The Second Chance

DISCLAIMER: I do not own anything of Harry Potter. This story is inspired by Kurinoone's awesome story 'The Darkness Within', which was inspired by Project Dark Overlord's wonderful fic- 'A Shattered Prophesy'.

Thanks so much for all your amazing reviews, I was really encouraged by all of your comments and it's thanks to you guys I ever got this far in fanfiction net... I've never had a story with this many chapters, nor nearing 500 reviews! I'm halfway to 1000 :O! Though I know I'll never reach that far, as this story is already ending. So thank you so much to PatronusCharms, riderfan, Jess, Phoenixx Rising, Sorrel SilverLeaf, rose, Caroline, Insanity and Vanity, ScarletHeart5, G, coolchickdiv, Oirasse, Ash-Bookworm 113, Nyra Lily Potter, v1cky84, LoveYourStory, LadyGryffin17, Kurinoone, Pryanish Potter (my first reviewer for C22!) and 5 guests.

Now on with the story:

Chapter 24: Double- Edged Blade

Previous day, before Harry left for Hogwarts:

Harry slammed the trapdoor shut, his breathing erratic, emerald eyes wide and roving as though scanning for an invisible threat. His frenzied mind was a cloud of worry and anxiety, and both his hands were shaking. He laid a palm flat on the trapdoor, the carving of a snake on the bronze metal glowing briefly.

"Close," he hissed, but by the harsh whisper that left his throat, it sounded more like a snarl.

For a few moments he crouched there, unmoving, a hand clamped onto his lightning bolt scar carved into the middle of his forehead. Blood was seeping through his fingers despite his best efforts to stem the flow, and Harry could do no more but clench his jaw in obvious effort to contain the pain. A wandless cleaning charm was cast, and all blood was siphoned off his face, but more kept coming. Barely holding back a swear, Harry stood up and turned to move away, before he suddenly stopped short.

A tall man with blonde hair was standing some distance behind him. Though he had not drawn his wand, the man's eyes were glued to the now uncovered trapdoor with thinly veiled horror and uncertainty.

Harry barely paused for a moment, before he flicked the loose floorboard back in place carelessly, resealing it with his own magic. The other wizard narrowed his eyes at this.

"I see that you too, know of the secret," Harry said, his tone emotionless as he stood facing front, not looking at the man behind him.

The man, Lucius, blanched, but covered it up with an effort. "I don't know what you mean, Prince. The Dark Lord has told me to guard the entrance once, but I've never been down before."

Harry did not reply to that. "How did you know where I was?" he questioned, "Why have you not returned? It is late night."

Lucius had no reply for that, except for the slight tensing around his shoulders. Harry narrowed his eyes, brilliant green darting to the man's far from relaxed composure, pain hidden in the lines of his expressionless face, the sweat on his brow, the odd hunch of his left shoulder. The steady trickle of red down his left finger he tried to hide. The darkening of his black robes around his left forearm. Harry's eyes hardened.

"Restrictions," he spat, his green eyes narrowed in anger. "First with pain, now with this."

"Harry..." Lucius tried, his unaffected facade forgotten. "The Dark Lord only did so to prevent you from getting hurt. It's not what you think..."

"So you can guess my thoughts, Lucius?" Harry fired, an odd glint in his eye. "How very astute of you. Then again, with so many clues lining my way, presenting the bloody facts to my very face-!" The first hint of black tinted those emerald orbs, and Lucius backed away a step, "I was completely blinded."

"The Dark Lord cares about you, Harry," the elder wizard spoke, his grey eyes unflinching nevertheless.

"Care?" A laugh emitted from the other's mouth, loud, howling and mirthless, which seemed to even startle himself. "I don't who he cared for, or if he ever did, but it was never me." Emotions, fiery and fast flashed across Harry's features, too fast for Lucius to catch. "I've been a puppet on a string. Dancing to his tune all this while."

"You really think you have discovered the truth?" Lucius hissed, a threatening edge to his voice that had never appeared in his encounters with Harry- "You know nothing of the Dark Lord's intentions and ways! It is not up to you to question him. You spoke of honour, yet you judge based on one- sided assumptions!"

Harry's gaze darkened once more, but something akin to curiousity piqued. He stepped closer, but this time the Death- Eater never backed away, but met his with a matched steely glare. "My assumptions are never one- sided," said Harry, "and as for the complete truth, I have yet to decide in what to believe. But there is one thing I know for certain... he lied to me and used me."

"What do you think is your truth, then?" Lucius countered. "If you think the Dark Lord has manipulated you, give me a reason."

