Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to those with far great intelligence and attention spans then I. Harry Potter and all related material belongs to JK Rowling and Warner Brothers, etc. Only the original ideas or plot belong to me, and they're so enormously lackluster I'd probably be forced to pay someone to steal them. In addition, some of the text in this chapter is taken directly from Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, and is the property and creation of JK Rowling
Author's Notes: More reviews! Thanks a million! This chapter is rather long, as there was quite a lot that needed to happen, and a lot of perspectives to see it from. Please excuse any grammatical errors in it, my head is currently pounding from a few over-enthusiastic horses. So now, as promised, I'll get to the review responses:
Lashajayne: Thanks! Poor Harry is right, I feel terrible for abusing him so.
Kokomocalifornia: This chapter should answer the question, thanks!
Ikoya: That's a tricky one. I tried to stick as closely to the Canon-Snape as possible, so he's a bit complicated. For the most part, he's loyal only to Dumbledore.
LunaticPandora1: That one's answered here as well, thanks for reviewing!
John: Thanks! Voldemort definitely has plans for Harry.
Keran: -cowers- I'm sorry! No, Voldie didn't put anything in the food. I thought that having Harry be able to resist the Imperius after all he's been through would kind of...undermine how difficult it is. Don't worry, he won't go down that easy again. And you were right about the Secret Keeper – more of that is in this chapter as well :D
The Flight From Death
Chapter VIII: Desperation
"He is ready, my lord."
"Excellent. Fetch Severus for me. Order him to remain on the first floor while I deal with Potter. See to it that no one else is aware of what occurs behind this door."
"Yes, my lord."
Footsteps echoed along the corridor as Bellatrix Lestrange made her way down the stairway to the first floor, leaving Lord Voldemort to contemplate the wooden door in front of him, a satisfied simper twisting his snake-like face in a grotesque manner.
Without further hesitation, a wand was withdrawn from the folds of his cloak, and he tapped the doorknob once.
Voldemort did not open doors the peasant way, he had long since deemed himself above such foolishness.
A grim set of emerald eyes followed him as he swept through the doorway, which shut itself behind him promptly.
"Harry Potter..." He hissed.
"Voldemort," Harry replied bluntly, "Now that we've got introductions out of the way, I might as well tell you – before you waste an inordinate amount of time attempting to torture the Prophecy out of me, there's no reason to bother. I'm not telling you." The raven-haired youth continued to leer up at the ceiling, and if his voice was any indication of his mood, he was bored to death.
Voldemort was not amused. In normal occasions, when Voldemort was spoken to in such a manner, the result would be a particularly lengthy dose of the Cruciatus for entertainment purposes only, followed by an immediate Killing Curse.
As appealing as this sounded to the Dark Lord, this was not a normal occasion, and he had no intentions of putting Potter out of his misery. Yet.
Instead, he fixed a sickening smile to his face, crimson eyes glittering with morbid intent. Raising his wand lazily (Potter tensed), he pointed it directly at the boy and murmured, "Legilimens."
Instantly, a wave of images appeared in his mind's eye: A boy of thirteen pointed his wand at the heart of a grisly and tattered man; a werewolf struggled to a green eyed teen threw a book at the head of a taller boy with red hair; a sandy haired teenager stared unseeingly upward, as a high voice sneered, "Kill the spare,"; a jet of red light connected with the chest of a once handsome man with dark hair, sending him falling backwards –
"NOOOO!"
A panicked voice cut through the silence as the images in his mind flickered and died. Lord Voldemort smirked downward at the form huddled against the wall. The teenager had fallen to his knees, head in hands.
"You are weak, Potter. You are weak because you allow yourself to love. It is love that will be your downfall, not mine. Your mother's love may have saved you, yet it also sentenced you to ten years in the care of your muggle relatives." The Dark Lord's crimson gaze did not waver from the shadowy figure, only glittered with disgust.
"You hate them, Harry Potter. Do you deny it?"
There was no response.
Voldemort chuckled.
"I thought not." The tall man sauntered lazily toward the fallen boy who would not meet his gaze.
"We are not so different, Harry Potter. I too grew up in the company of muggles. I despised them with every fiber in my being," Even now Voldemort's voice was bitter with hatred, yet he paused, deliberately refraining from including the more personal aspects of his childhood. It would not do to offer more then was necessary.
