H E X A D E C I M A L

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A VermillionSky Story

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Disclaimer: This fic is rated M and will most likely contain the following at some point in the story - swearing, acts of violance, and scenes of a sexual nature. If you don't like the idea of that, then turn back. I don't own any of the characters or places mentioned, and this is a non-profitable piece of work.

Foreword: To date, I've written a number of pieces of fanfiction, and all but one of them have focused on sexuality. Even further, that one fic has been abandoned. I'll never finish it. But my last fic to be completed (The Last Innocent Weasley) took me months to write. I couldn't get the motivation to write it, and struggled towards the end. Perhaps my times of writing romance fics are numbered. Sure I have other possible ideas for them, but I find myself no longer able to put those into words, into fanfics. Recently, I've felt the need to broaden my horizons, stretch out, and this idea hit me. First it was the idea, the basic premise, then came the story or game to base it on. I'm not sure if that was the best way to go about things, but time will tell. This foreword has gone on long enough too - so let the games begin...

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P A R T - I
 Don't You Recognise My Voice?

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The room kicked into view as he opened his eyes, blurred shapes spun around him as his hand automatically went for his glasses on the table near his bed. They weren't there. In fact, nor was the table, and as his body started up he realised there wasn't even a bed. Cold stone rubbed against his elbows, and his hand hit a flagstone as his unconcious move to grab his glasses continued on, sending vibrations through both his arm and the immediate area with a faint thud.

Where was he?

"Ahh, our friend is at last awake."

The voice filled the room, and Harry had no idea in which direction it originated from. The room was dark, and even with his glasses he probably wouldn't have been able to see much. He felt a slight twinge of panic inside him, but caught himself quickly. He wasn't about to scream and cry, he had to keep his head. He sat up straight, squinting as he tried in vain to see anything.

"Who's there?" he asked, concentrating in keeping his voice steady.

"Aaahhhhhhh..."

Whispers flew in all directions, undecipherable noise that echoed all around him, closing in, backing off, darting everywhere. He staggered to his feet, spinning around, his hands flailing as if to bat off the sound. But it was no use, the whispers grew louder with every passing moment. He pressed his hands to his ears, fighting a new urge to scream, but the noise failed to quell. It was no use, and he found himself giving up, a yell emitting from his open mouth, his eyes screwed shut, as he hoped for the agonising noises to stop.

And they did.

The room had gone quiet.

Had it been a dream? He continued standing in the same spot, his eyes still shut, his hands still against his ears. His heavy breathing was the only noise he could hear. He opened his eyes, and moved his hands. And then it started, a steady laugh coming from directly ahead. He took a breath and looked up, but he couldn't see a thing. Where were his glasses? Then the laughing stopped, as quickly as it'd started.

"Don't you recognise my voice, Harry?"

And then it hit him. Who the voice was. How had he been so slow at recognising it, the voice that had terrorised his dreams, the voice that everyone dreaded, the voice belonging to the most famous, and yet most feared, wizard of all time.

It was Voldemort.

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What was going on? How had he ended up in this room, this place, without his glasses, without his wand, with the most feared wizard in the world in the room with him? Questions. But questions he couldn't answer. He tried to remember how he'd gotten there, but all his mind returned was blackness, swirling blurs akin to what he was seeing at the moment.

"Hahaha," the voice continued, "I seems that you do remember after all..."

Harry clenched his teeth, the mixture of confusion and terror rendering him paralyzed. Yet even if he forced himself to speak, what would he say? What could he say?

"What's this - Harry Potter - speechless!" Voldemort growled from the blackness ahead. "Perhaps this'll clear things up a bit!"

And with that the room burst into light, and from somewhere in front of him his glasses flew right onto his head, bringing into focus a stone room, candles lit on all sides, but only for a split-second, before Harry found himself hurled backwards by an unseen force, crashing back down to the floor. But he caught his thoughts quickly, and looked up almost immediately at the shadow that fell over him.

It was Voldemort, standing over him, cloaked fully in black, his narrow snakelike eyes the first things Harry noticed about his pale face. Memories of the Triwizard Tournament came flooding back. And those eyes, as they were that last time, were full of hatred, contempt. Evil.

"So we meet again..."

Harry didn't reply. He kept his stare right at Voldemort, the man who'd killed his parents. He wasn't going to give him an inch. But Voldemort just stared right back, and his face broke into a chuckle, a twisted grin as his eyes lit with cold flames.

"Ever the fearless warrior," he spat, "just like your father..."

Harry broke, yelling out as he jumped from the floor without even thinking, but was brought crashing back down almost instantly, his knees pounding against the cold stone floor, pain shooting through his body. Voldemort chuckled softly, lowering his wand the minute distance he'd moved it to block Harry's 'attack'. Harry glared at him, trying to collect his thoughts. What was happening to him, if this wasn't a dream, and Voldemort had somehow caught him, then why was he still alive?

"You'll find out soon enough." He'd been read like a book, and Harry twinged as a jolt of pain surged through his scar.

And with that, with a flick of his wand, Voldemort had vanished. Harry staggered to his feet, still reeling from the encounter. More questions appeared in his mind, but he couldn't answer any of them. He set about examining the room, which seemed to be made entirely of stone. There were no windows, and worryingly too, no door. He spend an hour looking around every wall for a way out, then moved onto the floor and the ceiling. Nothing. He was a prisoner, whether he liked it or not. A million questions, but no answers. It was worrying that he was in a room with no exit or entrance, and worrying that he had no memory of being taken there.

What was most confusing though, was that he was still alive. He should be dead by now, and the only thing he kept on coming back to was that he was being kept for something. Something was going to happen, and it would involve him...

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Just a preview, the story'll get going properly in the next few chapters, trust me! Hope you liked what's happened so far, and any reviews are most welcome...