This is part 2 of the once one shot. I've actually still no idea how long this story will actually be... probably about ten chapters long (though I don't really no... it could be longer, it could be shorter... probably the last...)
The start of this part will be kind of boring as it's about Harry's recovery. The second part will be... well just read it and you'll know ;-)
I've decided to post it in parts of about 4000 - 5000 words, unless a 'natural' break appears after the 5000 word mark.
Summary: When Harry starts to get sick, the only one who can save him is his worst enemy.
Warnings(for the entire story, so be warned!): slash (malexmale), non-con (though not rape, you'll have to read to see what I mean...), torture, character death.
These are the major ones, I'll add new ones if necessary. This story is unbeta'd
This story is unbeta'd
Note: though it says slash the graphic scenes can only be found on my AO3 account!
Pairings: HP/LV (maybe RW/HG)
Disclaimer: The rights belong to J.K. Rowling and whoever owns the films!
I want to thank everyone who reviewed! Enjoy!
Yours in Sickness. Part 2
oOo: a small time jump
oOoOoOo: a change in POV.
When Harry woke up it was to the smell of hot soup, the warmth and softness of the bed he was laying on, the cool metal of the trinkets Dumbledore had brought him and the feeling of disorientation of waking up after a very long time.
He immediately noticed that he felt… better, still weak – he was sure that even a new born kitten could defeat him at the moment – and sore like Hell all over but the flu seemed the have disappeared.
He stretched languidly only to wince as the stiff muscles were forced to work before he rested his sore body on the bed again, briefly enjoying the pleasure of feeling the texture of the soft covers against his naked skin. Wait… naked skin? Soft covers?
He slowly opened his eyes only to groan softly as the bright light assaulted his eyes and he quickly closed them again.
He carefully opened them again and narrowed them until he found the glare of the light fading and his surrounding sharpening. He slowly and gingerly sat up – the covers pooling around his naked waist as he did – after which he picked up his glasses from the night table so he could study his surroundings.
The bed he was laying on was a huge – easily king-sized – four poster bed and it was covered with thick, green covers. It had heavy black curtains – which were opened on the moment – and snakes and mythological creatures decorated the four posters of the bed.
The rest of the room was mostly… barren. There were three doors leading to for him unknown destinations, a hearth was built into one of the four walls and there was one night table which had held his glasses. But that was it.
The walls themselves were a very dark blue – though not dark enough to appear black – and were decorated with green and red fleur-de-lis.
All considered he concluded that the room was too rich to belong in Hogwarts – though is seemed just as old – which made him wonder where he was.
He conjured images of all wizarding places he had ever been, before discarding them all. Not one of them was this rich or this old – not even Grimmauld Place.
The snakes and mythological creatures helped him somewhat as it showed that it was the home of a family that went back to at least the Classicism and the colour scheme meant that it was at least a family whom had had money for quite some time.
A soft hissing sound snapped him out of his ponderings and he carefully turned towards the sound, only to freeze as he came face to face with a large cobra-like snake, its hood flared open. Its tongue shot out, once, twice before it closed its hood and lowered its head.
":You should eat,:" it told him as it cocked its head towards the general direction of the nightstand. Harry shifted slight, still wary of losing the snake out of his eyesight and sought for the soup he had smelled earlier.
In the end he had to turn away from it to grab the soup from an elevated serving tray of the ground.
He turned back to it as quick as he could with a bowl of soup in his hands and his extremely stiff and sore muscles.
He slowly started to eat the soup – too hungry and too relieved that he was feeling better that he didn't even care that the soup could be poisoned or laced with potions – his eyes on the way too large snake all the while.
After a couple of seconds of staring the snake turned around and slithered of the bed before it disappeared through a hole in the wall that Harry hadn't seen before.
It was several minutes and a few spoons of soup later that he had enough and he placed the still nearly full bowl back onto the tray before he laid back down, too tired to do something else.
The next time he woke up was to a soft conversation, in parseltongue.
His eyes flew open and he shot up as fast as he could only to groan softly as his muscles protested against the movement and a pounding headache made itself known. He flopped down again and closed his eyes, defeated.
