Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

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.

Chapter List
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"Lucius, do you have to return to Britain now?" his wife asked in disappointment, following him into the sitting room. "There's only a few days left until Draco has to go back to Hogwarts. Can't you postpone it till then?"

He held back a sigh, more than reluctant to ruin his family's holiday in France by leaving them at the last minute. Unfortunately, he didn't have much of a choice in the matter. "This is out of my hands, Narcissa," Lucius explained again as he donned his cloak, preparing for the floo travel. "My presence is needed, and it's urgent that I handle this business immediately."

The urgency was one that started two nights ago when he’d felt a growing warmth on his forearm; specifically, from the Dark Mark. After all these years, the last thing he expected to see was the reappearance of his mark. The skull and snake tattoo was now jet black in colour, just like it was on the day he first received it.

Thus, it was imperative for him to be in Britain at once and inquire his associates on any news of the Dark Lord's return. If his Lord was truly back, then it would change everything — for his family and their society. Of course, Lucius had yet to mention any of this to his wife since he didn't want to cause her any unnecessary worry.

Narcissa turned away from him, clearly giving him the cold shoulder this time. "Fine then. We'll just stay here and enjoy ourselves, so you're free to do all the business you want."

Ah, perhaps it was almost that time of the month again when she was being difficult. Usually, Narcissa was quite agreeable to his abrupt dealings and very tolerable towards his other activities. Lucius never told her how much he appreciated her compliance in certain aspects of their marriage, though he assumed it had been implied. Looking at her stiff back, Lucius raised his hand, wanting to touch her arm in comfort. But he pulled back in hesitation a second later. No, he had more important things to consider right now.

Lucius turned and walked towards the hearth. Stepping inside, he stared at her one last time. "I hope you'll tell our son to behave himself while I'm gone," he said before tossing in the floo powder. Narcissa whirled around, eyes ablaze and mouth already opened in retort. However, the green flames swept him away before he could hear her response, and Lucius was certain it was not of the flattering kind.

After a minute of dizzying spins in the floo, he finally stepped out into a lavish living room. Lucius brushed the soot from his shoulders, the only sign of his travel and glanced around.

A distinct crack sounded, and his house-elf appeared before him. The creature wrung its hand, staring up at him with wide eyes. "Master Malfoy is early he is. Petsy have to tell master at once. There is som- eep!"

The elf's head was smacked by his cane, silencing the creature instantly. He was in no mood to hear its squeaky voice at the moment. "Prepare the tea and bring it to my study," Lucius ordered as he strolled out of the room.

Walking through the hallways of Malfoy Manor eventually eased the stress from his shoulders, allowing him to rest in familiar surroundings. Portraits of his ancestors were scattered across the walls. They were the highest standing of elegance and always available to offer him any advice. Other than that, many other artifacts filled the manor, gathered from all around the magical world — and even some of rare origins. It brought him a certain amount of pride to call this his home.

Finally reaching his study, he unlocked the oak door and entered... only to see a man sitting behind his desk. Lucius swiftly pulled out his wand, about to demand who the wizard was. But his wand was instantly knocked out of his hand by a strong magical force, landing far out of his reach on the other side of the room. Anger and panic rose within him until he tried to crush it down. This was not the time to be overwhelmed by such emotions because he had to find a way out of this situation and kill the bast—

"Hello, Lucius."

The smooth and dark baritone of the voice gave him pause before he quickly became insulted by the use of his first name. Lucius observed the man as he tried to inconspicuously edge toward the door. Raven locks framed the handsome face that spoke of pureblood heritage and a charming smile fit for the political arena. Yet behind the smile, there was the promise of a certain malicious cruelty. However, it wasn't until Lucius peered into the eyes - the blood red eyes - that he knew without a doubt who this man was.

Lord Voldemort.

He found his mouth to be dry suddenly while the air in his lungs compressed too tightly. The Dark Lord appeared quite at home, lounging in his chair and drinking his favourite wine. And right in his lord's hands was the item Lucius had been entrusted to keep safe all these years: the Diary.

The door to his study closed without any gesture from his lord, and the sound of the click as it locked was more ominous than any uttered curse. The Dark Lord gracefully stood up then, nearly startling him at the unexpected movement. The other wizard caressed the cover of the diary with one hand almost fondly before placing it back upon the desk.

