Author's note: Thank you very much for your very kind reviews! I loved all of them, they made me really happy. Knowing that you like this so much is a great motivation for me to go on!

Rating of this chapter: T

Special thanks to my great beta: TheSecretUchiha

And now, enjoy the chapter! :D

The Chase, part I

His magic.

The essence of his existence, the wondrous, dangerous power which made him an exceptional being, was gone. It was painfully obvious now that things did not progress the way he intended. He shouldn't have drank that potion, he shouldn't have overused his magical potential and he shouldn't have ignored the recuperation period his body needed to heal from previous injuries.

Some might think that he was being thoughtless, but no, he always considered everything with utmost care. He anticipated treason when Draco Malfoy so bumptiously summoned him. He wasn't surprised to find Negura there; he knew that the freak didn't want to wait for him to re-obtain his full powers. Their clash was unavoidable, drinking the Fortiserum probably was too. That's why he brought that flask along after all. He knew his limits and according to his plan he shouldn't reach them by far.

In the end, the only thing which truly crossed his expectations was Negura's survival. He was a hundred percent certain that the bloodsucking freak was not going to outlast that final powerful smite. Everything he envisaged counted on this single presumption.

It was a bit foolish of him, he could see it now. No matter how small the chance was, he should have considered this option too. If he did, he wouldn't be so surprised to see Negura withstand magic invented by Merlin himself. The freak might have been burned and broken, yet he was still capable of a full recovery within an impossibly short amount of time.

And he, Lord Voldemort, was taken aback by this development. Once again, the moment of his ultimate victory turned into a humiliating defeat, though he failed to see any significant error in his actions and decisions.

Could the reason behind this be the lack of fortune, Potter's secret power, something the boy teemed with, while he always fell short of it? If he had just a shred of the boy's luck, he would have conquered the world many years ago. He couldn't win without it, no matter how careful, thoughtful and foreseeing he was.

This defeat was the final proof of it. There was no prison waiting for him, no, they planned to kill him, he knew that much. The members of the Order, or whoever it was who chained him to that cold, uncomfortable chair and asked him the prying questions, wanted to see him dead. He was blindfolded but he could hear how that intent seeped into their spiteful voices. They didn't discuss Potter's opinion about his execution; they didn't even mention the boy's name. Maybe they didn't trust their Chosen One anymore – or maybe Negura already intervened, giving them false, nevertheless very convincing evidence of Potter's unreliability. He excelled in this; that's also why he was one of his best Death Eaters forty years ago. Playing dirty games has always been one of Negura's favourite hobbies.

But why should any of it matter to him now, when he was being questioned and soon to be killed, he didn't know. If his mind wasn't blinded by that devastating fear of dying, he would probably find the whole situation ludicrous. Ignominious death. That's what he tried to avoid at any price. That's what awaited him in few minutes or seconds. He felt his heart pounding fiercely in his chest while he waited in horrendous tension for those two well-known words of the worst curse of all. His terror was ultimate, persecuting him, tainting his every thought. He barely held himself from showing it. It was only his stubborn, immense pride that kept his mouth shut and his face expressionless.

He didn't respond to those questions and to his great surprise none of his inquisitors insisted on getting the answers. Soon they were gone but being alone didn't bring any relief. He should have anticipated this too. They were surely waiting for Negura to come here and finish it. Maybe the freak even sent them an official request. The thought of it made his empty stomach clench, deepening his nausea to a point where he thought he couldn't bear it anymore. He wasn't prepared to face this by far. And yet here, in the quiet of this cell, he had to come to terms with his fate and re-evaluate his long-standing opinions. Nothing was worse than death, besides the dying itself. How dreadful it was when nothing else could be done besides waiting for it to happen. Shivers ran up and down his spine as he imagined the moment when the doors would come open and he would hear Negura's melodic, slightly raspy voice, taunting him, mocking him and jeering at him. He hated this fear, this weakness that was stripping him of his dignity. His plans to become the most powerful wizard of all times, his purpose and zealous effort to change the world according to his concept, all of it seemed distant now, unfeasible and pointless like a childish dream.

Everything was taken from him. Here he was, without magic and wand, tethered to a metal chair in some cold, wet room, wallowing in pain rather than thinking of what was to come. Every single cell of his body hurt and he relished in that feeling. The agony was telling him that he was still alive. It didn't matter too much that only his faultless self-control kept him silent, away from screaming and losing coherency. The torture was pure and exquisite … he could almost appreciate it as he alone enjoyed evoking these sensations in his victims. He was being scorched by that uncultured, crude and wild energy belonging to no one else than Harry Potter in person; the boy who he's been thinking of ever since he woke up.

He recalled seeing his flawless face for the briefest moment before they blindfolded him. Potter was igniting this suffering within his body with such an innocent expression that he wanted to roar and tear him apart on the spot.

The boy didn't know about the importance of a suitable donor for a successful magic-sharing. It was one of the absolute necessities for any transfer of magic. The nurse and the teachers surely knew about that, though they hardly cared about how much his and Potter's 'incompatibility' made him suffer. The only thing they were concerned about was their Chosen, who had to remain unaffected.

He wished he could hate that green-eyed brat for this pain as he hated him for his braveness (how could he face his death so evenly?), for his compassion (something he never wanted to receive from his enemy) and for his undeniable physical perfection which affected him more and more every time they met.

