In Sleep He Sang To Me

Rating: M (Dark under-tones, sexual scenes, slash, violence, language, and death)

Summary: When Harry uses Voldemort's old diary to relieve the stress of fifth year, he begins to see many things about him changing. Trapped between feelings of love and hate for his sworn enemy, will Harry get more than he bargained for besides a devil's diary?

A/N: This is a dark, vulnerable Harry fic. Of course, it's mostly through the connection he feels this anger, does these things, and you will see some regret scenes where he's our loveable hero once again. But that doesn't mean he won't go on to do more things later, and not all of them you'll see him so sorry for. This is also slash between Harry and Voldemort, so if you can't stand it, don't read.

Please read and review! Thanks.

––————————————

"This is what I brought, this you can keep. This is what I brought, you may forget me. I promise to depart, just promise one thing; kiss my eyes and lay me to sleep. This is what I brought, this you can keep. This is what I brought, you may forget me. I promise you my heart, just promise to sing; Kiss my eyes and lay me to sleep..." - Prelude 1221, AFI

Chapter 1: Prelude 12/21

Harry Potter was restless. Of course, this was nothing new; most of this past week had been filled with haunting dreams and visions he could not explain, the stinging of the scar on his forehead painted right above his right eye and the painful stinging of the right hand where Umbridge had forced him to carve words into his own skin. But what was making these dreams more frustrating than usual was the fact that a single door always stood before him, never opening, and every time he went to open it, he'd awake, sweating profusely, the feeling of dread and disappointment filling within him, as if something had been ripped away from him. But not tonight. Tonight, he had wandered further into the depths of the place that held that locked door, realizing he was in a place that did not seem familiar to him.

He now lay awake upon his four-poster, staring idly at the ceiling, trying to recollect the dream and it's curious mysteries. But nothing would come. Once again, like every time, the dream had vanished from his mind's eye. His scar was beginning to prickle from the aftermath of the dream, and he winced silently as it gave a particularly nasty throb, rubbing it gingerly. How he hated when his scar burned.

Finally, when he could no longer fight against the pain, he closed his eyes. Almost at once, he heard a hollowed voice in his eardrums, far away, distant; He opened his eyes. Even as he did, he realized he was no longer himself; He had long, slender fingers that were as white as the palest sun. His skin was as rough as chipped rock and rocky roads, bumpy, and his eyes felt stretched, formed into slits, scarlet and furious. A wand hung in his right hand, almost tenderly, but he could make the most vile and evil things ripple from it's enchantments, it's very being; The stick as thin as a twig had caused much more damage than it looked capable – this wand had murdered.

"Lucius," Said Harry in a high, cold voice, and he realized with a jolt that the voice that emanated from his mouth was not his own, but that of his enemy; He was speaking in Voldemort's voice.

The man, Lucius, who was blonde and long-haired, stood, face impassive. "My Lord?" He questioned.

"Enough of the formalities, Lucius!" Rage surged through Harry in the snappish tone. "Did you think me idiotic? Infallible?"

Lucius looked perplexed. "My-My Lord? I know not what you speak of -"

"Oh, but I think you do," Harry hissed in Voldemort's voice, fury like a serpent trailing his insides. "I think you know. Did you really think – Harry Potter – did you really think that child stood a chance against me..? I, who have killed so easily and without the slightest problem, was thwarted by a mere infant?! Do you think me weak, in my efforts to kill a child? Well, do you?!"

His voice was dangerously soft, and Lucius gave the slightest flinch, but remained kneeling at his master's feet. "No, no My Lord. You, you are more powerful than this child. You are merciful, and gratified, and I will follow any command you give me, My Lord Voldemort."

"Quit your begging, Lucius. Save the pleas for mercy later." He spat in disgust. "You'll be needing them. I want that Prophecy. I want Harry Potter. I want him now. NOW!"

Lucius shuddered in fear now, his whole body trembling. "Yes, yes, My Lord. I shall bring the boy."

"Yes, you shall.." He hissed, his lipless mouth curving into a smirk, licking them clean from which the taste of desire so presented itself. "You shall bring me him.."

Lucius fumbled as he got up, musing his apologizes as he sped out the door before Voldemort could stop him, and Voldemort let out an evil cackle as the torches on the wall burst into flame, setting the room up with a pearly sunset glow, whispering the name that had been his wand's only weakness, the boy who had thwarted him so many times before. But not any longer.

"Harry..."

Harry's eyes snapped open, and he let out a soft strangled cry of fright. Looking down at himself, he realized that his body was his own, no longer that of Voldemort's. He raised his hands to his face, and felt it. There was no longer a rocky bumpiness to it. It was smooth; clear. Sighing in relief, his whirring brain barely registered Ron's loud grunt in his deep sleep, or the quietness that had spread across the Hogwarts grounds. He failed to notice, as he got up from his bed to attend an early breakfast, that his school bag was unzipped, and as he brushed against it, the book fell out, falling gracefully onto the floor as it flipped onto an empty page, where a single word was written, a name, and he failed to hear the slow, soft whisper it called through the continuing darkness.

Harry...

—————————————–—–————

[Revised on December 6th.

- Tainted Visions