It was possibly the most idiotic thing he'd ever done, standing there in a numb trance while his lord walked towards him. He could do nothing but watch and hold in the shiver as the Dark Lord's form radiated pure power.

"Why so stunned, Lucius?" the Dark Lord drawled, stalking closer. "Surely, you out of all my followers still believed in my return."

His voice seemed to have deserted him because he couldn't draw any strength to speak a single word at this point. It was as if his mind had refused to process the actuality of the Dark Lord being in his study of all places.

It was then that the Dark Lord drew out the familiar bone-white wand, the sight even deadlier. "Or perhaps years of my absence have softened that resolve of yours?"

Completely filled with dread, he was about to answer his lord, but the other wizard continued on in the next moment, not yet finished.

"Well, that hardly matters now," his lord added with a cold smirk, "since you shall be reminded of your oath soon enough."

The Dark Lord now stood a little more than an arm's reach from him. The red eyes bore into his, trapping him within its depth. He was falling deeply under the gaze and uncertain if he could ever escape it. Clearly as the winter morning, he knew there was only one choice left for him.

Lucius placed his right fist over his heart and bowed deeply. "My Lord," his voice was steady, but the slight quaver could still be identified by an experienced ear. Of course, the Dark Lord was more than adept at reading him for as long as he could remember. But there was something he'd forgotten also. Forgotten how the ties to one's lord were not so easily broken or abandon.

Not even in death.

o-O-o

The growl from the three-headed dog reverberated all the way to his feet as they entered the room. Quirrell hid the grimace from his face as Hagrid cooed at the beast. Maybe this was not such a good idea after all.

"Thanks for helpin' me carry Fluffy's food, Professor Quirrell," said the half-giant, dropping the shovel and wheel barrel to the side.

"Oh, it is n-no trouble at all, H-hagrid," Quirrell said as he waved his wand to lower the crates of meat on the ground. "I h-have the time since t-the house-elves are t-taking care of the troll."

"Yeah, very strange that. The house-elves hate goin' anywhere near Fluffy, but they have no trouble at all with that troll of yours."

The beast barked ferociously as its eyes glowed in cold hunger while its fur stood on end. Yet it were the fangs, sharp as daggers, that gave him concern. It was truly not an animal to trifle with lightly. And the oaf wondered why the elves wouldn't go near the three-headed dog. At least the troll was too thick to recognise the little creatures as a potential meal.

"Don' worry, Professor," reassured Hagrid, seeing the look he was giving the beast. "Fluffy is very well behaved when it's feedin' time."

The half-giant then threw a crate of meat at the animal, and the three heads rushed in, fighting over the slabs of meat. They were quite involved with their meal, tearing and chomping away, but their eyes remained on tracking his movements. Always ready to pounce if he ever took a step closer.

Despite his master's order to wait for now, he still wanted to steal the stone and prove to the Dark Lord his worth as a wizard. So far, Quirrell hadn't found a way to pass the three-headed dog yet, since the beast was highly resistant to any magical attacks. Efforts to trick the half-giant into revealing a method had been useless, and all he got for his trouble was an anecdote of how all magical beasts were just misunderstood creatures.

"You're lookin' a little pale there, Professor," Hagrid mentioned, scratching his scruffy beard speculatively. "Maybe Madam Pomfrey can check on yeh?"

"Oh, I'm just re-recovering from a b-bad cold," he told the groundskeeper. "N-nothing I can't handle."

Unfortunately, he was still weak from his master's possession, and it would take a few more weeks to regain his magical strength. In truth, Quirrell was quite glad to finally have his body back and not have to worry about his health. Still, that didn't change the fact that aiding in his master's return to full power was his proudest achievement to date.

"That's good to hear," said Hagrid, tossing another meaty piece to the left head. "Hmm, I wonder why Professor Dumbledore wanted us to check on the protections every day now. Everything looks fine to me."

"It's m-most likely the Headmaster b-being cautious in case a-anything occurred."

No, that wasn't exactly it. Dumbledore knew or at least suspected the Dark Lord to have somehow returned. That's why the headmaster was so concerned over the stone. It didn't take much to realise who might have revealed that little information. Even he could plainly see the increased agitation in the potions master's demeanor after the holidays, and Quirrell was certain it had more to do than just teaching students.

