Categories > Books > Harry Potter > The Chimera: More Snake than Lion
Chimera: Chapter 6
Wine...what a beautiful delicacy.
The red fluid swirled in the glass, the entrancing pattern of the churning liquid reflected on the silver ring adorning the finger of the holder. Red eyes, a lighter, brighter hue than that of the wine, stared at the glass pensively. The man's abnormally long fingers, pale and sickly in color, lightly grasped the stem of the glass, the filthy hue of his skin swirling in the crystal stem of the glass. The difference between the hue of the wine and his eyes stood in sharp contrast, the malevolency of his eyes seeming perverted and disgusting at once in comparison to the swirling peace that the fluid seemed to contain.
He chuckled, the mirth in the action lost among the haunting tremors that followed as the sound bounced off the vaulted ceiling. Draining the glass of the aromatic liquid, he set it down on the armrest of his chair.
"Each moment distorts my view..." he whispered, some quasi-human emotion residing in his eyes, which lay sunken and unfocused, dilating sporadically. Bellowing in anger, his hand whipped out, lashing out at the closest vulnerable object: the glass.
It was launched into the air by the force of the strike, sailing across the room in a graceful arc. As it flew, the myriad of colors thrown upon it by the flickering torches suspended in the air cast blurred patches of light on the ground. They swirled like a kaleidoscope with the motion of the glass, twisting and turning before the end, as the glass shattered into four pieces as it struck the opposite wall.
His eyes protruded in a shocked stare as they regarded the result of his anger. A measly four pieces? Blinking, he laughed hysterically, his involuntary reflexes going so far as to cause his foot to stamp the ground in his laughter.
Snorting out the last bit of chuckles, he sat back in the seat. "Interesting, isn't it, Nagini? The fact that I command such powerful magic, yet I cannot even cause a glass to crumble?"
The snake at his feet, curled around the legs of his chair, hissed out a non-committal response. He grumbled at the lack of interaction, muttering "Stop eating recruits, Nagini. You've become even more reclusive with some idiot occupying your stomach, and unfortunately I cannot afford your eating habits."
It was childish, but even a Dark Lord could indulge in childishness. But it was true.
There was a serious dearth of capable help in his forces. The loss of a recruit or two, considering their fresh-out-of-Hogwarts level of skill, did not seem like much, when compared to the 300-odd Death Eaters he commanded. Still, it would count in the end. They, at the very least, were good for scare tactics. Any idiot with resolve and some practice could cast the Killing Curse, so why endanger worthwhile Death Eaters when he could employ these servantile idiots to attack some nameless Wizarding Village?
What his main problem was at the moment was the lack of power that his forces represented. He only had a touch more than three hundred Death Eaters, and while this was about equal to the Auror ranks, they were nowhere near equal to the Aurors in training and power. Unused to fighting in groups, they acted like foolish Gryffindors in their incessant attempts to achieve the greatest number of kills in any given mission. Losing their lives and jeopardizing his objectives would hardly cause him to favor them amongst his faithful. Ten Aurors could decimate forty of his Death Eaters at their current level...it was a travesty. While his forces, termed 'terrorists' by Bagnold, the Minister of Magic in his early days, were equal in number to the Aurors, he knew that this was simply due to his cause. If he were not advocating blood purity, he doubted he would command more than a tenth of his force.
Rituals would need to be arranged for his servants, to increase their power. Training would have to be given. And most of all, his forces would have to be /increased/. It was common knowledge that only Purebloods were tolerated in the Dark Lord's forces. That, in itself, reduced the potential size of his forces by a huge amount. There were close to six thousand Purebloods in Britain...and of those, perhaps eight hundred could be persuaded to take the Mark. Albus Dumbledore's influence permeated through the society like a plague, and it made finding reliable help all the more difficult.
However, the 'official' return of the Dark Lord was a favorable portent for his expansionist ideals...the official conformation that the most powerful Wizard in the world had returned was likely to bring him a great deal of support. Knowing the terror that his last reign had brought, and the fear that had been the primary emotion coursing through the veins of society, the Dark Lord reveled in the attention. Fear was a powerful motivator...he would receive support and servants from those interested in protecting themselves and all that they loved.
He laughed in excitement, already envisioning the destruction he could wreak upon the Wizarding World. The thought of a functioning 'war machine', as it were, was almost orgasmic to him as he shuddered in delight. A true fighting force, gelling together perfectly, complementing each other as they wrought havoc upon the huddled masses that would form the rapidly darkening World.
Speaking of capable help...he cast a sour look towards his feet, his dreams extinguishing.
Nagini lazily raised her head, blood still glinting on her fangs. At least the snake was smart enough to avoid swallowing them whole. The one time she tried that, she had been useless for a month. Luckily, that catastrophe had passed, twenty years ago, and was now a distant memory of the boorish nature of the snake at his feet.
"Master./ Serve you?" the snake muttered, almost entirely taxing its intelligence. Snakes could understand Parseltongues, but they hardly had enough versatility with speech to speak more than simple, disjointed words. The Basilisk in the Chamber had been even worse than Nagini, having an odd fixation with repeating the same thing over again. To this day, Lord Voldemort could irritably recall the constantly repeated words of that idiot snake: "Blood...kill, rip, tear. Need blood."/
"No. I doubt you could prove useful at the moment anyway. Silence yourself, I need to think." Obediently, Nagini flopped back to the floor, a whoosh of air culminating in an audible flopping sound. The Dark Lord clenched his eyes shut in irritation, trying to ignore the sound.
The urge to level his wand at the dozing snake and cast the Cruciatus struck him, but he fought it down. Sighing, he closed his eyes and sank back into his chair.
In the remote reaches of his mind, a tiny spark of rationality had returned to the Dark Lord, trying in vain to return full control of his mental facilities to him. Having avoided the Cleansing Ritual for over fifty years had systematically eroded his original mindset. Dark Magic wove through his every thought, enforcing his drive for power.
Fluctuating moods, sudden anger, his love for torture, death and destruction...the results of a mind warped from manipulative success to forcible victories. Tom Riddle had been a force of intelligence, calculatingly plotting his every move prior to taking action. He had his future mapped out, planning to capitalize on his intelligence to pave the way to the top as Lord Voldemort. But the plan was to retain his original mindset.
Instead of adopting the persona of Lord Voldemort, he became Lord Voldemort, adopting the persona of Tom Riddle at times. By the time he was fourteen, he had begun using Dark Magic in the Chamber of Secrets. By the time he was fifteen, he had used enough to warrant a minimum of two cleansing rituals. But he ignored it, reveling in the odd clarity of mind that Dark Magic brought. While he retained his calculating nature, he lost his regard for social norms. Life was no longer something to be treasured. His own life was something to be guarded viciously and extended for as long as possible, while the lives of others devalued as he became increasingly cruel. Tom Riddle was now simply a name, lost behind the terror that was Lord Voldemort. Tom Riddle was an attitude, a crafty, sly personality, nothing more. Why, even being referred to be the name of the half-blood was angering to him...Lord Voldemort would hardly deign to allow anyone to refer to him with a name so.../Human/.
He was far from human...he was above human, far superior, and his actions spoke for themselves. No ignorant, idealistic wizard would dare to name him in such a way that his very superiority was called into question.
Snap!
The spark died, under the onslaught of the Dark Magic that resided in the Dark Lord. While it did not pervert his thoughts per se, it did influence his decisions, and lend him more sadistic, homicidal tendencies. It certainly did not let him dwell on his need to perform cleansing rituals. The snap turned his attention away from such thoughts, redirecting it to his forces, to more worthwhile thoughts.
A wave of his hand slammed the doors open. "Wormtail," he called, the chilling voice causing said Death Eater to tremble as he entered. He was free to indulge in his small fits of insanity while the door was closed...the silencing charm did its work as long as the door wasn't open. He recognized some sort of fluctuation within his raging, turbulent thoughts, one that would infrequently cause a burst of chuckles or screams...a weakness that could hardly be displayed to his Death Eaters. His servants regarded him as the God he felt himself to be, and he was loath to relieve them-and himself- of this opinion.
"My Lord?" the sniveling man asked, head bowed in perfect servitude. Living with the Dark Lord for a year had taught the rat well. It was only to be expected that a man formerly loyal to the light would not have the servitude ingrained in his personality that the Death Eaters did, that he would not have the servility and subordinate reflexes that the Death Eaters regarded as a norm when in the presence of their Master. It had to be forcibly ingrained in the rat...through pain, for pain was the most effective way that the Dark Lord understood. Even in the malignant-looking form of an infant, Lord Voldemort commanded far more respect than most men, and he took full advantage of this fact.
"Locate Bellatrix, and tell her that I require her presence immediately." His voice was flat, unimpressed by even the most extravagant shows of loyalty and deference. Wormtail, for all his stupidity, was smart enough to realize, given time, that perhaps his best course of action would be to appease the Dark Lord's every whim. The Dark Lord scowled inwardly, knowing that using the rat's mark would incapacitate him for a while because of the pain. Wormtail had his uses, but his failures were even worse. Had it not been for the Adrenaline-boosting potion and the pain numbing charms that preceded the Resurrection Ritual a year ago, the Rat would have botched things up in the worst manner.
"Yes, My Lord," replied the rat, executing a pitiful excuse for a formal bow as he left His exalted presence.
Waiting, Voldemort impatiently drummed his fingers on the armrest of his chair, grudgingly appreciative of the tastes of the man who formerly resided there. The chair was comfortable, even if it /was /crafted by Muggles. Unfortunately, the man no longer lived at all, much less in an abode so comfortable, so thanks were of little use, if Lord Voldemort would ever stoop to the level of thanking a Muggle.
A minute flew by, his thoughts flitting from one inconsequential thing to another, his impatience growing. A knock on the door and a hushed "You summoned me, My Lord?" announced Bellatrix's arrival.
"Come closer, Bella," he said, his chilling gaze upon her. Warily, she approached, her eyes flitting from danger to danger as she entered.../snake, Dark Lord, snake, Dark Lord...choices, choices...Dark Lord!/ Taking a visible breath to steel her nerves, she forcibly wrenched her gaze from the snake, bestowing it appropriately upon her Lord's feet. For a woman like Lestrange, this action was a rather trying one to take, since her jumpy mind reacted to danger in a manner quite similar to how a rattlesnake did.
"The new Death Eaters are showing utterly dismal levels of competence," he said, his voice hissing out his displeasure quite cleanly. "As you are one of the only competent Death Eaters outside Azkaban, it has fallen to you to...educate them. You have two weeks to make sure that they achieve respectable competency in dueling and spell knowledge. Brute force will not suffice for the plans I have."
Clearing her throat to rid herself of the constricting sensation that she always felt in the presence of Lord Voldemort, Bellatrix went so far as to question him. "What plans would those be, My Lord?"
Looking up slowly from where his view had been fixed on his snake, Voldemort raised an eyebrow. Quailing, Bellatrix bowed her head, whispering "Forgive my audacity, Master."
A moment of silence passed. Unnerved, Bellatrix looked up unsurely, stuttering "Should- uh...may I leave, Milord?"
He leaned his head to the side, regarding her closely. His stare bored deep into her eyes, and she shuddered involuntarily in fear. His eyes widened imperceptibly...she was radiating guilt and fear now.
He decided that passive legilimency was a true boon, if magic had ever granted one to mankind. Nothing got past him. This was a time for Tom Riddle's perspicacity to emerge; Bellatrix would need to be handled appropriately, and to his utmost consternation, he did not possess the patience that his half-blood persona did.
Invisibly, he entered her mind, his approach bearing none of the brutal forwardness that his strikes against Harry Potter's mind had borne. Inured as he was to horrific images, Voldemort still felt uncomfortable in her mind. The fantasies of torture and perverse humiliation before morbid death...these were marks of an insanity so deeply ingrained in her being that mind and soul had entirely turned to darkness.
Ah...the source of the guilt and fear. And, it had to do with.../Harry Potter!? /Interesting. And what fantasies they were...she had mapped out every last second of the torture...the humiliation. But there was no death, a curious aspect. Digging deeper, he found the answer. She would submit Potter's broken form to him, partly out of her allegiance to him as a Marked servant, but mostly out of her instincts to simultaneously avoid punishment at his hand for killing the boy while furthering herself in his ranks.
It was only this that stopped him from casting the Cruciatus on her. Punishing her for it would be a bad idea. She had taken on this idea of her own volition, and her deepest desires would make her succeed in this endeavor...punishing her for it would remove part of the feverish way in which she would attack, making her entirely forget her initial desires. He needed her to carry that belief of some degree of independence...it would make the operation all the more successful. After his next order, she would feel demoralized, but within days, her insanity would once more provide the motivation and delusions of independence that he required. Within the Dark Lord's mind, Voldemort cursed Tom Riddle's persona for being too lenient, though the grudging agreement was present.
He withdrew as gently as he had entered, leaving a slight distortion behind that masked the minute passed within her mind as yet another minute of uncomfortable silence. His mindset reverted to that of Lord Voldemort, gleeful amusement coming to him from his next words.
"You will also retrieve Potter for me at some point this year. You may take your time having fun with him, but he will be brought to me for execution, understood?"
She paled, whispering "Potter, My Lord?" The disappointment was evident in her tone. It took the excitement out of the hunt for her. There would be no excitement, no sense of independency if she was to attack the boy under his orders. It had ceased to be her idea. No matter what destruction she wrought on the boy's body and mind, it would be inconsequential. He had commanded her to do it, and she would not dare to protest and claim the operation as her own. She might, depending on the thoroughness of her actions, be able to gain some favor with the Dark Lord, but it would barely make up for the debacle that had been her performance at the Ministry.
FUCK!!!
Head bowed, she whispered "Of course, Sire. May I leave, or do you still require my presence?" The manner of her speech was arrogant, but the humility and reverence for his power evident in her tone appeased his volatile nature. Purebloods couldn't help being purebloods, after all. Pompous idiots, they were, at times. Still, his mind very nearly interpreted her servile words to indicate that Bellatrix believed that he required her...reaching that conclusion would have caused him to disembowel the woman on the spot. Manually.
"Leave," he commanded, turning to his snake once more. The dismissal, even if it had not been enunciated, was clear as soon as the Lord's attention turned to his Snake. She bowed, turned and walked towards the door, only to be halted while grasping the handle of the door.
"Bellatrix," he called, attention still focused on his snake, a dark smirk on his face, "your batch of recruits will attack Azkaban in two weeks, during the first Wizengamot Meeting of August."
He nearly laughed as she tensed, her back snapping straight. "Master," she said in deference, and left. In the room, he stroked Nagini's head, whispering "She is devious, Nagini. I do not doubt her loyalty, but it seems that Azkaban has worn away her senses. If she fails in this, she will be disciplined harshly."
The Dark Lord smiled a truly terrifying grin...he had full faith in Harry Potter. Something about the boy spoke of carefully controlled reactions...almost as if his every action was a pretense. He felt it in his bones...the boy was more than what he seemed to be.
After all, who would know better than the first person to be capable of deceiving Albus Dumbledore?
****************** ******************
"WHAT?!"
Harry winced. This wasn't exactly how he had envisioned this meeting. Mr. Chang...he had not given a first name, looked apoplectic, cheeks and ears red. It might have had something to do with the way Cho had introduced him.
"Father, please meet the man I'm going to marry."
The rosy blush of happiness on her face might have had something to do with it as well...it rather looked like afterglow. The last thing he needed now was for Mr. Chang to believe that he had just shagged his daughter silly, and then dragged her down to get married. It wasn't exactly.../proper/, you could say.
