Rare authors not at the bottom, you have been warned. Don't worry it's not crazy long.
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Everything seemed to be falling so predictably into place. The failings of the light without their hero, the restlessness of the Death Eaters, and even his dreams, where he was certain he ended up in Potter's mind. It all felt horribly predictable.
The Death Eaters were angry and restless, and worse: they were bored. There was no challenge or risk for them, and they did the tasks he asked of them, but they were growing steadily more and more restless. The light was collapsing under the weight of it's own failed expectations and though it should have been funny it was just... sad. Sad and annoying. It was becoming increasingly difficult to control some of his followers, the ones half crazed and desperate for action most notably.
The child had shown no improvement, and Bellatrix was acting rather sickeningly sweet. She would still torture anyone who dared to look at her funny in the halls, but in the makeshift hospice it was at sugary coo's and gentle touches. She'd managed to collect a little pile of gifts that had been allowed into the room, as well as the mountain growing outside of it. That pile consisted of a stuffed unicorn that was missing it's eyes, what appeared to be a muggle pen, and a small mountain of acid pops, blood lollies, and, most normal of the pile, a box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans where every bean in the box was a shade of blue. Four wands "borrowed" from people who no longer needed them had also managed to make their home inside the room.
The pile outside had had a cursed book, jar, quill and candle holder added to it's midst, the black and red candle in it's twisting metal grasp, as well as what appeared to be two stolen wallets, a very bloody hand bag, a chunk of flesh from the fat muggle in the dungeons and what appeared to be a bowl of eye balls. Everyone liked to avoid this hallway, unless they were a regular in this room, as no one wanted to become a part of Bella's next gift, nor see those who had already contributed. Or at least what was left of them. Bellatrix was still a person to be feared.
In spite of her piles, and her presents, her presence too, the boy had not moved or showed any signs of regaining consciousness and it had been almost a month. The people around him had watched relentlessly, someone was almost always at his side even if they were asleep. Voldemort visited the blackness of the boys mind, never finding anything or seeing anything, unable to move in the oppressive, heavy darkness.
None of this though stopped him from thinking every single thing that had occurred since the reveal of Potter's address had been terribly coincidental, and horribly predictable. Surprisingly he was not ashamed to admit that it bothered him greatly. It was like a chess game, but whomever was moving the pieces wan't very good. The choices they'd made, Bellatrix's sudden affection for the child, even the position they had found him in, all like a poorly written story.
He sighed. He was alone with the boy right now. Even that seemed like it was fate and he expected the boy to wake up any second now with a jolt, panic or say something prophetic. Narcissa was fire-calling her husband, Bella was off collecting things for her piles and Severus had been called by Dumbledore. So he was alone with a body, Bella's "safe" pile, and his thoughts.
Thunder rolled faintly in the distance, and the sky was cloudy and grey. The winds were faint, brushing against windows with the caress of a lover rather than the hard rattling of an angered assailant. Light shone faintly through the pale grey sheets in the sky, and the forests below should have been beautiful. The whole scene should have been striking. It should have felt like hope, and beauty, but it felt like ash. It was all muted and empty, still and unfeeling, and that in itself felt like just another cliche. The part of him that wasn't half expecting Harry to jolt awake was expecting him to die. It was like waiting for a bomb to go off, or for an unavoidable curse to finally hit skin, and this feeling made the skeletal white man uncomfortable to say the least.
Voldemort stared blankly out the window, a slim fingered hand covering the lower half of his face like a mask. His nose was hidden under his palm, and breathing was an uncomfortable task. Thin appendages stretched out like a web over the rest of his face, over his cheeks and between his eyes. His almost lipless mouth was pursed slightly, brows furrowed and vermilion eyes glaring. His back rested in a comfortable, graceless slump and his elbows were digging into his knees. Dressed completely in black and looking as he did, he knew anyone who looked at this image now would see Death waiting beside the boy, bidding his time until he could take the kid to the afterlife.
"Wake up, Potter." He half snarled at the still form, which gave no reply. He waited, a long, uncomfortable pause before speaking again. Not once did he look away from the window.
"I grow tired of waiting for you." And he was met with silence. Glaring eyes closed.
"Please?" He tried vainly. There was no answer to his request, and the eyes remained closed. He moved to sit up a little bit more in the chair he occupied, tilting his head back and rolling his neck, eyes closed all the while. He wasn't tired, not at all, and he spared a brief thought to how much of a coincidence it would be if he fell asleep here, or accidentally used legimency on Potter and found himself trapped in blackness once more.
This was not the case.