"Yeah, that's probably it," agreed the groundskeeper. "Well, time to clean up their mess." With shovel in one hand and a wheel barrel in the other, Hagrid moved to the other side of the room to the large pile of...

Apparently, their excrements were quite resistant to magic also.

Once again, his eyes landed on the trap door. If only he could subdue the beast fast enough to get through the door, then everything after that would be easy. Quirrell was certain he could overcome the other protections in place and reach the stone with no trouble. Maybe when the chance presented itself, he wou—

A large shadow suddenly fell over him, and he glimpsed up to see white fangs.

"Professor, watch out!"

In one quick swoop, the jaws closed down in a loud snap. With reflexes he didn't know he possessed, Quirrell dove to the side. The many sharp fangs missed him as he landed far enough away from its reach. Now, sprawled on the floor in an almost stunned stupor, Quirrell swiftly took stock of his limbs. Relief washed over him as everything appeared to be intact... yet, there was something quite not there.

"Bad, Fluffy! Let go of Professor Quirrell's turban righ’ now!"

He touched his head in realisation and gaped incredulously. His bald head was now gleaming brightly and proudly in the lowly lit room. It was also slathered in saliva.

Hagrid pulled him to his feet. "Sorry 'bout that, Professor Quirrell. Fluffy was just playin', that's all."

Playing? Hagrid must truly be stupid or blind to not see his pet's vicious appetite for human flesh.

"It's all right, I'll get it back for yeh," the groundskeeper said, approaching the dog again with loud cooing sounds.

No, he was wrong. The half-giant was completely mental and shouldn't be allowed anywhere near sane people.

Eventually, his turban was wrestled free from one of its slobbering jaws. He should have been upset with the beast because his favourite turban was now ruined. But only one thought ran through his mind as Quirrell wiped the drool off his head: He really should listen to his master.

o-O-o

His fists tightened painfully. They were all laughing.

Every one of his house mates were sitting in the Gryffindor common room and laughing at Neville. Harry avoided their smiling faces and concentrated on the other boy instead. Neville was on the verge of tears as he tried to navigate through the room under the Leg-Locker Curse. He saw Ron frowning in disapproval — not at Neville but at what had been done to him.

Hermoine was the only one to get up and help Neville with the curse before ushering the boy into a little corner of the room. Her attempts at consolation were more on the line of reprimands for the culprits than any real comfort. The expression on Neville's face suggested he didn't want to involve himself any further with Malfoy by reporting him.

Harry hated bullying. He could never stand it when Dudley and his group of friends would single him out. The taunting and physical intimidation always showed how powerless he was to stop them. He had never understood why they liked to hurt other people or rejoice in another person's misfortune. But sometimes, just sometimes, he wished for them to feel what it was like to be teased and pushed into a corner. And sometimes, he wanted them to know how it felt to be helpless.

Anger burned in his chest all of a sudden.

Harry breathed out slowly, trying to reign in his running emotions before glancing back at his friend. The red head still looked like he wanted to do something but was unable to decide exactly what.

"Here, Ron," he said, handing him a chocolate frog box from his bag, "you can give this to Neville — help cheer him up."

"Huh? Why can't you do it yourself?" asked his friend, although he still took the box. "We can both go over there."

Harry shook his head. "Can't," he lied, needing to be elsewhere in order to calm down, "I just remember something that I have to ask Professor Flitwick about."

He was useless when it came to deceiving people and that was such an obvious excuse if he'd ever heard one. Luckily, Ron didn't question it, probably because the red head had already made up his mind about walking over there.

"Well, if you're sure..."

"Positive," he answered with a reassuring smile. "Go on, Ron. I'll be back later."

"All right, Harry," Ron stood up in determination, "but I'll still tell Neville this is from you."

He waved his friend away in agreement before quickly grabbing his bag. In the next moment, Harry was out of the common room and walking down the corridor. There really wasn't any destination in mind, only the desire to be away from everyone else for a while. Other students were mingling around the castle, and Harry tried to ignore their quiet whispers as he strode by.

