Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Shattered	By : Diamonddancer229 Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male Views: 44840 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, I am not making any money from this fiction, or do I intend to try. All rights belong to J.K.Rowlings.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
- 3
Shattered, Chapter 2
By: Diamonddancer229
Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter, and I’m not making money from this fic.

Chapter warnings: Graphic Violence, Adult Language

Chapter 2: The Hunt

The woods were alive with Muggles. Harry could hear them and smell them. He knew they were Muggles by their odd lack of magical ‘scent’, but he didn’t have a desire to consume magic at the moment, even if he could sense it shifting inside him. No, he wanted flesh and blood, but he was sure the blood would be lacking after Voldemort’s.
He gave one last look back to the Malfoy’s, Severus, reserving a long last look for his Master and Lord. Red eyes bored into him. They dared him to try to escape, to leave and simply not come back. Voldemort, too, was a predator. He would enjoy the hunt. Harry turned and plunged the three story drop from the balcony. He landed with a resounding thump on the dewy grass below.
His muscles ached to be released and if he concentrated enough Harry felt the restless shift of fur brushing along his insides, the beast inside scrambling madly as it scented prey in every direction. His enlarged lungs expanded as he savored the smells he drew in. He knew instinctively which way to turn and run into the night to bring him to the weakest and most vulnerable of the humans.
He smiled when he came upon the shuddering form of an obese young adult, roughly his own age. With sandy blonde hair. “Voldemort is treating me I see,” Harry cackled in delight, wonderful madness lighting his green eyes on fire. His cousin Dudley turned to face him.
Harry hadn’t seen the boy in almost three years now, he realized. Not since the night he had packed his bags and began this journey to return Voldemort’s soul shards to their rightful place and perhaps put the man to peace forever. Time had not helped his cousin. He looked remarkable like Vernon Dursley now, with a hint of Petunia hiding around his eyes and tight mouth. He had grown quite large and sloppy over the missed years.
“H-Harry?” Dudley squeaked, his back hitting a tree as he moved away from Harry as Harry stepped forward.
“Dudders, so nice to see you again. It’s quite pleasant out tonight isn’t it?” Harry didn’t know where this unique calm came from. He felt very unlike Harry Potter tonight, but he supposed that was the creatures boiling beneath his skin. He felt beautiful, strong, and utterly unbeatable right now with Voldemort’s powerful, dark blood thrumming through his veins. He also felt rather vindictive.
“Harry what’s the meaning of this? They’ve got Mum and Dad out here too somewhere. I’m lost,” Dudley moaned wretchedly. He whimpered as a scream echoed through the forest causing the wild life to screech to life momentarily before dying back out as quickly. “I need to find them, Mum hates camping. She’s probably terrified to death right now.”
“Now that you mention it I can smell that god-awful perfume she used to wear. Tell me something Dudders.” Harry tilted his head and closed the final gap between him. “If you had the choice who would you want to live? You, her, or him?” Harry asked the question with such a deadly calm that not even his stupid cousin could miss the implications.
“What do you mean Harry?” Dudley asked anyway. The boy shivered. “Help me find them please Harry. You owe them as much!”
Harry felt the temperature in the air around them plummet sharply, his cousin’s breath puffed out in front of him in miniature clouds. “I owe them as much? What an absurd thing to say to the boy your parents kept locked IN A FUCKING CUPBOARD FOR THE FIRST ELEVEN YEARS OF HIS LIFE!” Harry was roaring by the end. His fist flew out and caught Dudley in his jaw. Harry felt bones crunch beneath his hand.
“Owe them?” he ranted. “You are right, I do owe them. Do you want to know what I owe your parents Dudders? Do you want to know what I owe them for the bars on my bedroom window? Or maybe what I intend to reimburse them with for working me like a kitchen slave, and yard boy? Maybe I should tell you what I intend to do to that bitch mother of yours for telling me my parents were alcoholics that crashed off a bridge when I was a babe, or for never once celebrating my birthday.”
He had stopped yelling again and he had regained that deadly calm that was so unlike him normally. He stepped forward and leaned his forehead against his cousins trembling chest, and Dudley had the good sense not to move. Harry listened to the fat lump’s heart thumping heavily in his chest, fast and frightened. He could smell so much intoxicating fear in the air he might have lost himself and ripped into the flesh before him. He might still do so but for now he had his senses.
