Title: "You Set My Soul Alight"
Author: Shaitanah
Rating: R
Timeline: post-HBP
Summary: Do you really want freedom when it is finally at hand? Or would you rather settle for a golden cage if the one you love is locked up with you and you have eternity together? Please R&R!
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to J.K. Rowling.
A/N: Surprise! I decided to update a day earlier because I will probably be a bit busy over the week-end. Thank you for your wonderful reviews. There's an important message waiting for you at the bottom of the page. Please consider it! Thanks! Enjoy!
A/N2: The quote comes from 'Cold' by Crossfade.
Chapter 8
THE ANTIDOTE THAT GOT ME BY
"Where did you get it?!" Voldemort roared. "It's my wand, you little bastard! You tricked me!!!"
"No!" Air was slipping away. Tears burned in Harry's eyes. "I fixed it!"
Voldemort retreated, taken aback. "You what?"
'That's why you left it behind", Harry remarked slyly. "You didn't think I could use it. Stop underestimating me!"
He whirled in place and thrust his leg forward. The wand slipped out of Voldemort's grip. He cursed angrily.
"You should have killed me when you still had your chance!" Harry cried.
Voldemort picked the wand up. He aimed a curse at the boy and lunged forward. It was a fraudulent move: the boy drew back and was caught off guard by the Dark Lord's next action. He knocked Harry off his feet. The boy recoiled.
"It seems to me that you enjoy fighting me!" Voldemort sneered. "Why don't you give me the real battle then?"
"I'm not sure about that", Harry Potter, the real bane of his existence, replied sardonically. "Maybe that's because you prefer sending your brainless minions after me to fighting yourself? All those talks: 'do it yourself!', 'you should never be afraid of taking chances'… You're nothing more than a mindless coward!"
A hard blow in the face cut his tirade short. Harry yelped, then held his bleeding nose. He clutched the wand tightly in his grip. Not even Death could have snatched it away.
He was gulping blood, shivering and feeling very cold and broken.
Voldemort stood erect and said in a low, menacing voice: "Don't you dare say something like that again. I was never afraid of dirty work, Potter. Unlike your precious Dumbledore who prefers to send his disciples to do it for him".
They were still at daggers drawn with each other when they found a place for a halt. It was a grim part of the valley, completely bald, nothing but grey stone. Harry tossed and turned on the hard ground sleeplessly. This time it felt nothing like a cozy bed.
Voldemort, on a contrary, had made himself quite comfortable. He was lying a few meters away, his back turned on Harry. The boy murmured shyly:
"Tom… Hey, Tom!"
"Don't call me that", Voldemort gave an icy reply.
"Still mad at me?"
"Mad at you? Naw, why would I be mad at you?"
Harry moved a bit closer. Voldemort shifted and looked at him. His face was obscured by shadows; only flaming red eyes shone out of the dark. Harry knew at once what it was. It was love, a forbidden feeling that overtook him finally. It affected him the way contaminated blood transfused to a sick person does, producing sepsis. It was wrong – but it filled his lungs with oxygen, and he could breathe, and he wanted to live forever, to live with Voldemort, to simply be. He was back to the way he once was: not a soldier, not an avenger, a mere lucky boy who wanted to taste life untouched by the decay of glory and responsibilities. It was a world made of glass, so fragile, so beautiful. Harry wanted to touch it but he was afraid.
"You should have been in Slytherin, Potter", the Dark Lord remarked coolly.
Harry grinned. "I almost was".
"What happened?"
"I asked the Sorting Hat to put me anywhere but in Slytherin".
Voldemort looked at him, quite amused. 'Asked' the Sorting Hat, huh? The boy was a little freak of nature, indeed. He wanted to know why.
"I heard you were in Slytherin", Potter shrugged. His face glowed like marble in the light of new moon that sailed out of the clouds.
The silver tide, the essence of that flat round whiteness amidst the black cushions of gas, gushed forward and flooded the valley. Voldemort breathed the softness of the breeze in. tiny yellow dots sparkled above. The wizard hissed a gentle song in Parseltongue, back in those dawning days of his life when garden snakes were his only company. They appeared once or twice a week and sang lullabies to the loner who understood their fabulous and complicated language. It didn't bother Tom there shouldn't have been any snakes in London. They came to him, and only to him.
