Title: Ringu no Aku

Rating: M

Warnings: Character death, morbidity, slash later on, things as described by my classmates as “Katieish”

Disclaimer: Guess what. I didn’t wake up as J.K. Rowling, goddess of the literary world. So, guess I don’t own these guys.

Summary: Cry all you want; he will never be the boy you remembered, not now, not ever. You forget, do you not? How foolish. Lord Voldemort will never sleep; he will never stop.

A/N – Okay, I’m sorry about the lack of updates. ! But, I have a good reason this time: see, we have an old computer and my parents didn’t know what they were going to do with it. My mother still wanted to get her files off the computer, and it was still in good condition. Well, anyway, here’s the computer safe and sound in my hands. The flaw? We still need Internet for it, which is another reason for the late updates. You’re lucky if this is up before Christmas. Well, that’s the stupid sounding excuse of lateness and enjoy the finale of Ringu no Aku.

Remember, bold means ‘real world’ and italics mean ‘dream world’. 'This is Parseltongue.'

READ THIS IT IS IMPORTANTE: This chapter is the ultra sexness. The whole chapter is pretty much sex. Now, it is HIGHLY RELEVANT to the overall plot and ending, but I think you should know that this is, like, Sexworld or something. Not horribly “OMG You’re sick EW!” type Sexworld (well, actually…never mind.) So here you go, all who asked “where’s my Voldemort/Harry sex! HUH!” Het, slash, bestiality, dream world sex, real world sex, and a creepy excerpt from a Latin poem about the end of the world

---

The body of wizarding world savior Harry James Potter lay upon black silken sheets of a great sized bed, clothed in nothing but flesh. After the attack by Fenrir, in which he was almost raped, Voldemort had been knocked unconscious. Unluckily, or perhaps, in all actuality, luckily for the Dark Lord, the assault also triggered a mental switch, allowing Harry to regain control of his body once again. This really wasn’t much help to Harry, for being unconscious was almost the same as his previous state, except now he had no idea what was or would happen to him.

Harry had viewed the events of earlier as if he were looking at it from beneath water: things were only half clear and most of it seemed muddled and distorted, but he got the main gist of things. The Death Eaters had been freed, and worse, by his own hands. No, it was Voldemort who had done those things, Harry would correct himself. But that little voice in his head, most probably the conscience of his mind, would remind him that it was he who hadn’t fought against Voldemort; it was he who let Voldemort take over as payment for having that warm heat engulfing him. And it was he who was about to find that unconscious sleep was never, ever an escape from the harshness of reality.

---

He was in that white hospital-style place again, walking along that hallway that seemed to drag on forever. Even though it was a bright, bright place, Harry always referred to it, mentally of course, as the dark place, for what waited within its walls was never bright or welcoming. He realized that, again, he was wearing nothing, but this time a silver collar was wrapped about his neck, securely fastened so that removal of the apparatus was nigh impossible. As his feet continued to move in the direction of the room that resembled the lovechild of a hospital’s surgery room and child’s bedroom, Harry prayed silently that maybe, just maybe, Voldemort would be gentle with him. He prayed that the sheets would stop turning crimson, he prayed that the Dark Lord would tire of this morbid little mind game and just kill him, he even prayed that maybe, just maybe, he’d wake up to discover that it was all just a sick twisted dream.

“God does not answer the prayers of those who are already amongst the damned, child,” an icy cold voice hissed softly. Harry realized he had entered the room, he realized that the door was locked, and, worst of all, he realized that the man - no not a man, he corrected himself - the monster was right: he had no hope left at all. Voldemort stepped out from the shadows, his black robe hanging loosely about his shoulders. “I see you’ve noticed your little collar,” he leered, holding what was unmistakably a syringe and needle.

“Good boy.”

