Disclaimer: ...
Note: Dark, slash, bds&m etc. This part is short, though I doubt, as a whole, this fic will be otherwise.
Yes, Master, My Master
Lord Voldemort growled at the small, shimmering image of Harry Potter that presented itself to him in his scrying bowl. He dispised the boy with a passion and wanted more than anything to see him dead. No, that wasn't quite true-he wanted to see him hurt, suffer, scream and beg for a mercy that he'd never feel, and then rot away forever, scared and in anguish. Potter's reflection just smiled up at him.
With a hatefilled scowl, Voldemort's hand swept across the table, knocking the bowl off and onto the ground where is cracked into several large pieces, sending the now clear water across the stone floor of the crypt Voldemort had been forced to stay in.
At the sound, one of the Dark Lord's many incompetent slaves rushed in, his face drawn in pointless concern for his master. Voldemort turned and scowled at the young boy, who had been a gift to him from one of his loayal Death Eaters. The boy stopped in his tracks, his grungy robe rippling past him at the sudden change of movement. Whatever the boy had been planning to say, dyed still on his tongue at the look on his Master's face.
"I'm leaving." Voldemort announced, sweeping past the frozen wizard, who turned to follow him with his eyes.
Paying no attention to his many servents, Voldemort stormed out of the crypt into the dark graveyard that hid him. At the site of the graves, a few with flowers on them, Voldemort's scowl deepened. He hated staying with the dead, unnoticed by all but a few. He wanted a castle, where he could devise his plans in a luxorious room, and devulge his pleasures where he pleased-a place without rats, or cobwebs and dust. And he would have a place like that-after disposing of a few, well chosen people that is.
He stormed through the graveyard, absently pointing his wand at a beaquet of black-eyed-susans that lay atop a war ventren's tombstone, causing them to wilt and rot in place. How dare something as insignificant as flowers look so smug, while he, a powerful lord that deserved to rule the world, but in a bad mood?
As he started down the muggle road, heading no where in particular, his mind began forming a plan. It was too long that he had to live in Harry's shadow-concerned with what a mear boy could do, thinking, rememberng his first defeat before planning every move. Harry could no longer hurt him-not after the tornament and Voldemort's full return-but still, the Dark Lord craved revenge. And he would have it.
Thoughts churned in his mind, bringing a sadistic smile to his lips. He would break Harry, in every way he knew how-he would hurt him, in every way possible. Through his friends; through his emotions; through physical pain....
A course of action firmly in his head, the Dark Lord turned and headed back to the cemetary. The last hing he needed to firgure out was how to get Harry out of that infernal school-with the idiot Dumbledore, the task would not be easy. Dumbledore's time of immunity was at it's end as well-he would be the next target once the Potter boy had been broken. Voldemort was not afraid of him any longer, and knew just what he would do to the old wizard, who could not seem to stay out of his way.
Once back in the graveyard, Voldemort strode through the aisles of tombstones, a small, sadistic smile playing across his lips. His walk had been short indeed, yet so revealing, and had lifted his spirits considerably.
He made it to the large crypt that served as a temporary home-another thing he would be sure to change once the Potter brat was gone....Hogwarts would make a suitable new "home" for him, perhaps he could take up resedence there.... He entered the crypt, thoughts flitting through his mind, boosting his mood more.
Once inside, he was met by the expected staircase. He went down it, dark robe trailing behind him. As soon as he reached the bottom, the kid who'd first learned of his stroll, hurried over and bowed before him. Voldemort stared down at the quivering teenager-Doran, was his name.
Aware that his master hadn't brushed past him, the blond boy carefully raised his eyes. "Master?" he asked, not looking directly at the Dark Lord's face, but close.
"I'm in the mood to play tonight," Voldemort announced to him, drawing pleasure at the small shudder the boy couldn't repress. "Come to my room in a half hour, and bring the bamboo cane." Voldemort strode away, ignoring the boys soft and quivering "yes master."
TO BE CONTINUED....