Chapter Two: Damned if you do, Damned if you don't
For a second, no one moved. None of the Death Eaters seemed to know what to do with this strange youth lying face-down and comatose on the floor. Then five loud pops were heard, and five more figures appeared in the room. Four of them were Death Eaters; one of them was Lord Voldemort.
He looked at the body for a moment, then ordered the nearest Death Eater to turn it over and check for a pulse. Snape nodded and reached for the strange boy. There were gasps and hisses as the boy's face was revealed, despite the smears of blood that obscured his features.
"He's alive, my Lord," Snape spoke over the whispers of the other Death Eaters.
Voldemort smiled, causing some of Death Eaters to shift uncomfortably where they stood.
The room was dark, and slightly damp, with a cool chill in the air. He was underground; the room smelt of dirt and dank. He lay on something soft, but not particularly comfortable. Eyes opened in the dark, and he could see the small confines of the room. In the darkness, everything looked a shade of green. His claws twitched slightly and he began to sit up, wincing as his muscles screamed in protest; but he ignored them. He stretched and yawned as he surveyed the room, his tongue flicking out to taste the air. Stale, yes, but safe enough. There was enough good air in here for him to breathe while he waited for someone to come and open the room's one door and explain to him where he was and why he was here.
The door creaked open, and light flooded the room; his green vision dimmed to normal tones in the new light. A man stood at the top of the stairs, looking down at him with red, reptilian eyes. He returned the man's gaze, stare for stare.
"I see that you are awake." The man spoke in his tongue. No human should be able to speak his tongue. "Come out and let us talk."
Voldemort watched as the boy crept slowly out of the shadows and walked up the stairs at an even slower pace, curious, yet wary at the same time. But the boy showed no signs of recognizing the Dark Lord. Voldemort held back a cruel smile; it had worked. The Necromancer's Rite had worked. Harry Potter was dead, reborn as the creature Voldemort had designed: Necromancer, Dementor, Werewolf, Inferi, and Basilisk.
"Come with me," Voldemort hissed, and though the creature hesitated at first, he followed the dark wizard down a barely lit hallway towards a door.
The door opened into what used to be a beautiful garden in the back of Riddle Manor. Now, it was overgrown and covered in weeds. The stone pathways were cracked and covered in moss, lichen, and all manner of fungi.
The creature halted near to the door and sniffed the night air, his forked tongue darting out a second later to taste it as well. Seemingly satisfied, the creature turned to look at the wizard, green reptilian eyes alit with both suspicion and curiosity.
"For what purpose have you brought me here, snake speaker?"
"To discuss your future." Voldemort replied. Since you have no past now, he added mentally. No memories of your past life at all.
The creature's eyes narrowed. "What business of yours is my future?"
"None at all, except to ask for your loyalty."
"For what reason would you ask for my loyalty, snake speaker? I taste another snake's love for you on your person already. For what purpose would you ask another?"
"I wish only for your help in obtaining my goal. In return I will offer you whatever you desire."
The creature snorted in a canine fashion. "You would let me ravage the lives of others to control my hunger?"
"Not only would I allow you, but I would encourage it."
The creature was silent for a moment. "Then I believe that I shall pledge my loyalty to you, snake speaker, but only for as long as you can keep me satisfied. What would you wish of me to prove my loyalty?"
"I wish for the death of a werewolf, the alpha of the pack, and I wish for you to take his place."
The forked tongue darted out again to taste the air, as if already tasting the carnage. "That will be no challenge for me, snake speaker."
"What would you wish of me to prove I shall uphold my promise to you?"
There was a harsh bark of laughter. "I have blood which gives no warmth, snake speaker. At a temperature not much lower than this, my body will begin to shut down to keep me alive. I will have need of someone to keep me warm… and to feed off when I do not desire to hunt."
"You may pick anyone you want," Lord Voldemort promised. The pact was sealed.
He eyed the Werewolf alpha with distaste; what a dull creature. He could taste the bloodlust around the wolf, could see his eyes burn with the hatred that called for blood, could smell the deaths of those killed for this lust and the blood that he had spilt. He was not impressed; this creature had no fire, no soul worth destroying. This creature had no spirit, no life worth consuming. This creature was worthless, unfit to live; a slave to his baser lusts and fears.
