Author's note- Hi, there! Thank you to the people who are reading my
fanfic; and to the others, GO OFF AND RUN THROUGH A BLAZING CHEMICAL FIRE!
Lol, just kiddin! Sorry that chapter 3 rushed a bit, but I had already
spent two chapters writing about how they were on the train and this is
going to be, like, 25 chapters as it is, if I start writing longer ones.
GRRR! I can't seem to figure out how many words you can fit in one chapter.
But I will, just give me TIME! Toodles! (Oh, and P.S., this chapter is kind
of gory and it truly stands for it's PG-13 rating.)
The cellar door opened above the stairs, pouring light into Lars's large pupils. He dropped to his knees and shielded his eyes until his vision cleared.
"Stand up, you stupid boy," said a high, venomous voice.
Lars stood up slowly, not looking into his master's eyes.
"Look at me, boy!" screeched Voldemort.
He looked up from the floor, his eyes tearing with pain from the light and the face of his master and shuddered visibly.
Voldemort gave a small, poisonous smile through thin, white lips.
He walked the stairs swiftly and stood face to face with Lars.
He couldn't stand it; he tried to look down again but Voldemort grabbed him by the jaw bone with one strong, spindly hand.
He thought he would pass out from pain, merely by the touch of this pure evil.
"Scared of me, are you boy? Can you stand to look in the face if your master?" He whispered in Lars's face.
Voldemort moved his hand to Lars's neck and threatened to puncture his jugular vain with on long, sharp fingernail.
It was then Lars realized he was wrong. Voldemort was more powerful than he could ever have thought him to be.
He mistakenly gave a small whimper of pain and fear.
Voldemort hissed.
"Servants do not cry! Be the end of you!" he screeched before pushing his nail into Lars's thin neck.
He staggered backwards, blood pouring onto his ragged cloths.
Every second, h lost precious pints of blood. He fell to the floor, getting dizzier as the puddle of his own bloodshed grew around him.
He heard Voldemort scream "Crucio!" and the pain was more than any human could bare. Every bone in his body was breaking and his head was going to split.
Voldemort climbed he stairs, leaving him to squirm in pain and loss of blood.
Finally, at long last, the agony stopped and he neither writhed nor bled no more.
* * * Harry jolted up from his bed, his scar stinging horribly.
Had it been real?
He could feel the boy's (no older than twenty at most) agonizing pain.
He thought for a second of going to Dumbledore's office, but thought better of it.
How would it look if he came to the Headmaster on the first night of the new school year and complained about a nightmare and his scar hurting, like he had so many times before?
He let out a long, soft sigh and tried to fall back asleep.
The cellar door opened above the stairs, pouring light into Lars's large pupils. He dropped to his knees and shielded his eyes until his vision cleared.
"Stand up, you stupid boy," said a high, venomous voice.
Lars stood up slowly, not looking into his master's eyes.
"Look at me, boy!" screeched Voldemort.
He looked up from the floor, his eyes tearing with pain from the light and the face of his master and shuddered visibly.
Voldemort gave a small, poisonous smile through thin, white lips.
He walked the stairs swiftly and stood face to face with Lars.
He couldn't stand it; he tried to look down again but Voldemort grabbed him by the jaw bone with one strong, spindly hand.
He thought he would pass out from pain, merely by the touch of this pure evil.
"Scared of me, are you boy? Can you stand to look in the face if your master?" He whispered in Lars's face.
Voldemort moved his hand to Lars's neck and threatened to puncture his jugular vain with on long, sharp fingernail.
It was then Lars realized he was wrong. Voldemort was more powerful than he could ever have thought him to be.
He mistakenly gave a small whimper of pain and fear.
Voldemort hissed.
"Servants do not cry! Be the end of you!" he screeched before pushing his nail into Lars's thin neck.
He staggered backwards, blood pouring onto his ragged cloths.
Every second, h lost precious pints of blood. He fell to the floor, getting dizzier as the puddle of his own bloodshed grew around him.
He heard Voldemort scream "Crucio!" and the pain was more than any human could bare. Every bone in his body was breaking and his head was going to split.
Voldemort climbed he stairs, leaving him to squirm in pain and loss of blood.
Finally, at long last, the agony stopped and he neither writhed nor bled no more.
* * * Harry jolted up from his bed, his scar stinging horribly.
Had it been real?
He could feel the boy's (no older than twenty at most) agonizing pain.
He thought for a second of going to Dumbledore's office, but thought better of it.
How would it look if he came to the Headmaster on the first night of the new school year and complained about a nightmare and his scar hurting, like he had so many times before?
He let out a long, soft sigh and tried to fall back asleep.