Even Angels Fall, Part Two
Posted by Headgirl | Filed under Fan Fiction
Part Two
Somehow, Harry ended up dozing off in the room at the end of the hallway, the exhaustion of the night’s events finally catching up with him despite his attempts to stay awake. The early morning light streaming in through the window onto his face roused him to wakefulness. At first, he pulled the blanket up over his head as he muttered, not realizing where he actually was and thinking he lay in his dorm room. The sensation of something slithering over his legs made him sit bolt upright, scrambling out of the bed and landing in an inelegant heap on the floor with a squawk.
He stared up at the bed in fright as he saw the large snake poke her head out from under the blanket. Fear edged away in the face of anger when he realized that the serpent was laughing at him.
“Sss sss sss! Not as elegant as Master, no not hardly,” Nagini laughed at him.
“What do you think you were doing?” Harry asked, slipping into Parseltongue as he rose from his sprawl on the floor.
“Sleeping until you woke me. How rude! You are very warm, though,” she answered, slithering off of the bed. She moved to wind herself between his feet as he gazed down at her warily. “Won’t hurt you, no. Master wouldn’t have it. That’s why I’m here, to keep the rats away.”
“Rats?” Harry asked. Remembering the two Death Eaters from the night before, he got her meaning. He held his shoulders for a moment as if he were cold. He had hoped that this all had been some sort of vivid nightmare, but it was all very real. Walking over to the door, which had been repaired, Harry tried to open it though he knew with near certainty it had been locked and warded. It was as he’d expected. Frowning, he marched over to the window, finding it unable to be opened. For a mad moment, Harry considered breaking the window with a chair. He then realized how far it was that he’d have to drop below as he leaned against the window. No way of doing that without breaking a leg or something more, that is if the window could even be broken. Chances of that were unlikely. Sighing, he turned to lean back against the nearby wall, sliding down to sit on the floor, his head in his hands. How did he get himself into these situations? Somehow, Harry doubted he’d be out of it any time soon. You live at my sufferance, at my whim, Voldemort’s voice echoed in his mind, mocking him. And he still didn’t know how well his friends had fared.
“Why so gloomy, Harry Potter?” the serpent asked as she slithered toward him.
“Nothing you’d care about,” he snapped. “Or that I’d want to tell you.”
“Children these days can be so rude,” she remarked. “I still like you a bit, Harry Potter. We have so many things in common.”
Harry turned to her. “Oh yeah, many things. Speaking Parseltongue is about it, I think. I have no intention of becoming Voldemort’s pet like you.”
Nagini’s hissing laughter did nothing to improve Harry’s mood. “Such a silly boy you are. I won’t tell you, no. Clever boys should figure things out on their own.”
Harry gazed at her quizzically as she winded her way across toward the bed, curling up where Harry’s body had lain, soaking up the rays of the morning sun as he watched her.
In perhaps another hour or so, a Death Eater sans their usual garb entered the room with a tray. Harry stiffened as the man approached. The wizard eyed Nagini, who had raised her head up off of the bed to stare at him unblinkingly. Flustered, the man quickly turned away, placing the tray near the seated teenager.
“Here’s your breakfast,” he said curtly before taking his leave, giving the bed on which the serpent laid a wide berth. Harry supposed word of what happened the night before had gotten around their base rather quickly.
The aroma of the food tempted Harry, making his stomach churn. He dared not eat it. Who knew what it had been laced with? Poison, unknown substances to dampen the will. With Snape serving the man, any potion was possible. He was aware that the man ultimately worked for Dumbledore, but who knew what kind of things he’d had to brew for the Dark Lord to ensure his position. Harry’s eyes widened after a moment in realization. Voldemort had been inside his mind, rifled through his thoughts for who knows how long. Had he found evidence of Snape’s betrayal of him?
No sooner than he’d thought of the wizard, Voldemort entered, gliding into the room with long strides, the cloth of his robe rustling against his skin. The robe’s fabric was light enough to flutter about the man’s form yet thick enough to conceal what lay beneath it. As the man passed the bed, he inclined his head to Nagini, whose head was raised in awareness. The snake gave its version of a bow as her master passed.
“Harry,” Voldemort greeted brightly, a faint smile on his face as he strode over, “surely you must be hungry by now,” he remarked, noting how the boy hadn’t touched the food that had been prepared for him.
