CHAPTER SEVEN
Scorching hot, liquid fire was surging trough his veins, turning his blood boiling even as he felt his muscles crump, every single part of him seemingly entirely boneless. Everything simply felt numb.
Then, sudden bile crept up his throat, and Harry's eyes snapped open.
A gasp fell past his lips before a coughing fit caused his whole body to spasm, only worsening when his senses caught up with the suffocative grip around his bare throat.
His eyes were beginning to water from the assault of his coughing, which promptly resulted with an unnecessarily big supply of oxygen for his lungs. Hands were suddenly cupping his cheeks, and yet his eyes couldn't provide him with an image, too busy blinking the moisture away.
Instinct of survival kicking in, Harry made a valiant attempt to struggle, but when the restricting force encircling his neck nearly choked him, his body fell still on its own.
Words were spoken to him but in the state he was in he couldn't possibly hope to comprehend them, his coughs and choked hiccups erasing all other noise. His companion must have concluded so too because those hands changed methods, and instead of just lightly slapping his cheeks in hopes of anchoring him towards the living world, they were now tilting his head backwards.
"Stop that," hissed someone when he pushed against the hands' hold on him. Breathing between his coughs was no longer a possibility and Harry was forced to obey.
His head came to rest against a hard surface the moment he stopped resisting, that bruising grip around his throat instantly lessening and he wasted no time in opening his mouth, taking in huge gulps of air like a starving man.
He closed his eyes for a moment, breathing deeply trough both his nose and lips, and savoring every second of it.
His breathing was still ragged once he slid them open again, but he decided to ignore it in order to finally get a glimpse of the figure, vaguely noting that the hands were now gone from his person. What he saw caused his gaze to harden.
"Seeing you here shouldn't come as a surprise considering this was the side you'd been working for all along." His voice came out raspy from his nearly choking to death, a fact that he chose to ignore in favor of bestowing the man across him with a withering look.
"Your astute observations never cease to amaze me, Potter." said the black haired man, his own eyes narrowing into a glare.
Harry seethed, making to stand up the moment he realized that he was actually seated on the floor and absolutely refusing to have his hateful teacher towering over him like a giant bat, and outright yelping as his throat was constricted yet again. Instinctively, he threw his head backwards to avoid having the life squeezed out of him for a second time, only to grunt when it collided harshly with what he could only assume was the wall.
"Oww!" he hissed, an inexplicably excruciating pain shooting throughout his scalp. Was it supposed to hurt so much?
He tried lifting his arms to rub his aching head, blinking profusely when he found them unyielding to his command. "What the-?"
"The Dark Lord thought it wise to take it upon himself to restrain any future suicidal attempts on your part." Snape said, disdain written all over his face as he looked down his nose at Harry. "At least until the results of your previous one are properly healed."
"What the hell are you talking about?" Harry thrashed on the spot, attempting to free his hands from whatever restraints they were in and failing miserably. "What did he put around my throat?!" he shouted enraged, realizing that the reason why he couldn't even move his head forward an inch was due to something heavy being wrapped around his neck.
Hell, he could hardly look down at his arms!
"Currently, cuffs have been placed around your throat and hands which, as you must have guessed by now, are directly connected with the wall you're propped up against." A smug smirk crept onto Snape's features at the look of utter disbelief that was sent his way, "As I said before, the Dark Lord wanted to prevent you from trying anything troublesome again. Personally, I find everything that concerns you a waste of time, but the trouble I went through to treat you would have definitely gone to ruins."
Harry blanched. "Treat-? Why would you need to do such a thing?"
An arched brow greeted him in response. "Either the wound was more severe than I had first deducted, or the shock simply hasn't worn off yet."
A low growl passed through Harry's clenched teeth when all he could do was glare up at the person before him. "Answer the damn question! What wound? And what's all that crap about suicides?!"
"Strange that you claim ignorance about your attempts to take your own life, because if deliberately cracking your skull isn't called suicide then please, do enlighten me as to what is."
