Author's Note: And you all thought I was dead! Nope, I had schoolwork. Lots of schoolwork. It's all over now. I had my last final yesterday. It wasn't pretty, and I'm sure some blood was left behind on that paper. I decided to celebrate by posting!
ATTENTION: The rating is now set at "MATURE". If you do not fit into that category, please find something else to read. I am not responsible for extremely young readers becoming disturbed. Are we understood? Yes? Good. On to the chapter!
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Mi,
Everyone keeps asking me why I won't press charges. I can't. I've realized that it's not "all about me". The way I see things, as they stand now, is that there are two factions in the wizarding world, those for Voldemort and those against Voldemort.
Those for Voldemort have been increasing in strength, regardless of the fact that more were captured and put away in Azkaban. More are joining everyday. Voldemort is gaining followers faster than the Light side. He draws them in, promises them glory and peace under his regime, and then entraps them with their own idealism.
Yes, Voldemort is an insane evil Dark Lord that needs to be put down as soon as possible, but he has something the Light side doesn't have: he has an excellent story to tell to those he attracts. I didn't spend all of my visions watching him torture people, Mi. He is a phenomenal speaker. He gathers those whom are outcasts in standard magical society. Yes, he has the pureblood faction, but aren't they outcasts just as much as werewolves or vampires? They're looked upon as old-fashioned, a shell of the outdated society of the wizarding world. If you were raised to think that your family name meant something, wouldn't you be upset as well? Werewolves, vampires, the abused, the old-fashioned, the neglected. There is great potential for such power if they were all banded together under one story, and Mi, Voldemort's is that story. Why would any of those groups hold any love for a Ministry that persecutes those outcasts and their beliefs? I'm not going to start spouting blood purity here, but I can see their side of the argument.
The Light side needs all the help it can get. There are two figureheads at this point in time. They are Dumbledore, the Defeater of Grindelwald and Lover of Fine Socks, and, much as I am chagrined to admit it, me. The Ministry doesn't even come into it. It is collapsing around the heads of our government without anyone realizing it. All of this writing now brings me to my conclusion.
If I were to press charges of kidnapping, unlawful imprisonment, child endangerment, attempted murder, etc. (my legal team made a list...you'd like them), I would only fracture the Light side beyond all hope of recovery.
Does it hurt that Dumbledore has betrayed my trust? Yes. Should he leave me alone? Yes. Am I afraid that he'll try something similar? A little. Do I agree with what he did? Absolutely not. As much as I would love to see him brought to trial and left to rot in whatever punishment the justice system could deal out for someone so misguided, I can't. I can not in good conscience shatter what little resistance against Voldemort there is, even if it means that my own wish for justice must be put aside. I can not fight a two-front war. My goal is to defeat the Dark Lord. I must focus on that. I hope you understand my reasoning, Mi.
Your brother,
Skywalker
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"I keep telling myself that it doesn't matter," Harry told Paul as he lowered his feet to the floor from his "ball" position. "That he can't hurt me anymore and that I shouldn't worry about it." Harry paused and drummed his fingers on the armrest of the couch and then brought his legs up to sit cross legged. "The fact is that I can't stop thinking that he's around the corner, and he's going to drag me to the hallway and toss me back in that damned cupboard."
Paul sat and considered what Harry had said for a few minutes. There were very few people Paul wanted to strangle in his life. In fact, he could count them all off on one hand: all of them were related to Harry in some way. First, there was Voldemort, for depriving Harry of his parents and turning this normal child into a figure head for the dreadfully sheep-like wizarding world. Second was Dumbledore for daring to place Harry with a family that wouldn't be able to support Harry in such a position. Third was Vernon Dursley for daring to lay a finger on this child with the intention of hurting him. Fourth was for the person who had used magic to suppress the memories, whoever he was. Fifth was this Bleys character. If Paul ever got his hands on him for just releasing Harry's memories in that way without regard for Harry's mental well-being...well, Paul had never been violent, but he would cheerfully remove every single bone from each of the men's bodies without a qualm for either the mess he made or the fact that he removed life from their bodies.
