Voldemort stood back to his full height and looked calculatingly down at Harry, whose eyes never left the cold stone floor.
"Out." Harry raised his head, almost thinking that Voldemort had been speaking with him. "I wish to speak with Mr. Potter alone."
No one moved, it was like everyone in the room had been in a trance watching what would happen between the enemies.
"Out I said!"
Harry jumped as Voldemort roared the instruction to the stunned Death Eaters and immediately they began disapparating into thick black billows. Harry turned his head in time to see Draco, still standing silenced and looking hopeful at the Dark Lord- like he expected a reward of some kind. Not receiving any acknowledgement, Draco quickly disapparated with the rest of the Death Eaters.
It took a moment for Harry to realize that the two men who had been so forcefully grasping onto his arms were now gone, and he was free to move about. He rubbed his sore forearms, sure that there would be bruises in the shapes of meaty fingers there tomorrow.
When Harry looked up, he met the crimson eyes of the Dark Lord. Voldemort was examining Harry with an attentive expression, as if he were attempting to solve an unspoken riddle. Harry met the eyes of his enemy, Savior?, but after a few moments turned away from the penetrating gaze. They stood in silence, Voldemort unmoving as Harry squirmed awkwardly.
"What're you looking at?!" Harry blurted out abruptly, slightly flustered over being studied so intensely.
Voldemort stood unaffected by the boy's outburst and ignored Harry's question. "You said you wished to speak with me." Speechless for a moment after the deflection, Harry stared at Voldemort. "Well?" Voldemort pushed.
Harry took a deep breath. He knew deep down he was betraying his friends, his school, but- but not really. They would understand. Hopefully.
He knew they wouldn't.
"I-"Harry paused, knowing this was it. Defeated, he said, "I- I just- I can't do this anymore." Voldemort's eyes narrowed infinitesimally, but Harry gathered what little was left of his obstinate Gryffindor courage and refused to let his voice waver. "I'm done."
Voldemort continued to stare silently at Harry as the moments ticked by. "What do you mean exactly?"
Harry felt relieved that Voldemort broke the heavy silence. "I mean… with the war."
"You're done with the war?"
"Yes. I'm done with the war. With everything," Harry said, receiving a skeptical look from the other man.
"Why?" Voldemort simply said. 'Why? Why does he care why?' Harry thought, surprised that he hadn't been met with an instant Avada Kedavra. "I expect an answer Harry when I ask you a question."
Harry bristled, maybe there was still some fight left in him. "Excuse me? I'm not one of your idiotic Death Eaters." Voldemort just looked at him expectantly. "Why? Why does it matter? I'm just done."
"I do not believe you Harry."
Harry's tempered flared. Why couldn't Voldemort just take this as it was? "Well too bad. I give up. I surrender. Whatever you want to call it. I'm just done fighting this useless war."
"Useless?"
"Yes! Useless!"
Voldemort paused for a moment. "What are you doing Harry?"
"What do you mean?!" Harry's voice was rising.
"I do not believe for a moment that the Savior of the Light has just walked into-"
"STOP USING THAT NAME!"
Voldemort stood silently and observed the boy. Harry was standing, tense, hands clenched, panting with the effort of refraining from screaming in Voldemort's face. The perfect picture of a person about to fall off the edge.
"What's going on, Harry?" Voldemort said surprisingly quietly.
"I'M JUST DONE OK? I'M DONE BEING THE SAVIOR! DONE BEING THE FUCKING BOY-WHO-LIVED! I DIDN'T CHOOSE THIS! I DON'T WANT IT!" Voldemort was the flawless image of calm as Harry continued to scream. "I didn't want this! No one asked me! NO ONE! How do they expect a KID to actually win a battle against- against YOU?! I have ZERO magical experience compared to you! WHAT DO THEY EXPECT?! They're putting me out on the front line, putting all their faith in me, expecting me to SAVE THE WHOLE FUCKING WIZARDING WORLD!" Harry panted. "I DIDN'T WANT THIS! I'M NOT DOING IT ANYMORE!"
Harry stood panting, out of breath, a desperate and frantic look in his eyes. He looked more like a scared little boy than a wizard who had just marched into his enemy's grasp.
Moments passed as Harry's breathing slowed and, looking to the ground, he said quietly, "I didn't want this." Harry sighed deeply, suddenly feeling extremely worn out. He muttered to himself, "Why- why couldn't I have just been a normal kid?"
"…because I chose you."
Harry looked up at the other man, slightly surprised at what he saw. He had shown great weakness in front of his 'enemy', and he fully expected Voldemort to be standing there laughing at him, rejoicing in his victory. Instead, the Dark Lord stood soundlessly, simply looking at the boy in almost a- compassionate manner? No. Couldn't be.
"Yeah well, you didn't have to do that," Harry said sarcastically. Voldemort smirked.
Harry looked back to the ground. He had been done with this war for a long time. The Order wasn't getting anywhere, it felt like they were going in circles and the end would always be him dueling Voldemort. The entire war depended on that inevitable confrontation. Dumbledore, The Order, everyone had faith in him, but he knew what would happen. He'd be killed before he could get the first curse off. Although, he hadn't been cursed tonight yet… hell, Voldemort even seemed interested in why he was here. For a man who was hell-bent on killing him, he really did take his time. Voldemort interrupted his thoughts.
"So, that's why you're here, you're giving yourself up? Surrendering?"
Harry looked towards the tall man. He was pale, deathly pale, but he looked stronger than he had in the graveyard, hell, stronger than even in the Ministry not too long ago. Harry had been so terrified those nights. Terrified of losing, of letting down his friends and The Order, terrified of…. dying. What had changed? Here he was, walking into Death's embrace only a little over a year later.
"Yes…"
"You're expecting me to kill you." It wasn't a question.