"C-Cracking?" Harry cursed himself inwardly for letting his voice quiver. But seriously, what was that man talking about? He'd never do such a thing. In contrast to what everyone seemed to think about the many times he had provoked Death, he actually valued his life.
The price to keep it had cost far too much…
His entire body came to a halt, all movements ceasing as his brain finally absorbed the exact meaning of those words. Yes, he had indeed smacked his head against the wall a number of times, and he could remember the reason that had provoked such a violent reaction from him.
"Fuck…" he grumbled, eyes shutting tightly from the assault of all those memories. "And here I thought that it was just a bad dream."
"Wake up, boy!" The shout came practically out of nowhere, so unexpected that it made Harry jump on the spot, eyes widening involuntarily. Snape's black eyes appeared colder than ever, an ugly scowl contorting his face. "Treating every hardship that comes your way like a silly, bad dream that'll fade away the moment you open your eyes is absolutely pathetic. I told you before that life isn't fair, so you should start dealing with that fact and face it like a man and not like an impertinent brat that's always whining about how cruel the world has been to him."
For a moment, Harry could do nothing but stare, shock and pure disbelief clearly etched onto his features. Then, his eyes hardened, teeth grinding together hard.
The things that were taking place these days were seriously infuriating.
"How dare you?" he spat, drilling holes into the man's head with the force of his glare, "How dare you lecture me about the way I deal with things? You! You who nearly got Sirius kissed by the Dementors because of some stupid, childish grudge?! You who put me through hell and beyond in all of my school years because of how much I look like my dad?! You who are a fucking Death Eater?! You who stood and watched as the man that TRUSTED you and kept you out of bloody AZKABAN was MURDERED?!"
Harry huffed, chest heaving from the effort to inhale straight. He breathed deeply, small puffs of air forming before him in the chilly temperature of the dungeon. "How dare you tell me to grow up when I was never allowed to be a child?" he muttered darkly, "How dare you to judge me?!"
"There you go again." Snape drawled, voice cold and unsympathetic. "Always complaining about one thing and the other, you poor, mistreated boy."
The mockery was blunt, undisguised and plain for everyone to see. It shot Harry's anger up to new heights.
He made to lurch forwards, momentarily neglecting his restrictions and biting his already abused lower lip to stop a gasp from slipping past when his throat was squeezed. He could sense it, all the frustration pilling up in a rate that not even Voldemort had achieved. And the man before him wasn't even worth it.
"Leave," he gritted out, "Get the hell out of my sight!"
Snape's coal-black eyes narrowed at the mere prospect of someone underage – that's right, at the mere prospect of a child – ordering him around and making demands. It was even more ridiculous that said child was, in fact, a captive.
The boy met his hard stare head on, seemingly unperturbed by a sight that would have sent even fully grown wizards to their knees. Detestation had been the sole emotion he ever experienced upon gazing at Harry Potter, from the very first day he had laid eyes upon him up to this moment. And that was something that wasn't going to change anytime soon.
He had to admit though… ignoring the replica of Lilly's eyes was harder now that there were no horrid, painfully James-like glasses obscuring them from view.
And it was uncanny, disturbing too, the similarity between the resentment in this boy's eyes and the resentment that Lilly's had held, back in their school days when that cursed word had rebelliously slipped past his lips.
"Tch," Snape's lip curled upwards, pinning Harry in place, "Perhaps it is time you realized that childish antics have no place in the Wizarding world, Potter. Especially not in a Wizarding world that is at war."
Harry could only clench his jaw at the man's retreating back, the metal weight around his neck preventing him from any more drastic measures. And to think that his eleven year old self had been so damn excited at the prospect of learning how to brew potions, the one subject that Muggles tended to associate with magic.
He hated himself, despised how the force of the loathing in the man's eyes could still make him recoil from time to time. A loathing that ran too deep and too strong for a mere grudge against his father.