"You denied my offer at the tender age of eleven, Dumbledore had brainwashed you, no doubt. Yet, all is not lost. My offer still stands – united, we could yield power greater then any seen before. Your friends and their families could be spared, you could choose who would live or die.
And should you refuse? I would destroy all that remains of your family – one by one. All those you hold dear would be eliminated. Tell me, Harry Potter, is love really worth it?"
And with one final sneer at the form crouched below him, Voldemort turned to the door.
And as the wooden entrance shut behind him, he imagined he heard a soft voice float from behind the door – yet surely this was impossible, for the Silencing Wards had not been removed. Casting the notion aside, he swept through the corridor for the staircase to deal with his double agent, attempting to ignore the words, which echoed quietly in the caverns of his mind:
"You're wrong."
I have to get out of here.
It was the only thought that registered in Harry's mind as he glanced wearily up at the door from which Voldemort had departed.
Despite his best efforts, he was unable to stop shaking. It was not the Dark Lord's presence which caused such a reaction – he found that he no longer truly feared the man as he had when he was younger – but the memories he had been forced to relive.
Oh, he had seen the last moments of Sirius' life endlessly in his nightmares, it was a horror he relived close to every night after the incident in the Department of Mysteries.
Yet somehow, this was different. This was too real, too vivid. It was as though he had been through it once more, had seen his godfather falling, had known he was going to fall, and had done nothing to stop it.
And then Voldemort had taken advantage of his silence, had spoken of things said before. It should have been no different from the first time he had heard it: easy to ignore, easy to deny.
But it was the discussion of his friends that had turned his head.
Could they really be saved? Could Hermione, Ron and the Weasleys, Lupin – all those who meant something to him be spared from death if only he joined Voldemort? Although a part of his mind screamed that the thought was ludicrous, another part found sense in the words.
No. No, no, no!
Panic was quickly rising in Harry's heart – he had to leave, had to leave before he made a decision he would regret. It was no use hoping the Order would find him, only Snape knew of his whereabouts, and after cracking his head open against a stone wall, Harry was less inclined to believe that the professor would be willing to help him.
He had to do this on his own.
Harry stood very slowly, his scar still searing with pain from having been so near to Voldemort. Waiting patiently for the stars to clear from his vision, he moved toward the door and turned the knob.
It was unlocked.
Harry froze. This was too easy, Voldemort wouldn't just leave him in a room uncontained. Surely there was some alarm that would go off if he left, or perhaps he would be struck down dead in the attempt.
Feeling as though it was worth the risk, Harry opened the door and stepped through.
"My lord." Severus Snape dropped to the floor, kneeling before Voldemort.
"Severus," Voldemort drawled, waiting some moments before uttering, "Rise."
Snape rose, though he was careful to remain lower then Voldemort – to stand equal would be considered insolent, and would be punished. So too, he gazed not into the Dark Lord's eyes, but down at his own boots.
"You called, my lord?"
"So I did, Severus," The Dark Lord's lips curled into a disgusting smirk before he continued, "Tell me, is Dumbledore aware of Potter's absence yet?"
"He is, my lord." Severus felt himself tense, as he always would when these discussions arose. Every word had to be judged with caution – he could not say too much or too little. Lies were avoided unless fully necessary.
"How?" The man's crimson eyes narrowed slightly, his impatience grew.
Immediately Severus wiped his mind blank of all emotion, concentrating only on his words.
"I do not know, my lord. Dumbledore is particularly tight lipped about the protections he has undoubtedly placed upon Potter's place of residence. I would presume that a ward of some sort was activated when Potter left the house."
"Look me in the eye, Severus."
Snape raised his dark gaze to meet Voldemort's.
A few tense moments swam by, Severus could feel his mind being searched, yet concentrated only upon the words he had spoken, shutting down all other emotions, until –
"Very well. I knew that the old fool would learn of it eventually, this merely quickens the process. It is of no concern, my plans will not be thwarted by a senile mudblood lover."
Severus, who had been restraining himself from breathing a sigh of relief, remained silent.
