Title: Even Angels Fall, Part Four
Author: Head Girl
Pairing: Voldemort/Harry
Rating: eventual M
Warnings: Character death
Summary: Occurs during an AU OotP. Harry is led toward the dark by the wizard who should be his enemy.
Part Four
Under the mid-morning sun, Harry jogged around the perimeter of the grounds, staying only a few feet shy of the wards that kept him a prisoner, Nagini watching him as he made laps from the shade of a large shrub. It had been two weeks since he'd been taken at the Department of Mysteries, two weeks with rescue seeming nowhere in sight. Except for that initial few hours of his captivity, Harry had been treated remarkably well. Food and even some clothing had been provided for him, surprisingly enough. He had little contact with Death Eaters, except for the ones that brought him his meals. Even stranger were Voldemort's continued visits to Harry while he was sequestered in his room, and his attempts at initiating conversation or even a game of wizard's chess. Harry had enough common sense to humor whatever strange mood had taken the dark wizard. If this was some kind of attempt at gaining Harry's trust, the man would be sorely disappointed as far as Harry was concerned. He frowned as he sped up his pace. He'd never grow to trust the one who'd killed his parents and tried to kill him in turn.
Initially when Harry had been given roam of certain areas of the mansion and the grounds, Harry had sullenly refused to take advantage of it, knowing that such allowances were all part of the Dark Lord's most recent game. Upon further reflection, Harry decided to take the wizard up on his offer and began exploring the areas he was allowed. He couldn't be sure if or when the Order would come for him, so he decided to do his own brand of investigation, trying to find out as much information that would be useful to the wizards of Light as possible.
His little jogging excursions had another purpose beside the obvious as well. Harry used the time to test the limits of the wards and to try to sense any weakness in them that would allow his escape. He refused to believe that they were as impenetrable as the Dark Lord said. Voldemort hadn't been exaggerating about how unpleasant coming into contact with them would be for him, though. He'd received a nasty shock, racing along the surface of his skin like fire. He'd endured it for as long as he could before falling back from the wards and onto the ground, shivering from the after effects.
Harry wiped the sweat from his brow as his jog became a walk. Nagini slid from her resting place, hissing that it was time for him to go back inside. He headed back toward the mansion, his watcher close behind. It still bothered him to no end that the serpent was his keeper, since he knew that she shared some kind of connection with Voldemort, though he was unsure of the depth of it beyond being his familiar. Strangely enough, he preferred her over any number of Death Eaters that could have been chosen for the task.
He entered the mansion, Nagini slithering after him, giving a group of Death Eaters a wide berth as he headed toward the winding staircase leading upstairs. It had been strangely quiet for the last few days around the mansion, unnerving Harry. Voldemort was planning something, he was sure of it, but he wasn't privy to whatever it was. And he hadn't had any visions that would have clued him in either.
Sighing heavily, Harry entered the room, the door sealing behind him. He could feel the wards on the door reset themselves. Eying Nagini briefly as she slithered under the bed into the shadows, Harry turned his back, peeling off his sweaty clothing. Sliding his arms into his robe, he headed toward the bathroom, unaware of the serpent's eyes on him or how it slithered silently after him.
Like his room, the bathroom was on the large size, covered in cream colored tile with tan patterns. On close inspection, they were somewhat in disrepair, but the place was clean and functional, more than what Harry could hope for given his position. Harry ran the waters of the bath, opening a flask to pour a milky fluid into the water that caused it to foam. The tub was nowhere near as nice as the one in the Prefects' bathroom, but was twice the size as an average one. Having a long soak would be rather relaxing. He could almost forget for a few moments that he was a prisoner in Voldemort's home. He could almost pretend that this was all some strange dark dream. Grasping a cloth, Harry began to cleanse himself. A snort of laughter escaped him, echoing off of the tiled walls. At about this time, he'd be preparing to go back to the Dursleys' home. At least he'd be able to forego that this year. It was a horrible thought, but being held in the mansion was a sight better than being at Privet Drive. At least he didn't go to bed hungry here, or was worked like a house elf. Harry smiled faintly. Maybe he'd be able to stay with Sirius after the Aurors came for him.