He was probably still too weak to do much more than stay awake for a couple of minutes, sit up and eat anyway.
Someone made a soft tsk-ing sound.
":If I had wanted to kill you, I would have let your 'illness' finish you off,:" a cold voice hissed, ":now open your eyes and look at me!:"
Harry wondered briefly what would happen if he disobeyed the clear command.
":That I have yet to kill you doesn't mean that I'm above hurting you,:" the cold voice continued as if its owner had read his mind.
He reluctantly opened his eyes and looked up towards the owner of the voice and the only other known parseltongue.
Voldemort hadn't changed a bit from the last time he had seen the snake-man – which had been at the end of his fifth year, just after Sirius had died – accept that he had some kind of odd, satisfied gleam in his eyes. He was lounging in an armchair that hadn't been there before, a large snake which Harry recognized from the graveyard and his dreams was draped around him.
":I'm sure that you are curious why you are here,:" he said in the same cold and distant tone as before, ":and still alive and mostly… healthy.:"
"Something like that yes," Harry muttered as he suppressed a yawn, aware that the man probably would – and could – hurt him if he thought that he wasn't paying enough attention.
":Parseltongue!:" the man spat at him in the mentioned language, ":I'm aware that you're a parselmouth so use it!:"
Harry stared at the man for a couple of seconds before he grudgingly said, ":fine.:"
Voldemort nodded in satisfaction before he continued, ":good. Have you ever heard of a horcrux?:"
Harry shook his head as he suppressed another, bigger yawn.
":Pity,:" Voldemort said but he sounded as if he had expected as much, ":I'll bring you some books as soon as you wake up again. For now: sleep!:"
With that he rose – the snake still draped around him – and with one last glance towards him he strode out of the room through the middle door, which opened and closed automatic for him.
Harry stared after him, not quite sure what he should think about that confrontation, before he realised that during his conversation with the man his scar hadn't acted up. Not even once.
The books – together with a note – lay on the nightstand when he woke up again.
There were seven books and all of them had some kind of marker inside of them that – according to the note – marked the chapter he should read.
In the end he managed to read three of the books before he fell asleep again.
It was a couple of days after he had finished reading the books and he was… confused. The books – all of them – had mentioned something about soul magic and something called horcruxes – the same thing Voldemort had mentioned – but he wasn't quite sure what the man's purpose was by letting him read the books.
The books had explained that the soul was what made the body 'alive' – without a soul the body was just another lifeless thing – and that a lack of guilt after certain 'activities' like murder, rape and torture could rip one's soul to pieces. Though murder was the easiest way to rip a piece of one's soul.
Apparently a horcrux was made if one were to put a 'loose' part of the soul in an object that did not contain a soul. For a body – any body – couldn't contain more than one soul before it started to fall apart.
That last part was only mentioned in onebook and the only part he had been able to read had been the part that mentioned the soul. But the handwriting had been familiar and he suspected that Voldemort had written it himself.
But the question why he had given him the books remained.
He furrowed his brows as he tried to piece all the parts of the puzzle together. He knew that he was not like Hermione – who seemed to remember everything she read – or a young Tom Riddle – as he was not quite sure if Voldemort still counted – who had been a genius in every way possible, but he was sure that even he could piece the clues together.
Voldemort had mentioned the word 'horcrux' just after he had asked him – kinda – if he wanted to know why he was in his… house and why he was still alive.
A horcrux normally contained a sliver of someone's soul and made that person immortal – sort of, anyway. A horcrux could possess people and use their magic and life force to form a new body –killing the person it possessed while doing so.
His mind shot towards the diary he had destroyed in his second year. It had possessed Ginny and it had sucked her life force and magic away. It did sound like it had been a horcrux, Voldemort's firsthorcrux to be exact as the 'memory' had been about sixteen years old.
So Voldemort had had a horcrux… Than why did he mention it? Unless, of course, he wasn't aware that it had been destroyed. Or was there something else?
Voldemort had mentioned during his resurrection that he had gone further than anyone else. Did that mean that he had more than one horcrux?
If so, what why should he care beyond the fact that he had found Voldemort's way to stay immortal?
