Disclaimer: Harry Potter will never belong to me. I can only wish.
I want to thank Dormiveglia for her encouraging and lengthy review and AliceInCrazyland15 for her constructive feedback. I'd also like to thank anyone who's stuck with me for this long while reviewing my chapters.Reminder: Please review. I desperately want to know what you think.
Feel free to proceed.
"My Lord."
Harry watched dubiously as Snape bowed before the legendary Dark Lord so low that his abnormally large nose could have brushed the floor.
Snape didn't strike him as the type of person who would willingly bow before anyone. But clearly this Dark Lord was a special case.
The figure that had been walking towards them only a few seconds ago was presently looming right in front of him.
Somehow, without being told, Harry knew that the Dark Lord's black robes and cloak held more value than any of the others'.
Harry silently berated himself; Ollivander was in peril, Snape was bowing, the most powerful man he had ever seen was standing before him, and all he could think about was the price of one stupid cloak.
The Dark Lord's astonishingly pale hands reached abruptly – though gracefully – out from under his cloak and drew the hood swiftly back.
The Dark Lord was only in his late twenties, was Harry's first thought.
The Dark Lord was impossibly handsome to the extent that it wasn't humanly possible, was Harry's second thought.
Harry's third thought, perhaps the wisest of them all, was that he should bow down too, following Professor Snape's example.
But that thought went away even faster than it occurred. It was fairly obvious that Ollivander was under the control of the Dark Lord's followers, who in turn were under the control of the Dark Lord.
The Dark Lord was a bully, nothing more.
There was no way in hell that Harry was going to act all submissive around someone like him.
Overall, the Dark Lord had not exactly given him a good impression.
Harry turned his eyes defiantly back onto the scene.
Turning towards the female follower who was now gazing adoringly up at him, the Dark Lord spoke. "Bellatrix, get the old man down on his knees."
In spite of the growing feeling of ill will towards the Dark Lord, Harry felt a shiver of fear creep up his spine.
It wasn't just those words. It was also the amount of dark power put behind each utterance of every letter.
Apparently those words had an effect on Ollivander too, whose prior collectedness had given away to paleness.
The woman follower whom the Dark Lord had called 'Bellatrix' whirled around to glare daggers at the cloaked men who were holding Ollivander down.
"Did you not hear the Dark Lord's request?" she snapped.
The men responded to her immediately; viciously grabbing Ollivander's neck to force him to his knees.
When the wand-maker showed signs of struggling, one of the men twisted his arm and kicked his legs out brutally, snarling like a wild dog.
Ollivander thudded spontaneously, if unwillingly, to his knees. He was panting heavily, from both the pain at the rough treatment and the exhaustion.
"Tired?" the Dark Lord inquired softly, concernedly almost, if Harry didn't know better.
Ollivander didn't reply.
"I'll take that as a yes," Voldemort gave a twisted smile. "However, I like it better when people answer when I am speaking to them."
He reached down and grabbed a handful of Ollivander's silver strands before painfully jerking his face up by his hair.
"Look at me, Mr Ollivander. You're brave, are you not? I'm sure you're brave enough to look death in the face. So, look at me." The last sentence drew its end in a whisper.
The old man still didn't answer.
"Speak, old man, when I'm talking to you," Voldemort hissed angrily. "The easy way or the hard way? I give you the luxury of choosing."
Harry felt afraid for Ollivander when he didn't utter a word. The Dark Lord's patience was running short, he could tell.
Even Professor Snape seemed uncharacteristically tense.
"Alright. The hard way, then."
Voldemort brandished his wand, wielding it with a meaningful sort of purpose and a flaunted kind of grace.
"Still not saying anything?" The Dark Lord paused for a couple of seconds. Harry held his breath; knowing whatever happened next would not be something he would want to witness.
"Crucio."
