Disclaimer: All rights belong to J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. I'm only a fan writing for pure entertainment and do not mean to gain any sort of profit from this.
Warnings: SLASH LV/HP
A/N: I'm sorry... no excuses suffice for why I've delayed so long, so I won't bore you with them. More stuff to follow after the chap.
Chapter 4
'No ... please, not Harry ... kill me instead...'
'Stand aside you silly girl...'
And then a blood curling scream ... full of anguish and pain. Lord Voldemort was no stranger to such screams. His wand was as glorious as any sword when he brought it down to strike his enemies but also as deft and silent as the quick dagger, should he ever need it to be. He preferred it in the likeness of a dagger, of course. Death, he'd felt very early in his life, was a solemn business and therefore deserved to be carried out with with an air equally grave.
He always wondered why they screamed. 'Avada Kedavra' was a merciful killer. It was quick, painless. Yet most of them screamed, like she had done. Some, he had to give credit, did not... such as her son, Harry Potter. But then again, the boy had always been peculiar... an interesting specimen of the valiant and foolish beings that were the good 'wizards'. Wizards that said they stood against what he stood for, against the 'dark'.
Another ludicrous notion, the dark against the light... nothing but flip-sides to the same coin...
However, explaining this to them would be like explaining maturity to children... and Lord Voldemort had neither the tenacity nor the patience for children.
Eighteen years was a lengthy period of time, even for one out of the effects of time and death as he was. For eighteen years, his only obsession had been a mere boy... the one who was to have the power to vanquish him, the one who could be his downfall. Every fibre in his being and even in his semi-existent state had been set upon killing this boy who had made his life a living pandemonium.
But now...
Now the boy was his horcrux... his soul carrier. No longer could he entertain thoughts of standing over his lifeless body, of jeering at the death of the boy-who-lived. He would have to be given utmost protection, akin to that of Nagini and perhaps even greater.
He would be protecting the prey... the thought made him uneasy, restless. The boy had been his challenge and the thought of the gaining the ever elusive victory over him had been relished countless times.
The promise of that victory had been wrenched from him and to say he was displeased was the least. His disposition had changed though, when the boy had taunted him with the Elder Wand and he'd realized it wasn't over. The boy was a willing prisoner, afraid to put the life of his friends in anymore danger than necessary, but not one that was broken. His power to love was also his greatest weakness... and Voldemort would use it to the fullest.
It was natural that he planned to use the boy for his own purposes. Locking him away in a dungeon away from the eyes of the world had been a tempting option. But it served no more purpose except to continue his immortal reign. Once upon a time, that would have been reason enough to doom the boy to eternal solitude... but not now. He grew weary of the tedious battles... he wanted his power, supreme conquest over the magical world. He was after all, as they called him, a Dark Lord. A new thought was relished now. Harry Potter, on the dark side... leading an army against the light...
The icon of righteousness, of hope would be tarnished. The wizarding world would crumble... and he would have the power to rebuild it to his ways, the ideals he knew to be right ingrained into every brick of every building. His victory would be two-fold... Harry Potter at his every command and the world at his feet.
He closed his eyes in pleasure at the thought, leaning back into the high-backed chair near the fire. He was still in the room the boy had taken as his own, not willing to move around the manor more than he had too. He detested the place and soon, they would be leaving it...
The crimson eyes slid open a slit, as the sound of something heavy sliding on the floor reached his ears. A pleasing hiss accompanied the sound and Voldemort closed his eyes again, letting a hand fall lightly to the side of the chair. Moments later, the magical snake wound up his arm, coming to rest with her head eye level to Voldemort, forked tongue lightly tasting the air around him.
Voldemort's other arm came up to caress her scales and Nagini hissed again, draping her coils around the chair he sat on. There was silence.
Then finally, he spoke, 'It was good of you to come, Nagini. I have a task for you. Harry Potter roams the grounds you have just searched. Stay quiet and follow him. Make sure he is unharmed.'
If the snake was surprised at the instructions, she did not show it. Instead, the coils unwrapped themselves as she slid onto the floor and then, without a single hiss, she was gone.
Voldemort leaned back again, eyelids lifting to reveal the crimson eyes beneath. "Harry Potter..." he hissed softly to himself, "things are about to take an interesting turn..." And then, for the first time in a long while, Lord Voldemort smiled to himself, the wild glee reminiscent of his childhood crossing his face once more.
xxx
As immobile as a statue, Harry Potter rested against the trunk of an overbearing willow. The pendulous branches and leaves created a curtain that hid most of the boy from view, protecting him from the rain that still refused to run its course. Still heavy with grey, the sky was now lightening, the sun trying to find a peephole between the drizzling clouds.
He could feel the world getting brighter from behind his eyelids yet still refused to open them. Opening them would begin the day and he wasn't particularly looking forward to it. The helpless feeling of clutching at slipping sand had been paramount inside him after last night's revelations and the morning brought only emptiness and a resigned acceptance.
He coaxed his eyes open slowly, looking around at his bleak surroundings. After fleeing from the manor, his feet had led him tirelessly through the thin forest that sprawled the east edge of Little Hangleton until he had found himself back in the graveyard. At first he had turned away as soon as he had caught sight of the open expanse that housed the graves and the weathered statues that wound around here and there between them. After a moment's thought however, he'd decided to stay. It was just one of many things he would have to brave now – in order to live his new and far more twisted life.
