Consciousness did not return smoothly. It was not a slow, gentle transition from dreams to waking. He woke with a jerk, eyes snapping open, body tensing for the inevitable fight.
Darkness greeted him. He relaxed into it. Whatever happened, the danger wasn't immediate. The room's only noises were his. The rustle of jeans over concrete. The scrape of flesh sliding along the ground. The sigh of each breath as he catalogued everything. He couldn't see, but that didn't make him blind.
He was calm - he was always calm - as he glanced around his surroundings. There was no speck of light to see by. Nothing to give his eyes something to latch onto.
Windowless. Even a moonless night could be seen by. The nearly full one should have lit everything up, allowing him to see everything around him. His eyes played tricks on him, attempting to convince him something moved within the room, though every other sense told him there was nothing. He closed his eyes.
The air was cool. Cooler than the summer evening had been. He was underground, which explained the silence surrounding him. Someone didn't want to risk losing him.
Feeling around for his bag, he was unsurprised to find it missing. Disappointed, but not surprised. He'd been found. By who remained unknown, but neither option would want him disappearing again.
If they looked through my bag …
His heart raced. He breathed deeply, knowing it would go away. Nothing lasted long. In seconds, the faint panic flickered from existence, leaving him free to think once more.
Rising, he carefully found a wall. His hands guided him around the perimeter until he found the door. Wood. Smooth. Sturdy. There wasn't the slightest creak as he shoved his weight against it. There was no handle on his side. Nothing to help his escape.
He returned to the middle of the room and sat. His options were limited. Escape required his wand, which someone had. Dumbledore wouldn't have put him in a dark cell. Unless time had considerably changed him, he would have woken in a hospital bed with the man at his side, terribly disappointed.
The cell, the dark room, was more Voldemort's style. He'd prefer his victims to worry themselves into a frenzy. They'd be afraid before the wizard ever saw them. Harry had never let fear control him, but it had been five years. Maybe Voldemort thought his resolve had weakened.
Or they think I'm a muggle.
If they thought he was a Potter look-a-like, they might just plan on killing him. It wouldn't be quick. It certainly wouldn't be painless. But, it would be better than if they knew who he was. Death wasn't the worst thing that could happen to him. As Dumbledore had said, 'Death is the next great adventure,' and he'd had enough of this one. Maybe this was the end. Maybe he didn't have to run again. Maybe he just had to give in, and let it happen.
Relief filled him to tears. It was the most intense he'd felt anything for years. It left him gasping, but even it didn't last long. Like anything else, it faded into nothing.
How odd.
Voldemort never brought relief before. Fear. Pain. Possible death. Panic. Worry. Anger. But never relief. Never anything so benign. But, he would bring everything to an end. No more running. No more hiding. No more pain. Just nothing. Peace. Even if he knew, there was only so long Voldemort could prolong his death.
Time ticked by in silence. He had outgrown the need to fill silence with noise, if he ever had it. He sat in the dark, waiting for the inevitable. Without his wand, there was nothing he could do. Fretting wouldn't change anything. He wasn't sure he could fret if he wanted to.
Finally, the door opened, spilling light into the room. He cringed back, the lights blinding, despite shut eyes and a hastily raised arm. He blinked rapidly behind the supposed safety of his arm, eyes slowly adjusting to the change. He wouldn't have long.
There were two people in the light. They spoke quietly, too softly for him to make out, but it gave him time for his eyes to adjust. By the time he could see, they were silent, staring at him. He gazed back, leaning on one arm as though nothing mattered. As though he had no worries. No fears. No cares in the world.
The light behind them hid everything in shadow. Neither were Voldemort. He wouldn't want their final confrontation to be in a dingy cell where no one could see. If they knew who he was, his death would be a spectacle before every Death Eater. If they didn't, he would be the entertainment. This evening's muggle killing done at leisure. Either way, he would die here.
"Where am I?" he asked, voice steady and unconcerned. As blank as his eyes and as unimpressed. "Get up," the right one demanded, pointing his wand. The voice was unfamiliar.
Harry blinked at it, knowing the part he had to play. He flowed to his feet, dueling and dancing making the movement easy. The men shifted, their unease clear, even without definitive features.
