Yo! Sorry about the wait. RL's been worse than usual, and that's definitely saying something. Thank you to all readers so far!

Downing the rest of his drink, Voldemort got to his feet. Tomorrow he would speak to Severus about a potion that could revert his appearance. He could do the research and brew the potion, if one existed, himself if he wanted-he was skilled at potions, but why bother doing it himself when he had someone else, a qualified Potions Master as well, to do it for him?

He would begin thinking about how he might be able to bring Potter to the Dark side tomorrow as well. He had something in mind for that, but needed to think on it for a little longer. For now, he was going to head to bed...

When Voldemort awoke, he found himself surrounded by darkness. How strange. He immediately reached for his wand, only to discover that it wasn't on him. Now that was even stranger, because the Dark Lord never went anywhere without his wand. When he raised his hand to absently scratch an itch on his face, he froze.

Raising both hands, Voldemort stared at them in surprise. He was no longer so pale that his veins were visible, and his nails weren't long and sharp either. In fact, his hands looked...normal. Frowning, he reached up to touch his face, finding that while his skin was still smooth, it was no longer marble soft and nor was he cool to the touch any more.

Voldemort ran his fingers over his face, coming to a stop at his nose-a nose! His fingers travelled higher, and he was pleased to discover that he had a full head of silky hair. ...Where was a mirror when you needed one?

As if hearing his wish, a full length mirror suddenly appeared before him, and Voldemort stared at his reflection in shock. How long had it been since he had last looked like this?

He was back in his human body, no longer the strange humanoid snake form he had been in. He seemed to be somewhere in his late twenties, perhaps even his early thirties or so, from what he could tell, and was dressed rather casually in black trousers and a deep green button down, which was strange in itself as he definitely hadn't fallen asleep in them. Voldemort stared at his eyes, which he noticed had remained the shade of crimson, rather than grey, as they had been when he'd last been in this form.

Tearing his gaze away from his reflection, Voldemort (though perhaps he would go by Marvolo instead) looked around the darkened space, noting the mirror vanishing as he did so. Marvolo was quick to realize that he was dreaming. Nothing else made any sense. There was no other reason for him to look like this, to be dressed like this, to be in this space, to be disarmed. He was dreaming. He had to be.

Marvolo decided on a direction and began to walk. He kept silent, even his footfalls made no sound. It would have been eerie if he didn't find the silence to be comforting. Though he knew he was walking, the strange darkness made it seem as if he were gliding instead. And nothing around him changed either, no matter how far he went or how many times he changed directions.

Pausing in place, the man turned in a full circle, eyes narrowing when he caught sight of a small pinprick of light in the distance. Frowning, he approached, the downward curve of his lips deepening when he realized it was another person. That frown deepened even further when he saw just who the other person was: Harry Potter.

He watched Potter lower himself down to the floor, where he leaned back onto his forearms, legs stretched out in front of him. Potter looked a bit different too, Marvolo realized. He had clothes on, for one, and no scars at all, not even the lightning bolt on his forehead.

Potter looked up in the darkness, and then released a rather aggravated sounding sigh. "Agh, what the heck is going on!?"

A sudden Gryffindorish impulse overtook Marvolo, and he found himself walking closer, only stopping when he stood by the teen's feet. "You are dreaming, Harry Potter," he said calmly.

As expected, Potter jumped to his feet immediately, eyes widening. "V-Voldemort? What the fuck happened to you?"

He raised a brow. "Meaning?" He already knew the answer though, of course.

"You look...normal," said Potter. Then his eyes narrowed. "What are you doing here?"

"Such a hostile tone towards the one that saved your life," Marvolo said casually. Although, it had been Narcissa and Severus who had done the healing. Well, Potter didn't need to know the details, right?

Potter blinked. "You saved me? ME?" His tone was one of disbelief, and Marvolo supposed he couldn't blame him.

"You were the one who sent me that letter," Marvolo reminded him pointedly.

Potter shrugged. "Yeah, but it didn't say anything about saving me in it."

"Perhaps I merely did so on a whim."

"A whim?" Potter repeated with a frown of his own.

"Yes."

Green eyes locked on red. "So you got me out of the Dursleys' place, huh? Where did you take me? And what did you do to those three?"

