Dark Temptations

A/N: You know, I forgot that Voldemort even existed until I read this other fic. And then I still didn't know who he was until I read another. And then realization dawned upon me as I have been placidly ignoring him.

Lythtis: Hehe, sorry Voldie! Please don't hex me to oblivion, I prefer to go there by train thankyouverymuch. Or maybe by a cruise-ship instead. . . choices, choices, so many choices.

Voldie: Oh, shut up...

Disclaimer: I'm having a dejavu about this, just to let you know. I have neither claim nor ownership over anything that J.K. has released to the public, neither over anything incriminating revealed (kidding!) by Warner Bros. Inc. All I own are the first two books, the first two movies, and the first two words meaning the title. And that's about it. . .I think.

Without further a-do, I present to you Chapter 13 of this never-ending jig.


Chapter 13- Rewind my Time


The stone building had been abandoned ages ago.

It was made of solid black granite, tall, poorly lit, cobwebs hanging from every ceiling corner to the next if not aimlessly floating around on air and still showing no signs of crumbling. The smell inside wasn't quite as putrid as most would expect at first glance, but not as pleasant as the sickly sweet-smelling feminine perfumes or colognes. The furniture was covered in dust, easily making the slightest touch or imprint on anything immediately visible, including the footprints on the carpet.

In short, a place only Voldemort could consider personally cozy.

A pearl-gray cat was striding elegantly under the moonlight on the windowsill, watching the pale shape residing in the house with wary hazel eyes. It stopped, seating itself comfortably onto the wood, though its muscles still tense if the need to bolt should arise. And indeed, it would soon come.

Voldemort was sitting in front of an empty fire-place, having not bothered to light the bloody thing It wouldn't, no, couldn't warm him any more than his own skin. The outside might even turn into the same heat resembling when a cake is stuck in an oven, on the inside he would remain a storming blizzard, eternally cold both emotionally and spiritually. The only fire to even twinge him with any kind of warmth would be the fire of war, of chaos, of death itself. And he waited patiently for the day he could light that particular fire, patiently as a predator waits for its prey.

What few candles were lit flickered and quivered as a thick and near-solid shadow past. It reeked purely of blood and decay, the only thing seeming out of place was the fact it wasn't maggot-infested, as the odor would proclaim.

"Master", it hissed, the sound coming from nowhere and everywhere all at once, "the seed has been planted within the boy."

Voldemort, if he had heard, didn't acknowledge the fact of having done so. His frigid, lifeless eyes slowly turned towards the darkness wavering into shape and suddenly back into what it first had appeared to be. A shadow. "And?"

It quavered, the unstaring gaze holding it in its power, making it and the air within the secluded room shiver with slight unease. "Beg pardon, milord," the shadow took on a solid form, one that cast an illusion of a middle-aged man with brown hair slowly migrating north, "I do not quite understand-"

"Fool!" he suddenly thundered, his eyes flashing dangerously, his cloak billowing out from him as he jumped to his feet, causing both dust and webs to rise up and fly restlessly around the room. Random fragile items within the room began shattering in a chain reaction, the fragments flying dangerously close to the third occupant within the room.

The cat on the sill arched its back, hissing with sudden rebuke, taking this queue to bolt, and easily jumping off and into the backyard, landing silently and pacing with speed into the alley around back.

"Imbecile!" Voldemort raised his hand and struck the form down onto the wooden floor, more dust stirring with the sudden disruption, its eyes open in shock, though it seemed unfazed by the blow. "What about Dante and Aidan?"

'He' looked up, his eyes shielding the smoldering he felt inside, the loathing for this pathetic creation he was forced to worship as if he alone were god. The only part in a person's life 'milord' played was whether or not they would meet their demise earlier than expected. Kneeling on one knee, he bent his head and said in a faltering tone, "Milord, Dante didn't have such success. But Aidan is still within Hogwarts to keep an eye on things."

Voldemort raised his hand as if to strike 'him' yet again, but decided against it. Instead he turned on his heel, striding over to the window where the cat had rested moments before. "Very well," he murmured, looking for any kind of good in their failure to complete such a simple task. "I hope you know you have alarmed the hunters," he said louder, his voice rasping on air, the sound like a crumbling cookie, but a dangerous blade hidden within.