A feeling of such agony would surely extend his malignancy towards The-Boy-Who-Lived to an entirely new level, if he weren't aware that Potter hurt him unwillingly and only in order to save him. This, of course, changed the situation quite dramatically. He had no idea why Potter decided to do that and as the young man avoided him ever since then, he had no chances to find it out. Still, the simple thought of his face, of his voice evoked the weirdest sensations in his chest. It was strong enough to divert his attention from the pain he felt and his fear of approaching death. Naturally, he wanted to know the meaning of it.

By simple inferring from facts, he could say that Potter became abnormally obsessed with his hero complex, saving everyone in trouble he met. That was probably why he risked his life for Draco Malfoy (if he was sincere about his proclamation that he didn't love him) and it seemed that even he, Lord Voldemort, was included. He surely meant nothing special to Potter; even that kiss was fake and insincere, no matter how pleasant it felt. He noticed that the magicians fighting for the Light side were doing this a lot. By kissing each other they tried to offer support and sympathy that evidently helped them overcome their own emotional hurt and insecurity. And The Chosen One had to lead them by example, of course. Therefore, he should not consider being kissed by him as anything significant; Potter still surely hated him the most.

Instead of expected elation after coming to this plain and logical conclusion, another seizure of weird emotions constricted his chest. For a moment he feared that he might suffocate. His heart thudded against his ribcage just like moments ago when he thought he was going to be killed. He gasped for breath, frenzied, and quickly redirected the course of his feverish thoughts.

He needed to stop thinking of Potter in that way for it had a very strange and undesirable effect on him. Instead, he should solely focus on his survival. He must not miss a single chance, not even the tiniest one, to escape from this prison. When he had lost his body nineteen years ago, he was similarly broken and helpless. If he managed to deal with it then, why couldn't he now?

He just needed some time to learn how to control the flow of that alien force in his body so it would stop hurting him so much. And once Harr … Potter comes to see him, he would have to convince him by tricks or force that keeping him alive was for the best. Thinking of which, sharing Potter's magic might have offered some advantages after all. If that brat didn't want to visit him from his free will, he may try to compel him a little, preferably before the freak's arrival. With this new task on his mind, he began to work in silence, minute by minute, hour by hour, learning more and more about that untamed energy coursing inside him.

xxxxx

The room was small, murky, with no window or fireplace. The only negligible illumination was provided by softly glimmering flames on top of two heavy steel torches attached to the wall by the entrance. Harry lit the tip of Voldemort's wand, squeezing it firmly in his hand as the coldness crept beneath his fingernails. An unpleasant stench of fustiness, wetness and pungent smoke irritated his nose. He rubbed it with the back of his hand and glanced over his shoulder at Hermione. Her face was pale and tense, yet something about her told Harry that she didn't doubt her resolution. He looked back then, surveying the cell quickly.

There was only one massive iron chair standing in the middle of the room, nothing else and Harry felt a sudden uneasiness as he hesitantly approached the person seated in it.

Lord Voldemort, his captive as Professor McGonagall so inconveniently called him, was dressed in his usual dark robes, shackled from head to toe, a black strap over his eyes obscuring his vision. As Harry came closer, he noticed that Riddle's body was completely rigid. The prisoner held his breath, his muscles were straining against the chains so much that Harry was briefly worried about the injuries the hard iron could cause him. It was cutting deeply into his thin skin that had already begun to bruise around the exposed areas.

Voldemort finally drew in a short breath, a mere shallow and fitful gasp accompanied by cascades of shivers running down his body, making the tips of his unnaturally long, bluish fingers twitch.

And Harry wanted to swear like his uncle after seeing that.

Before he stepped inside, he promised himself that he would behave the best he could. He wanted to show Hermione how perfectly in control over his abnormal feelings he was.

Bullshit.

He was in no control over anything.

His body declared a war on his noble goal to remain the icon of probity and morality. (Although, he had to admit that the purity of that icon was already soiled by Rita's articles about his drunken escapades and visits of lewd houses.) What his imagination presented him now, when he was facing Riddle chained to that chair, was however far beyond Rita's wildest fantasies. It had nothing to do with feeling pity and compassion for Lord Voldemort. No, as frustrating as it was, he didn't feel victorious satisfaction or revengeful desires either, thought this sight definitely stirred a positive response within his body. And he would certainly appreciate it even better if they were alone and in much cosier and warmer place. He realized that he wanted to see those poor muscles tighten under that perfect skin, but for completely different reasons than fear. He remembered that Riddle told him quite recently about his desire to tame a lion, but subduing him - a tamer - sounded as much greater fun for Harry.

His mouth ran short of saliva; he quickly licked his lips which remained dry, his body growing itchy. There was only one thing he could possibly do in that situation. He turned back, striding to the doors before his freaky needs could completely overpower him.

"Harry!"

That call was like a slap, waking him from his self-induced infatuation. It cleared his head, dragging him back to the reality again. Thank God for having Hermione around.

She gently seized his forearm, watching him with something close to understanding in her eyes.

"This was a very bad idea," he whispered to her. "I don't know why I thought I could do this."

"Harry," she said, her voice quiet and soft. "If Negura's coming here, we don't have much time. You must decide."

He bit his lower lip, rolling the flesh between his teeth for a moment before he slowly nodded.

"I know."

He turned back to the Dark Lord, taking in a deep breath.

