This was it, I was doomed. I was going to die, I knew it. Well the question is why was I so assured of my fate? Well the reason is simple; I'm trapped, in Voldemort's dungeons. Not only that, but Voldemort and I go way back. Back as in I kinda sorta expelled his spirit from his body when I was a wee tot. Then in fourth year he hatched this extremely complicated plot to capture me so he could use my blood to gain a new body. He then suggested a duel would be in order as to test my worthiness as his prophesized opponent, this weird wand connection thing happened and then I ran away. I don't think he was very happy, then of course there was the spectacle in fifth year, where Sirius, my godfather died. He didn't have enough awareness of his surrounding when he was dueling Bellatrix. He died because he fell into some death veil after he was stunned. Stunned! I have come to accept the possibility that maybe Bellatrix wasn't aiming for her cousin's death, and maybe that it was just Fate playing her hand against me. Again.

After all, the Black's valued family over almost all else, I mean in a twisted way a lot of Mrs. Black's decisions were for the good and continuation of family and the history of the family. That much I have gathered from her insane ramblings. I mean, I almost think that she truly believed that 'dirty blood' was damaging to future generations; even if only in reputation. But then again, I suppose that reputation is practically everything to a family of their caliber. I can't say that Bellatrix Lestrange nee Black is a good person, but I can say that I find it almost possible to believe that Sirius' death was an accident.

I could hear footsteps echoing down the hall. This was not good, the only one I've seen since I was placed in my cell has been Voldemort himself. And his visits have almost been entertaining. I knew that I was interested, his rather one-sided conversations were almost intriguing. But not as much as his new appearance, and that was exactly what it was. Lord Voldemort seemed to almost resemble an older version of the Tom Riddle in the Chamber of Secrets that I met in second year. His hair, yes he actually had hair now, was black and seemed to go to his shoulder, though it was hard to tell as it was always pulled back at the nape of his neck. His nose was back too, his perfect patrician nose. He had eyebrows too, odd, I know. But certain things didn't seem to quite want to leave him. Things like his red eyes and pale skin. Then of course there were still the slight remnants of his serpentine features from when he originally gained his body back using my blood.

But I shouldn't really be noticing these things I know, we were after all prophesized enemies. The kind you find in muggle fantasy novels. I mean really, if I wasn't living it, I would think my life was an entire prank set up just to make me feel special for an amount of time. But no, it's actually my life. I would know, I've had enough near death experiences for me to pinch myself and wish that it was just all an elaborate dream that my mind thought up. After all, an idle mind is the devil's playground.

I sit up and the meager amount of space I was allotted. However this time appears that Voldemort wasn't going to take the tame to torment me with news of the outside world; he wasn't conjuring his normal throne like chair and a cup of tea like usual. This could mean both good and bad news. I honestly wasn't sure which I wanted to hear more. You see, we each had very different sense of good and bad. Mine was kept in place with morals, while his was a little more skewed. Years of torturing and killing innocent people could do that to somebody, I'm sure.

But no, his news was neither bad nor good, rather it was unexpected. It seemed to be that I would be moving location. Not to some horrible torture chamber or an even smaller and darker cell as expected, but no. I would be moving to a place that was actually habitable by human beings. My new rooms were none other than the suite that just happened to be located immediately right of the Dark Lord's. Now I didn't understand what this meant, as I wasn't raised in proper pureblood culture. But for someone who was, they would be scared out of their wits. Because it just happens to be that when standing in the rooms facing outwards, my set of rooms would be on the left side of Voldemort's. This also means that these rooms are considered the consort suite; which, if you know, is one of later steps in the slow process of establishing an official consort for a Lord or other noble of high standing.

But I didn't know this so I was only worried because of the seemingly random act of kindness. I could safely say that my suspicions were higher than they ever have been before. Add to that fact that I am Harry Potter, that's saying quite a bit.

To say I was surprised when Voldemort walked into my rooms through a previously unnoticed door a few hours after I received my much-better-than-before meal, would be an understatement. To so that I was absolutely confounded when he told me that I was removed from the dungeons because I was currently being judged as a prospective consort would also be an understatement, a very large understatement. So gargantuan would that understatement be that you would probably fit ten full size versions of our planet Earth. And I do not believe that is an exaggeration.

I was also later informed that since I was the only possible consort in the running, I was by default, the dark consort. Lord Voldemort later informed me that he had altered the original consort binding ritual to suit his requirements. He told me that he had changed his own requirements to better suit my desires. In other words, I was now the co-ruler of the dark side. You would think that I would attempt to run away before the ritual could take place, but I really couldn't. It seems that a willing victim is not needed for the particular ritual that was used. It was performed while I was asleep one night. It is now my official duty to bear an heir, something I didn't know was possible. But apparently it is, all that is needed is a potion if the submissive in the relationship is not a natural bearing submissive.

Many months passed, and every now and again I would get news that the Order was planning to somehow break me out of my dark, dank, and oppressive prison. But it really wasn't like that at all. No, I was spoiled beyond my imagination, before I could consciously think of possibly wanting it, I had it. As soon as I needed something, it was at my fingertips. All my robes were custom tailored to fit my body, and made out of the finest materials. I had armor that I was constantly assured I would never find a use for, made out of basilisk hide, and a cloak made out of acromantula silk to protect me from almost all spells when I left the safety of mine and my lord's shared suite. Life was good, better than it ever had been I am ashamed to say.

I had been a love deprived child, and so had Voldemort. We both knew what it was like to live like that, and he used that to his advantage. One of the biggest turning points in our relationship was the day that he asked me to call him Tom in private. It went against proper protocol to do so, but he told me that he wanted me to feel comfortable in all aspects. All aspects also appeared to include ruling his death eaters. It seemed at first they were doubtful at some of the first orders that I gave them, as most of them knew my original identity. I say that because honestly, I wasn't the same person that I was before. I know went by Hadrian, and in time when a title or last name was required I was called either Hadrian the dark consort of Hadrian Riddle. I really didn't mind, because I eventually came to love it. Love the feeling of power when the death eaters bowed to my every whim and I even began to love Tom, to love the feel of being loved once and for all.