Disclaimer: Bah.

A/N: Hullo. This chapter will be superbly awesome, if I do say so myself. And I do. And so does Slavemaster Meg. Read the next part, please.

WARNING! WARNING!

By the way, this is the darkest chapter yet. For those of you who don't like violence (and worse), when you see these letters

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please skip on until you see them again, like

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this. I really do want to keep my rating PG-13, so please, know your own limits and don't complain about it, saying I didn't warn you. Because I did. In fact, I still am. Enjoy!

As Harry removed his glasses and pulled the sheets up over his shoulders, his thoughts were on the strange man named Alan. What in the seven hells was the Angevellius Key? Or more importantly, what was Voldemort going to do with it? Why was it being kept underneath Vatican City? Questions swirled madly around in his head as he tried to force his mind to be blank and allow him to sleep, and closed his eyes.

The sudden loud, disturbing screech of a bat made them snap open again as he tried to throw back the covers.

But he was no longer in his bed.

He stared around in shock, taking in his new surroundings. Ugly, twisted stalagmites rose up out of the hard ground, and dripping stalactites loomed ominously overhead, seemingly poised to break off and crush him. Harry whirled around, desperate to know where this cave was and what he was doing there. It was relatively small, and smelled quite damp. The only light came from up ahead, around a corner, casting eerie shadows all about him. The only sound he could hear was the drip drip drip of water onto rock.

There was nothing else for it. Harry cautiously, still not quite over the fact that he had been somehow transported to wherever the hell he was, made his way forward. "H-hello?" he ventured, his voice echoing more loudly than he'd anticipated. The light flickered. Moving slowly, he came around the corner and entered the much larger cave before him.

All he could tell of the room was that it was much larger, was lit by torches, and there was someone in the middle of it. Then a piercingly, blindingly bright light burst out into his vision. He quickly put up his hands to shield himself, and rubbed his eyes. When the light subsided, he blinked spots away and slowly lowered his hands, then let out a strangled scream as a searing pain shot across the scar on his forehead.

Stumbling backwards, he tried to get away from the man in the center of the room before he could see Harry. A strange sensation, cold and tingly, swept through him, and a black-cloaked form appeared abruptly in front of him. "What the –?" Harry gasped, realizing that he had just passed completely through someone else. He tentatively reached out and tried to touch the cloak, but his hand went right through, as if he were a ghost. The odd feeling lingered as long as his hand was inside, but he pulled it out almost immediately, rubbing it uncomfortably.

Harry held his breath and stepped forward through the person again, then turned around to see who it was. Behind the Death Eater mask were cold grey eyes, not noticing Harry at all, fixed on the man in the middle of the cave. Harry guessed instinctively that it was Lucius Malfoy, judging by the fact that he was one of Voldemort's strongest supporters, there were about four other Death Eaters standing beside him, and the man in the middle of the room was, in fact, Voldemort himself.

Harry whirled around again, trying to see what his nemesis was doing that had so adamantly captured the attention of his followers. Moving slowly forward, Harry decided to try something.

"Can – can you see me? Can you hear me?" he said loudly, his shaking voice reverberating off the walls of the cave and echoing for a stretched-out time before finally disappearing. No one in the room took the slightest notice whatsoever. Satisfied that none of them knew he was there, he walked hesitantly forward until he could see clearly the objects set out before Voldemort on a large slab of rock.

A glowing orb, presumably the source of the light that had blinded him earlier, hung in midair above an open book. The book looked ancient, and was lying on an altar in front of the slab. On the slab itself was a large, long silver sword that was covered in miniscule black writing. Harry couldn't read it – it didn't look human. There was also a large feather made of white opal, about a foot long. It showed brief flickers of various colours as the light caught it. The last object was a deep clay bowl, empty. It looked very plain compared to the sword and feather on either sides of it.

Voldemort was murmuring under his breath, Harry noticed as he came closer. The snakelike eyes were reading from the book. Not really wanting to know what was going on, the cold feeling of dread worsening in the pit of his stomach, Harry looked around the cavern, taking in what he hadn't seen before. A whimper attracted his gaze to a spot not far from the Death Eaters, and his eyes widened in horror.

A small girl who couldn't be older than seven sat on the ground, her hands and feet tied and a gag in her mouth. She was huddling close to a large animal that Harry couldn't believe he hadn't noticed before – a silver coated unicorn. It hadn't made so much as a sound since he'd suddenly arrived here. He whipped around once more as Voldemort's voice started increasing in volume.

"Bring the beast," he hissed, sending another jolt of pain through Harry's head, and one Death Eater stepped forward, going over to the unicorn and picking up the rope around its neck. He led it to Voldemort, the animal showing no signs of struggle at all but rather looking resigned, as though it knew what was going to happen. Harry cried out as Voldemort picked up the sword.

The unicorn turned its head around so that its intelligent eyes met Harry's horrified gaze before the Death Eater yanked it back into place, jerking its head back so that its neck was held over the clay bowl.

