Xenith
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"Envy the country that has heroes, pity the country that needs'em."
~~~Reign of Fire
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Chapter Thirty-three
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"It's all ri---" Harry grunted, his forehead exploding in blinding, white-hot pain. He held his stomach in agony, trying to push away whoever was kicking him.
"Harry!" He heard someone call from far off, faint and forgettable. "Harry, what's wrong!?" Harry could only moan in reply, rolling onto his back as a gray fog overtook him.
"My Lord, all is ready," a soft, slimy voice invaded Harry's mind. "Now it is up to you to act." The voice quickly gained form, shifting into a small black cloaked, white masked Death Eater.
"Good, good," the Dark Lord's voice, or, Harry assumed it was his voice, he sounded different---younger---replied from the shadows, just beyond Harry's range of vision. "Now, bring me the Muggle, let us enjoy ourselves, shall we?" Voldemort cracked maliciously.
"Yes, my Lord." The slimy voiced man scurried through the nearest doorway, returning moments later with a Muggle boy about the same age as, and looking a lot like, Harry.
Harry felt himself being hurled at Voldemort's feet. But it couldn't be him. Could it? The Death Eater kicked the Muggle---Harry in the stomach. Harry heard himself grunt.
"You've done well on this one, Parkinson," Voldemort said. "He looks very much like the Potter boy."
"Pottered for your pleasure," Parkinson said before shrinking into the shadows.
"Just the way I like them . . . CRUCIO!"
Harry screamed as hooks grabbed hold of every inch of his skin and tore it violently off his bones. In the single solitary sane portion of his brain he rationalised that his skin wasn't being jerked away from his body and the white-hot pain setting fire to his nerves was all in his mind. The solitary cogent part of his brain soon started convincing the rest of his brain that the pain wasn't real, it was a spell, a trick!
"Nooo!" Harry screamed in a voice that wasn't his as he ripped his entire being away from the idea of pain. His body stopped convulsing and the Muggle lay still, face pressed into the ground.
"Take him away!" Voldemort commanded, enraged.
"What shou---" Parkinson began.
"I don't care! Get him out of my sight!" Voldemort bellowed.
White fog obscured his senses . . . big, blurred shapes were moving around him as he fell . . . then came the voices, a man's voice, shouting, panicking . . . familiar---
_"Hermione, take Conner and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off---" Ron, older and in his pyjams, stumbled from the room.
"Ron!"
"Go!" Ron bellowed from the other room.
"Ron, no, I can't!" The woman turned from the bassinette, a bundle of wild ginger hair wrapped in her arms. Hermione. There was a thump as something heavy fell to the ground in the adjacent room. "Ron!"
A dark figure of a man moved into the child's room, his face obscured by clouds of white fog.
"Not Conner! Not Conner! Please---I'll do anything---" Hermione begged, clutching the boy to her breast.
"Stand aside. Stand aside, girl!" The voice, the . . . younger voice from earlier, snapped at the older Hermione. "AVADA KEDAVRA!" The room exploded in green light as the killing curse took Hermione. The baby, Conner, was falling through the air.
"No, Ron, Hermione, No!" Harry's pleas fell on deaf ears.
The baby was falling, someone needed to catch it, why couldn't he catch it!?
And then Ginny was there. Older, all girlish foolishness gone from her as she caught the baby, touched the mobile over the bassinette and disappeared. Mobile and all.
"I need you . . . I can't . . ." Harry heard himself cry as the cloaked man, Voldemort, spun, searching for his prey. ". . . I can't . . . Ginny . . ." The fog round Voldemort's face dissipated before taking Harry over, sending him tumbling backwards. "NO!"
Harry landed, voices assaulting his eardrums, "Hermione, take Conner . . ." It was starting over again. Over and over and over again.
---
"RIDDLE!" Harry screamed, finally bringing an end to the nightmare.
---
¸..· ´¨¨)) -:¦:-
¸.·´ ·´¨¨))
((¸¸.·´ ..·´ -:¦:- tbc -:¦:-
-:¦:- ((¸¸.·´*
---
"Envy the country that has heroes, pity the country that needs'em."
