Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Two Steps From Hell	By : Ssserpensssotia Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Hermione/Voldemort Views: 30375 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. No profit is being made. No copyright infringement is intended. Everything Harry Potter related belongs to J.K.Rowling.

Chapter List
- 16
- 17
- 18
a/n
Hi!
Two days...not bad, is it? :)
The story will be long and it will be hard, but I hope to continue portraying both characters- Voldemort is the easiest to write, so it says a lot about me-in characters. I don't like OOC and try to avoid it. But sometimes, it cannot be helped.
Please pay attention:
WARNING: The story is dark and is rated M for a reason.
Non-con, violence, gore and adult themes ahead.
If you're easily disturbed, the story is not for you.
Now, again, I'll repeat myself, but I think it's necessary.
As my wonderful beta — Serpent In Red— said, there is no Lamb!Tom hopping around— I just love the wording—and I'm shamelessly using it for this story :) Serp, you're the best!

Lord Voldemort has blue eyes because Ronald Weasley has blue eyes. Wonder why I would need it? ;)
And in this chapter, you'll find out what happened to Voldemort's Horcruxes and why he knows everything that happened to each Horcrux.
Anon- thank you so much! I'm so glad you enjoy the story and that you feel I manage to keep both characters as they are!

This is the last chapter for the 31st December.
I tried a new POV, and I hope you'll like it.
Beta: Serpent in Red
xxx
Two Steps From Hell
xxx
Chapter Seventeen
The Mudbloods were hanging on those high, wooden posts, and the werewolves were below, circling around with crazy—but controlled—hunger in their yellow eyes.
Wolfsbane Potion was mandatory when werewolves were around the other Death Eaters, so there was nothing to be afraid of, but he was really thankful for the barrier between the werewolves and him.
Looking at the faces of the men and women hanging by their hands on the posts, he felt weird.
He wanted to close his eyes and just pretend he wasn't here—in the crowd with some truly crazy people around—waiting for Lord Voldemort to arrive and begin the prosecution.
He didn't want to see the prosecutions; he wasn't as bloodthirsty as he—or his father—would like to imagine he was.
Because he didn't want to see it.
He was supposed to enjoy it—like his father did—but he didn't. He couldn't enjoy it.
But he was the only one.
He had such a bright future ahead of him—his father was the Minister for Magic of Great Britain—he could become whatever he wanted—he really liked Transfiguration—and marry whomever he wanted—the most eligible bachelor of magical Britain—and his life was so perfect that it was hard to imagine a better one.
Or would have been, had it not been for the other side of the shiny coin.
The other was so full of darkness, of true evil and ultimate servitude to Lord Voldemort, that he wanted to shudder just from thinking about it.
He wasn't a sadist, and while he was a bad boy, he wasn't that bad.
Yet.
Because his father would make sure he performed spectacularly—like a Malfoy—and all Malfoys had been known for their streak of violence throughout the generations.
All, except for him.
And it really pissed his father off.
Draco Malfoy straightened his shoulders as his father's piercing gaze landed on him, silently telling him that if he even moved wrongly, he would be severely punished. His father loved him more than his own life, but he did not hesitate to use nasty spells from time to time to remind Draco what was expected from him without any questions asked.
"As long as the damage wasn't irreversible …" were his father's direct words.
And his father knew a lot.
The Dark Lord knew even more, and he wouldn't restrain himself to use curses that were reversible.
That was what his father had said, and his mother had to silently agree.
His mother tried to interfere a few times, but Lucius Malfoy—despite loving his family more than anything—did not hesitate to just throw Narcissa out of the room.
While Draco knew that they would all die if any of them made even one mistake—now it looked a bit better—he didn't enjoy tortures, murders, and the fear of the victims.
His father had never raised his wand at him before the Dark Lord returned, and Draco knew why his father had to sometimes take more drastic measures now. He remembered their time in the Manor with Lord Voldemort as a guest well.
After the Dark Lord became a human, a handsome—beauty was beauty—man, his father changed.
Something shifted in Lucius Malfoy, and Draco did not like it.
His mother said Lucius was like this before his birth, and after all those years, he was reverting back to his old self.
He didn't want his father to end up like Aunt Bella—all insane and fanatic—but there was nothing he could do but hope that a Malfoy would be more stable than a Black.
