Privet Drive in Little Whinging, Surrey, was perhaps the most normal street in all of Britain. Every house looked the same with perfectly manicured lawns, elegant flowerbeds, sparkling windows and freshly painted doors. Every house neat, bland and uniform. If a visitor happened to wander down that street they would never suspect what was hidden behind the plain, ordinary façade of number four.

It was a perfectly average summer's day in the Dursley residence, Vernon was out at work, Petunia was in the sitting room sipping an iced drink and watching her 'shows' and Dudley, their pride and joy, was out in the garden tormenting the 'Freak'.

No-one on Privet Drive ever seemed to notice anything different about the Dursley's and would never dare question their behaviour towards their young nephew. A stranger could be forgiven for never guessing that the two boys in the garden were the same age or that they were related. One large, confident and with a nasty expression and the other small, pale and with a nervous air.

Dudley sneered down at his cousin as the smaller boy knelt by the flowerbed, carefully removing weeds from between the stunning array of flowers.

"Oi Freak, you'd better be done before Dad gets home or you're in for it," he jeered with malicious glee "I bet he locks you away for days for the mess you made this time!"

His cousin – who when not being abused by his relatives was known as Harry - looked up nervously, squinting through his broken glasses at Dudley. Looking around the immaculate garden quickly he couldn't see what the problem was. Looking back at his cousin suspiciously just as the bigger boy made his move.

"No!" he gasped as Dudley started ripping up the delicate blooms that he had been tending for weeks in preparation for the yearly Garden Show.

Harry looked on in despair as Dudley destroyed the flowerbed – the grand centrepiece to the garden. His aunt had worked his fingers to the bone preparing for the show, once again determined to win the annual competition. If it was possible he would have cried. Gardening was his escape from daily life and the place he could focus on the scents and feel of the soil and making things grow.

As he watched Dudley waddle into the house, screeching for his mother to 'come see what the Freak had done now', Harry felt a powerful surge of emotion. He fell back to his knees and closed his eyes as he dug his fingers in the warm soil and growled his frustration at the unfair treatment he had once again received.

If he was lucky his Aunt would lock him in his cupboard for a few days.

If he was unlucky she would tell his uncle first.

"Boy, what have you done to my flowers?!" His eyes flew back open as he heard her yelling, and he looked up just in time to see Petunia exit the back door.

"He just went crazy Mum! Suddenly started ripping them all up! He's mad he is. Are they gonna lock him up in the loony bin?" Dudley followed closely, grinning maliciously at his cousin.

Petunia stopped and glared at her nephew as he knelt there, his green eyes huge and scared behind his broken glasses.

The garden around him was immaculate, not a single petal bruised or out of place - if anything it was even more magnificent than before he had set to work that morning.

Beside her Dudley just gaped, stunned at the lack of damage.

"I swear Mum… there…there were plants everywhere… all torn up… he did it again Mum… he did that freaky thing!" he said, pulling on her arm.

"Boy, get inside now," she hissed, eyes narrowed in anger, "and mind you don't get any mud on my nice clean floors!"

Harry quickly cleared up his tools and clippings, hurrying into the house and carefully removing his tatty trainers before stepping on the pristine tiles of the kitchen. He looked up to see his aunt's pinched expression as she scowled down at him in disgust.

"I don't know what you did out there but I've told you before boy, we won't be having any of your….freakishness… in our house. Now you'd better be thankful I'm in a good mood and the garden is looking well for the judging tomorrow, so you'll just go to the bathroom and then get in your cupboard until I come for you. Understood? No dinner for you today either."

Harry merely nodded and headed upstairs quickly and quietly - he wasn't going to risk upsetting her further and risk Uncle Vernon being informed of the incident too. In the bathroom he quickly went to the toilet and washed as best he could at the sink before drinking as much water as he was able to manage. He knew from experience that it would hold off the hunger pains for tonight at least and it would probably be a couple of days before he would be allowed back out of his cupboard so he needed to drink while he could. The small bottle of water he had stashed would be saved until he had an idea what mood his 'family' was in tomorrow.