"I do not think so, I know so," Harry corrected lightly, but the tension was still in place. "Though I would understand if you were to deny it... after all, you and I are pretty much alike."

"Harry," said Lucius warningly, but Harry merely quirked a small smile and walked out of the chamber calmly, his footsteps ringing across the hall. But he was not calm, far from it. Harry was an emotional turmoil, his mind spun with too many half- truths and outright lies, too many versions of convincing truths that he could not choose for the life of him what to believe.

"Where are you going?" Lucius said sharply, the last time Harry had snarled a curse at him and fled from the Manor forever still burning in the back of his mind. "You must not leave the Manor, Harry."

Harry paid him no heed. "I dare you try to stop me," the younger wizard replied, with the barest hint of a smirk.

Lucius felt something burn inside him, the image of Draco at the mercy of Voldemort's hands flashed, unbidden into his mind. A jet of red light soared out of his wand, aiming for the Dark Prince before he had completed his line of thought. He was irrational by then, he was panicked.

Harry ducked out of the way at the last possible moment, the jet of red light soaring past his shoulder so close it stung. With narrowed eyes Harry whirled around, Lucius noticed his eyes were a dark forest green.

"Did you play a part in that lesson too, Lucius?" Harry asked softly, swerving around to block the rain of curses Lucius was firing, some even lethal. Cutting hexes rained their blow on the chamber, shattering both mirrors and the floor- to - ceiling windows. Glass glittered on the floor, edges razor sharp, but neither duelist paid them any heed; their eyes fixed on only each other.

Then the first Unforgivable left Lucius' mouth, the Imperio, and Harry's eyes changed. Gone was the brilliant emerald nor darkest of greens; it was now a dull venomous black, his fury drawn where Lucius attempted to control him once more.

"Those who play with fire, get burned!" Harry spat at the man, and Lucius stilled; shocked. That was the only hesitation he needed; Harry drove home his advantage, multi- coloured flashes of light landing heavily on Lucius' glimmering silver body shield. But despite all of it no Unforgivable left Harry's wand. Beneath his cracking shield, Lucius wandlessly summoned the chandelier; a light touch, deciding that the Dark Lord would forgive him for destroying the chamber if he managed to prevent the Dark Prince's escape.

The bulk of gold and crystals sagged down against the ceiling, the chain holding it up creaking audibly. Harry glanced up, eyes flickering upwards for the barest of seconds, but Lucius allowed his shield to dissipate, shooting a Cutting Hex straight at Harry, at the same time the younger wizard fired a curse, a jet of purple light.

Both spells collided in a flurry of light; Lucius saw Harry's eyes widen and the boy swerved out of the way. He barely managed to gasp in surprise when the spell cast by his own wand rebounded, slamming into his chest with a tear of pain. He stumbled backwards, blood gurgling in his throat, barely able to speak, before falling.

Harry stopped, the black in his eyes rapidly disappearing, taking in the injured form of the man he had always regarded something like a second father. He then turned and rapidly walked away, leaving Lucius bleeding on the ground, desperation calling out the boy's name.

His voice was surprisingly strong, and the boy heard him. The Cutting Hex he aimed for Harry had never meant to kill, but wound. The younger of the pair stopped. "I will call for help," he said shortly.

"The Dark Lord..." he began weakly, trying to prop himself up in his pool of blood, already praying for his master's forgiveness, "... he has never left Riddle Manor."

Harry stopped but never turned around.

"James Potter's magic was never enough to begin with," Lucius continued, watching as the boy's back go rigid, "you were slipping away. The Dark Lord was wild, with anger. He sent me away while he performed another ritual... and after you were saved, ordered me to tell you, when you woke, he would be away." He gasped, a sudden pain squeezing his chest, "for three days."

Then Harry turned round one last time, emerald green eyes brighter than before, barely a trace of a tear, but it took all of Harry's resolve to speak, without allowing his voice to crumble; and even so it was after a pregnant pause-

"I will return."

It was but three simple words, but Harry's resolve shattered upon the last word, his voice audibly cracking, as he walked across the chamber and slammed the door shut, leaving Riddle Manor behind for the last time; for when he returned, he knew he would never leave it again.

Lucius comforted himself with the knowledge that, the reason the boy had reacted that way was because Harry knew he could never walk out of the Dark Prince's life so easily anymore, just like he once did the year before.

Back to present; directly after meeting Harry...