I am supposed to watch the prosecution and enjoy it, and I don't want to, Draco thought, looking at the eager faces of his aunt and uncle. But I am the only one.
Draco heard a hush and the mad crowd quieted as their Dark Marks burned directly at midnight, and then he saw Lord Voldemort and the Mudblood—Granger!—appear out of thin air.
Judging by their outfits—Granger's especially—he would say they had been "out", and as Granger's happy, smile-illuminated face turned to Lord Voldemort, Draco saw the moment she understood where she was.
Surprise!
Granger looked good for a Mudblood—really good—and he had to admit it could have been interesting to have such a witch as a girlfriend—beauty was beauty—or maybe something more—had she not been a Mudblood—but Draco wasn't stupid.
Granger belonged to the Dark Lord.
Pansy said she was his whore, and now Draco wouldn't be so quick to deny that.
And from the looks of it, Granger didn't even mind.
Well, well, well …
He wasn't mimicking his father!
It looked like the evening was going to be a bit better.
He wasn't the only one now.
xxx
The Mudbloods were hanging by their hands on the illuminated area around the French Ministry, and he had to admit he liked what he saw.
Rabastan and Lucius were really good when they wanted to be.
His little attention paid itself off.
Lucius was now back to his normal self—the mask of seventeen years ripped away—and Voldemort couldn't be more pleased.
He really liked Lucius when he wasn't an idiot. Lucius and Severus.
His two most favorite Death Eaters—Bella was like a dog—and only one got a second chance—and used it brilliantly.
Severus …
It was a huge disappointment. Not only in Severus—he so wanted to kill him that it hurt—but in himself the most. Voldemort had to admit he had lost his grasp on reality and ruled on fear only. It didn't work all the time, and those times it didn't work, it hurt the most.
All his Horcruxes had been destroyed—except for Nagini—before he even noticed it.
Only when all the Horcruxes had been returned—those shining red balls had really hurt—he understood just what kind of mistake he had almost made.
He couldn't forget that he had to be not only brilliant but charming—as only he could be—as well, while dealing with other people. Not often though.
He would have killed the elder Malfoy as well, but he needed Lucius for the takeover. And then Lucius's inner darkness finally returned to the surface, and the Dark Lord liked what he saw.
Greyback was circling with his brood around the posts, and Voldemort smiled a bit.
He might smile in Hermione's presence, but his Death Eaters weren't very used to it.
Talking about Hermione and smiling …
He had never smiled more than today, and while some smiles weren't very nice and genuine, he had to admit he had had a good time with his fiery Horcrux.
She was amusing and she could get his attention.
Too bad for her, he was the Dark Lord, and elemental music wasn't the only music he enjoyed.
He took a step forward and all the Death Eaters—werewolves included—bowed.
It was good to be Him.
xxx
Hermione saw Voldemort take a step forward, his velvety cloak framing his relaxed but straight shoulders, and she had to remind herself just why she was kissing him like a maniac a few hours ago.
Standing before the bowing sea of people was Lord Voldemort, but he was also the Hood and he was Marvolo. The Dark Lord was all those three people in one, and while Hermione tried to separate them, she knew it was in her mind only. She didn't know what would happen if he became one person.
He was her guardian—Voldemort.
He was her mentor—the Hood.
He was her possible lover—Marvolo.
He was the Dark Lord.
She fell for him hard, without even first noticing it, and she still couldn't understand why he was affecting her like this.
Hermione did not agree—and never would—with his morals (or lack thereof), his views, and his politics.
But he didn't demand it from her—he hadn't demand anything; it was her who had been obsessing over him—and she had been able to live in an artificial bubble for some time.
And now Voldemort was tearing the bubble apart, and Hermione couldn't understand why.
She couldn't understand his logic and it bothered her.
What game was he playing at and what place did he have reserved for her?
As soon as she thought she'd figured him out at least a bit, he would turn and twist everything around.
He was unpredictable.
Looking at the poor people on the posts, Hermione could only close her eyes.
There was nothing she could do but wait.
xxx
"Tonight, we have many reasons to celebrate. Wizarding Britain and France have fully accepted our power, our views and our politics. Nothing and no one stands in our way any longer!"
Bella wanted to scream in pleasure and euphoria, looking at her Master from the crowd.
He'd led them to victory, he gave them the world, and Bellatrix had never worshipped him more than she did now.
"Those who refused my generous offer are now hanging here on these wooden posts."