---

The door to her Master’s chambers squeaked ever so slightly as Bellatrix entered the room just as she had been ordered. It was a chore for the madwoman to move about since the ”incident” earlier with Fenrir, but she did as the note from her master instructed. After all, if what Lord Voldemort said was true, the Dark Lord would return that night, and Harry Potter would cease to exist permanently.

Speaking of which, Harry lay unconscious upon the bed, terror written across his face. Bellatrix grinned sadistically, closing the door softly with Nagini slithering about her heel. She strolled lightly to Harry’s side, removing a small potion vial from her pocket. The amount of liquid inside was barely more than a few drops, but that was all that was needed for the Dark Lord’s morbid plan to flourish. Uncorking the vial, the raven-haired witch propped the boy savior’s head to meet the burning liquid.

---

Harry lay on the ground, panting heavily as spasms wracked his body. Voldemort had injected him with the liquefied magic that he had used only once before, forcing Harry to act like an obedient dog under pain of the Cruciatus Curse. Blatantly refusing every order given, even shooting the Dark Lord a very rude hand sign, was what got the boy savior in this position. Voldemort stood over him, sending a swift kick to the boy’s jaw, blood spraying everywhere. Harry lay crumpled against the wall, coughing up blood as Voldemort drew nearer.

“You know that disobeying me only brings more pain, Harry,” Voldemort breathed, hoisting the child onto his feet and trapping him against the wall. “Or is it that you like this pain,” he hissed softly, drawing nearer to the shaking child beneath him. “Is it that you enjoy being beaten and hurt, my little masochist?”

Harry tried to say no, but it felt as if all the air had been removed from his lungs and that his throat no longer had the ability to work properly. Mentally screaming ‘No, you sick bugger, I am NOT a masochist!’ didn’t seem to be working very well, this fact proven by the mark appearing on his face after Voldemort backhanded him, allowing the boy’s hurt and bleeding body to slump to the ground.

---

Bellatrix watched as the potion began to take effect. It was a rejuvenating potion, one that would help awaken a person or animal and restore them to health. In this case, however, the fact that there was so little being offered meant that only so much would be replenished. Harry Potter would be walking upon a tightrope, literally in two different worlds: the world of the conscious, and the world of the subconscious, the mind. He’d be in tune to the goings on of both the real world and the goings on of his own mind. Sadly for him, neither world was much of a happy one.

Nagini slithered upon the bed, tongue flicking in and out, tasting the air around her. She smelled her master upon this boy. Luckily for her, Voldemort had never made her into a horcrux, thusly semi putting her out of danger of Potter’s little “horcrux hunt”. The great snake hissed softly as Harry’s eyes opened, revealing to him a swirling mix of dark color, finally coming to rest upon the face of his godfather’s murderer.

“You!” he exclaimed hoarsely as Bellatrix smiled maliciously down at him.

“Yes, me, baby Potter,” she laughed softly, before leaning down and capturing his mouth in a very surprising kiss.

---

Voldemort had cast Crucio upon the dream-world body of Harry James Potter over seven times now, each time more brutal. The boy had writhed in horribly agonizing pain each time, screaming his throat dry while the Dark Lord watched. ‘That twisted fuck is probably getting off on this too,’ Harry thought darkly as another spasm wracked his body, an after effect of the many curses being induced upon his body. It was a few moments later that Harry realized it was best to keep his thoughts private, or better yet, to have no thoughts at all, as Voldemort threw the boy’s body against the bed.

‘You’ve no idea’ he laughed in snake language before the monster’s lipless mouth claimed the boy’s, tongue gaining entrance into the unwilling mouth.

---

Harry fought weakly against the woman above him, not noticing the great serpent coiling itself around him. Bellatrix pulled away, a frightening gleam glistening in her mad eyes. Harry laid there, appalled and afraid, his mouth trying to form words and phrases, mostly words like “what the hell”, “what is wrong with you”, “why are you here”, “what’s going on” and “get the fuck off me”. It was then that the wizarding world’s savior realized that he was wearing absolutely nothing at all. But, what really caught his attention were the black robes that were piled at the woman’s feet.