This time he approached him quickly, crossing the distance in four quick steps and pulling down the black strap over Voldemort's eyes right away.

The man in chair was no longer tense, his body seemed more relaxed, his head slightly inclined. He didn't look at Harry, but he spoke to him in a cold whisper.

"Harry Potter. You've come at last."

Only then he slowly raised his pale, pearly glowing head; his unnaturally white skin sharply contrasting with his burning red eyes.

"I've been waiting."

Harry said nothing. He was busy keeping his expression neutral and his mind blank. The last thing he wanted was Voldemort discovering what he was thinking about a moment ago. As they stared at each other Harry suddenly noticed pink hand prints on both of Voldemort's white cheeks. First it occurred to him that someone had to slap him really hard and that would be quite funny if he didn't realize right away that his skin actually looked burned, not bruised. Involuntarily, he glanced down at him own scorched palms.

"Tell me, Harry, how's Negura?" Voldemort said in a cold, sly voice, ignorant of Harry's thoughts. "Already made you a culprit or managed to convince you that killing me is the only thing you want?"

"Killing you was the only thing I wanted, even without that vampire telling me this," Harry replied quietly and noticed instant alert and distress in those crimson eyes. The next second it was gone.

"So, you've come here to watch me die after all," the Dark Lord said blankly, already losing interest in the course of discussion.

Resignation. It was undeniable; Harry simply disliked seeing him like that.

"No," he said without hesitation. "Actually, I'm here to offer you a deal."

Finally a response Harry was waiting for. Voldemort's whole body revived after hearing those words and Harry could see the plans of escape being born behind those calculating eyes.

"Really?" Riddle spoke softly and leaned to the youngster as much as the chains allowed.

"And that mudblood behind you is here for what purpose?"

Harry's fists automatically curled after hearing that foul name Voldemort used for Hermione. He leaned to him as well, their faces inches apart.

"Insult her once again and forget whatever deal I have for you," he whispered icily.

Voldemort pressed his lips together, saying nothing.

"She has a name. Treat her with the respect she deserves!"

"Harry, don't..." Hermione whispered, her voice shaking with tension.

"She deserves only..." Voldemort easily drowned her voice by his cold hiss before Harry stopped him with pointing an accusative forefinger at him.

"Don't. Go. Any. Further! You'd be probably dead already without her help. You're only alive thanks to people you hate the most - muggles and muggle-borns!"

Harry turned to look at Hermione, seeing a mixture of sadness and distress in her eyes.

"I wish you weren't so blind and could actually see that," Harry sighed as he looked back at the Dark Lord.

Riddle didn't find it worth a comment, which made the youngster sigh again.

"Let's get to the heart of the matter, 'cause we don't have all night for this. Now, listen. We need information about Negura, especially about his habits, his weak points and his strategies. Then you must swear the Unbreakable Vow that you will never kill a human being ever again. If you do that, I'll make sure that you'll get out of Hogwarts alive."

Voldemort said nothing at first. He watched Harry for long seconds without the slightest movement before his lips finally twitched. Three seconds later they twitched again. The strange gurgling sound growing in Riddle's throat fully erupted, turning into a fit of maniacal cackle.

It stopped as quickly as it began.

"You really believed that I would serve you like this, didn't you Potter? That I would bend my spine and kiss your feet. That I would do whatever you ask me to do. If yes, then I must say that your natural intelligence was completely obliterated during your brainwashing sessions with Dumbledore."

He could as well spit into his face, Harry would feel the same. It hurt. It made him feel cheapened. He could only take a step backwards, shaking his head.

"Fine," he hissed, grounding his teeth. "If this is what you want then I guess we'll have to find a way to defeat him without you."

It was the only thing he could get out of his throat before he turned away from him and once again strode towards the door in fear that the pain in his chest would consume him. As he passed Hermione, he seized her elbow, dragging her along.

"Potter!"

He ignored his call, reaching for the door-handle.

"Potter!"

He took the handle in his hand, squeezing it resolutely.

"Potter!"

That desperate hissing sound perforated his decision, forcing him to look back against his will. Oh, yes, Voldemort was frightened, panicking. He obviously didn't expect him to leave like this for a reason Harry couldn't completely comprehend. Riddle, seeing that he had his attention, spoke quickly in a venomous hiss.

"I am willing to tell you what I know about that bloodsucking freak. However, if I had a key to his immortality I would have destroyed him last night, wouldn't I?"

Harry's hand slipped from the handle and he fully turned to him.

"Concerning the Unbreakable Vow, I cannot swear it from the obvious reasons. I am not suicidal."

"Aren't you the greatest wizard alive, Voldemort?" Harry responded quietly. "You don't have to kill anyone unless you want to."

"It's not that simple, Potter..."

"It is!" Harry barked out, coming back to him, leaving Hermione standing by the door.

"It's very simple. Either you'll do what I say, or you'll die. There's nothing really difficult about it!"

Harry was getting really angry and what upset him most was that over Voldemort's non-compliance, over his unfriendly treatment of his friends, over his freaky snake-like appearance, he was still affected by him in the most embarrassing way. Who wouldn't be mad at him at this point?

But he wasn't the only one pissed off; he could see the fury in Voldemort's eyes too.

"You're not giving me any choice, Potter," the hissed acidly.

