"-What power would hell have if those imprisoned here would not be able to dream of heaven?"
Sandman, by Neil Gaiman
The sound of his chair scraping against the floor as he stood drove itself into his ears, causing Voldemort to wince. He desperately wanting to throw this hellish book away from him but not being able to.
"How possible it is to become complete again? …but all sins are paid for dearly with remorse. These magicks are beyond the dark, deep into evil, and shall be repented with pain that may destroy you."
Secrets of the Darkest Arts seemed to leer at him, mocking his inability to express his frustration. Everything felt so desperate all of a sudden; Voldemort couldn't stand the anguish that gripped his heart so suddenly, crushing and vice-like. He wanted to tear those pages apart, burn them, destroy them... but he couldn't. Not when they contained the only formula for the salvation of his mind, the only possibility to salvage his psyche from being slowly being ripped to shreds in the grasp of madness. But it was a formula he would never be able to complete; the last ingredient could never be acquired and his sanity would soon be lost…
An infuriated snarl twisted his alabaster face into an expression far uglier than the original, and in a fit of anger Voldemort snatched the book to throw across the room. The book was saved when a strong hand caught his wrist and another plucked the tome from his too-long fingers.
"Tom? Are alright? What…what is this?"
Voldemort's fury faded quickly as he turned and Aspen's face filled his vision. As the Dark Lord relaxed the young man's grip slipped away and the older sank into the chair, watching the vampire. He felt almost embarrassed that Aspen had caught him like this again - in the grasp of rage and not in full control of himself. Where had his iron will disappeared so quickly?
The young man's eyes were riveted on the open page of the book in his hand. "This is…"
"Yes," the Dark Lord answered, his voice flat as his heated emotions drained away. Aspen's golden gaze fixed on Voldemort, eyes widening as light dawned within them.
"You…you're going to go through with this, really?" the sudden hope in the other's voice made the Dark Lord want to scream and shout and rip things apart with the Darkest of curses until the turmoil of his own emotions settled. Instead of any of those, he reached out and pulled Aspen close until he nearly stood on top of his lap.
-This started long before the Horcruxes, Assspen. The day you died was the day I my mind stared to slip, but I did not care any longer. You weren't there.- Voldemort met the vampire's eyes with his own crimson as he spoke, trying to convey everything he left unspoken to the other. "I created the Horcruxes uncaring for my sanity, only seeking the power to be gained. I had nothing to lose but wasted opportunity." He smiled grimly. "And then you appear again, just as my mind prepares shatter. And now what, Aspen? What is immortality when I cannot spend forever with the one I love? What is living for years on end in a body that can hardly please you? What is the resolve to put myself back together when I am unable because I'm missing one…blasted…ingredient?!" Voldemort fluctuated between Parseltongue and English, reflecting how little control he had left.
"Tom…" Aspen's voice shook, and it was obvious that he had no idea what question to address first. Voldemort didn't give the boy a chance, pulling him into a fierce kiss that was all teeth and tongues and fire. The man fought the urge to cling to him when Aspen finally pulled away, but restrained himself.
"…What ingredient are you missing?" the tentative tone of the question forced Voldemort to stare at him, quite suddenly forced to realize just how young and exhausted his love was. The past nights had been just as hard on Aspen as they had been on him, and the Dark Lord had no need to burden the young man further.
"Dementor blood," he finally answered. "I cannot get any because it isn't part of my agreement with them. They offer their service in return for souls, not their blood…" He raised a hand to touch the other's cheek, stroking it with his bony fingers. Another glance at the dark rings under the boy's eyes made him speak again, "Aspen, go to bed." Aspen's eyebrow's rose, not comprehending what he meant. "You're exhausted and you shouldn't… shouldn't have come tonight. Please…leave. Get some sleep."
Aspen seemed about to protest, but Voldemort gave him best firm look he could manage at the moment and the boy finally acquiesced, face still slightly bemused by the whole situation.
"Good...night," he said reluctantly, and as Voldemort watched his face disappeared from under his hand. Voldemort sank back and sighed, overcome and ashamed.
