been closed down and replace with more sympathetic owners.

"Let's visit the pet shop," said Harry pointing to a new store called "Pet Antics" directly across the road from where they were standing. Several over excited children were running out of the shop holding a wicker basket containing something that was protesting loudly against its treatment with loud shrieks.

"Why would you want to visit a pet shop?" demanded Theodore coldly. "They contain nothing but parasites and diseases."

"If you are afraid of a few cat hairs than I suppose you'd better stay outside," snapped Harry and proceeded to cross the road.

The shop was small and but well kept, unlike its predecessor. Birds and reptiles seemed to dominate the shop. Large bamboo aviaries filled with brightly coloured and squawking tropical birds were placed on either side of the entrance. An entire wall was dedicated to hooting owls from huge eagle owls to ting scoops owls that looked like miniature versions of Ron's Pig.

The opposite wall was covered in glass tanks of every shape and size but all made so that they tessellated to form a solid mass of glass fronts. Medium and small snakes of varying colours slithering and hissed in their tanks. Only one or two tanks contained anything particularly eye catching where colour displays were concerned. Small iguanas scuttle to hide behind the rock features in their tanks where they felt the rising hiss of excitement coming from the snakes below as Harry approached them.

"Master has come to rescue us," hissed a small green specimen that looked as interesting as a grass snake.

"Save us from these prisons, master," implored another slightly bigger version of the species in the neighbouring tank.

Soon their was a cacophony of desperate hisses ringing from the tank and the birds in the aviaries started to shriek in alarm.

"Funny, they've never done that before.," said a voice directly behind and Harry whipped around in surprise. An obese lady, even fatter than the Fat Lady, rubbed her double chin thoughtfully. Her long brown hair framed her sweaty face very much like Professor Snape's.

"Oh I'm sorry," said Harry apologetically. He suddenly felt the urge to make a quick get away before she could get around to asking any questions.

"Nah, 's ok. Something must have excited them. I'm not good with snakes, iguanas I can handle but I'm about as blind as bat when it comes to snakes," the shopkeeper replied amiably.

"Do you think they'll be alright?" asked Harry trying to feign concern.

"Oh yeah, this lot will have cleared out by the end of the month," she said dismissively. "Snake are dead popular theses days, but mind you they don't make the perfect pets."

"Oh, yeah, they are hard to keep," said Harry willing to agree with her.

"Ah, well, trends don't have logic but anyway a living 's a living," she said absently and retreated to the back of the shop once more.

Suddenly it seemed awfully quite in the shop despite the cacophony of animal noises. The shop was empty apart from the shopkeeper and Harry; the other three where nowhere in sight.

A sense of panic was building as Harry rushed out of the shop in frantic search of his companions but the streets were devoided of any teenagers. He retreated back to the shop and couldn't help but feel the shameless sense of excitement and freedom that was cruising through his veins and masking his panic.

"Have you seen three teenagers, who came in with me?" asked Harry hesitantly. The shopkeeper and turned around and looked surprised.

"Other kids, oh I didn't see any other kids apart from the mad bunch who ran out before you came in," said the woman looking puzzled once more. "I would have said you came in on your own but there was this boy, blond, tall, green robes, he was peering in at the window when you first came in. You know him?"

"Yes, I do, did you see where he went?" asked Harry, despite the daring part of him that wanted to remain alone and unguarded.

The shopkeeper rubbed her chin again and screwed up her face in concentration.

"He might have gone down the road, to your left. I think he went into that snack shop…you know Barney O'Clobber's place."

Harry stared blankly at her. _Barmey Old Clobber?_

"Next to The Eccentric Goat, you must know it," she said looking desperate.

"What's the shop called?" asked Harry.

"Oh…it's just changed its name actually, it's called…oh…Totally Nuts about Candy now,"

Harry blinked in confusion.

"It's American, you know, they got all sorts over there," she said in the way of an explanation.

Harry shook his head to clear the mess. The shop names were very strange and confusing, who'd call their shop The Eccentric Goat?

"Um…thank you anyway," said Harry purposefully and left the shop before she could tell him any more about Barney O'Clobber or his Totally Nuts about Candy.

The shop turned out rather hard to find. It was located in a back alley but a clean and well presented one. The Eccentric Goat turned out to be a pub which was closed so Malfoy could not possibly be in there. In fact Harry had started to doubt whether Malfoy would be here at all. The alley was eerily quite compared to the main street and Harry couldn't help feeling somewhat nervous.

_There are many who wish to hurt you, Harry. You safety is my most important concern_. The voice rang in his head as he proceeded to the street shop around the corner. However this time his Gryffindor Courage gave him the strength to continue onwards.

"Totally Nuts about Candy" was painted over the shop front in large pink and orange letters. Behind the paint was a lavish display of equally brightly coloured sweets ranging from Squeeky Sugar Mice to Exploding Eatons, whatever they were. Perhaps Theodore and Malfoy might be in there but Harry had a hard time believing that Pansy would let them leave him like that.

The interior of the shop was well lit with natural sunlight, which illuminated the fruit pictures on the wall, which apparently tasted like their real counterparts when licked. The top shelves were in easy reach of children and the rest of the wall space was dedicated to pictures of cute furry lions cubs and small brightly coloured birds.

The counter was empty and so was the shop to the dismay of Harry. He was beginning to feel that the idea of being trailed by a platoon of his master's shadow guards was not such a bad idea.

Multicoloured frog shaped sweets hopped about in a large aquarium that was apparently made from edible transparent sugar plates. Jelly Fish sweets swam around in a jar fill with golden syrup. There were many different flavours of Jelly Fish including jellyfish flavour and more alarmingly fish intestine flavour. However there was a large chart next to their jar showing the colour coding for the flavours. Apparently only the green and yellow striped Jelly Fish actually tasted like fish intestines.

A sudden movement near the door caught his eye and Harry spun around fully expecting to see a masked assassin stalking towards him. Instead an old man appeared with a large brass trumpet protruding from his left ear stepped inside and the faint yet familiar smell clung to his being like an aura. His appearance too was vaguely familiar, a strange shape imprinted in his mind.

The man growled in annoyance and muttered something to himself,

"Darn, shop, hadda close the pub to look after this place." He grumbled and then suddenly looked up at Harry, "Ah…Harry, I thought you'd never turn up."

Harry's heart jolted with panic, _had this all been some sort of an elaborate plan? Who was behind all this? _Fear shot through his body making his blood race to his heart.

"What are you talking about? Did you plan this? Where's Pansy and Malfoy, what did you do with them!" He screamed the old man merely smiled. A smile that looked very sinister from Harry's perspective.

"Albus wants to speak with you, Harry," he said before Harry saw the image of the shop shatter into a thousand pieces, as his mind was wretched away into oblivion.

* * *

AN: Cliffhanger, anyway interesting chapter coming up with some ideas on back from the dead in, please review thanks. 


	6. Faces from the Past

AN: Sorry for the delay…book six was too much fun to stop reading. This story has always been AU and will now be even more AU than before. However I will be incorporating some of the features of Book 6 into this story.

* * *

Harry almost screamed with surprise. His mind tumbled through a spiritual. It seemed to carry on forever, the dark emptiness stretched beyond mortal comprehension.

Suddenly colours swirled once more but they were blurred and muffled as if Harry was looking at life through a foe glass. Light shapes moved around in his peripheral vision but he could not make out any details. His heart beat wildly and his muscles clenched up with terror.

The world was becoming gradually clearer but the backdrop was a pale luminous white without dimension. Voices became more distinct as Harry felt his mind being pulled further into the strange realm. There were more figures stirring in the background but Harry was unable to see more than the flicker of movement before they were gone.

However there was one figure that was not fading away but approaching rapidly. At least it seemed to be approaching, on closer inspection the figure simply seemed to be growing larger, expanding in proportion to the time passing.

"…Harry," the familiar gentle tone nearly bought Harry to tears as the face of his former headmaster appeared before his eyes. He gasped with an unexplainable sense of fright.

"Your dead!" he choked out before he could stop himself.

"Perhaps in body but not in spirit. Death is the next big adventure Harry, but enough of that. We do not have much time so I will not try to explain the circumstances of this meeting. However you must know this is the one and only time we will ever be able to talk like this so please Harry listen." Dumbledore's voice echoed through Harry's mind with a hollow quality but the tone was urgent.

"I'm listening, Professor," whisper Harry trying to dispel the sense of fear that was clutching at his throat. Somehow the idea of meeting Dumbledore again was far less appealing than he thought it would be.

"Harry, The Resistance is mounting and they have a way to vanquish Voldemort. You must not under any circumstances allow this to happen. The Essence of magic is a balance between the Light and the Dark. Without the Dark there will be no Light. While Voldemort is so advanced in his magic that he has managed to harness and control the Dark better than anyone before him. Destroy Voldemort and a power vacuum will be created with in the Essence…" Dumbledore's voice began to fade into the white backdrop and he grew steadily smaller,

"The Dark will be unleashed once again outside of mortal control. The Essence must not be ripped or broken; Voldemort must be vanquished in this way…our balance must be persevered…be safe Harry…" the image faded away into the whiteness all around him and Harry unconsciously stretched out a hand towards the retreating figure.

"Professor Dumbledore!" he cried in despair but his mind was already being wretched away. His vision splintered and his mind rushed through the same desolate wasteland before he lost all consciousness.

* * *

His first real feelings were ones of discomfort. He seemed to be lying face down on rough cold stone. _What happened?_ Harry thought desperately. Slowly he pushed himself off from the floor and slowly, painstakingly got to his feet with the support of the rough stone wall next to him.

Shakily Harry took a few steps forward. He seemed to be outside some sort of building. A building that looked vaguely familiar…a building called "The Eccentric Goat".

_Wait, I'm back where I started but where's the sweet shop. It must be here!_ However as Harry looked wildly around there was nothing but a bare patch of pavement where the sweet shop once stood, with no signs that any building had ever existed at all.

Tears pricked the back of his eyes as he limped down the alley. _What had just happened? What was he supposed to do now? Was it just a dream…would Voldemort find out? _Shaking from head to toe Harry dragged himself as quickly away from the Eccentric Goat as possible.

Diagon Alley was still bathed in the glorious golden rays of the midday sun. People bustled past each other, taking no notice of the lost looking boy standing listlessly in the middle of the road before he collapsed.

He was woken again by forceful shaking and his focus adjusted on the slightly flustered face of Pansy Parkinson who was currently shaking him like a rag doll.

"He's coming around," she said, "notify the master." A strange shadow seemed to pass over Harry's face but was gone in an instant and he was suddenly aware of the crowd that had gathered around them.

"What happened, Potter," asked Theodore, a slight tremor in his voice.

"Perhaps he got sun stroke," muttered Malfoy. Harry was almost relieved to note that Malfoy was not making fun of his situation.

"I'm fine, honestly," said Harry as he tried to push himself up but Pansy stopped him.

"The master commands that you are returned straight away," she said stoically and Harry blinked in surprise. _How did she just contact Voldemort so soon?_ Sudden realisation dawned on him. His master's shadow guard really had been tailing him all along. _Does that mean they saw me going into the shop and they didn't stop me?_ A strange and absurd idea entered Harry's head, _was Voldemort behind all of this, if so than it would explain the strange smoothness and lack of intervention. However why would his master wish to do this? Perhaps to secure Harry's loyalty through Dumbledore's memory. _

Harry was thoroughly confused but before he could say anything Harry felt a smooth round object being pressed into his hand and the familiar tug of the portkey sending him home.

* * *

Harry turn restlessly on the plush burgundy couch he was laying and signed. It had been over four hours since anyone had come inside to inform him of the current. Despite the atmosphere of panic and confusion that gripped the entire mansion, Harry was too far removed from the epicentre to feel its effects. Instead he was locked away in one of the smaller drawing rooms, which was guarded by two of his master's best shadow minions, Krishna and Vishnu.

Harry rubbed his nose absently and quailed the strange feeling of excitement and terror. The official news was the Orphea Doleari had been reported missing since nine o'clock that morning just after she left her residence to travel to Diagon Alley. However Harry knew more facts than one could obtain from official channels.

Orphea Doleari's absence was definitely related to rebel movement, even Macnair had admitted that during the rushed Death Eater meeting that Harry had managed to eavesdrop on. However no one dared to admit that it was in fact a kidnapping by rebel insurgents and the girl was either dead, or being held as a hostage.

Harry's fainting fit however was not investigated, perhaps as a result of ensuing panic bought on by Orphea's disappearance. Although the Dolearis were not politically active they had a family fortune to rival the Malfoys and immersed themselves solely in financial dealings.

It was most likely that Voldemort had dismissed the episode as a regression of Harry's health. During the first few months after his scar had been removed Harry suffered the side effects of the de-aging potion. Nausea was almost continuous and fainting fits happen at least three times a day. However since the warmer weather had moved in that year, the illness slowly subsided and Harry's medication was put on hold, which he was very glad of as he had to ingest several different but equally disgusting potions a day.

_Should I be glad that the rebel movement has picked up momentum?_ Thought Harry, _but of my vision, could it possibly mean anything. It is said that epileptic fits often induce strange images that ancient peoples took as prophesies. Perhaps I really did have some sort of fit and it was all just total nonsense. _

Now, as he looked back on the episode, the vision had faded in his mind and the confusion and fear had almost gone. His more logical Slytherin side took over and he had since reached several conclusions, all as the result of doing nothing but think over the last four hours.

It most plausible reason really would be a fit induced hallucination but the possibility of it being an elaborately planned coup on Voldemort's part could not be ruled out. However as he stared at the ornate ceiling Harry knew deep down that he was simply lying to himself. It had been Dumbledore he had spoken to. He recognized the magical essence of the Headmaster and there was no use denying the truth. Somehow the sweet shop had been made into a sort of portal to the other realm. Like the veil Harry was able to interact with the dead, to hear them talk once again.

The old man he met at the sweet shop must have engineered this but he was simply a side player in the over all game. It had been Dumbledore's will that pulled Harry into the other realm. It had been Dumbledore's conviction that had shaken Harry to the core.

_"Voldemort must be vanquished in this way…our balance must be persevered"_ the words echoed in his mind like a faulty tape recording. _What was he supposed to do now? Somehow contact the resistance and warn them of the impending danger? It was not possible, not after the tightened security. Besides, _thought Harry with resignation, _it will not be up to me to do anything because Voldemort will get all the information he wants from my mind again. _

He dreaded being penetrated by the Dark Lord's mind and he knew that his master would want to investigate his strange behaviour even if he had a plausible explanation for it. Harry felt the familiar feeling of trepidation creeping up his insides. _What would Voldemort do when he found this out, presuming that he was not the one who had orchestrated it? Would he hunt down the old man and kill him? Would he imprison Harry like he was now? Would he be delighted? _

Whatever the Dark Lord saw fit to do with Harry's vision was entirely his own business. Harry was too tired to try and fight the inevitable; his resolve had long since dissipated under the subtle manipulations of his master. However a tiny part of his spirit still remained, crying out for him to do something to hinder the Dark Lord.

Resigning himself to his fate, Harry closed his tried eyes and drifted off into a deep sleep.

He was woken by the sensual feeling of soft fingers brushing the hair from his face and he whimpered in protest. The insistent fingers continued to disturb his sleep until he lazily opened once eye to see his master smiling down at him.

"Harry, are you rested?" he asked in low soft tones. However Harry could see the creases on Voldemort's brow, which betrayed his stress and anxiety.

"Yes, what time is it?" asked Harry sleepily and waited for his eyes to adjust to the soft candle light in the room.

"Nine o'clock at night, my little one, you have slept for a long time," said Voldemort and continued to pay more attention to Harry's hair than he would have liked. Before Harry could protest he felt strong arms shift around his body pulling him onto Voldemort's lap.

The man was wearing newly washed robes, as Harry could smell the sunshine on them. The soft velvety material gave off a unique scent, one that Harry only associated with the Dark Lord. Felling quite comfortable Harry shifted in the embrace and yawned as warm arms surround him. It was nearly enough to send him back to sleep but the Dark Lord had other ideas.

"What happened to you this morning Harry?" asked Voldemort and Harry felt the familiar sensation of breath on the top of his head.

"I…fainted," said Harry hesitantly. Should he simply tell his master what he saw? Would it satisfy him?

"I need to know for sure Harry…" before Harry could even prepare himself the familiar pain of mental intrusion burst into his brain.

The suddenness caused his mind to react in defence desperately trying to push out the invader.

"Stop fighting me Harry, you know it is no use," commanded a cold cruel voice so detached from the gentle tone before.

"No!" cried Harry as he flayed about helplessly in his mental agony, "Please!" he begged pitifully as the intruder ravaged his mind, searching for the right place, the right emotions. The pain intensified as it approached the more obstinately guarded parts of his mind. Suddenly wrenching shattered his mental shields and the correct piece of information was finally extracted. Harry screamed with abandon as his attacker dragged its prize out.

There was a long pause as Voldemort processed the information in his steady pace. Harry's mind was in a heightened state and the mental echoes of the ravaging pain lingered. The room was silent apart from his small sniffles. He could feel Voldemort tense in surprise and his brain scheming at the new information. It felt all too familiar, so much like the time he had been forced to betray his friend's secrets because he had been too weak to protect himself.

Harry flinched and whimpered when a soft hand reached down to caress his cheek.

"Shush Harry, I know it hurts but you must not fight me," A kiss was planted on his forehead and arms cradled him to the firm body.

Sniffling and whimpering pathetically Harry was finally lulled to sleep by the beating of his master's heart.

* * *

It was still dark when Harry awoke but at least the pain had disappeared. Wiping the sleep from his eyes he noted that he was now in his own bed with the covers pulled over him as if he had gone to sleep. Nagini however was nowhere in sight and Harry felt a pang of emptiness.

More pressing matter crowded into his brain. _What was his master going to do? Did the vision give him some unprecedented advantage against the rebels? His master was cunning and would most likely be able to put the vision to good use. More alarmingly was Voldemort's lack of reaction to the vision._

Heavy curtains were partially drawn over each of the three tall windows but it was not enough to muffle the sudden sound of frantic scuffling in the garden. It was so dark in the room that the cracks of faint moonlight coming from the windows cast distinct patches of light upon the thick carpet.

The muffled sounds grew louder as Harry cautiously approached the window. Rustling and stamping could be heard now and Harry gathered up his strength to peek out of the middle window.

At first it seemed as if nothing had been disturbed in the garden and the noises were just a figment of his imagination. However as his eyes adjusted to the contrasting blotches of light and dark, Harry saw the blurred outlines of two people apparently grappling each other.

Their outlines faded and remerged as the bushes swayed violently around them. Soon both figures disappeared into the undergrowth where no light could reach but reappeared an instant later as they rolled over each other into a patch of white light right under Harry's window.

The mysterious fighters were both wearing shapeless black cloaks that concealed almost every part of them. They were now engaged in an outright battle to maintain dominance. The bigger of the two pressed his advantage and punched the man underneath him with such fury that Harry was transfixed by the horror of the scene. The victim had spurted blood in his struggles and Harry could see the red wetness glowing in the moonlight every time the attacker raised his fist above his head for a particularly lethal blow.

Frozen by the sceptical in front of him Harry could only think to keep following the dancing silhouette of the figures. The victim struggled fiercely but the skinner but taller of the two continued his onslaught. The garden had become eerily quite now that they were away from the bushes. It seemed almost as if neither of the figures dare to utter a sound.

Suddenly the victim went limp and his legs stopped bucking frantically. Spurred by the horrible realisation that he could be dead Harry wretched open the window without thinking.

"I saw you!" he screamed at the man underneath, "Help! Murder!" he shouted and heard with satisfaction that his voice rang through the silent grounds. The cacophony of peacock calls immediately responded to Harry's calls. The murderer stood in the bright patch of light staring at the unmoving body but only the top part of his body was clearly visible. Everything else was greyish and blurred so Harry could not examine the extent of the damage.

Then slowly to Harry's horror, the murderer stared to rise his head. Shaggy long black hair hung out from the massive hood of his cloak. He was pulling it back gradually, deliberately. As the tough fabric fell onto his shoulders Harry emitted a silent scream.

"Harry" mouthed Sirius Black as he banished a bloody knife.

* * *

AN: Dam, I've got a love for these cliffhangers. But still please review and another chapter will be along shortly. 


	7. The Methods of the Manipulator

AN: New Chapter. The Website has been updated with an editorial (factual analysis) on Severus Snape. Look under the essays section. I did post it on fanfic because it's not fanfiction and I don't think they'd accept it.

Please review...I love you all!

* * *

"Harry" mouthed Sirius Black as he banished a bloody knife. 

Then he was gone with a faint popping noise almost inaudible amongst the rustling of the bushes in the night breeze.

Harry's heart contracted as if a cold metal hand had tightened around the pumping muscle and stilled it for what seemed like an eternity. White spots appeared before his eyes and danced randomly around his vision. A wave of pain crashed over his abdomen sending spasms of echoed pain through his body until his legs gave way and crumpled to the ground. Lying there panting heavily, the sensation of light-headedness washed over Harry leaving him unable to think coherently for a long time.

The pearly sliver of moonlight shining through the open window eased slightly across the floor as the night drew on. The rustling of leaves rose and fell like the spontaneous breathing of a living creature.

Harry lay face down on the rug unable to move his muscles, while they twitched of their own accord. He strained his hearing to catch any sounds of commotion in the garden below but only the faint whispers of the wind carried through the window. Gradually the numbness and the spasms faded leaving Harry faintly aware of the pain in the arm trapped under his body. He groaned and rolled over with difficulty.

A small ball of yellow light bobbed past the right window and reappeared in the middle of the room. A low groan of pain and an exclamation of surprise followed by the scuffling of frantic feet rose from the garden but Harry could not drag himself to the open window. The fit had left him weak and emaciated.

Soon the alarm had been sounded and guards trampled desperately through the foliage from all corners of the estate. The garden became illuminated by so many balls of yellow light that Harry's room became uncomfortably bright. Shouting, stamping and rustling; a commotion was breaking out beneath his window but right now Harry didn't care. His body felt so light…he was going to faint…

* * *

It was half past ten in the morning when the Dark Lord finally found time to see to Harry. Severus Snape was still in a coma but otherwise relatively unharmed. However this made obtaining evidence much harder. 

The boy had a fit during the night but whether it was related to the breach of security was still debatable.Harry had more than his fair share of health problems and Voldemort had a feeling it wasn't all due to the regression spell. However his ponderings could wait, right now he needed to speak to Harry.

Harry was sitting obediently in bed while several healers examined his physical condition. The Dark Lord stood in the doorway as to not disturb the procedures. If Harry could see him, he gave no sign of recognition. The Healers, however, remained oblivious to his presence; far to engrossed in their task to turn around and look in the doorway. They were by far the most competent mediwizards in Britain, a special team of the top specialists that frequently serviced the Dark Lord and his court.

"How is the boy, Farius?" asked the Dark Lord when he saw that the healers had finished their magical examination. Harry hurriedly pulled the blankets up to cover himself. _So the boy had not sensed me…perhaps more training is needed_.

"In a stable condition, my lord," said Farius, bowing low. He was by far the oldest of the seven healers, with a long white goatee that extended beyond the collar of his silver robes. His wise and knowledgeable face seemed to be permanently caught in a thoughtful expression due to the many wrinkles that criss-crossed his face like cobwebs.

"That is good, Farius, you have done well," said Voldemort as he stepped into the room. Harry shifted slightly in his bed; too scared to make his discomfort known in front of others.

"The causes of his condition are mysterious, although it seems like an entirely random fit, which he has had frequently in the past. This episode was far less severe than some of the others he has had. My advice would be to allow for a period of rest and relaxation. His nerves seem to have been strained recently and what he needs most is reduction in stress and stimulation -"

"-You mean I have to stay in bed again like last time!" demanded Harry before he could control himself and the Dark Lord frowned to hide his amusement. The boy was obvious still frightened from the legimens episode last night and shrank back into the bed somewhat reluctantly.

"Sorry, Farius, the boy does not know what is good for him at times. I shall ensure that Harry is rested, are there any potions that may aid his recovery?" asked Voldemort.

"At this stage there is no need to employ any potions for their effects will not be so significant and over use in Harry's case will develop tolerance over time. Natural recovery, I believe, is far more efficient than any man made imitations."

"Thank you very much, Farius. Harry, what do you say?" inquired the Dark Lord expectantly.

"Thank you Healer Farius," mumbled Harry, the blankets now pulled up to his chin.

"The elves will show you the way out," said Voldemort while he seated himself on the bed beside Harry and gently placed a hand on his shoulder. The boy sneaked a sideways glance at him to show he knew what the Dark Lord was thinking. The team of healers departed with solemn bows but not before witnessing the Dark Lord pull Harry to his chest in a tender and well-timed embrace.

Harry shifted uncomfortably as they trooped out, clearly interested in what they had seen. The Dark Lord could see the hate in the boy's eyes as he smoothed the tousled hair. Harry hate being used like trophy.

However a casual display of tenderness and affection towards the boy was enough to pacify the public and even gain their approval. The Dark Lord need the populace to see the human side of their conquer. A country could not be ruled with an iron fist. He needed to capture the hearts of the people and up until now he had been most successful.

His political skills soon secured him total control over the old establishments and built peaceful relationships with other countries. Despite his earlier call to arms under the banner of eliminating muggles, the Dark Lord had reinforced the Stature of Secrecy, to the great relief of many. He rewrote many old laws, allowing part humans to mingle with society, allowing non-human creatures greater liberties and conserving the magical wild-life of Britain, which the previous ministry had been culling for so long.

However his most controversial move was to declare all muggle-born children were to become wards of the court. This meant that they would be educated to a certain degree and put to use doing low skilled jobs, hence by solving an employment crisis. Unfortunately this meant the kidnapping of muggle-born children from their muggle parents, which bought great resistance to the policy. Thus a distraction was need and that had come in the form of Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived.

Many people had believed that when the Dark Lord came to power he would want bloodthirsty revenge on his one-time enemies. What better way to reassure the public that he was a humane person than to take the Boy Who Lived into his house, feed him, cloth him, educate him and protect him. If the Dark Lord could forgive and even love the Boy Who Lived, the general populace would be safe. Voldemort was keen to be seen as a father figure whom they could trust in, which was why he changed his appearance to that of his original handsome self. It was quite amazing how physical appearance could change one's image.

However his most powerful weapon lay in Harry Potter. He would bring the boy to social functions and "show him off" as Harry had so crudely put it. Cunningly displaying just the right balance between doting father and wise disciplinarian, Voldemort managed to capture the hearts of the people with the tragic tale of the orphan boy being adopted by a kind, humane leader. Of course some still had their doubts but most people, Voldemort knew from personal experience, were exceptionally incompetent when it came to authority.

* * *

Harry stared at the bed covers and tried to ignore the arms wrapped possessively around his shoulders. Today he was once again reminded that he was nothing but a trophy that the Dark Lord liked to have on display to the world. Voldemort used him over and over again to further his political gains, which left Harry feeling like a terrible traitor. However his feelings of guilt increased when he found himself enjoying the comfort of his master's embrace. 

"How are you, Harry?" hissed the Dark Lord in parseltongue. The sweet soothing voice hid all traces of danger and Harry was left wondering once again why the Dark Lord continued his act when they were alone. He had been expecting at the very least cold indifference in private.

"I'm fine," muttered Harry stiffly. He was too tired to fight back today. Perhaps Voldemort would make the mind torture quick and then he could sleep for the rest of the day.

"You had a fit last night. What were you doing out of bed?" inquired Voldemort.

"I heard commotion, voices, I wanted to see who it was…" Harry trailed off. Not knowing whether to tell the truth or not.

"Tell me, who did you see?" demanded the Dark Lord, coldness creeping into his voice.

"I…it was dark," muttered Harry feebly but suddenly the sharp presence of his master's mind made itself known. Harry screamed as he felt the horrible penetration all over again. "Please, I'll tell you!" He cried in pain as the penetration continued.

"It was Sirius Black, he's still alive, isn't he?" asked the Dark Lord in a low and deadly voice. Harry did not have time to wonder how the Dark Lord knew this, as he had not penetrated into the guarded area of his mind. The pain was intensifying. The Dark Lord was not probing his mind. He was torturing him, a mental form of crucio but so much more intense. Harry's body convulsed as he screamed in agony. He couldn't take it anymore…

"Yes! I saw him!" cried Harry before slumping into his master's robed chest when the pain suddenly dissipated.

"Yes…I figured as much," Voldemort sounded pleased…so very pleased. His eyes seemed to glow red for a moment as he licked his lips obscenely.

Harry shuddered and burst into tears. The echo of the mental pain was still there but his guilt…he had just sentenced his Godfather to death. Calm, warm arms turned him around and he cried against the green velvet robes as soft hand rubbed his back in rhythmic circles. The soft lilting of the serpent song lingered in the air as Voldemort hissed to comfort him.

* * *

_Sirius was running faster than he had ever done in his life. The gold banner of the Phoenix had fallen; the standard bearer slain by the advancing Black Armies. The flag was right in front him now…so close. He needed to lift it up to show the world they had not fallen yet. The cold icey air ripped through his long shaggy hair but he could not feel it right now…he could feel nothing._

_He was half way up the hillside now, beneath him the seething mass of dark allies slaughtering all the stood in their way. Like an enormous, many legged beast, it advanced steadily towards the small town of Godric's Hollow with malicious intent. There were only a handful of Death Eaters standing between him and the banner now. All around him on the hilltop the dead littered the ground, looking like grotesque boulders in the setting sun. The grass was as red as the sky with the blood of the fallen but Sirius was on a mission and no one could stop him. _

_The Death Eaters were all engaged in combat but one slipped free of his opponent and a killing curse flew in his direction. Not even slowing down, Sirius ducked his head to avoid the curse and heard an awful scream as a comrade fell behind him. The Banner was in sight, trodden down in the mud, the edge torn to shreds but the Phoenix as bright as ever. It's golden head still held high amidst the mud of the battlefield. _

_Stretching out aching hands, he grasped the pole and hoisted the flag into the air. A thrill Phoenix cry echoed through the valley, striking fear into the hearts of his enemies. Sirius waved it with all his might and the giant flag was flung upwards by the strong wind. The Phoenix was once more flying in the skies to great cheers from behind him. _

_Suddenly it had begun to rain…large wet rain drops littered the battle field and the mug churned under the feet of a thousand men…_

Sirius woke up with a start and saw that Buckbeak was stamping the ground of the cave. It snorted and tossed its head, somewhere in the distance a torch light brigade was advancing towards them with ruthless efficiency.