His thin but calloused fingers were curled around an ornate wand, holding it firmly to his side. He looked at it with a half-interest, not willing to fully comprehend the implications and the advantages of holding the world's most powerful wand in his hand. In the same trance-like state, he bought the wand up to face level, pointing at his jugular.
Could it be that easy? Could he just speak a spell and end it all? A hiss sounded directly behind him but he ignored it, still staring at the wand intently. No, of course not. It would never be that easy, never for the Boy-Who-Lived, the boy who didn't just hold his own life in his hands but the life of many others as well. He stowed the wand inside his pocket. He wasn't a coward, never would be.
Ashen faced and rigid bodied, he got up sluggishly and started to make his way down the small knoll that the tree crowned. The grass caught in his muddied sneakers and he could feel the water squelching between his toes. The hiss of something else manoeuvring through the wet grass followed not far behind him but he paid it no attention.
A small fence of barbed wire lined the side of the graveyard he'd entered through the past night, keeping out small animals and such from the forest. His initial grogginess now dissipating, he leapt over the fence in one stride and made his way back to Riddle Manor.
It was when he'd reached the steps of Lord Voldemort's ancestral home that his patience finally broke.
"You've seen me from the Manor and back. Your job's done now isn't it?"
There was a rustle in the over-grown grass to his left and a large green python emerged from its camouflage. The snake barred her fangs at him, shaking its head as if to say no.
"I suppose he's forbidden you to speak directly to me then..."
The snake stared at him still, unmoving. Harry gave her one last disdainful look and made his way up the steps.
Pushing open the double gates, he left a trail of water behind him as he made his way inside. The first sight his eyes met with was that of Voldemort, still standing imperiously on the top of the staircase. Looking at the still figure but the wild eyes, he wondered whether the Dark Lord slept at all or if he just roamed about all night, unable to rest his soulless body...
Voldemort's lips suddenly moved but Harry could discern no sound. He shook his head as his messy hair that had been plastered against his face showered the ground with raindrops. He ran a hand through it and muttered, "What?" his voice sounding hoarse and dead even to himself.
Voldemort gazed at him for moment.
"Nothing meant for you to hear," he finally said in his cryptic way.
Harry regarded him with about as much interest as a flobberworm does the world and made his way up the stairs and past him. Of course it wasn't meant for him to hear. He was just a tool, to be used and then discarded. Always had been, always will be. That was also one of the things he had come to terms with the previous night.
The room in which he'd stayed at was still as he had left it, Draco Malfoy's wand still on the side table and the precious contents of his moleskin pouch still on the ground. His eyes strayed to the wand. He missed its familiarity, he realized. Although the Elder Wand that the Dark Lord had so graciously bestowed upon him felt fine in his hand, what with him being the true owner, just knowing the power of the wand and its history was enough to make him sick.
Harry walked over to it and picked it up as he heard the familiar slither behind him. He turned to find Nagini twisting about the doorway, dark slit eyes on him.
"He waitsss for you..." the snake hissed at him. Harry didn't say anything. Instead he turned back and walked over to the chaise where his old clothes lay freshly laundered. Without a thought to the snake behind him, Harry stripped and pulled on the clothes, internally thanking Dusty for their warmth.
Then he walked over to where his moleskin pouch lay on the ground, kneeled and carefully gathered up the only possessions he had left one by one. His eyes saw past each object, his mind only noting their presence. His movements suddenly stilled then, when his hand grabbed onto the old mirror shard. He lowered his face, cautious of the snake behind him, and saw only his own green eye staring back at him. He then laid down the piece inconspicuously beside his knee and continued to put back the rest of his things. When he was finally done and the snake was hissing with impatience, he stood up soundlessly, taking care that his foot slightly pushed the mirror shard away from him, hiding it from view underneath the chaise. Straightening, he left the room without a backward glance, the snake following as she had all night.
Voldemort now stood downstairs with his back to him, facing the open doors. Harry walked over to him and stopped two steps behind, out of arm's reach.
A soft black cloth appeared out of nowhere and descended on his shoulders, shrouding him completely. The hood fell down to be in line with his nose but Harry was slightly surprised to note that he could still see through the cloth. He looked through the hood at Voldemort who now stood with his arm slightly away from his body as Nagini slithered up it, settling about his shoulders.
"Your identity will not be revealed until I deem it fit."
Harry did not respond, standing behind the Dark Lord silently. Voldemort then beckoned him forward, towards his right arm. Harry stepped forth and Voldemort grasped his upper arm slightly, disapparating the two wizards and the snake out of the manor.
xxx
Breakfast, once a boisterous event, had become a silent meal at the Burrow. Hermione and the Weasleys, missing the presence of Fred, sat quietly at the kitchen table where the scraping of knives and forks was the only heard sound. Even the chickens from the yard were quiet, as were the gnomes, their mischief about the overgrown garden forgotten. It had only been a week since the tragic Battle of Hogwarts and the loss of Fred, coupled with the Lupins' and many more, had put them all into dumbfounded silence.
The silence was still new; for the past week, the Burrow had still seen a flurry of activity. The remaining members of the Order and the injured had been moved there after both sides of the battle had retreated. Mrs. Weasley and the rest had had their hands full with trying to heal others and comfort them, their own grief pushed to the back of their minds as they worked manically. It had also been from where search parties were sent out for those who'd gone missing and among them, for Harry.
