Disclaimer: Nope. Don't own a thing.
A/N: I wrote this right after the last one. It was much harder to write and actually had to be revised about a half dozen times. It may or may not work, but here it is. Well, okay, then I went in and wrote some others so that it wasn't right then. I needed to lead up to this a bit more. This was pretty tricky to write, overall.
Sadly, I think this story's started to get out of hand in its own way. I never meant it to be as long as all this, but now new bits just keep adding on. Tonight, I started the next three sections pretty much simultaneously. I stared too far in the future…about ten years too far, then decided I didn't like it, then I went back nine years, and then I went back to right at the end of the section after this one. Argh. Anyway, if the quality seems to go down, it's because it has. This is getting really hard to write the way I want it to be. Considering that the first time I wrote this whole thing, it was only three sections long… I might just post that version later…
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Title: Enemy's Promise
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He spits a mouthful of blood on the stones. Then he smiles.
His damn eyes glare up at me. They are not pleading like they should be.
Nothing works right with him…he should be pleading with me, begging for death…
'Perhaps you should practice curses in your spare time, Tommy. They're feeling rather weak lately.'
His words echo in my head, filling me with hate. "Crucio," I say again.
He writhes, involuntarily responding to the contractions in his muscles. He cannot stop the way his body reacts to the pain, and I watch with a cold smile.
It is irritating that he does not scream.
He did the first time…screamed wildly, thrashing, screaming, whimpering…but never begging or giving in…
And then the second time he did not make a sound above a groan. Never again did he scream…
I lift the curse.
'Hate has gotten you nowhere. Look at yourself. A caricature of humanity…when you could have been a hero. You could have been great.'
I cast another curse. He curls into a ball as a red slash appears, lancing down his arm. Soon, I will turn him over to the others…
When the curse ends he pushes himself up on his bleeding arms. His eyes are on me again. I want to put them out…I did, on one occasions…but they are always healed…it would be of no interest to me if he could not be put together again before I ripped him apart…
One day, he will break…
'Still with you, Tom. I'm not going anywhere yet.'
Not today. His eyes are on me.
I should see hate.
'You can't make me do anything I don't want to. You can't force me to be what I am not.'
I don't see hate.
Love. Love in those damn green eyes. He is thinking of something else…his parents, perhaps. Stupid, ridiculous parents that managed what none others before could. They saved their son…saved him from instant death. Saved him for something more…more pain.
Instead, he is here, in my lair. Torture is his life now…I have made sure of that…
I will prove to them all that this boy cannot defeat me.
He is so weak already. And yet his words still echo…
'My parents died for me, Tom. Your mother died for you, Tom. And yet you throw it all away… Who is to say that I cannot die for those I love? Who is to say that it will not change the world? You?'
"Have your fun with him," I direct, stepping back. The boy won't stop looking at me. It is as if he expects something from me…Death is what he will get, when I am finished playing with him.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
My father left my mother when he found out she was a witch. That muggle left my mother, left me after she died while giving me life.
A pathetic muggle.
I killed him so easily. Just blasted his life out of him. I don't think he had a soul…
I killed his parents, my grandparents, as well. They knew about my mother. And yet they let him get rid of me. Let him abandon me…
I hated him. Muggles.
Filth.
Even worse than him, though, is death.
Death is what forced me to live in an orphanage. I grew up beaten, starved, alone…
My mother's death did that. Death.
Hogwarts was a home to me for many years.
A place where I could find power.
The Chamber of Secrets was one my favorite haunts during my schooling. I learned of it rather easily, and the basilisk was quite happy to speak with me. And do my bidding…
It is too bad only one died, before Albus began his annoying watch…
He suspected.
And yet…I'm sure he knew that I had to live in an orphanage. I'm sure he knew of the abuse… And yet, he did nothing about that…
Muggle-loving fool.
Blinded by his love for a people that are not his own. Like they are sweet pets or something…
They have a bite that is hidden by their bark. They are dangerous, petty, ignorant.
Foolish. It is foolish to let them and the weak wizards and witches they produce into our world. They will ruin it…
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
He lies in a steadily-growing smear of blood. His clothes are gone…shredded by one too many cutting or burning curses…
I smile. Sneer, perhaps… He looks confused by my smile. He does not know that I'm smiling at death. Not at him…
But his green eyes swim with confusion at my superior smile…
He is not so noble now…
Noble…when did I think of him that way? He is my enemy, the brat of a boy that stopped my work for thirteen years. The thorn in my side that has refused to die…not that I will let him, now…
It is too much fun to play with him…
He cannot escape me. I can rape his mind with ease, no matter where he is and no matter where I am. Anything he knows I know.
It is too bad he refuses to join the pathetic Order of the Phoenix. He purposefully hides from its members. Refuses to let me know any more than he did before I pulled our connection tight.
He is not moving…perhaps he is…no, he is breathing…good…
"Send him back," I order. A few death eaters move forward to do my bidding. I watch them gather up the pitiful heap of flesh that somehow still is a living, breathing, being. "Leave him in the forest," I add. If the beasts devour him, I will laugh. I can just imagine them tearing apart the brat, ripping his flesh from his bones…
Perhaps that is how I will end it, I muse. Perhaps I will transform myself into some creature and eat my enemy. Swallow him in pieces…
'You are too afraid of what it could mean. Killing me…what would that mean to you, Tom? You would be one step closer to your goal, to getting whatever you want…but what do you want, Tom?'
The brat is a fool.
Of course I know what I want.
(…Then why don't I kill him…)
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
I shove my consciousness into Potter's head. He resists, but it is simple to just step around the strong walls he puts up and lock myself inside his head.
