Physically Harry was sitting in his seat; calmly paying attention, mechanically taking down his notes, but mentally Harry Potter was far, far from Hogwarts' dungeon and the Potions class within.
"Where am I?" He asked the surrounding darkness. His voice sounded hollow, as if it resounded off walls he couldn't see. A laughter echoed within the shadow that held him captive.
"Where are you?" Harry spun.
"Who's there?" He demanded sharply.
"I'm here." He knew that voice; he didn't know where he knew the voice from, but he knew it.
"Who are you?"
"Who am I?"
"Stop repeating my own questions to me! Where am I?!" Nothing. Growling in frustration, Harry turned circles. Complete darkness.
"You are here." His head snapped around and his body followed. This voice was different...melodious where the other was harsh, feminine where the other was masculine.
"Where is here?" He asked the snake he found hovering in front of his face, apparently in mid-air.
"You are here." She repeated, tapping her snout lightly against his forehead.
"My head?" The snake's head moved up and down in an elegant nod.
"In your head." She affirmed. Harry's eyes narrowed.
"Who are you?" The snake wrapped around Harry's shoulders, long white body twirling around him sensually.
"Not who you’re here to see, my dove...my sweet, sweet dove." Her body was still wrapping around him; she appeared to be many times longer than he was tall.
"Who am I here to see?"
"You Know Who."
"No I don't...wait...yes I do...Voldemort?" He got the distinct impression that the long white snake was smiling.
"Who else?" She chuckled. Harry shuddered as a cold breeze ruffled his hair. Slowly he opened eyes he hadn't realized he'd closed to find the almost comforting weight of the snake around his shoulders suddenly absent. Before him stood a naked woman, all white and curves. She shone softly in a light that seemed to be manifestion of her alabaster skin. She was strangely beautiful in a curious way. All her hair was stark white; not blonde or even light blonde, like Draco Malfoy's, but *white*-a pure unmarked absence of color, even the soft pubic hair that covered her nether regions. Her skin was the same pure colorless shade; only her eyes were different. Red. Bright unnatural, pupil-less, and red -- like that of a snake.
"Come with me, Harry Potter...." Without thinking he took her out-stretched hand and allowed her to lead him forward.
"Can you see?" She laughed.
"I don't need to see." He took this at face value and continued to follow her, not worried where his feet landed as there seemed to be no texture to the ground under him. He wasn't even sure if there was ground under him.
"Where are you taking me?" He ventured finally.
"You'll see..." They walked in silence for what seemed like a great amount of time before Harry noticed that things were gradually changing. His mysterious guide stopped suddenly, her eyes trained to a point just above what Harry supposed would be the horizon had there been one.
"Up there...I'll pray for you, Harry. We all will." Harry followed her finger, taking one tentative step forward.
"Wait..." But as he turned around all he saw was the very tip of a slender white tail. Swallowing hard, he took a step forward, then another, and then his legs seemed to move of their own accord, tendons and muscles working together to propel him forward as the ground suddenly began to climb. His body seemed to be relaxed, but somehow tense at the same time as he move toward a point he couldn't define; he unconsciously reached into the folds of his cloak to seek his wand and was oddly pleased to find it was there. He didn't know how long he walked but the ground was growing steeper, steeper, even though there was no actual way to tell the difference between the ground and the sky, if there even was one. After an incalculable amount of time a pinpoint of light appeared. Not bright white, but more golden-like, like the color of the morning sun, but too bright, too clean, to be a type of light cast by, say, a candle. It looked so close, almost as though he could reach out and touch it, grab it and hold it in his hand. So he did and was surprised to find that his hand connected with something seemingly solid and he tugged on it. The tiny pinpoint of light expanded and he pulled again, bringing his body up, his second hand craning to join the second, and pulling harder. The light washed over him and he found himself on a ledge. It was actually a single peak and when he looked down it disappeared in shadow only a few feet down, to either side he only saw blackness. Holding his breath he turned on his precarious perch, sending a few rocks to clatter down a few feet and vanish into sudden silence. Once he had turned completely around his placed his hands on the ledge and leaned over carefully. There was not sheer darkness on the other side as he had expected but rather the most curious scene. He was looking down on a Quidditch pitch.
