I'm going to a party tonight, and I don't know when I'll be back. Most
likely, not until tomorrow afternoon. Which means I probably won't be
writing the next chapter. I might, but I might not. It really depends
on whether or not I bother to come home before the sun rises.
Which is unlikely. I generally have a habit of being the last to leave ^_____^
Ran - You know Leigh? Ehehehehehe, yeah, I'm the same Itch she was
complaining about in her fic (is it any good? I've never bothered to
actually read any of her stuff ^___^) She wasn't very happy about me
appearing on her doorstep yesterday morning. And it was seven-thirty,
not six. She likes to exaggerate.
Ghost Dancer - I'm glad you like it enough to write half your review in
caps ^___^
Harry Potter still doesn't belong to the Itch.
---
Blackened Sunrise
Chapter Twenty-nine: More Plot
The Itch
---
His patience had finally snapped. He was rather pleased that he'd
lasted as long as he had. A full year and a half. If he wasn't with his
'companions', he'd laugh gleefully, spin in circles and hug Rilos.
As it was, he'd dropped the industrial strength illusion that made up
the face of Tomas Riddle, donned the oh-so-comfy black robes of his
station, and hauled butt to his command center. The mansion was
appropriately dark and dreary, with a touch of menace, as some muggle
recording systems played back scream after scream. Just because he
didn't like muggles, never meant that he didn't like what they created.
In fact, he was rather fond of computers. Such an easy way to store
spells...
In any case, most of the fun deaths took place at his tower, and in his
"research facility", not at this big old mansion that looked like it
came out a horror film. Tom actually didn't like the place, but his
followers expected certain things of him, and who was he to disappoint?
After all, once he'd killed all the muggles and mudbloods-- excluding
himself, of course-- he could unleash his _wonderful_ sense of style on
the Wizarding World. And, of course, without all their insipid little
"heros", they'd have to do whatever he said.
Oh, how he adored being in control!
Drawing his attention back to the fore, the man known as Voldemort
stared cooly out of the chilling blood red eyes that he believed to be
"bloody wicked", if he was remembering the slang that one muggle had
said before undergoing the untested "treatment". Those eyes bore into
the skulls of the men that were gathered around him, heads bowed.
Nagini was curled around his throne, hissing idly at various death
eaters.
They probably thought she was mocking their worthiness to be called
before their lord and master. She was more or less insulting them. Tom
rather liked the one about Lucius Malfoy being a spineless wimp, if
only because Nagini was laughing about him having pissed his pants when
he'd first arrived. Tom noted the flicker of a flame out of the corner
of his eye, and smirked.
The death eaters knew that this did not bode well for them.
---
Several kilometers away, stood Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and
Wizardry. And within Hogwarts was a library. The library had a
restricted section.
The restricted section had visitors.
Hermione and Harry had already been through the books in the rest of
the library, and had been unable to find any spell that caused any
effects similar to whatever it was that Draco was currently going
through. Therefore, in a reasonable passage of logic, they decided the
restricted section held the answers.
Granger had been unsure as to how exactly they were supposed to enter
the section without being caught, and without a pass. There was no way
for them to get in, she believed, and had attempted to explain that to
the emerald-eyed youth she had accompanied more out of fear he'd do
something like start his "Balance" early, rather than any real want to
help him. Oh, sure, she wanted to know what was wrong with Draco, but
the longer the white-haired youth was under, the more distracted Harry
got.
And if Potter was distracted, there was the very real possibility that
he would forget this Balance of his, and she wouldn't have to rat out a
friend to Dumbledore.
Unfortunately, Harry had smirked at her, and accessed what little Power
he had to get into the restricted section undetected. They had been
within the walls of books for several hours by this point, and Hermione
felt about to fall asleep. The Living Weapon that had accompanied her
frowned. A tired woman would hardly be of any help. Shaking his head,
the dark haired student dropped his hand onto her shoulder.
He was positive she jumped a good three feet into the air.
"Oh! Oh, Harry, it's just you," her hand settled on her breast, over
her head, "You startled me."
