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In Servitude of the Dark : My Obiesance	By : xXxLuckyxXx Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Voldemort Views: 39424 -:- Recommendations : 5 -:- Currently Reading : 12
Disclaimer: This story is based off of J.K. Rowling’s amazing Harry Potter series. All characters, locations, themes from the world of HP belong to her. This is not for money or profit. I am just having fun playing in her magical world.

Chapter List
- 3
- 4
- 5
A/N: I am HORRIBLE at writing Quidditch scenes…which means the quidditch scene here was taken out of Rowling’s Goblet of Fire, with only minor adjustments. If you want to skip through the Quidditch part, you will not miss anything important, and its only 3 out of 11 pages. The segment will be denoted by {…} for your convenience.

Just be sure to read the DE riot towards the second half. It is vital to the rest of the story.

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(¯`·._.·(¯`·._.·(¯`·._.· In Servitude to the Dark: My Obeisance ·._.·´¯)·._.·´¯)·._.·´¯)

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Chapter 22 : Quidditch World Cup Disaster! – August 8, 1994

When Harry made it back to lot #4, dusk was fast approaching and a sense of excitement rose like a palpable cloud over the camp. The still summer air itself seemed to be quivering with anticipation, and as darkness spread like a curtain over the thousands of waiting wizards, the last vestiges of pretense disappeared: the Ministry seemed to have bowed to the inevitable and stopped fighting the signs of blatant magic now breaking out everywhere.

Harry shared the snacks he bought with his guardians and passed out the omnioculars. Sirius spent a good half hour tinkering and discovering all the cool little features. “We didn’t have this sort of thing 12 years ago…oh, look! It has a slow motion replay function too!”

And then a deep, booming gong sounded somewhere beyond the woods, and at once, green and red lanterns blazed into life in the trees, lighting a path to the field.

"It's time!" Sirius, jumped to his feet and pulled Harry up with him. "Come on, let's go!"

They walked through the woods for twenty minutes, following the lantern lit trail. At last they emerged on the other side and found themselves in the shadow of a gigantic stadium, though Harry could see only a fraction of the immense gold walls surrounding the field.

"Seats a hundred thousand," Sirius said, spotting the awestruck look on Harry's face. "I heard the Ministry task force of 500 worked on it all year. Muggle Repelling Charms on every inch of it.” Sirius shook his head as if in disbelief as he led the way toward the nearest entrance, which was already surrounded by a swarm of shouting witches and wizards.

"Prime seats!" said the Ministry witch at the entrance when she checked their tickets. "VIP Box! Straight upstairs, Mr. Black, and as high as you can go."

The stairs into the stadium were carpeted in rich purple. They clambered upward squeezing through the crowd. After much jostling, and Harry grumbling about being short, they finally reached the top of the staircase and found themselves in a small box, set at the highest point of the stadium and situated exactly halfway between the golden goal posts. About twenty purple-and-gilt chairs stood in two rows here, and Harry, filing into the front seats, looked down upon a scene the likes of which he could never have imagined.

Everything was suffused with a mysterious golden light, which seemed to come from the stadium itself. The field looked smooth as velvet from their lofty position. At either end of the field stood three goal hoops, fifty feet high; almost at Harry's eye level.

The box filled gradually around them over the next half hour. There was an awkward moment when Sirius bluntly asked Arthur where the rest of his family was, since Harry hadn’t told him about what happened with Bagman. Arthur stuttered a bit and shot a glance at a sheepish Harry. Ironically, it was Cornelius Fudge, who butted in and saved them from even more awkwardness.

"Harry Potter, you know," Fudge told the Bulgarian minister loudly, stealing Harry from between his guardians and pushing him forward. "Harry Potter… oh come on now, you know who he is… the boy who survived You-Know-Who… you do know who he is -"

The Bulgarian wizard suddenly spotted Harry's scar and started gabbling loudly and excitedly, pointing at it. Harry tried not to roll his eyes. Andromeda would somehow find out and kill him.