Harry gazed at him sullenly, refusing to answer. Insults and slights from the man were something that the boy could understand. The Dark Lord’s attempt at polite conversation was unnerving.
Not bothered by Harry’s silence, the Dark Lord continued. “I wouldn’t be much of a host if I allowed you to starve. I think I’m a sight better than those Muggles charged to raise you.” Eying Harry for a moment, he added, “The food isn’t poisoned. If I want you to die, Harry Potter, you will know it.”
Harry eyed the food warily again, the scent of the meal making his traitorous stomach growl louder. He stiffened as he watched Voldemort approach. However, the wizard made no attempts to touch him, choosing instead to place several strips of bacon onto a napkin, gliding back over to the bed to sit beside Nagini. Perking up, the snake took the proffered strips from the Dark Lord’s fingers, her tongue darting out seeking the last traces of flavor on Voldemort’s hand, earning a faint smile from the wizard.
Harry found it so strange that a man who could be so cruel could show kindness to a creature. He shook his head, realizing that ‘kindness’ and ‘Voldemort’ didn’t’ belong in the same sentence together. Nicking a biscuit for himself from the plate nearby, Harry tore off a small piece to pop almost surreptitiously into his mouth, staving off his hunger just a bit. “What happened to my friends?” he asked.
Voldemort didn’t look at him, his eyes still on Nagini as he ran his hand over her scales. She slithered slightly back and forth in pleasure. “I imagine that they are safe and sound. My Death Eaters left them to the Aurors.” The wizard turned to regard him. “I wonder if they are as worried about you as you are for them.”
“Of course they are!” Harry told him indignantly. “I wouldn’t expect someone like you to understand anything about it. It’s not like you have any friends.”
Voldemort chuckled, and Nagini chose that moment to slide across his lap under his stroking hand and behind him. She slid across the Dark Lord’s back to place her head on his shoulder, eying Harry as she tasted the air with her tongue. “I have all the friends I need or require,” the wizard insisted, raising a hand to stroke her head.
“Your servants don’t count,” Harry remarked.
“Nor would I have them count,” Voldemort answered. “There are times when servants can become friends,” he said as Nagini slid herself under his chin as she twined around his other shoulder and down to the bed again, “but I prefer to keep the two separate. I’ve no need of a bunch of fawning imbeciles imparting me with protestations of their… love.” He said the last word as though it were distasteful. “I’ve found that surrounding oneself with such creatures is only needed by the insecure.” He gazed at Harry knowingly, making the teenager bristle visibly.
Harry knew that he was likely treading dangerous waters by angering the man, but he couldn’t help but remark, “No, you prefer fawning minions that bow and scrape to make you feel powerful.”
Instead of becoming angry, Voldemort laughed. “Oh, minions I have in droves,” he said, punctuating his words with a wave of his hand, “but I don’t need them to make me feel anything. I am powerful, Harry. But it does feel rather nice to exercise that power, I will admit. I don’t seek servants out, child. They come to me, to have but a taste of the strength that I possess. And what if I do prefer them on their knees? I think that they look better that way, bowing before me.” The dark wizard leaned forward, a sly smile on his face. “Or do you think it’s different somehow if I offer them lemon drops and tea as they sit in one of my comfortable chairs instead? Or dole out useless platitudes to ease their disquiet as I make them bend to my will regardless? The tactics differ, Harry, but I’m sure you’re smart enough to realize that it’s all the same, wizards of power exercising it. The only difference between your precious Dumbledore and I are the sides on which we stand in this war.”
“You’re wrong,” Harry said. “He doesn’t hurt people.”
Voldemort canted his head, an amused expression on his face. “And what do you know of what Dumbledore has done? He’s told you, has he, confided in you in regard to his sins because you’re so trusted?” The dark wizard’s face lost its humor and was replaced by an unreadable expression. “No Harry, you know very little about your beloved Dumbledore. He’s not a wizard’s version of Father Christmas. You don’t become as powerful a wizard as him by ‘not hurting people.’”
Harry opened his mouth to speak, but found himself at a loss for words. It was true, though, that Dumbledore told Harry little, even things relating to Harry. Despite this, he wanted to argue with the man further on the subject, but found himself brought up short by his words. Words that voiced a nagging suspicion that lurked at the back of Harry’s mind sometimes when he looked into those twinkling blue eyes.
