Yeah I know, I should be learning now :P yet I couldn't resist writing this. Odd, when I wrote this down on paper it was about 200 words long. I add too much when typing it out :P Good for you!
This story was a real challenge to me, for it is the first I ever wrote without any dialogue -save for the AN of course. :) I also added a few parts of a scène that I planned for another story, but didn't fit in there. -don't know if you see any difference in the sentences, but well.-
Have fun! -wow, is this my first stories without warnings?-
Disclaimer: Can't I just put a disclaimer on my profile for the rest of my stories? No seriously, is that allowed? I often forget, so that would come in handy for me. Anyways, don't own anything in the Harry Potter universe. I only own my twisted ideas.
Harry sat on the windowsill, emerald orbs spying the white grounds around the castle, far below. The hairs on his arms raised when he felt dark magic surge and a black clad person appeared in the distance, a couple of yards away from the grand iron gates, confidentially striding towards the castle as more people appeared, looking like an army of silent, black ghosts against the blank, virgin snow. Harry smiled wickedly. Finally, the time had come. Soundlessly, he slid off the windowsill, bare feet touching the cold stone of the empty tower. He looked over his shoulder, out of the window, where a million snowflakes raged across the lands, the sky darkening, and the wind howling over the hills. He turned around and descended the cold stairs, his cloak sweeping over the stones. The corridors and hallways were empty now, everyone was dining in the Great Hall, but he did not feel like eating, restless as he was tonight. He tried to will the cold away that was seeping into his bones, slowly freezing him from inside. But never his heart, for it burned with desire.
Once he reached the Hall, he hid in the shadows, not wanting to miss the spectacle that would undoubtedly unfurl. The wards screeched as they fell and the castle shook to its foundations as it was laid bare, stripped of its protection and, albeit temporarily, its ancient magic. The candles that hovered above the table, enchanted to always stay lit, extinguished and rained down on the tables and floor. The stone walls suddenly seemed cold and unfriendly and the ceiling turned blank. The first cloaked people entered through the doors before the confusion had time to turn into panic, and once it did, it was too late, for the men and women with the skull masks effectively cut off the only entrance to the Hall, trapping the crowd inside. Harry stood back and let it happen, watching the scène intently. He only shifted when their Master entered, a gleam in his eyes that betrayed his thoughts. He would win before the fighting even started and he knew it. The only ones who didn't would soon be lying at his feet, either kneeling in submission or dead.
The first curse to be fired was shot simultaneously by the Death Eaters, who had trained for months for this particular fight. The students were caught in a gigantic web of spells that enabled the Dark Lord to look into their thoughts all at once just by touching the web. He did and sorted the students into loyal, neutral and a pile of corpses while his followers kept the teachers busy, who had had quicker reactions than the students. Avery caught Mc. Gonagall in a body-binding spell, after which he gave her a remarkably clean and merciful death, considering that she had been responsible for the death of his wife. Bella was less generous with Trelawney, who was unfortunate enough to be present during dinner for once. It was over soon and Dumbledore heaved himself from the ground where he had been thrown into a heap by Rodolphus Lestrange and threw a both desperate and furious glare at the Dark Lord. The web was released and the bodies vanished, leaving only those loyal to the Dark or those who could still be swayed. Surprised, he saw that Hermione was still standing, together with Luna, Neville, Parvati and Dean.
He was called by a soft, hissed command and lazily approached his finance, holding his posture arrogantly, with straight shoulders, as if he had not just betrayed Destiny and told Fate to go fuck herself. His appearance caused a curse to die on the old fool's lips, whose belief that he could still win wavered more with every confident step Harry took. Spidery, white fingers traced his jaw line affectionately before Voldemort whipped around again, facing Dumbledore. One hand raised to point the feared yew wand at the headmaster's heart while the other arm snaked around Harry's waist. Understanding, horror and anger fought for dominance on the old man's face. The teen just gazed at him dispassionately. A green light flashed, the last words of the great Albus Dumbledore left unspoken forever.
