EXCHANGE: Fic for Loony_Lucifer "The Darkest Hour" (implied Voldemort/Harry, PG)
Recipient: loony_lucifer
Author/Artist:
leianora
Title: The Darkest Hour
Pairing: implied Voldemort/Harry
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1,437
Warnings: Dark, character death
Summary: Harry waits and bides his time; knowing that he will have to act soon. But when he finally does, will it be too late?
Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling.
Author's/artist's notes: Hope you enjoy, loony_lucifer!
He stood, gazing out at the occupants of the Great Hall with a smile of triumph. They’d surrendered quickly enough once they discovered that he’d broken their hero. The boy knelt beside him; his head leaning against his Master’s knee and his eyes closed.
Severus Snape slipped into the hall and approached him, bowing deeply and waiting silently to be acknowledged. Lord Voldemort glanced at him, and then nodded.
“We found him, my lord. He was exactly where you surmised he would be.”
The Dark Lord, ruler of Wizarding England and victor of the Battle of Hogsmeade, chuckled mirthlessly. “Bring him here to me,” he commanded quietly.
Severus bowed once more, and then motioned behind him with one arm. Avery, unmasked and grinning horribly, stepped forward, pushing Albus Dumbledore before him. The man’s hands were bound behind him, and his eyes were blindfolded.
“Well, Albus,” The Dark Lord taunted, “welcome to my little celebration.”
“Harry, stand up and say hello to the Headmaster,” he said firmly.
“Hello, Headmaster,” Harry replied numbly. He stood, eyes downcast, robes torn and bloody, and face pale and exhausted. His voice was hoarse from too much screaming.
“Come now, Dumbledore, aren’t you going to respond in kind? You always did say that manners made the man, and my pet was very polite to you. Mind you, he didn’t come up with a prettily turned comment, but then again, I didn’t say he could, did I?”
His men laughed or smirked at one another in response to his words, and Voldemort smiled in a relaxed fashion. When Dumbledore still did not speak, however, his smile vanished. It was replaced by a look of very slight irritation.
“Ah well, I suppose I shouldn’t expect any reaction from you for now. You didn’t win, after all. Avery, take him to the cage. Severus, take my pet and clean him up.”
The men moved quickly to obey his commands. Once they had gone, Voldemort motioned for Lucius Malfoy to come to him. “Bring the blood traitors to me,” he said.
Arthur Weasley and his entire family were dragged screaming and fighting to Voldemort’s feet. None of them looked frightened or hopeless. Every one of them fought angrily and constantly against their captives. Voldemort shook his head.
“I don’t have time to waste on you fools,” he shouted, instantly gaining the attention of both the captives and their guards. “Macnair, take the women away.”
Molly and Ginny Weasley were dragged away screaming and struggling, but Voldemort gave them no more thought. He knew that Macnair, Goyle, Crabbe, and Travers, the other men who were seeing to them would take their pleasure from the blood traitor women. The only command he had given them regarding the women was that once the men were finished playing, they were to be killed. He didn’t want to risk pregnancy with those particular women. Neither did he wish to see them made into figureheads around which any resistance groups might choose to rally. They would be seen as martyrs by some, but he didn’t care about that. There wouldn’t be enough emotional power behind their martyrdom to make it effective, because he wasn’t going to have them publicly executed. Their deaths would merely be statistics in this messy war.
A half an hour later, Severus fire called and informed him that his pet was ready if he wanted him. Voldemort left Lucius Malfoy in charge and headed to his private chamber.
Severus brought the boy in and left him kneeling on the floor, his head bowed, and his hands tied behind him. He was shivering. The goose bumps popped up all over his naked skin. Voldemort merely sat there, watching him tremble. Severus bowed and exited the room at a silent signal from the Dark Lord. Once they were alone, Voldemort rose and slowly approached his pet with a lascivious smile. He would enjoy this.
“Look up at me, Harry,” he said softly.
The boy obeyed, but there was no expression in his eyes. His blank countenance caused the Dark Lord to frown, but he supposed it was better than having to constantly fight against the brat’s defiance. He reached out and stroked the boy’s cheek.
“You really are a lovely boy, my pet,” he murmured. “If you continue to please me, there will be no pain. If, however, you do or say anything to make me angry, you know what will happen, do you not? You may answer my question out loud,” he added.
“Yes, Master,” the boy replied tonelessly. “I know what will happen.”
“Good boy,” Voldemort responded. “Now, come kneel beside the desk. I want to look at you as I work. There is a great deal for me to do before I allow you to rest.”
The scratch of quill on parchment was the only sound in the room as Voldemort continued to write out his orders to his people. He finished one role of parchment and grabbed another one. Role after role was filled with his commands, diagrams, plans for the future and figures in long columns of numbers and runes. He murmured softly to himself as he wrote, but his words were unintelligible. As he worked, his right hand would occasionally stray to the head of the young man kneeling beside him.
