Chapter Fourteen- Anguish
Harry fell asleep, though it was only by forcing himself that he was able.
Figures moved through his vision, darker grey to the lighter fog obscuring clarity. Menacing incoherent sounds echoed across the dim expanse. Nothing appeared definitive, and movement everywhere appeared to be slow and restricted. The smoky air trailed around, alternating between dense and light clouds. It could have been the lands of mist that the Druids spoke of, except the physical no longer seemed substantial.
Attempting to focus in this strange reality, Harry found himself unable to move, unable to register even himself. Even his thoughts were filled with this muddling vapour, he couldn't grasp them as they flitted in his mind.
Suddenly he felt a pull downward, and with no other choice or idea, he fell to it. As his mind cleared, he found himself in a world of darkness. Still feeling as though a specter, he worked to take in all he could. Slowly he realized that what he had first assumed was blackness, was actually a deep red, a threatening crimson. He instantly knew this was not going to be well.
Upon that thought came another, the definite certainty that this was something of Riddle's. Somehow he had managed to gain a hold over Harry, but the younger wizard could not think of a way it was possible. This was no mental plane, this did not belong in any respect to him.
Dimly, then increasing in volume, a strange laugh sounded to Harry. He insistently recognized it, dread running through him. In his lack of corporeality, he could do nothing but listen. The laughter died, and a voice replaced it.
"Hello, Harry Potter. It seems we meet again, and so soon too." The words sounded within his mind, and he recognized the familiar tone.
Sharp, cold, it was one that Harry remembered not from the being in the mental plane, who's representation was more human than monster, but from the creature that man had become. It was the true voice of Lord Voldemort.
"Nothing to say, Harry? Why, you were much more verbose in our last little meeting of minds." A smirk was clearly heard in the intonation, and that, more than any words it spoke, grated on Harry's nerves. "All right, perhaps we'd do best if I explained a couple things. As you can see, or well, I suppose you can't actually see anything at the moment, allow me to rephrase- you can tell we are not on any other plane of consciousness. There were a multitude of reasons for that.
"First, as much fun as creating that through our little connection was, I did find it rather draining. Understand, I am quite an expert at such matters, but the meddling, that was interesting. I'm sure you realize that all that forms a 'mental plane', as plebeian minds have come to call it, is a mere bringing of one's soul out of the physical and onto the first step of the Spiritual Domain, where one travels should one die. Or as with I, should one be removed from their earthly body. That is how I became so well versed in doing so. I can now go there at will. And I can bring anyone I wish into it with me, as long as I have access to their inner being. My followers, for example, or you. Yes, that scar is useful, even to me.
"Now, where was I? Oh, of course. See, typically, I bring the individual to my plane, one where I have complete control. Somehow, though, with you, the plane became a mixing of yours and mine. Never did have a sacrificial altar before. Says something about your state of mind, wouldn't you say, my boy? Dear me, I nearly sounded like that old fool that runs your school. Must watch that. Anyway, the maintaining of such a plane can be rather tiresome. I'm sure you understand."
The voice decreased in volume, though the level of threat heightened. Harry fought a lance of fear and forced himself to continue listening, in the chance Riddle would let something slip. Given the man's loquaciousness, it was distinctly possible.
"Another reason, I must say," Voldemort sneered, "is your beautiful display in besting my attempt to kill you, yet again. I had forgotten your last efforts at life were so, well, extreme. Managing to throw both of us back into the physical, what an achievement. It shows great potential, my lion-snake. You have only to reach it.
"But now is not the time for such discussions!" The intonation gained a pleased edge, forcing nervousness again into the listening wizard. "We have so much to do. Well, I, at any rate. You have merely to watch. I'm sure you recall your little foray into my mind, back before your, what was it, oh yes, fourth year. Now, I've noticed your Occlumency. Very good. Unfortunately, well for you, when you did your little stunt in the other conscious plane, you solidified and strengthened our, for lack of a better term, bond." The disturbing laughter rang out again. "Yes, now I can pull you into my mind whenever I wish. All I need do is focus through our connection."
Harry spoke for the first time, though a vague feeling of losing a battle ran through his mind. "You can pull me in, Tom? Does that mean that you can not force yourself in, or what?"
Silence fell for a moment, and Harry fleetingly wondered if the other had heard him. Being in another's mind, well, it was difficult to know how to make oneself known.
