Title: Caliga
Author: DTaishou
Rating: T
Summary: ONESHOT – Sequel to Nox
.oOo.
The pain set in directly after his soul was ripped so harshly from his body. Thoughts flitted unbidden through his mind, stray bits of thread in the unraveling tapestry. He was furious, sad, disappointed all at once. The pain was great but not great enough. He was after all the possession of a Demon, the Demon. Nagini…what would she think of him now? She must be furious.
"Dear, sweet child," came the sibilant voice he recognized so well. He shivered, anticipation, dread crawling through his spirit. The Demon materialized before him. Her scarlet eyes tore down his wispy gray form then turned to the wailing infant in his cradle. The bleeding scar marred his smooth forehead.
"Dear Flight of Death, what have you done?" Her voice almost seemed regretful but turned immediately into spite. Her anger knew no bounds, and the thrashing it gave his spirit caused him to release a tepid moan of agony. "This…thing, this wailing mortal infant has stripped your body away?" He need not answer. The ash on the ground was evidence enough.
"What shall become of me?" he managed to hiss and choked on the effort. This pain, although tearing and wearisome, forced him to realize that he was indeed alive. The Killing Curse that had been repelled by a mere babe had failed to extract its fearful vengeance upon its caster and had merely destroyed his body, not his life. For the moment, he was alive and that was all that mattered.
"I know not, boy. This has not happened before." The Demon's confusion was evident, as was her underlying fury at loosing her most prized possession. Just as Nagini was his own, Lord Voldemort belonged to the Demon, and the Demon did not like her possessions being tampered with.
"There are ways to bring your body back, but most are unreliable and dangerous even in the best of circumstances. Your soul could disappear in the process." The Demon spat a wad of burning acid at the screaming child and burnt a hole into its cradle. The building was beginning to crumble. She need not stay for long. A long black talon uncurled from her hand.
"I shall forge a bond between you and this infant, this Potter child. You learnt of the prophecy and it has led you to thus," she gestured at his vapor form. "With this connection in place, you shall remain alive so long as the babe remains alive. For now that is all I shall do." The black talon loomed ever closer to the infant's brow, and it ceased screaming to stare with round green eyes at the scarlet of the Demon's. The claw burrowed deep into the cut, but the infant did not cry, for it was caught in the hypnotic gaze of blood.
He felt the stirrings of that ancient power he had once possessed, and he knew that it was still there, dormant, waiting, forging that connection through which he would survive. The Demon straightened, reached out and grasped the sleeve of his gossamer robe, and left the flaming, screaming, crumbling building. The child wailed from within, and the roar of a motorcycle drowned out the final noise of Godric's Hollow.
"I feel that I should be angry with you, boy. But I cannot bring myself to despise your foolish decision," the Demon snarled through bloody, sharp teeth. He said nothing. What could he say, if only to incite the Demon's wrath? Her touch could reach him, so therefore he was not safe. Far from it. He was in quite a precarious position.
"Foolish, stupid, arrogant little child!" she spat and whirled in whoosh of leather wing and shadow. Shambles. Rubble. Fire. Acid. Shadow. Grazing fangs against his throat, liquid heat upon his flesh. He gasped as the Demon threw herself at him. Her eyes blazed with Hell's fire.
"Shall I give you a taste of what should have happened, boy? Shall you experience death for but a moment before I return you to this weakened state?" He stared at her, saying nothing. What could he say? He had been wrong to go, but a Dark Lord was a Dark Lord. He would not admit to his mistake. The Demon sighed and released his mist form from her clawed grip. She settled onto the thick bed and waited. He remained silent.
"You are not forthcoming with your reasons," she observed quietly. He winced. His teacher wanted answers, but he was too prideful to give them. What a pathetic student he was. The Demon examined him and tilted his ghostly chin upwards to reveal his long and slender neck. Her fangs grazed his jugular, and he inhaled sharply. She released him with an angry snarl.
"It is not the same," she hissed. "Did you truly believe that all of the power I have given you would not hold strong against a measly child? True this child would grow, but by the time he would have been able and willing to save this pathetic little world, it would have been yours." He winced again and folded upon his knees before her. Talons entwined in his hair and jerked his head up roughly. Angry crimson eyes gleamed down at him.
"Think, boy! That child would have been brought up under those fake ideals I broke you from! Grown up believing in good and evil, vulnerable to the belief that absolute power corrupts absolutely! You would have been able to change such line of thought, mold it to your purposes! Stolen him!" The Demon jerked roughly again and threw him away from her body. He allowed himself to fall limply to the floor. He stared back up at her. Shadowy gray eyes, once luminous and blood glittered with all that he wished to say but could not. He was the Dark Lord. He could not apologize.
She knew this. The Demon bent forward upon her hands and knees, taking the customary pin position. He did not fight but was surprised when her ministrations became gentle and tender instead of the rough and coarse that he had become accustomed to. Caresses replaced scratches, lips replaced teeth, fingertips claws, palm knuckles.
"It will take a long while before you are once again with flesh," the Demon whispered against his throat. He nodded slightly and was rewarded with a light kiss to his jaw line. "Besides, ghostly form is much more fragile than human flesh. I must be careful with my little wind." He shuddered against her.
"Little child, lost in the darkness, begging for an abyss to drown in," the Demon hissed in his ear. Her claws traced unintelligible patterns over his abdomen.
"Little child, finding the abyss, discovered the Snake that lurked within," she continued sibilantly. Her fangs pricked the delicate translucent skin of his form, and he shuddered once more with anticipation.
"And what happened to that little child?" he whispered tightly against the pain that once more welled up within him. The lack of a physical form, or at least a vessel, was draining away his strength. The Demon grinned the bleeding grin, and her weight was once more coils of black.
"The little child was taken by the Snake and transformed into the Demon."