Then, all was calm. The pallor returned to Mr. Chang's face. Turning to his daughter, he said in a sickly sweet voice "Cho, I don't recall you mentioning anything about a companion."
She opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off, snarling "And I don't recall raising a whore! What the hell were you thinking? Allowing a man into your bedroom before marriage?"
He would have continued, but his mouth snapped shut as he saw Harry from the corner of his eye. Turning to the young man, he was about to berate him, only to find the light gone from Harry's eyes, a dark look residing in the usually emotive orbs.
"I will make myself clear, Mr. Chang," Harry said in a toneless voice, "if you dare to use that word again, you will not like the consequences. Be civilized."
"What? Who do you think you are, Harry fucking Potter? And is this your Damsel in distress? Get out!" he snarled, jabbing his finger towards the door.
Harry blinked. "Yes."
"What?" In his rage, the one-word answer seemed to have unsettled Mr. Chang. Where he had been puffing himself up, ostensibly to physically force Harry out of the house, he deflated in confusion.
"You had it right, Mr. Chang. My name is Harry James Potter. Lord Harry James Potter. And I am making a formal proposal for your daughter's hand in marriage."
The reaction was not surprising. Mr. Chang laughed, derogatively. "Young man, get out now before I call the Aurors. And Cho, go to your room! You don't want to test my patience, /daughter/, this is the last thing I expected!"
Harry reached into his pocket, causing Mr. Chang to withdraw his wand and aim it at him threateningly. Unconcerned, he continued his action seamlessly, withdrawing the rosewood box and setting it on the table between them. A slight push with the tips of his fingers sent the box halfway across the shiny lacquered surface of the table.
Still training his wand on Harry, who had leaned back in his armchair, he chanced a look down at the rosewood box, recognizing the Gringotts crest engraved into its lid. Then, he felt a jerk in his hand as his wand was torn from his grasp. Frantic, he looked up, only to find the young man calmly handing the wand to his daughter.
His eyes met the boy's, and he nearly shivered. They were cold...perhaps he shouldn't have insulted his daughter in front of him.
"Open the box, Mr. Chang." He did, revealing a pair of rings. He blinked. The Potter ring stood proud and simple. A plain, flat gold band with the Family name engraved into it. The Potters had always favored simplicity, but this was certainly not a fake...it radiated magic of such potency that the hairs on his arms had stood on end. The other ring was once again austere in decoration, though the font of the letter 'C' emblazoned on it was rather stylized. It too radiated magic, but nowhere near the level that the Potter Ring did.
"This is the Potter ring, yes. But it means nothing, you could have stolen it. And why isn't it on your finger if you are Harry Potter? Give me the wand back, and get out of my house!"
The lad blinked again, looking at him in a manner that made Mr. Chang feel pitied. "As you might know, I have yet to turn sixteen. The rings will not accept me as the rightful Lord for another two weeks."
"If you expect me to-" He cut himself off abruptly, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. If the boy spoke the truth, then at the very least, he should listen. A proposal was a proposal...it did not bind him to agreement until a contract was signed. Abruptly, his mouth closed, and he glared at the young man sitting across from him. No...even the term 'young man' seemed inappropriate. The lad seemed more mature than he himself was acting.
Once again, he saw the look from the boy. His face was emotionless, but his eyes seemed to emote more than should have been possible. The feeling he got while looking into those eyes...he nearly shivered. A perfect mix of haughty superiority yet feral preparedness lay in those eyes, and for some reason, the older man felt at once pitied and small, as if neither his intellect, nor his masculinity could compare to those of the lad across him.
"Who are you?" he asked with some irritation in his voice.
"As I said, Mr. Chang, my name is Harry James Potter." The truth of his words was plainly obvious, though the Chang Patriarch couldn't understand why.
"Prove it," he said, his voice no longer acerbic. The young man complied, removing his wand from his robes, and laying it on the desk between them. Chang raised an eyebrow. This was a clear show of trust and nonaggression...yielding one's wand to another was a sign of peace and faith. Chang turned to his daughter, who handed him his own wand.
"Voco Dominus!" he commanded, tapping Harry's wand with his own. He blinked a few times, feeling the wand communicate with him. Eyes narrowing, he jabbed his wand at Harry's, muttering "Efflagito Erus!"
This time, a hazy line of smoke appeared, connecting the tip of the wand with Harry's heart. Chang nodded, apparently satisfied. He returned Harry's wand, and placed his own inside his robe, sitting back on the seat. A slightly crafty expression appeared on his face, though he did his best to hide it.
"Why are you here, then? A proposal? That could be submitted via a formal letter...it does not require your presence, Mr. Potter." It was true, and the action might well signify great profit to him. If the lad was desperate enough to approach him directly...well, it made bargaining easier. Harry wryly noted the abrupt politeness of his words...Mr. Chang, it seemed, knew how to bargain. Although the question wasn't direct, the negotiations had already started.
"I couldn't take that chance, Mr. Chang," Harry replied. "You see, your daughter means a lot to me, and having you make the decision to betroth her to the Malfoy boy could not be allowed."
His eyes bugged out, anger appearing in them again as he exploded. "What?! You dare to meddle in the affairs of my family?" As a proud man, regardless of his craftiness, this could not be tolerated. For this outsider to presume to tell him what he could and could not do...it was inexcusable!
Before the man could continue, Harry shook his head. "Of course not," he said softly, "I merely came to ensure that the woman I love would not have to endure a marriage to a man she despises."
This calmed him down spectacularly, the flush of anger fading in record time. Speechless, he asked "What? Cho- I.../what?/" His daughter was blushing prettily, eyes locked on the floor. Still, it did nothing to hide the lovely flush on her cheeks, the whole image that of a virginal bride being betrothed. Inwardly, he snorted, half in anger, half in humor...if, knowing his strictness, she was forward enough to invite a man directly into her bedroom, chances were that she was no virgin.
"Tell me, Mr. Chang, why would you even consider a proposal from the Malfoy Family?"
"I hardly need to tell you that You-Know-Who has returned...after all, you were the only one to say that before His appearance in the Ministry. Ergo, an alliance between my family and those who are His faithful would be conducive to our safety. You ended his first reign as Dark Lord...you do not know what horrors took place then. Having safety from the Dark Lord's vengeance is an opportunity that I cannot pass up. Perhaps declining the Malfoy proposal wouldn't put us in peril...but accepting a proposal from you most assuredly would. I mean no slight, but you are Half-blooded, and you know as well as I do that it would put us in far greater danger to associate with you."
Harry nodded, thinking carefully. The bargaining had started...that much was obvious to him, though it would have been lost on most people. Chang had already told him what benefits he could receive from a marriage with the Malfoys...it was a move engineered to force Harry's hand. Chang either expected Harry to make promises of safety that were out of his control, something that would surely cause the man to dismiss his proposal entirely, or to cross his palm in gold. Basically, he expected Harry to make sure that his proposal was more than generous, and considering the danger he mentioned, he intended for Harry's generosity to be far more than what was appropriate in this situation. He was crafty, that much was certain.
Cho's eyes were downcast...this was a bump she had not even considered. Her father had never been a stickler for blood purity before. Of course, with the return of the Dark Lord, blood once again meant everything. Now, it seemed, all was lost. She was damned to a hell on earth, for the simple reason that Harry's blood wasn't pure enough.
Of course, she was surprised when Harry laughed. Blinking, her eyes shot towards him in surprise.
"I, Mr. Chang, am not a Half-Blood. I am pureblooded, and hold as much, if not more power than the Malfoy Family does. As of now, I am the Potter Heir, and the Crowen Heir through my Mother. I will also receive the Lordship of my Godfather's Family...the Blacks. This will become public knowledge soon enough. Now, it is true that I am a special target for the Dark Lord. However, in a few weeks, the Dark Lord should find that my intentions are neutral, unlike the Daily Prophet would have us believe. Targeting me, at that point, will be something he will not want to do...and I'm afraid that is all I can say on this subject. As for your family...I'm sure that if, /hypothetically/, you were to accept my proposal, then the hypothetical Contract could accommodate the fees for a group of professional warders to secure your home."
It was a considerable offer, really, since Professional Warders usually charged obscene amounts to comprehensively ward a home. It was justified, since the entire process usually left the team magically exhausted for a few weeks, which meant that they would be unable to work until their magic was relaxed.
The elder man's eyes shot wide open, and flicked over to his daughter. She, too, seemed shocked by the revelation that he was pureblooded, staring at him in frank amazement.
Head whipping towards Harry, he said "I hope you will forgive me for asking you to prove your statement." He didn't say 'claim'...that would connote his disbelief.
Harry inclined his head in acquiescence, already knowing that this ritual would have to be carried out. From his pocket, he extracted the Ritual Blade that he purchased earlier in the day. Making a shallow cut on his palm, he dipped his index finger into the blood, hissing as the icy sensation gave way to pain. Using the blood-covered finger, he drew a line of blood down his throat, simultaneously saying "Harry James Potter, Voco Sanctitas Sanguini!"
This was one of the dregs of Blood Magic that still remained in the knowledge of common Wizards. It had been shared by the Scottish Blood Mages for the sole purpose of allowing disputes over blood purity to be handled quickly without having to delve into the tediousness of family trees. What it did was simple...it made an aura bloom forth, the color of the aura signifying the purity of one's blood. Harry held up his bleeding hand in a cupping gesture, palm facing up, and said "Invocare!" The aura burst forth from the cut on his palm, a small ball of white light.
Both Changs blinked in subdued surprise. Cho's eyes narrowed as they gazed at Harry, who was healing his cut and vanishing the streak of blood on his neck. He had a lot to explain...he had said that he was keeping secrets, but he had assured her that she would know them as soon as her Occlumency reached a certain point.
"Now," Harry said, "what I represent to your family is far more safety than an alliance with the Malfoys can provide. Once allied with them, it will be a matter of weeks before you are summoned before the Dark Lord, and it will be a matter of minutes after that in which you will have made the decision to accept the Dark Mark rather than see your family slaughtered along with you. An alliance with the Malfoys is equable to forced servitude. This, in turn, would establish you as an enemy of the Ministry and all those that oppose the Dark Lord. I am quite familiar with the Malfoy Heir, Mr. Chang...he is already betrothed...to someone who is physically repulsive, but represents a politically astute alliance. I think you understand me...I do not need to emphasize what life your daughter will live in that house. I, on the other hand, represent a neutral party, something which will be made quite apparent soon enough."
This was Harry's retaliation, in kind. Reminding Chang of his obligation to make sure his daughter was happy was a strong blow, but softly placed. Emphasizing what his whole Family's future could be was another strike...the likelihood of the events occurring exactly as he predicted was high. Essentially, Harry was systematically proving that the safety of the Chang Family was equally at risk, regardless of who Cho was married to.
Chang nodded tiredly. "I know," he said, then changed the topic. "Mr. Potter, you are the Boy-Who-Lived...believing you to be neutral is not easy."
Harry nodded. "Of course. My neutrality is only effective neutrality, Mr. Chang. I am oppose to the Dark Lord for obvious reasons: the death of my parents, and the numerous times that he has attempted to kill me. But, I do not place my support behind what is called the 'Light'. Albus Dumbledore, while powerful and influential, has not swayed me to his way of thinking. Thus, since I neither support the Dark Lord, nor his main opponent, I am effectively neutral. The first Convention of the Wizengamot will contain those that are loyal to him...my position of neutrality will reach his ears immediately. In any case, I don't intend to publicize my relationship with Cho until then. As far as the Malfoys are concerned, you only need inform them that their proposal, which arrived today, was late. Draco Malfoy will suffer only a moment of irritation, Mr. Chang...his interest in Cho is because of me."
Chang's eyes narrowed. "He is proposing to my daughter to spite you?" He looked angry, and Harry was somewhat happy that the anger wasn't directed at him, and rather pleased that Mr. Chang had been distracted. Chang turned to his daughter, and asked "Is this true?"
Cho nodded, eyes serious. Chang snarled, eyes burning. Turning to Harry, he said "State your proposal, Mr. Potter."
It was easy for him to believe them. The Changs and the Malfoys hardly frequented the same circles, so a proposal like this, despite his daughter's great beauty, was rather random. The Malfoys were one of the few families that were more than exclusive in the families that they forged their alliances with. They married within an exclusive circle that contained noted pureblooded families with darker inclinations...which was why the Malfoy line could no longer produce more than one child per generation. Magic had been instrumental in preventing the harsher side-effects of what was practically incestuous breeding, but not all of them could be eliminated. Making a proposal to a distinctly middle-class family like the Changs was more than odd, but Mr. Chang had been ready to blame it on his daughter's beauty. Until now.
Harry nodded slowly, sitting straighter in his chair. He cautiously said "I believe we can reach an agreement, Mr. Chang, but I'd rather that this wasn't done in front of Cho. I hope that some day she will be my wife, so giving her love a monetary value is not something I want to do in front of her."
Chang smiled slightly, nodding his agreement. It was a kind thing to do...while most purebloods wouldn't give it a second's thought, the young man obviously cared enough for his daughter to refrain from putting a price on her head, so to speak. It would be disconcerting for Cho, considering that the two men she trusted most were negotiating her price...especially since Mr. Chang fully expected Harry to try and bargain. For a man like Mr. Chang, a romantic at heart despite his stern, crafty persona, this was the factor that changed his mind fully. The wards would take care of his family's safety, and he would be able to relax, knowing that his daughter was in good hands.
"I agree, Mr. Potter. Cho, I will ask you to give us some privacy, please," he said, "but I can tell you now...I am much inclined to betroth you to Mr. Potter. He shows a level of understanding that I am very pleased with."
Harry allowed himself a smile a minute before Cho crashed into him, laughing and crying simultaneously. His arms immediately wrapped around her, holding her quivering body against his even as she stammered words of love to him, and words of thanks to her father at the same time. It took her a minute, but she managed to compose herself, though her face was streaked with tears of happiness. Smiling at her, he kissed her forehead gently, whispering "I'll see you when I'm done here, alright?"
She smiled back through her tears, looking resplendent. "Okay," she whispered shyly, kissing his cheek. She hugged her father tightly, whispering her thanks into his ear. Then, in a smooth moment as she pulled away from him, she placed a white envelope in his hand. Ignoring his questioning look, she kissed his cheek and left the room.
Harry looked at Mr. Chang inquisitively, but said nothing. Chang prepared to put the envelope down for later reading, but paused. Muttering to himself, he read the cover, saying "Urgent...read first...hmm?"
Shooting Harry an apologetic glance, he opened the envelope, took out the sheet, and began reading. It was written in Chinese, the script ornate and beautiful. Harry marveled at it, initially missing the growing look of shock on Mr. Chang's face as he read the letter. Soon, Harry noticed it, and voiced his worry.
"Mr. Chang, is everything alright?" he asked.
Chang blinked, nodding distractedly "Oh. Yes," he said vaguely, still immersed in the letter. He seemed to read it a few times before finally laying the letter down, seeming burdened.
"I understand," he said, "that Cho is to be your lesser wife. I wish you had told me this earlier."
Harry blinked. "I wish," he said, surprise evident in his tone, "that Cho had told me earlier. I talked to her about this, Mr. Chang...she believes that I am destined for another woman. Actually, to put it in her words, she has a part of my heart, but that another woman holds the other, larger piece. As I said to her, I don't believe in having a 'lesser' wife. I would not be making this proposal if I did not care for her. While she might know something that I don't, I am still not prepared to title her as a 'lesser' wife. She will, your consent provided, be my wife, and I shall make no distinction between her and this 'other woman', if she turns out to be right."
Chang nodded slightly, still staring at the letter.