Shock coloured the mood of the student population, but Harry couldn't care less about them anymore. He was above them now, above those who had never had to face hardship before, above those who had never needed to ask themselves why they didn't get a choice in how they got to live their own lives. The Dark Lord turned a bit to look at the crowd and Harry gave the man a quizzical look when the arms did not release him. Thin lips curled into a soft smile that had Harry fighting down a blush. Instead, he leaned back into the cold, hard chest and closed his eyes, not really feeling the need to see the eyes of the students, which probably were full of questions.
Voldemort gazed down at his young lover and looked back to the students again. It was odd. He had expected it all to be much more difficult. In his mind, he oversaw everything he had done during both the first war and the second, and finally, finally he had the Wizarding world of Britain in his grasp, to be molded to his vision of perfection, to do with as he pleased. Finally, the filth could be eradicated before it ever entered his world. Their world, he corrected himself. It was thanks to Harry that the takeover had succeeded when he'd broken through the wards already.
Initially, when the teen had come to him he had been near starving. The malnourishment, abuse and negligence he had suffered at the hands of his relatives and the pressure of the responsibilities that the Light side had thrown on him had been too much for the 'Savior'. Yet the fire in his eyes had never dimmed, although the hate that shone in them had not been directed to the Dark Lord that time. Revenge on the Light was everything that had kept the boy going and sane, albeit one could debate on the latter. Still, he'd doubted that Harry, who had at that time hardly the strength the walk, let alone fight a battle. But he'd spared his life, if only to use the boy's hate for Dumbledore to lure the old man into a trap to kill them both afterwards. When the moment that he couldn't have killed Dumbledore at the expense of Harry's life though, he had been hesitant and in the end he had not carried out the plan. He'd never regretted it. Harry's trust in humanity had been shattered too many times already, and when Voldemort had found that the teen had put his trust in him of all people, he couldn't find it within himself to break it. And also, the trust had become mutual during the time that he had mentored the boy, making him stronger and stronger. It would have been a waste to just throw his effort away. Or at least, that was the reason he told himself back then, so he could ignore the feeling that he had done it because he didn't want to lose Harry.
And now here they were, standing next to each other. Not equals, no, no matter what Dumbledore had wanted Harry to believe, Lord Voldemort would never be equal to anyone. But he respected his lover, trusted him with his life and cared and for Harry, who had been shown only a minimal amount of kindness in his life, that had been enough. Still was. With fondness, he looked down at his fiancé and tightened the grip for a moment. He did not know if he would ever be capable of loving Harry to the extent that the teen loved him, but he vowed to himself to care for his future husband as much as he was able to. His gaze wandered over the crowd that looked up to him, not really feeling like speeching. They already knew what to expect. Thus, he nodded to Severus, who bowed in return. With one last glance at the fallen body of Dumbledore that lied broken on the stone steps leading to the Head table, he disapparated, transporting both himself and his lover home.
Harry watched as Marvolo pensively looked down at his desk, fingering the old parchments that lay there absentmindedly it still hadn't fully dawned on both of them that the war was now officially over. Plans and lists were still scattered across the room, either succeeded or never used. Failure was not a word that his lover had ever heard of. In the end, he always got what he wanted, whether that was Harry, the rule over Britain or even something as simple as a kiss. The man's gaze came to rest on Harry's form, who lied down on the bed with a smirk that was soon mimicked. The pads of his fiancé's fingers reached him, and touched his shoulders. Fire ignited from them, it seemed, and shot through his body, sending shivers of a burning feeling through him. He gasped, and tilted his head backwards, looking up. He melted in his love's arms and a smile spread on his lips. It felt like the world had stopped spinning, and when he gazed up to the window at the side of the room, he wondered why the snow kept falling, instead of hovering still in the air, white on black, as an old picture as they celebrated their victory tonight. The world was theirs, forever.
So, what did you think of it? Do you like my stories with or without dialogue the best? I think this style makes it look more... professional and serious, but if no-one likes it besides me, I'm not going to bother you with these again XD.
Read and Review!