He sank his teeth into the flesh of his lower lip, taken aback at the sudden trembles it was producing and hurrying to put a stop to it. The amount of effect his former teacher seemed to have on him didn't appear to lessen, not even outside school.
He swallowed thickly, grimacing at the awfully bitter taste that was still lingering in his mouth.
Squashing down the abrupt urge to vomit, Harry felt like beating himself up when that sense of recognition was stirred, as if awakened by the horrible reminder of that other time when Voldemort shoved that sleeping draught down his throat. It appeared to jog his memory, once again recalling the Hospital Wing of his school and his many visits there. Another potion that he frequented, besides the Dreamless Sleep, was the Blood Replenishing. Not as usual as the former but still making his top five in the list.
And if he could, Harry would have definitely beaten himself up now. What the hell had he been thinking? Discarding his own safety like that? What infuriated him more though, was how weak he must have appeared in his enemy's eyes.
He could remember feeling lightheaded, his way too blurry vision and his inability to focus. Then of course, there was also the sensation of his head splitting in two. That settled it. He had definitely gone a bit overboard.
His eyelids fluttered shut of their own, as if shielding him from the oncoming assault of memories. He didn't care how cowardly it was, but he absolutely refused to deal with them at the present.
Too many things to sort out.
So he did the next best thing that appealed to him; shut the rest of the world out and allowed his thoughts to wander away, recalling the school days and losing himself in the memories of the fun times he had with his friends, embedding their faces on the forefront of his mind in the worst case scenario of never seeing them again.
*)&(*
When consciousness latched onto him like a leech again, he didn't know how much time had passed. He resented being dragged away from his dream world, and promptly cursed inwardly when he felt his scar prickle. At least he no longer had to wonder.
"Let me go." he muttered quietly, all too aware that he didn't need to speak loudly to be heard in the overbearing silence of the cell.
Besides, he was certain that no matter how low he spoke, his unwanted visitor had his ways of catching every single thought that swirled around in his head.
"And where would you go? Back in the company of your disgusting little pests, I suppose. But I wonder if they would still welcome you with open arms if you were to tell them about that extra piece of soul inside you."
Harry's eyes shot open, a snarl hurling from his lips. He glared at the figure leaning against the black, iron bars of his prison, loathing the man's assumptions more than even the sight of the man himself.
"Then you don't know them in the least!" he shouted, a growl slipping out the moment the restricted sensation returned with a vengeance, threatening to bring tears to his eyes.
There was a flicker of something unreadable in those pools of crimson, and along with the spiking in his scar, Harry was forced to take a sharp intake of breath.
"I don't need to know them, to have the slightest suspicion of their train of thought." Voldemort discarded the words like they were utter dirt. "Do you think they would treat you kindly if they learnt that the Dark Lord lives in you? That he has full access in your mind and has you under his absolute control?"
"Don't flatter yourself," Harry spat without thinking. "You could never control me."
The next thing he knew, a palm was against his forehead and icy cold fingers were clamped over his head, extracting a cry of pure anguish as his formerly fractured scalp was violently slammed against the wall and his scar felt like it was set on fire.
And for the briefest of moments, Harry was could feel it. The connection that he claimed so hotly that didn't exist opened up, instantly showering him with such intense emotions.
He felt suffocated, drowning in the waves of raw fury and maliciousness that were filling him to the core. A blood-curdling scream let itself loose from his throat as those feelings overwhelmed him, drawing away whatever air he had in his lungs and bringing to life all previous feelings of retching from deep within him.
Then, Voldemort withdrew, both mentally and physically, and Harry collapsed to the floor, not even registering the fact that he was no longer restrained to the wall.
He clasped a hand over his mouth, head falling to rest on the chilly stone floor while he forcefully pushed down the bile that had risen; mobilizing every ounce of control that he possessed in order to do so.
He lay there, spasms raking his body from top to bottom. Breathing heavily through the nose, Harry lifted a trembling hand to wipe the moisture from his eyes and wincing when one of his fingers rubbed lightly against his throbbing scar.
