Note:

Okay, so I've had this idea in my head for nearly ten years now. But I never had time to write it down and since English isn't my first language I didn't feel like putting myself through extra work. Then again, I couldn't find a story like my idea (which is not slash). So here goes.

I want to stress English isn't my first language. It is much easier to read than to write in English, so I apologize in advance for spelling errors I might make (and the lack of a large vocabulary, as you are going to notice). Oh, and this story won't contain slash. It'll contain violence though. Don't get me wrong, I love Harry, but like a lot of people here, I intend to enjoy for the hero to get hurt… a little. Or a lot. I'm sorry (not). Hehe.

I'll start with the story from the books. I don't own JK's beautiful story and I don't intend to take credit for my added idea. Oh, and Harry and Voldemort might get out of character the way JK designed them. I apologize in advance for that as well.

Summary:

It is Harry's fifth year. He and the gang are at the Ministry of Magic and Harry's alone with Bellatrix after she killed Sirius. Then Voldemort shows up, discovering Harry broke the Prophecy. What if, instead of wanting to kill Harry right at the spot, he decides Harry should get punished first? And what will happen when Dumbledore accidentally gives Voldemort another idea? No slash.

"Potter, I am going to give you one chance!" shouted Bellatrix. "Give me the prophecy — roll it out toward me now — and I may spare your life!"

"Well, you're going to have to kill me, because it's gone!" Harry roared — and as he shouted it, pain seared across his forehead. His scar was on fire again, and he felt a surge of fury that was quite unconnected with his own rage.

"And he knows!" said Harry with a mad laugh to match Bellatrix's own. "Your dear old mate Voldemort knows it's gone! He's not going to be happy with you, is he?"

"What? What do you mean?" she cried, and for the first time there was fear in her voice.

"The prophecy smashed when I was trying to get Neville up the steps! What do you think Voldemort'll say about that, then?" His scar seared and burned. . . . The pain of it was making his eyes stream. . . .

"LIAR!" she shrieked, but he could hear the terror behind the anger now. "YOU'VE GOT IT, POTTER, AND YOU WILL GIVE IT TO ME — Accio Prophecy! ACCIO PROPHECY!"

Harry laughed again because he knew it would incense her, the pain building in his head so badly he thought his skull might burst. He waved his empty hand from behind the one-eared goblin and withdrew it quickly as she sent another jet of green light flying at him.

"Nothing there!" he shouted. "Nothing to summon! It smashed and nobody heard what it said, tell your boss that —"

"No!" she screamed. "It isn't true, you're lying — MASTER, I TRIED, I TRIED — DO NOT PUNISH ME-"

"Don't waste your breath!" yelled Harry, his eyes screwed up against the pain in his scar, now more terrible than ever. "He can't hear you from here!"

"Can't I, Potter?" said a high, cold voice. Harry opened his eyes. Tall, thin, and black-hooded, his terrible snakelike face white and gaunt, his scarlet, slit-pupiled eyes staring . . . Lord Voldemort had appeared in the middle of the hall, his wand pointing at Harry who stood frozen, quite unable to move.

"So you smashed my prophecy?" said Voldemort softly, staring at Harry with those pitiless red eyes. "No, Bella, he is not lying. . . . I see the truth looking at me from within his worthless mind. . . . Months of preparation, months of effort . . . and my Death Eaters have let Harry Potter thwart me again. . . ."

"Master, I am sorry, I knew not, I was fighting the Animagus Black!" sobbed Bellatrix, flinging herself down at Voldemort's feet as he paced slowly nearer. "Master, you should know —"

"Be quiet, Bella," said Voldemort dangerously. "I shall deal with you in a moment. Do you think I have entered the Ministry of Magic to hear your sniveling apologies?"

"But Master — he is here — he is below —"

Voldemort paid no attention.

"You have irked me too often, for too long, Harry," he whispered. "Crucio."

It felt worse than the last time Voldemort had tortured Harry. Blinding, excruciating pain flowed through him. Every tissue in his body screamed for release, his scar burned past endurance. He wanted to it to end... to black out, to escape - be anywhere but here. He felt Voldemort's anger intensify through the curse and he screamed louder – then it finally stopped.

Panting and trembling, he realized he lay on the cold floor of the Atrium. His glasses were gone, his hand almost broke the wand he gripped tightly. He moaned when his scar gave another nasty sear.

"It was foolish to come here tonight, Tom," he heard above his head and his heart lighted up – Dumbledore!

"The Aurors are on their way —"

"By which time I shall be gone, and you dead!" spat Voldemort. He sent the Killing Curse at Dumbledore, but missed, instead hitting the security guards desk, which burst into flame.

Dumbledore flicked his own wand. The force of the spell that emanated from it was such that Harry felt his hair stand on end as it passed, and this time Voldemort was forced to conjure a shining silver shield out of thin air to deflect it. The spell, whatever it was, caused no visible damage to the shield, though a deep, gonglike note reverberated from it, an oddly chilling sound. . . .

