Voldemort awoke to a headache and a sore back. So much for pain relief potion. He turned stiffly onto his side, and saw that Potter was also awake, staring at the ceiling. The nurse was nowhere to be found. They were all alone…

Alerted by the sound of Voldemort's creaking bed, Harry turned his head slowly to stare at him. "Evening," the boy said, his voice still a little hoarse.

It took Voldemort a second to take in what he had heard. His brain was still a little fuzzy. "Wait," he propped himself up on one arm and used his free hand to rub his head. "Did you just say 'Evening'?"

Harry nodded his head and pointed to the windows. The sky outside was darker than it had been. Much darker. Not yet night, but very close. Then it hit him. "How long have we been asleep?"

Harry started counting his fingers. "About…seven, maybe eight hours."

Voldemort did a face palm. "Crap…" he muttered into his hand. "So are classes over?"

"Far as I know." Harry said sadly. It seemed that he, too, was disappointed in missing classes. Voldemort sighed and lay back down. This had not been part of the plan.

They sat in awkward silence for a while, neither knowing exactly what to say. What conversation could you have with one of your mortal enemies?

Harry finally spoke. "How'd you hurt your face?" At these words Voldemort's jaw began to throb again.

Voldemort hesitated before answering. Did Potter know? "I had a bad dream… Fell out of bed and hit my mouth on the edge."

"What was your dream about?"

Voldemort looked away, pretending like he was embarrassed. "That's kind of personal…"

"Oh…" Harry's eyes became downcast, and he pulled the covers closer to his face, like he wanted to just disappear.

"Why are you here?" Voldemort asked, sitting up and leaning forward, feet dangling over the edge of the bed.

For this question he received a glare. "Like you weren't listening the whole time."

Voldemort put a hand to his chest, like he was shocked that Harry would ever assume such a thing. "I would never."

"Cut the crap, Malfoy. You heard every word." Voldemort didn't like the boy's tone.

"Fine. You caught me." He shrugged. "I was bored. So," He pressed. "You're still having nightmares?"

Harry refused to answer, and instead looked at everything in the room except at Voldemort.

"I'll take that as a yes." Voldemort decided it was time to test how far he could push. "Do you want to talk about them?"

Harry froze. His head turned and he gave Voldemort an unbelieving look. The Dark Lord felt a little color rise in his cheeks. Maybe it was too soon.

"You actually want to know about my dreams? You, Draco Malfoy, actually care about what happens inside my head?" Harry laughed at the ridiculousness of it all. "What, Voldemort hasn't bragged to all his little followers about how easy it is to get into my mind?"

Voldemort's anger was back. It leapt up inside him and practically begged him to torture this annoying boy till he was nothing more than a bleeding lump on the floor. He clenched his fists and ordered himself to calm down before he ruined everything. With a deep breath Voldemort proceeded to calmly speak. "Believe it or not, I am not a fan of the Dark Lord. In fact I've had enough of him. You think you are the only one he sends dreams to? Well you're not. He sends them to all his followers. I've experienced them too." He stopped for effect, letting it sink in. "When you disappoint the Dark Lord, the consequences aren't good. Especially when they mess up and you are involved." He sneered. He saw Harry feeling worse and worse as the speech went on.

"My father was punished severely for that little incident at the Ministry last year. The Dark Lord no longer trusts us with anything. We are shamed. My parents haven't smiled for two years, and it's all because the Dark Lord wants you!" He pointed a shaking finger at the boy across from him. Harry shrunk back. "But, see, I'm willing to put that behind me. I just want the Dark Lord gone. I just want my parents to be happy. And you are the one the Dark Lord is focused on. You are the one who can stop him. I know it. Bad feelings behind us, I can help you and you can help me."

They stared at each other, neither blinking. Voldemort tried to read Potter's face, wanting to see how this fake heart-felt speech had affected the boy. But his face was like Dumbledore's; unreadable.

When Harry finally spoke, it seemed like he was angry. "That was a nice speech, Malfoy. Too bad it's a load of BS. You expect me to feel sorry for you, after everything you've done? After you've made a life even a more of a living hell than it already is ever since my first day of school? Well think again. I'm not stupid. You can go shove it."

