AN: I was requested to write a stand-alone one-shot with the following prompt: How would Tom react if Lestrange were to actually turn really violent on Harry out of jealousy? The results are non-slash (not even the teasing, tense, suggestive stuff I normally write), largely Harry-free, 3rd person objective, and pretty much traditional action & dialogue driven prose. As my mother-in-law would say, "Well... it's something different, isn't it?"
I hope you enjoy!
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The door flew open with such an exploding force that it bounced off the wall and banged shut again.
Dark eyes pulsed like glowing embers as they took in the tableau of three groups caught in a stalemate. In the foreground were the current generation of Slytherins, hovering near the door, clearly undecided on what action was required. In centre stage were, on the left, Zevi holding an unconscious Harry, both boys covered in blood, and on the right, Alphard bodily locked onto a struggling and obviously silenced Cygnus, with Abraxas holding his wand at the ready.
Tom's magic unfurled like clawed wings, dimming the underwater light and causing the torches to flare to life. He turned to Abraxas imperiously.
"Explain."
"We were in the Common Room when we heard the screaming. It didn't sound like one of his normal nightmares, or like a vision, so Alphard and I went to check and help Zevi. However, when we got to the door, it was locked and Zevi was not at his station."
Tom transferred his icy glare to the boy in question, who had been frantically searching his private potions store one-handed, while applying pressure with the other hand. Apparently feeling the weight of Tom's gaze, Zevi looked up and nervously continued the story.
"As you instructed, I had been on guard duty ever since you put him to bed for a nap. Suddenly, I had to use the loo, so I dipped into the dorm and went to use the toilets there. He must have waited until I flushed and washed my hands to strike, because I didn't hear anything until the screaming started." Zevi looked over at Abraxas in a silent plea and then went back to his search. Abraxas picked up where he had left off.
"When we broke in, Zevi was already running to Harry, so Alphard tackled Cygnus, who had told us earlier that he was going to the Common Room Boy's Lavatory. I was the only one who remembered I was a wizard," the blonde gave his brunette compatriots a condescending sneer, "and captured Cygnus' wand."
Tom held out his hand in silent demand. Priori Incantantem revealed a number of severing charms, followed by a full body-bind, followed by a bladder compression jinx. He pocketed the wand, his piercing stare fixed on the wildly expanding visible whites of Lestrange's eyes.
"Zevi, take Harry to the Hospital Wing. Discretion is required. Everyone but Lestrange, leave. Go. Now."
Before anyone else could move, Zevi was out the door like a shot, his arms holding the magically lightened figure protectively close to his body. Tom nodded his head in approval and glared at Alphard until the boy reluctantly released Cygnus and followed Abraxas, tensely backing out of the room in the wake of Harry's fleeing contemporaries.
At the sound of the door closing, Cygnus fell to his knees with his head bowed.
"My Lord." He shivered with fear and the cold that had flooded the room since Tom's entrance.
The usual smirk of gratification that normally graced Tom's face at the abasement of others did not appear. Instead, he circled the shaking boy on the floor, tapping a wand against his palm.
"Tell me, Lestrange," the boy trembled harder at the sound of his surname, "what does it mean to be my follower?"
Cygnus was nearly completely prone in his grovelling, and his voice quivered as much as his body.
"My Lord, it is... it is an honour..."
Tom's voice, in contrast, was sharp and brittle as glass. "And what is the price of that honour?"
"To... to serve you, my Lord..."
"And how do you serve me?"
"By... by doing..."
"Yes?"
Cygnus was now fully prostrate and abject in his terror, attempting to make his body as small a target as possible for the tangible razored edge of Tom's magic. "By doing... as you command, my Lord."
"And what have I commanded in regards to Harry?"
"That... that..." Cygnus was now crying and appeared unable to continue.
"If your memory on that topic fails you, then perhaps you can answer me this," Tom's voice had dropped to a clear and deadly hiss. "Is it the place of mere followers to question their Lord?"
Cygnus' face was buried in his elbows as he clung to the flagstones, fingernails breaking in the crevices. A muffled reply rose from his crumpled form. "No... no..."
"Look at me when you speak, Lestrange."
The boy's robes tightened around his neck as his choking, gasping head was invisibly lifted.