He cannot push me out when I am in the center of his mind.
I see everything he sees. I sit in his mind and ride with him through his day. Gauging his strength, his mood.
I don't do it often.
I find myself almost understanding him when I stay too long…
It is disconcerting that his thoughts tell me that he understands me…
And when I find those thoughts, it almost frightens me to see just how accurate they are…
He cannot understand me though. How could he?
'We are both orphans, Tom. You, because of your father, I , because of you. We are not so different, Tom. Can you not see that? Is it why you must torture me? Surely you cannot hate yourself that much…'
I decide to send him on a little trip down memory lane. His body falls to the ground even as I force him back to his childhood…
His aunt, Aunt Petunia, he calls her, takes a swing at him with a frying pan. Still hot from the muggle oven it rested upon.
He ducks, fleeing the danger, and she catches him on the backswing. A glancing blow, to be sure, but he staggers and falls, crawling away.
She is shouting about something petty. Burned eggs…something like that…
I laugh as the little boy in the memory cringes and escapes, running…right into the arms of his waiting torturers.
This is one of my favorite days to play out. One of the worst days in the brat's childhood, I believe.
He tells me that this is nothing. He says the day I murdered that Diggory boy was worse. That when his precious mutt Godfather died, it was worse.
But this is much more fun.
The other boys take turns holding him down while another punches him.
The skinny little boy tries to fight back, kicking and struggling. His ridiculous glasses are gone, knocked off his face long ago.
His nose is bleeding. His lip is cut, and I can tell there will be bruises on his face when this is over.
I smile, watching it.
The boy just watches silently, trapped in his head. Every now and then he speaks to me in an annoyingly nonchalant voice…
'Perhaps this should end now, Tom. People are beginning to wonder why I'm just lying on my back in the middle of the second-floor corridor.'
I ignore him. I watch more of his childhood. Watch him perform his first accidental magic. A rather powerful display, actually…
And yet he does not desire power…he is weak…
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
I laugh as I give the pull that will take the boy back with me. The stupid werewolf has looked away, at some stupid students squabbling. He will not notice until it is too late.
It is not as if the boy can say a word.
I tear him straight out of Hogwarts. It is probably the most painful part of his tortures. Because no one can apparate out of Hogwarts, I am told.
But I force him to. The wards try to keep him. I am stronger, and I take him.
I can feel vaguely the tugging that must be like metal hooks in his skin to him. It makes me smile to know that his haven works against him so easily.
'Perhaps you should hire a maid, Tom. At least a house elf—I know one that would work for pay… Ever since you came into his life, he's been happier…liberated. These cobwebs really have to go, Tom.'
I put him under a curse or other before he can say much. He is always talking, running that ridiculous mouth and saying ridiculous things.
It is odd that they should bother me so much…
'You're not half as bad as my Potions Professor…he makes me test my own potions. That's torture you'll never top.'
If only the brat knew that one of his torturers were that very man…
And Severus is very good with Crucio. The boy always manages to infuriate the man. It is rather amusing to watch…
I had suspected that perhaps Severus was turning, perhaps even already turned and spying on me. But there is no way that the man could take so much pleasure in making the boy writhe and groan if he cared about the boy at all. If he had any wish for the light side to win, he would not torture the boy so eagerly.
'You must be the ugliest of the lot. Afraid to show yourself…or are you afraid that when you are seen, when people know who you are, that you will have to atone for your crimes?'
His comments make some of my followers nervous. Some whisper amongst themselves.
Perhaps that is why he does it…to irritate me and cause unrest in my followers.
But…they always see him at the end. I win. He never does…
'So you take over. And then what? Will you move on to persecuting those that aren't pureblood six generations back? When you yourself are half-blood, like me? Does it bother your death eaters that your father was a muggle. A terrible muggle, even worse…'
One of these days I will kill him. I will make him scream once before he dies.
And then I will take over.
And I will show the world just what I am capable of.
(The boy has already shown the world…he has already proven himself.)
Somewhere, the brat is in the forest. Wild animals will circle but undoubtedly stay away from the dying body. They will not take it…
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"Master, there is something—" Lucius says, cringing at my feet. He looks nervous, afraid. As well he should be.
"Come," I say condescendingly. "Surely you can still speak?"
"The boy—" Lucius starts. I raise an eyebrow.
"Yes?" I push. The idiot will have to be punished for his inability to finish a sentence. Idiot.
"We left him as you asked…but the others are uneasy about it."
"Why?" I ask. What possibly could have happened?
"Unicorns," he spits out. "Unicorns came again. They—they drove us away from the boy…we were forced to leave by unicorns. The men see it as a sign."
"You were forced away from a dying boy by a few unicorns?" I ask. My fingers itch to curse him. Stupid sheep, cowering at my feet.
"There were several dozen, perhaps over one hundred," he admits.
"You should not lie to me," I say. "I know there are not that many unicorns in that forest."
"They—I think perhaps the boy is calling them somehow," Lucius tells me. "They come quickly…it is as if they appear in the forest and then they charge us. We killed one this time, but MacNair was killed by his spell as well…"
"There is really not that much I expect from you," I say softly. "A bunch of innocent little unicorns should not be a worry."
I smile while he writhes. He is nothing compared to the boy, but he will do until I have him back…
I have promised the boy death, after all…
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A/N: Voldemort's a pretty sick guy, I think. But it's based on his hate of the world and how his attempts at immortality have warped him. It's based in something, at least. I'm not sure how in-character for Voldemort this is, since you don't really have much idea of what he's like. But this is what happened when I tried to imagine his POV. The next is just as tricky as this one was…maybe even more so.
Please Review! --Miss Laine