Warnings: Fairytale-esque universe, twisted fairy tale (alternate), elemental!male-princess!Harry, anti-knight-in-shining-armor!Lord!Voldemort, villain!Dumbledore, castles, silliness from everyone but HP & LV, medieval ages I guess, light slash
Pairing: LV/HP (Lord Voldemort/Harry Potter)
Summary: A disgruntled Lord Voldemort is forced into fulfilling one of his many duties—saving a princess, at least once. Confirmed that a relatively old castle houses a captured damsel, he makes his way over—only to be stolen away by his unknown foe instead.
Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns the delightful Harry Potter verse and its characters, thankfully. Otherwise you get butchered cliches like the one you're about to read. Haha.
The Lord of the castle sighed, irritated with how nothing seemed to be going his way. Sure, he was one of the most powerful men in the region, even greater than that of Albus Dumbledore in the neighboring kingdom, but that was really inconsequential right now.
Because his advisor was busy trying to, well… advise him.
"My Lord, I mean you no offense, but—"
"Yes, yes," Voldemort impatiently waved. "I know, Lucius. Either I must send out a knight to rescue a damsel, or save one myself—otherwise I be under the legal right of my people to be overthrown." Honestly, who had made such an idiotic law in the first place? It was ridiculously old, and most people didn't even pay attention to it because one, they weren't a Lord, and two, most people wanted to sweep a princess off her feet anyway.
For the life of him, Voldemort couldn't understand why. Their squeaky, high pitched voices grated on his ears, and their spoiled attitude made him want to vomit. Not to mention, the person to directly save an originally imprisoned princess was then forced to marry her, by obligation. That was exactly why he would've very well sent out his best knights to do the deed for him—goodness knows he wouldn't want to be legally bound forever with a stuck up bitch—but so far, all he had sent to a certain castle failed.
Sometimes, he felt that his men were the most useless beings in the world. How hard was it to invade one castle—that looked to be falling apart, mind you!—and grab one woman? There wasn't even a great beast guarding her, or so said his information! All there was that could be seen outside was a large moat and a thick swarm of vines with thorns. Not the highest security ever, which brought about to him wondering why the damned woman wouldn't just walk out.
It wasn't like anyone was guarding her.
Honestly, groaned the Lord in his mind, people are just absurd.
But it didn't change the fact that he needed to complete the task, or risk coming under scrutiny. He'd be damned if all of his power was pulled out from under him just because he didn't save one, useless maiden.
Lucius bowed his head, sighing as well. "Perhaps it would be best to try another chateau…?"
Voldemort glared at his advisor. "You know as well as I do that that poor excuse for a castle is currently the only one in the nearby region to have been confirmed to house a captured princess. I simply don't understand how anyone, including our rivals cannot penetrate such a weakly guarded fortress."
Lucius grimaced. It was true; their knights might have failed, but so had the other kingdoms'.
Sighing, the Lord leaned back in his plush chair and raised a hand to massage his temple. "Tell me, Lucius—why must all of our best soldiers be married already?"
"It has been awhile since your reign first began," pointed out the advisor dutifully. "Your most faithful remain your best, but they have settled down…"
Voldemort stood abruptly, slamming his hands against the wooden desk set out in front of him. "A wise man always said "if you want something done, do it yourself." Get me our best, unmarried knights to form a party with me. Hopefully they can grab the infernal woman and get out if I'm leading them directly."
Lucius bowed, his mind already running through possible picks. This time, they would be successful. "Yes, my Lord."
The party arrived in front of their destination after four days' travel. Voldemort lead at the front, his attire a specially made dark shade of red armor that the mages under his command had crafted for him. His stallion—the mate of his best mare, Nagini—was pitch black, making him an intimidating sight, even from a distance.
Most notable knights that accompanied him included Rabastan Lestrange, perhaps the only member of his most faithful that was still, technically, unmarried. However, he was discreetly in a polygamous relationship with his brother and his brother's wife, respectively Rodolphus and Bellatrix Lestrange. Mostly, the man was just there to make sure the rest of his knights didn't do anything too stupid.
Another of his party was Severus Snape, who was in fact not a knight but a mage who served double as their resident Master-level alchemist. He was here due to the fact that Voldemort, despite all of his sneering and disgruntled attitude towards the whole situation, was not going to overlook the possibility of a very powerful trap within the castle. The Lord would not underestimate his foe, whoever it was. Severus would be able to provide not only knowledge—for even though Voldemort was indeed a very wise man, there were some pieces of obscure origin that only someone in Snape's field would know—but protections as well.
Lord Voldemort was not a powerless man who gained power through controlling others. No, even though he could do that just as well to gain control, he was powerful in his own right.
"Severus," he barked, "do you sense anything?" Voldemort, of course, had scanned the area as well, but it was always useful to have a second opinion.
"No, my Lord… nothing unusual," replied the mage, "but… the vines seem to have a sort of sentience."
The Lord raised a brow at that. Well, it was unusual, but nothing he couldn't take care of. He motioned for Rabastan to lead the other knights in a follow up, and then he charged forward. Mind you, it wasn't recklessly. He withdrew his sword from its sheath, finding its foreboding gleam a great comfort as he easily slashed through the vines.
