Forever Knight [Harmione]

Chapter 38: Engage

The taste of the potion washed away at the intensity of the kiss, and he felt amazingly empowered.  That he could feel such wonderful emotion in a room filled with hatred was intoxicating.  He didn’t know how long he would have let himself drown in her kiss if she—well, if she hadn’t bit him. 

He pulled back with a quiet hiss, his wince slightly rebuking.  

“Sorry,” she whispered, with a soft penitent wail.  “I-I’m injured… just happened...”

His heart wrenched, realizing that her need for blood, to heal and recover, had made her do it. He was about to murmur tender reassurances of her having done nothing wrong when his scar seared, shooting blinding pain through his head.  He fell back with a surprised cry, cursing with audible outrage. 

Voldemort’s lip curled in impatience and disgust.  “You’ve seen your Mudblood, now we get on with the ritual.”

“I won’t let her be held this way,” Harry choked through his pain.  “I won’t—“

“You have no choice in the matter.  She is a menace right now.  I am sure you understand that much.”

Harry never thought he would ever ask anything of the loathsome creature that was his worse enemy, but he found himself petitioning.  He would do anything for her, even this, and he wouldn’t begrudge her for it.  He needed her to be alright.  “At least remove the spikes.”

“No.  The Mudblood suffers.  Her existence is an embarrassment to Wizards everywhere and I have treated her kindly enough as it is.”

Harry tasted his blood on his lips and it pushed him to lose some degree of control.  He advanced towards Voldemort, fists tight.  He wasn’t sure what he intended to do, but he hardly cared. 

He must have moved quickly—certainly unexpectedly for everyone in the room, their Wizarding sensibilities more akin to magical reactions than physical ones—, but he was suddenly in front of Voldemort, the Dark Lord easily within his reach.  He couldn’t even remember exactly how it happened, because he seemed to be acting on instinct. 

He threw a punch.  It was probably stupid, and useless, but he jammed his fist right on Voldemort’s jaw.  He had been aiming for the nose, or what was left of it, but Voldemort must have turned away, because Harry’s knuckle felt hard bone. 

There were shouts of shock, and he felt arms pulling him away; dragging him back.  Voldemort stumbled a bit to the side, blinking wide-eyed with surprise.  His surprise didn’t last long, anyway.  Quickly enough, Voldemort whirled to face Harry, his gaze reflecting fury because Harry dared to attack him wandless. 

Harry felt a surge of satisfaction satisfying, surprising Voldemort like that, and Harry cracked a sneer. 

Voldemort’s red eyes flashed, and with barely a flick of his wand, he had Harry writhing on the floor.  The Crucio was excruciating.  Every nerve of Harry’s body was twisted with agonizing pain.  Every pore was on fire.  Every bone felt like it was being crushed to powder.  He couldn’t breathe, yet a scream was ripping from his throat. 

An eternity passed before the effects of the curse waned, and as the pain ebbed in a horribly slow pace, he could hear Hermione’s trembling voice.

“Stop it! Just stop it!  He’s here.  He’s going to give you his soul!” she cried with helpless rage.  “You’ve taken everything, you bastard! What more do you want?”

Her voice cracked, but her anger was palpable.  She wasn’t going to let Voldemort break her, but she didn’t want Voldemort to break Harry.