They'd never been to the club. There was nothing inelegant about him. He'd worked hard to say that. Everything was a show. The slightest misstep broke the illusion. Shattered the fantasy. He wasn't allowed to stumble, to groan, or cringe. That practice had translated to every aspect of his life.
"Get over here!"
He didn't obey immediately, taking the time to brush himself off. To straighten his clothing. The wizard started to growl out his order again just as Harry began to move. His movements were slow and purposeful. Graceful. Elegant. He had learned from the best. Dark Wizards all. Severus Snape and Lucius Malfoy never let anything rush them. They always sure footed as they swept through a room. Even Voldemort had helped his education. They'd all had a hand, however unknowing, in teaching Raven how to walk.
The other dancers had completed his education. A twist of the hip. A twitch of the shoulder. A tilt of the head. In the right situation, he oozed sex, and even straight men stared at him. Their anger could be dangerous, but these two wouldn't be allowed to touch him. Not yet. In this moment, he was untouchable, and he used it to his advantage.
The first backed up, keeping his wand out of Harry's reach. The second grabbed him. He twitched, the unwelcome touch crawling over his skin. The man chuckled, jerking him out of the cell. The desire to see him stumble failed. Several quick steps kept him from losing his balance. He stopped when he could, turning to face the unknown wizard with a single arched eyebrow.
The man snarled. As his rough grip led Harry away from the cell, he took in the dark robes. He'd only seen one group wear them. Death Eaters.
He was going to die.
They dragged him up stairs and down a corridor. Their pace was quick. Anytime he slowed, a wand jabbed at his back, and the one in front attempted to jerk his arm out of its socket. He had no time to look around. No time to take in his surroundings. No time to memorize their path.
That's the point.
They wanted him off kilter and desperate. They wanted to laugh. To taunt. They wanted weak Harry Potter thrown at their feet. They were going to get Raven. He was going to die, but they wouldn't get any satisfaction from it.
They only passed a few on their way, none of which he recognized. All of them wore Death Eater robes, without masks, but none had faced him before.
His scar burned, announcing the arrival of their destination. Beyond a twitch of the eye, nothing showed. It had been years since he'd felt it last - strange now that he thought about it, how Voldemort hadn't shoved his way in to find Harry - but it was an old pain. Easily dealt with.
A set of large double doors opened before them, allowing them through. They closed immediately after, trapping him in. His pulse fluttered in his throat. Fear?
When was the last time I was afraid?
He couldn't remember.
A shove sent him forward and to his knees, which hit the pristine marble. He grunted as pain shot up his legs, dull and distant compared to the fire in his head. He caught himself on his hands before he sprawled across the floor.
He held himself for a moment, breathing through the pain, though another surge of fear and panic. He looked up once it all had faded away. In front of him, seated on his towering throne, was the Dark Lord Voldemort.
He'd changed over the years, startlingly so. His hair had grown back - chocolate brown locks gave him a more imperial appearance. His lips had filled out. HIs nose had even begun to regrow. His face looked less serpentine. More finished. Only his eyes remained the same, crimson orbs split down the middle like a snake's.
He gazed down at Raven like a predator certain of his victory. This was good, he decided. He'd never been good at pretending horror. Now, he wouldn't have to.
Raven sat up, brushing his hands off against his pants.
"Harry Potter, so good of you to join us," Voldemort hissed.
He had a moment to decide. They suspected who he was, but did they know? Would they believe him either way? Did it matter?
He frowned without replying and pushed himself to his feet. His knees twinged in protest, but he ignored them, and they didn't impede his rise. He carefully brushed off his clothes, straightening out the lines until he was wrinkle free once more.
"The name is Raven," he said, eyes taking in the rest of the room. Here, he recognized faces. Lucius Malfoy, Theodore Nott, and Bellatrix Lestrange were at the front, eagerly watching. Everyone he'd fought in his youth was present to watch his demise. Other than the two who'd dragged him here, everyone in the room knew him.