Then, as the week had gone by, the number of volunteers for the searches had thinned and last night, it had only been Mr. Weasley and the boys who'd gone to look. The Burrow had emptied, until all that were left were the ones seated around the breakfast table this morning, not knowing how to cope or what to do.
Suddenly – CRASH. All heads turned in unison towards the kitchen window where, before he'd had fallen to the ground, Errol had magnificently crashed into the closed window pane, completely ignoring the open one beside it.
Mrs. Weasley, usually the sharpest of woman, stared at the window with her mouth slightly open, not understanding how, in middle of such misery and pain, something even slightly comical had taken place. She made no effort to go fetch the owl, nor told any one of her children to do so but sat there, looking at the window as though it were a foreign object.
Suddenly, a rough laugh permeated through the stewy atmosphere at the table. This laugh startled them even more and now every single one of them had their mouths agape, staring in astonishment at George Weasley. Struggling a bit with his injured arm and not noticing their expressions, George got up off the table and went to the window, stretching out a hand to the rumpled but unhurt bird. Errol hopped up on the sill and extended his wrinkled leg out, quivering. George tried to fumble with the knot on the letters single-handedly, before Ginny Weasley, another contender for the least-likely-person-to-do-something-normal position got to her feet and helped him out.
The Weasleys' still had their mouths open. Ginny looked blankly at the post in her hands, as though trying to recall how to read again. But before she could muster up the brain-power, there was loud, wild twitter and Pigwidgeon the owl, or as he was fondly called by the rest of them, Pig, fluttered through the open window. He too was carrying a heap of letters and sagging underneath their weight. Unable to manage a decent landing in front of his open-mouthed master, he unceremoniously crashed into his cereal bowl instead, spilling milk and oatmeal all over a disgruntled Ron.
Hermione let slip a small squeak that could have a been a stifled laugh. Then George and Ginny sniggered together at Ron and at Pig, who was trying not to drown in the bowl with his miniature frame. This did it for Bill, Charlie, Percy and Arthur Weasley, each of whom gave a snort of laughter. Ron still sat there stunned, unable to even wipe the milk off. At seeing the look on his face, Fleur gave out a tinkling laugh from beside Bill and now Mrs. Weasley was the only one with her mouth still open invitingly to any flies that may have been zooming around the Burrow.
After a minute or so, she too gave a slightly twisted smile and a laugh, hurriedly wiping the tears away from her eyes at seeing her family laugh again. Mr. Weasley reached over and patted her slightly on the shoulder. She looked at him and smiled, then got up and with some of the old vigour back in her voice, said,"Hand those over here, Ginny. They might be from some of the Order."
And just like that, with two way-ward owls and a sopping Ronald Weasley the non-magical spell loosened it's otherwise tightening hold.
The kitchen seemed alive once more as it's occupants slowly became active again. Hermione took out her wand to vanish the cereal off of Ron while Charlie extended across from him to save Pig from drowning. Mr. Weasley and Percy took it upon themselves to dry the half wet mail and George and Ginny reseated themselves and continued with the breakfast. Mrs. Weasley waved her wand and the dishes started doing themselves, the running of the water and the scrubbing of the soap a comforting and homely sound.
Conversations were still hesitant to start though, and it was Bill who finally started one, addressing the complete family.
"So erm, what with everything that was going on, we never really got around to announcing it but..."
"Bill..." interrupted his wife, "Maybe zis isn't ze proper time...?"
"No," said George, surprising them once more. "Out with it. H-he... Fred," he swallowed before continuing, "wouldn't have wanted for all of us to be quiet. He would have wanted us to be normal, y'know. We were never a quiet family," he smiled at his mother, "so I don't see why we should start now."
At this, Mrs. Weasley dropped her wand and hurried to the other side of the table and latched onto her son, sobbing on his shoulder. He patted her shoulder and looking directly at his father said, "We still have a war to fight."
Mr. Weasley nodded grimly at his son and then looked back up expectantly at Bill.
"Well... we're having a baby!" he said, looking sheepish but still pleased.
Charlie and Percy hopped up and thumped him on the shoulder, while Mrs. Weasley hurried over to Fleur now and embraced her. George grinned and Ron and Hermione smiled at Fleur and then at each other, with Ron mouthing, "I'll be an uncle!" at which Hermione rolled her eyes.
They chatted happily about the baby and a little about how it would have been if Fred had been there. They still successfully ignored the elephant in the room, one that had grown in size when the boys had returned the previous night, alone. Even Ginny was able to overlook it, chatting with Fleur about names for the baby, until it flew in through the window and landed on the table with a thump.
Mr. Weasley, sitting at the head, stood up and reached over to pick up the Daily Prophet while Percy paid the delivery owl with a few knuts and sickles. His face, which had slightly more colour than the past few days, drained of blood completely and Mrs. Weasley glanced worriedly at him. He set down the paper and looked at Ginny. He had been privy to her budding relationship with Harry since the past two years.
Ginny looked at her father and then at the paper between them. "What does that say? What does that say about him?" her voice became more desperate, "Dad?"
"It says he's... dead."
The Weasleys looked shocked and it was Hermione that spoke up next, "They don't have any proof. They haven't... they haven't found... we'd have known! We've searched!"
Mr. Weasley scanned the paper again and nodded, "They seemed to have glossed over that part, saying that it was confirmed by the Death Eaters."