"From what you have told me, they will in turn warn the prince and, but only if, other hunters are near and able to help." Voldemort's eyes clouded into a poisonous cerise, the red contrasting horribly with his paleness. He turned once again to look down upon his 'follower'. "You can only hope that it will quickly grow within him," he whispered, a strangely unsure tone embedded within his typical growling. "But just in case, let's send them a welcoming gift." His face split into a horrid grim smile, no trace of humor but over-pouring malice.

Raising his hand towards his unaware servant, he let the two words so familiar to him even before hie graduated glide easily onto his tongue and passing through his lifeless lips. The command sending a green spark springing forth from his hidden wand to surround and envelop the undead kneeling in front of him.

Regretfully, it truly didn't kill a vampire, but rather sent them into a coma-like stage and stripped them of their abilities, their rotten and withering body becoming apparent, showing them to be nothing more but a walking corpse with a will. But even those wills, just as the living, were easy to take under control.

Looking at the decaying body in front of him, he wrinkled what little he had for a nose and grunted in disgust. "Elli!" he called, a hooded figure immediately appearing at his side. "What do you think we should do with him?"

Underneath the hood she smiled, glad that she had learned how to conceal her other half and make it pass out on command. "He will find cause soon enough," she said, tilting her head to the side as if regarding the creature that continued to wither with each passing moment, "but allow me to remove him. His odor is still quite unbearable."

Reaching into the folds of her cloak, her red-and-gold uniform showing only for a moment before the material fell back into place, she muttered 'Wingardium Leviosa', and easily directed it towards the window. Elli was tempted to just drop him on whatever was out there and hope that it was the fence, but instead she walked over and pointed towards the little mound of earth that had been upturned earlier that day.

Satisfied that no one would stumble across it, she turned back towards Voldemort, who was regarding her with unwavering eyes. "Oh, don't worry so much," she cooed, skipping over and hugging him gently. "I'm sorry I didn't get him the first time," Elli said, her lower lip slightly pouting, "but this time it is absolutely flawless."

Voldemort was immobile as she continued to hold him close like a mother would an extremely tall child. She could do little more than stand on her toes to place her arms comfortably around his shoulders. "I trust you to know what you are doing", his grating voice said. "I still have a personal score to settle with Dumbledore."

"Soon enough," she whispered as she planted a kiss on his cheek, "soon enough we will watch as Dumbledore will fall to ruin, and finally-" she pulled her hood off to reveal mousy features with short-cropped brown hair and chilling hazel eyes, "Harry Potter will be no more. And-" she once again reached into the folds of her robe, bringing forth a slightly terrified-looking toad, "my faithful little Ven will also be able to help."


Lolita was wearing a hole into the carpet in the library.

She continuously paced back and forth, back and forth, Madame Pince having turned away to look somewhere else, for her mere pacing was giving her a headache.

"Where is Draco?" she hissed through gritted teeth, though her face betrayed no annoyance that raged within her. Repeating her steps from the beginning once again for the umpteenth time. "He should have been here by now."

She hadn't noticed Neville stepping out of the closet at the back of the library, a dazed and confused look on his face. Not until she ran directly into him and they both fell into a chaotic heap on the floor, one struggling and fighting, the other doing their best to try and get their mind caught up to the moment.

"Get off me!" Lolita yelled, kicking and clawing at poor Neville, who truly didn't know what was happening.

Luckily she missed his face as her hands continuously found themselves knotted in his robes. "Lolita?" he asked in pure amazement, not understanding what she was doing as they both struggled to get to their feet. His mind was finally with him in the present. "What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing," she muttered, dusting off her robes and glaring at the students that had been muttering behind them.

"What is going on?" Madame Pince came around one of the many bookshelves, her eyes accusing and demanding an honest answer.

"I tripped," Neville replied before Lolita had a chance to intervene and make up some fib. "I had been lost in thought and then I tripped and fell on Lolita."

Madame turned to Lolita and looked at her pointedly. "Anything else to add?" her words were clipped, obviously awaiting something completely different from her side of the story.

"No miss," she slightly curtsied, smiling pleasantly but her voice betrayed her vexation.

Madame Pince glared at both of them one last time, looking to make sure no books had been disrupted or torn as they had been rolling on the floor, easily possible for them to bump into shelves and knock them down. "Very well, but I want no more, or else you're suspended from this part of the school. Understood?"