He wanted this to be slow. He wanted to repay the years of hate and pain with likewise in a far more concentrated version. He wanted to take Dudley’s flesh off one strip at a time and watch his cousin scream and writhe under him. Harry nearly drooled as options filtered through his head.
He started hitting Dudley, a punch for every one he could remember this ham-handed oaf giving him through the years, but he tired of that quickly and reached for his wand. Harry cursed, remembering that he hadn’t had a wand since his capture, but he could feel the magic pulsing in his body, coiling in the air, and ready for him to command it. Harry smiled coldly and whispered ‘Crucio’. The magic leapt from his fingertips, and it was painful and seared his flesh with white hot heat.
Dudley’s screams echoed out in the night, and Harry could hear Muggles stilling like deer caught in headlights throughout the woods. He felt their terror bleeding out into the night, calling other beasts that fed from fear and flesh. He relished the staccato beat of their rapidly pumping hearts. He looked to his feet just as his cousin stopped breathing.
Harry felt the cold chill of a senseless murder run through him. This must have been the fracturing of his soul, he recognized vaguely, with little concern. All he could really think at the moment was that he had managed to kill someone with a Crucio, and he had never heard of that happening before. How much hate he must have inside him, if a proper Crucio was fueled by hatred. Enough to kill a man.

“Fuck. Well, that was anti climatic. Pardon me for cutting this session short, dear cousin. I’m afraid I have underestimated my strength.” Harry only paused momentarily over the thought before he sprang back into action and off into the night. He would think on it later, he would grieve on the death of his old self when he had proper time and adequate safety from prying eyes. For now he wanted only to ease this unearthly, cursed thirst.
Vernon was next, and he came across the fat useless man huffing heavily as he stumbled through the woods bellowing for Petunia and Dudley. Harry chuckled, and darted out of site effortless when his Uncle spun to face the sound.
“Who’s there? You won’t get away with this!” Vernon threatened. Somewhere off to his left Harry snickered and spun from view again. Vernon crashed his way through the underbrush, taking off running as fast as he could. Harry stayed behind him, snapping twigs, laughing, never letting Vernon see him as he manipulated the muggle in whatever direction he particularly felt like.
Vernon did not run too far before he lost his footing and crashed to the ground hard enough to knock the wind from his lungs. His uncle stayed there gasping for long moments before he could work up more protests. “Who’s there? You can’t do this to me! Where is my family? Take me to them now!”
Harry stepped into a shaft of bright moonlight then, finally allowing Vernon to see his pursuer. Vernon choked and turned an ugly purple. Harry always seemed to draw that particular shade of anger from the man. “Hello Uncle Vernon,” Harry stood still, unearthly so when he choose to draw no breath.
“Harry? What are you doing here boy? Why aren’t you wearing any clothes?”
Harry looked down at himself, and pondered were he had lost the loose robes he been draped in when he woke up. He was covered in dirt and blood from invisible scratches that had healed as soon as he ripped through the brambly underbrush, during his chase. “I don’t know, now that you mention it,” he answered with a shrug. “What are you doing here, is the better question Uncle. This forest belongs to a wizard of my acquaintance you might say. I belong here Uncle, here you are the freak, the ‘odd’ man out, so-to-speak.”
Vernon trembled at the coldness of his tone, at the hidden and not so hidden implications laced within. “We were kidnapped boy! I always knew the Potters were nothing but bad luck waiting to happen. If they hadn’t threatened us into keeping you we’d have sent out right along to the next in line! Argh-“
Harry didn’t let Vernon finish his rant, he leapt at him, landing on the man and knocking him to the ground in an angry heap. His nails dug into the skin he could see. Vernon screamed, and he kicked and fought, but Harry held his large weight pinned down with so much effortless ease, that he found himself laughing madly even as he dug scores of his Uncle’s flesh off with his vicious claws.
Harry didn’t stop until Vernon was a gurgling, bloody mess beneath his nails, no longer able to beg. The man shuddered against him, seizing and choking, blood bubbling from his ruined and torn throat. Harry leaned forward, and looked Vernon intently in his eyes. He’d left them untouched so Vernon could watch the terrible monster that he had a hand in making just by sheer neglect.
“If you had only took me in and loved me this could have been different, Uncle. I would have protected you until the day I died, but instead you helped bred this hatred in me. You see Uncle Vernon, Muggles like you, Muggles that are terrified of everything they can’t control, and can’t understand, you made this decision so much easier for me.”
