"Merry Christmas!"

Harry blinked tiredly and turned to the source of the cheerful greeting. "It's a week away!"

"Yes it is," Hermione agreed and sat down beside him. "But that doesn't make me less excited. I'm really looking forward to going home this season and seeing my parents now that the big problems are over. Who would've thought that it would end this way? And so quickly, too."

"That's what the Dark Lord-ish types get for having a penchant for steep, rickety towers. Ever since You-Know-Who took that nasty fall down the stairs of his awful house, everyone's been busy celebrating," Ron added with a snicker. "How the mighty has fallen. Literally."

The trio laughed, momentarily forgetting their schoolwork.

"Still, I can't help but feel sorry for the poor man," Hermione said pensively, much later. And maybe because of the collective glare of her companions, she hurriedly added, "But then he probably deserved it."

"Yes he did," Harry muttered, tapping his quill on a book. "In my opinion, he got off way too easily. It was too quick!"

Hermione shrugged. She would never be comfortable with the subject, knowing how much Harry had lost because of that single individual. Deciding to change the topic, she gave Harry a wide smile. "I have a favor to ask."

"Hmm?"

"Well, since Ron and I are both leaving for the holidays, I was wondering if I could leave Crookshanks with you here. He's having so much fun chasing the Slytherins, and you know how much he hates traveling."

Harry nodded. "Of course I don't mind. I'd appreciate the company."

She sighed, relieved. She adored Crookshanks, but the last thing she wanted was to have her enormous pet cat scratch the interior of her father's car during their planned trip to the shore. "Thank you."

***

Harry supposed that taking Crookshanks for a walk was not the most amusing thing to do two days before Christmas, but he was sorely lacking in entertainment since all of the Gryffindor seventh years deserted him in Hogwarts. Ever since it became safe to openly travel without the threat of Death Eater attacks, people have been taking advantage of their rediscovered freedom.

The ginger-colored cat bounded across the field away from him, chasing who-knew-what in the snow. Harry was about to call it back but decided against it. Let Crookshanks have his fun. Tightening his cloak around him, he walked closer to the direction Crookshanks had taken.

It was the edge of the forest--a part not frequented by the students since it was quite far from the main grounds. The day seemed to grow dimmer as Harry walked nearer the thick evergreens, with trees blocking the meager sunlight. He felt the forest closing around him as he walked deeper and deeper into the woods.

"Crookshanks," Harry called out uncertainly. He pushed his nervousness down. It would be silly to be scared now after everything he had gone through since childhood. But then, the Forbidden Forest had its way of intimidating even the bravest wizards and witches.

And just before he was about to give up and start returning to the castle, he heard a familiar, distinctive sound: the sound of someone chopping wood. Knowing that Hagrid's hut was at the opposite end of the grounds, Harry's curiosity was aroused. He didn't know that anyone lived this close to the school--and in the forest nonetheless.

He walked closer to the rhythmic sound, his boots silent over the fallen snow. Soon, he spied a modest dwelling in the middle of small clearing. Not far from the house, he saw where the sounds had come from: there was a man, tall and thin, chopping firewood. The stranger's face was hidden, and even his hands were covered with thick dragon-hide gloves to protect him from the cold. The heavy axe swung from his slender arms and even Harry had to be amazed at the stranger's strength as he observed the ease with which he handled the large tool.

"Hello there!" Harry called out, a bit hesitantly, walking closer to the man. Even this close to Hogwarts, he wasn't sure whether it was entirely safe to accost total strangers. Who knew who this person was?

The man stopped chopping and turned to face him when Harry was about twenty feet away. The young Gryffindor couldn't help but give a startled gasp as he realized exactly who he was seeing. It was unmistakable! The long slanted eyes, with the distinctive crimson color surrounding the pupils, the pale white skin, the too thin frame� he would have fainted right on the spot if he had not had the presence of mind to hold onto the trunk of a nearby tree.

"It's impossible!" Harry whispered, aghast. Voldemort wasn't dead; he knew that. But everyone knew that the four-story fall from his newly acquired castle had left him mentally injured and unable to function as a wizard--at least that was what the Ministry had told the world. Harry had assumed, along with everyone else, that the former Dark Lord was being kept in an institution away from the rest of the civilized world, alone to wait for his death. The Forbidden Forest near the Hogwarts School was the last place where Harry expected to find him!

The ghastly figure smiled, red eyes crinkling at the corners. "Hello." He put the axe down and started to approach Harry.

The sense to flee was very strong, but something about the strange look of welcome on Voldemort's face (if it was Voldemort) made Harry stay where he was.

