Hy! this is a little fanfic I'm writing aside the others. It will probably be quite short. This first chapter is a test, to see if you are interested by the idea! Sort of a prelude, kind of.

I'm sorry I don't have a beta for this, so if there is some atrocious mistakes, please point them out and I will correct them! Don't be too harsh tho, English isn't my native language and I'm doing my best.

This is some angst, tragic and sort-of HP/ LV slash.

Oh, and I really, really like comments. I need to know what you like and dislike, what I am doing good or wrong, you see? :)

Warning: death, violence, torture, suicidal thought, angst

Disclaimer: oh Merlin I don't even own that bloody computer how could I own Harry Potter?

A WAIST

Chapter I: the ghost

"HARRY POTTER IS DEAD!"

Lord Voldemort let out a cheerful laugh as the faces in the crowd of his enemies decomposed and a murmur arose slowly. It was so simple. They were going to surrender now. He had won the war. He was immortal. Invincible. Nobody would ever challenge him.

He had conquered faith. He didn't care that he was actually walking in a pool of blood, he didn't care that ha was going to rule over the ashes. He had won and nothing could taint his victory.

All the Death Eaters applauded and shouted for joy to their master, shaking their opponents. Children. They were only children, frightened, tired, desperate. But Voldemort's men could not care less. Their greatest task had been accomplished, and their master had to prove his power. He had reduced all his enemies to nothing.

Their cries echoed through the ruins of what had been one of the finest schools of magic in the world. The smoldering ruins answered their joy darkly. Some stones tumbled down from one of the towers that seemed about to collapse, and you could see the Slytherin banner torn across the ground.

Who would dare defy him now? Who would dare stand in front of him? He was alone, all mighty and all powerful, he was-

"That I am."

All the people still alive were startled, whatever their side. Voldemort turned around, looking down at Harry Potter's corpse. He was immobile, unbreathing, cold in the tight embrace of the giant. Death, undoubtedly, definitely dead. Slowly, he let his eyes drag to the source of the voice, a little farther, between the terrified students and his men.

The world seemed to stop. It wasn't possible, it just wasn't. All were silent, and nothing moved, except the dawn breeze that blew gently, without affecting the boy nonchalantly resting against one of the broken pillars of what had been Hall of Hogwarts a few hours earlier.

Harry James Potter looked at him, recessed amusement in his brilliant emerald eyes. The first rays of the sun shone on his skin tanned by days of flight, months outdoors and years of Quidditch, passing lightly through him, giving him the appearance of a translucent cloud. He was no longer dirty, nor covered with mud or blood. His black untamed hair waved slightly under the warmth of the day ahead. The wrinkles of pain, the black markings under his eyes, the fear and harshness that marked his face had disappeared.

He looked peaceful. He was beautiful. He was dead.

He cracked a smile.

"Hi Tom! Did you miss me?"

It took a few moments for everyone to regain their spirits. At last, the most lively among the crowd, the others were still blocked, stupefied and open-mouthed.

"But ... but you're dead!"

"Thank you for pointing out the obvious, Malfoy, he's dead, he would not be a ghost without that."

Voldemort's voice could have frozen a volcano. Lucius blushed with shame and bowed his head as if apologizing for his own stupidity, whispering a 'sorry my Lord'.

"Yup, I was in the purgatory and I met Albus and he suggested I come bother you a bit." Said the boy as if everything was normal. "So, tell me, Tom, what's going on now?"

A few seconds passed before someone burst out laughing. Harry turned to the person in question.

Hermione had tears in her eyes and her hands clasped over her mouth.

"Oh Harry ..." She said.

No one could tell if she was happy or sad. Their eyes met, and she understood. There was no reason to be sad. He smiled at her.

"My god, 'Mione, did a horse walk you on? You look terrible!'

His voice was sweeter that it had been. It was alluring, pure, a dance of silk on his tongue. Unnatural. Perfect.

"It's not a way to talk to a lady!" She exclaimed grandly, strangely imitating the tone of Narcissa.

He burst out laughing. A crystalline laugh, true, dead. No one had heard him laughing with so much heart during his lifetime. Nothing could trouble him now.

A shudder passed in more than one spine.

It was utterly terrifying.

He looked at each face, of his friends, professors. More than one was crying. They couldn't understand that it was meant to be. But it was so ironic… He looked… he looked more alive than what he was during the short seventeen years he had passed as a living.

Ginny was sobbing. He gave her an apologetic smile. It wasn't for her that he had come back. She tried to reach for him, but her brother stopped her. She whimpered, sobbed like never before, her cries tearing the air.

Harry smiled to her softly.

He turned to face Hagrid, who was still carrying his corpse.

"Oh, Hagrid, do not be sad, I was condemned long before I was born, you know. I've been accepting this for a long time… But do me a favor, will you? Bury me next to my parents, at Godric's hollow. I never truly had another home than Hogwarts, but I guess it would be unfair of me to ask to be buried here. "

He cast a last glance at his corpse, and his eyes seemed to lose their joy for a moment, his mouth twitched in an expression of emptiness.

