Author's note: Heey! This is an HP oneshot and I am thrilled with it. It started with a joke between my sister and I and it just ended up like a plot for a one shot. If you don't like it I'm sorry! I've actually had it beta read by my sister, and if she says its good it must be right xD She's honest and she rarely reads fanfics xD So it must be good! I hope you all like it! I like it and be nice to it, please. I would appreciate that :? I suggest you listen to Swan Song by Set It Off if you want to get a slight feeling for the emotions in the plot. It's very AU so please just give it a chance.
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter and co. They belong to J. K. Rowling. The song is Set It Off's Swan Song which I don't own either.
I'll admit I'm impressed
By your vanishing act
Voldemort slammed the door shut to his room, anger and hatred rolling off of every single one of his movements. It was scary and it as painful to witness. The boy who had been born into a well acknowledged family, shunned by his own parents. He felt lonely, afraid and desperate. All he had wanted was to do good and make his father pround. But Harry James Potter was never proud of him. He was never proud of his pale, silent, nerdy son. He hated him, and Voldemort knew it. It was like choking under water sometimes.
Today he had come home, proud of his first A+ ever and the man had only raised a brow and told him that that was 'about damned time'. And that had hurt Voldemort. No pad on the shoulder or a single spark of pride from the man that he called his father. It hurt. The thoughts enveloping around him he kicked out to get rid of them. His food connected with a leg on the bed. Frustrated he sank onto the floor, back against the bed. Despite the mild pain in his foot from the violent kick he felt nothing but surging hatred and betrayal. Betrayal from the man who had done everything to stay out of Voldemort's presence ever since he was born.
Place your bets on your best guess
Of when you're coming back
He took calm breaths as he walked down the street. His backpack was light, almost empty. The handgun hidden in the backpack circled in his mind, had his heart beat a little faster from anticipation. If he wanted any kind of recognition, it was the only way. He had to do this. Deep breaths. The usual phase, and still the world felt like it turned unusually slow this morning.
Draw the curtains
Take the stage
Smoke in mirrors underway
Voldemort heard a knock on the door, followed by an angry pulling in the locked door. The yells would come soon enough. "Get out here!" The man Voldemort knew as his father said in an angry voice. The authority in it was unmistakeable. He had no idea what he had done wrong this time, but it had been something that set off the 'otherwise' calm and collected Harry James Potter. Voldemort ducked his head and hid it in his arms as he heard the continued ripping and tearing at the door, the fruious man not giving up in getting in.
"You know eaxctly what were going to talk about and it'll be worse for yourself if you don't open the door this instant!" Harry yelled. Voldemort cowered and made himself smaller in the corner where he had situated himself this time. Small and lanky he had beenquick to find out that if he sat between his closet and the wall Harry could not get to him. At an age of 17 that should not be how one should be thinking, but he was. He was thinking like that and sometimes he wished everything had been different. That he had been born into another family.
Hold your breath here comes the turn
This is where we all got burned
He walked through the doors to the large building. Others, around his age and older, steemed past him, chatting loudly to one another. To him it sonded like they were all under water. All the sounds were muffled and he did not pay attention to anyone around him. He already knew that no one was going to come and say hi to him. No one was going to ask him how he was or even if he had done 'that piece of homework'. No he could pass these walls witout getting noticed.
Promises are broken
Tell me are you happy now?
"What in the world is going on in here?!" Ginny Potter asked as she stormed from the kitchen to the livingroom from where the noiise was originating. She looked at all of them with a sour expression as she saw from one to the next. Three adoptive children and her own. Voldemort felt her stare linger a little longer on him. He did not look at the furious woman as she stood there, hands on her hips, demanding a 'damned good explanation' as she usually so elegantly put it.
One of the younger one's sniffled and ran to Ginny, her arms wrapping around the angry woman's waist. "Mom! He did it! He ruined Mr. Sniffles! He did it!" She sobbed loudly and the woman let her glare fall from her ligitimate son to the small girl cligning to her, her expression full of concern. She moved the little girl's arms around her waist and kneeled in front of the little girl. "Tell me..." She started in her sugar sweet voice, a voice that had Voldemort cringe every time. "Who did what to Mr. Sniffles?" She asked in that same voice. The little girl stiffened a sob and looked at the woman she called 'mom'. "M...Mr. S..Sniffle's ears... they've... they've been... they've been... Mom he did it! He cut off Mr. Sniffles ears!"
Voldemort turned to the little girl and found the accusing finger pointed at him. He dropped his jaw in disbelief. She had even seen Michael, the oldes of the adopted kids, do it, and yet she blamed Voldemort. He took a moment to compose himself and have the information sink in. It sank in as he watched Ginny look at him with fire in her eyes. "Mom... That was not me...I swear... I've been doing homework and I just told them to quiet d..."
