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Twice into the Abyss	By : CalecusX Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Voldemort Views: 17510 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 6
Disclaimer: Harry Potter & its characters all belong to J.K. Rowling. I make no profit from it.

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The explosion was heard, if not felt, throughout the whole castle.

It was supposed to be like any other Sunday afternoon. Ron would wake up from a restful sleep, greet his dorm mates and dodge his brothers' attempts to test their inventions on him. All normal. They would then make their way down to the Great Hall for food. Walking through the corridors and talking with Harry about the Chudley Cannons — that was when it happened.

A loud boom seemed to shake the very foundations of the walls and floors, even sending a few people to the ground. Ron quickly grabbed a hold of Harry when the other boy nearly toppled down the stairs at the end of the corridor. The rumble of the castle only lasted for a few moments, but once it was over, it left an eerie silence that challenged those ignorant enough to break it. All the other students were gazing around in confusion and trepidation, wondering if some threat was upon them.

They were correct.

It was the dark figure of Professor Snape as he came hurling down the corridors. The look on the man's face had every student scurrying away in fear while it left some in near tears: the greasy hair shining ominously, the pale complexion almost ghostly white, the yellow teeth snarling and Merlin's beard — the crooked nose flaring out!

Ron stiffened at the sight of the potions master gliding towards him. All thoughts screamed at him to move out of the way yet his body wouldn't listen. He remained frozen like Ginny when she would meet one of her idols, except he wasn't meeting his idol but a big heaping of crap straight out of hell. It was all too much for him to handle.

Somewhere near him, he heard the most pathetic whimper. And if anyone said the sound had escaped from him, then Ron would deny it for all that he was worth.

Time appeared to be at a standstill as the man drew closer and closer. Ron held his breath, hoping it would make him less noticeable. As the potions master neared, he continued to stare back and watched until... the man passed them. Professor Snape stalked right by without giving him or any other student a second glance. No one moved a centimeter until the sound and sight of the professor had faded away down another corridor.

Only when the very last foot falls were gone did Ron gasp for breath, sucking in the much needed air. He didn't know what that was all about, but he swore his life had just flashed before his eyes.

"Ron?"

His friend's voice brought him out of his thoughts. "Yeah?"

"Is it me or is Snape in a fouler mood than usual?"

Ron turned to look at the other boy. Harry was still glancing at the corner where the professor's form disappeared off to.

He managed a swallow, still unsettled by the whole thing. "That is no regular temper tantrum, Harry." Living with his mother, he saw what those were like and this was far from it. "Snape looks like he’s about to murder the next person for sneezing in his potions, and I have to say, I hate to be anywhere near him when that happens."

o-O-o

"Murder?" asked McGonagall. "Surely it was just an accident. Are you positive you didn't mislabel the ingredients somehow?"

Severus' shoulders straightened rigidly, anger pouring out of his frame at the implied insult. As if he would make a mistake with potions!

"I mislabeled nothing. All the ingredients were properly labeled and prepared by my own hands," Severus was barely holding onto civility as his fists clenched tightly in restraint. "The only explanation for the ingredients being in a jar not of their respective name was if someone intentionally tampered with them."

All the other professors glimpsed at him with obvious worry. They had immediately convened in the Headmaster's office once it was confirmed that no harm had befallen on the students, and the stone had also been checked on afterwards. Only then were they calmed enough to discuss the cause of the explosion, which he'd just revealed to them.

Albus looked at him over his half-moon spectacles, the man's eyes were a sharp blue for once. "Are you certain it was not a prank, Severus?"

Prank.

There was that word again, the word that taunted him since he was a student. It was the excuse and dismissal to every humiliation and pain he suffered under those Gryffindors. After so many years, Severus assumed he had escaped from it — leaving it behind in his childhood. Perhaps he should have known better than to indulge in such naive thoughts.

"This was no harmless prank," he spat out, his words almost manic with rage. "Whoever did this, knew which specific ingredients would produce an explosion powerful enough to kill a wizard."

That silenced them into clear horror this time. Severus didn't want to admit it, but it was satisfying to see their disturbed expressions. They needed to have an idea of what he went through, even though not a single one of them could begin to understand what it was like. To nearly die from something you loved doing… it left a very bitter taste on your tongue.

Sprout was the first to speak up. "For this to happen when you were brewing a potion — I'm so glad you're all right, Severus." She came forward to perhaps touch his shoulder, but he moved away. Realising that, the witch quietly accepted his need for space and back down.

"Yes, th-thank goodness you were unharmed, Se-severus," Quirrell added. "Luck m-must be on your side to su-survive such an explosion."