"However meaningless it is to mention this," Voldemort drawled in a low voice, causing Harry's body to stiffen at the undertone of dangerousness, "but I do believe my demonstration persuaded you of the power I have over you." And it was said with no little sickening glee.
Harry couldn't fail but shiver. If that was a mere demonstration, then he dreaded to even think what the real thing was like.
Letting out a breath he didn't know he was withholding, the raven haired teen pulled himself slowly together. At one point, he feared that his arms would outright fail him when there didn't seem to be a cease to their shivering. A long, drawn out sigh passed through his lips once his back was securely against the wall again.
Eyelids lowering to half-mast, Harry had to literally bite his tongue to prevent himself from looking away when the Dark Lord's gaze found his.
Not feeling up to initiating another conversation, Harry lifted his arm to rub at the back of his head, a moan nearly spilling past when even the slightest bit of pressure hurt like hell. He quickly changed tactics then, running his fingers up and down his sore throat and relishing in the feeling of moving his arms again as well as being able to swallow with no hindrance.
He watched Voldemort watching him getting reacquainted with his limbs, feeling himself tense as that heated stare dragged on without so much as wavering.
"Since you appear a tad more," Voldemort's lips curled upwards into a tantalizing smirk, "accepting of your situation, I have a job for you."
"I'm not going to kill for you." Harry stated, plain and simple, brows creasing together in disgust at the mere suggestion of it. "So save it if that's what you're going to ask."
That flicker of emotion was back in those dark red orbs, with the exception that Harry could now distinguish it as something wild. His eyes were the epitome of cruelty the moment he stepped closer to Harry, causing the teen to draw back instinctively. "The Dark Lord does not ask. He always acquires what he desires. You would do well to remember that in the near future, Harry."
Said person could only stare at him for a full minute, being reminded of that other time he had heard Voldemort addressing himself in the third person. And damn, he couldn't decide when it had sounded scarier. Back at the graveyard, or right now. And that undertone of Parseltongue that tended to slip into the wizard's speech from time to time didn't help matters in the slightest. Perhaps he was doing it on purpose, as a reminder of the ancestry that Voldemort prided himself in. Or perhaps, he simply wanted to torment his followers some more.
The sly upturn of those lips made Harry suspect a combination of both before he frowned, actually remembering that his mind was an open book to the Dark Lord.
A tsking sound echoed from deep within Voldemort's chest, only serving to increase the teen's glare. "So forgetful. Oh, well… just another aspect of yours that requires to be fixed along with your defiance, my little Horcrux."
"Don't call me that," Harry growled through clenched teeth. "I'm not one of your stupid trophies."
The gleam that suddenly set alight those hellish eyes didn't bode too well with the teen. "Quite the contrary. You are the most valuable amongst them… My most prized possession."
Heat rose to Harry's cheeks, face contorting in humiliation. "I'm no one's possession!" he yelled outraged, fire flaring in his eyes.
In fear of having his head thrown against the wall again, Harry didn't bother to stand up, knowing well enough that if Voldemort wanted to subdue him there were more ways than one at his disposal. Sensing his thoughts, the corners of Voldemort's lips morphed into the darkest smile Harry had ever seen, one that sent shudders down his spine and made the air around them seem downright freezing.
Thus, when Voldemort crossed the few steps that separated them, Harry was justified to press himself flush against the stone surface behind him, every single muscle in his body tensing over.
Then, Voldemort raised his arm and Harry actually flinched, eyes shutting in preparation of the excruciating, mind-numbing pain that was bound to follow in consequence of his scar being touched. A choked gasp escaped him when an icy sensation enveloped the right side of his face, eyes snapping open to stare upwards in shock.
Voldemort was staring down at him, red eyes mirroring the ever sinister smirk that was firmly in place. Using the back of his fingers, he was running three of those long digits up and down Harry's cheek, so cold that the teen could feel the area slowly going numb.
