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Possession	By : uqui Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Voldemort Views: 85531 -:- Recommendations : 3 -:- Currently Reading : 12
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Possession

Chapter II - Vanishing Pain

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In the smallest bedroom of Number 4 Privet St, Little Whingeing,
fifteen-year-old Harry Potter started awake, breathing heavily. Gingerly he
raised one hand to his forehead, rubbing his scar before tracing it out with
one finger. It didn't hurt.
That was the problem...
Over the past weeks of summer, his scar had exhibited a dull throb and each
night he usually awakened, muffling his cries as he clutched his head,
desperate to ease the pain. But while the warmth of his hands brought some
respite, nothing could stop the visions...
Voldemort... He was back and he was stronger than ever before.
Thanks to you...
Harry shook his head angrily. It wasn't thanks to him that the Dark
Lord had returned. It wasn't! Dumbledore had told him as much. His friends
spent the best parts of their letters trying to convince him it was fact.
Whose blood flows through his veins then? The voice of his conscious,
the part that was determined to blame him, was merciless and seemed oddly
amused by his efforts to deny its words.
"It's my fault," he whispered solemnly.
That's better... Doesn't it feel better?
"Yes." It did feel better... It always felt better when he agreed
with the voice. It was his fault. Bringing back the Dark Lord was the least of
his sins. Everything was his fault.
You should never lie to yourself, Harry.
Harry shook his head and the voice fell silent, as he was lost in the memory
of his latest dream.
Voldemort had been lounging in his throne and the room had been dark but not
so dark that Harry hadn't been able to sense the Dementors flanking the throne
in some twisted parody of guards. Several masked Death Eaters had lined the
walls at regular intervals but these one's weren't usual, their masks were
blood red and their robes were crisp. These were Lord Voldemort's Elite. They
weren't like Lucius, McNair and the others... Harry knew that... What he'd seen
in his dreams all summer had shown him that.
Voldemort had several 'classes' of Death Eaters. There were the ones like
Lucius and the others. Well known, respected people within the Wizarding
Community but while they were loyal, to a point, their actions had caused
suspicion to be cast upon them. Lord Voldemort knew that various people like
Dumbledore knew they were his servants and if it ever came to it, Lucius and the
others would be sacrificed without a second thought. But they were useful to
him. They showed the wider world that he existed, no matter what the Ministry
might be saying and they provided a means of recruiting.
The other Death Eaters though... They were far more dangerous. They were
hidden and very few of them knew each other. Only Voldemort knew who they all
were... Well... Only Voldemort and Harry Potter. While the boy didn't know
their names, he knew their faces... He had seen them all summer, seen them
torturing Muggles and Wizards with equal facility as their Master watched on.
These Death Eaters though... They were useful to Voldemort, fanatically loyal
and the fact that they were hidden and unknown added to the fear that
surrounded his forces. Where Lucius and the others were known and could be
guarded against, how could you guard against the unknown?
And tonight had been no different... Except his scar didn't hurt...
Two of the elites, their masks off but Harry didn't recognise them had been
torturing a small family of Muggles while Voldemort had looked on with an
indulgent expression, his blood red eyes strangely compelling. The two parents
had screamed and pleaded but they were held firm by magical bounds created by
one of the elites as the other had used various hexes and curses on their
daughter. Crucio wasn't one though... The girl was no more than five,
not old enough that her body could withstand the rigours of that particular
curse for long and Harry knew, from night after night of experience that
Voldemort never liked to cut his 'entertainment' short. That didn't stop him
using it though, but only as a finale, to watch the child scream with pain that
was nothing like the previous torture before the child drowned in its own
blood, as their lungs collapsed, their body unable to endure any longer. And
all this while the parents were forced to watch.
It was the blood, splattered over the child's face; pooled on the floor and
smeared all over everything that was the worst. After watching for night after
night, it was the blood that disturbed the parents the most and Harry was only
thankful that most of them had slipped from sanity before their child was
killed, so much so that very few ever struggled as they were sacrificed to the
Dementors.
