Title: To Make It Through The Night
Author: The Angelic Vampire
Chapter: To See Another Dawn
Rating: PG-13 ( I don't think anything in here warrants a stronger
rating, if someone feels differently, just let me know and I'll
change it to R)
Status: Complete (unless someone can convince me otherwise, but if
not, I'm pretty sure this will remain a onetime deal.)
Disclaimer: Nothing and no one you recognise is mine, I'm merely
humbly borrowing everything, twisting it into my own view of the
world we all wish we lived in. Well most of us, if not all, and I
admit all very differently specified, ;)
Warnings: It's darker than most fics, and angsty, there are some
specific warnings I could type down right now, but that will just
spoil it in my opinion. So, if you don't like the darker themes of
the Harry Potter fandom, don't read please, I'm not out to make
anyone uncomfortable, except those who appreciate it (if anyone gets
what I mean). And I mean in this in the most non-sarcastic way
possible. I understand some people like or dislike several genres
and themes, I can respect that, but please respect a warning like
this one. If you're not sure, do what you think is right, just don't
take it out on those not responsible.
Severus looked at Voldemort, the way the man was grinning was no
reassurance at all to Severus. In fact, it unsettled him far worse
than when the man was in one of his rages, at least then, you could
predict what would occur.
But now, this pleasantness was shaking his confidence far more than
he felt comfortable with.
Severus looked at the gathered Death eaters present, and resisted
the urge to shiver. Only Voldemort's most cruel, most efficient and
most loyal were present today, something that could not bode well
for whatever past time, the Dark Lord had scheduled.
"My faithful followersssss" Voldemort hissed softly.
And Severus once more let himself be impressed by the control of his
voice that the man displayed. It was a worthwhile skill far masses
could be swept up in it, one could loose himself in that velvet
caress, and fulfil every whim of the man standing before them. The
man that inspired people to great acts of power, evil, amoral ones,
but still great displays of it.
There were weaklings among the Death eaters, there was no question
about that. It was a branch that Voldemort specialised in, after
all, no one would suspect the weak laugh stocks of the wizarding
world to be one of His' main information streams.
It was quite a useful strategy, one that had nearly never
failed Him', one he used over and over, and still none caught on
quite completely just what devastating power that rendered upon
Voldemort.
He'd tried to make the Order and Albus see reason, that they needed
to tend to the weak especially, but his recommendations went
willingly unnoticed, and Severus had taken action himself.
He taught as if he were the prime force behind Evil himself. He was
by no means a kind and gentle man, and no class taught by him would
ever have been conceived pleasant', but now he poured all of his
cruelty and harshness into it. Using his way of teaching to toughen
up those that eyed weak, or seemed to feel inferior. After all if
they couldn't survive him, they'd have no chance in the real world.
They'd either be killed or recruited, a fate far worse than death if
their hearts weren't into it, and that was mostly the case.
Still, some didn't make it, and wound up either dead or recruited.
His heart had long ago ached for those lost souls, rather focussing
on those he felt could still be saved.
And now, standing in the main antechamber of Voldemort's unplottable
fortress, standing amidst what Voldemort himself called his finest
followers, Severus knew that no good could come of this night. He
knew that he would probably once more regret not taking his own life
when he had been offered he choice between the mark or death. It
would have been a kinder fate, and now his life wasn't his any
longer, no longer his to decide when it ended. At least he could
still influence the world around him at his own will, something he
felt grateful for, yet bitterness had crept into that perception of
life. For what kind of life does one lead when one cannot decide his
own fate, when one cannot truly decide the true definition of life,
namely death. His own to be precise, for he had countless times
taken another's destiny onto his hands and murdered it, be it
through manipulation or taking his wand or blade out to end that
person's life physically. Personally.
All the Death eaters around him focussed on their Master, on their
Lord, on their Salvation and Damnation.
Voldemort's pale hideous complexion had made way for a more
pleasantly looking skin tone, his true one, his previous one. His
hair had grown back and was still as black as his, not one whiff of
grey, though he man was older than him. Yet you couldn't tell it,
not anymore.
His youth had come back to him, had been reborn into him.
When Voldemort had been brought back on a physical level to this
plane, he had occupied a corpse like version of himself, and Severus
had seen his fear manifested in a true demon to look upon, rather
than think it hidden beneath a mask of congeniality.
Yet now, when his body had settled itself into the cycle of life
once more, and Potter's blood had permeated it completely, he had
changed overnight from Death to Life.
The Dark Lord looked no older than someone in his thirties ,and his
power seemed to have spiked beyond whatever capacity he had been
capable of in his fist reign of terror.
Severus had personally found it quite indicating, that Potter would
be a formidable ally to Voldemort.
Something he had not let himself believe before. He'd always thought
that the hero-worship and so-called power that the boy had was quite
exaggerated and not deserved. He'd known far more powerful people to
die, than this spoiled child that had lived.