He and Harry had discussed the memories and repression for the first few sessions they had after Harry had returned to St. Jude's. The pattern was disturbing. Any memory that told Harry he had something to fear from Vernon Dursly was removed, as well as memories of things that had happened at Hogwarts. Harry's experiences with Voldemort were much more extensive than either could have guessed.
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Harry sighed and lowered his head to his hands. His new memories were confusing him. His first year encounter with Voldemort had included a longer talk with Quirrell about the Dark Arts, how they could both entrap a person in their strength and release a person from past pain by using that pain in their rituals. Harry had responded to that idea, wanting to forget some pain that he knew he had had from the Dursleys, but couldn't explain how he knew something he didn't know. It was Voldemort who had interrupted with the idea of memory charms and how to disarm them. Harry had known then who had hurt him at home. Quirrell had promised to help him not to have to return to the Dursleys...then, something had happened. Harry wasn't sure what it was, even to this day. It was as though the scene had been reset and Harry found himself confronting Voldemort. It didn't make sense. Quirrell had promised to help him; Harry had accepted that help. What else was supposed to have happened? Obviously, not what had happened. Voldemort hadn't ever referred to this incident during his and Harry's talk.
Second year was different, too. Harry had spent more time with Tom Riddle in the Chamber of Secrets. Their conversation had been different. Tom Riddle had learned more about Harry through Ginny, yes, but he had read through the lines of what Ginny wrote. He had known that Harry was abused (bars on the window gave it away) and had told Harry that it could stop if Harry complained to anyone but Dumbledore. Even a teacher Harry hated would have stepped in and taken Harry out of an abusive home, even if Harry had no proof that he was being abused.
There were other things, too. Memories of Vernon and his abuse, things he had thought he had seen at Hogwarts, but had dismissed as his imagination at the time. Everything had changed with Bleys's return of his memories. He wasn't sure that he liked it. No, he didn't like it. He hated it.
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"It's okay to feel this way, Harry." Paul told him, wondering what he could say to take away the fear that Harry was showing. "It's normal."
"Good," Harry said with a smile. "I like being normal."
"Just remember that Vernon cannot hurt you here. He's not allowed to be here or at your aunt's home without her there. He cannot touch you again." Paul told him.
"I know that here," Harry answered as he reached up to tap his head. "Remembering that when something surprises me, well, let's just say I don't." Harry told his therapist.
"It'll take some time, but it can be done," Paul told him as he closed his notebook and laid it on the desk. "Just remember to keep up on your journaling and breathing exercises. We'll continue talking about this, and we'll see what happens. I'm very proud of you, Harry. You've come a long way in a very short time."
"Uh, thanks." Harry said while ducking his head. He still wasn't used to praise.
"You're welcome. Now, Bevie is expecting you in the theatre. How is the play coming?"
"Great, considering I missed a lot of the readings and initial rehearsals. Bevie says that he's amazed I managed to get everything down by myself. I didn't have the heart to tell him about Khalid."
"I can imagine that the idea of a real vampire coaching you would have been a little difficult for him," Paul said with a smile. "Go on, you little theatre nut. I'll see you later."
"Okay, Paul." Harry stood up, gathered his bag, and left the office. His bodyguard just followed behind him down to the theatre. I must find a way to get away from all these bodyguards. Voldemort won't take well to waiting again.
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"Okay, Evan. The final scene between Dracula and the men. Ready?" Bevie asked as Harry fastened the cape around his shoulders.
"I'll be fine, Bevie." Harry said as he moved offstage.
"Okay, Arthur and Helsing, please!" Bevie called from his place in the audience.
Harry waited while the two went through their lines and actions before stepping forward at his cue. "You are now in my domain, gentlemen. And you shall not leave."
Harry advanced on the two boys who dared to enter without permission and stopped when a cross was shoved into his face. He drew back from the object, loathing it with an intensity that he didn't know could exist in his body. A quick movement of his flung a table at the man holding the cross. The cross was dropped and he advanced again, tossing one of the men across the room. He grasped the man in front of him and lifted him by the lapels of his coat. The man's eyes grew wide in fear and his hands scrabbled at the person holding him.