Downstairs, Voldemort sat in his library, a book open on his lap as he sat in a comfortable armchair. He frowned slightly as he scanned the pages, distracted. While other plans of his seemed to be falling into place, he hadn't made much headway with the Potter child. He supposed it was to be as expected. The foolish boy probably still harbored hope that the Order would come for him. He'd made every attempt to engage the boy in polite conversation only to be met with silence or brief answers. The boy wore a shuttered expression around him as well, as if he were trying to conceal his thoughts. Silly child. As if he could really manage that. Would the boy rather he hex him instead? Keep him in the cellar they'd altered as a holding cell? Voldemort was sorely tempted to do just that. Keeping the vessel alive that housed a piece of his soul was sufficient. However, he had decided to go down this particular path with the boy and was reluctant to alter a plan once he'd set his mind to it. Voldemort frowned. The Potter child didn't even appreciate having the rare mercies of the Dark Lord bestowed upon him. He supposed he couldn't expect much from a child raised by a bunch of ignorant Muggles.
Reaching out with his mind, Voldemort sought out Nagini. He hadn't wanted to use her as a babysitter for the boy, but she was his most obedient of servants. She was the only one besides him who knew what the child was and why it was important to keep him safe. He slid into her mind smoothly as always. Ah, so the boy had finished with his daily excursion outside and was now… Voldemort blinked at the sight of Harry beginning to strip himself of his sweaty clothing, flinging it absently to the floor. His eyes narrowed slightly as he straightened in his chair, watching Harry slide his pants down narrow hips to let them pool on the floor.
The Dark Lord had expected to find the boy scrawny, but he was actually well-built for a boy his age, albeit small in stature. As Harry grasped his robe and turned, his back to the serpent, Voldemort could see the evidence of scattered old scars and bruises, most having faded with time. He'd seen a few of the beatings that the boy had received in the Potter child's thoughts, felt his fear and humiliation. Regardless of his past cruelty toward the boy, the idea that a filthy Muggle would strike a wizard child was infuriating if not revolting. It was a wonder that Dumbledore allowed such insults upon his boy savior's body. There was no way that the old wizard didn't know what was occurring with the people he had watching Privet Drive from time to time. A necessary evil, the old man probably thought, an acceptable price to keep the boy from his enemies. Voldemort smirked, an idea forming as he watched Harry's pale form with interest as he padded toward the tub to climb in and sink below its waters. He wondered if the Potter child would think otherwise.
Harry had been enjoying his bath, until he noticed the movement of something out of the corner of his eye. He startled, splashing around in the tub, Nagini's hissing laughter echoing off of the bathroom walls as she slithered out of the shadows, watching him. Harry hastily tried to scoop bubbles backward to cover his body as she slithered to coil onto of the toilet in direct view of his body.
"What are you doing?" he asked her in Parseltongue.
She cocked her head to one side. "Keeping an eye on you for master" she answered.
Harry glared at her, annoyed. He succeeded in gathering enough bubbles to cover the important parts of him. "Well, I'm not likely to get into trouble in here," he answered. "What does he think I'll do, conjure potions out of bottles of shampoo?"
"You can be a very resourceful boy." Nagini took in the flush that spread across the skin of his chest and cheeks. "Humans are so strange. Why is your skin so red now"
Harry frowned. "I don't want people staring at me naked, especially not perverted snakes."
She rustled her coils, her scales sliding against one another. "How am I perverted? Humans are so silly with their shame at their nakedness. It's perfectly natural."
"Your master is one of those 'silly humans,'" Harry told her, trying to sink lower in the tub.
Nagini cocked her head again. "Master isn't like other humans. He has no shame."
"Somehow that doesn't surprise me," Harry answered sullenly. "Do you mind turning around? I want to rinse off."
Huffing, Nagini complied, swiveling around until her head was looking at a wall. She listened to the sound of water spiraling down the drain until the rush of clean water Harry filled the tub with was heard in the room. "I'd like humans better if they were more like Master" she remarked wistfully.
