Disclaimer - I still don't own a thing but the world domintation plans are coming along nicely.

xxxxx

Chapter 1 - Harry

One more week to Christmas holidays. One more week and we're free for some well earned rest. Last term exam this morning and I'm feeling like I'm cloud nine. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley managed to convince Dumbledore to let me go to the Burrow for Christmas. I'm still not sure that is the best idea, but I can't help but feel excited about it.

It will be my second real Christmas with a family. I know I'm not a red-head, but they make me feel like I am one of their own most of the time. Remus promised to make time to spend with us and I'm pretty sure that some of the order will be showing up too. I'm glad we won't be at Grimauld Place. I couldn't bear the memories of Christmas with Sirius from last year, but I refuse to dwell on that. Only one more week of classes and holiday assignments.

Muffled crying catches my ear as I walk down the corridor. I know that most of the students should be at the Great Hall for the last meal of the day, so noises in this part of the castle at this hour is unusual, unless you count the occasional snogging couple. Crying is unexpected. I know Ron and Hermione are waiting for me to join them, but surely a few minutes won't matter.

The crying is louder and more frightened. Sounds like a scared first-year. I open a door and I can see a little girl in the corner, her cheeks are covered in running tears and she is looking towards something to the side. I turn around but I'm too late.

I only hear a voice say, "Stupefy!"

ooooo

There are worse awakenings that opening your eyes in a dark, cold and damp stone room. Or so you'd think. One minute I'm on top of the world and actually looking forward to something when fate intervenes. I'm now lying on cold stone floor and my whole body is aching as if I'm recovering from a cruciatus curse. Maybe I am. No idea where I'm at, but this does not look (or feel, as I can't see a thing) like a friendly zone. I don't think I was stunned and left here because someone wants to present me with an Order of Merlin First Class.

I search my pockets but my wand is gone. So are my shoes. It's so dark in here I could close my eyes and not notice the difference. Damn.

I can't believe I fell for the saving people thing again.

ooooo

There's just something about the concept of karma that just rings right with me. I'm sure I must have been a truly evil person in my past life. It's the only possible explanation for the things that happen to me this time around. Adolf Hilter or Gustav Grindewald being the strongest contenders. Baldric the Bloody might have a shot. Vlad the Impaler. One day, I'll go to one of those muggle psychiatrists who swear they can 'regress' you and find out your past lives. Then I'll get my hands on a timeturner and find the bastard that I used to be and can get this cycle stopped.

No wand, no shoes, no light. Sticky situation, but maybe not hopless. I've done magic without a wand before. I just need to be desperate enough for it to work. I have a horrible feeling that I will be.

I explore the room and my first assumption was right: dark, cold, damp and stone. An iron door that surely can only be opened with magic, so rusted that without it, seems impossible to move. A cell or dungeon of some sort, kind of like our potions classroom without the cheery torchlight or Snape's titillating presence. I hate even think about it, but even Snape's company is this place would be good.

I really have to find out who I used to be and stop myself.

ooooo

It's a good thing I've never been afraid of enclosed dark spaces or I would have lost my mind by now. Something I can thank Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon for. All that time in the cupboard was just preparation for this. I should let them know that if I ever get out.

How much time has passed is imposible for me to say. I try to calm my mind and practice my meditation. Nothing like a quiet room for that. I do feel better afterwards. Yet every now and then I wake up again feeling like I've been several rounds against a mountain troll. I can feel buises and aches. My wrists and ankles are rubbed raw and my back is on fire, but I don't seem to remember much about it. Any of it.

There seem to be flashes and images just very the edge of memory. Like trying to think of an annoying date for a History exam or trying to remember the name that goes with a face you know you've met, but can't identify. There are dark shapes and masked people. Laughing and shouted curses. My throat feels like I've been screaming my head off.

And there's him.

He's close. So close I'm sure I could have touched him at times. My head feels like it could split apart and I know he must be in a raging temper or incredibly ecstatic. At least he hasn't tried to take me over like at the Ministry. I think he hasn't. I hope he hasn't.

ooooo

I can still feel the bond with Ron. He insisted so much about it and now it's my only real link to anyone outside of this cell. I wish I could use it to talk to him. Let him know where I am. The touch is so faint now that I'm sure that the distance between us is considerable. I just hope he can tell I'm still alive.

Merlin knows how long I will last. What is the point of torturing someone if they can't remember much of it afterwards? Is it just the shock of it or is it deliberate? Is he questioning me? Is he trying to break me? Or is it just for fun? High spirits as dear Aunt Petunia said when we found out that Duders had been torturing the neighbor's pet.