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In one swift stroke, Voldemort swiped the long blade across its throat, thick silver blood pouring and splashing into the bowl. The little girl behind Harry screamed. He ran over and knelt down in front of her, trying to block her view of what was happening even as the sick feeling in his own stomach intensified to the point of retching. She stared through him, still screaming. He tried to hug her, comfort her, anything, but just went through again.

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Three words issued out of Voldemort's slit of a mouth that chilled Harry to the bone.

"Bring the girl."

"NO!" Harry yelled, his face contorted in anguish as his scar exploded in pain. He scrambled to his feet, fury coursing through his veins, and ran at Voldemort. "NO, NO, NO!" He lunged at him, flew through the man's body and tumbled to the rocky ground on the other side, skidding painfully. He didn't notice the scrapes, but instead leapt to his feet and charged again, trying unsuccessfully to beat at the sides of the monstrous man. "YOU CAN'T DO THIS, IT'S NOT RIGHT, IT'S NOT RIGHT!" he screamed. "YOU SICK BASTARDS! YOU CAN'T DO THIS!"

The girl was being dragged forward by two Death Eaters, crying hysterically as she struggled in their grip. Huge sobs racked her small frame. Everything was moving too quickly and yet in slow motion. The two Death Eaters held her in position, then muttered words that locked her feet in place with a flick of a wand. They moved away to rejoin the other three standing in a silent line at the edge of the room.

Voldemort was cleaning the sword.

With a great shuddering gasp, the girl stopped crying and looked up at something that wasn't there. Her eyes followed nothing until she was looking at something right beside her, then leaned slightly to her right as if resting her head. She half-closed her eyes as more tears poured down her cheeks, silent now, and sighed.

The shadows in the room rushed in to engulf everyone, crashing up as if they were a wave hitting a breakwater when they reached the altar. They flowed back out to the edges of the cave, the torches flickering ominously as the Death Eaters murmured uneasily. Voldemort's eyes narrowed darkly, and he yanked the girl forward, leaning her over the bowl that already contained silver unicorn blood.

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She didn't struggle, but let out a cry as Voldemort lifted his deadly blade and slit her throat without mercy, holding her head back so that her life's blood poured, as the unicorn's had, into the bowl, mixing with the thick silver liquid already there. Harry screamed and fell to his knees, his head feeling as if it were about to split apart, hands clutching his scar. When he drew them away, they were covered with blood.

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Hot liquid trickled down his face, mixing with his salty tears. He looked up with blurred vision through his messy black hair, livid as hell. Voldemort set down the sword and dipped his long, bony finger into the mixture of the silver and crimson bloods.

"Innocence," he said softly, licking it off and sneering. "Disgusting."

The Death Eaters laughed nervously as Harry got to his feet, tears still flowing freely with the trickles of blood from his scar. He stepped forward and drew back his fist, pouring all the rage he felt into one solid punch that he knew Voldemort wouldn't feel anyway.

For a split second, however, there was resistance, then his hand passed through.

Voldemort's head snapped back. He cried out in surprise, lifting his hands to his face and staring incredulously at the small amount of blood from his nose. He whipped around furiously, searching for the invisible someone that had punched him. Harry backed up, gasping in astonishment, then felt a surge of triumph, knowing that he had at least some small satisfaction. Nothing would ever make up for killing a little girl, though. Nothing.

"Who's there?" Voldemort hissed as the Death Eaters rushed forward, hands splayed out in front of them. Harry stayed out of their way just in case, but Voldemort would not be distracted from whatever ritual he was completing. "Enough!" he cried, and the Death Eaters hurried back to their places.

With a cruel smile, he lifted the large stone feather and dipped it into the bowl.

PAIN –

Ron's eyes flew open and he sat up in bed, breathing hard. His whole body was tingling strangely. The sudden burst of energy that had woken him appeared to have affected the others in the dormitory, as well; as he threw back the curtains, Seamus, Dean and Neville all did the same, staring wide-eyed at each other.

It was then that they noticed that almost everything in the room was floating in midair. Seamus yelped as he tried to hold his trunk down to the floor, and unlocked it by accident. Various items of clothing rose up out of it and hovered unsteadily. Dean laughed. "What's going on?"

"Are you all okay?" Neville asked nervously. "I'm tingling all over –"

"So am I," said Ron and Dean at the same time, while Seamus tried to collect his clothes. A white, lacy bra floated out of his grasp and the others could see him blush red even in the darkness.

"Where did that come from?" he choked, trying to snatch it back, but it drifted out of reach and up to the ceiling. The other three laughed.

"Whose is it then, eh?" Dean chortled as he collected his books and put them underneath his bed. "Go on, tell us."

"I still want to know what's going on. What was that – jolt thing?" Neville asked as he grabbed for his teddy bear that had floated up to the canopy of his bed while holding down a potted plant with his other hand. Ron shrugged.

"I dunno. What do you think, Harry? Harry?" he said, noticing for the first time that Harry's was the only bed with the hangings still shut. "Harry, you awake?" he said more loudly as the other three looked over as well, wearing puzzled expressions.

