DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter and its characters were created by JK Rowling and are copyrighted to their rightful owners. There is no copyright infringement intended by this. Format inspired by Lord Chaos of the Sailor Moon community.

What you are about to read is a preview for my new fanfic, "Blood Debt." Part One is now posted.

It wasn't much to look at. In fact, by many standards it was down right ugly. He had expected jewels and gold, not this... It was wood. Plain, simple wood that looked like it had been fashioned in a hurry by a clumsy giant. He was sure that if he handled it too roughly it would leave splinters in his hand.

So he didn't touch it. Taking a deep breath he looked at the paper in his hand. Folding it deftly, he took a step over the gold line and waited. For a second he thought he might turn to ashes. He had never actually expected to get past the simple line. He had thought he would meet with an invisible barrier. Or be hurled across the room.

He looked over his shoulder, at the other students who had followed him to the main hall. Some were already dressed in their school robes. Others wore their night clothes. Most were from his year, some a little younger. They hung back cautiously, near the door. They had also probably thought he would die trying to across the line. But they had come anyway, and he understood why. Part of him even appreciated it.

Strength in numbers, he thought darkly.

Looking away from them he took another step and came eye to eye with the ugly goblet and its dancing flames. He took another deep breath and with a flick of his wrist, threw the paper with his name into the cup and watched as the bluish white flames reduced it to ash.

Around him a cheer went up from the members of his own house.

HE WAS BORN TO BE A SERVANT

It hurt. When the spell forced itself into his skin, he thought he might die of the pain. Or be driven to insanity. It hurt so badly he wanted to yell at the Dark Lord to stop. But he couldn't. Wouldn't. This was his destiny. What he had been born for... All that he was worth.

After a few minutes the pain subsided. Then the Dark Lord's wand moved from his arm and an older Death Eater shoved him out of the way to make room for the next recipient.

He clutched his arm as he stumbled away. After he had moved far away enough to be out of their sight, he pushed his sleeve up and stared at his arm.

He had heard about this so many times. Had seen it on his own parent's skin. But he couldn't recall it ever glowing so brightly. The skull stared back at him, a serpent twisting out of its mocking grin. The dark mark. The brand of slavery.

Repulsed, he pushed his sleeve back down.

A TOOL OF VENGEANCE FOR HIS FAMILY

The room was large, its walls made of the stone that comprised the rest of the dungeon. There was nothing in the room but a circle of fat, white candles. The flames sputtered as a cold wind swept through the chamber.

Three people entered, all clothed in dark robes. One held nothing, another clutched a dagger, and the third held a small bowl and strips of white cloth.

As they neared the circle of candles, the young man began to shed his robes. He folded them neatly and then stepped into the center of the circle. Naked, he kneeled on the cold stone floor.

His mother sat outside the circle, the bowl and cloth beside her. His father stepped into the circle behind him and folded his legs beneath him. With a steady hand, he set the dagger against his son's back.

The blade was cool as it first touched his skin. Then he felt his father press harder, and the tip bit into his flesh. He breathed in with a sharp hiss. Neither parent gave any indication that they noticed. With a steady hand his father began to move the dagger.

Time passed, he couldn't tell how long. All he could do was feel the blade as his father traced out the intricate words. Carved ancient runes into his back. Some he cognized from his studies, others he didn't. But he knew from heart what they meant. Had learned from the cradle that they were a list of grievances the family had suffered.

BUT EVERYTHING HE HAS BECOME...

The muggle screamed, her shrieks startling the birds nesting nearby. With an offended hoot an owl flew from its perch.

In the clearing he watched as her body convulsed in agony. Pointing his wand again, he said, "Crucio."

Eventually her screams stopped. Her eyes glossed over and her body went limp.

He turned to the other Death Eater. "Bring another one."

As his former classmate went to fetch the other muggle, he stared at the dead girl. Her black hair fanned over her face. The muggle girl looked nothing like her, but every time he looked at the muggle, all he saw was her.

IS BECAUSE OF HER

"Did you honestly think that you," she sneered, "A Slytherin, would be Hogwarts's champion?"

Around her, the other sixth year Gryffindors laughed. Behind him, the Slytherins turned deadly silent, staring at the stupid, little Gryffindor chaser-bitch.

Glancing at her friends she said, "God, even Diggory, a Hufflepuff, is better than you." She turned back to look him in the eye. "Even the Goblet knew that, Warrington."

BLOOD DEBT

"I can't be a Gryffindor and be friends with a Slytherin!"

Author's Notes:

1. This is a Warrington 'fic. For those who don't know, Warrington was a Slytherin Chaser. He was a seventh year when Harry was a fifth year. Read the books, his name is dropped a few times. He is alleged to look like a sloth, though I don't agree with anything the Gryffindors say about their Slytherin counterparts.

2. There will be truck loads of angst. There will be no fluff. No happy ending.

3. You are meant to dislike the Gryffindors, so don't argue that they would never act the way I characterize them in this. Again, read the books.

4. There's no 'ship' in this fanfic in the fandom sense. This is about Warrington, though Alicia plays a major role.

JEWEL
(Posted June 12th, 2004)