And though the creature was afraid, he hid it well. It would not do for this 'Greyback' to show his fear in front of the snake speaker's pack of humans. There were more humans now, all respectfully standing away from their alpha and, thus, from himself as well. The werewolf creature sat in the middle of the room, waiting for something to happen. It shifted uneasily, moving its weight from its hind feet to its front back to its hind feet again, unsure of whether or not it would have to fight. Silly, pathetic creature; he would end its pointless existence soon enough.
The snake speaker was making sounds to his pack now, communicating things that he did not understand, nor care about. The human pack was no concern of his, unless they were foolish enough to attack him. Only if they attacked him would he be allowed to consume them. Not that he would bother with some of them; some of them were as pointless as the werewolf creature. His eyes flickered over the faces in white masks, mentally hissing at them for their pathetic existences. Their type of soul would not satisfy, and their blood would not fill his hunger. His eyes took in the second and the third row in much the same manner. There were a few flickers of worth among them, but most were worthless. Then he reached the very back and his eyes stopped, his tongue flickering outward to the air to better taste this particular human's aura.
This human was unlike the others in the snake speaker's human pack; he had fire, an anima (fig. life's breath, lit. soul/spirit) worth keeping. His life was not a waste of a soul. The raw emotion that streamed off him should have filled those around him with despair. The human pack was lucky that they were not sensitive to such things, or they would have been overwhelmed by such emotion. Had humans been attuned to such things, this one individual could have usurped the snake speaker with his emotions alone.
This human's soul had a spark of life, dimmed by some tragedy that cut at his heart and anima. His aura was tainted in fear, sadness, hate, and longing, yet the marks from former emotions had not yet been smothered by the new ones. Joy, love, worth… this human had known such emotions but they had been ripped from him. Yes, this human was worthy of his existence.
And this human would be his. But, first, he had to kill the pathetic werewolf creature.
Bored with waiting for the snake speaker to finish communicating with the human pack, he moved out from the shadows slowly, his form molding with the shadows themselves to create one more suited to his needs: a more lupine form, a mix of wolf fur and black scales.
The werewolf creature's eyes locked onto his own reptilian ones and the creature bared his teeth. The werewolf tried to show that he was alpha, and it did not affect the creature emerging from shadows.
"You may kill him whenever you wish," spoke the snake speaker.
He moved farther out of the shadows, circling around the werewolf and stopping in front of the snake speaker. From the back of the room, he caught the scent of fear as it rolled off the one human worthy of existence. Vibrant and strong, he drew the emotion into himself, circling the power through him. Yes, the human was worth existence. Even without being his yet, the human was helping him.
He began to stalk towards the wolf, his jaws bared in a growl. This pathetic creature controlled the werewolf pack, and this would only weaken them, spread his taint to the others. He would fix that, then he would claim his prize.
The wolf growled at him, angry that he was not standing down from an alpha. In response, he sent out his challenge to the wolf, one that questioned the wolf's right to live, right to lead, and right to take the lives of others when he was unworthy of life himself. The wolf backed up a step, then responded in kind with an answer, lunging at him, jaws reaching for his throat. He let them hit their mark.
Teeth scraped against hard scales, and he pulled his head over that of the werewolf to bite down, the wolf's blood spilling into his mouth as his canines tore at the fur and sinew. The wolf howled in pain as he slowly bit down farther and farther into the wolf's neck, reaching for the one connection that kept the wolf alive.
A loud "crunch" echoed through the room as his teeth severed the creature's bone and nerve. The creature spasmed violently and then lay still. Even in death, the werewolf was pathetic.
He lifted his eyes to see his human's looking at him, silver pools of emotion and vibrancy, locking on his own emerald reptilian ones.
"I'm surprised that you did not merely kill him with your eyes," the snake speaker commented.