I can't think of why he hasn't killed me off yet. I'm being kept alive for a reason. I wish I knew what that was. Maybe he wants to do it in plain daylight in front of as many supporters and opposition as to leave no doubt of who is stronger. As if there ever was. A really spectacular murder of the Boy-Who-Lived would probably subdue all of the wavering wizard folk out there. They might just hand their world (our world) over to him.

I don't want to believe that people would do something that dumb. He kills me and he takes over? But who ever said that life had any sense of fairness or even sense. I've seen the editorials and the letters in the papers. Most wizard folk just want this to be over, one way or the other.

ooooo

I woke up again feeling like something Fluffy played with and dragged around all of Hogwarts before presenting it proudly to Hagrid. I can barely move this time. I don't think anything is broken, but every joint and muscle protests as I try to sit up. Even my head is killing me. He's close by.

I focus on a good thought to clear my head and pace my breathing. The after images of another torture session are stronger this time. I don't recognize any of the faces, they don't really matter really. Its the eyes that haunt me. Cold eyes. Insane eyes. Hateful eyes. Red slitted eyes. Most people don't notice how their eyes can change how they look. The most beautiful woman can be deemed ugly if she has eyes like the ones I saw tonight.

I've always been interested in people's eyes. Aunt Petunia's disdainful and petty, yet so vulnerable sometimes. Uncle Vernon's presumptuous and self-centerd. Dudley's greedy eyes. I think that is why I ended up with Ron as a best friend. His eyes truly show what he is thinking all the time. He has honest eyes. Heart eyes. Ron's eyes when they meet Hermione's. Now there's a good memory if I ever need one. Plenty to choose from too.

You see, it wasn't just the luck of meeting in the train that made me want to know Ron better, it was the eyes. It was Draco's grey ambitous eyes that made me turn away from him. It was Hermione's crying eyes that Halloween that let me see what she really was like under the know-it-all facade. It's Ginny's shinning eyes after she kissed me by the lake that make me remember that day.

I keep grasping for good thoughts and memories and I keep coming back to that day by the lake. Why didn't I follow up on that kiss? Just because the girl has six older brothers shouldn't be enough of a reason to back away. Even if one of them is my best friend. Hmm. And mother that has been planning the wedding since she first saw me at her house. And a blinding, embarrassing crush on my alter ego: The-Boy-Who-Lived.

But none of those are the real reasons I didn't do a thing. I was afraid. Afraid of caring for her and making her a target. Afraid of caring and then losing someone else like I lost Sirius.

The real problem is that those objections didn't make stop me caring for her at all. They just stopped me from telling her.

Like the lady in question told me that very same day. Having some psycho after you is not a good reason for not telling someone that you care.

I should have listened to her.

ooooo

I miss my friends. More than the food, or the warmth. Their very presence close to me would be enough.

I know Ron will be going out of his mind and that Hermione will be worried sick. They'll probably pick even more fights just to let off some anxiety. I hope not. I really hate it when they fight. I know why they fight, but I wish they would just come out and say what they really want.

I can hear each others descriptions. Ron is a short tempered, short sighed git who never thinks ahead and does not take anything seriously. Hermione is a know-it-all and a worrywart and couldn't have a good time unless you tie her up and force her. But beware for the blind idiot who criticizes the other in their hearing. I've seen the incautious flamed to a crisp. I've been on the receiving end myself.

What did Ginny call it? UST? She hit the nail on its head with that one.

As much as they are opposites, the one thing they have in common is the fact that they are head over heels in love with each other, but are terrified of taking the chance of the other knowing it.

I really hope they decide to take the risk. Such a good thing should not be wasted any longer.

If they don't make a move soon I'm going to have to lock them up in a room together until they do. I hope I remember to leave enough food and drink inside while that happens. It could take days.

ooooo

I sit in my cell and examine my actions of the recent months. Yes, I've been keeping my temper more in line, but I'm still shying away from contact with Dumbledore. He did mean to protect me. I'm going to need his help if I'm to survive. However, that might be a moot point now seeing as I'm being kept prisoner by his lordliness himself.

Oh well, hope springs eternal.

The latest bout of aches and pains bring forward more unpleasant memories. I can hear his voice saying that he is almost ready. It is almost time. My time is running out it seems, along with my strength and most of my sanity.

Of course, there's always been doubts about that last one. Especially if you listen to the Slytherins in my year. Or if you've seen me having a nightmare. Ditto for the parseltongue thing.

Never mind.

