Title: To Hell and Back
Author's pen name: Ashlynn LionHart
Universe(s): Harry Potter and Inuyasha
Disclaimer: I dot not own anything from the Harry Potter books or Inuyasha series, no money is being made with this and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Main pairing: Naraku/Harry
Summary: Due to an unforeseen event, Harry is pushed through the Veil by the Ministry to prevent him from being corrupted by the Dark Lord. The Order can't stop it, Harry is helpless to prevent it and something goes very wrong with everyone's plans.
- Prologue -
An eerie silence had spread across the room; despite the dozen or so cloaked forms cowering in front of their master, not a single whisper was heard. The imposing shadow sitting on the throne slowly raised its head, gracing its servant with the sight of blood red eyes alight with a murderous gleam. The Dark Lord continued his silent observation for a moment that felt like an eternity to those present in front of him. The very air was almost crackling with the pressure of their Lord's anger, yet not even a spark had left the tip of his wand. The wariness of the Death Eaters only heightened when a low hiss came from the far end of the dais. Coiled in loose circles on the floor, the huge snake flared its hood and stilled. A sinister smile stretching his face, the mighty wizard rose from hit seat and, with a harsh voice that echoed around throughout the room, said:
"For your sake, you better hope the trials were forsaken for a lack of prisoners or I do believe I shall need some more… competent recruits rather soon."
With a casual wave of his hand, the massive double doors opened and crashed into the wall with a loud bang.
The sound resonated for a few seconds during which those who were about to enter stood frozen beneath the cold glare of the Dark Lord.
"Only two," he hissed dangerously. "You dare come before me with only two of those I personally ordered you to retrieve Rowle…"
Eyes narrowed, he gestured for the three wizards to approach the dais and kneel.
Shoulders stiff, they walked swiftly up the shadowed aisle. The first one to reach the throne, Rowle, quickly fell to the ground and almost crawled to his master to kiss the hem of his robes in a disgustingly subservient demeanor. The others both knelt beside him and mimicked his actions with practiced ease. It did little, however, to curb the powerful wizard's growing irritation since these small formalities he normally enjoyed were only delaying him further from learning probably vital information for the continuation of his plans.
"Explain," he spat furiously. "Why weren't you and your group," he flicked his wand to the nervous Death Eaters gathered in the room who flinched minutely at this, "able to execute such a simple command with the pathetic security measures of the holding cells restraining your comrades inside the even more pathetic Ministry."
"My Lord…" Someone tried.
A flash of light finally left the wand held by spidery white hands, reducing its target to a quivering mass of limbs and whimpers on the cold floor. The Dark Lord, eyes still locked on the kneeling men in front of him, barely paid attention as the group subtly shifted away from the unfortunate victim. They were certainly not eager to share his current state any time soon if they could avoid it.
The two men behind Rowle shared a glance. Their Lord's almost nonexistent patience was quickly being drained the longer it took his follower to push down his obvious unease and spill his report.
When the Death Eater finally started talking, Voldemort leisurely sat back on his stone carved seat; listening intently to the slightly rambling dark wizard while absently twirling his wand between his fingers. He stared at his sweating follower coolly as he explained that their informant had assured them that no trials were supposed to be starting until the next day because an urgent case had come before the Wizengamot, therefore taking precedence over the trials. Unfortunately for his team, it seemed that someone had had the clever idea in-between to reinstate some of the old war-time regulations. Most certainly Dumbledore, the shrewd old thing, he thought. This had the regrettable effect of initiating the interrogation of the prisoners earlier than they had anticipated, as well as their quick sentencing before a small executive court.
Now, almost all of those he had sent after Potter and the blasted prophecy were enjoying a pleasant stay in Azkaban. He gritted his teeth, his oppressive magic twisting the air all but visibly around him. The boy had cost him the use of some of his most useful soldiers, never mind that he would shortly reclaim them to his side again in spite of their detainment in the wizarding prison. The little whelp would pay for disrupting all those carefully laid plans every time he butted his head in and simply refused to die once and for all.
Rowle stumbled a moment in his narration, but he knew better than to provoke his Lord's ire even more by stopping completely or starting to offer unwanted apologies. Beside, the spike of fury didn't look as if it was directed at him precisely.
Eventually, the Dark Lord reined his temper back under his tight control and settled to watch the two quiet wizards proudly standing behind the still kneeling man. On the left, he recognized the unmistakable white blond hair of the Malfoy lord falling from under the black hood of his cloak. The man was holding himself as arrogantly as ever despite his awfully recent second failure and subsequent rescue. There was a satisfied, or dare he say it, gleeful air about him that both intrigued and annoyed him in equal amount. This was not an appropriate mind-set to have for one who might want to earn his forgiveness. The wizard must have found something especially valuable to our cause to have the nerve to show such an attitude openly in these circumstances. Although the more subdued gait of the other Death Eater lessened the urge he had to curse them immediately to alleviate the burning rage he had felt building steadily since the fiasco of their mission.
