Introduction: There is one room. One room, for two wizards. Not just any wizards. Two eternal enemies, two opposites…but with a lot in common.

They are in what is called a 'Mindlock'. Each has the right to one person outside of this room. One link, and no more. It is the person most important, the person whose mind is closest. For Harry, it is a surprise when he finds himself in contact with Draco Malfoy's mind. But who will be the Dark Lord's link?

This happens at the end of fifth year, when Voldemort possesses Harry at the ministry during the battle between Voldemort and Dumbledore. Tom Riddle and Harry Potter are swept into an internal world, in a dark circular room. No doors, no windows, and no way out.

Info: I start with the scene at the ministry at the end of 'Order of the Phoenix', and then go from there. This means that I take into account everything that happened before that moment, but change pretty much everything from that point on.

Prologue

For a few seconds, Voldemort was visible only as a dark, rippling, faceless figure, shimmering and indistinct upon the plinth, clearly struggling to throw off the suffocating mass.

Then he was gone and the water fell with a crash back into its pool, slopping wildly over the sides, drenching the polished floor.

"MASTER!"Screamed Bellatrix.

Sure it was over, sure Voldemort had decided to flee, Harry made to run out from behind his statue guard, but Dumbledore bellowed: "Stay where you are, Harry!"

For the first time, Dumbledore sounded frightened. Harry could not see why: the hall was quite empty but for themselves, the sobbing Bellatrix still trapped under the witch statue, and the baby phoenix Fawkes croaking feebly on the floor.

And then Harry's scar burst open and he knew he was dead: it was pain beyond imagining, pain past endurance.

He was gone from the hall, he was locked in the coils of a creature with red eyes, so tightly bound that Harry didn't know where his body ended and the creature's began: they were fused together, bound by pain and there was no escape.

And when the creature spoke, it used Harry's mouth, so that in his agony he felt his jaw move. "Kill me now, Dumbledore…"

Blinded and dying, every part of him screaming for release, Harry felt the creature use him again. "If death is nothing, Dumbledore, kill the boy…"

Let the pain stop, thought Harry…let him kill us…end it, Dumbledore…death is nothing compared to this…

And I'll see Sirius again…

And as Harry's heart filled with emotion, the creature's coils loosened, the pain was gone. Harry was lying face down on the floor, his glasses gone, shivering as though he lay upon ice…

It wasn't quite ice, but almost; it was rough and icy stone digging into his cheek, his palms, his stomach and knees. It was hard and uncomfortable, but after the pain he'd just survived, it felt like a cloud sent from heaven itself.

Only it was too dark for it to be heaven, the atmosphere too cold and too hostile. Harry felt a breath like a shadow graze his hair and he scrambled upright, just remembering where he was and what had happened.

Where he was…or rather…where he had been.

Harry felt around for his loyal glasses, hoping that they had survived yet another adventure. A sigh of relief escaped his trembling lips as his fingers brushed against the round rims. He put them on again.

What…

Nothing was the same.

The room surrounding him was circular and twice the size of the Gryffindor common room but with a low ceiling that gave it a claustrophobic feel, entirely made of stone and filled with odds and ends, old furniture and non-descript objects. Not a single window was to be found. The only light present came from torches that hung at regular intervals along the stone walls in heavy brass brackets.

Harry noticed with a surge of panic that there was no door in sight.

This wasn't the ministry anymore. Dumbledore wasn't there, the statues weren't there, Bellatrix wasn't there.

But someone was.

Harry felt it. That presence in the room, it was familiar. He had just felt it, in the form of a red-eyed creature. One that had possessed him and spoken through him. Voldemort.

Harry sprung to his feet and immediately sought cover, his breathing quickening once again. The ethereal shadow-like breath that he'd felt before infused the room.

"Harry." The voice reached him in guttural hisses. Parseltongue.

Harry tightened his fingers around… thin air… My wand! He screeched internally, casting his eyes about him, frantically searching for his only defence. His wand wasn't there! Not in his hands, not in his pockets, not on the floor where he'd lain just a few moments before. Had he left it behind at the ministry? Had he been somehow transported to this place when Voldemort had taken possession of him?