He shrugged, his form shaking off that of the wolf, the fur sinking into his pale skin, but the patches of black scales remained. A few humans of the pack shifted uneasily at his change, his form unclothed and vulnerable in their eyes. Pathetic. They shouldn't be allowed to live if they created such conclusions in their own minds from looks alone. If only they could taste his aura, smell his power, they would not find anything similar between his form and their own. But they were only humans, so they could only see the influence of the human Necromancer on his form.
"Do you care what they know you as?" the snake speaker asked, speaking of his human pack.
"No, they have no worth, and therefore are of no importance," he replied, melting back into the shadows at the snake speaker's side.
"Then they shall know you as Atropos, the name of one of their Fates, to remind them that you can just as easily cut their life's thread and end their existence."
It did not matter to him what the human pack called him, so he let the snake speaker decide for him. A name was unimportant anyway. There was no way to give a soul a name, no way to imprint that knowledge upon it. Only emotions, trials, and tragedy could leave imprints upon the soul and make the soul beautiful.
Speaking of beautiful souls, "When you dismiss the human pack, make the one in the back with the silver eyes stay behind," he hissed to the snake speaker during a moment when another member of the human pack was speaking.
If Lord Voldemort thought it a strange request, he did not show it. Calmly he asked, "Why do you wish this?"
"I want him," was the simple reply. "And he will be mine."
When Lord Voldemort requested he stay behind, Draco Malfoy truly believed he was starting to live out the last moments of his life. He had no love for the… thing… that had killed his mother. Any loyalty to Lord Voldemort that Draco might have felt at his initiation was gone, vanished along with the light of the killing curse that the Dark Lord had used to kill his mother.
Draco refused to meet Snape's worried eyes as he passed, refused to look at any of the other Death Eaters as they enviously sneered at him while walking out of the room. What did those fools think anyway? That this was some great gift? Had they so soon forgotten, the shame he had brought upon himself by hesitating when he could have killed Dumbledore? Did they know that he had watched their leader kill his own mother, simply because he had said she "held him back from greatness"? No, they knew none of that. In that one respect, Lord Voldemort had been generous. He had allowed Draco the shame of failure in private. Only Snape had been there to witness his time under the Cruciatus spell and the death of his mother, and so only Snape was worried for the Malfoy heir.
All too soon, Draco was left in the room with the Dark Lord and the corpse of what had been the werewolf leader. He couldn't tell if that other creature was still in the room; that creature had disappeared from sight long ago, melting into the shadows as if walking into water.
Draco respectfully knelt before his master, waiting for the curse that he knew would be coming. But it did not come.
"You are to be congratulated, Draco Malfoy," Voldemort hissed, and Draco almost looked up in surprise.
"For what reason, my Lord?" he asked, his voice wavering.
"Because you, and you alone, have secured my rule of the wizarding world." The shadows moved at Lord Voldemort's side, and Draco swore he saw two eyes watching him, their glow an ethereal green.
"I was not aware that I had done that, my Lord," Draco admitted, his attention now more on the creature emerging slowly from the shadows than on his master.
"Oh, but you have, Draco. For his aid in my cause, Atropos only asked for you in return. Therefore, I have you to thank." Voldemort spoke cruelly, but Draco almost didn't hear him finish his last sentence as both creature and shadow leapt forward. Darkness closed around all his senses, and Draco Malfoy knew no more.
Draco awoke in a room with no windows, sparsely decorated with furniture of a dark brown wood and what looked like blood red cloth. What little light there was in the room came from one lit candle that stood on an ornate steel stand in the middle of the room.
Slowly, Draco eased himself into a sitting position, realizing absently that his Death Eater mask had been removed, but he was still in his Death Eater robes. A low growl from the corner of the room made him freeze as the shadows seemed to swirl and part to let someone walk through them.
Atropos, that was what Lord Voldemort had called him; named for the Fate that cut the thread of a mortal life. An apt name, for this Atropos was such a monster that Draco could picture him cutting a mortal's life thread with those jaws more easily than he could picture an old hag with scissors doing the same.
Atropos was a Necromancer, or so Lord Voldemort had said. He was also part Basilisk, Dementor, Inferi, and Werewolf. He scared Draco senseless.