"Not another word from you, snake." His mother hissed and shut Voldemort up immediately. He held his eyes focussed on his mother's as he swallowed hard. He could not believe that the woman did not believ her own ligitimate son. The one she should trust the most, or at least listen to. "Your room now, and your father will hear about this." She said in an angry voice. Voldemort was stunned and could not move at all.
Drowning in the hourglass
I guess our time ran out
As he stood there in the que for lunch, his hand closed tighter around the strap of his backpack. His heart was racing as what he had planned should soon be put into work if he wanted it to come true. If he wanted to be noticed by the one person he most of all in the world wanted an approval from.
You don't even bother anymore
You cut to the bone
Pick up the phone
To hear my swan song
It was raining and his bike had been stolen for the tenth time this week alone. With a shaking hand he dialed the one person he never thought he would have to call. His father was a busy man and hardly one who liked to do favours, even for his own son. But Voldemort had no other choices. He could either call the man and get a no and get yelled at for being late, or he could choose not to call and get yelled at for no having even tried to call and being home late. So he chose to call.
The call went to voicemail after a few rings. Voldemort exhaled heavily. He was not sure of what he had expected, but he had expected something. Not just the sound of his fathr's voicemail. With a sigh and the knowledge that he had at least tried he began the walk home in the pouring rain and no money for the bus. None of his parents gave him that. They were nervous about what he might 'use them for'. He would sometimes appreciate a little faith from his parents, however, that was just not possible. Not these days.
You don't even bother anymore
You left me alone
I'm on my own
Tell me where we went wrong
The first shot rang in his ears, the sound muffled from the blood sounding in his ears. His pluse was racing and he breath was heavy. His eyes were unfocussed and he pointed the gun in a random direction and pressed the trigger again. Another muffled shot sounded in his ears, adrenaline rushing through his veins. He would never know if he hit anyone, and he did not care. He just needed to be noticed, to be anoything but a shadow on the wall.
Should I turn on the floodlights
To shine in your eyes
"Do you even know how to behave?!" Harry snarled at his son, slamming his head into the door. The hand in Voldemort's hair did not loosen after that. "Do you?!" Harry snarled a little louder, lightning in his eyes as he looked into scared grey eyes of his son. Voldemort swallowed hard and did an attempt to nod. "I can't hear you!" Harry simply snarled and gripped Voldemort's black hair yet tighter A small whimper escaped the teenager's lips, his eyes shut tight. "Yes, father. I'm sorry. That will never happen again." Voldemort whimpered at the man who demanded an answer. The right answer. Because with Harry James Potter there was only one right answer, and that was the answer he wanted. "I hope not." Harry answered and let go of Voldemort's hair, but not before he slammed his son's head into the wall once more.
Just to get you to speak
And explain why you let it die
A faint sound of sirens could be heard over the screams from the students. He only barely heard it. If the police was here, it meant that his father was going to be here. His father would finally see that his son was not weak, that he was not a disgrace to the family name. He was the perfect heir to the name and the fortune, the power. And between all of that all he wanted was his father's respect. It was now within his reach and it only came closer. Ever closer.
This new chapter in your life
Read it over once or twice
It was late. Again. These days it always seemed to be late. Late for everything. Volemort sighed a little and flipped a page in his history book. He had a history exam tomorrow, and the pages had finally dried up. It was not that he was clumsy or careless. Some idiots at schoool had just decided to soak his bag in water. Because they all knew who he was, and they all knew who his father was. They also knew the relationship between the two. That was what made them continue.
Voldemort could still feel the slight tingling sensation on his cheek where the fingers of his mother had brushed against his skin with a little more force than she had meant. Or, Voldemort hoped so. He begged for it. Flipping another page he could still heart his father yell at him. Those hash words that Harry James Potter never regretted afterwards. Voldemort flinched a little at the memory and the following. Because Harry James Potter never just kept it to a raised voice. Never. What kind of father would he be if he did? That was his excuse, and Voldemort hated him. Hated the man. Hated him more than those at school, more than the government.
Burn the pages not the bridge
Sew your wounds without a stitch
Someone crossed his path. Without much thought to it he raised the gun and pulled the trigger. This time the noise from the shot was a little louder. The screams around him were still muffled like someone had electronically muffled the sound. The sound of the sirens grew louder as well. Steadily louder as he felt his feet mmove, but never heard his steps on the linoleoum floors. He just kept walking towards the main entrance, his body doing the movements, his eye registering movements, his ears on the sounds. His mind was lost in the memories that drove the hatred deep inside of him.
