It was rare that Voldemort pondered his mistakes, however few.
He had underestimated Dumbledore and his allies. He had not counted on the Order Of The Pheonix being reborn, or Fudge actually having some kind of backbone. Furthermore, thanks to Potter, the record of the Procephy was done for. Muttering to himself, the Dark Lord threw a log on the fire, ignoreing the lightning that flashed outside.
The past two years had watched as one by one, the Order had brought down the Death Eaters. Now there was only the Malfoys...and Wormtail. At least in dying, the Death Eaters had taken members of the Order with them.
At least here, inside the Malfoy estate, they were safe. Lucias was Voldemort's secret keeper, the only one who knew where he was, and Lucias would never betray Voldemort. He set aside his wine goblet, half full, aside and continued to ponder and brood.
Really, he didn't have to do a thing except wait. Fudge was still under Malfoy's control and in due time would call off the hunt. Volemort smiled. There were only a few living members of the Order left, and without Dumbledore, they were without direction. Useless.
Only Potter presented a problem. Voldemort was no fool, Procephies either got fullfilled, or fullfilled themselves and that always proved...inconvienent.
No, he would have to deal with Potter face to face. That was fate and Voldemort was actually looking forward to the contest. It had been too long since he'd had a challenge. He smiled as he thought of Potter falling to the floor as the Avada Kedavra drained the life from his body. Yes, that was a--
The strange noise had not even finished before Voldemort was out of his chair, wand in hand, sweeping it slowly around the room, looking for the source of the noise. It had sounded like a wall collapsing.
"The house, most likely," Voldemort said to himself. "I will have to speak with Lucias about the maitenence his house-elves perform. He turned back towards the fire and then whipped about as the window shattered as something small, round, and black hurtled through.
Though Voldemort had excellent reflexes and great power, they were suited to a Wizard Duel, where you only had to be faster on your oppenent and good at reading body langauge.
In other words, he was ill-prepared to deal with the Bludger that hurtled towards him and smashed into his hand and wrist, totaling it and sending his wand flying.
As the Dark Lord howled in pain, he was vaugely aware of someone yelling a spell and the Bludger shattering with a mighty explosion that destroyed the rest of the windows in the room.
The person murmmered another spell and the pain eased.
"Ah, thank you Lucias," Voldemort said, rising to his feet and turning towards the door--and froze.
His cloak billowing behind him in the wind as though they were wings, his face oddly lit by the torches and a smile upoun his face, Harry Potter stood in the doorway like some sort of metaphysical avenger.
"Hello, Tom," Potter said softly. "Surprised to see me?"
"How--"
"Did I find you? The Malfoys ate something fatal--probably the Muggle cargo truck I drove into their dining room--and died. At that point, the house- elves seemed overcome with this burning desire to share things with me and mentioned you were up here. Amazing thing really. But then, house-elves like to help."
Voldemort lunged for his wand, only to hit the floor on his back as Potter darted across the room and kicked him in the stomach.
"You're out of shape, Tom," Harry said as he grabbed Voldemort by his cloak and hauled him to his feet. "Now, see me, I played Quidditch, and before that, I got beat up a lot. Amazing what you learn getting beat up day in, day out. Like how to run really, really fast." A rock, or something like it, slammed into Voldemort's stomach. "That's what my cousin called a gut buster. Hurts don't it?"
Voldemort groaned, tasting blood.
"And then there's the chin knocker," Potter said as his knee came up, snapping Voldemort's head back. "Oh, and then a left hook, and right cross." Two more jolts of pain and Voldemort curled up on the floor, in more pain then he ever thought possible.
"Hurts don't it?," Potter said, his voice faint through the pain.
Vaugely, Voldemort was aware of Potter stepping over him and sitting in the overstuffed chair. "I'd like to share something with you, Tom. A little something my friend Hermione came up with. You remember Hermione, don't you? Under the influence of the Imperius, a curse you cast, by the way, Ron Weasely KILLED HER!" Potter half came out of his seat, screaming and then seemed to get ahold of himself, and setting back into the chair with a beatific smile.
It had been a long time since Voldemort felt fear, but the twinges of it were starting to gnaw at his belly.
"Then he turned his wand on others," Potter continued. "The Order, his fellow students, his family..." Incomprhensible rage suddenly filled Potter's face as his hand lashed out, sending the wine goblet to the floor, spilling the red wine everywhere like spilled blood. "I HAD TO KILL HIM!" Potter screamed, his wand suddenly out and pressed against Voldemort's forehead. For a moment, Potter stayed like that, wand pressed against the Dark Lord's head, breathing heavily, tears running down his cheeks.
Then he settled back into the chair, his face again returning into that beatific smile.