Harry could feel the unhealthy heart pounding slowly and laboriously beneath his palm. It was perilously close to stopping completely. “I want you to die knowing that I murdered your son, Vernon. Your precious Dudley is beginning to rot even as we speak. It’s hot out, I’ll wager he will even have maggots feasting on him by the morning.
When you die, I’m going after Petunia. It’s going to be the worst for her, that’s why I saved her for last. She was my mother’s sister. She should have protected and loved me because we shared the same blood. She betrayed me in a way no mother should ever betray a child, and I was the son of her sister. I will be most unkind to her. I will torture her till the sun rises tomorrow morning, and I want you to know that.”
Vernon gurgled loudly and one ruined lump of a hand that had been taken off during Harry’s temper tantrum, rose his eyes wide and pleading. His heart beat faster under Harry’s hand, in desperate panic for his wife and son’s fates. The faster his heart pumped the faster the blood oozed from his mangled flesh, and it wasn’t long before his fat body trembled and shuddered and finally died, terror reflected in his glazed eyes as they stared up at the dark sky.
Harry rose. He trembled as he felt that odd little shiver of coldness, and suddenly realized the sensation was the soul departing from his Uncle. He could feel it because he had somewhat of a Dementor in him. Surely they could sense souls. He felt the odd urge to reach out with his magic and stop Vernon’s black soul from rising, he was sure he could trap it here, like a Dementor’s Kiss, his Uncle forever caught in the purgatory that lost souls went to.
He did not though. He really didn’t want to taint his magic by swallowing the thing, if that was indeed what could and would happen. So instead, he left it to rise and the slight chill left him, but didn’t really. His own soul, if he had one now, was damaged, and it was wearing on him, this unusual carnage that he had sunk to so quickly. He was a beast on a rampage; pain, anger and rage were building in him. There was one more left, and he hadn’t lied just for Vernon’s sake, he would make her beg and plead for his forgiveness before he granted her death. Then, and only then, would this rage be quenched.
Petunia walked up on Harry waiting for her. He had Dudley strung up in a tree with his still steaming innards. Vernon’s weight could not be supported and as such Harry had just propped him against the tree, and shaped his mutilated face into the rictus of a smile. Then he simply sent a mild compulsion to call his Aunt to him.
Her scream pierced the night and sent night time creatures, like rabbits and raccoons, scampering away from them. Harry dropped from his perch in the tree, where he had relaxed after hanging his cousin. His body was covered in blood with small creature attributes transforming specific parts of his anatomy.
His hands were dangerous weapons with his hard, steel-like, razor sharp claws. His mouth a pit of wicked teeth. His legs had lengthened and bent awkwardly at a bizarre angles, canine in appearance. He found it easy to run with his enhanced limbs though. His cock was monstrous and large and throbbed, bulging out from his body even though he did not feel particularly aroused.
Whatever he looked like, he was sure it was a terrifying mess of odd lethal parts. Harry was designed to be a weapon, and hadn’t this always been his fate in life? At least Voldemort was honest in his use of Harry.
His Aunt stared mutely from Harry’s bloody form, to the bodies of her wasted family. “What have you done?” She shrieked suddenly into the night. Harry was sure if she had a frying pan she’d be aiming it at his head. “Oh! Dudders, my Duddlykins! What have you done to them you freak! What have you done?” She kept screaming.
Harry laughed in delight, feeling so fully disconnected from everything but this moment for sweet, unpunishable revenge. Every fantasy he had ever had he could act out here, Voldemort expected it, and Harry was hungry on so many levels from this prospect of hurting Petunia.
She flung herself at him, and hit him with her tiny fists, which he barely felt now. She couldn’t hurt him now, his skin really was too thick. She slapped him around his face, and he laughed some more only because it made his Aunt that much madder. She was frantic in her anger, and it made her heart skitter in her fragile chest.
Harry slapped her, and the sound of it echoed through the forest like a gunshot. Petunia fell clasping her jaw, which was hanging at an awkward angle. She remained silent then and slightly dazed. “Why?” she gasped.
Harry sneered and found himself mad enough that he wanted to snap her neck and end this now. “You know why, I know you know why. Do not try to deny your crimes. I’ve come to collect for them.”
Harry circled her, and she watched him warily, trembling every now and then as blood tricked from her nose and lip. “How could you hate her so much you could treat a baby like you did Petunia? How could you treat a child of your own blood like that? Like a servant, you treated me like a bloody servant from the time I could stand and reach the sink and stove.”