Damien stumbled into the castle, water soaking his attire through and through. He resisted the urge to remove his Invisibility Cloak and wring it in the middle of the corridor, but allowed the soggy material to flop over his back as he squelched his way noisily back to the Gryffindor Tower. He was already rounding the last bend when he decided to drop caution; he was merely metres away from the Fat Lady portrait.

"Wonderful cloak you've got there, Potter," a voice suddenly drawled from the shadows, making Damien trip and nearly fall crashing to the carpet. Scowling, Damien ripped off the Cloak and glared into the shadows.

Carelessly, Draco banished the Disillusionment Charm around himself. "Though I must comment it's a little too flashy for a mere boy like you. After all, it glitters whenever you walk."

The youngest Potter made a face and began wringing his cloak right there in the middle of the corridor. Water seeped through his fingertips and stained the carpet a darker colour, but he paid no heed to the increasing wetness of the floor.

"Why are you here, by the way?" Damien questioned suspiciously as he continued to struggle with the wet cloak.

"I went for a little walk," Draco replied easily, "much like you."

It took a moment for the truth to sink in.

"It was you?" Damien spluttered, drenched cloak forgotten. "You spied on me! You eavesdropper!"

Draco actually rolled his eyes. "Clearly that was the most obvious conclusion. Unfortunately for your simple deductions, I am a Slytherin, Potter- my intentions are not that blatantly obvious. Try again."

Damien paused. "So... there was another person following me, but that person was not you?" he guessed wildly, before his sleepiness got the better of his temper. "I don't know alright, can't you for once in your life give me a straight answer!"

The taller of the pair looked amused, but relented. "You guessed correctly," Draco said, much to Damien's surprise, "someone else was indeed stalking you. As for me, I was in turn following the stalker. Ironic, no?"

"Someone was stalking me?!" Damien moaned, more of dismay than despair in Draco's opinion. "Am I always that bad? Who?"

"Professor Wynter," Draco replied, watching as the younger wizard's face morphed into a serious expression immediately. In some ways, the youngest Potter really did resemble his elder brother. "He was also in Dumbledore's office when we entered. I believe he was after the same information as we were, that's why you found those notes so easily- right on Dumbledore's table. Wynter must have found it, and hurriedly placed them back when he heard us arriving."

"That still doesn't explain why he decided to follow me," Damien pointed out, hoping this was a huge mistake. How much could their Defense professor be trusted? If he found out about them... how much longer would it take for Dumbledore to find out as well?

"Obviously Wynter heard our conversation before he left," Draco said with exaggerated patience. "He must have decided to keep close tabs on us since we approached such a conclusion... and it would of course be easier for him to place a tracking charm on the more oblivious one of us both. Hence you were stalked as you left the castle."

"He used a tracking charm on me!" Damien said, aghast. "But why didn't the Layhoo Jisteen stop it- oh." He suddenly remembered a similar situation, a year ago, when Hermione had used the tracking charm on him when he had visited Harry at the hotel. Harry had been furious. It seemed like the stone, however powerful, only protected him from potentially harmful spells.

Draco decided to ignore Damien's internal conflicting thoughts. "Anyway, as I happened to be following Wynter, he led me to the spot where you were. I'm sure you noticed that red flash of light when I grabbed you- that was actually the counter- curse."

"Oh," Damien said intelligently, comprehension dawning on his face. "I see now. Um, thanks, maybe."

The youngest Potter pursed him lips and shifted awkwardly at his eloquently expressed gratitude, causing more water droplets to drip all over the floor. Draco raised an eyebrow, relishing the moment. It was a pause later then when Damien frowned and asked, "Wait, wouldn't you removing the charm suddenly cause Professor Wynter to be suspicious?"

"I didn't exactly remove it, I moved it," Draco said nonchalantly.

"Moved it?" Damien repeated, surprised. "Where?"

"Wherever I wanted to lead him to," Draco said airily. "Simple."

"It sounds like a complicated spell," the youngest Potter was still suspicious.

Draco sighed. "It was a only a bit hard." He paused before adding, "like a werewolf is a bit bloodthirsty on a full moon."

Damien scowled. "You think you're really witty, don't you?"

"Thanks for the compliment," Draco said smoothly. "Now I believe it's your turn. What did Harry say?"

Damien groaned. He should have really seen this coming; the Slytherin would never have offered information easily without any form of payback.

This was going to be a really long night.

However long Damien's night could have been, it was nothing compared to what the inhabitants of the Azkaban prison were facing. It was by now approaching dawn, but there was no way of knowing the time; not as they were sealed off in the darkest dungeon possible in Britain.

