Disclaimer: I do not own "Harry Potter" or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Chapter IX: Deformed
The dreams were always the same. Word for word, Dumbledore explained to Harry that he had to suffer to survive, and Harry went out to play cricket.
He could never get dream-Harry to ask the right questions. If Dumbledore was sending Harry the dream, Harry wanted to be able to send messages back. He wanted Dumbledore to make sure Hedwig was okay - surely the Dursleys had freed her when he disappeared. He wanted to know who Gellert was. He wanted to know what the action plan was. He wanted reassurance that Snape was a good guy. And he wanted to know if it was possible for Voldemort to read his mind. The idea of mind-reading sounded just about as bogus as Divination, but Professor Trelawney had made at least one true prediction.
He needed reassurance.
He rolled over and lay with the pillow squashing his nose. He just wanted to go home. Even if that home was the Dursley home - he would rather be back in the cupboard on Privet Drive than be pretending to be 'Pet' or 'Kitten'.
Pillow? Wait – Harry didn't have a pillow in Voldemort's quarters. He didn't have a bed for pillows – only a little pet cushion. How could his nose possibly be squashed?
He opened his eyes and sat up. With his vision fixed, he could see quite clearly, without aid, that he was in a bed in the centre of the room he had been living in for weeks, months.
Voldemort's bed.
Harry tried to scramble out of the bed, but with his legs tangled in the covers, he fell out, landing hard on the plush carpet. He crawled over to the hearth, breathing heavily.
You did not get into that bed. You didn't. He was sure he hadn't. He didn't remember getting into Voldemort's bed, and was sure he wouldn't have if he were in his right mind. He would have never gotten into Voldemort's bed as an act of defience; he was a rebel, but not stupid.
Protectively, he reached down and cupped his genitals. Nothing had happened, right? It couldn't have – Voldemort was a mean person, but he wasn't... no. And Voldemort wasn't even around. Harry had been alone in the bed.
A wave of nausea hit him. He was safe. Voldemort couldn't have touched him there. He was safe, and wasn't in Voldemort's bed anymore... but then why was he so nauseous?
He laid his cheek on the smooth stones in front of the hearth, welcoming the warmth they provided. It felt good, almost good enough to lull him to sleep again...
No. You have to keep watch and make sure nothing happens. You're getting too comfortable with the dumb rules and restrictions. Somehow, you ended up in Voldemort's bed. You're not pretending to obey when that happens – you're giving up. Don't you dare give up, Harry Potter. Your mum died for you, and you can't waste that. Ron and Hermione need you, and Sirius said that he has a wonderful surprise; you have to get out and see what that is.
And you will fight. You will piss in the fire, cut off the collar, dodge to Cruciatus, and bite Voldemort's ankles. Tomorrow. Now you sleep. So you'll be strong enough. Tomorrow.
And so, an unnaturally tired Harry Potter fell into another deep sleep.
"Kitten, are you still sleeping?" A chuckle. "When does it plan on eating or using its box? I will not clean urine from my hearth regularly, nor will I remove its waste in its sleep again."
Harry groaned and rolled over, back facing Voldemort. He did not want to see him or get up. He had been having a wonderful dream; he was under this big palm tree, and–
"Kitten, I have a surprise for you."
At that, Harry opened his eyes. Not liking surprises was a recent development that had started the moment Dumbledore pulled his name out of the Goblet of Fire last year. He especially did not like surprises from Voldemort; they were the worst kind.
"I don't wanna know," Harry said.
A stinging hex hit his back, but he was too tired to react. Too used to it.
"Means Kitten doesn't want to know," Harry mumbled, checking to make sure he was curled in a ball as opposed to sleeping stretched out – he was. "Sleepy. Doesn't like surprises."
"You will like this one," Voldemort said. "Come, Kitten. Draining can make pets overtired and weak; you must eat to regain your strength."
Draining? That sounded familiar – ah, draining. Voldemort had made mention of that when Harry had first been captured. He had said Harry had been drained. Harry figured he had meant emotionally drained; being kidnapped had made him feel many emotions. Being touched there had, too.