“What the hell are you doing?” Harry shouted, finally able to regain his ability to speak.

The madwoman grinned, her long black hair falling about her face and chest. Drawing nearer to the frightened young man, she replied, “What my master told me to do.”

---

The Dark Lord enjoyed playing with his helpless little prey, teasing the boy gently, before twisting the moans into screams. Harry was disgusted at the feeling of the snakelike man’s length hard against his own, and was afraid of the consequences of pulling away. But, another feeling spread through him, that horrible feeling of want that the segment of soul was sending to his body, that need to have the man above him in him, to be filled by him.

Voldemort laughed darkly, and drew away from the boy. Harry half-hoped that Voldemort would let him go, although he knew that the real world awaiting him was just as unpleasant. The boy savior realized, though, that Voldemort was far from done with him when he saw the reason for his reprieve from the brutal touches and rough kisses.

“Kneel,” the monster leered.

---

Nagini’s tight hold upon Harry meant that escape was impossible, no matter how much he wanted it. Bellatrix raked her nails against his skin, blood dripping along in their wake. Harry fought hard not to cry out as his flesh was ripped away, but it was too much. Lost in his world of pain, the Boy-Who-Lived didn’t realize the use his blood was being put to, that is, until his body began to respond. The crazed witch was rubbing his member, coating it with his own blood, a manic grin spread across her face as he became harder.

When she saw that he was good and ready, Bellatrix parted her legs, blood soaked fingers preparing her body for what was to come. Harry stared, wide eyed, at the crazed witch, his hoarse throat begging, “Please…no...”

---

Voldemort laughed cruelly as his little plaything choked and gagged against the semen that was being forced down his throat. Harry fell to the ground, trying to breathe as the Dark Lord continued to laugh. The wave of want and desire only intensified as the shattered piece of soul felt part of its owner within his body. Harry cursed to himself, only half-aware of what the Dark Lord was doing until he felt himself forced into the mattress. Voldemort was completely derived of his robe now, nothing but the fact that each was in their own body separated the two from each other.

“Is the little lion all tired out?” Voldemort mocked, sliding one of those unnaturally long fingers along the cleft of the boy’s bottom, making sure to push against the tight ring of muscle. “Is it just too much to handle, too much to bear?” The finger was replaced by something softer and wetter; Voldemort began to tease Harry’s opening with his forked tongue, eliciting soft whimpers from the dark-haired boy.

“Or is it,” the snakelike monster hissed, the sinful tongue having been replaced by something much, much harder, “not enough?”

---

The air was pierced by a pained scream as Harry Potter’s bleeding throat reflected the abuse his body had been and was receiving. Bellatrix had enveloped him up to the hilt, wincing slightly from the harm that had been done earlier by a fellow Death Eater, while Voldemort thrust roughly into the boy’s tight body. Harry felt all the pain, the pain from the real world and the pain from the dream world, his throat already bled dry. Nagini began to slither about him, hissing softly as she went.

‘Dies irae, dies illa…’

Bellatrix continued to ride him, her breath coming out now as sharp gasps as she moved. Harry tried to pull away, but she kept him pinned down, that vice like grip digging into his skin. The boy’s body betrayed him, however, and it was all he could do to keep from thrusting into the warm heat.

‘Solvet saeclum in favilla…’

Laughter filled his ears as the monster moved roughly, each thrust earning a scream from the trapped child. Tears rolled down Harry’s flushed cheeks, it felt as if the length within him was barbed, it hurt so much. Harry continued to scream his burning throat to ashes.

‘Confutatis maledictus…’

Harry was unable to help it. His body craved it, begged him for it. Tearful and ashamed, the boy savior began to match the dark witch’s movements, damning himself by thrusting into her cruel body. It was so good, and so wrong.

