Disclaimer: I do not own any of J.K. Rowling's wonderful characters or world, and any of the song lyrics, those used in this fanfiction are property of their respective artists. Eve, the idea of Tom Raimus and her turned upside down world view, are my own.
Chapter Four : Strange Sights
The night before the Quidditch World Cup, tucked securely in a bed on the opposite side of Ron's room, Harry dreamed once more. He tossed and turned, grumbling beneath his breath, and once in a while, stiffening up with fear. But no matter how much he moved around, how much he wanted to escape the dream, he was forced to watch.
He could hear voices, echoing down the long rickety, staircase. One of them he recognized as Peter Pettigrew, or rather Wormtail, while the other was younger, more pleasant sounding, though it held a degree of coldness that filled Harry with dread. He took a step towards the stairs and then jumped when he noticed the little old man beside him. The man was stooped over, his eyebrows drawn together, gently touching the railing that lined the stairs. Harry opened his mouth, ready to speak to him, but the old man moved ahead, taking slow, halting steps as he moved up the stairs. Harry, setting his mouth in a grim line, moved behind him, trying to focus on the voices that were coming from the open crack in the door at the top of the staircase.
"..I will allow you to perform an essential task for me, one that many of my followers would give their right hands to perform," the younger, pleasant sounding voice was saying. Harry once more glanced at the old man and seeing the confusion upon his face, decided that he must be a muggle. They were at the top step now, the voices now incredibly clear and every once in a while, in between Wormtail and the pleasant voice speaking, Harry could hear the sounds of a young woman sniffling, as if she were trying to stop crying.
"R-really, my Lord? What-? Wormtail sounded terrified as low chuckling answered him. Harry felt a cold dread settle in his chest, because there was only one person Wormtail would ever call 'My Lord'. The old man, his wrinkled face frowning, like a dried raisin, had inched closer and closer to the crack in the door, horrible curiosity upon his face.
"Ah, Wormtail, you don't want me to spoil the surprise? Your part will come at the very end... But I promise you, you will have the honor of being just as useful as Bertha Jorkins." There was a small squeak of fear from Wormtail and Harry's mouth went dry. The old man looked startled, the echo of Wormtail's fear in his eyes.
"You...You are going to...to k-kill me too?" The muggle man's eyes widened impossibly, realizing that not only was Bertha Jorkins dead, the pleasant voice was very casual about killing others. Harry, who had read about the disappearance of the witch in the Daily Prophet, didn't find it as too much of a surprise, but it made him fear for the muggle. The poor man was definitely in a bad place. Bits of conversation escaped Harry;s notice as he watched the old man take a few steps back, ready to flee, but the next words stopped the muggle.
"One more murder, my faithful servant at Hogwarts... Harry Potter is as good as mine, Wormtail. It is decided. There will be no more argument. But quiet... I think I hear Nagini..." A hissing noise echoed through out the hall and Harry jumped aside, even though the snake couldn't touch him. It was large, possibly as big around as Harry's thighs and at least twelve feet long. The muggle man had frozen, once he spied the snake and Harry seemed to know that the old man was sure the snake would kill him... But Nagini slithered by them, towards the crack in the door and the muggle man's hand quivered on his walking stick.
"Nagini has interesting news, Wormtail." The pleasant voice seemed amused and even in the dream, Harry could feel his scar burning with some sort of sickening joy.
"I-indeed, my Lord?" Wormtail's high voice shook and the sniffles that had been peppering the conversation now turned into quiet crying. Hearing the cries, the muggle stopped moving and Harry knew that the man was both curious and scared.
"Indeed, yes. According to Nagini, there is an old Muggle standing right outside this room, listening to every word we say." The quiet cries turned into a gasp, and now a young woman spoke.
"Oh god, oh god! Leave him be, let him go, please, Tom, please-" A young woman pleaded and Harry could almost see her on her knees, pleading with this person named Tom, but she was silence quickly. A sharp bang and short scream echoed in Harry's ears, a cold weight settling in his stomach. Wormtail was making a low, moaning noise, scared that he would be next.
