Sharing the Throne:
Ch-1

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Pacing his bedroom with his hands in his pockets, his fists clenched so hard his nails were drawing blood from his palms, Lord Voldemort waited from Nagini to return with a potions vial clenched in her jaws.

He had been having trouble sleeping lately. The cause? Harry James Potter.

To be more precise, it was the connection the Dark Lord shared with the boy, though he could hardly be called 'boy' now. He had matured a lot and was now preparing to go into his sixth year. But that was beside the point. The point was that potter still hadn't learnt Occlumency, so Voldemort would get insights into Potters mind while he was catching up on his sleep.

Their sleeping habits were quite opposite, since when it was late morning where Potter was, it was midnight where Voldemort was.

Voldemort knew Occlumency, but wouldn't use it out of spite. If Potter kept him up at night, by Merlin, Voldemort had every right to flood Potters dreams with things that would torment him to no end as well.

Another opposite between the two was that Harry was kept up by images of death and darkness, pain and anger, while the Dark Lord was woken by visions of happiness, love and friendship. Yes. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and He-Who-Must-Be-Worshiped were two very different people indeed.

Now. Where the bloody hell was Nagini!

He couldn't stand another night of watching that horrible boy get everything Voldemort had been deprived of. Everything that he had tried so hard in his youth to get. If Dumbledore hadn't ignored him, been wary of him, and instead shown support and guidance, rather then being the manipulative bastard that he was, Tom Marvolo Riddle would never have turned dark, never had killed, and never would have turned into the disgusting creature who called himself into Lord Voldemort.

It was Dumbledore's fault, and he would never been forgiven.

Everything always involved Albus Dumbledore in one-way or another. The man was bloody infuriating.

Voldemort stoped pacing and sat on the end of his large and very empty bed, unable to find the energy to stand up much longer. his eyes fluttered closed for a few seconds, but he forced them open.

NAGINI. I NEED THAT POTION.- He hissed out in Parseltongue, as loud as he could. There was a hiss in response and Nagini squeezed through a little snake-flap in the door and slithered up to her master, a crystal vial clutched in her mouth behind her fangs. Thank you, not a moment too soon.

Marvolo?- Nagini asked after she had dropped the vial on the ground, -Are you alright?.-

Ah, Nagini, my only friend. The only lady in my life. He thought, even though it wasn't widely known, but Voldemort did prefer the more masculine sex over the fairer. -I will be after I have a good nights sleep.-

The potion didn't actually stop him having these dreams. They let him have a different viewpoint instead of from behind Potter's eyes. It allowed him too focus on something else in the room.

Voldemort tipped his head back and downed the potion in one mouthful, taking care not to let it touch his tongue. he crawled across the bed towards the silvery-grey pillow and slid himself under the green and blue covers. Fighting back a yawn, he hissed a goodnight to Nagini before slowly drifting off.

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It was a strange feeling being there, but at the same time laying in bed somewhere miles away. A tingly feeling spread across Voldemort's soul's skin but that was all he could feel. He had worked out that the tingle was the air going through him, which was generally not a feeling that someone got every day.

'Voldemort' looked around the room. It was a small room used for storage. This could be determined by the tones of boxes that had been crammed in. There was a soft sobbing noise from the other side of the room. 'Voldemort' walked through the boxes towards the sound and found a figure crouching in the corner with his knees pulled to his chest, his head down and his arms wrapped around himself. The messy black hair was filled with dust that had come from the room, showing that the teen had been there for a while.

This was obviously Potter, who was rocking himself back and forth and crying as hard as he could. This house wasn't part of Private Drive. Voldemort knew this wasn't Potter's Uncle and Aunt's house, because they would never let him have his wand, but it could clearly be seen now sticking out of his pocket.

Recently Voldemort had been getting angry with Potter's cousin, who had been beating Potter until the thinner teen was unconscious. It was common knowledge that only Voldemort had a reason to hurt Potter, in any way, and the Dark Lord felt that he was the only one allowed to cause Potter's anguish, be it physical or mental.

But if they weren't at Potter's, then why was he crying?

"Come on everyone, Grimmauld Place awaits." Someone called out, her voice echoing through the house. The invisible soul recognized it as Molly Prewett's. Or was it Weasley now. Why anyone would want to marry a woman that dumpy was beyond Voldemort's comprehension.

At least that explains why the scar-headed boy was crying. He was returning to Grimmauld Place. The house his late Godfather had owned. A cold smile spread across 'Voldemort's' face.

Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place: Dark, Depressing, Grimy, Full of bad memories (for Potter), and Headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix... Perfect.

Potter wiped his eyes and cheeks with the heel of his hand and his nose with his sleave. He looked up, his red-rimmed, Slytherin eyes shinning with remaining tears, and his nose slightly red accompanied by flushed cheeks.

'Voldemort' scowled as Potter reminded him, once again, that grief over a loved one was the worst type of torture anyone could ever endure.

Potter stood and grabbed his glasses off the top of one of the boxes, then grabbed the box and left to room. 'Voldemort' followed only because he was forced too by the link.

They portkeyed to a street that was missing number twelve. 'Voldemort' smirked This could be it. If Dumbledore has forgotten to alter the Fidelius Charm, then I'll be able to get in. He thought with a raised eyebrow.

Sure enough, after reading the parchment Dumbledore had written on, 'Voldemort' could see number twelve and feel the charm working.

The Fidelius charm only lasted a short amount of time, so he held on and drew on his energy to keep seeing the house. Once Potter and the Weasleys had gone through he felt the charm pulling at his magic.

---

Voldemort's eyes opened suddenly and he sat upright. Making sure the spell was still working he got out of bed and grabbed his wand from the bedside table. With a complicated hand movement he gathered up the Fidelius charm into a purple glowing ball the size of a marble.

He smirked as he went through an archway into an adjoining living room, then out the door and around the corner, down the hall and large staircase.

"Wormtail!" he barked and a balding man came up from the staircase leading to the dungeons.

"Yes master" He bowed lowly out of fear.

"Give me your arm, Wormtail, I am summoning the others." Wormtail rolled up a sleave to reveal a red skull with a snake coming out of it's mouth. With one touch from the Dark Lord, it turned the same black as both Potter's and Voldemort's hair.

Yes, despite what everyone else thought, Lord Voldemort did have hair, it was just under his hood. He had also slightly changed his appearance, so he had a snake-like aura, but looked a lot more human because of his newly transformed nose.

Twenty minutes later in the Meeting Hall (as Nagini had dubbed it), a select group of Death Eaters stood in a large circle with their arms out and one palm up and the other down, each palm hovered about an inch above or below someone else's.

The purple marble lay in the middle and purple sparks flew from hand to hand. "Ready?" Voldemort asked from his position in the circle. There was no response from his Death Eaters, so he took their silence as a 'yes'.

"The Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London."

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A/N: This is just a story I'm doing when I need a break from the others. Don't expect it to be updated regularly, 'cause it won't be.