Bright light hit Harry in the face, and he dropped the man he was holding to hide his eyes. He howled in pain and slunk backwards into the darkness. Everything hurt and he felt his power start to diminish. Why had that cursed man done that?
"Now!" he looked up as the two men advanced upon him with a stake and hammer. He backed away, tracking each of their movements. He just needed to get to his coffin, and he would be fine. He just needed to lay in his earth, and then he would be able to fight them again, to beat them away from him.
He lowered the lid of the coffin and felt some of his power returning. The lid flew off, and he hissed in pain as sunlight hit him full in the face. A mirror! He loathed mirrors. How dare they bring a mirror into his home?
His hands shot out to deal with them. He drew them back to himself when they started to burn. Holy water! He hissed again and jumped up from his coffin. The stake caught him full in the heart, and he grabbed it with one hand. He stumbled backwards into his coffin and looked up at the two men who had broken his power so completely. One hand crept up to hold the coffin, his fingernails digging into the wood. One of them grasped hold of the stake and thrust it in further. Harry's body jerked and then lay still. His hand dropped back into the coffin and he was dead.
He heard the two men speak to each other for a few minutes before moving away and out of the house. He raised one hand and clenched the side of the coffin. Had they honestly thought he would be so easy to defeat?
"Good! Excellent!" Bevie's voice broke Harry out of character and he sat up in the coffin.
"Thanks, Bevie!" Harry said happily.
"Can we have Evan now, Bevie?" A girl asked as she came onto the stage. "We have his final costume ready and we want to make sure it fits and doesn't need further adjustments."
"Huh?" Bevie said, distracted by a clipboard. "Certainly, Susan. Evan, you did wonderfully. We have dress rehearsal tomorrow at 2:00 pm. Please make sure you're here and don't get hurt at those martial arts lessons of yours."
"Sure thing, Bevie!" Harry said as he climbed out of the coffin and smiled to himself. He wondered if Bevie knew how creepy it was getting into and out of a real coffin.
Harry followed Susan backstage and smiled again. The entire costume crew was ready for him. He whipped the cloak around in front of his face and leered at the gathered girls. "Good evening, ladies." He drawled in the accent Khalid had pounded into his brain. Almost the entire group giggled at him. Hmm, accents make girls giggle. I must remember that.
"Easy, Lord Dracula. You still have a costume to try on." Michelle said, holding up a garment bag. "Go now, or no blood for you tonight!"
"As the lady commands," Harry bowed over her hand and took the costume with the other. He turned her hand over and bared his fangs. Michelle snatched her hand back and smacked him behind the head. "Ow!"
"Go on, Lord Dracula," she said with a smile. "We want to see how well we did."
Harry smiled at the group in general and ducked behind the curtained off area and started to change clothes. He had just pulled his shirt off when Michelle's head poked in. "I forgot to give you your shoes." She said as she dropped them just inside the curtain. Harry raised an eyebrow when she didn't move.
"See something you like, Michelle?" He asked. The girl squeaked and disappeared. Harry smiled to himself and started to pull on his costume. So, he had something after all. Good.
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"Bevie!" a chorus of shouts drew Bevie's attention towards the stage.
"Yes, what is it?" He asked. He didn't see anyone on the stage. The call must have come from backstage. He was about to turn back to his clipboard when he saw something moving onstage.
A figure detached itself from the shadows and moved forward. It stopped a moment, its cloak wrapped around him like a shield before one arm lowered enough for brilliant green eyes to appear in the black. They seemed to be shining from the inside. Bevie felt a bit of a chill come up his spine, and he stared at the figure. Something was telling him this was not good and he shouldn't be there, but he couldn't look away from the hypnotic figure on the stage.
A ghostly face looked out at him before the lips parted in a smile, canine teeth just a trifle longer than the rest of them. The figure drew himself up to his full height and looked down at Bevie with every generation of nobility showing through in his carriage. "Please allow me to introduce myself," the man said in a cultured and accented voice. "I am Vlad Tepes, Voivod of Wallachia. Some call me Dracula." The figure moved to the edge of the stage and dropped down to the floor. He came up the aisle and stopped directly in front of Bevie.
