Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Harry Potter characters; I just like to play with them. Hey, it sure beats the hell out of Barbie dolls. (See "References" at the bottom of the page for more.)
I'm really sorry about the wait. You know how the life of an aspiring actress can get…And kudos to Esaema for making the connection between It's a Wonderful Life and this. It's one of my favourite Christmas movies, and I'd been wondering when someone was going to notice that…
Silent Torment
Part IV:
Searching the Soul
Though Harry could hear his heart pounding madly against his chest, the cadence pulse seemed hardly his own. He listened to its frantic beats as if he were listening to someone else's heart, as clearly as if the tender arms of a lover, not panic's icy claws, were embracing him. Fear of the unknown began to take its toll as whatever was approaching him and Ron came steadily closer. If they were dementors—he had assumed that was what Ron had meant by "Creepers"—they were moving awfully noisily in this reality. Harry's breath became shallow as he saw Ron's face pale further, so his skin resembled the bleached bones of a skull, the skin pulled taut over his high cheekbones, his icy blue eyes looming out of the darkness. Harry leaned against the cold, hard stonewall, closing his eyes and dreaming of home, when a highly unwelcome voice penetrated his hazy mind.
"Harry, dear, I hardly think this is the time for a nap."
He blearily opened his eyes and gazed dolefully at Crysania, who was sitting perched upon an extravagant red silk ottoman, with this time a peculiarly thick black drink in her long, elegant grasp. Indeed, Harry wondered if it wasn't tar—or (his mind was working in rather pessimistic ways at this time) old blood. She was wearing a look on her face that suggested she were a professor teaching class and Harry was an inattentive student she was rebuking.
Harry studied her face more closely; noticing that it was of a cold, atrociously perfect beauty, more refined than before. Her bloodless lips and high cheekbones were thrown into sharp contrast by the shadows of the dungeon, the lips curved once again into her usual sardonic, lazy smile. She resembled marble even more vividly than before, but with one exception this time—marble could be warmed by the sun.
A sickly green light flared suddenly behind him, and an unexpected chill dashed up his spine. He felt the icy cold the dementors generated wrap over him, and retched involuntarily, his whole body weakening from exhaustion and fear. Without needing to turn around, he sensed the loathsome creatures right outside his cell, the green light of what was presumably a lantern one of them held shining brightly in the dreary darkness. Harry heard a frantic squeaking and felt something small dash across the stone floor, fleeing the approaching light and darkness. The cold was so penetrating, so all-consuming, that Harry could barely register the fact that the iron-barred door that was his only escape was creaking open. His whole body had gone entirely numb; he could not feel one of the dementors reach down and seize his arm. Then another joined it, and together, they dragged him out of the cell.
A dull thud echoed throughout the dungeon, followed by a harsh oath. It appeared that one of the dementors had caught Ron on one of the bars and Ron had retaliated.
"Be careful, boys, we don't want him spoiled," a deep, lazy voice drawled. Harry thought he recognised it, but was too shattered to take the time to figure out who it was. Unable to support his own weight, he collapsed on the floor as the dementors' rotted grip relaxed slightly. He gasped agonizingly when a booted toe made sharp contact with his side. Cruel, amused chuckling sounded from the man above him.
"This one doesn't look very strong—we might have to put him down. You needn't take much care with him; there are others that will be more suitable for his Highness." There was satisfaction in the voice now, and an annoying sensation gnawed at the back of Harry's brain. He knew that voice…it seemed a little more than vaguely familiar to him…
"Come, gentlemen. The Master is waiting."
*******
Harry had been subject to several rude awakenings in his life. There had been countless times at the Dursleys' when Dudley had dropped something live and crawly on his chest—his pet scorpion, for example. Then there were the times when Harry had woken up to find Dobby staring down at him. But this topped them all.
"Is he alive, Master? Can we keep him?"
At first, Harry thought he was dreaming, but that possibility was instantly squashed when he felt a stinging pain on the side of his neck. He opened his eyes. Two large, luminous eyes stared back. He blinked. So did they. There was loud giggling, and the same voice as before said, "Ooo! He's funny!" Then, suddenly, he felt a hand snaking under his shirt, and another heading for his belt buckle. He gasped and sat up, slapping the hands away as he did. The giggling erupted again from all sides.
"Ladies, please…give him a moment to catch his breath."
Harry finally managed to catch a glimpse of what was happening through the peculiar mist that surrounded him. Silver flashed in complete disorder, the giggling more persistent than ever. But wait, Harry thought, squinting. That was no mist—
"Voldemort."
Harry whipped around to see Ron standing beside him, glaring through what Harry had thought at first was merely mist.
"Call you pets off him. It's tacky the way they're fondling him."