Seeing him as a threat, they struck out at him, seeking his blood. However, his weapon wasn't a normal weapon. Of course not. The blade was heavily laced with basilisk venom, melting straight through the furious plants. Behind him, his men moved to stop the assault of the plant and keep the way clear enough to move on through, a tactic he used to his fullest advantage.
Employing this, the Lord and his party easily made it through the thicket of thorns… or so they thought.
They could see the castle up ahead, its doors shut tight but still in view. Voldemort glanced up to the tallest tower, where he knew whatever damsel in distress would be locked up. From the window, he saw a figure looking down at them, but quickly moved away once whoever it was had seen his gaze. All the Lord had caught was a brilliant flash of green, green eyes.
"My Lord!" he heard Rabastan shout. Turning back to his men, he saw his momentary distraction had caught them. The vines had ensnared most of his party, dragging them into their thorny depths, never to be seen again.
"Wonderful," he growled underneath his breath.
They continued forward, cautious though quick after that. The door finally before them, Voldemort wasted no time in blasting it away. He dismounted his stallion, hearing Rabastan and Severus—as well as the few remaining knights—do the same.
A soft giggle sounded to their left, and their heads turned only to catch sight of… nothing.
"Severus?" Voldemort asked, already in the process of analyzing their situation.
"There's water on the floor," the mage said quietly. And it was true; glancing down at his feet, Voldemort saw his boots wet and a thin layer of water—just enough to splash slightly when they moved—covering the ground of the castle.
Curious, the Lord mused. There was no flow, but it seemed like it was moving anyways—no.
Sharply, Voldemort turned back to his men, only to see his remaining knights—minus Rabastan and Severus—in the process of being frozen to ice, their mouths wide in horror as the water creeped up their bodies, freezing as it went.
He heard Rabastan gulp. Severus' lips thinned, showing that the man was serious. Perhaps this castle did have a guard.
The Lord took in a deep breath. "Perhaps," he murmured, "it would be best to observe before we move any farther."
Rabastan nodded hastily. "My Lord," he said, "there are no barriers in place, but it seems someone has complete control of this domain nonetheless. Either that or—"
"An elemental," completed Severus. "I find it curious that they did not attempt to freeze all of us. Why, when it is clear that we three are the most competent, did they leave us so clearly untouched?"
"Perhaps they are seeking a challenge," Voldemort sneered. "No one of significant power has gone to this place before I, so perhaps they've gotten bored of dealing with all of the incompetents."
"What kind of maiden would warrant such a powerful being's possessive tendency, I wonder," Rabastan frowned. "We only know that she exists—no kingdom has claimed her as theirs. Who would go through such pains to protect an unknown princess?"
"We'll just have to find out now, won't we?" murmured the Lord. Part of him was irritated, while another was thrilled at the chance of a worthy opponent. It had been long, so very long since he had engaged in a proper battle of advanced skill.
They continued onward into the castle, though proceeding with a caution only exhibited in times of great danger. Severus constantly had his hands at the ready, fingers ready to make the slightest motion to call forth a shield lest they be attacked. Rabastan had his weapon in his hands, falling into a defensive position as they moved forth.
Voldemort stood confident through it all, though his senses were on high alert.
Finally, they reached a grand staircase. Steps lead up to a platform, which then branched off to east and west—undoubtedly also leading to the respective towers as well. They all looked around the wide area, careful to move any further than this.
Suddenly, the group of three all sprang into action.
Severus called upon a shield, blocking the sharp blades of wind that cut at them. They flew in from an open window high up the wall, continuing to clash despite the strength of the shield. Voldemort frowned, looking around in search of anyone that could possibly be controlling it.
Rabastan was the one who noticed first. "Watch out!" he cried, but it all happened too fast.
From the side, the branches of a potted plant extended forward and lunged at them, reaching wood seeking prey. They all managed to dodge it, but the wind blew harshly and they were forced to split. It was that that became the hole in their defense—another plant from behind struck out and coiled around Rabastan, restraining any movement of his limbs and even wrapping about his neck in threat.
Severus was the one who was caught next.
Voldemort slashed at their restraints, and at first it seemed like he was successful in freeing his loyals. However, it was not so. Even through the basilisk venom, the cut branches simply sprouted new limbs, increasing the prison's lock tenfold upon the two men. He snarled in anger, unable to do anything versus the elements.
"I accept only one," a voice purred from behind. Voldemort swung around, seeing a figure dressed in a dark cloak with hood up.
"You—"he growled menacingly, but the figure shook its head.
"Only one. If you wish for them to live, merely say so, my Lord."
"And what do you want in return?" Voldemort glared, under no assumptions that the clearly powerful person would let his more skilled soldiers go for free.
"I want," murmured the male, "you to stay. If they go, you will not return to your kingdom."
"And if I defeat you? How will you make me stay then?"
The figure chuckled. "I suppose I can't."
"Agreed then," declared Voldemort. "Let them return to settle my affairs. I will then proceed to defeat you, steal away whatever useless woman you have trapped in the tower, and then leave without any opposition whatsoever. How say you to the plan? Sound fair?"
In reply, a snap of the male's fingers released the knight and the mage. They both bowed to their Lord, and hurried to leave and fulfill his commands.