"Invite him inside, Wormtail. Were are your manners?" And the voice held relish as the girl began to sob uncontrollably. Harry wasn't surprised when Wormtail threw the door open and then motion the old man inside, his beady, watering eyes staring at the wooden floor. The man with the handsome voice was sitting in an ancient armchair, his long finger, slim hand the only thing visible, since he was turned away from the door, towards the fire. Harry's lips parted in astonishment when he saw the muggle girl, Eve Swarthing, sitting, dirty and disheveled on the floor, shaking with fear, tears streaming down her face. This seemed to surprise the old man and he took a few more steps forward, his eyes flickering between Eve and the armchair. He opened his mouth, but before he could say a word, the pleasant, cold voice spoke.
"You heard everything, Muggle?" said the cold voice.
"You're that girl whose missing! And what's that you're calling me?" The old man's voice was filled with defiance, as if, after seeing the girl who obviously needed help, courage was welling up inside him. Wormtail was looking away, towards the fire, so when the old man held out a shaking, gnarled hand to Eve, Wormtail didn't see, or at least, pretended not to.
"I am calling you a Muggle," said the voice coolly. "It means that you are not a wizard. And yes, I see you have recognized my darling, Eve."
"I don't know what you mean by wizard," said the old man. "All I know is I've heard enough to interest the police tonight, I have. And seen it too, with the kidnapped American girl sitting scared in this parlor! You've done murder, and you're planning more! And I'll tell you this too," his voice was steady, beckoning for Eve to hurry and grab his hand, as if it would help her. "My wife knows I'm up here and if I don't come back-"
"Get out of here, hurry, RUN!" Eve suddenly screamed, raising to her knees. There was a quiet sigh, barely loud enough to hear and then a wand was pointed at Eve.
"Crucio!" The old man watched in fascinated horror as Eve's body fell to the ground, twitching, and a long, keening wail passed through her lips. Her hands clenched and unclenched, and her head bounced off of the floor numerous times, her eyes screwed shut. The cold voice spoke while Eve writhed on the floor, obviously in pain.
"You have no wife, nobody knows you are here. You told nobody that you were coming. Do not lie to Lord Voldemort, Muggle, for he knows... He always knows..." The voice trailed off and the wand flicked upwards, Eve's back arching as if someone were trying to break her in half.
"Stop it, stop it! Leave the poor thing alone!" The old man yelled, realizing that Eve was, in essence, being tortured. "Lord is it? Won't be Lord as soon as the police have you, now turn around and face a man instead of hurting a poor girl!" The old man's face was filled with anger and he brandished his cane as a shadowy figure stood from out of the chair. The wand twitched, in a short, cutting motion and Eve fell to the floor, panting, her eyes watching the old man with a pain-filled gaze.
"But I am not a man, Muggle. I am much, much more than a man. However - why not? I will face you." Harry could no longer see the figure that had stood from the chair, only Eve, trying desperately to push herself off of the floor, as if she could try and help the old man. Wormtail whimpered in the corner and the old man, seeing the figure clearly, gaped, his cane lowering.
"But you're-" Eve's screams echoed through out the room and a flash of green light temporarily blinded Harry...
Harry was jolted awake by Hermione shaking him, and his rasping breath made the young witch pause. She opened her mouth to say something, but Harry shook his head, jittery and spied the old copy of the Daily Prophet next to him on the floor. He snatched it up and pointed to the smiling face of Eve Swarthing.
"She's with Wormtail, and I think... I think with Voldemort." Harry's scar tingled again, and slapping his hand to his forehead, he knew with dreadful certainty that the old muggle man was dead.