His mind shot towards the other thing he had read. A body couldn't contain more than one soul, otherwise it would fall apart. He had been sick with no way to get better and Voldemort had somehow healed him in what appeared to be less than… he had no idea what the date was but he had the feeling that it hadn't taken too long for the man to heal him.
Did that mean…? His mind rebelled against the very idea as he struggled to deal with the conclusion he had reached.
In the end he did the only thing he could do in such a situation. He fainted.
The next time he woke up he felt, once again, disorientated. His soreness seemed to have disappeared altogether – though he was still weak – and he wasn't sick anymore, so why did he feel like he had been hit with something hard?
He opened his eyes and carefully sat up, only to see the books on his nightstand. His mind immediately supplied what had happened and he couldn't help but groan as he remembered the conclusion he had reached before he had fainted.
He closed his eyes again as his mind supplied him with what it meant. He carried a part of Voldemort's soul with him. No, even worse, hewas one of the reasons why Voldemort was immortal.
":I see you've reached the right conclusion,:" Voldemort's voice sounded from the opposite direction from where he was looking at, ":didn't take you as long as I had expected.:"
Harry turned towards him – Voldemort was once again sitting next to his bed – and glared at him but Voldemort seemed as unfazed as ever.
":I'm sure that you know what that means,:" the snake-man continued as if nothing had happened.
":Can't say I do,:" Harry groused, almost hopeful that it had something to do with the man killing him. Because that would just be ironic.
":No, it had nothing to do with me killing you,:" the Dark Lord told him.
":Stop reading my mind!:"Harry yelped at him but the man just shot him a look as he continued.
":Sadly enough, it means that I'll have to keep you safe,:" he told him, ": which means that there are a couple of ru- :"
":Er… wait, I've a question!:"Harry interrupted him, only to hiss in pain as he was hit with a mild stinging curse – courtesy of the man sitting next to his bed.
":Do not interrupt me!:" the man hissed angrily before he said calmly, ":now, ask your question.:"
Harry wondered briefly if the man had mood swings but another stinging curse made him yelp.
":Stop that!,:" he muttered, ":how did you cure me and did you cure me permanently or will I get sick again?:"
":There are two possible permanent cures but neither will be possible for you,:" he was told.
":Why not? What are those cures?:" he demanded to know.
":The first one involves ripping a part of your soul away. And I highly doubt that you're willing to murder someone,:" Voldemort told him flatly, ":and I'm not willing to use the second one.:"
":What is it?:"Harry asked curious but Voldemort ignored him.
":And how I cured you…,:" Voldemort continued before he leered at him, a dark and dangerous smirk around his mouth and a strange glint in his eyes, ":you'll find out eventually.:"
Harry shivered slightly in fright and quickly changed the subject.
":The rules?:" he asked.
":I'll leave them here with you as I've written them down,:" the man told him, ":that way I'm sure you know them, especially as I know you tendencies to break the rules.:"
And with that he rose from his seat and loft the room.
It was a couple of weeks later that he let the boy finally leave his rooms.
The boy was almost completely cured – though he would never be cured completely – and he was once again strong enough to walk around and do whatever it was the boy wanted to do, as long as it wasn't against his rules.
The boy had been restricted to certain chambers – to make sure some of his more eager followers wouldn't kill the boy and because the boy washis prisoner – but he had access to the library, a duelling chamber – not that he had given the boy a wand – and some other rooms.
Voldemort stared at the boy – who had made himself comfortable in a chair in the library – as he contemplated the boy's illness. He knew that the child was magical strong enough to fight the effects of having more than a soul in his body – he had done so for more than fifteen year after all – but he couldn't help but wonder how long it would take before the boy would start to get sick again.
He had to feed Nagini some of his blood at least once a week – as he couldn't cure her at all – to make sure that she stayed healthy.
But the boy was far more powerful and would gain even more power after he had turned seventeen – the last milestone in the growth of a witch or wizard's magic core. So how often did he have to 'cure' the boy? And when would the next time be?
He wondered briefly about the reason why the boy had gotten sick now and not when he had been younger.