"The Death Eaters?" said George harshly, "Since when has the Ministry been chatty with them?"
"What else does it say, Dad?" Ron asked.
"Its... well," he cleared his throat, glancing at his wife, "I don't think it's right for you lot to read actua-"
But at that moment, Ginny had, with a glare at her father, snatched up the Daily Prophet. The others crowded around her.
The front page was obscured with a smiling picture of Harry, taken from his days as a Tri-wizard champion. Included beneath it, was an address from the new Minister for Magic himself, Gawain Robards. It read,
To all witches, wizards and children, it is to my deepest regret and pain that I inform you that Harry Potter is no longer with us.
The Boy-Who-Lived or the Chosen-One, as we had taken to calling him the in the recent years, was a brave and innocent young boy who faced many, many horrors in his short life. He was a ray of hope and mark of good for us all, with his mysterious victory over He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named when he was but a baby.
I am not here, however, to discuss events that have been retold too many a times already. I am here instead, to appeal to the wizarding world to see the tragedy we, as a whole, committed against this young boy. We are as much responsible for his untimely death as are the Death Eaters.
You see, after his surviving of the Killing Curse, we forced upon him the mantle of a hero and saviour, making him a celebrity when he should have been nothing but a young wizard with a tragic took away his childhood, his care-free years at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and filled them with a past we should have helped him forget instead.
We also, put on his young and unable shoulders, the complete weight of the wizarding world after the return of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. We all kept going with false hope in our hearts that this boy, aged only fourteen, would be able to save us all. And at what? The word of an old headmaster who turned out to be, as I'm sure you all have read, more than a little deluded and secretive? In doing so, we also ignored that which could have helped us all along. Our Ministry!
Yes, the Ministry of Magic, built for the protection of wizards and witches all over Britain and ready to fight for their well-being!
There was a price for our ignorance. The life of Harry Potter. We have killed the last of the old Potter family. Why hadn't we expected it? Why hadn't we realized that such, such pressure on a young boy would make him only do the worse? That it would make him walk willingly into the lair of the Death Eaters to be killed.
Alas though, as much as my heart pains at his fate, being Minister for Magic, I implore you to not lose heart. The strongest of our allies still stands with us, our Ministry and our people. It will be we, who will overcome the Dark. We who will take back what was taken from us and avenge Harry Jeremy Potter. I ask all of you to do you duty and to stand alongside the Ministry so that the soul of this young boy may be put to rest.
Your faithful servant,
Gawain Robards
Minister for Magic
They all reached the end of the page together and it was Ron who broke the silence with a word so unclean that his mother hissed at him, "Ronald!"
And then, they all began to speak at once.
"- How dare they? A young boy! A young boy! He was of age for goodness-"
"-Yeah sure, our ministry! Where was our ministry while people broke out of Azkaban left and right?"
"- Jeremy. Who the BLOODY HEL-"
"-Yeah we'll stand with you. When you've eaten your own balls mixed with-"
"That's quite enough, you lot," Mr. Weasley said quietly. He was still looking at his daughter, who had collapsed into a chair after reading.
She looked back at him weakly and said, "So... he could still be alive right?"
Ron put an arm around her shoulders, others looking a bit surprised at him being the first one to do so. "If he is, then we'll find him."
Ginny nodded and they were silent for a moment.
"Arthur..." said Mrs. Weasley, "We're not actually at blame for..."
"Please Mrs. Weasley! That's ridiculous!" it was Hermione who said this, surprising them all with her angry voice. "Harry would never run away. I know he wouldn't..." She looked pleadingly up at Ron, who nodded, though uncertainly. Hermione's frowned slightly and she made a mental note to ask Ron about it later.
"Don't worry yourself, Molly. I know Robards personally. He is the worst kind, with sweet words and the darkest of intentions," Mr. Weasley said soothingly.
"He's not affiliated with the Dark-"
"Oh no, that is not what I meant," Mr. Weasley sat back down on his chair before continuing, running a hand through his receding hair. "Imagine him as Barty Crouch Sr., only worse..." Percy looked annoyed at his old boss being compared to the new Minister for Magic but in the light of his recently smoothed over relations with his family, said nothing.
There was silence once again in the kitchen, though not the twisting, painful kind that had been before. This silence was thoughtful, filled with questions and worry. A silence to ponder the present and not the past.
George looked around quietly at his family, seeing the rigid posture of each, the set mouth and whirring thoughts inside them. This was, in a way perhaps, the best thing that could have happened. Not Harry's absence no, but something to else to fight against, something that they could oppose and something that would put them back into action. He would do his part, although the ache of not feeling Fred standing beside him, knowing what he was going to say even before he, himself knew, would be hard. But he would do it, for his family and for Harry most of all.
xxx
The scar twisting on his jaw stood out as he clenched his teeth for the millionth time.
Tiresome and annoying beyond belief...
How the impatient Dark Lord dealt with it all was beyond Harry's comprehension. Sure, more than a handful of Crucios had already been cast and more than a few had been reprimanded, but their constant pleading, moping and grovelling was unending. He was, of course, talking about the Death Eaters.
It had been an uneventful week at Malfoy Manor and uneventful was stretching the truth to the maximum. In truth, it had been infuriatingly dull. At their arrival at the manor, Voldemort had introduced him as an 'important friend' and had sternly ordered Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy to keep him unbothered and away from eyes for the time being as he was 'recovering'. The slightly redeemed family had gladly obliged and Harry had been stuck in his spacious room all week, with food being bought to him at regular intervals by a sullen faced elf.
