Your Healing Hands
I wrote this oneshot for Gamma Orionis's OTP Bootcamp Challenge.
In this bootcamp, we were given 50 prompts and we're encouraged to use them (all if we can) writing only about our OTP. As my subscribers know, my OTP is HarryxVoldemort/HPTR/HPLV/HarryMort, whatever you want to call them.
This is my second oneshot. Prompt: kindness.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything belonging to Harry Potter. I'm just sprinkling this fandom with my love! ~
Useless, useless and useless. My loyal followers are proving themselves incapable of capturing a teenage Gryffindor time and time again. I know I told them not to kill the boy – the boy is, after all, mine ever since I marked him – but is it really that difficult to capture someone alive?
I have killed Dumbledore, so the Order should be done for. And yet, Harry Potter returns to the Muggle home intact, for one last summer. There is one more month until he turns 17 and that home will cease to be a sanctuary, but I cannot wait. And if my faithful won't deliver him, I will hunt him down myself.
But before going to get him, I'm going to collect Moonseed from the Forbidden Forest – just the way I like it. There are some potions ingredients that I just don't like to order, instead preferring to collect them myself. Moonseed is one of them. The poison is stronger when I work with my own collection.
So I Apparate into that side of the Forest as silently as possible, since I might be venturing in Centaur territory. Most creatures here side with Hagrid and hate me, so I might as well make it quick. Ah, there it is – the crescent shape seeds give kit away fairly quickly – I'll just take ten of those and be on my way.
As I collect the beautiful plants, with much care, I hear the sound of ruffling leaves behind me. I turn around, my wand at ready, when I see a disgusting-looking creature that I don't remember ever having read about. It looks like an elongated crab, or a scorpion, only it's incredibly big and are those stingers? Oh, this creature seems dangerous. I think I will get my Moonseeds another day. I prepare to Dissaparate, but as I gather my magic, I feel saliva dripping on my shoulder. Oh no...I remember this one. That idiotic half-breed called him Fluffy.
I turn to the side and watch a young Acromantula approach me...must be that beasts' child. This is not my lucky day. I take a deep breath and all Hell breaks loose.
Harry Potter POV
I heard the familiar Apparition crack one hot summer day when I was tending to Aunt Petunia's prized roses.
My uncle and aunt are gone on a business trip in another town. There is a 10-hour drive between these two towns, I heard Petunia complain about it and wonder why they couldn't take a plane. Dudley threw a fit because they couldn't take him along, but after promises of many gifts from both his parents he reluctantly accepted to stay with Piers Polkiss for the next three days.
I was surprised that the Dursleys actually trusted me enough to leave me by myself here for four days, but I'm not complaining. I can watch TV, eat and bathe whenever I want, and my chores have been reduced to cleaning the house (which won't take more than a day), fence painting and tending to the garden. Oh, sweet freedom!
Apparition means that someone from the Order has come to get me earlier! I was so happy that I abandoned the scissors, threw the gloves away and jumped the fence, not even bothering with the gate.
But what I saw made me freeze cold in my tracks.
I should have seen Him coming. I actually did, in some of my nightmares. But this was big, this was different. Here Voldemort was, lying face-down on the still hot pavement, his usual dark cloak torn in some places and burnt in others, blood oozing out of deep lashes, burn marks on his usually flawless white legs. His right arm, still holding the yew wand, was turned at an odd angle, and his eyes were closed and caked in blood.
My first thought was to run inside the house and alert the Order.
My second thought was: here's your chance to avenge everyone, Harry!
But as I watched him just lay there, hurt and helpless, my anger and fear just slipped away, and instead I started pitying him. I couldn't just let him bleed to death on the Muggle pavement; he may be my worst enemy and my constant nightmare, but he was a wizard, and more importantly, a Dark Lord. He deserved a more honorable death.
Before I realized, my right hand had taken the yew wand, and since we were outside the wards, I imagined that the spells I was about to use would not be detected. I had to be careful with the Muggles, though.