Voldemort watched silently as Wormtail levitated the old man's body and guided it out of the room, then, with a sigh, turned to face Eve. She was laying on the floor, alternately gasping and letting out soft moans, her arms wrapped around her abdomen, shaking with fear and pain. His body wanted to fall to the ground and pull her into it's arms, but he resisted, cursing the fact that it was getting harder and harder to do so. He almost wished he could by-pass his plans, that he could forget about Harry Potter and kidnap some random wizard, but then, all of this would have been for nothing. A grimness settling upon his face, Voldemort murmured a spell that would ease the aches the curse had caused her to have, though he doubted it would erase her fear.
"Dear Eve, I told you not to interfere with any of my plans. I told you to stay in your room. I told you a great many things, but did you listen? You tried to run away earlier, you tried to strike me!" Voldemort's voice had risen a few octaves, his anger masking the face that belonged to Tom Raimus. Voldemort grabbed her arm and yanked her into a sitting position, her face a mere inch or two from his own. "I told you that I would punish you, Eve. And that was your true punishment. The old muggle died for you, did you see? He was ready to stop me. And if you ever, ever try and go against my wishes again..." Voldemort trailed off, his lips pursed, his anger pulsing through his veins. Eve said nothing, staring at him with empty eyes and Voldemort recognized the signs of shock. He let go of her, Eve's body falling back to the floor, her head hitting the floor in front of his feet. If he wanted her to remain sane, Voldemort wouldn't be able to torture her for quite a while. Hearing Wormtail's footsteps, Voldemort turned towards the door and waved his hand at Eve when Wormtail came into sight.
"Take her back to her room. Lock the window, lock the door, bind her. I want no chance of her going anywhere until we are ready to journey tonight. Are we clear, Wormtail?" The beady eyed, rat-like man nodded quickly and hurried off to do the Dark Lords bidding, grabbing an un-resisting Eve by the arm. As if realizing that she was in the hands of someone who meant her no ill-will, Eve's eyes focused on Wormtail and she tried her hardest to get to her feet. Once Eve and Wormtail had reached the door, her eyes nervously caught Voldemort and a shudder went through her.
The moment she was out of sight, Voldemort dropped to his knees, hissing softly, his teeth clenched as he wrestled with the soul inside of him. Tom Raimus was very much alive, locked beneath Voldemort's stronger, magical soul. But the pain Voldermort had been causing Eve had been bringing Raimus back to the surface. It had been making him feel and that wasn't something he could forgive. It had been one of the reasons he had tortured her, a few hours earlier, when she had made her escape attempt. The time he had given her to rest, so he could silence Raimus inside him, had given Eve courage. She had busted open the window, scaled the side of the house in a matter of seconds and was running towards the fence when he had caught sight of her. Rage had burned through him and the body bind spell he had shot at her through the window panes had caused Eve to fall face first into the grass. Striding down the stairs and to the yard outside, Voldemort hadn't been thinking, and so he had removed the body bind the moment he was standing next to her.
Anger and panic had filled him once more, had made him careless as he reached down, expecting her to come along easily, to shudder and cry and obey his whims. But, had she been a witch, Voldemort had no doubt she would have been placed in Gryffindor, with her foolish bravery. Eve had jumped to her feet, cocked back her arm and swung at his face. Eve had missed, for she had never actually fought someone, but it had come close enough to cause a coldness to fill him. Voldemort had literally dragged her inside, her feet kicking, trying to yell and scream, though he'd put a silencing spell upon her. She struggled, pull, kept swinging, fury had been evident on her face, but Voldemort hadn't cared. It had been time she learned who was Master. He didn't know how long they were locked into the sitting room, but the whole time, he swore he would make her scream for mercy. Eve never pleaded with him, but with Tom, and once she had begun to truly cry, her words so mixed together he couldn't understand what she said, Voldemort had made her kneel on the floor, like a dog. Wormtail had been let into the room and the two had discussed his plans, seeing as Eve couldn't be trusted in a room by herself. He'd also gloried in her despair, as he spoke of Bertha Jorkins' death. The old muggle had been a piece of luck, and he was glad that he had killed him, glad that it had hurt Eve, made her feel guilty, made her go into shock... But Tom Raimus' soul, kept fettered and chained beneath his own, was filled with terror and anger.
