Chapter 4: Awake

Voldemort returned to his quarters triumphant. The battle at Azkaban could not have gone better. The Dementors were on his side and so were all the former prisoners — well, those that were not complete fools that is. He chuckled darkly at the thought of those who had tried to flee and the Death he had set upon them, hoping his supporters made painful examples of them.

He set his eyes upon the boy sleeping peacefully on the circular bed and Voldemort's feelings of maniac glee intensified. He, Lord Voldemort, the most powerful wizard in the world had finally captured the Boy Who Lived. The boy who has been a pain in my arse for 14 long years, Voldemort mused. Gliding forward with great anticipation, Voldemort lifted the boy into his arms once more and carried him to the black leather armchair by the fire. He set Harry down with care so that he was sitting upright, his head lolling to one side as he carried on in his enchanted sleep. Voldemort pointed his wand at the fireplace and in a flash, a roaring fire poured warmth and light into the dark room. Voldemort took a seat in the armchair opposite Harry and called Nagini to him through their telepathic link.

He pointed his wand at Harry's chest.

"Enervate," he said and Harry awoke with a start.

Harry took in his surroundings in one wide glance, like a panoramic photo. To his left, a large ornate mantle held a roaring fire. To his right lay an enormous circular bed with velvety green blankets and Slytherin banners on either side. And directly in front of him, Harry stared into the eyes of his greatest enemy — the horrible, nightmarish face of Lord Voldemort himself. Harry sat frozen for a few seconds, trying to take in the scene before him. Voldemort had his spider-like hands clasped beneath his chin thoughtfully as he surveyed Harry with a thin smile spread across his face.

Harry realized he wasn't tied up and automatically rubbed his hands down the side of his robes checking his pockets for his wand. It was not there. Voldemort's smile grew wider and Harry's heart began beating faster. He asked the only question that came to him since he had awoken.

"Er, why am I not dead?" Harry asked blankly. Voldemort didn't respond at first and Harry wasn't even sure if he had heard him. He was looking deep into Harry's eyes as though he were trying to see straight into Harry's soul, or at least that's what it felt like to Harry. Unbeknownst to him, this is exactly what Lord Voldemort was doing. Or, more accurately, he was looking to see if there was a glimmer of his horcrux hidden behind the depths of those bright green eyes. Voldmort cocked his head to one side and then the other, never blinking. Harry, feeling frightened, tried to look away, but suddenly Voldemort was upon him clasping his wrist to the chair and using his other hand to force Harry's face upward and looking at him. Harry's scar erupted into pain and he let out a strangled cry. Immediately Voldemort let go of him, looking concerned.

"That hurt you?" he asked him in a way that quite unnerved Harry. "Was it your scar?" Without waiting for a response, Voldemort brushed his finger lightly over the lightning bolt scar on Harry's forehead. Harry let out a low hiss of pain and tried to lean his head back into the armchair and away from Voldemort. Voldemort hummed ponderously as he moved to sit back down in his chair. Once again, Voldemort pointed his wand at Harry.

"Legilimens," he said as he dove into Harry's mind. The force and speed at which Voldemort entered Harry's mind caught him completely off guard. It was ten times worse than when Snape had forced his way in during their failed lessons. Memories poured from Harry left and right. He was unable to stop the tide or direction of his thoughts. Voldemort pushed forward relentlessly, as though he were searching for something.

Harry was falling asleep in History of Magic, listening to the faint drone of Professor Binns voice saying something about goblin rebellions. He was on the Quidditch pitch, it was raining heavily and he couldn't see in front of him due to the storm. Harry was diving toward Malfoy on the Quidditch pitch, punching every inch of him he could find. He was in Dumbledore's office after the attack on Mr. Weasley, feeling like a snake ready to strike at the old man.

When Harry felt he could bear the pain no longer, he stumbled blindly toward Voldemort, ramming headfirst into him, his face covered in tears. Voldemort re-embodied his mind with a start as the boy tumbled to the ground, sobbing.

"Get up, Potter," he said. "And tell me about these connections you have with my thoughts and mind. I could feel how you felt about Dumbledore in that last memory. You grew angry. I can feel that anger. You wanted to strike him. Strike him like a…" Voldemort stopped mid-sentence and looked to the left. "Ahhhhh and speaking of Nagini," he said softly as his voice turned to hissing. Harry gulped when he saw the ginormous snake crawling through the open window and slithering toward the rug on the hearth.

"You called massssster?" Nagini asked the Dark Lord as she approached.

"Yesssssss, my ssssweeet." Voldemort hissed. "I wanted you to take a closssser look at our young friend, Harry Potter. Can you ssssssmell him, dear Nagini?"

"Ssssmell me?" Harry hissed in surprise. "What will that do?" Voldemort stared at Harry.

"Ah yesssssss. I had forgotten you sssssspeak the tongue, Harry Potter," Voldemort breathed as he stared hungrily at Harry. Not knowing what to say or why it mattered to Voldemort that he could speak Parseltongue, Harry didn't say anything in return.

"He ssssssmells familiar, massssster," Nagini said as she circled around Harry in his chair. "He issssss like a brother."

Harry thought that if the smile on Voldemort's face could grow any larger, it would split his chalky white cheeks.

"What does that mean?" Harry asked Voldemort in English, breathing fast. "What the bloody hell is going on? WHY HAVEN'T YOU DONE ME IN ALREADY?" he finished dramatically, panting in his chair and looking wildly at Voldemort.

"Crucio," Voldemort said in response to Harry's outburst. Harry writhed to the floor in pain, yelling loudly as his mind filled with nothing but thoughts of when it would stop. After a few torturous seconds, Voldemort lifted his wand and the spell broke. Harry lay panting where he fell.

"Manners, boy," said Voldemort icily. "You are mine now and you will never raise your voice to me again. Do you understand?" Voldemort looked dangerous, his eyes glinting madly in the glare of the fire.

"I am not yours," Harry spat mutinously, but no sooner than he had spoken the words was he in writhing in pain once more. Voldemort held onto the curse longer this time and when the pain finally ceased, Harry moaned woefully facedown on the ground, his whole body ached as if every bone had been removed and regrown with Skelegro, the painful potion he was forced to take in his second year at Hogwarts. Hogwarts, Harry thought mournfully. Ron. Hermione. He as never going to see them again. He was going to die at the hands of Lord Voldemort, just like his parents. But Voldemort was going to torture him first, the evil git. Pain racked Harry's body as he felt himself being lifted back into the chair in front of him.

"Now, now boy," Voldemort taunted. "I wouldn't be so defiant without hearing all the facts. I haven't decided what I'm doing with you yet and it could be rather nasty you know."

"I already know what you're going to do to me," Harry laughed brashly. "Nice try, but if you're trying to get information on Dumbledore and the Order, you're out of luck. They never let me in the meetings. You'll just have to kill me because I don't know anything that will help you stop Dumbledore. He stays far away from me if he can help it." Harry tried to make this sound nonchalant, but his voice gave him away toward the end and Voldemort knew immediately the boy was hurt that Dumbledore ignored him. He had noticed as much in his search of the boy's memories in any case. And then it dawned on Voldemort.

"Dumbledore knew!" He exclaimed. "Dumbledore knew what you were and that's why he's kept his distance from you since I've returned to power. But that means…" Voldemort's eyes widened in understanding, making Harry feel like bats were doing cartwheels in his stomach. Something was very, very wrong about the way Voldemort was looking at him.

"I think, Harry Potter," said Voldemort slowly. "That we have much to discuss."