Chapter Three: Part Two of Reality Check...
Lucius strode down the hall, eyes spearing through the dark before him. Torches flickered as he passed, as if from a chill. But the master of the house paid no mind. He was sent to this wing of the mansion on specific orders from his own Master: To bring the boy to Voldemort.
"He is Potter's weakest point."
"Potter is too far gone."
"Master, we must try every option. If he does not react to the Weasly child, than he is truly gone and like clay in our hands."
Voldemort had paused for a long time, head bent in thought, youthful face framed by the blackest hair and whitest skin, all focused by the most chilling gray eyes. When he had looked back at Lucius, a cruel smile whispered over his lips.
"Yes, Lucius. Bring me the boy. I would like to see him."
Now he was on the way to his son's private quarters, sweeping along the hallways like some approaching black storm.
Draco sat up abruptly in bed, his eyes flicking to the door. He pushed himself back on his hands, tense and silent. He he held his breath, glancing over to the sleeping redhead. Eyes glowing, he gently played his fingers down Ron's bare side. Warmth poured from the surface of moon light white and Draco momentarily savored it before taking his hand away. There was someone outside the door. Carefully he drew the blanket up over Ron's shoulder and threw his legs over the side of the bed, hissing as his feet met the cold floor.
"Father," he greeted coldly as a slender figure slipped in through the open door. The two Malfoy's appraised each other silently. Lucius' predatory eyes dared his son to move.
He stepped passed the youthful epitome of himself, briefly touching Draco's shoulder with a gloved hand, and approached the bedside, crouching low so that his eyes were level with Ron's constricted face. Smirking in the dark, he reached forward and drew a finger over the young wizard's cheek.
"What are you doing?" Draco was at his father's side in an instant, trembling with anger. "He is mine, we agreed!"
"Don't be foolish, my son," Lucius said smoothly, hand whipping out to grab Draco's wrist in a bone crushing grasp. "I've only come to... *borrow* him. Don't fret, you'll have your pet weasel back in no time."
"You'll hurt him."
"You care? Oddly enough."
Draco stiffened. "Weasly here is the only thing you let me hold power over, father." He ripped his hand from Lucius' grasp and flushed at the amusement dancing in his father's slicing eyes.
"Even though it is set in blood that you will inherit everything one day. This-" he motioned vaguely to Ron "-is as significant as the whores walking the streets."
"He is *mine*."
Their eyes battled before Lucius stood up, fingers closing over the slim shoulder of his son. Draco was raised into the air, glaring daggers at Lucius.
"But *you* are mine, boy. I would suggest you watch your tongue-" he let Draco fall and stepped back, smoothing down his robes "-or I may just rip it out."
"What is the good of a mute son?" Draco snapped, crossing his arms mutinously over his chest and pointedly blocking the sleeping redhead.
Lucius sneered, shoving the boy aside. "I am willing to find out... are you?"
Draco moved to retort, but Lucius calmly lay a finger against his lips.
"Do not shame me more than you already have, my son."
The defiant silver eyes cooled, then dropped. Long fingers curled into fists and shook at silent sides. Lucius smiled in mock sweetness and tapped his son's nose. Then he moved to the bedside again and promptly wrenched the redhead from the sheets by his hair, spilling him to the floor in a lanky pile of flailing limbs. Watching with burning eyes, Draco growled darkly, but held still.
Ron yelped in pain, twisting in Lucius' grip. In a cornered fear he stared up into the man's eyes, hands tearing at the rigid fingers tangled in his hair.
"Up," Lucius ordered.
Ron struggled wordlessly to his feet, shivering in the cold.
Slate gray eyes scraped over his bare form, amusement melting into familiar leering hunger. Ron flinched as Lucius let free his hair and instead moved his fingers to Ron's throat, gently trailing upwards to grip his chin.
"You care for Potter."
Ron stared at him in surprise, then wrenched his chin from the Deatheater's grasp and spat, "Yes."
"I see my son has been using that vow to his utmost advantage," Lucius sneered. "Now it is my turn."
Fear ebbed into Ron's eyes, chipping away at the mutinous fire.
"I suggest you cover yourself, boy."