The Dark Lord slowly walked over to the first hanging Mudblood, and all werewolves were now sitting on the ground, not making any harsh or fast movements when the Dark Lord was so near.
Even Bellatrix didn't want to imagine what the Dark Lord would do to everyone, if one of the dogs tried to bite him.
He'd kill them all—not even one werewolf would remain alive, and they all knew it.
"What should I do with you?"
The Dark Lord was now standing near the first post with a struggling Mudblood on it, and as Bellatrix saw the familiar icy glint in his gorgeous eyes, she couldn't stop the giggle that left her mouth.
Those red eyes were now trained on her, and Bella wanted to beg for forgiveness when she saw her Master stretch out a hand, inviting her to join him.
She almost ran to him, and when she felt his fingers close around her own hand, Bellatrix couldn't stop a maniacal smile from stretching her lips.
How she worshipped him …
"Are we going to simply kill them?"
Bellatrix looked at the sea of her comrades as her Lord asked the question.
She was standing so near him—only her—because she was his most favorite.
The Death Eaters understood that they were allowed to participate now, and Bella saw many shake their heads with sadistic smiles on their faces.
"Are we going to feed them to our friends?"
The werewolves—Fenrir—eagerly howled, and Bella wanted to giggle again when she looked at the Mudblood—Granger—who was standing behind Lord Voldemort in her pretty red dress and black cloak.
Where have they been? What were they doing? Why was the Mudblood so dressed up? What …
"Bella, concentrate." A whisper into her ear and Bellatrix almost moaned before quickly apologizing.
The Mudblood was looking at her with hatred and disgust, and Bellatrix wanted to rip her pretty dress to shreds before killing her slowly. But she couldn't.
"Are we going to let them go?"
A sea of "No" filled her ears, and Bellatrix laughed as her Lord smiled.
"Are we going to be merciful and allow them one more chance?"
Bella understood it wasn't a question anymore, but one werewolf didn't, and as she saw the dog get up, a green light left Lord Voldemort's wand.
"I said 'sit'."
Bella looked at the Mudblood who held a hand over her mouth, and she wanted to laugh at her expression.
"Are we going to give them one more chance, Bella?"
Now, this was a question—one didn't stay that long in Lord Voldemort's favor when one couldn't decipher the difference between a question and a statement—and she looked at her Master's bright eyes as she nodded her head.
"Yes, my Lord."
"We are very merciful, Mudbloods. And I promise you, you will understand just how merciful the Dark Lord is before the night is over."
A barrier appeared before them, allowing the werewolves to approach the posts again, and as Lord Voldemort snapped his fingers, one hanging Mudblood started to burn, the fire licking the legs, the torso, and the face.
"There is always a choice."
Her Lord let go of her hand, and Bella wanted the hand back, but she knew her place.
"You either burn like your ancestors burned us, wizards, or you jump down. You may choose now, Mudblood."
The hanging Mudblood—a man around forty—screamed so loud that Bella was sure his vocal cords would break, and in the next second, his scream was joined by a hiss.
Granger was now hissing something at the Dark Lord, and from the icy glint in his red eyes, Bella understood that whatever it was, her Master wasn't pleased.
At all.
She saw the burning body fall from the post and the werewolves darted off. A hiss from Granger again and Bellatrix smiled.
What an idiot Mudblood.
xxx
Hermione could not watch it; she couldn't silently watch a human burn before her own eyes.
If Voldemort wanted to punish her, he better used Crucio, so she could also scream.
At least then she wouldn't feel everything Voldemort was feeling.
The barrier in her mind wasn't raised, and she felt the sick pleasure radiating from the Dark Lord.
"Stop! Please stop it!"
How she could have felt anything for this monster, she had no idea. But he wasn't Marvolo now, and that was the only thing that saved her already trembling mind.
She saw the Dark Lord turn a bit, his red eyes shining with promise of such pain that Hermione almost took a step back.
She needed to feel the pain because otherwise she would go crazy. She needed to return back to the reality where Voldemort was a monster and Marvolo didn't exist.
The body fell, and Hermione started to cry as the hungry werewolves darted over to tear the flesh apart.
"Please!"
She knew it was pointless to beg, but at least she had his attention now, and soon she'd be on the floor, thrashing under his Cruciatus.
She couldn't wait.
xxx
He heard the hiss, and for a second, his wand twitched, the tip already burning red—Crucio—but then he realized it would be useless.