I've examined the walls, floor and especially the door to exhaustion. I can feel where the magic is needed to open it, but it resists all of my efforts to do so. I'm too spent for a simple alohomora, let alone a wandless one.

ooooo

I really need to stop the brooding. I should spend more time in meditiation. Do something useful, it will at least prolong whatever the snake-faced psycho has in store for me.

What was the saying? The unexamined life is not worth living? What about the overanalyzed one? I'm alone in the dark with nothing to do except wait for another half forgotten torture session, meditate or think about my life and choices up until now. And the ones I will have to make.

I am reckless by nature. Fools rush in where angeles fear to tread seems to be my motto at times. Yet, what would have happened if I hadn't? Would the philosopher's stone be safe if I had not gone after Quirrel? If Ron and I had not gone directly towards the Chamber after we realized that Lockhart was a fake, would Ginny have survived? Had Hermione and I not gone after Ron and Padfoot under the Whomping willow, I would never have known that Sirius was innocent. Nobody would have. Even if Wormtail escaped, that knowledge gave Sirius strenght and hope to Remus.

If I had not asked Cedric to take the cup with me he might have not died. Yet I didn't really want to share it at first. Neither did he. We both wanted to win. Only when we were at the final challenge, did we see that we had helped each other to get there. In fact by all rights, Cedric did win and he would have been sent to the cementery without me. Same result for any of the others if they had reached it first. I was meant to get there first, but I didn't. Not really. What is it with evil overlords that they have to come up with such complicated plans?

Speaking of complicated plans. The Ministry vision was the mother of them all. Sure, showing me Sirius being hurt was creative, but how did he really expect me to get all the way there? Umbrige and the thestrals were strokes of chance. It's kind of unsettling to be both overestimated and underestimated by the same person.

If I had not gone to the Ministry that night, Sirius would not have died. But Voldemort would not have showed up there and nobody would believe he was back if they hadn't seen it with their own eyes. Is that the silver linning to that particular storm? I think I'd rather have the rain.

ooooo

I open my eyes and I'm sitting on a hard cold chair, shackled to it. My body seems familiar with it and the manacles match where my wrists and ankles burn. I've been here before.

It's a dark room with some undefined light shining on me, but keeping the rest of the area hidden. And there's the pain from the damned Voldemort warning system. As if I needed it. This close I can feel the power radiating from him, tingling on my skin. The hair on my neck is standing up as the dark magic touches me. I close my eyes, but I know what I would see if I could.

Red slitted eyes looking at me.

"Harry."

So chummy calling me by my first name? If that is the case... "Tom," I say, opening my eyes to meet his.

A wave of fury washes over me, yet the voice is polite. "I hope you've enjoyed your stay so far."

"I really must complain about the lodgings. I suppose good help is hard to find."

"Always the witty answer. How very Potter."

He moves even closer and now I do see him. Tall and thin. Pale skin. Flattened nose. He looks at me as I've been a not-so-clever-pet that has messed up the carpet again. I've disappointed him somehow. I'm heartbroken.

"Why do you resist?" He asks insidiously.

"It probably has to do with the way you ask. Now, if you were offering me a warm butterbeer, peace and a life of happiness..."

The curse hits me like a thousand needles. Every nerve ending is on fire and I can't help but scream in agony as my body tries to convulse and fail around, but the restraints hold fast. No wonder my nails have dug their shape on my palms. He releases me from the curse and I fall back on the chair shuddering, my breath shallow.

Try to find your center. Set aside the pain.

He's watching me as with all the passion of a scientist before a microscope. He's walking around me with measured steps. In and out of the dark shadows. In and out of my vantage point.

"I wonder if you see how alike we really are. You could be so strong if you gave in to your real desires."

"We are nothing alike." Yet for some reason Diary-Riddle's words come back to me. Both orphans, both half-bloods, both parselmouths, both misunderstood, we even look a bit alike. Or used to.

"Whatever you say, son."

That simple word, a parody of caring makes me want to throw up. I wonder what he would do to me if I did just that all over his nice black robes.

"You are not my father." I hiss. In parseltounge for all I know. He stops his movements and stands in front of me. A hand reaches out and the tip of his finger comes closer to my head.

"No I'm not." Well at least we didn't fall back on the 'I'm your father' hero-enemy cliché. I'd like to think that real life doesn't work that way. Besides, I saw the movie.

"Yet in a sense I did give birth to you." He says as his fingertip touches my scar. The pain is blinding and it takes all of my strenght to clench my jaw and not scream as he traces the jagged edge of the mark on my forehead. "I marked you. I made you. All that you are is from your relation to me. You're the Boy-Who-Lived because of me." The hand moves away.

