Disclaimer: The characters, locations, and tiny details that I love so much all belong to Jo Rowling, not me. Yes, I know, how sad...

A/N: Thanks to all of my reviewers—I'm so glad you like it! Panther28, aschowin, Rednal29, sweethoneyno1, madison(), and Funny-Gal13—thank you so much for your kind words and praises (and for pointing out my error; you were right)! If anybody is interested in being my Beta, just let me know via review. Now, onto this chapter. I changed it many times, but I think I'm satisfied with it now. Go ahead; find out who that "mystery woman" is! Enjoy, and let me know what you think when you finish! Thanks!

The Pain of Deceit

Harry turned around in momentary shock, but smiled weakly when he saw who had entered. Nymphadora Tonks, sporting long purple tresses, and a battered looking Remus Lupin were standing side by side in the doorway, both looking tired but content.

"Happy birthday, Harry," said Lupin quietly. "Things all packed?"

Harry nodded, his glance sweeping over his few possessions quickly. Tonks was grinning, and she pulled a worn baseball from her pocket. "I daresay there's a few people waiting to see you, so shall we go on ahead?"

Once again, Harry chose to nod rather than speak, not wanting to risk awaking the Dursleys. He got a firm hold on his belongings, watching silently as Tonks turned the baseball into a portkey.

"Because of the Minister's inquiry, it's a lot easier to get around these days," explained Lupin, catching Harry's eye. "Ready?"

For the third time that night, Harry nodded in response and placed a finger on the baseball, closing his eyes and waiting for the familiar jerk that would transport him to 12 Grimmauld Place.

When he opened his eyes, Harry couldn't hold back a gasp. Lupin and Tonks both stood on either side of him, but they were definitely not at the Black's residence. He looked around; the room was small and black, with no apparent furniture. "What--" he started, turning back to Lupin in confusion. "Did I misunderstand?" he questioned slowly, his voice faltering as he noticed the odd grin on the face of his former professor. At this point, Harry began to feel slightly unnerved. He was about to ask another question when Tonks gave a hideous cackle made his skin crawl. Harry closed his eyes, suddenly flooded with terror and hoping desperately that his instincts were wrong. That taunting laugh was all too familiar; its nightmarish tones turned Harry's insides to ice. Then it hit him: Tonks did not laugh like that.

"Did the famous Harry Potter forget that the Dark Lord was after him?" she taunted in a mock-baby voice that definitely did not fit with Tonks' light voice.

Harry blinked hard, trying desperately to sort out his thoughts. Nymphadora Tonks was laughing most uncharacteristically, Remus Lupin was watching with an evil grin, they were in an unfamiliar location, and his scar was beginning to sear painfully. "You," he managed to gasp in accusatory rage as his eyes started to cloud. Harry felt the person acting as Remus Lupin leave his side, and he sank to his knees as Bellatrix continued hissing a stream of taunts and jeers. The pain in his forehead was worsening with incredible rapidity, but he scrambled desperately to formulate a plan of action. Harry knew that the best thing to do would be to clear his mind, but memories of Sirius and hatred towards Bellatrix were making that near impossible. His head felt as though it was splitting, and Harry feared he would lose consciousness. He had to fight, he couldn't give up; Harry began to focus on these thoughts, repeating them in his mind as a sort of mantra.

"We meet again, Potter," came a cold voice dangerously close to Harry's head, which now felt as though it was going to explode. Squinting, the teenager tried to find an escape, but the pain was literally blinding, and he could not see through the tears.

"You are easy to fool," Voldemort continued. "Those who love are the easiest to defeat." His tone was even, but tinged with superiority; his voice conveyed total control and power, and Harry wished he had been more suspicious before leaving the Dursleys. I have to fight, I can't give in, he reminded himself mentally, gritting his teeth and fighting the urge to scream.

"The one thing you've taught me, Potter, is that torture is more fun with an audience." Harry could just barely make out the horrifying facial features glowing from the chalk-white face of the most evil wizard of all time, who spoke again, directing his words at the Tonks imposter.

"How long has it been, Bella?"

She responded with delight, a cruel smile spread mirthlessly across her lips. "Only five minutes more, my Lord."

"Very well. That long, I can wait."

For a short while, the room was silent. Harry could feel Voldemort's unrelenting gaze on him, but the pain from his scar was preventing the boy- who-lived from doing anything to escape. Helpless, he lay motionless on the floor until Voldemort began to speak once more.

"It is time," he declared simply, surveying the Lupin imposter with mild amusement. Harry watched with a sickening feeling as Lupin's figure shrank and expanded, remolding hideously into the form of Peter Pettigrew, the man who was responsible for the death of his parents.