Lucius made Ron walk in front of him through the halls, his wand trained right between the tensed shoulder blades. The boy stumbled, and Lucius looked down upon the sprawling figure with nothing but disdain. Ron never met his eyes, pulling the thin white robe around his bony shoulders tightly and rising to his feet. In the glowing shadows, he resembled a haunting spectrum wandering in the night.
When Lucius finally pushed Ron through a door to the outside, the boy was forced to stop and let himself get somewhat accustomed to the biting cold. Lucius shoved him and stood statue still as Ron stayed where he was on the ground, fighting back tears which froze on the brims of his lids.
He followed the older man's icy gaze directed over his head. To his surprise, Ron saw a figure detach itself from the inky black shadows and proceed across the silver lawn. As it drew closer, he could make out a dark head of black hair and pale skin. For a fleeting moment his spirits soared and he scrambled to his frozen feet.
"Harry-" he started, but the name died on his lips as soon as the figure showed its face in the full moon's light. Instead of staring into the strong green eyes of Harry Potter, Ron found himself caught in swirling silver that resembled icy peaks in winter nightmares.
"Ronald Weasly," the boy said, his voice rich, and smooth, and deep. Ron was unable to move or reply, just stand there in the cold. Without a word, Lucius bowed sharply and strode away. Something made Ron want to beg him not to leave. Not leave him here alone with this boy.
The boy cocked his head to the side and studied the shivering redhead, a frozen smile fixed his feral mouth. An arctic breeze ran around the both of them, stirring Ron's feather light covering and throwing fiery strands of hair into his eyes. Automatically he reached to brush them away, but his hand was stilled by the gentle pressure of long white fingers. Ron's breath blew uneven and ragged. He stared with clenching fear into the impassive gray orbs, not wanting to move, to breathe, to live in the gaze of those devilish eyes.
"Allow me."
Ron winced as gentle fingers drew the hair from his face, playing over his crown and coming to rest on the back of his neck. He felt them tighten, hard.
"Hush," the boy whispered, drawing close. He stopped when his lips rested against the hollow of Ron's throat. Dry breath colder than the night.
The wispy pewter clouds above circled the moon and began to close in upon the orb of light. Ron's eyes stared unblinkingly into its face, lips shaking with forced breath, whole body wracked with tremors of dread.
"I know who you are," he whispered, eyes still on the moon.
"So you should," the boy thrummed against his throat, lapping at the warm flesh with his forked tongue.
"Harry told me about you. Riddle."
Riddle didn't say anything.
The clouds crossed the moon, thinning the blaring white with a sheen of gray.
"Foolish boy," Riddle laughed, gripping the sides of Ron's face and forcing the frightened brown eyes down. "I am Voldemort!"
Ron's legs nearly gave away. He cried out, twisting violently to get free. Riddle threw him to the ground and stabbed his wand at him, shouting, "Icelius!"
Cold flames of blue erupted over Ron's body, searing his flesh with splinters of ice. He tried to cry out, but the cold traveled down his throat, icing over his tongue, sliding agonizingly through his veins in streams of burning, tortuous ice.
Riddle crouched down next to him, eyes alight with a sick glee.
"Lie still," he crooned.
"What are you doing to me?" Ron rasped through motionless lips.
Riddle didn't answer him. Instead he lifted the boy's arm and lay his mouth against the inner elbow, gently drawing shapeless lips apart. He could feel the muscles in Ron's arm tighten and hear misting breath hitch and catch in frozen lungs. Closing his eyes, he imagined the agony of stabbing panes of ice, and smiled.
"Warm to me," Riddle murmured, and sunk his teeth into Ron's arm. The skin broke away in tiny flakes of frost. Ron's scream of pain flew into the air, a jet of wispy steam, swirling and blending, to disappear unto the cold. Black blood streamed over Riddle's tongue and the bone fingers wrapped around the freckled upper arm; tightening, squeezing, cutting off the cold blood.
Ron met the gaze of the moon and saw with a distant, weary melancholy that the clouds had consumed the light.