"Would you like to come in? It's pretty cold out here. I have a nice fire burning inside." The Voldemort-figure rubbed his arms as he stopped about two feet away. From this distance, the resemblance was even stronger. The flat nostrils flared in the cold, and the thin lip-less mouth was formed in a horrible image of a smile.

Harry's mouth opened and closed several times in silent wonder. Somewhere in his befuddled brain, his conscience whispered that he was being incredibly impolite. After all, even if it was Voldemort, the invitation seemed to be well meant. "Umm� all- all right," he stammered.

The face in the hood brightened happily at his acceptance, and, taking a horrified Harry's hand, the tall man practically skipped to the cottage.

Inside, the stranger chattered almost non-stop as he took Harry's cloak and hung it behind the door. In spite of his uneasiness, Harry had to agree that the Dark Lord clone was right in one respect: it was toasty warm inside.

"It's been ages since I had visitors. Well, to tell you the truth, I almost never have any visitors except for Hagrid, that nice chap. He comes once a week to have tea. And that other fellow with the long beard--I think his name's Alvin or Albus--came twice since I got here to see how I'm doing." The hood of the cloak came down to reveal a bald, white head. "And who might you be?"

"Uh? Oh� Harry," he coughed out.

"And do you live near? I heard from Hagrid that there's a school of some sort nearby. Only I don't fancy going all the way far from my nice house to visit." The red eyes twinkled merrily.

This was getting stranger and stranger by the minute. "Yes, I live quite near. Sort of." Harry nodded. The shock was starting to wear off. Maybe this nice fellow wasn't Voldemort after all--ugly though he might be.

Harry sat on chair in the cozy kitchen, across the strange man's place. The fire was strong and roaring--warming the air around them. The pleasant aroma of freshly brewed tea wafted from the cups laid in front of him shortly after he sat.

"I didn't know that anyone lived here in the area," Harry started after his first sip. "I thought the Forbidden Forest was pretty much uninhabitable for most wizards."

"Well, it isn't the prettiest place, I can tell you that. But I felt so at home here that I insisted on staying permanently." The wizard gazed fondly outside the window before looking back at Harry. "I'm sorry, I forgot my manners. I'm Tom." He stretched out a naked, pale hand to Harry.

Glancing nervously at the long, spidery fingers, Harry reluctantly shook it briefly. "It's nice to meet you, Tom." The germ of suspicion in his mind was growing larger by the minute. "Have you been here long?"

Tom shook his hairless head, his snake-like eyes squinting sadly. "No. Just for three months. To be honest, I don't quite remember where I've stayed before that. The Healer told me that a bad fall had damaged my memory. But it's all right. I don't feel a need to stay in those nasty populated areas. It makes me think that I probably haven't been that much of a social person even before the accident."

He smiled again, which made Harry wince inwardly. "But that nice fellow, Alvin, was kind enough to give me my name and provide me with a place to stay. Goodness knows where I used to live before this."

"I wouldn't know," Harry said faintly, hiding his quivering knees beneath the table. For heaven's sakes! All he wanted was to be nice to an old man and look where he ended up: having tea with Voldemort. And a Voldemort with amnesia, too!

"Would you like more tea?" Voldemort, or Tom, asked graciously.

"Uh, no. Thank you," Harry said hurriedly. He wanted to get away as fast as possible and return to his nice and safe Hogwarts castle. He jerked his head around and saw a thing that stopped him from standing. Lifting his hand, he pointed at the object, surprised. "What is that?"

"That's my old wardrobe, Mildred," Tom answered proudly. He walked to the large, monstrous, purple affair that stuck out like a sore thumb inside the simple cottage. "I've been working on her for sometime, but things aren't as perfect as I want them to be� although she works quite finely."

"A wardrobe," Harry repeated slowly. His brows rose as he scrutinized the silent face of Mildred. He named a wardrobe? How crazier can this man get?

"Yes." Tom tapped her ample side affectionately. A sudden hopeful look entered his eyes as he turned to Harry and said, "Would you like to try her? It'll take just a few moments."

"What? No, I think I'll just� Umm, wait- what the-wait!" Before he could even object, he was pushed inside Mildred's spacious interior and was facing the insides of her doors. He banged on the door in shock and got even more disturbed to hear the sound of a bolt being fastened outside. "Let me out! I don't want to be here!"

"Don't worry!" Tom's voice wafted from outside the small space. "Just try it for a few minutes. It won't hurt!"

"Try it?" Harry pulled his hair in despair. All he wanted to do was take a walk! "What am I supposed to do?"

"You have to wish. Wish for something!"

"Will you let me out if I don't?" he asked almost desperately. It was dark and cramped in the empty wardrobe. And though he did not count claustrophobia as one of his weaknesses, he strongly considered adding it to the list in the near future.

"No."