Molly Weasley took a moment to wipe her face, sending a glare at the once again dusty glass case in the corner. No matter how many times she worked to empty that particular cupboard, all the nasty Dark artifacts would return within a week. Eventually she'd given up after finding out there was no way to break the Recalling charm. Even now she could remember the first attempt to clean the cupboard, when Harry and Ron were still-
The matron let go of the thought with a huff and turned back to her cleaning. These days the only thing that kept her from breaking down again was a constant need to work. Molly was so single-minded in her effort that the Burrow was sparkling within a week. Her family was forced to take a step back as she swept about like a whirlwind. When the mother was finally forced to concede there was nothing more to clean, she set her sights on Grimmauld Place; the building had fallen back into disrepair since the Order stopped meeting regularly there. For some reason the wards on the building were reluctant to let them in, resulting in Mad-Eye Moody becoming the only regular resident of the Ancient House of Black. Dumbledore hadn't told them why as of yet - in fact, Dumbledore hadn't even told her how Harry was holding up, when he knew she considered him almost a seventh son…
Molly's hand clenched about her wand as she directed various sponges and water-buckets along their duties. She didn't want any thoughts that could depress her at the moment, nothing that would remind her of her dead child, or the fact that any member of her precious family could be lost at any moment despite the protection of the head of the Light. No, she blocked out her traitorous thoughts and set back to cleaning.
Green eyes narrowed predatorily, accented by a face that dripped crimson. Suddenly the green melted away to move to the man's wand, which glowed with horrendous light. The girl held back her gasp as verdant orbs faded to gold - terrifying gold. The man's face was like stone as he slaughtered countless wizards. Bullets fell about him, repelled by a shield of dim light. The unmistakable crash of a bomb sounded in the distance, sending out a shockwave that sent all but the man and the girl tumbling off their feet. A choked gasp from the girl rent the air as the killer used the opportunity to send out a dark spell that impaled the heart of every enemy wizard. Still his face remained empty, expressionless as he exerted his merciless massacre.
Until everyone but the man and the girl were dead, and the girl watched the man turn away to face someone else - a man with ruby eyes, pale skin, and a tall frame that swayed when he walked - and the killer smiled, bright and untarnished by the ghastly deed he'd just performed. The girl choked, knowing the second man - Lord Voldemort, most feared Dark Lord - and despite his change of appearance, knowing the first man for who he was; a lightning bolt scar still blazed upon his forehead.
This was the future of one Harry Potter, one who had not been stopped, one who she'd seen in these moments countless times before…
A hand clapped her shoulder and spun her about, bringing her face to face with accusing blue eyes that glared at her like chips of ice. "It's your fault, you know. If you'd told someone about how evil he would become, I wouldn't be dead!" his voice shrieked in her ears, sending a pounding ache through her skull and tears to her eyes.
"I'm sorry, sorry, Ron! I tried to warn you, you wouldn't listen-"
"Not good enough! You're not stupid, you should've taken this to Dumbledore right away! Or," his eyes narrowed slyly, a look Ron had never donned in life, "are you stupid and didn't want anyone to know? Do you think he'll dismiss your dreams as a whiny girl's fancies? Because that's what you are, a whiny girl."
"But-" she whimpered.
"I see it now," the redhead looked at the two killers, both frozen in time as they spoke. "Really, you're just a bossy, whiny girl who's trying to make her way to the top using her friends. I'm glad we broke up before I died," he sneered. Then he started walking toward the killers and the girl, sensing his intent, threw out a hand to stop him just as he had to her so those months ago.
"No, please, you're wrong! Please Ron, I know I said some bad things, but look at what our friend is going to become! Please, you have to help me stop him-"
"Stop him? Stop him?! I wouldn't stop him…if I were alive, I'd help him! You don't know anything, always with your nose so far in a book that you can't see the issues of the real world. You have no idea why he's doing this. You don't deserve to call him a friend if you refuse to listen." Ronald wrenched from her grasp and strode away.
"Ron, please-"
"Save it, Hermione."
Hermione awoke with a strangled cry, sitting up so swiftly she nearly tumbled from her bed. She lay back down quickly and pressed her face to a pillow, trying to stifle her choked sobs. 'Damn him.'
Damn Harry Potter for taking away what she most cared for.
Deep red curtains shrouded Harry Potter, protecting him from the sight of his nosy dormmates, though that protection was strengthened with security spells and wards woven into the cloth. The room was fairly quiet, peaceable even as the low drone of snores filtered through heavy fabric. Harry couldn't enjoy the quiet, though. He lay awake and staring at the ceiling restlessly, and he wished above all else that he was back at the manor with Tom now. Harry turned on his side, clutching his yew wand tightly to his chest. He felt horrible for leaving Tom when the man was so upset, but the lord had nearly forced him to leave - there was nothing Harry could do.