Although there was no realizing how much time had passed, Sirius' somewhat battered internal clock told him it was almost two days since James had been returned to his cell, weak and completely devoid of energy. Following that, Sirius noticed that there were more frequent check- ups by the Death- Eaters... at least two of them would pop by each day, carelessly shoving hunks of bread and water through the bars for James, once even a vial of Potion was forced down James' throat much to Sirius' howled protests.

It was then when the Death- Eater that Sirius recognized as Malfoy told him to shut up, as the Dark Lord needed James Potter alive for now- there was no reason for them to kill him in his cell.

That didn't make Sirius feel much better.

For those two days, James was derilous and slipped in and out of consciousness, but those days gave Sirius good. Although he never realized it, he became more alive than he had been previously in the cells, as constant anxiety and determination to help his fallen friend fuelled him each day, and he checked James' condition every few minutes through the bars separating him and his best friend, depending on his somewhat inaccurate internal clock.

Sirius' keen nose picked up the faint Potions scent from James' water, and upon identifying it, Sirius to his immense surprise discovered it to be a Strengthening Potion. He was desperate enough for his friend to wake, even though it meant trusting his arch enemy and also his keen sense of smell, so Sirius made sure all of the liquid went down James' throat each day. He sacrificed his share of the meagre meal to feed up his greatly weakened friend, tore off rags from his robes to bandage James' suspiciously injured palm, but his friend refused to wake.

It was on the third day of this usual frustrating routine for Sirius before James finally came to. It started off as a low groan, before the eldest Potter began to stir slightly against the bars separating the cells confining him and Sirius. Immediately, Sirius was brought out of his reverie, and he scrabbled painfully over to his friend, thankful that the chains around his wrist were long and allowed him to stretch as far as James' cell, though it did cost him a few deep welts on his wrist.

"How is the head?" was the first thing Sirius thought of asking. He had always wondered if Dementors could affect a sleeping person as well.

"In pieces," moaned James as he slowly pushed himself upright. "Wher- am I?"

Sirius couldn't help the huge grin that spread across his face; indeed the expression was so long forgotten his jaw ached at the very effort. "You're in Azkaban!" he informed James brightly.

"Was that supposed to make me feel better?" James wheezed moodily as he propped himself up against one of the slime- coated walls and wincing. His head really hurt.

"Well, at least you have me to keep you company," Sirius reasoned, bright smile still in place, before he sobered. "What exactly happened to you, Prongs? First you're dragged off by Lucius Malfoy, then you're returned to this cell barely conscious with a raging fever and bleeding hand! And the Malfoy git even gave you Strengthening Potions. So tell me, what happened?"

James grimaced and closed his eyes, though it made not much difference in the darkness of the prison cell. "Voldemort wanted to see me... to aid him with something. I was placed under the Imperius Curse."

Sirius was shocked into silence. This was progressing from worse to extremely bad.

"...I don't suppose you have a clue about what you did?" Sirius asked hesitantly.

"No," was James short reply.

"I'm sure he didn't make you kill someone," said Sirius weakly, as though to console his best friend, but of course his clumsy words made Prongs feel all the more worse. "That wouldn't explain the injuries you've got. The wound on your right palm wouldn't stop bleeding until..." Sirius paused. "I lost track of time," he admitted.

James was having a very bad feeling about this. "What kind of dark ritual requires blood?" he questioned, not very certain that he wanted to know the answer. "Just in case."

"I'm not an expert," Sirius said, trying not to feel affronted. He paused for a while, thinking back to their old Auror training days, when they were forced to memorize all sorts of random facts about the symptoms of Dark magic. "I suppose the... making of Inferi requires blood."

Barely had the words left his mouth when Sirius immediately wished that he never said that aloud. "But that wouldn't make sense because Voldemort already has a batch and he doesn't need a new one," he said quickly, "and he wouldn't need your skills for that."

"Thanks Padfoot," said James dryly, "I feel whole lot better."

"Anyway that is beside the point," Sirius said firmly, cutting off any routes for their imagination to run wild. "Our main focus should be on how to escape this hell hole."

James paused a while, silent- his breathing was still uneven and laboured, before he finally sighed in agreement. "I suppose it increases our chances of escape now that the Dark Lord has temporarily finished his use for me."

"No it does not," Sirius countered, forgetting James' warning at his being pessimistic. Somehow he just couldn't help it in Azkaban. "Firstly, you are physically weak and I wouldn't be surprised if you can't even manage to stand up properly, let alone be successful in a daring escapade. Secondly, the Death- Eaters check on you more frequently, sometimes even twice a day."

