They landed with a jarring thud on the uneven cobblestone surface. Harry's knees quivered beneath him, his stomach churning with the aftermath of side-along apparition. It was a sensation he despised with every fiber of his being.
Observing Harry from the corner of his eyes, Snape noted the predictable signs of disorientation; He was nervous, fidgety, sure; but those were to be expected. What he hadn't expected though, was the hard look in Harry's eyes, a look of steel.There was a certainty there, a solid resolve. An expression he had only seen on the faces of war-hardened Death Eaters during the perilous hours of the last war. These were the eyes of a soldier on the front lines.
He shook off his musings, "Ready?"
Harry spun to meet his gaze, those intense eyes, hardened yet not accusatory, drilling into Snape's own, "Always."
Snape quietly took in a deep breath. He was about to thrust the boy into the snake den, his only shield an invisibility cloak. But Harry was a Potter, obstinate and unyielding, particularly when he'd made up his mind about something.
"Where are we?" Harry's voice, curious and a touch apprehensive, yanked Snape out of his reverie.
"Little Hangleton," Snape answered tersely.
"And what's that?"
"The town...where the Dark Lord was born," Snape added, quickly checking himself before he suggested it was Voldemort's 'hometown.' The Dark Lord would not take kindly to such a humanizing description.
"And how far are we from Hogwarts?" Harry continued, his curiosity unabated.
Exasperated, Snape snapped, "Good heavens, Potter, do I look like a cartographer to you?"
Potter simply smirked, clearly not put off by Snape's easily soured mood. And with that, they began their descent into the heart of Little Hangleton, their wands at the ready and the night pressing ominously around them.
"What's a cartographer?"
"Someone who makes maps."
"And why didn't you just say so?"
"Because, Potter," Snape replied tersely, "I assumed you would have the basic understanding of common English vocabulary."
Harry didn't retort. His mind was too preoccupied with the task at hand, his eyes scanning their surroundings as they moved deeper into the town. An unsettling sense of dread hung in the air, a silent testament to the horrors this place had witnessed. Their destination was the infamous Riddle House, looming ominously in the distance. As they stood before it, Harry turned to Snape, his expression resolute.
"This is it, isn't it?"
"Yes."
Riddle Manor, a formidable structure nestled within the secluded countryside, was a sight that inspired both awe and trepidation. Its exterior, hauntingly beautiful, bore an uncanny resemblance to its current master, both in essence and in character.
From afar, the manor appeared as a grand silhouette against the gray, brooding sky, a stark reminder of its ominous presence amidst the peaceful landscape. Made of stone as cold as its master's heart, the Manor was an architectural marvel that seamlessly blended the gothic with the grandeur of an older, more regal era.
Tangled vines crawled up the rotting stone walls, the front facade dominated by an enormous, wooden entrance door, reinforced with iron and embossed with the Riddle family crest.
Tall, narrow windows, with their shutters worn by time and neglect, looked out like hollow eyes from the stone face of the manor, their shattered glass reflecting fragmented images of the world beyond.
Beyond the garden, the boundary of the property was marked by a high stone wall, overgrown with creeping ivy, sealing off Riddle Manor from the rest of the world. In its desolation and fading grandeur, the Manor was an imposing symbol of the dark power it housed, a stark monument that echoed the chilling aura of its current inhabitant, Lord Voldemort.
Harry just thought it looked like something from Scooby-Doo.
They ventured inside, the weight of the air around them growing heavier.
Harry's heart pounded in his chest, his nerves buzzing with anticipation... He felt like he was going on a first date, if it was a date with death. He cringed when he realized that he had just associated a first date with voldemort. Eww.
When they had finally reached the main door, an ugly wooden thing with cobwebs at the hinges and nearly twice the height of Harry, which he did not appreciate.(he did not need even Voldemort indirectly insulting his height; he was not vertically challenged, merely average, thank you very much)
Harry carefully draped the Invisibility Cloak over his shoulders, feeling its weight settle around him like a protective shroud. As he fastened the clasp, the cloak responded, blending seamlessly with its surroundings, Harry disappeared from sight as if woven into the very fabric of the air, completely invisible to the naked eye(if Voldemorts eye was naked, then he was Mickey-fucking-Mouse. The man's eye was dressed in the most expensive of metaphorical garments)
Snape cast a potent Notice-Me-Not charm that seemed to muffle the very air around Harry. For good measure, Snape added another layer of invisibility, this one shrouding not just the eyes but the senses. It was as if Harry was there, but also not there, his very essence hidden. And, Unless Voldemort had uncanny perceptive abilities(which he did), he was safe.