"Certainly do-able, if it is you," purred the cloaked man. "But there is one particular issue…"
"And that is?" questioned the Lord impatiently.
The male reached up slowly and pulled down his hood. Green eyes glinted mischievously, a light grin playing upon his face. "I have no princess trapped in my tower. It is only I here."
Several days passed by, where Voldemort found it hard to decipher night from day. The male—Harry, he insisted—was ridiculously good at his art, manipulating the elements to his will perfectly without batting an eye. More than once the Lord had been tempted to face off against the youth, wanting the thrill of a matched fight.
More than once he did succumb to the urge, though never did the two manage to find a victor in their games.
"So you have fooled the world," declared Voldemort one day as he stood from his seat in the library. "There is no maiden, and my trip here has been found useless, besides discovering your masterful talent. Come back with me to my kingdom, and you will be recognized for your trade and serve me, and live thrice as well as you do here."
Harry smiled indulgently, though his words were contrary. "I cannot."
"Why?" demanded the Lord.
"I'm quite lonely here," said Harry, changing the subject but not entirely. "Won't you stay with me? Surely my company isn't so abysmal that you long to flee from it."
"When you are forced to converse with some of the fools I have, there is no question that your company is a thousand times better than what I am forced to endure," reassured Voldemort. "But it is my kingdom, despite some tragedies. If you are lonely, come back with me. If anyone questions your presence, I promise they will be executed the very next day."
Harry frowned. "You won't go," he said.
"Will you stop me?"
The greenery that the Lord had realized was placed all over the castle suddenly sprouted from their place. It crisscrossed the door, the only exit from the library, and even curled about his body.
"Stay," insisted Harry.
Voldemort could do nothing but comply. They were evenly matched, after all, and the elemental had the home wasn't like it wasn't enjoyable here, the Lord found himself thinking. No, in fact it felt far more peaceful than his own castle. There was a sense of calm and quiet here, where the elements sought to please their master in every way. Harry was an excellent host as well, and he found all the luxuries that he had able to be mirrored here. Voldemort found himself grudgingly liking the ability to sit in the library for hours, uninterrupted as he devoured the books and the surprising amount of obscure knowledge hidden there.
Harry sometimes joined him as well, and they were able to rest in companionable silence.
Speaking of the elemental, Voldemort quickly found that the man was quite the easy-going individual. It seemed like the only time Harry acted up—other than when they went a little too far in their sparring—was when he mentioned the thought of going back to rule his kingdom. On that, Harry was adamant that he stay here with him.
Otherwise, the man was charming, a good conversationalist, and powerful to boot. And sometimes, Voldemort was forced to wonder.
He wondered why this man, this man who could so easily have followers and a kingdom of his own, chose to stay here, spreading the rumor of a princess in a tower, trapped behind a wall of thorns. He wondered why, with all the power that Harry possessed, that he settled for this lonely castle. He wondered why, despite his obvious charm and good looks, Harry decided to remain alone, with no lovers or past lovers to speak of. Voldemort wondered about a lot of things.
Today, he decided to venture up to the tallest tower of the castle. It was, to his belief, where the elemental's room was, and he admitted he had never really gone there during the duration of his continued stay. As only polite, he knocked once, twice, thrice before finally trying to turn the knob.
To Voldemort's knowledge, Harry would be in his room today and at this time. He certainly wasn't anywhere else, so—
The door was unlocked. Curious, though cautious as was prudent, the Lord moved inside, seeing Harry standing at the window looking out to the ground below. Moving to his side, Voldemort opened his mouth to ask something, anything, but nothing was ever said. Instead, the man turned to look at whatever Harry was looking at, seeing the vines moving enthusiastically he remembered his own entrance to this place.
And just as fate would have it, a band of knights were, in fact, here to rescue the damsel in distress.
Voldemort watched as they struggled against the vines and thorn as it bit into their revealed skin. Their armor was so easily taken care of by the strength of the plants, so easily dented and wrenched away. He saw how they were dragged into the pointed depths, their faces horrified but unable to speak due to the tight wind the plants had on them. Voldemort turned to his companion, and saw his dispassionate gaze.
Something about it told him that the man was… lost, somehow. Or something. Chained? Locked away? Distanced? Voldemort didn't quite know.
Suddenly, Harry looked up at him and reached out to grip at his robes. "Stay, okay?" he asked innocently, his original expression gone as a shy smile lit his face and his eyes danced happily.
Voldemort found he could do nothing but be enraptured by that look, by that attention that Harry gave him, so he nodded wordlessly. He was unable to do anything else.
Voldemort lost count of the days that he had stayed here. He lost count if those days were weeks and those weeks were months. Often he found himself thinking back to his kingdom, where his power and control lied, but it was hard to think that his kingdom was the center of his power when he sparred with Harry.
These days, he was allowed outside. Apparently behind the castle, there was a beautiful garden that was not filled with thick, thorny vines that would try to swallow him up. No, instead there were flowers and plants of all kinds, some he had only read about. Voldemort found herbs as well as poisons here, some plants harmless while others quite deadly.
"Voldemort!" he heard a familiar voice shout, and he turned to see—as expected—Harry running towards him. As he got closer, the Lord could see a wide smile on the man's face, as well as a pleased sparkle in his eyes. "Voldemort! Look, isn't it beautiful?"