Voldemort smacked a hand against the floor, groaning, and with a flick of the hand that held his wand, he closed and locked the door, so Wormtail couldn't see him in such a state. He clutched his stomach and chest, trying to draw breath and somewhere, deep inside, he heard Tom Raimus' roar of fury. It was in his nature to hurt others, so he didn't hesitate, didn't spare a thought for the fact that he would be hurt, if Tom was.
"Does it anger you, Muggle, that she is mine now? Has your fury filled you to the breaking point? Do you despair that she will be the reason I will own your body in the end?" For a split second, after Voldemort had spoken, there was silence inside him. He had won, he had beat the muggle into submission - a wracking pain flared through his chest and Voldemort howled. The sound would have made any normal persons hair stand on end with fear. The scream echoed through out the house, but as soon as it stopped, things began to shatter. As soon as the pain had left, Voldemort had risen to his feet, blasted the window to pieces, blown up the couch, shattered the old clock and ripped the armchair to thread and splinters. And then, there was silence. Tom Raimus said nothing, did nothing, and it was as if he had never existed. Wormtail had obviously done as he had asked with Eve, but his servant had also dared not move once he heard his Lord destroying the room. His chest heaving, Voldemort walked to the broken window and looked out over the backyard. The sun was just rising, lighting the sky was an orange and pink glow. A gentle wind was blowing through the tall grass, waving the bare tree branches...
He despised it.
Eve was trapped, truly trapped now. The window was magically locked, as was the door. And Wormtail had followed the Dark Lord's orders to a T, though his lips had quivered as he murmured the body bind spell. Through the haze of shock, she realized her mistake had been trying to hit him, but if she had been able to... Eve would have escaped, she was sure of it. She had felt courage, being left alone for so long. The gigantic snake hadn't been anywhere in sight and she had heard Voldemort and Wormtail speaking in low tones when she had pressed her ear to the door. Eve had taken her chance, and she had paid the consequences. A low, strangled noise barely made it past her lips as she thought of the old man. Eve hadn't known him, had never seen him before in her life, but he had tried to save her. She could still see his grizzled face as he had looked between the chair and Wormtail, holding out his wrinkled hand and crooking his fingers. Silently urging her to take his hand, to try and escape while she had the chance. Eve made another noise, wishing she could cry, wishing that she could take it all back. But would Voldemort have spared the man if he hadn't tried to save her? Somewhere inside, Eve knew that Voldemort wouldn't have spared him, no matter what had happened. The old man had overheard them talking about the murder of Bertha Jorkins, had overheard their talk of magic, plans and Harry Potter. That was another mistake. After he had used the curse, the one that made her look like she was having a seizure, she had sneeringly asked him about Harry Potter.
It had sent him into a new and completely different rage. It had also made him much more imaginative when it came to hurting her. Eve wanted to grab her thighs, for she could still see the larges slashes that had appeared there, the blood gushing out... Eve wanted to shudder and would have, if she could have moved, thinking about the things he had done. Of course, there had been worse things he could have done, seeing as he was inhabiting Tom's body, though the thought never seem to have occurred to Voldemort and for that she was grateful.
Eve's eyes couldn't move from the ceiling. Her arms were clamped against her sides, her legs together and she was laying on the bed, on top of the blankets. She couldn't move an inch. If she could have drifted off to sleep, that would have been a welcome escape, but she could not do that either, since her eyes were kept open.