* * *

AN: Okay less action, more information in this chapter. Poor Sirius...I almost feel sorry for him...almost you'll see why. Please review...you were all so good on the last chapter.


	8. Orphea Doleari

AN: Okay new chapter..themes in this chapter relate to terrorism, which is why I posponed the chapter due to sensitivity. This storyline has always been part of the plot and I can't change it so I would like to apologize now if it has caused distress or offence.

I would also like to give my deepest condolences to all the victims of the London bombings

* * *

The mass of torches continued relentlessly through the dense foliage of the steep hillside, and despite the heavy drizzle the flames burnt brighter than ever. However as they drew closer Sirius could just make out the outlines of much smaller figures…children.

Muttering several curses under his breath Sirius hurried to retrieve his few scattered possessions that were strewn across the cave floor. Buckbeak meanwhile snorted nervously as the torch brigade momentarily disappeared due to the awkward relief of the hillside.

"I don't believe I walked in on some stupid summer festival!" muttered Sirius, some of the fear and stress disappearing from his lined face. He hurried to retrieve his wand from the side pocket of his traveling cloak that was still torn and bloody. "Get ready to run Buckbeak. Follow me and we'll hide in the woodland on the east side, that way we'll avoid detection but I don't know about Remus."

Buckbeak tossed his feathered mane in agitation, obviously feeling that they should move immediately but Sirius was hesitant.

"Perhaps it would be better stay here and ride it out. Remus wouldn't be so stupid as to come here right now. I don't reckon they'll come in here, do you?" he asked looking at his faithful companion. Buckbeak eyed him beadily and clipped his beaks together in exasperation. "We'll stay here. I'll put an invisibility charm on us and even if they do look in here they won't see what they don't want to see…"

Hastily Sirius due out his wand and muttered the correct incantation. The effect was not instantaneous but caused the Hippogriff and himself to gradually blend into the background. The noise of singing reached them on the wind. It was a slow mournful song, like a dirge.

The procession was making for the jagged summit, mottled with small cairns and sparse patches of russet heather. The drizzle increased to substantial rainfall and from his poor vantage point in the back of the cave Sirius could see the torches spluttering. It was not yet nightfall by the clock but the dense grey cloud was sufficient to obliterate the sun.

The parade of villagers were passing very close by, so close that Sirius could make out their individual features through the curtain of grey rain. They were silent and melancholy now, their songs finished and their clothing drenched. Perhaps the weather had worked in his favour, no doubt the villagers were eager to find shelter soon.

In the middle of the procession was a small black coffin, hovering five feet above the ground surrounded by a circle of burning torches. It was indeed a funeral march.

Unfortunately the procession seemed to be even larger than Sirius had expected, with many more people following the coffin than preceding it. He could feel the warm snorts of Buckbeak's breath on his shoulder and its features ruffling with unrest. It was unlikely they would be discovered, for the attention of the mourners was fixated on the road under their feet. It was hard going even for Buckbeak and the mourners in their heavy rain soaked cloaks made slow progress up the rocky path. Despite the fact that most had hoods, it mourners did not wear them. Perhaps suffering for a lost one was a show of sorrow in these parts but several men scattered at different intervals had pulled their hoods up, which obscured their faces and made them look like apparitions.

It was over ten minutes later that Sirius noticed a thinning in the crowds. The end of the procession was marked with a large grey banner on a pole bearing a coat of arms. The precise design of which was distorted by the fluttering of the fabric beyond recognition.

The slow movements of the mass crowd hindered any chance of slipping out unnoticed for Sirius and Buckbeak. They could only brace themselves for a long wait but timing was crucial and while they could not afford to leave too early, they could not stay too long for fear of being spotted by the returning procession.

Undaunted by their predicament Buckbeak pulled forwards in the hopes of escaping the cramped cave that now possessed a faint odour of wet dog. However Sirius was too wary to move just yet. They could not hear the sound of the procession as the wind was blowing uphill and any footsteps were muffled by the pattering of rain.

A while passed before Sirius was confident enough to leave the cave for a quick look at the surroundings. The hilltop was deserted and desolate, the only signs of the passing masses were patches of flatten grass. The wind whipped up with an enthusiastic ferocity and blew the freezing rain into his face.

It was now or never. Remus would have to deal with the situation on his own. He Sirius would have to go back to base camp and stay there until the all clear.

* * *

Over the last few weeks the tension in the manor had been unbearable. New security measures meant that Harry lost virtually all of the flimsy freedoms he had before. Not only was he not allowed outside without a platoon of guards, he was also confined to the east wing of the house. Although whether this was for his safety was debatable.

Several groups of The National Security Special Unit were standing guard at every entrance, checking and double-checking anyone leaving or entering. Even the house elves had not been spared this, which, in Harry's view, was pointless considering all the house elves could apparate out of the house.

To make things worse, the summer weather had introduce itself with a flurry of hot sunny days but Harry was confined inside for the majority of his free time, only to taken out for a walk every evening after dinner, which greatly amused the guards.

If the manor was bad, school was even worse. The teachers were so fearful that Harry would come to any harm in their custody, extra security measures were introduce. He was tailed by a group of low level Death Eaters every minute of the day. This infringed on his privacy, as he could no longer hold clandestine meetings with any of his old friends with so many eyes watching.

Despite the nuisance of security, there was a silver lining. With the professors all on tiptoes, no one dared to punish Harry, although he was sure their attentions would be diverted to less fortunate people.

However the introduction of such war like measures had a basis, a particularly gruesome basis. Orphea Doleari had been kidnapped by the rebel factions but found three days later…in pieces. Her body mutilated beyond recognition but her face had been well preserved, most likely to enable a positive identification. Despite desperate cries of forgery, the pieces had been proven to be genuine.

With a mixture of fear and disgust Harry tossed the Daily Prophet onto the table.

_…as more evidence comes to light regarding the gruesome murder of Miss Orphea Doleari, only daugher of Saerus Doleari, the Vice Head of the Department for National Security, new measures are been taken by the government to target the rebels. In a speech today at the Ministry, Lord Voldemort, The Supreme leader of the Wizengemot said:_

_"…this has been the worst act of terrorism Britain has ever seen leaving many people fearing for their lives. I, likely many of my collegues, would like to give my condolences and support to the Doleari Family, who are suffering the death of their only daughter._

_However in the past fortnight following the attacks, the British people have risen with strength and valour to confront the enemy._

_I make a promise now that they will not upset the stability of this nation, they will not defeat the morale of the British People. We will catch those responsible for this diabolical act._

_I call upon the people to cooperate with the National Security forces and respect the new security measures. This will be a time of great emergency and harsh measures are needed to combat the rebels…"_

_New measures introduced by the government include stringent security checks outside all public buildings, the random checking of identities and National Security surveillance._

_The Daily Prophet would like to advise its readers to not attempt to personally visit Gringotts unless absolutely necessary. The security is extra tight around the major bank and Guront Garbell, the manager of the Diagon Alley Branch has been heard to threaten customers with violence if they hold up the queue._

The Daily Prophet had started to print the Dark Lord's name every since his rise to power. It would dispel some of the taboo about the man himself. Currently, the Dark Lord sounded like a concerned statesman.

However Harry was not being entirely fair, the Dark Lord while evil in some areas, was genuinely stressed and concerned. His energies, instead of being directed as ire at his underlings, were now devoted to long detailed talks with his top advisors. Some were held at the manor but most took place inside the Ministry, far away from prying eyes.

Warily he turned to the second page of the newspaper where a large grainy picture of Orphea Doleari smiled coyly at him. Harry concluded that he had never seen her before despite the numerous social events he was required to attend. Her small oval face was pale like Malfoy's but her feature bore none of his haughtiness. Instead she looked vibrant and alive with happiness. Her pale blond hair flowed around her shoulders under a pink straw hat. The rest of the photograph had been cut off by the editors leaving an enlarged bust portrait of the girl.

Underneath an article carrying the headline "Gruesome Murder by Rebels" was clearly visible.

_"…Orphea Doleari went missing from her home in London at a quarter to nine on the Saturday 6th of June. She was due to attend a shopping excursion with a friend. Experts believe that the portkey that Orphea used could have been redirected beforehand, meaning that someone had access to the portkey in the time frame of ten minutes between the conjuring of the portkey by Mr Doleari and the activation. This could call into question the entire Doleari household consisting of seven servants and twenty house elves._

_The original portkey was found in pieces by joggers in a local woodland in Surrey this morning, no trace of secondary magic has yet been detected on the fragments but experts have yet to put it through the most vigorous of testing._

_However the portkey in question was not found at the scene of the crime so experts believe that Orphea was later transported to the woodland where she was killed…"_

Harry had found it hard not to feel guilty after the death of Orphea, she had been kidnapped coming to accompany him on a shopping excursion. Somehow he felt responsible for her death just by association.

The facts were still so muddled up. Harry was not sure whom to believe. Inwardly, he felt that the rebels could never so such a thing and it was just the government propaganda machine working. However he was forced to reconsider his judgement due to the appearance of Sirius in his back garden on the very night.

It was a heart retching relief to see Sirius once again, alive. He had escaped to the continent with Remus and the Weaselys. However the sight of him wondering around Britain again was far too terrifying.

Voldemort had not mentioned Sirius after that night, although Harry knew that he had not forgotten it. The Dark Lord seemed to believe that Sirius was not involved, or at least he did not wish to tell the truth. However Harry had a horrible feeling that whether Sirius was involved in the murder was of no consequence; Voldemort would put as much effort into catching him regardless, and when he did…Harry didn't want to think about the consequences.

The sun was setting now, and the Dark Lord had not yet returned from his meeting with Lucius Malfoy but Harry knew that he would be back soon.

The door to the dinning room open with a bang and Harry jumped up with fright. It was the Dark Lord with a triumphant smile on his features.

"Harry, my boy, I wish you to come down with me to the dungeons to identify a prisoner we have just caught. I'm sure you remember him…Remus Lupin."

* * *

Dam those cliffhanger just keep coming...I'm not purposely trying to torture you it's just part of the plot. Anyway please review...I love you all! 


	9. The Great Escape

AN: I have recently set up a larger website with more webspace so now I can put up more of my old fanfiction. If you want to read some of my older works that are not on for various reasons, please go to my homepage. There are also theory essays under editorials and a misc section with everything under the sun.

I hope that some writers may want to contribute to the site. If so, please use the submissions form, or send me and email.

I am also an editor on the OPD so if have any Harry Potter related sites do tell me via email.

* * *

The underground caverns were damp with the recent rainfall that had seeped into the sandy soil and penetrated through the porous rocks overhead. Large droplets of water formed along the faults in the roof providing a constant source of fresh water for the inhabitants of the caverns.

The main hall was lit by several large torches, fixed to the rough sloping walls with iron brackets. The cavern was so vast that the flickering light from the yellow flames did not reach the ceiling, so that a dark shadow hung over the room. Neither were the edges of the edges of the cavern visible. The torches merely cast a pool of light in a sea of inky blackness.

A long wooden table was set in the middle of cavern covered with parchments, quills and inkbottles. Along each side was a low wooden bench, wet from the constant artificial rainfall. A row of wooden pails stood near the tables, half filled with dark water. The relentless dripping noise was the only sound to be heard in the strangely muffled environment.

Suddenly a loud grating noise ripped through the room and a hundred torches flared up along the walls, throwing into light the full scale of the cavern. It was perhaps as large of the great hall of Hogwarts and the corner visible before had only been one small section.

As the stone wall finished apart at one end of the hall, a loud grunt came from a large bundle of rags under the table. It twitched as if it was alive and a grubby, wrinkled head emerged from the greying mass of material.

A babble of excited voices could be heard descending down from above and the man who had emerged from his slumber busied himself by tidying up the mess left on the table.

The main focus of the hall was a huge open fire place, marked out by small round boulders. Several large cauldrons were magically suspended over the black ashes of the dead fire. Surrounding the fire place were various pieces of mismatched furniture, a table, some chairs, a lamp stand, a coffee table etc, so that the place looked more like an antique shop rather than a secret base.

The four corners of the cavern seemed to be used for study and meeting purposes. One corner contained two well-polished leather armchairs and several ornately carved book shelves filled with leather bound volumes. Another corner was dedicated a precarious pile of wooden crates marked "dangerous" or "fragile". The third corner was clustered with several round tables displaying a range of small and interesting ornaments, from crystal dragons to silver unicorns. In the last corner Old Mundungnus Fletcher was busy tidying up his mess before the Order arrive back.

The babble of small talk died away as ten people entered the cavern. Despite their best efforts at making the place feel more homely, the walls seemed to emit a strange chill.

"Did yer find out wot happent to Remus?" asked Fletcher rubbing his blacken nose with a withered and hairy hand.

The man in charge, Kingsley Shacklebolt shook his head in what looked like a confident way.

"But don't worry, I'm sure Lupin has just decided to bed down for the night somewhere else. If the Death Eaters caught him, it will have been in the papers long before now." Said Shacklebolt in his deep and soothing voice. However he looked at Sirius as he said this.

"You shouldn't blame yourself, Sirius, Remus can look after himself you know. I doubt he would have been stupid enough to go looking for you with the funeral going on," said Bill clamping a hand on Sirius's shoulder. He looked much older now, his fashionable dragon hides replaced with dusty black robes, worn away at the elbows.

"I should have known…so stupid," choked Sirius as he clasped a hand over his face to hid his grief.

"I think it would be best if we start making dinner now," said Arthur Weasley cutting through the obvious tension.

"Good idea, Dad. Tomorrow, Sirius, we'll do an extensive field survey. If he really did appear at Bodmin Moor, we'll find out where he went," said Charlie, through his face did not look so hopeful.

Dung Fletcher rubbed his grubby chin thoughtfully as the group set to work preparing their meagre rations. With everyone present and accounted for apart from Remus, it was relatively a successful end to the day.

_'However,'_ thought Dung, _'if Remus had indeed changed his course of action and stayed away from Bodmin Moor, why had he not contacted the Order? On the other hand if he had been caught, why had the fact not been publicized? Unless…_

_'Unless, the Death Eaters were bidding their time, waiting for the opportune moment."_

* * *

There was a numb sort of shock cruising through Harry's body as he stepped out of the floo grate. Voldemort immediately laid a hand on his shoulder to steady him. Perhaps he looked awful, face pale and sickly, but Harry didn't care right now.

"It will be alright, Harry," said The Dark Lord soothingly. "He is fine."

Harry didn't respond, he had no more energy left for that. The full reality of Remus's capture had seeped into his soul and frozen him.

They descended a set of grey stone steps well worn with age and use. The walls were lined with empty brass sockets that glinted menacingly in the afternoon light. It was eerily quite in the detention centre, almost as if the prisoners had already given up hope.

This building was unique in its customer base. Every soul that passed through its walls was labelled highly dangerous. Perhaps it was better this way, for it allowed the most intolerable criminals to be tried quickly.

There were no Dementors here, as it was simply a facility providing custody for those about to go on trial. However there was no false hope in the air, most would detainees would end up in Azkaban, those who didn't were executed.

It stung to see that Remus Lupin, the kind gentle professor, was locked up in such a building with the worst of the criminal underworld.

The main body of the detention centre was situated underground in a labyrinth of tunnels, so complicated that one could not escape without the detection of the highly trained guards. As they approached the main prison torches began to appear in the brackets emitting enough light to see by.

Two shadow guards stood watch at the doors. They were nearly invisible in direct sunlight, but by the light of the flickering torches, Harry could make out their shapes standing at either side of the door. Two dimensional and transparent, they were employed by the Dark Lord as spies. However they also served to man undesirable places such as this.

The guards gave an equivalent of a salute and the door opened of its own accord. Beyond was a long wide corridor of grey stone with doors at regular intervals. It was clean and somewhat brighter than the entrance hall. Each door had a number plaque on it, which served to remind Harry of a block of flats. Perhaps they were soundproof, or perhaps the occupants were too depressed to make much noise.

The Dark Lord still had his hand on Harry's shoulder when they arrived at cell number 42. Underneath the plaque seemed to be a letterbox like contraption, which was presumably being used to deliver the prisoner's meals. It was better than Azkaban at least, but only marginally so.

The door did not swing open upon their arrival as Harry had thought it would have done. Instead the door slowly dissolved giving them a clear view of the cell.

On one of the long narrow beds covered in brown and white sheets sat Professor Lupin looking relatively unharmed. Whatever he had experienced in the year since his exile had done much to age his already tried features. Extra wrinkles adorned his brow and nearly half his hair was now silvery grey. His shoulders were more rounded and his limbs more frail than before. Altogether he looked like a man withering under the strain of life.

Lupin did not appear to be in physical pain and nor did he appear to have heard their approach, for he sat silently on the bed staring pensively at his own hands. Natural light was available through the narrow barred window that appeared to overlook an internal courtyard of some sort.

The cell was narrow enough to be have been designed to hold only one prisoner but on the other side of the room, directly opposite to Lupin, was another bed, currently unoccupied. However the mess of the sheets indicated it was still inhabited by other unfortunate soul.

Perhaps there was some sort of intangible magic shield separating the two halves of the cell, as it would be unwise to allow two "criminals" to consort with each other. However the room was too bare to find any evidence of a dividing line. Being only a transitory hold, the inmates were probably not allowed access to personal possessions, if they had any at all.

"Good afternoon, Mr Lupin," said Voldemort in a refined voice, that did not suit him no matter how refined he looked at that moment. Lupin's head snapped up with surprise and looked around wildly to find the source of the voice.

"I am afraid you will not be able to see us, although we can see you. It would be advisably to look at the door while you are speaking.

'You are perhaps wondering why I am here. Having to positively identify you is a legal procedure and I have invited Harry to do so, and judging by his expression I can say the job has been completed. However it is not the only reason why I am here…"

"I presume you are here to interrogate me then?" said Lupin in a slightly bitter voice.

"Interrogation is a very strong word," said Voldemort smoothly, "I do believe 'interview' would be infinitely more appropriate."

"A private interview can hardly be conducted when one cannot even obtain eye contact with the host," said Lupin politely as he stared blankly at the door, his eyes fixed several inches to the left of where Voldemort stood.

"Ah…I suppose you have a point, Mr Lupin. Would it do much to dispel the formalities if I allowed you to see us?" Voldemort's voice was laced with amusement that did not bode well for anyone.

"Yes, I do believe so," stated Lupin plainly. The Dark Lord casually waved his hand and although the view did not change from their side of the door, Harry saw Lupin sit up a little straighter in response. He stared resolutely at the Dark Lord and avoided all eye contact with Harry. Somehow Harry felt his mood lowering at this.

"I hope you're accommodations are adequate, Mr Lupin," hissed the Dark Lord with amusement.

"They are bearable." Lupin's eyes glinted sharply as he said this.

"I would much like to know, why you are in the country? I do believe you were exiled on the pain of death?" The Dark Lord had put the matter lightly. As it transpired Lupin was never caught, and had to be sentenced in absentia. However had he been captured he would have no doubt been given a grand public execution

"I decided to risk coming back, if only for a brief glance at the appalling condition of the country," snapped Lupin definitely but Harry did not feel the Dark Lord's mood darkening.

_Voldemort must be delighted about Lupin's capture,_ though Harry. _It's amazing that he's still alive. _

"You must have been surprised then, Mr Lupin. The state of affairs is much different from what you believed," hissed Voldemort a steely edge appearing in his voice. "I suppose you were taking your brief glance on Bodmin Moor, or was there an ulterior motive?"

"I have nothing more to say to you," stated Lupin and turned his back to the door his lips pursed. Harry nearly whimpered, the Dark Lord was not used to being disobeyed, ever.

"I shall give you one more chance to tell me the truth. You will be useful if only you saw the error of your ways, Lupin."

"I have not erred, it is you who is mistaken,"

"I see you have no remorse,"

"You are the one without remorse, Voldemort." Thankfully The Dark Lord decided to ignore the jibe.

"Did you go to Bodmin Moor to meet someone? A certain Mr Black?" inquired Voldemort in a low and dangerous voice that reminded Harry of Professor Snape. Lupin's expression remained utterly passive but lines of tension were appearing around his mouth and eyes.

"I am not in contact with anyone. My sole purpose in coming here was to observe."

"To what end? Were you perhaps sent here to gather intelligence…for an organisation in France?"

"No." said Lupin his voice still level and calm. Harry briefly wondered whether the Dark Lord has any intention of keeping Lupin alive. Perhaps this session was for Voldemort to intimately assess Lupin's character.

"Well, then Mr Lupin, it is time we parted ways…for now," The Dark Lord beckoned for Harry to come closer to the transparent door. "Say goodbye Harry,"

"Bye…Remus," muttered Harry nervously, hot tears threatening to spill. However Lupin did not appear to have heard or seen Harry. He turned away from the door and resumed staring out of the window.

Perhaps it was the pain in his chest that drove Harry to extremes. As he walked back down the corridor, he summoned up every ounce of Occulmency he had ever been taught. Harry had a plan.

* * *

Dung Fletcher was stretched out on the rickety sofa with an empty pipe in his mouth. Tobacco was not readily available to a public enemy these days, but the actions of smoking were too familiar to give up.

Mr Weasley was likewise resting, or at least pretending to do so. After the evening meal of boiled bacon and peas, most of the Order was lounging on the hard furniture hoping to get some well-deserved rest.

It had been several days since the promised extensive search of Bodmin Moor and even now Sirius was finding the results hard to come to terms with.

"From what we currently know, Remus hasn't been tried yet. Therefore he must be at the Detention Centre," said Charlie gloomily.

"There's only one way into the Detention Centre and that's through the front door. The building is totally foolproof…" muttered Bill.

Alone in an armchair, Kingsley shook his head,

"There are flaws, minute ones. However as we have discussed rescue is out of the question." Sirius raised his head but somehow he couldn't bring himself to speak. Perhaps it was because of how much shouting he had done in the last two days.

"What if it isn't a trap? What if Voldemort has grown overly confident?" asked Charlie numbly.

"Voldemort is not stupid…he knew…as soon as we arrived. This is all part of his elaborate plan…" Arthur mumbled.

"I don't believe that, Dad. Voldemort had weaknesses and we have exploit them…if only…if only we could get to Harry!" shouted Bill.

"You will not be able to get anyone near Potter. He is guarded day and night by an army of Shadow Warriors. Even if you outwit them, what will you do about the snake, Nagini and the Dark Lord himself. The boy never leaves the Dark Lord's sight, how can you wish to attempt a kidnapping?" snapped Mr Weasley.

"There's more than one way to skin a cat…" said Fletcher gruffly pointing his old pipe in the direction of the frazzled Weasleys.

"Than what do you suggest, Dung? Our supplies are running low and one of our number is about to be killed. God knows what information the Dark Lord has now…" cried Mr Weasley. Suddenly Sirius seemed to come back to life and pounced on Arthur grabbing him by his collar.

"Listen Weasley, I don't mind your defeatist attitude as much as I might," Sirius said in a low, dangerous voice, "but you have no right to make such accusations against Remus. He is far braver than you'll ever be and make sure you remember that!"

"Sirius, please, release Arthur this instant," snapped Kingsley but Bill had already managed to pry his fingers off Arthur's collar. "I know that it has been a difficult time for us all. However if we start fighting amongst ourselves, we will be playing right into the Dark Lord's trap. The Dark Lord's knowledge may be extensive and I do not know how long we can evade capture for.

'I understand your concerns about Remus, Sirius but right now You Know Who is using Remus to lure us out. It is unlikely Remus is any physical danger at this very minute, so please calm yourself while we come up with a plan."

"I broke into the palace, I can get into the detention centre," said Bill confidently.

"I'll accompany you again, I know the layout of the detention centre," said Sirius immediately.

Arthur signed and pinched the ridge of his nose in exasperation,

"I know you can break wards, Bill, but it is inadvisable to act so hastily. To get into the palace took us three months of reconnaissance work…"

"Any we still didn't get what we wanted," muttered Charlie.

"Precisely," said Arthur, "we can't be too hasty, we made a big mistake before and we are not about to make another mistake this time. Sirius, I want to save Remus as much as you do but we must be rational about this! Exposing our entire movement because of a wrong turn will be a disaster, not just for us, but also for the whole movement!"

"I agree with Arthur," said Kingsley calmly and Sirius looked as if he was going to do something violent. "However this does not mean we will not be doing anything. Get your boots on Charlie, we're going on a reconnaissance mission."

Sirius looked so overjoyed that he looked as if he was going to embrace Kingsley,

"I'm coming with you, though," he said containing his excitement.

"Of course."

* * *

AN: Please review, thanks. 


	10. Strategies and Spys

**AN: **No update for a whole month! You all have the right to cyber slap me silly. Anyway I've written an extra long chapter for you so please review even if it's to cyber slap me silly.

* * *

It was twelve noon and the manor was silent at this time of the day. Dark ominous clouds rolled over the horizon chasing away the sunshine. What little light was left in the day hardly filtered past the heavy drapes arranged around every sash window. Thus the manor became gloomy and dark, quite out of character for a hot day in June. 

The summer storms gave rise to new and strange plants in the gardens, which progressed at several centimetres a week, so by the mid June the garden had totally discarded its meek spring garment.

The citrus orchard had been flooded with a range of tulips that formed wide rings around each tree, just beyond the reach of the roots. Red lilies sprung up in the shrub garden by the ornamental lake. They were of a quaint variety that grew astonishingly fast but never exceeded 20 centimetres in height. Their splendid lives were short lived and they wilted one by one under the hot sun and fell under the ferocious storms.

Harry spent most of his spare time in the gardens when the weather allowed, under the supervision of several members of his master's bodyguard, human and non-human. Thus Harry could be found at noon, several days after his encounter with Remus, sitting quietly on a bench in the formal gardens.

The shadow guards, who accompanied him were nearly invisible in daylight and so Harry could pretend that he was indeed alone. The formal gardens were laid out in large geometric shapes, typical of the Stuart period. Low hedgerows marked the boundaries between each shape and inside the enclosures were flowerbed filled with exotic specimens, which seemed to flourish in the stormy season.

The grass verges were permanently damp with rain and dew, which ensured that Harry was confined to the marble benches. He had often been chastised for sitting on the ground and dirtying his clothes. Although he could see no reason why as grass stains provided no obstacle to the magical population.

Trees were equally out of bounds, and like every boy, Harry could not resist break such a rule. Thus earning himself a sound thrashing from his master. However Voldemort was rarely home during the day and Harry was free to do as he pleased, until he returned in the evening.

School of course restricted this freedom as Harry seldom arrived home to an empty house. Nagini, being semi-nocturnal during the summer, spent her days sunbathing indoors in preparation for the nightly hunt. As to what Nagini hunted, Harry did not what to know. She was by far the largest snake he had ever come across, save for Slytherin's Basilisk and therefore she must have a matching appetite, an appetite that rats and mice could not fulfil.

Harry was steadily getting used to the tightened security measures and had been able to resume most of his daily life. However it made him feel more a captive than he ever did before.

As to his weekend routines, they involved long hours of solitude by the lake or in the library. He didn't read all that much, most of the books were beyond his comprehension or did not interest him. Although there was a small section on quidditch and Harry could never bring himself to read any.

He was mostly alone from breakfast onwards, which enabled him to have some autonomy. However there was always the burden of homework that ate into his precious free time and ensured that Harry spent most of the morning in doors, dutifully finishing his homework. Unfortunately apart from the regular homework he received from the school, the Dark Lord was also adamant that he learnt Latin and Greek to supplement his education.

Thus it took Harry several hours on this particular Sunday morning to finished his allotted work and finally escape into the grounds. Security was tight around the estate, with a dozen new wards, inventions of the Dark Lord, erected in the past few weeks. Death Eaters and shadow guards constantly patrolled the outer perimeter, so a repeat of the previous incidents would be impossible.

The Dark Lord had not been particularly shaken by the break in, as Harry had previously thought. In fact panic was kept to a minimum on the estate and Harry for one was extremely relieved to find that he was not excluded from the grounds. There were fewer visitors, Voldemort preferred to travel away to meetings. Whether this was a wise course of action was not up for debate.

All the hopes of freedom and escape had been muffled by Harry's confusion. Soft silk chains secured him ever more tightly to the Dark Lord and his new "home". However romantic the idea of finally escaping and joining the rebellion may be, logically the chances were too remote to even consider. Deep down inside there was still the ever present fear that perhaps the resistance hated him for his weakness. Perhaps they blamed him for their failures and suffering. Thus Harry preferred to keep himself from thinking about such things as this, and focus more on the present.

He had been wandering the grounds for over an hour by the time his stomach finally reminded him of the time. His strict schedule, set by the master of the house, ensured that he rose promptly everyday at seven and had breakfast accordingly, half an hour later.

The storms clouds had sufficiently enmassed enough strength to cover the entire sky by now and Harry wisely decided to retreat. It was becoming steadily darker and the wind swept up into a flurry of flying organic debris. The first fat raindrops started to fall as he tottered towards the entrance.

Suddenly a flash of lightening streaked across the sky, effectively blinding Harry as he ran. Stumbling blindly now under the thick screen of freezing rain, he tried in vain to make out the way towards the buildings. He squinted to no avail through his ineffective glasses and hastened to take them off. Everything seemed to become one gigantic grey blur as he removed his glasses to wipe off the rain. However this did nothing apart from allowing him to catch an extra bucket of rain.