"You mean sociopaths with delusions of grandeur?" Harry asked as he rinsed his hair.
"No, bold enough to seek the things that others fear." Harry squawked when the serpent entered the tub with a splash, her movements causing her upper body to skate along the surface of the water toward him. "The water is nice and warm now," she told him, her tongue flicking out. The boy tasted of fear and embarrassment. She'd never get tired of sensing such things from the boy. Or her Master's pleasure at it echoing through her mind.
Harry splashed water at her in an attempt to get her to swim to the far end of the tub, which succeeded. She hissed something under her breath about rude humans. He sighed. "First ghosts, now serpents. Why can't I attract normal girls?"
"Maybe you're not suited to normal girls," Nagini replied, sliding out of the tub to trail water along after her as she slithered across the tiles. She darted out of the way as Harry flung a towel at her, just barely catching her tail as she winded away.
Harry frowned when not so long later in the afternoon, the door opened to reveal the Dark Lord. Harry hated how he always wore that strangely pleased expression as if it were a mask.
"Come, Harry," the wizard said. "Walk with me."
Harry knew better than to refuse, which led to him following Voldemort down the hallway to the stairs. The older wizard led him to a rather large library, tomes filling the shelves on bookcases along the walls. When they entered, Pettigrew bowed deeply to his master, who barely acknowledged him. Voldemort was explaining to Harry how he could have his pick of the books he liked here, gesturing almost gracefully with one of his hands, when Harry found himself growing more and more angry. He suddenly couldn't stand the man's pleasant expression and his kind words as he put a hand on his shoulder. Knowing full well that it wasn't a good idea to anger the wizard, Harry couldn't help but pull away.
"Stop it!" Harry said, glaring at the man. The fact that Voldemort had the nerve to look affronted infuriated him even more. "Stop pretending like you're some kind of… friend! I know what you really are."
Voldemort examined him, his pleasant expression falling somewhat as his eyes narrowed. "Do you now?"
"Yes I do," Harry continued. "You're thoughtless and cruel and I won't forget that, no matter how nice you pretend to be." He folded his arms, stepping backward a few paces. "I don't even know how you can stand behaving that way and being so close to me." Harry rubbed the spot where Voldemort had touched him absently, still feeling the heat of it for some odd reason.
Voldemort gazed at him with quizzical amusement. "And what is that suppose to mean?"
"I know you can't stand it," Harry said. "What's inside of me. The caring, the love, things you'll never understand. Dumbledore said that's what you're afraid of, so don't act as though-"
Voldemort let out a bark of laughter suddenly, startling Harry with it as much as with the strange light that shined in his red eyes. "Dumbledore is a fool, filling your head with nonsense as he always has." He swept closer to the boy, looming over him. "Love merely makes me ill, Harry. It isn't something that I fear. And love is far from benign, despite what Dumbledore may have told you. It is love that makes a jealous man kill his wife or her lover. It is love that makes people slaughter their fellow man in the name of their gods. Love is merely another side of hatred, Harry. But I've no need for love." He leaned down until he was inches from Harry's face. 'Want' suits me just fine when I let it."
Harry stepped back, his eyes widening somewhat with the fear he felt. Voldemort watched him, hugging himself like the child he was as if against the cold. "You're a fool, Harry Potter. You let yourself be swayed by the first person to speak a kind word for you, never realizing that it's all a manipulation. Never realizing that all you are to him is a tool, not the grandson he never had. All his protestations of knowing about love, and the man could care less about you."
Harry's face twisted. "You're wrong," he insisted, his voice full of emotion. "You're wrong."
"Am I?" Voldemort asked, his expression sly. "So it's fine that he allows those Muggles to mistreat you though he knows full well what goes on? Is that yet another example of his caring for you? Think, Harry. Do you really think that he doesn't know the extent of it when he has the means to know everything that occurs in that house? He merely thinks that all your pain is worth it to keep his supposed weapon against me safe-"
"You're lying," Harry insisted, even though the dark wizard's words touched on his doubts.