Needling pain took his body by storm, plunging through the frozen agony and renewing Ron's dread and hopeless pain. His arm was on fire, blazing with dark, terribly heat. Riddle clawing at his flesh, ripping at his muscle, and tearing at glinting shards of bone.
The night filled with a torrent of sounds. Ron was inside the wound, witnessing the dark blood seeping from between Riddle's lips onto his arm, pooling in the marrow and soaking in the sinew of his flesh. It sunk away, poison. Crimson poured over the ground, over his stomach, over his chest. It dribbled onto his chin from between the lips of the Dark wizard. Sizzled into his mouth, staining his lips a violent red.
Blood flowed from Riddle's mouth, forcing its way down Ron's throat and filling his veins with pumping, beating heat. His bones screamed, the ice cracking with the force of burning warmth, spearing through his skin.
Riddle's blood stained hands pressed over Ron's face; holding his head, cradling his chin, caressing his sunken cheeks, leaving a painted mask of crimson surrounding the glazed brown eyes. Teeth that had torn and ripped gently suckled the over flowing blood on his lips. Forked tongue of snake stirred the poison and the red.
Cold melted from his bones, flooding water through his veins and seeping in barely restrained rivers of liquid from his eyes. Pain still ached through him, but distantly. Riddle was tearing away the white robe now. Pain ebbing away. Red everywhere over him, staining his flesh in crimson heat. Ears stuffed with heavy pressure. The sticky trails of blood down his arm. Pain following his gaze. A patch of clean white on his inner elbow, as if the spot had soaked up all the poison blood.
Through a red tinged haze Ron's reeling eyes fell to his arm. As Riddle ravaged his mouth and chest, Ron made out the black skull and snake standing out in stark contrast to his white skin.
The Dark Mark.
~*~
"Hermione, could you give me another cookie? Just one more, I swear," Harry pleaded, pouting angelically. The aforementioned witch grinned and submitted another of her double chocolate cookies they had been snacking on all afternoon.
"Didn't I tell you I could cook?"
Ron grinned, snatching the box of cookies out of her hands and stuffing three in his mouth. Hermione squealed and slapped him.
"Mmmm," Ron managed through wads of cookie.
"You're going to get all flabby," she warned. "How ever will we win the Cup if you boys keep eating like this?"
When the cookies were gone, Hermione suggested they return to the castle and get an early start on their weekend homework. With much grumbling and griping, the two boys followed, picturing the piles of books and parchment awaiting their careful work under Hermione's scrutinizing watch.
As they crested the rise from the lake, Harry had to stop and itch at his scar. Ron and Hermione looked back curiously at him. When Harry opened his eyes again though, he saw something that made his heart skip a beat.
Voldemort. Right behind Ron and Hermione.
An icy smile trickled over shapeless lips and he fixed them all with his blazing red slits for eyes. Without any preamble, the Dark Lord whipped out his Phoenix tail wand and pointed it straight at Hermione.
"ACCIO SWORD OF GRYFFINDOR!" Harry bellowed out of nowhere as Ron dove in front of Hermione to block the curse that never came. A split second later, low and behold, was the powerful Sword of Gryffindor, which sailed straight into Harry's outstretched hands. Harry then stood in front of his friends and aimed the sword at Voldemort's heart.
"You move, you die," he hissed forcibly. The sword was oddly heavy and sluggish in his hands. Ignoring it, he glanced back at the other two, who were both sprawled in shock on the ground.
"You are a fool, young Harry Potter," Voldemort sneered, "Do you really think an old scrap of metal will finish me?" Then came the chilling high-pitched laughter that made Harry tremble with fear and the sword droop. "Do you, Potter?"
Harry just narrowed his eyes and smirked shakily, the sword wavering in his grip. "No. But *that* will."
Voldemort whirled around and before he could even utter a cry, Dumbledore had stabbed his wand into the dark wizard's chest. The Dark Lord dropped like a stone and lay still. Dumbledore smiled wearily.
"Well done, my boy. If you had not alerted me of Voldemort's presence with the sword, all could have been lost." Harry gave a great sigh of relief and let the sword drop, still gripping it, the point sinking into the grass.
"Can it really be done?" gasped Hermione, staring wide-eyed at the fallen wizard.