"Knew we'd get there in the end," said Fudge wearily to Harry. "I'm no great shakes at languages; I need Barty Crouch for this sort of thing … ah, and here's my old friend, Lucius!"

It shouldn’t have been a surprise that the Malfoy Family would sit up here with them, but for some reason, Harry was. Lucius, his son, and a woman Harry supposed must be Draco's mother were edging along the second row to three still-empty seats.

"Ah, Cornelius," said Mr. Malfoy, holding out his hand as he reached the Minister of Magic. "How are you? You remember my wife, Narcissa? Or our son, Draco?"

"How do you do, how do you do?" said Fudge, smiling and bowing to Mrs. Malfoy. "And allow me to introduce you to Mr. Oblansk - Obalonsk - Mr. - well, he's the Bulgarian Minister of Magic, and he can't understand a word I'm saying anyway, so never mind. And let's see who else - you know Arthur Weasley and Sirius Black, I daresay?"

There was a tense moment with Sirius and Arthur glaring at Lucius. Lucius looked down at Arthur condescendingly before dismissing him as unimportant and turning to Sirius. "It’s a shame what happened with the whole Azkaban business, a real shame," Lucius said shaking his head mockingly. "Times were interesting then, weren’t they?"

This illicit a growl from Sirius, and Severus had to hold him back. “Always a pleasure, Lucius,” Severus interrupted in a similarly cool and smooth tone.

Lucius narrowed his eyes and glanced pointedly at Sirius and Harry, as if to say ‘what on earth are you doing with them.’

Fudge, who wasn't listening, said, "Lucius has just given a very generous contribution to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries."

"How - how nice," Harry answered, with a very strained smile, because it looked like all the adults were locked in some kind of glaring contest.

Luckily, under the gaze of the Minister of Magic, Lucius didn't dare say anything outright. He nodded sneeringly to them and continued down the line to his seats. Draco shot Harry contemptuous look, then settled himself between his mother and father.

"Slimy gits," Harry muttered as he turned to face the field again. Sirius nodded in agreement.

Next moment, Ludo Bagman charged into the box, deftly avoiding the Twin’s attempts to get a hold of him. "Everyone ready?" he said, excitedly. "Minister - ready to go?"

"Ready when you are, Ludo," said Fudge comfortably.

Ludo whipped out his wand, directed it at his own throat, and said "Sonorus!" and then spoke over the roar of sound that was now filling the packed stadium; his voice echoed over them, booming into every corner of the stands. All thoughts of the Malfoys flew from Harry’s mind. "Ladies and gentlemen… welcome! Welcome to the final of the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup!"

The spectators screamed and clapped. Thousands of flags waved, adding their discordant national anthems to the racket. The huge blackboard opposite them was wiped clear of its last message and now showed BULGARIA: 0, IRELAND: 0.

The opening show from Bulgaria consisted of a dancing and singing team of veelas that swept across the field, ensnaring nearly every male in the stands. Sirius, however, was more interested in his godson’s reaction---or lack there of. “Have you ever seen Veelas before?” he asked, noticing how Harry wasn’t drooling like a stars-truck teen.

“I’ve read a little about them,” Harry replied offhandedly and glanced at the Veelas with only academic interest. He wondered what could make their skin shine moon-bright like that, or their white-gold hair fan out behind them without wind…

Sirius remained puzzled by the non-answer. So what did that mean?

“Harry’s an occlumens, Black,” Severus interjected, answering Sirius’ unasked question. Occlumens, by nature of their shielded minds, were not affected by the Veelas’ enchanting music.

Unfortunately, this still left Sirius just as clueless on whether his godson favored girls or boys.

Following after the Veelas were the leprechauns of Ireland. They came in the formation of giant green shamrocks, which rose up into the sky and began raining down what looked like gold nuggets.

“Fools gold,” Severus explained, unimpressed. He had erected a shield around himself to keep from getting pelted by the falling gold. “Ridiculous waste of space, not even useful as a potion’s ingredient.”