"The polyjuice potion," explained Lord Voldemort cruelly, as Harry's eyes traveled to the newly restored frame of Bellatrix Lestrange, who was smirking in satisfaction. "It turns you into whomever you want for an hour. Most convenient, as it turns out."

Harry allowed his eyelids to fall once more, feeling numb. Moody had preached to him on so many occasions about constant vigilance, but he, the famous Harry Potter, had delivered himself right into the hands of the most evil wizard of all time because he received a few letters that appeared to be authentic. Now he was stuck, stuck with Lord Voldemort, the murderer of his godparent, and the betrayer of his parents in a cold black room with no exit.

"I think our friends should join us for this momentous occasion," mused the Dark Lord as he pressed a ghastly pale finger to Wormtail's forearm. When he pulled away the unnaturally long appendage, Pettigrew's dark mark was a deep charcoal black. Harry twitched involuntarily on the floor, fear flooding him in waves. He was going to die here, alone, before anyone had even noticed he was missing. Well, he thought in grim determination, I'm not going to give in. I'm going to fight. The mantra strengthened him, and he managed to stand, although his legs were shaking so madly he feared he would fall over.

"Surely you don't think you can escape?" shrieked Bellatrix incredulously, her eyes alight as she watched Harry's trembling form.

"This time, there is no chance of that," remarked Voldemort softly.

Harry looked around desperately; there was no door visible within the seamless black walls. Voldemort laughed delicately, but his next comment was lost amid loud cracks and pops as the space filled with masked Death Eaters.

The figures said nothing, but joined together to form a circle similar to what Harry had been subjected to in his fourth year. The parallel caused his stomach to lurch, but he tried desperately to clear his mind. I have to fight; I can't give in.

Bellatrix and Wormtail stood on either side of Voldemort, their unmasked faces leering at Harry. The Dark Lord's gaze was trained expertly on the boy who had been his downfall, but he chose to address the Death Eaters instead, a quiet authority lacing his otherwise icy voice.

"Today is a special day indeed, my friends. Much celebration is in order, for today is the birthday of Harry Potter."

Harry slid his hand into his pocket, gripping his wand tightly and feeling sick. There was nothing he could do...

"Crucio!"

The command cut through Harry's thoughts as he screamed, plunging to the floor while writhing in pain. The Death Eaters were all laughing as though someone had told a rather humorous joke, and Harry retched on the cold tiled floor, feeling utterly helpless.

"Get up, Harry Potter."

Slowly, Harry rose, clutching his scar desperately as though it would alleviate the pain. His wand sat forgotten in the pocket of his jeans, but he couldn't think of any way it could help him now. Magic had left him, and he had no other strength or power.

"Crucio!" Before Harry had any time to recover, the Dark Lord had shot the unforgivable curse at him again, causing him to pitch into a pair of Death Eaters in the circle. Both shoved him back towards the center of the circle, but Harry felt one slip something into his hand. As he fell back onto the floor, he tried to see whom he had knocked into. All that were visible through their masks were their eyes, but Harry felt that one pair seemed horribly familiar.

Voldemort was speaking once more, but Harry's mind was focused on the object in his palm. He slid it back and forth between his sweaty fingers, being careful not to let it slide out of his fist. It felt smooth and light, like a small piece of jewelry. His mind raced as he tried to identify the object and who had given it to him. Voldemort's voice suddenly cut through his thoughts, bringing his mind swiftly back to the circle of Death Eaters.

"Answer me!" roared the Dark Lord, shooting a curse at Harry, who flew back in a daze. He stood up once more, trying unsuccessfully to catch a glimpse of the item in his hand.

"Ignoring me will get you nowhere, Potter," spat Voldemort with impatience. "I grow weary of such tiresome acts."

Harry closed his eyes, certain that this was the end. He heard Voldemort begin to shout another curse at him, but before the incantation had left his mouth, Harry felt a tug above his navel. He landed with a thud on a hardwood floor and collapsed in total confusion. A woman's scream was barely audible in the distance, as was the sound of several sets of footsteps on a nearby staircase. Harry tried to figure out where he was and how he got there, but he didn't even have the strength to open his eyes. His whole body was throbbing painfully, and his mind was jumping rapidly from thought to though without making sense of any of them.

Someone gripped his wrist, but he couldn't summon the energy to pull away. The voices all around him were fading, and the last thing Harry Potter heard before losing consciousness was the sound of his two best friends, both screaming his name in terror.