Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter nor any of the characters used in this story. Only their personalities are partially mine :P
Poison
Love was a poison, Voldemort thought decisively as he made his way back to his manor, one he would not be defeated by.
He was stopped short at the entrance hall when he noticed the bags that were neatly placed near the door. He had not known of anyone that was to leave on a mission or anything else of that sort.
"Where are you going?" Voldemort hissed in irritation as Harry rounded the corner, obviously the owner of the bags.
"Out," Harry replied vaguely.
"If you were simply going "out" as you put it, you would not need your bags or your belongings," Voldemort sneered, moving his wand to send the bags back to Harry's rooms.
"I never said that I would return from my outing," Harry replied easily, not rising to the bait Voldemort was giving him to raise his temper. He was too tired for that. His words stopped Voldemort short.
"What do you mean by that?" Voldemort snarled.
"I can't stand this anymore. I cannot be constantly treated like second-rate trash by you! You treat your bloody Death Eaters better than you treat me and don't you dare deny it! I can't do this anymore, I have to go," Harry said softly but firmly before turning his back on the Dark Lord.
Voldemort could only watch as Harry shrunk his bags and flooed away through the empty grate, unable to stop him.
It would only be a mere inconvenience not to have that brat around, Voldemort thought. He will return and it will be of his own volition.
But Harry never did return, nor did he contact Voldemort in any way although it seemed he was still in communication with his Death Eaters as they were often conversing about meeting or speaking with Harry whenever he passed them in the passageways.
Poison indeed, Voldemort thought, that brat is poisoning my mind.
It wasn't long before Voldemort found himself missing Harry, much to his own surprise. It began when he thought of his plans out loud as he usually did and then he paused, waiting for Harry to make a comment on his plan and help improve it in ways he had not thought of but Harry's amused voice didn't answer. Harry was not there.
The next time had been when he had breakfast a couple of weeks later, he had waited for Harry to come down the stairs in his muggle clothes with a cheeky grin on his face, just to annoy the Dark Lord. By the time he remembered Harry was not there anymore he had been late for him meeting and ended up missing breakfast entirely.
All through this, he noticed that the hushed conversations of Harry increased and those Death Eaters that had sworn themselves to Harry were looking more and more tired, closing on exhausted as the weeks passed. Voldemort's curiosity was piqued until he finally asked them to stay back during one of the Death Eater meetings.
"Lucius," Voldemort called. The blonde looked like he had not gotten much sleep and was on the verge of collapsing form exhaustion.
"My Lord," Lucius replied.
"What has happened to cause you and the others to be as exhausted as you have been during the Death Eater meetings? None of you have been given assignments. What is your reason?" Voldemort demanded.
"Have you read the Prophet recently My Lord?" Lucius asked in reply. At Voldemort's negative reply, Lucius summoned the copy with the article he required and handed it to Voldemort to read.
Our Saviour: What does he fight for?
Last week, our Saviour Harry Potter was seen carried into St. Mungo's by a couple of well-known, Inner Circle Death Eaters, severely injured and unconscious.
This group of Death Eaters were led by the notorious Bellatrix Lestrange and Lucius Malfoy while Mister Potter was being carefully carried by none other than Fenrir Greyback. All Death Eaters looked extremely worried for our young Saviour.
This leaves us with the question of who Mister Potter was fighting and who he was attacked by. We were informed that Mister Potter was attacked by a group of rebels who had severely outnumbered him but that hadn't stopped Mister Potter from defending himself to the best of him ability but that obviously was not enough.
After talking to one of the Healers at St. Mungo's, it does not look good for Mister Potter. He had been hit by a Dark Magic-Eating Curse which would slowly eat away at his magic. A painful was to go. This magic makes me truly question the last of the people in power if they were able to cast this curse on the one that they had held the hope would defeat our current ruler.
This writer hopes Mister Potter survives this curse somehow.
-David Truckleskin
Voldemort's hand clenc hed into a tight fist around the bottom of the Prophet and the paper had begun to smoke steadily from beneath his hand, sending the people in the photos running out of their frames.
"And why was I not informed of this?" Voldemort hissed in fury.
"We assumed you knew and did not want to act on it. We were only informed that Harry was in danger through the communicator Harry had given us a while ago. We all wear it and had assumed you did so as well, mistakenly obviously," Lucius said looking slightly confused.
Voldemort cursed himself silently. He had left that band in his desk drawer, assuming he would not need it, that he was powerful enough to notice if anyone was in danger himself. He had only thought of the need of it in a battle situation. He should have listened to Harry. That brat was right yet again. He could have got to the brat sooner had he worn the band as he was supposed to.
"Take me to him at once," Voldemort demanded.
The Death Eaters nodded. They quickly made their way through the floo. They raced through St. Mungo's with Voldemort following closely, not noticing the staring Healers nor the standstill they were causing with their rush.
He paused outside the door of Harry's room. Harry was awake but something about the way he moved seemed off. Harry turned to greet the Death Eaters as they entered his room as if sensing their presence.