I cast a Notice-me-Not charm around us followed a few quick Scourgify and Tergeo charms on him until I was satisfied; then I tried the spell I had learned from Snape that year – Vulnera Sanetur, and while it didn't work like Snape's had, the results were – let's say – better than nothing. Episkey worked well on his broken fingers, and trying to clear my head of the unwanted second year memories, I cast Brackium Emendo. For me, it worked. Merlin, maybe I had mad healing skills? If I did, I probably inherited them from my mother. Thinking about her saddened me, and my hand trembled as I helped her murderer live.
Was he wheezing earlier? I cast an Anapneo, just in case. Can't heal his bones just to have him chock to death, can I?
I remember that healing his arm may have caused him nerve damage, and I cast Reparifors; hopefully he won't paralyze, though that would solve many of my problems.
One last Ferula on that arm and I'm done.
He needs to get out of this cloak, and he needs disinfectant and hydration, so before I can think, I've already lifted him emaciated form from the ground and I'm carrying him into the house.
Oh Merlin, the wards!
I'm afraid for a second that he'll be blown away into the street or vaporized or burned to death, like vampires in Muggle movies, but nothing happens.
I frown, but don't want to question this fact just yet.
I carry him to my bedroom, and believe me when I say carrying him up the stairs is as hard as a Triwizard task. Merlin, he may be lighter than most adults, but he's long. Tall, whatever.
His eyes are still closed, and there are some injuries and burn marks around them. I don't want to think what that might mean for him.
I gently set him on my bed and took a look at his burned skin. I don't remember much from my Muggle school, but I don't think I should take off the clothes if they are glued to the skin. So I ran off to get Aunt Petunia's scissors and I cut the cloak around them – leaving the sticking parts there, just so I could take his cloak off.
I placed some antiseptic on the wounds on his legs, and wrapped them in sterile bandage from The Dursley's first aid kit. I cleaned the wounds around his eyes gently, dipped some bandage in cold water and placed it on his closed eyes. After I finished this I covered him with the duvet.
I took his wand away, just in case, and I left the room, without closing the door behind me.
He was in the Dursley's house just like that.
I couldn't believe it. I know I brought him in with my own hands, but aren't these wards designed to work even if yours trully is somehow Imperiused?
These blood wards...blood...oh Merlin. I'm so going to yell at Dumbledore the next time I see him...but maybe I should just bang my head against the wall, because I'm stupid too, not to have realized that since Voldemort TOOK MY BLOOD for his resurection ritual, the bloody wards would be annulled.
I feel like yelling so much! But I'm hungry and I should cook something light for him too, like chicken soup or porridge.
I woke up to the smell of chicken soup, the beautiful smell of childhood illness that somehow was always forbidden to me. I've been sick only a few times in my life, and always in my childhood. Other children, the normal, well-liked children at the orphanage got that – but not me, not the freak. I got the horrible medicine and the ice packs, and only that. Ice packs in the winter, or some water compresses that they didn't bother changing too often in the summer. Being sick was a torture, and just that. The other children took advantage of my illness, too, playing cruel pranks on me - and they were never punished for it.
I soon learned not to be sick.
My memory is slightly fuzzy, but I remember what happened to me. I was attacked by Hagrid's beasts, managed to throw some spells but that crab monster burned me – how was I supposed to know it could throw flames? And the Cerberus bit my left leg, then my right arm, because I chose to attack the Acromantula first. I panicked slightly, then remembered music calmed that beast, but before I could start on the charm, the world shifted and some stings pierced through my right leg and fire come rapidly towards my face. I remembered really panicking and throwing random dark spells, which kept the crab-thing away, but then I heard the Centaurs approaching and I just wished for safety. Somehow, I must have Dissaparated, because I felt myself falling on something hard, and I could hear traffic sounds a little further from my landing place.
I was in the Muggle World. Why would I find a place like this safe?