"Bullocks," said Ron, his voice quavering. "You saw what I saw." He turned his gaze away, hugging Hermione as she shook in his arms. Harry made to go to them, but Hermione's eyes grew wider suddenly and she yelled, "He's not gone! HE'S NOT GONE!!"
There was a flash of hot white light that hit Dumbledore in the chest and the old man flew backwards.
The Dark Lord rose weakly from the ground and came at Harry, wandless and wraithlike.
Gryffindor's sword whistled through the air and struck Voldemort square in the chest. It buried deep and with a cry of deepest pain, the Dark Lord fell to the ground again, blood spewing from his gaping wound.
Harry let go of the hilt and stumbled backwards in horror, tripping over his own feet and meeting the ground hard, half dragging himself from the thrashing form.
In silence they all watched Voldemort dying. When he had stilled, Harry rose to his feet, shivering as if caught in the barest cold with no cloak. He immediately checked that Ron was safe, then turned to see Dumbledore rising with Hermione's help. Dumbledore assured Hermione he was fine, and she moved quickly to Harry, hugging him tightly around the neck.
"Harry," she mumbled, tears staining her cheeks.
He looked up at her and touched her face.
She looked like a corpse.
The heavy silence enveloped them all and Harry realized with a clenching heart that Hermione had stilled completely. He looked quickly to Dumbledore, only to see the man was just the same.
Silence.
"Avada Kadrava."
Harry had just enough time to see Ron, still sitting on the ground, look up in a flash of green. Then their eyes met and Ron made as if to say something, his hand rising to reach for Harry.
Then the curse struck home.....
"RON!!" Harry jerked, eyes flying open to the stained red rose in the window. Breathing heavily, whimpering, and coming to realize the intense pain anew, Harry relaxed into the manacles, ignoring the slicing at his wrists and the strain of his shoulders.
Just a dream.
Just a nightmare.
Harry threw his head back and screamed until only the haunting echoes of his torment remained.
~*~
A/N: *still grumbling* Bloody stinky system, bloody stinky length, boody stinky cheese. *snerk* Au revior!
~*Villain*~
Lucius strode down the hall, eyes spearing through the dark before him. Torches flickered as he passed, as if from a chill. But the master of the house paid no mind. He was sent to this wing of the mansion on specific orders from his own Master: To bring the boy to Voldemort.
"He is Potter's weakest point."
"Potter is too far gone."
"Master, we must try every option. If he does not react to the Weasly child, than he is truly gone and like clay in our hands."
Voldemort had paused for a long time, head bent in thought, youthful face framed by the blackest hair and whitest skin, all focused by the most chilling gray eyes. When he had looked back at Lucius, a cruel smile whispered over his lips.
"Yes, Lucius. Bring me the boy. I would like to see him."
Now he was on the way to his son's private quarters, sweeping along the hallways like some approaching black storm.
Draco sat up abruptly in bed, his eyes flicking to the door. He pushed himself back on his hands, tense and silent. He he held his breath, glancing over to the sleeping redhead. Eyes glowing, he gently played his fingers down Ron's bare side. Warmth poured from the surface of moon light white and Draco momentarily savored it before taking his hand away. There was someone outside the door. Carefully he drew the blanket up over Ron's shoulder and threw his legs over the side of the bed, hissing as his feet met the cold floor.
"Father," he greeted coldly as a slender figure slipped in through the open door. The two Malfoy's appraised each other silently. Lucius' predatory eyes dared his son to move.
He stepped passed the youthful epitome of himself, briefly touching Draco's shoulder with a gloved hand, and approached the bedside, crouching low so that his eyes were level with Ron's constricted face. Smirking in the dark, he reached forward and drew a finger over the young wizard's cheek.
"What are you doing?" Draco was at his father's side in an instant, trembling with anger. "He is mine, we agreed!"
"Don't be foolish, my son," Lucius said smoothly, hand whipping out to grab Draco's wrist in a bone crushing grasp. "I've only come to... *borrow* him. Don't fret, you'll have your pet weasel back in no time."
"You'll hurt him."
"You care? Oddly enough."