But what had happened lately to emotionally drain…
He remembered. The needle. The screaming. Voldemort's bed.
He tried to sit up, but felt his head swim. "Get away from me! Get away!"
Voldemort's scaly hand ghosted along Harry's back. "What is troubling you, Kitten?"
Really, how obvious was the answer to that question? He'd been kidnapped, touched, tortured, forced to hear people tortured, given a bad shot with a huge needle–
"Get away from me!" Harry wanted to jerk away from Voldemort's touch, but found he was too weak to. Hot tears spilled down his cheeks as he continued. "Don't touch me! No one is allowed to touch me!" It was Harry's body, so he made the rules.
"My kitten does not trust me?" Voldemort, surprisingly, didn't punish Harry for saying 'me' instead of stupid stuff.
How could one trust the Dark Lord? That was a stupid question. "You said they wouldn't harm me! And they did! They did harm me! You lied!" Harry gathered whatever strength he had and jerked away from Voldemort.
Voldemort thankfully did not touch him again. "I did not. I told you that it would not suffer permanent damage. Has it performed a self-examination? I think Kitten will find that it's quite all right."
No, Harry hadn't looked himself over, but he was too dizzy to see straight to do it, anyway. "Why was I in your bed?"
"Is that the appropriate way to refer to yourself?"
Damn. So much for getting away with rebellion. "Fine. Why was Kitten in your bed, Master?"
"Kitten was overly exhausted from the draining, so I thought it would find comfort in recuperating in its master's bed. It was rather distraught."
Voldemort was an idiot, Harry decided. Harry was distraught, so Voldemort thought sleeping in his sworn enemy's bed would make it better?"
"What's draining?" Harry asked next.
"Come with me to breakfast, and I will explain to Kitten all it needs to know," Voldemort promised.
A door had appeared, leading to a rather large room with a big dining table.
Harry was too dizzy and sleepy to follow Voldemort into the new room, so Voldemort called in two unfamiliar, squeaky house-elves. They had the power to levitate humans, a power not even wizards – not even Voldemort – had. They levitated him into the room, settling him on a soft cushion right next to Voldemort's chair.
He looked around.
The walls – every centimetre – were covered with bookcases. Each one overflowing with books. Were Harry the type of boy who enjoyed reading, he might have found the room very exciting.
Reading. He blinked back stupid tears. He missed Hermione so much. He even missed Ron complaining about Hermione.
"Now, now, Kitten – it is simply overtired. Eat. Food will help you gain your strength. I will warn you that it might taste a bit different, as it has been mixed with a potion, but the potion has no adverse effects. It will restore some of your physical strength."
At Voldemort's words, two dishes appeared on the floor in front of Harry. One had the rich creamy milk that Harry was always given to drink, but the other dish was filled with… not tuna!
Harry was so tired of tuna, he could scream. If his guesses about how long ago he had been captured were correct, it was all he had eaten for months. He hadn't cared much for tuna to begin with, but now? He positively hated it.
And this wasn't even fish. It was chicken!
"I thought Kitten deserved a special treat after the draining." Voldemort delicately took a bite of his three-course meal. "It did not behave well, I understand, but now that Kitten knows the procedure, I expect Kitten will behave from now on."
Harry knew 'draining' as the big needle. He swallowed his food. "What's draining?" He asked, hoping for a more in-depth answer.
"To understand that, Kitten, one would have to have a clear understanding of the anatomy of a wizard or witch," Voldemort said.
Harry flushed. He had a very clear understanding of it, he thought. He hadn't worn clothes in months, and went to a boarding school. Though he had never seen a girl naked in real life, he had seen scantily-clad girls in Dean's swimsuit calendar, and naked ones in Dudley's magazine. Once, a sixth-year girl had gotten drunk and begun to strip in the common room, but Hermione had dragged him and Ron away before they could see anything. Lots of the older girls wore revealing lingerie in the common room late at night.
However, as much as Harry could remember about the draining, it hadn't involved anything down there.