"That's right, I'm not," Harry hissed back, leaning closer to him and his body completely betrayed him at that moment, giving into its craving for touch. His fingers curled around the back of Riddle's neck, pressing into his cool skin to deepen the contact. He wanted to keep touching him, he wanted to feel that living silk beneath his palm, he wanted it so much that it was driving him crazy. Just why did this man have to be such a heartless bastard? Harry increased his grip, half-expecting the furious hiss that he always received whenever he did something without Riddle's consent. Strangely, Voldemort didn't protest this time. Over his open anger, he seemed to be revelling in that contact. This realization only raised Harry's blood pressure to a dangerous level. He watched him close his eyes and mutter something under his breath, before he opened them again, irritation disappearing from his face to be gradually replaced by a sly smile.

The youngster was quite taken aback by that unexpected change in Voldemort's behaviour.

Something wasn't all right. Harry couldn't get rid of the feeling that he just missed something important, some clue that would help him explain Riddle's odd reaction. He just wanted to ask what it meant, when Hermione interrupted him again. She called his name but he already saw it too, a slight shimmering light reflecting in Voldemort's eyes. He turned to look at the source and his heart faltered for a second.

It was Neville's Patronus, a large tree frog, who jumped inside the cell through the two feet thick wall.

"They arrived," it spoke with Neville's voice. "Negura, Umbridge and six Aurors. Hurry up, they'll be down there within ten minutes."

And then it dissolved in a soft, shining mist that slowly evaporated.

"It seems," Voldemort's cold voice broke through the momentary silence, "that my questioning about Negura has to wait. Let's make a bond, Harry, so we can get out of here."

Harry looked back at him, foreboding growing in his chest. The previous anger in Riddle's face was purely genuine, but this smile was the falsest thing he had ever seen.

He hesitated, tried to read those frightening eyes and failed completely.

"We are running out of time, Harry. You must set me free, so I can take the Vow," Voldemort sneered.

Harry glanced behind at Hermione. She had a wand in her hand, watching them silently. There was a small wrinkle between her eyebrows showing that she was deep in thought, contemplating something.

"Okay," Harry finally breathed out and turned back to him.

He raised the wand and released the chains that kept Voldemort in the chair one after another. Once unshackled, the Dark Lord let out a relieved sigh and slowly rose to his feet, stretching his stiff limbs. Then, with that cunning smirk still on his lips, he extended his right hand towards Harry in an almost friendly gesture.

Harry was quite suspicious about Voldemort's early and easy submission, but he ultimately took it that Riddle wanted to get over this as soon as possible and so he accepted the offered hand, feeling the long, cold, bony fingers clasp around his palm.

"Hermione," he said a little breathlessly, his eyes never leaving the Dark Lord's.

He heard her step closer and saw her raise the wand from the corner of an eye. To his surprise, she didn't aim it at their joined hands, but at Voldemort instead.

"Don't do this Harry," she whispered while gazing at their long time enemy, who took the trouble to scald her with his glare. "I think … that this is a trap. He's trying to beguile us," she said firmly.

Harry's hand twitched in Voldemort's grip.

"What?" he asked, glancing at her nervously. "How could he possibly do that?"

Hermione gulped quickly, she was nervous too, but the wand in her hand was steady.

"Just think of the principle of the Unbreakable Vow. What is it that kills you if you break it?"

"I don't know," Harry muttered, impatient and more tense than ever. "Your magic perhaps?"

He was still watching Voldemort, who was now constantly glaring at Hermione, his lips firmly sealed, his face unmoving like a mask.

"Yes, your magic," Hermione whispered. "The Vow is sealed with the sorcerer's magic. And as you can see, he doesn't have it at the moment. He's got only yours, which will be gone from his body in hours or days at most. In the best case, I think that the Unbreakable Vow wouldn't be efficient after that time. In the worst possible case, you would die if he broke his promise."

Harry whipped his hand out of Riddle's clutch, staring at him disbelievingly.

"You" he wheezed, gritting his teeth, but Voldemort was still staring at Hermione.

"Excellent, Granger," he whispered coldly. "So it is really true that a spawn of a muggle dirt carries the brains of The Golden Trio. I could hardly believe it at first."

Then he finally turned his attention to Harry, the awful smile no longer plastered on his face.

"I hope you won't dare to blame me for this, Potter. This was after all your idea."

An unbearable silence filled the room as Harry couldn't rebut that assertion.

"So," Voldemort broke it several seconds later. "This charade was quite useless, showing that you have nothing to keep me in check with. What will you do now, Potter? Let me die, or what?"

No, Harry couldn't just do that, no matter how insufferable Riddle was most of the time. The horrible monster in his chest, the one that will certainly induce a heart attack, wouldn't allow it. At least not before he could press that bastard's skinny body into the mattress and molest him to the point that he won't remember anything beside Harry's name which he would make him scream over and over and over again... Yeah, it would be so satisfying...

"Take a Vow without the wand, then," he said firmly his bright green eyes staring intently into the burning orbs.

"You must stop killing people. Promise me that you'll do that and you will live."

Voldemort's pale, nearly invisible lips curled upwards. He said nothing.

"Harry," Hermione said quietly. "You know that he won't keep that promise. Why did you even suggest it?"

Harry's stare grew harder and colder.

"But he will have to keep it. Because if he breaks it, then I'll do my best to help Negura kill him."

The wicked smile disappeared from Riddle's face, turning into an acid glare.

