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Broken by the Dark Lord	By : Kanashii Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female Views: 6067 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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�� Miranda.� A thin cruel
voice played in her head for a moment. It wasn�t Furio, she knew that voice.
Her mind struggled and fought against it, �no,
not him. Not Voldemort again. Oh just kill me already!� her mind screamed
within its skull. �Ennervate.� She
heard the Dark Lord�s voice wash over her. She was so cold now, the ground was
cold, the blood pooled around her was cold, and she was still in that awful
bridle forced to be in her damned horse form, lying painfully on her side. Her
lungs struggling painfully to breathe. At least that huge Deatheater was no
longer trying to crack her bones beneath him, in fact he was no where to be
seen. Only Lord Voldemort was next to her, one hand resting on her neck and one
hand now replacing his wand within his robes.

�� Get up Miranda.�
He ordered almost gently and she knew he was using the imperio curse because
the voice was in her head, and she felt pleasant and warm all over. �Horses
aren�t meant to lay down for long, now up on all fours.� He commanded and
although it was sheer agony to comply she immediately obeyed him.

�� She blinked her great brown eyes wearily in
the now early morning twilight; no one else was around but her and Voldemort,
The other Deatheaters now long gone. �It�s time for us to finally have a nice
long, private talk Miranda.�� With a
sudden soft �crack� the Dark Lord had
apparated astride her back. A great shudder and moan ran through her. He was
far lighter than any of them, almost as light as a teenager, but it was the
cold and darkness that emanated off him that chilled her to her very core and
made him seem the heaviest burden of all to carry.�

�� Voldemort did not
pick up the reins to the bridle merely allowed them to rest loosely across her
withers. He did not need such instruments as the bridle to inflict petty
punishment; she knew his magical punishment of her could be far worse. In fact
of all her riders he was the calmest, just merely sitting quietly and
collectedly on her back as he gently ordered her to walk on.

�� Head down and
occasionally coughing froth out of her lungs and snorting dried blood from her
nostrils she plodded calmly on. The walking did actually seem to be helping to
relieve the relentless cramping and aching from her abuse from last night, but
she still shivered feeling so cold beneath her rider.

� �One of two things
will happen with you Miranda.� Voldemort explained carefully his voice deep in
her head, talking to both her mind and soul. �Either I will allow Lucius Malfoy
to keep you as his personal steed, and my guess is he will finish you off
fairly quickly. Or�� and here the Dark Lord paused one of his long white
fingers tracing along the muscles of her neck causing them to tremble again
beneath his touch. �Or, you will join in service to me. Do whatever I ask and
demand and serve a true Master.�

�� She had stopped
walking at this point and merely stood, her head turned slightly to look at the
tall thin pale rider on her back. This time a soft chuckle did cross his cruel
face, �There is no easy way out for you, no quick death. I knew from the
beginning when I helped Don Bruno kill your uncle that some wizarding potential
had to have passed on through the line somewhere. It was your grandfather who
was the one. A talented warlock he was indeed.�

�� She had groaned now
beneath Voldemort as he revealed he had been the one to assist Don Bruno in
killing her Uncle. Because she could not cry tears in this form, her head
merely drooped lower and her whole body seemed to sag, as though the Dark Lord
has broken her in two far more easily than the huge blonde Deatheater had been
trying to.

A soft groan of sorrow wracked through her body, which only
caused the Dark Lord to tighten up on her and chuckle more darkly. �Oh yes
Miranda, my tendrils are long reaching indeed. I had wanted Furio to join me,
to be my agent in Sicily but he staunchly refused!� she could feel the coldness
and anger seemed to emanate even worse from Voldemort. He seemed to have a very
short and cruel temper. The Dark Lord seemed to mentally collect himself for a
moment, his broodiness and coldness once again being held deeply in check
within him. �Now, I could force you to obey me through the imperio curse, or a
variety of other methods, but, voluntary service to darkness is far stronger.
It has far more reaching power for me, and far better results.�

� He patted her almost
cheerfully along her muscular neck and was almost pleased to notice that she
did not shiver or groan, although he was certain that a part of that was due to
her physical and mental exhaustion. �So what is your choice?� his voiced echoed
in her skull gently, almost seductively. �Death at the hands and spurs of the
arrogant Malfoy or service to a true Master, a powerful Master, one who will
finish your magical schooling and hone you into a most deadly weapon.� His
voice wrapped deadly and silkily along her very sinews and nerves, seducing her
with visions of what he was capable of, what he could teach her.

�� Her mind reeled;
she knew she had no other choice, that nothing else was available to her, not
even a quick merciful death. She was certain if she refused Voldemort�s orders
that he would ensure Lucius Malfoy made a long, cruel and torturous death of
her. Her world wavered as she desperately tried to cling to whatever she had
left, but it was no use. �I will serve
you willingly Master.� She heard her own mind submissively answer.