"It is difficult to explain to one without a bit of understanding, so I will try to make things as clear as possible," Voldemort said. "The ability to perform magic is inherited. Magic is everywhere, of the earth, but it also needs to be inside a person, for the perfect to be able to wield control over it."
"What gives wizards and witches the ability to perform magic manifests as a substance inside the body. It flows, mixed with the blood, so most labour under the delusion that it is the blood that is different. They are wrong. Does Kitten understand so far?"
Yeah. Magical blood is not magical blood until it's mixed with something. Got it. I'm not stupid.Harry's vision and dizziness cleared slowly as he ate the food. He could now make out the details of what was around him.
"This substance, called Veneficus, secretes from a very small area, in very small amounts for most magical people. Those more powerful produce it in quite large amounts, and it runs rampant through their bodies."
"There is an increasingly common fluke, a deformity, in Muggle children, in which they are born with Veneficus. They are not magical, though they can perform magic. It does not belong to them. A person born to two humans, appearing like an animal, would not necessarily be an animal, would it? The same reasoning applies. It is an increasingly common problem in evolution, and to prevent it from taking– ah, but that is another conversation." Voldemort apologetically smiled. "Forgive me, Kitten – I can go on."
"This substance in the body is a wonderful thing, should the person be of Wizarding heritage. Occasionally, however, this substance is not wanted. Perhaps parents wish for their child to be without magic so that they can live as Muggles – a very common occurrence fifteen years ago – or perhaps a witch or wizard will give it up for love," Voldemort spat out. "Certain foolish researchers have begun the process of trying to transfer magic into a non-magical person with no stolen magic of their own. An attack is scheduled for next Friday."
Suddenly, Harry's chicken didn't taste so good anymore. Why would Voldemort do that? It was just an experiment. It didn't mean the researchers would succeed. And even if they did, what was the harm? It wasn't like there were people standing in line, waiting to get their magic taken away to give to a Muggle.
Draining. Draining took away the substance, the Vene-something Voldemort spoke of. The stuff that made people's magic.
Harry's magic was what he held most dear to him. It had changed his life, saved his life. Without magic, Harry would have gone to the public Muggle school near Privet Drive and had his lights knocked out on the first day. Without magic, he wouldn't have any friends; he wouldn't have met Ron, Hermione, Neville, or Sirius. Without magic, he had nothing.
He had nothing.
He opened his mouth to protest, readied his legs to jump to his feet, and balled his fists to knock Voldemort's lights out. However, he did not. Peace began to fill him, a calm he had never known.
"Kitten's magic is not gone forever – calm down." Voldemort reached down and stroked Harry's back, something that usually infuriated him – and it did – but the weird calm wouldn't let him protest.
"Playing with my mind," Harry realised out loud. He spoke evenly, calmly... even though he was madder than he'd ever been before. Voldemort had to be playing with Harry's mind, or Harry had been doused with a calming agent. There was no other possibility – Harry would not just be sitting there unless his mind was warped. He'd get up and fight. He wanted to. But it was like there was a false calmness over the surface of his body, while rage boiled underneath.
"What have I been telling you all along, Kitten?" Voldemort chuckled. "You are my pet – I control your body, your mind, and – dare I say it? Possess them." He patted Harry's head. "Eat now. You have not yet seen your surprise."
Harry couldn't even growl with anger. Did all this mean Voldemort could read his mind? What did that mean? How could he do it? Was there any way to stop him?
"Kitten's not hungry anymore." Harry pushed his food away, feeling the urge to cry again, like a little baby.
Voldemort pushed his own meal away as if satisfied, as if he hadn't been fucking with a boy's mind and talking of murder and bodily fluids. "Let's go see your surprise then, shall we?
His vision had cleared considerably and he did feel more awake than he had before eating, but he still felt so weak. He did not want any surprises.
Voldemort did not leash him, or cage him. Harry didn't question it, but felt Voldemort might as well have done so, anyway – how could he escape when he felt as weak as he did? How could he escape if Voldemort could read his mind?
If Voldemort could read his mind. Harry had no absolute proof that he could. Voldemort was a Slytherin and a tricky man – a very tricky man. He knew Voldemort had some sort of control over his mind because otherwise Harry would feel fully angry.
