The cave incident
Three years after the lost battle of Hogwarts Lord Voldemort attempts revenge. Regrettably, he has never learned from his mistakes and underestimates Harry's incredible luck again. HPLV. Warning: Cranky mix of drama, angst and comedy! There'll be some not too explicit violence in later chapters. Drama, Humor, Romance.
Some fragments are not mine. I took them from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, ch. 36, p. 390., modified for purposes of this fanfic.
The nightmare
He was standing in a huge room, surrounded by his mortal enemies and there were hundreds of scared, yet malevolent eyes on him, wishing to corner him like a hunted animal. Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived, the source of his utmost hatred and pain, the one fated to defeat him, the one who destroyed his most precious Horcruxes, pieces of Lord Voldemort himself, was standing across their small 'arena' jeering at him in the most aggravating manner and speaking to him once again.
* "But before you try to kill me, I'd advise you think what you've done... Think, and try for some remorse, Riddle…."
"What is this?"
Of all the things what Potter said, nothing had shocked him like this. He felt a surge of anger taking over his self-control. But the raven-haired brat seemed to be exceptionally resistant to his fury.
"It's your one last chance. It's all you've got left … I've seen what you'll be otherwise… Be a man …. Try ... Try for some remorse..."
"You dare- ?" he whispered again, seething in frenzy.
"Yes, I dare," said Potter, "because Dumbledore's last plan hasn't backfired on me at all. It's backfired on you, Riddle."
His own hand with the Elder Wand trembled as he tried to keep his mouth shut and not shout those two words, which burned on his tongue. Not yet, but the moment, he knew, was seconds away. He saw how Potter gripped his wand very tightly.
"That wand still isn't working properly for you because you murdered the wrong person. Severus Snape was never the true master of the Elder Wand. He never defeated Dumbledore."
What was that? Potter must be wrong. Snape murdered Dumbledore, how could he not be the true master of the Elder Wand then?
"He killed- "
"Aren't you listening? Snape never beat Dumbledore! Dumbledore's death was planned between them! Dumbledore intended to die, undefeated, the wand's last true master! If all had gone as planned, the wand's power would have died with him, because it had never been won from him!"
How he hated Potter's conviction, that he was the only one who could understand it right. How he would love to see his face frozen in terror once he realized he didn't catch the old fool's intentions right.
"But then, Potter, Dumbledore as good as gave me the wand!" His voice shook with malicious pleasure. "I stole the wand from its last master's tomb! I removed it against the last master's wishes! Its power is mine!"
But the brat calmly shook his head, no fear in his eyes. It was the moment when it got across to him. It wasn't Potter, but he, the Dark Lord Voldemort, who started to be afraid, because once he said this aloud he had to admit to himself that he lied. The Elder Wand's power still didn't belong to him - it was more than obvious how fruitless his curses had been during the battle.
"You still don't get it, Riddle, do you? Possessing the wand isn't enough! Holding it, using it, doesn't make it really yours. Didn't you listen to Ollivander? The wand chooses the wizard... The Elder Wand recognized a new master before Dumbledore died, someone who never even laid a hand on it. The new master removed the wand from Dumbledore against his will, never realizing exactly what he had done, or that the world's most dangerous wand had given him its allegiance..."
His chest rose and fell rapidly, he must curse Potter, not let the fear control him, it must end now, but he needs to know the one last answer....
"The true master of the Elder Wand was Draco Malfoy."
Blank shock filled his agitated mind and surely leaked into the expression on his face. Quickly he regained self-control. He was safe. Potter means no harm to him and Draco ... ha …. he wasn't even prophesized to kill him, so what threat could he be?
"But what does it matter?" he said softly. "Even if you are right, Potter, it makes no difference to you and me. You no longer have the phoenix wand. We duel on skill alone …. and after I have killed you, I can attend to Draco Malfoy...."
But that intolerable oaf shook the head once again, all the time incredibly calm and serene. His dread returned unpleasantly fast and intense.
"But you're too late," Potter said. "You've missed your chance. I got there first. I overpowered Draco weeks ago. I took this wand from him."
His heart skipped a beat. He could feel the moment of complete stillness inside his chest. A cold hand of his own mortality squeezed his throat. He couldn't breathe. Somewhere in the back of his mind he saw Potter twitched the Malfoy's wand in his hand. Now he recognized it.
"So it all comes down to this, doesn't it?" whispered Potter. "Does the wand in your hand know its last master was Disarmed? Because if it does ... I am the true master of the Elder Wand."
A red-glow burst suddenly across the enchanted sky above them as an edge of dazzling sun appeared over the sill of the nearest window. The light hit both their faces at the same time, and he was blind, he was going to die...*
Voldemort awakened with a jerk, bathing in sweat, shivering with cold. Quickly he dug his bony fingers to his scrawny chest to feel for his heartbeat. As soon as he was completely sure that he just woke up from yet another gruesome nightmare, he sank back into sweaty cushions, growling and closing his eyes tiredly. After he wiped the perspiration off his hairless eyebrows, his mind swiftly skimmed through the following events of his greatest defeat. He remembered how he blindly casted a shielding charm, so Potter's favorite disarming curse couldn't affect him. Even though the Elder Wand in his hand annoyingly protested, he managed to keep it. Then he grabbed some desperately shrieking girl from the crowd and dragged her through the Great Hall, keeping her close as a shield. He recalled Potter's scream of profanities as the room turned into a fiery battlefield again, everyone trying to curse him, to get at least a minor revenge, to block his retreat and strike him down... And he couldn't kill them, not a single person; he has never felt so vulnerable before... Then a green light from someone, whose face he hadn't seen, ended the girl's life instead of his own and he threw her away as a pestiferous burden, shattered the closest window and jumped through so he could fly away. He survived ... narrowly. Thanks to Potter. If the brat kept his mouth shut, he, Lord Voldemort, would surely make his final and fatal mistake. He should feel obliged.
Voldemort let out agonizing groan before he covered his face by palms.
"How much I hate you Harry Potter! It's been more than two years, yet I still have those insufferable nightmares."
He seized his beloved yew wand and placed it under the pillow. He didn't touch the Elder Wand since the moment of their last encounter as the object was the only reason of his humiliating defeat. He must pull himself together if he wants to master it soon. But his loss was a result of his own misconception and Potter's inconceivable luck - not the brat's abilities or skills, he reasoned.
It's time to end the reign of Potter's indestructible fortune, because it lingers for too long and nothing lasts forever anymore. Not even Lord Voldemort, the greatest and most powerful wizard of them all.
It was always extremely annoying for him to think about his mortality and every time he did, he felt a new surge of frantic hatred towards the boy. However, calculating with a simple statistical probability, Potter has no possible chance of survival, if ... no ... when he attacks him next time.
He rubbed his itching sanguine eyes.
"I loathe you Potter for bringing me to my knees," he snarled. "I detest you for destroying my army, plans, immortality - my whole life - everything what's ever mattered to me. But most of all, I abhor you for making me feel weak. I spent all the time analyzing my mistakes, calculating, thinking, avoiding you, but this will change very soon. I will take my revenge and make you pay dearly for all of this."
After hissing several swear words in Parseltongue he seized a book from the bed table and with a notable portion of hardly suppressed disgust he delved into another Tale of Beedle the Bard.
R & R
Author's note:
Okay, I know that this is mostly taken from the last book, but I needed to write it from Voldemort's POV. The next chapter will be focused on the fate of The-Boy-Who-Lived.
This is obviously not a very funny beginning, but I wanted to make the basis of the story believable.
BUT!!! Harry's giving Voldemort nightmares!!! :D
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