So when this fine morning he'd been woken by a large python sitting casually on his bed, even shock had been a welcome change from the endless worrying and plotting. After he'd yelled and fallen out of bed, Nagini had informed him, with some amusement in her hiss, that his presence was required by Voldemort. At first he'd been glad that some of the rather dangerous and foolish schemes he'd thought up would not have to be used to gain Voldemort's attention. Now he wished he'd used them instead of being subjected to this... there was no other word for it, torture.
In the extravagant dining hall of the manor, a series of wizards and witches were gathered. Some had been given the honour of sitting on the table, while others were made to stand against the walls. Voldemort himself sat at the head of the table, Nagini still around his shoulders. As the weather was warmer here than Little Hangleton, no fire blazed behind him and Voldemort's terrible face, often twisting as he taunted his followers, was in plain sight for everyone.
For everyone except Harry, who'd been made to stand right behind Voldemort, as though watching over him. He wasn't happy with the arrangement. It put him in plain view of the other Death Eaters, despite the heavy cloak keeping his true identity from being revealed. His legs were also now starting to ache but he didn't dare shift his stance. This was ground he would have to tread carefully and bringing more attention to him, especially while the others were distracted, was the last thing he wanted.
They had, until now, discussed the role of each and every Death Eater in the battle to great length. Those that hadn't done their part as was required by their lord were punished with crucios and then leered at by the rest of the Death Eaters. The number of Death Eaters that Voldemort was happy with were down to single digits and the apprehension on the other faces shone with glistening sweat. After two-three crucios, Harry barely felt sick any more at sight of limbs bending unnaturally and the echoing screams. He still had the luxury of looking away though, as none could see his eyes underneath his hood.
Just when he'd started contemplating what the result of him impulsively removing his hood would be, the talk had turned to something more interesting, namely what was going on at the ministry and Harry forced himself to start paying attention.
"M-my Lord, the Ministry has given most of it's employees leave after the battle. Only the Aurors are allowed inside. It is said to be going through some sort of reform..." The speaker was a yellow-eyed man with gaunt features. The face looked as though it was normally stern but it was reduced to a cowering mess in front of Voldemort. Harry fought to recall his name, knowing he'd seen the Death Eater off many times. He felt as though his brain had been dulled with periods of extreme shocks and then periods of inactivity, making him unable to concentrate. Not to mention the oppressive atmosphere of the meeting that was taking its toll on him steadily.
"Is that so?" Voldemort said slowly.
"Yes, my lord. Dawlish was able to send me only a fleeting message. They've been working them day and night."
"Is that so?" Voldemort said again, then continued, "I merely thought Dawlish was avoiding me after his less than satisfactory attempts to kill Gawain Robards and have him replaced..."
The man said nothing, beginning to perspire. Before Harry could place bets against himself about whether the messenger would be shot, a muggle saying, the front doors burst open. Harry finally moved, head jerking up as he beheld none other than Bellatrix Lestrange strutting into the room, dragging along some poor man in her wake. Giving the man a prod with her wand, after which he sank to his knees, she addressed Voldemort with a voice so uncharacteristically sweet that Harry had to keep from gagging.
"My Lord, I apologize for being late... I was held up by this filth here," she gave the man another prod, this time with her foot.
"And what news...?" Voldemort trailed off expectantly.
Bellatrix grimaced slightly as she pulled a newspaper from beneath her cloak and had it passed to Voldemort. Harry lowered his eyes to look over his shoulder and was surprised to find a picture of himself staring up at him, smiling aloofly.
Voldemort read through the article once, while Harry looked back at the Death Eaters. He couldn't read very well over the Dark Lord's shoulder without the others noticing... he would just have to get the paper for himself later. After reading, Voldemort placed the paper on the table and let out a small disappointed sigh, at which the Death Eaters flinched, wondering whose blunder had caused the sigh to escape. When Voldemort spoke next though, Harry clenched his teeth and cursed himself for not having read the article while he'd had the chance, appearances be damned.
"The Boy-Who-Lived never does run out of uses, does he?... even in death." The Death Eaters risked glances up at Voldemort, not knowing whether he was angry.
So they'd presumed him for dead... already? He didn't know what to think. It could possibly be Voldemort's own ploy to have him announced dead and then reveal he was alive and working with the enemy. Though he had to admit, it was also just as likely that the Ministry was brewing something foul again...
"Dawlish," Voldemort continued motioning at the man who'd spoken before, "will have to punished be even more so than before, I'm afraid. Robards is turning out to be a far more pressing problem than I'd imagined..."
"My lord," Bellatrix said with an eager, malicious smile, "I believe I can be of further help." Voldemort turned back to her and she continued, "This is Williamson. A low ranking Auror at the ministry. I've managed to capture him and have brought him here as my prisoner, my lord."
Voldemort looked up at her coldly and Bellatrix's smile faltered. The other Death Eaters who had been watching with interest suddenly found the walls opposite them most interesting.
"Oh he is your prisoner, is he?" Voldemort said dangerously and Harry suppressed a shiver. "Then what is he doing here, Bellatrix? ... Why have you brought me something not mine?"