A witch or a wizard had four milestones in the growth of his or her core. The first one was when they were a couple of months old to a couple of years old and was marked with the first time a child used accidental magic. The second one was when a child turned eleven after which the child should have enough control over its core to practice active magic – though stronger wizards or witches were able to do active magic before they turned eleven. The third milestone was when the child turned fourteen years old after which the use of accidental magic should stop. The last milestone was when a child turned seventeen after which the growth of a child's magical core would stop and the child was officially considered an adult.
The first phase started when a child was born, the second phase started when the child was about nine, the third phase started when the child was thirteen and the last phase started when the child turned sixteen.
So that meant that the boy was almost as powerful as he was as he would've needed a lot of power to make sure his core kept growing and to keep his body healthy. So what had happened to make him ill during the last phase?
The only things he could think of was that someone had placed some kind of block on the child's magic – which was a) impossible and b) improbable as the boy would have gotten sick earlier if that was the case – or the boy had been using a lot of magic for something else recently.
His eyes widened as he realised what the boy had been doing that needed a lot of magic: he hadn't been able to access the boy's mind since just after the boy's godfather had died and he was quite sure that the boy was not an occlumens.
On the boy's sixteenth birthday his magic had been low because it had to adjust the body to make sure it could handle more magic. The amount of magic left had probably been too low to make sure the too large amount of soul would make the body fall apart and the boy's body had started to fall apart.
And the day after he had turned sixteen – when his magic levels had turned back to normal – it had been too late and the boy had gotten sick.
A soft rustling made his attention snap towards the boy and he seized him up.
":How do you feel?:" he asked him after a couple of seconds.
The boy lowered the book slightly and stared at him, ":fine.:"
":Good,:" Voldemort said shortly, ":there will be Death Eater meeting tonight and you'll attend.:"
The boy's nose wrinkled in distaste and flashes of hate filled glares and curses sent towards the boy as he was forced to bow down flashed through the boy's mind.
A lipless smile appeared around his mouth, ":you won't attend in this form.:"
Confusion flashed through the boy's mind and he said, ":I'm sure you've researched animagi.:"
The boy nodded.
":Than you know how long it takes to become one and how dangerous it is,:" he continued and the boy nodded again.
":There is a second way, one that had been forgotten for quite some time,:" Voldemort said and he felt a smirk pull at his lips, ":the only thing one has to do is to make sure there is some who knows the spell and the Animagus revelio spell to make sure when turns into his or her animal form and back to their human form.:"
":Er… okay. What does this have to do with me attending one of your followers' meetings?:" the boy asked, clearly confused before he ducked to avoid a stinging cure he sent towards him.
":You'll be attending in your animal form,:" he told him, a dark smirk no doubt around his lips.
":But I don't know what it is!:" the boy protested as he rose in an attempt to get away from him. It seemed as if the boy had figured it out.
":Ah, the positive part of this spell is that that isn't necessary!:" he told him as he drew his wand, ":Animagus Conversus.:"
A dark purple spell hit the boy – who tried to duck but failed to get away from the spell – and he watched in morbid curiosity how the boy's arm and legs shrunk to small, weird angled legs – apparently he was some kind of four legged creature – how his fingernails elongated to long, sharp claws which seemed long and sharp enough to rip things to pieces and his hands turned to paws, how the boy's upper body elongated until it was about one and a half times as long as it had been, how his neck and head changed until it resembled that of a large lizard, how his pupils turned into slits and his eyes a sickly yellow, how the boy's teeth turned sharp and into fangs, how his ears and hair disappeared into his head, how the boy's tongue turned into that of a snake – forked and long – how the boy grew a large, thick tail and how his skin turned into dull, brownish black scales.
After a while – Voldemort suspected that it had taken some 10 minutes – the boy had finally stopped changing and where once stood a human on two feet now stood a large, brownish black lizard on four feet. Its tongue flicked out of his mouth and its eyes narrowed into a glare as soon as it had found him.
He kept his wand trained on the creature as he tried to figure out whatit actually was.