~~~Reign of Fire
---
Chapter Thirty-three
---
"It's all ri---" Harry grunted, his forehead exploding in blinding, white-hot pain. He held his stomach in agony, trying to push away whoever was kicking him.
"Harry!" He heard someone call from far off, faint and forgettable. "Harry, what's wrong!?" Harry could only moan in reply, rolling onto his back as a gray fog overtook him.
"My Lord, all is ready," a soft, slimy voice invaded Harry's mind. "Now it is up to you to act." The voice quickly gained form, shifting into a small black cloaked, white masked Death Eater.
"Good, good," the Dark Lord's voice, or, Harry assumed it was his voice, he sounded different---younger---replied from the shadows, just beyond Harry's range of vision. "Now, bring me the Muggle, let us enjoy ourselves, shall we?" Voldemort cracked maliciously.
"Yes, my Lord." The slimy voiced man scurried through the nearest doorway, returning moments later with a Muggle boy about the same age as, and looking a lot like, Harry.
Harry felt himself being hurled at Voldemort's feet. But it couldn't be him. Could it? The Death Eater kicked the Muggle---Harry in the stomach. Harry heard himself grunt.
"You've done well on this one, Parkinson," Voldemort said. "He looks very much like the Potter boy."
"Pottered for your pleasure," Parkinson said before shrinking into the shadows.
"Just the way I like them . . . CRUCIO!"
Harry screamed as hooks grabbed hold of every inch of his skin and tore it violently off his bones. In the single solitary sane portion of his brain he rationalised that his skin wasn't being jerked away from his body and the white-hot pain setting fire to his nerves was all in his mind. The solitary cogent part of his brain soon started convincing the rest of his brain that the pain wasn't real, it was a spell, a trick!
"Nooo!" Harry screamed in a voice that wasn't his as he ripped his entire being away from the idea of pain. His body stopped convulsing and the Muggle lay still, face pressed into the ground.
"Take him away!" Voldemort commanded, enraged.
"What shou---" Parkinson began.
"I don't care! Get him out of my sight!" Voldemort bellowed.
White fog obscured his senses . . . big, blurred shapes were moving around him as he fell . . . then came the voices, a man's voice, shouting, panicking . . . familiar---
_"Hermione, take Conner and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off---" Ron, older and in his pyjams, stumbled from the room.
"Ron!"
"Go!" Ron bellowed from the other room.
"Ron, no, I can't!" The woman turned from the bassinette, a bundle of wild ginger hair wrapped in her arms. Hermione. There was a thump as something heavy fell to the ground in the adjacent room. "Ron!"
A dark figure of a man moved into the child's room, his face obscured by clouds of white fog.
"Not Conner! Not Conner! Please---I'll do anything---" Hermione begged, clutching the boy to her breast.
"Stand aside. Stand aside, girl!" The voice, the . . . younger voice from earlier, snapped at the older Hermione. "AVADA KEDAVRA!" The room exploded in green light as the killing curse took Hermione. The baby, Conner, was falling through the air.
"No, Ron, Hermione, No!" Harry's pleas fell on deaf ears.
The baby was falling, someone needed to catch it, why couldn't he catch it!?
And then Ginny was there. Older, all girlish foolishness gone from her as she caught the baby, touched the mobile over the bassinette and disappeared. Mobile and all.
"I need you . . . I can't . . ." Harry heard himself cry as the cloaked man, Voldemort, spun, searching for his prey. ". . . I can't . . . Ginny . . ." The fog round Voldemort's face dissipated before taking Harry over, sending him tumbling backwards. "NO!"
Harry landed, voices assaulting his eardrums, "Hermione, take Conner . . ." It was starting over again. Over and over and over again.
---
"RIDDLE!" Harry screamed, finally bringing an end to the nightmare.
---
¸..· ´¨¨)) -:¦:-
¸.·´ ·´¨¨))
((¸¸.·´ ..·´ -:¦:- tbc -:¦:-
-:¦:- ((¸¸.·´*