His Mudblood was stronger mentally than he had anticipated, and she would welcome the pain so that she didn't have to watch.
Not the burning body, but him.
Her little system of separating his personalities was doing wonders to her brilliant mind, and he couldn't allow it any longer.
His Mudblood was balancing on the ladder she had created for herself, and it looked like he needed to shake the ladder a bit.
She needed to lose her balance before he allowed her to return to the Weasleys or even leave his presence.
It was time for her final lesson for today.
"Come here."
xxx
Draco wanted to turn away and not watch the horrible scene before him, when he heard a hiss from Granger.
She was a Parselmouth now …
It was one thing when his father told him about the Horcrux in the Mudblood—so he wouldn't open his big mouth and say something wrong to the person who had a part of Lord Voldemort's soul inside of her—but it was completely different between hearing about it and seeing it.
Draco watched with held breath as Granger slowly walked over to the Dark Lord, her red dress bright in the night, her heels clicking on the ground, and as she stopped before the tall figure of his Lord, Draco admitted he wouldn't be standing with his head raised if he had been her.
Draco was afraid even from where he was standing, but Granger wasn't.
Gryffindor.
Brave and insane.
xxx
Hermione heard the order—it definitely wasn't a request—and she told herself not to be afraid as her heels clicked on the stone in the otherwise complete silence.
Let Voldemort punish her.
As she stopped before his tall figure, she cast a quick glance at Bellatrix—sick bitch—before looking at the handsome face she had kissed with abandon just an hour ago.
It wasn't Marvolo; it was Voldemort now.
And she hated Lord Voldemort.
Suddenly, she felt his hand around her waist, holding her close in a painful grip.
What?
Where was the Crucio?
"I think we need to clear up a few things before we continue."
Hermione shivered at the hissing voice as she looked into the now pale-blue eyes.
"Lucius, Bella, Rodolphus, Rabastan, Fenrir—" Voldemort addressed his best Death Eaters as all five bowed.
"—the first five Mudbloods are yours. Play nicely."
A sadistic smirk on the refined face was reflected now on all five faces of the smiling Death Eaters—she didn't know werewolves could smile—and as Hermione was about to open her mouth, she saw a black mist appear around Lord Voldemort and her, clouding them from everyone's gazes, but allowing her to see everything. She was standing in a distance, but not too far away from the crowd.
Her heart was beating so fast and she was close to panicking when Voldemort turned her around in his grip so that she was facing him.
"Hermione, Hermione … what am I going to do with you?"
Marvolo.
"Let them go. Please."
Hermione's whisper was so quiet, but he heard her nevertheless as those sensual lips stretched into a smile that was so tender that Hermione's stomach dropped.
"But, Hermione … you have already gotten your wish, haven't you?"
What? Was he serious?
"You will find that I'm always serious, my brave Gryffindor."
His one hand was still holding her tight, and she wanted to struggle, but it would be pointless.
He was much stronger not only magically but physically as well, and they both knew it.
"I told you to choose carefully, didn't I?" Those lips were almost touching hers now and Hermione wanted to lean away, to not feel him so close.
It was a mix of Marvolo and Voldemort now, and Hermione didn't want to kiss this combination.
She was thankful for the fog as she didn't want anyone to witness whatever the Dark Lord had planned for her now.
He wasn't actually saying that had she chosen not to wake up Ronald, she could have been able to save all those people on the posts.
She saw Bellatrix cast a curse on a teenager boy; she saw Greyback run around the posts with an arm hanging from his slobbery jaw; she saw Lucius Malfoy take out a silver knife and plunge it into the spot just under a shoulder blade of a man; she saw Rabastan and Rodolphus torture two young women—not older than her—and she saw the crowd whistle and cheer.
They all were sadists.
Maniacs.
But the biggest maniac of them all was holding her tight, looking at her with a tender smile.
She wanted to hurt him so much that her hand rose without her understanding it, and she would have broken his straight nose, had his second hand not grabbed her raised arm.
She slammed her head to his, hoping for the nose.
She hit him somewhere as the grip became so painful that Hermione cried out.
"If only you knew just how much I want to kill you right now, Hermione."
She knew; she could feel it in her mind, where the barrier was missing. Voldemort was barely controlling himself, and Hermione wished for a second his control would snap.