His lips curled into a sneer. "It was far from luck and more due to quick reflexes. If I was a mere second off from casting the shield charm, then we wouldn't be having this conversation." That was true. Just as Severus was adding an ingredient to the boiling potion, did he notice too late that it was the wrong one. By then, the only thing he could do was cast the shield as the explosion destroyed half the room.

"W-well, if I could d-do anything to help, then pl-please let me know," the DADA professor went on, rubbing his hands nervously.

His response to that was another derisive sneer.

After a while, it was decided that precautions would be set up for the potion ingredients, and Albus would have the portraits keep watch during the night. There wasn't much they could do for now but speculate. Severus didn't bother to stay a second longer. He gave them a curt nod and walked towards the door, wondering if he could salvage anything from the potions classroom.

"Poor Pro-professor Snape," Quirrell whispered, yet was loud enough for him to catch. "Th-the stress must b-be getting to him."

Grinding his teeth in frustration, Severus purposely slammed the door as he left the office.

o-O-o

Quirrell's body locked the door with a swish of the wand. Control over the form was slowly relinquished as Voldemort receded back. When his servant awoke, the Dark Lord permitted the man to view some of the memories from the past hour.

"Master, I do not understand," Quirrell hoped he wasn't overstepping his boundaries. Then again, it was hard not to when he was sharing a body with his master. "Is Severus not a loyal follower?"

Voldemort settled back, feeling his magic wrap back around him once more. "Perhaps at one time but he has chosen a different path now."

As much as he despised Potter and Dumbledore, betrayal was something he could not tolerate nor forgive. It filled his mouth with bile to know that he’d been deceived and played like a fool.

His servant made a noise of distress. "A traitor — Severus is a traitor!"

If it hadn't been so beneath him, Voldemort would’ve sighed in an exasperated manner. "Silence yourself, Quirrell."

"But Master, the explosion didn't kill him."

"No, it didn't." In truth, he hadn't really expected the explosion to kill the potions master, and it was even foreseen that Severus would escape unharmed. After all, the wizard was one of his best and skilled Death Eaters.

However, that did not change one thing: Severus had betrayed him for a mudblood. As much as that angered and vexed him beyond thought, he was capable of understanding the man’s motivations. He’d spent years observing people to know their wants and desires, all so he could manipulate them to his will in the end. Severus had chosen to die for love, and he understood that. Yet what he couldn’t comprehend was how the very idea of such a death would inexplicably constrict his chest.

Quirrell walked over to the desk, arranging the few scattered parchments in nervousness. "Master, shall we set up another accident for Severus?"

Another accident was tempting, but it would be pointless. Even the first one was planned on a whim to merely indulge himself, and the look on Severus' face had certainly brought some sharp amusement for him.

Despite his lax handling on the matter, Voldemort had promised himself to never give anyone the chance to abandon him — not since that day when he’d killed all the Riddles. But to cast him aside as if he was no longer needed and actively go against him by running towards Dumbledore of all people... well, that deserved more than a simple death.

"That won't be necessary, Quirrell," Voldemort told his servant. "Severus may yet to fulfill his role. He will live for now."

No, he would not kill the potions master. But in time, Severus would taste the consequences of his betrayal.

o-O-o

Hedwig hooted quietly as he smoothed out her feathers. The DADA classroom was filled with the sounds of animals, all belonging to his classmates. Harry smiled as the owl affectionately nipped his finger, asking for another treat. Next to him, Ron's pet rat was crawling on the red head's shoulder, looking content with its new perch.

So far, DADA had been a pretty unhelpful class. It wasn't the subject that was the problem but the actual lecture. Harry had a difficult time understanding Professor Quirrell and trying to decipher through his stuttering was just plain impossible. Hopefully, they would learn some interesting topic today since the professor had requested them to bring in their pets.

Everyone then quieted down as the professor finally walked in. Lately, Harry couldn’t help but notice something different about Professor Quirrell. Though, it was not the professor’s appearance or behaviour that had undergone any change. It was possibly the man's presence that felt off but not in a bad way. He didn't really know how to explain the feeling… it was like the professor’s magic would pulsate sometimes and catch his attention. Or maybe Harry was looking too deeply into it.

With the clearing of the throat, Professor Quirrell began. "S-since this is the last l-lesson before the Christmas h-holidays, I have asked ev-everyone to bring in their familiars." The professor then took his time to gaze over each of them. It was just a cursory glance, but they leaned forward in their seats in anticipation. "You s-see, there are some curses t-that can affect your familiars severely, and t-today, I will show you w-what they are and h-how to reverse them."