Despite the months he'd been here, there were still some people in awe with him as the Boy-Who-Lived. Harry tried not to let it bother him too much since he was used to the staring and whispering from his neighbors in Privet Drive. If there was one thing the Dursleys were good at, it was spreading rumours of him being a deranged delinquent. At least no one here was giving him any reproachful looks.

His aimless stroll eventually took him to an empty corridor, one that led to a tower overlooking the lake. Deciding that this was the best place for some solitude, he climbed the stairs. Lately, his emotions had been jumping all over the place, and he was having trouble just sorting them out; Harry could be bored one second and in the next, he would be excited for no reason at all. Hopefully, he was just going through some phase that would soon pass.

Opening the door, sunlight was the first thing he noticed, bathing a section of the tower in warm colours. From the amount of dust, no one had been in here for a long time. There weren't that many types of furniture other than for a sofa and low table in the center, probably having seen better days. What drew him forward though were the large windows around most of the stone walls.

Walking closer, the view almost took his breath away. Harry stared at the rich forest and high mountains stretching out into the horizon. The deep lake reflected the sun's rays and the serene blue of the sky was a balm on his nerves. Harry gradually relaxed, content with watching the clouds float by and letting his mind wander. For the first time in days, he felt at peace with himself.

"You remind me of him."

His heart jumped to his throat in surprise as he twisted around at the voice. A female ghost with waist-length hair and adorned in a long cloak stared at him. It was strange seeing a ghost at this moment since they’d made themselves quite scarce in the last few months. Even Sir Nicholas was hardly seen around the Gryffindor tower anymore.

He shook himself from his thoughts as her words finally registered. "Excuse me?"

She drifted closer, her figure so translucent that he could see the beam of dust through her. "He once stood there as you do now, looking out into the vast skies."

"Uh..." Harry was at a loss for words with that information, not to mention her abrupt appearance. Feeling particularly befuddled at the moment, his next response was, "Who stood here?"

The ghost either didn't sense his confusion or had chosen to ignore it entirely because she continued on. "He would often come to this tower... always by himself," she was staring off into the lake as a forlorn expression flitted across her face until it was impassive once again. "Always alone."

"I'm sorry, but I don't know who you're talking about," he said, trying to inch away from her. Really, Harry just wanted some time to himself, not have a conversation with a ghost that was starting to weird him out.

The ghost turned to him, her head tilted as she regarded him. "You look just like him," she whispered. "He was so strong... so handsome."

Harry really didn't know how to reply to that. His aunt always told him he looked like a scrawny ruffian that was picked up from the streets. Then again, Aunt Petunia didn't really help by giving him Dudley's cast offs.

"And he seemed so kind," she went on with a sigh, "but I was wrong."

"Oh," he shifted awkwardly, feeling way out of his element in this situation.

"I wonder... will you become like him?"

Unexpectedly, he was irked by her assumption of his character. The ghost just met him, and she was already judging him. "Excuse me, but who is he?" Harry asked roughly, more than frustrated with the topic now. Though a small part of him was curious about this person she was comparing him to.

Her pale eyes met his before traveling up to his forehead. She then floated away before Harry could question her any further. The ghost was barely visible now as she faded from the tower, but her voice echoed loud and clear.

"He was the one who gave you that scar."

o-O-o

The walls of the cave exploded and large chunks fell into the water as his rage went unabated. The inferi kept their distance, watching him from afar with only their eyes above the water's surface. Even without a mind, they were sentient enough to know him as their creator, and the one powerful enough to end their existence.

Yet a lone inferius, once a female wizard, came crawling onto the island. The thing was mostly gray skin over bones, with eyes reflecting only empty black holes. It stretched a hand towards him, as if begging for salvation. Still consumed with anger, Voldemort simply flicked his wand. Red hot light shot out, melting the inferius slowly from the inside out until it was nothing more than a puddle of decay.

He stopped his rampage soon after and stood in rigid silence, trying to calm his thoughts. It wouldn't do to lose his temper now when he'd already been through this once. Last time, he assumed Potter had somehow taken his Locket from the cave. Apparently, it was stolen long before then.

R.A.B.

He stared at the initials until his mind could call up a name. One that he hadn't thought of in years: Regulus. That particular wizard was one he had overlooked as just another of his useless followers... but it seemed he was wrong. Voldemort glared again at the words that infuriated him the most.

I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can.