Instantly, the swirling mist dispersed, and instead transformed into dozens of very tall, very beautiful women.
Veela.
"You should know better than to address me directly by now, boy," said a soft voice that caused the darkness itself to quiver with fear. It didn't have much of an effect on Ron, however, who was standing straight and tall, his jaw set in a rigid line. There was an air of dignity that surrounded him like an impenetrable aura that neither harsh words nor powerful magic could diffuse. Then Harry noticed the speaker of the soft voice, and the room swam before his eyes.
Behind the shimmering wall of veela, Harry saw at first nothing but shadow, a hidden darkness that his eyes struggled fruitlessly to see through. Then he saw something stir. A pair of eyes. Red eyes, like livid rubies glowing from out of the gloom. Then he was able to discern a large golden throne upon which a figure sat, all in black. Harry's insides turned to ice as the voice uttered a single word.
"Crucio!"
The jet of light illuminated the perpetual night, and for a moment Harry could see who sat in the golden chair. The next he wished he hadn't.
The curse struck Ron squarely in the chest, and he doubled over on his hands and knees, his body wracked with pain. He let out only one small cry, and the curse was lifted. Ron raised his head slowly and glared balefully at the Dark Lord, his teeth bared.
"Come now, boy. The necessities must be observed," Voldemort said softly. He leaned forward, his hands folded in front of him, and Harry saw him clearly for the first time.
He looked much the same as he had when Harry last saw him, just last year. The same white face, red eyes, snakelike nose. His long hands were like enormous, pale spiders, and had no fingernails. Upon each skeletal finger rested at least one signet ring. There was one with a sparkling red "W," another with a sinister green "M," and several others, each with a different letter of the alphabet, and some with symbols that Harry did not recognise. And above his chair, in pride of the place, was a grisly sign that caused Harry to feel sick all over again.
The Dark Mark.
Harry shivered and realised that the reason why he did was because the dementors had heaved him to his feet again. He now stood directly before the Dark Lord, and suddenly felt very small and defenceless. Ron stood next to him, glaring at Voldemort in defiance. Voldemort snapped his repulsive fingers, and two people appeared next to him.
One of them, Harry was barely surprised to see. He was a small man with more wrinkles than hair, the little he had sparse and grey. His small blue eyes were watery, taking everything in warily. Wormtail.
The next person Harry was more surprised to see. Tall, thin, malicious, Draco Malfoy stood before them, his pointed face sneering down at the two of them. He was dressed impeccably in crisp black robes, the fabric glistening as if in an early morning rain. His silver-blonde hair shone around him like a dark halo, that of a fallen angel.
"My Lord," he said, lowering his head respectfully. A jarring sensation shot through Harry as he realised that this was the man who had led the dementors to his and Ron's cells.
"This boy was found outside the castle walls. We believe he may be a spy sent by the rebels." Harry felt a ripple of indignation underneath his stark terror. Who was Malfoy to call him "boy," when they were quite the same age? Harry tried to glare, but it hurt his face too much. Probably from the cold.
Voldemort sat forward in his chair. His blood-red gaze caught the light as he stared down at Harry scornfully, then bent toward Wormtail, and spoke softly into his ear.
Harry edged closer to Ron, making sure Voldemort didn't see.
"What's up with Malfoy?" he asked in a whisper, hoping Malfoy wouldn't hear.
Ron blinked and gave Harry a surprised look. He must have thought better than to ask, because he merely said out of the corner of his mouth, "He's kinda Voldemort's right-hand Death Eater. 'Torture some innocents, kill the rebels, blah blah blah I'm so stuffy give me a scone.'" He said this with dry amusement, his eyes glittering as he stared at Draco. "That bastard thinks he's cream of the crop, when everyone else knows Voldemort's just been using him. The Dark Lord gives him a new mistress every week, so as long as Blondie over there is getting laid, he's quiet." Voldemort looked up at this point, so Ron stopped abruptly and moved away from Harry. The Dark Lord narrowed his eyes at the pair of them and motioned to the dementors. In one swift movement, the ill-fated creatures swept Harry up and dragged him to the wall, where, now that he could see through the shadows, he could see a pair of tarnished, silver shackles dangling. He struggled, not knowing what was coming, but instantly the dementors' draining powers took over. They turned him around and shoved him against the wall, the breath pulling out of him as if by a vacuum. The next thing he knew, his hands were fastened securely above his head. He sucked in a long breath as the dementors moved away.
This is it, Harry thought, closing his eyes as fear clenched his stomach. They're going to kill me. I wish I had been able to tell Hermione…
But he started when he heard footsteps above him. He looked up, surprised. Ron stood in front of him, looking down at him sadly. He glanced back at Voldemort with a glare that could have wilted flowers, and Voldemort snapped, "Get on with it, boy." Ron's shoulders slumped, and he raised his quivering left hand and placed it over Harry's heart.