"Evan, that was amazing." Bevie said. "You nearly stopped my heart!" Bevie sank down into a seat and mopped his brow.
"I take it you approve?" Harry asked, his voice still in the accent.
"Yes, I approve."
"Hey, girls! Bevie approves!" Harry shouted to the costume crew assembled in the wings. A general shout went up before one girl poked her head out of the wings.
"That's great. Now get back here so we can hang that up for tomorrow." She ordered Harry.
"Ah, don't you trust me with it?" Harry asked.
"No, we don't. Now, Evan."
"Better do as she says. The costume crew is never a good crew to upset. I've heard stories of itching powder in costumes."
"I'm going, I'm going." Harry said. He lifted himself back up onstage and surrendered to the girls. Tomorrow was dress rehearsal and the day after that was opening night. He couldn't wait. Hermione and her parents were coming, along with his aunt and Remus. Aunt Petunia had even mentioned something about her friend Ophelia and her husband Ryan coming to see the play. He only had to wait for it to get here.
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Harry opened his eyes and rolled over to look around his room. Something had woken him up. His lifted his Occlumency shields when he felt the sharp twinge from his scar; Voldemort was calling him for lessons.
A quick flick of his wrist sealed his door against other wizards, and he got out of bed. He didn't bother with the light, and he dressed in the dark. He pulled on his black robe and fastened it shut. The Death Eater mask was light tonight. Some nights, it felt so heavy Harry was sure it would fall off. He lifted the hood and whispered his password for the portkey.
He appeared in the cemetery in Little Hangleton. He didn't see anyone else around tonight. He wondered if he was there for lessons or if Voldemort just missed him. Wisps of fog curled around the tombstones, hiding Harry's feet from the rest of the world. He felt a feral grin slip onto his face. He could practice his Dracula movements! Bevie had said that Harry was coming along fine with the performance just days away, but it never hurt to practice what Khalid had taught him about walking.
Harry slipped through the fog without a sound and left the dead behind for the decrepit manor house. No one questioned him in the halls, and he allowed himself to think of the house as Dracula's lair. He pulled the Death Eater robes around him as he would his Dracula cape and prepared his pureblood prince/blood prince air for any Death Eaters he might encounter.
Light and voices alerted him to the location of tonight's meeting. He paused just before entering and told himself that no one there could harm him with the types of wandless magic protections on him. He told himself he was being silly. No one would dare harm the Dark Lord's student and protégé. Harry had to smirk to himself. He would have never believed that he would become the Dark Lord's student or be grateful for that title.
He entered the room and stayed against the wall. Voldemort's more trusted servants, the Inner Circle, stayed to the left side of the room while the other Death Eaters were on the right. Harry slipped behind the Inner Circle and moved up to Voldemort's side. Voldemort was busy cursing a new Death Eater for failing at whatever impossible task Voldemort had assigned him. Death Eaters who survived the initiation as a Death Eater and managed to accomplish several impossible tasks could only hope to join the Inner Circle some day. Most of the Inner Circle became the Inner Circle because they shared the same level of madness as Voldemort himself.
Harry took his place next to Voldemort's throne and watched as Voldemort continued torturing someone on the floor below him. It appeared to be a Muggle of some sort. Harry twitched his fingers and he studied the man writhing under the Cruciatus Curse. He had brown hair, was slightly portly, and seemed to be toeing the line towards madness. He was becoming less coherent the longer Voldemort "played" with him. He listened to the Dark Lord's mutterings about filthy Muggles and that clenched it.
Harry closed his eyes behind his mask and stretched out his magic. He could feel the different layers surrounding the man and focused in on the layer of the Cruciatus Curse. He separated the Cruciatus layer from the man's nervous system. He then slithered in a mild Imperius curse to keep the man twitching and shaking as though the Cruciatus still affected him.
Harry played this game with the spells until Voldemort tired of it. He was happy for the practice. He had a feeling that he would need this skill sooner or later, preferably later, if he had his way. Voldemort suddenly turned and left the Muggle in spasms on the ground. He saw Harry standing next to his throne. Voldemort smirked at him and waved one hand at Harry. "Why don't you finish him off?" He asked Harry.