Barely five minutes after he had gone upstairs he was in his cupboard and to his dismay Harry discovered his Aunt had removed his light bulb. It was only 4:15pm and he wasn't sleepy yet, but he wouldn't be able to see to draw or read his story book - a raggedy, battered thing he had managed to rescue from Dudley's bin.

With a sigh the small boy curled up and tried to focus on his imaginary world, where he still lived with his mum and dad, where they had never died and left him with his horrid relatives...

In this fantasy world they lived in a huge house in the country and his parents never yelled or hurt him for doing 'freaky' things.

His daydreams were shattered to pieces when his door was slammed open and the space filled by the huge, angry face of his Uncle Vernon.

This was going to be bad.

~#~

As Harry suffered his uncle's displeasure, in a remote part of the country in a dim, smoky room a circle of dark robed figures held their breath as one of their number began his ritual.

The people forming the circle all wore the same black robes and white ceramic masks whilst the figure in the centre wore a much more elaborate mask in pure silver. He swayed gently, arms raised high as he chanted in a strangely forbidding language. He was stood in the centre of a large and intricately carved stone platform, the surface covered in connected grooves that made up runes and hieroglyphs for a complex ritual.

In the centre, where he stood, there was a central dais carved out of the same stone, the surfaces covered in carved depictions of tortured souls, more ancient runes and carefully calibrated grooves leading to the web below. On the dais a golden chalice was placed and surrounded with sweet smelling herbs and plants – saffron, frankincense, myrrh and sandalwood were dominant as well as gleaming lines of honey traced over some of the runes.

The wizard in the silver mask scattered a grey white powder in a ring following the deepest carved circle, and changed from a repeating chant to a more powerful speech. As he did so he used his wand to start tracing the runes around him, leaving a fiery trail in its wake

"Et spiritus redeat ad os integrum corpus et sanguinem innocentempater da mihi carnem tenebrae Domino, puer egospiritum et omnia pro renovatione plantae erat, Sic fiat." With each word the runes grew brighter and his wand was put away.

With the invocation complete he used a glittering silver knife, the handle studded in rare and precious gems, to cut the throat of a pure white fawn. The blood splashed into the depression in the carved stone dais and flowed into the grooves, down the sides and across the circle to fill and colour the intricate runes as well as the golden cup and plants.

As the blood flowed the wizard once again started to chant, strengthening the wards around the circle. It rose in volume as the circle completed and a thick silver mist began to fill the ring in an almost opaque column, shadows swirling and solidifying in the centre. This was the cue for the outer ring and they all joined hands and started swaying and chanting, their own energy feeding into the glowing column, strengthening the shadowy spectre within.

As the combined spell-weaving reached a crescendo the invisible wall containing the column of silvery smoke collapsed and the cloud rolled out over the group, taking their breath as they felt the chilling power pass through them. All thirty or so members present dropped to their knees and bowed their heads in respect as the man revealed by the iridescent cloud stepped out of the stone circle, swirling tendrils of mist clinging to his naked form.

"My Lord," the silver masked wizard whispered reverently "it worked…"

The slender man that had emerged from the smoke smiled thinly as he looked around the group of his most loyal followers. He had spent seven long years in his non-corporeal form, waiting for his people to find the ritual that would bring him back from his half existence. He elegantly accepted the robes handed to him by the silver masked man, hiding his lithe body from view.

Smoothing his hair back from his face he stepped forward gracefully, motioning the robed figures to rise as he did so.

"So it seems Lucius… you have done well. Now take me to somewhere more comfortable where we may speak, my time… away… has allowed some revelations I wish to discuss with you. Severus, Narcissa, please join us – the rest of you will be called when I am ready.

With that two of the white masked followers joined their leader and the silver masked wizard.

Linking hands they whirled away with the crack of apparition.

~#~

Harry tried desperately not to flinch.

Flinching always made his 'punishments' a lot worse than when he managed to stay still, and it was the same with crying out – if he stayed quiet it would hopefully end soon. His back and thighs were already covered in bruises and welts from where his uncle had hit him with his belt - the enormous threadbare hand-me-downs he wore were no protection against the worn leather.

From what Harry had been able to decipher from his uncle's ranting when he was pulled from the cupboard under the stairs, Dudley had told his father about the incident in the garden.