The shock of the word must have hit Harry nearly as hard as Ollivander. Harry watched, his heart in his mouth, as the old back of Ollivander arced in a degree that bordered on unnatural. Then Ollivander parted his lips, finally, and let out the worst and most drawn-out scream Harry had ever heard in his whole life.
Weeks after, Harry would still have nightmares about this.
As the wand-maker writhed in agonising pain on the floor, arms flailing, Harry watched silently, too afraid and stunned to say a word. He didn't even notice Professor Snape attempt to shield him from the scene.
It lasted for an eternity. Harry watched and heard every twist of the body, every scream of angst as clearly as anything.
Harry saw Ollivander bump his head against the leg of a desk. It started bleeding but it didn't seem as though the man felt even the smallest tinge of pain.
All his nerves, Harry knew, was focused on the larger picture – the inescapable torment of the curse.
This was what Ollivander had meant when he had referred to the 'deatheaters'' punishments as the 'Cruciatus Curse'.
One word, just one simple word hissed in a foreign language by Voldemort, could cause someone so much grief. Harry shuddered to think what Voldemort did to those who displeased him even more than Ollivander.
When Voldemort finally ended the curse, Harry was covered in cold sweat. The Cruciatus Curse had affected him more than he imagined anything ever could.
Ollivander had stopped screaming and thrashing but the violent twitches hadn't ceased.
"Have you had enough?" Voldemort asked Ollivander coldly, all traces of humour gone from his features.
Harry knew if it wasn't for Ollivander's incapacity to answer, he would've. But the Dark Lord seemed to have taken his silence for defiance.
"One little more dosage won't hurt. Crucio!"
And the screams started again.
"I think that is enough, don't you?" Voldemort asked, looking coldly down at the sprawled figure on the ground.
Harry took a deep, trembling breath. It was past enough.
He had closed his eyes when he thought he could bear the sight of Ollivander tortured no longer.
When Ollivander's screams stopped, Harry had opened them again, in hopes of Voldemort having ended the torture.
It turned out Ollivander had only lost his voice.
And Voldemort wasn't even half-way through.
He now hated the Dark Lord with a passion. He was a cold and merciless beast who brought disgrace upon mankind.
Harry hated him.
"Yes, My Lord," Bellatrix cooed eagerly. "It's time to finish it."
"I agree," Voldemort smiled. "Any last words, Ollivander?"
Harry felt cold, inside and out. The Dark Lord was going to murder Ollivander right in front of him.
He watched Ollivander cough for a while.
"I think –" Ollivander wheezed.
"My Lord?"
Harry marvelled at Snape's daring to interrupt as the Dark Lord whirled furiously towards Snape.
"I thought… wouldn't it be more useful for us if he lives? My Lord?" Snape suggested tentatively.
"You question my decision, Severus?" Voldemort asked.
"No, My Lord," Snape answered firmly, voice steady. "But I was just wondering…"
"We still have Gregorovitch, Severus. Ollivander limits his wand cores, anyway," the Dark Lord replied.
"Though, My Lord, why Ollivander? What has brought this on?" Snape inquired cautiously, seeming to know the rude nature of the question.
"He is a key enforcer of one of those organisations against me, operating in secret," Voldemort said shortly. "I've only found out a few days ago."
"Thank you, My Lord."
Severus backed down, sending a resigned look at Harry.
"Any last words?"
Voldemort had turned back to Ollivander with an arched eyebrow.
"Yes…" Ollivander rasped out. "I won't give you an apology, then."
Voldemort smirked amusedly, "A poor choice of last words. I've heard many fine ones in my lifetime. And remember, even if you had apologised, Lord Voldemort does not forgive, nor forget."
He drew his wand out and pointed it at Ollivander. "Say goodbye."
"This is not the end, Voldemort," Ollivander stated boldly, eyes proud.
"I'm sure it's not. I intend on hunting down all your fellow rebels," the Dark Lord leered. "Avada Kedavra."