And he had been quite prepared to hate and toughen up the brat for
it, the moment that he fell under his tutelage. The fact that the
child was the son and godson of two of his childhood foes was only
beneficial.
But over the years, he'd seen wisps of the power Potter held, not
often but he'd sensed it. And had ignored it, for he had not
believed it possible, had not believed it possible that a Potter,
son of James could be that powerful.
Not that he couldn't admit to the lineage's strength, far from it.
James Potter had been a strong wizard, it was one of the reasons his
childhood had been quite as challenging and dangerous at the same
time, but Harry Potter was powerful on a different level all
together.
Harry Potter was…
Potter… Harry…
The boy was sentient of nearly all aspects of magic, if not all. He
was powerful in the way his forefathers and mother had been before
him, and was more powerful than them, scoring far higher on the
magical scale then anyone could probably perceive.
Yet that was not what made him powerful' his Severus' eyes.
It was because Potter was not only sentient of magic, but of people
as well. Sentient in a way that suggested the boy had seen far too
much in far too little time. And he bore it without a trace.
There was more to the boy than merely stressing over the fact that a
mad wizard was after him, far more. He was sure of, for though the
boy had changed through out the years, in his very core, in his
essence, he was still the same eleven year old gazing at Severus
with his mother's eyes and his father's face and no emotion to be
read upon either.
He'd wilfully ignored what his psyche had provided with him,
ignoring all the tell tale signs, the boy had missed to cover up
though those were few, and any incident happened a long time removed
from any other.
But if Severus were honest with himself, he knew he'd
noticed something', and had he prodded he would have found nothing,
of that he was absolutely sure.
And it was because there never was nothing' , that he would have
found his conformation.
But he hadn't prodded, hadn't wanted to accept it, and knew that
would weigh on his soul nearly as much as not taking death as his
path in life. Such irony.
Potter was powerful in Severus eyes, because he eyed average, though
Severus knew the power the boy kept hidden, if only a fraction of
it. Potter was powerful because he didn't want to be a tool, because
he knew of grief and pain and sacrifices.
Potter was powerful because he had never known about magic before
age eleven, and marvelled at it every time he used it.
He valued it, never took it for granted.
He was magic.
He also knew that Potter knew what his life was worth on a very
intimate level, and never thought that he would live forever.
That was what gave the boy a fighting chance against Voldemort, who
was overconfident of his immortality. Confidence brought victory,
arrogance defeat … ultimately if not swiftly.
There was also another matter that irked Severus about Potter, a
feat he had noticed and also not wanted to see.
Potter knew about grief and pain and sacrifices, as anyone would
have had if Voldemort had been after them since age one.
But Potter knew it on a different level, a truly intimate level.
Not that any pain and grief caused by Voldemort wasn't intimately
related to the victim, but this kind of pain, was the pain only few
knew existed.
The pain few had experienced, and were driven mad by, or forever
changed.
This was the pain that had made a so-called innocent eleven year old
meet his gaze without flinching, and reveal completely nothing.
Minerva had often raged at Albus, when he had been present to get
the boy relocated, even before Potter had come to Hogwarts. Her
dedication to all her charges was admirable, yet they both knew
inefficient at times.
For Potter should have been moved, Severus knew that now.
He knew no details, had never heard a plea from Potter's mouth, but
he knew.
He knew because that kind of pain, that kind of mindset was nearly
always found under his domain. Slytherin.
The way of thinking, the way of shielding and evasive manoeuvres,
and emotionless gaze had been indication enough, and he had not
brought it up, he had not backed Minerva on it.
Albus had referred to him in those disputes, and that should have
been a warning sign to him, he should have known. He had known, he'd
only not admitted it. Not to other and not to himself.
Potter was powerful because he knew pain, and knew pain in such a
way that it chilled Severus. He knew that for Potter pain held no
meaning, especially not when it was physical.
Potter reacted to it, but it didn't change his perception of the
world around him.
And the only way that could be achieved was practice and acquiring a
high level of pain tolerance.
Minerva had raged, and when he had seen the eleven year old
emotionless emerald orbs boring into him, he had known, and he had
not acted.
And he lived with that.
Maybe he could repent, no matter how laughable it seemed. Maybe if
he summoned Potter and told him there were those that would not
judge, that it was alright to feel…
Maybe Potter could be saved, no matter how little. No matter what
could be salvaged of Potter, maybe he was still in time to salvage
at least something.
Severus closed his eyes.
He only had to make it through this night, and hope he could return
to Hogwarts, hope he could return to his dungeons, hope he still
would have enough humanity in him after tonight to follow through
with his intentions.
He only had to make it through the night.
"Tonight, I have a treat planned for my most cherished followers, a
gift to those worthy, only those that are truly worthy of my cause…
and I know you will all feel as close to my and my ideals then ever
before…" Voldemort spoke in that alluring voice, seducing them all
into his web as effectively and as ruthlessly as a spider did the
flies.
He only had to make it through the night.
The End.
A/N: I hope you all liked it.