Tottering pathetically in the vague direction of where he thought the house might be, Harry hurried forwards, his robes weighted down by the torrential rain and churned mud. Suddenly, he jolted backwards as his should hit something hard, the door!

It was not the one he had been making for and it took a large amount of effort to force open but he managed to get inside, dripping wet and frozen to the bone. A large puddle of muddy water formed where he stood and the wind rushed in from the open door way, peppering the threshold with bullets of rain.

A soft tutting sound came from behind him and Harry swerved around so fast that he slipped in the puddle and careers forwards onto the floor. Luckily five years of quidditch practise ensured that he broke his fall with his hands. Harry reluctantly raised his head to the intruder and almost fainted with embarrassment.

Lucius Malfoy stood on the stone steps in front of him with the most offensive smirk. He was dressed for ministry business in formal black dress robes, but as he was a Malfoy, they were embroided with silver thread and had elaborate fastenings. Currently Malfoy was also sporting his famous silver snake head cane, which glimmered in the dim light like a false light luring traveller's from the safe path.

The volatile smirk was soon replace by a look of feigned concern, that reflected in his voice when he called,

"My Lord, he's down here. The boy was caught in the storm!" A set of footsteps soon followed and the Dark Lord came into view, displeasure plain on his face.

The Dark Lord made curt gesture indicating the Harry should removed himself from the floor where he had stayed due to his embarrassment.

"What is the meaning of this?" Voldemort asked gesturing to the sodden Harry and his muddy clothes.

"Forgive me, my lord, I was caught unexpectedly by the storm," said Harry humbly, not wishing to incur anymore of his master's wrath.

"Did I not specifically say in my note that you were not to leave the house, as I would be returning earlier today?" inquired the Dark Lord, his temper flaring.

Harry frozen on the spot and his suddenly started to beat twice as fast, he had not seen any note this morning. The house elves would have notified him if there had been a message left for him.

"I did not see the message, my lord," he muttered, rather afraid to meet Voldemort's eye.

"Really?" asked Voldemort derisively, "even so, do you have no sense as to wander around in the grounds in such bad weather?"

"I…"

"Maybe I was foolish allow you so much freedom as you seem to ill-use it," hissed Voldemort menacingly.

"I'm sorry my lord, please, I…" stuttered Harry. Voldemort waved his wand and Harry was immediately dried. However he continued to shiver.

"Go to your room, I'll deal with you later," hissed Voldemort in parsletongue and Harry obediently darted up the stairs. As he retreated to the back of the manor he could hear Voldemort saying,

"Come, Lucius, we have important things to discuss. I'll call the boy when we need him,"

Frozen to the core, despite the warmth of the manor, Harry staggered into his room.

* * *

It was as dark as night in the underground cave, although several torches had been lit, they gave only weak and unsteady light. 

The main table was strewn with the contents of Bill and Charlie's mission. Maps, roughly copied out by hand from memory, rolls of parchment scribbled over in tiny writing and fake passes enchanted to hoodwink the authorities.

In the centre on top of everything else was a huge map covered with blue and yellow and lines that seemed to depict the layout of a complex building. Points were annotated with single words and in the bottom left corner was a squiggle of incomprehensible lines with arrows darting to and fro.

'We need to penetrate at the weakest point,' said Kingsley calmly surveying the Weasley's loot.

'It's guarded with seven platoons of the Nation Security force, under the supervision of fourteen Death Eaters,' stated Bill.

'That's not counting, what other creatures You-Know-Who has got working for him,' added Charlie ruffling his matted hair in frustration

'Are there Dementors?' asked Sirius, trying to keep the tremor from his voice.

'No there won't be, he's got them all working at Azbakan, even then there's great pressure on his resources. The Dementors are few in number," said Arthur reassuringly.

'What other creatures are referring to then?'

'Shadow-guards, the Kurnazar…'

'He 'as many o' them, I hears. They're useful enough, dunno how we'll get past them,' piped Mundungnus from his designated corner. He shifted himself into a more comfortable position and a loud rustling noise issued from his assortment of garments, as if he had a large quantity of paper stuffed inside his pockets. He grinned nonchalantly at the stares and proceeded to chew his pipe.

'It's not as impossible as it seems. From our surveillance and information from other sources…' said Bill

'Can it be trusted?' asked Arthur Weasley eyeing the maps, passes and scrolls.

'Don't fret, Dad, we've got it sorted. Anyway we know that the rotation of the guards happens three times a night,' reassured Charlie.

'The night shift starts at 9 at night, the change over is swift and smooth. Besides the days are too long right now to attempt anything at that time. Each platoon of twenty guards then divides up into two groups. One patrols the designated their area in pairs, while the other spreads out across the out perimeter and keeps watch from vantage points. The Death Eaters, rarely if ever appear on active duty. They stay inside the buildings with the wardens,' Bill jabbed the blue print of the Detention Centre where the main warden's office stood.

'If this is wha' a detention centre looks like, how the hell are we supp'sed to get into Azbakan?'

'Anyway, we know that Walden Macnair has stepped into the senior command post. However this is a good thing as he will be absent tomorrow night, and as not found a replacement. Hence we will only have to contend with thirteen Death Eaters,'

'Tomorrow is too soon,' snapped Arthur.

'No it's not!' cried Bill and Charlie together.

'We are not sufficiently prepared,'

'Arthur, let them speak…' interrupted Kingsley

'The east wall is the weakest point. It is opposite to the front gate where the maximum security is. The main building and courtyard, shields the wall from the main sensors at the front. Half way along the east wall is also where the boundary between the sixth and seventh platoons. Hence there is a gap along the border where there are no guards stationed. The patrol down below is more of a challenge though

'There is a sixty metre stretch of paved ground separating the main building from the wall, the Eastern Passage. This area is patrolled by the Sixth, Seventh and Fifth platoon. We are sure that only the Sixth platoon is obliged to stay in this area, while the seventh and fifth have to patrol the North and South walls respectively,

'Beyond the stretch of ground is the east wall of the main building. The lowest windows are on the top store. However they have the strongest wards one them so we should make for the fourth storey instead. Charlie and I have been unable to find exactly where Remus' cell is but we're pretty sure it's in the east wing facing the inner courtyard, on the third floor. That's where they usually keep the new inmates during a transition period.' Finished Bill pointing at the various places he had mentioned.

'As Bill's been saying, there are many wards up in the ground and the main building. We have managed to procure three passes to get within the vicinity of the complex. We'll need these passes if we are to even approach the wall. However they are designed to allow the holder entry through the main gates so it will not belong before the magic wards release we're scaling the wall and shut us out. The wards will typically give us a five-minute window before the alarm is sounded. This will give us sufficient time to scale the wall.'

'The second change of guards occurs at 2 a.m. The Sixth platoon, which watches the east wall for from 9 p.m onwards, now changes to guard the front gates meaning that they will have to temporarily abandon their posts. Their posts will be filled by the Second Platoon coming in from the South wall and adjoining Passage. We have estimated that it would probably take them at least three minutes to get here,' said Charlie pointing to a long stretch of blank wall. 'We know that at that precise time the seventh platoon is also leaving the east wall. Therefore at least three quarter of the east wall will not be monitored."

Bill paused slightly and looked hopefully around at the seated member of the Order. Kingsley looked grim, his mouth a thin hard line. Sirius seemed to be holding back his excitement, but Mr Weasley looked totally unconvinced.

"Boys, I understand that there is a possible window of opportunity but taking advantage of it is too dangerous," said Mr Weasley hesitantly.

"I'll 'ave you know, Arthur, that I've done extensive burglaries in less time. I thought a' first that it would be hard but there's a big chance it'll pull off," said Mundungnus confidently.

"How much of your money will you put on it?" asked Kingsley suddenly.

"All me savings!" said Fletcher with extreme conviction.

"We'll do it then!" said Kingsley decisively and Arthur Weasley let out a cry of outrage.

"We can't! It won't work!" he shouted angrily.

"It has been decided!" said Kingsley.

Sirius felt a huge wave of hope wash over him, refreshing his soul.

* * *

"You are wanted downstairs, in the drawing room, master Harry!" squeaked the terrified house elf. 

With a resigning sigh, Harry reluctantly pulled himself off his bed and trudged wearily down to the main drawing room.

Whatever punishment was waiting for him would happen now.

The storm had not yet subsided despite it being mid-afternoon. The countryside outside had been transformed into a wild wasteland, quite unlike the cultured appearance Harry was used to.

The drawing room door was too thick to allow the sound of conversation to drift into the corridor. Harry stood nervously before the double oak doors, hoping that the Dark Lord would be in a better mood than when he last was him. However before he had lifted his hand to knock, the doors swung open and the fire guttered in the draught.

The meeting of three consisted of Bellatrix, Lucius and the Dark Lord, all seated on high backed armchairs around the fire. Apart from the new tapestry hanging above the mantle piece, nothing else had changed since Harry last set foot in the drawing room.

It was by far the grandest private room in the manor with a high vaulted ceiling, decorated with elaborate plaster covered in a generous sprinkle of gold leaf. The room was rectangular with a magnificent Georgian fireplace at the far end directly opposite the door.

Three huge sash windows framed with pilasters were set at regular intervals along the left wall. The heavy velvet curtains had been drawn to block out the unpleasant weather outside and so the five chandeliers filled with candles were in full operation. Cabinets lined the walls filled with books, ornate instruments and jewellery in glass cases. Three-piece suites were placed systematically along the length of the room to allow for small gatherings to take place, but the Dark Lord preferred the armchairs.

"Come in," said the Dark Lord calmly as Harry stood nervously outside. He stepped forwards and the doors shut soundlessly behind him. Remembering his manners, Harry hastily said,

"Good afternoon, my lord,"

"The boy's grooming is progressing, my lord," commented Bellatrix as she regarded him from a distance. She beckoned to him, "Come over here and let me look at you more closely, its been several weeks since we last met."

Thinking it better to obey Harry moved towards the trio. There was no seat set out for him, not even the ottoman, or a footstool. Not knowing what to do with himself Harry stood awkwardly in front of the fire, turning every now and again to make sure that he did not have his back to the Dark Lord.

"I see he has not seen fit to observe his presentation," said Malfoy in a stern tone, although it was impossible to miss the delighted gleam in his eyes.

"Are those the robes you went out in this morning?" asked the Dark Lord derisively.

"No, my lord," said Harry meekly "I changed, but they got a bit crumpled. I'll do better next time,"

"I have called you down as we need to ask you some questions. I have no doubt that I do not need to tell you not to lie, you know the consequences," said Voldemort.

"Shall you begin now, my lord, or wait for Severus?" asked Malfoy. Harry's heart skipped a beat. Snape had made a full recovery and was now going to attend the meeting. Harry was dreading this encounter; no doubt his professor had been accusing him of helping the infiltration of the manor.

"No, it's alright, we can start now," said Voldemort and he placed the brandy he had been sipping down on the side table. Harry bit his lower lip; this was turning into a real interrogation. "Tell me Harry, what do you know about the resistance?"

_How could Voldemort think I'm helping the resistance? He searched inside my mind to many times. Perhaps this is all part of his punishment…_ thought Harry.

"I know that it's prominent in France," said Harry, "People think that they are responsible for the murder of Orphea Doleari."

"Now do you think Sirius Black is part of the resistance?" prompted Voldemort.

"I…I don't know…" muttered Harry looking at his feet.

"Look at me when you're talking, Harry," chided Voldemort softly.

"I don't know, my lord. He could be…"

"So you think the recent break in this related to the resistance?" asked Malfoy, his face unreadable.

"I think he was acting on his own that time. It was a big risk, Sirius has always been impulsive," said Harry and to this surprise the Dark Lord chuckled.

"Well said, child, I too believe Sirius Black would have been acting on his own,"

_"Would have been?" what does the Dark Lord mean by that?_

Three sharp knocks interrupted Harry's confused train of thought; Snape had arrived.

"Come in," said the Dark Lord and the doors swung open to reveal the thin sallow faced man.

"My lord, I have come as you requested," said Snape as he bowed before the Dark Lord.

"Very good, Severus, now I do believe you have something very important to report to me is that so?"

"Yes, my lord, we have received news from our spy in the resistance that they will be attacking the fortress tonight."

Harry felt his stomach disappear through his legs. It could not be possible! How could the resistance be so stupid? Another more trivial question was buzzing inside his head, what did any of this have to do with his interrogation?

"I understand that the trap has been sprung. We move tonight and then we shall see whether or Sirius Black is guilty of murder…"

* * *

**AN: **Okay, action/info chapter, the longest I've ever written! I promise to write more Harry/Voldemort in later chapters, 'cos their not really bonding anymore are they? 

Anyway big revelation coming up soon…big big revelation…cackles madly

**I'm planning on writing a Halloween Interlude, YES or NO? **

**Please review thx. **


	11. The Secret Memory

**AN: New chapter, sorry for the wait. It's Just a Nightmare will be updated hopefully today, if not tomorrow. Please review, thx**.

* * *

**The Manipulator 11**

_Five months into the new year, the new regime was flourishing. The Dark Lord had successfully won over the hearts and minds of the populace. All that remained to be done was to eliminate the pockets of opposition that remained. These rebel groups were often desperate people who had, for personal and political reasons, a lot to loose. Although most minor political dissidents were given conditional releases, there still remained the hard-core opposition._

_Unfortunately what remained of the opposition was forced, by the new regime's extensive network of operatives, into hiding and consequently making ties with the criminal underworld._

_It is often said that hatred will turn you into the object of your hate. Even the most righteous of men can become disillusioned in such circumstances as has been suffered by the resistance. Whether this tragedy has befallen any of the heroes of the old regime is unknown._

_However things start far from the squalor and deprivation of underground society. At the head of the new regime was a new leader and like all dictators before him, Lord Voldemort removed himself from the lower classes._

_The manor, which served as his main residence, was situated in the soft rolling landscape of Cheshire. It was a grand brick Georgian residence with the full entourage of pilasters, pediments and ornate brickwork. Unlike many other estates that Lord Voldemort had at his disposal, this was the only building without a distinctive gothic air, which some found unsettling. The house was set in two hundred acres of landscape gardens, making it almost as photogenic as its occupants_

_Five months on from the brutal end to the civil war, the most famous political dissident of all, Harry Potter, was now a permanent residence at the manor. He took and active part in the Dark Lord's political campaign, one of the few things that he was required to do in the Dark Lord's care._

_It was at the most meeting of the Civil Welfare Committee that the mysterious and disturbing things started to take place._

* * *

May heralded the arrival of a late spring and it was only now that the weather seemed to brighten from the dull grey of winter. To Harry it seemed as if the weather was mourning with him for his loss. However the increase of brighter days fuelled the propaganda campaign and Harry found himself constantly accompanying the Dark Lord to countless interviews, meetings and speeches. 

Breakfast was simple on the twenty third of May and the two human occupants of the manor sat in the conservatory enjoying the sunshine. The air was somewhat relaxed but there was still an undercurrent of tension present.

Voldemort leant back in his chair and waved for the house elves to retreat.

"We will be going to an important meeting today Harry. I expect you will be bored with the proceedings and so I have arranged for you to taken to Diagon Alley," said the Dark Lord surveying the boy in front of him.

"That would be very nice, sir," muttered Harry.

"Good, I have arranged for Severus to escort you,"

Harry's head snapped up in surprise. Severus Snape was the _second_ last person he wanted to spend an entire day with; the last being Lord Voldemort himself.

"I thought Professor Snape was attending the meeting," said Harry trying to make his statement sound less like an accusation.

Voldemort's face split into a wide smile, which often reminded Harry of a predator that had just cornered its prey.

"Oh Civil Welfare is not part of Severus' duties. He is however free today and has kindly offered to…babysit you," said Voldemort and his smile blossomed into a smirk.

This scenario sounded less than likely to Harry but it seemed logical that Voldemort would wish to cause Harry as much discomfort as possible even when he wasn't in the Dark Lord's presence. However, it did seem rather degrading for Snape, perhaps he was out favour at the moment.

"I am sure you will be on your best behaviour, after all Severus does not tolerate disobedience as you well know," said Voldemort sternly and turned to finish his morning coffee.

Harry sat silently in his chair waiting for Voldemort to finish, he had learnt the hard way that interrupting the Dark Lord was unwise.

"You are, I gather ready to leave," said Voldemort as he savoured his black coffee.

"Yes, my lord,"

"Good, come now, we don't want to be late for the Daily Prophet, do we?"

Harry nodded miserably. The press considered him to be highly photogenic and no a week passed when his picture was not in the newspapers. Of course interviews were also something he had to endure, with or without Voldemort present. The Prophet had found that the father son relationship Voldemort had been keen to promote was of great interest to female readers and Witch Weekly, a branch of the Prophet, demanded interviews every few weeks.

Voldemort was almost never seen on such frivolous magazines, but he saw no reason to exclude Harry from them and consequently half the population could be found periodically crooning over how cute he looked.

Today, however, only the high-ranking broadsheet newspapers would be present. Civil Welfare was of no concern to Witch Weekly and this was a blessed relief to Harry.

Travelling by Floo was certainly not one of Harry's favourite methods of transportation, as it left him dizzy and disorientated. Today was no exception and he tumbled out of the fireplace at the Ministry of Magical feeling particularly nauseous. There were thankfully no paparazzi present inside the atrium, but his relief was short lived as Voldemort elegantly stepped out of fireplace and pointed to the main entrance.

Hurriedly Harry dusted the soot from his robes and walked smartly towards the door trying to ignore the hand on his shoulder. The double doors swung open in front of them swung open slowly like curtains opening before a play. Suddenly blinding light of a hundred cameras met his eyes and he instinctively tried to bring his hand up to shield his eyes. However he found his body did not obey him, Voldemort obviously still didn't trust him to behave properly in public.

Harry felt his hand lift up shyly and his cheeks pulled into a small smile. The paparazzi clicked away furiously on their cameras and Harry wished for the second time in his life that he could have died a heroes death. However his distress was covered by the false gestures and soon the attention rested solely on the Dark Lord.

"Today is perhaps the most important day in the history of state welfare and great things will be decided today. The old laws are futile and outdated, it is time for a regeneration of the welfare system and it will start today."

The journalists and paparazzi squeezed onto the steps to the entrance clapped and cheered. Several rather bold reports tried to push their way towards the front shouting questions that did not sound at all friendly, and Harry hoped for their sakes that the Dark Lord decided to ignore them. This was apparently what Voldemort had been thinking as they retreated into the safety of the ministry building. The doors shut behind them and drowned out the shouts and the flashes.

When Harry regained the full use of his body again, he felt too depressed to even glare at Voldemort. However his expression turned to shock when the Dark Lord elegantly wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him close.

"My child, I know you dislike having to do this but I am afraid it is still necessary," gentle hands tousled his hair, "_I hope you enjoy yourself today,"_ hissed Voldemort.

As if on cure Severus Snape appeared out of the fireplace scowling angrily at the world in general. His features did not soften when he bowed before Voldemort but the Dark Lord merely chuckled.

"I know you would rather be else where, Severus, but I trust you," He turned to Harry once more and said in a stern voice, "Behave yourself."

"Do not worry, my lord I will ensure nothing happens to Potter," sneered Severus making it quite clear that his distain was for Harry alone.

"I know you will not. The meeting ends at three o'clock, I think it would be wise, however, to take him back here by two thirty. Enjoy yourself, Harry," said Voldemort, smirking at both of them, and disparated to another part of the building.

It was a strange sight to see the tension leak out of Snape's shoulders. As the Headmaster of Hogwarts, he was rarely without posture, but now, just for a spit second, the shoulders slumped and his lanky hair seemed limp and wasted. However he regained his composure almost immediately and turned to glare at Harry, but some how, almost instinctive Harry knew he was not the object of attention.

"Stop gawking, Potter and move," he snapped and pointed at the fireplace.

"Where are we going?" asked Harry in an equally snappish voice. Suddenly it was as if a black cloud had engulfed him and Snape face appeared inches from his own, his billowing robes obscuring Harry's peripheral vision. Unfortunately for Harry he barely reach Snape's chest but he glared defiantly back at his professor.

"You will not speak to me like that," hissed Snape but it was skittish. "Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes," hissed Harry.

"Yes, what?" demanded Snape his hands still on the belt. "Don't make me beat you right here, because I will…"

"Yes, Sir" muttered Harry. A dark rough hand grabbed his arm and pulled him towards the fireplace.

"We're going to the Apothecary," hissed Snape and unceremonious threw Harry into the green flames. The familiar nauseating spin of floo hit Harry full force and he fell out of the grate in the Apothecary with a lung full of soot.

The Apothecary was very quite for that time of the day with only a few wizen old warlocks crouched in a corner examining jugs of powder and packets of dried plants. The smell that usually lingered in such a place had all but escaped through the open shop door and the bustling of shoppers stepped in to replace it.

The fireplace had not been cleaned since the last morning and so large flakes of grey white ash clung to Harry's robes, a by-product of magical fires. The Apothecary did not seem to be interested in him, for ten year old boys did not make good customers. However the mood shifted drastically as Severus Snape swept out of the fireplace, looking as immaculate as he did ten seconds before. Not even a speck of ash or soot dared to cling to the potion master's robes, even though his oily appearance was a magnet for all things foul.

"Professor Snape," the Apothecary carefully made his way around the counter, avoiding the clutter of earth ware jugs and stained glass bottles.

"Smythe," Snape acknowledged curtly. The Apothecary was slightly less wrinkled than his previous customers, but his hair was already transparent and thin and his hands lined with cobwebs like patterns. He had a peculiar odour about him that suggested long hours hidden away in secret ingredients stores filled with sacks of exotic spices and herbs, their colours dulled but their smells vibrant.

"What brings you to my humble abode today?" inquired the old man unable to hide the eagerness in his voice.

"A list, I hope it will not take long," Snape said and turned his back on the Apothecary immediately after producing a piece of worn parchment.

"Of course, professor, I'll be right back."

Snape stood with his back to Harry pondering over the vast array of seemingly similar containers, occasionally breathing deeply and inhaling the subtle aromas that lingered even in the fresh spring breeze. His eyes closed in a rare moment of tranquillity and his face relaxed behind the tight mask that constantly adorned his face. He breathed as if he was taking the lifeblood of magic into his lungs and letting it circulate through his body.

However it did not last long, Snape withdrew his face from the ingredients almost as if waking from a stupor and started to pace impatiently.

The shelves, which occupied Snape's attention, were tall and narrow, with the minimal amount of space between each ledge. Different types of ingredients were crammed closely together on the pine shelves, so that only an experience eye could pick out what he wanted.

A small sack of dried blue flowers sat on the shelf closest to Harry. They were crinkled and brittle to the touch and their colours muted by long hours in the sun, but their smell was poignant; the rich scent of soft loam earth, the fresh breeze of summer and the secretive smell of the flowers themselves.

"Don't touch them, boy!" snapped the Apothecary striding firming towards Harry with a small straw sack in his hand.

"The boy is with me. Smythe," drawled Snape lazily without sparing Harry a glance.

"Oh, right," muttered the Apothecary looking slightly flustered, but still very irate. "Here are in the ingredients you asked for, Professor. Come again."

It was quite clear that he wished to be rid of the pair as he waved firmly towards the door and went quickly back to the shelves to check on his precious ingredients, muttering darkly to himself. Had Harry been able to see Snape's face he would not have been so fearful, but the Professor was quietly brooding over some ingredients too high up for Harry to see.

Abruptly he turned around, throwing Harry, who had stepped up to him, off balance.

"Come, we have other business to attend to," the tone was not harsh or cutting but distracted. It was then that Harry began to grow uneasy.

Perhaps the smells of the apothecary had boosted his mood.

The irate shopkeeper stood behind his counter with the air of a man under siege and glared at their retreating backs.

The street outside was a welcome relief from the closed atmosphere of the apothecary, even with the door open. People of all kinds bustled, strolled, skipped and lumbered through the cobbled street, occasionally stopping to chat or just ploughing on like oxen in bad weather.

"We'll be visiting the bank," said Snape indicating the way towards the white marble building, with it elaborate pillars and ornamental archways. The sack Snape had bought from the apothecary crinkled and rustled as they walked and the Professors gaze seemed to fix on things far away.

The bank was busy, as was to be expected of a thriving economy. Plump, well-fed merchants chanted greetings to each other in oily tones, small harassed looking women with pinches faces trying to their hand at bargaining, smart officials striding through the masses with their prim cut robes and equally well-groomed hair, hordes of children milling around looking for entertainment and finding only smooth dull marble.

Harry stood in a line taking all the action in with his eyes. It was not often that such vibrant displays of life were seem in the Dark Lord's manor.

"Can I help you, Sir?" demanded the goblin, looking officiously down at Harry from his high perch. Startled to see himself at the front of the line, Harry hesitated.

"Vault Number 592" said Snape pulling a silver key from an invisible pocket. The goblin took the key with disinterest, passed it onto a more junior banker and swiftly turned his attention to a hunched man, his features hidden beneath layers of moth eastern robes and a bowler hat.

The ride to the vault was un eventful, even four months of confinement could not make Harry miss the stomach churning mine cart ride. The vault in question looked exactly like any other, with a mottled iron door, worn smooth at the edges by long years of service. The goblin, like all others of his kind, had more pressing financial business to attend to and was thoroughly unconcerned with the proceedings.

Snape disembarked and motioned for Harry to say where he was, in the back seat of the cart. The door slid open and Snape disappeared inside the seemingly vast space, the mottle door closing behind him. Whatever he had intended to fetch was not easy to find for Harry found himself idling rubbing his hands together to stop them going numb in the cold air.

When he did reappear, Snape looked flustered although his expressions did not show it. It was more the tilt of his chin, the creases on his brow and the tightness in his eyes that spoke for him. The package he was carrying fit inside the apothecary sack, although it produced a sizeable bulge. Small pieces of dried herbs were poking out of the weave of the hemp.

It was hard for one to gage the time when the sun had decided to hide behind a blanket of cloud. However, it was too late for lunch, and yet too early to be considered afternoon. The hunched wizard with the bowler hat was standing on the steps of the bank when they exited. He was carrying a pewter pot with numerous dents in it. Perhaps he was beggar, as he smelt of moths and musty clothes. Now in the open without the sights and sounds of the bank to disturb him, Harry could smell it quite clearly, a stale smell, almost as if his clothes had not seen the light of day for many a year.

They were walking past the robe shop when Snape turned to stare at Harry, his eyes were piercing and yet unsettled. His eyes, though not moving, did not seem to focus on Harry or anything else around him.

"I need to run an errand…" he muttered, "Wait in here," he gestured vaguely to the nearest shop window, "I'll be back soon." He hesitated and added as an after thought, "Do not follow me."

With that he swept away looking almost as distracted a he had done back in the apothecary.

Standing alone on the steps of Zonko's newest branch, Harry felt stunned and yet excited. A childish excitement seemed to cruise through him, his curiosity had been stirred and he did not have an abundant supply of self-control. However fear was also present. Could Snape really be doing something illegal? Was he a traitor?

How ever hard it was to sympathise with the irate, cruel and miserable man, Harry suddenly felt almost fearful for Snape.

Harry slide down Knockturn Alley, careful to put at least several yards and three hobbling old women between them. On his robes were still the vestiges of ash flakes and his hair was unruly, hence he did not look too out of place in the narrow alley.

It was dirty and squalid, not particularly at the beginning but as he walked further, the light become dimmer and Snape could only be seen as a dark figure striding away from him. If it had not been for the professor's long hair, Harry could not have been able to track him.

He tried not to look at the doorways on either side, with steps caked in years of dirt and grim, occupied by equally dirty and worn people. Old women with pinched faces and lank grey hair, shuffled their trays of disturbing wares. Fat, greasy men with perturbing bellies wiped their stained hands on similarly stained aprons. Small squat children flicked pebbles at the worn stone pillars and wiped their red, sore eyes with disgustingly black hands.

It seemed that while the rich prospered the poor suffered. However it was not surprising, Voldemort always said that sacrifices had to be made. The magnitude depended on the goal.

Several doorways away, Snape stopped and disappeared inside a grimy tavern with a broken sign hanging above the door. The Billet.

* * *

It did not take perhaps as long as Harry feared to gain a place in the tavern, hidden away amongst the other teenagers milling around looking for tips. However once or twice he thought perhaps Snape had seen him, but when he studied his Professor closely, he showed no sigh of such a thing. He was talking to dark haired gentlemen with a neatly trimmed goatee. 

"…there have been concerns…"

"What about?" demanded the gentlemen.

"Us," snapped Snape curtly. The gentlemen made to reply and to Harry's annoyance it was drowned out by the drunken singing of a warlock.

"…nothing he said matters," snapped Snape irately.

"Have you taken the necessary precautions?" asked the gentlemen looking around him with concern.

"The charm is in place,"

"What about…"

"There is no danger of that," said Snape curtly and his lank greasy hair fell over his face, inconveniently concealing his expression.

"Has no one suspected you yet?" demanded his partner as he fidgeted nervously with his shot glass.

"As I have told you enough times, I am _not _in such a position!" hissed Snape venomously.

"Well…there is still the question of the Dark Lord's retaliation…"

"As long as you keep your head down, there will be no _retaliation_," The shot glass was raised and Snape tipped the entire contents down his throat.

"He does believe that Stubby is still alive then?" the gentleman inquired cautiously as if it was a delicate subject instead of a life-threatening one.

"He has more things on his plate right now than the by gone woes of years ago, but He is not to be under estimated."

"I see, my time grows, short Severus…"

"I realise that," muttered Snape and wearily drained another shot glass of whiskey. Suddenly in a voice quite unlike anything Harry had ever heard from his professor, Snape mumbled, "If only we had never…a moment's ill thought and a lifetime's regret,"

"Severus, I must go," said the gentlemen hastily and rose from the table pulling Snape up the elbow with him.

"I will see you around," he muttered, casting a sorrowful eye on the bottle of half finished whiskey. His stance was no longer straight and his head loped to one side.

"Be gone with you before…" the gentlemen turned to face Harry and for a terrible spilt second their eyes met over the noise drinkers.