Harry still didn't know what had happened out there. He had just been so angry at Dudley for hurting his flowers, and so upset at the damage his precious blooms had suffered, that this wave of emotion had flowed out of him and through his hands into the soil and all the damage had been undone. You would think his relatives would be happy - Petunia would win the gala for sure now - but no, here he was being beaten again, just like he was every time something his family deemed 'freaky' happened.

Harry curled up on the floor, trying not to cry as he waited to be sent back to the cupboard.

As he lay there, he saw his uncle's newspaper where it had obviously fallen when he had heard the bad news about his nephew's behaviour. There across the top the young boy could see the date – July 31 1989 – his birthday.

"Oh," Harry thought to himself, "Happy birthday to me..."

He somehow doubted that his eighth year would be any better than the others.

Vernon smiled to himself as the boy lay down. Sweat was pouring down his face and his shirt was soaked from the effort he had put into beating the child - it was the most exercise the morbidly obese man ever got, so it never took long for him to become exhausted from these 'discipline sessions' and he felt the need to sit down with a beer.

"Go on Boy, get back to your cupboard then," he growled. "You won't be coming out again until Wednesday morning and be thankful at that!"

"Yes Sir," Harry whispered as he shuffled into the hallway and into his cupboard.

Wednesday was Dudley's shopping trip for school and Harry would be going to carry all the bags. There would be new books, bags, clothes, shoes, stationary and toys for his cousin, but nothing for him. The Dursley family would never carry their own shopping, not when they had Harry to act as a slave and do it for them.

Harry may have only just turned eight but he was already well on his way to truly hating his family. Not just disliking them but true, deep hatred. Despite having grown up with their treatment since he was barely fifteen months old he had never been able to accept it as normal, especially after starting school with Dudley. None of the other children wore threadbare clothes that were far too big or had to 'stay quiet' about home. Harry's relatives had already told his teachers that he was a 'problem child' and said he was a liar and violent and bullied Dudley at home. He never understood why they believed his aunt and uncle but they did and they never intervened when his cousin and his friends came after him at school.

Over time he went from being eager in class to sullen and unresponsive as the teachers accused him of cheating whenever he achieved good grades or giving detentions and assigning extra work when they thought his classwork was 'poor'.

Dudley and his gang made sure that Harry had no chance of making any friends at school - they were all too afraid of crossing 'Big D' and his friends. And then there was the day that Harry's teacher ended up with blue hair whilst berating him for yet another one of Dudley's so called pranks. That had ended up with another beating, time off school and a teacher that hated him for his 'evil ways' in the classroom.

Harry spent the three days he was locked in the cupboard napping, carefully sipping his meagre water supply and daydreaming when possible to try and escape the pain from his bruises and the ache of his empty stomach. The door was padlocked due to his 'punishment' so he couldn't sneak out at night to steal leftovers or more water, or even empty his waste bucket - his stuffy, airless cupboard was rapidly becoming more than normally stifling and the ammonia build up made his eyes water and his lungs burn

When he was finally released he could barely stand, and his aunt wrinkled her nose at the smell that came from both him and the cupboard. He trembled as he stood under her disapproving glare, squinting against the light after three days of almost total darkness - the only light had been what had seeped around the edges of the door. Thankfully the welts and bruises had mostly faded - he always had healed remarkably quickly and the only scar he had was the one on his forehead from when his parents died.

"Come on boy, clean your cupboard and yourself then get on with your chores. The list is on the corkboard, I'm going out and they had better be done when I get home," she snapped, already pulling on her gloves as she headed for the door.

"Yes ma'am," Harry whispered, his throat still sore.

He was actually fairly pleased as he would have most of the day to himself. Wednesdays were Petunia's 'Good Works' days where she joined other local ladies to organise events to raise money for charity. Vernon was at work and Dudley was out with his friend Piers at the Summer Day Camp run by the local community centre. This meant Harry would be able to do his chores without being tormented and if he was careful he could also sneak some food, and maybe even use some hot water during his shower.