Finally, Riddle replied. "I would not know, Harry, I've not yet tried. But, I wouldn't believe that idea, if I were you." The voice was stiff, and the younger instinctively knew the man was lying.
Relieved that Riddle wouldn't be pushing into his consciousness any time soon, Harry spoke again. "Also, you waited until I was asleep. I would not say that we can do this any time you wish, if you have to wait for my bedtime," he sneered, matching the other's tone easily. "And why exactly have you brought me here? Other than to recite a lecture? A rather annoying one, at that."
A dark chuckle sounded in the murky red surrounding Harry. "Impatient, my little protege? Don't worry, the lecture is over. On to the practical."
Abruptly Harry felt physical feeling overwhelm him. Bright light clouded his vision momentarily, before he could focus. He found himself looking at the edge of a small village, the moon hanging high above a church steeple. As he turned to look at a legion of cloaked figures, without meaning to move, he realized that he was not in his own body, that it felt very wrong. Try as he might, he couldn't make the limbs of the skeletal frame he was in move to his command. The high laughter sounded again, out of what Harry registered as his mouth, but knew was Riddle's.
"Well, well, my faithful," Voldemort drawled, waving a hand to encompass the darkly clothed men before him.
Harry felt every movement as his own, though the sense of uneasiness at it continued. He grasped at that feeling, if only to guarantee that he was separate from this.
Voldemort went on to his men. "We have before us a village. Like any town, one might say. But, no. It is not. Within this place, wizards and witches consort, live, with not only Mudbloods, but Muggles! Freely associating." Murmurs sounded from the troop. "Yes, my friends. Now, we can not allow this blasphemy to continue. We have the duty to stop it." Nodding and general noises of agreement came from the others. "Go to it." Voldemort flicked his wand towards a house mid-way down the street.
The explosion ripped through the town and the fields surrounding it. The Death Eaters circled the buildings, then stormed into them. Screams rang out, smoke filled the air. Blasts of light came from within windows and upon the street. The sleeping residents poured from their dwellings, the adults meeting the cloaked figures in battle. The magical members of the village tried in vain to stop them. The Muggles had no chance.
Voldemort stalked through the burning street to the middle of town. A large platform was erected there, a banner proclaiming the town's hundredth birthday stretched over it. Raising his wand, the Dark Lord lit it too on fire. He slowly pivoted, a content smile turning his mouth upward.
Inside the madman's mind, Harry struggled to gain control. Focusing on his will, he struck the mental barriers that were around him again and again. He attempted spells, incantations meant for mental power. Riddle merely laughed.
Finally managing a shift in the shields, Harry pushed harder. Voldemort stilled, closing his eyes, covering Harry's vision of the continued horrors in the town.
Suddenly, pain flew over Harry. Gasping, he attempted to back away from it, but Riddle's mind wound around him, through their connection, pulling him to Voldemort's power. Harry fought his screams, again fighting against the other's mind, to no avail. Riddle once more opened his eyes.
Harry had no concept of time, but as Voldemort eased the pain, still maintaining a firm hold over him, he realized it had been a while. Many buildings had been leveled; those that weren't remained on fire and in danger of collapse. These gave a garish light, as though torches were lit around them. The smell of burning wood and flesh singed the air. Corpses littered the street, so many blackened as to be unrecognizable. By size, Harry could guess which were the women and children. Voldemort stared at the bodies, and Harry abruptly noticed that the man was aroused at the sight. Harry shuddered against the mental binds.
Movement towards him finally drew Voldemort's attention away, and he turned to his followers nearing him. Harry realized they pulled along captives, and he knew that this was what Tom really wanted him to see.
"Ah, now, what do we have here?" Riddle questioned, stepping towards the line of Death Eaters and their burdens.
"Mudbloods, mostly, Master, according to the Origin Charm," stated a hoarse voice behind one of the masks.
Voldemort smiled. "Excellent. Now, any half-bloods?" he asked with an alarming anger under his voice.