The panic enveloped him and the pub seemed to become silent for a very long time as they stared at each other in fear.

"Severus!" the man shouted, pointing towards Harry. The shout seemed to jolt him out of the trance and Harry did the only thing he could do, he ran away.

Perhaps the adrenaline had made him immune to pain because he was sure he collided with several tables and even more people. However he didn't stop running until he burst into the alley outside. The sun had disappeared and a blanket of grey cloud made the alley even darker than it had been.

Unable to decide which way to go, Harry stumbled down a small narrow causeway between two buildings. There was hardly enough room for two to walk a breadth and his elbows kept banging on the grimy stonework. His pursuers were gaining on him but been much larger than he was they had to run sideways at times which hinder their progress greatly.

The buildings gave way to walls and an open sky but there was no end in sight and the walls too high to scale. The alley suddenly became broader before, to Harry's horror, ending in a tall grey wall, covered by years of graffiti. The brick had been worn in irregular places, so Harry could attempt to use the dents as foot holds. However his only experience of rock climbing was when Dudley had left him literally hanging off a cliff on their summer holiday.

However Harry had paused too long, Snape and his partner had caught up with him, both bearing torn sleeves and white faces.

"What did you see, Potter?" demanded Snape.

"How could it be? You said the charm…"

"He has protection, the Dark Lord put it on him, why didn't I see it before!" said Snape as he breathed in deeply, his nostrils flaring.

"What shall we…"

"_Oblivate!_"

* * *

Harry Potter sat bolt upright on the couch where he had fallen asleep, even though he could not remember how it had come about. The sun was setting and the house was still but the dream refused to go away.

* * *

****

**AN:** I admit the form and structure is not brilliant but it is the longest chapter I've ever written so please review and let me know what you think of it.

If there are any Snape fans out there are many Snape-centric editorials (analysis, theories) on my homepage. Or if you just like fanfiction I've got an archive on the site as well with some other works not on Fanfic.


	12. Prison Break

**AN:** How long since the last update? I am really terrible. The truth is real life caught up with me. External exams to revise for, endless mountains of homework to do.

Anyway way longest chapter ever. Enjoy!

**Please Read and Review. **

* * *

The night was still young but the moonlight was already waning as mist rolled up from the river banks enveloping the small town in an eerie translucent vapour. The river bank was deserted despite the earliness of the hour and the absence of street lamps made the scenery look strangely alien. The water rose and fell like the harsh breathing of some unknown beast while the birds watched from nearby trees with apprehension. 

The blurred outline of a lone figure appeared from the mist, in a long dark travelling cloak that did much to obscure his features. With an air of purpose he stopped along the river bank and leaned gracefully on the railings. His interest seemed to be the opposite bank with its unaltered bank and fringe of oak trees where several flocks of birds were nesting. Autumn had yet to touch the secluded spot and only the birds that emerged from the mess of leaves could be distinguished.

Birds, however were not the only source of interest for beyond the oaks, a little way in the distance stood an imposing mansion, of exquisite Regency architecture. The symmetrical façade brought a degree of order to the otherwise unoccupied opposite bank. Its shallow roof was visible against the last feeble orange glow of daylight to the west. The stranger seemed fairly content to simply watch what remained of the day fade into darkness like the sky behind him.

Suddenly three more figures appeared stealthily from the mist, wearing similar clothing so that it became hard to distinguish each individual as they huddled together along the railings. They too seemed to be interested in the birds as they ruffled their feathers and chirped irritably.

As if on cue all four figures pulled back from the railings and simultaneously disappeared with the smallest of gestures. However none seemed to notice the small scrap of tobacco that had fallen to the ground.

* * *

The owl, which had been hooting banefully outside the window, finally spread its wings and migrated to another tree having tired of the lack of audience. Harry rubbed his head like a harden drinker after a particularly bad hangover. The detail of the dream was fading fast but the main plot remained as clear as it had been several minutes before. 

It was too dark to decipher the time from the old brass clock on the mantelpiece, but Harry knew intuitively that he had only been sleeping for a short time. The moon was not visible through the blanket of cloud and dark shadows were cast on the lawn by the lamps downstairs.

What remained of the dream swarmed around Harry's mind in disarray. Snape had wiped his memory because he, Harry, had seen his professor talking to a strange man. The stranger's features were blurred but Harry was quite sure he would be able to identify him at a later date. However the whole scenario seemed extremely unlikely, to his knowledge there had not been any conferences in May that the Dark Lord had attended.

A nagging feeling of impending doom returned when the bothersome owl returned in tow with a dead vole and continued its monotonous recital. Suddenly as if an invisible soul had pour a vat of freezing water over his head, Harry jumped out of bed.

Sirius and the Order were attempting a rescue that very night! And Voldemort was going to catch them all!

Shivering from head to toe, Harry had never felt to useless in his entire life. He was powerless to save his godfather. Voldemort would have all the resistance within his grasp by morning and then…there would be nothing left to fight for.

"_Young Harry should not be out of bed," _Nagini's head poked around the door.

"I'm just a bit thirsty, Nagini," muttered Harry.

"_Thirst…have the house elves not sufficiently supplied you with water?"_

"Yes, they have, I just can't sleep that's all,"

"_Well, go back to sleep,"_ hissed Nagini _"Master has left on official business and I will be hunting tonight. You will need your strength come sunrise."_ Harry's heart leapt fleetingly.

"_What will happen tomorrow?"_ he demanded.

"_You shall see,"_ muttered Nagini cryptically. Although Harry thought she needn't have bothered. The entire household including the house elves knew the end of the rebellion had finally come.

There were no guards in the building that Harry could spy from his window on the third floor. The garden was deserted as was the carriageway leading to the front of the manor, which had been a favourite haunt of the palace guards. It was fairly unnerving to see the grounds so desolate, however the situation could be exploited.

In the days when Fred and George reigned supreme in Harry's list of popular heroes, he would have been quite tempted to listen to his inner Weasley Twins. However the past year had drained Harry's resolve and reserves of recklessness, and now the daring plan that was forming inside his head seemed suicidal to his logic orientated brain.

"_You know growing up with Fred and George, you feel anything is possible…"_ Ginny's words stirred in him the vestiges of the Gryffindor bravery (or recklessness) and filled him with a strange sense of warmth that Harry had not felt for a very long time; the same warmth that had once carried him to the Department of Mysteries to save Sirius.

Perhaps he had been cooped up in the house for too long because the rational side of his brain screamed in protest as Harry surveyed the area with a bloody minded resolve. There were no guards in the carriageway tonight. Several divisions must have been diverted to help with the mission.

The wall below his window was coated in thick layer of green ivy that looked deceptively secure. However it was the only way down to the drive without alerting Nagini or the House Elves. From his window it looked a very long way down and far below he could see the gravel path would not provide a comfortable landing.

Taking a deep breath Harry was about to open window when he suddenly realised the magnitude of his decisions. _If I am going to get away I may as well be prepared. _He did not have much time to scourge around for some essential supplies but he definitely needed to get changed, running around in white pyjamas was definitely a _bad_ idea. For one hilarious moment he pictured the Twins' faces if they heard he was about to escape Voldemort's fortress by jumping out of window.

A surge of excitement tore through him like lightening, finally after all this time he was going to make a break for it. The situation was surreal; his feelings of elations and anticipation were almost dreamlike.

The local owls started to hoots once more as if to remind Harry that his time was short and there was no time to stand around dreaming. _He needed a plan_.

There was a small floo port two miles due west of the estate. It was officially derelict but the Death Eaters occasionally used it to get to Deer Forest during the stag season when Voldemort organised weekly hunts. He had to take a gamble that there would be some floo power in the shed, as sneaking downstairs was out of the question. After that…he had no idea. The location of the detention centre was officially classified; all he knew was the name "Harlame Institute". Perhaps that was enough to get the floo portal to work, he had no other choice.

As for his possessions, he hastily shoved several unopened bars of chocolate that he had stashed under his bed, old habits die hard. Unhooking his cloak from its position beside the door, he hastily crammed it into the first satchel that came to hand. His heart was pounding so hard, he was certain it would give him away. Blood rushed to his ears with a continuous dull roar and his hands trembled from the strain.

When he had successfully pulled on a suitably dark attire, Harry saw that he had wasted five minutes of precious time. It was now or nothing, Nagini could return at any moment.

Unaware that he had been holding his breath, he let it out in a long silent sigh and with one swift moment he pulled up the window. He knew he had to do it or he would waver and break, but the ground seemed so far away.

Shakily he put one leg out of the window and instantly regretted; his leg shook so hard the window panes rattled. However the stubborn streak was not deterred by minor mishaps, with considerable difficulty he rotated and pushed his other leg and the rest of his body out of the window so that he was dangling comically from the window ledge. His legs swung wildly searching for a support but the ledge jetted out too far for his legs to grip the ivy below.

Suddenly he became very aware that his hands were slipping from the window ledge, slowly but surely the rough stone scraped past him fingers. _He was going to fall!_ Before he could scream out loud, his grip snapped.

Fate seemed to pity Harry for his quidditch reflexes kicked in and his hand closed securely around a strand of ivy. Although it creaked ominously, he was safe…for now. The decent downwards was slow and unsteady, he stopped several times to catch his breath and calm his erratic heartbeat. However his fear of discovery prevent from him giving into his reluctance. It seemed an eternity before his feet finally touched the gravelled ground without any life defying stunts.

Harry's legs wobbled pathetically as tried to walk forwards and the gravel made a deafeningly loud crackling noise. His circumspect caused him to shrink back into the shadows and survey the area…it was devoid of all life apart from the restless owls.

Silently he set off towards to the open gates, half a mile down the huge drive. Thankfully the moon had disappeared behind the clouds and the light from the torches left huge patches of darkness, which provided ideal covering for the fugitive. The shed was not far from the gate, only two miles, he could make it under an hour.

* * *

Two hundred miles away at the other side of country, four similar fugitives were standing underneath an impressive natural rock outcrop. Beyond and out of sight stood and equally imposing fortress. 

Charlie was the first to remove his hood, but his expression of concern did not comfort anyone. Fletcher pressed himself against the rock and surveyed the region with dread.

"Yer think it's a good place, heh?" he growled in a low whisper. The other two men seemed equally tense.

"Don't worry, the East wall is within a stone's throw of here," hissed Charlie as he too withdrew into the shadow of the red rock.

"I hope you know what you're doing Weasley," muttered Kingsley as he drew his partially concealed wand.

"Dad and Bill will be fine. Now in less than ten minutes the change of guard will occur. We must be swift, these passes are not foolproof. Use a levitation spell; they are simple and relatively overlooked in term of security. Most people expect something more complicated. Make sure you don't physically touch the walls, they are pressure sensitive," Charlie spoke quietly but hurriedly as if he was excepting to be overheard.

"Wot d' we once we're on the wall?" asked Dung looking thoroughly confused,

"We drop into the courtyard," said Sirius curtly. It was the first time he had spoken and the others looked at him in surprise.

"Yeah," agreed Charlie, his face contorted with worry, "but it's not that simple we have to enter the courtyard via predefined entrances, but there is another way…" he hesitated as if listening to an internal debate.

"We could fly across," finished Kingsley. Perhaps it was a trick of the light but Dung suddenly looked faith, the colour leeched away from his face. A wild wind gushed into the small space underneath the natural feature and increases in ferocity in the small confined. The four figures huddled closely to prevent their clothing flaring into the light.

"We can propel each other across the 200 yard distance," muttered Charlie looking about him as if an evil omen had just manifested itself. "It's the best way…the only way."

"If you say so, but how do we get into the jail cell?" asked Dung derisively, his face the colour of badly made parchment.

"I know which one Remus is in, we can used this potion -," Charlie produced a small vial of green liquid from the sleeves of his robes,

"How come no one tells me anything?" demanded Dung, affronted.

"You weren't listening," snapped Sirius as quietly as possible, but even if he had shouted the howling of the wind would have been suffice to disguise his voice.

"We can use this potion to corrode the windows, but it will obviously trigger the alarm. We have to move fast after that, we going up to the roof -,"

"We'll be trapped!" hissed Dung, his voice laced with fear.

"No we will not Dad and Bill will be read to get us," assured Charlie.

"There's three minutes left, gentlemen," said Kingsley calmly and for a moment Dung looked as if he was going to refuse to leave his hiding place but his resolve had never failed him before. If anything, Dung hated to feel like a coward. The late change of plans had resulted in him having to learn a different procedure. Arthur Weasley was not healthy enough to attempt such advanced and right now he felt almost as drained as Arthur had looked.

Disillusion charms were cast in grim silence, until everyone blended well into the red rock.

Silently, stealthily the four figures moved out into the open just as the moon was swallowed by a thick blanket of ominously black clouds. As they approached the East wall, carefully making the best of the limited foliage for cover, they saw that they would just be in time. The darkness concealed the swampy, soft ground that separated the fortress from the river. It was not easy going but after years of dealing in darkness; Dung was used to unpleasant surprises.

The wall loomed in front of them like an insurmountable obstacle; even the red bricks seemed more jagged than normal. Kingsley discretely held up 1 finger, and then they waited at the foot of the wall with baited breath. Distant sounds of anonymous wildlife floated past them but the soldiers inside the wall were too quite even for their enhanced hearing.

Suddenly a loud chiming noise nearly produced a surprise yelp from Dung but thankfully Sirius reach over a rough hand to silence him. _It was their cue_.

Kingsley was the first to start his enchantment, having spent so much time perfecting the enchantment with Dung had paid off. His body rose swiftly into the air and started the ascent. Sirius followed closely behind, just to the left of Kingsley to prevent them colliding.

Beside Dung, Charlie swallowed thickly, at times like these he could help noticing how young the boy looked. Too young to be face so many challenges.

Charlie rose unsteadily into the air but he steadied his concentration and started to float up faster than the other two. Now it was Dung's turn, his mouth suddenly felt parched and dry, the nerves in his arms tingled from the build up magic waiting to be unleashed. With a swift motion he muttered the incantation and imagined, like Kingsley had advised him, the swirls of magic surrounding him in cocoon. An essence seemed to warm him soul as he felt the ground leave the soles of his feet…he was floating.

He was holding his breath with fear as the spot where he had stood just a few seconds vanished completely from his sight and the top of the wall loomed ever closer. Kingsley was only a little away above him, slowing him own ascent.

The wall was deserted, and Kingsley had stealthily landed on the walkway. His body vanished from view as he ducked down to examine the courtyard and the building beyond. Faint sounds of marching feet diminished by every step. _Good, at least they made it to the top of the wall in one piece_.

Sirius was the next to land; stretching out his hand he felt the fabric of the wall for magical alarms. There were none. Their absence alone should not have triggered even his over suspicious mind; the new regime was arrogant enough to believe that nothing could possibly challenge their military supremacy. However proverbial alarm bells reverberated through his head.

_This is far too easy._

His line of through could not be carried far as Dung and Charlie landed successfully on the walkway, the latter panting hard. Charlie had not mastered the art of self-levitation; the curriculum at Hogwarts did not cover wandless magic.

_Too late now, hopefully he will still have some fight in him_.

Dung crouched behind the wall and peered down into the courtyard below. There were no railings to protect him from the 30 metre drop and the hard gravel ground did not look too inviting. It was strange to think that after all his years of acrobatic criminal activities; he was still _slightly uncomfortable_ with heights.

Kingsley beckoned them to spread out along the wall, it would not do cluster together when attempting something as dangerous as propulsion. Charlie would be the first to be magically propelled over the barren courtyard.

_200 yards was 70 metres, not very far…not too far for an auror to manage._

Even in the dim light Kingsley could discern that Charlie was exhausted. It was much harder to propel someone without their input; perhaps it would be wiser and quicker to throw Dung instead.

As if an unspoken agreement had occurred, Dung shuffled forwards until he was almost parallel with Kingsley crouched right at the edge of the ledge. Kingsley focused his mind on the swirling mass of magical energy around him, drawing on their power.

Dung felt an insistent push on his back, as if someone was trying to push him over the edge. His survival instincts kicked in of their own accord and he desperately tried to fight the magic but at the last moment his conscious mind took over and he allowed his body to relax.

A sudden painful force struck him in the back, as if he had been hit by a giant elastic band. His body lurched forwards like a cannon ball and thankfully the wind blocked his scream. The building was rushing towards him at a terrifying rate, thousands of glowing windows spiralled in his vision.

_WHICH ONE?_

Before he could even contemplate the possibilities, hard unbreakable glass slammed into the side of him face with enough force to leave him dazed. His survival instinct proved more useful this time, as his hand clenched around the metal bar above the window frame.

His vision took longer to react, but when it did Dung saw, to his amazement, the astonished face of Remus Lupin gaping at him through the window.

If he had been any condition to laugh, he would have probably alerted the guards with his raucous bawling. The situation was beyond hilarious.

However any thought of humour drained away faster than water off a ducks back. He was dangling off the side of a building, five storeys up, and unable to open the window because _Charlie had the potion_.

_If Kingsley lives through this suicidal expedition I will take great delight in casting an entrail expelling curse on him!_ Cursed Dung.

However as he twisted awkwardly around to face the other way, his peripheral vision caught sight of something that cause his hatred for Kingsley to instantly double. Charlie was flying towards him at an enormous speed, his mouth hung open in a silent scream. Perhaps it was fate or just sheet dumb luck, because Dung let go of the iron bar out of shock and ended up dangling pathetically off the window ledge, his legs swinging alarmingly back and forth.

Charlie, to his credit, gripped the bar recently vacated by Dung. His body was frozen in shock and his mind numb from the near death experience. Perhaps Remus's could see Charlie's expression; it would probably be a perfect match to his own.

Carefully manoeuvring himself so that he faced outwards once again, Dung was pleased to see that there were no other human projectiles flying in his direction. Kingsley and Sirius were probably debating who was going to the last one to cross. The grounds were eerily silent despite the drama that had just unfolded.

Above him, Charlie seemed to be regaining his sense. However this also meant that his rugged breathing ensued. The wind had dropped to leave a deadly silence in its wake. A deadly silence in which Charlie's breathing sounded like the mechanical grating of rough millstone.

If he could have reached the boy, Dung would definitely take pleasure in slapping a hand over his mouth, but right now all he could do was hang limply from the concrete window ledge with both hands and wait with baited breath.

Charlie was undoing the stopper, the popping noise sounded like a cannon to his ears in the unnatural silence. Slowly a low sizzling sound reached his ears as the acidic potion ate through the layers of unbreakable glass.

Drops of sickly green potion trickled down the window frame and flowed onto the ledge, lazily snaking towards Dung's fingers like a lethal serpent, poised to strike. He was in no position to defend himself. A trail of stark, smooth concrete could be seen underneath the green slime. His neck ached from bending backwards to track the progress of the acid and he dared not to shout out for fear of discovery.

Suddenly he became aware that Charlie's boots were no longer blocking off half his vision. The dark corner of Charlie's clock disappeared through the gaping whole that was once a window. With a swiftness of foot that Dung didn't even know he possessed, the retired thief swung himself up onto the ledge narrowly avoiding the stream of toxic potion and clambered into Remus's jail cell.

It felt good be back on firm solid ground even if the said ground was currently the floor of a detention cell.

Remus stood next to Charlie, the shocked expression permanently welded onto his face.

"The alarms haven't gone off," said Charlie. There was a dazed calmness about him that Dung perceived to be slightly more frightening than outright panic.

"Perhaps they forgot?" muttered Dung hopefully, as the cold hand of dread tightened its hold on his stomach.

_Perhaps they were expecting us?_

"This is suicide!" exclaimed a voice that both men had forgotten. Remus had turned on them his eye ablaze with anger…and gratitude?

"What would you expect from a fellow Marauder?" demanded a scratchy baritone voice from behind them. It took Dung's fear ridden brain several moments to process the information.

Sirius Black stood beside the window, his arms folded and a lopsided grin on his face. It was slightly unnatural _but only slightly_.

"Now we will all be killed," declared Remus eyeing his friend.

"Remus you always did have a tendency towards pessimism," commented Sirius trying and failing to sound light hearted. "Right everyone get ready, we're blasting our way out once Kingsley makes it,"

Kingsley who had opted to levitate himself across, was inching towards them at a phenomenally slow rate.

_He is so stupid, first Charlie now this!_ Dung's pervious encounter with death had only intensified his notion that Kingsley possessed a seriously flawed logic.

Sirius turned away and pulled out his wand.

Whether Kingsley was glad for the unspoken assistance was irrelevant because Sirius succeeded in pulling the auror towards him. Kingsley landed as gracefully as possible on the hard concrete floor.

"Get ready," he ordered straight away his face a mask of calmness but Dung knew no one could face such a situation without feeling that same sense of chilling fear that was currently waging war with his stomach.

Remus, perhaps feeling there was no point in complaining anymore than he already closed his eyes and tried to focus his magic. Wandless magic was no mean feat.

"Three, two, one…"

A once four jets of red light hit the door, and amalgamated into one intense ball of light. A split second later the sturdy metal door was flung against the stone wall across the narrow hall. It's demise reverberate through the corridor, a long low note that nearly caused Dung's knees to buckle.

Silent the five companions ran into the hall, there footsteps tapping lightly on the grey stones. Suddenly hurtling around the corner was a black robed warden his wand clutched tightly in his right hand. By the shocked expression on his face, he definitely had not been expecting to confront five of the most dangerous fugitives.

Before he could open his mouth to curse the invaders, Sirius pointed his wand at the man's chest and a jet of red light streaked silently towards the hapless warden. He crumpled equally quietly onto the stone floor, his face frozen in shock.

The hardened expression of Sirius's face did not seem to register what he had just done. Instead he leapt nimbly over the body and proceeded down the corridor a little way ahead of the rest of the expedition.

To Dung's left Charlie was trying in vain to communicate something to Remus, who unfortunately was too intent on catching up with his errant friend.

"Slow down, we have to turn right at the next junction!" cried Charlie his blotched face, whitening as he reached out to Sirius.

Sirius did not slow down and they carried on running. There did not seem to be any other obstacle in their path, which far from giving them any optimism filled them with dread.

_Was this all really an elaborate plot?_

Perhaps if he could think clearly Dung might have formed a coherent answer, but right now the blur of grey walls, the pounding of blood to his head, the rugged panting of his companions, pushed all thoughts out of his head.

"Sirius, down to your right!" carried Charlie from someway behind Dung, who momentarily allowed himself a glance back. The boy was not holding up too well. The levitation spell seemed to have drained him both mentally and physically. Kingsley pulled back to escort Charlie and Dung turned away feeling somewhat relieved.

_He was no hero; he could not help Charlie. _

The dissident band wheeled around the corner, into a much wider passage way lit by floating candles, which reminded Dung eerily of Hogwarts. However he had no time to dwell on his thoughts. They were approaching a flight of steps.

_This was the way to the roof. They were nearly there!_

Suddenly errant shouts approached his eyes and from the corridors that split off from either side of the steps, pour dark hooded wardens, their wands bared.

Sirius, spearheading the advance, did not even slow down at their sudden appearance. He charged and jumped towards the leader with an anguished cry of rage, looking very much like the shaggy black grim of his alternate form.

With a horrid realisation Dung saw that Remus did not have a wand. He had only one wand and he needed it.

_Remus is more important than me! _His erratic logic was not helping the situation. A ducked furiously as a jet of green light shot over the top of his head.

The passage way was in chaos. Kingsley to his left was a cyclone of spells, easily shooting down several of the less experienced wardens. Charlie was holding his own against a mighty brute of a wizard, whose bulk hindered his agility. However as he shot several complicated curses at Charlie, Dung decided that the boy needed his help more than Remus.

Rushing through the throng of confusion and curses he awkwardly dodged several lethal curses meant for his head. Even before he could straighten up, Dung saw a pair of black boots running towards his crouched figure. Without even a conscious though he struck out with his left foot at the attacker. There was a high pitch cry of surprise and the warden fell onto the hard floor.

"Stupefy!" cried Dung as he brought his wand in a slashing motion down on his victim. Somewhere in the background he could vaguely here Sirius' various war cries ringing out through the passageway.

Just as he turned back to Charlie, the giant warden thrust his wand towards the boy and a silver streak of light hit Charlie square in the chest. His taunt body was flung sideways into Kingsley's potential victims, knocking several of them to the floor.

"No!" Dung sprung forwards, knocking aside an ill timed intruder, and leapt over the still bodies of several other wardens. He reached the bulky warden even before he realised the cry of pain had come from his own mouth.

The brute seemed to be laughing at him, but no sound reached Dung's ears except the hot pounding of blood in his vein. Anger boiled underneath his skin all thoughts of clever hexes forgotten.

His mouth stretched wide in a roar of rage that did not reach his own ears. The confused cries of battle were lost to him. Suddenly there was only him and his opponent in the entire universe.

The first curse to come to his head tore across the narrow space between them and was dissipated by the blue shield protecting the monster before him.

_NO! He would not be defeated!_

As if in slow motion, Dung felt his hand twist of its own accord, and his tongue formed words alien to him.

"_AVADA KEDAVRA!"_

Somewhere in the back of his mind, a long lost voice rang out loud and clear.

_Nothing can stop the Killing Curse. _

A strange feeling of suspension overcame him. It was as though he was watching the entire scene unfold in the muggle cinema. At the last moment as the green light crawled across no man's land and hit his opponent on the chest, the camera zoomed in and he saw the pain reflected in the dark irises.

Suddenly the sensation was gone and his body slammed back to earth. The brute lay crumpled several feet away from him, a tangled mass of robes and limbs.

That was the final straw for his long suffering stomach, he leant over and hot acid erupted from his mouth like lava.

"RUN!" the cry was so loud, as if someone was hollering down his ear. He jerked upright, limbs shaking from the effort.

Beyond him, Remus was dragging a limp Charlie up the stairs. Sirius was close behind them. It was Kingsley beckoning him to move.

He suddenly realised his legs were too weak to support his weight and as he took a step forwards, they collapsed under him.

"RUN!" the dung drone of the battle echoed in his ears. He needed to move!

Summoning the tatters of his stamina, Dung leapt shakily to his feet and run for the stairs. Behind him he could hear Kingsley following.

Clambering up winding steps was not so hard, but his legs wobbled pathetically. Kingsley turned every now and then to fire hexes at their pursuers. The steps were so narrow; he could pick them off one at a time.

Small thin windows cast dim patches of light on the steps that blurred as Dung ran up them. Cold air whipped through his thin robes. He was nearly there.

Ahead of him he saw Sirius levitating the limp form of Charlie. They approached a heavy oak door.

Nothing was going to stop them now. Bill and Arthur would be waiting on the roof…

The door exploded outwards under Sirius' considerable magic. A blast of wind nearly knocked Dung off his feet, but he kept rushing forwards.

He burst onto the roof directly behind Remus and Sirius and to he was met by an expanse of flat grey concrete. No tiles, no slope, no chimneys…_no Bill!_

"I am afraid your friends have not been able to join you," the cold voice behind make Dung convulse with terror.

Horror compelled him to turn around. He did so slowly, as if his mind no long exerted any voluntary control over his own body.

Standing above the door they had come from was Lord Voldemort, his red eyes glinting hungrily.

* * *

**AN:** Hope you like that, twisting ending but do review. 

Oh by the way anyone like Star Wars Luke and Vader fics. They are great! **The Illusionist** is my new fic on it. Shameless father son story.


	13. Faint Stirrings

**AN: **A four month wait! I deserve to be thrown to the Death Eaters!

However to make up for this **_I have place the next chapter of the Manipulator on my website_** so you can read ahead if you want.

* * *

Every time his foot sank into the wet, slimy bog, a terrible squelching noise cut through the still silence of the marsh.

The moon was only a thin sliver of waxy yellow in the sky, hardly enough to illuminate the treacherous path through the marsh. However Harry pressed on driven by fear and determination. Somewhere out there, Sirius Black was in danger.

Due west of the estate was a small derelict floo shed and Harry's destination. There was little he could do but hope that he was heading in the right direction. He had not thought to bring a compass, map or even extra clothing, for this idea…this adventure occurred to him on the spur of the moment and now he was regretting the complete lack of planning.

However he had no choice but to continue wading through the bog and gazing at the stars trying to pick out a helpful constellation.

Suddenly as he surveyed the dark expanse of uneven terrain, Harry saw, or maybe imagined, the dark rectangular shape of the floo shed but the outline was blurred and distorted to judge its exact position.

The dark shape seemed to be perched on the only piece of high ground for many miles, a small round hillock that rose up from the marshes like a repugnant boil. The outline of the shed seemed to melt into the hillock as if it was merely a queer extension of the ground and for several moments Harry squinted helplessly into the distance trying to decided whether to follow this course of action.

_There is no harm in trying,_ he thought miserably as he pulled the hem of his nightshirt from the mud that had swallowed his ankles.

Surprisingly the path, boggy and indistinct as it was, seemed curved towards his destination and Harry took this as a good sign. The mud hindered his approach but soon, or perhaps not so soon, the distinct shape of a dilapidated building loomed head. Even in the weak illumination of the moon, Harry could see the pitted roof and leaning walls.

_I'd have thought Voldemort would keep this floo shed in better condition._

The hillock proved to be steeper than he thought but thankfully the mud slid off his feet as he climbed, as if it was afraid of leaving the marshes.

Sodden, dirty and utterly exhausted Harry leaned against the door for support only to have it spring open causing him to fall into the dark interior.

Voldemort clearly did not consider a light enchantment to be of much use in this "building", or perhaps it has simply worn off over a long period of neglect, either way it was pitch black inside with only the faint silvery glow of moonlight illuminating a few paces of the interior.

Fear was only a faint flicker of annoyance in the background of his seething emotions. Sirius Black was in danger and Harry had not time to feel fear.

Pushing the thin wooden door, he stepped inside. The faint sickly smell of fresh mud and rotten wood greeted his senses but there was nothing to see. However as his eyes slowly adjusted to the heavy darkness he could make a rickety grate opposite the door without a frame or mantle piece. The dust covered ashes had not been disturbed in a long time and cobwebs hung like wisps of white hair from the grate. However there was one positive item, a plant pot with a pinch of floo powder.

