A figure staggered through the streets, dark blood drenching a white shirt.
His shirt and pants were torn, his face bloody to almost the point of
being unrecognizable. Still, through all the blood on his face and body
and caking his dark hair, there was no mistaking that thin, lightning bolt
scar on his forehead, which presently was giving him the vague feeling of
his head splitting.
Give it up, Potter, the voice said. You're powerless against me now. I control you.
"Not entirely," Harry growled aloud, his voice faint but fierce. He was vaguely aware of the notion that he had lost too much blood.
The voice laughed inside his mind. Not entirely? Look at yourself, Potter. You're a wreck. And you know why? Harry tried to ignore the voice as he continued staggering down the street. With all the strength he could muster, he tried to push back the other presence inside his mind. But it was no use. Because I made you. And you know it. I controlled your entire body and made you beat yourself up like that.
"Why didn't you have one of your cronies do it for you?" Harry muttered bitterly, a bite in his voice that would have shocked anyone who knew him.
Because this is so much more enjoyable, the voice said with relish. Harry grimaced as the disgusting emotions of the other presence inside his mind became known to him. Come now, Harry, the voice said as coaxingly as it could. You're tired beyond all imagining. I'm surprised you've lasted this long. I mean, just look where you've been walking. You've left a nice trail of blood. They will have a fun time licking all that up.
"I'm not giving up," Harry said determinedly, gritting his teeth and hardening his will. If only he could make it to Mrs. Figgs house, she could get help.
His vision was getting unnaturally blurred, and he noticed for the first time that he wasn't wearing his glasses. However, he doubted his eyes were normally this bad. "How much blood have I lost?" he asked softly.
Enough, the voice said gleefully. Enough, Potter. Quite enough.
After walking a little while more, Harry began to lose consciousness. "No, I have to stay awake." he muttered weakly.
Not much longer, the voice said, sounding so full of glee it seemed it could burst.
"You're sick," Harry said with disgust. "Absolute-ly si-ick." Harry wobbled dangerously. "I.can't go further." he muttered, his vision fading.
No, you can't, can you? the demented voice said. Just give up, Potter. You're fighting a losing battle.
"I've been fighting a losing battle...all...my li-ife." Harry wavered, his eyes went dark, and he fell to the ground and knew no more.
Here, Mafioso. Here's the dark fic you've wanted for so long!
Give it up, Potter, the voice said. You're powerless against me now. I control you.
"Not entirely," Harry growled aloud, his voice faint but fierce. He was vaguely aware of the notion that he had lost too much blood.
The voice laughed inside his mind. Not entirely? Look at yourself, Potter. You're a wreck. And you know why? Harry tried to ignore the voice as he continued staggering down the street. With all the strength he could muster, he tried to push back the other presence inside his mind. But it was no use. Because I made you. And you know it. I controlled your entire body and made you beat yourself up like that.
"Why didn't you have one of your cronies do it for you?" Harry muttered bitterly, a bite in his voice that would have shocked anyone who knew him.
Because this is so much more enjoyable, the voice said with relish. Harry grimaced as the disgusting emotions of the other presence inside his mind became known to him. Come now, Harry, the voice said as coaxingly as it could. You're tired beyond all imagining. I'm surprised you've lasted this long. I mean, just look where you've been walking. You've left a nice trail of blood. They will have a fun time licking all that up.
"I'm not giving up," Harry said determinedly, gritting his teeth and hardening his will. If only he could make it to Mrs. Figgs house, she could get help.
His vision was getting unnaturally blurred, and he noticed for the first time that he wasn't wearing his glasses. However, he doubted his eyes were normally this bad. "How much blood have I lost?" he asked softly.
Enough, the voice said gleefully. Enough, Potter. Quite enough.
After walking a little while more, Harry began to lose consciousness. "No, I have to stay awake." he muttered weakly.
Not much longer, the voice said, sounding so full of glee it seemed it could burst.
"You're sick," Harry said with disgust. "Absolute-ly si-ick." Harry wobbled dangerously. "I.can't go further." he muttered, his vision fading.
No, you can't, can you? the demented voice said. Just give up, Potter. You're fighting a losing battle.
"I've been fighting a losing battle...all...my li-ife." Harry wavered, his eyes went dark, and he fell to the ground and knew no more.
Here, Mafioso. Here's the dark fic you've wanted for so long!