Being starved of affection from a young age did not help Voldemort decode the feelings he now felt when he looked down upon the deceased Pet. Not content with showing his emotions, he wedged himself between the coach and group of surrounding Death Eaters studying the corpse. As the Death Eaters muttered words of confusion, sorrow and pleas Voldemort felt dejected by the whole situation. His plan had been simple: make Harry his pet, have an heir, carry on immortally. What kind of fate could not let it be?
Bellatrix Lestrange noticed her Lord deep in tremendious thought. Sneaking to the front of the group she placed her hand onto Voldemort's shoulder. He growled and shurgged it off. Gathering herself from her moment of hurt she extended her hand as an invition to the help the Dark Lord stand. Seconds ticked past. Voldemort continued to stare at the appealing corpse.
"My lord..." she whispered and no person had ever heard her speak with such love.
"Leave me." He murmured. "I wish to be alone for a while."
With an inhale of sharp breath, Bellatrix retrived her hand, folded her arms and stalked out of the room. The Death Eaters, one by one, retreated mournfully out of the room and if a fly should of landed on the wall at this moment it would have been in grave confusion. No one would have thought the atomsphere of mourning would have been all because of Harry Potter, dying in the care of his once enemy Lord Voldemort. The corpse lay deep in enternal sleep, saliva flowing freely from his mouth and the skin slowly creeping to paler blue color. But to Lord Voldemort, Harry Potter was sleeping. He still lay slumped in another world: the hair spinning behind his head like a halo, the eyebrows raised in thought, and the mouth representing a form a of a small smile.
The emotions that rumbled in his chest were foreign. He could not place them, they had only crept upon him at certain times in his life. Voldemort reminded himself of the time in the orphanage were weepy, timid, creepy Benjy Jones had stolen his favourite pet. No one could have him and so he strangled mister Fluff. When he had merciessly killed his father and grandparents when they had abdoned his mother for being magical. The time he heard Harry as a babe, crying for his mother who lay dead on the floor, and the sound of crying wrenched his heart and the story began. And now, this was the fourth time. He had heard of the words of remorse, pain and affection before but he did not know their meaning.
After another hour of his special grief, Voldemort kissed the ice cold forehead and dimmed the lights.
"Come, Nagini." The slithered off dully together. It was time to write the burial preparations for Harry James Potter.
After the fiasco caused by the outburst of Fenrir Greyback in the hall the Gryffindor prisnors where shuntered back to the common room without their slice of bread each for supper and the one window in the room showed that night had fallen. It was not uncommon for Ginny Weasley to be the last to sleep. As the room filled with the last snore from a nearby fifth year, Ginny fumbled with the locket underneath her cloth pillow. Twisting the chain she watched the locket part swirl quickly then stop suddenly when the became uncoiled. Deciding her boredom would only cease and increase her thoughts and memories about the golden trio Ginny Weasley put the locket back under the pillow, not before she kissed it goodnight, and lay her head down with her eyes shut. Along with the face Ginny had never had a nightmare whilst in the prison, even after her encounter with Voldemort, she had relived memories as her dreams. They seemed to repeat themselves, like a record stuck on a gramophone, and proceeded on until the next morning. Being soothed by her brothers low breath and Neville's snoring beside her she settled for a memory of the first Dumbledore's Army meeting. As she blasted the dummy Death Eater mercilessly, green light shot through her eyelids. She jumped up as the light reminded her of the killing curse. Ready to defenclessly attack whomever it was so froze wide-eyed at the green orb, no bigger then the golden snitch, floating soundly towards her. As she retreated backwards towards the wall behind her, the orb became more slow in movement and she settled against the cold brick when she felt a warmth rediating off of the orb. It was no more then three inches away from her face now. Absently her arm carried upwards, the fingers of the hand sprawled out to touch the orb, like a child witnessing a flame. Before the finger made contact the orbs puffed away. "Wait!" she called into the darkness. No answer except disturbed shuffles and sighs from sleepers. Mouth ajar, Ginny slunk down the wall, her head hit the cloth pillow gentley. She burst into silent tears. Ginny in on herself, rocking like loose change when it first falls from a pocket, and whispered into her chest, directly above her heart "Harry?"
Voldemort left his study at nine o'clock sharp. He strode to his chamber, Nagini resting on his shoulders along with the rest of the world. The burial was to take place on the Saturday coming: the sooner, the better. Harry was to be cremated with only him watching. If the prisnors saw the burial he belived deeply in would spark an arbution of riots and he was outnumbered by at least ten to one. No, they were to be kept insides whilst orders were heaped upon them. The journey from the study to the chamber seem fast and as he open the oak doors he was greeted with the rancid smell of vomit. Brightening the lights with a flick of his hand his eyes automatically fell to the empty coach.
"Potter?" Voldemort sprinted to the coach and out of foolishness searched all around and under it, knowing that the boy would not be there. He clambered over the coach to look upon the bed, but the sheets still lay as they had been three hours ago.
"HARRY!" he cried and as he raced to the oak doors to summon his Death Eaters, his foot missed a pool of sick on the hearth rug. He stopped. Calmly levitating his head up he noticed two, three, fours puddles of vomit leading towards the grandfather clock. Suddenly he heard faint noises. Then they stopped.
"Harry?" He asked to no one. He felt Nagini move behind from he had ripped her off of his shoulders in his frenzy. The sudden noise again only this time he made sense of it. As he rounded the Grandfather clock he saw the bathroom door open only by a fraction and heard the noise one last time.
Creaking the door opened as his hand pushed it. Lord Voldemort gasped at the sight before him. Hunched over the toilet bowl, still in his naked form and chocking up vomit was Harry James Potter. The chosen one. The saviour. The boy-who-lived, who had now escaped death twice.
After producing one more stream of vomit, Harry whipped his head round over his shoulder, his mouth agape and eyes red and wet. He was still pale but normal looking now and his hair carried beads of sweat and sick. He breathed harshly as he croaked "M-master."
Later that night, as the grandfather clock struck twleve, Professor Posey bidded Voldemort and Pet farewell and retreated to his head quarters. Voldemort lifted the sheets to accompany his newly resserected Pet in bed. As they snuggled closely, he noticed his Pet tense but shrugged it off when the body did relax and the head nestled into his chest. Harry would need strict bed care for three days and that did not dis-please Voldemort in the slightest. The emotions in his chest had now subsided and he now felt content.
As he stroked his Pet's he felt the body shake with a small giggle.
"What, trouble?" Asked Voldemort.
Pet grinned as he looked up. "Together again."
Lord Voldemort could not help but laugh.
And you all thought he was dead! I'm interested to know what you would like to see happen in the next ten chapters, tell me in a review!