A flash of green light, and the last bit of life was snuffed out in Ollivander.
"No!" Harry shrieked.
Abandoning all ideas of self-preservation, Harry bolted forward and hurled himself at the Dark Lord, clawing and hissing.
All Harry could see was a red hot anger, pulsing through his veins, intent on revenging Ollivander's death.
He grasped the Dark Lord's robes and tore at it. His hands found themselves on Voldemort's cold neck, squeezing.
The next second, Harry felt something hard slam into the side of his face. He was sent to the ground, the world above him a painfully bright blur.
The force of the harsh backhand stunned Harry. His left cheek was stinging, as if a whip had torn across it.
Dazed, Harry looked up at the figure that loomed over him threateningly.
"Who is this child, Severus?" Voldemort asked ruthlessly.
Out of the corner of his watering eye, Harry saw Snape's pale and horrified expression.
"Just another wizard boy getting packed off to Hogwarts," Professor Snape said.
"Hmm," the Dark Lord tutted. "The things he do cannot be good for his health."
Regretting instantly what he had done on a whim, Harry tried to squirm away unnoticed. No such luck. The Dark Lord coldly stooped down and wrapped his slender fingers around a clump of Harry's messy black hair.
Harry thrashed and wriggled, still struggling to get away.
Ignoring Harry's efforts, Voldemort cruelly yanked Harry to his feet by the hair. He let out a whimper.
Harry felt not just a few hairs part ways with his aching scalp.
"Let go of me," he yelled.
"Discourteous," the Dark Lord observed.
"Now!"
"Impatient," came the nonchalant remark.
"You killed him like a cold-blooded murderer," Harry said, softly now. "You killed Ollivander."
"I did. And I am a cold-blooded murderer."
"You are a bully," Harry said.
"Potter!" Snape roared. "Watch your tongue!"
"No, no," Voldemort waved him aside. "It's fine, Severus. Let him. He's incredibly amusing."
Harry glared up at Voldemort with hateful eyes. "I'm not scared of you."
That was a lie, of course, but Harry hoped the dark wizard wouldn't know that.
"You should be. I'm a murderer. And a murderer with power, at that."
"Do you always murder old men?" Harry retorted angrily. "And slap children?"
"For that matter – Mr Potter, is it? – You attacked me first."
"You pick on the weak, but act all obedient around your superiors. Why don't you look for someone your own size?"
As soon as Harry caught a glimpse of Voldemort's expression, he knew he had truly stepped over the line with this remark.
Voldemort had finally stopped smiling – which ought to have made Harry feel satisfied – but even he could tell that beyond doubt, the Dark Lord was angry.
"You know, Severus, I think this boy has no idea who I am," Voldemort expressed quietly. "Do you think I should step into your shoes and teach him a little lesson? Of course I'm not a qualified professor but…"
Snape turned to subtly glare daggers at Harry, who had fallen dead silent.
"My Lord, I don't think that'll be necessary –" Snape began.
"Perhaps not," said Voldemort, looking thoughtful. "He'll certainly be disciplined well enough when he arrives at Hogwarts. Headmistress Carrow and Professor Lestrange won't be so merciful. Isn't that right, Bella?"
Bellatrix screeched with laughter. "I'll make sure he gets my personal dosage."
Harry flinched as Voldemort's eyes landed on him again.
"I should correct what I said earlier, about me being a murderer with power. You see, Mr Potter, I don't just have power – I have supreme power. Both in magic and in influence. I control all of Britain. There is no bigger fish in the ocean than I."
Harry gulped.
"Well, Severus, I must be on my way. Goodbye, Mr Potter. It was a pleasure meeting you. I'll see you at the Welcoming Feast," Voldemort said.
Just as quickly as it had begun, it was over.
Voldemort and his deatheaters were gone, leaving tragedy in their wake, one shocked Harry, and one furious Professor Snape.
"What in the blue blazes were you thinking, Potter?!"
Review!