Dark Kingdom.

As they entered the infirmary (Harry thought it a bit silly to put the hospital wing on the third floor), they were greeted by very plump, middle aged woman with a nurses habit. She took one look at Harry, look positively indignant about his physical state, and quickly rushed him behind a screen for examination.

"My word, are you Harry Potter?" she asked, as she helped remove his soiled clothes and clean him up a bit using her wand. "The whole school has been in an uproar since your disappearance, and I am quite glad to see the morbid speculations floating about turned out to be false. This is a nasty looking bruise, dear. Does it hurt to breath deeply?"

"A bit. It feels better than it did yesterday," he replied. "So no one realizes that I was-"

"Lord Voldemort," Snape hissed. The nurse actually flinched at the name. "Has asked that the events that led to your disappearance first be relayed through him, and him first. The one thing this school doesn't need is another one of your overblown stories stirring up the students."

Harry let out a huff, but didn't ask anymore questions. So Snape wasn't keeping silent of his own accord? Did this mean he was going to have to tell Voldemort his tale directly? Shouldn't law enforcement handle this sort of thing? Did Voldemort intend to cover up the debacle to preserve his House's honor? What would happen to him? Would they threaten him or use memory charms or magical confidentiality contracts on him? Would Whitehall and Morgenson remain at Hogwarts and go unpunished?

As he was cleaned up, patched up, and given a clean set of hospital pajamas, his thoughts began to turn increasingly distressing and it didn't take long for the nurse (Madam Pomfrey she had said) to notice.

"Here you go, Mr. Potter," she said, offering a vial of blue liquid. "Something to ease those frazzled nerves of yours."

Harry excepted it reluctantly, distrustful of potions in general, and swallowed it down. It didn't taste too bad, and within moments he was feeling rather relaxed. He was lead to a bed and curled up to take a nap without a second thought. Sleep was almost upon him when he overheard Pomfrey and Snape talking in quiet voices to each other.

"Any serious injuries or toxins?" came a silky voice.

"I am not sure I should be discussing this with you, Professor," she said. "You are not his Head of House, and given You-Know-Who's orders for secrecy... Well, lets just say his injuries are rather telling."

"I will be informing Our Lord of Mr. Potter's return. It would be best if I were able to give him a general description of his health. He will be eager to talk to him, after all."

There was a tense silence for a moment.

"Let him have a bit of sleep first," she said finally, "All he needs is that few hours rest to heal the worst of it... and then he should be up and ready to return to classes. Although I'd prefer he slept here tonight."

There was an irritated snort. "You say that to everyone who walks through your door."

An equally irritated 'humph!'. "Not everyone. You are more than welcome to spend your night and dayelsewhere!"

If Snape replied, Harry didn't hear. Too quickly, his mind descended into a dark and dreamless sleep.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"Potter, wake up."

Harry rolled over onto his back and opened his eyes to a very blurry black head. He sat up, rubbed his eyes, and then patting the air around his bed in search of his glasses. Snape's rough, callused fingers grabbed his chin, and a moment later he could see the dark man scowling down at him.

"Get dressed. Lord Voldemort has requested our presence in his study."

A set of clothes was placed at the corner of his bed, and Snape shut the privacy screen now surrounding his bed. Through the white sheet, Harry could make out his distinctive profile. The potion's master looked decidedly impatient.

Quickly dressing, he joined Snape and they made their way quickly from the infirmary. Madam Pomfrey, who was shooting the older man a disapproving glare, managed to spit out an order for Harry to return should start feeling tired or sore again. The young Gryffindor wasn't planning on it. He was feeling refreshed and energized, with only the barest of aches where previously there had been stabbing pains. Briefly he examined his wrist and found them a bit red, but otherwise unmarked.

They entered a tower not unlike the Headmistress's own, but when they entered the Dark Lord's office Harry was rather amazed by the difference. Lestrange's office was cluttered, ancient room with too many portraits of dead men and women, stacks of paperwork, and strange assortment of baubles. Voldemort's office was the picture of elegant sophistication. The circular room was lined in bookshelves, laden with tomes and occasionally a well placed instrument. There were only an office desk, a few sitting chairs, a chaise, and a telescope by the window by way of furniture, and large painting of Salazar Slytherin with a feathered serpent of some kind draped around his shoulders.

