By tati1
Disclaimer: sorry, but no, I do not own Harry Potter. Which really bites.WARNING: This story is R for a REASON! It is NOT NC-17, as I have read much/much/ worse that was permitted, so I have abused nothing! Rated for violence, serious angst (later on), and rape. If you have a problem with it, go read something else because I didn't write it just to be safe. It's written because it's how and what I write. So buzz off. :
(and if my mean attitude offends, I do apologize but I'm sorta protective of my work.)
A/N: I've deleted rants to flamers (except to the one who was new to slash - I figured it was pretty upfront), but I'd like to put out there that BORG is a flamer who's really nasty. If anyone gets him/her/it please notify me. I want to take it up with because what he/she/it does is total harassment. Also, I have stopped taking anonymous reviews, since flamers never leave their e-mail or author addy. I apologize if I inconvenience anyone, but I'm tired of hearing from them. Oh, and there's another one - Quill - and the recent Dusty, all who have been deleted. (Note to Dusty: You're a hypocrite. You can't criticize me for cussing when you did it too. I am glad, however, that you like the fic, since I'm not all that thrilled with most of it. )
If I get another flame, I WILL report it to After I burn it. Several times. I like Snape.
Chapter 16 – TomLast time:
"Poor Dragon," Harry muttered, muffling his giggles in his sleeves. Fred and George had no such reserves and were rolling on the floor. Hermione was mimicking Harry in a vain attempt to be polite, and Neville was giggling helplessly, watching the door Malfoy had just fled through.
It took a long time for them to regain their breaths, and they parted for the night, feeling that maybe things wouldn't be quite so bad in the Yet To Come …
It was a Saturday, so Harry didn't expect anyone to be up and about, but he did take precautions on the off-chance that some Slytherin bully found him away from his own dorms. That was why, as he slid through the shadowy corridor into the Slytherin Commons, Harry saw the snake before it saw him.
It was a huge specimen, the largest Harry had ever seen. At least fifty feet long and five feet wide, the monstrous beast shone brilliantly in the torchlight as it swayed hypnotically before the fireplace, its sinuous head turned away from the small boy's startled gaze. Beside it, thrown into sharp relief by the flickering fire, stood an older youth, slightly messy black hair gleaming and beneath it, emerald eyes smiling in triumph as the boy who looked strangely like Harry possessively clutched a little black book and absently caressed his snake's beautiful emerald body with clear affection.
Terrified, Harry stepped further into the shadows, eager to make his escape, but that seemed to be the wrong move as the older boy's head snapped around and frowned in his direction.
"Come out," he ordered softly, his voice silky and deceptively friendly. Harry stayed where he was. He knew what that snake was. A Basilisk. Though how it got into Hogwarts of all places…
The teen's emerald eyes, so like Harry's own, narrowed with irritation. "I said come out." Harry shuddered at the power placed behind the simple order, instinctively recognizing it as dark arts. Unwilling, he crept forward, fighting the spell to no effect until he was finally halted a few feet from the boy, trembling as his body continued to act without his mind ordering it to. Idly, he wondered what curse had been placed upon him – it wasn't the Imperius; that would have made him dreamy. This was … being an observing puppet, with no control over his own actions, but knowing what he was doing all the same. This actually seemed worse than the Imperius … He wondered why it wasn't restricted as well.
Seeing Harry, the stranger looked startled before he managed to smooth his features into an amused smile.
"Well, well, well. What do we have here?" he murmured, circling the smaller boy with interest. "Do you know?" he asked abruptly, lifting Harry's chin with one long-fingered hand. Harry felt enough control being returned to him that he could speak, and he gave the boy a wary, curious glance.
"Know what?" he queried. The teenager laughed softly, and released his chin.
"Nothing," he said airily. He regarded the younger boy thoughtfully for a moment.