"In any case," Potter said, steepling his fingers and crossing his legs as though settleing in for a long conversation. "I'd told Hermione everything Dumbledore told me. I told her about the procephy, the link you and I share...the whole thing."
"Filthy Muggle." The words, almost reflexive by now, came from Voldemort before he could stop them and Potter's reaction was immediate. A booted foot smashed into his sternum, bone cracking and breaking under the impact.
"I felt that, you know," Potter said conversationally. "The pain, the knifelike pin pricks of trying to breathe. I feel them through our link." His hand grabbed Voldemort's robe and hauled Voldemort up so they were nose to nose. "But you know what interests me the most? When my body's feels like it's on fire, when I feel the white hot jolt of bones breaking. When I would give anything to not feel the pain . . ." He leaned forward, moving his lips so that they were next to Voldemort's ear and spoke in a whisper. "I like it."
Then he let go and Voldemort grunted as he made contact with the floor.
"It's pretty much the only thing I feel now, pain," Potter said, chuckling dryly. "I suppose it means I'm not dead yet . . ." He nudged Voldemort with his foot. "Did you know that the body can get used to pain? Really. After a while, the body sort of blocks it out. That's why I keep hitting you, I don't want it blocked...that, and it's rather fun. I sort of see now the appeal of bullying. It's gratifying to have this kind of control.
Where was I? Ah yes. So Hermione theorized that maybe I could use our link to find you. Wouldn't it be grand if I could do a little concentration and you wouldn't be able to hide anymore? Of course, it didn't work, but it started me thinking." He waved his wand and the pain drained away from Voldemort's body. "Pay attention, Tom, this is the best part. So I started thinking about that, and why you didn't die when the spell rebounded on you seventeen years ago, and about that speech you gave the Death Eaters in the cemetary after your return." He hauled Voldemort to his feet and held him against the wall. This close, Voldemort could see that Potter's green eyes danced with malevolent, no, insane glee. "You survived because some experiment you did to hold off death worked." His grin got bigger. "I got some of your powers that night, what else did I get? So I decided that an experiment of my own was in order." He held up his wand between them. "It's not like I have anything left to lose, right?"
"Mad."
"Tired, actually. You should have gone after Neville Longbottom, Tom," Potter said. "The other boy born on July thirtieth? The person you would've had to have faced had you not gone after me? The easy road?"
"No. NO!"
Potter's reply was in a whisper. "Avada Kedavra."
The world filled a with a brillant green light.
He had underestimated Dumbledore and his allies. He had not counted on the Order Of The Pheonix being reborn, or Fudge actually having some kind of backbone. Furthermore, thanks to Potter, the record of the Procephy was done for. Muttering to himself, the Dark Lord threw a log on the fire, ignoreing the lightning that flashed outside.
The past two years had watched as one by one, the Order had brought down the Death Eaters. Now there was only the Malfoys...and Wormtail. At least in dying, the Death Eaters had taken members of the Order with them.
At least here, inside the Malfoy estate, they were safe. Lucias was Voldemort's secret keeper, the only one who knew where he was, and Lucias would never betray Voldemort. He set aside his wine goblet, half full, aside and continued to ponder and brood.
Really, he didn't have to do a thing except wait. Fudge was still under Malfoy's control and in due time would call off the hunt. Volemort smiled. There were only a few living members of the Order left, and without Dumbledore, they were without direction. Useless.
Only Potter presented a problem. Voldemort was no fool, Procephies either got fullfilled, or fullfilled themselves and that always proved...inconvienent.
No, he would have to deal with Potter face to face. That was fate and Voldemort was actually looking forward to the contest. It had been too long since he'd had a challenge. He smiled as he thought of Potter falling to the floor as the Avada Kedavra drained the life from his body. Yes, that was a--
The strange noise had not even finished before Voldemort was out of his chair, wand in hand, sweeping it slowly around the room, looking for the source of the noise. It had sounded like a wall collapsing.
"The house, most likely," Voldemort said to himself. "I will have to speak with Lucias about the maitenence his house-elves perform. He turned back towards the fire and then whipped about as the window shattered as something small, round, and black hurtled through.
Though Voldemort had excellent reflexes and great power, they were suited to a Wizard Duel, where you only had to be faster on your oppenent and good at reading body langauge.
In other words, he was ill-prepared to deal with the Bludger that hurtled towards him and smashed into his hand and wrist, totaling it and sending his wand flying.
As the Dark Lord howled in pain, he was vaugely aware of someone yelling a spell and the Bludger shattering with a mighty explosion that destroyed the rest of the windows in the room.
The person murmmered another spell and the pain eased.
"Ah, thank you Lucias," Voldemort said, rising to his feet and turning towards the door--and froze.