Bagman then announced the Bulgarian Quidditch team, as each player, shot out onto the field from an entrance far below, moving so fast that they only looked like red blurs. When Krum’s name was called, it seemed like half the stadium jumped to their feet, screaming even louder.

"And now, please greet - the Irish National Quidditch Team!" Bagman had to yell just to be heard, even with the sonorous. Seven green blurs swept onto the field.

{Quidditch Scene Starts Here}

Omnioculars in place, Harry watched closely as Mostafa mounted his broomstick and kicked the crate open - four balls burst into the air: the scarlet Quaffle, the two black Bludgers, and the minuscule, winged Golden Snitch.

With a sharp blast on his whistle, Mostafa shot into the air after the balls.

"Theeeeeeeey're OFF!" screamed Bagman. "And it's Mullet! Troy! Moran! Dimitrov! Back to Mullet! Troy! Levski! Moran!"

It was Quidditch as Harry had never seen it played before. He was pressing his Omnioculars so hard to face that they were cutting into the bridge of his nose. The speed of the players was incredible - the Chasers were throwing the Quaffle to one another so fast that Bagman only had time to say their names.

Harry made sure his omnioculars were on record, recognizing several plays, which he would like to study in more detail later on.

The Irish Chasers were superb. They worked as a seamless team, their movements so well coordinated that they appeared to be reading one another's minds as they positioned themselves. And within ten minutes, Ireland had scored twice more, bringing their lead to thirty-zero and causing a thunderous tide of roars and applause from the greenclad supporters.

The match became still faster, but more brutal. Volkov and Vulchanov, the Bulgarian Beaters, were whacking the Bludgers as fiercely as possible at the Irish Chasers, and were starting to prevent them from using some of their best moves; twice they were forced to scatter, and then, finally, Ivanova managed to break through their ranks; dodge the Keeper, Ryan; and score Bulgaria's first goal.

"Dimitrov! Levski! Dimitrov! Ivanova - oh I say!" roared Bagman. One hundred thousand wizards gasped as the two Seekers, Krum and Lynch, plummeted through the center of the Chasers, so fast that it looked as though they had just jumped from airplanes without parachutes. Harry followed their descent through his Omnioculars, squinting to see where the Snitch was –

"They're going to crash!" screamed someone behind Harry.

That was only half right - at the very last second, Viktor Krum pulled out of the dive and spiraled off. Lynch, however, hit the ground with a dull thud that could be heard throughout the stadium. A huge groan rose from the Irish seats.

"It's time-out!" yelled Bagman's voice, "as trained mediwizards hurry onto the field to examine Aidan Lynch!"

"He'll be okay, he only got ploughed!" Sirius said as if trying to convince himself. "Which is what Krum was after, of course…"

Harry hastily pressed the replay and play-by-play buttons on his Omnioculars, twiddled the speed dial, and put them back up to his eyes. He watched as Krum and Lynch dived again in slow motion. WRONSKI DEFENSIVE FEINT - DANGEROUS SEEKER DIVERSION read the shining purple lettering across his lenses. He saw Krum's face contorted with concentration as he pulled out of the dive just in time, while Lynch was flattened, and he understood - Krum hadn't seen the Snitch at all, he was just making Lynch copy him.

Harry turned his Omnioculars back to normal and focused them on Krum. He was now circling high above Lynch, who was being revived by mediwizards, using this time to look for the Snitch without interference.

Lynch got to his feet at last, to loud cheers from the green-clad supporters, mounted his Firebolt, and kicked back off into the air. His revival seemed to give Ireland new heart. When Mostafa blew his whistle again, the Chasers moved into action with a skill unrivaled by anything Harry had seen so far.

After fifteen more fast and furious minutes, Ireland pulled ahead by ten more goals. They were now leading by one hundred and thirty points to ten, and the game was starting to get dirtier. As Mullet shot toward the goal posts yet again, clutching the Quaffle tightly under her arm, the Bulgarian Keeper, Zograf, flew out to meet her. Whatever happened was over so quickly Harry didn't catch it, but a scream of rage from the Irish crowd, and Mostafa's long, shrill whistle blast, told him it had been a foul.