He busied himself with emptying and cleaning his bucket and bleaching it whilst Petunia finished gathering her coat and bag and left. As soon as the front door clicked shut Harry grabbed his clean clothes and the thin, scratchy towel that was for his use and stumbled into the bathroom. With a sigh he turned the shower on to a warm setting and stepped in, quickly lathering up and washing his hair and washing the stale sweat and grime from his body. Once washed and dried he pulled on his clean clothes - these were more of Dudley's cast offs, and just as large, so they swamped Harry's small frame.

With a sigh he quickly wiped down the bathroom, removing all trace of his presence, before heading down to the kitchen. In there he found his pin board with a list of chores pinned to it. To his eternal surprise he also found a plate with two slices of toast and a slightly brown banana with a note.

"Boy, eat this, it's all you'll be getting today but we can't have you fainting, you'd be even less use than you are now. Mind those chores are done before Vernon gets home," he read in his aunt's precise script.

He practically inhaled the food, the first he'd had in three days, so he quickly felt rather full. He followed it with a glass of cool water too, and felt like it was a fine breakfast, all things considered. Reading over the chore list he mentally sorted them into groups so they could be done as efficiently as possible and save some time. The bathroom was already cleaned, so that left dusting and vacuuming throughout upstairs, same downstairs, scrub kitchen, mow lawn, scrub patio, weed flowerbeds and driveway and polish the door fittings.

Since no cleaning had been done for several days while he was locked away, it took Harry longer than usual to get everything done and it was already 3pm by the time he got outside to start on the chores there. With only three hours left before everyone would be arriving home he paused to check out the fridge for leftovers. Cautiously Harry managed to remove a small amount of cheese, some slightly stale bread, some wilted lettuce and another brown banana that was buried near the back. He hid them carefully in his cupboard – making sure they were well out of reach of his large uncle should he try to search the space. He also refilled his plastic bottles just in case they were needed again.

Outside he worked as fast as he could, occasionally grabbing a quick drink from the hose as the sun was blazing and the yard was proving to be a heat trap. He could see the plaque out front of the house announcing that they were the winners of the annual gala, and that Petunia's garden was to be opened to the public at the weekend for high tea and a talk on gardening tips by Petunia and a local gardening expert who had been on the judging panel. Rolling his eyes Harry muttered to himself as he carefully watered and weeded the flowerbeds.

"First step to having a healthy, luxurious garden kept in pristine condition is to find yourself an orphan, preferably a relative that you can convince you are helping out of the 'goodness of your heart'. Then work said orphan from the age of four, teach them to read and then only allow them botanical books and seed packets apart from the odd cook book. Make them work the garden every single day until their hands are ready to fall off and then take credit when your snobby friends praise you," he grumbled, viciously pulling out the weeds.

He was just finishing his final chore - scrubbing the patio - when he heard Vernon's car pulling into the driveway. Harry gulped. He wasn't quite done - he still had to put the brush and bucket away and tidy the tools up a bit, but it was always a delicate balance with his family. If he was finished and back in his cupboard when then got home then they assumed they had made his day too easy, but if he wasn't in his cupboard when they got home he was deemed lazy and faced some form of punishment.

Apparently today was his lucky day and Vernon took a few minutes to finish fussing with his car so that Harry was just opening his cupboard door as the front door opened.

"Boy, have you finished your chores?" Vernon growled, scowling at the small boy.

"Yes Sir," Harry replied, "I've just finished tidying the tools away Sir."

"Very well, get on with dinner then. Petunia and Dudley will be home in half an hour, and I want food on the table by then. Make sure you make plenty - Dudders will be hungry, they never feed him enough for lunch at that useless camp." With that, Vernon stomped into the lounge and settled in front of the TV with a whisky.

Harry sighed and closed the cupboard door, heading back to the kitchen. With practiced ease he got the various pans he needed out and started cooking chicken in a rich creamy mushroom sauce with steamed vegetables and creamed potatoes. It was one of his regular 'stand-by' dishes that he could make quickly and easily at short notice. He stirred the sauce and wondered why today was different. Wednesdays were normally 'take-out night' with Vernon stopping for either Indian or Chinese on the way home from work. As it was he only just managed to get the food cooked in time and was just putting it into the serving dishes as Petunia and her son came in the door. He hurried to put the bowls on the dining table and was back in the kitchen tidying up by the time they had shed their coats and cleaned up.