_But I have nothing to burn_ thought Harry fretfully as he surveyed the cabin. The walls of the cabin were full of cracks and holes where nature had ruthlessly pried apart the fabric of the building. Seeing a particularly loose piece of wood hanging sadly by a rusting nail, Harry wretched it from the wall and tossed the plank into the fireplace. An odd metallic ring sounded from the grate followed by clouds of billowing white ash. As the dust and ash cleared Harry stumbled forwards to look at the cause of the sound. Astonishingly, in the centre of the fireplace, covered by layers of ash, was an old fashioned muggle lighter.

As he pulled the contraption from its hiding place, Harry polished its silver surface. Engraved elegantly into the casing was a coat of arms with three greyhounds and several five pointed stars arranged carefully on a blue and white shield. However he wasted no time in pondering where it has come from and how this antique had come to be here.

Cautiously, as though to contain his hope, Harry lifted the lid and push hard on the striker. Instantly a bright yellow flame erupted in his hand, almost causing him to recoil in shook.

Excitement cruised through his veins, almost making him giddy and light-headed. Hastily he hurried back to the grate and held the silver lighter in place. Taking a deep breath and silently praying for a continuation of his good luck, Harry struck the lighter again.

The course rotting wood burst into life as crimson flames devoured the wood hungrily and for several moments Harry covered his eyes from the glare of the fire. Recovering fast, he reached for the floo pot and carefully gather as much powder into his palm as he could. The sparkling blue powder glistened in the light of the flames and Harry tossed a pinch of power into the fire.

"Harlem Institute!"

Instantly the flames rose upwards with a deafening roar and turned an wicked shade of green that seemed to unnatural. The flames no longer flickered and danced but lashed about like wild creatures in torment.

Harry's heart was pounding like a drum in his chest. He could feel the surges of blood gushing through his neck and arms in time with the erratic beat.

_Sirius, I'm coming!_

Taking one final gulp of breath Harry dived into the fire.

* * *

Lord Voldemort, his red eyes blazing with menace and his serpentine features twisted into a triumphant smirk, stepped casually down from his vantage point.

Masked Death Eaters appeared from the their various hiding places to surround the exhausted group of rebels. Their robes flapped ominously in the chilling wind that had no place in the summer month of June, as they pointed their wands menacingly at the escapees.

Transfixed by the sight of the Dark Lord, Dung found himself unable to command his own body. Slowly, leisurely the monster approached him, as if to inspect an animal caught in an ingenious trap.

"So, you thought you would rescue the werewolf tonight," drawled Voldemort as he started to pace in front of the ragged group.

Even though Dung's wand was still tightly clenched in his hand, he could not summon the courage to curse the hideous creature before him. The others were likewise still, but perhaps they were simply bidding for time.

The circle of Death Eaters seemed to tighten as they moved in closer to hear their master above the howl of the wind.

"Mundungus Fletcher, we finally meet face to face,"

The sound of his name hissed so menacingly through the thin lips, sent a tremendous shiver slithering down Dung's spine. However to his immense and shameful relief, Voldemort passed him without another word.

"Arthur Weasley, I see you are not content to live your life in hiding. What a sensational way to blow your cover,"

"I would rather die on my feet than live another day as witness to the suffering you have brought to the people," snarled Arthur, his face twisted with a ferocious hatred that looked so alien on his calm features.

"You talk about suffering?" demanded Voldemort, a trance of amusement gliding in his tone, "You who spends all your efforts in disrupting the government and spreading anarchy? You are nothing but terrorists who wish to regain the power you once lost."

Perhaps under other circumstances Dung would have laughed at the astonished and righteously indignant expression on Arthur Weasley's face but tonight his lips were frozen as if the very wind was curse with a freezing charm.

"How dare you say such a thing!"

This time it was Sirius Black growled with barely repressed fury.

"Ah, Sirius Black…trespasser, escaped convict and murder, how do you do?"

The lightness of the tone did nothing to cover the anger upon Voldemort's features. A smouldering anger that threatened to burst into flames at the slightest spark.

"I am not a murderer!" cried Sirius almost reflexively after so many years of protecting his innocence.

Voldemort leered.

The expression was truly terrible to behold and Dung used every ounce of his will power to keep standing for his knees almost gave way in fright.

"Oh and I suppose the killing and mutilation of Orphea Doleari was done with honourable intentions in mind?"

The confusion on Sirius Black's face was almost as humourous as Arthur Weasley's. However Dung was still far too shaky to laugh.

"What…" a cold hiss containing nothing but displeasure in its tone escaped from Voldemort's lips.

Within mere moments he was in front of Sirius and grabbed the man's chin forcefully in his spider like hand. Sirius struggled feverishly but the monster's vice like grip clamped onto his chin and tilted his head up so that their eyes met. For the briefest of moments, Dung could have sworn a flash of surprise appeared in the glowing red orbs but then it was gone.

With a harsh jerk Voldemort released Sirius Black and his nostrils flared with rage.

Suddenly without hesitation he turned away and strolled through the circle of Death Eaters. However almost before Dung could breath a sign of relief, thick black cords sprung from the very sleeves of his robes and his arms were forced behind his back where they were bound securely. The others seemed to have suffered the same fate but all apart from Sirius had the reflexes to resist the sudden onslaught. However Sirius struggling proved futile and his hands were twisted in an awkward position behind his back.

"Expelliarmus!"

Their wands went flying into the circle of Death Eaters and Kingsley twisted in his bindings but could do nothing to retrieve his wand.

Ten different lengths of wood were directed at Dung's face and the silent masked men urged his to follow Voldemort.

_If only I hadn't been in such a hurry to get out onto the roof, then I wouldn't be right next to Voldemort!_

However there was little he could do without ending up on the receiving end of several excruciating curses. Thus he stumbled forwards behind Voldemort.

* * *

Harry could almost feel the dull ache of nausea penetrate his head as he spun through the green flames. Fireplace after fireplace flew by, some warm and comforting, others large and empty.

Suddenly, almost too soon, Harry felt the ground jolt and he fell head first out of the fireplace into a cavernous entrance hall.

His footsteps echoed ominously in the vast empty space. The grey walls towered above him rising into the darkness. The frail glow of moonlight entered through the enormous windows to Harry's left, casting his shadow onto the flagstones.

Distinct patches of light and darkness marred the stone floor and Harry darted forwards through the hall, with only his instinct guiding his way. The headache brought on by his journey did not fade, instead it retreated to the back of his skull, throbbing dully.

As he approached the end of the vast space, a set of gigantic wooden doors, taller than even the front doors of Hogwarts, blocked his path.

_What am I going to do? I have no idea where I am going. Perhaps if I could get these doors to open…_

Two dark silver rings hung in far out of Harry's reach and the hall was completely devoid of anything he could use to assist him. In frustration Harry pounded the rich cherry wood with his fists and a deep rumble echoes through the hall.

Suddenly a creaking noise greeted his ears and to his astonishment the doors started to open. However as the two gigantic panels of wood parted, a stream of golden light poured into the dark hallway. As the opening become wider and the light shone straight into his eyes, still accustomed to the darkness.

The glare was so intense Harry hissed in pain and tried desperately to shield his eyes. The headache in the back of his skull erupted into a haze of pain that spread like fire through his head. Irrational fear gripped his mind and he found himself crouching on the floor with his hands thrown protectively around his head.

The creaking continued and yet above the noise he could almost hear gasps so faint that he could not tell whether he had imagined it. However as the doors slide to a halt with a final clang, a faint cacophony of voices replaced the grinding and creaking. Harry huddled tightly in his position hoping desperately that it was all a product of his imagination, or perhaps just the strange noises his breath made against his nightshirt.

Stayed in that position for what seemed like an eternity and the noise faded.

However through the comfortable refuge of his embrace sharp footsteps that were approaching. Through the floor he could feel the vibrations gradually increasing as they neared him.

_They're getting nearer…nearer._

As though a sixth sense was suddenly awakened in him, Harry knew seconds before he heard the voice who was about to speak.

"Harry, my child, what _are_ you doing here?"

Strong hand pulled him up and lifted him into an embrace. The light flooded onto his face and the flash of pain, which had brought him to his knees returned with fervour. Instinctively he wrapped his arms around the man's neck and pressed rested his head against the conveniently place shoulder.

"What is wrong?" asked the soft soothing voice of Lord Voldemort, which drove away all thoughts of fear, pain and…rescue.

"My head hurts," murmured Harry.

He felt them moving away from the doors and he pulled his still aching head up to survey the room.

The light was not so intense this time and as the blinding glare cleared, Harry found himself looking at a throne like chair situated behind Voldemort.

Curiosity got the better of him and he tried to twist around to look at the rest of the room.

Suddenly the jarring sense of recognition overwhelmed him and for several seconds the throbbing pain disappeared into the background as Harry felt cold despair.

Before him stood Sirius Black and Remus Lupin both with their hands bound behind their backs, surrounded by masked Death Eaters. Sirius was ragged and unshaven, his dark hair hung limp and greasy from his crown so that he almost resembled Severus Snape. Sores and cuts marred his skin; some half healed, others looking fresh and painful.

However it was not Sirius' appearance that alarmed Harry the most, but the desolate look of betrayal in his eyes.

Swiftly the softness of embrace turned to the chilling grip of iron manacles.

Helplessly, Harry tried to twist from Voldemort's grip, but it only tightened and he found himself unable to move.

"Put me down!"

"Now, now, Harry, you are in position to argue. I strongly suggest you be silent for you are enough trouble as it is,"

The veil threat did not escape Sirius for his eyes widened in concern but he did not speak.

"I want to talk to Sirius," said Harry forcefully as he met the Dark Lord's green eyes. His handsome features were twisted into a humourous, indulgent smile.

"You can talk to him right here, Harry, although I do not recommend it,"

Harry did not quite know where he produced the courage from, but somehow the hurt in Sirius' eyes was more than he could bear and he kicked Voldemort hard in the side.

Perhaps if they had been alone, Voldemort might have winced at the force of the kick that nearly winded him, but his façade was in place and the Dark Lord merely paused. Slowly he turned to look at Harry, all traces of amusement gone from his features. Harry almost expected to be dropped but no such thing occurred.

Strong fingers gripped his chin and tilted it upwards so that their eyes met once again. The anger and menace that Harry saw there was almost enough to draw a whimper from his throat.

"You will do well to chase those foolish notions from your mind, Harry before I become less tolerant. If you wish to make a show of you _disloyalty_ to me in front of you _godfather_ than I believe you are to be very disappointed

"I suggest that you behave if you do not want to temper my mercy,"

Harry could almost feel his chin going numb in the vice like grip and finally he forced himself to nod.

I won't give him an excuse to hurt Sirius…I won't 

"What do you say Harry?" demanded the smooth voice beside his ear.

"I'm sorry," whispered Harry hoping that Sirius would not hear the pathetic tone of his voice.

"I'm sorry…what?"

Voldemort was not about to relent, for he would not be satisfied until Harry was thoroughly humiliated for his feat.

"I'm sorry, Master,"

The bitter taste of defeat lingered on his tongue as he murmured the last word.

A cruel smile greeted him, the fingers withdrew from his chin and the arm wrapped around his back to press him tighter towards the Dark Lord.

Shame burned his skin as Harry found himself looking over Voldemort's shoulder once more. Perhaps it was a blessing that Sirius could not see his face and he could not see Sirius'.

"Now as I was saying before we were interrupted, Mr Black professes his innocence in killing Orphea Doleari. I am inclined to believe him for I saw the truth in his mind. However it remains still that the killer has not been caught and the public grow ever more desperate."

"You're going to execute Sirius for a crime he didn't commit!"

The words burst from Harry's mouth before he could stop himself and once more all eyes were draw to his small frame.

"Must I suffer through more interruptions, Harry," replied Voldemort his tone clearly stating that his patience was wearing thin.

Harry had enough experience to know that it was time to beg for mercy. For several moments his fought an inner battle with what was left of his shredded dignity.

Sirius' life comes first! 

"Please, master, spare him," Harry could see Sirius cringe from the corner of his eye.

He stretched out his hands to grip Voldemort's collar.

"Please, I beg you, spare Sirius' life. He hasn't committed the crime…are you going to punish him anyway? If so than you'll be no better than Fudge…please I can't live without him,"

"You have managed so far," was the cold reply.

His ploy was not going to work…a sour pain erupted in his nose and hot prickling tears started to form in his eyes.

"I can't, I love him…he's the only family I have…"

A flash of emotion seemed to cross Voldemort's face but it vanished as quickly as it had come.

Before he could control himself, Harry started to sob uncontrollably but he forced himself to continue his argument.

"If…if you kill him than the r-r-real killer may n-never be caught. Maybe Sirius knows some things you don't…m-maybe he could help you…"

"You know, my lord, I think Harry has a point," the light voice of Jugson cut through their duologue.

Voldemort stared at him long and hard as if to see a catch in the plan but Harry knew that he had finally relented when a pristine white handkerchief was pressed to his face and his tears wiped away.

"We can torture Black, my Lord," the eager tones of Bellatrix Lestrange, grated Harry's nerves. His throat was sore despite having said very little and his vision was wobbling ever so slightly.

"No, Bella, I believe we should make a deal," replied the Dark Lord forcefully. "Sirius Black and Remus Lupin, I shall free both of you so that you may bring me this killer. My agents will closely monitor you and should you even attempt to engage in any other criminal activities, you will be executed immediately…but of course your lives mean little to you.

"Let me rephrase my proposal, if you engage in any other criminal activities such as rallying the rebels, you shall both be publicly executed and we," Voldemort gestured to Harry, "shall be in attendance. I hope you do not want _Harry_ to see you die, Black."

Sirius opened his mouth but no sound came out. However Remus took the initiative to nod his approval.

"If you do succeed in bringing me the killer, I shall be prepared to _overlook_ some past transgression on you part and the parts of your comrades.

I see that you approve, good. Lucius do as we have discussed."

With that Voldemort swept from the room his robes billowing out behind him.

The last thing that Harry saw before he was swallowed by sickening blackness was a spark of hope in Sirius' eyes.

* * *

**AN:** If you're wondering Voldemort can change his appearance at will and he often uses the inhuman appearance to intimidate people.

Please review, your reviews really keep me going!

_**Don't forget the next chapter is on my homepage.**_


	14. Ultimate Triumph

_**AN:** I have always seen Voldemort as fundamentally what one might call "evil". However, in my fanfictions at least, he has always been human. He never was and never will be totally irredeemably evil from birth. Voldemort is prey to emotions such as love and grief, though he represses them. I see Voldemort as human first and evil second._

_**My computer crashed on Monday so I am updating from a friend's laptop and can't update my homepage. Thus the next chapters of the Manipulator are not on my homepage yet** **even though the pages have already been made.**_

A faint wheezing sound greeted Harry's ears as he awoke from the artificial slumber; a sound like the distant whistle of a steam train hidden within the folds of ancient mountains. It took several moments for Harry to realise that it was the sound of his breathing.

His brain felt lethargic and his limbs were likewise heavy and numb. The wheezing sounds continued as Harry desperately drew in as much air as possible through his blocked nostrils, which caused the pounding in his head to reappear with a vengeance.

A low groan escaped his cracked and dry throat, but it sounded more like a broken whimper of pain. The bed clothes felt hot and flush against his skin and he tried in vain to throw them off. The heat rose in his body as if he was trapped in a furnace and the hot flames were licking at his sides. A dull pain throbbed dramatically in his head like the wrath pounding of war drums and the memories rolled back in like the marching row of soldiers.

_Sirius! Remus…what has Voldemort done with everyone?_

Horrible visions of execution flashed before his eyes and although he had never attended a public execution in person, Malfoy was all too happy to provide the intricate details.

_No, he said…Voldemort said he would not hurt the others if Remus and Sirius brought back the real murderer…but what if they don't succeed? What if Voldemort won't let them succeed?_

Harry's brain reeled with the possibilities and he slumped against his pillows feeling as if thinking had drained his life blood. His eyelids drooped once again and soon they closed all together.

The sound of the door opening shook the mist of sleep from Harry's head but he did not open his eyes for fear of what he would see.

"I know you are awake, Harry," the familiar tone was colder than Harry remember.

_Voldemort must still be angry with me…_

"Come, sit up and take your medicine."

Strong hands lifted his shoulder and pulled him into a sitting position, which drained the blood from his head, leaving his feeling faint.

Cautiously Harry opened his eyes and was relieved to see only Voldemort beside his bed levitating a small tray of potions. The Dark Lord look calm and controlled, with no outwards signs of displeasure he would surely show if he was really_…angry._

The silver tray set itself on the bedside cabinet and the miniature potions bottles rattled on contact. Voldemort seated himself on the edge of the bed and calmly selected three bottles from the assortment without looking at Harry.

_Is he shunning me? Maybe he simply doesn't have time to deal with me right now, which would be a definite blessing._

However the thin threads of hope were broken by his more rational and Slytherin side.

_Of course he was time to _deal _with me, after all he is here personally administrating my medicine…but that isn't necessarily a bad thing. He's not shunning me, because he would have simply sent a house elf…either that or he wants to toy with me before he destroys me…_

A low chuckle broke the unpleasant chain of thought.

"You amuse me to no end, my child…no I have no intention of _destroying_ you."

Harry bristled with indignation and hurriedly quailed the feeling in case it would incense the Dark Lord. Voldemort could be highly unpredictable on occasions.

With a wave of his hand the first potion bottle uncorked itself and Voldemort reach towards Harry to bring him forwards.

"Come, drink these. Healer Farius prepared them especially,"

At the mention of the specialist healer Harry almost froze with fright. Cold shivers of fear slithered down his spine like icy rivets of water and the fear infected his voice.

"What's wrong with me?" he could hardly keep the panic from his tone.

The features on Voldemort's face rearranged themselves in an indulgent and comforting smile but underneath the facade Harry sensed anticipation, the same sense of gleeful anticipation that Voldemort felt just before torturing a hapless victim.

Perhaps Harry unconsciously shrank away from him because the next thing Harry's brain registered was Voldemort's hand on his forearm, preventing him from withdrawing.

"Fearful, Harry?" the words were sibilant hiss and Harry felt a familiar pricking sensation on the back of his neck.

"Y-yes…"

He knew better than to lie at this point, there were times when his bravado held out but in the last year Harry had learnt an important lesson: some fights were not worth fighting. It was better to give in before he did any irreparable damage

Voldemort looked pleased at the reactions but his eyes seemed to soften somewhat as he took in Harry's pathetic state.

"You have defined me in front of my followers, what do you think you deserve?"

A small hesitation was the only indication of Harry's reluctance.

"Punishment," he replied meekly and stole a look at Voldemort's eyes. They were filled with undeniable pleasure.

"Punishment is such a harsh word, used for children and criminals alike…I prefer discipline. For I am mere disciplining you for later life, Harry."

A wave of anger seemed to emerge from nowhere and rose through Harry like flames in a fire.

_You are just a sadist…you enjoy hurting me!_

"Oh, Harry, you deserve an extra beating for that remark," hissed Voldemort slyly as he cupped Harry's chin in his hand.

Harry struggled to release himself from the grip but the coolness of the palm felt soothing against his burning skin and he felt himself relaxing in the grip. The hand moved to cool his cheeks and Harry leaned into the touch as a welcome relief from the furious heat that enveloped him. However the burning shame of his body's betrayal lingered, unquenched by the cold hands.

"Poor, poor, child, you are burning up…"

The words were cooed as if Voldemort was speaking to an infant incapable of comprehending what he said.

"Drink up the potion, Harry."

A cooling fluid was tipped into his mouth and Harry gladly swallowed it. The thick potion slithered down his throat slowly, leaving a cooling sensation in its wake.

"That felt better, didn't it…am I so terrible now, Harry?"

_No…,_ thought Harry as he lounged back against the pillows but the encompassing feeling of rage materialised once again to boil away at the bottom of his heart. _You are a sadist…you are…nothing will ever change that._

Long fingers stroked his hair and Harry restrained himself from fighting them.

"I know of your thoughts, little one, and yet I have to say they are so often inaccurate I cannot correct every one,"

Harry's expression remained as blank but the hate was raging inside.

_You took everything I ever loved away from me!_

"Yes…I did, but have I not replaced those things? I have not provided you with a home?" asked Voldemort his green eyes studying Harry keenly.

"You _use_ for your own gains, you toy with my mind, you…you…_what do you want from me?_"

The confused question burst forth with a passion that Harry did not know he possessed and even Voldemort was temporary stunned. However he recovered almost instantaneously.

"What do I want from you?"

Long arms snaked towards him and enveloped his body. Suddenly the Dark Lord was closer…so much closer than he was before. His dark robes filled Harry's vision and Harry could almost feel the sheer magical presence of the Dark Lord suffocating him.

"What do I want from you?"

He was being pressed to the firm body, his head lolled forwards and rested against the velvet folds of Voldemort's robes. The faint scent of cognac and expensive after shave floated into Harry's senses.

"Harry, I want your _soul_…"

The terrifying words jerked Harry out of his befuddled mental state like a bucket of icy water.

"You…you-,"

A low chuckle betrayed the dark amusement,

"No, no, Harry…I'm not going to suck your soul away like a dementor…"

"What-,"

"I want your _devotion_, Harry Potter. I want you to love me, dear child, now wouldn't that be _the ultimate triumph?_"

Harry's breath hitched in his throat as if the air had suddenly become solid lead. He could not breathe, his ribcage jerked helplessly as he felt the heavy sense of suffocation close in.

"Breath"

The leaden air instantly melted and Harry gave a great shuddering breath. His hands were trembling.

_No, how can he possibly want me to…to…love him? I'm a boy! The pervert!_

He did not have time to see the sudden fury ignite in Voldemort's eyes before a stinging slap landed across his face. It was meant to humiliate rather than hurt but even so Harry felt the prickling of tears in the back of his eyes.

The voice that followed was smouldering with barely suppressed anger.

"Do you really believe me to be some sort of _paedophile?_ Do you really believe that_ I_ am sexually attracted to you?"

Fear flashed across Harry's heart but the stinging pain was unconsciously welcome for it chased away the horror and disgust at previous statement.

"You really are a dirty minded child," Voldemort snarled, as close to righteous indignation as it was logically possible for such an immoral person.

Perhaps Harry should have interjected and pleaded his innocence, or failing that, his relief at being wrong. However all words stuck in his throat as securely as the air had once done when he was suffocating.

Beside him the anger in the Dark Lord's eyes seemed to subside somewhat and his accelerated breathing slowed. Softness crept back into the expressive lines of the handsome features and blood rush back into once tightly pressed lips.

Harry's voice returned and a small whimper escaped, which sounded shamefully pathetic. However displays of weakness served to please sadists and Voldemort was no exception or the hard glint in his eyes vanished completely.

"…I apologise, Harry."

The apology sounded almost genuine now that the voice had become soft and comforting once one. However Harry held no illusions as to what Voldemort really felt although he did not voice his suspicions.

"I had no idea the more_ unpleasant_ aspects of politics had reached your ears…"

Relief was short lived for on reflection, Harry still did not understand what Voldemort wanted. It was much easier to comprehend Voldemort's physical desires for a lush young body than it was to grasp the twist psychology of his desire for devotion.

"What _do_ you want with me than?"

The question far too bold even before Harry had finished pronouncing the words. He could not take it back so he lay back down against the pillows waiting for the anger to reinstate itself in Voldemort's gleaming green eyes. It did not bode well when Harry saw nothing but dark amusement and desire burning in the depth of the emerald orbs.

"You don't understand do you, my child? You cannot comprehend what I desire, can you? It is so much simpler to believe my desires amount to nothing more than impulses of the flesh but I am afraid it is a lesson you must learn: rarely are things so simple.

'Let me enlighten you then, my poor confused little boy, let me tell you exactly what I want from you."

Voldemort leaned into Harry's body like a serpent positioning itself for the killer strike. The macabre smile that followed seemed almost like a snake exposing its fangs for the benefit of its prey. The terrible, twisted delight was a diabolical gleam in the Dark Lord's eyes.

"I want you to _love_ me…to love me even more than you loved your parents, your godfather and Dumbledore. I want you to become my child, and I want you to come to me willingly, to seek out my company to bask in my presence as you basked Dumbledore's. I want you to love me and only me…

"I want to see the day when I can present you to Sirius Black and Albus Dumbledore and see the betrayal in their faces when they realise that you are mine!

"_What sweet vengeance it will be_…Harry Potter devoted to me, his arch nemesis…_my ultimate triumph_."

Suddenly a rush of calm surged through Harry sweeping away the emotions of fear, anger and…guilt. Slowly he turned back to Voldemort and met his eye with a determination he had no idea he possessed.

"_I should warn you, Voldemort, you won't succeed_…because you will have to kill me before I betray the ones I love."

The amusement did not disappear from Voldemort's eyes, instead it seem to increase ten fold until the silent twisted laughter spread into the corners of his eyes.

"I would be so disappointed if you gave in, my little one. I shall enjoy breaking you…"

"That will never happen, Voldemort," replied Harry calmly, staring straight into the those terrible eyes that promised so much pain.

"Well then…_let the games begin_…"

_AN: I love writing Harry and Voldemort and there will be lashings of it soon…some bits will become rather disturbing but nothing beyond PG.._

**_Please review, your comments are what keeps the plot line alive and kicking._**


	15. Therapy

**AN: Yes I haven't updated in several months because I have been applying to University. Now that I have an offer I have been able to get back to my story writing. **

**The next chapter in on my homepage but is not proof read**

**Please review...**

* * *

The sun was shining outside but Voldemort did not have the patience to enjoy such a phenomenon. There was pressing government business to contend with. 

Sometimes in the privacy of his chambers stacked with towers of official documents, Voldemort had to admire Albus Dumbledore, even if only on a purely intellectual level. With all of the deceased Headmaster's political titles and domains under his control, Voldemort was a dictator in all but name, just like his former professor had been.

It was appalling how people were often so simple minded enough to believe in good and evil, black and white.

_There was only power and those too weak to seek it._

Only a handful of people in this life could truly understand this statement despite the fact that he had himself, in youth and afterwards at times of desperation, spurted this rhetoric like the deranged fan girls of Victor Krum.

_Oh, yes, he knew about Victor Krum_.

Harry had been shocked to find out that the Dark Lord, bring of death and destruction could enjoy something as childish as quidditch. Apparently Dumbledore had not seen fit to inform the boy of his string of impressive quidditch victories for Slytherin, but then again it would only serve to underline their similarity.

Turning away from the window, Voldemort retreated to his desk where the monstrosity of ministry paperwork awaited his attention. Sometimes it felt as though raising Harry Potter was nothing compared to the wading through British Bureaucracy.

However the knock on his door disturbed his musings.

"Come in,"

The heavy door swung open of its own accord with a fain squeak. He would have to tell the house elves to oil it again.

"Harry, come in."

Outside stood the little boy, dressed simply in his blue pyjamas looking as determined as ever.

"You wanted to see me, my lord?" said Harry politely as one could through tightly clenched teeth.

"Yes, I do," Voldemort smiled indulgently and beckoned him into the sunbathed study. Certainly not something that should be associated with the Dark Lord. "Come, take a seat."

* * *

It was awkward position to sit in for Harry kept having to shield his eyes from the glare of the summer sun, which was at it full glory even at eight in the morning. He hadn't had time to change when Woody appeared hysterically calling him to the master's study, but now he was here the sense of urgency seemed to be unfounded.

"Did you sleep well?" inquired Voldemort from the other side of the expansive desk covered in neat thick piles of parchment.

"Yes, sir," said Harry quietly staring back at his captor with as much energy has he could muster at this time of day. _He was not about to broken so easily._

"Very well, I called you here because I thought you might want to know how your beloved godfather has been faring these last few weeks. He and Lupin are currently wondering around Diagon Alley looking for _clues_."

Harry blinked and kept his face as blank as possible.

_Voldemort didn't intend for Sirius or Remus to succeed and he was taking great delight in watching every moment of their downfall._

"Now, Harry, I think you judge me far too harshly," said Voldemort his lip curling upwards in an unpleasant smile. "I want to catch that killer as much as Black and Lupin…perhaps even more."

"Well, have you made any progress?" demand Harry with a little hint of insolence in his voice.

"Oh yes, I have, in fact one could say I have made too much progress,"

The sinister tone did not put Harry off in the slightest,

"I would be grateful if you would tell me who is behind all this and then let my Godfather and Lupin go because you clearly don't approve of their detective skills,"

"Oh but Harry what would be the fun in that?"

"They are innocent and you clearly know that," he snapped unable to maintain his controlled demeanour, "why are you forcing into a task that they will obviously fail? It's not as if you really need an excuse to execute them."

Voldemort's smile did not fade though it ceased to look so sinister. He turned away from Harry then and clasped his hands tightly behind his back as though suddenly troubled.

"There are many things you do not know or understand right now, you must be used to the experience for Dumbledore filled your ears with twisted truths and misinformation but I do not intend to tell you anything beyond what you need to know. I shall just say that my plans have been carefully laid and it will take more than you to destroy them this time."

"What plans?" asked Harry anxiously. The sense of impending doom never quite left him these days.

"I don't see the need to elaborate. You understand as well as you can that I am trying to bring a new order to the Wizarding World, to reverse the decay it has suffered in the last century. Yet there are many in my own government who do not want peace or prosperity but prefer to hang onto their archaic sentiments…I intend to deal with them."

Puzzled and unbalanced by this rhetoric, Harry paused to digest the information. You could never be too careful with Lord Voldemort. He's words could sallow independent thought like quicksand and hypnotise any listener but today he seemed to have stripped aside his charms.

"You mean someone in this government killed Orphea? Why would they bother?"

The Dark Lord heaved a sigh and the sun momentary disappeared behind a cloud.

"Enough of this, I have told you too much already."