She was obsessed with Marvolo; she respected and looked up to the Hood; she disagreed with Voldemort; and she absolutely loathed the Dark Lord.
Her mind couldn't control her own thoughts; she was going crazy trying to separate all those imaginative figures, and she was balancing on a thin cord that connected the mountains. It would snap soon.
Better if he just killed her.
Tom Riddle, Hermione thought in desperation, knowing just what he hated the most, hoping it would be enough to push Voldemort—Tom Riddle—over the edge and do it.
Hermione screamed as a hand brutally twisted her hair before yanking it so hard that Hermione thought her hair would stay in the fist.
"Tsk, tsk, Hermione."
Voldemort's eyes were red and Hermione shivered.
"I have a better idea."
Suddenly, she was turned around, and the Dark Lord was holding her from behind now as she watched the Death Eaters torture their victims.
She felt cool fingers on her thigh and she almost screamed from horror when the elegant hand tore the lower part of the dress away. Her cloak was already gone.
Soft but merciless fingers were now slowly drawing circles on her naked thigh, and Hermione was afraid to even think.
He wouldn't rape her, would he?
"You will enjoy it, my sweet, trust me."
"Please, no!" Hermione started to sob as she felt the fingers move slowly towards her feminine parts, the other hand holding her in a death grip around her middle.
"You wanted it so badly just an hour ago, and being the merciful Lord that I am, I have decided to grant you this wish. Aren't you happy, Hermione?"
Hermione's heart stopped when she felt fingers slowly move her red silk underwear to the side but not ripping it away.
She wanted Marvolo, but she didn't want Voldemort.
"And here comes the interesting part, Hermione. There is no Marvolo, there is no Hood, and there is no Voldemort. There is just me, and I am all those people."
Hermione's tears were cascading down her cheeks as she listened to the calm voice in her ear.
He was right, but she couldn't accept it yet.
"There is no Marvolo without the Hood and Lord Voldemort. There is no Hood without Marvolo and Lord Voldemort. And there is no Lord Voldemort without Marvolo and the Hood. Do you hear me?"
Hermione shook her head in denial, closing her teary eyes.
Kill me, she thought in desperation.
"You came today from my kiss, Hermione. My kiss. And you will come again."
Hermione screamed when she felt the elegant fingers open her tender folds.
"There is no good or evil, my sweet. There is only power."
She struggled in the tight hold, but it was useless.
"And I have absolute power. I am the power, Hermione."
She felt familiar lips suck her earlobe, and she started to cry out loud as something inside her stomach started to burn again. His scent was everywhere, his lips were on her neck now—licking and sucking—and his fingers slowly played with her now hard clit.
She couldn't control her body, and she wanted to vomit when she realized she was aroused. She hated him; she could not want him!
No, no, no … rape was better!
"I don't do rape, Hermione. Why would I rape you if you are already so wet?"
A loud moan found its way out of her mouth as her clit was pinched hard, and she felt the arousal intensify.
The mental barrier wasn't there, and she could feel pleasure cloud her mind.
She would do anything he wanted if he only stopped.
"Beg for it."
Hermione opened her mouth to beg him to stop, when he entered two fingers into her tight channel, and instead she moaned in pleasure and pain. He wasn't breaking her virginity barrier, but he was very close to it.
"I am controlling all your emotions now, there is nothing to do but come. Come for me, and I'll stop."
Hermione thought she saw a barrier inside her mind appear again, but before she had a chance to find out, the fingers started to move.
His body was so close and the pleasure was so strong that there was nothing she could do when her own body started to move with the fingers, skewering herself on the moving digits.
Her loud moans were now uncontrollable, and she tried to move away, only to find the fingers even deeper and the thumb pressed harder on her clit.
"Stop!"
A scream was torn from her mouth as she felt an orgasm approach.
"Come for me."
Voldemort was controlling all her emotions, and Hermione felt pleasure so great that as she came, she thrashed so hard that the hand around her waist had to tighten its hold.
She couldn't breathe.
Her body was shaking in the aftershocks, and Hermione wanted to scream in horror.
She was suddenly released, and Hermione fell to the ground, near the torn piece of red fabric. Polished black shoes were now in her view as Voldemort squatted near her head.
"Did you enjoy it?"
Hermione lifted her crazy gaze to look into pale blue eyes, and with a twist to her lower stomach, she saw Voldemort slowly lick his fingers with a lazy swipe of his tongue.
