Disclaimer: I don't own anything. It all belongs to JKRowling.

"Talk."

'Thoughts' / Thoughts

"Parseltongue/Spells."

Chapter 3

Harry's return to consciousness was slow. His body felt heavy and ached all over. His head was throbbing painfully. He remembered the explosion and nothing more. Mustering all the energy he had, Harry grasped his pendant. A gift, from his father.

Flashback

Harry was curled up comfortably on a sofa in his room, reading a book, The Arts of Transfiguration by Hester McGonagall. His room was spacious and brightly lit with sunlight. It was in the morning. His bed was beside the window, overlooking the forest. Across his bed was a fireplace and a set of armchairs were in front of it.

Harry was deeply immersed in his book. He didn't look up when the door opened.

"Happy Birthday, Harry."

Harry was startled when his fathers' voice permeated the silence of the room. He looked up and saw his father standing beside his chair, wearing a simple black robes. In his hand was a small crystal box. A large grin broke through the boy's face. He hurriedly put the book down and reached for the box.

"Thank you, father. What's in the box?'" Harry asked excitedly. His green eyes lighted up with curiosity. Voldemort just smiled.

Harry opened the box. Inside was a crystal pendant the shape of teardrop and attached to a silver chain. It was beautiful. In the morning sunlight the pendant gave a colourful sparkle.

"It's beautiful father. What is it?" Harry put the chain around his neck.

Voldemort watched Harry with fondness. "It's made from a drop of phoenix tear and crystallized. That pendant is also a portkey. If you hold it and say home in parseltongue, it will bring you to my side instantly. So, do not take it off, ever." Voldemort said sternly. Harry looked at his father in the eye and nodded, his hand gripping the pendant tightly.

End of Flashback

"Home," Harry hissed.

"Worthless servant! A simple task and can't be done. Crucio," Voldemort hissed in fury. His wand was aimed at a Death Eater who was bowing submissively in front of him.

The Dark Lord was standing in front of his throne. The gathering Death Eaters stood motionlessly facing him. A few winced as the tortured Death Eater screamed in agony.

Voldemort relished in the scream of his follower and grinned sadistically. He was in a foul mood. His magic was unsettled and there was tension in his body. Something unexpected will happen and he didn't know what to expect. Annoyed and agitated, Voldemort lifted the curse.

"Remove yourself from my sight," he hissed menacingly. The Death Eater shakily got to his feet when a flash of blue light took the entire hall's attention away from him.

Voldemort stepped back from the flash of light that had appeared beside him. He recognized the blue light of portkey immediately but the castle had anti-portkey wards. There were no portkeys keyed-in with the ward, he never needed it.

Voldemort's wand was by his side, his stance rigid, ready for any attack. His eyes narrowed at the sight of the intruder in front of him.

The boy was pale and with messy black hair. Stains that seem like blood spattered his face and robes. Battle robes by the looks of it. Verdant green eyes searched for his crimson eyes. "Father," the boy whispered before sliding his eyes close.

Voldemort was stunned. The boy spoke parseltongue, there was no mistaken the familiar hiss but – 'Father?'

He studied the boy's face. It looked familiar.

Recognition hit Voldemort. 'Impossible,' he thought and dismissed his followers with a gesture, eyes still on the boy's. "Remain here Severus," he said.

With a bow towards their Lord, the Death Eaters left the throne room in a buzz, all wondering about the mysterious boy.

Voldemort conjured a stretcher and levitated the boy on it. With a glance at his Potions' Master, signalling the Death Eater to follow, he headed towards a door at the side of the hall.

Severus Snape followed his master, his mind whirled with the possible identities of the boy. The face was familiar somehow. He jogged his mind till he remembered, underneath all the Occlumency barriers he constructed, the place where he buried his painful memories. The boys' eyes. A brilliant shade of green that had only belonged to one person.

They've reached the healing wing and the Dark Lord levitated the boy on the bed.

Red eyes bore into his onyx. "Heal him."

Severus carefully took off the battle robes. The boys' torso was blackened and blistering. Blood still oozed from the wounds. 'What did this boy do? Run headlong into a fire?'

As he poured vials of blood replenishing potion down the throat, Severus debated the arrival of the boy. Should he tell Dumbledore? The boy resembled Potter and –. The trademark messy black hair could only belong to that blasted clan. He pondered for a bit, deliberately ignoring the one fact he was trying to forget. The eyes that belonged to her.

Severus decided to wait for more development. The identity of this person was not yet confirmed.

Harry woke up slowly from his deep sleep. He felt groggy and the bed was unfamiliar. It wasn't as soft as his bed. Harry raises a hand, trying to sooth his pounding head, but only having his hand stopped a few inches from the bed. He opened his eyes and raised his head towards his hand. 'What the heck? Why am I strapped to the bed?' His hands were chained to the bed with bands of red light. Further inspection shows that his feet were in the same condition. His battle robe was replaced by a plain white pyjama, standard hospital type.

He slumped on the pillow, trying to remember what happened. 'Okay. Stop. Rewind. Weasleys, then fights, demon, some explosion, then...'