"No."

"Yes. You are mine just as much as my Death Eaters are mine." His hand pushes the sleeve of my robe to expose my arm, a finger traces a line and rests on my forearem. Where he marks his Death Eaters. Does he mean to brand me with it too? Can it be done by force or do I need to accept it?

"I could do it. Mark you again. I can be done against your will, such as it it. But it is so much more satisfying for it to be willing. For you to embrace the power within yourself. And you will."

I can't help but be mesmerized by his words. Like prey before the swaying of a snake. Like the snake at a charmer's music. Terror fills me as his finger digs into my skin. I can feel cold burning pain in my arm. In my scar.

"Can you imagine? The golden boy of the wizarding world and Dumbledore's favorite. His scion. Joining me as my right hand. Ah, the irony." The voice drips with anticipated satisfaction.

"It will never happen." I grit out as the burning in my skin intensifies. The pressure against my mind builds up and the pain is unbearable. So much easier to give in.

"Never is such a long time, child. Don't use words you can't quite understand." Mildly reproachful. Do all Slytherins practice the condescending tone? Or do I bring it out in them? Some talent I have.

I can't let this happen. I can't be marked as a Death Eater. I can see the faces of my friends. Ron. Hermione. I can picture their dismay and disappointment. Ginny. Neville. Luna. I can see the fearful faces of my DA students. I can see Dumbledore's weary eyes. Remus. Sirius. Molly. Tonks. Arthur. I can't let this happen. Dad. Mum. My parents. They died to protect me. I can't let their sacrifice be in vain. I can feel his power against my mind, trying to impose his will. His amusement at the pain he's inflicting on me. At the despair that would be felt by all of those I care for. That care for me. I can't let him hurt them anymore. I won't.

Suddenly his touch is gone and the burning sensation stops. For one blessedly glorious moment I feel completely free and clean in his presence, but the moment is swept away as his rage washes over me like a tide. I open my eyes and look at my arm. There is something dark and liquid there, like spilled black mercury. It pools and runs off my arm, dripping to the floor. My arm is bare and clean. Unmarked.

He's standing back watching me like the predator he is. His smile is chilling. "No matter. We can try again. And again. We have all the time in the world. There is no escape from me. You will join me or you will die."

My blood freezes at the sound of his laughter.

ooooo

Hell. This is hell. I will lose my mind before long and by then joining him will even seem logical. Isn't that what they call the Stockholm syndrome, when a hostage or prisoner bonds to their captors? I have to get out.

How can I face this? Dumbledore is sure that there is something in me that can vanquish him. The potential. But wouldn't the potential to destroy such power demand the same? Do I have to become like him to overpower him? Maybe this is the first step. Join him and learn until I can defeat him.

But then I would have lost everything. I would loose myself. I would defeat him just to take over. I would be as dark and twisted as him. The prophecy fulfilled at the cost of my soul, just like his megalomania cost him his.

I know he wasn't always like he is now. He once was a orphan kid tormented by his peers. I guess I can relate to that. We are alike. Do I have to turn out like him? Is this some twisted story in which I am his past and he is my future? Maybe I did find a timeturner and sent myself back (or forward) to stop all of it. Only I lost my memory and had to start over and Dumbledore is trying to make me change my revengeful ways.

Remember the sanity issue?

ooooo

I have a secret. I didn't really need the bond to Ron to be aware of him, or of anybody. I took a long time to notice but it's always been there. I could always tell that people were there. Where their minds are. What their intentions are. After the bond with Ron, it became more pronounced and I started to notice the details. He's much better at locating me because he can only feel me. I can feel everyone in the vicinity and it muddles the water.

I guess its from all these years bonded to he-who-renamed-himself, his moods and his presence make all others as clear as crystal. After I did the same with Ron, I realized I was doing it all the time. Ron balanced me out somehow and now my mind seems like a radar. I meditate to make sure I don't lose myself in there.

I can feel my friend's worry.

I can feel the minds around me. Not just Ron's Not just his. Sometimes this place crawls with them. Sometimes it's almost empty. Today it's the latter. There's a familiar mind out there, all sneers and desdain on the edges but a deep worry and concern concealed within. Maybe the Order's favorite spy has found me.

Maybe there's hope still.

ooooo

Today is different. He is so far away that only the faintest of prickles touches my mind. This place is practically empty. Today would be the day to make a move. If I had one. My head is clearer than it has been for days. I feel stronger. Maybe he's been neglectiong our torture sesions.

