Play My Game

Prologue

Transfiguration was known to be boring. Professor McGonagall, Transfiguration teacher and Order of the Phoenix member, was a very severe person who wouldn't let students drift off in her class if her life depended on it. Well, at lest it was meant to be so. This period they were trying to transfigure a glass of water -full, of course- to a fire breathing dragon. Except that everyone seemingly forgot that it was improbable that water would ever be fire, if not impossible. Harry Potter, sixth year Gryffindor and Boy-Who-Lived-To-Be-Stared-At, was in turn staring, or rather glaring, at his newly transfigured mini-wannabe-dragon, that was a neon shade of pink and green, and currently deep in dreamland, willing it to wake up and spit fire, wich of course, it didn't. He had already tried to shake it, and it had woken up, only to bite him in the finger and fall asleep again.

Finally giving up, he conjured a small pillow and blanket to at least make it comfortable for the small reptile, and looked round. Needless to say, Professor McGonagall was holding an didactic -or boring, as most called it- conversation with star-student Hermione Granger, also his best friend, on the technical hitches of the Glass-Dragon transformation. Ron Weasley, his other best friend was currently residing in the hospital wing due to one of Crabbe's -or was it Goyle's?- Bludgers. And it had been because of that Bludger that they had lost the Gryffindor-Slytherin match. The current Seeker, Ginny Weasley was good, but Draco Malfoy was better.

Sighing, he did the one most sacrilegious thing that a student could do in Transfiguration Class - he drifted off.

Sirius had died at the beginning of the summer, something still weighing heavily on is mind, and probably forever would. Remus Lupin, who had inherited the Black Family Fortune along with himself and Tonks, was the closest thing he currently had to a confidant and a father-figure, since he still resented Dumbledore for everything he had done last year. In the summer he had wanted to hate the man, rip him to pieces and feed him to Aunt Marge's bulldogs, but he had come to understand that to win this war he had to accept the man. Still, it would be a long time until he could trust him again. As for Snape, the relationship between them wasn't 'He-hates-so-I-return-the-favour' but 'he-hates-me-because-I-am-my-father's-son-and-I-hate-him-back-because-he-helped-kill-Siruis'.

A loud crash brought him out of his reverie, announcing that Neville had broken his third glass in row. This time, however he tried to remedy his failure by trying putting the green-gold coloured glass together again - keyword being trying. Instead, the shards were flying wildly around the room, while Neville was waving his wand frantically. True, the boy had improved due to the DA, but he wasn't used to his new wand; he had broken his old one in the Battle at the Department of Mysteries. The only lucky one out of them had been Ron, who had gained an influx of knowledge because of the brain that had attacked him.

Some of the shards, flying wildly, had impaled themselves in McGonagall's right arm, just as she was trying to gain control of them. Another one had flown into Lavender's eye, and she was screeching as blood was flowing out of it. Student's that were near the door ran out to bring help, while the others were hiding under the tables. Harry ducked a moment too late, a shard impaling itself right into his scar, which started burning in pain, excruciating pain. He passed out.

He was walking down a familiar dark corridor, following the shrieks of pain resonating from a half open door. Voldemort stood there, in all his serpentine glory, calling "Crucio, Crucio!", red beams of light hurtling towards a bloodied and battered Sirius. Voldemort transformed into Bellatrix, who began laughing and sent a Killing Curse towards Sirius, who became his Mother...

The horrible scenery changed to something less vague, less surreal. He knew what was happening, he frantically he tried to Occlude his mind, but even as his thoughts were hidden, he still was there, still floating immaterially in front of the Dark Lord, who was preparing a potion. Strange, usually he was watching through Voldemort's eyes, but not now. The huge bubbling cauldron morbidly reminded him of the one Voldemort used at his revivification ... but something was off ... the man in front of him felt like Voldemort, but didn't look like him. Thick raven hair obscured his deathly pallid face. Catlike eyes, so like Voldemort's were glowing sanguine, tinted with green. The face however was young, almost handsome, with a normal nose and normal lips, not at all like the snakelike visage he always associated with his nemesis. Even with all the differences, he knew the man in front of him had to be Voldemort.

