ANATHEMA
By Yih

Note: This is an AU fantasy. That means canon events will not happen as you see them. They will be twisted to fit this world, which is not like quite like the wizarding world, though there are still wizards. And it's not a "go back" in time thing either.

Chapter Three
The Edge of Insanity

The ritual of imposition—one soul suppressing another—is unpleasant. I hate watching; I hate participating. I am forced to pick victims who can suffer and survive it. Quirrell's a decent choice. I know better than to choose poor ones.

"Weak host," Master hisses. "Inferior choice."

I bend my head even more, knowing better than to protest. He has never told me I made a good selection. It doesn't work like that. I must always be disparaged. It makes him feel superior, and anything that makes him feel powerful—trapped as he is between life and death—is a necessity.

"My terror..." I feel his presence, the extensions of his soul that do not bound tightly to his old host—they are slipping out as the body dies and dies. "Prepare him."

I nod and call for Snape to bring me Quirrell, naked and bound.

I shudder when I see him… in Quirrell's lanky body. He looks almost normal, if I don't immediately notice the red, red eyes. They are the trait that always carries over at the instant of the exchange. The rest, the scaly dry husk, will follow.

Time always has its vengeance on him. It's not natural, what he is. What he's trying to escape from. But he's managed all these years, who knows how long? So long, so long that it's become engraved into the minds of those around us. How this land is known as the wasteland, Death's Kingdom.

"Harry," he says and curls a fingers, "come here."

I walk over and bow. I can feel his pleasure in his gaze. There's something about the way he looks at me that is morphing into what I don't know. I have never seen it before and I dread it.

Quirrell's bony fingers touch my face, trail down my cheek to my throat to cradle it. "My sweet destruction," he whispers. "I have a mission for you."

"What is it, Master?" I do not dare to raise my face. I keep it low, I keep it down.

"This body is strong enough for the purpose I need. I will have my deliverance," he declares, his hand tightening around my neck. "You have read of Flamel, you know what it is I seek."

"The Philosopher's Stone."

"Yes," he hisses in approval. "My smart, smart boy."

"But it is only… a myth, a legend."

"No." He's choking me. I can't breath. "Listen carefully."

My eyes roll back into my head. I don't have much choice. Red spots. Oh.

"There is a rumor spreading that it has been found within the Domain of Hogwarts." His nails are breaking skin, drawing blood. "We will go there, my terror, and we will hunt it down."

"My lord," Snape says, bowing stiffly and handing me a message. "This was sent by a special courier for you."

My stomach clenches uncomfortably when I take it. I glance at him and incline my head. He bows once more before taking his leave. I watch him leave, waiting until he has closed the door safely behind him before opening the note.

Harry,

I know you said never to contact you, but I had to choice. You told me to tell you of any 'unusual doings' in the Southlands and I believe I have something you might be interested in. If you will receive such a missive, send your eyes and I will answer.

Thank all that she did not sign her name, but Hermione isn't foolish. She knows the danger I represent. Somehow she still finds in her heart to be kind to me. It goes against everything she stands for, as a healer. I don't quite understand, but I'm grateful. She's the one human friend I have.

I quickly burn the note, letting it crumble away into ashes in my hot hand. I clench my fists and toss the remains into the fireplace. Master would not be able to reform the message, not when it had been destroyed by magical flame.

Quickly, I need to act before Master realizes anything is up. I know the rules. I belong to Master and only him. If Master knew about Hermione, likely he would kill her and I don't want that. I'd rather die.

Whatever the information Hermione has, it must be very unusual. Some of the less interesting bits she kept to herself until he visited. But this—this must be extraordinary for her to contact me.

She knows the consequence. It could be my life.

I shrug. I conjure a missive and start writing:

It is me. This note is designed to disappear into nothing once you've read it. So pay close attention. Send the information as soon as you can, in a manner that is not as obvious as your last. I trust you understand what I mean for you to do.

And thank you.

I calls Hedwig and ties it around her leg. She hoots eagerly and nips my ear, her way of telling me to be careful while she's gone. I smile and nod. She smiles in the way only owls can and flies off.

I silently pray for her safety.

"The Great Lord requests your presence," Snape tells me a day later.

I have been expecting him; a bit surprised it hadn't happened sooner. But my Master must be busy working out the arrangements for his first excursion out of the Wastelands since… he fetched me those many years ago. Since then, Master hasn't stepped out from the borders, not until now.

I breathe in deeply to calm my nerves before taking a cloak and slinging it around my shoulders. I don't know why. It's ridiculous actually. It's not like it's ever cold in his rooms. He keeps it quite warm—almost unbearably so.

"Is there anything you would like me to do while you are occupied?" Snape inquires. His eyes are as blank as his face.

"No."

"Very well then," Snape says stiffly. "You know where to find me."

I incline my head and leave him to his business. I have my own to tend to.

"My terror," my Master says sibilantly. There's a slight gentleness to his voice that will be gone by the time he has worn the body into a skeletal remain. "The preparations will be done tomorrow."