Harry thought hard. The last thing he remembered was portkeying to his father and only by sheer stubborn willpower didn't he collapse in front of the Death Eaters. His pride as the Prince will not allow him to. But that still doesn't answer why he was strapped to the bed. 'Did father do this?' He thought, confused.

Harry inspected his surroundings. Beds with white linen sheets lined up in a row. The room was large enough to fit 10 beds comfortably. At a corner, a door that Harry knew led to the bathroom and another double door was facing the beds. Both the ceiling and walls were white in colour. Thank God the floor was cream. Too much white gave him a headache. The windows above his bedpost told Harry it was daytime.

The door opened and Voldemort walked in.

Harry's eyes lit up. A small smile tugged at his lips. "Father."

Voldemort ignored the comment and conjured a chair beside the bed, his face expressionless.

Harry frowned. Voldemort was acting weird. There's no warmth in those crimson eyes that was usually reserved only for him.

"Father? Why am I strapped to the bed?"

Voldemort tilted his head. There – again. The brat called him father. Since when does he have a son? Nevertheless, the boy did look a bit like him. There were the distinctive aristocrat features he had. Nevertheless, where did those green eyes came from? Certainly not from him and the only one he remembered having that shade of green was... ah, yes, the girl, Potter's girl. But the boy being his son is out of the question. He did not have any affair with the woman and now that he looked closer, he can also see the boy's semblance to James Potter.

Voldemort felt a headache coming. How did it come to that? The boy resembled three people that were impossible to be seen together. Well, for him and them. Voldemort tuned out of his thought when the boy started to look at him strangely. He made a split second decision. Just forego the questions and straight to the answer. 'Legilimens'

Harry watched Voldemort who was deep in thought. He already called his father a few times. 'I knew I was reckless to face the demon but he didn't have to ignore me like this,' he thought indignantly.

Without warning Harry felt his mind was intruded and he flinched. 'What the?' he thought. His life flashed passed him, which only took no more than a minute and the presence withdrew from his mind, leaving Harry in a state of dizziness. His jumbled up memories swirled in his head, giving him a headache.

"What was that for?" Harry groaned.

Voldemort ignored the question as he process the memories he'd seen. Blood adoption ritual. That's why the boy looked like him and the Potters. With a flick of his wrist the bands strapping Harry disappeared.

"Curious," he answered shortly.

"You could have just asked." Harry said grudgingly. Feeling the bands disappear, he lifted his hand to his head, concentrating on organizing back his memories into order.

"I could." Harry glared at the Dark Lord.

Voldemort mulled over the possibilities of the boy's existence. The memories he'd seen intrigued him. Demons. There were no demons here. Wizards were not at war with magical creatures. The only possible answer was the boy's out of his mind or... from another dimension. The more he pondered on the alternate reality theory, the more logical it seemed. It would explain the difference between both worlds. First things first, the boy needed to stop calling him father.

"I'm not your father." Voldemort said bluntly.

"Yeah, right and I'm Merlin." Harry answered sarcastically.

"Silence." Voldemort hissed. 'Impudent brat.' His hand itched to grab his wand and torture the boy. He reigned in his temper. 'Not yet.'

"In this world, you don't exist. There's no war between magical creatures and wizards. No demons."

It took Harry a moment to process what his father said.

"What do you mean I don't exist? Did you hit your head? Last time I checked, we're definitely at war with magical creatures not Light wizards." Harry frowned. Who hit his father with a Memory Charm? "You should ask a Healer to check you."

Voldemort's hand twitched again. The urge to curse the boy was getting irresistible. He bore his eyes into the green eyes, full of promising pain. The threat was lost on the teen who was simply looking at him with...worry?

Voldemort sighed. He dealt with subordinates, not lost teenagers with son-complex.

"You belonged to another dimension. The last memory you had was the demon. I assumed that a portal opened and somehow you went through it. That would explain the difference in this world and yours. The different wars and I do not have any son."

Harry's heart pounded. "What – another dimension? Haha. Cut it out. It's not funny."

"I am not jesting," Voldemort said, annoyed.

"No. I don't believe you." Harry scrambled off the bed. He swayed for a moment before regaining his balance. Ignoring the man seated in front of him, he headed towards the door.

"Where are you going?"

"My room!"

"You don't have a room here. You don't even exist here. Is that so hard to absorb into that puny brain of yours?"

Harry glared. "Well, yes! Since I lived with you for fifteen years and now you're saying that I don't exist!"

Harry was frustrated. What is wrong with his father? Why is he acting like a stranger? 'Doesn't he recognize me?' Harry grasped his pendant. The act calms him somehow. He looked at Voldemort in the eyes.

"What makes you say that I don't exist here?" He scoffed.

Voldemort held Harry's gaze.

"Because I already killed you."

End of Chapter 3.

A/N: The chapter is quite short. Sorry if there're any mistakes. Is a teardrop crystal pendant too girlish because I don't know myself. This is the revised chapter. Please R&R.