He chuckled as he found a deep red rose thrust before him. Harry certainly was enthusiastic today.
"It is," he told his companion. "Wherever did you find it?" Only after did he say those words did he notice blood dripping from Harry's hands, running down his knuckles to his wrist as the man clutched the thorny stem of the rose.
In alarm, the Lord reached out and grabbed Harry's wrist.
"I grew it, all from nothing!" declared the elemental happily, but that expression soon died when he saw the look on his guest's face. "V-Voldemort…?"
"You're bleeding," the Lord murmured softly, raising the wrist he held so Harry could see the results of the thorns piercing his skin.
"O…Oh," murmured the elemental, confusion briefly flitting across his face. "I… I guess I didn't notice."
Gently, Voldemort pried the rose away, careful to not damage Harry's hands anymore than they already were, and also to not get pricked himself. He let the rose fall to the ground, not liking the look that his companion wore.
"Let me," he said, running a hand over the wounds. Instantly, they closed and healed, leaving no scars. "You should take better care of yourself," the Lord scolded.
Harry looked down, biting his lip in shame and guilt. "Sorry," he apologized. "I honestly didn't realize…"
Voldemort nodded grimly, his mind racing by the implications of this event and others he had been witness to. "I know," he reassured.
It was a few days after that particular incident when he once again found Harry up in his room, watching from the window. However, this time, he had been called. Wordlessly, Voldemort turned to look below, finding what Harry was looking at in an instant. Rabastan and Severus stood before the mass of vines, looking grim as they waited.
"Your companions," murmured Harry.
"Shall we go to meet them?" asked Voldemort, raising a brow. "You never said anything about if they came back."
The elemental sighed. "Yes, I suppose I didn't."
Thus, the two made their way down, down the grand staircase which Voldemort had grown used to, through the halls of the castle which he had memorized, and towards the front entrance of the castle—which he had rarely been, preferring the back garden.
When they exited the castle, standing before the mass of vines on the other side, Harry did nothing more than wave a hand, and instantly the plants parted for them. The sea of thorns moved away, obeying their master's will quickly and flawlessly.
"My Lord!" exclaimed Rabastan as they met. "I… I feared—"
"I'm perfectly fine," answered Voldemort with a raised brow.
"But you have yet to come back," said Severus cautiously. "Many of the kingdom are fearing that the castle has swallowed you up, too, despite any reassurances that we've made. And also…" the mage sent a significant look towards Harry, guarded and wary of the stranger.
"Hn. Is not Lucius doing an excellent job of managing the affairs as usual, though?"
"Indeed he is, but the people—"
They continued upon this line of talk, dancing around the matter as concerns were listed and met with no more than contemplative, careful words from their Lord.
"Why have you come here?" asked Harry, speaking for the first time.
Both the mage and soldier turned to look at him warily. They tensed, discreetly ready for defense as they sought an answer.
Rabastan could take it no more. He recognized the voice—the cloaked, powerful figure that had struck a deal with their Lord. "To escort our Lord back to his rightful place, of course," said the faithful, and though ready to fight as he was, Rabastan was completely unprepared for the burst of power that Harry emitted.
Barring his fangs, the elemental growled. "You will not take him!"
Voldemort found himself being pulled back by the vines, though they did not seek to devour him. Rather, he was separated from his men and kept out of the battle by the restraints.
"He said he'd stay with me!" Harry shouted desperately, the vines curling forward to shield him at the same time as strike out at the unwanted guests. "I let you go with your lives last time, but you will not be so lucky now!"
Rabastan slashed at the vines that struck out at him, cutting them off only to see more replace the tendril. Thorns reached and grasped for him, but he was one of his Lord's best fighters. He would not be caught so easily—not again. With Rabastan as the distraction, Severus pulled forth a bottle from his cloak and uncorked it. A lazy trail of fumes slowly wafted out, and as Harry's attention turned to him, the alchemist used a blast of magic to launch the bottle forth.
Before it impacted, the glass of the potion shattered, releasing the contents onto the plants as well as Harry.
Voldemort lost it when he heard the elemental's scream. With a burst of power, the vines released him, and he darted towards where he knew his companion had fallen. Seeing the shocked look on his faithful's faces, it compelled him enough to give them one simple message.
"Three days," he said. "Give me three days."
They nodded grimly, and retreated before the elements and their master could recover from shock, leaving their Lord in trust that he would return to the kingdom.
He made it through the plants and the mist easily enough, finding Harry's form curled into a fetus position. With great care in lifting the man, the Lord carried him back inside, the vines parting for him as well in understanding of his intentions.
Three days.
"V-Voldemort?" murmured Harry, blinking blearily as he made out the form of his long-time guest through the spell of sleep.
"Here," the man replied. He reached out to grab the elemental's hand, reassuring him with touch.
"What happened?"
The Lord tensed. "You were hurt. My men left."
Harry seemed surprisingly happy about this news. "Oh," he breathed in relief. "That's good. That means you're staying, right?"
"…I don't see why you won't come with me, back to my kingdom," Voldemort said slowly, careful of the man possibly blowing up again. "You've told me it's lonely here for you. So why don't you leave?"