Immediately, excited murmurs erupted from his peers, speculating on what type of spells they would soon see. Harry was also curious about it, and he wondered if they would get the chance to practice. It was not that he was impatient but his hand was eager to try out some new spells.

"Mr. Weasley, m-may I use your r-rat as an example?"

Ron jerked in his seat, surprised at being called and embarrassed now that everyone was looking at him. "Uh, sure Professor," his friend mumbled.

Professor Quirrell summoned Scabbers with a flick of his wand, and the rat floated to a table beside the man. The professor did another flick that prevented the rat from scurrying off. All of this, Harry realised, the wizard had done silently without uttering the incantations.

"Watch clo-closely everyone," said Professor Quirrell, wand pointed at Scabbers. "Surculus vermis".

The rat squeaked in alarm, trying to squirm away as all of its fur fell off and in its place sprouted hundreds of tiny worms.

"Scabbers!" Ron cried out.

Meanwhile, every other student was cringing away from the vile creature. Harry himself was having a hard time not shuddering in disgust. The tiny worms were thrashing wildly, a coat of slime now dripping down on the table.

"D-do not worry, Mr. W-weasley," the professor aimed his wand at the rat once more. "I shall n-now reverse the spell w-with a counter." Professor Quirrell showed them the counter, and Scabber's fur grew right back in an instant, leaving no signs of the worms. Though, the fur did appear thinner in some areas.

Harry could hear his friend's sigh of relief at having his rat back to normal.

"Remember this s-spell if your familiars a-are ever cursed in that way," reminded Professor Quirrell lightly.

Well, he would certainly remember that curse since its application could be for more than just animals; Harry could definitely imagine that curse being used on a human.

"Now h-here is another curse y-you should know," the professor went on, smiling in an odd way. "If not c-countered correctly, then it would l-leave very large and v-very painful hemorrhoids."

At that Scabbers appeared to squeak even louder in fear as if the rodent could comprehend its impending treatment. In turn, Ron looked as if someone had just announced the cancelation of Quidditch for the whole year.

Harry covered Hedwig's eyes, not wanting her to witness the next spell. He felt sorry for Ron's rat and hoped the professor would not choose his owl any time soon — that spell really did look painful.

Poor Scabbers.

o-O-o

"C-class dismiss," Quirrell told them. "A-and Mr. Weasley, you can c-come back for your rat after I h-have observed it for any side-effects."

The boy nodded his head despondently as Potter patted his shoulder in comfort.

When the last of the students left, Quirrell quickly waved his wand to lock and seal the whole room. He didn't know what his Master wanted with a rat of all creatures, but he would follow those orders no matter how perplexing they may seem to be. Already, he could feel his Master stirring for control, and Quirrell allowed himself to fall into a deep sleep as his Master took over.

Once again, Voldemort looked through his servant's eyes, allowing them to glow the familiar crimson this time. Seeing his prey on the table, he leisurely approached it. He gazed down at the stunned rat with a disgusted twist of his lips. Even as a rat, Pettigrew was a wretched sight. He had no respect for cowardice, but the weak wizard still had his uses. Without further ado, he sent a spell towards the animal.

What was once a rat, Peter Pettigrew's short and lumpy form now appeared, and Voldemort quickly released the stunning spell. His servant awoke with a jolt as if electrified. The man looked around in a disoriented daze, completely at a loss to his predicament. A few seconds later, Pettigrew attempted to sit up, but the wizard only managed to fall off the table head first.

The Dark Lord stood there, now having second thoughts about using the other wizard.

"Wha-what's going on?" Pettigrew asked, rubbing his head stupidly.

Annoyance distinctly attached to his mood now, Voldemort called the man to his attention. "Wormtail..."

Pettigrew gazed up in surprise and blinked in bewilderment at the DADA professor. It was only when the man stared into his red eyes that recognition hit him. "My - my Lord?"

"Ah, so you still remember your master."

At that revelation, Pettigrew looked as if someone was choking him. "Forgive me! Forgive me, Master!" his servant immediately bowed over, knees and hands splayed out. "I remain your loyal servant!"

"By hiding away as a rat?" he conjured a high back chair and sat down, enjoying Pettigrew's sniveling attempts at begging. "I'm sorely disappointed in you, Wormtail."

"I - I was waiting for your return!" Pettigrew wailed. "Waiting for news of your whereabouts and —"

"Enough."

That one word drew a whimper from the man, silencing Pettigrew into nervous shaking. As much as he relished the fear, Voldemort had already been through this once, and it grew tiresome very quickly.