Harry wasn't surprised when the man said "Very well. Let us talk numbers...the paperwork can be done later."
****************** ******************
Wearied, he returned to Privet Drive, though the slight flush of success still graced his cheeks. The perfect little houses still stood intact, glistening in a manner most disgusting to the young Lord. The effort that these people put into being perfect was absolutely nauseating to him. A futile effort, since for all their superficial perfection, an outside observer would have the same reaction to their pretentious natures as he did.
Running a hand through his hair as he enjoyed the light summer breeze, he slowly walked the fifty yards towards the Dursley home. The regular few lights were on, as usual, and nothing seemed out of place, but for some reason, things seemed extremely wrong. He tensed, pausing behind a nearby tree, peering carefully at the house. Not a thing was out of place...it looked as painfully normal as the rest of the house, save for the slight remnants of the barred window that had caged him in the summer after his First Year. He blinked, and it hit him...the flickering light was not present.
In the Dursley Household, the television constantly played during the summers. The fleeting pictures on the massive screen always played across the flimsy curtains that veiled the view into the Dursley home. The lights that he had spent his childhood wistfully staring at were not present, and the lack of those flickering blue lights seemed to make all the difference.
His eyes narrowed as he crouched slightly, peering very carefully at the house. In the window of his own bedroom, he saw a feminine form stretch its arms out and curve its spine backwards. That would be Tonks, he knew. She was probably getting ready for bed. The light in Dudley's bedroom was off, which, again, was surprising. The corpulent boy usually left lights on wherever he went, neglecting to turn them of to conserve electricity. In any case, Dudley rarely went to bed before 2 AM. The Master bedroom had a window too, but it looked out the back of the house, over the small patio and backyard.
Slowly, he made his way closer, until he was inconspicuously leaning against a tree outside Number 2 Privet Drive, the house next door. Slowly extracting his wand, he cast a notice-me-not charm around himself to ward off the eyes of anyone who was peering out of their windows in the fashion that Privet Drive seemed to enjoy. Blinking a few times, he pointed his wand at his eyes and muttered "Adaugeo!"
The third-year charm worked as it was supposed to, allowing him to examine things as if he were peering through a pair of short-ranged binoculars. His eyes circled about a bit until he was able to find his bearings, and he managed to stop his sight upon the doorstep of Number 4. Slowly, his eyes moved up the door, ignoring the bright flash of light as the golden doorknob reflected the streetlights into his eyes. Finally, his eyes found the small window built into the top of the door, a space perhaps five inches long and twenty inches wide in a rectangle, with the longer end parallel to the ground.
For a few seconds, it seemed, his suspicions had been off. Then, just as he was preparing to cancel the charm, he noticed it. The shadows moved, signaling the presence of someone waiting inside the doorway!
Resisting the urge to blink, he watched for another few seconds, noting the shadows shift a few more times, signifying the impatience of whoever was waiting. His wand came up again, canceling the charm on his eyes, and he had to cover his eyes and moan as he felt himself ridiculously disoriented. Nearly stumbling, he once again leaned on the tree and focused on the pavement for a while until he felt his vision had returned to normal.
Another wave of his wand removed the notice-me-not charm from the ground, and he was off. He slipped into the bushes between the two houses, easily stepping over the two foot fence that stood between the houses. Slowly, he circled the house, approaching the patio door at the rear of the house. Creeping into the shadows there, he peered in through the large glass portion of the rear door, noticing the darkened sitting room. Then, his eyes widened as he noticed the 'attackers'.
Petunia Dursley stood next to the kitchen door, wringing her hands in a manner terribly reminiscent of nervous women in the few movies he had been able to see. An expression contorted her face, one that seemed to be a cross between reluctance and great excitement. Closer to the door stood Dudley, a sick grin on his face. His hair was slicked back like Malfoy's, and he was wearing the most ridiculous clothing...a pair of slightly baggy boxing trunks, shoes, and a vest. He had never looked more repulsive before...the meat seemed to roll off his body in waves. Suppressing his distaste, Harry noticed that Dudley was wearing his Boxing gloves, large, red, meaty gloves that would probably do very little to cushion the blow despite the padding. His eyes narrowed again, noticing Vernon. His dear Uncle was standing near the door, still clad in his work clothes. His sleeves were rolled up, the tie loosened, and his topmost button freed. He was perspiring heavily, as the large wet spots under his arms, on his chest and ostensibly his back would dictate. In his meaty arms he carried a cricket bat, the Kookaburra Professional bat that Dudley's favorite English cricketer used. The threatening way in which the club was brandished made things obvious enough for even Ron Weasley to understand what they were trying to do.
Apparently, they had arranged things in a simple, straightforward, but effective fashion. Harry would have entered through the front door, naturally seeing the wall in front of him, and the door to the small bathroom on his right. The other side of the wall was the staircase, with his old cupboard under it. On the last step of the stairs stood Vernon, holding the bat. Harry would have walked in, and turned to go up the stairs, at which point Vernon would have hit him with the bat. Then, the three Dursleys would do whatever they had planned, which could hardly be anything but violent.
Harry's lips curled in disgust...what a family. His wand rose, casting a silencing charm on the locking mechanism of the patio door, and then another on his shoes. With his left hand, he drew one of his daggers, holding it tightly behind his back to make sure that no light reflected off the shiny blade. Slowly, his inched forward, and silently slipped the door open, thanking the gods for the fact that there were no frogs or crickets in the backyard to make noise. Slipping in, he silently shut the door and crouched behind one of the couches. Taking a deep breath, he steadied himself, and made his move.
He really did want to do this...after years of enduring them, a little payback was more than deserved. With the situation the way it was, it wasn't an unprovoked attack by him either. The convenience of the situation created a dark smile on his face as he moved, leaping from behind the couch. Slashing his wand, he let loose a wave of offensive magic, blasting Vernon and Petunia off their feet and into the nearest walls. Simultaneously, his left hand, bearing the dagger, came whistling downwards through the air, the base of the weapon striking Dudley squarely in the back of the head. Petunia hit the wall with a smack, her forehead impacting hard enough to knock her out immediately. Dudley, on the other hand, only had enough time to blink before he felt a blinding pain and slipped into unconsciousness. Vernon, however, suffered somewhat, as he was lifted off his feet, and sent through the nearest wall. Unfortunately, the section of the wall that he hit wasn't as strong as the section that Petunia hit.
He hit the cupboard under the stairs, blasting through the flimsy door that had seemed so daunting in Harry's childhood like a bullet through paper. Splinters flew, an almighty crash indicating that Vernon had found Harry's old cot, folded up and stowed inside the cupboard. A groan floated through the open doorway, a pitiful plea for help following it.
Releasing his held breath, Harry sucked in a new one, eyes flitting to and fro to look for a new threat. The feral gleam in his eyes slowly dimmed as nothing came. His breath evened, and he stowed the dagger back in its sheath within his robes. Slowly, he crossed the room, heading for the stairs. Crouching slightly to be able to look into the cupboard, he began laughing. Vernon was caught quite badly, trapped between the frame of Harry's cot and the fragments of the wooden door to the cupboard. The frame of the bed had bent, curling around his back and squeezing on each side, and the cupboard lay in shattered pieces around and behind him.
A muttered "Stupefy!" later, Vernon's groans ceased. Harry repeated the spell on the other two members of the Dursley family, thereby ensuring their silence for the next day or so...until he was long gone. With a grin, he paused as he was approaching the stairs, wheeling around abruptly. With a dark smirk, he leveled his wand at Dudley, jabbing it towards the fat boy in a jerky movement that revealed his hatred for the boy.
"Anthropi Porcini!" he commanded, grinning as Dudley's slumped form twitched as his pants tore. A curly pig's tail emerged through the new opening, bobbing in tandem with the fat boy's breath. The Dursleys would, once again, have a hell of a time trying to explain how exactly their oaf of a son had sprouted a tail.
Stowing his wand away, Harry opened the door to his room and slipped in. Tonks was in bed, absorbed by a book held up on her legs. The light had been turned off, but a few candles flickered, providing enough light for them. The charm on the door had made sure that Vernon was unable to attack Tonks while she was inside, and the silencing charm had probably made sure that she had heard none of the commotion downstairs.
Entering, he sighed happily as he felt the slight chill in the room from the charm Tonks had placed on the window. In the hot summer months, the charm was an absolute godsend.
"Hey, Harry," Tonks said, eyes still focused on the pages of the thick book.
Harry muttered a greeting, slinging his robe onto the chair. "Well," he said, slumping back onto his bed, "I'm officially engaged. God." His last word covered her slight squeak.
She made a noncommittal noise, still absorbed in her book. "What're you reading?" he asked, not noticing her lips tighten into a slight grimace.
"It's a guide for Metamorphs," she replied, her voice sounding somewhat tremulous, "it goes into the nitty-gritty of some of the toughest transformations. Since you're heading to the Chamber, I decided to get back to the Order."
He blinked. "What will you tell them?"
"I took your wand from you, but didn't have the time to get it to Dumbledore. I came back here, and decided to do it the next day. You were already sleeping. When I woke up, you were gone, and you had taken your wand with you, as well as all your things."
He smiled up at the ceiling, turning on his side so he could look at her better. "What's the book for, then?"
Looking over at him, she smirked wickedly and said "Harry...I have to be absolutely sure that I know how to trigger tears at random."
He snickered, jibing "I thought you women had a tear-reflex anyways?"
Grinning, she seemed to loosen up a bit, and pitched a pillow at him, muttering "Smartass."
Taking the pillow in the face, he grinned, and got up to change out of his clothes. "Thanks for all your help, Tonks; you don't know how much your trust means to me."
She nodded, going back to her reading as he slipped out of the room. As he left, she got out of bed, striding towards the small bag that held her things. A tear slipped down her cheek as she rummaged within it, sniffing audibly. Presently, her hand emerged, bearing two glass vials, one filled with a grey fluid and the other with an electric blue one. For a few minutes, she sat there kneeling, holding the vials in her hands and staring at them, the occasional tear or tremor being the only sign of life in her body. Then, she blinked away her tears, and uncorked the vials, downing them in one gulp.
Shuddering at the taste, she dropped them back into the bag. Slowly, her teary eyes dried, and her shaking lip stilled. Where she looked defeated, she now looked predatory, a slight grin on her face. Lifting her shirt, she saw the slight blue haze evaporating, and grinned. She stood slowly, her wand emerging as she began waving it with practiced ease.
A bravery potion was the only thing that would get her through this.
****************** ******************
Taking his time, he showered, removing the sweat and grime that his day had caused. Feeling the water cascade down his body, he grumbled mentally about Gilmore Alley being filthy. He finished off by brushing his teeth and toweling off, slipping into a pair of boxers.
Slowly returning to the bedroom, he entered, not really paying much attention to his surroundings as he dropped the towel to the floor. He blinked, seeing both his wands, his daggers and Sirius' penknife stuck to the wall, and opened his mouth to ask the lump in the bed that was presumably Tonks a question. Thus, he was more than a little surprised when his body was wrenched across the room and thrown onto the bed, steel manacles holding his arms above his head, attached to the bedposts. Similarly, his ankles were bound in steel and securely attached to the bed.
He blinked in shock, before tossing around, trying to manually extricate himself from the binds that held him. It was to no avail, as the manacles and the bed itself had been strengthened to the point that he could not break them away. Frantic, he attempted to wandlessly free himself, but unsurprisingly, he was unable to. His wandless magic wasn't strong enough to counteract the sticking charms that held his tools to the wall either, and his attempts to cast wandless cutting charms at the bed post barely made the slightest scratches in the lacquer. Summoning the candles was a bad idea, as they would certainly burn him, and perhaps roast the whole bed, taking him along with it. He couldn't apparate away, as the wards forbade that even though they were based on his blood.
Of course! It would be a long, arduous task, but with about three minutes, he would be able to minimize the size of his forearms and lower legs, and hopefully slide them out of the cuffs! Had he not been occupied trying to fathom what adversary had trapped him, he would have grinned.
Throwing one last look about the room to look for his attacker, he prepared to close his eyes and scrunch up his face in concentration. At the last second, a face loomed out of the darkness, looking beautiful as always. She emerged from the same nook near the door that she had been standing in on that first day, and suddenly, Harry knew he would not be able to escape this adversary.
It was Tonks.
****************** ******************
"Tonks! What-" he exclaimed, still jerking on the bed. Betrayal swam in his features as he glared at her, the shock belying the intimidation he was attempting.
She cut him off, sitting on the bed next to him. "Shush, Harry," she whispered, her soft hand cupping his cheek.
Ignoring her, he snapped "What the hell is this?" A slight smirk crossed her face as she cupped his cheeks with both hands, leaning in close. He stilled, eyes going wide in shock as her lips gently pressed against his own, leaving a tender kiss.
She drew away slowly, eyes closed, and he stared at her in utter shock. A garbled "Wha?" emerged from his lips before she claimed them again, the kiss so gentle it nearly took his breath away.
Her nose brushed against his, their lips millimeters apart as she drew away, her hands never leaving his face. His eyes were still wide open, a look of incredulity spread across his startled features.
"What," he gulped, "what are you doing?" The question sounded so stupid, yet it was entirely truthful. He hadn't a clue why she was doing this. It felt surreal...it felt like a dream to him, as there was no way the beautiful Auror would ever be in this particular position with him.
Her lips twitched slightly before they met his again, and as she pulled back to look in his eyes, she whispered "Why, Harry...I'm seducing you."
Had he not been in the situation himself, he probably would have laughed hysterically. Instead, all he could manage was the most guttural moan as she bit down lightly on his earlobe.
Her hair was no longer pink...it was jet black and long, currently draped on his chest as she hovered over him. Without the odd colors, she seemed so serious...the playful, teasing mood was replaced by the heavy, sensual actions that were capturing his mind. His mind spun, trapped amongst a maelstrom of sensations that overwhelmed him. Every sensation, from her soft lips, to the full breasts pressing into his chest, to the sudden realization that she always smelled so good...it all came together for him in a second of concentrated confusion.
"Sed-seducing me?" he stammered, eyes unfocused, "I don't get-"
She smiled and kissed him again, interrupting his disjointed speech once more. He groaned as her hands trailed down to his neck, fingers tracing hot fire across his skin. Her lips slowly massaged his, and just as he unconsciously reciprocated, they moved away, lightly brushing against his cheek. She bit down on his earlobe gently once more, eliciting a pleasing groan that seemed to spur her on. She trailed her tongue down his neck, and then lightly traced his collarbone, making him gasp.
"P-Please," he whispered, "don't..." He trailed off, interrupted by another gasp as she bit down on his neck, sucking on the skin lightly. Even as he protested, he was dimly aware of how unconvincing he sounded.
She laughed, a bright, beautiful sound, at his weak protest, her hands pressing against his chest even as her lips pressed kisses against his skin. He opened his mouth, trying to find the right words that would cease her actions, but gasped loudly as her lips found his nipple, sucking on it and biting down.
"You don't want me to stop," she whispered against his skin, repeating her actions again, eliciting yet another groan of pleasure.
"Oh god..." he whispered, his back arching slightly as she bit down hard on his neck, probably hard enough to draw blood. He didn't care, he realized, even as he hated himself for the apathy he felt.
Then, she was gone, and he moaned at the absence of contact. His eyes opened, and he found himself surprised that they had closed. Opening his eyes, he was met with a sight of beauty. She was kneeling on the bed next to him, her hands gently running over the fabric of her pajamas.
"Wha?" he muttered, confused.
She smirked at him. "You don't want me to go on..." she trailed off, moving as if she was returning to her own bed.