For a moment, nothing happened. Ron stared at Harry, his mirror-like eyes wide with as much sympathy as he could muster. Then suddenly, Harry's mind exploded in a whirlwind of colour.
It was as if he had been pitched back in time. His entire life flashed before his eyes, starting with the very beginning, things that he had never known. He saw his mother, with her red hair and bright green eyes, gazing happily down at him where he lay. His father and his shaggy black hair, with his arm wrapped lovingly around his wife. High-pitched, evil laughter, his parents turning, James dashing from the room…. Brilliant green light, his mother screaming, his father dying…
Then he saw himself getting beaten up by Dudley, or getting flogged by Uncle Vernon. Getting teased by the other kids at school…
Finally, he came to the moment when he was invited to Hogwarts. Everything from then on was a blur. He vaguely saw Sirius, then Cedric dying, and then Ginny…
As suddenly as it began, it ended. The past folded back into the present like the petals of a flower, closing up the memories that Harry had struggled to forget.
He felt Ron pull his hand back, and he looked up. Ron was staggering where he stood, clutching his left hand as if it pained him. Then, he collapsed.
Harry sat there, as weak and exhausted as if he had sprinted around the world and back. The room swam before his eyes, and once again, darkness claimed him.
***
It could have been anywhere from ten seconds to ten days for all Harry had known. All he could tell was that the moment he opened his eyes, his head detonated with pain. He moaned and covered his face with his hands, then heard the only voice that could make his pain worse tenfold.
"Harry, Harry, Harry. What on earth are you doing?"
Harry gritted his teeth against the agony and frustration that was coursing through him. He clenched his hands so hard that his nails dug into his palms and lifted his head. The room swam before his eyes before they focused on Crysania.
She was resplendent in her white robes, perched gracefully upon a chair swathed in a soft red fabric. She yawned and stretched, grinning at Harry's menacing expression.
Harry called her a name that he wasn't even aware he knew. Crysania's smile widened.
"Manners, Harry, dear. Wouldn't want your friend to hear you saying these things, now, would you?"
Harry blinked and looked around. He was back in his cell, with Ron in the one across from him. He was out cold.
"Looks like all your bad memories drained him," Crysania sighed. "Hit him hard, they did." She shook her head.
"My memories?" Harry looked up. "What do you mean, my memories?"
Crysania merely pressed her lips together in a smile. "Why don't you ask him?" she said simply.
"But he's—" Harry began impatiently, but was interrupted by a low moan. He glanced back at Ron, who was stirring fretfully. His eyelids parted slowly, letting blue shine dully through them.
"Can't a guy get any sleep around here?" he muttered drowsily, shaking his head from side to side. "Oh. That friend of yours there again?"
Harry opened his mouth, about to speak, but footsteps interrupted him. He silently shrank back into the shadows, hearing something skitter across the floor, noticing how Crysania glowed with a strange light as the green lantern once again shed its grisly light upon the walls. Ron's eyes narrowed.
"There's more than one way to skin a cat," a voice rumbled silkily, apparently talking to the dementors. "And I happen to know that factually that's true."
The footsteps came to a halt outside his cell. Harry looked up, and almost cried out.
It was Severus Snape.
******
NOOOOOOO!!! *gasps* Well, what do you think? I wasn't quite sure if Snape would go right to the dark side or not, but maybe. And Crissy, I don't care if you're mortally pissed at me now because of this, but I think it could happen. For those of you who are curious to my reasonings about anything from the existence of Harry's parents to Snape's switching teams (and no, I don't mean turning gay), just email me.
References:
Yes, the idea of Harry seeing life as it would be without him is from It's a Wonderful Life. What can I say, I love the movie.
"There's more than one way to skin a cat. And I happen to know that factually that's true."
--Mayor Wilkins, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
"…blah blah blah I'm so stuffy give me a scone."
I don't know who said that; all I know is that it's from Buffy. *shrugs* Hey, I tried.
Crysania is from the Dragonlance saga, the Legends. I used part of a quote to describe her: "She might have been made of marble…with one difference: marble could be warmed by the sun." It was said by Astinus in Time of the Twins. Just to let you know, that is not her real personality. I just took her name and appearance. Thank you Margaret Weis!
The Soul-search is based on the Truth-Search, from…ah, either Dragons of a Fallen Sun or Dragons of a Lost Star, both of the War of the Souls trilogy in, of course, the Dragonlance saga. Can't remember which, sorry!
I think that's all; if you guys come up with anymore, just let me know. Toodles! (And for those of you who have never read the Dragonlance books, you don't know what you're missing! The first one is Dragons of Autumn Twilight, by the way…*grin*)