�� She could feel the
happiness of his conquest in the tensing of those thin legs of his around her.
For such a thin man he did have immense strength, but she knew it was the
darkness within him that caused it.

� �Then run with me as
you would Furio.� He calmly ordered. He made no move to spur her on or even
grab the reins; she knew his request was a test of her, a test of her
willingness to obey despite her fear, pain and exhaustion.

�� With a slight shake
of her neck, she picked up her head and her nostrils scented the mossy dampness
of the moors beyond. Her muscles tightened and she cleared her head and
launched herself forward. Unlike the other riders who had to cling hard to her
Voldemort stayed as still and easily atop her as he had when she had been
standing still. They galloped down the slopes and into the moors; still he did
not touch the reins, instead using his mind to give her gentle instructions on
direction.

� About 2 miles into
the run she could see a man out on the moors, a border collie and some sheep
gathered around him. Her ears perked up and her muscles gathered to go around
them.

� �No!� the quiet
voice of her Master instructed, �Run him down my steed! Kill for your Master; I
want him dead beneath your hooves! Obey me.�

� A tremor ran through
her for only a moment as she felt her rider seem to grow even darker and
heavier upon her, his own cruel aura of death and destruction coming from him
in waves. Pinning her ears back she charged at the man who now looked confused
and even scared. For an instant she could almost swear she saw what the man
did, a bloodied exhausted wild-eyed horse with Death upon its back getting
ready to mow him down.

� Futilely he threw up
one hand as she and Voldemort barreled down on him, she hit him full force and
he went flying to the side with a scream of fear and agony. She spun wildly
around and charged back, now rearing on her hind legs as she drove her front
feet viciously into the fallen man. At first she was horrified and disgusted,
but she tried to imagine it as Malfoy and she found the job a lot easier to do.
Gore covered and sprayed her hooves as she pounded the fallen human into a
bloody mush beneath her sharp hooves, the cruel high pitched laugh of her
Master nearly freezing her blood. He seemed to be utterly reveling in the
human�s death.� She felt a sudden sharp
pain in her rear leg as the Border collie had ran and snapped wildly at her heels
drawing fresh blood as it tried vainly to defend its dead master. Instinctively
her back hoof flew out and caught the canine with a hollow thud to its ribs and
sent it skidding and unmoving into the damp moors.� Terrified the sheep scattered about aimlessly
as Voldemort continued his cruel laughter atop her.

�� His long fingers
stroked her mane and neck, and this time she felt warmth not the aching cold as
she did before. �Yes, very good my servant. You have spilled your first blood
in my name, at my command. Very good indeed. Now remain still, put your head up
for me.� He calmly ordered.

�� She dared not
disobey and stood stock still, her head held up as he slid his body high up on
her withers his long thin legs gripping her tightly. She could hear him
whispering some complex incantation and feel his long spidery like fingers
sliding higher and higher up her neck until they rested just below one elegant
ear. The pain that engulfed her suddenly felt like a knife cutting into her
very flesh, painful hot and oppressive. But still she dared not move.

�� His incantations
and his drawing of magical energies coalesced around him even more tightly as
his finger seemed to trace some symbol along the back of her neck, behind her
ear. Her master connected his mind with hers then and she saw him, saw him as
he placed the dark mark upon her, the skull with the serpent coming out of its
mouth, his mark, the mark of Lord Voldemort.

� �Accio blood� he murmured and some of the
blood from the man she had killed came flying to the long fingertips of Lord
Voldemort, this he rubbed along the dark mark and it seemed to magically absorb
into the mark he had just given her.

� Finally with a
slight sigh of contentment he slid back down off her withers and back onto the
natural saddle of her back. �Excellent, my pet.� He simply said. �It is done
and the first part of your service to me is complete.�

� At that point the
Dark Lord slid down off her exhausted and sweaty back and gently reached up to
remove the cruel bridle from Miranda�s head. No sooner had he taken it off than
she simple collapsed in a crumpled heap as she transformed back into her human
form. She was bruised, her lower waist bloody and viciously cut (from Malfoy�s
spurs) and her lips and mouth horribly cut and oozing fresh blood from that
damnable bridle. But even all this she was barely aware of, she felt her Master
looming over her a moment, one of his long hands gripping her tightly and then
she felt a pull all around her, as though being pulled through a tight tube. He
had apparated her back to his home. Finally she was allowed sleep and her eyes
closed in blessed sleep and exhaustion while she dreamt fitfully of galloping
up the sides of Mt. Etna with Voldemort on her back and killing Furio with her
powerful front hooves.
- 5
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Broken by the Dark Lord