He was sick.
"And you are not?"
Hermione would have locked herself in St. Mungo's already, but she didn't come on her own.
He made her. Those weren't her feelings and emotions. She didn't orgasm around Voldemort's—Marvolo's—fingers on her own while standing near a crowd of Death Eaters—no matter if they were invisible; it was the voyeurism that counted—and she had no reason to be so turned on especially when she was witnessing such horrendous scenes in front of her. She wasn't a sadist; how could she possibly feel so aroused while witnessing the sufferings of others?
A sadistic smile appeared on the handsome face, and Hermione's world stopped.
The barrier was back, and in her last attempt to save her sanity, Hermione whispered, "But you said you controlled me."
She was looking into pale-blue eyes, and she wanted to vomit with sick realization.
"I lied."
As she heard his laugh, Hermione finally vomited the tender chicken she had eaten and the sweet wine she had drunk onto the cold ground.
"Don't forget to prepare for your classes and don't be lazy."
Voldemort was now talking in a calm, serious voice, and Hermione could only cry.
He was a psychopath.
"I have always been, but it didn't stop you before, did it? In three days, I am expecting you at Slytherin Manor, understood?"
The red torn material was now in his hands as he wiped his fingers on it before getting up and throwing the material at her laying figure.
Even if she wanted to, she wouldn't be able to get up.
"Look at me."
She couldn't see him.
"Fuck you," she spat to the ground.
"I will fuck you raw before giving you to Lucius and Rabastan if you don't lift your pretty eyes. Now."
She had never heard him curse before.
Hermione was shivering so hard that she couldn't even get on all fours. Fuck him and his dogs.
Nothing could be worse.
A hand yanked her hair again, and she was looking into pale-blue eyes from her new position on the knees.
"If she tries to do anything stupid, you have my permission to kill Ginny Weasley first."
Who was he talking to?
Hermione's mind shut down when she heard a hiss escape her own lips.
"With pleasure."
It was the Horcrux.
Voldemort was talking to the Horcrux.
"Take her to the Weasleys."
Before she was Apparated away, Hermione saw the pale-blue eyes shine wickedly and saw fire appear around those elegant fingers; the black mist disappeared and all the bodies on the posts caught fire.
The next second, she was sitting on the floor in the Burrow. Confused and worried blue eyes were trying to get her attention, but all she could see were the other blue eyes—pale and cruel—and she screamed.
She hated blue now.
xxx
He had sent away his Mudblood because he wasn't sure he'd be able to control himself.
He was so aroused now that he had to cast a Crucio on some unknown figure before he could even think straight.
This was the first time in his life when he wanted to just take a woman, fully and completely, to show her everything he had in mind, to possess her, to own her body, and it was a Mudblood.
He would have called himself a hypocrite, but the Mudblood had a part of his soul in her nicely-shaped body, and therefore, she wasn't a Mudblood.
She was part Slytherin, just like he was.
And she hit him.
She was so in tune with him that it was hard to believe they weren't related.
Hermione hated his dark side, but she was doomed as she couldn't escape the temptation of his other sides—he wouldn't allow it—and she would soon have no one but him.
He had interfered with the situation, even though he had promised himself to just watch, but the temptation had been too big to resist. And he was never good with resisting temptations.
Taking out a silver knife, Lord Voldemort threw it at one of the Mudbloods before casting a Crucio at the other.
He wanted Hermione now, but he had to wait if he wanted to enjoy it to the maximum.
He had smashed her mental stability to pieces today, and she needed a few days to collect herself.
He hadn't broken her—he would know—as he had stopped before she reached the point of no return. It was too early for her, and that was why he had to wait. That was why he let her go now.
She would come to him herself, begging for him to take her, and only then would he give in to the temptation fully.
He would show her later that it was possible to enjoy the darkness as well, and she would love it.
He wasn't Marvolo, he wasn't the Hood, and he wasn't the Dark Lord.
He was Lord Voldemort and he was all three.
And he was brilliant.
xxxx
a/n Well, so the date is over...smiles :)
I rather like Lucius, so I decided to make him darker- we don't know a lot about him from the books- and he's so not Draco Senior (sticks out the tongue at Serp)!
Anyway, hope you enjoyed it. I am open to reasonable critique and questions, so just review and let me know! Waves!
- 16
- 17
- 18
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Two Steps From Hell