"Ready?" Snape asked for the second time.
"No." he replied honestly.
"Very well then," and with that, he shoved open the massive doors to reveal an enormous chamber, a cavernous room where the darkness hung heavily, interrupted only by the faint, greenish glow emitted by a handful of torches. A long table occupied the center of the room, around which sat the inner circle of Death Eaters, their masks removed and revealing faces marked by determination, fear, and an unwavering loyalty to their Dark Lord.
Harry was surprised he had recognized several faces, Lucius Malfoy, Barty Crouch (how the hell was the bastard still alive?) Wormtail, he realized with disgust, was still alive and unfortunately well, the simpering fool. He had to restrain himself from lunging at him, but only because it would reveal himself and undo all of the hard work he had done so far to get here.
At the head of the table, in all of his glory, sat Voldemort. Harry was surprised to find that he looked nothing like his previous serpentine form(which was quite a turn-off) but he looked like an older version on the Tom Harry had encountered in the chamber, perhaps somewhere in his early twenties, but he was somehow hotter, the slight maturing of his face and body suiting him well. Even with the flickering shadows playing across his features, his good looks were undeniable. His jet-black hair was swept back, revealing high cheekbones, a sharp jawline, and icy, piercing, blood-red eyes that held an unnerving, hypnotic quality. Harry felt like he could get lost in them.
But it was his charismatic smile, disarmingly charming yet filled with an inexplicable menace, that drew the most attention. And as much as Harry hated to admit it, Voldemort was a stud. It was like staring at a sculpture. And it wasn't just the face. The power that radiated off him, the pure magic Harry could feel rolling off of him in waves, It was intimidating, sure, but impossibly attractive. The charisma that he wielded like a weapon, they were all intoxicating.
Woah, slow down, Harry. The guy has killed people. He killed your parents. No way you're going to forgive him because he's conventionally attractive.
"Ah, Severus," Tom's voice broke the stifling silence, a rich baritone that vibrated through the room. His gaze locked onto Snape, the only figure standing amidst the seated assembly. With a casual, yet elegant wave of his hand, he indicated an empty chair beside him. "We've been expecting you."
Maybe if he wasn't a murderer I would have dated him.
Snape moved forward, an embodiment of frosty confidence, his expression as impassive as a statue. Harry could almost sense his Occlumency shields working. He bowed respectfully before taking his designated place, never once allowing his eyes to betray the location of Harry, who was hidden under the protective guise of the Invisibility Cloak.
He's an ally, not a friend. There's a difference.
Harry moved to follow Snape, but thought better of it, retreating so he could watch from the distance. Harry felt the hair on the back of his neck prickle. He could see Snape's hand slide discreetly to his wand, a silent promise that he wasn't completely defenseless. The man was full of contradictions, he was so confusing he made Harry's head hurt to think about it too much. It was obvious that his followers were loyal to him,(save for Severus, obviously) but did they respect him? Harry couldn't tell. He was brought out of his musings by Tom's- Voldemort's, damnit, deep, sultry voice. Wait a minute. Sultry? Deep? He might as well reveal himself and do a strip-tease for Voldemort right now! Sure the guy was kinda sexy, but should his good looks really trigger this much reaction from him? It was Voldemort, for merlin's sake! What was this, an enemies-to-lovers romance?! Maybe Snape was right about the Potter insanity thing.
"Let's begin," Voldemort said, his voice echoing through the chamber, ringing with undisputed authority. The Death Eaters leaned in, their attention focused on their lord, as the chilling conference began, with Harry, invisible and uninvited, a silent observer in the heart of the enemy's lair. The hot enemy's lair.
Damn his teenage hormones!