Dementor blood. The vampire ran a finger down his wand…a black occamy feather, vampire fangs, and Dementor blood were all ingredients in the core of his wand. Harry hadn't even been able to mention it before Tom forced him away, but he also knew from his short glance at the book that his wand contained less than a fourth of the needed component, and that was assuming the blood was uncontaminated by the other constituents, which it wasn't; Harry sighed, thinking back on the day when he'd gotten the wand. Did the lady - Michelle, his mind supplied - own any more blood?
"I received this from a Chinese man a few years ago.."
No, she'd talked of the bottle in singular form, and Harry hadn't seen a sign of another bottle lying about the dark shop. The longer Harry thought on it, the more he though he was missing something - something important and long-forgotten.
Dusty panes of glass…ornate silver boxes inscribed with strange runes…
Dim memories started to filter through to him and Harry grasped at them, feeling a sudden spark of recognition.
Coiling snakeskin…claws…daggers rusted from flecks of gore…and a bottle with an opal stopper, swishing with dark liquid that looked suspiciously like blood and made him shiver when he brushed it…
Harry sprang up with a gasp. 'That's it!' Cleaning out the drawing room of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, Harry had inadvertently come across a bottle of strange blood he hadn't recognized at the time; distilled Dementor blood. Another memory from late that year came rushing in - one of Mrs. Weasley's complaints about the Recalling charm on all the cabinets, and how she had to be satisfied with simply locking all the dangerous objects up since even the Aurors were unable to confiscate them.
"And if I can figure out how to break the charm…" In a single motion Harry leapt out of bed to pull his trousers back on, tucking his wand away. Soon, Tom would be whole again - Harry swore it to himself.
Harry tucked his cloak tighter around himself, trying to fight of the chill of winter in vain. Snow hadn't fallen yet, but he knew it would be coming soon from the cast in the sky earlier that day. Shivering, he shrunk further into the shadow of a nearby building, shielding himself from the sight of anyone who might happen to peak out a window of the building that suddenly seemed to unfold across the street. Harry waved his yew wand.
"Homenum revelio." The spell's magic poured out of him, sweeping the premises of the Noble House of Black. No signs of human life. Harry made his way up to the door and cautiously turned the handle - the gray, uninviting wood swung open with ease. The air was heavy with dust; had no one been in here for so long? But no, he recognized very faint signs of inhabitation, though they looked to be several days old, at least. Harry was apprehensive because Grimmauld Place was the headquarters for the Order, but none of the members were present for a meeting or even to guard, which surprised him. Still, not being one to look a gift thestral in the mouth, he made his way in and crept past dingy curtains that covered the portrait of the ugly Walburga. Harry grimaced, remembering her younger years dating Orion Black; truly, the decades had not been kind to her, and Harry didn't look forward to meeting her under his current visage - that of Aspen Noir - on the off chance that she would recognize him. Keeping this in mind, the young, naïve vampire hurried upstairs without another thought to the entrance he'd just passed through.
The moment Harry opened the drawing room door his nose was assaulted by odor - dust, Doxy pesticide, and the unmistakable scent of active Dark magic that Harry had grown acclimated to in his short sojourns at Tom's hideaway. His eyes automatically sped across the room, his feet not far behind. The silver latch flipped open easily under Harry's fingers and he detected the barest tingle of a ward dispelling. The Recalling charm?
"Maybe it's keyed to wizards who've used Dark magic?" he muttered aloud. in the Black house he wouldn't be surprised, and that would explain why the Order's attempts to remove the items were futile. Harry's fingers traced the dust on panes of glass as the cabinet doors opened easily. There was everything exactly as he remembered it, though one of the mysterious silver boxes had a dent in it from where a clumsy person (probably Tonks) had dropped it. Then there was the crystal vial, glinting even in the dim lighting. Harry almost crowed in triumph as he confirmed his hope that the liquid inside was Dementor blood, or at least looked like it. There would be no way to know for sure until he could test it and show it to Tom.
As Harry's hand closed around the vial he heard a soft whisper - before his side exploded in pain.
Moody knew from the moment his wards on the front door of Number 12 went off that something big was going to happen. Wooden foot silenced, the retired hit-Auror adjusted his grip on his wand as he watched the man rooting through the cabinet with his magical eye. Moody had no idea what the man was here for, but he was determined to find out - after the man's capture. The grizzled man nearly gasped when he caught the flash of nails - too long for a human. Vampire then, for the moon was full tonight and a werewolf wouldn't be in a humanoid form. Mad-Eye grinned at the prospect of interrogating the vampire - non-humans were always the most interesting. He had to wait, though. He'd only get one strike in surprise, if he remembered his other encounters with Vampire-kind correctly.