"And Mostafa takes the Bulgarian Keeper to task for cobbing — excessive use of elbows!" Bagman informed the roaring spectators. "And - yes, it's a penalty to Ireland!"

The Quaffie changed hands with the speed of a bullet. "Levski - Dimitrov - Moran - Troy - Mullet - Ivanova - Moran again - Moran - MORAN SCORES!"

The Irish Beater Quigley swung heavily at a passing Bludger, and hit it as hard as possible toward Krum, who did not duck quickly enough. It hit him full in the face.

There was a deafening groan from the crowd; Krum's nose looked broken, there was blood everywhere, but Hassan Mostafa didn't blow his whistle. Harry wanted someone to realize that Krum was injured; even though he was supporting Ireland, Krum was the most exciting player on the field.

"Time-out! Ah, come on, he can't play like that, look at him -" someone cried.

"Look at Lynch!" Sirius yelled.

For the Irish Seeker had suddenly gone into a dive, and Harry was quite sure that this was no Wronski Feint; this was the real thing…

"He's seen the Snitch!" Harry shouted. "He's seen it! Look at him go!" Half the crowd seemed to have realized what was happening; the Irish supporters rose in another great wave of green, screaming their Seeker on… but Krum was on his tail. How he could see where he was going, Harry had no idea; there were flecks of blood flying through the air behind him, but he was drawing level with Lynch now as the pair of them hurtled toward the ground again -

"They're going to crash!" someone shrieked.

"They're not!" Harry shouted back, not caring who it was. But, for the second time, Lynch hit the ground with tremendous force.

"The Snitch, where's the Snitch?" Sirius bellowed, leaning dangerously out of the box trying to look for it.

Harry, having more experience looking for the tiny golden ball found it first. "He's got it - Krum's got it - it's all over!" shouted Harry. Krum, his red robes shining with blood from his nose, was rising gently into the air, his fist held high, a glint of gold in his hand.

The scoreboard was flashing BULGARIA: 160, IRELAND: 170 across the crowd, who didn't seem to have realized what had happened. Then, slowly, as though a great jumbo jet were revving up, the rumbling from the Ireland supporters grew louder and louder and erupted into screams of delight.

"IRELAND WINS!" Bagman shouted, who like the Irish, seemed to be taken aback by the sudden end of the match. "KRUM GETS THE SNITCH - BUT IRELAND WINS — good lord, I don't think any of us were expecting that!"

Harry and his group leaned forward to watch Krum land as a swarm of mediwizards blasted a path through the field to get to him. "He looks a terrible mess…" Harry muttered in sympathy.

Flags were waving all over the stadium, the Irish national anthem blared from all sides.   "And as the Irish team performs a lap of honor, flanked by their mascots, the Quidditch World Cup itself is brought into the VIP Box!" roared Bagman.

Harry's eyes were suddenly dazzled by a blinding white light, as their Box was magically illuminated so that everyone in the stands could see the inside. Squinting toward the entrance, he saw two panting wizards carrying a vast golden cup into the box, which they handed to Cornelius Fudge.

"Let's have a really loud hand for the gallant losers - Bulgaria!" Bagman shouted.

One by one, the Bulgarians filed between the rows of seats in the box, and Bagman called out the name of each as they shook hands with their own minister and then with Fudge. Krum, who was last in line, looked a real mess. Two black eyes were blooming spectacularly on his bloody face. He was still holding the Snitch.

And then came the Irish team. Aidan Lynch was being supported by Moran and Connolly; the second crash seemed to have dazed him and his eyes looked strangely unfocused. But he grinned happily as Troy and Quigley lifted the Cup into the air and the crowd below thundered its approval.

Harry's hands were numb with clapping.