Harry felt blood drain from his face before he nodded slightly. He knew this would take a bit of fancy spell work for it to be believable. He stepped forward and took out his wand. The entire circle of Death Eaters tensed up and turned to watch him. It wasn't often that they saw Voldemort's student in action, but they were interested in him. They were far too interested in him for his comfort. The Death Eaters were very political and territorial; it was all about their power. Some of them had tried to befriend him while the others blatantly threatened him.
This man needed medical attention to recover from the Cruciatus Curse. He was already turning glassy eyed. Harry raised his wand and with his free hand quickly spread out his magic over the man. He brought his wand down with a mumbled word and the man disappeared. He knew the Muggle would appear in the Hogwarts Infirmary, setting off numerous alarms to alert Madame Pomfrey of a patient in need. They would find a note on the man that said "From Tom". He knew that few people would understand it, but those who knew of Voldemort's student would know who Tom was. The delivery of a Muggle would only confuse them more. He couldn't wait to hear from Hermione about the amazing appearing Muggle.
"Well done, my child," Voldemort said to Harry as he sat down. Harry nodded in acknowledgement and turned his attention back to the Death Eaters. It was never a good idea to take his eyes off them for long. He had found one of them trying to curse him behind his back. Harry figured the man had a death wish; Voldemort had threatened their lives if any harm came to his student.
One Death Eater moved forward and dropped to his knee in front of Voldemort. "My Lord?"
Voldemort looked down at the man and frowned. "Yes?" he snapped.
"My Lord, the other Death Eaters and I are concerned about your student." The man began. Harry felt his shoulders tense up and his stomach flip over at the same time. Had one of them discovered that he really wasn't hurting anyone? Or that he didn't believe in anything the Dark Lord said?
"In what way?" Voldemort asked, raising his wand.
"We think he is a security risk," Oh, that was the wrong thing to say. Harry didn't believe it was possible, but Voldemort trusted Harry completely with his location. "We know nothing about him and –'' Screams started as Voldemort used the Cruciatus Curse on him for a half minute. Harry watched without too much worry. Half a minute was nothing compared to the amount of time he had spent under the curse.
"Interesting, isn't it?" Voldemort said conversationally. "My student, the person with whom I share all my secrets, is thought to be a security risk." Voldemort shot Harry an amused look. Harry snorted from behind his mask. "How would you like to take care of this doubter, my child?" Voldemort asked.
Harry knew what he was to the Death Eaters. He was an unknown. He imagined he must look menacing without having revealed his face once. In fact, the only people who knew what he looked like was Voldemort and Zareh, and Zareh had seen only illusion. Fear of the unknown gives that fear amazing power. Harry had read that in a book once and he felt that it was true.
He drew himself up and stalked forward, much in the manner of Dracula. He stopped a few feet from the Death Eater. He stared down at him and noticed that the eyes behind the mask were terrified. No real damage, but extreme fright. Harry thought to himself as he raised his wand. "I find your lack of faith disturbing," Harry quoted before mumbling a word and tightening his magic around the man's throat.
He could feel the Death Eaters draw back as one away from him and the man. He watched as the man's hands reached up to his throat as he choked. His mask fell off as he fought for his air. "Enough, child." Voldemort said from behind him. "Release him."
"As you wish," Harry really hoped that no Death Eaters had seen Star Wars. He flicked his wand and moved back to his place. He heard great gasps of air being taken from the man.
"All of you should consider this a warning. My student is not as lenient as you would think. He has my permission to deal with you as he sees fit." Voldemort announced.
I do? That's news to me. Harry decided to look menacing as though he had not yet punished anyone for his own interests. Harry felt a shudder of fear go through the group. These people want to change the wizarding world for the better? They're pathetic. They don't have the courage to face problems head on.