James fell silent. "What was the approximate last time the Death- Eaters came checking?" he asked presently.

"If you trust my internal clock, around eight hours ago," Sirius replied, "which leaves us another four, if not less."

"The idea of sticking my prongs into the keyholes won't work," James said frustratedly, "I need my antlers to be exactly like the shape of the key, and to do that I would need the key, so the point is moot."

Sirius groaned. "Sometimes I wish that my animagus form was something small."

"A rat?" James said darkly.

"No!" Sirius' voice was vehement. "Right, forget about that. Our best chance of escape is still by using our Animagus form. It is the only kind of magic we can do presently, and the bars of the this cell nor the keyholes respond to any form of spell. Providing I'm skinny enough, I should think my animagus form would be small enough to squeeze through the bars... but at any rate I'm still tied up."

James slumped back against the wall with a new groan. "The prongs idea is still the best one we have yet?"

"Yes," Sirius admitted, "unless you would like us both to suffer from painful burns."

"Painful burns," James repeated tiredly. "What about that plan?"

"This is the last resort plan I have in mind, and it's going to be rather desperate," Sirius warned. "It's basically something like yours. Can you manage the Fire Tickling charm without a wand?"

James frowned. "In normal circumstances certainly, that spell is easy."

"Then you better pray it works," Sirius said. "Or you're going to suffer painfully. After casting that charm around yourself, you start to struggle. The chains, according to you, will start to heat up, so you can try pressing those snakey chains of yours around my normal chains, until my chains start to melt. My cuffs can remain on as my bracelet, I suppose- we won't waste time trying to break them off. And after I'm free to move, I'll squeeze out through the bars and pick your keyhole."

James listened to this for a while, before saying, "It sounds pretty good, but there are a few major flaws I'm sure you realized. One, it is a fire- tickling charm, not heat- tickling; so while this chain heats up, the charm may not work at all and I suffer anyway. Two, we'd have to heat those chains of yours pretty long for them to melt. Three, you might not be thin enough to squeeze through the bars. Four, in the miraculous event you manage to pick my keyhole and open the door, I'm still tied up- and trying to escape in my condition would just slow you down."

Sirius felt like retorting 'What happened to being optimistic?' but he refrained from doing so. Instead he tried to make out James' figure in the gloom and weighed their options. "It's the prongs idea or the desperate idea. We might get stuck, we might get burnt, hurt, starve or die. Just choose."

The eldest Potter pursed his lips. "Since we already tried the first idea... we might as well give the desperate one a go," he said at last.

Sirius smiled mirthlessly. "Brilliant."

Damien found himself once more in the Room of Requirement, this time accompanied by none other than Draco Malfoy, the only other person besides him that knew of Kit Mason's true identity, who intended to keep it that way.

The youngest Potter had just finished telling his story about his meeting with Harry, and truth to be told his energy was beginning to wear thin. He felt worn out and tired especially after all that running around in the rain, and to be fair it was already half past four, but Draco paid his yawns no heed.

"We need to find a way for Harry to regain his memories," Draco said at last, leaning back in his couch, his eyes contemplating. "The sooner the better, before Voldemort decides to attack once and for all."

"Surely a Memory Charm can be lifted?" Damien asked, fighting back sleep which was threatening to overpower his entire being. "I'm sure Professor Dumbledore could do something about it."

Draco's eyes darkened at the mention of the Headmaster. "Harry would never allow Dumbledore to do such a thing; and the removal of the charm is too complicated. It also requires absolute trust and consent between both parties, which would never happen in a century. Harry hates the old man. No, the fastest way is for him to view his own memories from last year."

"But how do we get that?" Damien asked. "Or do we just piece together our memories of meeting him last year until it forms a vague memory and summary of his forgotten past?"

"No," said Draco at once, "it would be horribly sketchy not to mention involve loads of hard work, and Harry wouldn't believe another's memories anyway."

"You might as well tell me that this is hopeless case," Damien grumbled, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

They fell into silence; Draco deep in thought, Damien trying hard not to fall asleep. Eventually, just to distract himself from drifting off- this discussion was way more important than his sleep!- Damien spoke up, "It's weird how easily I could regain my lost memory, and Harry's case seems so difficult."

Draco raised his eyes to look at the younger boy. "That magic stone of yours is extremely powerful, that's the only reason why."

The youngest Potter absently fingered the Layhoo Jisteen hidden beneath his robes. "I wonder if Harry ever kept some of those memories in a Pensieve..." he murmured, before stopping suddenly, his eyes staring wide as though he'd been shot by a Stunning spell.