"Now, Potter, who would have thought that you would lower yourself to use such a strategy?" he said bitingly.

Harry had a similarly pleasant answer on his tongue. He didn't say anything though, because the shimmering light of Neville's Patronus entered the room again.

"They're coming. Five minutes!"

"Damn!" Harry cursed and looked directly into Riddle's red eyes. "Will you swear it?"

Now it was Lord Voldemort's turn to look exasperated.

"Yes," he spat, disgusted.

"Then do it."

Voldemort bared his teeth to show his greatest possible irritation, but basically he said the words Harry was waiting for.

"I swear I won't kill anyone ever again. Satisfied, Potter?" he snarled, his voice like acid.

"Not really," Harry retorted, irritated as well. "Say I swear I won't kill anyone ever again, including muggles and muggle-borns, because you don't consider them as people at all."

Voldemort's lips tightened, his eyes narrowing, his long fingers curling in rage.

"Then I won't kill anyone ever again, including muggles and muggle-borns, you brat! Now, tell me how will you get me out of here when Negura's practically behind that door!"

The youngster took a deep breath. Riddle was right about that, but fortunately Harry was convinced that he found an acceptable solution of this problem.

"Remember what you just promised me, Riddle. Because I will remember it too," he said and then he slowly raised the yew wand, pointing it at the Dark Lord, which made the wizard hiss in agitation.

Harry remained calm, though deep inside he felt the pressure of the limited time they had.

"Tell me, what animal do you prefer?" he asked. "A crow, a rabbit or a mouse? I would offer you a snake, but I don't know the proper Transfiguration formula. Hermione probably does, but I don't think you would appreciate being transfigured by her."

"What is it, Potter?-!" Riddle sputtered. "You cannot be possibly considering turning me into an animal!"

"Well, the second option is stunning Professor Sprout, which I refuse to do and so does Hermione for sure," Harry said evenly. His face was serene, even though Riddle was having a truly horrific fit of fury, which made Hermione back slowly to the door.

"Harry!" she screamed and pointed her wand at the Dark Lord who launched himself at the raven-haired hero.

"Commuto musmuris!"

She didn't have to use any spell, Harry was faster.

The second Harry said the incantation, the Dark Lord disappeared.

Instead of him, a small white mouse squeaked on the ground, running towards Harry with clear murderous intent.

Harry had no problems catching him as he gnawed forcefully into his trousers and shoelaces. He tore him off his cloths and raised him to his eye level.

"Look, I had to pick one option when you refused to… OUCH! That bastard bit me!" he cried out as the Dark Lord used his long teeth to perforate Harry's forefinger. The youngster immediately pointed the tip of the yew wand onto the mouse's little head.

"Do it again and I'll leave you here, bastard!" he sputtered and the mouse showed his sharp teeth, his tiny red eyes blazing. The funny thing was that the small rodent still had slits instead of circular pupils as Harry noticed.

He wiped the bleeding finger into his shirt and said.

"Ungrateful bastard. As if you don't know that I'm doing this only to save your ass!" And with that he stuffed the mouse into his front trouser pocket and turned to his friend.

"We must hurry, Hermione. We're late."

xxxxx

The doors slowly opened and Harry mentally prepared to face the danger behind them. It was quite a funny thing when he considered that he was leaving Voldemort's cell.

The bloodsucking freak wasn't there yet as he immediately noticed, but what improved Harry's mood just as much was his ginger-haired friend, who was standing beside Professor Sprout.

"Ron!" Hermione yelped happily and in the next second she was in his embrace, bombarding him with questions about how it went with his father, for which she got mostly positive answers.

Harry wanted to join the discussion and tell them that they should leave immediately, but Professor Sprout caught his sleeve, asking him quietly.

"Did you find what you needed, Mr. Potter?"

Harry squirmed, mostly because Voldemort flipped over in his jeans, moving against his ... eh … private parts. It surely wasn't the best idea to put him in his pocket, especially if the bastard felt the nasty urge to bite him again.

"N-no," he stuttered, trying not to fidget. "He didn't … really … cooperate with us."

"Not very surprising," Professor Sprout muttered in agreement. "Fortunately, the Aurors will be here in a moment. They will take care of this. You don't have to worry about anything anymore."

Harry could hardly think of a more disputable statement, but he still smiled forcefully.

"Um, yeah … that's great … and now, if you excuse us, Professor, we really must be going."

This decision turned out to come too late.

Harry's breath froze in his throat as he caught a distant sound of many steps echoing through the corridor, approaching them slowly.

"Let's go," Harry whispered to his friends and muttered quick regards to Professor Sprout.

He knew that they must not linger there another moment. It could easily have fatal consequences he realized as he promptly led his friends towards the closest exit, looking for any possible hideout.

"This way," Hermione suggested nervously, pointing towards a corridor nearby.

"Right," Harry breathed out a bit heavily as they turned behind the corner, trotting. The passage was narrow and dark, terminating mere sixty or seventy feet behind the crossing. Harry lightened the tip of the wand again, glancing around quickly. He could only see an old bench and three massive doors blackened from smoke of torches, dusty and covered by spider webs. He reached for the first handle, pulling at it, but it was locked.

"Stand aside, Harry," Hermione whispered and as he moved away as she raised her wand and said.

"Alohomora!"