Tonight had been different though. Their eyes had been sane the whole time
they had begged and pleaded that they be the ones to suffer, right up until
then end when the mother had somehow broken loose of her restraints and
intercepted the Cruciatus curse. She'd screamed, they all screamed but there
had been a glow of triumph in her eyes as she had endured.
Harry had expected Voldemort to be in a rage but the Dark Lord had been
amused and he hadn't even punished the Death Eater whose spells had failed to
contain the woman. His eyes had lit with pleasure and his almost lipless mouth
had creased in a grotesque smile. He'd banished the Curse as he looked closely
at the woman and in a voice that had been chillingly cold but velvety smooth
he'd spoken to her. It was the first time Harry could recall Voldemort talking
to any Muggle all summer.
"It hurts, hmm?"
"...yes..." the woman managed to gasp, struggling weakly towards
her daughter. She never got there. With a flick of his wand, Voldemort had
re-established the magical bonds on her while her husband sobbed weakly.
"I have done this many times," he started again, ignoring the
looks of revulsion both adults gave him. "And you are the first Muggle to
ever break such bonds to respond to their child..." He congratulated the
woman as she drew a shuddering breath. "I'll tell you what..." He
broke off, laughing softly before he continued. "In recognition for your
deed, I will allow your fates to be exchanged."
"You are going to kill us both!" The woman hissed, suddenly lucid
and angry.
"No, no, no," the Dark Lord shook his head. "I wasn’t going
to kill you at all," he reassured her. "I was going to kill your
daughter and then, after playing with you a bit longer, I was going to let you
go... But I am prepared to be generous. You are the first Muggle to break their
bonds and as such deserve a reward."
"NO! Take me!" The husband had found his voice.
Voldemort had looked disdainfully at the man. "You," he said, the
emphasis on the word clearly stating that he thought it a grave insult that he
be forced to respond, "have done nothing but hang there. You do not
deserve my mercy." He had turned back to the woman. "This is the only
time I will make such an offer. Do you want your daughter to live?"
The woman didn't even consider it. What parent would, if offered a way to
save their child? "You will not kill her?" she questioned again for
reassurance.
"She will suffer the fate that was to await you," the Dark Lord
responded.
"Then let me suffer her fate," the woman's voice was firm, no
lingering trace of the Cruciatus curse evident.
"So be it," Voldemort said, gesturing towards the Dementors.
The two black robed beings glided forward, one heading towards the man who
was now sagging in the bounds that held him, and the other went towards the
small girl, who lay curled into a tight ball on the cold stone floor.
"What? What are you doing?" The woman asked, looking confused.
"You said you'd let them go!"
Voldemort merely looked over to her with a condescending expression while
the two elites sniggered.
"She will suffer your fate," one of the elites explained for his
Master.
"But you said you were going to let me go!" The woman sobbed,
desperately seeking answers.
"A demonstration is in order, I believe," Voldemort said,
amusement showing in his tone. "Your husband..." he instructed the
Dementor, freeing the man from the bonds.
Emancipated hands caught the body before it fell and Harry saw the dark
creatures eyes glow before it lowered its hooded face to the mans mouth and
sucked out his soul. The Dementor then released the body; allowing it to fall,
slack jawed and glassy eyed to the floor.
"Wha..." The woman found herself released from the magical bounds
and with a quick movement she was at her husband's side.
"He is not dead," Voldemort assured the woman.
"What did you do?" She gasped as she confirmed that her husband
was still breathing and his heart was beating but he was otherwise
unresponsive.
"My allies have peculiar tastes," the Dark Lord launched into the
explanation knowing that the truth would complete his torture of the woman.
"They eat souls."
"No!" She surged forward but was caught in a chilling grip as the
Dementor who had taken her husband's soul grabbed her.
With deliberate precision the second Dementor draped itself over the body of
the girl and with torturous slowness lowered its hooded face. The woman
screamed and struggled, begging for her daughter to be spared, promising that
she would do anything if the child was spared but Voldemort simply
laughed as the Dementor sucked out the soul of her child.
When it was over the woman collapsed to the floor, sobbing as she feebly
pounded her fists into the stone.
"Now..." Voldemort purred. "It's your turn."