"You're tired," he spoke with the same voice he'd used earlier on
Virginia to tell her to go to bed, "You should best go back to the
Tower."
"Wha-but I'm not finished with thi--"
"You are," his tone brooked no argument, "You need your sleep. Go."
Tiredly she stood, and was almost around the corner of the shelving
before pausing, "Harry?"
"Yeah?"
"What about you?"
His emerald eyes glinted with a momentarily insane light, and she felt
a chill race down her. Then, it was gone, replaced with the cool,
determined light she had seen when he'd looked down at Draco, trying to
figure out what was wrong with his friend, "I don't need sleep. A
Weapon must be ready to fight at all hours. Now, go."
She would be tucking herself into her bed in the Tower before she
realized that when he'd said "A Weapon", he wasn't talking about that
silver-eyed stranger that co-habited his body. By that point she would
be to tired to do much more than understand that thought before falling
asleep.
Harry returned to his perusal of the dark arts books that occupied the
section of the library considered restricted. His eyes watered behind
his glasses, and he sighed. Just because he didn't have to sleep,
didn't mean he didn't like it. Sleep was the restoration period for the
body, and if he didn't get either some sleep, or some mediation time,
he was going to lose it at some point or another.
Either he would falter in battle due to sleep deprivation, and the
unhealthy condition of the body it created, or he would slip into one
of his more psychotic moods, and utterly destroy someone. Either
physically or mentally, it didn't matter. All he knew, was that it
would happen.
His bastard of a mentor had purposely withheld that information back
when he'd been training in how to be a Weapon. Potter knew exactly what
he'd done during the period where he'd completely lost it while
training-- even if he hadn't been able to remember it, there were still
the videotapings Wolfos had created. Daemen was a sick old man, Harry
knew, wanting to keep those tapes.
It wasn't for blackmail, or any such thing. It was simply because
Daemen enjoyed the carnage that the tapes would present him with.
Potter may have been insane, and he may be quite capable of taking a
life without batting an eye, but he didn't reveal in the pain he
caused. Daemen and Draco could do that. Virginia and Sirius had a habit
of allowing themselves to reveal in the pain that people caused him.
He, Harry James Potter, would settle simply for the thrill of battle.
That was why he did anything these days. The bloodlust sung in his
veins, and colored even the emotionless Weapon's thoughts. Nothing
mattered but the fight.
Well, Draco, Virginia and Sirius had wedged their selves in there
somehow, so he supposed that all he cared about was those three and the
fight. Which explained why he was rooting through Dark Arts books at
three in the morning. Flich would be coming by this area soon, he knew,
from previous nights spent in the library.
He swept the books he'd been looking through into a bag, swinging it
onto his shoulder, and darting out of the library. The shadows welcomed
their brethren, hiding him from the prying eyes of the janitor. And it
was none to soon. For three minutes, to the dot, of when he'd exited
the Restricted Section, Flich and Mrs Norris entered it; Harry was
safely ensorcelled in the shadows, and moving towards the room he'd
left Draco in. He'd finish his research there.
---
Wolfos yawned, before stumbling to the mirror hanging on the wall of
his room, before glaring at it evilly. The sound that had awoken him
from his slumber shrilled from the mirror again, and he spat angrily,
"Bi Xia!"
The mirror swirled, and he was granted the image of the snaky-face of
his best friend, "Did I wake you up?" sneered the reflection, and
Wolfos gave him an annoyed glare.
"Yes, dammit. What the hell are you calling at four in the bloody
morning for, you great bloody git?!"
He could hear stunned whispers in the background, coming from behind
Voldemort. A nasty smile crossed his lips as he realized that he'd just
insulted his childhood friend in front of said friend's ever-so-loyal
follower. He would almost bet money on the fact that they expected
their Dark Lord to respond with threats and violence, but to their
continual shock, Tom ignored it.
"Did it work?"
It took Daemen's sleepy mind a few minutes to understand what he was
asking, before realizing that the "great evil" was talking about the
spell, "I cast it and it worked."