"Normally," he continued, not trying to force him voice to anything but it's normal emptiness, "if someone wants my attention, they ask for it." His eyes went back to Voldemort. "I don't normally do private parties."
A smirk, a cock of the hips, a twitch of the eyebrow and he was everything he'd trained to be. Everything the last five years had made him. Nothing the Dark Lord was expecting.
Voldemort's eyes narrowed. "Yes," he drawled. "I've been told about what you've become. And where you've hidden yourself."
Raven frowned, eyes narrowing around a flash of irritation. "I haven't hidden myself anywhere."
A lie. A necessary one. He would rather die a muggle than be dragged back to the war as a dead symbol of Voldemort's victory.
Voldemort rose from his throne with the predatory grace Raven had stolen and made his own. He seemed to glide across the ground. Despite himself, Raven watched, taking notes on how to improve his own attempts - Why? I'm not going to survive today.The man was a heartless bastard, but he did know how to move.
He stopped too close. Raven's head burned, his attention wavering a moment as he wrangled himself back under control. He refused to let the pain show. Not now. Not here.
"Come now, Harry," Voldemort purred, his wand reaching out between them, not quite touching Harry. "You can't fool us."
Raven took a step back, his frown deepening. Raven didn't have to prove his worth to anyone here. He turned away, looking for the door.
Long, slim fingers gripped his arm, thankfully over cloth, jerking him back to the Dark Lord. Raven's teeth ground down in displeasure.
"Don't. Touch. Me."
"Are you afraid, Harry Potter? Running away again?"
"No," Raven answered, expression smoothing out once more as the anger left him as quickly as it came. "More disgusted really. A bit bored perhaps."
The Dark Lord sneered, shoving Raven away. This time, he did stumble back.
"Crucio!"
Raven's single step back sent him crashing to the ground. He screamed. Harry would have fought it, but Raven had nothing to prove. His body arched off the ground, seizing away as pain coursed through him. It never helped, but the body never learned. It could never lie quietly under the cruciatus. A body always fought. Always failed.
The spell lifted. Raven sagged to the ground, breathing heavily after the onslaught. He didn't move, silent and waiting. He steadied his breathing, slowly calming himself as Voldemort circled him, silent as a whisper. He felt the man's eyes boring into him, attempting to decipher the mystery he represented.
Raven pushed himself onto his back. His eyes opened, following the wizard. Red met green. Raven sat up, one arm holding his weight as his eyes narrowed on Voldemort.
"That was a neat trick," he managed, voice a touch more strangled than he'd have liked. "Not exactly my kink, but I'm sure someone would appreciate it."
It likely didn't have the same effect as if some of his coworkers had said it, but he had learned how to snark, however dry it came out. Still, it bought him time as, he attempted to convince his body to stop twitching. The cruciatus was bad. Prolonged contact, worse. He'd been under it before, several times over the war, but he'd forgotten how a body betrayed him after.
The man's gaze was thoughtful, considering. He said nothing. Raven arched an eyebrow. He wasn't much for talking these days, but normally Voldemort liked to monologue. He wasn't normally quiet.
As they locked eyes,he felt it. A presence ripping its way into his head. He let it, didn't try to fight it. He'd never been good at Occlumency anyway.
Voldemort tore through him. Pain followed him through his memories. Old and new whizzed through his head as the Dark Lord shoved his way deeper.
"What's your name kid?"
He's sitting in an office. Across from him, and old man who runs the place, or so he claims, with kind eyes. He eyes him carefully, weighing his worth. His potential. His worth.
"...Raven."
The man snorted. "Sure it is. Look, kid, I don't normally hire someone so young. What makes you think you can cut it?"
He shrugged. "I know what people want,"he said. "I can give it to them."
"Can you? That's a bold claim."
"I can show you," he said, voice calm. He hadn't felt anything in months. The cool numbness a relief against endless agony.
"Just once, the man whispered, voice slurred with heavy drink. "I'd give a fortune to have you under me, Raven."
"I don't take anyone home with me."
"Doesn't have to be your home."
"I don't take customers."
The man fell against him, pinning him against the wall.
"It'll be good," he promised, hands groping at his shirt.