Draco stiffened. "Weasly here is the only thing you let me hold power over, father." He ripped his hand from Lucius' grasp and flushed at the amusement dancing in his father's slicing eyes.
"Even though it is set in blood that you will inherit everything one day. This-" he motioned vaguely to Ron "-is as significant as the whores walking the streets."
"He is *mine*."
Their eyes battled before Lucius stood up, fingers closing over the slim shoulder of his son. Draco was raised into the air, glaring daggers at Lucius.
"But *you* are mine, boy. I would suggest you watch your tongue-" he let Draco fall and stepped back, smoothing down his robes "-or I may just rip it out."
"What is the good of a mute son?" Draco snapped, crossing his arms mutinously over his chest and pointedly blocking the sleeping redhead.
Lucius sneered, shoving the boy aside. "I am willing to find out... are you?"
Draco moved to retort, but Lucius calmly lay a finger against his lips.
"Do not shame me more than you already have, my son."
The defiant silver eyes cooled, then dropped. Long fingers curled into fists and shook at silent sides. Lucius smiled in mock sweetness and tapped his son's nose. Then he moved to the bedside again and promptly wrenched the redhead from the sheets by his hair, spilling him to the floor in a lanky pile of flailing limbs. Watching with burning eyes, Draco growled darkly, but held still.
Ron yelped in pain, twisting in Lucius' grip. In a cornered fear he stared up into the man's eyes, hands tearing at the rigid fingers tangled in his hair.
"Up," Lucius ordered.
Ron struggled wordlessly to his feet, shivering in the cold.
Slate gray eyes scraped over his bare form, amusement melting into familiar leering hunger. Ron flinched as Lucius let free his hair and instead moved his fingers to Ron's throat, gently trailing upwards to grip his chin.
"You care for Potter."
Ron stared at him in surprise, then wrenched his chin from the Deatheater's grasp and spat, "Yes."
"I see my son has been using that vow to his utmost advantage," Lucius sneered. "Now it is my turn."
Fear ebbed into Ron's eyes, chipping away at the mutinous fire.
"I suggest you cover yourself, boy."
Lucius made Ron walk in front of him through the halls, his wand trained right between the tensed shoulder blades. The boy stumbled, and Lucius looked down upon the sprawling figure with nothing but disdain. Ron never met his eyes, pulling the thin white robe around his bony shoulders tightly and rising to his feet. In the glowing shadows, he resembled a haunting spectrum wandering in the night.
When Lucius finally pushed Ron through a door to the outside, the boy was forced to stop and let himself get somewhat accustomed to the biting cold. Lucius shoved him and stood statue still as Ron stayed where he was on the ground, fighting back tears which froze on the brims of his lids.
He followed the older man's icy gaze directed over his head. To his surprise, Ron saw a figure detach itself from the inky black shadows and proceed across the silver lawn. As it drew closer, he could make out a dark head of black hair and pale skin. For a fleeting moment his spirits soared and he scrambled to his frozen feet.
"Harry-" he started, but the name died on his lips as soon as the figure showed its face in the full moon's light. Instead of staring into the strong green eyes of Harry Potter, Ron found himself caught in swirling silver that resembled icy peaks in winter nightmares.
"Ronald Weasly," the boy said, his voice rich, and smooth, and deep. Ron was unable to move or reply, just stand there in the cold. Without a word, Lucius bowed sharply and strode away. Something made Ron want to beg him not to leave. Not leave him here alone with this boy.
The boy cocked his head to the side and studied the shivering redhead, a frozen smile fixed his feral mouth. An arctic breeze ran around the both of them, stirring Ron's feather light covering and throwing fiery strands of hair into his eyes. Automatically he reached to brush them away, but his hand was stilled by the gentle pressure of long white fingers. Ron's breath blew uneven and ragged. He stared with clenching fear into the impassive gray orbs, not wanting to move, to breathe, to live in the gaze of those devilish eyes.
"Allow me."
Ron winced as gentle fingers drew the hair from his face, playing over his crown and coming to rest on the back of his neck. He felt them tighten, hard.
"Hush," the boy whispered, drawing close. He stopped when his lips rested against the hollow of Ron's throat. Dry breath colder than the night.