Is that all this meeting is about? I feel my shoulders relax slightly, not enough to make a difference in my stance. If he doesn't know, then I'm not going to give him a reason to ask questions—to probe my mind.

"When shall we leave?" I inquire.

"At dusk."

I nod. "Is that all?" I keep the eagerness out of my voice, knowing he would hear it. I make it bland, but not too bland. He recognizes differences in tones and he always seems to know when I'm trying too hard to hide something. I have to keep it mild, keep it exactly how I would react if I really was what I was hiding beneath.

"No."

My neck suddenly feels a blazing pain that shoots down my spine. I gasp and fall to my knees. I lurch forward and I feel his gaze piercing into my careful shields. I don't force new ones up. He'll notice. I allow some information to filter through, tidbits of knowledge I had kept to myself. I let him see Black, let him see Malfoy's heir. But not Hermione, never her.

I reluctantly give up the memory of the knife wound, how it had tore into my gut and almost incapacitated me. But my magic had been strong; it had healed me. I owe my life to my Master. He had made me this way.

I feel his pleasure.

Sometimes he is so predictable. I know what he wants and I don't understand why. He likes to cause me anguish, torment and yet… he wants me to need him. And there's something more, something that eludes me.

Pain sears my mind and the darkness edges—pulses and there are no more thoughts in oblivion.

I wake up and everything is black. I gasp when I feel familiar cold fingers grip my face and turn it in the direction of his burning red eyes. "Master," I rasp.

"I am most displeased with you, Harry Potter."

He never said my full name unless he is. I shiver, tremble and hope that my show of fear is enough to thrill him without any excruciating pain. Master's grip only tightens and I feel his nails dig into my skin—once Quirrell's nails. I tense when I feel them break skin.

"You had a message that you did not inform me of."

I nod slowly, not having much choice in the matter.

"And you had another," he hisses, leaning so close to my ear that his tongue grazes it. "Fortunately, it contains information most useful." He releases me and I relax a little. "Whoever this messenger is, you have done well… my terror."

I have no idea what he is talking about. My mind is racing… the message must have been from Hermione. But what could it possibly contain that would interest Master? She probably wrote of some… off hand news of politics—maybe there's a new Head Wizard? The current one annoys my Master greatly. Sometimes I suspect it is that old man who nearly sent Master into the dead.

"You made such a dreadful mistake," Master says with an edge I recognize as one that promises great pain and torment. "You should have told me. I so do dislike being uninformed."

I don't even have time to prepare myself for the agony that races through my body. I think I'm screaming, but all I really know is that this pain makes me want to let go. This torture could break me.

"It won't."

Master's voice. Another twisted promise. It's always the same. I race to the edge of insanity and he releases me before I overrun it. I don't see why he just doesn't push me over. He has more willing servants than I, ones who are only too eager to serve him. What good am I? I am only… the son of two unimportant, murdered wizards.

I am nothing. Nothing. nothing… in this fracturing.

"No."

I rush to crumbling wall, waiting for it fall and then be free—oh free in madness. But before my eyes it starts to reform, cracks disappearing, and my legs suddenly being dragged in the reverse. I am heading backwards and… back to him.

"I will never release you."

TBC

A/N: Ah yes, a bit chilling eh? I find this quite different from any other thing I've written in the HP fandom, stylistically too. It's just a very creepy fic to write. I think Voldemort's characterized well and yet not characterized like my other Voldemorts. Anyway, leave a review. It helps get this story written.

Thanks to crystal17, Illucia (you should get an idea where it's going now), clazertai, Iskjif, Silent Sinner (thanks! I've had a slip of updates for about 6 months, just during school I really slow down, I was overswamped. Though sighs MCATs are coming up… so soon I'm going to be really busy… we'll see what happens then), fudgebaby, Ruth, kirrdis (Quirrell fits with book one), Mirrorwakes, Wellingtonboots, Rey Melody (Actually this is influenced by Garth Nix a bit, with the whole "dead in the living" but no use of bells and charter marks and even more influenced by Chinese Fantasy), Aremis Moonclaw, HoshiHikari, Eaiva le Fay, Spike wings (Yes Lucius loves Draco, I think a bit too much, which makes him a hard father b/c he expects so much.), Rattentod, sunsethoriz, Thee-Unknown-Factor, Allie, Serpent of Light, Shattered Diamond (Harry's a bit old because of the torture bit), Lady Lestrange, CuriousDreamWeaver, Toki Mirage, riantlykalopsic, futago akuma-tenshi01, angelkitty77, Japanese-jew (I'll explain Sirius when we get back to him. Regulus is the heir, not Sirius, which I assure you I will go into some detail on if it's important. Narcissa isn't lower in status. There are people w/o power/magic, but they don't consider this muggles and this is not in the 20th century. It's not even in this world, for the matter), Julie Long, chocolatedemon, garnettvii, j752752 (I don't think Harry's the type of person to make observations. He slides through life), Spideria (Thanks), wizzan (b/c Quirrell was the host for Voldemort in Book 1)

If anyone wants to ask questions or just talk, I'll be "sevviepooh" on aim.