They both grumbled a "Yes, miss" in unison, Lolita sticking her tongue out once she had turned around. "And Ms. Dubrinsky?"

'Crap,' Lolita thought, cursing her short-temper. "Yes, miss?"

"Stop pacing in my library."

'Yeah right, you're library. As if you bought it.' Nonetheless, she stayed respectful as her mother had taught her and replied simply "Yes, miss."

"I'm sorry", Neville mumbled once the librarian was gone, "I really didn't mean to bump into you."

She turned around, looking him up and down, studying his face. He was a friend, so she would keep her mind firmly shut from his. She knew how to control them, simple as that, but she respected their privacy and had trained her thoughts not to wander around. "It's okay, really. It was partially my fault for not seeing you."

"That's okay."

A strange silent fell over them as they continued to stand and look at each other, or down at their feet. Suddenly, Neville's head shot up and he glanced at Lolita, wondering if he could tell her. 'She probably wouldn't judge me', he thought, hoping there was a possibility he could confide in her. 'She wouldn't turn me away, right?' Clearing his throat, he caught her attention and she looked at him questioningly.

"Yes?"

Before the breath left his lips, a strong, violent grasp had him by the back of his head, pulling his muddy-brown hair back in a tight fist.

"Neville," Dean spat his name as if a curse, not loosening his grip.

Neville was whimpering in pain, his eyes watering as he tried to free himself from Dean's hold. "Please, let go," he begged, trying to pry his fingers off only to be tugged back further, making him fall to his knees.

"Dean! Why are you doing that to him?" Lolita demanded, not wanting to ask 'what' he was doing, it was obvious he was trying to hurt the poor boy. "Stop it!" She looked around to make sure the old bat wasn't around before her voice raised too high.

"Why am I doing this?" he looked at her as if she had grown crows from her hair. "Ask him why he did what he did to me!"

"Let him go, Dean", her voice trembled with the effort to remain in control. "He didn't do anything to you. Please just let him go."

"Oh really?" Dean's eyes narrowed dangerously, seeing her as an equal predator and not as a former friend. "Did you hear that, Neville? She thinks you didn't do anything."

Neville only cowered, tears threatening to spill.

"If you don't tell her," he rounded on Lolita, staring her in the eyes, resolving not to touch her, yet make her understand what it exactly was that Neville had done. "You weren't there when it happened," he began warily, loosening his hand, "but when we were up in the house bathr-"

"Dean?" she asked, stepping closer though still cautious. "Dean, what's wrong?"

Dean started having a horrible coughing fit, his face starting to turn from his usual pale rosiness to a cerulean blue, then a fiery red, ending in a sickly gray. He had let Neville's hair go, who had stood and ran in direction exit towards the Hospital Wing, rubbing his head all the while.

"Dean?!" Lolita was starting to get scared, allowing her mind to open to his. He was choking. "Dean, snap out of it!" 'But he hadn't eaten anything,' she reasoned, looking around, 'was he choking on air?' That could be a possibility.

Before she had a chance to properly breathe in anything, Madame Pince had of course returned, wanting to find the source of the ruckus being caused in her usually peaceful library. "Mr. Thomas?" she asked, her face panic-stricken.

Lolita had slowly begun to massage his chest and neck, kneeling so his head rested in her lap, his body trembling with the effort of trying to breathe properly. "C'mon Dean," she silently pleaded, having enjoyed the boy's odd company, no matter how short it had been. She had never felt this way before, this fear of losing a friend striking her deep, as if he himself had hit her. "Breathe, damn it. Breathe!"

"Go get Madame Pomfrey!" she commanded a third-year who had been watching, fascination written across his face as he had never seen anyone suffer before. He had obviously been enjoying the show. "What are you waiting for? An invitation?" she said, her own voice rising a few octaves as her own worries started to show.

He obliged to her demand, making haste as he went hither.

Dean's breathing had slowed down, his face taking on its normal shading, but his life was flickering. "Dean!" Lolita heard a feeble croak come from his chest. She lunged forward in a heartbeat nearly crushing the lump that had secretly been under Dean's shirt all along. Reaching under his shirt with her other hand, she brought forth a butt-ugly toad, fat and still moist, croaking its demise probably.