"No!" he moaned, surprising himself with the conviction in his voice. Guilt seeped through his every vein, guilt for wanting Tonks even when he had just been betrothed to another woman.
"No?" she asked, pausing. It was a huge gamble for her...Harry certainly had enough willpower to decline all that she had to offer, so tempting him like this was a risky action to take. It could have blown up in her face, and left her feeling humiliated, and it would certainly have destroyed any chance of a relationship with Harry, of any sort.
"No," he whispered, sounding broken. His eyes had lost the light that they usually held, and he looked to be damning himself with that single word. While she ached to take him in her arms and comfort him, she couldn't stop now. The time was crucial, and she had to be heartless. Steeling herself, she slipped back onto the bed.
"No," she agreed, her fingers stroking his chest. Then they rose to unbutton the simple cotton shirt she wore. She maintained eye contact with him through the whole arduous minute, watching with some glee how the light returned to his eyes with each button she undid. The shirt barely revealed any skin, even with the buttons undone, so when it slid off her shoulders, the look of utter amazement on his face nearly made her climax. It was a look of utter worship, one that regarded her body as the pinnacle of the evolution of the female form. Her breasts were firm, slightly above average in size, with pink nipples that stood rigid in the cool air of the room. She trembled involuntarily, for the first time allowing her nervousness to show. She had never slept with a man before, much less seduced one like she currently was.
Slowly, she straddled him, resting her palms flat on his chest. Leaning in, she experimentally kissed his unresisting lips again, and patiently waited for him to reciprocate. Slowly, unsurely, he returned the kiss, slightly encouraged by the moan that she released. Detaching her lips from his, she pressed her bare breasts against his chest as she caressed his face, her lips hovering an inch away from his. Then, she was gone, attacking his skin with her mouth, energetically raising such pleasurable moans from him that she felt flattered, never even expecting such a response. Her lips trailed fire down his abdomen, kissing, licking and suckling his skin with such passion that his natural reaction was soon pressing against her chest through the fabric of his underwear.
He leaned his head up to watch the sensual sight, but it hardly helped, since his eyes had long since pressed shut. When they finally opened, slightly unfocused, he moaned at the predatory expression on her face as she surveyed the large bulge in his boxers. Then, her wand appeared out of nowhere, and with surgical precision, she ran it down the length of the outside of each thigh, causing it to tear neatly. With a cheeky grin at her innovative solution, she tugged on the material, causing it to tear away from his body. His erect member was released into the cool air of the bedroom, throbbing and stabbing upward like a divining rod looking for the nearest pleasure.
She laughed that tinkling, pleasant sound again, placing her hands on his hips as she adjusted her body. Now, on all fours towards the foot of the bed, her lips hovered a few inches above his aroused length. Gently, she pressed her lips against his throbbing hardness, suckling softly as she slid them down his length. He groaned, fists jerking against the metal bonds that held them, a look of desperation in his eyes.
"P-Please!" he gasped, eyes creasing shut. But she was relentless, working at him with such innocent skill that his member throbbed, harder than ever before. The sensation of her soft, inexperienced hands caressing his length was driving him mad, stroking and touching him so lightly that each contact seemed to ignite his nerves.
Gripping him with one hand, she sat up slightly, looking everywhere but into his eyes. The innocence of her actions coupled with the bashful, shy expression on her face served to heighten his pleasure; the fact that she was giving him her innocence in a wicked manner that belied her virginal actions simultaneously being a stimulus to his masculine pride. With her free hand, she slowly slid her pants down, the elastic waistband of the sleepwear slowly revealing the wonders of her body. Her actions, as a result of her extreme nervousness, were painfully slow, appearing almost naughty...inadvertently arousing him to incredible levels.
Seeing her womanhood for the first time made his length jerk in her hands as his eyes widened, a mixture of guilt and fascination crossing his face. She blushed prettily at the expression of lust in his eyes, the bright sheen as he stared at her crotch a perfect exhibition of his desire. Slowly, she slipped the pants off and dropped them off the side of the bed, once again looking unsure.
Then, unconsciously licking her lips as she gazed at his length, she seemed to steel herself. Once again, her lips pressed against his hardness, her hand still gripping him at the base of his length. Her other hand, he saw, slowly slid up her thigh until it was buried between her legs, fingers slowly stroking against her wetness.
Then, slowly sliding her lips down his length, she took a considerable part of his member into his mouth, lips pressed tightly around him as her tongue tasted him. He gasped, back arching violently, releasing a guttural groan of pleasure. Seeming pleased by his reaction, she repeated the action, drawing an even more enthusiastic response. Harry's eyelids had creased shut again, his moan ending in a whimper of loss as her wet mouth released him back into the cold air. The sensation of the air on his wet member was a shock, sending a shiver through his whole body.
Slowly, seductively, she slid up his body, her nipples scratching lines of fire through his body as blood coursed through him. His member flattened under her abdomen, pressed tightly between her lower body and his own, the heat enveloping his slicked length like a sandwich. She paused over his lips for a second before swooping down and capturing them again, this time slowly parting his lips. The initial entrance of her tongue was teasing, as it lightly flicked up, running along the inside of his lips for a mere second before it retracted to her mouth. He groaned into her mouth in abandon, fighting the restraints that held him. His arms, of their own volition, ached to wrap around her, to touch and memorize the feel of every inch of her utterly celestial body. Then, she kissed him again, this time hungrily, her tongue darting into his mouth to caress his own. Lost in the kiss, he didn't notice his toes curl tightly, or the shudder that ran through his body as her breasts pressed against his chest. Hungrily, he sought her tongue, trying to capture it, caress it...it was all the mobility he could achieve, and he yearned to have the most meager control. Each time, just as he touched her tongue, she would sweep it out of reach, keeping.../lording/ her control over him. He groaned, out of pleasure and frustration, then gasped loudly as she bit down on his lip, tugging once before releasing it.
The coppery tang of blood hit his senses, and he blanched for a second before moaning out loudly. Her hand had captured the base of his member, and was using his length to stroke her wet sex. He could feel the slick wetness as his member slid against her folds, the common arousal quite evident in their simultaneous groan. Seducing him was, quite simply, arousing her even more than she had ever thought it could. Slowly, achingly so, she slid down his length, her eyes pressed shut. Her flesh enveloped him inch by inch, the heat and wetness of her crotch surrounding him like a protective glove. With a final push and a muted scream, she slid down the rest of his length, breaking her womanhood.
Gasping for breath, she paused, leaning on his chest, her breath playing across his nipple. She was startled as her body began bouncing, realizing that Harry was thrusting into her, trying to burrow deep within her with each thrust. Her eyes closed as she leaned back up, and she assumed control again, bouncing against him slowly at first, but gaining in speed. With each bounce, his body seemed to jerk up of its own accord, meeting her as she came down. His eyes were wide, pupils dilated in pleasure as he gazed at her body. Her breasts heaved, bouncing with every motion, and they seemed to capture his attention as he stared at her in frank amazement. Lust burned in his eyes as he gazed at her, and in between the waves of pleasure, she cheekily caressed her breasts, pinching at the nipples and enjoying the groans of longing that he emitted. Her other hand slowly snaked down her abdomen, the motion so slow yet so obvious that it had him crying out in frustration. Her slender fingers caressed her clit, her head thrown back as she let out great sighs, the tiny button sending new waves of pleasure through her.
Then, he was gasping, feeling her muscles contract around him, squeezing together as she hit her orgasm, her head thrown back and her lips parted in a silent scream. Watching the tiny beads of perspiration roll down her chest and through the valley of her succulent breasts, his arousal grew to massive proportions. With a loud snap, the metal bonds holding his arms and legs broke apart cleanly, his magic swirling away in a slight haze of purple light.
As she rode the wave of her orgasm, the sound of the metal breaking shook her, and her eyes darted open in shock. Before she could do anything, his hands were on her, stroking, touching...they roamed her body feverishly, reaching for every inch of her. He thrust up in desperation, not having reached completion yet, and in one move, rolled them over. On her back, pinned by his body, she nevertheless moaned and screamed, his each thrust prolonging the pleasure of her orgasm to massive heights. A minute later, she could feel him clench the sheets tightly as he reached his climax, burying himself deep within her as he hit that crucial point. He let out a moan of pure pleasure, his head pressed into the hollow of her neck, lips grazing her collarbone. With one last thrust, milking the last of his seed, he was spent, slumping against her body.
As her mind slowly cleared from the aftermath of the orgasm, she was struck by a maelstrom of emotions, the primary one being fear. With the action completed, what would he say? Would he reject her? She cursed herself repeatedly, damning her idiotic idea...it amounted to rape, not seduction! It wasn't seduction if he didn't reciprocate her feelings afterwards!
This was exactly why she had taken the bravery potion.
Her eyes slowly, unsurely met his, feeling his powerful green ones. Even in the slightly dim light of the room, they glowed fiercely, and she fancied that she could see a slight emerald haze below his eyebrows, emitted by those powerful orbs. She swallowed nervously, trying to think of something to say as he stared at her. The situation grew unbearable...after her stupid action, she was trapped below this muscular, strong man. This could, quite simply, have been the stupidest thing she had ever done.
Then, she was shocked as he slid up her body, fiercely pressing his lips against hers. She melted into the kiss gratefully, cupping his cheek with one hand while running her fingers through his hair.
Pulling away, he laughed lightly, caressing her cheek. "Silly girl," he whispered softly, lips brushing against hers, "you think I didn't know?"
She gaped, utterly speechless. It was her turn to mumble "Wha-?"
He cupped her cheek gently, his thumb gently touching the edge of her lips, staring deep into her eyes. "Of course I knew," he whispered, his nose brushing against hers, "you moaned it in your sleep each night."
He moved, rolling them over so he was on his back, Tonks straddling him again. The light entered his eyes again, glinting lustily as he bit down on her lip gently. Detaching his lips from hers, eyes shining brightly with lust, he seductively growled "Another round?"
Her last coherent thought, before he swept her away in a maelstrom of pleasure, was 'Perhaps all is not lost...'
Then, his lips were against hers, and they dissolved together, bodies rutting together in an act as old as time. Their cries rang out in the room, amidst the sounds of their lovemaking, intertwined fingers gripped together all along.
Then, sated, they slipped into sleep, twin expressions of satisfaction on their faces.
****************** ******************
A flash of blue light startled the sleeping occupants of the portraits in the Headmaster's office. They blinked, trying to ascertain, in the dim light, the source of the light. It looked like the arrival of a portkey, though it could have been a malfunction in any one of the trinkets that lay scattered around on the shelves. With a small crash, an object fell to the floor, a small note tied to it. They blinked again, eyes focused on the random appearance of the head of a statue.
Even of the more recently presiding Headmasters, only a few were able to recognize what the object was...the golden head of the Wizard from the statue in the Fountain of Magical Brethren. Some confusion was expressed in murmured words amongst the portraits, and a lot of irritation. Being bound to a portrait made them antsy and inquisitive, and not knowing neither the reason that the object had appeared, nor the contents of the note attached to it was irritating.
Within seconds, the guessing rose to loud volumes as the ex-Heads of Hogwarts furiously debated the meaning of this sudden appearance. Phineus Nigellus, who had actually seen the object in its current state once before, seemed to have forgotten the situation entirely. Therefore, none of the portraits noticed the slight glow from Fawkes' currently unoccupied perch.
A slight rustle of robes and an unintelligible heave of breath later, the door to the office quietly opened and closed, the portraits none the wiser. Sunken into the wall by about four feet, the opening and closing of the door wasn't visible to the portraits.
Two hours later, at 7 AM, Fawkes returned to the office. Flapping his wings, he sang a merry greeting to the inhabitants of the portraits, who smiled back. Mares Tennenbaum, however, snarled in anger. He settled on the desk, hopping a few times until the bowl of lemon drops was within pecking distance. A squawk later, the bird had picked up a lemon drop, and eaten it with glee. Enjoying it, Fawkes burst out into song again, flapping around the room once before settling on his perch.
Three things happened simultaneously: First, Fawkes landed on the perch. Second, he noticed the golden head on the ground. Third, the perch exploded in a massive boom of swirling green magic, taking Fawkes with it.
Cries of utter shock circled through the room, a cry of glee from Mares Tennenbaum added in. They were interrupted by the door to Dumbledore's personal chamber swirling open in a hurry, the aged Headmaster sweeping into the room with his wand at the ready. Ascertaining the lack of a threat immediately, his eyes turned to the source of the explosion, widening in shock.
Frantic, he sifted through the ash that had been a small cupboard of books, the perch, and his Phoenix. A few seconds later, he smiled happily, having dug Fawkes out of the ash. The disgruntled bird let out an ugly chirp as it realized that it had gone through another forced burning day. Albus blinked in confusion, contemplating a million questions. Whoever did this had Fawkes as a target...there appeared to be no harmful charms on the rest of the room. Who would want to target Fawkes? It was baffling. Talking to the portraits led him to the appearance of the golden object.
He lifted it off the ground, and shock crossed his face. He recognized this fragment very well...after all, he himself had turned it into a portkey for Harry Potter in the Ministry. Unfortunately, the note seemed to have been charred by the blast of hot air from the explosion, so he couldn't make out what it read. Snarling to himself, he stood upright.
Five minutes later, he had flooed over to Grimmauld Place. Storming through the house, he entered the kitchen, only to see Nymphadora Tonks crying, being comforted by a flummoxed Molly Weasley. It took a few minutes, but the full story came out from the weeping girl. Harry had left his house in the middle of the night, and had disappeared.
He patted her on the back comfortingly, whispering kind words to the young woman. "Do not fret, Nymphadora," he said pleasantly, "I'm sure we'll find Harry very quickly."
It was only as he thought of calling Fawkes to find the boy, did it hit him. Barely suppressing a growl of anger at being outwitted, he thought 'Very well done, Harry. Impressive, even.'
Fawkes was disabled, Harry Potter couldn't be found, and the lad's maturity was less than two weeks away. His plans were in trouble...in big trouble. This was an unexpected hurdle...and he didn't even have the wand!
Cursing, Dumbledore turned to Molly and said "Molly, please arrange for the Order to assemble in a few minutes. This is urgent, we must find Harry before anything goes wrong!"
****************** ******************
A hundred feet below the Dungeons of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Harry James Potter was sleeping peacefully. He was safe for now, but it would only be a matter of time before Dumbledore realized that he was in the Chamber. He knew that Salazar's safeguards would mean that Hogwarts would not allow Dumbledore access to the Chamber...but the man had more cards up his sleeve than any other player in the game.
Rolling over, a slight smile crossed his face. Tonks would rejoin him in a few hours...
****************** ******************
Read and Review!!! NOW!!! :P
This was a massive chapter...huge. The longest chapter yet. Inclusive of this A/N, it is: 13128 words long. I'm sorry to have to be the one to break it to you people...I'm pretty sure that future chapters won't be this long. I've been trying to cut it /down/, but the damned word count keeps increasing.
Okay...I said that I would update faster during the Summer, and I didn't really do that, since it was exactly one month ago, a few hours ago, that is, that I last updated. I am sorry about that...I shouldn't have promised anything :P. Okay...from now, my promise is this: I will update as soon as possible. I'll try not to procrastinate, and since I'm going to be writing shorter chapters, it should be okay.
Okay...for this chapter, the list of people that need to be thanked for their generous help just grows:
Zero, IP82, cj_cold, Element, Lord Serapeth, Vash...thanks a lot for your input. I hope the revisions and edits worked out.
The people above very generously read through this massive chapter, and gave some very valuable advice, as well as pointed out flaws that I made. I hope they'll agree that the chapter is better now thanks to their efforts.