‘Flammis acribus addictis…’

The lightening bolt-shaped scar that had been embedded into his forehead ever since he was one year old burned like fire. The soul’s energy spread through his body like liquefied pain while Voldemort continued to defile him. The movements became slightly easier as blood slicked the path.

‘Voca me cum benedictis…’

His body felt different, as if it were changing right there and then. The heated pain had died down now, replaced instead by odd warmth that seemed to bring about this different, changing feeling. The madwoman continued to ride him, the pair both nearing the edge, eliciting moans and cries that didn’t sound like Harry at all.

‘Non confundar in aeternum…’

He had hit that spot, that spot that brought so much pleasure through all the pain. Each thrust seemed to be hitting there now, the older man having angled himself within the younger boy. The warmth had enveloped his entire body, and Harry felt himself thrusting in time with Voldemort, or so it seemed. Somehow, the boy knew that, without a doubt, the next thrust would be the final one he’d ever feel again. Tears rolled down his face as he realized the monster was about to finally release himself.

---

Harry prayed softly…’have a care for my end…’

---

‘…Gere curam mei finis…’

Voldemort cried out as he released himself, not in the bloodied walls of his horcrux, but in the warm heat of his most faithful follower. Nagini slithered towards the deathly pale body that was lying where the Potter boy’s body had been. Sticking her forked tongue into the air, Nagini smelled the scent of her master, alive once more. She encircled herself about the Dark Lord’s arm, earning her a light kiss. Bellatrix lay panting against his stomach, eyes shut.

“Bella,” Voldemort hissed, a spidery hand idly playing with her long hair. The exhausted woman lifted her head, lidded eyes locking with blood red ones.

“Master…” she breathed, tentatively reaching a hand out towards him. “Is it really you?” To this Voldemort nodded, and Bellatrix wrapped her arms about him, kissing his lipless mouth roughly. The great serpent entangled herself about the two. When the pair parted for breath, Bellatrix made to remove herself from her master, but Voldemort stopped her, keeping her impaled upon him. Grinning, the dark witch allowed the Dark Lord free reign of her body, which he took graciously, inviting the serpent to join him.

---

When both found themselves entangled in the sheets, exhausted beyond belief and gasping for breath, Bellatrix turned to the serpentine man. “Whatever happened to the Potter brat, my lord?”

“Haven’t I told you before, Bella?” Voldemort rasped, while absentmindedly petting Nagini. “Harry Potter has ceased to exist. He was my final horcrux, and this ritual has destroyed him completely. His life has been…’traded’ for mine,” Voldemort replied, remembering the first time Potter had destroyed one of his horcruxes, when the imprint of a sixteen year old Tom M. Riddle had been reduced to simply a bad memory.

“It has come full circle. As of tonight, little Harry Potter is nothing more than a memory.”

Memento mori

Remember the dead.

---

END

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A/N – Yes, this meant it happened at the same time. Actually, the whole thing is pretty much happening at the same time. Well, that’s it. The end. Harry’s dead, Voldemort’s alive, which in turn makes pretty much everyone else dead. I leave you to imagine the horrors that Voldemort’s third reign of terror will bring. Translation of the Latin lines (which are all from a poem about the end of the world, named appropriately “Dies Irae”, and can also be found in Mozart’s Requiem. All lines, minus memento mori, can be heard in the songs “Sanctuary” and “He Shall Smite the Wicked” from HoND.) These are loosely translated (most is from the Dies Irae page on wiki) and I am not (yet) a Latin expert.

Dies irae, dies illa – Day of wrath, that day / Solvet saeclum in favilla – Shall consume the world in ashes / Confutatis maledictus – When the damned are silenced /Flammis acribus addictis – Cast into the piercing flames / Voca me cum benedictis – Call me with the blessed / Non confundar in aeternum – Let me not be damned for eternity / Gere curam mei finis – Have a care for my end.

Again, I'm very sorry for the lateness. Hope everyone has enjoyed the “Ring of Evil” and please review. Con-crit es muy bien! -Sadademort