Voldemort said he didn't take your magic for good – he said he would give it back.
You idiot – how can he give it back? Why would he give it back? If he did,you might be able to escape.
Maybe he doesn't have to give it back, Harry reasoned as he followed alongside Voldemort down the cold corridor, thankfully in the opposite direction as the 'draining room'. They drained you twice already. When you skin your knee, you don't lose blood forever. Your body creates new blood. It must be the same with this stuff.
A man Harry recognised as someone named Rodolphus met Voldemort and Harry outside a big silver door.
"My Lord," Rodolphus bowed deeply.
"Rodolphus, greet Pet, as well. It is accompanying me."
Something about Rodolphus scared Harry. He had a look in his eyes that made Harry's blood run cold. He could not help it – when Rodolphus gave him that creepy smile, Harry hid his face in the hem of Voldemort's robes,
Voldemort chuckled. "Pet is very shy."
What? Harry wasn't shy! He had played a singing carrot in his second year in primary school, and everyone had clapped loudly. Two of the kid's mums had asked for his autograph. He remembered especially well the way Aunt Petunia had spanked him so hard he wet himself, for drawing attention away from Dudley, who was in the potato chorus.
However, if being shy got him away from Rodolphus... then okay, Harry could be shy.
"My Lord, this may be premature, but I wished to ask you before Goyle did," Rodolphus said. "This is the one that is intimate with a disowned person in Bellatrix's family, so I was hoping we could be the ones to properly... dispose of this one." Rodolphus' teeth were all yellowy when he smiled. "It is our anniversary approaching, my Lord, and it would mean such a lot to her – to us – as a gift."
Harry looked up at Voldemort, curious to know what he'd say. Harry was hoping Voldemort would give his answer, and they would continue on their way.
Living around Voldemort had taught Harry to pay close attention to things people said. When someone said 'don't worry', it did not mean there was nothing to worry about, for example. When Voldemort said there would be no permanent damage that said nothing for temporary damage. Some people were very selective about their words, having hidden meanings. Plots inside plots.
Rodolphus wanted something – someone – that Bellatrix was not related to, but was maybe married to or kissing or dating someone she was related to. Someone disowned.
Harry was not one to leap to conclusions, he didn't think, but if Bellatrix was related to Sirius... Sirius was disowned. He'd said so. Harry remembered Sirius saying that one other Black was disowned, but right off, he couldn't remember who, or what for.
It was probably the husband or wife to that person, though, that Rodolphus was talking about. Sirius wasn't married or anything, unless... unless that was the terribly wonderful surprise? That he was getting married? Harry wondered who he would be getting married to after getting out of Azkaban such a short while ago... unless it was the pink-haired lady that tried to rescue Harry, maybe.
"That is a very bold request," Voldemort frowned. "And I promised a similar privilege to Severus. I am inclined to believe he brought it here intentionally, in fact. Besides, it is not to be disposed of until I give my word. It will prove a useful tool. Good day, Rodolphus – let us be."
"Kitten, look at me," Voldemort said.
Why does he always call me Kitten when no one else is around? He hoped it wasn't part of twisting his mind, or trying to, anyway.
He looked up at Voldemort. "Yes, Master?"
Voldemort's thin lips curled into a smile. But not a reassuring one in the slightest. "It is time for Kitten's surprise. When I open this door, does Kitten promise it will stay by my side and let me speak?"
Harry turned this over in his head. Unlike Voldemort, Harry kept his promises. Around Voldemort, it could be considered a survival method.
"It depends," Harry finally said. "If a Dugbog or something bad is in there and comes running after Kitten, no."
Voldemort did not chuckle at that. "And assuming there is not a Dugbog behind this door?" He motioned to the heavy silver door.
Harry sighed. One of the many problems with Voldemort's twisted game was that he made you think, for the briefest moment, that you actually had a choice in the matter.
"Will remain by your side, Master."
Voldemort opened the door.
Harry gasped. He really hated surprises.
Coming up next in Disorder...
Chapter X: Discussions