The wispy pewter clouds above circled the moon and began to close in upon the orb of light. Ron's eyes stared unblinkingly into its face, lips shaking with forced breath, whole body wracked with tremors of dread.
"I know who you are," he whispered, eyes still on the moon.
"So you should," the boy thrummed against his throat, lapping at the warm flesh with his forked tongue.
"Harry told me about you. Riddle."
Riddle didn't say anything.
The clouds crossed the moon, thinning the blaring white with a sheen of gray.
"Foolish boy," Riddle laughed, gripping the sides of Ron's face and forcing the frightened brown eyes down. "I am Voldemort!"
Ron's legs nearly gave away. He cried out, twisting violently to get free. Riddle threw him to the ground and stabbed his wand at him, shouting, "Icelius!"
Cold flames of blue erupted over Ron's body, searing his flesh with splinters of ice. He tried to cry out, but the cold traveled down his throat, icing over his tongue, sliding agonizingly through his veins in streams of burning, tortuous ice.
Riddle crouched down next to him, eyes alight with a sick glee.
"Lie still," he crooned.
"What are you doing to me?" Ron rasped through motionless lips.
Riddle didn't answer him. Instead he lifted the boy's arm and lay his mouth against the inner elbow, gently drawing shapeless lips apart. He could feel the muscles in Ron's arm tighten and hear misting breath hitch and catch in frozen lungs. Closing his eyes, he imagined the agony of stabbing panes of ice, and smiled.
"Warm to me," Riddle murmured, and sunk his teeth into Ron's arm. The skin broke away in tiny flakes of frost. Ron's scream of pain flew into the air, a jet of wispy steam, swirling and blending, to disappear unto the cold. Black blood streamed over Riddle's tongue and the bone fingers wrapped around the freckled upper arm; tightening, squeezing, cutting off the cold blood.
Ron met the gaze of the moon and saw with a distant, weary melancholy that the clouds had consumed the light.
Needling pain took his body by storm, plunging through the frozen agony and renewing Ron's dread and hopeless pain. His arm was on fire, blazing with dark, terribly heat. Riddle clawing at his flesh, ripping at his muscle, and tearing at glinting shards of bone.
The night filled with a torrent of sounds. Ron was inside the wound, witnessing the dark blood seeping from between Riddle's lips onto his arm, pooling in the marrow and soaking in the sinew of his flesh. It sunk away, poison. Crimson poured over the ground, over his stomach, over his chest. It dribbled onto his chin from between the lips of the Dark wizard. Sizzled into his mouth, staining his lips a violent red.
Blood flowed from Riddle's mouth, forcing its way down Ron's throat and filling his veins with pumping, beating heat. His bones screamed, the ice cracking with the force of burning warmth, spearing through his skin.
Riddle's blood stained hands pressed over Ron's face; holding his head, cradling his chin, caressing his sunken cheeks, leaving a painted mask of crimson surrounding the glazed brown eyes. Teeth that had torn and ripped gently suckled the over flowing blood on his lips. Forked tongue of snake stirred the poison and the red.
Cold melted from his bones, flooding water through his veins and seeping in barely restrained rivers of liquid from his eyes. Pain still ached through him, but distantly. Riddle was tearing away the white robe now. Pain ebbing away. Red everywhere over him, staining his flesh in crimson heat. Ears stuffed with heavy pressure. The sticky trails of blood down his arm. Pain following his gaze. A patch of clean white on his inner elbow, as if the spot had soaked up all the poison blood.
Through a red tinged haze Ron's reeling eyes fell to his arm. As Riddle ravaged his mouth and chest, Ron made out the black skull and snake standing out in stark contrast to his white skin.
The Dark Mark.
~*~
"Hermione, could you give me another cookie? Just one more, I swear," Harry pleaded, pouting angelically. The aforementioned witch grinned and submitted another of her double chocolate cookies they had been snacking on all afternoon.
"Didn't I tell you I could cook?"
Ron grinned, snatching the box of cookies out of her hands and stuffing three in his mouth. Hermione squealed and slapped him.
"Mmmm," Ron managed through wads of cookie.
