Bullet With Butterfly Wings
Disclaimer: Do not own Harry Potter. At all.
Rating: M. Rating may go up later for torture, violence, language, and rape.
Summary: Post-OOTP. After being returned from Voldemort's clutches, beaten and raped, Harry's life takes a turn for the worst.
I.
"Haunted"
The sound of water dripping was the only thing he heard upon awakening; Assuming that he was awake, after all - perhaps he was dead, waking up in a world where there would no longer be pain, where he would no longer feel agony; the afterlife had to be better than what he had known, what pain the living world had offered, wouldn't it? Were they true, the promises the afterlife had assured? Did everything just go away, all the pain, all the agony? Would he feel better than he had in the living world?
He let this thought rouse him; Assuming he was dead after all, upon opening his eyes, he would feel nothing. Or at least that's what he believed, or rather hoped - there were no garauntees in the afterlife, after all. Slowly, afraid the vision might be lost if he did it too fast, Harry opened his eyes.
The first thing he discovered was that he was in a dark room. Definately not the afterlife. The afterlife was bright, and painless, and happy, and this place seemed to be anything but. As though thinking it were a sudden alarm, Harry winced as pain shot through his forehead; his scar was on fire, the inside feeling as if it had been cut by a flame torch, or a dagger with burning flame. He didn't ponder on that idea too much - it usually intensified the pain.
Clenching his jaw in an attempt to ignore it, Harry slowly lifted his head, becoming aware of the fact that his face was wet; the water he had heard moments previously before must have been coming from just above his head. Looking up, he saw a small faucet, silver and rusty, as though it were hundreds of years old..
Or maybe it was days, weeks? How long had he been here? He tried to recall what he had been doing before he wound up here, but he couldn't remember; obviously, someone had placed a memory charm on him, or maybe it was the fact that he was so tired, and his head hurt so badly, that
prohibited him from remembering, that interrupted his thoughts? Whatever it was, he didn't like it; he felt insecure, vulnerable, not being able to remember what had happened and how he had gotten here. He had the gut feeling that it wasn't just a coincidence, and it had something to do with him, but he just couldn't figure out what.
But he was saved the pain of thinking, of straining to remember, when the sound of footsteps made him lift his head further, trying to catch sight of who it was entering the room - he had heard the door open, he swore he did - and let out a stifled gasp.
Standing in the doorway, looking suddenly menacing and triumphant, stood Lord Voldemort. He wore a smirk, or atleast what he tried to make it - it looked more like a curved smile to Harry. His red eyes were slits, yet there was something in them that expressed repressed smugness, as if expressing in in front of the enemy were dishonoring; The facade continued when he caught sight of Harry.
"Ah, you're awake."
Harry didn't answer. Why should he? It wasn't like the asswhole was worth much-needed breath, breath that would only be wasted; He wouldn't speak unless he had to, even if Voldemort forced him. He wouldn't show him that he gave the slightest concern about what he said, because in truth, Harry really didn't give a damn.
Voldemort moved towards him, red eyes glinting in the darkness, "So tell me, Potter, how do you feel?"
Harry was so shocked by the question that he almost opened his mouth to answer. Since when did Voldemort, of all people, care how he was? This, coming from the man who had tried not to kill him once, but three times so far, and murdered his parents without a second thought? But Harry kept his mouth well closed, and instead turned repressed words into the hardest glare he could muster and sent it straight at Voldemort.
This seemed to piss Voldemort off, for he jumped forward and seized Harry around the chin, and squeezed. Harry felt his jaws go numb.
"I said," He growled, squeezing all the harder, "How do you feel? And you better answer me this time, you impertient little brat!"
"Why do you wanna know?" Harry found himself seething through clenched teeth, and the words came out slightly muffled due to Voldemort's clamp-like grip, "Why the hell should I answer you?"
Voldemort raised a snake-like hand and slapped Harry square across the face. "Because you're at my mercy. You have no one here to help you, no wand to save you, no one to die for you; you're in my lair, therefore it's my rules. And if you choose not to abide by them, you will be punished."
Harry smiled grimly, "Same old, same old. Don't you get tired of making the same old speech, Voldy? It isn't going to stop you from killing me, whether I respect your rules or not. Not like I will, anyway. You're not worth the breath!"
Again, Harry found himself dizzied by the slap Voldemort gave him, and this time, his head spinned from the force.
"You're an insensitive little boy with no respect for anyone! Oh, but that will be resolved. Yes, it will. You will learn to obide, and do as I say, or else you will find yourself in more pain than you are now. You should consider yourself lucky I haven't killed you yet."
"Why haven't you?" Harry kept his voice calm, forcing himself to stop before he blew out on a steamroll of rage, "Why don't you get it over with? We both know you want to do it, and there's nothing I have that can stop you. So why don't you do it? If you're planning for me to die begging at your disgusting feet, then you're sadly mistaken."
Voldemort smiled, "No," he agreed, "I do not expect you to die begging me. In fact, I've been pondering whether I should kill you at all..."
Harry's mouth dropped open. "That's a laugh! You've tried to kill me, what, four times, and now you want to stop? Why?"
Voldemort didn't answer right away; Instead, he removed his hand from Harry's chin, and drew a long, slender finger over Harry's left cheek, and Harry fliched and pulled away at his touch. He responded to Harry's disobedience with another slap of the face, and Harry's head snapped back and collided with the stone wall, small white spots appearing in front of his eyes. While Harry recovered from the sudden blow, Voldemort continued to repeat the offense. "For reasons I cannot tell you. I've just decided.. realized... Dumbledore, as much as I hate to say it, was right -"
At the look of confusion on Harry's face, the smile returned. "Really, now, Harry, even I know when I've been mistaken. It just took me.. a long time.. too long.. to realize it..."
He continued to caress Harry's cheek, and Harry wanted to pull away, but he just didn't have the stregnth; his head was still pounding from three hard slaps to the face, and the last one that caused his head to hit the wall and make him see stars. He was suddenly very tired, and weak, and sore; he just wanted to lie down and sleep. Another of Voldemort's fingers ran over Harry's scar, and Harry winced in pain as his nails ran it over, but it was gone almost immediately, as Voldemort pulled away.
"Now, I think it's time you get some rest, child. You look awfully tired."
Harry blinked, opened his eyes, and stared again at Voldemort's face. Was he imagining it, or did Voldemort sound.. concerned? No stregnth left to reply, he let himself slip down the wall, as Voldemort finally let go of him, and his eyes dropped and he heard the door close beside him, indicating that Voldemort had left. Before he had, however, Harry caught a glimpse in his eyes, the triumph no longer concealed, but shining brightly. The facade was gone.
"You think you've won," Harry croaked quietly, staring avidly at the door Voldemort had just walked out of, "You think you've got me right where you want to, don't you? I don't think so. You think I'm just going to lay here day after day, or however long you seek to keep me alive and obide by your rules until you've decided to kill me and beg at your feet? No. Sorry if I've ruined your little plan, but I'll never sit here and beg, or fall for your piece of shit tricks. I'm never going to beg, even if you force me. It's going to take more then threats to make me do what you want..."
And with his mind set firmly on that thought, he let himself drift into sleep.
A/N: This was my first attempt at a fic with graphic nature (rape, violence, etc). Please read and review, and tell me what you think; I definately will be continuing, as this idea won't leave me alone. But if you're uncomfortable with rape, and torture, please don't read; this kind of thing really is disturbing... LOL.
Tainted Visions