"My name is Tom," he finally said, and then nodded at the Basilisk. "This is Myrrhlameth, but you may call her Myrrh." His eyes narrowed in sudden doubt. "Speak to her." Harry's head obediently turned, despite his panicked attempts at disobeying, and he spoke.
"Um, hello Myrrh," he whispered, hoping desperately that she didn't turn to look at him. He wouldn't die of course—he was wearing his glasses—but being Petrified honestly didn't sound all that nice …
"Do not hurt him," said Tom to Myrrh sternly. The great snake bobbed its head into a nod and slithered around to look at Harry. Had the Gryffindor not been paralyzed by Tom's spell, he would have gasped. Slitted yellow eyes glared at him, but not cruelly, and … well, he wasn't dead. Bit of a shocker, that. Harry blinked. Myrrh blinked. Harry stared.
Tom, standing at Harry's shoulder, smirked in a manner that would have terribly frightened his look-alike had Harry seen it, before leaning down to murmur in Harry's ear, "Not many know that Basilisks can deactivate that glare of death, but then, no one can actually ask the Basilisk unless they are Parslemouths such as we are." He suddenly changed topics. "If I release you, will you run?"
Harry couldn't risk Tom letting Myrrh loose on the Slytherin House. He shook his head, and sighed in happy relief as control of his body was returned to him.
"Thank you," he murmured softly. Tom smiled at him. "M-may I ask a question?"
"Yes."
"Why didn't you ask if I would scream? That would bring people running faster." Tom shook his head.
"Honestly, aren't you a Slytherin?" He caught sight of the badge on Harry's robes and scowled. "Never mind. The Slytherin Commons are separated from the dorms by a Silencing Charm, so that if the House is in revelry down here, the ones trying to sleep can do so without the excess noise."
"Oh," said Harry nervously. He brushed a shaking hand across his cheek and accidentally moved his sweaty bangs a little to the left. He realized his mistake when Tom jumped.
"Who are you?" he snapped. Harry shrank back a bit.
"Harry Potter." Emerald eyes widened, and the taller boy stared at him in shock. Harry blinked nervously and tried to move a little further away as Tom suddenly smiled and reached for him.
Pale hands seized Harry's head, touching the little black book to Harry's temple as Tom hurriedly muttered a few lines of Latin, though Harry didn't know what he said. It suddenly didn't matter to him as Tom's magic swirled into a tangible form and crashed down on his tiny frame.
Harry screamed, twisting in agony as pain lanced through his scar in red-hot waves. Dimly, he saw Tom's green eyes glowing red, and his smile widening at the First Year's cries, which were growing louder. The Basilisk had slithered away, whispering to herself about roosters crowing soon, but Harry didn't hear. He heard only his own screams and Tom's voice rising in his steady chant of Latin, until finally his shrieks cut off, and Harry cried silently, unable to voice his agony as Tom held the arching black-haired child with unnatural strength, still smiling.
And then, as abruptly as it had started, the pain stopped, and Harry collapsed bonelessly to the floor as Tom stood over him. He didn't even have the energy to stiffen as Tom bent down kindly and ruffled his hair. Then the teen buried his fingers in the unruly locks and jerked the eleven-year-old's head back, so that Harry's pained emerald eyes met his own, which were swirling alternately with crimson and green, a dizzying effect.
Harry whimpered.
"You won't tell anyone what I just did to you; got it, brat?" Tom hissed. Harry noticed distractedly that the sixteen-or-so-year-old was speaking in Parsletongue, and he nodded, shivering in the aftereffects of whatever Tom had done to him. The grip in his hair released, and Tom watched dispassionately as Harry's skull thudded nastily against the floor and green eyes worked furiously to dispel the tears he'd been shedding since Tom had touched him. Nudging the younger boy thoughtfully with his foot, Tom grinned amusedly as his victim tensed.
