Authors note: Well I was listening to Korn =D and assigning songs to Harry Potter characters and I decided that 'Lets Do This Now' suited Voldemort well. There are a few lines 'All my life would be so easy now If you hadn't stepped across that line' and for some reason that just gave me the inspiration for this. I follow some of Deathly Hallows but then deviate drastically, just to warn you. The main character is my own creation. There are going to be several pairings here; Harry and Luna, Ginny and Draco and of course (with me, how could it not be?) Severus and Hermione. The main focus though is on this character and the defeat of Voldemort. I've got a challenge here for you all; in the descripton of the portrait, spot the referance to a famous piece of literature and tell me what it is :) Enjoy dear readers, enjoy. Oh and any questions or suggestions or anything, tell me and I'll answer- Bee x
Lord Voldemort had control of Malfoy Manor and it felt good. After breaking him out from Azkaban, Voldemort had requested that Lucius hand Malfoy Manor over to his Lord and Master. Lucius had no choice in the matter and so did as his Lord had asked. It was a lovely old building, majestic and grand as all the country manors were. There was more splendour and more of an archaic feel to Malfoy Manor than the other country estates. The grounds on the Malfoy estate looked much the same as they had years before, one of the only changes being Lucius' white peacocks. The Malfoy home was one of the best and Lord Voldemort always had to have the best and if he couldn't have it, it had to be destroyed.
The Muggle Studies Professor had just been killed and Voldemort had left his followers gathered together, departing from the room with all the grandeur and majesty of a King. In a way Voldemort did think of himself as a self-proclaimed King. It had brought Voldemort no pleasure to kill the woman but he had still done it. After all, it was one less person to oppose and annoy him. The Order of the Phoenix and Harry Potter were an iritance to say the least. They refused to bow to his will and yet he had been unable to crush them due to Albus Dumbledore, the Greatest Fool of All Time. He was no Great Wizard; he didn't have the drive and ambition to better himself, become more, unlike Voldemort who had spent years of his life pursuing the dream of becoming the Greatest. Now his goal was in his sights, Albus Dumbledore was dead. The Order and Harry Potter no longer had any protection he could offer and were open to Voldemort He would destroy them and then he would be in the seat of power that he so longed for.
The Order and Harry Potter were not the only one's Voldemort needed to destroy. Ever since establishing the Manor as his base of operations the Dark Lord had been plagued by memories. He needed to banish them but despite his best efforts they would not leave. It had started slowly, with only her name permeating his calculating thoughts like a whisper on the wind. It had progressed steadily on from there until now wherever he went he saw her face. That face. Sometimes it had that expression of horror on it, the same as on the night his life had changed and course become clearer than ever. Other times she was smiling shyly at him from beneath her long head of platinum blonde hair. Her eyes were sometimes narrowed in distaste, or wide in fear, full and bright with the fires of rage blazing, or sparkling and glittering with her barely contained joy. Her lips sometimes in a concentrated frown, other times forming a smile, occasionally set in a severe straight line. She could be smirking widely or those soft lips could be moulded into a perfect pout. Always she had looked beautiful and been the epitome of grace.
He could see her face dancing before him as he strode through the portrait gallery, paying little attention to the Malfoy ancestors hanging on the wall even though he could feel their eyes on him. The portraits remained silent and judgemental as Lord Voldemort passed them. Then he stopped, coming a sudden halt. Something had caught his attention from the corner of his vision. He turned, slowly, and then stopped again, shock coursing through him. There she was, in her full and undeniable glory, sitting proudly in a tall, straight-backed chair. She looked like a Queen, wearing a long gown of the darkest emerald green, head held high. Her fragile looking hands were folded delicately in her lap. The hair like spun silk swept down her back, the few sections at the front falling down below her breasts. Her skin was like monumental alabaster. Her eyes were downcast though and so Lord Voldemort was denied the pleasure of their captivating and enticing blue irises. Her lips were formed into that shy smile he had so loved and he longed once more to kiss. All she was now though was a memory and ink on canvas. That was all she would ever be to him, a beautiful poison trying to seep into his heart and wreak havoc. The portrait did not move, remaining as still and silent as a statue, and so he knew that somewhere she still lived. The one and only love of his life still lived.
The thought filled him with rage; rage unlike he had not felt in years. It started deep within him and spread until he felt as though his body were on fire with it. How dare she still live after all she had done to him! Her beauty, still as astounding and breathtaking as it had been when he had still been able to call her his own. As a contrast though, he had been reduced to a monstrosity opposing nature. All that had been of the handsome Tom Riddle had faded and distorted into the snake like visage he possessed now. How dare her beauty remain forever more as a testament to the world while he lost all form of humanity! She did not deserve the pride of place that she had on these ancient old walls.
Now that Lord Voldemort had Malfoy Manor under his control he could do whatever he wanted with no objections from anyone unless they wished for death to snap at their heels like a rabid dog. What he wanted now, above all other things, was to remove her. He pulled his wand, preparing to blast the portrait into the oblivion, condemning her image to nothingness. The spell was on his tongue, ready to be uttered, the words vaguely familiar to him. Yet as his eyes raked over the portrait, he found that he could not do it. He could not destroy her. He felt fury towards her and hatred that could ravage what was left of his soul but still he loved. For as he looked upon her, ready to destroy, he felt his heart begin to stir again.
He lowered his wand and took one last look at the portrait before hissing furiously. He stormed down the hall, filled with self-loathing at his moment of weakness. Thankfully, no one had been there to witness it, for the portraits would not speak. As he reached the end of the gallery he threw open the doors leading into the main ballroom. A few of the Death Eaters milling about jumped in fright before dropping hastily to the floor in a bow, mumbling the customary 'My Lord'. His anger was still there and he needed to vent it before he lashed out and risked the possibility of destroying or damaging something or someone important to his plans. As he made his way up to the throne like chair erected on the far wall for him, Lord Voldemort reached the perfect solution. It was time for another revel.