Headmistress Lestrange occupied the chaise, and would have looked beautifully elegant herself if her body language weren't so tense. She scowled darkly as they entered the room, and Harry hesitated.

"Have a seat, Mr. Potter."

Voldemort's smooth, confident voice moved him out of his surprise, and he quickly took the chair indicated. He looked directly at the Dark Lord, and was relieved to see the other looked genuinely pleased to see him. His red eyes weren't exactly friendly, but they were bright with a sort of curiosity.

"Professor Snape was telling me that you showed up in the castle early this morning, escorted by a werewolf no less. Considering your abrupt disappearance after your Quidditch victory and the rising of the full moon that night, I think it would be safe to assume that you didn't go gallivanting off into the forest on your own."

Harry merely nodded, waiting for an actual question. He didn't have to wait long. Lestrange was on her feet and stalking towards him suddenly. He nearly bolted from chair to keep his distance from her, but Snape (who had been leaning by the door) was suddenly between them, his wand in his right hand and Harry's shoulder in his left. Lestrange spoke as if the man wasn't even there, but she did stop her forward assault.

"And I suppose we're to believe Slytherins were the ones to have taken you?" she hissed. "A convenient explanation. But it doesn't explain how you came to be in the company of your godfather's lover."

Now that was news to him! Remus and Sirius were... what? A couple? Mates? His father hadn't mentioned his best friends being gay (was his dad bi then?), and Remus sure as hell hadn't said anything about it!

"Lestrange, control yourself," Voldemort commanded, although he looked even more intrigued than before. "Let's not jump to more than the truly obvious conclusions. Why don't you give us a rendition of the events that have transpired, starting from the moment you left the Quidditch pitch."

Harry wasn't sure what information he should withhold, if any, and so told the events of the last several days as sparsely as he could without actually hiding anything. Even with all three person's occasional questions (or accusation on Lestrange's part) it took less than five minutes. When it was all done, Snape looked disturbed, the headmistress looked furious, and Voldemort just sat back in his chair and stared at him curiously.

"A rather amazing adventure, Mr. Potter," the Dark Lord began, rising slowly from his chair. "Indeed, it is a miracle that you survived."

Harry tensed as the man strode around his desk, took a sitting chair and placed it directly across from him. When Voldemort sat down, the boy involuntarily stopped breathing. Serpentine eyes regarded him calmly, in mock compassion.

"A miracle, but... I'm not a religious man."

As quick as a snake, Voldemort moved forward, his hands gripping tightly on either side of Harry's head as he forced the boy to look directly into his brilliant red eyes.

"Relax, Mr. Potter," he hissed, parseltongue slipping out like a whisper, "It only hurts if you struggle."

But Harry did struggle. He struggled with his swinging fists and kicking legs. He struggled with his mind, creeping away and lashing out blindly at the invading pressure inside his head.

His fight lasted only for the briefest of moments, before a searing pain lanced through brain. He froze, gave a single violent shake, then went limp in the man's grasp. In his stunned state, his thoughts scattered and resistance crumbled until the world became insensible.

The only thing he was aware of was the shifting of his thoughts by an alien presence and Voldemort's eyes staring directly into his.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Harry was brought back to his senses, and wished taste hadn't been one of them. The salty, sour taste of a potion seemed to cling to crevasses of his lips and mouth, and not even the water Snape offered him immediately after seemed to help much.

As his thoughts cleared, he pulled away quickly from the man, clambering to his feet and stumbling away until he was at the far end of the room. Using the bookshelf to support his jelly legs, he turned a heated glare to the occupants of the room. Snape stood with his arms crossed beside the chaise, where Harry had apparently been laying, an empty vile in one hand and a shattered glass at his feet. Lestrange was sulking by the telescope, endeavoring to ignore everyone and failing miserably. Voldemort was once again behind his desk, scribbling away on some parchment.

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