Voldemort stood up, ready to tell Harry exactly how much of an idiot he really was, but that was when the nurse finally came back. She stopped at the edge of Voldemort's bed, and looked and the pair who both looked on the verge of killing each other. She raised an eyebrow. "What's going on here?"

Voldemort let himself fall back on his bed, causing him to bounce slightly. "Nothing, Madam. We were just talking."

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "Just talking…

The nurse gave them another once over, then sighed. "Very well. You two seem to be doing better. You should be able to leave within the hour."

"What!" Voldemort yelled, suddenly very serious. He couldn't stay here for another hour. He had things to do. "An hour? But I'm fine! Look!" He stood up and turned in a circle. "See? Nothing wrong. Can I leave now?" He looked at her with pleading eyes.

"No, Mr. Malfoy. You can sit back down on the bed and shut it till I tell you that it's okay to leave. Unless you want to walk around for the next three days with bruises running up your chin." Before he could ask, the nurse held out a mirror for him to see what see was talking about. Bruises lined the left side of his jaw, shades of purple, yellow, and red. He had to stop himself from glaring at Harry and giving himself away.

Instead he obeyed, sitting and watching as the nurse checked over Potter. She lifted up his shirt and examined the bite marks again. She touched them gently. Harry flinched. "Does that hurt, Mr. Potter?"

"A little," he gasped. The nurse pulled a tube out of her robes and squeezed. A blue, strong smelling gel came out and she rubbed this on the wounds. Next she checked his temperature.

She shook her head. "I think you may need to stay here a bit longer, Mr. Potter. You're still injured. How, I don't know, since no one will bloody tell me. But injured just the same." She sighed and grabbed two small glasses from under the bedside table. Voldemort froze as she grabbed the potion he had switched out and poured a good amount in each glass. She forced it into each of their hands. "Drink."

Voldemort held it out to her. "I can't drink this. It won't do me any good. I'm fine, really." He was almost begging. He couldn't drink it. The side effects…well, they were rather unpleasant.

"Nonsense. It won't hurt." She pushed the cup closer to his mouth. "Now drink."

Voldemort scooted back on the bed and away from the horrible potion. Potter noticed his hesitance and he didn't drink either.

"Mr. Malfoy, you are being ridiculous!" Finally, reaching her breaking point, the nurse grabbed the back of his head and poured the potion down his throat before he could complain.

Voldemort coughed and spluttered, trying to spit out the vile liquid before it could take effect. Harry, seeing the look on the nurse's face, quickly downed the potion. For both of them it was too late.

Each grabbed their stomachs, and made eye contact for three seconds, before they doubled over and puked all over the nurse's pristine white shoes. There was stunned silence. Without a word, the nurse turned and walked away to clean her shoes, apparently too shocked to say anything.

But the potion wasn't done yet. Both Voldemort and Harry threw up six more times before they fell back onto their beds, gasping for air and feeling very empty. After the pain subsided, Voldemort, for no reason in particular, began laughing. Even though it hurt both his throat and his stomach, he laughed, and he didn't know why. It just seemed the right thing to do.

And Harry joined him. They laughed and laughed, till their throats were too sore to do so. Surveying each other over their shoulders, there was a silent agreement that neither would talk of this incident ever again.

Voldemort massaged his throat and tried to remember whose stupid plan this was anyway. Oh yeah, it was his. It was his brilliant idea to sneak into Hogwarts at an attempt to get at Harry Potter. But he had only been there for about two days and already he wanted to leave. This was not going well.

Maybe he should just take Potter and get it over with. No! He reminded himself. That would be much too easy. He wanted Potter and that old fool Dumbledore to know that they had been fooled. He wanted them to know that nobody, especially not a boy of just 16, could ever think of defeating the great Lord Voldemort. He would stay, and continue with the plan.

But then again…teenagers were so bloody annoying.

His internal argument with himself was interrupted as the doors opened. It was Dumbledore again. He came over to Harry's bed and waited calmly for the nurse, who had appeared again with a new pair of shoes, to give him the update.