Bellatrix looked horrified and started stuttering for the first time since Harry had seen her. "P-please m-my lord!" she said breathlessly, "That isn't what I meant! It was never ... He is your prisoner, of course, I'm just doing your bidding, my lord. Everything I have ever done, everything I ever do will always be– "
"Stop your incessant blubbering," growled Voldemort, "I must wonder whether someone as incompetent as you are proving yourself to be can even manage to extract information effectively out of your prisoner."
Bellatrix looked as though someone had slapped her and Harry hid a smile. It gave him immense satisfaction to see Bellatrix reduced to such a state. She deserved so much worse...
On Voldemort's other side, Nagini hissed softly at her master, too low for him to hear and Harry's smile slipped off. He was sure Nagini had just told Voldemort Harry's amusement at his treatment of Bellatrix. His doubts were confirmed when Voldemort motioned him forward and Harry felt himself moving forward on his own, against his will.
"My young friend here, whose identity is kept from you for the time being," at this he smiled a small smile, falsely apologetic, "is quite adept at torture. I am sure he will have no qualms about showing you how it's done, Bella."
It was Harry's turn to be horrified. Everyone in the room was looking at him expectantly, waiting for a show. Bellatrix's was staring at him disbelievingly, lips pursed firmly at the insult. He in turn looked at the helpless man on the ground, silenced against his will and staring at Harry pleadingly. He turned again to look at Voldemort, who was smiling a lipless, cruel smile at him.
Bellatrix noticed his hesitation and said quickly, "Perhaps, my lord, he is not up to the task. If you'll allow me-"
Voldemort silenced her with a look. Harry turned his back on Voldemort, staring at Bellatrix, her words from two years ago echoing in his ears. 'You have to mean them, Potter...'
The nagging thought he'd been trying to ignore before came to the forefront of his mind: the killer of Sirius was standing in front of him. The woman who had killed so many people... tortured Neville's parents. Bellatrix scowled as Harry's own face twisted into a snarl. He walked from his place beside Voldemort to stand in front of Williamson, who tried to crawl away. Slowly taking out the Elder Wand from the depths of his cloak, he pointed it at Williamson. He glanced back at Voldemort, who was watching with rapt attention, smile widening in excitement.
At the last moment however, instead of cursing the Auror, he pointed the wand at Bellatrix and rasped out, "Crucio!"
The Death Eaters surrounding them visibly blanched, some even bringing their hands to cover their mouths as Bellatrix Lestrange let out a piercing scream. Her back arched into a perfect curve, her unruly, wild mass of hair touching the ground. Harry's wand arm did not waver. Bellatrix's limbs started to contort at painful angles and she was panting now, amid excruciating screams. Her eyes rolled into her head and her hands started to claw at her body, as though trying to carve her insides out.
After some time, Harry ended the curse with a simple, modest gesture of his arm. Bellatrix's screams died down and the room was silent. Williamson, who had been watching Harry as though he was his saviour, threw himself down at his feet. To keep up with his heartless facade, he disentangled himself from the man harshly and made his way back to Voldemort's side, without looking at anyone. He stopped when he was back in his old spot and turned around to face the room, head still held high.
Bellatrix got up unsteadily, holding onto a chair for support. She looked at Harry murderously, still panting slightly. Her own ebony wand flashed in her hand but before she could return the favour, Voldemort spoke sharply.
"Bellatrix, take the Auror down to the dungeons and do with him as you please. The rest of you are dismissed for the day."
Chairs scraped on the polished floor as the Death Eaters got up, bowed and filed out one by one, eager to leave. Bellatrix used her wand to drag Williamson out, un-silencing him and letting his screams for mercy ring out over the whole manor.
Eventually, the screams died down and the room emptied with only Harry, Voldemort and Nagini left inside. With a wave of his hand, Voldemort closed the oak doors that led out. Without looking back at him, Voldemort gestured for him to take a seat. Harry stiffly walked over to the chair just right of him and placed his hands on it, looking at Voldemort.
Voldemort raised his crimson eyes to him and Harry said smoothly, "Are you sure you want me to sit? I was sure that honour was saved for your most esteemed Death Eaters only..."
Voldemort let out a chuckle. "If they were esteemed then you were honoured beyond your wildest dreams, standing behind me as though my most trusted. Or did you not notice the envious stares from behind that cloak?" With another motion of his finger, Harry's hood fell off to reveal his face.
"Oh no, I merely thought that the surly expressions were a Death Eater trademark," Harry muttered sarcastically and sat down, not looking at Voldemort.
They were both quiet for a minute, Voldemort staring openly at Harry and Harry examining the wand still in his hands. My most trusted... he'd said. Though he knew Voldemort trusted no one, he had to wonder... the wand in his hands, the memories that Harry had seen of himself through Voldemort's eyes. There was no denying it, Voldemort was, more or less, obsessed with him. The thought made something burn in the pits of his stomach and he dismissed it as revulsion. What he wanted was for that obsession to turn into trust... and then hopefully, Harry could save the world from Voldemort's dark regime, even if he could not save himself...
His mind then turned to another ruthless regime and he said abruptly, "The article, I'd like to read it."
Prepared for a refusal, Harry was surprised when the paper slid in front of him on its own, straightening itself.
He pulled the paper closer and started to read, not taking notice of Voldemort's eyes still on him. Instead of getting angry, Harry ended up finding the article entertaining. The mistakes were glaringly obvious such that they almost seemed deliberate. He knew the address would still do its job properly and it was settled that the Ministry was up to something... After finishing, he pushed the paper away and leaned back, meeting Voldemort's eyes again.