Harry swore there was an evil, gleeful note to that answer. But what could one expect from former Dark Lords who wanted to take over the world?

"All right," he said, resigned, and slumped back in the wardrobe. He closed his eyes in the darkness and started counting.

Wish? Well, he had a lot. But which one would he use? He concentrated on the different fantasies he had had since childhood and zeroed in to a picture. Then, almost immediately, he fell asleep.

***

"Harry?"

His eyes opened in surprise. He looked around. It was night, and people milled about the spacious, stone-paved plaza. They were beautiful people: dressed in costumes and robes of all colors--their masks and gowns glittering with jewels and precious metals as they danced along to the music and the songs of the angelic-faced castrati. Not far from where he stood, the waters of one of Venice's numerous canals glittered in the moonlight. Already, he saw the couples in the number of gondolas floating peacefully alongside the partying people. It was a glorious night made for a glorious gathering of guests and nobles--and Harry was standing right in the middle of the Carnival ridotti.

"Where am I?" Harry whispered, breathless with the beauty around him. He touched the arm of his companion. "Who are you?"

The woman's lush red lips smiled below her jeweled mask and veils. "I would expect even my foreign cicisbeo to remember my name. Alisa, Harry. Alisa."

They floated, arm in arm, amongst the shining people. They seemed to know him, for they did not ask his name. It was easy to get lost in such a place--and get lost he did--drinking and indulging in the most depraved way possible until he no longer remember how he arrived or who he was with.

He found himself swinging another woman in his arms, laughing with her to the beat of the drums. But in the next moment, she was gone, taken by someone else to amuse. He stumbled for a moment, flushed with wine.

"How fetching you look--alone and beautiful in your expensive clothes, young one." The voice whispered in his ear.

"What? Who?" Harry turned, confused.

"You shouldn't be here alone, boy. It's dangerous to leave such desirable things unattended. Your Master has been quite careless." The stranger's eyes glittered dangerously with desire as he took Harry's arm, supporting the young man's fumbling footsteps.

"I have no Master," Harry objected boldly. "I came with Alisa."

"The young Contessa Tosca's new companion is indeed as lovely as the rumors made me believe. I was afraid you would disappoint in real life."

A hand brushed Harry's legs below his brief pantaloons. He was suddenly conscious of how alone he was in the midst of the city--and how strangely compelling the man before him was. The stranger was familiar--there was something very recognizable about the shape of his nose, the curve of his lips� even his height and build made Harry think that maybe, he had seen this man before. "Who are you?"

"You will find out soon enough." The man smiled. "You are in no condition to celebrate in the streets. Come."

And, like a puppy, he followed his command. They wound through the people, the women in their dominos and big masks looked like toys to him, and Harry smiled at the spectacle of the Venice Carnival around him. He was guided by the strange man's touch, and soon, he found himself inside the large, cavernous hall of one of the nobles' houses.

"Is this your house?"

The man chuckled. "It is where I dwell at the moment. Come, it is quite near the Grand Canal. You would like the view from upstairs."

They stepped up the winding steps of the old house, entering a balcony adjoining one of the rooms. The city's roofs stretched before them as the night air brought them the sounds of the revelries below. The breeze blew the wispy curtains from their bodies as Harry stared in breathless wonder.

"It's wonderful," he gasped.

"Venice has her charms," the man said casually, moving closer behind the boy until Harry was trapped between his arms. The stranger's lips touched the tip of his ear. "I find that there are things more interesting than the masked celebration down there."

Harry shivered. The wind was cold, but the man's body--so close to him--kept him warm. He was suddenly aware of how potentially dangerous the situation was. He was alone in a strange house, in a strange place, with a strange man who seemed to want more than mere conversation. But he felt no sense of threat even as the man closed the meager distance between them, melding his body to Harry's from behind.

"How enchanting you are." He spun Harry slowly, until they were face to face. Fingers touched the young boy's cheek, tracing the line of his face from his temple downwards. "I have never seen you before, yet I feel that I have."

"I�" He tried to remember where he was before he woke up in this place. But something--maybe it was the drink or something else entirely--made his mind fail even as he grasped the faint wisps of a memory. "I don't know where I was."

"And I find that even more pleasing." With a flourish, he pushed a ruby ring down Harry's finger. A gift. The gem glittered in the moonlight as he took Harry away from the edge of the balcony, drawing him closer to the room, near the bed. "Do not be afraid."

He shook his head.

And it was true, he was not afraid. The scent of beautiful desire-that musky scent in the air-was all around them. He could barely discern the glowing lamps on the walls that lighted the sensual room. All he could feel was the stranger's touch, a gentle pressure on his body as all that he wore--the expensive velvet and lace--was softly and swiftly removed from his skin until he lay bare on the silken sheets of the four-poster bed.