Harry roared and lashed out at the pitiful, bitter woman in front of him. “You were always jealous of her but yet you called me a freak. You called us freaks because you wanted to be like us and nothing you did could ever make you that way. You locked me in a cupboard and called me a freak the entire first decade of my life. I never knew love, never knew so much as a simple act of kindness.”
Harry stood from where he was crouched and he heard Petunia hiss in front and smelled urine as she wet herself. Her anger and shock was wearing off and the reality of her own position was setting in. “Please, Harry you must understand how they tricked us, forced us into taking you. They told us it was the only way to keep that madman from coming for us next, He Who Must Not Be Name. We wanted nothing to do with you wizards and your strange ways.”
Harry laughed again and stood. He raised a hand and felt his magic well up, waiting for his command. “Excoriāre.”* Petunia screamed as a thin strip of skin almost an inch wide tore from her back and began to rise and wind through the air like some grotesque, snakelike, skin-viper. It follow Harry’s fingers through the air as he orchestrated his Aunt’s absolute agony.
“You told me my parents were alcoholics that killed themselves in a drunken car accident. You let that fat lump you call a son beat me up, use me like a fucking punching bag, and keep me from making a single friend. You told everybody I was a bloody psycho miscreant. You worked me from sun-up to sun-down, and you never once thought it prudent to celebrate my birthday properly once. Just a fucking cake would have made me happy, a cake with a bloody fucking candle would have given me something to hold onto to. To hope for, but you couldn’t even give me that could you?”
Harry stopped and he panted angrily. “You locked a child in a fucking cupboard and starved him. Don’t worry though Petunia, that boy, that freak, is dead.”
Petunia was all exposed muscles and tendons within the hour, but Harry cast stasis charms, and clarity of mind enchantments to keep her alive and conscious. “Next,” Harry whispered as the last strip of skin tore loose with a squelching sound and a hoarse, weak cry from his Aunt.
“Detraxi*” Petunia’s muscles quivered sickly, and Harry grasped his magic and directed it on a grander scheme, to cut her muscles from bones, to pull them lose and free, spreading her gore around the tiny clearing. She was shaking and seizing much like Vernon had before he had drawn his last breath.
He reached out and touched the weakly beating heart he could see in the chamber of her ribs, and breastbone. She moaned. Blood bubbled from the corners of her mouth. “I always wondered if you had a heart Aunt Petunia. Funny, I imagined it would be black.”
He growled and twisted his hand around the hard organ, crushing it, squeezing blood from its chambers. He broke her ribs in a rage. He felt her spirit depart and did nothing. He had murdered his only link to his Muggle life, the last of his family, if they could ever be called that.
He felt sick for a moment but Harry was nothing if not resilient. He rose and turned in the direction of the manor. He knew simply because he was connected to Voldemort through blood, magic, and creation, and he could feel the man waiting there. He was the man’s Frankenstein. The past was over and this was a new chapter in his crazy nightmare of a life.

Harry knelt in the early morning dew, exhausted and full of flesh and blood. He was covered in the tacky, reddish-brown fluid from his victims, the Dursleys. His muscles ached lightly from his night, but that was fast fading as he made his way back up the steeper incline to the forest beside the Malfoy’s Manor. He sighed when the hill finally stopped rising and he stepped onto even ground and saw the Manor rising ahead in the gloomy dawn.
He walked steadily eyes focused on the sight of his Dark Lord, standing on the third floor balcony that looked over this side of the house, but not the same balcony he had leapt from earlier. The man was waiting for him to appear from the mist, Harry was sure he couldn’t be seen, but he wasn’t so sure the Dark Lord couldn’t sense him the way he could sense the man like a glaring dark star on the bright horizon of the morning.
Harry’s focus broke momentarily, right when the sun actually broke over the distant horizon. He flinched and screamed as his blood boiled, but it was momentary, and then gone. Perhaps, a momentary hiccup in his newly developed genetic makeup, or the reactive instincts within his blood. He continued his trek up to the house.
He could have flown up to the balcony, but he chose to scale the Manor wall instead. A new pressure was building in the pit of his gut, when his eyes first met his Lord’s and saw his pleasure in Harry’s apparently easy acceptance of this new life, in his revelry at shedding the last of his family’s blood, and the last of his connections to that Muggle world.