"You're going to get all flabby," she warned. "How ever will we win the Cup if you boys keep eating like this?"
When the cookies were gone, Hermione suggested they return to the castle and get an early start on their weekend homework. With much grumbling and griping, the two boys followed, picturing the piles of books and parchment awaiting their careful work under Hermione's scrutinizing watch.
As they crested the rise from the lake, Harry had to stop and itch at his scar. Ron and Hermione looked back curiously at him. When Harry opened his eyes again though, he saw something that made his heart skip a beat.
Voldemort. Right behind Ron and Hermione.
An icy smile trickled over shapeless lips and he fixed them all with his blazing red slits for eyes. Without any preamble, the Dark Lord whipped out his Phoenix tail wand and pointed it straight at Hermione.
"ACCIO SWORD OF GRYFFINDOR!" Harry bellowed out of nowhere as Ron dove in front of Hermione to block the curse that never came. A split second later, low and behold, was the powerful Sword of Gryffindor, which sailed straight into Harry's outstretched hands. Harry then stood in front of his friends and aimed the sword at Voldemort's heart.
"You move, you die," he hissed forcibly. The sword was oddly heavy and sluggish in his hands. Ignoring it, he glanced back at the other two, who were both sprawled in shock on the ground.
"You are a fool, young Harry Potter," Voldemort sneered, "Do you really think an old scrap of metal will finish me?" Then came the chilling high-pitched laughter that made Harry tremble with fear and the sword droop. "Do you, Potter?"
Harry just narrowed his eyes and smirked shakily, the sword wavering in his grip. "No. But *that* will."
Voldemort whirled around and before he could even utter a cry, Dumbledore had stabbed his wand into the dark wizard's chest. The Dark Lord dropped like a stone and lay still. Dumbledore smiled wearily.
"Well done, my boy. If you had not alerted me of Voldemort's presence with the sword, all could have been lost." Harry gave a great sigh of relief and let the sword drop, still gripping it, the point sinking into the grass.
"Can it really be done?" gasped Hermione, staring wide-eyed at the fallen wizard.
"Bullocks," said Ron, his voice quavering. "You saw what I saw." He turned his gaze away, hugging Hermione as she shook in his arms. Harry made to go to them, but Hermione's eyes grew wider suddenly and she yelled, "He's not gone! HE'S NOT GONE!!"
There was a flash of hot white light that hit Dumbledore in the chest and the old man flew backwards.
The Dark Lord rose weakly from the ground and came at Harry, wandless and wraithlike.
Gryffindor's sword whistled through the air and struck Voldemort square in the chest. It buried deep and with a cry of deepest pain, the Dark Lord fell to the ground again, blood spewing from his gaping wound.
Harry let go of the hilt and stumbled backwards in horror, tripping over his own feet and meeting the ground hard, half dragging himself from the thrashing form.
In silence they all watched Voldemort dying. When he had stilled, Harry rose to his feet, shivering as if caught in the barest cold with no cloak. He immediately checked that Ron was safe, then turned to see Dumbledore rising with Hermione's help. Dumbledore assured Hermione he was fine, and she moved quickly to Harry, hugging him tightly around the neck.
"Harry," she mumbled, tears staining her cheeks.
He looked up at her and touched her face.
She looked like a corpse.
The heavy silence enveloped them all and Harry realized with a clenching heart that Hermione had stilled completely. He looked quickly to Dumbledore, only to see the man was just the same.
Silence.
"Avada Kadrava."
Harry had just enough time to see Ron, still sitting on the ground, look up in a flash of green. Then their eyes met and Ron made as if to say something, his hand rising to reach for Harry.
Then the curse struck home.....
"RON!!" Harry jerked, eyes flying open to the stained red rose in the window. Breathing heavily, whimpering, and coming to realize the intense pain anew, Harry relaxed into the manacles, ignoring the slicing at his wrists and the strain of his shoulders.
Just a dream.
Just a nightmare.
Harry threw his head back and screamed until only the haunting echoes of his torment remained.
~*~
A/N: *still grumbling* Bloody stinky system, bloody stinky length, boody stinky cheese. *snerk* Au revior!
~*Villain*~