"You will need an excuse for being in such bad condition," he mused. "After all, you'll faint soon, and someone has to find you…" He glanced at the fireplace and snapped his fingers. "Of course! You would obviously scream if you were alight … but how to get rid of the blood?" At his words, Harry finally realized what the trickling sensation from his scar was from, and he shivered. "Where's your wand?" asked Tom. "Thank you," he added, as he plucked the magical stick from Harry's offering hand. Tom smirked nastily. "I love that puppet spell," he muttered, and Harry was relieved when he was soon released from said spell as Tom stared down at him thoughtfully.
"Do you want to know what I did to you? That spell that laid you out was a binding spell, used in such a way that I, used to the form of a spirit, may employ either your body or my own, so that none will know of my presence until it is too late. When I can trust you, Harry, I will give you your body back." He sighed dramatically, but his eyes seemed far too satisfied. "Until then, I need an excuse for your not being up to anything today. My spell was draining on me, the caster, but for you it will be so much worse. Especially considering that I'll have to damage you in order to gain bed rest. Hold still, Harry." He raised the wand, and Harry held still, bound into obedience by that same dark magic spell once more.
"Incendio!"
Harry's world dissolved into fiery blackness.
Draco woke to screaming.
Startled, he jumped out of bed and dashed into the hallway, wand at the ready. All the other Slytherins had burst out as well, looking in various states of exhaustion, alertness, and confused fear. Now that he was up, Draco could hear the words in those screams:
"Get Madame Pomfrey! Get Madame Pomfrey! Oh my God, oh my God, oh my—" The shrieking abruptly cut off as a slap resounded in the Slytherin dungeons.
"Adelaide, get a hold of yourself!" snarled Marcus Flint, the Captain of the Slytherin Quidditch Team. Adelaide, a Second Year well-known for her early rising and calm disposition, punched him in the nose. There was an audible crunch and Flint staggered, whimpering, before she started sobbing again.
"Didn't you hear me?" she wailed. "Get Madame Ponfrey! He's dead!" That caught peoples' attention.
"Who?"
"Where?"
"How?"
"He died?"
"Who died?"
"SHUT UP!" she bellowed. "He's dead! Harry Potter is bloody lying dead in our common room! Get Madame Pomfrey!" Draco froze for a split second in horrified shock.
No, he moaned mentally, no…
"No!" he exclaimed, and disregarding the students, he barreled through them to finally reach the common room, where he paused fearfully. He didn't see Hary, and was preparing to fall in exhausted relief and dismiss Adelaide's claims when he saw a crumpled figure before the fireplace, robes still smoldering slightly. Rushing over and ignoring the Slytherings pushing in from the dorms, he knelt at Harry's side, crushing the flames with a pillow he'd snatched from one of the couches.
"Harry?" he asked breathlessly, ruthlessly pushing down his tears. "Harry?" There was no response. He whirled on the shocked Slytherin House. "Somebody get Severus! Get Dumbledore! Get Poppy! Well? Why aren't you moving?" he bellowed. "Move! NOW!"
Not many can resist the power of a Malfoy, though nearly all wish to. Even on his knees, a Malfoy will always command the utmost respect from all quarters, and Draco was no exception. He was therefore unsurprised when his commands were followed swiftly, as three students dashed out of the entryway. The rest made room (they had been nearly stepping on Harry) and awaited Draco's pleasure. He ignored them and looked back down at Harry, gently pulling his friend's shoulder so that he could see Harry's face. He choked down a gasp of horror at the blackened face, but sighed in relief as he placed his fingers under Harry's darkened nose. Adelaide had been wrong about one thing—Harry wasn't dead.
And Draco had to make sure he stayed that way.
A/N: Quite a plot twist, ne? I hope none of you are upset with it…
Sorry there was such a delay with this chapter, but I had end-of-the-year tests at school, as well as my first SATs. I was busy studying, and didn't have time for fanfics. My apologies. I may or may not be going on vacation this weekend. If I don't, then I'll update soon. If I do, then expect an update in about two weeks or so. I'll be updating FFAV very soon as well. Thank you to all the wonderful reviews!
--tati1
