Disclaimer: I own nothing; if I did, I would be rich and famous and wouldn't be writing fan fiction.
CHAPTER NINE: NUMB
The wind was rushing through his hair as he rode atop the mystical thestral, eager to put as many miles between him and Hogwarts as possible. He could see France looming up ahead of him, relieved at the prospect of having solid ground beneath him once again after not having been able to land, due to the channel, for quite some time.
It was nighttime by now, and the darkness cloaked him like a blanket, making him feel safe and secure, though even the relative safety it provided him was not enough to put him at ease.
They would be coming for him. He didn't know when or how many, but they would definitely come, even those that believed him innocent. Why could they not just leave him in peace? It's not like he had done anything to deserve this—any of it.
He had never asked to be 'born as the seventh month dies,' or whatever the stupid prophecy that had become the bane of his existence had said. And to think, that one out of only two predictions that crackpot Trelawney had actually gotten right had started it all. That's why Voldemort came after him; that's why his parents had been killed. And it was all just a downward spiral from there.
The dull thud of the thestral's hooves landing somewhat harshly on the grassy meadow where it had chosen to land (a good distance away from any possibly inhabited areas) jolted Harry out of his morbid thoughts. He was glad for the distraction.
Dismounting from the bony creature and stretching as best as he could, Harry looked for some place where he might be able to hole up for the night. It would have to be somewhere where neither he nor the thestral would be spotted when daylight comes, even though it was doubtful that anyone would come close enough to this part of the countryside to spot them.
Not too far away was an area of rather tall grass where, if he crouched or lay down, Harry would go unseen. The thestral could be a problem, though. But since it was the only place that would possibly do for now, Harry slowly made his way towards it, trusting the thestral to follow behind him.
He made his way to the center of the long grass and fell in an exhausted heap onto the ground. Uncertain whether it would understand the command or not, Harry quietly commanded the shiny, black beast standing beside him to lay down, and found himself slightly startled when it actually obeyed.
Figuring that he was as safe as he was going to get in his current predicament and finding himself in dire need of rest, Harry (with very little hesitation) drifted off into a fitful slumber, hoping that this moment of weakness wouldn't cost him later.
But contrary to the restful night he had wished for, his dreams were filled with horrible images. The visions, which had left him during his stay in Azkaban, where the wards had weakened his magical bond to Voldemort, were back now full force, the bloodshed and mayhem that had previously filled them back, but at an almost intolerable level.
Apparently, with the 'savior of the wizarding world' locked away indefinitely for a crime he didn't do, Voldemort was free terrorize and conquer as he liked without the threat of the boy-who-lived once again reducing him to but an image of himself or (as unlikely as the outcome may be) killing him.
Although his followers wore masks (either too afraid of what the consequences of being labeled a Death Eater would be or finding secrecy too important for their operations to give it up) and it was therefore impossible to identify whether they were returning members or new ones, Voldemort's ranks had grown by at least ten fold what they were before Harry's convenient removal from the picture.
Robed in black velvet and hidden behind white masks (ironically painted the color of innocence), the multitudes of servants were spread before their master, bowing low to him, so that they were practically kissing the dark emerald rug beneath them, in an uncharacteristic sign of inferiority.
Watching this nightmare unfold before him, Harry vaguely wondered how the likes of Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange could lower themselves to such a state. Not that he cared or anything, but they had always seemed so proud and arrogant. Bowing to one of the what they condescendingly called halfbloods seemed to defy the very reason why they had joined the snake faced bastard in the first place, and yet somewhere amongst the many indefinable forms, there they were.
Did they not know who Voldemort (or rather Tom Riddle) was, or did they just not care? Perhaps being the heir of Slytherin made him a worthy leader in their minds, or maybe they recognized the fact that he was the only means by which to achieve their racist goals. Were they planning to usurp him once they had conquered enough of the wizarding world to be able to control it themselves? But no matter how hard Harry tried; he could not come up with a plausible reason why even one of the Slytherins would want to become a henchman for a vengeful wizard so disgusted by his own father that he would resort to infusing his blood with that of a snake's (for surely there was no other explanation) to rid him of the tainted half.
The followers were shifting now, coming to a standing position before shuffling around hurriedly and forming a large circle in the center of the expansive, cathedral like room that they occupied, at Voldemort's orders. One of them was then singled out, beckoned forward, before being spoken to (though Harry could not overhear what was said), then bowing low before making their way towards the grand doors, that rivaled those at Hogwarts (no easy feat), and calling forward a couple dozen wizards robed as those assembled inside, though wearing no mask to obscure their features.
A large gap in the circle was made for them to pass through, closing once they did so. The one who had brought them forward rejoined the ranks and was lost in their midst, no longer distinguishable from the rest. The unmasked continued forward, forming a small circle around Voldemort, who stood in the very center, and once in place sunk to their knees and placed their foreheads upon the elaborate carpeting, their hands stretched out before them in a gesture of reverence.
One by one he called them up, beckoned them to the middle of the circle. They didn't look him in the eye, keeping their heads lowered respectfully and their eyes cast down to the floor. They bent down and kissed his boots when they reached him, doing so with the utmost care and honor despite the humiliation such an act would usually spawn. Apparently, the promise of power could make a person do things that they would normally not.