"You do not seek to kill me, Dumbledore?" called Voldemort, his scarlet eyes narrowed over the top of the shield. "Above such brutality, are you?"

"We both know that killing you right now won't actually at into your demise, Tom," Dumbledore said calmly.

Harry looked puzzled from Dumbledore at Voldemort, who straightened his back and gave Dumbledore a calculated glare.

"And why would that be, old man?"

"Well, you made sure you could conquer death long ago, didn't you?"

"So you know," Voldemort whispered dangerously. "There will be no way of stopping me, Dumbledore, for I, Lord Voldemort, can't even be stopped by death."

"Yes," said Dumbledore, as he walked over to Voldemort calmly, as taking a late evening stroll, "that is, of course, if all your little treasures will keep intact. I'm afraid to say some of them didn't withstand destruction as well as you thought they would."

Voldemort hissed, a piercing cold hiss, and sent another Killing Curse. Dumbledore waved his wand. The statue of the Goblin came to live and shielded Dumbledore from the attack. Tiny pieces of the statue flew through the air, being broken from the impact, and landed like raindrops on the ground.

Harry gripped his head tightly and moaned again. All the while his scar had burned so fiercely, sending waves from Voldemort's anger through his whole body. He was sure his scar would break open any second.

Suddenly, the Atrium was full of people. Harry heard little shrieks, felt bodies tense up. He looked at Voldemort again, but the spot was clear. Voldemort had vanished .

And then, before he could comprehend what was happening, he heard Dumbledore yell something, but he couldn't understand. Did he yell his name? Somebody stood behind him, grabbing his wrist and pulling him of the ground.

"Ah-!" he screamed, the pain in his scar getting stronger again, as if it were possible. The next thing he knew everything went black; he was pressed very hard from all directions; he could not breathe, there were iron bands tightening around his chest; his eyeballs were being forced back into his head; his ear-drums were being pushed deeper into his skull.

In his pain he had the weirdest experience, as if someone forced him through a very tight rubber tube. And then, the sensation stopped. He fell hard on pitch black grass; staggering sideways because of the strong hold on his wrist.

Somebody fell next to him and gave a little shriek. It was Bellatrix, who rolled up and towered above him.

"Master," she squealed and flung herself at Voldemort again. He stepped out of the way and gave her a look of disgust.

"That will be enough, Bella," he said. "Now go. You shall be dealt with tomorrow. I can't bear to the sight of you any longer."

Frightened, Bellatrix rose again and vanished in the dark.

Voldemort began walking, dragging Harry alongside with him through the cold, dark night. His vision was blurred. Not only from the building pain in his head, but his glasses were gone as well. His trembling legs felt like soup slices and he was having trouble keeping up with Voldemort, who was still dragging him towards an old, grotesque mansion.

They reached a door, Harry saw through his blurred vision. "Now, what to do you with you," he heard Voldemort whisper softly.

You could let me go, Harry thought against better judgement. The fear which knotted his insides painfully together, with the ever building headache, were telling him to be quiet.

Voldemort chuckled - a soft, cold, dangerous chuckle.

"I can't possibly let you go, Harry, as you might understand," he said and pushed Harry through the door by his arm, finally letting him go after. Harry fell on a cold stoned floor. He heard the door behind him lock.

"But, as it might turn out, I can't kill you either," Voldemort said, getting dangerously close at Harry, who tried to stand up while also backing down.

"Why not?" he asked. His breathing intensified when Voldemort stood right before him. He chuckled again.

"So eager to die all of a sudden, Harry?" Harry felt Voldemort's cold breath against his face. His wand traced over a lock of Harry's hair, pushing it aside. His other hand shot forwards, grabbing Harry's wand. He rolled it through his fingers and looked at Harry again.

"You won't be needing this in a while."

Harry felt terribly vulnerable, watching his wand get rolled around in Voldemort's hand.

"What are you going to do with me?" he asked.

"Yes…" Voldemort hissed, "what should I do with you?

"You know, your dear old Headmaster brought me upon a thought," he said, while walking away from Harry, towards a large fireplace. With one wave of his wand flames loomed up, warming the cold environment. Voldemort waved for Harry to come closer.

Harry ignored the gesture. He wasn't going to sit with Voldemort by the fireplace, as if they were going to have a nice conversation. He saw Voldemort's red eyes narrowing with anger.

"Come, Harry," he whispered. "NOW!"

Harry slowly shook his head. Voldemort's patience, apparently, ran out. With one wave of his wand, Harry felt his legs getting in motion, towards Voldemort.

"I told you to come, Harry. Like I said a year ago, obedience is a virtue. A virtue I still have yet to teach you. Crucio!"

Harry screamed again. The pain was so all consuming, so unbearable, that his reality of time seemed to be gone. He stumbled on the ground again, convulsing on the cold floor. The pain didn't stop.