The doors opened with a soft click and all three friends rushed inside. First, they couldn't see much, but soon they adapted to the dimness.

"Where are we?" Ron asked in an insecure voice, his eyes wandering over the tarnished, empty shelves around them. The rest of furniture also looked like no one bothered to clean it during the past century.

"It could be … I think I know what it is – or what it was at least," Hermione said. "In Hogwarts, A History you can find a short paragraph about a small library founded by Salazar Slytherin, which was located in dungeons. Headmaster Dippet canceled its activity many years ago, because he had a correct suspicion that the students were hiding books here about the Dark Arts. Those books were later moved to the restricted section and when Professor Dumbledore became a Headmaster, he removed them completely from the shelves," Hermione explained.

"Great," Ron muttered. "And does that clever book also say where this room has an emergency exit? Because that's the only information I would find really interesting at the moment."

"We will use the main corridor to get out of here, Ron. We just have to wait for the chaos to break loose once they realize that Voldemort's missing. That will help us escape," Harry whispered with his ear pressed to the door. "I also don't want to get lost in these dungeons. Damn – why didn't I take the Marauder's Map along..."

"H- hang on! What are you taking about, Harry? Where's You-Know-Who?-! When I didn't see him with you, I thought that he refused your offer!" Ron asked with an unusually high voice. "We didn't actually set him free, did we?"

"He's in my pocket, Ron," Harry said lowly, hoping that Ron would lower his voice as well.

"Because the world would be so much better without…," his friend continued before he finally realized what Harry said.

"What?" he asked numbly.

"He's in my pocket," Harry repeated.

"Wh- where?-!" Ron squeaked, his eyes on top of his head.

"In my pocket, Ron. Voldemort is in my trouser pocket, transfigured into a mouse," Harry explained, fighting slight irritation.

"Y-... you did … you did … that …to him?" his ginger-haired friend stammered out after few seconds of gasping for breath. "S- so, he agreed with your … conditions?"

"Um … sort of," Harry muttered. "We'll have a time to discuss it later. Foremost, we must get out of here, pack some necessities, food, some clothes, Invisibility Cloak and leave the castle."

"All of it is in my knapsack hidden in girl's bathroom on the second floor. I couldn't bring it along, it would be too suspicious," Hermione whispered.

Her comment made Ron groan in desperation.

"Great, that's just perfect! We have to find a way out of this maze of corridors and reach the second floor without being seen by anyone while the whole castle will be searched upside down by Aurors, vampire, teachers and the members of the Order! And we should undergo all of it because of that … monster! Bloody amazing!"

"You don't have to do that, Ron!" Harry retorted. "You can always join the rest of the Order, pretending that Negura didn't try to kill you and that everything is all right!"

"I would never do that! I would never leave you and Hermione alone with him! Not bloody likely! Just when will you start counting on me, Harry?-! I'm with you! But it doesn't mean that I have to agree with everything! Frankly speaking, there's no way we can make it without being caught!"

"Yeah, I've been told this many times if you remem..."

"Hush! Be quiet! I think someone's coming here!" Hermione interrupted him, her voice strained, anxious. All of them stifled their breaths and really, they could here quick steps of five or six people approaching the entrance of their hiding place.

"Find a shelter!" Harry said quickly, squeezing the wand in his palm.

"Where?" Ron countered, pointing at the empty shelves around them.

"Damn! Get your wands ready, don't attack anyone unless necessary. Not even Negura. We must play stupid," Harry whispered as fast as he could, his heart hammering in his chest. It was too late to regret the previous argument now when their hideout was revealed. He had to scheme out some strategy. It doesn't have to be a good one, any would be great at the moment. Maybe he should hide the bastard somewhere. If Negura caught him in his jeans, he would kill them both on that instant, which would be probably a good thing. Harry wouldn't want to survive that embarrassment. He stuffed his hand into his pocket quickly – only to find it empty.

"DAMN!" he cried out, spinning around, looking for that goddamned white mouse, but then with a flash of blue light the doors flew open and their pursuers burst into the room.

Harry instantly recognized McGonagall and Slughorn. They were both pale, breathless and relieved to see him alive. Umbridge and two Aurors whose faces Harry found slightly familiar were significantly less excited about his presence, but neither of them made Harry freeze in something akin fear.

It was him, who did that.

Dragomir Lucian Negura.

He was the last to enter the room, looking over it with a certain contempt before his eyes finally located the trio.

No denying, Harry was really afraid. Nevertheless, he was furious too. He wanted to scream at him, he wanted to attack him, tear down his mask of pleasantry that he so nobly presented to everyone so he could reveal his true nature. It was sickening to see his insincere smile, while nastiness clearly shone through those dangerous, cold blue eyes.

"I've heard them correctly, then," Negura spoke in a melodic whisper. "Mr. Potter and his friends."

"For Merlin's sake, what are you doing here, Potter?" McGonagall asked with a shaky voice. "You-Know-Who escaped minutes ago! We were worried that he tried to kill you already!"

"I wouldn't say I was worried for him, Minerva. Obviously, Mr. Potter isn't as important a target for You-Know-Who as he likes to present himself," Umbridge said with her sweet, false tone. "What a … pity."

By the corner of an eye Harry noticed that the McGonagall briefly pressed her lips together, but whatever was on her tongue, remained unvoiced for now. At the same time, Harry kept watching Negura. The power of the cold glare he received locked his muscles in place, making his breathing difficult.