Two of the figures pushed their hostages nearer to the Dark Lord. The one closest, a young girl, dropped to her knees with a sob. Riddle stepped to her, ignoring the flinch she gave at his sight, and ran a hand across her blonde hair, curls turned red with blood. Pulling his hand away, Voldemort smiled at the crimson on it, then grasped the child by the chin and pulled her to her feet. Taking his hand away, leaving a hand-print on her face, he wiped the blood off on his robes. He glanced over the other half-blood, this one a boy maybe a year out of school, though Harry didn't recognize him from Hogwarts. Voldemort then looked back at the girl. "Impure filth," he muttered, finally turning away.
Within his mind, Harry asked, "Did you forget you're a Half-Blood yourself?"
Voldemort stiffened, and then cocked his head. Swiftly whirling around, causing the girl to gasp in fear, Riddle trained his wand on her. "Pellem Detrahere Corpori!"
The girl screamed, the sound shrill before choking off as shock set in. Slowly, before the evil wizards' gaze and Harry's appalled sight, the skin melted from the child's body. The pale flesh liquefied, slipping from bone and muscle, leaving trails of white over red. The girl's system failed and she went limp, dropping to the ground as the Death Eater holding her released her. The man rubbed the residue of skin on his gloves off onto his robes, making what may have been a gagging noise in his throat.
Voldemort watched, his earlier excitement returning. Speaking in his mind, he asked, "Anything else of which you wish to remind me, Harry?"
Harry stayed silent, barely registering the voice speaking to him. As long as the Dark Lord looked at the macabre body, Harry was forced to as well. Fighting down abhorrence, shame, and disgust, he was filled with a terrible horror. He failed to notice the pain that had shot through him, from his connection with Riddle, because he still felt the after-effects of casting the curse. As Voldemort had cursed the girl, Harry had felt everything as though he, himself, had done it. The darkness building within, the power flowing through the wand so like his own, the ecstasy that took over the muscles afterward. Rage, both at Riddle and himself, flowed through Harry, and he renewed his battle to break free.
Voldemort met his every effort, not allowing him leeway to gain control or to force his own physical body awake. So intent was he on his task, that Harry didn't feel Riddle gesture for the other captives to be killed. When bright green light filled their vision, Harry realized what was happening. As the curses died out, thumps sounded of bodies collapsing.
Once the green faded back to the red-orange of fire, Harry saw that all but one of those held where dead. The remaining one was the half-blooded young man, kneeling and visibly trying to not look at the dead beside him. A wary nervousness grew in Harry, and tiring, he finally had to stop fighting against the bonds.
Waving a wand, Riddle conjured a throne-like chair and sat down, his wand in his lap. He ran a gaze over his followers, then focused on the shaking boy in the dirt. He smiled condescendingly.
"Well, now, no need to be frightened. I swear your fate won't be the same as the little girl's," Voldemort drawled in as soothing a tone as possible. The young wizard cowered away. The Dark Lord chuckled, then addressed the figure nearest him. "Lucius."
"Yes, my lord?" Malfoy's melodic voice questioned.
"First, remove your mask. Good," Voldemort purred as the man complied. "Do what you wish to the boy."
"Anything?" confirmed Lucius, running a hand over his styled hair. His eyes shone brightly with excitement.
"Of course. Just don't kill him." Voldemort turned back to the kneeling wizard. "I have something special for him."
Lucius nodded and stepped to the young man. The boy tried to struggle away, but a swift body bind rendered him unable. Lucius knocked him down, forcing him to lay looking up at the smirking blonde. Spelling him over onto his stomach, Lucius' leer intensified. The older wizard quickly dispatched the other's clothes and straddled the quivering form.
Once more struggling in Voldemort's mind, Harry nevertheless was forced to watch. Overwhelmed by painful memories and current horror, he fought with an effort nearing desperate. Riddle easily suppressed his attempts, his own excitation remaining. Harry continued to strike the barriers, loathing not only what was occurring outside, but that he felt everything Riddle did. Concentrating on gaining control, Harry tried not to hear the whimpers and gasps.
To the wizard he held in his mind, Voldemort said, "Do you like this, Harry? I know Lucius so well, I knew he'd do exactly what I was planning. This little show is all for you, Harry. I know I enjoy it." Harry didn't reply.
Eventually Lucius finished, pulling off the battered form with a muttered cleaning spell. Laughter sounded from various Death Eaters watching the sobbing young man on the ground. Voldemort stood once more, looking over his men as though proud. He stepped over to Lucius, who had righted himself.