"Now what's the excitement?" Draco said sardonically as Damien's face morphed into an excited grin.

"A pensieve!" Damien exclaimed, "Harry's black and silver ring! It contains many of his memories that Voldemort possibly wiped off his mind. He may have put in more memories than we know- it could help him recover what happened last year!" Damien was visibly getting very enthusiastic about this idea, previous sleepiness forgotten. Even Draco looked up at this.

"But where is the ring?" the elder of the pair asked. Damien paused.

"I was hoping it would be with you," Damien murmured. "I don't know."

"I think it would be safe to presume that Harry took off the ring before he left for Riddle Manor- he would never allow the possibility of Voldemort viewing his private memories," Draco reasoned.

"So the last place he was before returning to Voldemort was... Potter Manor," Damien stood up and began to pace, a habit inherited from his father. But where could the ring be? They had been in Harry's room before his elder brother left and never returned. Would Harry have hidden something there? It was possible, but somehow Damien thought that it wasn't like his brother to leave his treasured possession unguarded in his room; if he never expected to come back from Riddle Manor, surely Harry would not have left his ring there, open to the possibility that it might be discovered by someone else when his room was turned out.

"Any ideas?" Draco asked, watching as the youngest Potter walked about frustratedly.

Damien shook his head in defeat. "Not a clue."

Now, he couldn't help but regret all over again why hadn't he had a more constructive conversation with Harry when he met him just hours ago?! He could have possibly shed more light on Harry's past, could have asked Harry if he remembered the ring, asked him why exactly did he return, and above all the Marauders' Map. Damien couldn't believe he'd forgotten all about his father's prized artefact. Now he felt a stirring well of regret that he hadn't said anything more useful.

But unbeknownst to him, that was the main reason why Harry had sought out his younger brother; because Damien never cared about how useful the words he said were, he only wanted to humor everyone with his ridiculous stories... if Damien had forced Harry to hear the truth, he probably would have been turned away long ago.

Harry returned to the Manor with his attire soaking wet, his normally untidy dark hair plastered to his face. The moment he stepped into the chamber he had previously played a hand in destroying during his duel with Lucius- he stopped.

It had been restored to his normal glory, the windows repaired, mirrors fixed. The only mark left would be the powerful scorch marks and dents in the chamber walls, some cast by him- others by Lucius. But that was not what caught his attention- it was the Dark Lord himself.

Voldemort was seated on his high- back chair as usual, Lucius kneeling by his feet, wounds completely healed. There was a slight frown on his father's face when he walked in, but the expression cleared completely when ruby red eyes met emerald. There was a low hiss beneath Voldemort's throne, and Nagini emerged, her yellow eyes regarding Harry somewhat balefully. She had been released from her cage.

"Harry," Voldemort greeted, his eyes keen, snatching every single reaction Harry gave away greedily, as though trying to read his son.

Harry paused, before returning, "Father." He dipped his head in acknowledgement, then turned away to leave.

"I have not finished with you yet Harry," Voldemort said, his voice though light, had a dangerous edge to it. "Quite on the contrary, we have much to discuss. Sit."

A chair was conjured before Voldemort. "Lucius, you may leave," the Dark Lord said.

The Death- Eater hastened to do so, pausing only to give Harry a fleeting glance. If Harry had not known better, he would have passed it for encouragement.

The door to the chambers closed with an omnious click, and Harry hadn't moved from the spot where he was standing, frozen. Never in his life had he felt this uncomfortable in his father's presence, not even when they had first met... or perhaps, he had... but he did not remember.

Brief anger coursed over him at the thought, but it was over as quickly as it had come. Voldemort stepped down from his throne, closing the little distance between them. Hands grasped his shoulders, the painful familiarity of them stinging, and Harry felt himself tense. He could tell Voldemort felt it, too; though the Dark Lord gave no indication of realizing this. But as fingers grasped his chin once more, Harry locked his jaw and looked away, his fists curling and uncurling by his side.

Voldemort froze, before releasing him completely. "Tut tut Harry," he said, walking a circle around the younger wizard, "Since when do you flinch from my touch?"

"Is there any particular reason you wanted me to stay?" Harry asked quietly, still refusing to meet his father's eyes.

"So you're not even hiding it," Voldemort continued slowly, "...the fact that you've known the truth. But yet you returned... why?"