A cheerful look appeared on the snake-faced one, and Wolfos gave in to
the temptation to try and imagine what the deatheaters would look like
if they ever saw that expression. Being Riddle's friend for years upon
years, Wolfos had already seen that expression far to many times to
count. Especially since it had taken his research skills to find the
information on how to transform Tom Riddle, aka Voldemort, into one of
the Living Weapons; the features of the snake being Tom's own change
via the Power.
"How long will it take?"
"Weapon was not responsive," grumbled the lavender-eyed DADA Professor,
"If I didn't know that Weapon can not form emotional attachments to
anyone, or emotions for that matter, I'd think he actually enjoyed
teaching Weasley and Malfoy."
Voldemort scowled darkly, "Are you telling me that I will not be able
to find a replacement for Rapier?"
"Tom, you've known me for years. When have I not been able to deliver?"
There were more noises of shock in the background, that this old man--
who some of the deatheaters were surprised to realize was their old
Potions Master from their days at Hogwarts-- would dare to call their
master "Tom"! No one had that right, their Master was above everyone
and everythi--
"You've always delivered," Voldemort returned sulkily, ignoring his
followers for the moment. He'd punish them for their mutterings once
he'd finished his conversation. Daemen was the only one he'd allow to
speak to him in such a matter-- and that was only because Daemen had
practically been the one to raise him once Tom had hit first year at
Hogwarts. Wolfos was his best friend, "Even if it happens to take
_years_ for you to do so."
Daemen gave him a ruthless grin, "Believe me, my dear, dear friend:
Weapon will be giving up one of his toys. Soon, you will have either
the bird or the dragon to keep you company."
---
End Chapter
Now, do we see why Wolfos was going to give Draco/Ginny to the Weapon
to design the first of the Second Generation Weapons? Yeah, it was Tom.
Who _else_ would design a method that left a Weapon completely
dependant on their Master?
If you didn't understand it, "Bi Xia" is Wolfos' password to make the
mirror work. It's also blatantly stolen from Eve of Extinction; Bi Xia
is Raven's Legacy Weapon, which is essentially an energy weapon with a
soul (she's a pair of Tonfa).
Oh, yeah, if the next chapter isn't up tomorrow, it'll be up on
Tuesday.
likely, not until tomorrow afternoon. Which means I probably won't be
writing the next chapter. I might, but I might not. It really depends
on whether or not I bother to come home before the sun rises.
Which is unlikely. I generally have a habit of being the last to leave ^_____^
Ran - You know Leigh? Ehehehehehe, yeah, I'm the same Itch she was
complaining about in her fic (is it any good? I've never bothered to
actually read any of her stuff ^___^) She wasn't very happy about me
appearing on her doorstep yesterday morning. And it was seven-thirty,
not six. She likes to exaggerate.
Ghost Dancer - I'm glad you like it enough to write half your review in
caps ^___^
Harry Potter still doesn't belong to the Itch.
---
Blackened Sunrise
Chapter Twenty-nine: More Plot
The Itch
---
His patience had finally snapped. He was rather pleased that he'd
lasted as long as he had. A full year and a half. If he wasn't with his
'companions', he'd laugh gleefully, spin in circles and hug Rilos.
As it was, he'd dropped the industrial strength illusion that made up
the face of Tomas Riddle, donned the oh-so-comfy black robes of his
station, and hauled butt to his command center. The mansion was
appropriately dark and dreary, with a touch of menace, as some muggle
recording systems played back scream after scream. Just because he
didn't like muggles, never meant that he didn't like what they created.
In fact, he was rather fond of computers. Such an easy way to store
spells...
In any case, most of the fun deaths took place at his tower, and in his
"research facility", not at this big old mansion that looked like it
came out a horror film. Tom actually didn't like the place, but his
followers expected certain things of him, and who was he to disappoint?
After all, once he'd killed all the muggles and mudbloods-- excluding
himself, of course-- he could unleash his _wonderful_ sense of style on
the Wizarding World. And, of course, without all their insipid little
"heros", they'd have to do whatever he said.
Oh, how he adored being in control!
Drawing his attention back to the fore, the man known as Voldemort
stared cooly out of the chilling blood red eyes that he believed to be
"bloody wicked", if he was remembering the slang that one muggle had
said before undergoing the untested "treatment". Those eyes bore into
the skulls of the men that were gathered around him, heads bowed.