Lolita had half a nerve to crush the thing and drop it into her next pot during potions, not killing it, just crippling its legs so it would live during the brewing, hot water surrounding it. Her gaze on the amphibian was intent, until something shifted on her lap. Dean's breathing had regulated and was quickening to it's usual pace, but his skin was still deciding if it should go healthy or stay sick. "Dean," she sighed in relief, hearing the rushed footsteps of. . . more than two people. Turning around, she saw the third-year, Seamus, Hermione, and-

'Time for disappearing-act, number four', she thought, immediately shifting and flying away before Savannah caught proper sight of her.

Dean's head with a hard 'thump' on the carpet, which was not soft anymore, thanks to Lolita's continuous pacing. He groaned in pain just as the four stopped next to him, Seamus walking around to him on the other side while Hermione hovered along the edge of the little crowd gathered. "I don't understand," Savannah muttered to herself as she prodded him in random places, "why are you even out of the Hospital Wing?"


Draco.

Draco, Draco, dearest Draco. That name would not leave Harry's head as he made his way back to Gryffindor tower, passing one portrait after another, though lost so much in thought he hadn't noticed the points and stares he was receiving. Girls and elder witches alike were giggling and blushing as he passed, the male paintings not quite as excited to see him in such a state.

A throbbing sensation began to slowly well within his chest. A humming, murmuring and whispering to him, calling him appeared in the back of his mind, growing as he continued down the deserted corridor that was rarely used. He looked around his shoulder, making sure no one was behind him, then occupied himself with trying to remember who Draco was. The image of an elegant blonde who seemed to have been graced with the features of a languid dancer shimmied through his thoughts, ranging in and out of focus.

Draco, Draco, Draco my heart. It always ended with some kind of sweet little thought concluding the third time the name was repeated. Dearest, love, sweet. But what clung to him was that submerged knowledge of him being his. Draco, mine alone.

His head pounded with the effort it took to try and focus on him and him alone. Who was Draco? Why did he sound so familiar? Look so familiar? Taste. . .?

His hand flew to his lips, gently brushing against his bottom lip, thinking hard and desperately. He swore he could almost touch that forbidden and concealed thought that wouldn't be removed from his mind. It hurt and his breathing became irregular, but he had to know. Harry warded off the cold, willing himself to grasp what was destined to be out of his reach. 'Please', tears were forming, holding onto his lashes every time he closed his eyes, 'I have to remember.' He touched what was concealed from him, images, thoughts, feelings all let loose on him in one instant, as if he had busted a bubble of dreams and hopes; his dreams and hopes.

Harry fell to the ground, withheld tears freely streaming down his cheeks, immense pain immediately weighting gravity down upon him a tenfold than normally. No pictures were in this part of the secret passageway, no pictures would be able to go and tell others to come and help him. No pictures to tell anyone he was here. The sudden torture reverberated within his chest, attempting to squeeze his throat closed so no air could ever pass through again. His mind seemed to become frozen in a solid thought, Draco Malfoy.

The connection in his mind hadn't quite reached his reaction nerves, the information processing too slowly under this struggle for air and feeling into his body again. He writhed and squirmed on the cold floor, the towel around his waist loosening and falling onto the stones underneath him. Gasping like a fish on land, his eyes became dilated and for one instant he saw Draco's face, clear as the sun on an early spring day, shining down upon the dew that had settled onto the grass blades. A moments' relief flooded over Harry, but then the corrupting shadows immediately sprung forth and claimed his consciousness.

He mumbled his name once, in a silent whispered attempt to call him to his side. What little air still surrounded and seemed available to him gratefully carried the message forth to the recipient, who mercifully wasn't too far away.


Draco.

It was a quiet, distant plea, but one that instantly caught Draco's attention at his futile attempt to find his mate. Fear had infested and now abided within him. "Harry?"

Lunch was near its ending as the sound of the students marching off into different directions increased in volume, their endless chatter mingling with one another, with the whisper that he had been searching for nearly half that day. But as he closed his eyes, Draco was able to catch that little distinct sound and instantly flew to the source.

"I have to find you", he growled. A quiet menace filled with dread and anxiety is the most dangerous kind of menace someone could find, so luckily he didn't meet anyone in the halls. "Please be all right." From where the little whisper had come from was behind the stone wall on the fourth floor, making him have to backtrack for a time until he found the right spot. Pictures almost instantly flourished into hushed gossip and spreading rumors at how Draco seemed to have appeared out of nowhere.