Raven reached into his bag, and finding the cool metal. Of his knife. Before the man could get his hands anywhere, Raven cut him. Blood welled from the man as he wheeled back, cussing. Threatening. He didn't stay to listen, and the man was too drunk to stay on his feet, let alone follow after him.
"What about Raven? It's something to call you."
He shrugged, letting her fingers brush his arm.
"Alright," he said, watching her eyes light up. WAtching her wrinkles deepen as she smiled.
"I know it's not your real name," she said. "But it's only temporary, until your memories come back."
"It's good. I like it. Thank you."
"Of course, dear."
"She's dead, son."
He dropped back onto the hard plastic seat. "No. she can't be."
His own wound was bandaged, hurting little as it jostled at the impact. Tears filled him. He hadn't cried in months. Hadn't needed to.
"You her kid?"
"No." He shook her head. "A friend. I was helping around the house."
"I'm sorry for your loss."
"Yeah."
As the doctor walked away, his eyes lost their sheen. The emotion slowly faded. The grief left him, leaving him empty. Nothing.
"Are you alright?" The voice was kind, worried.
He glanced up, vision blurred by the rain he hadn't bothered to wipe away from his glasses.
"Yes."
"You sure? You've been out here a long time, hun. Waiting for someone."
"No. No one's coming for me."
"Sounds like something I should be apologizing for."
He shrugged, hunching in on himself as the wind whipped more rain over him.
"What's your name?"
He shrugged again.
"Don't you have one?"
"Sure."
"Well, what is it?"
"... Don't remember."
The figure knelt in front of him, her umbrella hovering over him as well, protecting him from the rain.
"You don't remember your name?"
He shook his head.
"What's the last thing you do remember?"
"I think I've always been in pain."
She made a small noise. Soft, Sympathetic. "Well, I'm Annaliss. Why don't we get you dry, hmm? Maybe that will help something come back."
Finally, the images stopped. Raven sagged back to the ground, one hand rising to his head as the world swam about him. Voldemort had dug through his every memory for the last five years. He hadn't found anything else. Either, he hadn't looked - improbably - or he hadn't been able to find it.
Had his attempt to forget everything blocked the memories from intrusion? He hadn't heard of anything like that, but what else could it be? He'd never been good at shielding.
Ravens head was jerked back by a hand in his hair. Red met green once more. Raven could only glare at the man looming over him. Voldemort continued to gaze at him thoughtfully. Raven attempted to pull away, but the man's grip tightened, holding him in place. He could do nothing as Voldemort touched him. Could do nothing but cry out as pain swept through him yet again. The man's touch was distantly felt, unimportant against his head splitting open.
When the pain faded, he knew Voldemort had wiped away the make-up hiding his scar. Raven grabbed his head, waiting for it to stop burning. Yet another aspect of his life he didn't miss.
Voldemort still stared at him when the pain dulled to a manageable level. The look in his eyes chilled Raven. He knew the look of a man planning something. And, as always, it had something to do with him.
The man stared at him from inches away, the look heavy with possibility. Raven watched, pushing himself into a seated position, debating the merits of rising further. There was more dignity involved, but it was a longer way to fall, and with the way the last ten minutes had gone, he didn't like his chances of staying up. Dignity or bruises? He stayed on the ground.
"You don't remember, do you?" His voice purred again, the voice of a man already certain of victory. Pleased. His lips spread in a smile.
Creepy. Disturbing.
If he didn't know the man, it might have been charming. Perhaps pleasant. He did know the man. Raven's eyes narrowed, a sinking suspicion sweeping through him.
"You don't."
Voldemort was pleased. Raven could almost feel the satisfaction in the man.
"Remember what?" He could play along, if he had to. He was smart enough for that.
"Well, well."
Voldemort rose, sweeping away from Raven. He paced in front of his Death Eaters, steps even and controlled. At the end of them, he turned, facing Raven once more, who still had stood.
"Stand up, Harry,"he said, something new entering his voice.
Raven's frown deepened. What is he planning?