Three hours later, he capped his ink bottle, rolled up his last piece of parchment and stood up to stretch. The boy didn’t move from his kneeling position. Once he’d stepped away from the desk, he smiled and spoke. “Come with me, pet,” he said. “It’s time for bed.”
Harry crawled under the covers and was immediately pulled against his master’s body. They were both naked, and though most people wouldn’t have dared to allow such a magically powerful slave to get so physically close, Voldemort rather liked the excitement that went along with having Harry so near. It reminded him that though the boy was powerful, he was also completely stripped of his ability to resist.
Voldemort did not keep the boy close to slake his physical needs. Indeed, ever since his resurrection, he hadn’t had such desires. Instead, his closeness served as a symbol of the boy’s subjugation and the downfall of his enemies throughout Wizarding England.
He’d finally fallen asleep. As Harry lay in the still darkness, he smiled to himself. Dumbledore had been right. It was so easy to fool a person who wanted to believe something so badly. He shifted a little and froze when he felt his enemy stirring in response. He dared not give the game away yet. The time would come. He needed to remember that and stay calm. Patience was his best ally right now.
Six days passed in much the same way. Harry was paraded before the Death Eaters, publicly exhibited to the people of Hogsmeade and forced to kneel at his master’s side during dinners and luncheons with assorted special interest groups and committees. On the seventh day, everything changed. He began to feel the itching under his skin that told him that the protection charm Dumbledore had cast along with the potion Snape had made him swallow were working. He twitched a little, but Tom never noticed.
The coercions were starting to slide off his skin. He shivered uncontrollably and the magic caused him to feel hot, then cold at the same time. He waited until the itching was so acute that it was impossible to hide. When he and Tom were alone, he knew that he could no longer wait. He reached out and touched Tom’s knee and took a deep breath. Once the man looked down at him, he gazed straight into his eyes. He whispered the words, and watched in dispassionate silence as his enemy fell to the ground; dead.
He rose to his feet the moment the body hit the ground. His feet carried him to the door without his mind really being aware of it. Snape met him on the other side.
As they made their way outside, Harry took a deep breath of the fresh air. He shuddered as the fact that he was free hit him. He looked up just in time to see the bodies of the Weasley family being carried out of a nearby building. Tears came to his eyes as he realized that he had been too late for them. He knew that he had saved many people, but his friends were all dead. He sank down into the grass and let his tears flow. Wizarding England was about to begin a new era, but his life would need to be rebuilt.
Author/Artist:
leianora
Title: The Darkest Hour
Pairing: implied Voldemort/Harry
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1,437
Warnings: Dark, character death
Summary: Harry waits and bides his time; knowing that he will have to act soon. But when he finally does, will it be too late?
Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling.
Author's/artist's notes: Hope you enjoy, loony_lucifer!
He stood, gazing out at the occupants of the Great Hall with a smile of triumph. They’d surrendered quickly enough once they discovered that he’d broken their hero. The boy knelt beside him; his head leaning against his Master’s knee and his eyes closed.
Severus Snape slipped into the hall and approached him, bowing deeply and waiting silently to be acknowledged. Lord Voldemort glanced at him, and then nodded.
“We found him, my lord. He was exactly where you surmised he would be.”
The Dark Lord, ruler of Wizarding England and victor of the Battle of Hogsmeade, chuckled mirthlessly. “Bring him here to me,” he commanded quietly.
Severus bowed once more, and then motioned behind him with one arm. Avery, unmasked and grinning horribly, stepped forward, pushing Albus Dumbledore before him. The man’s hands were bound behind him, and his eyes were blindfolded.
“Well, Albus,” The Dark Lord taunted, “welcome to my little celebration.”
“Harry, stand up and say hello to the Headmaster,” he said firmly.
“Hello, Headmaster,” Harry replied numbly. He stood, eyes downcast, robes torn and bloody, and face pale and exhausted. His voice was hoarse from too much screaming.
“Come now, Dumbledore, aren’t you going to respond in kind? You always did say that manners made the man, and my pet was very polite to you. Mind you, he didn’t come up with a prettily turned comment, but then again, I didn’t say he could, did I?”
His men laughed or smirked at one another in response to his words, and Voldemort smiled in a relaxed fashion. When Dumbledore still did not speak, however, his smile vanished. It was replaced by a look of very slight irritation.
“Ah well, I suppose I shouldn’t expect any reaction from you for now. You didn’t win, after all. Avery, take him to the cage. Severus, take my pet and clean him up.”
The men moved quickly to obey his commands. Once they had gone, Voldemort motioned for Lucius Malfoy to come to him. “Bring the blood traitors to me,” he said.
Arthur Weasley and his entire family were dragged screaming and fighting to Voldemort’s feet. None of them looked frightened or hopeless. Every one of them fought angrily and constantly against their captives. Voldemort shook his head.