"Lucius, my loyal servant." Riddle ran a finger down the face of the blonde wizard. "Very good. Now, here." He placed a vial in the man's hand. "This is the special prize I have for the boy. Make him drink it."
Lucius murmured assent, bowing slightly in deference, then kneeled beside the prone figure, turning him over. He quickly uncorked the container, an anticipatory glint in his eyes. Grasping the younger wizard's hair, Lucius jerked his head back and pushed the vial against his lips. Having no will to fight back, the shaking teenager drank the potion down. Lucius dropped his hold of hair, and the young man lay back against the street.
Nodding at his follower when Lucius moved back to stand near him, Voldemort watched the captive eagerly. After several moments of no action, a couple of the cloaked Death Eaters moved restlessly. Never removing his avid gaze from the figure, Riddle raised a hand to still the men's movements. They stopped immediately.
Suddenly a scream wrenched the air, as the teenager arched against the ground. Muscles tensed and writhed under the bare skin, and his limbs flailed, pounding the dirt beneath him. Several snickers came from under masks. Continued cries came from the young man, slowly growing more and more hoarse. His movements slowed, his body twitched, and his eyes became unfocused and pain-filled.
Harry watched, but didn't allow himself to really concentrate. He forced himself to continue fighting Riddle, as futile as it was. Even knowing there was nothing he could do, Harry couldn't just give in, as much as his ragged emotions and mental state wanted to.
A masked figure ran towards them, panting for breath. "Master," the man cried as he reached the Dark Lord. "Master, the Ministry is coming. They've realized we're here!"
Finally turning his gaze from the shaking figure before him, Voldemort sighed in exasperation. He nodded, and gestured for his followers to leave. As the man moved, Riddle stopped the messenger from going with them.
Once they were the only ones remaining, Voldemort turned a disconcerting look upon the other. In his mind, Riddle addressed Harry. "Well, it seems I must cut this short. More's the pity. Did you like the show, my snake?" A deep chuckle surrounded Harry. "Yes, this was all for you. Don't worry, we can talk later. We'll meet soon. Quite soon. Until then."
With that, the Dark Lord's eyes focused on his servant. Though not angry with the man himself, Voldemort decided that didn't really matter. Knowing that the Ministry would soon arrive, he smirked anyway. He raised his wand, lips quirking as the form cringed. "Crucio."
An agonized yell echoed down the empty, burning street. Within the dark wizard's consciousness, Harry gasped. The pain of the curse flowed into him as much as into the one it was upon. He didn't know if he'd felt the casting of this curse, like the other, because the torture forced all other feeling from his mind. Harry never registered when Riddle dropped the mental binds holding him, but the pain increased tenfold, now physically upon his body. Generating at his scar, the torment burned through his nerves, as he writhed. He failed to notice the blood in his mouth, from biting back the screams.
Abruptly the spell ceased, causing Harry to pitch over in shock. Gasping for breath, fighting pain and emotion, he finally focused upon the wood beneath his palms. Slowly he realized he was on his hands and knees on a floor, though any idea beyond that seemed out of reach. Over the after-shocks of the curse, memories ghosted in tendrils across him, almost physical in their intensity. Harry's body shook harder and his respiration came in raspy heaves.
Forcing himself to concentrate on the feel of the hard floor and on the still air around him, Harry worked to gain control of himself. Finding it much easier than fighting Tom, he managed to slow his breathing. Awareness washed back into his mind, and Harry looked up. Dizziness struck him, making him sit down from his position and lean back. Eventually, he registered that he was in his room in Grimmauld Place, sitting beside his bed. Fighting nausea, Harry made himself rise to the bed and sit on its edge.
Still breathing heavily, he closed his eyes and fell into his Occlumency, letting blackness settle upon him. Once more governing his faculties, he forced his eyes back open and stood. He carefully wiped his mouth free of blood and walked to the desk beside the wardrobe.
Reaching it, Harry leaned heavily upon the strong oak. Finally regaining his sure footing, he straightened. Taking a deep breath, he pulled out his wand and spelled a quick note to Dumbledore. On the off chance the headmaster didn't know of the attack, Harry felt he should tell him. With another wave of his wand and a muttered spell, the letter was sent to the man's office.
