-o-o-o-

"My power over you
Grows stronger yet"

– The Phantom of the Opera

-o-o-o-

Harry has been seeing Voldemort in the old house in his dreams almost every night for a few weeks now. It was his sanctuary. After every horrible day with the Dursleys, he awaited the night with anticipation. The handsome, charming wizard made him feel like he was not alone in that unwelcome world of Muggles. But it was more than that. The Dark Lord fascinated him and Harry was insatiable. He occupied his every thought, every hour of the day. He woke up each morning with a growl of frustration. Sometimes he wished he could just be sucked into the realm of dreams forever.

He lay curled up with Tom Riddle on a sofa by the fire. The older boy was caressing his hair and he closed his eyes, with a content smile on his face. This moment would be perfect, if it weren't for two things. One was that his scar was always giving him a nasty headache whenever he was near Voldemort. Two was constantly being aware that their cozy get-together could be torn apart any moment – all it took was for Dudley to snore louder to knock him out of his dream.

Voldemort tilted his face and kissed him. Harry's stomach fluttered when he felt those soft lips against his. He shifted slightly, sliding his hand down Riddle's side. Voldemort grazed Harry's bottom lip with the tip of his tongue. He winced as a particularly sharp pain shot through his forehead.

"Your scar?" The Dark Lord asked, brushing the boy's hair away from the lightening-shaped mark when he nodded. "I'm sorry about that."

"Doesn't matter," Harry shook his head. "I just wish I could see you in reality, not only in a dream."

"I wouldn't be able to touch you in reality," he reminded him softly.

"Oh. Right."

Harry dropped his gaze sadly. Did this mean they could never be together in real life? Voldemort chuckled.

"No, my dear. Don't worry. I have a solution for that."

"You do?" Harry looked up hopefully.

He grunted. "There is a ritual that needs to be performed in order for me to regain my body. As a matter of fact, I could do it already, now that I have Wormtail with me."

His blood boiled when he heard the name of that traitor. He refrained himself from commenting, though. He knew Voldemort disdained the servant as well.

"Yes, he is rather worthless," he said lazily, reading his thoughts again, "but I have to make do with what I've got. His clumsy care is the only thing that's allowed me to regain some strength over the last several weeks. I need him for the ritual as well."

"Why don't you do it then?"

"Because I can only do it once. And the better quality of the ah… ingredients," his eyes flashed mischievously, "the more powerful I will become. So, as much as I loathe the fragile state I am in, I am willing to wait a while longer."

"What sort of ingredients?" He frowned.

Voldermort gave him a long, piercing look.

"The one that particularly interests me," he raised his hand to slide a finger down his cheek, than tip his chin up and hold his gaze, "is your blood, Harry."

The fourteen-year-old stared into those mesmerizing eyes, surprisingly feeling no fear at the words he just heard. He just felt strangely excited.

"I need, among others, the blood of my enemy," the Dark Lord continued. "I could use anyone else's, but yours…" he hissed seductively, "your blood would give me special benefits."

Harry didn't ask what kind of benefits he had in mind. Instead, he put his hand on top of his affectionately.

"Well, that might have worked, if I was still your enemy."

Voldermot's lips curled in a vicious smile, that made Harry's heart beat faster.

"True," he said. "But there is an alternative. I could use it as an additional ingredient. One that would make us both benefit from it. And it would take our proximity problems away."

"So then let's do it." Harry sat up eagerly. "I'll come to you right now."

Voldemort chuckled and tousled his hair.

"It's not that simple, Harry. Dumbledore has you watched closer than you realize."

"You mean even here, at Privet Drive?" he blinked in surprise.

"Of course. Do you really think you can even sneeze, anywhere you go, without him knowing? All those, who you consider friends are his people, but they're not the only ones watching you for him."

Harry pondered on this new piece of information. What was the point of making him stay with Muggles, if there were witches or wizards keeping an eye on him anyway?

"So then how are we going to do this?"

"I'm going to sneak you out of Hogwarts and put you back in it again, so that the old man doesn't suspect a thing." He stated in a very confident manner.

Harry thought of all the castle and grounds' magical protection he once heard Hermione ramble on about.

"How?" he asked incredulously.

"I have learned recently, that I do have a loyal and capable servant out of Azkaban. I'm going to place him at the School and have him prepare everything from the inside."

"Why wait till I get back to Hogwarts, though? Wouldn't it be easier if your follower arranged something now?"

"Indeed, it would," he sighed, irritated. "But, unfortunately, there is no more time for that. Even though he is out of Azkaban, he is still imprisoned in a different way. He'll need to be freed first. Besides – "

Harry was brutally torn out of the dream by a bang at the door and his uncle's yell:

"Get in the kitchen, boy! The bacon isn't going to fry itself!"

He clenched his teeth. He pressed a pillow to his face to muffle a growl of fury.

"NOW!" Another bang shook the door.

Harry took a deep breath, trying to restrain the murderous thoughts he was having. The silver lining was that Dudley was on a trip with his friends since early morning today, which meant they could at least have a decent breakfast for once.

"Coming, Uncle," he managed and rolled out of bed.

-x-x-x-

By the time Harry saw Ron and Hermione again, he felt like a completely different person. He felt guilty. He knew he betrayed them. He betrayed everyone. He felt the pressure of people's expectations to be the what they wanted him to be – the boy who lived, the weapon against Voldemort – and he knew he couldn't be that anymore.

But as he spent time with his friends and the Weasley family, it was easy to slip back into his old life. Voldemort's power over Harry grew exponentially, and yet sometimes, during the day, what happened in the night seemed so distant. Did Tom Riddle really visit him in his dreams or did he just imagine it all?

It was at the Quidditch World Cup, when the reality of it hit him full in the face. Cornelius Fudge was introducing him to the Bulgarian Minister of Magic and something he said made his head spin.

"I'm no great shakes at languages; I need Barty Crouch for this sort of thing. Ah, I see his house-elf's saving him a seat…" Harry spun around to stare at Winky, to whom he's talked to a moment ago. So she was Barty Crouch's elf? His gaze moved to the empty seat next to her and something clicked in his head. The seat wasn't empty. If the elf was there, so was Crouch's son, Barty Jr., hidden under an invisibility cloak. The Death Eater Voldemort needed. "Ah, and here's Lucius!"

He tore his gaze away from the seat behind him with difficulty. The Malfoy family appeared with the usual air of being better than everyone.

They sat down again and Harry glanced behind his shoulder. Winky still had her face buried in her hands. The seat next to her remained empty, even though the game was already starting, which only confirmed his predictions. He put his wand in his pocket, making sure it stuck out enough.

Somewhere in the middle of the match he felt the wand being lifted from his pocket. He put his Omnioculars to his eyes to cover the smile, that spread on his face. The Dark Lord's faithful servant got a wand. Now he could break free and return to his master.

-x-x-x-

Hi everyone!

I've never written fanfiction before and I'm not entirely sure what I'm doing. I just had this weird idea and I thought I'd have fun with it.
So what do you think so far? Likey or no likey? :D
Let me know. Please review!

- Reflective Pessimist