Harry did not say anything for awhile. "Are you happy here?" he suddenly asked.
Voldemort closed his eyes for a brief few seconds. Three days resounded in his mind. Yes, he remembered now. He had a kingdom to get back to. To rule. Harry, the lonely, beautiful elemental that had captured his thoughts here was not the only thing in the world. So, he knew his answer before Harry had ever asked him.
"No," he lied.
Harry nodded sadly. "Okay," he whispered. "You… you can leave. I won't stop you. I'm sorry for keeping you here against your will, I just—… sorry."
Voldemort nodded. Slowly, he leaned down to where Harry lay on the bed and placed a kiss upon his forehead. Then, he rose and left, fetching his stallion from the stables to depart immediately.
Three days.
The Lord of the kingdom snarled, pointing the tip of his blade at his victim's neck, deep down in the dungeons.
"What do you know?!" he demanded.
"My master," the poor man cried, breaking down as sobs wrecked his body. "My master is the one! He cursed the boy! Cursed him, cursed him to forever be bound to the castle! It was his revenge, you know! His revenge, against the boy who dared be born more powerful than him—to be more powerful than him as the child of his two best generals—"
Voldemort wasted no time in disposing of the worthless man once he had gotten the information he needed. "Dumbledore," he hissed, rage flowing through his veins.
Dumbledore would pay.
"Lucius," he barked sharply as he exited his dungeons. "We're planning an assassination! In my office, now!"
How long, he mused, has the castle been standing?
He came alone this time, remembering what Harry had told him upon their first encounter. Only one. Well, Voldemort could certainly see why. They were kindred spirits; both experiencing the faults in being powerful, condemned for things they certainly weren't guilty for. But there was a key difference between the Lord and the elemental—one was bound and one was not.
And Voldemort would be damned if it stayed that way any longer.
Fifty years ago, Albus Dumbledore began to act on his discreetly gained power. He had an army, a vast army, and he used that to conquer the lands he now ruled over. The elite force he used to carry out his laws had a name—the Order of the Phoenix. And, long ago, when the Order had first been created, its two de-facto leaders that served under the man were Lily and James Potter.
And their son was Harry James Potter, presumed dead when the whole family was killed.
That had been forty some years ago.
Voldemort looked up at the castle, peering at the window where he knew Harry's room was located. The man looked no older than twenty, beautiful in his sadly preserved state. He had been locked away here, and then bound to the land when his magic matured enough to sustain the whole castle, most likely so Dumbledore would never have to take care of maintenance.
Bitter feelings rose to the Lord's throat. A princess inside a tower, waiting for a handsome prince to save her; was that not the story? But Harry, Harry had never possessed any hope of being rescued. He knew he could not leave the land, knew he was bound to it. In his story, he sought someone who could understand, looked for someone who was alike. And, selfishly, they would be bound to the castle, too—only not because of a man jealous of power, but rather because he willed it.
But Harry was not naturally selfish. He wasn't a cruel person—that just wasn't how he was.
The vines did not bother Voldemort as he proceeded onward to the castle. They did not strike out against him, did not try to drag him in—no. In fact, the whole castle seemed dead. There was no magic, no spark of life. It was strange.
He stepped inside, hearing the sound of his boots against the marble and the small splash of water. Instinctively he tensed, but Voldemort knew Harry would never intend to harm him. Not seriously, at least.
The water began to gather itself, slowly moving into a shape as it extended from the floor. Soon, what was before him was a watery image of Harry, translucent though it was.
"Why did you come back?" he said sadly.
"To save you, obviously."
"There's no princess to rescue," Harry murmured, shaking his head, "The rumor has dissipated. This castle is now thought to be abandoned—nothing can be gained from coming back here. So why?"
"Didn't I say already?" Voldemort asked, raising a brow. "I'm here to save you, not some bloody woman."
"I… you can't. Please leave."
"No."
The elemental vigorously shook his head. "You can't! Go! It isn't safe here, not even for you."
"Are you underestimating my power?"
"I know it very well," he whispered, "which is why you need to leave. Even now, I—"
"I'm not leaving without you," declared Voldemort. "I crave your power. Your strength. You would be a valuable asset to my army."
Harry tried to smile. "I'm sure I would be, but I don't think I'm worth potentially losing your life."
"You don't know that," the Lord murmured in turn.
The image simply shook its head again. "I'd never seek to harm you," he said suddenly, "but what I want and what can happen are two vastly different things. If you don't go, I don't think I'll be able to hold it back any longer—"
"Then I'll beat you soundly," promptly replied Voldemort.
Something unreadable flashed across the image's face. "Go," he whispered, "as my last wish, just go!" And then, as soon as the last word left his lips, the water forming him collapsed and splashed across the floor.
Voldemort watched it all dispassionately, his mind racing as it wondered exactly where Harry was. But since he didn't know, not even after all of his knowledge gained during his stay, he decided he'd just have to trip the trap and go from there, because if there was one thing Harry did to him…
He made him feel reckless.
Up, up the stairs he ran, towards the highest tower, towards where Harry's room had always been. He passed the plants, which seemed to be quite restless, passed the windows, which were half open, passed through the hallways, whose torches instantly lit with fire, passed the library, passed the room he had stayed in, passed—past—
And then he was there. In front of the room which he had never truly felt welcome to. Always, always Voldemort had wondered why—Harry accepted him so openly, so warmly, why would such a room feel differently? But now he knew. Now, he would trip the trap.