Harry scooted – or more like bolted – to the side, angling his body sideways and leaning back against his arms as wide, terrified green eyes remained glued to Voldemort's face, unable to look away from the smoldering stare even if he wanted to.
…He hadn't felt any pain.
For a fleeting moment, Harry was left rooted to the spot, too shocked to even bat an eye. But once that notion sank deep enough, he crawled backwards, wanting to reestablish the distance between them now more than ever.
Horror and terror were clawing at his chest, unable to comprehend why besides its usual prickling his scar hadn't exploded like it used to, unable to settle with this new order of things.
He didn't know whether Voldemort caught a whiff of his musings or he simply saw the onslaught of emotions in his eyes, but his whole demeanor suddenly radiated an aura of smugness. Or was that because Harry had gotten good at attuning himself in the man's moods?
Now, that musing terrified Harry.
"When I wish it, there can be no pain for you, Harry" Voldemort's tone was low, nearly purring, something the teen had come to associate as immense satisfaction on the other's part. "Obey my words, Harry. Follow them accordingly and you won't have to be hurt ever again."
Foolish, traitorous hope fluttered inside Harry's chest at the prospect of never again being subjected to Voldemort's wrath like he had earlier, of never having to go through all that hell again. He squashed it down, however, when he played over in his mind the scene.
"I already told you that I wasn't planning to become one of your boot lickers." A throaty growl left his lips. "And I don't think I'll be changing my mind anytime soon."
Voldemort cast him a scathing look, lips quirking up into a sneer full of spite. But soon, any kind of emotion was schooled away, leaving his usual emotionless mask behind. "Very well." Those two words were like steel, acute and to the point.
And Harry didn't know whether to rejoice at his small victory or Curse himself and be done with it. Well, there was that problem of not having a wand, so…
"As I said…" Harry's attention instantly shot back to Voldemort, berating himself from choosing all the wrong moments to space out, "…truly entertaining." And there was a glimmer of something in his eyes that gave Harry the vague idea of – dare he say? – amusement.
There was no time to dwell on it though because, in a quick succession of movements, Voldemort pulled something out of the inner pocket of his robes – the very same place that his precious wand had disappeared into – and with a flick of that pale wrist, the object was sent flying at him with a speed that couldn't help but alarm Harry. Never before had he been more thankful for his sharp reflexes, only those long and relentless hours of practice enabling his arm to shot out at the moment it did, catching whatever had been thrown at him and encaging it with his fingers.
Harry allowed one relieved exhale of air to pass through his nose, before curiosity took its toll on him and he brought the offending object closer to his face, glaring at the shining, gold locket that had nearly hit him square on as if it were its own fault, and then promptly blinking to make sure he wasn't seeing things.
Jaw tightening, he glared at the elegant emerald-jeweled cover for a whole new reason. He had half a mind to smash that thing to the ground, break it to smithereens, and he'd have carried along with his brilliant plan if Voldemort's voice hadn't cut right through his scheming.
"Do you sense anything from it?"
Such a simple sentence, and yet Harry was left staring dumbfounded at him. Blinking a couple of times, he let his gaze fall downwards, scrutinizing at the object in case he was missing some crucial detail. He turned it over in his hands, observing the underside as well and finding it totally unblemished. Then what-
"Magically?" the Dark Lord specified, and Harry felt the blush creeping up his neck.
Downright refusing to lift his eyes and see the definitely amused look that was bound to be there, Harry righted the locket in his hands, trying the clasp that tied the two parts together but it wouldn't yield. Scowling, he placed a palm over the cover and tried to sense for any vibes that Dark Magic usually left behind.
That cursed necklace that Malfoy had failed to give Dumbledore was full of them, reeking of a menacing sensation that had sent chills throughout Harry's body. But for a supposedly cursed object, this locket…
"I don't feel anything." he voiced after a while, raising searching green eyes for any kind of confirmation and founding it when Voldemort gave the curtest of nods.