"Child, your instructor is waiting." Voldemort told him. Harry nodded to him and left the crowd of Death Eaters behind. His shoes clicked on the polished floors of the slowly restoring manor house. Harry wasn't sure how Voldemort was managing it, but the Riddle manor house was slowly being restored to what Harry supposed was its former glory. An army of house elves or some serious spell work. Harry pondered. The door to his classroom was open and he walked in as he took off his mask and lowered his hood. A dueling area was set up inside the room, which only confirmed to Harry that someone had expanded this room to be bigger inside than outside.
"Good evening, Tom." Zareh said as he stepped away from the dueling platform.
"Good evening, William." Harry returned in his accented voice. "What are we doing?"
"You have eyes," Zareh teased.
"Dueling, yes. But why? I know how." Harry said.
"You know the bare mechanics, but I'm afraid that our Lord asked me to ensure that you receive proper instruction about dueling and its etiquette." Harry only nodded when the man handed him dueling robes. He shrugged off his heavy Death Eater robes and pulled on the dueling robes. They were a gift from Voldemort himself and were laced with protective spells to ensure that he didn't lose his student through a careless hex. Harry actually liked them. They fit well and allowed him to move.
"Very well," Harry answered.
"How have you been, Tom?" Zareh was starting to become annoying with his questions. It appeared that Zareh had decided that "Tom" was not there of his own free will and Zareh had been subtly hinting the last few lessons that there was another choice in the war, a group that could protect him, if he wanted it. Harry ignored his efforts.
"Fine, William." Harry answered. "I've been studying a lot and working on those spells we covered last time."
"Good, good." The man said absently.
"I heard there was some trouble at Hogwarts," Harry said with slight curiosity in his voice.
"A bit, yes. Nothing that the Headmaster couldn't handle," Zareh told him.
Well, if that's how you're going to play it. "Oh? That's good." Harry said calmly. Liar.
"So, you already know how to bow?" Zareh said as he moved.
Harry took his own place and bowed in answer, readying his wand at the last second.
"Very good. Standard rules apply. No Unforgivables and nothing permanently disabling," Zareh said as he set up a timer.
"You've taken away everything fun," Harry pouted. "Not fair."
"Oh? You've suddenly decided to act your age," Zareh asked in a mocking tone. "I didn't think that was possible."
"Just because I don't enjoy talking about Quidditch doesn't mean I am an adult, William." The timer sounded, and Harry waited for Zareh to make the first move. Zareh was a predictable dueler; he started out with a basic disarming spell and slowly moved up the scale until he was right below the Unforgivable curses. Harry frowned as he spun out of the path of a rather nasty hex that would have him unconscious for a week. That would not go over well with Bevie at all come tomorrow afternoon for the dress rehearsal.
"Tom!" Harry's head snapped towards his right and he nearly cringed. I've started answering to that bloody name! He saw Voldemort standing there, his red eyes glinting with an emotion Harry hesitated to name. It was only then that Harry noticed Zareh was trapped behind a shield. Voldemort had actually stopped the duel! "You know you don't need those words you've been saying." Voldemort told him.
Harry thought about what Voldemort said before nodding. If he wanted Harry to show off his ability to use spells without words, well, Harry wouldn't argue. The shield disappeared and Harry raised his wand and silently shot a disarming spell at Zareh. The man actually dropped to the ground to keep his wand. Zareh stared at Harry in shock. Well, well. Harry Potter and Voldemort scored against the Order of the Phoenix. He nearly lost his wand due to his distraction from that utterly disturbing thought. I make it sound like we're working together! Harry was appalled and felt the need to take a hot, scouring shower. With bleach. Ugh!
Spell after spell was exchanged and ended with Harry holding Zareh's wand. He looked down at the oak wand in his hand and grinned. He had won against an Auror and Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. All by himself. Excellent.
"Good!" Voldemort said gleefully as he stepped forward. "Very good!" He motioned Harry towards him and Harry went over to him. Voldemort laid one hand on Harry's shoulder and squeezed. "You've done very well, my student." Harry only nodded and looked over at Zareh.
Zareh stood up and dusted himself off. He ignored the blood running from a cut above his eye and joined Harry and Voldemort. "My young Lord, that was very well done." He said with a flat tone. "Now, may I have my wand back?" Zareh asked with a sheepish smile.