Potter stared at him, eye-brows knitted like a roof of a tiny house, mouth half-opened.
"It's a song", Voldemort explained. "Names of stars the way snakes call them".
"Didn't know you were so romantic", Harry smirked and barely had enough time to dodge a chunk of rock sent flying in his direction.
"Shut up", Voldemort said plainly.
Harry crept closer and put his head on Voldemort's chest. He could hear his heartbeat, that magical sound of the clock working inside the Dark Lord, indicating he was a live man, not a nightmare deprived of flesh.
Harry woke up when morning chill sent shivers down his body. He curled up on the ground where grass had grown during the night. Its juicy blades were trampled down where Voldemort had lain.
Alarmed by his absence, Harry jumped up. Fortunately, the Dark Lord was near. Harry walked up to him and smiled.
"Hey!"
"You are such a sleepyhead!" Voldemort laughed. "Good morning!"
A river purled by the hill. Tender white horses of foam were running along its narrow greyish-blue ribbon. Fleecy clouds adorned the sky.
"What are you doing?" Harry asked. Some new, strange playfulness appeared in his tone.
"Listening. The winds speak".
"What about?"
"The portal. It's not that far now. We should reach it by nightfall if we set out now".
Harry pursed his lips. Freedom was so close. So damn close!
They moved down by the river. The world was as quiet and serene as it had always been. Harry did not know how much had passed. Frankly speaking, he didn't care.
He started another conversation in desperate wish to distract himself from dismal thoughts. This time it dealt with world domination and general question was, by tradition, 'why?'.
"To rule, of course!" Voldemort said, looking at Potter as if the boy were insane. "Power is everything!"
In truth, he didn't really need it. The world could go down the toilet – Voldemort couldn't care less! He didn't even need the Potter-brat anymore. But dreams of power, prosperity and fame were the main means to escape the dull reality of his youth, a special antidote prepared specifically against Dumbledore's nuisancy.
"It's every man's Quest. I assume you have a Quest, Potter".
Harry giggled. "Yeah, to get rid of you".
Sun blazed scorching-white in the bluish abyss. Its merciless rays fell to the ground, sucking life out of it. Grass burnt out and faded, blown away by the hot dry wind. The river expired. The travelers descended into its empty bed and went on in moody silence. Harry thought he could never get used to how instant the changes were.
"Our power makes us unique. Never forget it. We are not like them", Voldemort said thoughtfully. "Weren't you happy when you knew you were different?"
"That was before Hagrid told me you murdered my parents. And before I knew I had to risk my life over and over again because you wanted to finish the job!"
Harry regretted having said that as soon as the words left his lips. It was a topic of constant exasperation – and he wanted to annoy his companion no longer. Come to think of it, he didn't even want to talk. Silence was perfect. Silence was absolute.
Not knowing that about each other, both of them thought of their plans, mixed up and ruined by those strange feelings they now had for each other. Voldemort forbade himself to think about the future. There was no future! If he gave up his attempts to kill the boy or seduce him to the Dark Side now, it didn't mean he'd stop in the real world.
Harry's thoughts mirrored those of the Dark Lord. Pointless, it was absolutely pointless.
At the end of the river Harry saw a high square shimmering faintly. Could it be–? He froze inside. So quickly…
"Tom…" he whispered quietly. His voice refused to obey him, so he had to repeat the name louder.
"Don't call–", Voldemort started saying. Harry gripped his forearm and made him halt.
"There! Is it–?"
"Yes!" It was the first time he saw the wizard's face brighten into a full grin. "It is the portal!"
Harry's face darkened. His emerald eyes became intense green – the color of the forest after heavy rain.
"Oh…" he murmured. "Great".
But the harder he tried to squeeze some enthusiasm in his voice, the more desperate it became.
Okay, the fairytale ends next week! Unfortunately, nothing lasts forever, Harry and Voldemort know it all too well. Don't forget to tell me what you think. Don't hesitate to press that little review button at the bottom of the page. Thanksss! ;)