"Harry." Voldemort's voice sounded again in the dark, subterranean-like room. "What do you hope to achieve with this, Harry?" It asked playfully, as if they were in the middle of a game of wizard-chess.

"Where are you?" Harry shouted in English, refusing to cooperate in Voldemort's game, whatever that was. But he didn't know where to direct his voice at. He couldn't localise the source of the Parseltongue. "Don't' be coward! Show yourself!" He yelled, the adrenaline from the fights and the rage from Sirius' death still coursing through his veins.

Something moved in his peripheral vision, to his left, and he whirled around and repositioned himself, so as to put a pile of what looked like stone-rubble between him and the dark-cloaked figure of the Dark Lord. It was the only defence he could find without his wand.

Harry glanced down and saw with astonishment that Voldemort's hands were equally wand-less. Those spidery white fingers Harry had seen in his nightmares as his own weren't holding the dark, yew-wood Voldemort had brandished in his duel with Dumbledore.

"Look at me, Harry." His eyes snapped up in response."That's right, look at my eyes."

The dark slits fixed on him, Harry felt his pulse quicken with fear, anticipation…and an almost uncontrollable desire to curse the man in front of him with the most painful spell he knew to exist. Because he was the reason his godfather had just died for him. It was performed by Bellatrix's hand, but ultimately, it was Voldemort who was the murderer.

The slitted eyes and the green ones stared into each other head on, each trying to find something in the other, each trying to push forth their wrath, conjure the magic that needed no wand, no spell, just a burning passion to be performed.

Harry had done it before. He didn't need a wand. If he needed it badly enough, the magical energy in him would come to his help. He fumed, he was furious. He breathed loudly. And nothing came. And the more time passed, the more frustrated he became. How could it be that he was ready to sink his teeth into the man's throat and rip it out, and that still not a sliver of magic could be detected in the air around him?

The teenager was not the only one feeling this problem. The Dark Lord himself was feeling like he was piercing with his gaze right through the boy who always kept thwarting him. He had been violently rejected from the boy's mind before, and now he was trying to enter it again, searching for an entrance through the forest-green gaze fixed upon him. And nothing was happening.

"What have you done?" He exploded in renewed rage as he surged forwards in a flash and held the boy's throat pushed against the stone wall with his bare hands. That he had to lower himself to physical contact, him, the one who had cheated death, was beyond humiliating. Magical forces that no one before him had ever heard of, let alone understood and tamed, were at his disposal. And still, not a trace of it could be found in this cluttered and filthy room.

Harry coughed and gasped, his feet were dangling inches from the floor and the weight of his body was only supported by Voldemort's hand at his neck. He was slowly suffocating.

Grabbing the arm that was holding him against the wall, he pulled himself up a little for support and then aimed a kick at Voldemort's abdomen. The Dark Lord hissed and bared his teeth in an animalistic grimace as he staggered back, dropping Harry back onto the floor.

Despite the hard landing, the young wizard was back on his feet in no time and had scurried away into the labyrinth of clutter. He ran along the wall, desperately looking for the door that must be hidden somewhere.

He kept on running, his legs gradually slowing as he realized he'd already seen that old desk on three legs. And that dusty, rusted owl-cage. Hope made him push a little further. I have to find Dumbledore! Voldemort is unarmed! He could take him! We could end it now!

Twice now did he encounter that same desk and bird cage. And the realization began to sink in. There was no door.

This was a circular room with no entrance and no exit, with only some broken furniture and rubble to protect him from the most powerful dark wizard that ever lived. And he was stuck… without his wand, and inexplicably, without even a hint of magic.

Harry relocated himself strategically, hiding somewhere in the middle, since the room had no corners. Where was Voldemort? He hadn't seen him. Had he left? Could he have disapparated out of there?

He considered for a moment whether he could try and apparate, but he had not the first clue how to go about it. He was too young to even have started lessons yet, and he'd never had the sense to ask just how one did it.

Curses that had nothing to do with magic flooded from his tongue.

What on earth is going on?

This was a rather short prologue. I'm curious if anyone is interested in the idea. I'll be working more on my main story for now. So if you like this, let me know, so that I can start putting more time into this one.

Thanks for reading!