Unhesitatingly, the Lord flung the door open. Lying upon the bed was Harry, eyes closed and perfectly lax. He moved over to him, watching the man's chest move slowly with every breath taken in. A perfect sleep, or so it seemed. Or so everything seemed.
Suddenly, Harry's eyes opened.
"You foolish, foolish man, my Lord," he muttered, gracefully sitting up. "You ignored all of my warnings. All of them! You expect just because I've never purposely harmed you, that I'd never do so—absurd—"
"I never thought that," cut in Voldemort. "Do not put words in my mouth."
"I'll do whatever I please," Harry retorted as he stood. "Especially because I—"he bit his lip,"…Are you sure you don't want to go?"
Voldemort mentally took deep breaths. Now, it was time… "I was wrong, last time. If you want me to stay with you, I will."
The elemental cocked his head to the side. "…Forever?"
Smoothly, the Lord captured the man's wrist in a firm grip. "Do you want me to stay?"
"You weren't happy here before," Harry murmured. "How can I let you stay, knowing that?"
"Be selfish for once," said Voldemort. "Be selfish; keep me here. Isn't that what you want?"
"I—"
With a quick tug, the Lord embraced the elemental he yearned to call his. Perhaps he would be able to, after this. The vulnerable, defenseless look upon his face was almost too much to bear—it made him doubt himself, what he would do. But he had to! Voldemort knew that. He knew Harry would understand. The hand that held Harry close to him clung tighter.
When Harry wrapped his arms around him back, Voldemort hesitated.
But only for a moment.
The dagger hidden within his sleeve slowly slipped out, and he closed his eyes for just a second. When this was over… when this was over…
"As long as you're happy with me here, then I will be content," said the Lord. "If you will not let me take you, then I will stay."
"…O—"
He plunged the knife into Harry's heart from the back, making sure the blade sunk in until the hilt. It sickened him inside, hearing the elemental's small gasp of surprise. Voldemort let go of his body, allowing the man to stumble back, eyes wide in surprise.
But not in betrayal.
"R-Run!" shouted Harry, one last time before his eyes dimmed and turned an endless black. His body stumbled forward, but just as quickly regained its footing and rose once more. This… this was no longer Harry.
Voldemort tensed in preparation. "Where is he?" the Lord snarled.
Not-Harry smiled. "You won't be able to find him," he said calmly, "because you'll die here. Anyone who wishes to free him… shall meet their end with this. Those are my orders."
"Dare you underestimate me?"
A chuckle. "He was going to go to sleep, you know," not-Harry continued, ignoring the Lord's words completely. "He was going to sleep forever—stay here forever. You were the last. He knew no one would stay, if you wouldn't. So as his last gift to you, he wanted to end in eternal darkness, the oblivion that I would gladly grant him as long as his body stays alive."
"I doubt it was for me," snorted Voldemort.
"And that's where you're wrong," chided not-Harry. "If he slept forever, forgot all that had happened in this world… then he wouldn't want you anymore. I am loathe to ignore his wishes, you know—I simply cannot let him go. And so, if you were forgotten, then you wouldn't be harmed is what he thinks. But I'm not so innocent—I saw it in your eyes, then. I knew you would be back. And if you were being honest a moment earlier, perhaps you would've been allowed to live, but the truth is you're far too much of a threat to leave alone, so this will be your grave."
"You're far too arrogant if you think I'd simply lie down and die," warned the Lord softly. "Perhaps you, as the sentient bond that chains him to the land, cannot feel pain or emotion, but that does not mean you cannot die—that you are eternal. Harry is mine, and you have no place here with your creator dead."
"I care not for anything but he, just as I was commanded to." There was no point in asking which "he" it meant. "Enough chat; you must be eliminated, regardless of whatever words you speak!"
Vines from the nearby plants spread through the room, spiked with thorns as they tumbled and curled in the too-small space. With no mercy, they reached the Lord and wrapped about him, piercing through the armor and cutting flesh. Blood began to fall.
But Voldemort was calm. "Where is he?"
Not-Harry laughed, cruel and mocking and entirely wrong. "He thought it fit to hold the boy in a tower, tall and high and just as a maiden would be. But don't you know—it was too much of a risk to have him here, in this room… where anyone could see him from the outside. Anyone could be lured here, but to leave alive? That is too much to ask for. Even you escaped by the skin of your teeth!"
The Lord narrowed his eyes. He couldn't waste more time here; had to find Harry. Maneuvering his limbs caused the thorns to squeeze even closer, even tighter, but this he ignored in favor of gripping his sword. With a single slash, he threw off his confines and threw a flask containing a misty smoke forward to strike at his foe.
It exploded on contact, and he forced himself to keep his focus as he heard Harry's voice scream… it'snothimit'snothimit'snothim…
Fire, bright and greedy, leapt forward from the remains. It quickly spread through the vines, causing Voldemort to dash to the door and slam it shut. That would only hold for a bit, but then again Fiendfyre was not meant to be corralled anyways. At least the ridiculous bond was gone. When he got back to the castle, Severus would be receiving a hefty bonus for figuring out how to bottle the damned magic.