Silence stretched between them. Voldemort stared at him until Raven finally stood. His body, still weak from the cruciatus rose without a hint that anything was wrong. As he brushed himself clean once more, Voldemort blinked, surprise entering his eyes. He'd expected Raven to scramble to his feet under duress, like so many years before, in a graveyard. He obviously hadn't been paying attention.
Slowly, Voldemort's lips spread once more, this time in approval. Death Eaters worked years to get any sort of approval from the wizard. It was very rarely ever achieved, and Raven got it from merely standing up.
Lucky me. Sarcasm tinged his thoughts as he blinked at the dark lord. How long is this going to take?
"It would appear," Voldemort said, turning from Raven to face his Death Eaters, "that our Harry-"
Our Harry? Since when am I your Harry? The phrase amused him, in some distant, disturbed way. Several of the Death Eaters, Bellatrix Lestrange especially, appeared confused at the sudden change.
"-didn't run away from his lords displeasure-"
What?
"He simply forgot." Voldemort turned back to Raven. "Though one must wonder how it is he forgot in the first place."
The fuck?
Raven just blinked. Him being an amnesiac came from his own memories, ironically enough. Voldemort had watched him say so, or allude to the fact he was, so it was no surprise that the wizard went that route. But, to try and convince him he'd been one of Voldemort's Death Eaters …"
Actually, that does sound like something he would do.
He had tried to recruit Harry early on, after trying to kill him several times. Now, just like before, he would use Raven as long as he could, and then kill him. Unless he could get away.
The dark lord approached again, reaching out a hand to touch him. This time, Raven was justified in stepping away. Nobody sane would let that happen again, muggle or wizard, no matter how amnesiatic they were.
Voldemort's lips twisted in the briefest display of irritation, before he covered it with something far too close to indulgence, as though Raven were a wayward child he had to win over. The dark lord's smile had never meant anything good for him.
"Aren't you curious … Raven, why I'm calling you a different name?" he asked. "Or anything else that's happened here?"
Raven blinked twice, mind racing through his options. A small part of him yelled to 'Run, fight, flee!' A larger, more logic part realized playing along was his best bet for survival. His best chance to leave.
Being an amnesiac meant people asked him fewer questions about his past. If he couldn't remember it, he couldn't share it. There were fewer things to keep track of, and it was harder to be caught in a lie. If his memory wasn't there, he couldn't talk about it, which meant a lot of people just stopped trying.
"Harry."
"You're not the first," Raven said, his attention returning to the matter at hand. "Everyone has a name, or a story. I'm a son, a brother, or a lover." His top lip twitched into a faint sneer before it faded into nothing. "As though I can't sense their bullshit."
So much for playing along.
Placing one hand on his hip, he arched an eyebrow at Voldemort, knowing he was pushing his luck. Unable to stop himself, even as the man's eyes narrowed.
"I'll tell you what I told them. Unless there's proof, it never happened."
There's a long silence as Raven and Voldemort stare at each other. Someone hissed. Female.
Probably Bellatrix.
It didn't surprise him that she was still alive. Crazy as she was, she was vicious, and she knew her craft - as horrifying as it was. Few people could duel her and survive. Sirius hadn't.
A red spell. A shocked face falling back into the veil. A cackling laugh. 'I killed Sirius Black!'
"You were one of us, Harry."
Raven inhaled slowly. He hadn't thought of that in years. Hadn't thought about her. How could on simple sound hold so much memory?
"Of course we have proof."
"What?" The word was out before he could stop himself. Raven blinked at the Dark Lord. Lies and manipulations were his specialty, but surely he didn't expect that to hold up. As soon as he couldn't produce the 'evidence', his lie was over.
Voldemort just smiled. "Of course we do. You were my most loyal supporter, Harry. I know you like nobody else ever has."
There was truth in that statement. They had always been too close, too similar, too different, too in each other's heads. Too obsessed to miss even the smallest detail about the other. It was how Voldemort knew Ron and Hermione would break him. It was how Raven knew the wizard wouldn't stop looking for him. But, that didn't translate into physical proof.
"Why would I run?" Raven asked. "If I was one of your, why would I run? Doesn't sound like something a 'most loyal' would do."
Voldemort shrugged, returning to his throne with the ease of a man who had every angle planned.