Marvolo paused a moment, wondering whether or not he should answer. Normally, he would never have bothered, and simply told the teen to figure it out on his own, but he needed Potter on his side, didn't he? So perhaps he ought to tell him? He sighed inwardly at his conflicting thoughts.

"I brought all of you to my manor," he said finally. "You are currently in a healing sleep in one of my guest rooms, and your...relatives are locked in a dungeon cell."

Potter looked at him surprisingly calmly, as if contemplating what to say or how to react. "I see," he said after waiting for a beat.

Marvolo raised a brow at the less than explosive reaction he had been expecting. Potter had always been a very emotional child, ever the Gryffindor, really. But he didn't seem that way right now. In fact, the way those piercing green eyes moved over both him and the surrounding area, shrewd and calculating...it was actually slightly unnerving, considering it was Potter.

"Where are we?" asked Potter suddenly.

"I assure you, I haven't a clue." And he wasn't lying. Marvolo couldn't recall ever having been in a place such as this before. It was really quite strange.

"Mmm hmm," hummed Potter, as he began to wander around the immediate area.

Marvolo watched him silently. He wasn't sure what he had been expecting when he saw the boy here with him, but it definitely hadn't been this. The menace was too calm. Almost eerily so. He wondered if this behaviour was a one off, or if it would continue upon waking...

Harry woke with a start. He lay there among the oddly soft sheets, immediately aware he was no longer in Privet Drive. He couldn't hear his uncle and cousin stomping around, or his aunt chattering away. Nothing smelled like lemons or bleach either. There were no lawnmowers or hoses going off, and no cars passing by either. Where was he then?

He remembered the beating he had received from his uncle, which had been rather worse than usual. When the large man had left the room for a moment, Harry had quickly penned (quilled?) a letter to Voldemort and sent it off with his beloved Hedwig. Uncle Vernon had then returned and dragged him downstairs before forcing him back into the cupboard under the stairs, where he had been sleeping since returning for the summer break that year. And then he had taken Sirius' knife and, well, he'd just felt too...broken to continue dealing with things as they'd been.

So then why was he still alive?

Slowly, Harry opened his eyes, finding himself staring up at a white ceiling. Well that wasn't very helpful. Glancing left and right, he frowned, taking in the large, neutrally decorated room. And then he remembered the dream.

Voldemort had been in it with him, and had told him that he had...saved him, and brought him to his manor. He'd said something about a healing sleep too, right? But if he was awake, then didn't that mean he was fine now? Not to mention that that hadn't actually been a dream at all?

Trying to sit up, he winced at the sharp pain in his head, and quickly lowered himself back down with a muttered curse. "Slow," he told himself, "slow." Bracing a hand on the bed, he gripped his head with the other one and, very carefully, sat up, gritting his teeth.

Still holding his head, he looked around, moving cautiously. There was a door on the right wall, next to which was a wardrobe. A bathroom then? There was a large window on the left wall, meaning the door on the back wall was probably the one that led out of the room.

Spotting the bedside table next to him, he found his glasses. And then he froze. His glasses were sitting on the table, but he could see clearly? Had Voldemort fixed his vision too? Why would he do that? Frowning, he left the frames where they were and opened the drawer, trying to find his wand. As expected, it wasn't there. Then again, it wasn't like he had had it on him in the cupboard, so it may have still been with his other stuff. Probably in his trunk, unless someone had removed it.

Hearing a soft hiss, Harry's head snapped over (which had him releasing a groan of pain), only for him to see a rather large snake slithering away through the door that most certainly hadn't been open a moment ago. Had Nagini-and he knew it was her-opened it or something? Wait, how would she have even done that?

For a moment, Harry debated on whether or not it would be a good idea to try standing up, but when his head gave another painful throb, he dismissed the thought immediately. The last thing he needed was to fall over, especially if Nagini had gone to get Voldemort, which, he was sure, she was currently doing.

Instead, he looked down at himself, only to see he was still unclothed, though the bed sheet was at least still pulled over his lap. Well then.

Not even five seconds later the door opened and the Dark Lord Voldemort himself walked through, his serpent slithering along beneath him, hissing away too quickly for Harry to make out coherently.

"Potter."

"Voldemort."

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