"How nice it must be to fight for people who hold you in such high regards..." said Voldemort and Harry almost smiled at the remark, knowing somethings would never change.
Scoffing outwardly, he said, "What would you know about fighting for others?"
"Not much," Voldemort admitted, "but enough to know how foolish it is. Which is why I am the only one I deem good enough to waste my efforts on..."
"Yes, I know" Harry said with a exaggerated sigh, "You're quite the arrogant git. And I've begun to think that maybe you just can't help it... especially after today."
Voldemort smirked, unfazed. "You're not feeling sorry for Bellatrix, are you? Her and others like her need to be subdued... I was merely doing what should be done. Though I must say, even I haven't put her in her place quite as firmly as you did in a long time."
Harry shrugged, too unbalanced at the moment to knock wits further with the Dark Lord. Though he had done it nonchalantly, the curse had taken a lot out of him, physically and mentally. His conscious was at battle with him at the very moment and Voldemort's ridicules only worsened it.
Voldemort stood up and turned his back on him, staring at the family portrait of the Malfoys hanging over the fireplace. "It wasn't wise... torturing her as you did. She is a remarkable duellist, I admit to having made her so. She will waste no time in coming after you to seek revenge..."
"She deserved it... for killing Sirius. And after all, it was she who taught me how... that I have to mean my curses," Harry said, scowling again.
"A simple taunt isn't enough to teach an unforgivable curse ... You have considerable talent for the dark..." Voldemort's tone was almost appreciative.
Harry raised his brows and said, "Thinking of taking me on as your apprentice?"
"I cannot deny any longer how much you remind me of myself... and Dumbledore's delicate views on education were never fit enough for anyone I'd be willing to place by my side."
"I am nothing like you," Harry said, mouth set.
"Your effortless performance today says otherwise," replied Voldemort, knowing his every nerve.
"Effortless?" Harry spluttered, "you know nothing. We might've been born similar, but it's my choices that made me what I am today." Dumbledore's words from five years ago still rang clear in his head and he knew them to be true... despite having to scrutinize everything else that the headmaster had spoken of.
"Yes..." Voldemort said, leering, "such an excellent choice to be a pawn for wizards far more powerful than you. Don't deny it ... It is no secret that Dumbledore danced you about on the tips of his fingers and now, I will do the same..."
"I did as Dumbledore asked of my own free will because I trusted him," Harry was on his feet now, looking up at Voldemort furiously, his voice escalating as he kept going, "You, on the other hand, I loathe. You're cowardly and you deserve nothing but hatred for all the crimes you've committed ... Tearing apart innocent families, killing my parents, killing every single one of the few people that could watch over me, protect me. And for what? A prophecy that turned out to be false! And to what end? An end at which you can't even kill me!"
Harry gave a mirthless laugh, "Your impulsiveness to save your own neck has made the pawn you say I am ... If I do what as you say it's only because you hang a bloody noose over my head. No, not for my life... which now means more to you than it ever did for me. But for the only people WHO'VE EVER CARED ABOUT ME!
"We're both orphans, aren't we? You sought power to take away the emptiness inside but all I ever wanted was a family. JUST A NORMAL LIFE! And one way or another, it was always because of you that I lost every chance of it!" Harry's voice was cracking with strain and Voldemort was staring at him with a flinty anger in his own eyes.
"And yeah, If I did cast the curse successfully," he continued remembering Voldemort's jibe, "it's 'cause I loathe her, as I loathe you. I hate her for what she did, for taking away the only family I had left! It's 'cause of you I had to stay with the Dursleys, that I couldn't even spend the small time I had with Sirius. Which is why hatred doesn't make me anything like you. I have the right, a more than enough reason to hate you and your pathetic Death Eaters."
Spitting out the last, Harry was left panting with his throat constricted painfully, not trusting himself to say anymore. He felt as if he would either fall apart at any moment or go into another rage. Feelings he'd bottled up against one, single man that hadn't ever found their outlet had just whooshed out of him in minutes. He felt light-headed and unsteady.
Unlike Harry, Voldemort stood rigid, crimson eyes bleeding fury. His long fingers were splayed wide beside him, as though he itched to scar Harry again. "If you loathe me with such intensity then go ahead ... Try out your righteous anger against me, Potter! Cast it."
Harry's heart jumped to his throat, "Cast what?" he croaked out, knowing full well what.
"Crucio me, Harry."
Cruciate Lord Voldemort ... Taking a shuddering breath, Harry stepped back from the Dark Lord and raised his wand arm; it trembled. Harry looked at the arm as though it wasn't a part of him, a part of someone else entirely. It was the same arm that had stood so still in a room full of Death Eaters while he ruthlessly tortured a woman who had killed one person he held dear. It now trembled when he was given the chance to do the same to one who had killed so many. His parents, Dumbledore... even Snape but his arm still trembled. His mind was at war with himself again, sending him snide thoughts. It would never work... he's a Dark Lord. This is stupid... he isn't worth it. You've already tortured someone... haven't you quenched your thirst for pain yet?
What made him agitated was that he knew these were excuses, mere excuses, generated by his own mind... Or were they? His eyes had gone back to Voldemort, seeing past him as he battled with himself, but now he stared into the red eyes sharply. Was Voldemort planting false thoughts into him again? Making him hesitate so that he would come over to his side?