"Were it not for your usefulness, you would be dead long ago."

Relief appeared to spill from the man as he bowed again. "Thank you, Master, thank you. I will do my best to serve you as your devoted follower."

"Then you'll be glad to know that I have work for you, Wormtail," he said, smirking at the man's complete subservience.

At that, Pettigrew looked up in obvious worry but waited for his instructions.

"In your animagus form, you shall follow and keep watch over Severus and Dumbledore," he reclined back in his seat, mulling over his plans once more. "And only when I summon you through the dark mark, will you report their activities to me. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Master," the wizard's head was nodding furiously in compliance until hesitation slowly bubbled up to the surface. "But - but what about Harry Potter, my Lord?"

His eyes narrowed at that. "You do not need to concern yourself with the boy," he said in a dangerous hiss. Voldemort would not allow anyone else to involve themselves with Potter because the boy would be his alone to deal with. Until then, Harry Potter would remain unharmed.

Pettigrew cowered at his tone. "Ye-yes, Master."

He then gave a few more instructions to the other wizard and threatened him should the man be discovered in any way. As their time was ending, they both prepared themselves to return to their respective roles should the Weasley boy come knocking to retrieve his pet.

"And Wormtail," Voldemort stopped the wizard before he could revert back to his animagus form.

"Master?"

"You seemed to have forgotten something."

"I have?" Pettigrew's eyes squinted into tiny dots, not understanding his statement.

Voldemort gave his servant a very fierce smile, eliciting another whimper from the man. "My wand, Wormtail."

It was finally time for him to be reunited with his yew wand.

o-O-o

"Nutter Bar," Harry whispered to the Portrait of the Fat Lady.

She woke up with a start and gazed down for the student who dared to disturb her sleep. Confusion settled on her brows as she searched for the culprit but saw absolutely no one at all. Well, the Fat Lady was positive she’d heard the password, so with a shrug of her shoulders she opened the entrance to the Gryffindor dormitory.

Harry silently stepped inside before the portrait could close. Walking through the empty common room, he quickly made it to his room. The only other occupant there was Ron, whose snore was quite loud that he didn't need to worry about waking the other boy up. Carefully, he took off the invisibility cloak draped over his body and got into bed. After closing the curtains, Harry laid there and stared contentedly in the dark while still holding onto the cloak.

For the past three nights, he’d been using his new gift to explore Hogwarts. It didn't really matter where Harry went in the castle because he was free to go anywhere. From old storage rooms to unused corridors, nothing was off limits. Well, except for the third floor corridor but he didn't mind it much since the three-headed dog was not something any sane person would want to see again.

Still, the ability to walk through the castle at night with no one to judge or stare at him was liberating. It provided a different kind of freedom than that of flying — it gave him anonymity. As long as he was under the cloak, then Harry was able to hide and do things he wouldn't normally do and without anyone finding out.

If only he had something like this when he was running away from Dudley and his gang.

But the invisibility cloak was more than just a tool. It had belonged to his father, and that alone was worth more than all the gold in his vault. Harry never had anything of value growing up nor any objects bequeathed to him by his parents. To finally be holding something tangible of theirs, knowing that his father had once held it too... Harry realised this was the closest he would ever be to them, that this was the only connection he had left of his parents.

He closed his eyes and held the cloak to his chest, trying to imagine how his father's warmth would feel, as if it was imprinted on the cloak itself. Maybe this way, he could pretend they weren't dead, and he wasn't alone. It was a meager substitution but lying to himself had never been that hard.

After a while, Harry decided to grab his wand. "Lumos," he said, having the sudden need to see the cloak one last time before sleep.

The fabric shimmered in the artificial light, beautiful as it cascaded down in ripples from where he grasped it. The cloak was mesmerising as he stared at it softly. This would’ve gone on for the rest of the night if he didn't suddenly notice the twinkling glint near the edge of the fabric. His eyes narrowed, trying to identify what it was as he brought his wand closer.

The glint in actuality was some kind of symbol, sewn in a different coloured thread than the rest of the cloak. It was in the shape of a triangle with a circle inscribed inside, and running down the middle of both shapes was a line. His finger grazed over the unknown symbol, memorising its every detail.

What was this?

o-O-o

The clearing in the forest was silent and still when it should’ve otherwise been full with the sounds of creatures. The trees were tall and thick as they provided a barrier of privacy, while the glow from the moon extinguished the need for any other light.

The area was the perfect location to perform the ritual. It was far from any human settlements and had been warded against magical detection. With the turban unbind, Voldemort looked upon the runes on the ground. It formed into a rune circle that expanded a few meters wide as Ravenclaw's Diadem lay innocuously in the center. In addition to that, three unconscious wizards were bound and placed within the circle's edge.