"Dad? What's the Freak doing cooking? Tonight's take-out night and I want pizza!" Dudley whined as he spotted the covered dishes.

"Well Dudders," his father said with a smirk, starting to serve the food for the family "Rather than give the boy two nights off from his duties this week I thought he could cook tonight instead of tomorrow."

"What's tomorrow dear?" Petunia looked confused, they never ate out on a Thursday.

"Well, I've only managed to get an award and a promotion at work and we've been invited to dine with the company Director at the Savoy!" Vernon flushed with pride. "So we are leaving early in the morning to go to London and buy new clothes, have a bit of a look around, and then spend the afternoon and the evening with Mr Vickers and his family."

"Oh darling!" Petunia gushed. "It's about time they took notice of how much you do for that company! Oh I'm so proud of you!"

Dudley merely grunted, pleased at the idea of a day trip to London. It wasn't going to stop him shovelling his heavily loaded plate of food down his throat as fast as humanly possible though. In the kitchen Harry was silently rejoicing, this meant he would have another full day to himself - he would be able to do whatever he liked after his chores were done and they would be none the wiser since it was highly unlikely they would be back before ten or eleven in the evening.

"Well Vickers was impressed by our family dynamic," Vernon bragged. "He heard about the gala and apparently you know his sister-in-law from your WI meetings. She was impressed by your work raising money for the NSPCC last year, and he thinks a man with my family values should be advancing in the company. Always said he was a good man."

In the kitchen Harry was vibrating with a mix of anger and disbelief. His uncle was getting promoted because of his 'family values'? What a joke! Just like all those 'good deeds' his aunt had done in the name of raising money for the 'National Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children' when they had him at home.

It was only recently that he had truly begun to accept that what his family did to him was abuse. Ever since he could remember he had been called 'Freak' and reminded that they didn't want him and that he was just a burden, and he had believed it for years.

Until he went to school he had no idea that his name was Harry and it wasn't until he left infants for juniors that he discovered just how abnormal his life really was.

They had a video shown in class explaining about abuse and how to spot it as part of a national campaign to protect children.

Harry hadn't seen much unusual about the treatment shown, and thought actually it wasn't as bad as he had it sometimes – ok he didn't get beaten every day but he would rather get beaten and fed than the gnawing hunger.

The one thing the video made him grateful for though, was that at least he didn't get 'touched' like the video said sometimes could happen. Harry shuddered at the thought of any of his family touching him like that and was, for the first time, grateful that they were disgusted by him.

Of course he had spoken to his teacher about his living conditions after the video had opened his eyes, and she had been horrified by what he told her, but nothing had ever came of it. His aunt and uncle had convinced them that he was lying for attention because he was jealous and spiteful - a 'problem boy' they were trying to be understanding of since the poor dear had lost his family so young, but it was just so hard when he always threw their kindness back into their faces.

Their blatant lies had only served to further convince Harry that the way they treated him was wrong - why would they lie about his treatment if it was acceptable for 'normal people' to treat kids like this?

After that the teacher never believed him again, and readily believed his inattention and poor homework were due to 'laziness' rather than exhaustion and lack of time thanks to his permanently long list of chores, and that the bruises were from being 'clumsy', and not from his cousin's bullying or the occasional beating from his uncle. Because the interview had been just before the Easter holidays Harry had had two weeks to recover from the beating he had as punishment for telling and he had learnt another important lesson. Adults will believe each other and he couldn't trust them to help him, ever - asking for help only brought more pain.

Once the family was finished eating Harry finished washing up the last of the dishes, sneaking a few mouthfuls of the delicious food as he went. His aunt and uncle were so excited about the following day that they completely ignored him and Dudley was already upstairs on his new Sega playing a game.

Harry managed to eat nearly a full meal as he scrapped the last leftovers into the bin, and then washed up before heading to his cupboard. A quick detour also had his light bulb retrieved and back in his 'room' and he was able to read. Deciding now was the best time, with his relatives settled in front of the TV with a drink and in a good mood, Harry approached the lounge door and knocked quietly.

"What is it boy?" his uncle asked, not quite as vicious as usual.

"The kitchen's clean again, I was wondering if I could use the bathroom and go to bed please?" Harry kept his tone as even and polite as possible despite his anger.