"Yes."
Voldemort paused. "Do you want to die?"
Harry was taken aback by this question. Did he want to die? Dying meant escape, escape from the madness of being The-Boy-Who-Lived, escape from the pressure of saving everyone, escape from the Dursleys. Dying meant being with his parents. Dying meant being… safe.
Harry's eyes fell. He didn't answer the man's question. He couldn't. He couldn't bring himself to say it.
Voldemort stepped closer yet again. Harry was shocked when he felt something cold on his chin. Voldemort had reached his hand towards Harry, using the knuckle of his index finger to raise the boy's head- barely touching him.
Voldemort's voice was low, "Do you want to die, Harry?"
Harry looked into the man's crimson eyes. He didn't want to die… but he wanted out of this life he was given. It was too much. This was the only way.
"I- I don't really know." Harry answered quietly. Voldemort had released Harry's chin and was waiting for him to continue. "I- don't want to live like this anymore, being the Savior, being expected to win the war for everyone. I can't do it…"
Suddenly Harry felt very emotional and felt tears forming in his eyes. 'I can't cry in front of him', Harry thought with a panic, but he couldn't stop it. He was just so exhausted! He felt the silent tears beginning to run down his cheeks and knew Voldemort could see them too. He was embarrassed, but he couldn't stop. It was suddenly like every emotion he had kept inside for the past few years was hitting him all at once. A sob broke from his throat.
"I just want to be with my parents!" Harry sobbed as he collapsed onto his knees. He rolled his legs out from under him so he could sit on his backside. He gathered his knees to his chest and sobbed. It was way too late for saving face in front of the Dark Lord now, so he just let it go, let it all go. Harry covered his head with his hands as the sobs racked his body.
Voldemort looked down at the boy. Shocked was an understatement of how he had felt when the boy had collapsed into a fit of sobs. He could hear Harry muttering, trying to force sentences out.
"I- I- my pparents- no mo-more- Dursley's- go b-back- Hog- warts- done I'm ddone- no more- ssstop- stop- stop- stop-stop- stop-stop!"
Voldemort wasn't sure what had come over him, but hearing the boy mutter the last word over and over forced him to act. He stepped closer to the shaking form on the ground, not entirely sure of what was happening. Slowly, measuredly, he reached out for the boy, gently placing his cold white hand gently on Harry's head. The boy shuddered.
"Stop stop… I don't w-want tthis…"
Voldemort slowly began moving his fingers through the jet black hair as though stroking an animal.
"My parents- I just want—to be w-with th-them." The two stayed like this, the only noise in the castle were Harry's sobs and mutterings. After a few minutes, Harry seemed to be calming down.
"Take a deep breath," Voldemort finally said, relieved that the boy was getting control of himself. Harry obeyed, trying to calm his breathing. Voldemort immediately removed his hand from Harry's hair, not sure why he had felt the need to put it there in the first place. Was it possible that he felt slightly sorry for the Golden Boy? He knew what Dumbledore could do, knew the wizard could manipulate almost anyone to do as he wished. Merlin how he hated Albus Dumbledore.
Harry removed his hands and raised his head. He was shocked to see Voldemort standing beside him. He remembered feeling a hand in his hair, trying to soothe him. He thought he had imagined it, for surely the Dark Lord would never have done such a thing.
Harry took another deep breath, finally feeling calm again. Calm and utterly exhausted.
"I'm just… so… tired..." Harry said, defeated.
Voldemort waited a moment before saying, "… I know." Voldemort seemed to understand that Harry was not speaking of his current bodily state of exhaustion, but instead of the war, which had sucked every last ounce of the once brave and stubborn Gryffindor from the small body.
Suddenly, breaking the silence Voldemort announced, "I'm not going to kill you."
Harry's head shot towards the man. "What?"
"No. I'm not going to kill you." Voldemort said, the gentleness gone from the voice, replaced by the usual cold demanding sound. "I'm going to keep you alive, Potter. I'm going to show the Wizarding World their crushed hero." Voldemort leaned forward slightly, examining the boy's face as he whispered into Harry's ear, "I'm going to show them their Savior, at my feet, where he belongs." Harry froze. Torture. That's what Voldemort was going to do. Torture him in front of his friends, torture him so that everyone saw.
Harry, for a moment, was terrified. He had expected Voldemort to kill him the instant he walked through the door, not to even have given him a chance to utter a sentence. He had expected the easy way out.
"It's the perfect way to break their spirits… show them their great Golden Boy at my hands."
"Please… please just kill me." Harry begged softly.
"Why? Because you want to be with your parents?" Voldemort asked with a mocking laugh.
Harry just let his head fall. Voldemort would use him, keep him, torture him, but maybe, after a while, he would kill him. Voldemort knew the prophesy, knew that one of them would have to die in the end. Voldemort was surely going to enjoy Harry's willing surrender first though. Even with the so-called 'power' that Harry possessed that the Dark Lord did not, Harry would never win. Love would only take him so far. Prophecies had been wrong in the past and could be wrong again, and Harry knew that 'love' was the only reason he had even gotten this far… and even that would fail eventually.
"You belong to me now Harry Potter," Voldemort said. "You belong to me… not your parents, for it will be a very long time before you see them again." Voldemort looked down at the defeated boy and knew he would sure enjoy his prize. He touched the boy again, running his skeletal fingers through the black hair once more, feeling an overwhelming sense of ownership. Seeing the boy at his feet, weakened… it was a rush. Knowing that he himself was the only one who could give Harry what he wanted- death. One corner of Voldemort's lipless mouth turned up into a smirk. Yes, the boy was his.
Voldemort leaned forward once more…
"You. Are. Mine."
The End?
A/N: Hmm… not sure if I'll continue on with this? I kinda like the foreboding ending…