With that done, he continued to dash up, up, up the tower, knowing that his time was scarce. Dumbledore had been a senile old man who had a penchant for puns and symbols and trickery, guarding his most secret of secrets like a Cerberus. Knowing that, it would be safe to assume—
He hit a dead end. This was it—the top of the tower. Or was it? Voldemort glanced around, eyes quickly trailing the walls before he finally looked upward. And there! There it was! A trapdoor, clear as day, allowing him to ascend further! He easily reached up and pulled it down, a wooden ladder then falling to help his ascent. The Lord did not hesitate to use it.
The wood creaked as he climbed it. Voldemort rose quickly, knowing he had no time left, but somehow the undisturbed quiet of the attic affected him. The trapdoor shut as he stood up.
It was almost surreal—a room empty of any personal belongings, or shelves or desks or anything at all, save a large bed in the middle. And the body resting on it.
Light slipped in from a round window. Voldemort could see dust floating in the air, but as he approached the bed, he noted it was clean and without a speck of dirt, as if someone had been changing the sheets and pillow cases daily. Harry's body laid motionless, eyes shut and a clear expression of serenity on his face. An eternal sleep.
And how better to break one than a kiss? What was it again, the story of Sleeping Beauty?
True love's first kiss…
Ha. Voldemort would've scoff if he had the time. Dumbledore always had been a senile old coot, even when his hair was still red. But thankfully, that made him predictable.
Without hesitation, the Lord bent over and placed a soft kiss upon the elemental's lips. He quickly moved away, watching with sharp eyes for any sign of movement.
The only problem was he wasn't sure if he was true love. Who knew how Dumbledore worked his spell—hopefully he would fulfill the requirements, but then again, he wasn't exactly sure how Harry felt—whether or not it registered his feelings or Harry's, or whatever the hell true meant. To him, love seemed so relative and subjective to the whims of the participants that weaving it into a spell was the most ridiculous thing a sorcerer could do.
But then Harry's eyes shifted beneath his eyelids, and every doubt Voldemort ever had faded into thin air.
"Harry," he said, and then cleared his voice to say it louder, "Harry."
The elemental's eyes opened. He took in Voldemort's face for a good second, moved his fingers and toes experimentally, and then sat up.
"You, my Lord, are the most foolish man I've ever—"he was cut off by another kiss.
"You were saying?" Voldemort smirked.
"—had the truest pleasure of meeting," breathed Harry. "I didn't think you could do it."
"Just who do you think I am, half of the time?" he snorted, "Have a little faith. In fact, don't even think about it—just expect me to do as I say I will. I'm a man of my word, you'll be pleased to find."
"If we make it out alive—"
"—which we will," replied the Lord.
"Alright, so what's your brilliant escape plan?"
Voldemort shrugged. "Get out without getting burned?"
Harry looked exasperated. "You—"he stiffened when he felt a rise in temperature. The trapdoor was burning up. "We need to go. Now."
The large window exploded into glass shards. Harry dragged him around the bed and through the sharp remnants, and just before throwing them both out, turned to look at him. The Lord was calm.
"Instead of spouting some sweet nothings before we either jump to our doom or make a miraculous escape, how about I make this your test instead? You get us out alive, you're officially my Head Elemental with a generous salary. We die, and you lose all special benefits and live as my guest."
"Somehow I find that last one more tempting," Harry deadpanned, "but isn't it rather difficult to have should we be dead?"
They jumped.
For one, two, three seconds they were falling—air whipping around them, slamming against their bodies as they broke through the wind; the gates before a descent into the Fiendfyre that spread below.
Smoke—Voldemort coughed as he brought his sleeve up to his face—and then, before he could even register the shift, they stopped falling. It wasn't even that they landed on something—they simply stopped, and it was a half second longer until he realized they were in a swirling bubble of air.
"Have a little faith, was it?" grinned Harry.
"Now you're getting cheeky. What, has the taste of freedom finally gotten to you?"
"Just saying—I'm an Elemental. We're sort of meant to get out of these things alive."
Voldemort tilted his head to the side in a physical display of genuine interest. "Are you strong enough to control Fiendfyre?"
Harry shrugged. "Never tried—I don't think I can, but it'd probably be easy enough to manipulate its path of destruction. I am not, however, willing to test that in a tall, wooden tower under pressure of being burned from above and below."
"Point made."
"My Lord! You're back!" Rabastan, Severus, and Lucius met them at the entrance hall. Harry, feeling more than guilty for the trouble he'd probably caused them, slowed his pace to half-hide himself behind Voldemort's imposing figure.
"I trust my orders have been carried out?"
Rabastan grinned. "Meetings have been planned with our neighboring countries for the splitting of Dumbledore's kingdom—"
"More testing has been done with the bottled Fiendfyre, and it will soon be viable for military use—"
"And the position for Head Elemental has been prepared," Lucius finished off. His silver blue eyes flickered off of his Lord's face and to Harry's.
Voldemort inclined his head. "Good. Severus, come with me to the Hospital Wing. The rest of you are dismissed."
The two others bowed and departed to their respective stations. Severus waited until they were out of sight before asking, "Are you injured, my Lord?"
