All For Nothing
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or related characters/places/things. I'm simply borrowing them for my own amusement, and promise to return them freshly cleaned and Obliviated.
A/N: This is currently going unbeta'd; if you'd like to beta, please say so. This will be relatively dark, though I'm not yet exactly sure where it's going, and will be told from several viewpoints. Enjoy!
Chapter 1
Harry stood stock still, his eyes clamped shut. This wasn't happening. It was another nightmare. It had to be. He was in his bed in Gryffindor tower. It was impossible.
"Is it really?" a smirking voice rippled into his consiousness, muffled as though underwater.
Harry still refused to open his eyes. It wasn't Voldemort holding him close, whispering in his ear, like a lovers' parody. His hair wasn't matted with blood, his scar a constant throbbing ache.
Voldemort laughed out loud, and Harry could feel the Dark Lord pulling out of his mind at last. At length he spoke, his inflection dripping with satisfaction.
"It is quite possible, little Harry." Voldemort spoke matter-of-factly, as if talking of the weather; "It's simply a matter of whether you wish to believe it."
Harry clenched his fists. They had gotten rid of his bloodied shirt when they led him here; the chill of the dungeons-
No. Harry would not think of that. For thoughts of the dungeons brought thoughts of Snape, and Snape had betrayed them all. Snape, the double-agent. Snape, whom Hermione had defended relentlessly to Harry's distrust and Ron's ridicule. Where was Hermione now?
And Dumbledore. Dumbledore had believed in second chances. And it was those chances that had gotten him murdered. All for nothing.
Harry sqeezed his eyes more tightly shut. He would not cry in front of the man who had killed everything worth loving.
"You have nothing to say, little Harry?"
His glasses were gone, smashed beneath the Dark Lord's foot when they'd dragged him in. Above he could hear celeabration; screams, vile laughter, running feet everywhere. Voldemort was wearing heavily brocaded velvet robes Harry could feel against his back. He swallowed against the collar and leash they'd put about his throat, the end of which his captor was now toying with against Harry's shoulder.
Voldemort sighed. "I suppose, then, I could tell you of your friends..."
Harry tensed. Was anyone left?
The Dark Lord chuckled. "A response. I suppose I should indulge you then."
"Your precious Weasleys are dead, though I've kept Ginevra. I always reward my helpers, however much or little they helped. That is why you're here with me, and not little Draco's plaything. Severus requested your mudblood friend, though I haven't the slightest why. So she is alive, and in Severus' charge. Perhaps you'd like to see her?"
Harry's eyes snapped open. Hermione was alive! If he answered, he might get to see her. But he couldn't give Voldemort the satisfaction.
Voldemort smirked at his inner struggle and commented nonchalantly.
"Though, of course, if it is no concern of yours, I could always dispose of her."
"No!" Harry gasped out. "I mean, yes. I want to see her-"
"Lovely." Voldemort's smile looked closer to a grimace. He called in a servant.
"Fetch Master Snape, and tell him to bring the mudblood."
The servant nodded quickly and swept off, leaving Harry alone again with the Dark Lord.
Harry relaxed slightly as Voldemort pulled back a bit. The reptilian voice whispered again in Harry's ear, a threat carried in the undertone.
"Should you behave yourself, she stays alive and healthy in Snape's care on my order. If you decide to be difficult, she'll be used as a toy to all my Death Eaters and destroyed."
Harry swallowed, chafing his dry throat, and nodded. Voldemort smiled again, revealing teeth like a death's head, and ran his fingers along Harry's spine.
All was quiet for several minutes as they waited. Harry carefully looked around at the Potions Classroom. It was quite intact- in fact, the whole school was. It was as if Voldemort had specifically asked that nothing be damaged. Harry wondered what his plan was, now that Voldemort had control over the entire UK.
He had always thought the Dark Lord's sole plan was to kill off muggles and muggle-borns, and purify the Wizarding race into extinction. Now as Harry had watched Riddle's victory, it seemed he had other plans.
Harry snapped from his thoughts when the door opened, allowing Hermione to enter, escorted by Snape.
It looked as if the Gryffindor hadn't even seen the battlefield they'd been fighting together on not an hour ago. She was clean in a mideval looking emerald dress Harry knew wasn't her own, her wounds mostly healed, and her normally unruly hair brushed and pulled back. Apparently, if you were Snape's whore, Harry thought bitterly, you had to meet a certain standard. Harry then glared at Snape, who had a triumphant smirk playing about his sallow features.
Hermione, loathing in her eyes, bowed to the Dark Lord, who nodded and released Harry's leash. She rushed to Harry and squeezed him tightly as Snape bowed to Voldemort himself. Harry held her close; he had the most horrible feeling that she would be his only thread of sanity.
When he pulled back, Harry saw Voldemort and Snape in hushed conversation, each keeping an eye on himself and Hermione. She smiled sadly and spoke softly.
"Don't worry, I'm safe. Please don't do anything stupid enough to get yourself killed, Harry. I couldn't bear it."
Harry leaned in urgently. "You're sure that bastard hasn't hurt you? What does he want you for?"
She shook her head. "I don't know yet, Harry. He's been relatively civil, as civil as Snape can be, at least, and healed my wounds; though he wants my complete obedience. I am afraid he wants something less than moral from me;" she gestured to her appearance. "look at this extravagance! It's as if he was making me dress to be his consort!"
As Hermione had continued, her speech had reduced to a furious whisper, as if to avoid being heard by the Death Eaters nearby. Harry opened his mouth angrily at Snape's apparent perversion, but Hermione quickly intervened.
"But what of you? How did you get that awful gash? And where are your glasses?" Her cool fingers were laid on his cheek; the touch was relieving against Harry's heated skin.
"Someone corrected my vision," he whispered, motioning to his spectacles, twisted wire and broken glass on the floor, "and I got this when Malfoy knocked me out- I have no idea what happened-"
"It almost looks as if someone ripped at your skin with a pickaxe. Has it been treated yet?" Hermione's gaze was worried, her eyebrows drawn together as she looked at the laceration.
"I'm not sure, though it hasn't bled or anything- it just sort of stings."
They broke apart abruptly when Snape cleared his throat. He beckoned Hermione with his long fingers, and she quickly came to his side, like a trained dog. It made Harry angry; Hermione shouldn't be treated as little more than a pet! But he kept his control as she nodded a goodbye and followed Snape out the door.
As it closed, Voldemort returned to where Harry was standing and reattatched the leash to his collar.
"Come, there is a meeting to be had."