Ron left his chess set underneath the covers, which were tied to the bedposts, and crossed over to Harry's bed. "He can sleep through anything," he chuckled over his shoulder at the other boys, who laughed as well. He was still looking at them as he pulled back the drapes, and then turned around to shake his friend into consciousness. Instead he let out a yelp and jumped, startled, then peered closer.

"What?" asked Dean. Ron shook his head.

"Harry? What's wrong, mate? Harry?" he said, waving his hand in front of his friend's face.

Harry was sitting bolt upright in his bed, the covers thrown aside. He wasn't wearing a shirt. His eyes were wide open but were focused on something far away. He was extremely pale, almost stark white in the darkness, and every muscle was tense, his fists clenched.

A dark substance slightly stained the sheets where his knees and shins were. Ron leaned forward and smelled it – blood. He glanced back at Harry, frowning. Where had the blood come from? As he looked, his gaze followed the thin, dark path up his friend's face, originating from the almost pulsing scar on his forehead. It was bleeding. If Ron ignored the top part of it, it would seem as though Harry had cried a single, bloody tear.

"Someone," he said in a quiet voice, "go get McGonagall."

"Why? What's wrong with Harry?" Neville asked nervously. Ron didn't take his eyes from Harry's scar.

"Go get McGonagall," Ron said, more tensely than before. Neville came over and peered around him, eyes widening at the sight.

"Oh, Merlin –"

"GO GET MCGONAGALL!" Ron roared, and Neville jumped back, stumbled over his own feet in his haste, and scrambled out the door as fast as he could. Seamus and Dean hurried over and looked at Harry, then at each other.

"W-why's he bleeding?" Seamus asked shakily, and Ron shook his head, still unable to tear his gaze from the single trickle of blood, still flowing down Harry's face.

"I have no idea. I have no idea."

"This can't be normal, can it?" Dean asked, and Ron whirled on him.

"No, of course it's not normal! It's not normal! I don't know what's wrong with him, I don't get it any more than you do. Maybe he just banged his head when he sat up, he's obviously dreaming –"

"But what about his legs?"

"I don't know! Maybe a troll bit them! Harry, wake up!" Ron shouted, and grabbed Harry's bare shoulders to shake him awake. Instantly his hands were burning, burning, burning –

Ron recoiled, yelling hoarsely. He stared at his still stinging palms – they were red. He looked, horrified, back up at Harry, wincing every time his hands moved.

McGonagall burst into the room, still wearing her long scarlet night robe over a white gown, looking alarmed. She strode swiftly over to Harry's bed and threw back the hangings on the other side, across from Ron, Seamus and Dean. Hermione ran in after her, also in her nightgown, and sprinted towards the bed. Neville closely followed her, hurrying over as well.

"What's going on here? Everyone, stand back please!" McGonagall barked, leaning forward to examine Harry.

"Don't touch him!" Ron yelled. She drew back quickly, and looked for an explanation. "He burns," Ron said shakily, showing her his hands. Hermione gasped. McGonagall looked more troubled than before, and slowly started forward again to look into Harry's face. His too-pale body shook with the tiniest of quivers, making everyone there flinch. He shook again, and again, and started having small convulsions as the rest of them watched in increasing horror.

The expression on his face changed slightly, looking confused, and then afraid, still unseeing. Suddenly he hunched over, as though he'd been punched in the stomach, still shaking slightly. Everyone leaned closer, almost involuntarily. Hermione hesitantly reached her hand out to him.

"Harry ... ?"

He whipped up, his chest arching forwards, his head thrown back, fists clenched so tightly they began to bleed. His face was one of someone in agony. He was screaming, screaming desperately, with no sound issuing out of his open mouth. All this happened in a split second – everyone jumped backwards with a cry. Hermione shrieked.

He took in a great, shuddering gasp of breath and seemed to come back to the present, looking around wildly. McGonagall, Ron and Hermione all lurched forward urgently. "Harry!" Ron cried, and his friend tried to focus his gaze. Harry stared at Ron, but seemed to still be looking straight through him.

Tears fell down his cheeks, mixing on one side with the blood from his scar. He coughed twice, and then his eyes rolled back in his head so that they could only see white. He slumped back onto the pillows, unconscious. Hermione screamed. She tried helplessly to stem the terrified tears that were now streaming from her own eyes, and Ron, displaying a tremendous sense of thoughtfulness, put his arm around her.

McGonagall, looking horrified, pulled herself together and touched Harry's arm. His skin still radiated heat but didn't burn fiercely as it had for Ron. She pulled out her wand and conjured a stretcher out of thin air, levitating Harry's limp body onto it and laying him flat. Hermione and Ron walked around the bed and looked at the professor.

"Please, Professor – may we come?"

McGonagall looked sharply at them and shook her head. "I'm sorry. I will send someone up to inform you of his condition as soon as it has been determined," she said, and turned on her heel to walk hastily out of the room, Harry floating along just behind her. Ron and Hermione looked at Neville, Dean and Seamus. They were all visibly shaken.

"Now what?" Neville squeaked. The rest shrugged.

"I don't know," Hermione said quietly, voicing it for all of them. "I don't know."