Time moved incredibly slowly. The aches that had been plaguing her once Voldemort had used the curse were gone, seeing as he had removed them, but... Eve could still feel the curse, as if it were moving through her blood stream, just waiting to be called to the surface. It was like a dormant sickness, locked away inside, just waiting for the right moment to strike. The sun moved across the sky and shadows eventually entered her room. Eve wondered how long it owuld be until sundown and then the door banged open, slamming against the wall. Voldemort stepped through, tall and proud, smiling Tom's smile. As his eyes raked over her body, he flicked his wand towards her, releasing her from the body-bind. Eve didn't dare move until he told her to.
"Now, now, dearest. Come, get up. We need to make you presentable for the Cup this evening," he said pleasantly. He looked almost happy as he walked towards her, gently touching her elbow as she pushed herself into a sitting position. Eve flinched away from him and though she knew he had seen, he pretended not to notice. Though her mind was still numb and moving at a slow pace, she wondered why.
"Hurry now, pick an appropriate outfit, blue or green will do," he murmured, looking over her pale face and long auburn hair. Eve somehow kept herself still as he plucked at a few strands of hair and then let them slide through his fingers. "Hm... Yes," he said absentmindedly and then walked over to her suitcase, flicking it open with his wand. She flinched when it seemingly opened by itself, watching as he sifted through the clothes magically, not saying a word. After a moment, his frustration showed through and he whirled, and eyebrow raised in impatience.
"Well? You're a woman, I assume you can dress yourself?" Since it was a direct question, Eve answered with a meek 'yes' and stood up, unsteady. She wobbled as she walked towards him, her heart pounding in her chest, screaming for her to run, but she reached the case without mishap and glanced at the things he had looked through. Voldemort walked away, however, he didn't leave the room, as if he were waiting to see what she would wear. Hesitantly, Eve held up a green dress, it's silky material long enough to flow around her ankles. It was something that Tom had bought her after she had admired it in a shop window. When she had protested, saying she wouldn't have anywhere to wear it, Tom had told her he would find a place. The next evening they had taken a waltzing class and the evening after they had gone dancing, Eve wearing the dress her beloved had bought. Voldemort eyed the material for a moment and the nodded.
"Change into it and when you're finished, we must be going," he said the last sharply, as if it were very important that they leave soon, so Eve murmured another quiet 'yes'. He walked out of the room quickly after that and Eve didn't dawdle, not wanting him to find another, or any reason to... To do what he had done earlier. She changed into the garment quickly, wishing she had time to shower, to brush her disheveled hair, to eat... With a start, Eve realized it had been at least two days since she had eaten last. When she walked out into the hall, in the dress and the only pair of heels he had put into her suitcase, Eve jumped to find him standing next to her door, though his back was to her. He was leaning upon the railing, looking down at the floor below, though he turned when he heard the door open. Voldemort looked her over and finally seemed to notice her tangled hair, and the dirt on her face and hands.
"These spells are beneath me," he growled, though after he had swished and twirled his wand, Eve felt as if she had stepped out of a shower, her hair was clean, the dirt gone from her hands and face. He glanced over her once again and seemed to recall that it could be cold outside. He stalked back into the room and grabbed one of her coats, muttering something under his breath as he tapped it with his wand. It transformed into a woman's cloak and he shoved it into her hands before walking away. Eve took a deep breath, following behind him, though as far away as she could be without him snapping at her. Eve didn't know if she could deal with this hot and cold attitude, didn't know if she would recognize the signs to stop her words and look away. He was almost schizophrenic after all, this Voldemort.
Wormtail stood at the door, holding it open for them, looking down at the floor. Voldemort muttered a few words to the small man, words that Eve couldn't catch, and frowning, she realized that he was not coming with them. They were leaving alone, just the two of them and it filled Eve with a new sense of fear. She had been tortured when they were alone, worse than ever. Eve had wondered why, when he had dragged her back upstairs, that he hadn't let Wormtail into the room with them and where his other masked companion had gotten off to. Voldemort had thrown her onto the floor, locked the door and - Eve shook her head, she couldn't think about it, not yet.