-Apocalypso
Wine...what a beautiful delicacy.
The red fluid swirled in the glass, the entrancing pattern of the churning liquid reflected on the silver ring adorning the finger of the holder. Red eyes, a lighter, brighter hue than that of the wine, stared at the glass pensively. The man's abnormally long fingers, pale and sickly in color, lightly grasped the stem of the glass, the filthy hue of his skin swirling in the crystal stem of the glass. The difference between the hue of the wine and his eyes stood in sharp contrast, the malevolency of his eyes seeming perverted and disgusting at once in comparison to the swirling peace that the fluid seemed to contain.
He chuckled, the mirth in the action lost among the haunting tremors that followed as the sound bounced off the vaulted ceiling. Draining the glass of the aromatic liquid, he set it down on the armrest of his chair.
"Each moment distorts my view..." he whispered, some quasi-human emotion residing in his eyes, which lay sunken and unfocused, dilating sporadically. Bellowing in anger, his hand whipped out, lashing out at the closest vulnerable object: the glass.
It was launched into the air by the force of the strike, sailing across the room in a graceful arc. As it flew, the myriad of colors thrown upon it by the flickering torches suspended in the air cast blurred patches of light on the ground. They swirled like a kaleidoscope with the motion of the glass, twisting and turning before the end, as the glass shattered into four pieces as it struck the opposite wall.
His eyes protruded in a shocked stare as they regarded the result of his anger. A measly four pieces? Blinking, he laughed hysterically, his involuntary reflexes going so far as to cause his foot to stamp the ground in his laughter.
Snorting out the last bit of chuckles, he sat back in the seat. "Interesting, isn't it, Nagini? The fact that I command such powerful magic, yet I cannot even cause a glass to crumble?"
The snake at his feet, curled around the legs of his chair, hissed out a non-committal response. He grumbled at the lack of interaction, muttering "Stop eating recruits, Nagini. You've become even more reclusive with some idiot occupying your stomach, and unfortunately I cannot afford your eating habits."
It was childish, but even a Dark Lord could indulge in childishness. But it was true.
There was a serious dearth of capable help in his forces. The loss of a recruit or two, considering their fresh-out-of-Hogwarts level of skill, did not seem like much, when compared to the 300-odd Death Eaters he commanded. Still, it would count in the end. They, at the very least, were good for scare tactics. Any idiot with resolve and some practice could cast the Killing Curse, so why endanger worthwhile Death Eaters when he could employ these servantile idiots to attack some nameless Wizarding Village?
What his main problem was at the moment was the lack of power that his forces represented. He only had a touch more than three hundred Death Eaters, and while this was about equal to the Auror ranks, they were nowhere near equal to the Aurors in training and power. Unused to fighting in groups, they acted like foolish Gryffindors in their incessant attempts to achieve the greatest number of kills in any given mission. Losing their lives and jeopardizing his objectives would hardly cause him to favor them amongst his faithful. Ten Aurors could decimate forty of his Death Eaters at their current level...it was a travesty. While his forces, termed 'terrorists' by Bagnold, the Minister of Magic in his early days, were equal in number to the Aurors, he knew that this was simply due to his cause. If he were not advocating blood purity, he doubted he would command more than a tenth of his force.
Rituals would need to be arranged for his servants, to increase their power. Training would have to be given. And most of all, his forces would have to be /increased/. It was common knowledge that only Purebloods were tolerated in the Dark Lord's forces. That, in itself, reduced the potential size of his forces by a huge amount. There were close to six thousand Purebloods in Britain...and of those, perhaps eight hundred could be persuaded to take the Mark. Albus Dumbledore's influence permeated through the society like a plague, and it made finding reliable help all the more difficult.
However, the 'official' return of the Dark Lord was a favorable portent for his expansionist ideals...the official conformation that the most powerful Wizard in the world had returned was likely to bring him a great deal of support. Knowing the terror that his last reign had brought, and the fear that had been the primary emotion coursing through the veins of society, the Dark Lord reveled in the attention. Fear was a powerful motivator...he would receive support and servants from those interested in protecting themselves and all that they loved.
He laughed in excitement, already envisioning the destruction he could wreak upon the Wizarding World. The thought of a functioning 'war machine', as it were, was almost orgasmic to him as he shuddered in delight. A true fighting force, gelling together perfectly, complementing each other as they wrought havoc upon the huddled masses that would form the rapidly darkening World.
Speaking of capable help...he cast a sour look towards his feet, his dreams extinguishing.
Nagini lazily raised her head, blood still glinting on her fangs. At least the snake was smart enough to avoid swallowing them whole. The one time she tried that, she had been useless for a month. Luckily, that catastrophe had passed, twenty years ago, and was now a distant memory of the boorish nature of the snake at his feet.
"Master./ Serve you?" the snake muttered, almost entirely taxing its intelligence. Snakes could understand Parseltongues, but they hardly had enough versatility with speech to speak more than simple, disjointed words. The Basilisk in the Chamber had been even worse than Nagini, having an odd fixation with repeating the same thing over again. To this day, Lord Voldemort could irritably recall the constantly repeated words of that idiot snake: "Blood...kill, rip, tear. Need blood."/
"No. I doubt you could prove useful at the moment anyway. Silence yourself, I need to think." Obediently, Nagini flopped back to the floor, a whoosh of air culminating in an audible flopping sound. The Dark Lord clenched his eyes shut in irritation, trying to ignore the sound.
The urge to level his wand at the dozing snake and cast the Cruciatus struck him, but he fought it down. Sighing, he closed his eyes and sank back into his chair.
In the remote reaches of his mind, a tiny spark of rationality had returned to the Dark Lord, trying in vain to return full control of his mental facilities to him. Having avoided the Cleansing Ritual for over fifty years had systematically eroded his original mindset. Dark Magic wove through his every thought, enforcing his drive for power.
Fluctuating moods, sudden anger, his love for torture, death and destruction...the results of a mind warped from manipulative success to forcible victories. Tom Riddle had been a force of intelligence, calculatingly plotting his every move prior to taking action. He had his future mapped out, planning to capitalize on his intelligence to pave the way to the top as Lord Voldemort. But the plan was to retain his original mindset.
Instead of adopting the persona of Lord Voldemort, he became Lord Voldemort, adopting the persona of Tom Riddle at times. By the time he was fourteen, he had begun using Dark Magic in the Chamber of Secrets. By the time he was fifteen, he had used enough to warrant a minimum of two cleansing rituals. But he ignored it, reveling in the odd clarity of mind that Dark Magic brought. While he retained his calculating nature, he lost his regard for social norms. Life was no longer something to be treasured. His own life was something to be guarded viciously and extended for as long as possible, while the lives of others devalued as he became increasingly cruel. Tom Riddle was now simply a name, lost behind the terror that was Lord Voldemort. Tom Riddle was an attitude, a crafty, sly personality, nothing more. Why, even being referred to be the name of the half-blood was angering to him...Lord Voldemort would hardly deign to allow anyone to refer to him with a name so.../Human/.
He was far from human...he was above human, far superior, and his actions spoke for themselves. No ignorant, idealistic wizard would dare to name him in such a way that his very superiority was called into question.
Snap!
The spark died, under the onslaught of the Dark Magic that resided in the Dark Lord. While it did not pervert his thoughts per se, it did influence his decisions, and lend him more sadistic, homicidal tendencies. It certainly did not let him dwell on his need to perform cleansing rituals. The snap turned his attention away from such thoughts, redirecting it to his forces, to more worthwhile thoughts.
A wave of his hand slammed the doors open. "Wormtail," he called, the chilling voice causing said Death Eater to tremble as he entered. He was free to indulge in his small fits of insanity while the door was closed...the silencing charm did its work as long as the door wasn't open. He recognized some sort of fluctuation within his raging, turbulent thoughts, one that would infrequently cause a burst of chuckles or screams...a weakness that could hardly be displayed to his Death Eaters. His servants regarded him as the God he felt himself to be, and he was loath to relieve them-and himself- of this opinion.
"My Lord?" the sniveling man asked, head bowed in perfect servitude. Living with the Dark Lord for a year had taught the rat well. It was only to be expected that a man formerly loyal to the light would not have the servitude ingrained in his personality that the Death Eaters did, that he would not have the servility and subordinate reflexes that the Death Eaters regarded as a norm when in the presence of their Master. It had to be forcibly ingrained in the rat...through pain, for pain was the most effective way that the Dark Lord understood. Even in the malignant-looking form of an infant, Lord Voldemort commanded far more respect than most men, and he took full advantage of this fact.
"Locate Bellatrix, and tell her that I require her presence immediately." His voice was flat, unimpressed by even the most extravagant shows of loyalty and deference. Wormtail, for all his stupidity, was smart enough to realize, given time, that perhaps his best course of action would be to appease the Dark Lord's every whim. The Dark Lord scowled inwardly, knowing that using the rat's mark would incapacitate him for a while because of the pain. Wormtail had his uses, but his failures were even worse. Had it not been for the Adrenaline-boosting potion and the pain numbing charms that preceded the Resurrection Ritual a year ago, the Rat would have botched things up in the worst manner.
"Yes, My Lord," replied the rat, executing a pitiful excuse for a formal bow as he left His exalted presence.
Waiting, Voldemort impatiently drummed his fingers on the armrest of his chair, grudgingly appreciative of the tastes of the man who formerly resided there. The chair was comfortable, even if it /was /crafted by Muggles. Unfortunately, the man no longer lived at all, much less in an abode so comfortable, so thanks were of little use, if Lord Voldemort would ever stoop to the level of thanking a Muggle.
A minute flew by, his thoughts flitting from one inconsequential thing to another, his impatience growing. A knock on the door and a hushed "You summoned me, My Lord?" announced Bellatrix's arrival.
"Come closer, Bella," he said, his chilling gaze upon her. Warily, she approached, her eyes flitting from danger to danger as she entered.../snake, Dark Lord, snake, Dark Lord...choices, choices...Dark Lord!/ Taking a visible breath to steel her nerves, she forcibly wrenched her gaze from the snake, bestowing it appropriately upon her Lord's feet. For a woman like Lestrange, this action was a rather trying one to take, since her jumpy mind reacted to danger in a manner quite similar to how a rattlesnake did.
"The new Death Eaters are showing utterly dismal levels of competence," he said, his voice hissing out his displeasure quite cleanly. "As you are one of the only competent Death Eaters outside Azkaban, it has fallen to you to...educate them. You have two weeks to make sure that they achieve respectable competency in dueling and spell knowledge. Brute force will not suffice for the plans I have."
Clearing her throat to rid herself of the constricting sensation that she always felt in the presence of Lord Voldemort, Bellatrix went so far as to question him. "What plans would those be, My Lord?"
Looking up slowly from where his view had been fixed on his snake, Voldemort raised an eyebrow. Quailing, Bellatrix bowed her head, whispering "Forgive my audacity, Master."
A moment of silence passed. Unnerved, Bellatrix looked up unsurely, stuttering "Should- uh...may I leave, Milord?"
He leaned his head to the side, regarding her closely. His stare bored deep into her eyes, and she shuddered involuntarily in fear. His eyes widened imperceptibly...she was radiating guilt and fear now.
He decided that passive legilimency was a true boon, if magic had ever granted one to mankind. Nothing got past him. This was a time for Tom Riddle's perspicacity to emerge; Bellatrix would need to be handled appropriately, and to his utmost consternation, he did not possess the patience that his half-blood persona did.
Invisibly, he entered her mind, his approach bearing none of the brutal forwardness that his strikes against Harry Potter's mind had borne. Inured as he was to horrific images, Voldemort still felt uncomfortable in her mind. The fantasies of torture and perverse humiliation before morbid death...these were marks of an insanity so deeply ingrained in her being that mind and soul had entirely turned to darkness.
Ah...the source of the guilt and fear. And, it had to do with.../Harry Potter!? /Interesting. And what fantasies they were...she had mapped out every last second of the torture...the humiliation. But there was no death, a curious aspect. Digging deeper, he found the answer. She would submit Potter's broken form to him, partly out of her allegiance to him as a Marked servant, but mostly out of her instincts to simultaneously avoid punishment at his hand for killing the boy while furthering herself in his ranks.
It was only this that stopped him from casting the Cruciatus on her. Punishing her for it would be a bad idea. She had taken on this idea of her own volition, and her deepest desires would make her succeed in this endeavor...punishing her for it would remove part of the feverish way in which she would attack, making her entirely forget her initial desires. He needed her to carry that belief of some degree of independence...it would make the operation all the more successful. After his next order, she would feel demoralized, but within days, her insanity would once more provide the motivation and delusions of independence that he required. Within the Dark Lord's mind, Voldemort cursed Tom Riddle's persona for being too lenient, though the grudging agreement was present.
He withdrew as gently as he had entered, leaving a slight distortion behind that masked the minute passed within her mind as yet another minute of uncomfortable silence. His mindset reverted to that of Lord Voldemort, gleeful amusement coming to him from his next words.
"You will also retrieve Potter for me at some point this year. You may take your time having fun with him, but he will be brought to me for execution, understood?"
She paled, whispering "Potter, My Lord?" The disappointment was evident in her tone. It took the excitement out of the hunt for her. There would be no excitement, no sense of independency if she was to attack the boy under his orders. It had ceased to be her idea. No matter what destruction she wrought on the boy's body and mind, it would be inconsequential. He had commanded her to do it, and she would not dare to protest and claim the operation as her own. She might, depending on the thoroughness of her actions, be able to gain some favor with the Dark Lord, but it would barely make up for the debacle that had been her performance at the Ministry.
FUCK!!!
Head bowed, she whispered "Of course, Sire. May I leave, or do you still require my presence?" The manner of her speech was arrogant, but the humility and reverence for his power evident in her tone appeased his volatile nature. Purebloods couldn't help being purebloods, after all. Pompous idiots, they were, at times. Still, his mind very nearly interpreted her servile words to indicate that Bellatrix believed that he required her...reaching that conclusion would have caused him to disembowel the woman on the spot. Manually.
"Leave," he commanded, turning to his snake once more. The dismissal, even if it had not been enunciated, was clear as soon as the Lord's attention turned to his Snake. She bowed, turned and walked towards the door, only to be halted while grasping the handle of the door.
"Bellatrix," he called, attention still focused on his snake, a dark smirk on his face, "your batch of recruits will attack Azkaban in two weeks, during the first Wizengamot Meeting of August."
He nearly laughed as she tensed, her back snapping straight. "Master," she said in deference, and left. In the room, he stroked Nagini's head, whispering "She is devious, Nagini. I do not doubt her loyalty, but it seems that Azkaban has worn away her senses. If she fails in this, she will be disciplined harshly."
The Dark Lord smiled a truly terrifying grin...he had full faith in Harry Potter. Something about the boy spoke of carefully controlled reactions...almost as if his every action was a pretense. He felt it in his bones...the boy was more than what he seemed to be.
After all, who would know better than the first person to be capable of deceiving Albus Dumbledore?
****************** ******************
"WHAT?!"
Harry winced. This wasn't exactly how he had envisioned this meeting. Mr. Chang...he had not given a first name, looked apoplectic, cheeks and ears red. It might have had something to do with the way Cho had introduced him.
"Father, please meet the man I'm going to marry."
The rosy blush of happiness on her face might have had something to do with it as well...it rather looked like afterglow. The last thing he needed now was for Mr. Chang to believe that he had just shagged his daughter silly, and then dragged her down to get married. It wasn't exactly.../proper/, you could say.