"Fine boy - but I want you up early. We need a good breakfast before we go out tomorrow," his uncle warned, waving him off.

With a small sigh Harry shook off his emotions as much as he could, and went and saw to his night time toilet before heading to his cupboard. He settled down with his book - why Dudley would throw away a story as fantastic as 'Arthur and his Knights' was beyond Harry, but then 'Dudders' was a prize imbecile - and nibbling on the food he'd hidden away earlier, he would keep it for an emergency but couldn't risk it smelling and tipping off his family. His rebellions had been minor, sneaking food and his light source, but they gave him a sense of achievement and power so by the time he drifted off to sleep with the comforting light still on he was feeling quite content.

~#~

Lucius Malfoy was feeling rather smug.

It had taken him just under seven years but he had achieved what everyone had thought was impossible - he'd found a way to resurrect the Dark Lord from his half-life.

Lucius had been going through his Master's hidden paperwork at his manor and found reference to horcruxes, which led him to do further research. A few lengthy discussions with his Master's soul piece in the diary he'd been entrusted with, and Lucius had set his plan into motion.

Using an ancient ritual using a mixture of Roman and Nordic elements to recall a wandering soul and tie it to a body, he then found a Runic Ring that he managed to interlock with the other elements to take the bone of a relative and blood of an innocent to create a new body for the soul to bind to. Because the free soul fragment was so badly damaged one of the horcruxes was also necessary to make the soul strong enough to bind to the body.

He selected the cup horcrux to be sacrificed, since his Lord has created it at his most magically powerful and stable, making it the best way to return him to his former terrible glory.

Lucius hadn't known him at that age, and seeing him now he was mesmerised - as were both his wife and Severus. They could not keep their eyes off the handsome figure before them.

Lord Voldemort had, at the time of his presumed demise, become a figure twisted and deformed in the most monstrous of ways - the result of several failed attempts at spells and rituals promising immortality to the caster. Now he was once again a young man - younger than Lucius, even. Barely older in appearance than Severus in fact. He was darkly handsome, and charm oozed off him as it once must have in his days as a charismatic and young Dark Lord. His dark hair was wavy and swept back from a lean face with piercing green/blue eyes and finely sculptured cheeks. His lips were well shaped, though a little on the thin side, and his jawline was clearly defined. It was easy to see how he had been able to gather so many people to his cause - between his looks and charisma he was magnetic.

"Lucius, you are most remarkable… I must thank you for returning me to my body," Voldemort tipped his head towards his follower briefly as he spoke. "However we have much to discuss. I am aware several years have passed since my fight with the Potters. During this time several… revelations… have come to light that I cannot trust to anyone but you three..."

"My Lord," Severus bowed his head towards Voldemort, "the magical world has been in turmoil since you have been gone. The Light have been scouring the land and arresting everyone they suspect of being Dark and throwing them in Azkaban, often without trial. Sirius Black was blamed for betraying the Potters and murdering Pettigrew and is also in Azkaban. His brother Regulus has disappeared, and the Lestranges were locked away for torturing the Longbottoms into insanity."

Voldemort frowned and considered this. There was obviously much more to cover but it at least explained why Rebastan and Rodolpus Lestrange were not present as two of his most trusted advisors. He was also still feeling a little off kilter due to the after effects of the ceremony - there had been some rather unexpected side effects.

"Tell me Severus, Lucius… why did you work so hard to bring me back?" He held a hand up to stop them interrupting. "I am well aware that by the time you both joined my cause I had become somewhat… vehement… in my cause and quite…fanatical. In fact very different to when I started out on my political path."

"My Lord… I was an angry youth, and had been hurt badly by several people I thought cared about me. Combined with that I had researched your goals from the beginning and I saw merit in them. Although you were considered somewhat radical it was before the war had actually started and as a youth I only heard and read what I wanted to." Severus Snape replied choosing total honesty rather than half-truths. It was a risk, but something about his Lord's question made him think it worth it.

"I followed my father, he spoke of your inspiring speeches and ideals from your youth My Lord," Lucius offered. "He was totally charmed by your beliefs, although I know he was worried by the changes that occurred over the years."