Bagman pointed his wand at his throat and muttered, "Quietus. They'll be talking about this one for years," he said hoarsely, "a really unexpected twist, that… "

{End Quidditch Scene}

They were soon caught up in the crowds now flooding out of the stadium and back to their campsites. Raucous singing was borne toward them on the night air as they retraced their steps along the lantern-lit path, and leprechauns kept shooting over their heads, cackling and waving their lanterns. When they finally reached the tents, nobody felt like sleeping at all, and given the level of noise around them, Severus agreed that they could all have one last cup of cocoa together before turning in.

Long after he should be in bed, in hushed tones, Harry gave a play by play of the exciting match to Marvolo with liberal use of illusions and miming some of the more daring tricks Krum executed. Although Marvolo didn’t have much interest in Quidditch, he was thoroughly entertained by Harry’s antics. The boy was practically dozing on his feet, but still somehow found enough energy to give a detailed description of something called the Wronski Feint. He looked adorably drunk, and Marvolo was sure half of the things he was told were exaggerations of an excited boy’s imagination. But when Harry rubbed his eyes for the fourth time, Marvolo took charge and ushered Harry into bed.

“…and Mullet and Moran passed the Quaffle so fast between them…” the rest of Harry’s sentence was indecipherable as it degraded into senseless mumbling.

Harry wasn’t sure when he actually fell asleep, or how he even got into bed, but it only felt like he’d just closed his eyes before Marvolo was shaking him awake. “Huh? Wha?” he blinked blearily, reaching for glasses that he forgot he didn’t need anymore.

“Something’s happening outside,” Marvolo answered, his voice urgent. Harry reached for his day clothes, but Marvolo stuffed his wands and wand-holsters into his hands instead. “No time. Just get these strapped on, get your jacket, and get outside.”

Realizing how serious this was, Harry just finished pulling on his coat when the door to his room was abruptly thrown open. It was Severus and Sirius.

“Harry! Wake…” Severus was surprised to see the boy already up and dressed.

“I know,” Harry replied and shouldered his backpack. “But what’s going on?” he asked as they hurried out the tent, with Marvolo right at his back. Dimly, he realized the noises in the campsite had changed. The singing had stopped. He could hear screams, and the sound of things exploding far away. Smoke drifted to his nose, making it tickle.

By the light of the few fires that were still burning, Harry could see people running away into the woods, fleeing something that was moving across the field toward them, something that was emitting odd flashes of light and noises like gunfire. Loud jeering, roars of laughter, and drunken yells were drifting toward them; then came a burst of strong green light, which illuminated the scene.

The source of this mayhem was a crowd of wizards, tightly packed and moving together with wands pointing straight out. Harry squinted at them… “Death Eaters,” he breathed, recognizing the masks and robes from Marvolo’s description.

High above them, floating along in midair, four struggling figures were being contorted into grotesque shapes. It was as though the masked wizards on the ground were puppeteers, and the people above them were marionettes operated by invisible strings that rose from the wands into the air.

Harry tore his eyes away from the horrible scene and spun towards Marvolo, half panicking. It was then he realized just how furious his friend was. Marvolo’s eyes were glowing bright enough to rival some of the curses flying around, and his body was so tense that Harry was afraid others would be able to see him too. Whatever was going on, Harry was glad that Marvolo didn’t approve of this senseless mayhem.

“Are these really Death Eaters?” Harry demanded. Severus pulled at Harry’s arm, but Harry shook him off and planted his feet into the dirt.

“Of course they’re Death Eaters, Potter!” Severus snarled impatiently, thinking Harry was talking to him. “Now let’s get out of here before they reach our tents.”

Harry ignored him, only having eyes on Marvolo. “Is He here?” No need to elaborate on who He was.

That was exactly what Marvolo was trying to determine. He didn’t think his other self was foolish enough to order an attack of this magnitude and publicity, not when he was still so weak. He felt along the bond he shared with the main soul, sensing it was relatively inactive, or at least as passive as Voldemort ever got. “No, my other self is not among them,” he answered Harry’s question. “This was not a sanctioned attack.”

