Well, I'm back with another story. The plot of this story came to me at a REALLY bad time, and I'm glad I was able to remember long enough to write it down. Unlike any other thing I've ever written, I actually know how I'm going to finish this. I don't know how long updates will take because school starts again in another two weeks (damn). And yes, the idea was helped by the poem of Robert Frost.

Title: Crossroads

Genre: Romance, Angst, Hurt/Comfort.

Rating: T (for slash, Violence and possibly gore. If any other warnings come up, I'll make note of them).

Pairing: Harry x Tom, Harry x Voldemort.

Summery (extended): At the end of Harry's fifth year, Voldemort disappeared before the Ministry arrived, and everyone's memories have been tampered with. Declared insane and dangerous, Harry is sent to an institution with minimal human contact. With only his thoughts to entertain him, Harry isn't overly surprised when he starts seeing the ghosts of his past. He finds himself stuck between the Light side and the Dark side, staring down the crossroads of his life.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter because, if I did, there would be far more slash.

Crossroads

Harry watched in both fear and awe as Dumbledore and Voldemort dueled with both speed and ferocity. No words were mumbled, not even for the spells, but Harry didn't need words. He could see the challenge and danger in both the wizard's eyes, along with the fury and anger. In some aspect, it reminded Harry of both fire and ice, always rivaling, always fighting, and always cancelling each other out. He could see's in Voldemort's slitted eyes the hate and anger and the passion. It burned him to look for too long, because he knew if Voldemort ever managed it, that look would appear again, stronger, in his eyes when Harry died. Dumbledore, whose eyes would tinkle and shine and throw hope into any situation, did not have their normal look. Instead, Harry saw an icy indifference that chilled him inside. Never had he seen such a look on his mentor's face.

Harry watched as the glass shattered and, for one single moment, shine. But the moment was broken, and the shards of glass fell like ice. When it came close, Dumbledore's spell turned it into harmless water, and the duel was raging again.

When it finally looked like Dumbledore had won and Voldemort had fled, Harry felt an immense pain in his scar and the rest was a blur. Voldemort whispering to him, Harry defeating him, Voldemort appearing in the flesh again, before disappearing as the Ministry arrived. Questions fired upon him, but Harry feeling nothing but sorrow, exhaustion and pain. His mind yearned for his Godfather, his body ached with pain and everything felt superficial.

Harry stared numbly at the wall, the memories replaying in his mind. His thoughts would flicker and die, but he paid them no attention. For all he knew, they weren't his thoughts at all, but merely the thoughts of many slipping within his mind, silent and leaving no trace, just as he had done.

Shadows flittered across the walls and floor, almost imaginary in the dim light, but Harry could still make out the jutted shapes of grey from the white and black room. The shadows had been all Harry could concentrate for a severely long time.

At this very moment, Harry could easily believe his life was a weighted scale, and the Ministry held the pebble. He knew now that, no many how many times he told his story, or how many attempts he made to convince the council, nothing could change the fate that would befall him. The only thing that could change the minds of the Wizarding world could be Voldemort publicly appearing himself. Harry knew that wouldn't happen anytime soon.

He wished the weight would hurry and fall. Sitting in the room, dimly lit room as his fate was decided did nothing for one's nerves. After some time, Harry's numbness had acquired a taint of foreboding that accompanied the thought of his future.

A small tapping sound of rain brought him out of his subconsciousness. Harry looked up to see the small droplets of water, no doubt charmed, falling against the lone window. From his chair, Harry, for the first time, noticed the layout. It put him down even further, for the small room he'd been shoved in by the large Ministry official looked more like a jail cell than a waiting room. The only piece of furniture was the ancient chair Harry sat upon, while the window sat on the closest wall, to his right side. The door to the room was located on his left with his chair adjacent to it. It further depressed Harry when he noticed, no matter how hard he tried, he could not move further than half a meter for his arms and legs. There was a flash of lightning from outside his window, and Harry slumped forward. The wether and his mood seemed to have a common factor after all.