Nagini was curled around his throne, hissing idly at various death
eaters.
They probably thought she was mocking their worthiness to be called
before their lord and master. She was more or less insulting them. Tom
rather liked the one about Lucius Malfoy being a spineless wimp, if
only because Nagini was laughing about him having pissed his pants when
he'd first arrived. Tom noted the flicker of a flame out of the corner
of his eye, and smirked.
The death eaters knew that this did not bode well for them.
---
Several kilometers away, stood Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and
Wizardry. And within Hogwarts was a library. The library had a
restricted section.
The restricted section had visitors.
Hermione and Harry had already been through the books in the rest of
the library, and had been unable to find any spell that caused any
effects similar to whatever it was that Draco was currently going
through. Therefore, in a reasonable passage of logic, they decided the
restricted section held the answers.
Granger had been unsure as to how exactly they were supposed to enter
the section without being caught, and without a pass. There was no way
for them to get in, she believed, and had attempted to explain that to
the emerald-eyed youth she had accompanied more out of fear he'd do
something like start his "Balance" early, rather than any real want to
help him. Oh, sure, she wanted to know what was wrong with Draco, but
the longer the white-haired youth was under, the more distracted Harry
got.
And if Potter was distracted, there was the very real possibility that
he would forget this Balance of his, and she wouldn't have to rat out a
friend to Dumbledore.
Unfortunately, Harry had smirked at her, and accessed what little Power
he had to get into the restricted section undetected. They had been
within the walls of books for several hours by this point, and Hermione
felt about to fall asleep. The Living Weapon that had accompanied her
frowned. A tired woman would hardly be of any help. Shaking his head,
the dark haired student dropped his hand onto her shoulder.
He was positive she jumped a good three feet into the air.
"Oh! Oh, Harry, it's just you," her hand settled on her breast, over
her head, "You startled me."
"You're tired," he spoke with the same voice he'd used earlier on
Virginia to tell her to go to bed, "You should best go back to the
Tower."
"Wha-but I'm not finished with thi--"
"You are," his tone brooked no argument, "You need your sleep. Go."
Tiredly she stood, and was almost around the corner of the shelving
before pausing, "Harry?"
"Yeah?"
"What about you?"
His emerald eyes glinted with a momentarily insane light, and she felt
a chill race down her. Then, it was gone, replaced with the cool,
determined light she had seen when he'd looked down at Draco, trying to
figure out what was wrong with his friend, "I don't need sleep. A
Weapon must be ready to fight at all hours. Now, go."
She would be tucking herself into her bed in the Tower before she
realized that when he'd said "A Weapon", he wasn't talking about that
silver-eyed stranger that co-habited his body. By that point she would
be to tired to do much more than understand that thought before falling
asleep.
Harry returned to his perusal of the dark arts books that occupied the
section of the library considered restricted. His eyes watered behind
his glasses, and he sighed. Just because he didn't have to sleep,
didn't mean he didn't like it. Sleep was the restoration period for the
body, and if he didn't get either some sleep, or some mediation time,
he was going to lose it at some point or another.
Either he would falter in battle due to sleep deprivation, and the
unhealthy condition of the body it created, or he would slip into one
of his more psychotic moods, and utterly destroy someone. Either
physically or mentally, it didn't matter. All he knew, was that it
would happen.
His bastard of a mentor had purposely withheld that information back
when he'd been training in how to be a Weapon. Potter knew exactly what
he'd done during the period where he'd completely lost it while
training-- even if he hadn't been able to remember it, there were still
the videotapings Wolfos had created. Daemen was a sick old man, Harry
knew, wanting to keep those tapes.
It wasn't for blackmail, or any such thing. It was simply because
Daemen enjoyed the carnage that the tapes would present him with.
Potter may have been insane, and he may be quite capable of taking a
life without batting an eye, but he didn't reveal in the pain he
caused. Daemen and Draco could do that. Virginia and Sirius had a habit
of allowing themselves to reveal in the pain that people caused him.