Frustrated and agitated he began to wonder if Potter's mind was even still in his brain. He recalled the boy's pain, when he touched the lightning scar two years ago and he was almost tempted to try it now, to see any sort of reaction. One pale hand stretched out, slowly, slowly, and just hovered there. Long minutes, until his hand was wracked with tremors. He did not once lower his hand even the slightest of fractions, nor did he raise it. It was only when he went to move his hand away completely that he found he could not. He spared an irritated thought to the words 'of course.' Something had to happen while he was alone with the boy, and seeing as that wasn't sudden wakefulness or death something like this was just as fitting.
A sneer pulled at his lips and he did what was probably the only thing he could do and lowered his hand. Spots flashed over his vision disorientingly until they turned it completely white. Blackness settles in soon after, not quite the heavy dark he'd grown accustomed to.
This time the darkness lifted, colours blurring slowly into place to create pictures that ebbed and flowed oddly. The images themselves did not move once, but how solid they were, how crisp they stayed, it was never the same. It was a bit dizzying. The flickering picture became one he recognized; Hogwarts. Part of this unsettled him greatly, seeing the first place he had known as home now. Voldemort knew he wasn't the only person to consider Hogwarts home, let alone the first to consider it their first home, but he couldn't help thinking that out of all the things he could share with Harry Potter 'I don't want this to be one of them.'
The entrance steps felt solid underneath his feet, worn and cool, and just as familiar as they were strange. Inside was the same, as he walked halls he knew. They felt so achingly familiar and it almost felt right to be here, to be in any version of the first home he had known... But it also felt horribly wrong. It felt different, changed, over fifty years had passed since he'd last been inside the castle on his own two feet. Looking down at his hand felt wrong too, they weren't made of bony chalk-like whiteness anymore, though they were still long, pale and slim. Colour and life had returned to his flesh and he knew that upon waking he would feel hitter about their return to the stark appearance of a skeleton.
Lifting one of his hands he touched his face. Eyebrows and hair, his nose wasn't flat and reptilian and his mouth... he almost felt sick knowing that in this place he looked just as he had the last time he had been in this place. He didn't dare confirm it in any mirror or reflective surface, he just knew. It felt exactly as he remembered it once had.
This entire situation was grinding on the Dark Lord's nerves.
He stalked the halls now, passing old classrooms where old professors had since been replaced, other rooms he recognized that had fallen out of use. The library, the Great Hall, the kitchens... all empty. Doors he passed opened of their own accord and closed as he passed. Even the Gryffindor common room was devoid of life. A search of the dormitories yielded the same results. Nothing. It was all eerily quiet and at this point Voldemort almost preferred the crushing darkness.
So he wandered. He sat in the rooms, remembering lectures and lessons. He sat in Dumbledore's chair, the ostentatious thing that it was, and remembered the meals he'd enjoyed in this place. Sat at the tables, named dead school mates, named the ones that he knew still lived. Watched the ceiling, dark as it was. Halls were walked and all the while the only sounds were his own footsteps, and his own voice. He peered out of windows, dusty and dim, passed suits of armour, statues, alcoves that held memories and ones that didn't. Everywhere he went here was something familiar. Shadows danced in odd places and sat still in places they should dance.
More than a little frustrated he made his way down to the dungeons. They were just as cold and musty as he remembered, and it was almost a relief. In hindsight, he felt he should have come here first.
In the old common room, so similar and yet so very different, he found what he had been searching for all along. Sitting on one of the couches, head tilted and eyes closed, was a still form he was familiar with. There was a book clutched in little hands, fingers marking the pages. Harry Potter was fast asleep before him. He was sick of seeing the boy's eyes closed, and seeing him still, but he left him this time and took a seat near him in one of the room's arm chairs. It felt different from the ones he remembered being here, worn soft with age. These were not hard or uncomfortable by any means, just different.
He waited for what could have been minutes, or years.
Harry woke slowly, yawning a little and stretching until his back popped a little painfully. He scratched lightly at his messy hair. Thee scar on his forehead was pale and faded silver in colour. He jolted when the Dark Lord spoke.
"Potter." A single, two syllable word, Harry's name. Green eyes locked on burning red ones, set into a handsome face. The connection was broken when Voldemort moved the slightest bit to stare at a painting.
"Riddle?" Harry's voice cracked lowly. He became guarded and unsure in an instant. Voldemort snorted lightly, a little unhappily. Clearly the boy spend far too much time around Dumbledore, but he felt a little pleased that the teen hadn't gone straight for his given first name.
"You spend too much time with the old coot." He snorted almost daintily. He made no move to say anything else yet. A deep silence stretched out from the end of his words. Harry made no move to return to his book and Voldemort made no move to do anything, not even to stare at the boy.