"This is the type of fighter you need in those Auror corps, eh?" Voldemort said as he smacked Harry on the back. Harry was vaguely reminded of Vernon Dursley and had to fight down a shudder. He and Paul had worked on the "Vernon issue", but that didn't mean Harry was ready to face him yet. If at all. He would be happier if Vernon was, oh, on Jupiter. Or the Sun, since Vernon couldn't survive the heat.
"If he ever appears for a job, I'll threaten my boss's life just to get him hired." Zareh said. "I didn't know you could do silent spell casting."
"We've been working on it," Harry said, motioning between himself and Voldemort.
"You have been holding out on me," Zareh said with a firm grin. "That was masterfully planned. You could use that skill in a real duel. Let your opponent think you need the spells, and then let him have it."
"Of course, Professor. That was the plan all along," Harry had no idea what Voldemort was planning, but it sounded good. He saw Voldemort nod silently and he relaxed a little. Good. That was great. He had played Voldemort's game without a single mistake.
"You're dismissed, Zareh. Tom's had enough for tonight, I think." Voldemort reached out and latched onto Harry's shoulder again.
"Of course, my Lord," Zareh bowed quickly before removing his dueling robes. "I wish the both of you a pleasant evening." He disappeared from the room.
Harry holstered his wand and unbuttoned his dueling robes. A house elf appeared and held out its spindly arms for the clothing. Harry nodded his thanks and gave his dueling robes to the house elf. He nearly leapt out of his skin and started running when he heard the door slam shut behind him. He whirled around and studied Voldemort. The man was upset. Extremely upset. Uh-oh.
"Did you think I didn't notice?" Voldemort hissed. Harry suddenly wished he hadn't given up his dueling robes so quickly. He frantically lowered some of the protections he had on himself. If Voldemort were to discover that set of abilities, Harry would never see the outside world again. He lowered the last one just in time as a silent spell from Voldemort thrust him backwards to hit the wall. Harry fought for his balance and studied Voldemort. "Did you think I wouldn't find out that you sent that Muggle to Hogwarts?" Voldemort snarled at Harry.
Oops. Another spell caused Harry to hold his breath as he fought for control. He longed to put up his protection spells again, but knew that Voldemort looked for the physical evidence of his "discipline" and delighted in seeing Harry step carefully as he walked away from such sessions. How did he know? Harry wondered. Did that mean Voldemort had a spy at Hogwarts? It was possible. Or did he catch the spell work? Either way, Harry was in trouble.
"What shall it be this evening, my disobedient student? A few Crucios? A thrashing? Pain spells? Scouring charm? Or something else?" Harry felt his face drain of blood and he swallowed heavily. He didn't want this to happen. Not at all. "What did that uncle of yours do to you?" Voldemort asked. A chill crept over Harry's body. "Turn around. Hands on the wall."
Harry stared at Voldemort, not quite processing what he was hearing. He couldn't do this. He couldn't allow this. He wouldn't allow Voldemort to beat him like some common Mug-, er, his uncle. He realized what he almost thought and shuddered a bit. "Now, my child." Voldemort's voice cut through Harry's self-loathing. Harry shook his head.
Voldemort advanced so quickly Harry barely had time to react. He fought against Voldemort's arm and tried to ignore the pain in his head. He erected his Occlumency shields and felt something odd happening to his head. "There we are. You are much more tractable when you're Confounded." Voldemort said happily. Harry shook his head to clear it, but it didn't do much good. He started separating his magic from the spell and had almost shoved it off when Voldemort cuffed him. Stars danced in front of Harry's eyes as Voldemort used a Sticking charm to hold Harry's hands to the wall. The Confoundus charm dissipated and Harry was already hard at work on the Sticking spell when he heard something that made his blood run cold.
"Save a common Muggle; get beaten like a common Muggle." His shirt vanished, leaving his back open to Voldemort. Harry thanked his lucky stars by name when he remembered that he had placed invisibility spells on his throwing darts. Leather snapped an instant before Harry felt it. He bit down his hiss of pain and focused on dismantling the spell holding his hands. Voldemort was beating him with a belt! It brought back too many memories of his childhood, of Vernon, of being helpless. Harry seethed with the injustice. Wasn't it enough that he had lived with this while growing up? Why did he have to put up with it now?