"You'd failed your mission, he said. "We assumed the fear of my displeasure made you run. You were still young."
Raven glanced at the Death Eaters. To a one, they'd pulled on their blank masks of easy disdain. None of them were pleased at Voldemort's direction, but none were suicidal enough to contradict him.
"Right."
Asking questions was pointless. Voldemort had been manipulating the truth longer than Raven had been alive. He wasn't going to catch him in a lie. Didn't want to. He just needed an excuse to leave. All he needed was his bag, and a moment alone. Apparition would take care of the rest. Provided he could get somewhere without apparation wards, and without being immediately followed.
"I'll still need physical proof if you want me to believe you."
"Perfectly understandable." Voldemort grinned. "It will, however take a few days to get it together."
"Of course it will.
Red eyes narrowed once more, pale fingers gripping his wand in a silent threat Raven - if he were who he claimed - wouldn't understand. The pain in his head flared.
Against his will, he let out a low hiss, hand raising to his head, touching his scar.
"Ah, yes, your scar. That will continue happening, I'm afraid. At least until you learn to trust me again."
Never gonna happen.
"It's just a headache," Raven said.
"It's not just anything." Voldemort was grinning again. Raven could hear it. He didn't need to see it too.
"We'll prepare a room for you until-"
"No."
"... No?" The man's voice was low. No one interrupted him. Raven could almost feel the tightening of fingers around a wand. The lifting of it.
"Crucio!"
This time, Raven didn't think. He dropped to the ground, letting his weight tumble him to the side, where he rolled once, stopping on his feet, ready to move again, should it be necessary.
Silence greeted him. Again. He hesitated a moment before glancing up. Voldemort was looking at him like he was some rare artifact he was going to unravel. Twenty excuses tumbled through his head. None made it pass his lips.
Raven didn't give excuses. Excuses implied guilt. He rose again, carefully dusting himself off, again, as he ignored Voldemort's look, just as he'd ignored his murderous intent. Outwardly.
Voldemort stared at him. The gaze brought a chill up Raven's spine. Irritation was nothing new. It, and anger, were the two emotions he usually saw in the Dark Lord. Excitement wasn't. Excitement suggested he was pleased.
"I see your time away hasn't dulled your instincts."
"I'm a dancer," Raven said. "Moving is what I do."
There was a cough from the Death Eaters, a low muttering from one or two of them. Raven never took his eyes from the Dark Lord. A moment's inattention could mean pain. A lot of pain.
"You didn't get that reaction from dancing," Voldemort said, rising once more. "You were a sight to behold in a duel, Harry. Strong. Powerful. Quick to act. It came naturally to you."
Raven didn't squirm. Not outwardly. Those were too close to compliments. The Dark Lord didn't compliment anyone unless he wanted something from them. Tom Riddle had been good at that. It made sense Voldemort hadn't lost the ability with his looks.
And now he's dusting them off for me.
"Sure. It's time for me to go."
"I can't allow that."
"Am I a prisoner, then?" Raven asked, watching the man glide closer, each step increasing the pain in his head. He breathed steadily.
"A guest, Harry. Without your memories, you're in danger."
"From who?"
Voldemort waved the question away. "My will stop at nothing to have you taken from me. You cannot defend yourself against their magic."
"So, don't tell anyone you found me," Raven said. "I have work tonight. Commitments that must be kept. A life that doesn't revolve around anyone's whim but my own."
"They will still find you," Voldemort said, stopping close by, his voice still satisfied.
Voldemort sounded concerned under that. In any other situation, Raven might have been fascinated. He could never show anything he didn't feel, never had. Everyone knew if he was angry, or happy. Or numb. It was doubtful if Voldemort felt anything other than hate and anger, and yet, he could mimic everything as needed.
"It is only luck we found you first, Harry. Your safety is our concern, not your muggle commitments."
He sounded reasonable. If Raven's memories really were gone, he might have believed it.
"If you're so concerned, send a guard," Raven said. "I am not staying here. Not willingly."
He wouldn't be able to run here. He'd be watched constantly, little better than a prisoner as they tried to convince him of their truth. Their reality. He didn't want that.