Promises are broken
Tell me are you happy now
"Do you get it?! Do you?! Does your incompetent brain get a wors of what I'm telling you boy?!" Harry yelled. Voldemort was cowering into the corner between the wall and the closet. Hands were over his head, legs against his stomach. He was shaking voilently, wimpering a few times whenever Harry would slam an angry fist against the wall or the closet. Voldemort did nothing. He did not move. He wanted to push past the man and run. Run and never come back. But he couldn't. He was not strong enough. The low giggles in the background did not make it any easier. The adopted children were laughing at his misery again. They were enjoying his tormenting. And it only made it more difficult to hold back the tears pricking behind his eyelids. And the words his father spoke, the words of anger and disgust only rooted deeper in Voldemort's mind.
Drowning in the hourglass
I guess our time ran out
His hands pushed the door open. The sound of a thousand sirens drowned his thoughts for a second. Made his disorriented for a moment. However, it was only for a moment. "Drop the gun!" a police officer was warning him, ordering him to. And he knew that he had very little choice to do anything else. He knew that he had to. But his arm was limb and his hand was cramped liked a deathgrip around the gun. Not shaking. Not moving. He was not done yet, and when he saw the face he wanted to see, he could finish up. He could make sure that the man he was looking for would see what he had done to his own son. See the damage done on his account.
I hope you're listening
He let out a scream and kicked the closed door in anger and sorrow. It was a hurt scream. A scream that spoke of a long-term period of abandonment and abuse. It chilled the bones, even on Voldemort himself. However, he got a run from it with another pained cry in anger. He cleared his desk with a swipe of his arm. Books, paper, folders, pens and pencils, a lamp, paper clips – it all rattled to the floor, fell heavily as gravity took over and the noise filled the silence. The silence that followed was just as terrified.
Voldemort was not done yet. He was still angry, sad, done with his life here. He ripped at papers on his wall. They scattered to the floor like leaves on a September day. Clothes were ripped from the closet, ripped ot pieces, torn and trashed. The pillow was hurled across the rom where it hit a floor lamp, that fell and the lightlbulb shattered with a small bang. Voldemort wanted to flip his bed and maybe break the window, but the bed was too heavy and it was cold outside. He was at least that sensible. Yet.
You don't even bother anymore
You cut to the bone
Pick up the phone
To hear my swan song
"Shut up! Shut. Up!" He screamed and waved the gun around his waist. Enough to get the approaching officers to take a few steps backwards and back into cover. Anger was surging through him, along with disappointment an betrayal. Even when he threatened lives Harry James Potter did not care for his son. That stung. It stung deep into his heart that even when he lost his temper his father would not recognise him as his own. He would probably not even be at his hearing. Because the man was as cruel as cruel can be. And Voldemort was just realising just how cruel Harry James Potter, married to Ginny Weasley Potter and fatehr of three adopted children, could be.
You don't even bother anymore
You left me alone
I'm on my own
Tell me where we went wrong
"Do you hear me, boy?! You are a disgrace to our family. You should have never been! Sometimes I wish you would just disappear during the night and never come back!"
Tell me where we all went wrong
Tell me where, tell me where
"I told you to shut up! I'm not doing anything until my father shows his face!" Voldemort screamed, anger and frustration in his voice. His patience was wearing thin. The man was a cold as could be. "Give my my father and I'll drop the gun! Or you can wave goodbye to all your 'oh-so-perfect' kids! You get that?! I don't give a amn about them!" His gun hand was shaking violently now, making it difficult to hold onto the pistol, but he did not let it go. He kept it in his hand. He wanted it whether Harry Potter showed up or not.
Abandon the people who shaped who you are
Selfish and thoughtless, you drown in the dark
I hope that you realize the damage you've done
You could not see light even staring at the sun
"I'm here! Now, let everyone else go!" His father's voice suddenly rang through the crowd. Voldemort stopped shaking and his eyes fixed in the direction his father's voice had come from. He tensed up again. The grip on the gun tightening even further, if it was possible to hold a gun tighter than he did right now.
"You should have never been, boy! Not even your mother wants you! You're nothing! You're slow, stupid and not even worth the money we waste on your education!"
"Don't you talk to me about right and wrong!"
Promises are broken
Tell me are you happy now
Voldemort bit his tongue, the sound of his father's voice as th man spoke at the morning table drew him up the wall. He felt suffocated. Smothered. His chest was tight, his lungs restrained and his airways closing up. He took a few deep breaths, trying to fill his lungs with fresh air, give the anger a run for now, stop the dizziness in his head. "Hey, kid. Focus when I talk to you!" The voice of Harry gnawked through his line of thought. Voldemort did not react in other ways than look down and away form his father's burning stare. The man turned to his wife and the small laugh he let out had the dizziness imediately return to Voldemort's head. "Stupid kid."
Drowning in the hourglass
I guess our time ran out
Voldemort raised his gun arm, pointing the gun at the man who had never been there for him in his entire life. The man who had betrayed him all his life, and never batted an eye at his son's presence. The man that prefered his adopted children over his own blood. It riled Voldemort up. Riled him up and drilled at his mind. His hand was shaking a little. He wanted to end this, wanted to just pull the trigger and let it go. But he still felt that there had to be a chane for him. There had to be even an inch of life for him in the man's heart.