Harry felt the cool burn of his muscles as his creature sight directed him from one handhold to the next, and carried him over the rail of the balcony in little time. Voldemort stood still at the edge, looking at him as Harry hoisted himself up and perched like a fallen angel on the ledge of the rail. He was pleased with Harry, and he showed it with a crooked smile.
“Harry, did you have fun?”
Harry nodded and slid his legs over the rail settling his feet on the marble balcony. He was nearly as tall as Voldemort as a creature, and it was odd enough meeting the man nearly eye for eye. “You ensured it didn’t you, my Lord?”
“Never say that I am an unkind, greedy Lord to those that serve me well and faithfully.”
“Have I served you well then, my Lord?” Harry whispered as a delicious and dark chill went through him. Harry stepped forward and dropped to his knees. It caused more than a few of his instincts to rear their head at his subservience, but these many months it had become an ingrained habit.
Voldemort shivered and placed a hand on his head. “That you have,” the elder man hissed as his fist tightened in Harry’s hair. “You have served me more faithfully and purposefully than any of my Death Eaters thus far. You have gathered the pieces of my soul and held them close to you in safety. Because of that I can restore myself from some of the madness the splitting of my soul has caused.”
Harry smirked and felted the dried blood on his cheeks flake and fall, the sensation tickling his cheeks. “I think it will restore your former body, though you should practice talking this form. It can be quite intimidating.”
Voldemort chuckled. He brushed a pale, spidery hand across Harry’s brow. “Yes, I have put much thought into it. I believe I will still be able to take this form, but I will regain my devilishly handsome good looks.” He paused and gave Harry a puzzling look. “You’ve never been much intimidated by either of my forms, if I recall correctly.”
“Well, it’s not like I was ever given proper time to work myself up to terror. I was always fighting, I always have been, way before I ever got that blasted letter to Hogwarts. I have been running, and standing my ground, and fighting for my life my entire life. I guess by the time your rise rolled around I was pretty well jaded.”
“Yes, I gathered as much from the memories I stole from your Muggle relations. It is remarkable how similar we are, I wonder if given enough time you could have been persuaded to join my side freely?”
Harry snorted even as he knelt of the cold marble, white fingers twisted cruelly in his hair. “This is the only way I would have joined you,” Harry swore fervently, but he really wasn’t as sure. “I would never have agreed otherwise. You had to do this to me, you had to corrupt me and bring my darkness to the fore.”
Voldemort tsked, “Truly? How can you believe as much when it took so little to convince you to alter the very fabric that makes you, you? You all but drank that potion to become my hybrid creature, my Dark Treasure. I may have threatened you Harry, but I find that your resistance was sorely lacking considering what I asked of you.”
“I was tired of being your plaything, passed from one to the other as you see fit.”
“You are still my plaything,” Voldemort cackled releasing Harry’s hair and pulling him to his feet by magic, so that the boy was eye level with him again. “I command, and you will still answer me.”
“You are my Lord are you not, that is the conditions we agreed to. I can see the futility in fighting you in the grand scheme of things. Will you allow me the freedom of choosing my lovers? Aside from yourself of course?”
Voldemort’s face looked conflicted as he thought on what Harry said. He was a jealous Lord, and he was greedy with his things, even if he claimed not to be. Voldemort grabbed his chin and turned his face from side-to-side. “So be it, have your fun while you are young. There will come a time when I will ask for your faithfulness yet though.”
Harry smiled at the vague threat and nodded. “Very well then, my Lord.” Harry pulled his chin away from Voldemort and turned to the French doors leading to the bedroom of Voldemort’s suite of rooms. It may have been presumptuous but Voldemort was tracking him with a bestial interest, all but licking his chops to see how far he had brought the Golden Boy down.
Harry turned his head and caught Voldemort’s eye when he reached the doors. It was a coy look he sent the man, and the Dark Lord’s eyes flared hotly as he watched Harry moved across the space. “Come to bed my Lord, let me show you just how faithfully I can serve you for the gifts you have bestowed me.”
Voldemort had never followed anyone as easily.

It certainly was no shock to the Death Eaters when Harry Potter joined them at the Malfoy’s long dining table the next morning, but it was a shock when he stepped into the dining room, instead of crawled. It was also a great shock to most that he was clad in the finest robes of the season, order from the Malfoy’s special tailor.