Harry walked to the door of the bedroom and listened for a moment. When he heard nothing in the hall, he realized that he must not have made noise enough to wake his godfather or Remus. Thanking Myrddin, Harry grabbed his cloak and swung it over his shoulders. Waving his wand in a long arc, Harry cast a quick charm to make sure no one would walk in to find him gone. With a pop, he disapparated.
The night was still strong, the moon now hidden behind the horizon, when Harry apparated to the empty streets. The burning buildings still created enough light to see by. The air seemed to hold the evidence of pain, every breath taken was as though stolen from those that were now dead.
Harry walked quickly towards the heart of town, senses alert for anything. He kept to the shadows, stepping over bodies and various debris. His face was set, and he felt much as he would on a battlefield. Deliberately ignoring the rancid smell that was much stronger in person, Harry made his way through the streets, silently and methodically.
Finally reaching the edge of the town square, he halted near the side of a building, nudging aside a charred form to better conceal himself. Carefully, he gazed over the open area, eyes reaching into shadows, looking for any movement. When none was present, he stepped silently out of his hiding place, his wand in hand.
Knowing that the Death Eaters had gone, as they couldn't have remained in such a place even for a trap, Harry was more concerned with Ministry or Order officials. Supposedly the Ministry was already on its way, and Dumbledore would not be slow in following. Harry knew it was only a matter of time before they came, and he wanted a look around before that.
Circling the outskirts of the square, Harry looked upon the destroyed shops and dwellings, taking in the damage. Most of it seemed to have been done for sport, or as a show of force. Gazing over the numerous bodies, mostly the ones unburnt, he took notice of what they may have been killed by. Quite a few looked to have received the Killing Curse, which was typical of Death Eater attacks from years ago. Harry noticed the distinct lack of daggers, or the presence of corpses having died by Muggle means. He wondered why that was, if the members of Riddle's followers were trained in weaponry. Looking around, he tried to work out the battle.
Swiftly stepping, he made his way past the platform, and a soft moan made him falter. Glancing to the left, he realized the noise came from in front of the structure beside him. Still listening for other sounds, especially telltale pops, Harry strode to the area.
Eyes alighting on the figure, Harry's breath caught in his throat. Upon the ground, still barely shaking, lay the half-blooded boy that had been tortured. Dropping to his knees beside the other teenager, Harry caught the other's anguished gaze. The boy whimpered.
"Shh, it's all right," Harry murmured. "I won't hurt you. The Death Eaters are gone, they aren't coming back."
Harry noticed the eyes relax slightly, and smiled in comfort. Turning his sight to the other's chest, he saw movement beneath the wizard's skin, as well as a blackish cast to the flesh. Realizing what it meant, he nonetheless muttered a diagnosis charm. He forced his face not to show his sorrow when his fears were confirmed.
The vial Lucius had forced on the teenager was a poison, one Harry had seen once and would always remember. The liquid spread like molten fire through the victim, attacking first the lesser organs, muscles, and tissues, bonding to and disintegrating them. Then it moved to the more necessary parts, destroying them in turn. An agonizing, slow death.
Looking the other wizard in the eye, sighing to himself sadly, Harry quietly said, "I can't save you." No one could. This poison had no cure.
A stiff nod greeted this, and dim resignation joined the pain in the teenager's eyes. Harry swallowed tensely, keeping the other's slightly unfocused gaze. Numbly, Harry pulled his dagger from its place attached to his leg. When the young man's eyes closed, another moan sounding from his lips, Harry raised the dagger. Nearly inaudibly, he whispered, "I'm sorry."
As the blade plunged into his heart, the dying teenager's eyes flew open. Surprise, and a vague gratitude flitted within, before the life faded from them. As the last shuddering breath left the broken body, Harry retrieved his dagger from its makeshift sheath. Waving it with a wandless spell to remove the blood, he replaced it to its proper place. Harry ran a hand over the wizard's eyes, closing them, before standing back up.
From behind, Harry registered the sound of apparation. Never turning from the prostrate figure, he barely noticed the yell of the Ministry wizard, as he disapparated from the scene of so many slaughters.
A/N: I truly appreciate all of my reviewers; it makes me feel so wonderful to get feedback. Thank you.
And a definite Thank You to all of my readers, as well. Please enjoy.
Best Regards and Pleasure Reading,
Zenn
Pellem Detrahere Corpori - (Latin) Flay