"Because your magic runs through me," Harry said flatly, slowly raising his eyes to meet his father's, which were glaring at him with fierce intensity, though Harry noted that Voldemort did not look surprised. Probably Lucius had told him of the reveal. "Believe me, that is the only reason I'm staying. There is nothing else besides that."

"You disregard being my son," Voldemort said, his voice hardened with steel, the same dangerous edge in it.

"Since when was I ever?" Harry said softly, emerald eyes meeting red once more, unflinching. "I treated you as my father, I listened to your words and the only thing I disobeyed you for was to find out the truth of my life last year, which I regard within my right. But you lied to me and manipulated me, putting a leash on my mind and controlled me like a puppet on a string, restricted by pain-!"

"Enough!" Voldemort's gaze was dark now, dropping any facade of calm he had once held.

"But I have returned," Harry pressed on, unrelenting, "and I give you my word, after tonight, I shall never leave against your orders." He faltered , but continued, "so you can at least admit to this."

Voldemort cocked a head to a side, mockingly telling Harry to continue.

"My life was a complete lie from the very start," Harry began, watching, gaining confirmation of his own words and guesses at the barest hint of emotions flickering across his father's face, "I never grew up in Godric's Hollow, nor did I realize who my parents were. I was brought up in the replica of my home-" the words seared his throat as they left- "- and abused by who I thought was my family. The place beneath the trapdoor was enchanted to look like a forest, where Nagini came along and brought me out to. The emerald flames beneath the small rock cave was actually the fireplace, where I entered and found myself here."

Voldemort's figure was rigid, but he pretended to be unaffected. "Your discovery was quick, Harry," he said, "I was barely gone for a day."

Harry smiled bitterly, his voice dull. "Not quick enough. There was no forest near the real Godric's Hollow, and the things I've heard never add up to your stories. But I listened to your words. I can ignore facts and evidence brought to my face and choose to believe another story, the lies you've spun. I've been completely and utterly blinded, fooled, all the while believing myself to be someone special, when I've been dancing to your tune. A mindless puppet."

The fury in Voldemort was venom, and he felt a flare of righteous anger directed at the boy before him, and Harry bit his lip as his scar reopened once more, blood flowing freely down his face.

"You are right," Voldemort said, his pupils slits of anger, his smile carved of ice. "You were ever only a powerful weapon to me, to be harnessed and used, to be discarded when you fell weak. I never had a son. I must have trained you my little pet well, have I not? For you to remain loyal, even after learning the truth of my deception," he smirked at the pain and fury burning in Harry's eyes, so intense that they were barely masked.

"You did, my Lord," Harry said, the last two words falling from his lips, foreign and hurtful, and his scar throbbed once more. "But my loyalty will no longer stand if you threaten or harm my family and friends." Green eyes met his, fiercely. "And I want my memories back."

"You are in no position to make such demands!" snarled Voldemort, his voice so low for a brief moment Harry wondered if they were conversing in Parseltongue. "Tell me Harry, on which side of the war do you stand?!"

The Dark Lord's voice rose in volume over the last word, but Harry did not flinch. "Out of my debt to you, yours," he replied, voice unnaturally soft in comparison to Voldemort's harsh tones. "But I withdraw from this deal if you do not abide by a few of my conditions..."

xXx

.

.

.

An hour later, Harry let himself into his room.

It was not raining in Riddle Manor; starlight was filtering through the crack in his curtains.

Tiredly, Harry walked over to the windows, his eyes finding the endless night sky littered by little chips of light.

It had rained before, after all. The glass panes were still stained wet from raindrops, the pattern of the raindrops' fall still marked upon his window.

He yearned for the night air. He craved the freedom of soaring in the skies, the vague memory of him racing his brother on their brooms dancing in the far corner of his mind, like a dying flame. But he'd already signed that away, sealed it off in a deal that enslaved himself to being truly, nothing else but a weapon of Lord Voldemort's.

The memory charm was slowly, being lifted, memories returned to him, crawling back painfully, but he would never know if they were complete. Voldemort could have held back some detail, and he wouldn't know.

A broken puppet hung limply from the string.

"Named Harry," he choked out, a manic smile playing on his lips. He didn't care anymore, there was nothing else in this grey world that deserved him to. Only one, which he would never meet.

But what was he mourning for? This was ultimately his own decision; the one he had made the moment he stepped out of Riddle Manor to enjoy his freedom for the last time. He flew all the way to Hogwarts, enjoying the wild sense of freedom all the way,ignoring the growing pain and bitterness in his heart. The craving to throw the responsibility away, for that fleeting moment, and let go. Falling to earth stained with red, just as his hands were- take the easy way out.