Moody had never been known for his patience. As soon as he saw the vampire relax its guard, he struck the humanoid with a powerful Blasting curse. Mad-Eye's cry of victory was drowned out by the vampire's shriek of pain as it clutched at the gaping hole in its side, ignoring the blood that suddenly painted the walls to spin toward Moody. Mad-Eye limped forward, wand raised to the face of the creature as he caught a glimpse of ghastly golden eyes and sharp menacing fangs.
Then the figure melted away before his very eyes, untraceable to even his magical eye. Illusion? The old Auror eyed the red copper coating that dripped from the wall and cabinet, assuring him that the vampire had been real.
"Damn it!" Moody roared. He'd had a cornered vampire wounded and on its knees and it had escaped! Worse yet, he had no idea what it'd taken. So much for constant vigilance.
Harry bit back a gasp when his hand contacted his side. Warm liquid cascaded like a river from the hole in his left side, and he knew it was only his lack of humanity that kept him going for even these few seconds. He was losing certain body parts that really oughtn't to be lost. They dropped to the floor with sickening soggy noises, and he didn't dare to look back to identify them.
The mortal wounds are the ones that don't hurt.
All he'd been able to think of was getting away from Moody to somewhere safe. Harry'd had no time to get a lock on where he was Flicking to.
His heart slowed with every driven beat as his blood spilled onto the floor. It was putting up no fight to endure. Already, his vampiric body was shutting down in preparation for healing. He finally reached his destination and pulled open the door in a heavy final effort.
A sea of black mantles and bone white faces turned to him, but it was the red-eyed figure on the dais that held his blurred gaze.
Harry collapsed against the door while trying to hold his side in with both hands. He'd stopped breathing some time ago.
Useless. Blood still splashed with every movement.
"T-Tom," Harry rasped.
His legs finally buckled and the earth gave way.
'He's not going to die. He can't die!' his mind chanted as he raced toward the boy. None of the Death Eaters saw their lord move; he appeared to Apparate straight to the spot. Voldemort's breath caught in a gasp as Aspen fell into his arms. Blood gushed all over his hands as his love's body crumpled completely against him.
'No, he's immortal! He can't die, can't die-' Voldemort tried to calm his panicking mind, to think clearly.
"Fascia!" he incanted. A large bandage shot from his wand, wrapping Aspen's torso tightly to temporarily keep blood and other…things, inside. The Death Eaters took up whispering, finally recognizing the boy from that night, the one who'd stopped their lord's angry rampage. Who was he?
Voldemort paid them no mind, physically picking Aspen up instead, afraid that a spell might somehow damage the young man. His mind raced to decipher a solution to what was happening, but his mind was already clouding with anger at the perpetrator of this crime. He shook it away.
'Focus! Aspen needs blood - human blood. He's immortal, he can't die, calm down. My blood's no good - hardly human… Need someone I can trust, or use and dispose of,' he didn't want to expose Aspen's identity yet. Voldemort raked his followers with his gaze until he alighted on a slightly taller figure than the majority. 'The backstabber…use him for Aspen then kill him.'
At this point his body was operating on its own, almost leaving the room of it's own accord, -Ssseverusss!- the Dark Lord called over his shoulder. Starting, the masked figure followed obediently and the crowd parted for him. With a final heft, Voldemort hurried to set his love to rights, before madness overtook him again.
Severus felt a dart of fear the moment the Dark Lord called his name, recognizing it even with the change in language; Snape had heard it far too many times not to. Whenever the lord slipped into Parseltongue, he was on the edge of torturing his followers for hours on end until his rage was sated. Still Severus followed, the Death Eaters moving out of his way almost as a sign of final respects. He sneered in disgust under the cover of his mask. If Severus was finally going to die by his cruel master's hand, he didn't need the pity of these mongrel fools. Living like this was hardly worth the effort anyway, and Severus was starting to wonder if he should even try.
The Dark Lord practically flew down the corridors even with the large weight in his arms. Severus forcefully squashed his curiosity about the mysterious man in favor of running to keep up. His intelligent mind was going a hundred kilometers a minute trying to figure out what his lord would need from him. The Dark Lord led them far deeper into the manor than he'd ever been, even to deliver potions for the lord's cause.