"Harry James Potter? You are being summoned for your sentence." An elderly man, dressed in a flamboyant yellow, said from the doorway. The same Ministry official from earlier followed after the old man and undid the spells on Harry, then pulled him up and cast more spells. Harry felt, with dread, some form of metal enclose his feet and hands which weighed them down.

"Get moving." He sneered, and pushed Harry roughly forward. He walked steadily with no idea of his destination. Whenever Harry would mistakenly make a wrong turn, in vain hope towards the exits, he was roughly shoved by the man behind him. On those times, Harry would swear and start down the rudely indicated path. When they passed people, Harry's eyes would widen in shock at the hate-filled glares and hissed threats. The Ministry had, no doubt, pooled lies into the Wizarding world without hesitation. He feared their hold on people's mind and beliefs had escalated, and now any person with doubt had found their true path. Unlike Harry, they no longer waited for instructions at the crossroads of their decisions.

"In here." The man pushed Harry through the doors and into the centre of the grand, circular room. His last meal threatened to regurgitate when the dread settled in, helped by the cold and unforgiving stares of the Wizengamot grumpy-in-appearance official led him to the imposing chair in the centre of the room and cast more spells to bind him in place. People from the seating above glared at him, and Harry felt his punishment would be something that far overshadowed the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, stood up and began to speak.

"Harry James Potter, you will be punished accordingly for your crimes against the Wizarding world -"

"But I didn't -"

"-For breaking countless, irreplaceable and precious objects -"

"Because the Death Eaters -"

"-For causing extensive damage to many rooms of the Ministry of Magic -"

"I didn't do all of it! When Dumbledore and Voldemort were -"

"For leaving school without permission, along with a cursed group of your peers -"

"I didn't curse then -"

"For constantly lying about the return of a certain Dark Wizard, and causing members of the Wizarding world panic and fear -"

"I'm not lying! He's really back -"

"For tampering with the memories of ministry officials, Auror members and school peers -"

"I didn't!" He let the desperation and honesty sink into his voice. His face portrayed fear, anxiety and innocence, yet no matter how much desperate he looked, he saw only cold stares and sneers in response.

"For using the imperius curse several times on the respected members of the Auror office, and several school peers, including the former Headmaster." Harry felt his heart sink. Everyone… they had all abandoned him. After years of happiness with his new found friends, temptation had slipped in and taken the minds of the people he cared about. Now, nothing seemed to matter.

"For your crimes, you should be sent to the prison of Azkaban. However, a better idea has arisen from the ashes of the old one. Harry James Potter -" Harry felt his head swarm, and the hope in his mind bleed out. A fate worse than Azkaban awaited him.

"-You are to serve a life sentence in an experimental institution for the criminally insane."

Any hope remaining in Harry's desolate mind shattered at that moment. When one would later comment on the trial, that specific detail would escape the sealed lips from an undecided and mostly unnoticed Wizard. He would later tell the world that the moment the boy's sentence was spoken was the moment silence fell, and the boy's positive emotions, if they existed, had shattered.

The same Ministry official that had taken Harry in and set up the spells stepped forward to remove them. Harry hardly noticed, he was far too busy in the wastelands of his mind trying to make sense of what had just happened. He was so far into his thoughts, he didn't realise he'd left the Ministry or arrived in a bland cell that would become his new home.

"-Don't you worry, he'll be looked after just right. He'll be fed, bathed, entertained and completely devoid of human company." Harry blinked in shock, wondering what had just happened.

