PART ONE
Voldemort walked through the house. The screams of his latest victems filled the air as the Death Eaters tortured them. A small smile crossed the Dark Lord's face. How they were begging for mercy! Voldemort was about to end that hope.
He entered the room and saw the wizard husband and his wife. "Thought you'd try to stop me, did you?" He said softly, addressing the man. "Well, your family will die before your eyes for it. Bring the little girl!" The man gasped as his daughter was carried, unconsiouse, into the room. "Ennervate," Voldemort said, and the little girl opened her eyes. The Death Eater put her down. There was a moment of silence. Suddenly, the woman started sobbing.
"Don't you hurt my mother!" the little girl screamed. Voldemort leaned down to her.
"Don't worry, you won't see your mother hurt by me," he said sweetly. He went and sat down in a nearby chair and lifted his wand, pointing it at her. "Crucio!" He said, and the little girl screamed. He raised his wand for a moment. Before anyone could stop her, she ran forward and put her hands on either side of Voldemort's head.
The power that came out of her hands poured into Voldemort's mind. He screamed in unbearable pain as a long-needed healing started, washing away the shadows lurking always in his thoughts. The Dark Lord twisted and coiled, trying to get out of the girl's grasp. His hate coiled in upon itelf, betrayed by his own capacity to deal agony. Because to be able to cause suffering, one must know it first. Therefore, the ultimate horror is exposure, the tearing off of the mask he wore to hide it.
The Death Eaters stared in shock as their master squirmed, trying to throw off the little girl. They had never seen anyone get the better of him like this before. In their shock, not one of them went to help their master, for which they would eventually be very sorry for. Most of them, however, didn't really care about him, just his power.
The little girl's parents, however, glowed with pride. They had known of the girl's healing gift for a few years now, but never had they imagined that she would be able to use it against Voldemort. They were still sick with fear, however, that one of the Death Eaters or the Dark Lord himself would break out of their trance and kill her. She was the light of their life. They didn't know what they would do without her.
"Y-you fools!" Voldemort said weakly. "Kill her!" Not one of the Death Eaters mouved. "O-or I'll kill you!" he added, with no effect.
As the girl continued to work, Voldemort gathered his strength together, and pushed her away. She stumbled across the room. Voldemort raised his wand twards the Death Eaters. "Avada kedavra!" he said. A vague green mist escaped his wand, hovered for a moment, and then dissipated. Exausted and partially-healed, he was unable to fight, and unable to hide. He did the one thing he could do. He ran.
After apparating as far away as he could and remain hidden, Voldemort collapsed to the ground. He moaned. His head was a whirlwind of painfull memories unbearably flashing through his mind. In his drained state, he couldn't even begin to try to repress long-held-back shame that now flooded his conciosness. He moaned again from the sheer pain of it. Then, for the first time in fifty years, he cried.
After a while, he began to wonder where he was going to go. He obviously couldn't go back to the Death Eaters. They had seen him in a weakened state. He had failed to kill them when he tried. It would be the end of two forevers before he went to Dumbledore.
Unable to sit still any longer, Voldemort began to run. He ran aimlessly, with no other purpose than to exaust himself. To try to rid himself of the images of someone betraying him, and him turning to the Dark Arts. He tried to outrun voices of victems screaming at him for mercy, just as he was unable to scream when he had been completely helpless. He tried to escape the memory of Harry, the person he tormented most. And of Dumbledore, who still saw him as a person. And the whole hurricane of emotions tearing through his mind.
When he finally stopped, he was outside number four, Private Drive. He had never been able to get inside this house. The house he knew held Harry Potter. The bane of his existence. The one he knew he had took the most from. The one who had never done anything to him. The one whome everyone loved. Harry was the one who Voldemort knew was destined to kill him. He knew this because, despite what Dumbledore believed, Harry was exactly like him. Harry WAS him, before he became the Dark Lord. Gathering up his remaining strength, Voldemort used all of his power to apparate into Harry's bedroom.