Finally they came to what were unmistakably the Dark Lord's private quarters. Severus stopped by the door, hesitant to remind his lord that he was present as the man set his cargo tenderly on the bed, the other man's anger seeming to dissipate suddenly. Behind the blood-spattered features Snape could finally get his first good look at the prone figure. Exceedingly pale skin, long black-red hair…it was all too easy to see the person wasn't human, not counting the way he'd looked the night he stopped the Dark Lord's attack.
But on closer examination, Snape could see that the male was nearly a boy - so unmistakably young that he could be Hogwarts age! The startling thought made Severus forget himself for one detrimental moment and gasp quietly in surprise. It was a terrible mistake, for Dark Lord finally remembered his presence and spun toward the oily man, his wand pulled and under Severus' chin before the potions master had time to so much as twitch. Red eyes glared into his, edged with anger and daring him to move lest the powerful lord before him break his mind for his temerity.
"You will ask no questions," the wand dug into the base of his neck, "I know where your loyalties lie, Severusssss, and if you do not follow every command without hesitation, I will rip out your throat and feed it to him myself."
Severus' gaze flicked to the boy on the bed before the yew wand pushed painfully into an artery. Snape felt a lance of fear rush through him which he quickly tried to hide. What sort of person would have the Dark Lord so worked up over their near death?
"Do you underssstand?" in all his years as a spy and Death eater, Snape had never heard the Dark Lord's voice so menacing, or containing that hint of desperation that told him the lord would follow through without a moment's hesitation if he even thought of disobeying.
"Y-yes," Severus bit out.
"Good, then you will kindly donate your blood." Before he realized it, a cold hand clamped around Severus' wrist and dragged him to the bedside. Severus went temporarily limp with shock, not expecting the cold lord to manhandle him so.
For a ridiculous moment as the Dark Lord shoved Severus' hand towards the figure, he thought the lord was trying to smack the boy with it... Then the ostensibly dead figure started, nostrils flaring and teeth bared with a lust, and the evidence all came together for Severus Snape.
This…this boy was a vampire… A special one, for the Dark Lord to show such attention and obvious care for him. As Severus felt the first mouthful of blood leave to take dominion in the fair vampire on the bed, he cursed his life. How had he gotten into this mess - destined to be sucked dry by some pathetic parasite!? For the billionth time in his life he cursed Dumbledore, Voldemort, James Potter just for the hell of it, and all that had happened through the years to land him in the situation he was currently living out… Hopefully living out... He knew this standing between the lines was going to get him killed someday. He just imagined it would be by Avada Kedavra or torture, not by some bloody sponger feeding off him! Snape grimaced.
In the haze of distraction he didn't even try to fight, Severus did not notice the Dark Lord summoning his wand and potions belt away along with one long silver dagger, completely stripping him of weapons; he was too lost in the feeling of gradual weakening as his blood was drawn away. There was no pleasure in being fed on by a vampire, despite what the rumors said. Just as Severus felt he could take no more, the Dark Lord stuck his fingers into the boy's mouth and pulled the deadly fangs from his flesh.
The moment he was free Severus stumbled away, clutching his slowly oozing wrist. His breath came in shallow gasps, but the Dark Lord ignored him entirely in favor of bending over the boy, who's former pallor was becoming a slightly healthier shade of pale. Snape struggled to control his breathing, loathe to remind the evil lord he was there when he seemed to once again lost in concern. Severus inched his hand toward his wand, his mind tossing together an escape plan that hopefully wouldn't lave him mortally wounded. If he could just heal his wrist and leave without the lord noticing-
All of his hopes were dashed when his hands met an empty wand holster and the door to the room slammed open, accompanied by a loud voice, "What the bloody hell happened to Harry?!"
A/N: So….sorry for the three month wait? Eheh. Writer's block, lego set, slab, whatever. Citation for quote courtesy of HevenSentHellBroken.
Beta Note: EmpyrealFantasy here, fuming with the lot of you. Do you know how long I've been waiting for this scene? Tsurai has been taunting me with this bit here since OCTOBER. I kid you not. She knows this is my scene (if I ever refer to 'the scene', she knows I mean this whole bit) and here she is CUTTING IT OFF. We should all form a lynch mob now. Loyal readers, meet me at the corner of Books and Movies, and we'll talk about how to throttle her. XD