_No you have not, _thought Harry cynically, _you've told me just the right amount for whatever you have in mind,_

"Really, Harry I thought you have the intelligence to realise that I am but a mortal man and often lapse in my judgement. I trust you will not relay this information to anyone because I shall be most displease if you do.

'Now let us put this terrible murder behind us for the moment and discuss something more immediate. The school holidays will begin shortly," Voldemort picked up a piece of parchment lying on his desk, "is there anything you particularly wish to occupy your time with for I am afraid I will not be able to watch you all the time. I will however be taking a week off and I have decided we shall travel to Dorset."

"I would like that," muttered Harry. He had cooped in the house for far too long a trip to Dorset would inevitably make things much more bearable even if he had to go with the Dark Lord. After all Voldemort would probably too busy tending to business than to watch Harry. His idea of a holiday was having two hours sleep a day.

"Oh no Harry, I shall be relaxing on our little holiday and don't be too upset just yet, it will only be you and me so I shall be able to spend some quality time with you…"

Harry could not quite conceal his looked of horror. One whole week with the Dark Lord for company…

"However that shall be in August and before that there is still the question of your birthday party to attend to. You'll be eleven and it's a very important age so I have decided it shall be held here and you may invite as many friends as you wish provided they do not have a criminal record." Voldemort smiled grimly down at him and Harry felt his heart sink. He did not wish to take part in another publicity stunt, which would be exactly what this was.

"I don't really want a birthday party," muttered Harry.

"Oh but I insist, after all you have been very good lately after your little tryst. I suppose you learnt your lesson."

"I really don't want a birthday party…I have no one to invite,"

"Oh Harry, there are many people who want to come, Draco, Pansy, Neville…Hermione,"

Harry stared at Voldemort. Surely he could not be allowed to invite Hermione, there had to be a catch.

Voldemort walked slowly around his desk and Harry stiffened.

"Are you cold?" he suddenly inquired, "you should really have put a dressing gown on." A green dressing gown materialised and of its own accord wrapped around Harry like a giant misshapen python.

"I don't want a birthday party, it will only make me miserable!" cried Harry as he struggled to surface from the folds of the dressing gown that probably belonged to Voldemort for it was so huge. Beside him he could imagine the amused smirk on Voldemort's face.

"You really are very ungrateful Harry, I propose a reward and rebuke me as though I was holding this celebration for my own gain," said Voldemort and he reached forwards to extract Harry from the dressing gown, which twisted away from his grip and spiral off the chair taking Harry with it. "See you distracted my attention and you suffer the consequences."

"I didn't distract you," said Harry sulkily but his voice was muffled as he rolled on the floor trying to pulled the ferocious piece of cloth off him.

Suddenly it went limp and Harry found himself being lifted up and his face uncovered. Voldemort chuckled softly as he unearthed Harry's blotched and embarrassed face.

"Sorry about the charm, I did it wandlessly and you distract my attention." To Harry's great surprise and disgust Voldemort leaned forwards and kissed him on the cheek.

"Ugg, don't" cried Harry as he tried to fend him off and managed poke Voldemort's nose.

"Now, Harry, what would your Home Healer think about that," asked Voldemort out of the blue and Harry was so stunned he forgot to wipe his face.

"What?"

"Your home healer, she's just arrived, Harry. You have been experiencing many problems lately, including an unwillingness to show affection, and the law requires me to get you some professional help. I'm sorry to spring this on you."

"You…you…got me a psychiatrist!" snapped Harry with disbelief.

"No, not a psychiatrist, a Home Healer. She is here to help us work out our problems and resume a normal family life."

"You did this so she'd see! You 're just using me for publicity…the last few minutes…you were just showing her what a brat I am and what a nice guy you are! I don't believe you would sink so low! What am I saying you're Voldemort!"

"Harry calm down." Said Voldemort firmly and gripped both his hands, "she has just arrived and she has not seen anything."

"I don't believe you! I _hate you_! How dare you assume I need any help! You're the one who's deranged!" screamed Harry quite loosing all of his composure, which he had vowed to keep since their _discussion_. His arms flayed and his twisted his whole body in sheer rage and embarrassment.

Behind them the door creaked open once again accompanied by an altogether unwelcome voice.

"_Uhum_, may I introduce myself, Lord Voldemort. I am Dolores Umbridge, profession mind healer."

* * *

**AN:** Oh yes I do so love torturing Harry, almost as much as Voldemort. Keep an eye on the love theme...its essential to the plot. 

**Please Review **


	16. Disturbing Minds Think Alike

**AN: Hope this chapter was worth waiting for, I had posted it originally on my webpage but added a lot more, so if you have read it read it again!**

_**Next chapter is on my webpage…go read it if you want but it's not beta-read.**_

* * *

"_Uhum_, may I introduce myself, Lord Voldemort. I am Dolores Umbridge, profession mind healer." 

Harry went limp with shock.

Standing several meters behind them was the unmistakable plump figure clad in pale pink two-piece suit complete with frilly cardigan and ridiculously high stilettos.

"Ah, Madam Umbridge, do come in. As you can see we have been having some fairly typical problems." Without releasing Harry, Voldemort walked calmly over to shake her hand. "I hope that you had a swift journey here,"

"Oh very much so," simpered Umbridge unpleasantly and her beady eyes fixed themselves on Harry, "it took much less time than I anticipated so I was able to observe the last part of your interactions together."

"I'm glad," replied Voldemort with his usual charm, "I really hope you did not take Harry's reactions personally, he simply does not enjoy the idea of being scrutinised."

"Oh, my Lord, in my past experiences with Harry Potter I have found that scrutiny is what he really needs," stated Umbridge boldly and her poisonous smile only widened.

"Very well, do take a seat. I am afraid Harry has not been able to get changed in time this morning."

Umbridge summoned one of the stately chairs by the desk whilst Voldemort settled himself down on the velvet couch with a limp Harry in his arms.

"Now where shall we begin?" asked Umbridge as she unfolded a small notebook, which morphed into a complete clipboard with paper and pink pens with a small tinkling sound.

Perhaps it served to pull Harry from his trauma-induced state for he stirred to life within seconds.

"You got _her!_ She's not even qualified to help pigs!"

"Harry!" the Dark Lord sounded angry but Harry could tell from the gleam in his eyes that Voldemort was enjoying this far too much. Horrified protest was not going to get him anywhere and Umbridge continued to grin dangerously at him from across the coffee table. It looked as though the only way to get out of this nightmare was to attack Umbridge's self styled importance.

"You know what, Umbridge, I really admire your ability to stay alive, but you do know Voldemort's only using you to get at me-,"

"Harry, you will either be quite or I will make you be quite," said Voldemort firmly. The unveiled threat of pain stirred Harry's sense of self preservation and glared back at his tormentor.

"I see he still has an issue with authority, so I suppose we should start with discipline," said Umbridge plainly and produced a small leaflet from his clipboard. "I am really interested in your methods of discipline, Lord Voldemort. From what I have gathered you are more traditional in your methods."

"Yes, I am."

"That is very good, for as you know the ministry has made corporal punishment in schools legal and required. I was wondering how often you feel the need to smack him…"

"He goes through phases," replied Voldemort calmly, ignoring Harry all together. "I try to be patient but at times he pushes me to the limit."

"Well now, there is the problem," Umbridge looked positively malicious as she said it. "I think you indulge him just a tad too much. Of course I can see that you have a great deal of affection for him as much as you would for your own child."

She gestured unnecessarily to Harry who was perched on his lap and haphazardly wrapped in a clearly expensive dressing gown.

"Yes, I do, unfortunately I do not have the time to be with him as much as I would like. I believe he is somewhat resentful of that-,"

"I am not!" cried Harry unable to control his raging emotions and he pushed at the Dark Lord's chest with all his might "I don't want attention from you!"

"Harry, do please calm down," simpered Umbridge in her falsely cheerful voice. "I fully understand that at your mental age it may seem embarrassing to display anything other than indifference but you really must understand that in order for us to progress you much release you inhibitions…"

"_I don't have inhibitions!_ I hate Voldemort, I hate you too!"

"Harry, how don't be so impolite."

Voldemort's fingers tightened around his arm and made Harry gasp in pain.

"Now, Lord Voldemort, I feel that in our first sessions we must allow Harry to vent his pent up rage. It is very important for him to come to terms with his negative feelings in order for us to progress," said Umbridge calmly, "Now Harry is there any reason why you feel this way?"

The look of incredulous shock on his face did not dampen the ridiculous smile on the toad like face.

"He destroyed my life! How do you think I should feel?"

"He has been like this for most of our time together," interjected Voldemort, "I had hoped that we could work this out between ourselves but nothing I tried seemed to work."

He sounded disgustingly remorseful as though he actually wanted to have some kind of affectionate relationship.

"Ah…I see." Umbridge bent down to scribbled something on her clipboard as she had done during her teacher inspections but this time she looked almost as contrite as Voldemort.

"I have tried explaining to him but he seemed convinced of his own ideals," continued Voldemort in the quashi-dramatic style of a Greek Tragedy and Harry almost felt like making a rude gesture at him. "I only want our relationship to improve," at this he convulsively tightened his grip on Harry.

"I understand…" said Umbridge sympathetically. She started scribbling away at her clipboard and did not look up. Across the coffee table Harry tried in vain to extract himself from Voldemort's deadly embrace but only ended up squirming feebly. The Dark Lord retaliated by forcefully pulling Harry closer to him so he was jammed against the hard torso of Voldemort, who exercised far too much doing things Harry did not want to know.

"Uh you're crushing me," grumbled Harry, hoping that this could embarrass Voldemort.

"Shush, Harry, Madam Umbridge is trying to work,"

Eventually Umbridge emerged from her work looking even more self-satisfied, if it was possible, than before.

"As I thought previously, Harry's suppressed negative emotions are the cause of the tension in this relationship. He clearly feels neglected by you and wants your attention. However as he cannot get it he pretends that it is not something he wants and consequently pushed you away…"

Harry could only gape in horror.

"However there are deeper things within such as your previously negative relationship that we shall have to contend with.

'So let's begin shall we, as Beeble the Bard, liked to say, at the very beginning."

The horrendously false smile, which looked more like a leer, was stretch across Umbrige's toad-like face, making her look almost as happy as the time when she tried to sack Trelawney.

"Okay, we are going to play a game; it's called Ten Things I Hate about You."

The twin emotions of humour and anger battled inside Harry's mind for dominance as he was torn between laughing at the title, which had incidentally been a Muggle romance movie, or tearing out Umbridge's voice box with his bare hands.

"We are all going to list the top ten things we hate about each other, starting with you, my Lord." The toad gestured excitedly to an amused Voldemort.

"Well, I'll start with Harry. Firstly I don't like the way he's constantly angry -,"

"I'm not angry! Well, I have a right to be angry," snapped Harry defensively.

"Good, good, see, you're letting your aggressive emotions out," cried Umbridge with delight as she continued to scribble fiercely on her clipboard.

"Secondly," continued Voldemort with a most unpleasant smile, "I detest the your lack of manners, though I suppose I am to blame for that,"

Harry settled for another scowl because whatever he said would most likely please Umbridge even more.

"Thirdly, I hate the way you never think before you act. Fourthly, you're always getting into fights because you can't control what you say."

"I am not always getting into fights," protested Harry more calmly this time. Voldemort merely smoothed his messy hair and attempted to kiss his forehead in a disgusting show of false affection. With a distressed cry Harry pushed away at him ferociously and tried to hit the Dark Lord's chest but his fist was quickly caught and wrapped in warm fingers. The expression on Voldemort's face resembled a deep sense of sadness and for a few moments Harry could almost see why so many people had been hoodwinked by Tom Riddle.

Umbridge, who had watched this interact in silence, was now looking at both of them with ill suppressed pleasure.

"Don't you see, Harry, Lord Voldemort is very hurt by the way you rebuff his attentions."

"It's indecent!" spat Harry as he attempted to claw off Voldemort's hands which were wrapped around his waist.

Both adults tensed at Harry's words but Umbridge recovered quicker,

"Now Harry, as your society and development officer -,"

"What?" said Harry derisively.

"Your society and development officer or social worker as Muggles called them," she replied with a little uncomfortable laugh,

"Why do I have a social worker?"

"Well, Harry," said Voldemort, all traces of amusement go from his voice. "Every child who has been placed with a new guardian after the wars has their own society and development officer to monitor their progress. It just so happens, that Madam Umbridge is also a qualified Mind Healer as well."

Harry was at a loss of what to say so Umbridge pounced once again.

"As your society and development officer, I have seen Lord Voldemort's interactions with you and I do not believe they are _indecent_ in any way but as the law states I must ask you personally whether there have been other separate incidents of _indecency_. Please feel free to tell the truth, don't be threatened by Lord Voldemort's presence, the Ministry will protect you if you have a truthful claim."

Harry laughed out loud but it was such a bitter sound, that he felt much more depressed on hearing it.

"Harry was never given any affection as a child when he lived with those _Muggles_," said Voldemort pointedly. "I believe that is what has caused his withdrawal from affection. He believes that people will only kiss to show romantic love."

"Oh," Umbridge looked, if possible, more interested than she had been five seconds ago, "well, it is definitely a case of arrested development and lack of familial affection. Children who have been raised in such terrible conditions and starved of love often react quite violently when they are placed in a normal environment."

"Is there a cure?" asked Voldemort eagerly.

"I'm not ill!"

"Shush, Harry,"

"Well," said Umbridge slowly, "therapy will often alleviate most of the symptoms but it really is up to him. The best and most effective way is to continue showering him with affection -,"

Harry couldn't suppress a noise of disgust at this stage but both adults ignored him.

"He will become used to it and overcome his aversions. Then we can begin on the long and hard task of building a relationship."

Voldemort gave her his most charming smile and cradled the irate Harry to his chest.

"I don't believe this," muttered Harry as he batted Voldemort's hand away from his hair, "the world's gone mad." It didn't do any good because the Dark Lord was stronger and succeed in patting him affectionately.

"Well, shall we continue with the game?" asked Umbridge after a moment's silence. Voldemort obliged with another winning smile, which even made the hardened woman simper more than usual.

"I don't like the fact that Harry's so temperamental, one moment he's all smiles and the next, he's smashing up the furniture. I certainly don't like the way he chews his fingernails -,"

Harry felt his cheeks burn as Umbridge nodded sagely.

"- I detest the fact that he will not listen to reason when he is angry and the fact that he is so set in his beliefs."

"My beliefs are right!" snapped Harry jerking away from the Dark Lord. "Besides I bet you could carry on in this vein for hours."

Voldemort smiled down at him calmly,

"Actually, Harry I've ran out of things to say."

Umbridge, who had been waiting for her cue, jumped in immediately before Harry could get started on his "Infinity and one things I hate about Voldemort."

"Well, my Lord, why don't you list ten things you love about Harry?"

"Well, there are many, many things I love about Harry," replied Voldemort, "but they all fall under two categories. I have never had any children of my own and I believe all my parental instincts are devoted to Harry."

_Yeah, all you parental instincts,_ thought Harry sarcastically, not caring if Voldemort saw his thoughts, _you have the parental instincts of a male bear, completely non-existent. _

"Well, what are the two categories?" asked Umbridge with a horrendously girly giggle that would make Hermione hex her if she was here.

"Firstly, he is such a wonderful boy. He has such a good, kind heart."

Harry tried hard not to gag.

"And secondly, he's very cute."

This time Harry nearly turned green but there was no escaping the Dark Lord's tentacles and Voldemort rubbed his back gently as though he wasn't the cause of Harry's distress.

"Oh, of course," said Umbridge just as the grandfather clock started to chime. "Heaven is that the time? The intense therapy cannot be started today unfortunately for I have another appointment to go to but I shall bring all the necessary material to our next session and we can begin with earnest. However I have made a list of things that can be changed in the meantime to ensure a more harmonious family life,"

Her pearly white teeth gleamed in the sunshine but it only added to her ill-disguised malice as she pulled a sheet of pink paper from her clipboard. On it was printed a long list of words under the impression heading "improvements" which was embellished with floral patterns.

"Thank you very much, Madam Umbridge and I do apologise for the state you found us in. I hope that we will be able to make some progress whilst you are away, although I don't feel that it is likely…"

"I shall look forwards to my next visit. In the mean time, be happy Harry…" she gave him a simpering smile and a feminine wave before striding purposely out of the room with her clipboard tucked under her arm like a Muggle machine gun.

There was long silence in the wake of Umbridge's pink and awful presence. Harry had not yet managed to overcome the shock of seeing his third worst nemesis strutting around pretending to be a professional psychiatrist, or being designated _very cute_ by the most feared Dark Lord in a century.

However before he could fully grasp the horror of the situation and extremely unsavoury thought entered his head.

"What has she written on the list?"

"Well..." Voldemort contemplated the pink sheet that had started to give off the smell of fermenting fruit over that top of Harry's head so he could not see the contents even though he craned his neck. "Firstly, I need to forgive your illogical and emotional outbursts…"

Harry wanted to breathe a sign of relief but the fear stuck in his throat for there was always a catch.

"I think I can do that…you can be forgiven for feeling bitter, Harry and I am trying to do my best to help you."

Harry did not trust his voice to respond to that statement for he knew what he wanted to say could not even be forgiven by Albus Dumbledore.

"Secondly, reward systems…_give treats and praises every time he does something you approve of. Positive encouragement goes a long way_. Do you think I give you enough rewards Harry?"

"I don't want rewards from you," snarled Harry and glared sullenly back that his tormentor.

"Now _that_ I don't approve of," chuckled Voldemort, "there shall be no treats for you today,"

"What else has she written on the list?" demanded Harry impatiently for he felt that the sooner he found out the extent of her damage the sooner he could devise plans to counter it. Perhaps Voldemort had been cheered by the last half hour as he decided to ignore the inappropriate response.

"We should spend quality time together…she suggests that I read you a bedtime story amongst other things,"

Harry's face twisted with disgust and incredulity at the mental images that were assaulting his brain.

_Bedtime story! Voldemort!_

He wanted to laugh and cry though he could do neither for he felt trapped and bewildered by this new move of Voldemort's.

"Yes…" the Dark Lord hissed perhaps just as bemused as Harry was, "she also recommends chess and make believe games,"

"Well, she obviously has no idea that you're the ruler of the wizarding world and you have no time to do all these things," said Harry a little too hurriedly for he knew it would be impossible for even Voldemort to create time.

"On the contrary, little one, I feel my governmental reforms are going extremely well and I can now take some time off work,"

It did not take psychic powers to know that Voldemort was smirking.

"So what will it be today, chess or games or a bedtime story?"

_Dear lord, he's not serious! _

"Oh but I am…so I'm giving you a choice Harry,"

But Voldemort never gave choices to anyone. It seemed like a choice but in the end he would make Harry participate in all three degrading activities. However he did not take kindly to having his pretence at clemency turned downed by _anyone_.

"Chess…" muttered Harry feeling somewhat defeated.

"Good answer," said Voldemort, "I'm very glad you have decided to co-operate with me so I shall, as a reward…"

Oh dear here comes the bad part…I just knew he was going to say that! 

'…spend as much of my spare time with you as possible. I understand how you feel neglected and how as your guardian I have not truly fulfilled my duty."

"No! You're the one who doesn't understand!" cried Harry unable to take anymore of this sick game, "Or rather you're just doing this to screw with my mind! I _hate _you…you killed my parents! I don't want to go anywhere near you and you shouldn't want to come near me!"

"Harry!" snapped Voldemort sternly; "I am not playing a game with you. I intend to improve our relationship and I _will_. It is in your best interests as well, so you better co-operate or you know what will happen."

"What are you going to do?" demanded Harry. Voldemort leaned into him so he loomed over Harry's slender figure.

"How about I execute your friends and sell you as a catamite to one of my Death Eaters?" hissed the Dark Lord, his eyes hardened by malice

The frightening proximity of his presence was like a bucket of cold water that washed away Harry's fire.

"I will write you off as a lost cause Harry and do you want to know what I shall do with your precious Godfather? And that werewolf?"

The fearsome threat stripped away Harry's bravado and left him a whimpering child again.

"No…"

"Good. Do you realise how much I can hold over your head? I have refrained from threatening you with this before but our therapy must be treated seriously and I cannot afford to allow you to be uncooperative."

"Yes," muttered Harry.

"Yes…what?"

"Yes, master."

"Actually, I am going to ditch that term and I have no idea why you seem to think it pleases me to hear that."

Harry stared back at Voldemort in surprise.

"Madam Umbridge has written a rather lengthy passage on connotations and it seems that she advises you to call me 'father'"

Harry continued to stare.

"Or… 'Daddy' if you prefer."

The fact that Voldemort said such a word without a hint of amusement was extremely worrying.

"I have personally contemplated this idea myself though you seemed far too reluctant in the past for anything like this to work, so what do you say Harry?"

The hard eyes glinted with expectations and Harry saw reflected in them the terrified expressions of Sirius and Hermione joined by pain.

"Yes…Father." It felt like swallowing a toad.

Voldemort smirked,

"I preferred the other one…so what do you say Harry?"

"I'm going to be sick,"

* * *

**AN: If anyone has a scenario or situation with Harry and Voldemort you want to see happen, send a review and I'll see what I can do!**

**Please Review!!**


	17. Once Upon a Wizarding Fairytale

**AN: The next chapter is on my website as usual and was inspired by a great review from Wolfwhispers who unfortunately was an anonymous review so I can't contact him/her but thank you for an idea too good to miss. **

In the mean time if you like Harry and Voldemort stories, try **Only Mad Dogs and Englishman** on my homepage. **Summary:** _In a high security ward at St. Mungo's sits Lord Voldemort, his magic sapped and his memory gone. The Wizengamot says Voldemort can be rehabilitated but Harry knows otherwise._

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Dinner was a quiet affair that day due to Harry's subdued persona. He ate politely and finished his food like a model child. His monosyllabic responses were enough to prevent any serious attempt at conversation. 

The therapy had gone to plan and Harry had been successfully brow beaten into complying. Although it galled him to rush the procedure, Voldemort knew there was no other way. Time was short and his goal had to be achieved.

The pink sheet of Dolores Umbridge's commandments had been pinned neatly to the a small wooden notice board made for that specific purpose and Voldemort intended in the near future to place a copy in every single room.

Harry stared forlornly at his empty plate whilst the Dark Lord finished his dinner with relish. The torture session was about to begin and he wished fervently that some emergency would crop up demanding Voldemort's full attention…like an alien invasion. _Now that would be funny…_

Unfortunately any aliens that did exist were obviously well informed about Earth and had no desire to incur Voldemort's wrath any more than the average human. Suddenly as though he had been reading Harry's mind and decided it was not worth the effort, Voldemort raised this head and look directly at him.

"Harry, do you know how to play chess?" asked the Dark Lord from across the table as though it was a matter of importance.

"Not really, Ron was good at chess and he beat me every time he played,"

"But you know the rules?"

"Yes," muttered Harry twisting his napkin anxiously.

"Yes…what?" demanded Voldemort as he stabbed the last remaining piece of fish.

"Yes, father," said Harry sounding utterly defeated. Voldemort frowned but did not pursue the subject. "I still don't understand why you chose Umbridge…" muttered Harry deliberately trying to keep the sulkiness in his voice to a minimum.

"Now Harry, I understand you may feel that I am only doing this to 'mess with your mind' as you so kindly put it," replied Voldemort as he pushed his empty plate to one side and looked across at Harry from over the tops of his steepled fingers. Though the Dark Lord did not look anything apart from serious and concerned, Harry knew he was smirking behind the façade.

_He has to be, this is all a sick joke…_

"I chose Umbridge not for her professional qualifications but because she is the only person who has an accurate idea of your personality."

"_I_ have and accurate idea of my personality… Snape, Sirius, Hermione and even you have an accurate idea of my personality!" snapped Harry derisively. Of all the excuses he had expected to hear this was not one of them.

"Let me rephrase that for you," replied Voldemort as calm and collected as ever, "I chose Madam Umbridge because she was the only professional who has an unbiased grasp of your personality,"

"_Unbiased!_" cried Harry in shock but he was quelled by a deep frown, "I mean…she hates me, she hated me the moment she saw me."

"More than Severus?" asked Voldemort

"I don't know, they're as bad as each other…"

"Let me dispel some of these irrational ideas you have about other people, Harry. Firstly Dolores Umbridge is nothing compared to Severus Snape. If I had to upset one of them it would definitely not be Severus."

Surprised Harry looked up from his dishevelled napkin. He had never heard the Dark Lord speak about any of his followers in this way. It was as though Voldemort admired and…feared him, as much as Voldemort could fear any man.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean Harry it is best not to end up on Severus's bad side."

"Well, it's a little too late for me now. It was too late for me even before I was born,"

"Secondly," continued Voldemort choosing to ignore the insincere lamentation, "Severus may treat you rather poorly but he has a soft spot for you,"

Harry reared back in surprise and disgust. Had Voldemort finally lost his sanity…did he even have sanity to loose? Snape could not possibly in a million centuries develop anything apart from sheer hate towards Harry. It was against the rules of nature, like reconciliation between wolves and sheep.

"Who, Harry, do you think asked me to keep you alive in the beginning?" asked Voldemort his voice pregnant with hidden danger.

Harry's breath hitched in his throat. How could this be possible? He had thought…assumed even that keeping him alive was a complete concoction of Voldemort's. The spell that de-aged him was performed by Voldemort and it was Voldemort who kept him and 'tended' to his needs. Snape did not belong in this solo scheme and even if he did why would Voldemort choose this precise moment to inform Harry of his deed?

The questions buzzed in his head and Harry felt the chilling tentacles of dread wrapping themselves around him. Whatever Voldemort had in mind could not be good.

"Why?"

Voldemort smiled, it was not a cruel leer or a vengeful smirk but it still sent shivers down Harry's spine.

"That's precisely what I'm trying to find out," said Voldemort and his calm voice sounded more terrible than the snarls of mythical monsters. The threatening words loomed in the space between them and Harry could almost feel Voldemort's menacing thoughts.

"H-how?"

"Now that is something you should not want to know. I would greatly appreciate it if you do not agitate Snape anymore than you are already doing, nor should you act different in his presence. Forget we had this conversation."

Harry nodded, understanding that this topic had come to a close. However his mind was feverish with unanswerable questions. Voldemort had chosen to relay these suspicions to Harry for a purpose and the Dark Lord's sinister schemes did not bode well for anyone.

"Now, I believe it is time for us to implement Madam Umbridge's recommendations. Come into the drawing room, I have a chess set ready."

The main drawing room looked the same as ever. The walls were covered in magical portraits of famous (and arrogant) men and landscapes of far away places. Harry's particular favourite was the "The Pyramids" which contained a short tempered Bedouin and a stubborn camel set against the back drop of the magnificent structures. At the moment the poor Bedouin was tugging hopeless at the camel's tether whist cursing in Arabic.

By the second fireplace in the middle of the room stood the new chess table, though it was probably a priceless antique that Voldemort had managed to procure through his unscrupulous methods. The three piece suite had been cleared to another part of the room and small comfortable chairs had been placed at either end.

"Right, I gather you know the basic rules of chess," said Voldemort casually as he took the seat by the black pieces. "I think we'll just have a friendly match tonight,"

Gingerly settling into the opposite seat Harry observed the elaborately carved ivory pieces that Ron would have loved.

"White goes first," said Harry hoping to sound at least partially knowledgeable before he was pulled completely out of his league. "Shall I start now?"

The game started well with Harry advancing his pawns forward and making good use of his rooks, although he attributed this to Voldemort's unusual mercy. However it was quite clear after ten minutes that Harry had no long term strategy other than capturing every black piece that came within reach. Coupled with this he was quite unable to plan more than three moves in advance the result being that he fell into numerous traps laid out by the black commander.

"I see your problem. It seems that you do not make provisions for the future. Every move you make is calculated on the basis of its immediate benefits and not what you may gain or lose by it in the long run."

"You mean I'm too rash?" asked Harry as he frowned at the pitiful collection of black pawns he had in front of him.

"Not rash," Voldemort replied shrewdly, "for you always consider your options. You simply do not have a well defined plan. You do not know where you're going only how you should get there."

"Well, it's kind of hard to do that considering I can't divine your next move," replied Harry tartly.

Voldemort raised an eyebrow with condescending ease.

"If you could divine my next move, I would actually consider you a rival,"

Harry clenched his jaw to keep himself from retorting and he was clearly losing his self control. Though the Dark Lord had mentioned little about their previous encounters before this surreal arrangement, he never could resist bring up the fact that Harry was nothing but a useless child with too much fame and too little substance.

"If you seriously think that I enjoy spending my time battering your ego, you are very much mistaken," continued Voldemort as he elegantly placed his Bishop directly in front of Harry's King.

"Stay out of my mind!" snapped Harry as he hastily shoved his King to an adjacent square.

"Checkmate,"

Staring down at the chess board with the uneasy feeling that he had just committed metaphorical suicide, Harry noticed that in his haste to respond he had managed to place his piece directly in the firing line of the Bishop, the Rook and the Queen with no way out.

"Oh damn," he muttered, "you just did that to distract me so you would win. Well, I think that is really low of you. Even Ron didn't have to cheat in order to win me."

"Quite on the contrary, I hope this game has taught you an important lesson," replied Voldemort as he gestured to the board where the pitiful white pieces were scattered. "A definite goal is much more important than a definite method. Whilst you understood the basic aim and method of the game you could not be a masterful player because you could not plan ahead. You're entire strategy revolved around keeping your pieces and taking mine. What you do not realise is the importance of sacrifice of certain pieces in order that you can advance your army as whole. In short you play with your heart and not your mind."

Harry frowned at this rather jumbled explanation.

"Well, you always did say that my one greatest weakness was my love for heroics. Coldly sacrificing someone for the greater good is not what I believe in."

"And yet you would not do so if say, all of the world hung on your decision?"

"I would sacrifice myself but I can't force others to – you know."