The paper then ignited into flames, turning to ashes in his hands a moment later. His Locket destroyed? No, that was not true. In the past, he wouldn’t have been able to feel the destruction of his Horcruxes. However, this time, he’d learned how to feel the connection to his soul pieces despite the long physical distance. If Voldemort concentrated with enough focus and magic, he could still sense his Horcrux somewhere out there.

It was still alive.

o-O-o

Severus swallowed the rest of his drink in one gulp. The sound of chattering in the restaurant was a welcomed distraction from the usual annoyance he found it to be. He was sitting at a table in the back of the room, having only been here a couple times before. It was a small establishment, located in Diagon Alley and cleaner than the Leaky Cauldron; that alone was good enough for him.

In these past few weeks, he had been completely on edged. Seeing the Dark Mark slowly regain its colour on his forearm nearly made his heart stop. Shock and fear dominated his senses as he refused to accept the evidence in front of him. Severus didn't know how long it took before any measure of logic came back, but he'd quickly gone to find Dumbledore soon afterwards.

The Headmaster had taken the news better than he thought with only the slight narrowing of the eyes. Immediately, they had rushed down to check on the stone, both wondering if the protections were broken. To their astonishment and relief, the stone was still safe, but then the real problem became apparent. Lord Voldemort had somehow returned.

The Dark Lord was back without the aid of the stone; after a decade of peace, he was finally back. And now… now it was just a waiting game for him. Waiting for the familiar burn from the dark mark to call and trap him again. Severus was not certain if he was prepared for his role as a spy — to bow and serve a wizard he no longer believed in. But he would do that and more. All because of Lily.

"I hope you weren't waiting too long."

He berated himself for being inattentive and looked up to see the tall figure of Lucius Malfoy. The wizard appeared as regal as always, dressed in opulent back robes with his cane in hand. Yet there was a dwindling exhaustion behind the man's stance that was hardly noticeable.

"Just long enough to finish a glass of fire whiskey," Severus eventually replied, raising the empty glass for the other wizard to see.

"Really, Severus — fire whiskey? Out of all the drinks you could have ordered, you have to choose such a plebeian one," huffed Lucius in exasperation.

He smirked at his friend's comment. "Don't worry; I already called for you a glass of Balthazar's Burgundy instead."

Lucius had always been picky about his drinks. Actually, the man was quite selective with just about everything, including the type of leather his boots should be made out of. The overly privileged certainly were of a different mind frame, somewhere along the lines of mentally loose and thoroughly spoiled.

A waiter was signaled over to refill his drink and pour a glass for the Malfoy patriarch. Once the server left, he subtly casted a privacy charm around them. It was proof to how much Lucius was accustomed to his cautionary habit when the man gave no outward reaction to the spell.

"How are you?" Severus asked. "You seem to have been quite busy as of late." Busy was putting it lightly. He sent an owl to the other man a few days after the Dark Mark's reappearance, and only now was Lucius able to see him.

"I admit business has kept me occupied more than I would have liked."

"Oh? Then is it the kind of business that will interest me?" This was what he wanted to inquire Lucius about. He had already asked the other Death Eaters about any possible news of the Dark Lord. Unfortunately, they had no information at all — just clueless and anxious wizards anticipating to be summoned by their master.

"Of course it will interest you," Lucius scoffed, eyes almost rolling at his veiled question. A frown then marred the man's features. "Your mark has returned."

That statement conveyed the very core of the matter and the reason why they were both here. It seemed his friend did not want to dawdle around the subject this time.

"The same as yours I believe," Severus admitted.

Lucius stared into his drink, appearing to mull over his response. "I have questioned some of our past associates concerning this recent 'change', and they have all answered the same: Their marks have darkened, but there remains no word of the Dark Lord as of yet."

"You mean none of them have heard a single whisper or a sign of his presence?"

The other wizard sighed in resignation. "I know as much as you do, Severus."

Something didn't feel right. Severus didn't know what to expect out of this discussion, but suspicion was not it. Out of all the Death Eaters, Lucius was the most likely one to be summoned. If the other wizard knew nothing, then who else could the Dark Lord call upon?

Severus took another sip, barely tasting the whiskey now. "Do you believe he is back?"