He was almost out of the spell when Voldemort somehow managed to land one hit directly on top of the previous one. Harry did let out a hiss of pain and ground his teeth. "Enjoying yourself, Tom?" Voldemort taunted. Voldemort paused and Harry counted up the hits to ten. Ten straps with a belt. Surely that was enough for Voldemort. Harry heard a mumbled spell and he howled. "So, the shock spells do have a purpose." Voldemort said to himself. Harry took a deep breath and was glad for it when Voldemort shocked him again. Harry's body rocked with the spell, and he started to shield himself. He had to get home under his own power, after all. He would not let Voldemort see him weak and crawling like a Death Eater!
Harry was ready to reconsider that idea when Voldemort decided that he was tired of playing. He had used the belt again, to make the count an even twenty, and put Harry through another round of shock spells. The magic holding his hands disappeared and Harry had to lean against the wall for a few seconds before standing on his own feet. His magic rushed to strengthen him as he turned around to face Voldemort.
"Have you learned your lesson?" Voldemort asked in a patronizing voice.
"Yes, sir," Harry answered calmly. "May I explain my actions?" Harry asked.
Voldemort gave him a blank look. "If you can," He said with a dubious tone.
"I knew the Muggle was nearing insanity when I stepped forward. In fact, that last bit of magic I performed on him should guarantee it. I meant it as a warning to those who would stand against you." Harry explained in a quiet voice. "To frighten them."
"While the idea has merit, that was not for you to decide," Voldemort said. He motioned Harry to come closer to him. Harry inched up to him and waited, bracing for another attack. "Turn around." Not again. "Episkey." Voldemort tapped his wand and Harry felt an odd sensation crawl over his back. "I'm not a healer, but you won't bleed to death."
Harry nodded. He was confused, in terrible pain, and close to breaking. He was ready to go back to his room and cower in the blankets. No, he wanted to go home and cower in his room while Aunt Petunia stood guard with her cast iron skillet. Voldemort handed him his shirt, but Harry didn't bother putting it on. He only rolled it into a ball and tucked it under his arm. Voldemort waved his wand and Harry's Death Eater robe floated over to him and draped around his body. He handed Harry his mask and waited while Harry put it on. A quick motion of his wrist adjusted Harry's hood. "Go home, my dark child. You've done well, accepting the consequences of your actions. Remember that I am the leader, not you."
"Yes, sir." Harry mumbled as the door unsealed. He left Voldemort behind and made for the door to the outside. He passed a few Death Eaters, and one actually stopped him to talk to him. He clapped a hand on Harry's back and Harry responded by hexing the man with Jelly-Legs. He didn't even feel bad about it.
He stumbled outside and crept through the cemetery. The fog was thicker than earlier in the evening. He allowed himself to disappear in it and whispered his password for his Portkey. He collapsed soundlessly on his bed and waited until he could breathe without pain.
He nearly leapt through the ceiling when a hand fell on his back. He gasped and fought to get up, but the hand only pressed harder. He collapsed back onto the bed and clenched his eyes shut in pain as he waited.
He felt the person lean over him. "I smell blood. You have a lot of explaining to do, my little magus." Harry started and gasped as his back throbbed. "Easy," Khalid said calmly. "Look at me," He demanded of Harry.
Harry looked up and tried to think of a good explanation. Khalid reached out with two fingers and touched the center of Harry's forehead. Harry's eyes crossed and then closed as he felt lethargy spread through his body. He would defend his actions when he woke up tomorrow.
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Author's Note 2: Thanks to everyone who helped with this chapter: the fabulous beta, Mimi Taylor, everyone who reviewed last chapter, Keres Weiland, for listening to me complain about schoolwork and plot, Trio Maxwell, for remaining patient with me, and last but not least, my friend Renee, for her enthusiastic response to all of my stories.
Also, I was wondering if you all could tell me where you're from and what languages you speak when you review? I have a bet on with one of professors and I have to show her that more than just Americans read fanfiction. Please? Thanks!
Emma Lipardi