Yo! About time I posted chapter two, huh? Sorry about the wait. Props to Dark Elf Zeera for pointing out a typo that I missed in the previous chapter. A review from daithi4377 made me realize I never mentioned a timeline. This begins between fifth and sixth year, and doesn't fully follow canon. I also received a question about Voldemort's appearance, which will be answered in this chapter. Thank you to all readers so far!

The moment the group appeared on their Lord's manor grounds, they rushed inside (pulling off their masks as they did so), and split up on the landing. Four of the Death Eaters took the three Dursleys down into the dungeon, while Narcissa and Severus followed their Lord into a spare room right down the hall from his own.

Voldemort magicked Potter onto the bed, then stepped back, allowing Narcissa-his resident Healer, to begin her job, Severus aiding her in providing the required potions. They seemed to have begun by dealing with the self-inflicted wounds on Potter's arms, pouring dittany on them and getting him to swallow a blood replenishing potion.

Narcissa ran a complex diagnostic spell, wanting to see not only Potter's current injuries, but all those he had sustained throughout his life. Considering who he was, and his yearly escapades, she expected a foot in length of the parchment. But when it grew well over two feet and continued on, all three found themselves startled. The parchment didn't cease to extend until it reached nearly four feet in length.

Wanting to go through it, Narcissa began at the bottom, eyes quickly scanning. The first problems began when Potter had been an infant and still living with his parents. She saw a diaper rash here, a cold there, a mild infection-just things she herself had dealt with when it came to Draco. In fact, the worst thing at that point was just a nasty bump to the head, obtained nearly two months before the Dark Lord's attack-but it wasn't anything severe and had been healed almost instantly, no doubt by one of his parents.

It was after his parents' death that the injuries began to pick up. In fact, just a day into the Potters' death, the child had caught a bad cold. Things were small the first three years or so-cuts, bumps, a few bruises, but there were too many to be explained away as accidents or just a rambunctious toddler playing. And then, not long after the boy's fourth birthday, everything just seemed to go to hell.

It took Narcissa a while to reach the top of the page, no matter how fast she read, but when she was finished, she was in shock. She knew immediately that the boy's magic was the only thing that had kept him alive. If he had been a Muggle, Harry Potter would have died by the age of eight.

She shared the list with Severus first, so he could see what potions would be needed both immediately and in the long run, and went on with her healing, taking care of a few other more serious injuries. Poor boy.

Severus stared at the long list. And stared. And stared. He wasn't quite sure what to think about any of this. This list of hurts clearly proved that the Boy-Who-Lived had been, and still was, being abused. Abused, like he himself had been.

But how could Dumbledore have let this happen? The old man had always told him that Potter was safe and happy with his relatives. That they were very kind people who cared for their nephew immensely. But this list...

"Severus."

Severus flinched, too caught up in his own dark childhood memories to conceal it. Aware of what the Dark Lord wanted, he took a deep breath to steady himself, and turned to hand his lord the long sheet of parchment. Not wanting to be near him when he read it, unsure of what his reaction might be, Severus went to stand near Narcissa, where he began to aid her in the rest of the healing of Potter.

Red eyes locked onto the sheet of parchment the moment it got close enough. Voldemort, like the other two, began from when Potter was an infant, and worked his way up. It took him a moment to read through the list, but when he was finished, he was in shock. His gaze immediately travelled over to the unconscious teen on the bed.

Dumbledore had done it again, he realized in fury. Did he not learn from his mistakes the first time? The second? This was the third time he had done something like this. Voldemort had become the Dark Lord for a reason, and knew, very clearly, that if his old Transfiguration professor hadn't talked Headmaster Dippet against him, if they had just listened and helped him, he would never have become what he was. And then there was Severus. Dumbledore hadn't helped him either, when it was obvious that he needed it. And that was why Severus had joined him, the Dark Lord. Now Potter could be added to that same list. Dumbledore had done nothing to help him, and just like Severus, the teen had attempted to take his own life.

It was lucky that he had sent that letter, and that his owl seemed to really want him alive. Voldemort wouldn't have bothered otherwise, and then it would have been too late.