Harry watched fascinated as Voldemort added a pair of vivid bluish-green feathers to the concoction, making green smoke rise from its surface. Voldemort smiled maliciously, and looked up directly into Harry's eyes. Green met red, and for a split second neither of them spoke, one of them in shock and the other relishing the shock.

"Why are you surprised, kitten?" Voldemort spoke, his voice chilling as ever. He had come to calling him that after their latest encounter, a month ago at the Hogsmeade Battle, when Harry tried to run away from him again on Remus' orders, like a kitten rather than like a lion. Suffice to say, it enraged him enough not to escape, until Remus threw a portkey at him and he stupidly caught it. "Is it the fact that you are here? Or maybe my appearance?" Was Voldemort reading his mind? "No, I am not reading your mind, if that is what you are thinking. It was merely an educated guess. My faithful Severus"-Faithful his arse, he nearly interjected- "brewed me a potion to restore my old looks. But that is not why we are here, are we?"

"How the hell should I know why you brought me here? I'm not a psychic and definitely not a seer!"

"Not that a psychic or a Legilimens as intelligent people call it, has any effect on me," he replied, smirking.

"Fuck you!"

"As much as the offer appeals to me, I fear you won't have time after this. "

Suppressing an inappropriate blush, Harry mocked, "Let me guess: this is one of your hair-brained schemes to kill poor little me."

Voldemort shook his head. "No manners at all, kitten, such a pity. You should be grateful you are to see Lord Voldemort one last time, before you fall into agonizing oblivion, before you are thus immortalized. Do you know what that is?" He gestured towards a crystal bottle on his right-hand side. Harry eyed it apprehensively. To him it sounded more like a bluff than anything else, but if Voldemort was not known for something, it was bluffing.

"Well?" Voldemort sounded vaguely eager.

"A bottle? Are you trying to knock me unconscious with it?" he asked, earning a sharp bark of laughter from the Dark Lord.

"It is such a shame to deprive the world of such imagination. But no, I will give you immortality."

"You are contradicting yourself, Voldemort. Besides, it was your dream to be immortal."

"Yesss, but I plan to be immortal with my body intact." He paused, for the dramatic effect. "I found a nice little spell that is regarded as as more unforgivable as the Unforgivable Curses, worse than the Dementor's Kiss." This didn't sound good. "It steals and traps a soul in a crystal prison. A truly divine curse, it leaves the soul defenceless, completely to the mercy of the caster to be forever tormented. And because your body is dead, the prophecy will be fulfilled. Yes, don't look so surprised, I do know about it. Your power will be useless!"

As Voldemort laughter ringed in his ears, Harry felt panic rise inside him. He tried to concentrate on his connection to his body, only to realise that it was too thin to risk following back - so thin that it might just snap if he put pressure on it. He tried to strengthen his Occlumency shield - he would not go down without a fight! He had sworn he was going to live - sworn it by the memory of all that had died for him!

"It is in vain! You can't fight me!" Voldemort took the crystal bottle and filled it with the black potion, placing it right in front of Harry. Then he raised both his hands, one pointing towards the potion-filled bottle, and the other towards Harry.

Harry tried to knock the potion over -to break the bottle- but his hands went right through it, as if he was nothing more than a powerless ghost, a mere shadow.

Saying a string of words in a language Harry didn't recognise the strange brew began to ascend out of the Bottle, tendrils stretching towards both Harry and Voldemort. The air turned thick, and shadows began to dance across the walls. The torches that had illuminated the spartan room flickered and died out. He saw Voldemort glowing an eerie sickly green, and Harry, he realised with alarm was glowing too, but a blazing red instead. Then Voldemort moved his left and in circular motion around the bottle and Harry, but something different was happening. The crystal bottle was empty again, not a trace of potion remaining in it. Instead, the potion was reaching out towards both him and Voldemort. He didn't register as Voldemort's glowing form began screaming and shouting counter-curses, as he began to fight against the tendrills, because a pain of thousand knifes cutting through him at once passed through him, until blessed oblivion befell him.

A/N: Hope you liked it; I really had fun with my thesaurus lol. I apologize for any mistakes, since English is not my first language, but, you could say, my third. I'm living in Romania, and my second language is German. I tried to correct everything with my computer, but you know how unreliable that is. R/R