"You are dismissed, Severus. Fetch Wormtail, I will need him to keep watch over Potter while I attend to...other business." Voldemort's eyes glittered dangerously.
"Of course, my lord." Kneeling once more, Severus paused before rising from his knees, and sweeping from the room.
Peter Pettigrew had seated himself in an old dining room off to the side of the main hall of Riddle Manor. He was required to remain on site at all times, never exiting from the mansion for several reasons. One reason was that Voldemort had long since deemed Wormtail as his personal servant, and he remained to cater to the Dark Lord's every whim, and to deal with Death Eaters who wished an audience with Voldemort. Needless to say, these conferences were few and far between.
The second reason, and the source for all his current thoughts and worries, was his new status as the Riddle Manor Secret-Keeper. Voldemort had taken a great deal of pride when he had come up with the idea of using the Fidelius Charm, and more particularly in using Peter as the Secret-Keeper. He seemed to think it quite clever to use Dumbledore's own ideas against him.
But Peter did not think it clever, (Not that he dared announce this in Voldemort's presence, of course) nor did he take any pride in his role. All it brought him were memories of James and Lily, of what he had done so many years ago.
Peter had loved his friends, had loved James as a brother. James had always been protective of him, for Peter was the weakest of the group. He was not proud of betraying them, and not a day went by that he did not think of the friends he had had.
But it had been his own choice to join Voldemort, and at the time it had seemed perfectly logical. It was clear to him that Voldemort would win the war, that there was no use in fighting him. And so he had joined him, joined in hopes that he would save his own life, and that, perhaps, he could convince Voldemort to steer away from the lives of his own friends.
And then the Prophecy had been made. And as the Potters became Voldemort's number one target, the Dark Lord knew exactly who could aid him.
Peter became a spy, and while he felt a pang of guilt in betraying the trust of his friends and of Dumbledore, he remained convinced that he could do something – anything, to save the situation.
He had been wrong, of course. And when the choice had come in dying or betraying his friends, Peter's courage had faltered.
The Potters had been killed.
And now, Sirius was gone too.
He buried his head in his hands. He had never meant for this – for any of this – to happen. But as anyone can admit, lies become easier the more you tell them, and Peter's personality had gone steadily downhill, to the point where he had framed Sirius for the death of the Potters in order to save his own life.
But the idea that a person he had known his entire life had slipped away, and he hadn't even realized it. That was frightening – and it scared Peter to death.
"The Dark Lord calls, Pettigrew. You're to go and guard Potter." Severus Snape's voice came out of nowhere, and Peter jumped, emitting an instinctive squeak of terror. By the time he had removed his hands from their position shielding his face, the Potions Master was gone.
Sighing, he rose to his feet, trembling all the while, and went to guard the son of the friend he had betrayed.
Harry couldn't believe his luck – he was out of the doorway and there was nothing but silence. Still, he moved soundlessly with years of experience from sneaking around the Dursley household to steal food.
He reached the end of the corridor, and, very cautiously, craned his head around the corner, peering down the staircase, his stomach dropping at the sight that met his eyes.
There, seated at the bottom of the staircase with his back facing Harry, was Wormtail.
Harry did not bother to stop and think, his mind was afloat with panic, the only thought that registered was that he had to leave.
Silently, he crept downward, one step at a time.
He was getting closer...
Wormtail was not far from reach, if he could just ambush him...
A stair creaked beneath him, and Wormtail wheeled around.
Harry lunged, careful not to make the mistake of attacking with his wrists again. He leapt downward toward the older man, throwing his shoulder into his chest, sending the two of them sprawling to the ground.
Peter squeaked incessantly, a panicked look evident in his watery eyes. Out of shock, he dropped his wand.
Harry didn't wait to pummel the man. Reaching for the wand, he clasped his fist around it and struggled to his feet, racing down the corridor toward the door with every ounce of speed he possessed.
He flung the door open, his heart soaring.
He was free! He had done it! He was so elated that he almost didn't notice the bone-chilling cold that permeated through him.
And the horde of Dementors glided slowly forward.
After Note: As much as I hate to end it on that note, my time on the computer is running short, and I promised to get this up early. Because I hate cliffhangers as much as the next person, I'll post the next chapter up ASAP. Thanks for reading!