And yes, Snape did follow through by giving him detention. He returned to the common room, his hands sore from scrubbing cauldrons. It was already midnight, so he had better get started with his Dark arts homework. Settling himself in front of the fire place, Harry started on his essay. But soon, the warmth of the fireplace was too much for him, and his eyes fluttered shut as he drifted off.

(¸.·´ (¸.·'* (¸.·'* (¸.·'* (¸.·'* (¸.·'* *¨

"You listen to Taylor Swift?"

Once again Harry found himself in kneeling in the snowy field, with Voldemort standing above him. The hemlock tree stood proudly in the scenery, giving Harry a sense of familiarity.

But the odd question would catch anyone by surprise, especially coming from the mouth of the dark lord. Then Harry remembered his words to Voldemort from the last dream.

"Have you listened to blank space?"

"Yes, I listen to Taylor Swift," Harry said at last, climbing to his feet with a sigh.

"What's wrong?" Tom frowned, noticing the tired look on Harry's face, and the bags under his eyes, "You don't look so good."

Harry laughed, but it was humorless.

"Well, I could say the same about you," Harry said, changing the subject. He couldn't talk about his father right now. But he wasn't lying. Voldemort did indeed have a wild look in his eyes, and appeared to have lost weight.

"Oh, me?" Voldemort looked down at his body like he hadn't noticed, "This isn't even my real body, of course. I guess it's only the form I take on in this dream. Though I suppose I have been stressed out lately, in real life. Killing your brother has been rather hard," Voldemort admitted, appalling Harry, "But don't think I haven't noticed your measly attempt to change the subject. What's wrong?" Voldemort repeated.

Harry ran his fingers through his hair, "I can't believe I'm telling you of all people, but Dumbledore has threatened to hurt my father if I don't do what he says,"

"And what does he say?"

"He wants me to keep my head down. I have been rather loud in school..." Harry trailed out, wondering if his choice was the right one. Was it truly necessary to throw down the gauntlet? Should he have stayed on Dumbledore's good side for a little longer...

"But why are you even worried? I mean, about the threat? I was under the impression that you and your father don't get along, so why does his safety matter to you?" At Harry's shocked expression, he hastened to add, "It wasn't that hard to figure out that you don't have the best relationship. The Daily Prophet mentioned how your father sent you away to muggle boarding school during the school year, and to a music camp during the summers. And there's the fact that you killed your mother."

Damn Rita Skeeter. Gotta respect her though, she's good at what she does.

"Honestly, I have no clue why I still care about James," Harry stared out into the horizon, a dreamy expression on his face, "But I've always tried to get my father to love me back. I remember a long while ago, when I was six or seven, James signed us up for piano lessons. I loved it, I was a natural. We had contests, and I won all of them. Every single time, James barely gave me a "Congratulations." At last, Luka finally won a contest. And that was only because James broke my wrist the day before," Voldemort sucked in a breath at the implication of that, but Harry pressed on, "Luka got a nimbus 2000 for that. One Christmas break, when I was nine, we had local quidditch matches with the neighborhood wizards. I could barely play, since my body had been so weak from-"

"From what?" Voldemort pressed.

"Nothing," Harry snapped, "It was nothing,"

"Continue," Voldemort said, mentally filing this away in his mind.

"Anyway, I got hit by a bludger. For a second, he actually seemed worried for me. But once he realized that it was me who was hurt and not Luka, he just ignored me. And, last year, I finally swallowed my pride and asked if I could leave Darkness academy. I even told him-" Harry swallowed, "what went on there. But he just told me that it was my fault,"

"What did go on at Darkness Academy?" Voldemort asked, but it was clearly the wrong question. Harry tensed up, and his expression went cold.

"Okay, Okay. Don't tell me," He amended. Harry slumped against the Hemlock tree, tilting his head back as far as it would go.

"I just- Don't know what to do. If it were up to me, I would just ignore James. But-But-"

"But you think if you don't save him, you'll never be able to move on," Voldemort said, quietly.

"What-how?"

"I had a choice to save your mother. But I didn't. I've never quite moved on. Look at me, Harry," Voldemort lifted Harry's chin, forcing him to look him in the eye. Harry noticed for the first time how insane Voldemort looked, "I've lost it. I'm not the same anymore,"

"You sound pretty sane to me," Harry said, a little hesitantly. Voldemort surprised him with a laugh.

"Sane he says! He calls this sane,"

Voldemort slapped his knee, howling.

Harry backed away slowly.

"Trust me harry, I'm a mess. A ticking time bomb. I can only hope-" Voldemort's eyes met his once again, and they were foggy, "That when I explode, you are far, far away."

The dream faded, and Harry awoke in the darkly swathed common room, with his forehead planted in his parchment. The large gothic clock in the corner showed 5 in the morning. Harry sighed, and picked up his quill.

Voldemort was slowly spiraling into insanity, and all Harry could do was try to finish his essay on vampires of the east.

A/N. Well, here you go. I felt that Voldemort was slightly ooc, so here's a slightly different side to him.