Voldemort gasped as he saw Harry's face. He was incredibly pale, more so than he normally was but that was not what shocked Voldemort the most. It was Harry's eyes. They were not their usually vivid green colour but much lighter and paler, closer to white than green. Harry moved as if he were blind as did everyone around him.
"Lucius, Fenrir, Sev, Rabastan, Bella," Harry greeted with a smile. "You're back. Didnt you just leave for a Death Eater meeting though? Those things are never short."
"We did. The meeting ended early," Lucius said, omitting the reason for this.
"How are you feeling?" Bella asked, moving to Harry's side and carefully taking his hand so he knew where she was. Harry sent a grateful smile in her direction.
"The Healer said I was getting worse and they have to limit the amount of Potions they give me and the types of Potions that can react badly to my declining magic," Harry said before looking excited. "You brought someone new? I feel a new person's magic! They're standing outside the door! Who is it?"
Voldemort's eyes widened. Even with his reduced magic, Harry could still sense other people's magic? Harry was clearly a lot more powerful that Voldemort had thought. There was so much about Harry that he seemed to be unable to figure out or simply did not know. It shamed him. Greatly.
He saw the Death Eater's eyes widen slightly in obvious panic at Harry noticing that they had brought him with them. Their reactions were suspicious at best. They were obviously hiding something.
"A friend who was concerned when he happened to read the Daily Prophet," Rabastan answered quickly. Harry seemed to accept this, trusting the Death Eaters not to bring someone who would hurt him.
"Hey Rabastan? Where's your brother anyway? He promised to come by later for a round of Exploding Snap," Harry said, looking in the man's general direction.
"Harry, you are not supposed to be playing Exploding Snap," Bellea and Severus groaned. "It's dangerous!"
"But it's fun," Harry whined.
"I for one would like to know how you manage to play Exploding Snap anyway, considering you are now officially as blind as a bat," Fenrir told Harry, cutting into what would probably end up as an argument that Harry would probably end up winning if the past was any indication.
Harry grinned. "Trademark secret. One I will take with me to the grave."
Everyone tensed at Harry's words.
"What? Did I say somethi-Oh," Harry said, thinking back to what he had just said. "Whoops."
"Harry, you are not going to die! Even if it means all six of us have to put our magic together to complete that ritual so be it. We would do that for you to live!" Severus said harshly.
Harry blinked for a second at his outburst. "But why?"
The entire room seemed to explode in the seconds that followed Harry's question, all around a very stunned-looking Harry who seemed to barely be able to take in anything anyone was saying.
Suddenly Harry gasped and clutched his chest, growing even paler if that was possible. The room went eerily still after the noise that previously occupied it. They managed to get Harry to sleep not long after he calmed down. He still looked like he was in pain.
"It's getting worse. We have to find someone who wields enough magic to complete the ritual," Lucius said sounding worried.
Voldemort slipped into the room and everyone froze. Harry was asleep so he did not notice.
"You have found something that can help him?" Voldemort asked, carefully moving to Harry's side.
"Yes My Lord," Fenrir said.
"Prepare the ritual as soon as possible. I will complete it," Voldemort said decisively.
A stunned silence followed the announcement.
"What?" Voldemort asked slightly amused.
"Well, we did not expect you to offer to compete the ritual after everything Harry had been telling us," Rabastan replied.
Voldemort raised his eyebrow. "Consider it a pleasant surprise then."
He stood and with one last glance at Harry, he swept out of the room.
The next time Voldemort entered St. Mungo's was for the ritual. Harry was in critical condition but it had been the soonest time for the ritual to be ready. If they managed to save Harry now, it would only be because of pure luck that Harry would survive Death again. They hoped with all their might that Harry would make it.
The ritual took an hour to complete and Harry's breathing had been consistently getting shallower throughout the entire ritual. As the last words of the ritual died, they turned to Harry to see if it had worked. If they had been in time to save the boy who had unconsciously wormed his was into their Slytherin hearts with ease and was not relenting his grip any time soon.
But Harry's chest was still. Their dread grew as their hope began to fade ever so slowly.
After everything Harry had been through and not died, Voldemort could not believe Harry would be taken out by a curse by Light rebels. He would not –could not- believe Harry was dead, not yet. He tried to think over the ritual, something anything that they had missed that could help Harry survive.
Voldemort was just about to turn around when Harry's chest rose and fell again. The six Death Eaters let out sounds of pure relief and joy. Voldemort was emensely grateful that the ritual had worked.
The brat had evaded death yet again, Voldemort thought in amazement.
It wasn't much longer before Harry's eyes began to flicker open again as was Harry's way whenever he needed to be healed from some accident or another. Harry's eyes we carefully testing the light and his surroundings.
A powerful wave of relief swept through Voldemort that almost brought him to his knees with the utter emotion that filled him.
Perhaps Love wasn't a poison but a cure for anything.