Voldemort walked through the house. The screams of his latest victems filled the air as the Death Eaters tortured them. A small smile crossed the Dark Lord's face. How they were begging for mercy! Voldemort was about to end that hope.
He entered the room and saw the wizard husband and his wife. "Thought you'd try to stop me, did you?" He said softly, addressing the man. "Well, your family will die before your eyes for it. Bring the little girl!" The man gasped as his daughter was carried, unconsiouse, into the room. "Ennervate," Voldemort said, and the little girl opened her eyes. The Death Eater put her down. There was a moment of silence. Suddenly, the woman started sobbing.
"Don't you hurt my mother!" the little girl screamed. Voldemort leaned down to her.
"Don't worry, you won't see your mother hurt by me," he said sweetly. He went and sat down in a nearby chair and lifted his wand, pointing it at her. "Crucio!" He said, and the little girl screamed. He raised his wand for a moment. Before anyone could stop her, she ran forward and put her hands on either side of Voldemort's head.
The power that came out of her hands poured into Voldemort's mind. He screamed in unbearable pain as a long-needed healing started, washing away the shadows lurking always in his thoughts. The Dark Lord twisted and coiled, trying to get out of the girl's grasp. His hate coiled in upon itelf, betrayed by his own capacity to deal agony. Because to be able to cause suffering, one must know it first. Therefore, the ultimate horror is exposure, the tearing off of the mask he wore to hide it.
The Death Eaters stared in shock as their master squirmed, trying to throw off the little girl. They had never seen anyone get the better of him like this before. In their shock, not one of them went to help their master, for which they would eventually be very sorry for. Most of them, however, didn't really care about him, just his power.
The little girl's parents, however, glowed with pride. They had known of the girl's healing gift for a few years now, but never had they imagined that she would be able to use it against Voldemort. They were still sick with fear, however, that one of the Death Eaters or the Dark Lord himself would break out of their trance and kill her. She was the light of their life. They didn't know what they would do without her.
"Y-you fools!" Voldemort said weakly. "Kill her!" Not one of the Death Eaters mouved. "O-or I'll kill you!" he added, with no effect.
As the girl continued to work, Voldemort gathered his strength together, and pushed her away. She stumbled across the room. Voldemort raised his wand twards the Death Eaters. "Avada kedavra!" he said. A vague green mist escaped his wand, hovered for a moment, and then dissipated. Exausted and partially-healed, he was unable to fight, and unable to hide. He did the one thing he could do. He ran.
After apparating as far away as he could and remain hidden, Voldemort collapsed to the ground. He moaned. His head was a whirlwind of painfull memories unbearably flashing through his mind. In his drained state, he couldn't even begin to try to repress long-held-back shame that now flooded his conciosness. He moaned again from the sheer pain of it. Then, for the first time in fifty years, he cried.
After a while, he began to wonder where he was going to go. He obviously couldn't go back to the Death Eaters. They had seen him in a weakened state. He had failed to kill them when he tried. It would be the end of two forevers before he went to Dumbledore.
Unable to sit still any longer, Voldemort began to run. He ran aimlessly, with no other purpose than to exaust himself. To try to rid himself of the images of someone betraying him, and him turning to the Dark Arts. He tried to outrun voices of victems screaming at him for mercy, just as he was unable to scream when he had been completely helpless. He tried to escape the memory of Harry, the person he tormented most. And of Dumbledore, who still saw him as a person. And the whole hurricane of emotions tearing through his mind.
When he finally stopped, he was outside number four, Private Drive. He had never been able to get inside this house. The house he knew held Harry Potter. The bane of his existence. The one he knew he had took the most from. The one who had never done anything to him. The one whome everyone loved. Harry was the one who Voldemort knew was destined to kill him. He knew this because, despite what Dumbledore believed, Harry was exactly like him. Harry WAS him, before he became the Dark Lord. Gathering up his remaining strength, Voldemort used all of his power to apparate into Harry's bedroom.