He, Harry James Potter, would settle simply for the thrill of battle.
That was why he did anything these days. The bloodlust sung in his
veins, and colored even the emotionless Weapon's thoughts. Nothing
mattered but the fight.
Well, Draco, Virginia and Sirius had wedged their selves in there
somehow, so he supposed that all he cared about was those three and the
fight. Which explained why he was rooting through Dark Arts books at
three in the morning. Flich would be coming by this area soon, he knew,
from previous nights spent in the library.
He swept the books he'd been looking through into a bag, swinging it
onto his shoulder, and darting out of the library. The shadows welcomed
their brethren, hiding him from the prying eyes of the janitor. And it
was none to soon. For three minutes, to the dot, of when he'd exited
the Restricted Section, Flich and Mrs Norris entered it; Harry was
safely ensorcelled in the shadows, and moving towards the room he'd
left Draco in. He'd finish his research there.
---
Wolfos yawned, before stumbling to the mirror hanging on the wall of
his room, before glaring at it evilly. The sound that had awoken him
from his slumber shrilled from the mirror again, and he spat angrily,
"Bi Xia!"
The mirror swirled, and he was granted the image of the snaky-face of
his best friend, "Did I wake you up?" sneered the reflection, and
Wolfos gave him an annoyed glare.
"Yes, dammit. What the hell are you calling at four in the bloody
morning for, you great bloody git?!"
He could hear stunned whispers in the background, coming from behind
Voldemort. A nasty smile crossed his lips as he realized that he'd just
insulted his childhood friend in front of said friend's ever-so-loyal
follower. He would almost bet money on the fact that they expected
their Dark Lord to respond with threats and violence, but to their
continual shock, Tom ignored it.
"Did it work?"
It took Daemen's sleepy mind a few minutes to understand what he was
asking, before realizing that the "great evil" was talking about the
spell, "I cast it and it worked."
A cheerful look appeared on the snake-faced one, and Wolfos gave in to
the temptation to try and imagine what the deatheaters would look like
if they ever saw that expression. Being Riddle's friend for years upon
years, Wolfos had already seen that expression far to many times to
count. Especially since it had taken his research skills to find the
information on how to transform Tom Riddle, aka Voldemort, into one of
the Living Weapons; the features of the snake being Tom's own change
via the Power.
"How long will it take?"
"Weapon was not responsive," grumbled the lavender-eyed DADA Professor,
"If I didn't know that Weapon can not form emotional attachments to
anyone, or emotions for that matter, I'd think he actually enjoyed
teaching Weasley and Malfoy."
Voldemort scowled darkly, "Are you telling me that I will not be able
to find a replacement for Rapier?"
"Tom, you've known me for years. When have I not been able to deliver?"
There were more noises of shock in the background, that this old man--
who some of the deatheaters were surprised to realize was their old
Potions Master from their days at Hogwarts-- would dare to call their
master "Tom"! No one had that right, their Master was above everyone
and everythi--
"You've always delivered," Voldemort returned sulkily, ignoring his
followers for the moment. He'd punish them for their mutterings once
he'd finished his conversation. Daemen was the only one he'd allow to
speak to him in such a matter-- and that was only because Daemen had
practically been the one to raise him once Tom had hit first year at
Hogwarts. Wolfos was his best friend, "Even if it happens to take
_years_ for you to do so."
Daemen gave him a ruthless grin, "Believe me, my dear, dear friend:
Weapon will be giving up one of his toys. Soon, you will have either
the bird or the dragon to keep you company."
---
End Chapter
Now, do we see why Wolfos was going to give Draco/Ginny to the Weapon
to design the first of the Second Generation Weapons? Yeah, it was Tom.
Who _else_ would design a method that left a Weapon completely
dependant on their Master?
If you didn't understand it, "Bi Xia" is Wolfos' password to make the
mirror work. It's also blatantly stolen from Eve of Extinction; Bi Xia
is Raven's Legacy Weapon, which is essentially an energy weapon with a
soul (she's a pair of Tonfa).
Oh, yeah, if the next chapter isn't up tomorrow, it'll be up on
Tuesday.