Biting his lip he surveyed the surrounding area. It was just the pitch, washed in brilliant light, but everything else was complete darkness. He scanned the pitch again and something caught his eye; it was a single speck of black right in the middle of the brilliant green playing field. He eyed it suspiciously, and for some obscure reason he was suddenly furious. Who dared to mar a perfect pitch? He opened his mouth to shout but what ever words he might have screamed were ripped brutally from his mouth by a sudden wind. He shut his mouth and glared; the wind fell silent. Finally he decided he would just have to march down there and see who it was. Determination sparked through him and he threw one leg over the ledge, searching for the same elusive ground that had been there before. Only it wasn't there. He huffed in fury and frustration, sitting on the ledge roughly and wondering what would happen if he just jumped. Something told him he would die, even while something else was convinced that *he* was not actually *here*. However, this moment of consideration passed as his broom suddenly appeared in front of him. Without question, he grabbed it and mounted, thrusting the handle downward toward the infuriating dot that was marring *his* *perfect* Quidditch pitch.
Something gold suddenly whizzed past him and his Seeker instincts kicked in. Momentarily forgetting the black spot on his pitch he swung the broom around and chased after the speck of gold that he immediately decided was a Snitch, which naturally must capture. The elusive golden ball dipped and spun in an erratic, seemingly purposeless flight. In a remarkable flip, Harry suddenly captured the small fleck of gold. He put on his victory smile, but even as his hands closed around the smooth golden ball, he was somewhere else.
Still clutching the Snitch in one hand he looked around wildly. He was on the pitch, his broom no longer in sight, and he had the most unnerving feeling that he was being watched. It wasn't like at a Quidditch game where he *knew* he was being watched by hundreds of people; it was that unsettling feeling he got when there was just one person watching him, but when he turned to find that gaze there was nothing.
"Very impressive." Harry whirled to the sound of clapping to come face to face with his black dot. "Very impressive indeed." Now he recognized the voice. Voldemort. Yet he couldn't bring himself to let go of the Snitch and retrieve his wand.
"What do you want?" Harry snapped, clutching the winged golden ball a little tighter.
"I would like to re-proposition you, Mr. Potter." Harry searched the faceless thing in front of him and his eyes narrowed. "I've been watching you, Harry and I think that you and I would make a wonderful pair..." A gloved hand detached itself from the general mass and settled against Harry's cheek. It felt very real and very cold against his skin. "We could be so good together." Harry jerked away.
"What do you want me for? A bedmate or dark wizard?!" Harry spat. Voldemort laughed.
"Both, darling. Both." Voldemort lifted his hand up to where his face should have been and pushed, revealing pale skin and full sensual lips, a light spattering of freckles and soft brown hair. But those eyes...red lusterless eyes. Harry recoiled.
"You don't like my appearance? I could change it for you, Harry. I could be anyone you want…” He took a step toward the young boy and Harry took a step back. "Let me love you, Harry." He purred, his voice honey sweet. Voldemort took another step and Harry found that he was frozen to the spot. "You'll like it, I promise. I'll love you and you'll love me..." He bent his head down and captured Harry's lips in a soul searing kiss. "And you'll be mine, and we'll rule the world together. You and I." He continued softly, moving his lips inches away from Harry's. Harry slid his arm up Voldemort's chest and around his neck; the man smiled in triumph as Harry drew him back down for another slow sensual kiss that suddenly turned violent when Harry thrust his tongue into the older man's mouth. Voldemort moaned and wrapped both his arms around Harry's waist and down to grasp his ass, pulling him roughly towards his body. Harry pulled away fractionally.
"Not in a million years, you fucking bastard." He hissed quietly, unthinkingly shoving his hand that still held the Snitch into the general area where his chest should have been. Voldemort screamed and Harry was shocked to find that his hand went straight though the soft cloth and past brittle bone and into a tough organ. Harry jerked back, leaving the Snitch behind, listening to Voldemort scream. He took a step back and watched as Voldemort stumbled forward, then fell on him, hands scrabbling at Harry's chest and shoulders. Harry didn't move. Somewhere, somehow he *knew* that Voldemort -- the real one, countless miles away -- was dying. He held his ground and suddenly found himself tugged down roughly as the other man fell to the ground. Their lips met and Harry tried desperately to get away, but the dying man held on to him, thrusting his tongue into Harry's mouth and brutally jamming it down his throat. Harry screamed around the tongue in his mouth and redoubled his efforts to escape as red-hot pain seared through his body.
After long painful moment, Voldemort's tongue went limp and his body stilled, hands falling off to either side. Harry jerked away from him, breathing heavily, his mouth working soundlessly. He fell on to his back with a cry and clutched at the grass as his vision swam and flashed. He heard voices, but when he looked around there was no one there. Harry's Quidditch pitch slowly dissolved into blessed darkness, taking the pain and voices along with it.