"What I find much more disturbing," the vampire said quietly, while finally releasing Harry from his intence stare, "is that Harry Potter was the last one to visit Voldemort before he escaped from the cell."

Most of the wizards and witches in the room shuddered after hearing that name.

"It's strange, really, especially if we consider the reason why this boy sought the help of the Hogwarts staff. He wanted to save that murderer from the beginning," he added softly.

"Nah! You certainly aren't suggesting that Harry is somehow involved in You-Know-Who's escape!" Slughorn voiced his protest loudly.

"Oh, no … no accusations, yet. I'm merely pointing at the facts," Negura smirked, pressing the tip of his wand to his lips. "But maybe Mr. Potter can tell us what he was discussing with that criminal. That could give us a key to what Voldemort plans to do now that he's free."

Harry bit into his lower lip with such a force that a little droplet of blood coloured it. The sight of that crimson liquid made Negura lick his own lips.

"Voldemort is my responsibility. I'll deal with him alone," Harry hissed under his breath. "I think that the Aurors and the members of the Order should focus on the other dangerous criminal within these walls."

"What is he talking about? What criminal?" Umbridge asked in a girlish, high-pitched voice. "What exactly are you plotting, Potter? You know, I won't let you fool me again! I've never forgotten the way you deceived me that time in that… forest."

"I've never forgotten what you've done to me too," Harry retorted acidly and rubbed the back of his right hand.

"You should learn to show me respect, Potter! I am, after all, the Minister for Magic!" Umbridge was getting upset, her eyes bulging in her eye-sockets.

"Oh, sure," Harry smiled bitterly, his eyes turning back to Negura. "When we are talking about deceit, Minister, how is it that you are not laying a charge against me? I attacked you, stunned you actually, don't you remember that?"

"W- what? What are you talking about?" Umbridge spewed out in a squeak.

"Strange, it seems that a certain someone bothered to change your memory, didn't he? Why would he do that?" Harry continued, meeting a deathly cold glare again.

"Harry!" Hermione called out quietly. She knew what game Harry was trying to play and she didn't think it was a good idea, Harry recognized it from her voice. But he wouldn't back off now.

Negura didn't say a word, he merely prowled closer to Harry, that venomous smirk still on his lips.

McGonagall raised her wand, being aware of yet another crisis, while Slughorn only looked confusedly from one to the other.

"You want to know about Voldemort's plans? Well, I can tell you about them. He wants to master the wand in your hand, Minister and this is what makes me really curious. Can you tell me how you've obtained it since the last time I saw it, it was in his possession?" Harry asked icily and after a short pause he added. "You've been in that quarry, right? It was you who decided that I deserve to die," he whispered, making McGonagall and Slughorn gasp for breath in surprise, while Umbridge sputtered in indignation.

"And look at this, another wand which belongs to Voldemort, isn't it?" Harry continued and raised the yew wand above his head. "Too many decoys for one Dark Lord, isn't it? We must assume that he's somewhere close, maybe even in this room. So why don't we chase away the darkness with a little illumination?"

Harry glanced at Negura in the very last second and then called out aloud.

"Lumos Solem!"

The golden light exploded in the dark space, making most of the present wizards and witches yelp in discomfort. Only one of them actually yelled in pain and covered his face. And Harry was watching him, victorious. He also noticed the most suspicious glance McGonagall send towards that beast.

"Disliking sunshine Dragomir Ne...?" Harry asked, yet didn't finish. The two seconds of his victory were gone.

"What are you trying to prove, Mr. Potter?" Negura hissed viciously, the light suddenly gone and Harry's tongue unpleasantly unresponsive.

"That I'm dead? A vampire? Yes, we've heard about your ridiculous theory and we've had a lot of good laugh about it. It's a complete rubbish."

With that he pulled down his sleeve and cut into his skin with some charm. The blood immediately began to flow from that wound.

"Vampires don't bleed, Potter. They are dead, their hearts are not beating. You would know that if you paid some attention in the school," he said and this last note evoked a quiet laugh among the Aurors and also Umbridge who chuckled sweetly.

"Mr. Potter is obviously … confounded. He's talking nonsense, mentioning events that didn't even occur. Therefore, I assume that he … and his supporters are under You-Know-Who's influence or even under his direct control. We will investigate this matter, once we've caught He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. First, we will call up reinforcements. The school must be secure within an hour. Potter and these two will stay here in this room until that time. If You-Know-Who has bewitched them, then we must treat them as a dangerous threat."

"I must protest! Potter cannot stay here. It's him who's in danger and who needs protection!" the Headmistress said in an accusatory tone.

"He won't need it if we catch You-Know-Who first," Umbridge retorted.

"You will not be able to catch He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named here, in this school. He knows this place better than anyone!"

"I dare to disagree with you, Minerva. I have the situation under control."

"Oh, really? Strange that I haven't noticed. And let me tell you, I'm the Headmistress of this school and I will not allow Potter's imprisonment in this...!"

"Ehm, ehm. If you've forgotten, Minerva, the school is under my direct jurisdiction. You have very limited competences here so don't tell me what you will or won't allow me to do. My patience is running short," Umbridge said with her most infuriating tone and then turned to Negura.

"Leader, we need reinforcements. The teachers will protect the children and the rest of the adult staff will search for that murderer."

"The Order will not cooperate," McGonagall said icily.

