The Choice
To My...Fans? - I'm sorry for the delay we had before the previous chapter. I ought to be running faster, I just had a block and about twelve other things to do. I apologize. There ought to be two or three more parts after this, and an epilogue. Oh, and have you read Trall Dynasty? 'Cause that one ought to be taking on a tone sorta like this. Just a tone, mind, not a plot.
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The door was open and he was standing there, in the doorway. Light was flooding in and Harry blinked, wanting to raise that wand and point it and say two words, but knowing that the plan formulated in the past few minutes was too sketchy to use yet and too good to give up on.
"So," a rich and awful voice said. "So your godfather has nobly sacrificed himself. Did you give him the wand? Good, Harry. You are not the pitiful orphan you were last time I fought you. You are willing to sacrifice. How much? His life? Your life?" A pause, and the voice became silky. "The Mudblood's and the Muggle-lovers' lives?"
"You can't fight me while I have this," Harry said, voice shaking, holding up his wand.
"That wand is powerful," Voldemort mused. He stepped into the room and light spread throughout it. The door closed behind him without aid. "It has killed, now. But mine has killed more." He held up his own. "So perhaps you consider us even? Your blood is in me. Perhaps I am weaker for it. You were weak when I took it from you. But perhaps I have done with your essence what you could never do - because I am the stronger. Perhaps I've taken your blood and made it into something better than the original."
Harry shivered. The Dark Lord approached him, silently walking across the room, but when Voldemort reached him, he ignored Harry completely, kneeling instead by Sirius.
"So the Keys are lost," he said in a mock-mournful tone. "Kneel by Black beside me, Harry. Kneel here next to me and take his hand."
Harry, fear sparking in him along with inspiration, did as he was told. Voldemort reached out a finger, looking away from Sirius and back at the boy beside him, and smiled coldly.
Unable to move, unsure whether it was a spell or of his own weakness, Harry watched the thin finger touch his head, where his scar was.
Pain wracked his body, and he recoiled, falling back, and feeling blood trickle down his forehead.
"And my blood, Harry?" the Dark Lord said quietly, tilting his head and rising to his feet, facing the boy half-lying in front of him. "What have you done with my blood?"
Harry didn't answer, and Voldemort smiled, moving his face closer and stepping slowly toward him. Harry backed up, pushing himself, unable to stand because it would take more time -
He felt cold stone on his back. He had run into the wall.
Looking around frantically, he felt a finger under his chin, pushing his head up. He looked into Voldemort's eyes and felt a shudder run through him. The pain was less this time, but the fear was more, a thousand times more. The face of his enemy was no more than an inch from his own face.
"What have you done with my blood?" the Dark Lord repeated softly, and his eyes' intensity increased. The last part was a hiss: "I want it back."
To My...Fans? - I'm sorry for the delay we had before the previous chapter. I ought to be running faster, I just had a block and about twelve other things to do. I apologize. There ought to be two or three more parts after this, and an epilogue. Oh, and have you read Trall Dynasty? 'Cause that one ought to be taking on a tone sorta like this. Just a tone, mind, not a plot.
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The door was open and he was standing there, in the doorway. Light was flooding in and Harry blinked, wanting to raise that wand and point it and say two words, but knowing that the plan formulated in the past few minutes was too sketchy to use yet and too good to give up on.
"So," a rich and awful voice said. "So your godfather has nobly sacrificed himself. Did you give him the wand? Good, Harry. You are not the pitiful orphan you were last time I fought you. You are willing to sacrifice. How much? His life? Your life?" A pause, and the voice became silky. "The Mudblood's and the Muggle-lovers' lives?"
"You can't fight me while I have this," Harry said, voice shaking, holding up his wand.
"That wand is powerful," Voldemort mused. He stepped into the room and light spread throughout it. The door closed behind him without aid. "It has killed, now. But mine has killed more." He held up his own. "So perhaps you consider us even? Your blood is in me. Perhaps I am weaker for it. You were weak when I took it from you. But perhaps I have done with your essence what you could never do - because I am the stronger. Perhaps I've taken your blood and made it into something better than the original."
Harry shivered. The Dark Lord approached him, silently walking across the room, but when Voldemort reached him, he ignored Harry completely, kneeling instead by Sirius.
"So the Keys are lost," he said in a mock-mournful tone. "Kneel by Black beside me, Harry. Kneel here next to me and take his hand."
Harry, fear sparking in him along with inspiration, did as he was told. Voldemort reached out a finger, looking away from Sirius and back at the boy beside him, and smiled coldly.
Unable to move, unsure whether it was a spell or of his own weakness, Harry watched the thin finger touch his head, where his scar was.
Pain wracked his body, and he recoiled, falling back, and feeling blood trickle down his forehead.
"And my blood, Harry?" the Dark Lord said quietly, tilting his head and rising to his feet, facing the boy half-lying in front of him. "What have you done with my blood?"
Harry didn't answer, and Voldemort smiled, moving his face closer and stepping slowly toward him. Harry backed up, pushing himself, unable to stand because it would take more time -
He felt cold stone on his back. He had run into the wall.
Looking around frantically, he felt a finger under his chin, pushing his head up. He looked into Voldemort's eyes and felt a shudder run through him. The pain was less this time, but the fear was more, a thousand times more. The face of his enemy was no more than an inch from his own face.
"What have you done with my blood?" the Dark Lord repeated softly, and his eyes' intensity increased. The last part was a hiss: "I want it back."