Hey, so here's the next chapter! It might be a bit short, sorry

I don't own Harry Potter.

Chapter 27: Acting the Part

Lord Voldemort watched on the Muggle television screen as a man polyjuiced to look like Sirius Black grabbed the unconscious Harry and disappeared. The damned thing didn't have sound, so he had no idea what was being said.

The Magical World was completely separated from the Muggles, that was except for when the Dark Lord wished otherwise.

Now was one of those very rare times. The first since the Separation Act, in fact.

The Muggle government was terrified of him, as they should be. They knew they couldn't handle war with the Wizarding World on top of the economic crash and wars overseas.

So when he popped into the Muggle Prime Minister's office and demanded that he get access to the CCTV camera footage at King's Cross railway for the last four hours, he was all too eager to comply.

After watching Harry and the kidnapper disappear, he growled in agitation and apparated away. It wouldn't do to lose his temper and start a War with the Muggles.

Wizards may be the superior beings, but Muggles had Nuclear Warheads.

He was back in his office, pacing, when Lucius came in.

"My Lord." Lucius bowed lowly.

"You had better have news of the boy, Lucius." The Dark Lord said in that deadly calm voice that Lucius remembered from the days following Esella's death and Harry's kidnapping. A shiver threatened to race down his spine.

He was not keen on being at his Master's mercy when he was in this mood.

"We've questioned the boy's friends, including my own son. He never breathed a word to any off them about Sirius Black. They swore it over Veritaserum. All men on duty the night of his discovery and the Rebels' apprehension have been brought in and checked, the memory charms are still in place."

"So you're telling me you've found nothing?"

"We are following all available leads, My Lord."

"See that you do. I'm putting you in charge of the investigation Lucius, do not fail me. I swear on my magic that if Harry returns to me as a corpse, your son will share his fate. Am I clear?"

Voldemort could see the fear and pain in Lucius's eyes. "Yes, My Lord."

Harry was screaming again.

The sound ground on his sanity.

"Shhh, Harry." He murmured, more to himself than the boy.

It had been a day since he'd taken Harry from train station. And Harry's third round of reliving his life. Sometimes he was quiet. Sometimes he even smiled, but usually he looked on the verge of tears. Barty hadn't known a boy so young could make such heart wrenching sounds.

But the cries he shouted as he relived the death of his adoptive parents, the early days with the Dark Lord and the recent ones, were those of a child who had lost everything but his sanity. And his sanity was hanging on by a thread.

Barty didn't know how to reverse the spell.

He couldn't stop it.

But he feared that he would lose his own sanity if he had to listen to Harry's pleas much longer.

It had been two days since he had reported to the Dark Lord.

Two days since his Master had threatened his precious son's life.

The Dark Lord was getting impatient.

In a way Lucius understood. The Dark Lord couldn't drop everything and search for Harry as Lucius was sure he wanted to. Not without sending the people into a panic and endangering Harry further. Whoever it was that had kidnapped the unofficial Prince, it wasn't the Rebels. And so they couldn't tip the Rebels off that Harry was missing by trying to find him publicly. The story of Harry's kidnap would not be released until Harry was safely ensconced in the Dark Lord's manor once more, hopefully unharmed.

Lucius was getting desperate, running out of leads.

And that was why he was here, standing on Barty Crouch Jr.'s porch with a search warrant.

The man had been conspicuously absent since Harry's disappearance. He was due to be on vacation abroad, but Lucius felt obligated to check.

He off course came up with nothing.

The Aurors stormed the house and found nothing that could implicate Crouch.

Lucius sighed and apparated back to his office, in search of more likely leads.

It had been a week since Harry's kidnap, and the Dark Lord was quickly being reduced to a homicidal psychopath bent punishing any who annoyed him. And creating a personal hell for whoever had dared to touch his son.

His inability to go search for Harry himself made him short-tempered and quick to torture. He'd tortured eight prisoners into insanity and fired his publicist for suggesting they go public on Harry's kidnapping.

If Lucius didn't find his son soon . . .

This is suicide.

Barty knew it. He was probably going to die. If he was lucky.

But he just couldn't do it anymore.

Being locked away in Azkaban would be preferable to hearing Harry continue to scream. At least then he wouldn't be hearing innocent children scream.

"Minister, we've found him!"

Lucius' head snapped up.

"Where?"