"I don't know what to believe, but it is a possibility," his friend's tone was uncertain. "What about that old fool? Does Dumbledore suspect anything amiss so far?"

"Of course not," the lie easily flowed out.

"Hopefully, he will stay oblivious."

His head nodded in agreement even though his mind protested otherwise. "What are your plans now?" he asked instead. "You must have prepared something since this all began."

"Some of my plans have changed," Lucius said vaguely, "but I won't be doing much of anything yet until the need arises."

"I see," disappointment dropped heavily in his stomach at the ambiguous reply. Suddenly, he found it too tense to continue on with the conversation.

They sat in quiet contemplation then. The silence separating them more than any real distance could.

Lucius finished his glass of wine and stood up, placing a few galleons on the table to pay for their drinks. "I apologise for cutting this short, Severus, but I have another engagement to attend to."

A moment's breath was all he had to act before it was too late.

"Lucius," Severus grabbed his friend's forearm before the wizard could take another step – right above the Dark Mark. "Has he contacted you?"

The Malfoy patriarch was still for a moment, and something fragile seemed to be hanging between them now. "I still wait for his return, Severus," whispered Lucius before gently prying his hand away. Without another word, his friend walked out of the restaurant.

He stared at his hand, feeling a sense of loss for some odd reason. The other wizard's reluctance to reveal anything was disconcerting, but it was not what troubled him the most.

Throughout their discussion, not once did Lucius look him in the eyes.

o-O-o

This was a muggle neighborhood. This was the place where his Locket was hidden.

Voldemort would have raged at the indignity of it all if he didn't sense the wards layered before him, concealing a wizard's home. Only through the connection with his Horcrux was he able to locate its hiding place at all. Incidentally, this was also the old hide-out for the Order of the Phoenix that Yaxley discovered, and it was in his favour that the Fidelius Charm was not yet casted.

Going through the wards was child's play, and the door opened easily under his magic, creaking loudly as it slowly revealed a darkened hallway. The peeling wallpaper and cobwebs attested to the years of disrepair, but they were nothing compared to the old musty smell that greeted him. Obviously, no one had bothered to clean the place up.

Not sensing any enchantments that would hinder him further, Voldemort quickly strode through the hallway, passing an empty portrait and up the stairs to the first landing, following the connection to his locket. He soon entered into what seemed to be the drawing room, and at once, his eyes zeroed in on the glass case at the far wall. His Horcrux was calling out to him as clear as ever.

He opened the glass case, ignoring the other items strewn inside and reached for his locket. The Horcrux hummed pleasantly in his hand as he picked it up, evidently happy to be reunited with him. It was an honest relief to discover his soul piece in perfect condition and completely unharmed despite its theft.

"Wizard does not belong here."

Voldemort paused slightly and looked over his shoulder to see a lowly house-elf. His eyes narrowed at the creature, ignoring its insolence for now. The thing should be old beyond its uses, judging by the many folds of skin and white hair peeking out of its ear. However, on closer inspection, there was an air of familiarity around the thing... it was then that he recognised the elf. It was the elf he used to test his potion on – the one he’d left to die in the cave: Regulus' house-elf. Suddenly, it all made sense.

"Tell me, elf," he sneered, raising the locket up. "Did your master order you to take this?"

A strangled sound of surprise slipped out from the creature once its eyes rested on the Horcrux. "You cannot have that!" the elf wailed, stepping closer in an attempt to seize the locket.

"Crucio."

The creature dropped to the floor and writhed uncontrollably as it screamed in pain. After a few seconds, he canceled the spell, already revolted by the sight.

"You were saying?" Voldemort asked again as he placed the Horcrux in the pocket of his robe.

The elf remained on the ground and panted heavily through its mouth. It then attempted to stand back up, even though its limbs were still trembling from the curse. "Kreacher must destroy it," the thing groaned out. "Master Regulus told Kreacher to destroy it."

His eyes took on a harsh gleam as the urge to kill the elf heightened. "Now, why shall I allow you to destroy what is mine?"

The elf froze at his claim. Voldemort could literally see when the meaning sunk in for the creature when the tremors in its body renewed in intensity. "You —," the elf spat, a finger pointed accusingly in his direction. "You made Kreacher drink the nasty potion!"