The images ran from one canvas to the next, almost like a historical game of 'muggle-telephone', which would have appeared funny if the situation weren't scaring him so much. He started talking to various paintings whose owners still had remained present in their frames, issuing various threats if none of them could tell them of a hidden door nearby to lead to the passageway behind them.

It didn't take long for Draco to find what he had been looking for, but mostly because the sudden vanishing of Harry's scent somehow seemed to have come into this secluded hallway and hung heavy in the air. Draco almost fainted with bliss as relief swept over him. Just as soon as that ease enveloped him, it just as quickly evaporated. He sent his mind out to find Harry, barely able to brush his thoughts and receiving no response. Draco's heart nearly stopped as he continued to fly through the corridor, all hope suddenly vanishing, the thirst of the killer within taking over as quickly and silently as he had seen little flickers of his face mingled with his scent. 'Focus', he pleaded with himself, not wanting to surrender all will to the darkness within, 'focus and find Harry. He needs me, my help. He needs Draco.'

The last thought cleared his mind from the hazy red fog that had been slowly creeping into his mind and blurring his sight. "Harry!" he called out into that seemingly endless hallway that was filled with his mate. He could almost convince himself this was Harry, only that his promise was missing. His eternal green with sprinkles of gold mixed within them. Nothing here even hinted the possibility of the color green being present.

Draco longed to his eyelids, his nose, his cheeks, his forehead, his lips. He ached for the feeling of his hands running through Harry's raven-black mane that seemed so thick and wild. He wanted to touch his skin, taste him, smell him, hold him. He wanted Harry and it was killing him on the inside.

"Harry!" he turned about himself, hearing only his echo reverberating from farther along and ringing off walls. "Harry!"

Draco.

It seemed that silent little breeze that came to him the first time had returned to taunt him yet again with his own name. But it was stronger this time, closer.

"Harry!"

I miss you.

"Harry, where are you?" his Malfoy pride battled viciously with his emotions, Draco wanting to cry but his eyes remaining dry. "Keep talking! Please, Harry!"

I want to see you.

"Harry!" Draco had to take to the air again, like an arrow he streaked through the concealed corridor, the sound getting louder. "I'm almost there! Just keep talking!"

I don't want to fight anymore.

He shivered with how distant his voice seemed to be getting, yet how close it sounded when his mind drifted off towards possibilities. "I don't want to fight either, Harry!" he called out, looking around to see if he was anywhere, hoping for any sign of him being present.

I love you.

"Harry!" the desperate cry escaped his throat without his permission, but he didn't care. It didn't matter, for nothing ever truly did once one realizes what really is, who really is the most important person for one. "Please Harry! Come back to me! Harry!"

Good-bye.

Those last two words struck him deep in his heart. The sound of his voice seemed to have come from nowhere and everywhere at once. "Harry. . .?" he whispered meekly, willing the dread, the fear of having lost him away, banning it to the very back of his core, his being, the beast inside trembling with tense anticipation. The alarm was feeding it unknown strength, and Draco immediately coursed forward.

"Harry!"

His words clenched themselves within Draco's soul. It cried and begged and raged for Harry, for his Harry. Harry, his and his alone. No one else could have him, would have him, not even death was permitted to court him.

I love you, good-bye. I love you, good-bye. I love you, good-bye.

An eternal echo he cherished and held close within him. "Damn it, Potter! Come back to me!" His eyes were blazing dangerously, power radiating from his chiseled features underneath his robe. Would anyone be present they might consider him one seriously pissed-off bogey.

I love you, good-bye.

'Harry was stronger than that', Draco swore to himself, having little restraint remaining on his tainted side, 'Harry can fight it off'.

I love you,

Draco finally caught the scent of Harry and it was stronger. He was getting closer, he knew he was getting closer, every fiber of him taut with anxiety. 'Harry.'

Good-bye.

"HARRY POTTER!"


A/N: This time it's not my fault! Honestly! . . . well, actually it is, because I didn't know how I should continue. Hehehe. Sorry about that. I have a feeling I should start saying my prayers, because I feel daggers in my back already. Dang, even when I don't mean to have a cliff-hanger, the stupid thing still appears. Fine, no snogging in this one, maybe next, I don't know. And did anyone catch the pathetic humour-attempts I tried to add in? I was just seriously bored... Anyhoo, toodles for now.

Lythtis