Crouch's manor, there was an address written down, supposedly the cottage he'd be staying at for vacation. But it's a warehouse in London. We've captured Crouch, and located Prince Harry."

"Why was I not told sooner?"

"We feared Crouch would have a mole in the department, we had to act quickly."

"And Harry? What is his condition?"

"Unharmed . . . physically."

"And mentally?" Lucius ground out.

"I think that might be better suited to seeing in person, Minister."

The Dark Lord stalked down the Hallways of St. Mungo's, toward the Mental Health Ward. Lucius had sent a Patronus ahead as soon as he got news of Harry's rescue. And as a result, Lucius was there only moments before him.

When they got to Harry's room, they couldn't even see him at first, so thick was the flurry of nurses fluttering about the bed. They were quick to step aside as they noticed him.

Harry was propped up against a mountain of pillows. He wore a plain, faded blue hospital gown. A healer was hovering over him, holding a wand spouting golden mist over Harry's chest and keeping track of his pulse with the other hand.

His son's face was turned the other way, though Voldemort thought his eyes were open. Surrounded by the fluffy white pillows and starched blankets, Harry looked small and pale, his dark curls a stark contrast.

The healer sighed and stepped back, finally bowing to Voldemort. The Dark Lord only had eyes for his son.

"What's wrong with him?"

"The Imprecor Memoria curse, My Lord. We've broken it, but he isn't responding to stimulus. I fear he has withdrawn into his mind, and his occlumency shields are up. Trying to break them down could have catastrophic consequences."

"Get out."

"My Lord?" the healer asked, confused.

"Everyone out!" the Dark Lord snarled in annoyance.

"My Lord, you aren't going to—"

"I'll do as I please! Leave or I'll have you arrested for the direct disobedience of your Lord."

The room cleared quickly.

He came to sit on the bed, his son's face towards him. Harry's eyes were open, but dull. Hesitantly, he cupped his son's face. No reaction.

"My Harry."

He slowly reached out for Harry's mind and hit the expected wall, but to his surprise they fell away a moment later. Harry recognized him, at least on a subconscious level.

He was standing nowhere. Literally. There was only fog, no walls, no floor. He walked further into the fog and images began to form, pale imprints of memories.

He didn't dwell on them, half dreading what he would see should he look closer, half hoping Harry would someday trust him enough to tell him himself.

He came across the only solid object he'd seen so far a while later.

It was a door, but a small one, almost like to a broom closet, or a cupboard . . .

He opened it slowly, and light spilled in.

There was a boy inside. A boy with dark, curling hair and big green eyes. He couldn't have been older than twelve.

"Harry."

The boy looked at him with eyes wide with fear and spilling over with tears. There was no recollection. The boy had no idea who he was.

"Please." The boys whispered in a small, pitiful whisper.

"What is it Harry?" Voldemort asked in a calm, low voice.

"Please leave me alone! I didn't mean to!" the boy's voice was trembling.

"Didn't mean to what Harry?" he asked in confusion.

"I didn't mean to kill mummy and daddy." He whimpered, and broke out into sobs.

The Dark Lord was out of his league. He didn't know how to comfort a small child. But he would try. He would do exactly what he had hoped and prayed that his father would do when he'd been young and naïve. He'd be there.

He pulled the boy into his arms, stroking his hair for a moment before cupping his son's face—smaller than he was used to, more round—and looked into his son's glistening eyes.

"Their deaths are not your fault. You are a child, they were adults. They knew what being a part of the rebellion entailed."

"But if I hadn't stayed—"

"They still may have been caught. You had no part in it. It wasn't you're fault."

They stayed like that for a while, before the Dark Lord asked, "Do you want to leave this cupboard now?"

The boy shook his head incessantly. "There are monsters out there!"

"You don't worry about them; I'll protect you my Little Serpent."

"Promise Daddy?"

He felt as if the breath had been knocked out of him. Harry had called him Daddy.

He cupped his boy's face once more.

"I promise son. Always."

There was a rushing in his ears, and suddenly he was sitting on the hospital bed in St. Mungo's once more. The hand he held in his twitched.

He looked up just as Harry's eyes opened.

Harry smiled at him tentatively, and Voldemort knew he remembered everything.

"Harry, how are you feeling?"

"Tired," he murmured as he yawned, his eyes fluttered closed.

"Sleep, Harry."

" ? Love you."

"I love you too, son. Always."

Harry fell asleep with a smile on his face.