"Ah, it appears he's back with us now. Good." He turned to face Harry, and studied him closely for a moment. "There are a few ground rules. Follow them, and everyone's happy. If you don't, your not happy. Now, there is no resisting, no violence, no plans of escaping, no shouting and no games. We will permit you to talk to yourself, sleep whenever you please, bathe daily and be fed regularly. Also, no magic. And for safety reasons, a light will always be on in the room we keep you in." He smiled, and Harry stared at the room in shell-shocked indifference. There was a limited amount of room. It would easily be the size of his small bedroom that his cousin used to own. There were no windows, and the only furniture in the room consisted of a bed, white sheets and pillows, a desk and chair, both white and bolted down and another door. Harry walked towards it and pulled it open. Inside was the size of his old cupboard bedroom, where a small shower and toilet had been shoved in. Both, unmistakably, white.

He exited the room to find both the men had left, and the door sealed shut. In the back of the door was a small white container bolted on the back that could be pushed forward to the other side of the door. He walked over and pulled it out, making a soft noise when he realised it was deep and pushed out on the other side of the door. At the bottom of the container was a note written hastily on parchment.

Mr Potter

The metal box you have taken this note out of will be how we communicate and send you food. Meals will be three times a day with sufficient amounts of time between each serving. Food choices are limited and will be consistent, and will only vary on Easter, where you will receive a small chocolate, Christmas, where you will receive a larger and more traditional meal, and New Years, where you will be required to change menu's. We have already taken to liberty to chose a meal, based on the choices at Hogwarts school, to feed you will be provided also. Parchment, quills and books will be presented at various times, on Monday will be two books, and the rest of the days Parchment and ink. A new quill will be provided every six months, and books will be collected the week after and replaced by two supplies, two cloths and bucket of soapy water will also be available if needed. If any more serious problem will occur, leave a note in the container for staff to collect and you will be stunned while a qualified Wizard fixes the , Mr B. Tucker.

Harry glared at the note, wishing his magical attributes would sense his distress and dispose of the imposing note. In not even twenty-four hours, his entire life had flipped and left him hanging by a thread while a tornado raged beside him. He felt his grip loosen, and Harry tumbled onto the bed in a moment of sheer insanity and bliss. It wasn't long before Harry's forgotten exhaustion took hold and led Harry into a world of nightmares.

He was chasing Bellatrix, who yelled taunts and jeers about his recently deceased Godfather. A part of Harry wanted to aim his wand and cast the killing curse, but a larger, more dominant part wanted her to suffer. To feel the pain he felt when he saw Sirius fall into the veil.

A curse was yelled, teasing remarks were passed and a voice whispered seductively in Harry's ears. Kill her, it said, she deserves it.

He remembered the rest in flashes after that. A nightmare upon nightmare as his darkest hours played before him. Voldemort appearing, Dumbledore and Voldemort duelling, Bellatrix escaping, the statues coming to life, Voldemort disappearing, the Ministry arriving, the questions, the accusations and the lies. They had all lied, Harry remembered in his dreams. He knew Voldemort had been there, and that Dumbledore had fought him. The proof looked upon them from around the room. The crumpled statues, the glass, water and remembered no one believed him, not even Dumbledore, and his friends appeared to wake from a trance. Harry called to them, waiting for their words of agreement.

Nothing came.

He remembered nothing after that except shock. Shock and hurt.

He woke up startled, sweat -or maybe tears?- running down his face. The lights hadn't shifted from the optimistic glow, and there was no clock to indicate the time or date. He didn't move for a few minutes, instead he stared up into the ceiling with a devastated look upon his face. When he felt his eyes start to prickle from not blinking for so long, and his muscles straining to stretch of move about, he stood. He took a moment to stretch, and felt much better.

Seeing the container pushed to his side, he wondered over and pulled it open.

A bowl sat in the middle of a tray next to a plastic-in-appearance spoon. Under it sat a napkin, on the opposing side to the spoon sat a note. Harry ate his meal first, which consisted to just enough to keep him going, yet not enough to make him feel comfortably fed. It was little over the amount the Dursley's would give him on a good day. Cursing them loudly, he pushed the bowl and spoon aside. He opened the note after, and seeing the parchment filled with the somewhat neat writing from the Mr Tucker, felt his insides churn.