"G-good evening, my Lady," Wormtail murmured and, glancing at his eyes, Eve spied pity and sorrow. She wondered whether she was heading towards her death and though she knew that Wormtail wouldn't dare help her, when he met her eyes she tried to plead silently. A dry sob escaped her lips as he shook his head, his breath coming in fast gasps as he stepped away from her, motioning for her to follow Voldemort outside. He nearly pushed her into the grass when she didn't step outside immediately and Eve shuddered when the cool evening air wrapped around her body. She looked around, scared of the flight that awaited them, but she couldn't spot any brooms.
"Come now Eve, we must be going," Voldemort snapped at her, holding out his hand. Eve didn't want to touch him anymore than she had to, so she barely placed her hand in his and yelped when he pulled her to him. He frowned, looking down at her and raising a single eyebrow.
"We're apparating," he told her, as if it had been obvious. Eve blinked, confused and then gasped. Everything was dark and some force was pressing against Eve from all sides, she couldn't breathe, as if she had been punched in the chest and her eardrums ached as if they were getting ready to pop. Everything stopped and Eve coughed, pressing a hand to her chest and trying to gain her balance back as Voldemort immediately began walking. They were now in a crowd of people, all of them rushing to get inside a very large, very tall stadium. Eve's jaw dropped, and with a start, she suddenly realized she really should be back at home, in America, with her family and friends... She turned around to go and do just that, but Voldemort hissed and grabbed her arm, muttering an incantation beneath his breath.
"Damn muggle repelling charms," he muttered softly, barely loud enough for Eve to make out as he pulled her along in his arms. Seeing a young, wizarding couple off to the side, talking animatedly, Voldemort made a beeline for them. "Confundo," he whispered and then promptly told the couple to give him their tickets. They had seen the Quidditch game, enjoyed it immensely and then gotten so drunk afterwards, that didn't remember who had won. Eve watched with a horrified fascination as the couple handed over their tickets and walked away quickly, down towards a forest and a large field, covered with tents. She said nothing when Voldemort's gaze rested on her once more, a warm smile, Tom's smile, covered his face and he gently patted her cheek... But then he became Voldemort once more.
"If that old Muggle recognized you..." His voice drifted off, his dark eyebrows drawing together as he brushed away a stray curl that simply fell back into his face. He let loose a small sigh, his lips thinning. "This has all been a waste of magic, Eve, I hope you appreciate it." Maybe it was the shock wearing off, the horrid thoughts pushed to the back of her mind by all these strange sights, but she frowned and snapped at him.
"If it's a waste of magic, why use it?" But as soon as Eve closed her mouth, her face drained of color and she stared at him with horror, trying to backtrack. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it! I didn't mean it! Please, I swear, my-my-" Tears were springing to her eyes and Eve searched desperately for something that she knew would wipe the astonishment off of his face. "I didn't mean it, my Lord! Please, please, forgive me-" He cut her off with a full throaty laugh, his head thrown back, his eyes crinkled around the edges because of his smile. When it drifted into chuckles and he looked back down at her, Eve was straight faced and pale.
"Oh, my dear." The smile stayed etched onto his face and he whispered a spell that made her feel as if someone was molding it, twisting it about like clay... And then it stopped. She didn't ask what happened, though Voldemort could see the curiosity on her face. He shook his head, pulling her along with him.
"It has altered your features, a bit. Someone will look at you and see some non-descript girl, and though they might recognize you, they shouldn't be able to tell who they recognize." They approached the ticket woman, who checked the tickets, told them in which direction to go and then took them away. Voldemort raised his eyebrows, but gave a small smile.
"Well then, we'll be rather close to the Minister himself, won't we?" And with that, they were the through the ticket gates and walking up the stairs, ready to see the Quidditch World Cup.
A/N: This chapter ended up quite a bit longer than the original version I wrote and I think I'm pleased with it. I've been bery happy to see all the hits I'm getting on this story, though I would love some reviews, to see how I'm doing. Reviews always help the muse along, ya know!