I took the compress off my eyes, and tried to open them. It hurt so much! But I wasn't Lord Voldemort for nothing. I willed myself to open my eyes, enduring the pain, just to sink further in despair. The world around me was still dark. I was blind, and my wand was gone.
The pain from my arm and legs was numbed somewhat and I was lying in a warm bed, inside someone's house. But who would let me in? Considering how I look like, any Muggle would just call the police and have me shipped to the FBI or whatever they call the Muggle Office responsible for extraterestial encounters. I am well aware that I don't look like a man anymore. Was the Muggle blind?
Hold on. As I feel my arm and legs, I realize that my bones must have been mended. So soon? Oh no. I was with a wizard.
That's bad news for me. If this wizard is a civilian, he will recognize me sooner or later, from the drawing inside the Daily Prophet. I'm not with anyone from the Order, I'm sure, else I'd be dead already. And none of my followers would sink so low as to live in a Muggle-inhabited area.
I hear footsteps climbing up to my room and entering the room. That beautiful smell fills what's left of my nostrils, and I swallow. I've never felt so hungry in my entire life. There is a clink noise, like a tray is being set on a table. Then, I hear the person moving again.
The footsteps stop before me. This person – I can't tell if it's a boy or a girl – doesn't say anything. It's quiet, I can't tell what they're doing. They're holding their breath, too. They must have realized who I am.
Harry Potter POV
I didn't expect to see Lord Voldemort awake so quickly. His upper body was up, supported by the pillow, and his head turned to me as soon as I entered the room with his soup. I really thought I would need to wake him, and was counting on a few minutes to just gather up my Gryffindor courage.
I quickly set the tray on my study and raised the wands. If he tried anything, that was it. I would curse him until he resembled a jellyfish.
But even as both my wand and his were raised and locked onto his thin body, he didn't say a thing, he didn't react in any way. I approached him closely and looked into his eyes for any sign of danger. His eyes were weird, unfocused; it took me a few more seconds to realize he might be blind. Lord Voldemort, blind in the Dursleys' house!
He whimpered when I lowered my arm and touched his forehead through a medical glove. I knew that skin to skin contact would only hurt me, so I took this precaution. It worked like a charm!
He recoiled, but I insisted. He clawed weakly at my arm, but gave up soon and let me check his wounds.
I could see that even his 3rd degree burns were closing in nicely – well, I suppose he developed these healing skills early in his life, living at an orphanage during World War II.
"Hungry" he wheezed with a raspy voice.
"Okay" I said, and he jumped to the other side of the bed, at the sound of my voice.
"Harry Potter!" he shouted.
"Oh, be quiet. You don't want the neighbors visiting, do you?"
"Harry Potter. What have you done to me?!"
"Nothing harmful" I told him. "I only healed you the best way I could"
He was quiet after that. I knew I shouldn't expect him to thank me or anything, considering what we were to each other.
I sighed and pointed to the tray.
"Would you like some soup?"
"Yes...pl-please" he said, eventually. A good thing I wasn't holding the tray right now, I might have dropped it in shock.
Voldemort saying "please"? The world was coming to an end. Maybe the world really was coming to an end, if something was able to hurt the Dark Lord so. I was really curious now, what kind of enemy he had encountered? I knew for a fact that it possessed huge razor sharp teeth.
"Will you tell me what happened?" I asked him with what hopefully sounded like a neutral, professional-healer kind of voice.
He kept silent. Of course he wouldn't tell me.
I approached the bed and resigned to feeding him the soup myself. He didn't speak to me after that.
I helped him lie down and covered him again. It was already 10 PM and I figured now would be a good time for the injured Dark Lord to go to sleep.
I was tired too, but there was an interesting movie starting in 5 minutes, and I'll be damned if I don't watch it.
I heard moaning and wheezy screams from upstairs about halfway through the movie. This just wasn't fair! Couldn't he just sleep for once? Bloody Dark Lord!
Said bloody Dark Lord was burning up.
I resigned to a sleepless night and got the fever medicine out. I also prepared many cold compresses and raided the fridge for ice packs. I couldn't be bothered to think about the Dursleys – after Voldemort was better, I would kick him out of the house and immediately flee to Grimmauld's place with the Knight Bus.