"What do you want?" The green eyed teen finally broke the silence, and it didn't sound like much of a question. He sounded angry, desolate and defeated.
"What makes you think I want something?" The Dark Lord responded coolly.
"What would make me think you don't want something?" Harry replied a little waspishly. It earned him a considering look. Green eyes widened a little as he seemed to realize exactly what he had just said to who.
"Touche," Was all he said before returning his gaze to the art. "How much do you remember?"
"Of."
"Before you wound up here." Voldemort realized the the only solid things here, truly solid, were himself and the boy before him. The shifting ebb and flow of the world around them was less disorienting to the older man now.
His words were met with silence. A very long silence. When it was broken the speaker was clearly uncomfortable.
"I remember going home for the summer. Why does it matter to you?" The question was snapped out rather sharply.
"You are aware of what a coma is, are you not?" This question earned the Dark Lord an unhappy look.
"Why?" harry replied with another question.
"Because you are in one."
"I know."
These words were met with another very long silence. It grew increasingly uncomfortable the longer it wore on. Red eyes fixed on green in a long, unbroken and slightly awkward stare. This time the quiet was broken by Voldemort.
"Have you not tried to get out of it?" Harry shook his head. He looked away from the man in the chair and fixed his gaze on the cover of his book.
"Why?"
"I'm assuming you know what happened to me," this was met with a single nod as Harry continued speaking. "I don't want to go back to that. Simple as that."
"If you could be safe from it?" And another long pause reigned. Minutes passed, maybe hours. Neither of them knew.
"Why would I be safe from it?" Was eventually what broke the quiet.
"The night you fell into it, Severus Snape gave us your location. You've been under the care of Narcissa and Severus since we found you nearly dead."
"Always new Snape was a traitor." Was all Harry said.
"He has his moments," Voldemort brushed off the comment with a wave."The point is you, or at least your body, has been with us for almost a month now. Maybe more than a month now, maybe not. Time here is... unusual, shall we say."
Harry nodded slowly.
"Would your followers not attack me?" The word followers was spat hatefully.
"Bella's been bringing you gifts."
"Bellatrix Lestange?" It was half shouted with surprise. Voldemort nodded in confirmation. Emerald eyes narrowed.
"All the more reason not to wake up then."
"I'm sure if I can get out of here she'll be sorry to here that. She's taken a rather alarming liking to you. Or at least your body. It was her idea, shockingly, that we take you back with us and save your life. I wont pretend that there wasn't selfish reasoning behind that, I know you wont appreciate it." This was met with a furious glare. Harry ranted in angry little mutters for what had to be a good five minutes before speaking clearly again.
"I don't exactly appreciate you being here either." He said at last.
"It was not my intention to come here, believe me." The reply was accompanied with another little snort.
"What do you want." Harry repeated, still glaring.
"Wake up. That is all."
"Why?" This time harry stood hard and fast, arms flung wide as he shouted at a man who could kill him without second thoughts. "What purpose does that serve? So you can look me in the eyes as you kill me? Torture me?"
"No," Voldemort was almost unnaturally calm. "I want you to wake up and live. Return hope to the light. Without you they have fallen apart and it's both annoying and pathetic. Help us crush the light. Do nothing. Just wake up. That is all I want from you right now, and it is all I have wanted for the last month."
"Go away." harry hissed, almost in parseltongue.
"I can't do that yet Harry. I'm not negotiating with you. If you want you can wake up and leave this place, you're at Malfoy Manor. You can leave the country if you want."
"But I don't want to wake up!" He shouted.
"I'm not arguing this Potter. You either wake up, or you still get to put up with me for as long as you're in this place. I doubt you want either option very much but it is not my intention or that of any of my followers to cause you harm, especially not right now. Wake up and if any of my followers do decide to give you grief then they can deal with me. Or Bella. Honestly I'd be surprised if I ever met someone who didn't fear her at least a little."
"Are you afraid of her?"
"In some ways yes. I've seen what she does to people, even ones on her own side. She has a good number of Death Eater casualties under her belt." Harry made a little humming sound. before speaking.
"Why put up with her then?"
"She's useful." Voldemort said simply.
"Am I useful to you?" Harry snarled lowly.
"No, not really. At least not yet. If you like you could be. If not, whatever. I've put enough time and effort into your well being recently that I don't care what you do just wake up."
"What effort have you put into my well being?!" The shouting was back.
"I brought you back in the first place, helped Narcissa keep Bella's presents out of the room, kept your muggle relatives alive," he said that part with great disdain colouring his voice. "And I stayed. When I entered this place I was the only one with you, I don't know if that's true now. I invested in your continued survival and while it may have been for selfish reasons I still did so."
"That's nothing."