The smirk that surfaced would be considered malevolently smug if his followers saw it. "Figured that out on your own, did you?"

The creature glared at him and straightened its back stubbornly. "Wizard cannot have the locket. Give it back to Kreacher."

In response to that, the red colour of the Cruciatus Curse was once again flung at the elf. Instead of taking the curse, the creature jumped away and snapped its fingers, a triumphant light entering its eyes.

The sound of piano keys caught his attention, and he peered to the side to see a large piano hurling towards him through the air. Voldemort slashed his wand vertically, cutting the piano directly down the middle. The two half pieces flew passed him, almost brushing his shoulders and landed with a resounding crash through the walls behind him.

Before the creature could snap its fingers again, a sickly coloured curse flew from his wand, managing to strike the elf. The thing cried out in agony as all the skin from its hands peeled off, revealing raw flesh. Taking advantage of the pain, Voldemort shot the Killing Curse. Just as the green light was about to hit, the elf disapparated from the spot and left the spell to smash onto the floor.

He sneered at its cowardice, expecting nothing less from such a creature. Their magic was weak and nothing compared to a wizard's, so of course it would run away. Although, it aggravated him to new levels to know the elf had escaped from him. Not wanting to waste any more time over a house-elf, he decided to take his leave. Voldemort walked down the stairs until he reached the dark hallway. It was then that he felt a slight breeze over his head. Glancing up, he saw the cause.

Dozens of kitchen knives and forks were floating in the air – all pointed towards him. A precarious glint was all the warning it gave before they all rushed down on him. He dodged two that were the closest and transfigured the rest into bubbles, which then floated away harmlessly. The encounter left him mostly unscathed except for the edges of his sleeves that were torn.

Voldemort scanned the hallway, deeply shocked at the elf's tenacity and impudence to battle him. House-elves should be inferior and subservient to wizards in every way, but this one elf had the gall to act otherwise. He tried to feel the elf's magic but found that he was unable to sense it.

A loud crack sounded behind him. "Give it back!" the elf yelled, throwing a pot of boiling water in his direction.

Before the liquid could splash him, he manipulated the water to evaporate into warm steam, and using that as cover, casted another dark curse. The spell managed to hit the elf in the chest, breaking a few of its ribs. Another scream of misery, and it annoyingly popped away once more. Voldemort stood calmly, preparing himself for its next attack and adamant on not being caught off guard. Nothing occurred as he waited while silently taking in every shift of the shadows in case it was the creature.

The familiar crack came from above, and the elf was on his back with a frying pan in one hand as it aimed for his head. A blast of magic sent the creature flying across the hallway. He swiftly conjured a long sword, sharp enough to slice through bone and banished it towards the elf. It struck true. The sword pierced through the elf's shoulder, embedding it to the floor and preventing it from disappearing again.

Voldemort took his time approaching the house-elf as murderous intent spilled from his aura, so potent that it would have suffocated a person's senses. He viewed the creature at his feet, discovering that it was still alive but too critically injured to move in any form.

"How dare you – a mere house-elf – attack me," he said with a certain degree of malice rarely heard even from his enemies.

Not only that but the creature had also stolen his locket from the cave. And if he understood correctly, it had been attempting to destroy his Horcrux since then. It was hard to believe that all of this was committed on the orders of a dead man. Perhaps he had underestimated Regulus in his determination to defy him.

A harsh cough met his statement when the elf attempted to speak. "Kr-kreacher dare... because Kreacher is... a loyal elf... of the H-house.... of Black..." the thing gasped out, blood most likely filling its lung now. The round eyes were drenched in pain, seeming to stare past him somewhere.

Voldemort turned his head slightly to the stairs, wondering what had caught its attention. A cold smile slowly reached his lips. "Yes, you certainly are," he murmured, his gaze returning to the elf, "and for that loyalty you shall be rewarded."

Kreacher shivered, feeling the sadistic glee behind his words.

A few moments later, he stood immaculately in his clean robes, as if it hadn't been through a storm of flying kitchen supplies. With the locket now back in his possession, Voldemort glimpsed at the aftermath of that little scuffle, and satisfied with his work, he disapparated away.

The elf's bloodied and decapitated head now hung upon the wall, joining the rest of its brethren in their loyal service.

TBC
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Twice into the Abyss