Dumbledore was dressed in robes of a dark blue, most unusual for a man normally so happy. For some reason, Voldemort suddenly felt very small in the shadow of the tall man. In his regular body, he easily matched the headmaster in height. But now, as Draco Malfoy, Dumbledore seemed like a giant, towering over everything and everyone.

"How has he been doing, Poppy?" Dumbledore asked, like Harry couldn't answer for himself.

"Better…Although because of what just happened I suggest that both Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy stay here for a bit longer."

Voldemort nearly screamed. He just wanted to leave!

Dumbledore looked confused. "And what did happen?" He questioned, looking at Voldemort.

Voldemort had to suppress a smile as he pointed to the large puddle of sick in between the beds. Dumbledore just noticed. His nose crinkled in disgust. "It seems as if the pain relief potion was a bit too strong for them. Severus's fault, no doubt. I do believe that man is losing his touch." sniffed the nurse.

With a wave of a wand the throw up vanished and Dumbledore turned to Harry. "Are you still in pain?"

Harry nodded lightly. "And your scar? Has it hurt at all?"

"That's the strange thing…" Harry answered, rubbing his scar. "It hasn't hurt at all since I first came here."

Dumbledore seemed deep in thought for a second. "Harry, dinner will be brought to you here. I want you to remain here till the morning, and then you may return to your classes." He turned to Voldemort before Harry could complain. "Mr. Malfoy, you are free to leave. Dinner should be starting soon."

"Finally…" He hissed, and slipped out of bed.

"But, Headmaster! He is still hurt!" argued the nurse.

"Poppy, please. He seems fine to me. You can go now, Mr. Malfoy." Voldemort didn't need to be told twice. He was halfway across the room before anyone could blink. He was stopped by Dumbledore's voice.

"I want to see you in my office on Thursday, seven o'clock, Mr. Malfoy."

Voldemort froze. Damn that house elf. He must have told. Voldemort looked back over his shoulder and gave a forced smile. "Of course, Headmaster."

And he left, glad to be away from those piercing blue eyes.

He decided to head back to his dormitory and write a letter to his Death Eaters. When he walked into the common room, heads turned and stared at him curiously. Then they noticed his face. Whispers broke out around the room. "If any one says anything about my face I will personally jinx them so bad they will spend a week in St. Mungos. Understood?" His eyes swept around the room, making sure every Slytherin nodded.

He felt their gazes on him as he trudged to his dormitory. His roommates were sprawled around the room, trying to entertain themselves until dinner. He quickly cast the imperious curse on all of them and ordered them to leave. They obeyed eyes blank and feet dragging. "Close the door behind you." He said as he walked over to his trunk. He was just about to open the lid to get a quill and some parchment when he suddenly gasped in pain and fell to his knees. His head felt like someone had let a bomb go off inside of it. He lost control of his arms and fell on his stomach, clenching and unclenching his fist, his breathing difficult. This all happened so fast Voldemort could barely comprehend it all. What was happening? The potion shouldn't be affecting him now.

Another throbbing pain attacked his skull. Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried to think, but it hurt so much. "Help…" He hissed through shut teeth. Nobody heard him. His roommates had already left.

The pain forced him to roll onto his back. His nails dug into the carpeted floor. That was when he heard the voice. A small, weak voice in the back of his head; he could hardly hear it. "Let me out…" The voice begged, and every time it talked Voldemort felt the pain again. "Let me out!" it screamed. Voldemort let out a small scream. Why was the voice so damn loud? It echoed through his head, ripping at his sanity.

"Who are you?" He yelled at the empty room. He hoped nobody would walk in at the moment and see him like this. That was the last thing he needed.

"Get out of my body!" it yelled, leading to another wave of agony. How did that make any sense? This was his body…

His eyes snapped open as he finally put the pieces together. "Draco…" he whispered. With this revelation came the understanding of what he had to do. He stretched his hand out, grasping the edge of the trunk.

"What are you doing?" Draco's voice asked; as Voldemort threw open the lid so hard it slammed against the bed. He collapsed again, even this little bit of work almost too much to bear. Regaining his breath, Voldemort pulled himself up by one hand and peered inside his trunk. There it was. He could see it. He reached out shaking fingers and closed them around a velvet bag huddled in the corner.