"Nothing I haven't healed before I arrived. Rather, it is my Elemental that will be requiring some check-ups. Most recently he has broken free of a high level magical bond, you see…"
Harry rushed into the room, slipping in and slamming the door behind him right away. He gripped the doorknob and leaned against the wood as his breath left him in pants, face flushed in red and eyes frantically flickering.
"Running from something?" The obvious question was only to catch the Elemental's attention.
Harry jumped. He realized, with much embarrassment, that he'd chosen Voldemort's study as his hiding place. "Your advisor is very thorough in his interrogations," he carefully replied.
"Hm… Yes, Lucius is that."
"He told me he wanted to know everything about the person he went through the trouble of making a position for, much to my surprise. I thought you had Elementals already."
"Hardly. Don't you know how rare your kind are? Finding one is like picking a needle from a reluctant haystack." Voldemort waved a hand and motioned him closer. "Head Elemental is a title. It'll be generally understood that you're my only Elemental."
Harry bit his lip and approached, pushing off the door. His mouth curved into a coy smile. "So I'm special?"
"If it pleases you to be so."
At that, Harry laughed; the sound a light, pleasing thing that could only be truly appreciated between the both of them. A sense of finality settled. He was free, and he was his, Voldemort knew. The knowledge was as calming as it was thrilling. There'd never be a boring day again, not with Harry around. And considering that he sent Lucius off on an errand to make sure certain rumors were spread…
That stupid law about damsels in distress needing saving would no longer be an issue to his rule. Harry counted under technicalities anyway. The Potters who had served under Dumbledore traced back to royal lineage, he had been trapped there by some sort of magic power—in this case a chain to the land instead of a dragon's flame, but Dumbledore's magic, and the old man certainly had the breath of a dragon when he was still alive, so who cared?—and, in the end, Voldemort had successfully saved him.
Very soon the next part of the obligation would be fulfilled, though in the Lord's mind it wasn't so much an obligation but a pleasure. How to convince his Elemental of fulfilling a social nicety for a society he hadn't been part of for a good couple of decades was simply part of the challenge.
"The next time I kiss you, it'll certainly be in a better setting than a life-or-death situation in an old attic," Voldemort mused aloud.
Harry stumbled at that one. He blushed, stuttered, tried to hide his face and growing blush but ended up turning his head away instead. "I thought you were a more sensible man than that," the Elemental exclaimed, "far above caring for pretty sunsets and mood! A kiss is a kiss, and I'm afraid you've taken my first! Surely that's a more important detail than atmosphere?"
"I never spoke a word of sunsets and fairy-book pictures—" Voldemort chuckled when Harry sputtered, "—but if that's what you like, I'd be happy to indulge you. To address your other point… Hm. My sensibility makes me a man that takes into account the future rather than excessively focusing on the past. Is it not better to think of how I will kiss you next, than to lament and sigh over how unromantically I kissed you then?"
Despite his loss in composure, Harry still managed to tilt his lips into a half-smile of humor. "I fear you and I will butt heads consistently—for instead of, as you say, taking into account the future, I much prefer to live and act in the present. I find that all the time spent thinking on and planning out what will happen next detracts from and perhaps does away with all the chances available now… wouldn't you say?"
"Is my Head Elemental giving me his first piece of advice?" Voldemort asked seriously.
A significant bit braver than he actually felt, Harry replied, "He is indeed, and best be the Lord who considers it!"
Voldemort, amused, chuckled and nodded his head. He then pointedly turned back to the papers strewn across his desk and picked up his quill, dipping it in his ink bottle before signing his name with a flourish.
This normalcy continued on for several more moments, until Harry concluded that, though he certainly was no princess, neither was his Lord a true knight. Thusly, certain conventions could be broken and—nay, certain conventions were expected to be broken. With this in mind, he marched the distance between himself and his Lord's desk, grabbed said Lord's chin, and firmly pressed his lips against Voldemort's knowing smile to begin a kiss.
…As all fairy tale endings are wont to do if there involves a knight, a princess, and the well known phrase of "Happily Ever After." Some things, of course, can be substituted for. Thankfully, for both the reader and the author, neither the Lord nor his Elemental wished to substitute the tried-and-true display of love. And so, the written story for the two may close on a mildly satisfying note.
That is, The End.
Yay I wrote something! Haha. Actually, this is a very old fic that I just completed (aka went into a slump after a couple nights of writing, decided I wouldn't touch or remember it for a year, and then went back and scribbled out an ending), but I figured the idea had merit and would entertain you, so here it is!
I'm unsure whether or not I mentioned this oneshot in development in an earlier chapter of The Game... probably. -shrug- Well, either way, I'm not lying xD.
It's also very interesting to read and watch as, at the very end, there is a clear disparity between what I'd written so long ago and what I'd written now. Kind of makes me squint and scrunch up my face, but hey, it's out here now! Hopefully you still enjoyed the story :) Just covering all my bases for this ship! -whistles innocently-
Thanks for all your support guys.
Sincerely,
R.R.
P.S.: credit for the pun-y title goes to Zenithylfrom Ao3! She's also helped me write Nature versus Nurture's guide, so come check her out if you like :) She has a story in-progress!