It was terrifying.

Then his smile returned to his half-transparent face and he advanced towards Voldemort.

"You did not think you'd get rid of me so easily, did you? Death is not an option, Tom."

It wasn't even a threat, merely a statement. His voice was soft and inviting. Terribly so.

A person who knew Voldemort as well as Harry Potter, Albus Dumbledore or maybe even Severus Snape would have guessed the fear that passed for a second on the face of the most powerful society in the world.

But none of these people was still alive.

Harry stared at him, his innocent smile not weakening for a moment.

And it hit Voldemort. He knew. Oh Merlin, the child knew.

Days. It had been days since The ghost of Harry Potter was following him everywhere. He had hoped that the boy was stuck at Hogwarts, well, at what was left of Hogwarts, but no.

No he had to follow him.

For Salazar's sake!

A familiar chuckle sounded behind him.

"My my if Albus knew that I made you swore on your ancestors!"

And he was there, lying on the sofa as if he were at home with a grace and relaxation that he had never had in his lifetime.

Voldemort before he shut all the students who had not surrendered, as well as some professors. He was waiting to decide what to do with all these people, but his mind had been busy with others.

Potter had to be exorcised. It was only a few days since he followed him and Harry was already pushing him into a state of fury. And it was not good; A true general must be able to keep his head cold, and if Voldemort had just won England, he still had the rest of the world against him.

And the boy had his feet on the couch.

And he didn't want to bloody die. Well, he was dead, but even in death he had managed to be insufferable.

The Dark Lord hadn't slept, hadn't eat, hadn't even took a shower since. It was like his very body felt always threatened.

Obviously the fact that his enemy, the boy that had murdered six parts of his soul was in the same room every hour of every day didn't helped.

"I'm afraid you will not be able to tell anything to your dear headmaster, boy." He spat.

"You never know, Tom, you never know." Answered the boy with a frustrating sweetness.

Someone knocked on the door. Voldemort allowed a few seconds to pass for plenitude before allowing his servants to enter.

A cruel smile spread over his face.

Harry Potter, even dead, was Harry Potter. And if the boy had decided to make him suffer, well he had many, many ways to get angry. Each of them being his boyfriends whom he had left in the world of the living.

Neville Longbottom. The boy who could have been in Harry's place.

Voldemort knew Harry better than anyone, ironically. He knew that this boy had more value in his heart than all his other friends assembled. He was innocent. He was bound to him by the same prophecy. He was the Gryffindor Harry could never have been because of the horcrux.

Oh yes, Voldemort knew for the Horcrux. Unfortunately, he had understood it only too late, when he felt the anchor tear his soul at the boy's death. The pain had been instantaneous, unbearable. Only a horcrux could provoke this. Only a Horcrux could make him feel lost, broken, empty. Uncompleted. And now he was doomed to feel that forever.

All because of Harry James Potter.

Oh, he would love to make the boy suffer. He could not die. He was going to feel the pain, the sadness for eternity.

Delicious. Exquisite retaliation.

The boy entered the room in the expert hands of the Lestrange brothers. He was still covered with mud, the sweat and blood of the battle and the beatings that had been inflicted upon him since he arrived in Lord Voldemort's personal dungeons. Tears ran over his face and under the debris of his clothes. His jaw was clenched in a determined expression and his eyes still defied the Dark Lord.

A true Gryffondor. Well, all these were going to die, that's for sure.

Harry stood up quietly, his face taking on a serious air. Cold, dead. A thrill ran across Voldemort's back, but he was the Dark Lord. It took more to discourage him. He was going to get angry with this impudent child, at last!

The boy moved gracefully across the room, almost floating above the floor. It was strange that even in death he was wearing his oversized clothes. It was even more strange that they looked like they were fitting him. He looked… regal. All of his movement seemed to have a purpose for the years to come.

Voldemort could feel the infinite void behind his body, following him.

"I'm sure you're thrilled to see your friend, Mr. Longbottom, Harry ... Do not be bothered, I'm sure the Lestranges treated him very well, after all they have experience with this family, isn't it? "

He chuckled darkly.

Neville struggled, but the two brothers' hold was firm on his shoulders. The two brothers seemed to appreciate the situation very much, in view of the wretched smile that twisted their faces.

The Lestranges brothers were perfectionists. And this work there had been left unfinished for nearly sixteen years.

It was inadmissible.

But now their master had returned, and he had won. Nothing could stand in the way, nothing would stop the cause. Nothing could stop Lord Voldemort.

They deliberately ignored the heavy look of the ghost which had been posted a few paces from their master.

Neville was tired. Dark bruises circled his eyes. He looked old. Not older, just old. He was a man, a warrior, and more than that. Just like every survivor of the battle. And now, he was a prisoner.

He looked desperately at Harry.

"Now now what are we going to do to you…" whispered Voldemort, his red eyes glimmering maliciously.