"Get out of my trunk! Who are you? Why do you have my stuff?" Voldemort felt his arms go weak, and he hit his chin on the edge of the trunk. His jaw was on fire and had its own little heartbeat. "Don't scream…you are stronger than this. You're Lord Voldemort." He muttered to himself.

"Vole-Voldemort?" Draco's voice shook. He must have just realized who exactly was possessing him.

Feeling some control come back, Voldemort let his fingers tips search for the bag that he had dropped. Where was it!

There. He pushed open the bag and grabbed the small vial inside. "Wait, what are you doing?"

"Shut up, Draco!" It took all of Voldemort's willpower not to claw his own face off. This shouldn't be happening. But he was weak, both mentally and physically, and he couldn't get his mind to force the young boy back.

He pulled himself into a sitting position and brought the vial to his lips. Pain again. The vial almost slipped from his fingers. "My Lord, what's going on?"

It was too much. Voldemort could find the strength to move anymore. Luckily for him, at that moment Crabbe and Goyle came in and saw him shaking and sweating, leaning against his trunk.

"Draco, what's wrong?" They ran over and bent down to his level, confusion on their faces.

"Just…let me drink the potion." Crabbe saw what he was talking about and took the vial from his hand.

"You want me to…?" he asked, his fat face scrunched together.

"Pour the potion in my mouth, you idiot! Before I decide to kill both of you!" Crabbe hurriedly obeyed and when the cool, light potion that smelled of blankets and softness touched his lips, the pain retreated and Draco's voice was silenced. Voldemort breathed deeply.

"Draco, what just happened?" Goyle asked, helping Voldemort stand up and lead him over to his bed. Normally Voldemort would have hated to be lead around like a child, but right now he was too weak to care.

"It's nothing. Just get me something to eat." He was starving. He had thrown up all the food he had eaten in the past few days. Crabbe and Goyle knew it was not their place to pry further. He was staring at his lap when a chocolate frog was shoved into his hand. Without hesitation he ripped the wrapper in half and hungrily bit the frog's head off. Chocolate never before tasted so good.

In three seconds flat the only thing left of the candy was Voldemort's chocolate stained fingers. Satisfied, at least for the moment, he fell back onto the bed. He could not allow Draco to attempt to take control again. He was lucky this time it was Crabbe and Goyle who had found him. Anyone else would have gone straight to Dumbledore.

"You're sure you're alright?" It seemed as if Crabbe and Goyle actually cared deeply for their friend's well-being.

"Peachy," was the sarcastic answer they received.

"Listen, Draco, dinner is starting soon. We should probably head down." Voldemort nodded in agreement. He got to his feet and stumbled on his first few steps. Crabbe and Goyle came forward to help, but he dismissed them with a wave of his hand. "I can walk on my own."

He took his wand and waved it, clearing the blood off his face. Without a word he left the dormitory and headed to dinner, Crabbe and Goyle following cautiously behind him.

Ten minutes later Voldemort sat in front of a big plate of food, digging in feverishly. He ignored Pansy's attempts to find out where he had been all day. If it was all the same he'd rather keep that a secret.

True to his word, Dumbledore had not allowed Potter to leave the hospital wing, as the boy was absent from the Gryffindor table. Gryffindor's up and down the table were asking where in the world Harry Potter had gone off to now. Of course, the Granger girl and Weasley were the ones who were bombarded by the questions. They did their best to answer, while at the same time shooting death glares at Voldemort. Somehow, they had found a way to blame him.

"Draco, why are you so hungry?" Pansy asked, dragging him back into a conversation he didn't want to take part in. He didn't answer, and instead took a bite out of his third roll, hoping she would just give up. But instead she pressed on.

"I worry about you, Draco." She reached out and placed a hand on his arm.

Voldemort's muscles bunched under her grip and suddenly she shrieked and let go. Her hand was a shiny red. "You- you burnt me!" she all but screamed. The whole hall turned towards the Slytherin table wondering what all the commotion was about. Pansy had stood up now, clutching her arm like it was about to fall off. Tears ran down her face. "Draco, how could you?"

All eyes were on him. He had just preformed wand less magic. And the look on Dumbledore's face showed that he knew it. Voldemort stood up and left the hall as fast as possible.