Since the wards here don't work anyway, I don't have to endure their screaming at me for using up their medicine supplies.
I felt Harry Potter waking me from the nightmare of reliving my earlier maiming by those foul beasts, and he held me in a warm embrace, one arm caressing my back in circles, while his voice shushed me and told me it was a just nightmare, and everything was fine, helping me just like one would help a small child. I should feel angry at his patronizing treatment, but instead I feel safe.
I felt his hand holding my own though the night, even though no one ever asked him to do so.
I felt him change my compress without waiting for the water to get warm, and I felt the ice packs they never wasted on me during summer time – not touching my skin directly, but through a clean towel – just in that perfect way to soothe without overloading my nerves in a painful way.
How often did he change them? Did he sleep at all? I fell in and out of consciousness, and that night was the longest in my life, but he, the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Annoy-Me just held me through it.
This form of kindness is something I never deserved, not even when I was a child. Why is he showing it now, to the murderer of his parents?
Harry Potter POV
It's been a long night, but Voldemort's fever is finally receding.
He is sweaty and exhausted. I can see it in his still unfocused eyes, and in the way he is nuzzling my palm, as if I was someone he cared about. I wonder if he is hallucinating or he just doesn't care anymore.
It's 6 AM and I'm changing the last compress. Sleep takes over me, as I sit on the chair with my heavy head on my arms. Now, if I could just rest my tired eyes for half an hour...
I must be still asleep, because there is no way my head would be resting comfortably on a pillow; I'm not lying on a bed, spooned against someone's back, with one white arm encircling my waist, and one's warm breath tickling the back of my neck.
I turn around suddenly and look into Lord Voldemort's opened and *focused* red eyes. He has recuperated his wand too, it seems. The clock shows me it's 10 AM. Shit. I slept for four hours – and now the psycho is going to kill me. In my own bed. Well, in Dursley's bed.
I can't even bring myself to say something to him.
And then the Dark Lord does something that I never thought was possible:
He takes both my hands – dirty, and smelling of chemicals, into his own hands, and slowly raises them to his lipless mouth, and he just kisses my hands, gently, adoringly, like it's the most normal thing in the world.
I am too shocked to think. My mouth goes dry.
He smiles and approaches me. He is too close, I can't breathe! I hope he won't kiss me. But then he just whispers in my ear: "Thank you, Harry"
I just stay there petrified while he gets up and leaves the house in Vernon's much too large clothes, Dissaparating as soon as he's out of the so-called "Super Wards"
Then, my mind clicks in and I run down to get my things – the Dursleys have left enough money to pay for Muggle transportation to London.
Grimmauld, here I come!
Moonseed is a plant whose seeds resemble a crescent moon. All parts of these plants are known to be poisonous. It is presumably used as an ingredient of the Moonseed Poison
The crab-like creature, if you haven't recogized it: it's a Blast-Ended Schrewt, the last specimen left after the Tournament's 3rd task..
Those three creatures teaming up against Voldemort were „trained" to do so. I imagine Hagrid let them sniff Harry's clothes after the last task and showed them a drawing or picture of Voldemort after fifth year and so they would now efficiently enclose on Voldemort (or Wormtail), the only dark wizards that "touched" him. Eh...just go along with it, please.
Healing Spells – in alphabetical order:
Anapneo - spell to clear the throat of a choking victim.
Brackium Emendo - heals brachial bones.
Episkey - spell to treat mild to moderate injuries including split lips and broken noses.
Ferula - binds and splints fractures.
Reparifors - heals minor magically-induced ailments like paralysis.
Tergeo - spell for clearing up dried blood from a bleeding wound, similar to the Scouring Charm.
Vulnera Sanentur - spell used to heal deep gashes like those caused by the curse Sectumsemra
All hail Harry Potter Wikia!
Hope you enjoyed my oneshot. Please review, if you have the time.