"You promised..." she whispered.
"And I have kept my promise," he said, raising his wand.
"...you'll pay, Riddle... you'll pay..."
Even Voldemort paused at that whisper. "What?"
"...you'll pay, Riddle... you'll pay..." The woman repeated, her
voice weaker this time as the events and proximity to the Dementor began to
tell on her.
"How?" he hissed, sounding like the snake that was his totem.
"...my sister..." the woman began. "...my sister is a
witch..."
Voldemort smiled. "Squib?" He questioned her.
She shook her head. "She was born different."
"Mudblood," one of the elites said.
"Well... that is not our concern now," Voldemort said, raising his
wand again before he stopped.
Harry watched the events silently, knowing from experience that it didn't
matter what he did. What he saw was reality but for him it was a dream and he
couldn't interact, he could only watch and remember. While he was loath to
remember, he knew he would be the only one to truly know all the Dark Lords
victims and they needed, history needed them, to be remembered. So it was
resolutely that he looked back to the woman, trying not to focus on the wand
that had also taken his parents lives, Cedric and so many others...
But the Dark Lord had stopped again and was looking around the room with
narrowed eyes. Finally his gaze had settled on the corner where Harry
customarily watched. "Ah... My little one," he hissed in
Parceltongue. He had paused then, almost seeming to consider what he was
seeing... Harry just stood there, weeks of seeing the same thing meant he could
meet the Dark Lords gaze without flinching, secure in the knowledge that his
presence went unseen and unheard.
"It's nearly time," he continued, placing his wand back down. His
eyes roved over Harry's form and then for the first time in weeks blood red
eyes locked with green. "You're mine."
And that is what had awoken Harry. 'You're mine.' Voldemort had never spoken
directly to him before. The Dark Lord had spoken of him but never to him and
the tone of his voice... While the words had still been in Parceltongue, their
tone had been gentle, seductive, inviting. The tone he would have used to speak
with Cho if the Ravenclaw Seeker would even look at him after he got Cedric
killed.
The tone and the absolute lack of pain...
Harry looked out the window. The sky was slowly lightening, signalling the
dawning of a new day. It didn't hurt... Why didn't it hurt? Although he hadn't
actually seen the woman die, her husband and daughter had both suffered for
Voldemort's pleasure, so why didn't his scar hurt as it had for so many nights
before?
A tapping on the barred window drew his attention and as he drew back the
filmy curtains a chill passed through him. A large black eagle hawk was scrambling
to land on the sill, every few seconds it would fall off, resulting in a
flapping of wings, and clawing at the bricks as it sought purchase again. In
one claw was a black envelope that Harry could see was marked with a blood red
Dark Mark. As the hawk noticed him, it fixed him with a stare that said quite
clearly that it would try to deliver its letter all day if necessary so no
matter how much he didn't want it, he should just look at it and the bird would
leave.
Quickly Harry opened the window as far as it would go, wondering how the
bird could possibly be reading his mind. How did it know he had seriously been
considering just closing the curtains and ignoring it? And he would have except
for the fact that the Dursley’s would practically kill him if the bird remained
there during the day, when anyone could see it? What would the neighbours think
at outright proof of his abnormality?
At the movement the bird took off again, releasing its letter that magically
flew thru in the tiny opening, before with a soft screech, it flapped powerful
wings and disappeared into the thin dawn light.
The letter landed on the floor seeming to glow with its own sickly light. It
was addressed with a simple 'HP' and for a moment Harry was tempted simply to
rip it up and pretend that it never existed but he knew, from years of
experience in the Wizarding world, that things would only get worse if he did
that. So it was with strangely steady hands, he reached out and picked up the
letter, turning it over to see its seal. The wax was red and the seal was a
crest bearing the Dark Mark surmounting a stylised 'LV'.
Harry shivered as he broke the seal and drew out the parchment, unfolding it
slowly he noted a tiny lumos spell on it meant that he wouldn't need to turn on
the light. He looked over the spidery red script, not seeing it before closing
his eyes, taking a deep breath to calm himself before he opened emerald eyes
and began reading.
All the while, his scar didn't hurt.
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