Then, all was calm. The pallor returned to Mr. Chang's face. Turning to his daughter, he said in a sickly sweet voice "Cho, I don't recall you mentioning anything about a companion."
She opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off, snarling "And I don't recall raising a whore! What the hell were you thinking? Allowing a man into your bedroom before marriage?"
He would have continued, but his mouth snapped shut as he saw Harry from the corner of his eye. Turning to the young man, he was about to berate him, only to find the light gone from Harry's eyes, a dark look residing in the usually emotive orbs.
"I will make myself clear, Mr. Chang," Harry said in a toneless voice, "if you dare to use that word again, you will not like the consequences. Be civilized."
"What? Who do you think you are, Harry fucking Potter? And is this your Damsel in distress? Get out!" he snarled, jabbing his finger towards the door.
Harry blinked. "Yes."
"What?" In his rage, the one-word answer seemed to have unsettled Mr. Chang. Where he had been puffing himself up, ostensibly to physically force Harry out of the house, he deflated in confusion.
"You had it right, Mr. Chang. My name is Harry James Potter. Lord Harry James Potter. And I am making a formal proposal for your daughter's hand in marriage."
The reaction was not surprising. Mr. Chang laughed, derogatively. "Young man, get out now before I call the Aurors. And Cho, go to your room! You don't want to test my patience, /daughter/, this is the last thing I expected!"
Harry reached into his pocket, causing Mr. Chang to withdraw his wand and aim it at him threateningly. Unconcerned, he continued his action seamlessly, withdrawing the rosewood box and setting it on the table between them. A slight push with the tips of his fingers sent the box halfway across the shiny lacquered surface of the table.
Still training his wand on Harry, who had leaned back in his armchair, he chanced a look down at the rosewood box, recognizing the Gringotts crest engraved into its lid. Then, he felt a jerk in his hand as his wand was torn from his grasp. Frantic, he looked up, only to find the young man calmly handing the wand to his daughter.
His eyes met the boy's, and he nearly shivered. They were cold...perhaps he shouldn't have insulted his daughter in front of him.
"Open the box, Mr. Chang." He did, revealing a pair of rings. He blinked. The Potter ring stood proud and simple. A plain, flat gold band with the Family name engraved into it. The Potters had always favored simplicity, but this was certainly not a fake...it radiated magic of such potency that the hairs on his arms had stood on end. The other ring was once again austere in decoration, though the font of the letter 'C' emblazoned on it was rather stylized. It too radiated magic, but nowhere near the level that the Potter Ring did.
"This is the Potter ring, yes. But it means nothing, you could have stolen it. And why isn't it on your finger if you are Harry Potter? Give me the wand back, and get out of my house!"
The lad blinked again, looking at him in a manner that made Mr. Chang feel pitied. "As you might know, I have yet to turn sixteen. The rings will not accept me as the rightful Lord for another two weeks."
"If you expect me to-" He cut himself off abruptly, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. If the boy spoke the truth, then at the very least, he should listen. A proposal was a proposal...it did not bind him to agreement until a contract was signed. Abruptly, his mouth closed, and he glared at the young man sitting across from him. No...even the term 'young man' seemed inappropriate. The lad seemed more mature than he himself was acting.
Once again, he saw the look from the boy. His face was emotionless, but his eyes seemed to emote more than should have been possible. The feeling he got while looking into those eyes...he nearly shivered. A perfect mix of haughty superiority yet feral preparedness lay in those eyes, and for some reason, the older man felt at once pitied and small, as if neither his intellect, nor his masculinity could compare to those of the lad across him.
"Who are you?" he asked with some irritation in his voice.
"As I said, Mr. Chang, my name is Harry James Potter." The truth of his words was plainly obvious, though the Chang Patriarch couldn't understand why.
"Prove it," he said, his voice no longer acerbic. The young man complied, removing his wand from his robes, and laying it on the desk between them. Chang raised an eyebrow. This was a clear show of trust and nonaggression...yielding one's wand to another was a sign of peace and faith. Chang turned to his daughter, who handed him his own wand.
"Voco Dominus!" he commanded, tapping Harry's wand with his own. He blinked a few times, feeling the wand communicate with him. Eyes narrowing, he jabbed his wand at Harry's, muttering "Efflagito Erus!"
This time, a hazy line of smoke appeared, connecting the tip of the wand with Harry's heart. Chang nodded, apparently satisfied. He returned Harry's wand, and placed his own inside his robe, sitting back on the seat. A slightly crafty expression appeared on his face, though he did his best to hide it.
"Why are you here, then? A proposal? That could be submitted via a formal letter...it does not require your presence, Mr. Potter." It was true, and the action might well signify great profit to him. If the lad was desperate enough to approach him directly...well, it made bargaining easier. Harry wryly noted the abrupt politeness of his words...Mr. Chang, it seemed, knew how to bargain. Although the question wasn't direct, the negotiations had already started.
"I couldn't take that chance, Mr. Chang," Harry replied. "You see, your daughter means a lot to me, and having you make the decision to betroth her to the Malfoy boy could not be allowed."
His eyes bugged out, anger appearing in them again as he exploded. "What?! You dare to meddle in the affairs of my family?" As a proud man, regardless of his craftiness, this could not be tolerated. For this outsider to presume to tell him what he could and could not do...it was inexcusable!
Before the man could continue, Harry shook his head. "Of course not," he said softly, "I merely came to ensure that the woman I love would not have to endure a marriage to a man she despises."
This calmed him down spectacularly, the flush of anger fading in record time. Speechless, he asked "What? Cho- I.../what?/" His daughter was blushing prettily, eyes locked on the floor. Still, it did nothing to hide the lovely flush on her cheeks, the whole image that of a virginal bride being betrothed. Inwardly, he snorted, half in anger, half in humor...if, knowing his strictness, she was forward enough to invite a man directly into her bedroom, chances were that she was no virgin.
"Tell me, Mr. Chang, why would you even consider a proposal from the Malfoy Family?"
"I hardly need to tell you that You-Know-Who has returned...after all, you were the only one to say that before His appearance in the Ministry. Ergo, an alliance between my family and those who are His faithful would be conducive to our safety. You ended his first reign as Dark Lord...you do not know what horrors took place then. Having safety from the Dark Lord's vengeance is an opportunity that I cannot pass up. Perhaps declining the Malfoy proposal wouldn't put us in peril...but accepting a proposal from you most assuredly would. I mean no slight, but you are Half-blooded, and you know as well as I do that it would put us in far greater danger to associate with you."
Harry nodded, thinking carefully. The bargaining had started...that much was obvious to him, though it would have been lost on most people. Chang had already told him what benefits he could receive from a marriage with the Malfoys...it was a move engineered to force Harry's hand. Chang either expected Harry to make promises of safety that were out of his control, something that would surely cause the man to dismiss his proposal entirely, or to cross his palm in gold. Basically, he expected Harry to make sure that his proposal was more than generous, and considering the danger he mentioned, he intended for Harry's generosity to be far more than what was appropriate in this situation. He was crafty, that much was certain.
Cho's eyes were downcast...this was a bump she had not even considered. Her father had never been a stickler for blood purity before. Of course, with the return of the Dark Lord, blood once again meant everything. Now, it seemed, all was lost. She was damned to a hell on earth, for the simple reason that Harry's blood wasn't pure enough.
Of course, she was surprised when Harry laughed. Blinking, her eyes shot towards him in surprise.
"I, Mr. Chang, am not a Half-Blood. I am pureblooded, and hold as much, if not more power than the Malfoy Family does. As of now, I am the Potter Heir, and the Crowen Heir through my Mother. I will also receive the Lordship of my Godfather's Family...the Blacks. This will become public knowledge soon enough. Now, it is true that I am a special target for the Dark Lord. However, in a few weeks, the Dark Lord should find that my intentions are neutral, unlike the Daily Prophet would have us believe. Targeting me, at that point, will be something he will not want to do...and I'm afraid that is all I can say on this subject. As for your family...I'm sure that if, /hypothetically/, you were to accept my proposal, then the hypothetical Contract could accommodate the fees for a group of professional warders to secure your home."
It was a considerable offer, really, since Professional Warders usually charged obscene amounts to comprehensively ward a home. It was justified, since the entire process usually left the team magically exhausted for a few weeks, which meant that they would be unable to work until their magic was relaxed.
The elder man's eyes shot wide open, and flicked over to his daughter. She, too, seemed shocked by the revelation that he was pureblooded, staring at him in frank amazement.
Head whipping towards Harry, he said "I hope you will forgive me for asking you to prove your statement." He didn't say 'claim'...that would connote his disbelief.
Harry inclined his head in acquiescence, already knowing that this ritual would have to be carried out. From his pocket, he extracted the Ritual Blade that he purchased earlier in the day. Making a shallow cut on his palm, he dipped his index finger into the blood, hissing as the icy sensation gave way to pain. Using the blood-covered finger, he drew a line of blood down his throat, simultaneously saying "Harry James Potter, Voco Sanctitas Sanguini!"
This was one of the dregs of Blood Magic that still remained in the knowledge of common Wizards. It had been shared by the Scottish Blood Mages for the sole purpose of allowing disputes over blood purity to be handled quickly without having to delve into the tediousness of family trees. What it did was simple...it made an aura bloom forth, the color of the aura signifying the purity of one's blood. Harry held up his bleeding hand in a cupping gesture, palm facing up, and said "Invocare!" The aura burst forth from the cut on his palm, a small ball of white light.
Both Changs blinked in subdued surprise. Cho's eyes narrowed as they gazed at Harry, who was healing his cut and vanishing the streak of blood on his neck. He had a lot to explain...he had said that he was keeping secrets, but he had assured her that she would know them as soon as her Occlumency reached a certain point.
"Now," Harry said, "what I represent to your family is far more safety than an alliance with the Malfoys can provide. Once allied with them, it will be a matter of weeks before you are summoned before the Dark Lord, and it will be a matter of minutes after that in which you will have made the decision to accept the Dark Mark rather than see your family slaughtered along with you. An alliance with the Malfoys is equable to forced servitude. This, in turn, would establish you as an enemy of the Ministry and all those that oppose the Dark Lord. I am quite familiar with the Malfoy Heir, Mr. Chang...he is already betrothed...to someone who is physically repulsive, but represents a politically astute alliance. I think you understand me...I do not need to emphasize what life your daughter will live in that house. I, on the other hand, represent a neutral party, something which will be made quite apparent soon enough."
This was Harry's retaliation, in kind. Reminding Chang of his obligation to make sure his daughter was happy was a strong blow, but softly placed. Emphasizing what his whole Family's future could be was another strike...the likelihood of the events occurring exactly as he predicted was high. Essentially, Harry was systematically proving that the safety of the Chang Family was equally at risk, regardless of who Cho was married to.
Chang nodded tiredly. "I know," he said, then changed the topic. "Mr. Potter, you are the Boy-Who-Lived...believing you to be neutral is not easy."
Harry nodded. "Of course. My neutrality is only effective neutrality, Mr. Chang. I am oppose to the Dark Lord for obvious reasons: the death of my parents, and the numerous times that he has attempted to kill me. But, I do not place my support behind what is called the 'Light'. Albus Dumbledore, while powerful and influential, has not swayed me to his way of thinking. Thus, since I neither support the Dark Lord, nor his main opponent, I am effectively neutral. The first Convention of the Wizengamot will contain those that are loyal to him...my position of neutrality will reach his ears immediately. In any case, I don't intend to publicize my relationship with Cho until then. As far as the Malfoys are concerned, you only need inform them that their proposal, which arrived today, was late. Draco Malfoy will suffer only a moment of irritation, Mr. Chang...his interest in Cho is because of me."
Chang's eyes narrowed. "He is proposing to my daughter to spite you?" He looked angry, and Harry was somewhat happy that the anger wasn't directed at him, and rather pleased that Mr. Chang had been distracted. Chang turned to his daughter, and asked "Is this true?"
Cho nodded, eyes serious. Chang snarled, eyes burning. Turning to Harry, he said "State your proposal, Mr. Potter."
It was easy for him to believe them. The Changs and the Malfoys hardly frequented the same circles, so a proposal like this, despite his daughter's great beauty, was rather random. The Malfoys were one of the few families that were more than exclusive in the families that they forged their alliances with. They married within an exclusive circle that contained noted pureblooded families with darker inclinations...which was why the Malfoy line could no longer produce more than one child per generation. Magic had been instrumental in preventing the harsher side-effects of what was practically incestuous breeding, but not all of them could be eliminated. Making a proposal to a distinctly middle-class family like the Changs was more than odd, but Mr. Chang had been ready to blame it on his daughter's beauty. Until now.
Harry nodded slowly, sitting straighter in his chair. He cautiously said "I believe we can reach an agreement, Mr. Chang, but I'd rather that this wasn't done in front of Cho. I hope that some day she will be my wife, so giving her love a monetary value is not something I want to do in front of her."
Chang smiled slightly, nodding his agreement. It was a kind thing to do...while most purebloods wouldn't give it a second's thought, the young man obviously cared enough for his daughter to refrain from putting a price on her head, so to speak. It would be disconcerting for Cho, considering that the two men she trusted most were negotiating her price...especially since Mr. Chang fully expected Harry to try and bargain. For a man like Mr. Chang, a romantic at heart despite his stern, crafty persona, this was the factor that changed his mind fully. The wards would take care of his family's safety, and he would be able to relax, knowing that his daughter was in good hands.
"I agree, Mr. Potter. Cho, I will ask you to give us some privacy, please," he said, "but I can tell you now...I am much inclined to betroth you to Mr. Potter. He shows a level of understanding that I am very pleased with."
Harry allowed himself a smile a minute before Cho crashed into him, laughing and crying simultaneously. His arms immediately wrapped around her, holding her quivering body against his even as she stammered words of love to him, and words of thanks to her father at the same time. It took her a minute, but she managed to compose herself, though her face was streaked with tears of happiness. Smiling at her, he kissed her forehead gently, whispering "I'll see you when I'm done here, alright?"
She smiled back through her tears, looking resplendent. "Okay," she whispered shyly, kissing his cheek. She hugged her father tightly, whispering her thanks into his ear. Then, in a smooth moment as she pulled away from him, she placed a white envelope in his hand. Ignoring his questioning look, she kissed his cheek and left the room.
Harry looked at Mr. Chang inquisitively, but said nothing. Chang prepared to put the envelope down for later reading, but paused. Muttering to himself, he read the cover, saying "Urgent...read first...hmm?"
Shooting Harry an apologetic glance, he opened the envelope, took out the sheet, and began reading. It was written in Chinese, the script ornate and beautiful. Harry marveled at it, initially missing the growing look of shock on Mr. Chang's face as he read the letter. Soon, Harry noticed it, and voiced his worry.
"Mr. Chang, is everything alright?" he asked.
Chang blinked, nodding distractedly "Oh. Yes," he said vaguely, still immersed in the letter. He seemed to read it a few times before finally laying the letter down, seeming burdened.
"I understand," he said, "that Cho is to be your lesser wife. I wish you had told me this earlier."
Harry blinked. "I wish," he said, surprise evident in his tone, "that Cho had told me earlier. I talked to her about this, Mr. Chang...she believes that I am destined for another woman. Actually, to put it in her words, she has a part of my heart, but that another woman holds the other, larger piece. As I said to her, I don't believe in having a 'lesser' wife. I would not be making this proposal if I did not care for her. While she might know something that I don't, I am still not prepared to title her as a 'lesser' wife. She will, your consent provided, be my wife, and I shall make no distinction between her and this 'other woman', if she turns out to be right."
Chang nodded slightly, still staring at the letter.
