Title: Go Quietly
By: Sadie DragonFire
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of the characters and concepts associated with it. J. K. Rowling owns them and makes money off them. I don't and I would like to keep it that way. The poem is mine, but is open for theft.
Pairing: Covered in notes
Feedback: Yes, please
Notes: Oh boy. Okay, this rambling point of view is the closest I'll ever get to writing a Voldemort/Harry fic (or Voldemort/James for that matter). I have no idea what inspired it. I do want to know if I blended it with the poem right. I've never tried it before and if it didn't work, I'm going to just delete the poem out. So, um, enjoy?
This fic contains subjects of a slashy nature. Which means guys liking other guys. And this is a dark fic, so it also contains referances to blood, death, and implied non-consensual sex.
If you:
1) Think you can handle all this (and actually enjoy it), please read on.
2) Don't like any of the above mentioned, please leave before you are offended/scarred for life.
3) Find this subject sick, disgusting, and perverted, and are here for the sole purpose of informing me that you find this sick, disgusting, and perverted then THANKS FOR SHARING!! But I already know.
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Go quietly
As you pass
There is a special kind of pleasure to twisting a person's mind. Its nothing so indelicate as making them think the way you want them to; no, its making them *want* to think the way you want them to. Dreams, desires, hopes and wants. All weave into a perfect balance in the human mind. Find where one ties into the other and you can unravel it, then turn about and remake the whole piece. Of course, you must be right in what you think, before you can make others love it and follow without question. Some will flock to you and require nary touch; others must be re-worked ever so gently. Or not gently, depending on what you are trying to accomplish.
You must be right in what you believe else it doesn't matter. Some will never understand the true glory of what you say. Useless creatures, to foil your plans and sunder your efforts. They are best dead or restrained, screaming under my touch. This was something of the fate I had planned for James Potter.
The crystal stream
Holds shards of glass
Powerful wizard he is. Was, still can be. He would have done well as one of my loyal servants. Passion and power and innocence, and that damned courage. A shield in the mind, a wall of blades and bricks, impossible to pass even by my skills. Few people are un-breachable, that twice-cursed Dumbledore, and then this lovely slip of a boy. Pretty, a thing I rarely indulge in, but in that case I wished too.
Innocent, innocent, it would make his blood candy sweet, crimson treat, silky soft in my hands. If his mind would not break, then his skin would. Crying and screaming, begging in my arms until death was gift. For long he hid under the barrier of that school and when he left, his innocence had changed. That girl.
Poisoned water
Taste so sweet
Well, no matter. There are different kinds of innocence and that one is the least important. But--but-but. The bright one gave me a chase. Him, his woman and his child, all across the countryside. By the time I finally caught up with them I was much too angry. And besides, he was grown, much too grown. Pretty innocence, changed into grim awareness. It was a mercy to kill him, how sad it would have been to see become something like Dumbledore or McGongall or any like them bound away in that school, rabbits cowering before the hound.
I lost my head. I was careless when it came to that girl. The child of course had to die. He was, is, will be, more powerful then even his father. Beyond my touch, beyond my power, I would not allow it. But that girl. She slid in my way, under my control, and died so easily. Then the child took her place and avenged father and mother both. His fault.
On broken rocks
With torn feet
I will not talk of what became of me after that, such vile occurrences do not bear mentioning. Still, I would have the child dead, and what a displeasure it was to see him stronger yet, with my own power no less. He has his father's face now, too child-young for my tastes, but such things change. Always change and I remember him bound and frightened on the day of my rebirth.
Perfect then, with a beauty only the young and terrified can ever accomplish. If the others had not been there, had other business not required my attention, I would have taken from him the pleasure denied me by his father. Perhaps that was my failing, for the boy slipped my grasp once more. Perhaps again, I've chosen a path too direct. I feel the blood he contributed to my birth, I want to feel more, feel it now, and there are other ways to do it.
Beneath the blade
Shiver with want
There's no pleasure in playing with tools. Mine since birth, dreams and thoughts so twisted to my thinking that one my must simply tug here and plant this, for all to work well. No pleasure, but very useful. So, wield the tool to bring the toy. Careful though, else they'll see and put an end to it. But there is a hidden joy in doing what you know is wrong, even the young and innocent understand that. I will build on secret feelings, water them in the warm darkness, till they burst free and pull my prize down into the shadow. The child's own guilt will keep them there, and isn't that the sweetest? False love will draw him into my hands with hardly a whimper.
Cut too deep
Gentle your heart
Seated in his usual spot, toward the front of the classroom under the proud eye of his favorite teacher, Draco looked up from his work as Harry slouched into the room. There was nothing different in this scene; it was the same for every day of Potions for every year since they'd started here. Harry was not different---on the surface---only older. Draco himself appeared unaltered. And yet…
As Harry Potter took his seat there was a different look in Draco Malfoy's eyes
When all is still
Go quietly
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Um...I'm sorry?