"That is why you loose," said Voldemort with a finality that made Harry think the evening was over. Unfortunately he was wrong. "I do believe that Madam Umbridge decided it would be very good for us to have what she has put it 'a heart-to-heart'."

Harry tried very hard to keep the look of disgust off his face but Snape had always said he wore his heart on his sleeve and his distaste was plainly etched on his face.

"I see it doesn't appeal to you. You will learn to appreciate it in time. Come, we shall discuss this in my study."

Why they had to keep moving to different rooms perplexed Harry but there was very little he could do in protest. Voldemort seemed completely determined to follow Umbridge's rules to the letter even though they both knew that she was about as knowledgeable as the average security troll.

Voldemort's study never changed and in that respect it reminded Harry sorely of the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts. However the study was dark and forbidding despite the large windows and abundance of floating candles. There was simply something about the air of the room that could send chills down any spine, even when its terrifying owner was not even in residence.

His customary footstool was still there and Harry sat down gingerly upon it as though he was afraid someone might of cursed the leather. Voldemort ever the grandiose master gracefully lowered himself into one of the throne like armchairs.

It was only after they were seated that Harry noticed a peculiar book in the hands of the Dark Lord. It was, unlike every other book in the house, brightly coloured though the colours were faded and the cover worn.

"What's that?" asked Harry curiously examining the light brown leather cover which surrounded an inset picture of three men crossing a bridge.

"This is a book of wizarding fairytales."

Harry didn't know whether to laugh or cry. He had expected to be interrogated about his feelings and other such things that Umbridge had not doubt intended but being read fairytales by Lord Voldemort was just bizarre.

"Are they like muggle fairytales?" asked Harry tentatively for he had the sinking feeling that any book own by Voldemort would at least have some references to gruesome murders and dangerous dark arts.

"In some aspects, they strive to teach children important lesson about life."

Still Voldemort did not open the book making Harry feel even more nervous than before.

"Tell, me Harry have you ever heard of Pinocchio?"

Green eyes glinted in the firelight and for a moment they flashed red but Harry was too preoccupied to catch this.

"Yeah, I've heard the story about the wooden puppet who couldn't lie."

A twisted smile appeared on Voldemort's face as though even this spirited tale could be corrupted to suit his purposes.

"Ah, but I suppose you didn't know it was really a magical story which some believe to be fact."

"You mean a wizard really turned a puppet into a real boy?" asked Harry not sure whether he should be feeling delighted or revolted.

"Oh, there's a lot more than that," promised Voldemort as he finally opened it book.

Beautiful words blossomed on the empty page and he began to read to earnest.

"_There was once, a long time ago in the Fens of England, a man who was cunning and clever, shrewd and sly. No wizard or witch in the world could stand up to his mighty power, but there was one thing that this man could not defeat – death. _

_When Death came knocking on his door one evening after he had bid his friends goodbye and retired to his village, the man who had become frail and fraught with pain refused to go._

_He wanted to remain amongst the living so that he could see the fruits of his labour blossom before him eyes but Death was persistent and the old man could not shake him off for much longer. So he decided to continue his life in the form of another – a child - but fate denied this man a chance to beget children in the natural way._

_With a heavy heart the old man vowed to make a child, who would take part of him into the future. Using the wood from his wand he fashioned a child's likeness from the Yew and gave it his features, his hair and his eyes but the child remained nothing but a piece of wood until the old man breathed his soul into the wood making it alive._"

Harry's eyes widened with shock…could it be that Voldemort was talking about Horcruxes? They had never mentioned horcruxes after the death of Dumbledore. Harry had expected Voldemort to interrogate him but he was met only with a wall of silence as though the Dark Lord was quite content in pretending they didn't exist.

Could Pinocchio be a horcrux? Who was the old man in the story? Then the answer hit him like a bolt of lightening. The only great wizard who could be described as cunning and clever, shrewd and sly was Salazar Slytherin.

Voldemort continued as though he was unaware of Harry's racing thoughts.

"_The boy lived happily with his aging father; they were alike in every way, until the day that the boy realised that he was made from wood and not flesh. His unhappiness made his father very depressed and the old man sought to give his son a true body worth of a living child, but the boy didn't want a true body as much as he wanted a true self. The boy had learnt at school at a good man was honest, courageous, hard working and clever, so wanted these things. His father laboured night and day casting spells upon his son so that he could be a good man but the experiment was a failure. The boy could not lie but was not honest, could not cower but was not brave, could not laze but was not diligent. As to his intelligence, no one knew, for the boy refused to talk to anyone after that. _

_In his anger at being thwarted, the old man turned on the boy for no reason than that he was not powerful enough to give his son what he wanted. The boy mistaking his father's out burst as genuine hatred ran away from home and the two were never reconciled. _

_For years the boy wondered through the wilderness alone, until he came upon a castle. The lord of the castle found this walking, talking oddity amusing and kept him as a jester. It was then that the lord's only child, a daughter, fell in love with the wooden boy. They talked together long into the nights and she cared for him like no other person had ever done. In time he learned how to love too, for his father had never taught him but he knew they could not be together for he was just a piece of wood. _

'_I cannot lie but I am not truthful, I cannot cower but I am not courageous, I cannot laze but I am not diligent. As to my intelligence, you decide,' he told the princess. _

_The princess being of kind nature and sweet heart, comforted the boy and told him of a great magician who could turn him into a real boy but the boy refused to leave her despite the humiliation he endured every day because deep down he loved her too. _

_However a time came when their secret love was exposed and the wooden boy was cast out from the castle. With nowhere left to go he went to the great magician. _

"_You started life with only half a soul but that soul as blossomed into a whole one," said the great magician. _

"_How can that be?" asked the wooden boy, "I do not believe souls have anything to do with producing a body."_

"_Once the soul forms, the body will follow. The love of your princess has fed your soul so that it grew. Now all you need to do is think of her and you shall have your body."_

_True to his world the wooden boy felt his wooden limbs replaced with real ones as h thought of his beautiful princess. He felt a real heart grow where there was none before and he felt it beating with excitement. _

"_Now, go," said the great magician, "and fulfil your destiny."_

Voldemort's voice faded as he finished the tale but Harry was too engrossed to notice. His heart, too, was beating with excitement and dread. Never before had the subject of Lord Voldemort's horcruxes been raised and Harry had even fooled himself into thinking that Dumbledore's secrets were safe, but now he knew otherwise. The story had been picked for a specific purpose and Harry had a very bad feeling he knew what it was.

"Did you like that?" asked Voldemort slyly as he shut the book. Harry could do nothing other than nod mutely.

"But of course it is just a fairytale," hissed Voldemort causing the hairs on the back of Harry's neck to tense with fright. "Or is it?"

Harry couldn't bear to look into the gleaming green eyes that were fixated on him.

"Do you know what horcruxes are, Harry?"

The air shimmer with tension and it became ha to breath as Harry struggled to think of what he could possibly say. He could not begin to imagine Voldemort's wrath when he found out that Dumbledore had destroyed one of his horcruxes.

"I -," his words caught in his throat for he knew that lying would only prolong the inevitable.

"I suppose Dumbledore told you all about my evil school days and how I portioned off my soul in seven pieces," continued Voldemort casually as though they had been talking about the weather. "And I suppose you believed him."

Harry tried to prevent his face from gaping in astonishment but, as Professor Snape had kindly reminded him, he was useless at concealing his emotions.

"Why-why wouldn't I?" asked Harry feeling as though he was about to faint from shock.

"You see, Dumbledore was a very clever wizard but even very clever wizards make mistakes. He has no doubt been hurrying around breaking pieces of jewellery in the last year."

Voldemort leaned over the arm of his chair to watch Harry's reaction but Harry refused to give him the satisfaction.

"Professor Dumbledore was a great man."

Harry choked out the words as though some unseen force had tightened around his throat.

"Yes, he was, but he was terribly bad at following his own advice. He once told me that you cannot step in the same river twice but he failed to notice that I was not the naïve and arrogant fool that I once was. Fourteen years as a spirit can change a man."

Voldemort's face twisted into a bitter sneer but then his features reformed themselves into a malicious and sadistic look.

"He never realised that I no longer cared for the horcruxes. He never stopped to see that the protective charms had not been updated since my rise. _He_ believed that I was careless and thought my secret was safe, but I have always been a cautious man and if you never learn anything else from me, remember, _caution_.

'Ah – but you want to know why I have abandoned this little scheme, don't you?"

Voldemort paused as though he was savouring his secret and enjoying the fear radiation off his sole audience.

"Ever since my defeat at your mother's hands, Harry, I have taken the time to look into where I failed, I wanted to learn from my mistakes. As Dumbledore once told me, I was woefully ignorant of other types of magic, types of magic that required a complete soul to perform. I understood after years of research that my childish desire for immortality had cost me dearly so I resolved from that day on to recover my soul.

'That was why I could not feel my horcruxes as they were destroyed. I had severed my dependence on them, thereby rendering them nothing more than broken pieces of a soul. As I fought you, I finally discovered what I needed to _re-grow_ the pathetic portion of soul that still resided in my body and now only the final step remains."

Harry stared back into those pitiless green eyes as they glinted with unsuppressed triumph.

"So you think that's going to make you invincible?"

Voldemort merely smiled elegantly,

"Oh, but Dumbledore always said love was the greatest power of all."

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**AN: Plotline, plotlines so boring but necessary, please review!**


	18. Fishers of Men

**AN: This is the chapter that was on my website. The future of this fanfic is shakey because as a rule I don't like Harry Potter anymore. I would just like to ask if anyone actually wants me to finished this?**

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Wandering unhindered down Diagon Alley was a sensation that Sirius Black had not been able to experience since his incarceration in Azkaban almost sixteen years ago. However with Remus at his side and the Dark Lord's threats hanging over their heads, Sirius was in no position to enjoy this superficial freedom.

The bustling street was filled with busy shoppers scouting out bargains and chatting amiably to each other. Hardly anyone noticed two respectable looking gentlemen strolling down the cobbled pavement at a leisurely pace. They stopped outside the book shop simply to rest their feet and let Remus reorganise his thoughts.

"We haven't made any progress," muttered Sirius quietly as he leaned against the nearest wall in a causal manner he had perfected at school. To the excited and self-absorbed crowds of people rushing by, he was nothing more than another fellow shopper who had the luxury of taking it easy.

Two paces away and looking decidedly more harassed, was Remus Lupin. Though he too had been cleaned up and given an excellent suit, the werewolf still looked well worn.

"You don't really believe that _he_ meant for us to find anything, do you?" asked Remus. "Our tracing charms are simply so that _he_ can reel us in once the time is up and have our heads…"

"Still," interrupted Sirius, "I suggest we enjoy life while it lasts,"

That attitude bought a weary and reluctant smile to Remus' lips as a ghost of the young Sirius Black glinted for a brief moment from behind the shining black eyes.

"I suppose."

"Only, I think that _he_ doesn't know any more than we do about the _situation_," continued Sirius all traces of humour gone from his voice. "The murder of that little girl clearly shook him."

"You were all for the theory that _he_ killed the poor girl himself and wanted to frame us,"

"Yes but that was before I heard that _he_ had barricaded himself in his house for the whole day on learning of the murder. I think – I think he really wants to get to the bottom of this. Of course he has the ministry on this case but he probably believes that blackmailing us into doing it will greatly increase his chances -,"

Remus merely looked sceptical.

"I mean," continued Sirius as though the nearby fumbling crowd of warlocks in tweed suits did not exist, "the more people he has on this case -,"

"Sirius, I think we need to get going," muttered Remus as he gestured towards Knockturn Alley, "if we are going to meet our contact."

One of the suited warlocks glanced curiously in their direction, no doubt wondering what business two well dressed gentlemen would have in that dingy and forgotten corner of the wizarding establishment.

Knockturn Alley looked as it had sixteen years ago when Sirius Black happily spent his idle hours peering into the gloom and grime that covered every inch of the street. He would never have set foot here in his more respectable days when he was still a standing member of society and an advocate of banning the Dark Arts.

Surprisingly, despite the affiliations of the new government this street remained a byword for lechery, degradation and poverty. Borgins and Burkes had since moved out into the open sunlight of Diagon Alley and their old premises by the alley entrance had been divided up into sublet units occupied by various professions that were deemed _infamia_. Beside this crumbling block of worn stones and flaking plaster stood The White Lilies, separated from its neighbour by a narrow path no wider than a gutter and serving the same purpose. However despite the appearance of the nearby buildings, The White Lilies lived up to its name. The austere white façade of scrubbed limestone looked more impressive than it should have done if the building had been standing in Diagon Alley. Instead the only piece of cleanliness in the street attracted unwary outsiders who were either too naïve or too bold to avoid this death trap.

As Remus and Sirius picked their way gingerly through the debris and general dirt that coated everything, several gnarled figures of indeterminate sex approached them with trays of pickled eyeballs and bundles of deadly plants.

"We're not interested," snapped Sirius haughtily as he raised his wand and barged his way past the figures shrouded in rags. They muttered amongst themselves but soon retreated into the gloom of the doorways to prey on easier targets.

"This contact, he doesn't know who we are, does he?" asked Sirius as they stumbled past a beggar woman and her child.

"No, our disguises won't give anything away. Even if he suspects, he will only conclude we are working undercover for the government."

"Is that a good thing?"

"Well, it means we've got full money bags to bride him with, that usually makes people _friendlier_." Remus flashed him a grin that looked a little too wolf like in the gloom.

The only pub in the street doubled as a restaurant though it was more suitable to call it an eatery. The tables were stained and the glasses chipped but the general hygiene of the place was well above what Sirius and Remus had been expecting.

Through the throngs of regulars who crowded the place even during the working hours, the two freshly liveried men tried to make out their contact.

"He said he would give us a sign," hissed Sirius in agitation after several minutes of fruitless searching. There were several single men crouching in the lone dark corners of the establishment, nursing a strong beverage and looking thoroughly untrustworthy. Anyone of them could be their contact.

"I can't see anything," muttered Remus as he hastily stepped out of the way of a gigantic client who was swinging a beer mug the size of a cannon ball.

Suddenly out of the corner of his eye Sirius saw another man, standing in the shadows by the bar with a lighter in his hand that emitted a continuous blue flame.

"Could that be him?"

Remus looked in his direction,

"Probably, it's worth a try."

The teeming pub was even harder to navigate than they had previously thought but after several minutes of pushing and cursing they reached their target.

"What's the watchword, soldier?" snapped the man from behind his shroud of darkness.

"Constant vigilance," whispered Sirius hoarsely as a raucous round of singing erupted behind him.

"So you're the nosy ones," muttered their target as though seizing them up for a fight. "Your real contact is upstairs. I'd be discrete if I were you; there are plenty of people outside the government who want your rebel heads."

Sirius and Remus didn't even have time to gape before the shadowy figure disappeared from view.

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-

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It was Saturday again and the perfumed pink notices on Harry's bedroom wall were still eluding the sickly smell of fermenting fruit. School had kept him busy throughout the week and Voldemort had been preoccupied with government business so their "quality torture time" together had been cut short but that was about to change.

Dolores Umbridge had arranged their next appointment in the afternoon and Harry knew Voldemort would be quite happy to perform some last minute catching up with regards to the lengthy list of instructions that Umbridge had left.

"_Is Harry please to be going boating on the lake?"_ inquired Nagini as she slid in through the open door way.

"_Yeah,"_ muttered Harry reluctantly. He had never been taught to swim and he thought drowning himself could be a way to avoid another session with Madam Umbridge.

"_There is nothing to worry about,"_ assured Nagini, her green eyes glinting in the sunlight, _"your father will make sure everything is alright,"_

Harry tried to keep the disgust from his features but Nagini only hissed with amusement and slithered deeper into his room.

"_Master says you are making progress – I can't see how you can make progress if you cannot even call him _father_,"_

"_He's not my father,"_ snapped Harry, _"my father is dead."_

"_Ah, but I hear that human children are often given new parents when their old ones are deceased, is this any different? Our Master has been very kind to you, Harry, and I don't need to tell you what alternatives are open to you if he throws you away…"_

"_Shut up,"_ cried Harry with the temper of a child and threw a pillow at Nagini who deftly weaved her head out of the way.

"_Little Harry has got his temper back I see, at least it was not a kitchen knife this time,"_ hissed Nagini in amusement, referring to their early encounters when Harry frequently threw childish tantrums. _"You need to talk to our Master about your problems; he wants you down at the boat house in ten minutes."_

"_Fine,"_

The boathouse was rarely used as Voldemort did not have infinite amounts of leisure time and Harry was never allowed to go out on the lake on his own but today the house elves had cleared away the dust and dragged the small sailing boat out into open.

It was a typical leisure craft, small and speedy with brightly painted sides and comfortable seats. Fishing equipment had already been loaded into the small cargo hold at the back of the boat, whilst the sails had been magically erected by Voldemort who was now inspecting the rudder.

Harry approached the little pier where the boat was moored and climbed aboard with trepidation. He had never been on a boat before, save for his first year at Hogwarts but he had been too excited then to worry about falling in.

"Don't worry, Harry, you won't fall in," said Voldemort as he strode confidently through the two neat rows of seats built into either side of the boat. "The weather is fine and the lake is calm. I'm sure we will have a most successful fishing trip."

Harry pursed his lips to hide his fear and a small irritating sense of excitement. Fishing was an activity he had never been able to try before and he was rather looking forwards to it. However, from what he heard on the nights at Privet Drive when Dudley came home with his fishing gear coated in mud and his face screwed up with dismay, fishing might not be as easy as it looked.

The small boat started to move smoothly away from the wooden pier and Harry chose a seat whilst he watched Voldemort steer the rudder manually.

"Want to have a go?" inquired Voldemort causally. Harry shook his head. He was quite content to lean back and feel the warm wind in his air and listen to the peacocks calling in the grounds. For a few moments it almost felt as good as being free.

They stopped in the centre of the lake where the wild birds had gathered in flocks to feed on the fish. As the seagulls bobbed gracefully on the water's surface, Harry couldn't help wondering how far they had flown to be here. It seemed so illogical that any living creature would voluntarily come to this place, but perhaps Voldemort was holding the seagulls captive too.

"Come over here and set up you fishing rod, Harry," commanded Voldemort as he extracted a long black pole from the cargo hold. The thin white fishing line was attached by magic and on the end was a small glowing ball.

"Where's the hook and the bait?" asked Harry incredulously as he reached out to touch the strange luminous orb dangling from his pole. It vibrated with warmth as his fingers connected with the smooth surface.

"That is the hook and the bait," said Voldemort with amusement, "you really didn't think we would be resorting to muggle methods, did you?"

"How do you know it works any better?" snapped Harry and pulled his hands away in case the orb mistook him for a fish and transformed into a hook.

"Well, for one thing the energy ball releases a spell into the water that attracts certain types of fish. All you need to do is tell it what you want, which will save you the embarrassment of catching an old boot."

Harry eyed the orb with new interest as it swung limply from the end of his pole.

"So if I wanted a swordfish, it would get me a swordfish?"

Voldemort actually laughed, though instead of the usual menacing sound it had a light hearted ring as though he was really enjoying himself.

"Harry, the energy ball is not a portkey, it cannot get you anything that isn't in the lake and I assure you there are no swordfish in this lake, they live in the deep sea."

Feeling slightly embarrassed by his lack of knowledge, Harry decide to cover the moment by tossing his energy ball over the side of the boat and watching it splash into the lake.

"You need to cast your line properly," advised Voldemort as he pulled out his own fishing rod which was considerably longer than Harry's, "like this,"

With a deft flick of his forearm, the glowing ball soared far into the open water and parted the surface with a tiny splash. From the depth of the lake an eerie green glow marked where the ball was. Harry had to clamber onto one of the cushioned seats to see where his energy ball had landed as it was so close to the edge of the boat.

Voldemort leisurely conjured up a folding chair and sat facing the back of the boat with a relaxed air as he waited for the first catch of the day.

"Come and cast your line over here, Harry," commanded Voldemort as he gestured to the space beside him and Harry knew better than to refuse.

Five minutes later a serene calmness had descended upon the lake as the birds fluttered away to roost and the wind died down to a gentle whisper. Still, the calm did not attract any fish and Harry was beginning to doubt this magical method of fishing was actually any better than the Muggle one.

"Patience, Harry, you won't catch anything if you keep jerking the line," said Voldemort as Harry pulled his energy ball up for the second time. "The ball will alert you if you have caught something."

Ten minutes later, though it felt like a lifetime in Azkaban, Harry had decided he would rather be sitting in a psychiatric therapy session with Umbridge than staring listlessly at a dim green glow.

Suddenly a low whistle resounded in the silence and Harry felt a distinct tug on his line.

"I caught something!" cried Harry with unrestrained excitement.

"Did you tell the bait ball what you wanted?" asked Voldemort looking highly amused.

Harry's mood instantly sank back into a mixture of depression and boredom.

"No, I suppose I've just caught an old boot,"

"Well, you never know unless you reel it in, let me show you,"

In an instant, Voldemort was kneeling beside him with his hands clasped firmly over Harry's as he showed him how to wind the line. To Harry's discomfort, it took a lot longer to pull the boot in than he thought and Voldemort put in most of the effort whilst he was preoccupied with keeping his body from squirming away.

A long handsome magical pike finally broke the surface with a magnificent splash.

"I caught a fish!" cried Harry, felling irrationally happy. "Look its got rainbow coloured scales!"

"Well done, Harry," said Voldemort inches from his face. "Put it in the bucket."

A large pail, the size of Hagrid's mug, appeared on the deck behind them, half filled with green lake water.

Harry eagerly grabbed the cold slimy pike as it wriggled desperately in the air. The energy ball was stuck to the roof of its mouth but as soon as Harry had obtained a steady grip on the ferocious fish, the ball detached itself and fell back on deck with a limp thud. Even more eager to get rid of the slimy beast, Harry practically threw it into the pail splashing himself in the process.

"I think we should put it back," muttered Harry as he crouched down to watch the pike swimming frantically in circles, trying to find a way back to his lake.

"Well, that would be a momentous waste of effort," said Voldemort as he towered over them both.

"But, I mean we've got nowhere to keep it – you're not thinking of eating it for lunch are you?"

Voldemort merely chuckled,

"I simply don't see why you would care what happens to it – it's a fish, Harry."

"Yes, but this is a traumatising experience. We should let it go back home as soon as possible," said Harry feeling rather ridiculous. His little speech sounded very much like something Hermione would say and it felt lifeless coming from his mouth.

Voldemort looked derisive.

"Harry, it is a _fish_, it does not have the same complexity of feeling as a human being. You cannot attribute your own opinions and thoughts to a fish."

"Yes, but it's still a living thing!" protested Harry, "You know what your problem is; you never care about anything apart from yourself. You think that because you _can_ do something to someone, it is okay to do it. Well, that's not true. One day you'll find that all the people and creature's you've abused will get their own back!"

"I look forwards to quelling an uprising of aquatic wildlife," said Voldemort as he raised one perfectly arched brow.

"It's not funny!" snapped Harry angrily. "If you won't put the fish back, I will."

"Now, Harry, I think that this is much more than about the fish. Madam Umbridge has advised me to talk to you when these moments arise."

With one swift movement Voldemort pushed Harry back into his folding chair, whilst he took a seat opposite.

"I am not having one of these _moments_," spat Harry angrily. He disliked the way Voldemort was scrutinising him from across the two feet expanse of no man's land.

"Harry," continued Voldemort as though he had not heard the last remark, "you are still young and naive but one day you will understand that there is very little justice in this world. The strong will always exploit the weak to some extent.

'I am not saying that there is _no_ justice or that I do not believe justice is a good thing. I simply don't want you to walk into the world with a skewed outlook on life. That would be a great failing for me as a father."

Harry scowled but decided it was not worth starting another argument over that _word._

"If you wish to succeed, you will have to be ruthless at times, you will have to be cruel -,"

"But you don't have to make cruelty a sport!" cried Harry unable to restrain his anger. "You torture people for fun!"

"I _tortured_ people for fun, I have since rid myself of that habit," corrected Voldemort calmly as if they were still discussing the pike. "I was – cruel, to an unnecessary degree in the past."

Harry would dearly have loved to add _you still are_ to the conversation but he could sense Voldemort was no mood to accommodate his comments.

"I have since realised that cruelty and ruthlessness are two virtues that I should live without. You see, Harry, after I split me soul, I also split my conscience."

That made Harry's eyebrows jump into his hairline. He never really believed Voldemort had been born with a conscience, but then again, he never thought Voldemort had soul until he found out about the Horcruxes.

"Though no one yet understands exactly how this works, as I created more Horcruxes, I lost more and more of my moral grounding and let my instincts take over. I murdered, pillaged and tortured with abandon as my soul shrivelled inside me. I alienated people from my cause; I had forgotten how to relate to others and how to satisfy my followers."

At this Voldemort paused as though he was once again reliving his mistakes.

"It was only after I _rectified _my mistake that I was able to triumph. You see Harry, Dumbledore and I are not as different as you think."

Harry glared at him so fiercely that if looks could kill Voldemort might well have become Vapourmort.

"In my youth, I believed that I did not need to appease people, I did not need to be _political_, as it were. I thought that with the right strength I could overthrow the government and yet I never paused to consider what I would put in its stead. Dumbledore, on the other hand had the benefit of a century's worth of wisdom and he knew exactly how to subjugate the wizarding world."

"Professor Dumbledore never _subjugated_ anyone!" snapped Harry automatically, even though he had no idea what subjugated meant.

"Dumbledore practically ran the wizarding world, from the Wizengamot to Hogwarts, his tentacles of influence reached into every corner. He was a tyrant in all but name."

"That's not true!" cried Harry. He could not, would not believe that Dumbledore could be compared to Voldemort in anyway.

"Yes it is," said Voldemort sternly as though he was trying to feed Harry a particularly nasty dose of medicine, "Dumbledore, being that Gryffindor that he was, knew all about grand gestures and public appearance. His public relations were carefully tailored to ensure that no one could accuse him of despotism but as you know he was the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and even on the international stage he was in control. It took decades of effort but finally he had every single powerful body under his thumb and feeding from the palm of his hand...he was very ambitious."

"If Professor Dumbledore wanted power, why didn't he just become the Minister of Magic?" yelled Harry, "He _chose_ to stay at Hogwarts, he _chose_ side step real power and spend his days looking after kids."

Voldemort simply smiled his usual menacing smile.

"Why be bogged down by the chains of bureaucracy, when you can simply pulled the strings from the background? At Hogwarts he was free to control the outside world without fear of intervention, whilst the tedious ceremonies of the Minister of Magic would have cut into his precious time. By shunning the puppet position of power, Dumbledore was free to do whatever he wanted, whilst the Ministry followed his direction like a flock of sheep."

"That's not true," muttered Harry, "the ministry wanted Dumbledore's help, and he was just being helpful."

"Dumbledore forced the ministry into a position where they would have to rely on him. With his political influence he pushed that limp idiot Fudge into office so that he could direct everything in the government."

Harry could hardly believe what he was hearing. How could Dumbledore have deliberately forced Fudge into an office that he was clearly incapable of fulfilling? Surely Dumbledore could not have been so selfish as to install a puppet Minister just so he could retain control of the government?

"But I do not know why I am lamenting, because you see, Harry, if Fudge had never been pushed into office I would never have been able to keep my rise a secret for so long. Dumbledore's overwhelming control forced Fudge to find an alternative way of keeping power and he turned to Lucius Malfoy. Dumbledore's ambition sowed the seeds for his own downfall and your downfall."

Harry was too shocked to protest. It had never crossed his mind that Dumbledore was power hungry or controlling. He always thought that the Headmaster had been doing the ministry a favour, helping those bumbling fools from being annihilated by the Dark Lord. Never in his worst nightmares did he imagine that Dumbledore was responsible for the appointment of those bumbling fools.

"If Dumbledore hadn't pushed Fudge to the limit, I am afraid my organisation would not have lasted very long. Most of my followers were still in Azkaban, the ones that were left would rather see me dead than alive...it was a hard and dangerous time."

Harry simply shook his head but he didn't know what he was denying anymore.

"Do not look at me as though I am a cruel tyrant with no claim on my power. The wizarding world has simply swapped one ruler for another and I, unlike Dumbledore, wish to reform the government instead of leaving it to fester and rot so that I may control it more easily. Do you think Umbridge could have passed so many anti-werewolf legislations without the approval of Dumbledore who practically ran the Wizengamot? Do you think that Sirius Black would have been thrown into Azkaban without a trial had Dumbledore intervened? But he didn't want to...he was quite happy keeping the status quo."

"No!" cried Harry and covered his ears like a child.

"And you, Harry, have simply swapped one Master for another but let me ask you, did Dumbledore ever care for you? He left you with those disgusting Muggles for eleven years. He left you to be locked in a cupboard, to be starved, to be neglected, to be beaten."

"He left me there because I needed protection from you!"

"And yet a great wizard like Dumbledore would have been able to give you shelter and set up wards that would have ensured your safety as well as the blood shield from your relatives. Was that extra bit of protection worth the abuse you endured?"

Harry wanted to scream that Dumbledore cared about him, that he had to do it, and that it pained him to do so but the words stuck in his throat and suddenly he found he could not defend the Headmaster anymore.

"Let me ask you, who would have the most to loose? Dumbledore was afraid of loosing his power, so afraid that he wanted nothing more than to vanquish me but he didn't want to do it himself. He sent a child to do this dirty work for him."

"He said I was the only one who could..." whispered Harry hoarsely.

"And yet Dumbledore claims that he does not believe in prophecies. He believed in that prophecy, even more than I did. He wanted you to split your soul by murdering me; he was willing to sacrifice you as easily as a master chess player would sacrifice his pawns. After all, it was all for his own advancement."

Harry simply sat there stunned and shaken. The sunshine no longer felt warm on his skin and the serene atmosphere felt cold and sinister.

"I think we should pack up now, do you still want to throw the pike back?" asked Voldemort calmly.

Harry didn't bother to reply, he was too busy trying to keep Dumbledore's crumbling pedestal from crushing his soul.