"After all," Raven continued, unable to help himself, "you could be lying to me. Without proof, you could say anything."
"Come now, Harry-"
"It's Raven." A flash of ire, quickly gone. "It's not unreasonable. You wouldn't want me believing anyone else without proof, would you?"
A moment of silence. "No. I suppose not."
Voldemort stared down at him. Again, silence stretched between them. Over the years, silence had become his friend. He didn't break it, but when Voldemort reached for him again, Raven stepped back.
"You were always so stubborn," Voldemort murmured.
That might be the only true thing he's said today.
"What happened to you?"
Again, Raven just gazed back without a word. None was needed.
"Lucius!" Voldemort called without turning.
"My lord?"
"You will accompany Harry today." Now, the dark lord's attention shifted. "Make sure no harm comes to him, or you will be severely punished."
Malfoy bowed. "Yes, my lord."
"Lucius is one of our best duelers," Voldemort said, "and he should be able to answer any questions you have."
"Lovely."
Lucius Malfoy was just as Raven remembered him. Tall. Blond. Distinctive. There would be no hiding him, not with the way he peered down his nose at everyone around him. He wasn't doing that, yet. It was the closest Raven had ever seen him to pleasantly neutral. For the first time, Lucius Malfoy was unsure how to act, so he was playing it safe.
Wonder how that would hold up surrounded by muggles
Raven shoved the thought away. He wouldn't be around long enough to find out.
Before Raven could ask for his bag - his knife, his wand - his phone rang with the surprisingly dark, cheery sounding song one of the other dancers had added to his phone. He hadn't cared enough to change it, but as every eye turned, he wished he had.
"That's mine," he said, unnecessarily. He doubted any of them had phones. They certainly wouldn't have a muggle artist as their ringtone.
At a motion from Voldemort, Raven's bag was brought forward. Thankfully, his phone was in an outer pocket, or he'd never have gotten it before it went to voicemail. The battery was close to dying. He'd have to make this quick.
"Hello?"
"You alright, Raven?" Jonathan asked. "This is the second time I've called."
"Fine. Been away from my phone."
Voldemort was speaking with Malfoy in low tones, likely giving him further instructions, which meant Raven was unable to rush him out.
"Can you be here in an hour?"
Raven frowned. "It's short notice."
"I want to do something big tonight. Something out of the ordinary."
"And you want me in it."
"Raven, you are it."
His frown deepened. Malfoy and Voldemort were still talking. He turned away, lowering his voice as he spoke. "What is it?"
"Do you remember that show … a year and a half ago?"
"There were a lot."
"The one where we tested your pain tolerance."
"No."
Voldemort and Malfoy glanced at him. Raven nodded towards the door, not wanting to have this conversation in front of the dark lord. Or his followers. Neither moved.
"What?"
"I said no, Jonathan. I refuse to do it again."
Death Eaters would be in attendance until he had a long enough period alone. He refused to let them see him basically being tortured for someone's jollies, or pretending to enjoy it. That wasn't an image he wanted them to have.
"You sure? Everyone really liked it."
Everyone liked everything he did.
"I'm sure."
"Damn. I'm gonna have to think of something else then. Can you still come in? It may need you anyway."
"I can … and I may have an idea."
"Oh?"
"I won't receive, but I can give."
There was a pause. "You any good?"
"Good enough to make them want it."
"We'll talk more when you get here. See you soon, Raven."
"What is going on?" Voldemort demanded.
"Club secrets," Raven said, turning away from the man. "I'm not at liberty to say."
"Harry …"
Despite the warning in the tone, Raven started towards the door. He'd already stayed too long.
"I have an hour to wash up and change. You want to know? The show starts at 8."
… Did I really just invite him to the show?
Here's chapter two. A little later than I'd hoped I'd have it out, but it's been hot, and I haven't wanted to do anything.
So, in the last version, this was two chapters, word count totaling just over 5,200 words. This one is almost 5,700 words. And, next chapter is going to be completely new before I come back with chapter 4, which will be another rewrite, with some new content added in.
Thanks for reading,
Allanasha Ke Kiri