"Better get this over with..." He mumbled to himself.

Mr Potter.

As on your welcoming note, I must have forgotten a vital piece of information. Forgive my mistake, but I left out the rights for mail.

I am delighted to inform you that you will receive mail, if it's sent, once a month. Each letter will be carefully examined and read, both from you and your correspondents. If any misleading information, escape plans, plotting or the like appears, mail services will be revoked until a later date.

Sincerely, Mr B. Tucker.

Harry felt a grin cross his face. Perhaps his future was not as dark as he feared. The simple right to send letters was a big improvement on his situation. He could send letters to Ron and Hermione asking what happened, and why they lied to the Ministry. He could also send a letter to Lupin and ask if Sirius had been freed of his crimes, under the name of Snuffles, of put the bowl and spoon back into the container, yet kept the bit of parchment as proof. Knowing how his last year had gone, he wouldn't be surprised if a law was passed to revoke his right of mail. Something that would be under the pretence that he'd use the mail to somehow escape, or plot to overthrow the Ministry, or something else of the like.

When he'd pushed the lid shut, he paced the room for a moment before deciding to shower.

The water was warmer and nicer than he had first anticipated, and it seemed like there was no restrictions on how much water he was allowed to use. It was a welcome relief to have the grime, dirt and blood washed off his body. He watched the trails it made to the drain until the last had slipped inside. There was, to his even greater surprise, a bar of soap. He lunched for it and grinned when it fell to a spot near his feet. The muggle saying 'Don't drop the soap' occurred to him and he chuckled when he bent down to pick it up.

He finished off his shower with an upbeat tune for one in his situation. His memories didn't bother him, and his emotions couldn't touch him for the time being. He felt like his shattered hope was beginning to mend itself.

When he checked the white container, two books, a quill, some ink and a small stack of letter were waiting for him. He took the objects and set them on the desk, not even looking over the books. Instead, his rapt attention was focused on the letters, undeniably from his friends. A few from people he didn't recognise.

The first one he opened was from Ron, and he felt his heart sink as he read it.

Harry.

I'm not sure how many I'll get to write of these. Sorry mate, but mum thinks you might actually be going mental. Everyone wants to know why your saying the Death Eaters attacked us and Voldemort fought Dumbledore. I don't remember any of that happening. Hermione said that it might have been memory charms, but then changed her mind. Girls. She kept going on about 'every memory charm leaves a mark or a trace and we'd know if one had been used' and that Dumbledore couldn't possibly be put into a memory charm.

Where are they keeping you? No one is telling us anything except it isn't Azkaban. Well, that's all dad managed to find out.

Dumbledore was furious when he came for a meeting with the others. For once, we could hear them yelling from the bedrooms.

Ron

Harry felt his throat burn, and before the burn got any worse he pulled open the next sealed envelope. This time from Hermione, asking if he was alright, if they were treating him well, and where he was. She also mentioned that Dumbledore was trying to get him out, as well as the Auror's. She didn't mention the condition of the Wizarding world, or how people reacted to his arrest. He hastily scribbled a reply, telling her he felt like faeces, they were feeding him and that he had no idea where he was. He briefly described the room and explained the rights he had as a prisoner. He asked how she was, and how her parents were.

The next he opened was sent by a combination of Lupin and Tonks, telling him they, along with the others, were trying their hardest to free him, or at least change his sentence to house arrest or expulsion from Hogwarts. Harry, in the reply, thanked them and asked if Sirius had been freed.

The next letter was a combined one from the majority of the D.A. asking the same questions as Ron had, with an added note from Luna to warn him of the crumpled-horned snorkack because they liked to dwell in places like his (he didn't know if Luna knew where he was, or how it looked, so he didn't comment). He did write that if they wanted to keep the D.A. running, Ron and Hermione would probably agree to it. He also wrote that they should practice the patronus charm amongst the others he'd taught them.