His cloak billowing behind him in the wind as though they were wings, his face oddly lit by the torches and a smile upoun his face, Harry Potter stood in the doorway like some sort of metaphysical avenger.
"Hello, Tom," Potter said softly. "Surprised to see me?"
"How--"
"Did I find you? The Malfoys ate something fatal--probably the Muggle cargo truck I drove into their dining room--and died. At that point, the house- elves seemed overcome with this burning desire to share things with me and mentioned you were up here. Amazing thing really. But then, house-elves like to help."
Voldemort lunged for his wand, only to hit the floor on his back as Potter darted across the room and kicked him in the stomach.
"You're out of shape, Tom," Harry said as he grabbed Voldemort by his cloak and hauled him to his feet. "Now, see me, I played Quidditch, and before that, I got beat up a lot. Amazing what you learn getting beat up day in, day out. Like how to run really, really fast." A rock, or something like it, slammed into Voldemort's stomach. "That's what my cousin called a gut buster. Hurts don't it?"
Voldemort groaned, tasting blood.
"And then there's the chin knocker," Potter said as his knee came up, snapping Voldemort's head back. "Oh, and then a left hook, and right cross." Two more jolts of pain and Voldemort curled up on the floor, in more pain then he ever thought possible.
"Hurts don't it?," Potter said, his voice faint through the pain.
Vaugely, Voldemort was aware of Potter stepping over him and sitting in the overstuffed chair. "I'd like to share something with you, Tom. A little something my friend Hermione came up with. You remember Hermione, don't you? Under the influence of the Imperius, a curse you cast, by the way, Ron Weasely KILLED HER!" Potter half came out of his seat, screaming and then seemed to get ahold of himself, and setting back into the chair with a beatific smile.
It had been a long time since Voldemort felt fear, but the twinges of it were starting to gnaw at his belly.
"Then he turned his wand on others," Potter continued. "The Order, his fellow students, his family..." Incomprhensible rage suddenly filled Potter's face as his hand lashed out, sending the wine goblet to the floor, spilling the red wine everywhere like spilled blood. "I HAD TO KILL HIM!" Potter screamed, his wand suddenly out and pressed against Voldemort's forehead. For a moment, Potter stayed like that, wand pressed against the Dark Lord's head, breathing heavily, tears running down his cheeks.
Then he settled back into the chair, his face again returning into that beatific smile.
"In any case," Potter said, steepling his fingers and crossing his legs as though settleing in for a long conversation. "I'd told Hermione everything Dumbledore told me. I told her about the procephy, the link you and I share...the whole thing."
"Filthy Muggle." The words, almost reflexive by now, came from Voldemort before he could stop them and Potter's reaction was immediate. A booted foot smashed into his sternum, bone cracking and breaking under the impact.
"I felt that, you know," Potter said conversationally. "The pain, the knifelike pin pricks of trying to breathe. I feel them through our link." His hand grabbed Voldemort's robe and hauled Voldemort up so they were nose to nose. "But you know what interests me the most? When my body's feels like it's on fire, when I feel the white hot jolt of bones breaking. When I would give anything to not feel the pain . . ." He leaned forward, moving his lips so that they were next to Voldemort's ear and spoke in a whisper. "I like it."
Then he let go and Voldemort grunted as he made contact with the floor.
"It's pretty much the only thing I feel now, pain," Potter said, chuckling dryly. "I suppose it means I'm not dead yet . . ." He nudged Voldemort with his foot. "Did you know that the body can get used to pain? Really. After a while, the body sort of blocks it out. That's why I keep hitting you, I don't want it blocked...that, and it's rather fun. I sort of see now the appeal of bullying. It's gratifying to have this kind of control.
Where was I? Ah yes. So Hermione theorized that maybe I could use our link to find you. Wouldn't it be grand if I could do a little concentration and you wouldn't be able to hide anymore? Of course, it didn't work, but it started me thinking." He waved his wand and the pain drained away from Voldemort's body. "Pay attention, Tom, this is the best part. So I started thinking about that, and why you didn't die when the spell rebounded on you seventeen years ago, and about that speech you gave the Death Eaters in the cemetary after your return." He hauled Voldemort to his feet and held him against the wall. This close, Voldemort could see that Potter's green eyes danced with malevolent, no, insane glee. "You survived because some experiment you did to hold off death worked." His grin got bigger. "I got some of your powers that night, what else did I get? So I decided that an experiment of my own was in order." He held up his wand between them. "It's not like I have anything left to lose, right?"
"Mad."
"Tired, actually. You should have gone after Neville Longbottom, Tom," Potter said. "The other boy born on July thirtieth? The person you would've had to have faced had you not gone after me? The easy road?"
"No. NO!"
Potter's reply was in a whisper. "Avada Kedavra."
The world filled a with a brillant green light.