He had met Damien. His younger brother. He'd always suspected the other- him last year had grown on the boy; and perhaps, a small part of him had always suspected Voldemort's lies. But it took the evidence to be shoved in his face for him to realize, just how deep the deception was.

For the last time, he had sought out the boy, ignoring the practical voice inside of him to turn around and forget the foolish plan. After all, since when had he ever given Damien a reason to trust him? But the boy, as a true Gryffindor he was- turned up willingly, trusting him blindly. He remembered feeling incredibly fatigued, yet at the same time so very alive when Damien brought him tearing through the woods, laughing, telling him to come faster, that he could do better than that.

A hitch in his breath, a painful stab in the wound. Gods-

...he remembered...

flying to Godric's Hollow-

-promise you'll stay out of trouble-

- never take this off-

- a stone, black as the starless night, rippling with magic, handed by his own hands to Damien Potter-

It was beginning.

- rage, burning fierce in him as he watched the Daywalker raise his hand -

- you could have chose to help a friend, or stuck with your brother!-

- anger, pain-

- flames, roaring loud in their ears, a hand clutching his who responded mutually, protective-

- A spinning locket, unadulterated, fiery rage - power- consuming him-

- the pulse of the barriers, power, power- weaker yet stronger than his, stripping his magic to the very core-

Pain, pain-

"Leave us, Lucius!"

A stronger force, so much more powerful than before, slamming into him, engulfing his entire being. Remembered the immense relief, remembered relaxing into the familiarity-

You were ever nothing, but a powerful weapon to me- to be harnessed and used, discarded when you fell...

Fingers, forcing his jaw to look up into those ruby red eyes-

"You will never defeat me, Harry."

"Harry, I want you to have this. It contains a piece of my soul in it."

- Dueling, laughing, ruby eyes sparkling with amusement?-

"...then you are getting old. I hear your bones creaking for rest!"

- promise me you'll return, Harry.

- I'll tear the world apart to find you.

-I swear, father-

-Yes, my Lord...

"Stop," Harry whispered, a hand clutching his scar, the other holding tight to the edge of his table, "stop this!"

He seized the nearest object available on his desk in desperation to stop the building agony, but his fingers curled around wood, and a rush of magic flooded through him, distracting him from his pain. Surprised, he looked up, to see his fingers curled around a new phoenix feather wand, red sparks shooting out of its end into the gloom.

xXx

As a result for his late- night wanderings, Damien was barely paying attention during the Quidditch tryouts the next morning. In all honesty for the first time in his life, what with the Duelling Club opening and Harry's return, Quidditch had positively slipped his mind.

It was a very groggy and dead- to- the- world Damien that followed Ron down the boys' dormitory staircase, shouldering his broom as he yawned widely. He could barely stay awake, let alone listen to what Ginny had to say. Thankfully, the new Quidditch captain was hardly one for speeches, and in a span of three minutes, Ginny had almost ten of them up in the cool morning air, allowing all Quidditch team member tryouts to fly once around the pitch for warm- up before they actually began.

Effortlessly, Damien kicked off on his Nimbus and quickly climbed to the highest spot above the goal post, before allowing himself to relax, enjoying the caress of the morning breeze. He enjoyed this for a good few seconds, before slowly opening his eyes to take in the picturesque scenery around him.

His eyes had just found the lake whereby he and Harry had sat together only the night before, when something suddenly caught his attention, making his breath hitch in his throat.

Faraway, he could see from his bird's eye view if he squinted against the rising sun- he could make out a sea of black.., and it seemed to be growing, closing in all the while, slowly.

A/N: Sorry for letting you guys wait that long. Following the competition, (we got second! :) But one of the judges admitted that we ought to have gotten first if not for the dysfunctional microphones, they couldn't hear what we were saying... and the school that came in first plagarised our script horribly and copied many of our ideas from our presentation in the semi...! :( I'm still trying to get over it..) ... I fell rather sick and was in no state of mood/inspiration to update, hence my lateness.

Anyway, thanks for sticking with me so far, this story is going to end at long last! :P A few more chapters to go and I'll put this story by for good. I don't know whether it'll hit 30 or not.

Thank you so much for your stunning feedback, I'm sure all authors understand how elated they feel upon receiving praise for their writing... :) so here's a massive thank you to you guys. Hope you enjoyed this chapter!

Rating system

:D for amazing

'.' for lovely

'O' for okay

'X' for terrible.

P.S.: Just out of curiousity, who saw this coming? :? Do review, if you would? :P