He snapped his thumb and forefinger together, making Harry jump slightly the moment the locket popped open in his hands. The inside was fairly simple, made of black onyx rather than the gold, or even silver, that Harry had expected. He didn't know much about Salazar Slytherin except for the basics, but this simplicity just didn't seem to suit the personality that Harry had cooked up in his mind.
"It appears that the locket you are holding is a fake."
"A what?!" Harry shouted, before the man had any time to go on, and earning a reproachful look in response, but Harry didn't see any of that. "What do you mean 'fake'? Dumbledore died so that we could obtain this and you're telling me it's not even the real Horcrux?!"
A hiss slipped past his lips at the sudden throb in his scar, glaring heatedly at the man across him for using that method again for punishment.
"That was a mere warning." Voldemort informed him, his tone clipped. "But if you don't keep a hold over your emotions, then I shall have to make use of other, more persuasive means."
Harry dug his teeth onto the inside of his cheek, biting harshly to shallow back down the retort that would have surely risen if it wasn't for the pain. A coopery taste filled his mouth, but he was certain he preferred it over the torture that had taken place before.
Voldemort's eyes narrowed disapprovingly, making him sink his teeth deeper, harsher into his flesh. Pain bleared his eyes for a brief moment, but he paid it no heed. Watching irritation twist those deathly pale features was rewarding enough.
Voldemort favored him with a venomous look, before dismissing the subject altogether as too bothersome to deal with at the moment – but surely storing it away for a later time, Harry was certain – and then continuing from where he had left off. "I have already located the real Horcrux. And seeing as it would not do to make a public appearance this early on in the war, your job is the retrieval of the locket."
It was Harry's turn to narrow his eyes, the clarity of his sight still managing to catch him off guard, but he quickly shook that notion away. "And let me guess. You'll let your minions have a go at me, a few Curses here and a couple more Jinxes there, in the hopes that I'll be left devoid of any fighting spirit?"
A deep, horrifyingly void sound rose from Voldemort's throat, and Harry realized with a shudder that it was a laugh. At least it was supposed to be. "Actually," Voldemort's eyes were gleaming with mirth, a foreboding sensation surging through Harry, "I have had the pleasure to discover a much more appealing method. A trade of sorts, if you prefer."
Harry nearly stumbled in his eagerness to sit up and perch himself on his knees, hope once again flaring deep inside him. "You'll give me my wand?"
"Your wand?" Voldemort chorused, sounding honestly surprised, before letting out a chuckle. "You misunderstood me, Harry. What I have in mind is something else, but you can judge for yourself if it is as worthy as your wand."
Harry's shoulders slumped, watching with only mild interest as the Dark Lord pulled yet two other things from within the folds of his robes. One was something small and undistinguishable that Voldemort placed on the floor, but Harry's eyes remained on the dark brown wand in the man's grip.
'The Elder Wand.' Harry's brain supplied him with, making his stomach lurch. 'Is he really the Master of Death now?'
His eyes trailed after the stick, worry slipping into mind at the horrors that this single wand could produce, especially at the hands of the darkest wizard of all. He blinked then, quirking an eyebrow when Voldemort tapped the object on the floor with the tip of the wand. It sprung to life instantly, hopping for a moment on the floor before it expanded, now appearing to be five times bigger.
A thin layer of some white clothe was covering something long, oval shaped at the top and round at the bottom. Puzzled, Harry turned questioning eyes towards Voldemort, frowning when the man smirked smugly at him.
Voldemort reached down slowly, making sure that Harry was following his every movement, and then pulled away the clothe. More bars, iron like and black like the cell's he was being held in greeted Harry, causing his lips to morph into a snarl, before he caught sight of something white and rather fluffy lying in a crumbled heap at the bottom of the cage.
When realization dawned upon him, Harry had already sprung to his feet, staring horror-struck at the unmistakable form of his snowy-white owl. Wide eyes jerked up to stare accusingly at Voldemort, fists clenching into tight balls as anger took over him.
