"I, can touch you, now!"
These two words chilled Harry to the bone, as he struggled against the scythe of the skeletal statue of the Angel of Death. Harry's eyes widened and his bottom lip trembled, he took in quick breaths. Voldemort, insidious and self-aggrandizing, was smiling sadistically at Harry, his finger drawing closer and closer to Harry's scar.
Pain erupted inside Harry's skull faster than an active volcano, the dripping blood from his scar much resembling lava. The boy had closed his eyes, letting out moans of pain in the dreary, cool night.
But just as soon as the feeling began it dissipated. Puzzled the boy opened his big emerald orbs, which were starting to glisten with tears. His arch-foe, Voldemort, was staring back at him, possibly even more confused than the boy. Harry almost felt tempted to say "Lost the plot, or did you forget how to torture?"
The Dark Lord was shaking his head in denial, muttering to himself. Harry wondered if it was an early onset of dementia. Then, Voldemort threw his head back and laughed. It was the strangest sound Harry had ever heard, a mixture between what he was sure was the devil's laughter and Dudley's mocking snickering whenever he broke Harry's hand.
Of course, Harry had been to hell before, and its name was synonymous with the potions classroom. Yet what he wouldn't give to be at Hogwarts right now! Even if he was cutting flobberworms for Snape in detention.
"Oh, Harry, but this is precious!" the tyrant said.
"What?" Harry asked, glaring daggers at his enemy.
"Adult matters child, you would not understand," he baited him.
"Oh, yeah? Try me!"
Voldemort hummed, a hideous grin on his face, then he hissed. Parseltongue…
"You hold my soul, little one. Yet, fear not, we shall still battle, you and I. Your Lord shall curb that disobedience which festers inside of you. Yes, for I am a merciful Lord, and you shall be mine to rear, mine to shape."
'Hold my soul? Merlin's beard, what does he even mean?' Harry thought panicked.
"I'd rather eat dirt than be anything of yours!" the child hissed back.
Voldemort lifted an eyebrow as if to say "That can be arranged."
Then the Dark Lord turned swiftly to his followers and said "Change of plans, my friends. Harry Potter is not to be harmed. The only one who will have that honor is me. He is a boy in a war with titans, he will break easily."
"My Lord, are you sure?" Lucius asked, concerned.
"Are you doubting me, Lucius?" Voldemort asked with a small smile.
"No! Never! My Lord, I would never…" the other man answered very quickly, looking at the ground.
'Like a scolded toddler,' Harry thought.
"See that you don't, my slippery friend."
Just as Harry thought for a second that he might be able to escape the statue's hold and get to the portkey, Voldemort yanked him away and dragged him towards the center of the death eaters. No amount of struggling could help him. He dug his heels in, he tried to move this way and that, to bite even, but all his efforts were rewarded with a pat on the bottom. Like a naughty child disciplined by an elder. Harry's cheeks flushed red in embarrassment.
Voldemort was looking thoughtful at him, staring at his left forearm.
'Wait, no!' Harry thought.
"You would look resplendent with my mark on your skin, Harry."
"No! No!" the boy screamed thrashing wildly in Voldemort's arms.
The Dark Lord scowled and sent him a flicker of pain via scar.
"Foolish child! Man thrice your age would kill for such an opportunity!" Voldemort scolded.
"Then let them have it!" Harry shouted while Lucius Malfoy rolled his eyes in exasperation at his response.
Voldemort huffed, took Harry's hand, about to cast Morsmordre when Harry lifted his wand, trying to cast Stupefy. But Voldemort was quicker.
"Stupe-!"
"Expelliarmus!"
And Harry's wand flew out of his hand.
"My, my, Harry. They really don't teach you anything at that school, do they?" The Dark Lord cackled.
"No matter. We shall rectify that," he said before taking Harry's left arm, once more about to cast Morsemordre.
Harry felt powerless, his only hope was that somehow Dumbledore might rescue him or maybe, accidental magic. Harry concentrated, loving the idea of a yellow Voldemort with blue spots. That might shock him enough to let go of Harry.
"Morse…" Voldemort began then stopped, looked at his hand which was now a bronze color full of little blue dots, and rolled his eyes.
"A bit childish, don't you think, Harry?" he taunted.
'Away! Away! Go away!' the child thought. His accidental magic helped him once more and teleported him, putting a little distance between them, but Voldemort was having none of it. He lunged forward, letting the coils of his dark magic intertwine with Harry's shaking form, whispering an incantation meant to help prevent accidental magic.
"I have you now!" Voldemort said.
'…my pretty?' Harry thought, despairing.
He took hold of Harry's arm, and whispered, voice vile and full of bite "Morsemordre!"
Then agonizing pain shot through his arm, and the world faded to black.