But he didn't head back to the Slytherin common room. Instead he headed to his own special place on the fifth floor. He walked past an expanse of wall three times, and thought desperately about where he wanted to be. And suddenly there was a door.

The door opened for him and inside there was an almost exact replica of his old room at the orphanage. It was small, with just a bed, a drawer, and a dresser. There was only one window. He sunk down onto the bed, even though it was much too small for him. As if to make him more comfortable the bed grew, till it was the perfect length. He sighed and let his head be swallowed up by the pillow. He was safe, of that he was sure. Dumbledore didn't know about this place. Memories came back. Memories of all the days he had done just this. The days before Hogwarts; before magic.

And as if to remind him even more a full length mirror appeared right next to his bed. But Draco Malfoy wasn't reflected in the glass. No, instead there was young Tom Riddle lying on the bed in the mirror, looking tired and defeated. Voldemort sat up and took in this new reflection. He hadn't looked like this in so long.

He wasn't sure how long he sat there, staring at his young self, lost in thought, but when he looked again at the window, it was very dark. Voldemort would've have gone to the common room, but he had things to do, and here it was quiet and empty. He looked around. 'Now I just need somewhere to write.' He thought. The room answered, and a writing desk appeared, equipped with parchment, quills, and a bottle of ink.

After much crossing out and many failed attempts, Voldemort finally managed to write the perfect letter to his Death Eaters, demanding three more attacks before he visited them on Sunday, and reminding them to make sure both Narcissa and Lucius were not present when he returned. He folded together and placed it in a nice dark blue envelope that would blend in nicely with the night sky so nobody would know the owl had a letter, and that it would therefore not be intercepted.

He was sad to leave his sanctuary, but he had to send the letter. Saying goodbye, at least for now, he made his way silently to the Owlery. He knew without checking the time that it was past 8:00, and if he was caught he would be in big trouble. Well, at least more trouble than he was already in.

The stairs seemed to go on forever and each step seemed like a task. He had not been able to eat much at dinner and his empty stomach protested louder with every flight of stairs. But Voldemort forged on, determined to finish at least one task during that crazy day. He could hardly believe this was only the second day of school.

At last arriving at the Owlery he found that he was not the only one there. Somebody else was near one of the windows, whispering to a snowy owl that was perched on a window. It was dark, so the person was hidden in shadow. Voldemort decided to go about his regular business and ignore the other person in the room.

The large grey owl that had delivered the poisoned sweets swooped down and landed on his outstretched arm. This owl was serious and stuffy, very unlike the snowy owl on the window edge, which nipped affectionately at its owner's fingers. Voldemort mentally berated himself for even recognizing the fact that the other student was there. He had better things to do.

He chose a sill four windows away from the other student, and let the owl hop onto the ledge. It stuck out its leg stiffly, and waited impatiently for him to attach his letter so it could leave. He was just about to tie the last knot when a voice stopped him.

"Draco? Is that you?"

Voldemort turned his head and saw Harry Potter's green eyes staring at him. "Potter," He nodded curtly and focused back on the owl. "I wasn't aware you were let out of the Hospital wing."

"I wasn't." Harry laughed. "But I have better things to do than sit in a bed all day. Madam Pomfery doesn't know I'm gone. I told her I wanted to be left alone for a bit, and pulled the curtains around my bed. I managed to sneak out when she was healing Pansy who came in with a brunt hand."

"Congratulations on sneaking away from the nurse." Voldemort said, pretending to be extremely interested in the string around the owl's leg. He hadn't counted on the boy being here.

"Yeah…well, before I left, I heard Pansy telling Madam Pomfery…that you were the one who burnt her." The boy's eyes searched him, trying to see if this was true or not.

Voldemort sighed. "I did." He looked at Potter, whose eyes had gone wide. "Not on purpose. It just kind of happened."

"How does that kind of thing just happen?" Harry raised an eyebrow.

"Pansy was annoying me. I guess my magic just sort of reacted when she grabbed my arm." A sort of understanding seemed to pass over the boy's face. He nodded.

"So… you're feeling better?" Voldemort asked in a poor attempt to change the subject.