“I don’t have time to waste on you fools,” he shouted, instantly gaining the attention of both the captives and their guards. “Macnair, take the women away.”
Molly and Ginny Weasley were dragged away screaming and struggling, but Voldemort gave them no more thought. He knew that Macnair, Goyle, Crabbe, and Travers, the other men who were seeing to them would take their pleasure from the blood traitor women. The only command he had given them regarding the women was that once the men were finished playing, they were to be killed. He didn’t want to risk pregnancy with those particular women. Neither did he wish to see them made into figureheads around which any resistance groups might choose to rally. They would be seen as martyrs by some, but he didn’t care about that. There wouldn’t be enough emotional power behind their martyrdom to make it effective, because he wasn’t going to have them publicly executed. Their deaths would merely be statistics in this messy war.
A half an hour later, Severus fire called and informed him that his pet was ready if he wanted him. Voldemort left Lucius Malfoy in charge and headed to his private chamber.
Severus brought the boy in and left him kneeling on the floor, his head bowed, and his hands tied behind him. He was shivering. The goose bumps popped up all over his naked skin. Voldemort merely sat there, watching him tremble. Severus bowed and exited the room at a silent signal from the Dark Lord. Once they were alone, Voldemort rose and slowly approached his pet with a lascivious smile. He would enjoy this.
“Look up at me, Harry,” he said softly.
The boy obeyed, but there was no expression in his eyes. His blank countenance caused the Dark Lord to frown, but he supposed it was better than having to constantly fight against the brat’s defiance. He reached out and stroked the boy’s cheek.
“You really are a lovely boy, my pet,” he murmured. “If you continue to please me, there will be no pain. If, however, you do or say anything to make me angry, you know what will happen, do you not? You may answer my question out loud,” he added.
“Yes, Master,” the boy replied tonelessly. “I know what will happen.”
“Good boy,” Voldemort responded. “Now, come kneel beside the desk. I want to look at you as I work. There is a great deal for me to do before I allow you to rest.”
The scratch of quill on parchment was the only sound in the room as Voldemort continued to write out his orders to his people. He finished one role of parchment and grabbed another one. Role after role was filled with his commands, diagrams, plans for the future and figures in long columns of numbers and runes. He murmured softly to himself as he wrote, but his words were unintelligible. As he worked, his right hand would occasionally stray to the head of the young man kneeling beside him.
Three hours later, he capped his ink bottle, rolled up his last piece of parchment and stood up to stretch. The boy didn’t move from his kneeling position. Once he’d stepped away from the desk, he smiled and spoke. “Come with me, pet,” he said. “It’s time for bed.”
Harry crawled under the covers and was immediately pulled against his master’s body. They were both naked, and though most people wouldn’t have dared to allow such a magically powerful slave to get so physically close, Voldemort rather liked the excitement that went along with having Harry so near. It reminded him that though the boy was powerful, he was also completely stripped of his ability to resist.
Voldemort did not keep the boy close to slake his physical needs. Indeed, ever since his resurrection, he hadn’t had such desires. Instead, his closeness served as a symbol of the boy’s subjugation and the downfall of his enemies throughout Wizarding England.
He’d finally fallen asleep. As Harry lay in the still darkness, he smiled to himself. Dumbledore had been right. It was so easy to fool a person who wanted to believe something so badly. He shifted a little and froze when he felt his enemy stirring in response. He dared not give the game away yet. The time would come. He needed to remember that and stay calm. Patience was his best ally right now.
Six days passed in much the same way. Harry was paraded before the Death Eaters, publicly exhibited to the people of Hogsmeade and forced to kneel at his master’s side during dinners and luncheons with assorted special interest groups and committees. On the seventh day, everything changed. He began to feel the itching under his skin that told him that the protection charm Dumbledore had cast along with the potion Snape had made him swallow were working. He twitched a little, but Tom never noticed.
The coercions were starting to slide off his skin. He shivered uncontrollably and the magic caused him to feel hot, then cold at the same time. He waited until the itching was so acute that it was impossible to hide. When he and Tom were alone, he knew that he could no longer wait. He reached out and touched Tom’s knee and took a deep breath. Once the man looked down at him, he gazed straight into his eyes. He whispered the words, and watched in dispassionate silence as his enemy fell to the ground; dead.
He rose to his feet the moment the body hit the ground. His feet carried him to the door without his mind really being aware of it. Snape met him on the other side.
As they made their way outside, Harry took a deep breath of the fresh air. He shuddered as the fact that he was free hit him. He looked up just in time to see the bodies of the Weasley family being carried out of a nearby building. Tears came to his eyes as he realized that he had been too late for them. He knew that he had saved many people, but his friends were all dead. He sank down into the grass and let his tears flow. Wizarding England was about to begin a new era, but his life would need to be rebuilt.