"Showing me disloyalty again, Minerva?" Umbridge countered, her voice like sweet venom.

McGonagall said nothing to that, but her eyes met Harry's, carrying a clear message.

Wait, we will get you out of here. Then she turned on the spot and disappeared, followed by a very confused Professor Slughorn and two suspicious Aurors, who were ordered by Umbridge to watch over Harry and his friends.

At that moment Harry realized that his plan didn't worked out. He failed to convince the rest of them that Negura was the enemy to fight against. Atleast they survived it and no one took away their wands, Harry thought.

"Leader?" Umbridge called at the freak from the door, waiting for him impatiently.

Negura didn't leave immediately. He walked around Harry towards the shelves, stopping in the middle of the room, looking around intently, sniffing like a hungry wolf. Few seconds later he turned around, his smirk gone along with his pleasantness. As he passed Harry, heading towards the exist, he whispered something to the youngster, his voice nearly inaudible.

"You will pay."

And then the door slammed closed behind him.

"Great," Harry breathed out, breaking the sudden silence. "I messed it up. We're locked here and Voldemort's gone."

Ron and Hermione, who stood beside him finally released breath they were holding all the time.

"He's gone?" Ron asked almost hopefully, looking around nervously.

"Yeah, my pockets are empty," Harry nodded, angry with himself.

"Let's find a way out of here too...," Hermione said quietly and then halted as a strange clapping sound reached their ears. All of them turned towards the source in a split second, pointing their enlightened wands at the intruder.

The poor imitation of an applause was coming from no one else but Lord Voldemort in his human – or mostly human – form. Harry could only stare in disbelief, Ron's wheezy breath told him that he was having a panic attack and the way Hermione took a step backward showed that she also wasn't thrilled by his presence.

"Bravo, Potter. I admit I liked your show. I really enjoyed Negura's frustration. I would watch it again," the tall wizard whispered coldly and straightened himself into his full height.

"What … what does it means? How could you..." Harry stuttered out in confusion.

"Surprised to see me like this? Or did you really think that I would spend the rest of my life as a mouse? Speaking of which, you would deserve a great torture for humiliating me like this if your idea didn't turn out to be very clever in the end. Negura couldn't smell me in that form. I would have to feel obliged if it was your intention, which, luckily, it wasn't," Riddle said grudgingly.

He took two steps closer towards Harry, which Ron and Hermione took as a sign of attack. Voldemort halted, watching them guardedly.

"Tell your dear friends to lower their wands, before I'll make them regret their foolishness," he whispered coldly.

Harry seized Ron's wrist and gently pressed it down. When he was met with a disbelieving stare, he said.

"It's all right."

Then he stepped closer to Voldemort too.

"I assume that you have regained your powers already," he said cautiously.

"Not yet, Potter. What you see is a mere result of magic reversion," Riddle said in a displeased tone.

"Magic reversion? Meaning using the power in Harry's spell to revert its effects? This is a rare ability," Hermione muttered under her breath.

"Would you please stop admiring him, Hermione? It's really disgusting," Ron forced through his clenched throat.

"It's indeed disgusting to see a filthy mudblood having knowledge which should belong to wizarding families only. And what is even more disturbing is that those who are worthy of that knowledge are shockingly uneducated," Voldemort spoke coldly, glaring at Harry and Ron.

Harry, seeing Ron's furious reaction, quickly approached Voldemort and hissed.

"What do you want?"

"You, Potter," Riddle said and in his red eyes gleamed in the darkness.

For a second, Harry's knees buckled. Damn his treacherous body, that surely wasn't what Voldemort had on his mind.

"I need an escort to help me leave this school. With your luck it shouldn't be a problem," Riddle clarified.

"No. I won't leave my friends here alone," Harry said lowly. "Ron is one of Negura's priority targets."

"Bah, of course he is. Who wouldn't want to kill him?" The Dark Lord snorted venomously and Harry immediately woke from his infatuation.

"You cannot count on my assistance with your approach, Riddle. Why don't you rather find someone who doesn't mind your behavior?" he said and turned his back to him, which was a mistake.

Voldemort grabbed his arm and turned him forcefully back. As a result, he had the yew wand in his face.

"Release him … you … you monster!" Ron sputtered, crossing the distance in a flash to help Harry.

Voldemort, however, paid him no attention. He was only watching the raven-haired lad.

"You don't know what you've done, Potter. You've basically told Negura how much you know about him. It's you he's after now, not your friend. If you come with me you can escape him too."

"I won't leave my friends alone," Harry whispered again, his heart beating madly in his chest.

"In my current state, I can only deal with one wizard. If they come with us, Negura and the others will know that you're helping me," Riddle hissed quietly. "You must leave them here."

"Then I have to stay too," Harry said quietly.

"Potter!" Voldemort growled and let go of his arm, his fingers twitching in frustration.

"Harry," Hermione whispered quietly. "We can also be … you know … pursuing you," she suggested. "Wouldn't it be a solution we are looking for?"

Harry considered it for a moment and then looked at Ron, who was hesitant but inclined to accept it and then finally at Voldemort.

"Fine, we're coming," he said. "But first, what are we going to do with the Aurors who are standing at the guard?"

Voldemort's face was blank for few seconds, but then his pale lips curled into a dark smirk.

"Well, luckily there's another exit. Follow me."

R&R