"You killed her!" he yelled, outraged that for a split second he had actually believed the Dark Lord would give him back something he considered valuable, only so that he could take it away again.
Laughing another hollow, pitiful laugh, Voldemort bent down, making Harry's eyes grow even wider when he probed the unmoving owl with the Elder Wand.
"No, stop-!" shouted Harry, not sure what harm could be done to something that was already dead, but still not putting it past the Dark Lord's sick humor to mutilate his owl right before his eyes just for the spite of it.
He came to an abrupt halt however, when Hedwig's body shot upright, white feathers sliding against and through the bars as she stretched herself, two very much alive and gleaming golden eyes flickering all over the dump cell, observing her surroundings with an unappreciated glare. They settled on him seconds later and they grew obviously bigger, a loud hoot was let out, wings beating up and down as if she was preparing to take flight.
Harry almost crumbled down as immense relief swept over him, a hand coming up to rest on his torso, willing his heartbeat to slow.
"She was merely Stunned." was Voldemort's simple response, red eyes sending a withering glare towards the cage the moment Hedwig emanated a much louder hooting sound, actually making the owl pause all movement and noise before those round golden eyes narrowed back with an intensity that shouldn't belong to birds.
"Give her to me," Harry hurried to say, fearing that if the Dark Lord hadn't killed her before then he'd surely kill her now if she continued to glare like that at him. His owl had never been the submissive type.
Voldemort's stare was thankfully drawn away from Hedwig and came to rest upon him. Harry had to swallow the lump in his throat when the man raised his chin higher, looking down at him with indifference. He sucked his lip into his mouth, worrying it over between his teeth as the silence stretched on, only breaking by Hedwig's impatient hooting and the sound of her beak clicking against the bars.
A trade, Voldemort had said. And Harry was the one that had to make the first move.
He had no idea how she had ended up in the Dark Lord's clutches. Had she followed him like every other time he went somewhere without letting her know? She had a tendency to do that. Not even Grimmauld Place's wards had been able to hold her out.
Not that it mattered anymore. Voldemort would never let her go now that she knew this place's location. But if he kept her with him… he had no doubt that she wouldn't be allowed out of this cell, where there were no windows and the like, but at least she'd be alive.
He knew that Voldemort was already aware of his decision, and for the first time not because he had unlimited access into his mind, but simply because he knew him. Knew Harry and his willingness to defend a friend or someone equally important. That was why Voldemort had taken his time to capture his friends when they invaded Hogwarts; because if he had them, Harry would go down without a fight.
He was aware of that himself.
"…Where do you need me to go?"
The satisfaction that washed over him from the other side of the link made him feel sick in his stomach, feeling like he had betrayed not only everyone else but himself too. And that was even more sickening.
Wordlessly, Voldemort tapped the cage again with the tip of the wand, its door finally bursting open. Wasting no time, with a sudden burst of speed from her outstretched wings, Hedwig soared all the way across the cell and landed with precise accuracy at Harry's shoulder.
She hooted again when he failed to give a satisfying response at her arrival, her big eyes blinking as she bent her head forward, nipping at his bangs to gain his attention. She puffed herself up when there was still no reaction, following with her eyes his line of sight.
She ruffled her feathers, irritated eyes staring between red and green gazes and then switching over again, offended that none of the two wizards didn't seem to pay any attention to her. She turned her head, ready to bite her master's ear for outright ignoring her, when Voldemort spoke up, making her glare for daring to interrupt her plan.
"You see, Harry, I always take care of my possessions. Do as I say, and you will be rewarded. Defy me, and I shall strike where you hurt most." Red eyes suddenly flickered over to the owl, a wicked smirk slowly creeping onto his face, making Harry realize that he wasn't referring only to the animal.
Hedwig gave a soft hoot of surprise, looking down at her master through hooded eyes and thinking ways to punish him for dislodging her with his sudden shuddering.
END OF CHAPTER SEVEN
Ok, so how was that? I think it was better than the previous chapter.
What do you guys think?