Harry Potter was dressed impeccably in crisp, white, Egyptian linen shirt. The sleeves were rolled neatly up to his elbows. His collar was deep and stiff, but he had left the buttons open exposing a length of his pale neck and the dip of his sternum. He had forgone the deep forest green cravat that had been laid with the suit, but his waist coat was of a matching color, and the darker green made his eyes that much more of a luminous, poisonous green. His pants were made of a black dragon hide so fine and soft it felt like the buttery smooth linen of his shirt. His shoes were plain and black, and he had shined them nicely with a spell he had learned for the Yule Ball in fourth year.
He had no need for glasses, and thus his strange, alien-green eyes met the curious stares of the Death Eaters. He smiled at them, as he sauntered by, now taller than the majority of them. His smile made more than a few of them shudder, he supposed his fangs might do that and he hadn’t bothered to glamour them away. Let them fear him, he would have his revenge on them too, eventually. What did they mean in the grand scheme of things? They were mere pawns, Voldemort only held a very few of them here in high enough regard to make them more than expendable chess pieces.
Lucius motioned him over to a spot to the direct left of him, before Narcissa’s seat. He pulled the chair out and sat down fluidly ignoring the low murmur of gossip, all of which he could clearly make out without even trying. A thick, tall, glass goblet appeared in front of his empty plate as soon as he had finished laying his napkin across his lap. It was filled to the brim with a thick and viscous red fluid, and he knew immediately it was blood from a live victim. He wondered where it had been procured, but shrugged and gulped it down a little too greedily for politeness. It wasn’t Voldemort’s but it provided quick sustenance, and he felt energy wash through his limbs.
“Forgive me, my Lady,” he apologized to Narcissa at her aghast stare. “I’m afraid I was rather parched.” He could hear the others further down the table questioning the contents of his glass as others confirmed they had sighted his fangs when he had come in. They were thrown off by the fact that he sat calmly in the midst of a slash of sunlight that slanted across the table, from the large windows along the wall. If he were a vampire, would he not burst into flames?
Harry was enjoying their obvious confusion. Delighting in the electric thrill of their curiosity, in denying them a suitable answer. Voldemort burst through the doors angrily dragging Wormtail behind him, his magical arm shackled behind him with his regular one. Voldemort cursed him enough to make him wail twice before the man made it up onto his low rise dais before the long table, to speak to the gathered crowd.
Harry felt the tickle of an unspoken order brush across his mind. ‘Come, stand below me on the dais.’ Half of Harry’s body obeyed and the other half rebelled and for a minute he was caught oddly in between. He stepped forward when the tickle became an overwhelming pressure in his head. “My Lord,” he murmured kneeling on the step before he took the position Voldemort desired. It pleased he man.
“Welcome DeathEaters. I have a very special present for tonight’s new initiates. Peter Pettigrew.” Voldemort paused after his name pulling the man forward with magic. “Mr. Pettigrew has made an overly egregious that has caused me more strife than any of you can begin to imagine. He is to be punished for his mistakes, and then executed. Let it be known that when the Dark Lord gives you a task, I expect it to be carried out to the fullest measure of finality.”
Pettigrew squeaked and twisted in his magical bonds. “Please my Lord, I be-gahhh,” he was silenced with a gag, and his mouth closed up causing the man to panic and breath harshly through his nose.
“We shall have contest amongst my new members. We shall see who has the nastiest Crucio.” Voldemort chuckled sinisterly. “Now, bring them forward Lucius.”
Lucius bowed from his place in the front and began weaving through the crowd that had rose from their dinner when Voldemort had burst in, gathering black robed figures from the lower rankings at the end of the table. He gathered a total of seven before Harry found the blonde smirking in front of him. Lucius had a thick ritual black robe draped over his arm and he handed it to Harry with a charming smile.
Lucius placed a hand at the small of his back and gave him a gentle push forward. No one said anything, and judging by the heavy oppressive magic building around the four corners of the room and swirling inward with a tense, purposeful feel, it was wise not to speak. Harry could feel Voldemort’s magic heeding the man’s unspoken incantations.
The initiates were lined up, much like Harry had lined up that first day in Hogwarts for his sorting. He would be marked as Voldemort’s truly. He would take the Dark Mark on his arm, bear that pain, and his place in this war would be finalized. He met Voldemort’s eyes from the back of the line, and they stood staring at each other for many moments before Harry nodded and smiled, a little too eagerly.

*excoriāre- Latin for flay, strip (of skin)
*detraxi- drag, pull, strip, extract, cut out
- 1
- 2
- 3
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

Shattered