When Severus, looking rather conflicted, stepped away from the bed, the Dark Lord approached. "Well?"

"He's stable," said Narcissa, tucking the blankets around the boy. "He will not be waking up for a couple of days at the very least, perhaps longer. It seems he's also suffering from magical exhaustion, so he requires the rest."

"Very well. Let us leave him to sleep. Nagini?"

The large snake slithered into the room from where she had been hiding to watch the proceedings in interest. "Yes, Master?"

"Watch over the boy. Inform me when he wakes."

"Very well…"

Dismissing his Death Eaters, Voldemort retired to his study to think. He would have gone down to see the Dursleys in the dungeon, but knew that if he did, there was a good chance that he would kill them. He wanted to, of course, but he would wait. He had other things to think about, and he figured he might as well let their fear grow in the meantime. He would deal with them after speaking to Potter.

Voldemort poured himself a drink before taking a seat behind his large desk. Closing his eyes, he fell into thought. He had just found out more about Harry Potter in the last hour, than he had in the past near sixteen years. Though he knew there was much more to learn about the teen, much more indeed.

Voldemort had never imagined that the Boy-Who-Lived would ever write to him, and the contents of that letter had been incredibly shocking. It told him that the Saviour of the wizarding world wasn't quite as Light as everyone believed. Could he be converted though? Would he join him and the Dark?

Sipping his drink, he ran his sharp nails over his hairless head. He had a feeling that he could, with minimal effort, get Potter to join him, but perhaps his old body would be necessary for the task. He doubted the teen would feel very comfortable with this current appearance, and while the comfort of his followers when it came to him was the least of his concern, this boy was different. Potter joining the Dark would turn the entire foolish war around-around in his favour.

He would have to speak to Severus in order to find out if there were any potions out there that could give him his old body back...

When Harry came to, he was lying in complete darkness. He couldn't see anything, not the ceiling, not the walls, not even the floor. It was literally pitch black. …Was there even a floor? Something was supporting his weight. He was a bit wary of moving, because it sort of felt like he was in some sort of void.

Nevertheless, he shifted just a bit so that his palms were face down. When they didn't just sink down into nothing, he managed to first sit up, then, when nothing happened, finally got to his feet.

He looked around the dark space, feeling rather curious, but cautious at the same time. He couldn't recall ever being in this place before, wherever it was, and wondered what was happening. Harry doubted he was actually awake. While waking up in darkness was nothing new to him, considering he was back in his cupboard again, this space was far larger. It didn't feel at all confined, like he was used to, even though he couldn't actually see to be sure.

Recalling the beating he had received earlier, and what he had done to himself after, Harry looked down at himself. He was wearing clothes, which he hadn't been when he had been thrown back in his cupboard. He had on a simple pair of jeans, and a t-shirt, both dark coloured. When Harry focused his gaze on his bare arms, he noted that he didn't have any scars or wounds, which definitely wasn't normal.

Was he dead? He had tried to kill himself, after all. Why was it all dark then? Didn't people normally say everything was always bright when they were dying? Or was this darkness some sort of manifestation of his mind and soul? Was the darkness trying to show him that he wasn't as light as he went on behaving?

Harry decided at that moment that he was thinking too much. If he was dead, then he was dead, and maybe he would finally be able to see his parents. But what if he wasn't dead? What was going on then?

Figuring standing around wasn't going to accomplish anything, he picked a random direction and began to walk, choosing not to call out for anyone, just in case. Harry walked and walked, looking around but seeing nothing anywhere. The dark void just seemed never ending, with nothing around him changing at all.

Harry had no idea how long he had been walking for, just that he was seriously getting tired. He couldn't be dead then, could he? Was it possible to feel tiredness when dead? Sighing, he stopped where he was and turned around in a full circle. He still couldn't see anything but darkness.

Unable to stand any longer, Harry dropped down to the floor, and leaned back onto his forearms. He looked up and sighed in aggravation once again when he saw nothing whatsoever. "Agh, what the heck is going on!?"

"You are dreaming, Harry Potter."

That's it for now. Looking forward to reviews! Laterz!