Harry let out a sigh of relief. He was definitely not ready to face the Dark Lord. “So what do we do?”

By now, Severus realized Harry was not talking to him, or anyone he could see. But the boy was definitely conversing with someone. Off to the side, Sirius was also staring like Harry had grown a second head.

“We stop this ridiculous nonsense,” Marvolo hissed, almost slipping into parseltongue because of how mad he was. Then he looked down at Harry. “I’ll need your body again.”

“Like in the Chamber?” Harry asked.

“No,” Marvolo answered. “I can’t risk draining my strength until I know what’s going on. We’ll be using your powers this time.”

“Just do whatever you have to,” Harry said, trusting his friend. Already, more wizards were joining the marching group. Tents crumpled and fell as the marching crowd swelled. Several times, the marchers blast a tent out of his way with his wand. Many caught fire, trapping entire families inside.

Severus heard Harry consent to something and knew deep in his bones that it wasn’t going to be good. But before he could stop it, Harry gave a slight jerk, his head thrown back, and to Severus’ horror, Harry’s scar had split wide open. The darkest magic Severus ever felt emanated from that scar as it bled sluggishly and dripped into Harry’s eyes, who didn’t even seem to notice.

If Severus thought that was bad, he certainly wasn’t prepared for when Harry opened his mouth.

“Severus, I need your Mark,” the boy said, only there was a strange echo to his voice, like it was overlaid with someone else, someone older, and oddly familiar to Severus.

Too stunned by the order, Severus didn’t move. But that didn’t deter Harry, who came up to his teacher and with a quick slash of his bi-colored horn, shredded his teacher’s left sleeve from the elbow down, exposing the faded Mark. Instinctively, Severus drew his wand.

With Marvolo’s knowledge and skills, Harry quickly disarmed his teacher with a quick flick and in the next move, he stabbed his wand dead center on the Mark. Then Harry’s glazed green eyes, oddly haloed in a red glow, flickered up to his teacher’s shocked ones. “I’m sorry, Severus, but this is going to hurt.”

That was Severus’ only warning before he felt a burning lance piercing through his forearm. Severus gritted his teeth, his arm somehow immobilized by Harry’s unusually strong grip on his wrist. But as painful as this was, he sensed that he wasn’t the target of Harry’s unknown curse. No, his Mark was only the conduit to access the magical network that all Dark Marks were connected to, and somehow the boy had the power to reach all of them.

Severus was proven correct when a fresh wave of screams filled the air, even louder than the ones before. These were not screams of fear or hysteria. These were screams of pure unadulterated pain, a hundred times worse than what Severus was feeling. Severus panted and gathered his wits, to look around, seeing some of his former Death Eaters had dropped to their knees, clutching their Marks. And then the field was filled with the hundreds of disapparition ‘pops.’

The sudden silence that followed was deafening and was only interrupted by a few moans and hysterical crying.

Finally, Harry freed Severus’ wrist, but the weird confidence and power Harry exuded still radiated from him, and Severus knew it wasn’t over yet. He watched in numbing shock as Harry turned sharply, his wand aimed at his own godfather. “Obliviate!”

Sirius’ eyes, once full of horror and confusion, now just appeared glassy and serene.

And then Harry pivoted again, and Severus was staring down at the end of Harry’s wand. Knowing what the boy intend to do, he still couldn’t raise his wand, not to attack or defend himself, not against Harry. Resigned to his fate, Severus dropped his wand arm and waited.

But instead of the expected, ‘obliviate,’ something flickered behind Harry’s glazed green eyes. “No! Not him,” Harry shouted.

Severus sucked in a breath of surprise, watching in morbid fascination as Harry seemed to hold a one sided argument. He held his breath, instinctively knowing whatever the decision was, it was would affect him greatly.

“He has seen too much,” Marvolo’s voice floated across Harry’s mind.

Harry shook his head. “It’s time we tell him anyway.”