“The machinations behind those eyes are limitless, Harry, you have no idea,” Voldemort added in answer to his thoughts. It was as if he were constantly peering into the boy’s mind. Harry frowned at the fact that the man probably was doing just that, speaking these words to twist Harry’s memories of the people he held dear and gauging his reactions.
“And you have your own,” Harry answered, finding his voice. He refused to give in to the man’s game now that he thought he knew it. He wouldn’t doubt the people he cared for. “I’m sure you don’t tell your people everything.”
“I do tell them what they need to know. And they know where they stand with me, no false offers of friendship or a shoulder to cry on,” Voldemort countered. “And I know where I stand with them. They serve me out of fear and a desire for power. Minions are easy things. The concept of a friend can be trickier. Are you sure that your friends… love you, Harry, or what they think you to be? We all know how many friends you had as a nobody in the Muggle world and how all that changed when you came, a celebrity, to the Wizarding World-”
“You don’t know anything,” Harry interrupted. The man’s words grated on his nerves again. He tried to tell himself that the wizard was just trying to get under his skin, using the memories he’d plundered against him. But why then did his words set Harry so on edge? He had true friends, Harry knew this, so-
The memory came to him unbidden of meeting Ron for the first time on the train. ‘Are you really Harry Potter?’ he’d asked, with wonder in his eyes. Then the others he’d met and marked as friends, all when he’d first met them had asked him something similar outright or did so with their eyes, scanning his fringe of unruly hair for the hint of his famous scar.
“I’m sure they’d all love you just the same, Harry, even if you weren’t the Boy Who Lived,” Voldemort told him, his voice full of false reassurance. “I’m sure that your celebrity status doesn’t even factor into it. I’m certain that none of them feel that your status somehow trickles down to them, that they bask somehow in your notoriety by being close to you.” The wizard rose as if to leave, then turned to Harry slightly. “You know, like my minions do.” Voldemort drank in Harry’s disquiet for a moment before heading toward the entrance to the room. “Be sure to eat your breakfast, Harry. You’re far too thin for a boy your age,” he called out behind him. The door opened again as Voldemort neared it, closing again after he whisked past the threshold.
Descending the stairs, Voldemort headed off to his throne room, passing a small group of Death Eaters who bowed deeply as he passed. He distractedly acknowledged them with a wave of his hand, preoccupied with his plans regarding the boy among other things. He’d already given them orders for now and would leave them to it. The men and women watched him go, most of them moving to gather in the foyer in preparation for departing for Muggle London. Bellatrix lingered until she saw the Dark Lord’s form move out of sight. Turning slightly, she realized that Lucius was still at her side as if waiting for her. She moved past him on her way toward the others when the sound of his voice caused her steps to slow.
“It’s odd, isn’t it, Bellatrix?” Lucius asked her as he fell into step with her.
“I’m not sure what you mean,” she answered, her wand playing absently with a lock of her hair.
“I’m referring to the Dark Lord’s behavior of late,” Lucius replied, his hands behind his back.
“What of it?” she asked, glancing at him briefly.
“Isn’t it rather odd that our lord is keeping the Potter child alive?” Lucius asked. “I would have expected at least a bit of torture, but no. The boy is ensconced safely in a comfortable room in this mansion. He even killed a pair of his servants who tried to take… liberties.”
“None should touch or punish the boy unless the Dark Lord decides it,” Bellatrix said. “They disobeyed him. You’ll not find me mourning the young and foolish.”
“All I’m saying is that it’s strange. Just a few days ago he wanted Potter’s head on a platter and now he’s protecting him-”
“It’s not our place to wonder these things,” Bellatrix interrupted, her eyes glittering up at him in warning. “All we need to know is how to serve him.”
“Of course,” Lucius agreed, realizing that perhaps he’d spoken a bit too much to the wrong person. “Forgive me if it seemed that I was suggesting otherwise. Just thinking aloud, I suppose. I’m sure our lord has a grand plan in store for Mr. Potter.”
Mollified somewhat, Bellatrix’ eyes lost some of their angry light. As they joined their comrades to set off on their latest task, Malfoy senior continued to wonder if there was something in recent events that he could turn to his advantage.
July 27th, 2009 at 9:03 pm
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