"If you see Bella's presents trust me, it's something."
This earned a graceless snort from the teenager.
"Why all the effort then." Harry asked.
"I don't know." Was the simple response.
How can you not know?" Harry asked, green eyes kind of wide. All of the sudden it really seemed to hit him that he was talking to the Dark Lord in his head.
"Potter." He was warned lightly.
"Sorry." The apology was almost sheepish in nature.
"Will you wake up? I'm sure your parent's wouldn't want to see you die in your teens." Voldemort tried.
"Low blow, Voldy."
"Voldy? Never repeat that to anyone, please and thank you. And I know, subtlety is lost on you." Red eyes rolled almost good-naturedly.
"I have demands that must be met." Harry warned.
"I'm sure we'll see what we can do to meet your demands, Potter." The red eyed man half promised and for a moment Harry was silent.
"I guess I can wake up then." And he stood up, walking slowly towards the entrance of the Slytherin common room. Voldemort followed carefully, curiously.
"How do you wake up anyways?" He asked, staring at the teenager.
"Just walk far enough off the property, into the Forest is good." Harry answered with a shrug. The walked in silence, and the Dark Lord found that the closer he got to the Forbidden Forest, the sicker he felt. It started at the base of his ribs, spanning out uncomfortably until he felt like he was about to vomit. By this point they were deep in the Forest and Harry was clearly no better off.
"We.. do not speak a word of this... to anyone..." Voldemort spoke slowly.
"A-agreed." Harry stammered, stumbling a little. They staggered their way further and further into the dense trees until the world began to sway rather than pulse. The trees darkened in colour until everything was waving and twisting with barely there colours. The dense undergrowth they trudged through seemed to only get thicker and thicker, slowing them down. When it all finally swirled to black neither felt their bodies hit the ground.
And there, resting on a transfigured bed beside Harry Potter's in Malfoy manor, the Dark Lord jolted up in place from where he had been resting, hand pulling away from Harry's forehead as though burned by it. He was breathing as though he'd run across all of Britain, drenched in sweat and skin horrifically white and thin. Skeletal.
Voices shouted to him, and they sounded as though they were reaching his ears from deep under water.
His hands flew to his face. Hairless and reptilian once more he was caught between disappointment and relief. Finally he was properly jolted back into reality by a pair of deep, almost endless pair of striking stormy grey eyes. Eyes that he recognized as those of Bellatrix Lestrange.
Sounds crashed clearly into his ears, and everything leapt more clearly into focus. Bellatrix jolted away, hands leaving his shoulders just as soon as he realized they were there. Her dark curls flew every which way in their normal, haywire mess, bouncing He opened his mouth ready to curse her, but instead the words that left his mouth were ones of almost confusion.
"What... has happened?" His throat felt raw.
"Oh thank Merlin, my Lord, you have been gone for weeks!" Bellatrix gasped, hands fluttering as though she didn't know what to do with them. "I was worried."
"What did you do?" Narcissa's voice pierced his still slightly foggy mind. "What did you do?!"
His crimson gaze snapped over to her, leaning over the boy and her hair falling out of what was once an elegant bun. There was a bright flush over her cheeks as she used her own body to hold down the upper half of Harry's thrashing body while Severus struggled to force a potion down him throat. For a long moment he stared at her blankly. Whatever Severus had done, the child's thrashing slowed, then stopped and the Malfoy matriarch remover herself from the once again still body. She raged over, elegant as ever and clearly very mad.
"What did you do?!" She shouted again. Throat burning and head beginning to spin the Dark Lord looked her right in the eye and spoke in a low, detached voice.
"I have no idea."
And his body fell back limply into the pile of pillows, eyes closed, and completely unconscious.
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To guest who commented Nearly all of the punctuation in your dialogue is incorrect. Please edit your story. (You should open one of the Harry Potter books to see how to write dialogue-I doubt you've read them.) if you ever see this I am going to point out I am not British and I shall assume you are merely for the "/' difference unless you are referring to my phrasing. I own all of the Harry Potter books and movies yes, and I know how J.K. writes and clearly that is not how I write, not that the first part of that truly has anything to do with my story. If you have an issue with it, don't read it it's not a very difficult concept, and my dialogue is correct for my country in accordance to all of my teachings, knowledge and writing samples (aka other books maybe you should pick one up some time). Some of my punctuation, maybe not quite as much, though I am fairly certain it is not entirely incorrect either as you so claim, but regardless if you wish to complain kindly give some evidence or reasoning to support your complaints, else wise they will be ignored or I will treat them exactly like I did this one. Helpful criticism and feedback is appreciated. Your comment however is neither helpful, constructive or appreciated.
Thanks,
The author.