The man remained fully clothed, increasing Harry's sense of exposure. But the embarrassment soon left him as he man in blue velvet began to show him, with his fingers and his tongue, just how warm a man could be. He licked the boy's nipples, enjoying the yielding response he received. Moving steadily downward, the stranger stroked the young man's growing cock with pleasure. "You are gifted, my child." He laughed.

Harry kept his eyes closed as he felt the startling delight of the feel of silk against his most sensitive part. The man's gloved hands held him fully, pumping him mercilessly, even as the devilish tongue twirled its way around his tip. He opened his eyes for a moment, and the sight of warm red lips closing around his cock made him pump his hips reflexively as he groaned with desire.

"You must make the Contessa happy."

"No!" Harry gasped. "Never!" Fingers were doing their ruthless dance around his groin as he heard the man laugh again. Foolish, foolish youth--he could almost hear him say. But he no longer cared. He could even barely control himself.

The man guided him until he lay on his face, his knees supporting his weight as his arms hugged the sheets. The silk-covered fingers continued to tease his cock as another hand traced the crack of his buttocks, resting to tickle his opening. For a few moments, the hands disappeared, and Harry groaned with loss. He was aware of how he must look: face down, kneeling with legs spread apart, his cock between his body and the bed as the mysterious Venetian knelt behind him. A delicious aroma filled his nostrils and he soon felt the hands touching him back--naked and slick with perfumed oil. They massaged his quivering skin, wrapping his weeping cock with its scent even as he probed Harry's opening, bathing the sensitive hole with the slippery fluid.

Teeth gently bit Harry's bare back as the man pumped the boy's cock--goading him with his talented fingers until Harry could no longer hold back and spilled his come on the spotless sheets. Even as he screamed in his climax, he felt a hard length enter him from behind, slipping tightly through his oiled buttocks. The alien sensation was sinful and delicious at once, and he moved his hips in rhythm, moving with accord to the grunts and sighs of his mysterious lover in the heart of Venice.

He clenched his secret muscles with pleasure and felt the other come inside him--gasping against the crook of his neck. They stayed frozen for a moment; limbs wrapped around in a carnal embrace as they basked in the afterglow of their sex.

Harry felt the other's cock leave him, and he sighed at the sense of loss. He loved the momentary fullness, the feel of someone inside him. Later, they lay, skin to skin. The stranger was asleep. It was nearing morning and even the tireless revelers in the city were getting fewer by the hour. Perhaps, many of them were like them--asleep in their own beds with partners to embrace.

Harry felt the seduction of sleep soon after. But even as his lids fought the temptation, he kissed the full lips of his lover and asked him, "Who are you?"

The answer was a whisper. A sigh murmured in the middle of dreams.

"James."

And he finally gave in to unconsciousness.

***

"Time's up!"

Cold water splashed on Harry's face. He stared in shock at the face of Voldemort floating above his lying form. "The ridotti!" he gasped.

"The what?" Tom asked, puzzled. The former Dark Lord helped the befuddled boy from the wardrobe and handed Harry a dishtowel. "Sorry I had to spray you. But you wouldn't wake up. I was afraid you'd never rise."

"I don't understand. Was I asleep?" Harry wiped his cheeks slowly, blushing as remnants of his dream returned to him.

"Not really. Mildred's an invention. She's more than a wishing well. She actually brings you what you want, or where you want. But there's a flaw somewhere. The wishes never last for more than a day." Tom shook his head sadly. "What did you wish for?"

"I� I wanted to see my father," Harry replied with stunned realization. Quickly, he handed the towel back. "I'm sorry. I think� I think I have to leave."

"Come again soon!" Tom, or Voldemort, called cheerfully at his retreating back.

Back in his dorm room, Harry pulled the album from his trunk. It was the same picture collection that Hagrid had given him before--with the pictures of his parents from their youth. He turned to a page where his father stood with Remus and Sirius with the Quidditch bleachers soaring behind them.

The hairstyle was different, and so were the clothes. But the face was unmistakable. It was a wonder that he had not realized it before. The nose, the lips, the face--everything was a slightly older version of his own. All except for the eyes. They were James's own: strange, dark, and mysterious.

And on Harry's left hand, a jeweled ring glittered wickedly in the light.

Author's Note: I wrote this for Ociwen in the Merry Smutmas LJ community. I had a hard time deciding what to write when I remembered the naughty way Marius played with Armand while they were in Venice (and if, like me, you love Anne Rice's VC then you'd know what kind of "naughtiness" I'm talking about). So this is the result. *grins* Amnesiac!Voldemort was quite an accident, but I believe he added a humorous touch to the fic.