A/N: Welcome! This is my story. Sorry if it is bad!
A small boy watched from his vantage point, hidden behind the frame of the doorway he was peeking through. He gasped, watching the conversation his father had ordered him out of the room for. He was being so loud! He was never like this, even when he was angry with Mother, and even then, the boy could hear every word from his room. Now, the imposing figure towered over the cowering man.
"You cannot find the Dark Lord, you say?" Came the crash of thunderous words. "You say you have no intention of going to the Ministry? You do not lie to me. I know your every thought!" With a growl likening him to the graceful, wild dogs he resembled, the man grasped his wand. "You do not betray the Dark Lord, and more importantly, you do not betray me." The malice in that one last word made the small boy close his eyes, knowing that nothing good could happen next.
"Crucio." Came the whisper. Not a whisper of fear, or weakness, for this man left all those feelings behind long ago, but a whisper of pure hate. Hate accumulated through a lifetime, and channeled through every action he made. Around the corner, tiny hands slipped under fair, blond hair, trying to block the hideous screams penetrating his ears.
Footfalls echoed through the suddenly silent house, the click of metal tipped boots against the cold stone of a manor. Boldly, with the recklessness of a boy spoiled, small feet stumbled over themselves, seeking reason in this great paternal figure. When finally, the boy caught up, he was ignored.
"Father?" Silence. "Daddy?" Annoyed silence. "Why did you hurt him?" A head turned slowly, shoulder length hair shifting to reveal menacing eyes.
"You saw me?" he steadily tore the words out, an unspoken threat, perceptible to all living things that have ever known hardship.
"It is bad to hurt. Mother says so. You said the Dark Lord was our friend, why would he want you to hurt?"
"You insolent child. I expressly forbade you from staying."
Back swung the hand, which had, so soon before caused a person so much suffering. Forward, it whipped, striking the child across the face, and sending him reeling into the wall. He cried out, his screams quickly subsiding into sobs at the threat of more fury from his father.
His face was cut and bleeding, from the rings on that man's hand. The crimson mingles with his tears, as he forced himself to look up. His eyes connected with hers, deep, rippling pools of ash.
And, far away, many years later, Hermione Granger woke with a start, still haunted by those pleading eyes.
A small boy watched from his vantage point, hidden behind the frame of the doorway he was peeking through. He gasped, watching the conversation his father had ordered him out of the room for. He was being so loud! He was never like this, even when he was angry with Mother, and even then, the boy could hear every word from his room. Now, the imposing figure towered over the cowering man.
"You cannot find the Dark Lord, you say?" Came the crash of thunderous words. "You say you have no intention of going to the Ministry? You do not lie to me. I know your every thought!" With a growl likening him to the graceful, wild dogs he resembled, the man grasped his wand. "You do not betray the Dark Lord, and more importantly, you do not betray me." The malice in that one last word made the small boy close his eyes, knowing that nothing good could happen next.
"Crucio." Came the whisper. Not a whisper of fear, or weakness, for this man left all those feelings behind long ago, but a whisper of pure hate. Hate accumulated through a lifetime, and channeled through every action he made. Around the corner, tiny hands slipped under fair, blond hair, trying to block the hideous screams penetrating his ears.
Footfalls echoed through the suddenly silent house, the click of metal tipped boots against the cold stone of a manor. Boldly, with the recklessness of a boy spoiled, small feet stumbled over themselves, seeking reason in this great paternal figure. When finally, the boy caught up, he was ignored.
"Father?" Silence. "Daddy?" Annoyed silence. "Why did you hurt him?" A head turned slowly, shoulder length hair shifting to reveal menacing eyes.
"You saw me?" he steadily tore the words out, an unspoken threat, perceptible to all living things that have ever known hardship.
"It is bad to hurt. Mother says so. You said the Dark Lord was our friend, why would he want you to hurt?"
"You insolent child. I expressly forbade you from staying."
Back swung the hand, which had, so soon before caused a person so much suffering. Forward, it whipped, striking the child across the face, and sending him reeling into the wall. He cried out, his screams quickly subsiding into sobs at the threat of more fury from his father.
His face was cut and bleeding, from the rings on that man's hand. The crimson mingles with his tears, as he forced himself to look up. His eyes connected with hers, deep, rippling pools of ash.
And, far away, many years later, Hermione Granger woke with a start, still haunted by those pleading eyes.