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**AN: I have written chapter 19 as well. It will be up eventually. Do tell me if you want to see the rest of this story - I just need to gage if anyone is still interested. **


	19. Harry Potter PuppetPals

**AN:** I just want to say I am overwhelmed by the amount of people saying how much they like this story. I am truly touched and I will finish this – even if it takes another five years! Thank you so much everyone!

Some people have asked about Only Mad Dogs and Englishmen – I will be updating that when I have time to write it in the summer so about June or July.

Okay this is Chapter 19 – It's very short and unbeta-ed but I am writing chapter 20

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By the time their afternoon appointment with Madam Umbridge had arrived, Harry was nowhere to be seen. Of course with the sophisticated tracking charm clinging to him at all times, Voldemort was not worried. He had decided on the spur of the moment let Umbridge go to Harry during this consultation and let things run their natural course. He had no doubt that Harry would eventually rally his spirits and place Dumbledore back on his undeserved pedestal. Their conversation had been far too easy. The boy was becoming more placid as time went on but Voldemort knew underneath the matted hair and innocent eyes there burned a determination far fiercer than anything he had yet encountered. Perhaps that was what caused him to be so intrigued by this particular child in the first place, that indestructible spirit that was begging to be bent to his will, and Lord Voldemort was never one to reject a challenge.

One of his lower class runners had reported in that morning after their fishing trip. It seemed that Black and Lupin had been meddling in Knockturn Alley hoping to find someone of use. So far all they had found was a seedy bar and copious amounts of dubious looking liquid. There seemed little need to investigate them more fully. Within a few more days they would be reeled back for questioning and his agents would make sure they had nothing to report.

Madam Umbridge let herself in as always. Her simpering manner had not changed overnight but today she looked much more businesslike in clothing with a slightly muted tone. There was nothing maternal about the soppy half smile plastered permanently on her wide lips; it was simple a façade to disguise the insidious mind and sadistic instinct of this woman, which was exactly what Voldemort needed.

"Lord Voldemort,"

"Madam Umbridge, our patient is currently revelling in childhood angst."

"I see." Umbridge looked unperturbed. "Well, it's rather fortunate that Harry is not here just yet because I really need to pass a few suggestions by you, my Lord."

Voldemort smiled calmly and leaned forwards to show his mounting interest. Whatever plot this women had devised in the last week would be very entertaining to watch unfold.

"I have analysed some of Harry's behavioural problems and much of the cause lies in his personality, but I believe that he is also lacking vital female influence."

"Yes," replied Voldemort smoothly, "I suppose I should have thought of this earlier."

"In that case," continued Umbridge deftly, "I've drawn up a shortlist of suitable people who could be the perfect feminine role models for young Harry. My top choice would be Bellatrix Lestrange. From what I have heard of her, she has the capacity to handle Harry's problems and provide an excellent example for the boy."

Voldemort nodded to hide his mounting amusement. Harry Potter was going to have a very hard time coping with that new development.

"I think it would be best if you introduced Bellatrix – _gently _– for Harry might take this the wrong way and believe that you are 'passing him off' to her. It is one of the unfortunate consequences of over attachment."

"Pardon, Madam Umbridge," interrupted Voldemort incredulously, "did you say _over attachment_?"

"Oh yes," she continued in her simpering voice, "Harry is _very_ attached to you, to an unhealthy degree even. His hostility and general display of hatred is a manifestation of his confused emotions. Being so attached can make children, particularly ones who have been previous independent, feel weak and frightened. This aspect of your relationship must be address from his side and I think that would be the best place to start.

"With regards to Bellatrix Lestrange, it would be better to call her a governess, or some other name that has no familiarly connotations. However that is not to say you and Bellatrix should attend to Harry individually. The scheme would work much better if you two are seen to be co-operating, and Harry will have a father and mother figure.

"I understand that being a single father is a very hard job, so found this excellent handbook written by none other than Newt Scalamander. It gives excellent advice on how to cope as a single parent and as a single father."

Voldemort gingerly took the small blue book from her and saw the cover was a simple photo of a beaming wizard surrounded by multiple children. It was aptly entitled, "My Heart Belongs to Daddy"

"I'm sure this will help me tremendously in the weeks ahead," said Voldemort courteously. The insult of having to take parental advice from an author, who had never even come within two miles of a child, was only temporary. Voldemort had no intention of reading such a useless book. He was perfectly sure he knew how to be a good father, not that he had any intention of putting his knowledge into action.

Harry looked glumly into Voldemort's office and steeled himself for the psychological torture session that was about to begin. As if he had sense Harry's approach, Voldemort turned to smile fondly at him, though to Harry's eyes it looked more like a diabolical smirk.

"Harry, come in, you are late," he admonished indulgently as he signalled for Harry to come closer.

Reluctantly he edged towards the Dark Lord deftly avoiding eye contact with both occupants of the room. From the corner of his eye, he saw to his dismay Umbridge had already started to scribble away furiously.

"Now, Harry," continued Voldemort, gripping him firmly around to the waist to prevent any possibly of escape, "Madam Umbridge has a few _suggestions_."

The way in which Voldemort savoured that particularly word sent shivers down Harry's spine and he fought hard to stop himself from squirming helplessly. Trapped between two of the most evil minds in the Wizarding world and with no one to save him, Harry could only suffer in silence.

"Harry," said Umbridge treating him to a predatory smile, "I have reviewed the case notes of our last session and I believe that you have some _attachment _issues."

"What?" demanded Harry wondering exactly what type of diabolical plan this insane woman had concocted.

"We need to address your over attachment to Lord Voldemort," she continued as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Not sure whether to laugh or cry at Umbridge's intense stupidity, Harry merely gaped at her in shock.

"Oh yes, I know you don't like to admit it but I'm afraid you are very attached to your primary care giver."

"_Primary care giver?_ What's that supposed to mean?" snapped Harry jerking out of his shock induced trance.

"Well, Lord Voldemort is the main care giver your life-,"

"Care-giver? Torturer, captor, tormentor more like!" cried Harry,wishing fervently that he could wrench himself out of Voldemort's grasp and attack Umbridge with a carving knife.

"Harry," said Voldemort sounding scandalized but harry knew him well enough to notice the amusement behind the tone. "Don't talk to Madam Umbridge like that. You do have attachement issues."

Turning around to face his captor with the most incredulous expression he could muster, Harry stared at Voldemort wondering whether if the Dark Lord had just gone insane or had been mentally ill since the very beginning.

"_I hate you_, the only attachment issue I have is with your attachment to _me_," hissed Harry through furiously clenched teeth.

"Now, work off that anger, explain exactly why you feel this way," prompted Umbridge in her most artificially soothing voice.

"Be reasonable," warned Voldemort, all traces of amusement gone and Harry was wise enough to see that this was one battle he would not win.

"You killed my parents -,"

"They did attack me first," replied Voldemort sounding far too reasonable.

"That doesn't make it alright!"

"No, it doesn't, Harry and I have been trying to make up for my mistakes ever since. I have taken you in and treated you like my own child -,"

"I don't want you to do that! I want to – I want to – destroy you!" snarled Harry raising his fist in a vain attempt to pommel Voldemort. His wrists were caught in a tight grip and the Dark Lord looked grimly down at his young charge.

"How sharper than a serpent's tooth, it is to have a thankless child," replied Voldmort with a disgusting injured tone, that suggested Harry's words had wounded him terribly.

"Thankless? What do I have to thank you for? You destroyed my life!"

"No, Harry, I destroyed the old corrupt order. You were simply deluded into thinking that it was a preferable place to live by Dumbledore's emotional manipulations."

"Ahem," Umbridge cleared her throat with annoying gusto as she re-attracted their attentions. "I think it would be beneficial if we talked a little more about you relationship."

"Well," said Voldemort, not giving Harry a chance to cut in, "I personally find Harry is resistant to any incentive to improve our relationship. I have tried punishments, rewards and bonding time but as you can see he is still extremely violent."

"Mmmm" said Umbridge drawing out the sound whilst the quill beside her scribbled away with great enthusiasm "I think we should attempt some role playing. I just so happen to have two puppets right here…"

Harry could see Umbridge was greatly enjoying herself as he produced two limp puppets with a disturbing resemblance to himself and the Dark Lord.

"Now all you have to do is have a normal, everyday conversation…" she continued as she handed both puppets to Voldemort, who was obliged to release Harry from his vice like grip. The two puppets came alive without any physical direction and floated into the centre of the room, a small testament to Voldemort's magical prowess. With both his hands free once more the Dark Lord resume his firm grip on Harry Potter.

"Good morning, Harry," said Voldemort-puppet extending one featureless hand towards Harry-puppet.

"I hate you and everyone else!" cried Harry-puppet in a high pitched tone shaking back and forth violently, its limp arms flaying so fast they were nothing but pink blurs.

"No, that's not right," snapped Harry petulantly as he grabbed hold of both puppets and slipped them onto his hands. He was not going to allow Voldemort the pleasure of portraying him as the emotionally unstable one.

"I'm Lord Voldemort and I like to torture Harry by beating him and looking inside his mind!" said Harry in his best imitation of a megalomaniac, whilst making Voldemort-puppet nod emphatically. "I use him for my own political gains and treat him like a slave,"

"Yes you do," continued Harry now taking on the role of himself. Harry-puppet extended on accusing hand towards his counterpart, "you never let me have any freedom,"

"I can hardly allow you to wander around outside all your own," said Voldemort-puppet and Harry felt his fingers being pulled by invisible strings to act out the little scene. He involuntarily forced the puppet's hand to pat himself on the head.

"Stop it!" whined Harry and caught himself before he started to stamp his feet. That would only feed into Umbridge's twist game.

"I see," drawled Umbridge, her toad-like smile growing impossibly wider, "that was very enlightening,"

The two puppets floated back to her pale cream bag of their own accord leaving Harry feeling rather exposed without the manikins. It had been much easier to vent his spleen on the puppets rather than accuse Voldemort directly.

When Harry looked up at the Dark Lord once more, the infuriating man was wearing the perfect expression of polite interest. There was no hint that anything in last ten minutes had made even the slightest emotional impact.

"It seems that Harry, though over attached to you, my Lord, feels suffocated by this house,"

"What! No, I feel suffocated by his presence,"

"No, no, I think an outing together into a totally different environment where you will have to work together to solve problems will be most beneficial,"

Behind him, Harry knew the Voldemort was still maintaining his expression of studious politeness but even he had not foreseen this development.

"The muggle world would be great place to start," continued Umbridge

_Oh, now she's for it!_ Thought Harry gleefully, _the muggle world! That is the one place where Voldemort would never dream of going._

However Umbridge's simpering smile did not diminish at all as she sat smiling patiently at them from her vantage point.

"Well, I suppose that can be arranged," replied Voldemort smoothly, giving no sign of the pent up rage he must be feeling.

"Oh that is _wonderful_, I shall be heading off to my next appointment now," she said jovially. "Bye-bye Harry, be a good boy."

If Harry did not know for certain that Umbridge was soon to meet a gruesome end, he would not have smiled patiently back at her as she left the room, still completely oblivious to her fate.

Once they were alone, Harry looked expectantly at the Dark Lord who had returned to his usual seat by the fire.

"You think I'm going to sack her, don't you?" he said, a slow smirk spreading across his handsome features.

"You're not?" asked Harry feeling, not for the first time, that the situation could not become more surreal even if he found out he was simply a character in a story; his struggles existing only for the entertainment of others.

"Oh, no, I think Madam Umbridge has a point," replied Voldemort, his cold smile growing ever wider. "We really should visit the muggle world together. Is there anywhere you particularly want to see?"

Considering the bizarre situation he now found himself in, Harry decided that telling the truth could not do any harm.

"Number 4 Privet Drive."

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**AN:** Interactive: what do you think Voldemort will wear as a muggle? Please review – constructive criticism is always welcome.


	20. A Dinner Party with Flying Cabbage

**AN: Thank you everyone who reviewed** and there have been so many of you! I have really enjoyed reading your comments and you have helped inspire me to continue this story. I must admit at several points in the last year I really thought it was time to give up but you guys have just been so supportive!

I have been having a massive writer's block for all of my fics and the manipulator has really suffered. My plot lines are all jumbled up and I wasn't really sure anymore where this story was headed but I'm back on track and speed typing so fast my fingers are on fire!

**Watch out for more updates on my other fanfics including Only mad dogs and Englishment, also Harry and Voldemort non-slash!**

**Also I am looking for a beta reader to make reading the chapters a better experience for everyone. Please PM me if you would like to volunteer. **

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Another day, another trial, another dull link in the chain that bound Harry more and more tightly to his fate.

The weekend had passed without another incident and Voldemort made no further mention of their imminent sojourn into the muggle world and Number 4 Privet Drive. Their second fishing trip had been cut short by Harry's sullen unresponsiveness and Voldemort, savouring his latest triumph, had sailed the little boat back to the peer with a promise of more adventures to come.

The school holidays were fast approaching, the atmosphere at Hogwarts was alive with excitement and expectations. All around him, his classmates were exchanging animated descriptions of their ambitious plans for the summer but Harry had not made any plans and no one took the time to ask him. They all knew that whatever he would be doing in those long months ahead would not be something of his own choosing.

After the end of year feast, as the hall emptied and corridors cleared of luggage, Harry found his way reluctantly back to the headmaster's office. A full two months stretched before him with nothing but the Dark Lord's company to harass him and fuel his paranoia.

Snape was conversing with an unpleasant portrait of a past headmaster and left Harry waiting tentatively in the doorway whilst they discussed Hogwarts' fiscal situation in low stern tones. Finally, after deciding that the dungeons would benefit most from the ministry's unexpected and very generous contribution, Snape gestured for Harry to step into the fireplace.

Two minutes he was back in Voldemort's study and now, more than ever Harry felt the oppressive weight of the future pressing down on his chest.

"Harry," The Dark Lord rose from his desk, "Severus, another year has ended at Hogwarts."

"Yes, my Lord," said Snape quietly, "with many more to successful ones to come."

"Of course," said Voldemort graciously, "Harry thank Professor Snape for a great academic year,"

Dully, Harry turned to face the sallow potions master and expressed his gratitude in an emotionless voice.

Snape simply leered at him.

"Severus, I shall be holding dinner tonight, be sure to pass my invitations on."

"Of course, my Lord," replied the Headmaster as he bowed gracefully and stepped back into the fireplace. Harry found himself fantasizing that the green flames would suddenly turn red and swallow the evil backstabbing turncoat in a volley of fire.

"Really," said Voldemort, his green eyes glistening with the reflection of the fire, "such evil thoughts…"

"Stay out of my head," snapped Harry, still wallowing in angst.

"Most children would be happy at the end of term," suggest Voldemort, his voice laced with feigned concern.

"Yes well most children don't have to live with the Dark Lord!" spat Harry and turned to leave the study but felt a hand grip the back of his collar.

"I haven't dismissed you," hissed Voldemort, his voice suddenly cold and sharp. Suppressing the ominous sense of foreboding building up inside him, Harry slowly turned around to look at his captor. "I have much to discuss with you, little one."

"Have you finally decided to put me out of my misery, permanently?" asked Harry numbly.

"Quite on the contrary, I do believe I promised you a holiday, to Dorset. We will be leaving tomorrow," stated Voldemort, leaving no room any sort of discussion.

"What?" asked Harry, hardly able to believe his own hearing, "you're just going to upend yourself, leave the entire ministry and go off on a jolly jaunt to the seaside?"

Voldemort smiled, a thin lipped smirk,

"Actually, I sorted everything out months ago,"

"You're not afraid someone will oust you whilst your back is turned? Snape looks like he's just itching to crave up your back…"

The diabolical smile only grew wider,

"Oh, Severus is far too smart to do that…" replied Voldemort cryptically, "Lucius might be tempted but not Severus."

"And by holiday, do you actually mean private torture sessions?" asked Harry flatly, "have you set up a nice unassuming dungeon somewhere filled with imaginable torture implements?"

"Why ever would you think that?" demanded Voldemort, his voice once again sounding dramatically hurt. "I merely feel that we need to spend some more time together than we have been doing over the past year. I've been very busy and you have been at school. Now is the perfect opportunity for some quality bonding time…"

"You want your soul back this _badly_?" said Harry in his most derisive tone. As twisted as Voldemort's mind must be, Harry found it hard to believe that this little holiday would be any more pleasant for Voldemort as it was for him. After all spending weeks in isolation with nothing but your worst enemy for company was not any sane person's first choice of holiday.

Voldemort merely looked back at Harry, as if waiting for him to supply the answer.

"I suppose I really don't have a choice in the matter," muttered Harry sullenly.

"Very astute of you, my little one."

* * *

Dinner was nearly as bad as Harry had imagined it to be. Seated between Bellatrix who wouldn't stop purring at him and Severus Snape who didn't pass a signal opportunity to criticize every aspect of his person, Harry began to wonder if it would be much better for him to just throw a cup of pumpkin juice in Voldemort's face and be sent to his room.

"As I was saying," said Lucius Malfoy from across the table where he sat haughtily beside the picture perfect Narcissa, "we really must to do something about the Department for Transportation."

Macnair, who had bought with him a dinner date that looked even more sinister than he did, leered at Lucius and carried on carving up his steak with deadly precision. Jugson, Yaxley and Mulciber had all come alone, due to what Jugson had eloquently termed: a complete lack of animal magnetism. Harry wished, not for the first time that evening, that he was seated next to Yaxley who never spoke and probably never would seen as an auror had severed his vocal cord during the last battle. Mulciber was politely gnawing on a piece of spare rib whilst Jugson was having a very one-sided conversation with Yaxley.

Roldophus and Rabastan, were both tucking into the golden roast potatoes and somewhat overdone cabbage that Harry was working very hard to avoid eating.

"Potter," snapped Snape, "finished your vegetables."

Harry glared back at Snape, which earned him a clip around the ear that made him wince. Voldemort merely looked expectantly down at him from the seat of honour. Shovelling the slimy concoction of red cabbage and raisins into his mouth and swallowing like a dying martyr did not help things along.

"Swipe that sour expression off your face," snarled Snape, who had taken his unofficial mandate to keep Harry in line, very seriously.

"Sorry," replied Harry sarcastically, "it's just that I'm not used to the aroma of your hair at such close quarters."

Across the table Lucius Malfoy stopped his monologue and Jugson snorted into a glass of wine, which sent large droplets of red liquid flying in all directions. One such drop landed squarely in Snape's plate.

The others, who had not been listening so closely, gradually looked up to see what the sudden smothering of the general hum drum of conversation was about. When Harry finally plucked up the courage to look up at Voldemort, he was surprised to see an amused smirk on his face.

"Well, Harry, if you really can't stand it then come and sit with me," suggested Voldemort, although everyone knew it was a direct order.

Gingerly Harry left his place as every pair of eyes in the room tracked his progress and went to stand beside the Dark Lord. His plate magically transported itself into oblivion taking with it remains of the disgusting red cabbage.

"Now Harry, nostrils all cleared?" inquired the Dark Lord, menacingly. Harry was far too scared to do anything but nod placidly. One hand snaked around his waist and gripped it tightly. Voldemort leaned closer and hissed ominously,

"We will be having words later," One hand tapped Harry on the backside very sharply, causing him to wince again.

"Lucius," Voldemort turned to his right, where Lucius Malfoy was watching their exchange with polite interest and Narcissa engaged herself in conversation with Antonin Dolohov's dinner date, who, judging by her accent, was Russian. "The Department of Transportation insist that they have traced every possible lead we gave them. The poor girl, Orphea, didn't enter any fireplace, apparate with anyone, or even take to air in anything moveable. "

"Then my lord, someone must be hiding something," concluded Lucius decisively. "It would be impossible to transport the child from Surrey where the portkey was found to the woodland were she was murdered by anything but magical methods. The two places are eight hundred miles apart."

"Another portkey, perhaps," suggested Voldemort pensively, "but that would still leave traceable magic."

"My Lord, I do believe someone in the Department has ulterior motives," insisted Lucius.

"Of course they do, Lucius," muttered Voldemort, "but it's far too early the startle our quarry."

"And the criminals Black and Lupin?" asked Lucius, "Have they managed to unearth anything useful?"

"If we had to rely on those two to solve this case, we shall all need the Elixir of immortality," replied Voldemort.

Harry, anxious to hear more news about his godfather and Remus, waited eagerly for the conversation to resume but instead, Voldemort turned to look directly at him,

"Your dear godfather is running out of time, my little one."

"He'll find something," snapped Harry glaring in Voldemort's snake like eyes that were now filled with sadistic amusement. "Besides you all know he couldn't have murdered the girl, or you wouldn't be fumbling to find out how she made it from one end of the country to the other."

Lucius Malfoy gave him a withering look,

"Your dear godfather," he drawled, "is still at the top of the suspect list. It won't be long before we will have him under truth serum."

"Don't waste your potions," said Harry, "you know he's innocent."

"Mmm – well he's currently holed up in a disreputable bar drinking away the allowance we gave him, so I wouldn't be too hopeful," said Malfoy, his cold grey eyes glinting with triumph.

For a moment of sheer insanity Harry envisioned himself hurling the serving bowl filled with slimy red cabbage right into the man's arrogant face and watching the warm sticky thread slide off his horrified features.

_Well, what do I have to lose?_ Thought Harry, the sheer madness of his thoughts fuelling him with bravado.

Before he could reason with himself the cabbage was already flying through the air only to spontaneously vanish before most it had left the bowl.

Voldemort had not even moved a muscle and yet the cabbage had vanished and the rest of the table carried on as if nothing had even happened.

"You look tired, Harry, you may go to bed now," said Voldemort his eyes boring into Harry, promising that there would be hell to pay later.

* * *

Two hours later, after all the Death Eaters had scoffed their share of the dessert and Harry had to listen to them leave one by one from the landing, Voldemort's measured stepped stopped outside his room and Harry felt his stomach tightening with dread. His door swung open silently and the Dark Lord looked expectantly into the darkness of Harry's room. The candles suddenly flared to life as Voldemort stepped across the threshold, his face a tight mask of neutrality.

"Harry, come over here," he commanded calmly, waiting for Harry to crawl out from the cupboard where he had been hiding.

"Are you going to beat me?" Harry asked, unable to disguise the apprehension in his voice.

"What do you think you deserve?" asked Voldemort quietly, looking down at Harry from what seemed a great height.

Taking a moment to wonder if this was a genuine a question or just another trap which would inevitably lead to more pain regardless of his answer, Harry stared resolutely back at the Dark Lord.

"They were being mean to me," he snapped petulantly. "I think you should beat them!"

The corners of Voldemort's mouth twitched slightly as if he was holding back a laugh but he remained stern and unmoving,

"Regardless of their actions, they are still your elders and you failed to display the level of respect I expect from you. What do you think you deserve?"

Seeing that stamping his feet and throwing a tantrum was not going to help him cross this particularly bridge, Harry decided on a different tack.

"To be sent to bed?" he suggested tentatively, "like you've already done?"

Voldemort simply raised one eyebrow and continued to stare down at Harry.

"I've already missed dessert," muttered Harry trying to sound pathetic, "and it was my favourite!"

"That must have been very hard for you," replied Voldemort with a lethal dose of sarcasm.

"I'm sorry," said Harry sincerely, "I just hate those people so much, and you let then treat me like some sort of disgusting pest!"

"When has any of my Death Eater treated you like a 'pest'," demanded Voldemort, "Professor Snape merely wanted you to behave appropriately and Lucius Malfoy was telling the truth about your godfather. If you are too sensitive and unreasonable to understand this, that is entirely your own problem."

Harry swallowed nervously as he looked up at Voldemort's stern visage.

"Harry," he continued, "there will be many challenges you must face in the life. Not everyone will like you the way your friends did. Your path will not be strewn with palm branches."

"I wish – I wish none of this had ever happened," whispered Harry feeling tired and defeated. "Sometimes when I close my eyes, I can just imagine what life might have been like had I just been an ordinary boy. Sometimes I imagine a life where that letter never came and I just went on living as a muggle. I wish there was no such thing as magic..."

"Dreaming of what might have been will not solve any problems. It is merely the coward's way of avoiding responsibility," said Voldemort.

"But don't you ever wonder what you could have been if that Hogwarts letter never arrived?" asked Harry his eyes wide with the thought of possibilities. "I could have gone to the local comprehensive and made friends. Maybe I'll be working in MacDonalds now and living in a council flat on my own. Perhaps I'd have a girlfriend and we'd all go out clubbing at the weekend when I got paid..."

"You would sacrifice everything you have been given for a low life as a muggle?" demanded Voldemort, his voice filled with both disgust and anger. Harry hearing the distinct beginnings of something about to turn ugly simply stared at the floor waiting to hear what the Dark Lord planned to do with him. "If you really are so _ungrateful_, perhaps I should simply strip you of your magic and send you back to those _muggles_ and let them lock you back in that closet!"

"At least I could get away from them eventually," sobbed Harry feeling a overwhelming sadness overcome him all of a sudden. He could not quite believe he was actually missing Privet Drive but as his mind conjured up the memories of his first home he could feel a pain throbbing in his heart, "I could have had a life of my own!"

"And you can't now?" asked Voldemort, "what makes you think you shall never have a life?"

Looking up at his tormentor and the root of cause of all his pain and confusion through a veil of tears, Harry sobbed,

"You! You! You'll never let me have my own life; you'll always be there in controlling me like a puppet master. I'll never be free of you unless one of us _dies!_"

For a long moment there was uttered silence in the room as the two combatants stared at each other.

"Freedom," began Voldemort breaking the tension, "is merely a point of view. You feel that I have imprisoned you but I believe that I am keeping you safe. Perhaps one day, when you are an adult you will understand what I mean. For now, I do not expect you to be particularly grateful, I do however expect you to behave at least."

Harry wasn't sure whether to continue his angry tirade or simply to stay silent and hope that Voldemort would forget about punishing him.

"Have I made myself clear?" insisted Voldemort, his eyes boring into Harry's.

Harry nodded mutely.

"Now get ready for bed. Tomorrow we shall be leaving for Dorset, and Privet Drive."

"What?" blurted Harry before he could even think of stopping himself, "you're not honestly going to take me -,"

"I thought that was what you wanted?" inquired Voldemort calmly as if he had merely offered Harry a small favour.

"I – well I wasn't really thinking," muttered Harry suddenly realising just what a visit to Privet Drive would entail for the Dursleys. If they insulted Lord Voldemort, and they inevitably would within the first few minutes, their deaths would be horrible drawn out affairs. Harry had hated them as child but now he could not give Voldemort and excuse to kill them for sport.

"You are afraid that I will find your relatives offensive and hence wipe them from the face of the earth," stated Voldemort with mild amusement. "I assure you Harry, I have no intention of breaking the law even if your awful relatives are involved. We shall merely drop by at the appointed time, I have already sent them a letter, via the Royal Mail,"

Harry tried not to look too much like a dying goldfish gulping helplessly out of water.

"You did that?" he asked incredulously, "you really sent my aunt a letter asking if we could visit?"

"Harry," replied Voldemort now sounding slightly exasperated, "I have already told you have been planning this trip for several weeks, do you doubt my organisation skills? Beside your aunt has kindly agreed to see us, so we shall be going."

Stunned into silence, Harry tried to imagine what on earth Voldemort had written in the letter that managed to convince Petunia and by extension Veron Dursley into letting him and the Dark Lord into their house. No doubt after the conclusion of the war, the Dursleys had simply assumed that Harry, then eighteen, had finally decided to stop sponging off them and start parasitizing other people.

"You'll need to dress as a muggle," said Harry suddenly remembering just how many neighbours possessed telescopic vision on Privet Drive, "and you don't have any muggle clothing! Besides you hate muggles? Why would you willingly subject yourself to visiting muggles?"

Voldemort merely smiled enigmatically and as usual his expression belied an undercurrent of malice.

"I want you to put the past behind you. Despite what you might think, you have not yet overcome the trauma of growing up in that awful household. Perhaps a visit to Privet Drive is exactly what you need to move on with your life."

"But," spluttered Harry now lost for words, "but – _seriously_! They'll insult you and – and make fun of you. Then you'll get all angry -,"

"My temper will not be the problem here," interrupted Voldemort, "you will be polite and well behaved at all time or there will be _consequences._ Now after this visit we shall be going to seaside near Weymouth. I shall be taking an extend break from work but we shall still have important visitors so I assure you now that I expect you on your best behaviour at all times. If a repeat of what happened today were to happen, I shall be most displeased."

Hearing the tone of finality in Voldemort's voice Harry decided it would be completely futile to argue anymore. Voldemort was going to visit Privet Drive and his aunt and uncle, well they would just have cope with it the best they could. Hopefully, even Veron Dursely would have enough survival instinct to stop himself of calling the Dark Lord a disgusting freak. However, on the bright side at least he had escape punishment for tonight.

"Harry," Voldemort was not quite done with him yet, "come here."

Bewildered for only a moment, Harry quickly realised he had not escaped after all.

"From now on, you shall go to bed at eight o'clock every night until I say otherwise. Your toys will be confiscated until further notice and tomorrow at seven, I shall be waiting for you down the foyer to watch you clean the house from top to bottom before we leave."

Harry almost breathed a sigh of relief, he would much rather have this sort of punishment then the humiliating beatings he had been subjected to in the past.

"And also Harry," continued Voldemort, "every time you misbehave in the future, I shall strike one day off Black and Lupin's allotted investigation time. Just so you know, they do only have one more month left."

The diabolical smile that now adorned Voldemort's features was inhuman and bestial, something that Harry once had nightmares about. The malicious joy in Voldemort's expression made Harry shiver with fear. A whole week with this terrible psychopath was going to test his endurance to the limit.

* * *

**AN: Finally they are on their way, this chapter is really the dreaded scene transition ones people write so nothing much happens but more Harry/Voldemort on holiday - there will sandcastles, sunbathing and a murder mystery to solve. **

**Please review, I love reading your reactions, comments, theories, and constructive criticism. **


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Harry Potter, Adventure, Drama