"No…not really," Harry grimaced, clutching his side. "But staying in the Hospital wing isn't helping. All Madam Pomfery's potions do is leave a bad taste in my mouth. I think I'll just let it heal by itself."

"But what if it gets worse?" Voldemort was wondering exactly what the boy was thinking. If the wounds opened up again he would be in big trouble. The Hospital wing was the best place for him. Not that Voldemort cared for Potter's well-being. He just didn't want the boy to die before he had a chance to go through with the plan. The-boy-who-lived would die at his hand only.

"I deal with that if it happens." Harry said, and shrugged his shoulders, though Voldemort could see worry on his face.

"Who are you sending a letter too?" This time it was Harry who had changed the subject. His brow crinkled. "And why that color?"

"My parents. They want me to write to them. I guess their worried or something." He finished tying the knot and finally pushed the owl a little to get it to go. The owl spread its wings and took off. You could see the owl in the sky, but as Voldemort had hoped, the letter was not visible. "I'd rather it not be intercepted."

Harry turned to his own letter that was still in his hand and frowned. "It doesn't matter either way…they already think I'm crazy." He muttered to himself, maybe thinking that Voldemort couldn't hear.

He too, finally tied the letter to his owl, which rubbed its head against its master's chest, before it took off, soaring elegantly into the night.

Harry gave him one more glance, and left, limping slightly as he walked away.

When Voldemort was sure the boy was gone he went over to the window and scanned the sky for Harry's owl. There it was. He took out his wand and took aim carefully. The spell hit the snow colored bird, which spun around and headed straight back to him.

When it landed, the bird was confused and angry, so when Voldemort reached out for the letter attached to its leg; it nipped his finger and drew blood. Cursing the bloody owl, and sucking on his finger, Voldemort managed to take the letter. The owl flew up into the rafters, still very disoriented and mad.

The front of the letter said, very simply: Snuffles. Voldemort raised an eyebrow. Who in the world was Snuffles?

He opened the letter one handed, and began to read.

Dear Sirius,

I know this is stupid. You're dead. I must be crazy to be writing a letter to a dead person. But I have no one else to turn to. Remus is okay, but it's not easy to talk to him. Not like with you.

I'm worried, Sirius. I haven't told anyone, but…I had these horrible dreams over the summer. Voldemort keeps sending them to me. These are worse than the others. A lot worse. I just can't stand it. He keeps talking to me in my mind. He's going to find me. I know he is. Dumbledore's not even denying it anymore. I guess the only thing I can do is be prepared for when he does.

Draco Malfoy's been acting weird lately. I can't tell if he's faking or is actually starting to be…nice? I know it's weird right? I bet its Voldemort's doing. Best if I ignore him like always. Although he did get me an "O" in potions… No, probably should still be wary. Like Mad-eye always says, "Constant vigilance!"

What am I doing? It's stupid to write a letter to you. You're dead. Gone. Who's going to get this letter anyway? I didn't tell Hedwig to give it to anyone. Where will she go?

I miss you, Sirius. I really do. We were so close to living together. Damn Wormtail. I swear next time I see him…

Anyway, I guess this is goodbye. I suppose this letter is just for me to feel connected to you somehow. A way to forget about everything for a while. Dumbledore hasn't reassured me at all. My scar's been hurting a lot lately. It's hard to explain… it's almost like Voldemort's in the school. But he can't be, right?

Feeling very stupid at the moment,

Harry

When Voldemort came to the end of the letter he smiled. Anybody else would have seen this letter a signal that Harry needed help. Voldemort however, saw the information on the parchment as a big advantage over the boy.

Potter still missed his poor godfather? Seems like the Dark Lord had found out Harry Potter's biggest weakness.

Voldemort folded the letter back into the envelope and called to the owl up in the rafters. Much to his surprise the owl came and landed on his arm, digging its claws into his arm. He tied the letter back onto its leg and said, "As you were." The owl seemed to glare at him, seeming to understand that he had just invaded its master's privacy, and then flew out the window, continuing its journey.

Voldemort had a pretty good feeling about who would receive the letter. If his calculations were correct…

This was going to be very interesting.