The bed, for that was what Draco was lying on, dipped slightly as the creature leapt upon it. Even through his curtain of fear, Draco's mind informed him that Atropos was in his lupine form, a form more apt to use his Werewolf abilities. He would have four other forms, one for each of his… traits, and then one true form. Voldemort had said that his dominant traits were Necromancer and Basilisk, so most likely the melded human and reptilian form, that he had slipped into after the fight with Greyback, was his true form.
The wolf form lengthened and shifted, the fur and scales disappearing into deathly pale skin as he crept closer to Draco's tense form. The youth pressed back against the headboard as the creature reached up towards him. Draco jumped slightly as the hands touched the skin at his neck. They were so cold, almost like frozen flesh. They traveled up his neck to the junction where neck met chin and stayed there as the creature pressed closer to Draco, a strange half-purr, half-moan emerging from his throat.
I meant to let you sleep longer, aetherius iuvencus (lit. "ethereal youth"), but I was just so cold.
Draco panicked when the words sounded in his mind and the creature leaned further into his personal space. Had this been a fellow student at Hogwarts accosting him in that way, Draco would have been shouting "rape", but he doubted it would have the same effect on this creature here that it would have on a student at Hogwarts.
My lupine form only retains so much heat, aetherius (lit. "ethereal (one)"), and I dared not change into my other forms for fear of loosing that, but I was just so cold.
The creature, Atropos, was shorter than he was, Draco noticed, as he stretched out over Draco's body. Draco also realized that he was shivering. The creature really was cold! Freezing, even, if the violent tremors were anything to go by. Yet, Draco thought, this room wasn't very cold, maybe a little warmer than the Slytherin dorms had been down in the dungeon.
Atropos seemed to try and snuggle closer into Draco, sighing slightly as the warmth from his aetherius human radiated through his clothes. But it wasn't enough.
Atropos was many creatures, but only one of them produced warmth. The Necromancer, if Draco remembered his father's stories from when he was younger correctly, negated any temperatures around him, numb to his surroundings. But Atropos couldn't do that, because he wasn't only Necromancer. He would steadily loose his body temperature because his other forms would overpower the Werewolf, the only creature of the four others to produce its own body heat. The Dementor would negate this body heat, because Dementors created an absence of heat in their bodies. Inferi were, in truth, animated corpses, so they wouldn't be able to make their own body heat, or retain it even if they could. They sought heat and the feeling of warmth by devouring the living. And a Basilisk was a cold-blooded creature, so its body would shut down and go into hibernation in colder temperatures.
"What do you want from me?" Draco whispered. Atropos groaned as another tremor racked his body.
Speak with your thoughts and not your words, aetherius. I cannot conceive meaning from the sounds of your voice. The dark creature's mental voice sounded slightly familiar to Draco, he thought absently, but he could not understand where he possibly could have heard it before.
What do you want from me? Draco thought the question toward the creature.
Warmth, Atropos answered instantly. Your spirit, your anima, is fire. Your very emotions are flames. Give me your fire!
Unsure of the reasoning behind his own actions, Draco began to work at the silver clasp of his outer robes. The silk slid off his shoulders easily. He then began to try and undo the buttons on his shirt, but Atropos was lying on his chest, and he couldn't get to them.
Atropos- he began the thought.
The hands that had been on his neck left his skin to reach for the collar of his shirt. With the sound of ripping fabric, Atropos tore through the black shirt and brushed the fallen shreds off Draco's body. The blond pulled the shivering creature onto his lap, holding the cold skin against his own.
Atropos groaned at the warmth spreading through his body like wildfire. Every place where the human's skin met his own burned and tingled as if he was held by flames.
As the Inferi warmed, it began to fall back into a dormant trait, his true form resurfacing. Draco watched the shadows play around the body he held to reveal the same form he'd seen a glimpse of during the meeting. Black scales meshed with skin, like horrid scars that would never heal. Skin, that could have been human, were it not marred by the creatures within.
status: beta'd by Ayeshah Harvey-Lomas