Bring Me To Life
Disclaimer: I own nothing of Harry Potter. That much should be obvious.
Warning! This chapter contains slightly graphic gore, hence the Horror genre. Beware.
Tom Riddle stared coldly into the eyes of the man that was so eerily similar in looks to his own.
"You were the death of her. And your bastard is the death of you," a bright green light shot out of the end of his yew wand, and hit the man known as Tom Riddle Sr. in the heart.
Without even a second look, the tall handsome young man turned away from the dead muggle family, his dead muggle family. Tom straightened his cloak on his shoulders and made his way to get out of the dark room.
"Pathetic creatures," he muttered casually as he closed the door behind him.
Crimson eyes flew open with something akin to shock swimming in their ocean depths. The pale, snake-like man sat up in his bed, his black silk night robe falling off his broad shoulders. A weight shifted at his feet and he hissed at his familiar, she moved away from him.
"I dreamt of them, Severus. What is your potion doing to me?" The Dark Lord questioned his voice low and dangerous.
"Unfortunately, with Potter's blood being apart of the potion, it might not just be restoring your power, or your health, but possibly some of your soul. Your humanity," a dark deep voice from the partially lit corner answered.
"Only one good thing comes from your constant monitoring of me. And that's the fact that you answer questions when I want them and not when Dumbledore let's you," there was a silence in the room now, Severus knowing no way to reply to what his Lord had said.
"My Lord..." Severus began, but shut his mouth when Voldemort lifted his hand.
"You will find a way to reverse this... unfortunately unseen affect. Is that clear, Severus?" The dark haired bowed his head, showing his understanding and willingness to serve his Lord.
"Now leave," Voldemort didn't wait to watch as his follower left the room, he laid down on his large sized bed and stared up at the dark ceiling.
"I think I'll pay young Potter a visit this fine night," the words were spoken as if they were a casual suggestions made to oneself about some terribly boring and tasking event.
Harry felt cold fingers running over his warm forehead, his eyes opened but no on was there and the fingers were gone. Thinking it was just another one of his dreams he closed his eyes and tried to go back to bed, but when he did he felt the soft fingers trailing across his skin. They leaft cold chills where ever on him they happened to touch. This time when he opened his bright green eyes he saw the man he was to either kill or be killed by.
"Voldemort," Harry's voice was full of malice, of hate. He'd never felt so strongly and sure about anything in his life. The older man ignored his anger, and continued his studying of Harry's face or more of what the boy assumed, his scar.
"You're so brave, Harry," the man practically hissed as he began his routine mind plays.
"Get away from me," Harry said as he felt his teeth clench and his face heat up.
"To say a name that only two other man aren't afraid to even think," he ran the pad of his thumb over Harry's scar, tracing down the jagged edges, moving down then slowly back up again.
"If you'd like, I could call you something else?" Voldemort looked to him inquiringly.
"I could call you, Tom," Harry said biting back his fear and smarting off.
"You could, but I might have to cut out that pretty little pink tongue inside your smart mouth," Voldemort said as his red eyes finally moved down to meet Harry's, in a clash of crimson and emerald.
"Oh but then you wouldn't have the pleasure of hearing my final goodbye's when I kill you," the cheery smile on Harry's face only making Voldemort more angry.
"Boy, you'll learn to hold your tongue," the pale man said using his parsletongue abilities to intimidate Harry. But the boy only smiled back.
"I'll only hold my tongue when you've cut it out for me."
"Was that a request?" He answered, Though only slightly shocked by the fact that Harry could speak parsletongue.
"Not hardly. Now get away from me," Harry's eyes moved to the door where the knob was twisting as if someone was trying to open it but it was locked.
"He's here, you'd better leave. He might kill you too," Harry said, his green eyes wide and close to the point of sheer panic. Voldemort looked to him with what, if he had one, was a raised eyebrow.
"Who can kill me, boy? I'm Lord-"
"Magic doesn't work here. Every night I try to use it to save myself... It never works. He always gets me," Harry's voice had gone oddly calm, though he still looked frightened. It was weird it was almost as if Harry was shutting himself down, and as Voldemort looked deeply into his eyes trying to figure out what all this meant he saw it clear. His thoughts were interrupted when a banging on the door started, shaking the frame on its hinges. Who ever was trying to get in this room must have been quite large.
"Open up, boy!" Harry flinched and turned away from the door with his eyes closed. He seemed to Voldemort, to be more afraid of whoever this boogieman was, than of him. It only served to aggravate him. more so. But not enough to do anything to stop it all.
"It's too late. He's going to do it now," not knowing what else to do Voldemort stood up and moved away from Harry. And as he stepped into the corner the door flew open, with the force exerted in the action the handle was now stuck in the wall.
A large man with a long shot gun in his hands clamored into the room.
"You've done it now, freak! I've lost the last of my patience with you!" Harry's mouth opened slightly, getting poised for a silent scream that would always come next, because his Uncle would point the shot gun right at his face. Just like he was doing now. And with only a loud BANG and a jerk of his body Harry was shot. Dead. Blood spattered onto the walls, the bed, and the killer himself. As Voldemort looked down he noticed some on his front as well.
"Good riddance," the fat man said nastily as he gave Harry's dead body one more glance.
But before Voldemort could do anything about it the whale of a man turned and left the room, muttering things under his breath. Shocked beyond belief at what he'd just witnessed Voldemort walked to Harry's bed, he sat himself on the side of Harry's he'd sat on before. One that now wasn't, thankfully, covered in blood.
The red covered man lifted his hands, considering touching the gaping hole in Harry's head. The gushing blood only fascinating him to a small degree. He dropped his hands instead, his dry cracked lips open and an evil sort of laugh escaped him. What he found funny, other than Harry's death at a muggle's hand, was that the shot had been aimed at Harry's lightening bolt scar.
Suddenly Harry's eyes shot open and he sat up in bed.
"Well that was quicker than usual."
-End Chapter One
A/N: I wrote this story a while ago, and only now am I posting it. I haven't had the chance to finish chapter two but it's been started. I know this might seem a tad nasty and a little weird but you'll understand more in time. grins Well I hoped you liked it. I'm not sure if I'll finish it but I have high hopes from my first V/H.
I hope you decide to review!