It was definitely a lizard but it had the tongue of serpent, had long and sharp claws, its build was that of a clumsy, slow creature, its tail was about as long as its upper body and it was long – it probably reached ten feet. Its skin appeared to be hard and strong enough to protect it against attacks and the fangs – which the boy showed every time the tongue flicked out of his mouth – were sharp and the jaw seemed to be strong enough to rip pieces of flesh away from its prey.
There was only one creature who could match what the boy had become: a komodo dragon.
Voldemort frowned as he studied the muggle version of a dragon. He knew that komodo dragons were fast, long, strong and flexible. They were skilled and fast hunters that hunted everything they met – including humans – but they laid in ambushes before the actual hunt and ate like snakes. They could eat their own weight in one single meal and – because their ingestion was so slow – they only needed a couple of meals a month.
He wasn't aware if a komodo dragon was poisonous but he was not about to test it.
All in all, he had to admit that it surprised him that the boy – whom he had believed to be the epitome of Gryffindorness and fluffiness – was such as dangerous and snakelike creature as a komodo dragon.
A hissing sound came from the boy turned creature's mouth and he smirked as he said, ":such a Slytherin creature you turned into. Are you sure that you are a Gryffindor?:"
The hissing turned into growling and the boy's tail swept from left to right, hitting the bookshelves which quavered under the assault of the dangerously strong tail.
That bastard had turned him into some kind of lizard! They both knew that he should have been a lion or something like that, not this mockery of a dinosaur.
He growled again to show his displeasure with his new form and he lashed out hard with his tail towards the throne like chair Voldemort was seated in. The chair groaned under the assault but Voldemort stayed as expressionless as before.
After a couple of hard lashes in which the chair did not collapse – Harry was sure that the bastard had charmed the chair to be unbreakable – he stopped his assault and relaxed back onto the large pillow. It was just a bit larger than he was, about twelve feet long and five feet wide, and it was warm enough to keep him warm. He was coldblooded now and the floor of the gigantic room he had been forced to walk on before had been far too cold for his liking.
Luckily Voldemort had realised this because otherwise he would have either sought out a warm spot or – if that failed – he would have bitten the man.
Soft pops sounded and the first Death Eaters arrived in a flurry of black robes. They all kneeled down as soon as they entered the gigantic room they were situated in and crawled towards Voldemort to kiss the hem of his robes.
Harry hissed and growled at them as soon as they came too close for his liking and with strangled gasps they drew back, the smell of fear heavy in the air.
More pops sounded and more Death Eaters appeared in the room and it didn't take long before utter chaos ruled in the room.
The new Death Eaters tried to reach their lord to pay the proper respect – he couldn't help but snort at that – while the Death Eaters in the front tried to get away from him.
Harry had to admit that it was pretty amusing to see the chaos in front of him and he snapped at quite a few people who came too close while they struggled to get away from him.
Who knew that being some kind of lizard could be this much fun.
It was quite a shame that Voldemort quickly called for order in the chaos and that the Death Eaters obeyed him almost immediately as the rest of the meeting was beyond boring.
Harry spent the rest of the time either sleeping or watching different Death Eaters until they started to squirm.
It was a couple of weeks later and Harry had been forced to attend four more Death Eater meetings while being a komodo dragon. The only good thing he found out during the meetings was that the Death Eaters really feared him – well, his Animagus form anyway – and that the Order of the Phoenix was searching for him.
But that was the only good thing that had happened during those weeks as he was still locked away in the same rooms with only Voldemort – and he had to admit that the man could be nice company if he wanted to – and some snakes as company.
Voldemort had even started to teach him magic and subjects like ancient runes and other subjects he had been able to choose in his third year but hadn't. He had even continued teaching him Care for Magical Creatures even though it was clear that he didn't like the subject.
Besides that he had to spent quite some time as a komodo dragon – which wasn't as bad as he had thought it would be.
But the worst thing was that he was starting to get sick – again – and he was not quite sure if he wanted to know how Voldemort had temporarily cured him last time.
He could either tell Voldemort now and hope that it could be cured by something simple or he could wait, get sicker and be forced to stay in onesingle room. Again.
In the end he decided on telling Voldemort, just so he could keep some of his freedom.
So, what do you guys think? Please leave a review to tell me if you liked it (or hated it... as long as it ain't a flame :P)