"It's true, and you know it. And if it weren't for me, you'd be there now, locked in your room and starved. Or beaten. Or any number of things I've seen in your thoughts. He can save you from it, and yet he chooses not to. I ask you, Harry, is that love? If it is, then you see why I have no need of it."
Harry's eyes were on the floor. His body trembled slightly with emotion. He shouldn't listen to the man. He knew that this was all some kind of trick on Voldemort's part, and yet the words he spoke seemed to ring true to parts of him. He gasped when he realized that Voldemort was now not in front of him, but had swept around and behind him. Harry stiffened.
"Do you really believe that fool, Harry?" Voldemort murmured to him. "Do you really think that you, a mere child, can stop me? It was your mother's strength that stopped me before. It had nothing to do with you. Even if you were as strong as I am, which can hardly be true, I have years of knowledge and experience that you lack. The only reason that you've survived until now is with the help of others, your so-called friends who are merely grooming you to be a tool for Light. But do you want to know the real reason that you will never defeat me, Harry Potter? You lack the will to do it."
Voldemort gazed over Harry's shoulder at Pettigrew, who cringed at the expression on the dark wizard's face. "Come here, Wormtail."
Pettigrew approached warily, but didn't dare dawdle too long. As he approached the other two wizards, Harry was shocked when Voldemort pushed his own wand into his hand, the Dark Lord's hands sliding around to grip his waist as he leaned close. Harry was as shocked by the dark wizard's behavior as at the feel of the unfamiliar wand, power thrumming through it as it rested in his hand. Part of him thought that he should turn on the wizard with a hex, but he found to his shame that he was too fearful to do just that.
Voldemort's voice warmed his ear. "I may have killed your parents, Harry, but without Pettigrew, I would have never found them. Without him, they'd still be alive today. And your godfather would have never seen the inside of Azkaban, suffered needlessly to the brink of insanity. He's damaged even now, isn't he? All that pain he's responsible for." Voldemort let his voice trail off before ordering. "Kill him."
"But, Master!" Pettigrew exclaimed.
Voldemort ignored him, trying to egg Harry on. "Don't you love them, Harry? Don't you want to avenge all that they suffered? If you truly love them, you could kill for them." He raised Harry's hand with his own to point the wand at a cowering Pettigrew, his other hand sliding around Harry's body to rest warmly on his chest. "Do you need help, Harry? Don't you remember the words? Just two words, Harry. It's so simple" He felt the boy shiver. "No? Not even a Crucio" He allowed the boy's hand to drop, and Pettigrew let go the breath he was holding.
Voldemort's hand slipped down Harry's arm to slide over his hand, retrieving his wand from a trembling fist. "How do you expect to stop me when you can't even kill Pettigrew? Because that is what you must do, Harry Potter. You have to be willing to kill to stop me. I won't just surrender to you or Dumbledore. You'll have to utterly destroy me." He leaned closer to murmur in a low voice, "You have to be willing to do anything to win. Even kill. Until you are able to do that, you are of no use to anyone. Until you are able to do that, you will always lose."
Harry cursed himself as he felt a stinging at his eyes as the Dark Lord swept away, Pettigrew trailing nervously behind him. He'd been immobilized, unable to do anything though the man's wand had been in his grasp. He hadn't even tried to hex the man. He doubted he would have been successful, no doubt the dark wizard was probably expecting it, but he hadn't. He felt ill as realization dawned on him. They wanted him to become a killer. All of them, everyone who'd ever looked at him with awe because he was The Boy Who Lived, even Dumbledore. Harry gritted his teeth. Voldemort was right in a way. They all looked at him as a tool, as the key to defeating the dark wizard. Harry gazed down at his hands, unnerved by the way they trembled slightly. But could he really kill, even if it was to protect others, to protect himself? Could he really cast the spell that Death Eaters seemed to cast as if it were second nature to them? Harry was disturbed by the fact that he wasn't sure. Maybe he really was weak. And compared to the Dark Lord, he was. Harry thought of the man's poise, his seemingly unshakable confidence and determination, compared it to his own questioning uncertainty. Maybe what he needed was to become strong.
TBC