Voldemort returned his wandering attention to Rowle, who was now describing in details how they had found only Nott among the remaining empty cells before releasing him and handing him an untraceable portkey. They were about to follow him after activating their own devices when two aurors had stepped into the dull dark room. Their presence caught them by surprise, but had the unexpected boon to allow them to get their hands on Malfoy too and save him from the Ministry's clutches.
The Dark Lord raised an eyebrow at that statement, clearly there was something else going on, but Rowle did not elaborate. His suspicion was proven correct when said blond lord lightly cleared his throat, drawing all the room's occupant's eyes upon him.
"Do you have something to share with us Lucius?" Voldemort drawled with dark amusement, but the threat in his red slitted eyes belittled the light tone of the question.
Straightening himself further, the wizard managed to both bow his head respectfully toward his master and look down with disdain on still kneeling man.
"They did not save me, my Lord." A chorus of outraged whispers blurted out. Lucius, a faint smirk on his lip, continued. "They, for all intent and purpose, ruthlessly abducted an upstanding citizen on his way to retrieve his wand, who was also accompanied by the standard guard of aurors. It is to my understanding that, should I succeed to somehow escape from my captors," his voice was practically dripping with sarcasm at this, "I could still fill my position within the Ministry with the proper incentives at the right places." Counting the numerous contacts he had from the lordship of his family, it was certainly doable. Beside, political maneuverings were bred into every Malfoy since as long as he could remember; his own son was well on his way to walk in his steps.
He paused a moment to gather his thoughts; what he was going to say now could either be more than enough to redeem himself into his Lord's favor or doom his day to a world of pain for the sheer audacity of what he had done. After all, the last time he had initiated some sort of action, he had lost one of his Lord's prized possession which resulted in a gruesome retribution from his master. He tensed.
"All of this should be possible to achieve, and more, due to the performance I made in front of the minister and his lackeys at their impromptu interview." He sneered, the expression quickly hidden behind his customary cold mask. " My Lord," he began cautiously, "I am pleased to announce you the impending demise of the Boy-Who-Lived, Harry Potter, by the hands of those he was poised to save."
He made an, albeit small, dramatic pause, then released the shocking news.
"The boy will be sent through the Veil in a fortnight."
His last words seemedto float in the air for a while, baffling the audience with their finality. It took them some time to fully process them. The only sign that the Dark Lord didn't expect something of this caliber was the slight widening of his pupils. Lucius thought he was allowed to feel a bit smug; it wasn't often one could strike someone like his master speechless. He was careful, however, to keep the emotion secluded to a far away corned of his mind; there was no sense in attracting a crucio earlier then necessary.
Meanwhile, the small crowd of Death Eaters present appeared to have briefly forgotten where they were currently standing and were eagerly conversing among themselves in hushed voices. As their leader showed absolutely no reaction to the news and remained impassive on his throne, many began to wonder what they were meant to do now that one of the main obstacles to the Dark was soon going to be obsolete.
Up on the dais, Voldemort was caught between gleeful exaltation, disbelief and an unhealthy amount of bitter resentment at not being the one to bring down the troublesome brat. He knew very well that Dumbledore wouldn't take this unforeseen event lying down and would do anything remotely possible to keep the Light's oblivious weapon close at hand. The old coot was nothing if not resourceful; that was something he became aware of quite quickly during the years they had spent opposing each other. He was curious as to how he was going to weasel his way out of this one thought or if he could at all.
With a calculating glint, he signaled Malfoy to come forward. A silent legilimens later and he was diving into the man's mind like a sharp knife, uncaringly shifting between memories –still, he made sure no permanent damage would remain –until he reached what he was looking for.
Lucius' jaw was clenched in pain, but he stood as stoically as he could while the Dark Lord reviewed the mockery of a trial he had been subjected to. The invasion lasted a handful of minutes; his master finally ceasing his prodding when he deemed having seen enough to be satisfied. He kept his sight strained on the serpentine face of his Lord nonetheless, awaiting whatever it was that the dangerous being in front of him would do next.
As it was, a low, dark, chuckle escaped the Dark Lord's throat, cutting through the whisperings of the Death Eaters and silencing them quicker than any spell could. The mirthless sound made them shiver as it gradually escalated to a full blown laughter. They knew then:
The Light was doomed.
Far away from the oppressive meeting, in a house similar in all things to those surrounding it, a thin form jolted from its bed. Sweating and panting harshly, the boy raked trembling fingers through his ever-tousled mass of black hair, hopping to disperse his growing feeling of dread. He took deep breathes of air, slowly calming his frenzied heart to a more tolerable drumming.
He couldn't repress the cold shivers that flew down his spine.