You don't even bother anymore
You cut to the bone
Pick up the phone
To hear my swan song
His heart was racing as he felt the guilt of stealing from his own father. He had not been raised like that. He had been rased to be a good kid, to have manners and respect those older than him. He had been taught not to steal and never to get within five feet of a gun. And here he was, on his knees in his father's office, holding a nine millimeter. The feeling of the gun felt alien to his palm. It was heavier than he had imagined. As he stared at the deadly weapoin, his diea grow worse and worse. It seemed more stupid for every second that passed. Maybe he should just put it back and suck up to the high demands. But the others did not have these expectations. They were nto bound by rules. With a last look at the gun and a last reminder of why he was doing this he shoved the gun into his backpack, stoppe for a second and shoved a few magazines down with it. Then he closed the gun safe as silently as he could. No one would ever notice in time.
You don't even bother anymore
You left me alone
I'm on my own
It went in slowmotion as Voldemort watched his father take a step more towars him. His hearing was muffled again and even the sound of his own heart was far away. His head was dizzy. The few tears that had spilled, were drying on his cheeks as he slowly pulled the trigger. It felt like it took forever for the trigger to go in. Felt like it took forever for the bulet to leave the chamber. Forever before the bang sounded and forever for the man who had betrayed him his entire life to realise what had happened. And it seemed to take forever before the red slowly began to blossom on his shirt. Realisation to settle. The panic to grip everyone else.
Tell me where we went wrong
"You're nothing." Harry hissed at him.
"You, young man should be a good example to your sisters and brother." Ginny said in a stern voice, an angry stare at her son.
"I thought I told you not to come home with less than straight A's." Harry's voice drifted from the paper that was hiding his expression as Voldemort stood on the other side of the man's desk.
"What is wrong with you, boy?!" Ginny screamed in hysterics as she hugged a crying three year old, and Voldemort could do nothing but look down and apologise for another incident he had not been part of, nor knew about before his mother got to him.
"... Not even your mother wants you."
"Not another word from you snake."
Tell me where we went wrong
"You hated me! You know you did! You never had time for me! Never cared about what went on in my life!" Voldemort sccreamed as Harry fell to the ground on his hands and knees. The tears had given in once more and his gun hand was shaking even more voilently than before. This time he only barely held onto the gun. Only barely held onto his revenge. Theh urge to drop the deadly weapon an run to his father's aid was overwhelming. However, he pushe dit aside with bad memories. Reminded himself what a monster the man was.
"I never meant it." Harry's voice reached Voldemort's ear. It made Voldemort pause in his tracks and the tears subsided for a moment. "What?" He barely uttered loud enough for anyone to hear. "I never meant it. I was trying to protect you from the responsibility that followed with the name and prepare you." Harry choked out. Voldemort's gun hand feel a few inches as he let the words sink in. However, it only lasted until the saw movement from the corner of his eye.
He turned rapidly and waved the gun around. "Don't get any closer or I'll blow his head off!" Voldemort screamed and had the officers hold up their hands, their hans off the trigger of their guns and step back. Volemort turned back to Harry. "I don't care if you meant it or not. I don't care... I hate you..."
"He's a good boy, Harry! He's never done anything wrong. Are you aure it's a good idea?" Ginny asked and gave her husband an affectionate and pained look. Harry looked away from those eyes that could convince him of anything. "I'm sorry, Ginny. I cannot let that happen. I refuse ot have him make the same mistakes as I did."
Tell me where we went wrong
"I hate you..." Voldemort's words were barely a whisper.
Slowly he turned his gun arm around, pointing the gun at himself. His elbow stretched out like a wing ready for takeoff. A wing reay to take this teenager away from all his nightmares. Peparing his spirit to fly. He flinched a little as the cold metal toughed the tender skin below his jaw. The tears had once more got a free run as he watched his father using his last breath to apologise to the son he had never shown propper love. Voldemort's mind was running everything in slowmotion. The world was fuzzy and that feeling of beign uner water washed over him again. He did not hear the repeated yells for him to stop. To put the gun down. That it was for his own good. He heard nothing of it. And as he slowly pulled the trigger he shut his eyes tight, whispering a small apology to his father, his mother and to those parents whose children he had shot.
"Please, forgive me. Forgive me for everything. Forigve me that I was not strong enough to stand the trial and pass the test. Forgive me for every disappointing thing I have ever done, and please, forgive me for the deaths I cause.. Please... I'm sorry... Forgive... Please dad..."
The muffled sound of a shot never registered with Voldemort's ears as the trigger was pulled. He fell into darkness never feeling the pain, nor the relief. It was simply dark around him.
You don't even bother anymore.