The three male wizards would be used to fuel the ritual. Their magic and life force would aid in creating a new body for him. Of course, they were all muggleborns and not of any high standing, so he doubted they would be missed. However, this ritual alone was not enough to absorb his Horcrux.

Remorse was the essential emotion required to mend the soul. It was said that only penitence from the act of murder could one attempt to merge the pieces of the soul. Voldemort had almost snorted at the idea when he first read about it.

An Egyptian wizard from centuries ago had invented this ritual. Like himself, the wizard had dabbled with soul magic and experimented on its limits. With the aid of the ritual, remorse for the murder itself was not necessary. Instead, regret for the act of splitting one's own soul was needed; only through regret in the creation of a Horcrux could the ritual succeed. If repentance was like a thread used to bind the soul pieces, then the ritual was the needle used to sew it all together.

Although this ritual could successfully combine a shard of his soul, there was still a chance — a very high chance — that he could die from the pain alone. It had been torturous when he ripped his soul apart, so he could only imagine what it would be like to merge with one. Still, he was determined to go through with this and not submit to the pain. In a way, he found this all to be ironic and darkly humorous. Voldemort had spent all his life building his strength and trying to prevent his mortality. Yet here he was, risking everything so he could absorb a fragment of his soul back.

He could still easily take the Philosopher's Stone. Regain his body that way with no uncertainty or complications. It would be so easy for him to do, but then he would remember that lone soul piece floating in limbo. Even if his Horcruxes were all safe at the moment, he couldn't forget how it felt for that one piece to be so isolated from everything — to suffer, due to his actions.

"Master, the ritual is ready," Quirrell voiced out, checking the time with a tempus spell. It was the eve of the New Year.

Voldemort collected his stray thoughts, needing his concentration. "Step inside the circle, Quirrell, and the rest will begin."

When they were situated inside, Voldemort began to chant a series of soft words, a forgotten language once spoken by sorcerers of old. Gradually, the rune circle started to glow, and the air filled with the currents of wild energy. It was then that Voldemort felt himself being pulled from Quirrell's body and out towards the diadem. Suddenly, pain was all he knew.

It was an avalanche of pain, crushing him from all sides and giving him no chance for recovery. He knew no other state of existence as it left him with only thoughts of the agony to focus on. But worst of all, it made him wish for death — to die so the pain could end. Voldemort didn't know if he could possibly endure it for any longer, never feeling more vulnerable as he did in that moment.

It seemed to continue on for hours, turning everything into a mesh of obscurity. Only when the pain became more localised did he discover it lessening in intensity. At an achingly slow beat, the magic started to ease out and thinned to a trickle before dying down completely.

The first thing he noticed was the sound of his breathing. It came out in harsh gasps, unfamiliar with the need for air. His other senses soon came forward, and he found himself kneeling on the ground, pleasantly shocked that there was no more accompanying pain.

Finally, his naked form rose from the center of the rune circle. Ignoring the unblemished diadem near his feet, he gazed in amazement at his hands and then down his body, admiring the lean muscles and firm legs. He then touched his face, discovering his father's features on there once more. And without looking, he knew his eyes had kept its dark crimson colour.

He could once again feel his magic coursing through his new body, sensing the strength and power residing within. It flowed smoothly, no longer bundled tightly or squeezed uncomfortably. Yet something was missing, not quite perfectly settled.

His soul was still incomplete.

Voldemort placed a hand over his beating heart. Strange, he had never felt a yearning to reunite with his Horcruxes before, but now that he had merged with one, it left a raw and hungry need to seek them out and… be whole again. Closing his eyes, he tried to center himself. He would think about this sensation at another time; for now, he had other things to do. Once he felt stabled enough, Voldemort looked out at his surroundings.

The three wizards he sacrificed were nothing more than withered husks, their corpse so dried up that it looked like it would turn to dust with just a touch. The rune circle was now just scorched marks on the ground, as if a simple flame spell had left it there.

Summoning his yew wand, he casually conjured a robe over himself and walked over to the immobile form of his servant. Voldemort nudged the man's cheek with his foot, causing a small groan to echo out into the clearing. He smirked at the sound, impressed with his servant's luck.

"Still alive, Quirrell?" he asked in mocked surprise. The wizard could still serve him yet.

TBC

A/N: In case anyone was wondering, Harry never found the Mirror of Erised because Dumbledore had moved it ahead of schedule.
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Twice into the Abyss