The last of the letters were taunts from people he'd never heard of. Harry felt a twinge of annoyance, he'd been punished for something he didn't do, he'd been moved into a cell where it appeared he wasn't going to ever be let out unless Voldemort appeared, and now he had to deal with the taunts and accusations of the Wizarding world. He ripped those letters up, and pushed them to the corner of the desk.

After he'd written all his reply's, he carelessly chucked the letters into the container. On top he threw the remains of the other letters on top, and slammed the lid shut.

The rest of Harry's day passed slowly. He slept, read over the books left (an information book on the troll wars, and another on goblins), showered for a second time and spent time staring at the wall. Lunch and dinner came and passed. As breakfast, lunch and dinner consisted of the same amount of food. Enough, but not fulfilling.

He wondered how long it would take for Voldemort to leave a trace. Some form of mark to identify his return, so that Harry could be released. He knew it wouldn't be soon, and Harry was prepared to spend some amount of weeks, months even, before anything happened. And so, he spent his first two months in the small, white space of his cell. At times, the silence would get to him and he had to make noise, just so he knew he wasn't insane. The letters kept coming, and Harry replied hastily, asking about his friends lives, if Voldemort was starting to show, if people were disappearing and if Sirius had been freed. He tried to ignore the lack of information of Sirius, and the fact that the letters got shorter every time.

-X-

Voldemort sat at the head of the grand table in Malfoy Manor. Around him, his followers looked nervous and sickly, staring anywhere but his eyes. Voldemort was no fool, he knew the majority of his Death Eaters had come back in fear, not loyalty. He knew the moment he disappeared, his most highest ranked Death Eaters would be spilling lies in court about threats and curses used on them.

There was a small cough, and the muggle that had been dumped in the center of the table started to wake. He stared at it, disgusted. The muggle twitched and slowly rubbed it's eyes in confusion, blinking into the candle light on the expensive chandelier above.

"Crucio!" He hissed, and the muggle screamed in pain. He made note of the youngest Malfoy's flinch, and glance to the wall behind the muggle.

"Draco... kill her." Voldemort said. Draco looked sick, but raised his trembling hand, wand locked loosely in place. Voldemort watched closely, waiting to see if the boy had it in him. If not, Voldemort would threaten the boy's parents, or give him a mission in punishment.

"M-master... the Ministry is a-at the do-oor waiting to inspect the manor." Trembled Wormtail. Voldemort took great delight in watching the rat's eyes widen in fear.

"Fine. Leave." He said, his eyes focused on the Death Eaters sitting at the table. They scrammed, with Lucius Malfoy showing them to the secret passage that led outside. Voldemort himself cast a disillusion charm, and kept his seat. He knew the Ministry idiots wouldn't see him. He watched Bellatrix quickly kill the muggle, and levitate it down the corridor. A moment later, the Ministry workers appeared at the mouth of the room, quickly scanning it. Seeing no reason to fear, they took out their wands and cast several spells before slowly moving in.

His mind floated back to The Boy. He had planned everything perfectly and, although his exit wasn't as quickly as he planned, it seemed the Ministry still had no idea he had returned. The Potter boy, as he had heard, had been moved to an institution of some kind. Voldemort took great joy in knowing he had finally isolated the boy from his friends and family. In another few weeks he would send a Death Eater to intercept the letters, and make Potter feel truly alone.

A.N. Well, there's chapter one. It's so long! Well, compared to the size I usually write. I'm glad I didn't decide to make it a one shot, because that would have been torture. I don't know how much you can expect in chapter length, but I'm hoping for about ten.

Sorry in advance for the mistakes. I'm a bit of a fail at grammar, spelling and punctuation. I'm trying, I really am, but no one's perfect.

Well, I hope you all enjoyed, because I LOVE writing this, and I'm really looking forward to writing the ending… Okay, I've already written the ending and I'm more excited about sharing it. I can tell it'll piss someone off, if they like it enough to continue reading it.