Harry wasn't surprised when the man said "Very well. Let us talk numbers...the paperwork can be done later."
****************** ******************
Wearied, he returned to Privet Drive, though the slight flush of success still graced his cheeks. The perfect little houses still stood intact, glistening in a manner most disgusting to the young Lord. The effort that these people put into being perfect was absolutely nauseating to him. A futile effort, since for all their superficial perfection, an outside observer would have the same reaction to their pretentious natures as he did.
Running a hand through his hair as he enjoyed the light summer breeze, he slowly walked the fifty yards towards the Dursley home. The regular few lights were on, as usual, and nothing seemed out of place, but for some reason, things seemed extremely wrong. He tensed, pausing behind a nearby tree, peering carefully at the house. Not a thing was out of place...it looked as painfully normal as the rest of the house, save for the slight remnants of the barred window that had caged him in the summer after his First Year. He blinked, and it hit him...the flickering light was not present.
In the Dursley Household, the television constantly played during the summers. The fleeting pictures on the massive screen always played across the flimsy curtains that veiled the view into the Dursley home. The lights that he had spent his childhood wistfully staring at were not present, and the lack of those flickering blue lights seemed to make all the difference.
His eyes narrowed as he crouched slightly, peering very carefully at the house. In the window of his own bedroom, he saw a feminine form stretch its arms out and curve its spine backwards. That would be Tonks, he knew. She was probably getting ready for bed. The light in Dudley's bedroom was off, which, again, was surprising. The corpulent boy usually left lights on wherever he went, neglecting to turn them of to conserve electricity. In any case, Dudley rarely went to bed before 2 AM. The Master bedroom had a window too, but it looked out the back of the house, over the small patio and backyard.
Slowly, he made his way closer, until he was inconspicuously leaning against a tree outside Number 2 Privet Drive, the house next door. Slowly extracting his wand, he cast a notice-me-not charm around himself to ward off the eyes of anyone who was peering out of their windows in the fashion that Privet Drive seemed to enjoy. Blinking a few times, he pointed his wand at his eyes and muttered "Adaugeo!"
The third-year charm worked as it was supposed to, allowing him to examine things as if he were peering through a pair of short-ranged binoculars. His eyes circled about a bit until he was able to find his bearings, and he managed to stop his sight upon the doorstep of Number 4. Slowly, his eyes moved up the door, ignoring the bright flash of light as the golden doorknob reflected the streetlights into his eyes. Finally, his eyes found the small window built into the top of the door, a space perhaps five inches long and twenty inches wide in a rectangle, with the longer end parallel to the ground.
For a few seconds, it seemed, his suspicions had been off. Then, just as he was preparing to cancel the charm, he noticed it. The shadows moved, signaling the presence of someone waiting inside the doorway!
Resisting the urge to blink, he watched for another few seconds, noting the shadows shift a few more times, signifying the impatience of whoever was waiting. His wand came up again, canceling the charm on his eyes, and he had to cover his eyes and moan as he felt himself ridiculously disoriented. Nearly stumbling, he once again leaned on the tree and focused on the pavement for a while until he felt his vision had returned to normal.
Another wave of his wand removed the notice-me-not charm from the ground, and he was off. He slipped into the bushes between the two houses, easily stepping over the two foot fence that stood between the houses. Slowly, he circled the house, approaching the patio door at the rear of the house. Creeping into the shadows there, he peered in through the large glass portion of the rear door, noticing the darkened sitting room. Then, his eyes widened as he noticed the 'attackers'.
Petunia Dursley stood next to the kitchen door, wringing her hands in a manner terribly reminiscent of nervous women in the few movies he had been able to see. An expression contorted her face, one that seemed to be a cross between reluctance and great excitement. Closer to the door stood Dudley, a sick grin on his face. His hair was slicked back like Malfoy's, and he was wearing the most ridiculous clothing...a pair of slightly baggy boxing trunks, shoes, and a vest. He had never looked more repulsive before...the meat seemed to roll off his body in waves. Suppressing his distaste, Harry noticed that Dudley was wearing his Boxing gloves, large, red, meaty gloves that would probably do very little to cushion the blow despite the padding. His eyes narrowed again, noticing Vernon. His dear Uncle was standing near the door, still clad in his work clothes. His sleeves were rolled up, the tie loosened, and his topmost button freed. He was perspiring heavily, as the large wet spots under his arms, on his chest and ostensibly his back would dictate. In his meaty arms he carried a cricket bat, the Kookaburra Professional bat that Dudley's favorite English cricketer used. The threatening way in which the club was brandished made things obvious enough for even Ron Weasley to understand what they were trying to do.
Apparently, they had arranged things in a simple, straightforward, but effective fashion. Harry would have entered through the front door, naturally seeing the wall in front of him, and the door to the small bathroom on his right. The other side of the wall was the staircase, with his old cupboard under it. On the last step of the stairs stood Vernon, holding the bat. Harry would have walked in, and turned to go up the stairs, at which point Vernon would have hit him with the bat. Then, the three Dursleys would do whatever they had planned, which could hardly be anything but violent.
Harry's lips curled in disgust...what a family. His wand rose, casting a silencing charm on the locking mechanism of the patio door, and then another on his shoes. With his left hand, he drew one of his daggers, holding it tightly behind his back to make sure that no light reflected off the shiny blade. Slowly, his inched forward, and silently slipped the door open, thanking the gods for the fact that there were no frogs or crickets in the backyard to make noise. Slipping in, he silently shut the door and crouched behind one of the couches. Taking a deep breath, he steadied himself, and made his move.
He really did want to do this...after years of enduring them, a little payback was more than deserved. With the situation the way it was, it wasn't an unprovoked attack by him either. The convenience of the situation created a dark smile on his face as he moved, leaping from behind the couch. Slashing his wand, he let loose a wave of offensive magic, blasting Vernon and Petunia off their feet and into the nearest walls. Simultaneously, his left hand, bearing the dagger, came whistling downwards through the air, the base of the weapon striking Dudley squarely in the back of the head. Petunia hit the wall with a smack, her forehead impacting hard enough to knock her out immediately. Dudley, on the other hand, only had enough time to blink before he felt a blinding pain and slipped into unconsciousness. Vernon, however, suffered somewhat, as he was lifted off his feet, and sent through the nearest wall. Unfortunately, the section of the wall that he hit wasn't as strong as the section that Petunia hit.
He hit the cupboard under the stairs, blasting through the flimsy door that had seemed so daunting in Harry's childhood like a bullet through paper. Splinters flew, an almighty crash indicating that Vernon had found Harry's old cot, folded up and stowed inside the cupboard. A groan floated through the open doorway, a pitiful plea for help following it.
Releasing his held breath, Harry sucked in a new one, eyes flitting to and fro to look for a new threat. The feral gleam in his eyes slowly dimmed as nothing came. His breath evened, and he stowed the dagger back in its sheath within his robes. Slowly, he crossed the room, heading for the stairs. Crouching slightly to be able to look into the cupboard, he began laughing. Vernon was caught quite badly, trapped between the frame of Harry's cot and the fragments of the wooden door to the cupboard. The frame of the bed had bent, curling around his back and squeezing on each side, and the cupboard lay in shattered pieces around and behind him.
A muttered "Stupefy!" later, Vernon's groans ceased. Harry repeated the spell on the other two members of the Dursley family, thereby ensuring their silence for the next day or so...until he was long gone. With a grin, he paused as he was approaching the stairs, wheeling around abruptly. With a dark smirk, he leveled his wand at Dudley, jabbing it towards the fat boy in a jerky movement that revealed his hatred for the boy.
"Anthropi Porcini!" he commanded, grinning as Dudley's slumped form twitched as his pants tore. A curly pig's tail emerged through the new opening, bobbing in tandem with the fat boy's breath. The Dursleys would, once again, have a hell of a time trying to explain how exactly their oaf of a son had sprouted a tail.
Stowing his wand away, Harry opened the door to his room and slipped in. Tonks was in bed, absorbed by a book held up on her legs. The light had been turned off, but a few candles flickered, providing enough light for them. The charm on the door had made sure that Vernon was unable to attack Tonks while she was inside, and the silencing charm had probably made sure that she had heard none of the commotion downstairs.
Entering, he sighed happily as he felt the slight chill in the room from the charm Tonks had placed on the window. In the hot summer months, the charm was an absolute godsend.
"Hey, Harry," Tonks said, eyes still focused on the pages of the thick book.
Harry muttered a greeting, slinging his robe onto the chair. "Well," he said, slumping back onto his bed, "I'm officially engaged. God." His last word covered her slight squeak.
She made a noncommittal noise, still absorbed in her book. "What're you reading?" he asked, not noticing her lips tighten into a slight grimace.
"It's a guide for Metamorphs," she replied, her voice sounding somewhat tremulous, "it goes into the nitty-gritty of some of the toughest transformations. Since you're heading to the Chamber, I decided to get back to the Order."
He blinked. "What will you tell them?"
"I took your wand from you, but didn't have the time to get it to Dumbledore. I came back here, and decided to do it the next day. You were already sleeping. When I woke up, you were gone, and you had taken your wand with you, as well as all your things."
He smiled up at the ceiling, turning on his side so he could look at her better. "What's the book for, then?"
Looking over at him, she smirked wickedly and said "Harry...I have to be absolutely sure that I know how to trigger tears at random."
He snickered, jibing "I thought you women had a tear-reflex anyways?"
Grinning, she seemed to loosen up a bit, and pitched a pillow at him, muttering "Smartass."
Taking the pillow in the face, he grinned, and got up to change out of his clothes. "Thanks for all your help, Tonks; you don't know how much your trust means to me."
She nodded, going back to her reading as he slipped out of the room. As he left, she got out of bed, striding towards the small bag that held her things. A tear slipped down her cheek as she rummaged within it, sniffing audibly. Presently, her hand emerged, bearing two glass vials, one filled with a grey fluid and the other with an electric blue one. For a few minutes, she sat there kneeling, holding the vials in her hands and staring at them, the occasional tear or tremor being the only sign of life in her body. Then, she blinked away her tears, and uncorked the vials, downing them in one gulp.
Shuddering at the taste, she dropped them back into the bag. Slowly, her teary eyes dried, and her shaking lip stilled. Where she looked defeated, she now looked predatory, a slight grin on her face. Lifting her shirt, she saw the slight blue haze evaporating, and grinned. She stood slowly, her wand emerging as she began waving it with practiced ease.
A bravery potion was the only thing that would get her through this.
****************** ******************
Taking his time, he showered, removing the sweat and grime that his day had caused. Feeling the water cascade down his body, he grumbled mentally about Gilmore Alley being filthy. He finished off by brushing his teeth and toweling off, slipping into a pair of boxers.
Slowly returning to the bedroom, he entered, not really paying much attention to his surroundings as he dropped the towel to the floor. He blinked, seeing both his wands, his daggers and Sirius' penknife stuck to the wall, and opened his mouth to ask the lump in the bed that was presumably Tonks a question. Thus, he was more than a little surprised when his body was wrenched across the room and thrown onto the bed, steel manacles holding his arms above his head, attached to the bedposts. Similarly, his ankles were bound in steel and securely attached to the bed.
He blinked in shock, before tossing around, trying to manually extricate himself from the binds that held him. It was to no avail, as the manacles and the bed itself had been strengthened to the point that he could not break them away. Frantic, he attempted to wandlessly free himself, but unsurprisingly, he was unable to. His wandless magic wasn't strong enough to counteract the sticking charms that held his tools to the wall either, and his attempts to cast wandless cutting charms at the bed post barely made the slightest scratches in the lacquer. Summoning the candles was a bad idea, as they would certainly burn him, and perhaps roast the whole bed, taking him along with it. He couldn't apparate away, as the wards forbade that even though they were based on his blood.
Of course! It would be a long, arduous task, but with about three minutes, he would be able to minimize the size of his forearms and lower legs, and hopefully slide them out of the cuffs! Had he not been occupied trying to fathom what adversary had trapped him, he would have grinned.
Throwing one last look about the room to look for his attacker, he prepared to close his eyes and scrunch up his face in concentration. At the last second, a face loomed out of the darkness, looking beautiful as always. She emerged from the same nook near the door that she had been standing in on that first day, and suddenly, Harry knew he would not be able to escape this adversary.
It was Tonks.
****************** ******************
"Tonks! What-" he exclaimed, still jerking on the bed. Betrayal swam in his features as he glared at her, the shock belying the intimidation he was attempting.
She cut him off, sitting on the bed next to him. "Shush, Harry," she whispered, her soft hand cupping his cheek.
Ignoring her, he snapped "What the hell is this?" A slight smirk crossed her face as she cupped his cheeks with both hands, leaning in close. He stilled, eyes going wide in shock as her lips gently pressed against his own, leaving a tender kiss.
She drew away slowly, eyes closed, and he stared at her in utter shock. A garbled "Wha?" emerged from his lips before she claimed them again, the kiss so gentle it nearly took his breath away.
Her nose brushed against his, their lips millimeters apart as she drew away, her hands never leaving his face. His eyes were still wide open, a look of incredulity spread across his startled features.
"What," he gulped, "what are you doing?" The question sounded so stupid, yet it was entirely truthful. He hadn't a clue why she was doing this. It felt surreal...it felt like a dream to him, as there was no way the beautiful Auror would ever be in this particular position with him.
Her lips twitched slightly before they met his again, and as she pulled back to look in his eyes, she whispered "Why, Harry...I'm seducing you."
Had he not been in the situation himself, he probably would have laughed hysterically. Instead, all he could manage was the most guttural moan as she bit down lightly on his earlobe.
Her hair was no longer pink...it was jet black and long, currently draped on his chest as she hovered over him. Without the odd colors, she seemed so serious...the playful, teasing mood was replaced by the heavy, sensual actions that were capturing his mind. His mind spun, trapped amongst a maelstrom of sensations that overwhelmed him. Every sensation, from her soft lips, to the full breasts pressing into his chest, to the sudden realization that she always smelled so good...it all came together for him in a second of concentrated confusion.
"Sed-seducing me?" he stammered, eyes unfocused, "I don't get-"
She smiled and kissed him again, interrupting his disjointed speech once more. He groaned as her hands trailed down to his neck, fingers tracing hot fire across his skin. Her lips slowly massaged his, and just as he unconsciously reciprocated, they moved away, lightly brushing against his cheek. She bit down on his earlobe gently once more, eliciting a pleasing groan that seemed to spur her on. She trailed her tongue down his neck, and then lightly traced his collarbone, making him gasp.
"P-Please," he whispered, "don't..." He trailed off, interrupted by another gasp as she bit down on his neck, sucking on the skin lightly. Even as he protested, he was dimly aware of how unconvincing he sounded.
She laughed, a bright, beautiful sound, at his weak protest, her hands pressing against his chest even as her lips pressed kisses against his skin. He opened his mouth, trying to find the right words that would cease her actions, but gasped loudly as her lips found his nipple, sucking on it and biting down.
"You don't want me to stop," she whispered against his skin, repeating her actions again, eliciting yet another groan of pleasure.
"Oh god..." he whispered, his back arching slightly as she bit down hard on his neck, probably hard enough to draw blood. He didn't care, he realized, even as he hated himself for the apathy he felt.
Then, she was gone, and he moaned at the absence of contact. His eyes opened, and he found himself surprised that they had closed. Opening his eyes, he was met with a sight of beauty. She was kneeling on the bed next to him, her hands gently running over the fabric of her pajamas.
"Wha?" he muttered, confused.
She smirked at him. "You don't want me to go on..." she trailed off, moving as if she was returning to her own bed.
