Here it is at last, the next installment. All the reviews were brilliant, and I appreciate them all! Unfortunately, I don't have the time or space to post responses in the chapter, so if you would like a response, leave your e-mail in your review and I'll get back to you.

Freshly scrubbed and dressed in a plain, clean black robe, Harry was escorted in front of Lord Voldemort. He pulled at the sleeves of the robe anxiously; after so long in rags, the stiff fabric was itchy and uncomfortable.

Voldemort sat behind a large desk, elegantly carved with serpents twining up and down the sides. A long, elegant finger tapped against his lips, examining his prisoner with lidded eyes.

For some inexplicable reason, Harry had changed only for the better due to his incarceration. After years away from sunlight, the boy was unbelievably pale. As beautiful as he might be, however, his mind was damaged.

Voldemort was determined to find out just how deep the cracks of insanity ran.

"Did you enjoy your stay, Mr. Potter?" Voldemort began.

Green eyes regarded him solemnly and a sliver of tongue appeared between his lips as if Harry were contemplating this matter most deeply. "I'm hungry," he responded after a moment of heavy silence.

"But the room was nice. It could have had a better view."

Voldemort stood up and peered directly into the boy's face, but he could discern no lie. Merlin, he was insane.

"How are you doing, Tom?" Harry asked politely. "It's been a while since I've seen you. You sure look a lot different." Harry nodded as if this were a remarkable observation. "Do you like Quidditch? Ron and I were talking about it just the other day, and we decided that maybe you wouldn't be so evil if you played Quidditch."

"And when did you see this Ron?"

"Oh, he visits me every week or so. Hermione does too. Dumbledore doesn't come anymore though, not since I told him to go away. He's mean."

"Indeed."

Suddenly, Harry clutched at his head and shook it furiously. "What... where am I?" he asked, looking around quickly. His hand made a quick flipping motion. "Where's my wand?" He finally noticed Voldemort, standing before him with a bemused expression.

"Shit!" he yelled, rolling to one side and coming up in a crouch behind an antique chair. "What the hell have you done to them?"

"To who, Mr. Potter?"

His eyebrows drew inward and his lips drew back in an angry snarl. "You know damn well who I'm talking about, Riddle. Where are Hermione and Ron and Dumbledore?"

"They're dead."

"Wha... what?"

"They've been dead for over five years now, I believe. As for where you are, you're in Hogwarts."

"This isn't Hogwarts," Harry denied fiercely. "Hogwarts would never fall to you." Harry paused, Voldemort's information running over again in his head. "Five years? Five damn years?"

"Your language certainly hasn't improved in those five years."

"To hell with my language; I want to know what the... what's going on."

A fine brow arched questioningly. "You were defeated, Mr. Potter. That's what happened. And you have been my prisoner for five years. Your friends are dead, or enslaved, and I rule the world."

"We... lost...?" Harry's eyes grew incredibly large. "But... but the prophecy..." Voldemort merely shook his head, trying to hide his pleasure. "Five years? How could I forget five years?"

"It's quite simple, Mr. Potter. You're insane."

"I'm not bloody insane! This is all a hallucination! It's impossible for you to rule the entire world!"

"I own all the parts that matter, anyway. The rest will fall soon enough. The resistance movements can not stand against my might."

"So there is a rebellion. You haven't won yet."

"Oh, I have, Mr. Potter," Voldemort hissed, stroking the pale cheek with long fingers. "I have you."