I run my fingers over the iron door trying to figure out a weak spot. There has to be one. There always is. That is also why there is light on dark tunnels so the hero can find his way out or the story won't work. The hero would trip in the dark and break his neck before he can rescue the nightdress-clad damsel in distress.

I have to stop reading Hermione's other set of books. The ones she made me promise not to tell Ron about. Who would have thought that our resident genius had a romantic streak? I found out by accident when I grabbed what looked like an arithmacy book from her. It turned out to be something straight out of the romance section with the cover illusioned to show something else. She was so embarrassed. Being the good friend that I am, I threatened to tell Ron all about them. We compromised. She lent them to me in exchange for my silence. They're hilarious. And her reactions when I quote from them are worth all the trouble. I should have known, but she hides who she is behind the know-it-all persona all too well.

So here is my chance. How do I get myself angry enough to blast the door open like I did with my cupboard after I inflated dear Aunt Marge? Do I ask it nicely like Ali Baba and the forty thieves story?

I lay my hands on the door and concentrate on seeing it open. Make it real. Like magic. I can fell the flow of magic from my hands to the door and it starts to shake. Protesting and groaning. I'm begging and cajoling with an iron door. Sweat is covering me but I won't stop, I have to get out. That is my mantra. Out, out, out.

I'm out. I'm on my knees on a corridor and the door is open behind me. There is some light in the corridor. I'm not going to complain about clichés unless I have to rescue someone beside myself at this time. I search for an exit keeping an eye out for the residents of this place. I have to get away before he comes back.

I find a room that calls to me for some reason. Somebody obviously lives here. I find a cloak, boots and a collection of wands in a drawer. Dozens of them piled up. We have a fallen wand collector among Voldie's associates. Some broken, some intact. All their cores slightly humming as my fingers run over them. It's tempting to take all of them, whoever owned them would not have wanted them to be like this. But there is no time or a way to take them all. Two wands lying together catch my eye and as I touch them sparks fly; gold from one, red from the other. As I hold them they hum louder. The wand chooses the wizard. These two chose me.

I pocket both of them, not daring to leave either behind. After that, it was easy to stun the two unsuspecting 'guards' and walk out. I turn back to see an old fortress, ruined and falling to pieces. Probably as old as Hogwarts, but not in as good repair. I walk out into a snow storm. I hold on to my mantra Out, out, out. I can't be caught now. There will be no mercy, only pain.

I stumble thought the snow drifts trying to get way as fast as I can. If Riddle has any sense, there will be obscuring charms and anti-apparition wards around the place, I need to be far away enough to try part B of the escape plan.

Not really thinking I'd get this far, part B has not been developed yet. Hopefully, it will be when I get far enough.

ooooo

Cold.

I take several unsteady breaths and wrap the stolen cloak tighter around me. He still doesn't know I'm gone, unless this is all a planned trick to give me false hope. I try to gather my wits around me and think about my options. I can't fly away. I can't accio a broom to me, Merlin knows how far the nearest one would be or if it would even be a magic one. Muggles have brooms too.

Walking out till I find someone is not a good plan either. I'm just not strong enough for that and I have no idea where I am or where to head to. I might not meet a friendly, or even a wizard, in any case. Scratch that.

Apparition. I have been studying for my coming test, but I have not really done it. Not on purpose anyway. I'm pretty sure that time I was runing from Dudley's gang and found myself on the school roof was an accidental apparition. I just wanted to get away.

Like I do know.

I concentrate as hard as I can on the link to Ron, to where he is. With any luck, I'll run against the wards at Hogwarts, landing me outside the grounds and if I'm really lucky I won't splinch myself. Here's hoping anyway.

I hold on to the pinched wands and focus on being somewhere else. Close to my friend, being there in one piece. There's a sudden lightening feeling and I feel my feet leaving the ground. Like I jumped and I'm suspended in the air.

How interesting.

ooooo

There is still snow around me, but there is no storm here. I fall on my knees and try to see where I am. The landscape is spinning around me and I can't see a familiar landmark. The ones I could recognize don't move so much.

There is a figure in black coming towards me. Seems familiar for some undefined reason. Cloak flapping about a tall figure. Sneering voice. Surprise and disbelief mixed in. I know this person, the mind is familiar, but I can't find the name.

Is the snow coming at me or am I getting closer to it?

I'm lying on the snow and blackness takes me. Let's just hope I'm far away to make a difference.

xxxxx

A/N - The kiss that Harry reminisces can be seen in my short fic: Second look, first kiss. It will be more important to the later part of the story, but really did not fit into this particular thread except as background.

A/N #2 - I will not post the next chapter (Ron) until I see at least 5 reviews (good or bad guys, I'm not picky).