But Harry refused to beg; he didn't want to give Voldemort this satisfaction. His mind kept screaming for release though, as he crawled on the ground. After what seemed minutes, the pain finally subsided.

"Did you learn your lesson?" Voldemort smirked, still pointing his wand at Harry.

Harry didn't answer. Instead he glared at Voldemort, trying to get his breathing under control.

"I asked whether you learned your lesson. Answer me!"

Harry saw the blurry movement of Voldemort's wand; the pain was back. But this time, he didn't scream. His hands formed into fists, but he kept his arms steadily against his body.

"Do you want it to stop?" Harry heard, in a vague distance. "Do you want the pain to end? You know how, Harry…"

His head was surely going to burst open alongside his scar. "Nghh," he moaned, as the pain intensified. A vague laughter told him Voldemort wasn't getting bored of this little game.

"Beg, Harry… Beg for Lord Voldemort to stop the pain. I've got the time."

The pain was getting beyond endurance. He began to roll on the ground, twitching his legs and he screamed. In his agony, he heard himself yell through his screams.

"Stop!"

"Say please, Harry," said Voldemort softly, with his cold, high voice.

"Stop, please…"

The pain vanished slowly. Panting, Harry rolled over and pushed himself of the ground. The aches of the Cruciatus Curse rushed all over his body. He felt ill; he had actually begged for Voldemort to stop.

He turned to Voldemort, who had seated in one of the armchairs next to the fire. He saw through his blurred vision Voldemort's pitiless red eyes; saw that Voldemort knew what Harry was thinking.

"Very good, Harry," said Voldemort, his slit-like nostrils dilating with excitement, "I see you've learned."

He gestured to the remaining chair, telling Harry to sit.

"Now, as I was saying, before your insolence interrupted me, I might have to change my plans for you."

Harry kept standing. He wasn't going to obey Voldemort any further. Knowing he would face the Cruciatus Curse again for his defiance, Harry trembled again, but he wouldn't play along anymore. What was he talking about? Why all of a sudden had Voldemort decided not to kill him? Why keep toying with him, when all he ever wanted to do was getting rid of him?

"Why don't you just kill me and be done with it?" he asked.

"All in due time," Voldemort answered absently, while focusing on the wand circling through his fingers. There was work to be done. The Prophecy was destroyed, and the Ministry was aware of his return; not at all according plan. Months of preparations and months of efforts down the drain. He'd have to start over, reform his plan.

Plus, Dumbledore knew about his Horcruxes. How had he known? And how many were destroyed already? Voldemort cursed himself inwardly. Here he sat, toying with the boy, while he should attend to his hidden souls.

Voldemort looked up to where Harry was standing. Then, he rose and walked over to him. Something had occurred to him before; the boy's scar. Was it possible? Could he have accidentally made another?

Harry backed away. Annoyed, Voldemort grabbed him by his hair and pulled his head backwards, exposing the boy's throat. Oh, how he wished he could slice it open.

"What are you doing - !"

"Silence," Voldemort hissed, pulling even harder on Harry's hair. His eyes trailed over the boy's face, onto his scar.

"Could it be…" he whispered softly. He stretched his long index finger and brought it slowly to the scar.

Harry saw the finger getting closer and felt his scar burning up. "Don't," he said quietly, but Voldemort didn't listen. He felt the cold fingertip touch his scar.

Agonizing pain flowed through his head. Trying to pull away from Voldemort's grip, he kicked and grabbed Voldemort's wrist.

"Let – me – go," Harry moaned, while trying to pull Voldemort's finger away.

Voldemort watched Harry wrestle under his grip. The boy had confirmed his suspicion. Fresh anger rose through his body. So, he'd made another Horcrux. In no other than his arch enemy himself. How could this be?

He shoved Harry away from him and watched the boy fall unto the chair. Hatred flowed through him. He couldn't kill the boy now, not while a piece of his soul might host his head.

"Get up," Voldemort said icily, pointing his wand at Harry.

Harry felt his body rise, as if on invisible hand pulled him up. The invisible hand turned him towards the door.

"And walk," he heard Voldemort hiss from behind. His legs were dragging him through the hallway, onto the spiral staircase at the end. They descended a few flights of stairs, a long way down. The air was getting more cold, pressing Harry's lungs shut. His body trembled from fear and cold. A few times, Harry bumped against the wall; without his glasses he couldn't really see where he was going. Voldemort's invisible hand kept in line.

They halted by a big, intimidating door. Voldemort opened it with one wave of his wand.

"Get inside," he told Harry.

It was pitch black. Harry couldn't make out details, couldn't see anything in the room in front of him. He turned to Voldemort before stepping in, but Voldemort gave him a push. He tripped and fell yet again. He felt his skin break while gliding over the brick wall. His scar seared with pain from Voldemort's touch.

He heard the door slide into lock and the fading sounds of footsteps. And then, he was alone.