Both men looked worried by how honest they had been, it went against their normal practice to be so open, especially when it left one so vulnerable.

There was something in Voldemort's eyes that compelled them to be totally honest though - his expression held something that they could not name, something they had never before seen there.

Narcissa merely held her husband's hand and remained silent and supportive. Her opinion would be called for in due course but as she was not a marked Death Eater she knew that this part of the conversation was not the reason she had been requested to accompany them.

"It came to my attention after I lost my body that there had been several… alterations… made to both my mind and magical core without my consent," Voldemort said, raising an eyebrow at the group's shocked expressions. "However due to the damage I received when losing my body and the spell damage both my spirit and core received I am unable to determine exactly what happened, how it happened and who was responsible. I have suspicions of course, but no proof and as yet I am still having… difficulties."

Voldemort sipped at the drink a house elf had delivered when they first arrived in the comfortable lounge they were meeting in, and frowned as he noticed the minor tremors in his hands. They worsened as his eyes flashed red, but with effort he was able to pull the rage and insanity back.

"Severus, I need you to find a mind healer you can trust and bring them to me. I need you to provide me with some potions, and we will find a way to remove these… shackles… in full. Then we will find the perpetrator and destroy them and their family line for this travesty."

"My Lord?" Lucius began, uncharacteristically nervous, "these… alterations… are they why you changed your actions and attitude over the years? And used the… ah… incentives… that you did on your followers?"

The blonde held himself rigid refusing to flinch away from the rage he saw in his Master's eyes. They had once again flashed red, the same red that they had always been in his later years, and it was obvious that Voldemort wished to crucio Lucius or worse, and the only things stopping him at the moment were his lack of a wand and his cast-iron control.

The liberal use of curses to torture his followers for any perceived failure or even when he was in a bad mood had become legendary over the last decade or so of his rule, and in the end he had even resorted to using the imperious to ensure that his less willing people would commit the travesties he now wanted them to perform. As his mental stability had deteriorated so had his control and his attacks had become more violent by the day.

They spent a couple more hours talking about events that had happened over the past seven years and listing followers that had been imprisoned, killed or fled the country, and how others had remained free.

Severus and Lucius stayed awake long into the night, they had much to do if they were going to help their Lord recover his strength and sanity. For several years during his rule they had worried about his mind but his control had been absolute and they had been horrified by how different the man's doctrine was to what they had been told by his original followers that had recruited them. There was something going on here and they were determined to find out exactly who was trying to control their Lord and how many other people had they affected as well?

~#~

Harry was once again sat in the dark – his light bulb once again confiscated. This time his crime was scoring better on a maths test than Dudley, to be fair that was about as hard as scoring better than a tub of ice-cream – which his 'poor, poor cousin' was currently eating a pint of to console himself after that 'Mean Freak' had humiliated him today.

As he sat shaking in the dark Harry was furious, at both himself and his 'family', at himself because of his phobia of the dark – he thought he should be used to it by now and hated the self-perceived weakness – and at his family for putting him in this situation again, punishing him for simply being himself.

He held his hand out in front of him, vainly trying to see any part of an outline or different shades in the dark. He just wished for any glimmer of light to relieve the unrelenting darkness surrounding him, pressing in on all sides and making it hard to breathe.

With a yelp he shook his hand as it started to glow with a soft blue light, the shimmer barely highlighting his fingers to start with. He soon realised that it didn't hurt and he stared in awe as the glow grew to encompass his entire hand. Squeezing his eyes shut he concentrated.

"I wish my hand glowed enough to see by, make it glow! Make it glow!" he whispered to himself, putting all his hope into the quiet plea.

Opening his eyes he was astonished – the glow was now bright enough to see the entire cupboard by, not quite as bright as his bulb but a good thirty watts! This was amazing, this was the first time he'd made his 'freakishness' do what he wanted it to and make it do something to help him. For the next hour he practiced changing the intensity of the light and even how much of his hand lit up. Each time it got easier and easier – even letting him turn it 'off' and 'on' again several times.

Smiling, Harry snuggling down under his threadbare blanket, he felt unbelievably secure now that he knew he would never have to spend another night locked in the pitch black confines of his cupboard again – he would always have the warming comfort of a light.