"Now, let's try that again, shall we? Is it the place of the sworn and marked follower to question the Lord—his actions, his motives, his choices, his... preferences?"
Eyes bulging, Cygnus just managed to release a gargled, rasping, "No... my Lord."
"Very good, Lestrange. And who decides on punishments for disobedience and disrespect? Who grants mercy and who determines severity when mercy is exempt?"
Hope warred with uncertainty in Cygnus' purpling face. "You... do... my... Lord..."
The robes were released and the boy's head dropped back onto his arms, the room echoing with his laboured breathing.
"Burn this moment into your mind, Lestrange. You lie on the ground like a filthy beast, nothing but your family's name and my quickly waning grace to hold onto. You are nothing. Not a follower, but a servant. I'd make you start calling me Master, if I didn't know that you'd get some sort of twisted thrill from the act. Know this, Lestrange. You will never get those types of thrills—those which you currently seek—from me." Tom leaned down to whisper over the broken form. In a mocking parody of sweetness and promise he hissed, "Not for all the sherbet lemons in the world."
The boy's quivering body froze in an instant as Tom stood back up with a high, cold laugh that plunged the already frigid air into dementor-like frost.
"Did you think to deceive me? I, Lord Voldemort, destined to be the most feared Dark Lord of all time? You see them even now, 50 years into the future and they cower in a terror so desperate that they place all of their hopes on the memory of a baby and a fluke accident. Even Dumbledore admits his powerlessness, or he would never have lowered himself to playing tea time with the likes of you.
"So yes, I know of your betrayal in addition to your insubordination, your disrespect, your disobedience. I could break you—I could crack your skull with my bare hands, I could whip the flesh from your body and then rape you. But I will not—not for mercy but for two reasons. One, you despicable lump—you would no doubt enjoy it—revel in it; and two... well, it should be quite obvious by now, shouldn't it? You disgust me. I want no part of my body in contact with your repulsive flesh. Not even to kick it."
A moist whimper arose from the silence.
"Now... how do I go about punishing such unforgivable crimes as those you've committed, without indirectly rewarding you or directly sullying myself?"
Tom continued his careful path as the whimpers grew into muffled sobs. Suddenly, Cygnus was again hauled up by his robes, gasping frantically for breath through the tightened fabric and the slimy mixture of fluids on his face.
"You will watch."
The boy flinched at the dark intensity and purpose in Tom's eyes as he pulled Cygnus' wand from his pocket. With a casual flick, the boy's left arm was painfully pulled straight and taut. Another swish, and the fabric of his shirt was torn and pushed up. One final gesture and Cygnus cried out as a slash ripped into his dark mark and blood began to well from the wound.
With typical indifference, Tom reached down and coated the other boy's wand with the flowing blood, cautious not to get any on himself. Standing back up, he took his own wand and chanted a long incantation in parseltongue, waving yew and phoenix feather over the now dripping wand, until a small fiery runic brand began to form near the wand tip, with a matching brand appearing on the head of the skull in the bleeding dark mark. When the brands were complete, they drew in the blood around them, clearing all signs of the cut and the mess, before finally sinking into wood and skin, disappearing without a trace.
"Congratulations, Lestrange. You wanted to be something... special to me," Tom sneered, his lip curling in revulsion, "something unique. Well, your Lord is merciful after all. I have granted you your wish. You... are my first slave. You and all who follow in your line or are bound to your name through marriage or allegiance, are now foremost bound to me, eternally grovelling and humble, always seeking favour, rarely receiving it. That is my gift. That... and your continued existence. Be sure that you cherish both with far more consistency and care than you granted the blessing of my mark."
Lestrange lay on the floor like a discarded tissue as Tom stalked towards the door, his magic whirling around him in shadowed eddies. Just before exiting, he turned around to deliver a final barb at what used to be 'Cygnus'.
"One last thing, Lestrange. Be assured that you will never know my intentions or motives on anything. However, due to the, if I must say, lovely new additions to your wand and your mark, I will always be apprised of yours. Bear that in mind before you do anything again so... foolish."
With that, he swept out of the room, and the boy on the floor began sobbing in earnest.
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AN: Well, that was an experience! Many, many thanks to The Fictionist, whose inspiration continues to help me explore areas of writing I never dreamed I could attempt. I hope you enjoyed this little piece, and I promise to "resume normal broadcasting" soon.
