Title:Game Without Tears
Disclaimer: I do not own, wish I did, but I don't. Anything recognizable including all characters, places, and images are under trademark through JKR and the companies that publish the books and make the movies. I only own my plot line.
Any similarity to anyone else's fanfic is purely coincidence and unintentional. After all, great minds think alike.
Author: ShaeLynn Teelle
Warning: Will eventually be implied slash/yaoi/guys with guys. Future character deaths (not anytime soon). Rated R for violence, non-descriptive rape, and possible slash interactions. This is AU. HBP did not happen.
Summary: Year seven. My thoughts on what could happen. Mainly focused on the Slytherins with Draco as key character. Will update every week or two.
If someone wants to archive, please ask first. You probably won't be turned down, but I would like to know where it's going. Thank you.
Thank you to my wonderful betas: Kris, Mercilynn, Lenny
Polite constructive criticism is welcome, FLAMES WILL BE FED TO THE DRAGON IN MY BED.
Prologue: Son of Mine
"My Lord, one of our newest members is divulging information to that fool, Dumbledore."
Voldemort hissed from where he sat in his high backed chair, staring out at the assembled Death Eaters in front of him. Only those Death Eaters of high rank were present. If they had dared, many of those in the very front would have shifted back a step or two to distance themselves from their lord's potential anger.
"Who? And what proof do you have? You know the consequences if you are wrong in these accusations."
"Understood, my Lord. I observed a note left upon Dumbledore's desk signed by MacDougal. It detailed the attack planned for tonight on the Weasley's sty." The voice was frosted with ice as the figure knelt before the make-shift throne, ignoring those assembled around him. He concentrated only on the creature sitting above him and maintaining his mental shields.
Voldemort sneered down at the teenager kneeling before him, then, glanced about his audience chamber, relishing the cold feeling of the gray room, empty of all but his most loyal supporters. "And just what were you doing in his office to begin with?" Voldemort snapped as he leaned forward in his chair, red eyes flashing.
Though the cold, unfeeling tone of voice never altered and his face showed no emotion, the seventeen-year-old man sighed silently and glared at the ground from behind his half-mask, "I hexed a group of second-year Hufflepuffs into silence for a day. McGonagall came around a corner and was convinced I had done something worse, as half of them had fainted. She has been trying to catch me at something all year. The old bat took me up to Dumbledore's office where he was only too eager to test my school wand for what spell I had used. I saw the note while they were occupied deciding my punishment."
"I see. At least you weren't stupid enough to use your true wand for such a foolish act, unlike some previous followers of mine," Voldemort said, glaring at the assembled Death Eaters for a moment before turning his attention back to the youth that knelt respectfully at his feet. "We will find out tonight if your information is correct or not. Have you brought the Veritaserum?"
"Yes, my Lord," the teen said calmly. He stood and pulled five vials of clear potion from a small bag concealed under his robes and handed them to Voldemort's lap-dog, ensuring that he never had to look directly at the snake-like man that sat before him "The number of vials you requested, my Lord."
"Very good. There is sport tonight. Do you care to stay?"
"I respectfully request to be excused so that I may review the Concealment Salve. The sooner I am able to complete the salve, the less chance there is of any Death Eater being recognized."
"You may go then. Your loyalty to me will never change."
The youth knelt before Voldemort once more and kissed the hem of his robes before he rose. He strode briskly through the now open doors at the end of the room and towards a chamber at the other side of the run-down mansion. He held his head high as he swept through the assembled followers. A pair of steel gray eyes surrounded by nearly white-blonde hair followed the teen from the room. Hatred and scorn dug holes into the young man's back from the glare his father sent his way.
Reviews are appreciated.