"No!" he moaned, surprising himself with the conviction in his voice. Guilt seeped through his every vein, guilt for wanting Tonks even when he had just been betrothed to another woman.
"No?" she asked, pausing. It was a huge gamble for her...Harry certainly had enough willpower to decline all that she had to offer, so tempting him like this was a risky action to take. It could have blown up in her face, and left her feeling humiliated, and it would certainly have destroyed any chance of a relationship with Harry, of any sort.
"No," he whispered, sounding broken. His eyes had lost the light that they usually held, and he looked to be damning himself with that single word. While she ached to take him in her arms and comfort him, she couldn't stop now. The time was crucial, and she had to be heartless. Steeling herself, she slipped back onto the bed.
"No," she agreed, her fingers stroking his chest. Then they rose to unbutton the simple cotton shirt she wore. She maintained eye contact with him through the whole arduous minute, watching with some glee how the light returned to his eyes with each button she undid. The shirt barely revealed any skin, even with the buttons undone, so when it slid off her shoulders, the look of utter amazement on his face nearly made her climax. It was a look of utter worship, one that regarded her body as the pinnacle of the evolution of the female form. Her breasts were firm, slightly above average in size, with pink nipples that stood rigid in the cool air of the room. She trembled involuntarily, for the first time allowing her nervousness to show. She had never slept with a man before, much less seduced one like she currently was.
Slowly, she straddled him, resting her palms flat on his chest. Leaning in, she experimentally kissed his unresisting lips again, and patiently waited for him to reciprocate. Slowly, unsurely, he returned the kiss, slightly encouraged by the moan that she released. Detaching her lips from his, she pressed her bare breasts against his chest as she caressed his face, her lips hovering an inch away from his. Then, she was gone, attacking his skin with her mouth, energetically raising such pleasurable moans from him that she felt flattered, never even expecting such a response. Her lips trailed fire down his abdomen, kissing, licking and suckling his skin with such passion that his natural reaction was soon pressing against her chest through the fabric of his underwear.
He leaned his head up to watch the sensual sight, but it hardly helped, since his eyes had long since pressed shut. When they finally opened, slightly unfocused, he moaned at the predatory expression on her face as she surveyed the large bulge in his boxers. Then, her wand appeared out of nowhere, and with surgical precision, she ran it down the length of the outside of each thigh, causing it to tear neatly. With a cheeky grin at her innovative solution, she tugged on the material, causing it to tear away from his body. His erect member was released into the cool air of the bedroom, throbbing and stabbing upward like a divining rod looking for the nearest pleasure.
She laughed that tinkling, pleasant sound again, placing her hands on his hips as she adjusted her body. Now, on all fours towards the foot of the bed, her lips hovered a few inches above his aroused length. Gently, she pressed her lips against his throbbing hardness, suckling softly as she slid them down his length. He groaned, fists jerking against the metal bonds that held them, a look of desperation in his eyes.
"P-Please!" he gasped, eyes creasing shut. But she was relentless, working at him with such innocent skill that his member throbbed, harder than ever before. The sensation of her soft, inexperienced hands caressing his length was driving him mad, stroking and touching him so lightly that each contact seemed to ignite his nerves.
Gripping him with one hand, she sat up slightly, looking everywhere but into his eyes. The innocence of her actions coupled with the bashful, shy expression on her face served to heighten his pleasure; the fact that she was giving him her innocence in a wicked manner that belied her virginal actions simultaneously being a stimulus to his masculine pride. With her free hand, she slowly slid her pants down, the elastic waistband of the sleepwear slowly revealing the wonders of her body. Her actions, as a result of her extreme nervousness, were painfully slow, appearing almost naughty...inadvertently arousing him to incredible levels.
Seeing her womanhood for the first time made his length jerk in her hands as his eyes widened, a mixture of guilt and fascination crossing his face. She blushed prettily at the expression of lust in his eyes, the bright sheen as he stared at her crotch a perfect exhibition of his desire. Slowly, she slipped the pants off and dropped them off the side of the bed, once again looking unsure.
Then, unconsciously licking her lips as she gazed at his length, she seemed to steel herself. Once again, her lips pressed against his hardness, her hand still gripping him at the base of his length. Her other hand, he saw, slowly slid up her thigh until it was buried between her legs, fingers slowly stroking against her wetness.
Then, slowly sliding her lips down his length, she took a considerable part of his member into his mouth, lips pressed tightly around him as her tongue tasted him. He gasped, back arching violently, releasing a guttural groan of pleasure. Seeming pleased by his reaction, she repeated the action, drawing an even more enthusiastic response. Harry's eyelids had creased shut again, his moan ending in a whimper of loss as her wet mouth released him back into the cold air. The sensation of the air on his wet member was a shock, sending a shiver through his whole body.
Slowly, seductively, she slid up his body, her nipples scratching lines of fire through his body as blood coursed through him. His member flattened under her abdomen, pressed tightly between her lower body and his own, the heat enveloping his slicked length like a sandwich. She paused over his lips for a second before swooping down and capturing them again, this time slowly parting his lips. The initial entrance of her tongue was teasing, as it lightly flicked up, running along the inside of his lips for a mere second before it retracted to her mouth. He groaned into her mouth in abandon, fighting the restraints that held him. His arms, of their own volition, ached to wrap around her, to touch and memorize the feel of every inch of her utterly celestial body. Then, she kissed him again, this time hungrily, her tongue darting into his mouth to caress his own. Lost in the kiss, he didn't notice his toes curl tightly, or the shudder that ran through his body as her breasts pressed against his chest. Hungrily, he sought her tongue, trying to capture it, caress it...it was all the mobility he could achieve, and he yearned to have the most meager control. Each time, just as he touched her tongue, she would sweep it out of reach, keeping.../lording/ her control over him. He groaned, out of pleasure and frustration, then gasped loudly as she bit down on his lip, tugging once before releasing it.
The coppery tang of blood hit his senses, and he blanched for a second before moaning out loudly. Her hand had captured the base of his member, and was using his length to stroke her wet sex. He could feel the slick wetness as his member slid against her folds, the common arousal quite evident in their simultaneous groan. Seducing him was, quite simply, arousing her even more than she had ever thought it could. Slowly, achingly so, she slid down his length, her eyes pressed shut. Her flesh enveloped him inch by inch, the heat and wetness of her crotch surrounding him like a protective glove. With a final push and a muted scream, she slid down the rest of his length, breaking her womanhood.
Gasping for breath, she paused, leaning on his chest, her breath playing across his nipple. She was startled as her body began bouncing, realizing that Harry was thrusting into her, trying to burrow deep within her with each thrust. Her eyes closed as she leaned back up, and she assumed control again, bouncing against him slowly at first, but gaining in speed. With each bounce, his body seemed to jerk up of its own accord, meeting her as she came down. His eyes were wide, pupils dilated in pleasure as he gazed at her body. Her breasts heaved, bouncing with every motion, and they seemed to capture his attention as he stared at her in frank amazement. Lust burned in his eyes as he gazed at her, and in between the waves of pleasure, she cheekily caressed her breasts, pinching at the nipples and enjoying the groans of longing that he emitted. Her other hand slowly snaked down her abdomen, the motion so slow yet so obvious that it had him crying out in frustration. Her slender fingers caressed her clit, her head thrown back as she let out great sighs, the tiny button sending new waves of pleasure through her.
Then, he was gasping, feeling her muscles contract around him, squeezing together as she hit her orgasm, her head thrown back and her lips parted in a silent scream. Watching the tiny beads of perspiration roll down her chest and through the valley of her succulent breasts, his arousal grew to massive proportions. With a loud snap, the metal bonds holding his arms and legs broke apart cleanly, his magic swirling away in a slight haze of purple light.
As she rode the wave of her orgasm, the sound of the metal breaking shook her, and her eyes darted open in shock. Before she could do anything, his hands were on her, stroking, touching...they roamed her body feverishly, reaching for every inch of her. He thrust up in desperation, not having reached completion yet, and in one move, rolled them over. On her back, pinned by his body, she nevertheless moaned and screamed, his each thrust prolonging the pleasure of her orgasm to massive heights. A minute later, she could feel him clench the sheets tightly as he reached his climax, burying himself deep within her as he hit that crucial point. He let out a moan of pure pleasure, his head pressed into the hollow of her neck, lips grazing her collarbone. With one last thrust, milking the last of his seed, he was spent, slumping against her body.
As her mind slowly cleared from the aftermath of the orgasm, she was struck by a maelstrom of emotions, the primary one being fear. With the action completed, what would he say? Would he reject her? She cursed herself repeatedly, damning her idiotic idea...it amounted to rape, not seduction! It wasn't seduction if he didn't reciprocate her feelings afterwards!
This was exactly why she had taken the bravery potion.
Her eyes slowly, unsurely met his, feeling his powerful green ones. Even in the slightly dim light of the room, they glowed fiercely, and she fancied that she could see a slight emerald haze below his eyebrows, emitted by those powerful orbs. She swallowed nervously, trying to think of something to say as he stared at her. The situation grew unbearable...after her stupid action, she was trapped below this muscular, strong man. This could, quite simply, have been the stupidest thing she had ever done.
Then, she was shocked as he slid up her body, fiercely pressing his lips against hers. She melted into the kiss gratefully, cupping his cheek with one hand while running her fingers through his hair.
Pulling away, he laughed lightly, caressing her cheek. "Silly girl," he whispered softly, lips brushing against hers, "you think I didn't know?"
She gaped, utterly speechless. It was her turn to mumble "Wha-?"
He cupped her cheek gently, his thumb gently touching the edge of her lips, staring deep into her eyes. "Of course I knew," he whispered, his nose brushing against hers, "you moaned it in your sleep each night."
He moved, rolling them over so he was on his back, Tonks straddling him again. The light entered his eyes again, glinting lustily as he bit down on her lip gently. Detaching his lips from hers, eyes shining brightly with lust, he seductively growled "Another round?"
Her last coherent thought, before he swept her away in a maelstrom of pleasure, was 'Perhaps all is not lost...'
Then, his lips were against hers, and they dissolved together, bodies rutting together in an act as old as time. Their cries rang out in the room, amidst the sounds of their lovemaking, intertwined fingers gripped together all along.
Then, sated, they slipped into sleep, twin expressions of satisfaction on their faces.
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A flash of blue light startled the sleeping occupants of the portraits in the Headmaster's office. They blinked, trying to ascertain, in the dim light, the source of the light. It looked like the arrival of a portkey, though it could have been a malfunction in any one of the trinkets that lay scattered around on the shelves. With a small crash, an object fell to the floor, a small note tied to it. They blinked again, eyes focused on the random appearance of the head of a statue.
Even of the more recently presiding Headmasters, only a few were able to recognize what the object was...the golden head of the Wizard from the statue in the Fountain of Magical Brethren. Some confusion was expressed in murmured words amongst the portraits, and a lot of irritation. Being bound to a portrait made them antsy and inquisitive, and not knowing neither the reason that the object had appeared, nor the contents of the note attached to it was irritating.
Within seconds, the guessing rose to loud volumes as the ex-Heads of Hogwarts furiously debated the meaning of this sudden appearance. Phineus Nigellus, who had actually seen the object in its current state once before, seemed to have forgotten the situation entirely. Therefore, none of the portraits noticed the slight glow from Fawkes' currently unoccupied perch.
A slight rustle of robes and an unintelligible heave of breath later, the door to the office quietly opened and closed, the portraits none the wiser. Sunken into the wall by about four feet, the opening and closing of the door wasn't visible to the portraits.
Two hours later, at 7 AM, Fawkes returned to the office. Flapping his wings, he sang a merry greeting to the inhabitants of the portraits, who smiled back. Mares Tennenbaum, however, snarled in anger. He settled on the desk, hopping a few times until the bowl of lemon drops was within pecking distance. A squawk later, the bird had picked up a lemon drop, and eaten it with glee. Enjoying it, Fawkes burst out into song again, flapping around the room once before settling on his perch.
Three things happened simultaneously: First, Fawkes landed on the perch. Second, he noticed the golden head on the ground. Third, the perch exploded in a massive boom of swirling green magic, taking Fawkes with it.
Cries of utter shock circled through the room, a cry of glee from Mares Tennenbaum added in. They were interrupted by the door to Dumbledore's personal chamber swirling open in a hurry, the aged Headmaster sweeping into the room with his wand at the ready. Ascertaining the lack of a threat immediately, his eyes turned to the source of the explosion, widening in shock.
Frantic, he sifted through the ash that had been a small cupboard of books, the perch, and his Phoenix. A few seconds later, he smiled happily, having dug Fawkes out of the ash. The disgruntled bird let out an ugly chirp as it realized that it had gone through another forced burning day. Albus blinked in confusion, contemplating a million questions. Whoever did this had Fawkes as a target...there appeared to be no harmful charms on the rest of the room. Who would want to target Fawkes? It was baffling. Talking to the portraits led him to the appearance of the golden object.
He lifted it off the ground, and shock crossed his face. He recognized this fragment very well...after all, he himself had turned it into a portkey for Harry Potter in the Ministry. Unfortunately, the note seemed to have been charred by the blast of hot air from the explosion, so he couldn't make out what it read. Snarling to himself, he stood upright.
Five minutes later, he had flooed over to Grimmauld Place. Storming through the house, he entered the kitchen, only to see Nymphadora Tonks crying, being comforted by a flummoxed Molly Weasley. It took a few minutes, but the full story came out from the weeping girl. Harry had left his house in the middle of the night, and had disappeared.
He patted her on the back comfortingly, whispering kind words to the young woman. "Do not fret, Nymphadora," he said pleasantly, "I'm sure we'll find Harry very quickly."
It was only as he thought of calling Fawkes to find the boy, did it hit him. Barely suppressing a growl of anger at being outwitted, he thought 'Very well done, Harry. Impressive, even.'
Fawkes was disabled, Harry Potter couldn't be found, and the lad's maturity was less than two weeks away. His plans were in trouble...in big trouble. This was an unexpected hurdle...and he didn't even have the wand!
Cursing, Dumbledore turned to Molly and said "Molly, please arrange for the Order to assemble in a few minutes. This is urgent, we must find Harry before anything goes wrong!"
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A hundred feet below the Dungeons of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Harry James Potter was sleeping peacefully. He was safe for now, but it would only be a matter of time before Dumbledore realized that he was in the Chamber. He knew that Salazar's safeguards would mean that Hogwarts would not allow Dumbledore access to the Chamber...but the man had more cards up his sleeve than any other player in the game.
Rolling over, a slight smile crossed his face. Tonks would rejoin him in a few hours...
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Read and Review!!! NOW!!! :P
This was a massive chapter...huge. The longest chapter yet. Inclusive of this A/N, it is: 13128 words long. I'm sorry to have to be the one to break it to you people...I'm pretty sure that future chapters won't be this long. I've been trying to cut it /down/, but the damned word count keeps increasing.
Okay...I said that I would update faster during the Summer, and I didn't really do that, since it was exactly one month ago, a few hours ago, that is, that I last updated. I am sorry about that...I shouldn't have promised anything :P. Okay...from now, my promise is this: I will update as soon as possible. I'll try not to procrastinate, and since I'm going to be writing shorter chapters, it should be okay.
Okay...for this chapter, the list of people that need to be thanked for their generous help just grows:
Zero, IP82, cj_cold, Element, Lord Serapeth, Vash...thanks a lot for your input. I hope the revisions and edits worked out.
The people above very generously read through this massive chapter, and gave some very valuable advice, as well as pointed out flaws that I made. I hope they'll agree that the chapter is better now thanks to their efforts.
-Apocalypso
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