Chapter 2.

Thanks to my reviewers, you made me smile all day!

I'd better do a disclaimer thing, I think, seeing as everyone else seems to….

I do not own any of these characters, unfortunately for me they are still the property of JK Rowling. Unless I invent some, which I haven't yet.

The ugly blackness of the tattoo on Harry's arm burnt all through that night. By morning, the lines were crusted in red-dark scabs and Harry flinched as he drew on the velvet robes he'd worn the day before. He put on his glasses and looked around him.

The room was large, and grand, undoubtedly part of Tom Riddle's from the blood red curtains, bedspread and carpet. It was very dark, in there, only a trickle of sunlight leaking through the closed curtains. Instinctively, Harry reached for his wand to light up the room.

It was not there.

No, his wand – it was always with him…

Frantically, he searched by the side of his four poster bed, around the room, in the folds of his robes. It was definitely not there.

He flung open the bedroom door and ran down the wide staircase, in to the luxurious room he'd been in with Tom Riddle the previous day. Tom was sitting on the couch in a red dressing gown and slippers, two wands in his hand, swishing coloured sparks in the air.

'My wand!' Harry said furiously. Tom turned.

'Oh, good morning, Harry Potter. I trust you slept well?'

'I want my wand.'

'Of course, of course. I just had to perform a few spells on it. Normal procedure, you know. We have to get rid of the White magic.'

Harry snatched at the wand, but Tom pulled it away, a slight smile spreading across his face.

'Oh, we're impatient today!' he said softly, 'got out of bed on the wrong side, did we? I think you should remember the magic word when you're asking for something. Didn't your mother ever teach you manners?'

Harry's scar lit up suddenly in pain, his arm throbbed. He was so powerless without his wand.

'Please may I have my wand?' he asked, somewhat reluctantly.

'Oh dear,' Tom sighed, playing games, 'it seems that Mr Harry Potter has forgotten how to address the Dark Lord. I shouldn't think he'll be getting back this until he asks properly,' lazily he swished the wand towards Harry. And orange spark hit Harry's chest and immediately he felt himself being pushed to the floor in a worshipping bow, his arms extended.

'Much better,' Voldemort said sweetly.

Harry felt desperate – he needed his wand so much. Without it, he may as well have been another muggle. He gave in.

'Please, Lord Voldemort, please give me back my wand.'

'Hmmm,' Tom pondered, 'better… but I'd prefer Master. And beg. I want to hear you beg for the wand.'

'No!' Harry protested instinctively. Voldemort flicked the wand again and a pain danced through Harry's scar into his mind, treading heavily across his brain, seeming to crush every instinct left in him.

'Lord Voldemort,' he gasped, 'most excellent master of the dark Arts, I beg of you to please return to me my wand.'

'Good,' Voldemort praised warmly, and handed him the wand, 'in future you must always address me in that way, Potter. Now, I have a little surprise for you.'

'Wait!' Harry was inspecting his wand. It was a sooty black, and at the tip a pure white Dark Mark emblem was burnt in to the wood. When he held it, it seemed to vibrate with some evil energy. It made him shiver. 'What have you done to my wand?'

'A simple spell to make sure that it can only ever perform dark arts, followed by a moderative spell so that it can only do spells I want it to. Now, today I….'

'But I thought we were supposed to be working together? How are we working together if I can only perform certain spells?'

'Oh Harry,' Tom sighed gently, 'you are so very naïve. You'll feel better once you see my generous gift.'

Harry looked at him grudgingly. Voldemort clicked his fingers authoritatively, and at once two robed death eaters entered the room, carrying between them two figures, who looked too weak to stand alone. As the figures neared, Harry nearly vomited in revulsion, and turned away, tears in his eyes.

It was his parents.

His father's face was a deathly white, skin stretched over gaunt cheekbones, lips a thin bloodless line of blue. His eyes, the same green as Harry's, were open wide in a deathly stare and one was pierced a little, so that blackish juice from within dribbled down his cheek. His mother looked no more than a skeleton, her long red hair tangled into a gross mat behind her head and her eyes almost closed, surrounded by dark bruising so that the swelling was accentuated by the lack of fat in her face. Both of them had long scars across their foreheads, lightning scars like Harry's, only theirs burned as if they were fresh.

'Harry!' they whispered in unison.

'No!' Harry cried, 'I didn't want this! What have you done to them?'

'I've brought them back to life,' Tom said simply, 'you asked me to. You did this. They'll look better once they've got used to all this again – I'm afraid they had to be beaten to submission, they were both rather set on returning to Dumbledore's side when we brought them back. Now, let me leave you to some quality family time, while I supervise the building of your house,' he gave the slightest of sniggers and apparated away.

Harry looked at his parents again, trying to imagine them as they were before, trying to ignore the gaunt deadness of their skin and the staring eyes.

'Harry,' Lily whispered, 'why have you done this to us?'

'I…I thought it was for the best…I wanted you there with me… I didn't know it would be like this.'

'We were always there,' James said, his voice cracked and dry, 'Harry, you've ruined it all! Enslaving yourself to the Dark Lord, what on earth were you thinking? You'll never get out of it. Never.'

'I didn't know how it would be!' Harry whimpered. Tears began to form in his eyes, 'I…he was going to kill me otherwise. I had no choice!'

'There is always choice,' Lily answered quietly, 'always. You've done wrong, Harry. Evil! Evil, evil son! Don't you see what you have done to us?'

'At least you're alive!' Harry protested, 'didn't I give you that?'

'Alive!,' James spat, 'what sort of a life is it, if we are dedicated to being slaves for the man who killed us.'

'What can I do?' Harry asked, 'how can I change it?'

'It's too late,' Lily replied, 'too late, Harry. You must help him now. Help him destroy the White Side. Look out for yourself only. The brand on your arm doesn't just bind your body to him, but your will too, you know. You will never be able to leave him.'

'Indeed, indeed,' Tom swept back in to the room, 'the Potters are a clever family, are they not, Malfoy?'

'Certainly, certainly,' the death eater behind him hissed, 'your living quarters are ready, Potters.'

They followed Voldemort to the door in silence. Outside, dark clouds rolled in the sky and Harry longed for his Nimbus 2000 to fly away into the air. He was forced to re-think, however, when he saw the house they'd magicked.

'Ten bedrooms,' Tom said casually, 'three swimming pools. Do allow me to show you round.'

He held open the door and Harry entered, followed by his parents.

Immediately, everything changed. Harry barely had time to blink before he was in a dark, airless room. No, not a room. A cell. Stone floor, iron bars. No window. A bucket in one corner.

His parents were not with him.

'How do you like your new home, then?' Tom said pleasantly, 'I think it does look rather better from outside, but then, no where's perfect. You will stay in here, Harry Potter, until you are completely under my spell, in a manner of speaking. Your parents have similar houses, bless them. And don't waste energy trying to escape, this cell is completely spell proof. Harry, you may as well give in to me now. You'll never get away.'