"You... you're putting thoughts into my head. Wasn't once enough? Fine, I won't curse you. I doubt it would work anyway. But just... get the hell out of my head!" he said the last through grit teeth, backing away from Voldemort and fisting a hand through his hair.
"I am not invading your mind," snarled Voldemort, "Your thoughts are your own..." Voldemort softly hissed the last, but to Harry it seemed louder than Bellatrix's screams.
"GET OUT OF MY SIGHT!" Harry yelled now, voice cracking with strain, "I hate you... I want nothing more than to kill-"
Words failed to express the overwhelming anger inside him. Angrily, pushing away the thoughts clouding his mind and forcing his benumbed body to move, Harry raised the Elder Wand. Memories and pictures started passing through his mind at blinding speed.
Lily Potter smiling, hand-in-hand with her husband ... Snape crying over his mother's body ... Dumbledore lying lifeless ... Sirius falling through the veil ... George crying over Fred ... and then images that his brain dreamed up, Ginny lying unconscious ... Ron staring him with hatred on his face ... Hermione with tears in her eyes ... and then another image, that he'd seen before inside Voldemort, his own blank face morphing into a young Tom Riddle's, pained and yelling, "Die..."
He forgot he was a horcrux, forgot the Dark Lord's immortality. Nothing mattered.
Harry Potter raised his arm, "A-Avada-" and Lord Voldemort stood facing him, scarlet eyes widened and face ghostly...
Then darkness... Harry was falling. Somewhere, someone was reaching out to him with a cry... and then he knew no more.
xxx
A/N: Gee, for someone who wants forgiveness for the late update I'm not exactly doing myself any favours by ending at a cliff, am I? Ah, brutal but necessary. Next chapter will be updated soon (Yes, yes it will be... it most definitely will be) even before my other fic. Which is up by the way, and getting absolutely no love. I didn't expect it to. I call it my guilty pleasure... hopefully people will see why I'm so attracted to it once I've updated that too. No obligations, but if you're bored, give it a try.
Now some stuff about the plot:
You might notice that LV and HP's argument has changed drastically. It's gone from Harry saying they're similar to Voldemort saying they're similar. It's a blunder and it's deliberate. The thing about exams is that when you force yourself to stay away from online distractions etc. to study, your mind starts fantasizing. I fantasized about this fic. I have a firm direction, plot and ending for it now (applause). Which means that the other chapter are a teency bit out of sync. I will not edit them right now, its too much of a distraction. Instead, if I have to make some change, I'll tell you lot about it like this. There is nothing major, don't worry.
Next, the Weasleys and 'good' side. I will NOT and I repeat, I will NOT just make the whole of light side suddenly turn into hypcrites that never loved Harry. It's stupid and an insult to J.K. Rowling since I haven't said that this fic is AU. If it was an AU, then I could do as I please but since it's not, I have incorporated their goodness into the fic. You won't see too much of them, its still HP/LV centric.
Ginny: Ginny loves Harry, Harry 'cares' about her. End of story, it'll all be settled later on.
What-the-fuck happened in the end: You'll see what and why in the coming chapters. I would love some theories ;)
Harry's rant: It was a lousy week and I wrote the whole part with Harry yelling yesterday on whim. It was nice to vent and I think Harry deserved a chance to do that too. Plus, it ties in with the plot superbly... except you get hanged over a cliff for this chapter.
Next some review replies (my, i should call these A/E: author essays). To those who don't care, you're free to leave... I won't say anymore about this fic. I won't do it all the time but I'm doing this publicly today because the reviews were awesome, and some questions might be going around in other people's heads too. If you reviewed, its a good idea to quickly glance through the bolded names.
Elelith who said this fic has to potential to reach the standards of Death of Today and Twist of Fate. You made a blushing mess on the floor with rainbows spewing out of my mouth. That kind of praise is dangerous. Save it for when I deserve it but thanks :$
ThePotterFreak the reason why Harry doesn't run away or even kill himself is because LV would go into an All-Caps-Rage against the Order trying to bait/find him. Harry, especially after the events of the seventh book, would never want to place anyone else in danger for him. Ever.
and some other people Lol, reading about Harry falling for LV's devilishly handsome looks is something I love doing (guilty!) but again, this is not AU - I won't mess up Voldemort's character by suddenly giving him a new face... so keep reading but beware that Tom Riddle's face may make an appearance as a disguise.
To everyone who was worried about the invisibility cloak: It's so adorable. I know how much of a part of Harry the invisibility cloak is. We'll see it again, but its disappearance was necessary for the time being.
ladyoflilacs and some other people who said Voldemort is scary: YAY!
dalistar123 and anyone else who is wondering about Dumbledore No, I love Dumbledore and often fantasize about what it would've been like to have such an awesome grandpa. The prophecy IS false (just some changes in the wording) but Dumbledore is not evil.
Anon Cliche prophecy fakingness. Yep, but it's my first fic and its SLASH and I'm no whiz at writing. So even though I feel the rest of the plot is pretty unique, I did succumb to a cliche. I'm glad it was unexpected though.
Long chapters: Long enough? 8k+ I think.
Zenith/The Highest Place and to everyone about in-character stuff: You are all too kind and thanks. I'm glad you find them mostly in character. I'm nervous about the insight-into-Voldemort part, review and tell me how it went?
Please review some more and thanks for reading.