Hi~
I just figured I'd let you know a few little things - Only small little things!
1. I am currently at College studying, so please do not expect much from me at the moment.
2. This story is basically, my venting; a family member of mine has recently died, so please respect that when reviewing (if you choose to do so).
3. I AM NOT DEAD~ Whoohoo for that! :3 see -waves hands-
4. This is my take on what would be the result of Harry not being able to handle to pressure of being the "Chosen One". So viola~!
5. Tora is still nagging on my mind, don't you people worry about that, it's just on holiday at the minute, it may come back better than ever, so expect some adjustment later...a lot later... probably a while later... I don't know whenever I have a minute to spare I believe ^^ OK? OK!
Now on to the story~!
Lozzien :3 (catface)
Harry breathed heavily, his breathe turning to foggy frost in front of him. He covered his mouth quickly, and snorted out condensing air in panicked hyperventilation. Knees attempting to mesh with his chest and feet curled tight like slumbering dormice, he knew to be silent, and he knew to disappear. He had lost his wand, it was just over there, a few mere meters away; not that he wanted to get it mind you, not that he could even use it either. Not when there were death eaters just outside the door who put wards of some kind up.
His eyes widened and his hand over his mouth began to quiver as his scar began to emit sharply stinging sensations directly onto his skull, like an impatient tapping foot, mimicking those oncoming footsteps - echoing from all the walls - of a familiar, very familiar man.
-0-
Voldemort's stance was stony, yet strong and threatening. He held himself high, powerful, back curved like the body of a Cobra, fluid; along with the flare of one's hood. Voldemort was indeed a formidable man.
He softly conversed with thought out tones to one of his dear, dear knights; who told him the boy was stuck within this room, that they had raised wards to prevent any attempts for him to escape, knew the boy was there but had vanished entirely, they stood guard at the door blocking it with their bodies, so the boy couldn't possibly get past them; they had called him as soon as possible to deal with the boy himself – out of respect, of course.
The real reason was probably to prevent him from punishing them on yet another of their failed attempts to apprehend the boy, lest everything go wrong – AGAIN.
Voldemort sighed slightly, inconspicuously, and addressed them to step aside. A cloak donned him that moulded to the floor, making him part of the room, dressing him like a living statue, unbreakable, impenetrable, immortal.
He stepped through the door.
-0-
His feet squirmed and eyes glued shut, his entire body danced to the hummingbird's heartbeat; in fear. The pain had grew stronger, he clenched at his cloak in fear and pain and desperation. It was the only thing keeping him alive.
-0-
Voldemort stood in an empty room. It had a floor, four walls, no windows, a door and a wand. It seemed empty, but the presence in his mind told him otherwise. He glanced at the places he figured the boy would attempt to go, not that he could go anywhere.
And something caught his eye.
He walked slowly and deliberately to one corner of the room.
-0-
Harry's eyes began to leak, and his whimpered voice sounded so loud in the room that even people in space were sure to hear him. The pain, oddly, was fading rapidly. He could think again.
A caress on the hood of this cloak, on his head ceased all thoughts. It was gentle, soft, and delicate; scratching lightly on his scalp as it lifted his hood and ran through his hair.
It felt… good.
A part of his mind cooed at the treatment, wanted to be loved, so fragile.
His hood was pushed off his head across onto his shoulders.
A sharp stab of fear clenched is entire being as he squinted through his tears into victorious blood red eyes; the eyes of the blood of his victims.
-0-
"Hello Harry".
Harry's shaking caused him to fall down upon himself landing at Voldemort's feet, kneeling, head bowed, sobbing.
"You thought you could run, Harry."
Harry shook his head viciously, and hiccupped with a deep cough as he struggled to breathe.
"No? But why all this running, Harry, why did you hide, Harry?" The voice was so worried for him, like condescending a toddler for a stupid and dangerous line of thinking
Tears streamed down Harry's face, twin pinpricked tears touched the floor.
"I-I-I d-don't" He heaved heavily, more waves of ocean sadness crept down his face, into his lips, into his nose, down his neck, uncomfortably cooling his fear before it crept up like a kitten – a dangerous 100 foot high one who thought you were a butterfly, a snack to eat – and pounced once again, startling his sobbing into replay.
Voldemort leaned down, towering over the boy, cradling the boys skull softly, carding through the hair on the back of his head gently, oh so gently, as Harry stared at the ground, determined to make a salt lake by the tears he was falling.
"You don't?" It was soft, yet mocking, like a deadly whisper on a breeze before the killer struck from the night, or a snake from the grass.
Harry heaved a breath once more, and rushed out his words, cringing at the weak soft voice that sobbed out his words.
"I don't want to die!"
Harry muttered for a few moments. Voice whittling down until it was a mere murmur.
"I don't want to die, please don't, I don't, please, please, I don't want to die, please don't kill me, please please, please. Please."
"Aww, Harry. Harry, Harry, Harry." Voldemort raised Harry's forehead and gently kissed his scar, the mocking cooing started up again like a revived engine, setting another rush of tears leaping from the Boy-Who-Lived and apparently wanted to keep living.
Harry lifted his head slowly, staring into those deadly, dangerous eyes with a soft glimmer of something hidden within.
"I don't plan on killing you."
Harry's eyes widened and his face broke into pieces onto the flooded floor of pain and terror, ready to dry into submission. He leant against the gentle, soft, fabric of Voldemort's cloak, mind flooding with relief. He felt happy, the first time in his life it felt, the unknown emotion of joy and elevation, he was flying on air, better than any old broomstick he'd ever ridden.
"I plan on doing much worse."
Harry was falling, falling into the Whomping Willow with the force of a hundred thousand Centaurs, his body and mind shattering in one feeble moment of shock, shattering like glass, and hit by thunder.
Harry's face crumbled and he became one with the anguish deep inside once more. He leant back and stared frozen at the wicked grin too sharp to be kind to him.
The pale hand of the devil, softly stroked Harry's cheek, he leant forward, and breathed deeply, into Harry's ear. Harry frozen with fear couldn't move, he couldn't force himself to move, he was stuck; he would have moved if he could have once Voldemort softly unbound his cloak, folded it with delicacy – a greedy look in his eye – and tucked it under his own; but he couldn't.
"You should have remained hidden, dear, sweet child."
Harry's world was slowly becoming darker. He tried to break free but it did nothing, he couldn't do anything; he was useless! And the wizarding world knew it too.
Who could possibly have the power to go up against this man? Dumbledore probably if he wasn't dead.
"Death will take you away, child. You went to death willingly, sobbing at his feet. Oh, my poor, dear, child." Voldemort spoke soft snake sounding sentences, seductively sliding a finger under Harry's chin as his blackening world focused on the fading world of red, red blood eyes.
"No one can escape Death, Harry".