Once done with formalities, they would rise again, lifting their left sleeve as they did so, carefully pushing the fabric so that it pooled at the inside of their elbow, leaving ample space for their soon-to-be master to work. Voldemort would then take a hold of the left wrist of the new recruit, holding the arm so that it lay at a 90 degree angle, palm up. Then, drawing his wand from folds of his own elaborate, black robe, Voldemort would point it to the exposed skin right above the wrist and mutter the incantation that never failed to induce a pain filled cry from it's recipient.
And yet they all tried their damndest to contain the shriek, every single one of them. It made them appear weak, human like those that they had themselves rendered a similar cry from with a dark curse similar to that which was now being used on them. They taunted those they tortured for being so weak as to emit a yelp or cry of pain. But here they were; no better than the 'inferior' muggles; willingly becoming servants, followers, based off of some faulty promise and a twisted dream gone awry.
They were all branded now, the skin which had not even an hour ago been smooth and unblemished now sported a skull with a snake twisting it's way through it (the Dark Mark) and an angry red patch surrounding the new tattoo. They had each been given a mask, the other signifier of their acceptance into the ranks and service of the Dark Lord, and had hastily put it on in an attempt to hide the grimaces of pain almost all of the wore and the biting of the lip in an attempt to keep from screaming aloud once more.
Harry wanted to rip the masks off, to see the pain twisting their features once again. They deserved it, filthy Death Eater scum that they were. The fact that he recognized some of the faces amongst the new recruits, most of them Slytherins he had at some point gone to school with, a few of them Ravenclaws, didn't lessen the malice he felt towards them and all of those assembled before Voldemort.
They, the Death Eaters, they were the ones that deserved to be put in the depths of Azkaban and never released. They were the ones who had committed the horrible atrocities that would earn them a cell in the island fortress. And yet it was he, Harry Potter, 'the savior' who had ended up in that hellhole. How the hell had it come to that?
If the wizarding world was either that blind or that stupid, to put him in jail rather than the bastards now kneeling in front of the merciless Voldemort, then maybe they deserved whatever the evil snake-faced fucker had in store for them. Besides, it's not like he was going to save them now, not after all the thanks he had gotten for his efforts so far. And with Harry out of the picture, there was no one to save them from the darkness that threatened to consume the wizarding world.
As Harry drifted out of the vision and into a deep, dreamless sleep, his thoughts left the ghost of a small, ruthless smile on his face. And despite all of his misgivings, despite the horrible vision that he had witnessed, despite everything; Harry had the first restful night's sleep he'd had in ages.
Author's Note: I'm so sorry it has taken me so long to post. I hope this chapter meets everyone's expectations. I wasn't completely satisfied with it myself, I might have to come back and revise it later, but I thought it best to post it as is as soon as possible. Anyways, thanks for all of the lovely reviews! Now, to answer everybody's questions...
Samara-Morgan-101: Yes, they will eventually find him. I hope that doesn't ruin the story. Harry could have a nice life in France, but without all the wonderful angst and drama the run-ins with Harry's past create, I don't think the story would be very interesting.
Krazy Jade: First off, I'm glad you like the story! Secondly, congratulations! I was wondering when someone would figure out that all of the chapter titles were names of Linkin Park songs.
lmill123: Sorry, but Harry really was possessed by Voldemort. How exactly that happened will be explained later on, but it really did happen that way. However, it is true that Dumbledore could have kept Harry out of jail while still making sure he wasn't a risk to anybody (including himself.) And I'm afraid that Harry and Draco will almost certainly not be working together. Although Draco hates Dumbledore, I really can't see him going out of his way to help Harry (since he hates him with a passion) and wouldn't do anything explicitly against Voldemort's (and consequently his father's) orders. I don't know whether or not Draco will necessarily be a Death Eater (or on his way to becoming one,) but even if he isn't, that doesn't mean he's going to pal up with Harry. The whole Harry leaking stuff to the paper idea wouldn't work either. Harry is on the run, not only would no one believe him if he sent them an owl detailing his innocence (remember that only the people present when Dumbledore was explaining the situation and Voldemort and his Death Eaters, none of whom would publicly declare Harry's innocence, know the truth), but at this point he doesn't really give a fuck what the world thinks of him and isn't going to take the time to bother trying to change the public opinion, which would probably be a futile attempt anyway. Hope that doesn't burst your bubble; thanx for reviewing!
No Name Reviewer: You're right; I have updated some of my other fics since I've updated this one. There is one very simple reason for that: I ran into a bit of writer's block. Unfortunately, I don't have this story all planned out in my head, so sometimes I tend to write myself into a bit of a hole and it takes me a while to figure out how to dig myself out of it and leave room for the story to grow. A lot of times I run into the problem where I have no clue what I want to do next for the story, so it takes me a while to update. Thanks for pointing out some mistakes (I could probably use a beta reader), I'll try to go back through and fix them, but that can be rather tedious, so I'm not really sure when I'll get around to it.
jpthug12: I have no intention of making this a slash story (though I do like slash.) That said, I also have to add that I don't plan on there being any pairing in this story. I really don't think that Harry would feel comfortable getting close to anyone, considering what's happened, though he might get in a 'relationship' with someone to manipulate them and get what he wants/needs, though it probably wouldn't be anyone from the books (Don't worry, though, I don't write Mary Sues.) But we'll see...I'm not really sure what's going to happen yet.