“His loyalty is still in question, my little one,” Marvolo reminded him.

“No. He’s loyal to the Dark,” Harry countered, desperate to get his friend to understand. “He just couldn’t abide by the senseless insanity anymore.”

“And you trust he will not turn on us, as he has done to me before?”

“I trust him with my life,” Harry said firmly.

Marvolo was silent for a moment. “Very well then. This is my gift to you, Little One. Happy belated Birthday.”

And with that, Harry felt Marvolo trickle out of his scar to return to the diary to rest. Harry blinked up at his teacher, wanting to assure the wide-eyed man that everything was going to be okay. But when he opened his mouth, he doubled over and suddenly heaved what felt like everything he ate that day.

Jolted by Harry’s violent reaction, Severus rushed to Harry’s side. He saw Sirius crowd in too, and waved him back. “Give him some air,” Severus snapped at the other man, who looked at his godson in concern. Finally, Harry’s spasms were over, and Sirius vanished the vomit from the ground.

“I’m sorry. I had to do it,” Harry said weakly, his limbs so weak, that he had to lean against his teacher.

“Shhh,” Severus said, his concern over Harry’s health overpowering his need for answers. Clearly whatever just happened took its toll over the boy’s body, and no wonder! Harry had poured everything he had into the Dark Mark, manipulating it in a way that Severus had only seen the Dark Lord capable of. He had to practically carry Harry back inside and laid him out on his bed.

“Stay,” he ordered firmly.

Harry was all for that. He didn’t think he had the strength to even roll out of bed. Sirius hovered nearby, his hand resting gently on Harry’s leg, as if to offer comfort. Harry felt guilty about letting Marvolo obliviate his godfather’s memories, but he was sure Sirius would be happier not remembering what his godson did. Besides, as kind as Sirius was, he still didn’t know the man very well, and combined with his mental illness, Harry couldn’t trust him yet, not with something this big.

But he couldn’t let Marvolo obliviate Severus. Severus would see it as an act of betrayal, and Harry couldn’t hurt the man who had done so much for him, like that.

Severus returned with a handful of potions and a wet towel. The towel felt blessedly cool against Harry’s feverish skin, as his teacher mopped up the drying sweat and blood from his forehead.

“Anti-nausea, Anti-headache, Core stabilizer, Calming draught, Dreamless Sleep,” Severus said, tipping each vial into Harry’s open mouth.

Gurgling a little at the awful taste, Harry washed it all down with a cool glass of water. The potions immediately took effect, alleviating his headache and nausea.

Severus watched as the child’s small body slowly relaxed and his eyes drifted close. Under the cocktail of potions, he knew the boy would sleep for a full 8 hours, rest that the boy seriously needed. “Come on, Black,” Severus said, pushing himself to his feet. “He’ll be asleep for a while yet. Let’s go see what’s going on.”

Sirius was reluctant to leave his godson alone, but he also recognized the list of potions. Nothing short of a lightening bolt to the heart would wake the boy up. And he knew the Potion’s Master was right. They needed to know what the hell was going on.

A/N: Phew! This is just a little foreshadowing of badass!Voldie. I got a surprisingly good number of reviews asking me not to make Voldie into a pussy cat. Well, fear not! If you read my profile, you’ll know I can’t stand a Hufflepuff!Voldemort.

I don’t know what other people think, but I have to say how much I hated the canon version of the World Cup Riot. Harry was just pathetic. First, he’s had more than 3 full years of exposure to the Wizarding World and he still didn’t know what a Death Eater or a Dark Mark was!   And being Harry Potter, you’d think he would have done a little research on the last war, or even just stumbled across some mention of Voldemort’s army. It’s not like Voldemort the DE’s were some kind of secret organization, unlike the Phoenix Order. Instead, he relies on Hermione for everything! And then he goes and trips and drops his wand!

Up Next: What we all have been waiting for…Severus and Marvolo meet face to face!
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In Servitude of the Dark : My Obiesance