THE DARK LORD'S HEIR

Part 1 of 2

I do not own any of the characters , just the plot.

PART 1 - THE PAIN OF LOVE

VOLDEMORT POV

I am incapable of love , I feel nothing and am devoid of emotions but I feel my forces dwindling , my power weakening , of course I am all-powerful , but what if that despicable boy got the better of me? What then? Will people forget about me? Forget my aim at uniting the purebloods, the one who wanted to give them a utopia, free of all the filth that mudbloods, like my father have tainted our world with. No I cannot let that happen. That will not be my legacy, several times I have been thwarted by that boy and I will not let it happen again. I must make sure of my victory at the end. I will be immortal , even if he manages to get the better of me , I will be there in spirit if not physically , you will never be entirely rid of me potter , even if by the off-chance you do manage to defeat me. I will forever fill your life with misery and kill you and claim my rightful place as king of this world. The time to seal my victory has come, to leave my imprint upon this world if I leave it.

"Bellatrix my love" I say softly "Come here to me. A woman walks towards me, wearing black silk robes. Her eyes filled with so much lust and love, it repulses me. She raises her hands and unties the lace at her waist, slowly takes off the robe and lets it fall to the floor. Most people in my place might have felt a powerful longing and ecstasy on seeing the beautiful body I had before me, but not me, no, I do not feel those weakening emotions. What are they but spells that bewitch the mind and enslave the heart? Women are dangerous creatures and after Bellatrix's has done her job, I will dispose of her. With a seducing smile she walked towards me, got on the bed where I lay and leaned forward. Our lips met and our bodies embraced. She kissed me with those warm lips of hers. Her tongue tracing my lips and my breath coming out in frozen wisps of air. But what was this? This strange sensation of warmth. It filtered all over my body and gave me a pain very familiar. I gasped and let out a soft cry. Bellatrix, taking it for cries of pleasure, continued kissing me with more passion. The pain intensified, but I had endured pain much worse than this, all those years in the forests of Albania. I will not let this pain weaken me now. This pain that had cost me the Philosopher's stone, which I had felt when I failed to penetrate the protection that silly woman had cast over her son who would soon be called The Boy Who Lived. This pain was the pain of love.