Indifference Towards Difference || Harry Potter

29 | Before The Breath Of Storm, Farewell!

"Yet with the shrill mirth and the loud delight
Comes the foreboding sorrow of this cry,
Till the storm scatter and the gloom dispel,
Farewell! Farewell!"
Sir Charles George Douglas Roberts

~~~

⚠️TORTURE + SELF HARM⚠️

***

The sun, the sky—green and blue and gold as far as the eye could see. Two children on an ever-dancing green, next to them a million lights on waters stretching over unmeasured horizons. Peace, and light, and loss.

Wherever they were, Harry knew he didn't belong.

"This place is lonely but mine alone," the girl said, "and it's not your time yet." Time, the ticking crocodile.

Harry couldn't understand why he couldn't stay with her, and it always hurt to leave and let go.

"Please," he begged, "please, please, please," and there was nothing but the burning ache of his wholehearted desperation. How pitiful he was, to beg in the fields of the beyond.

"Please please please," she pled too, and then the world was razed and made all at once, made into another . . .

Everything was blurred with dark, creeping tendrils, anger stretching about the edges of the dream. Harry walked aimlessly, drawing closer to muffled voices, as though they were blocked by a great barrier.

"What have you to report?" A voice, high and cold—Voldemort's—echoing in a dimly lit room. Harry tried backing away to where the dream wouldn't find him. It wasn't working.

"My lord..." a quaking voice stuttered, "...the Order... you see, they have used the most intricate of protections..."

Displeasure shot through Harry like a bullet.

"CRUCIO!" Voldemort roared, standing to bear the curse down on the Death Eater. Screams filled the hall, ringing off the walls, and soon faded to whimpers and grovelling and breathless apologies.

The agony of Voldemort's fury would hit Harry soon, he could feel it.

"For your lord, you are incapable of doing nothing," he snarled, kicking the snivelling filth away from him.

"Please...please, my lord... she—she remains within the country...the Order have kept her here..."

Voldemort snarled. With a flick of his wrist, an invisible hold gripped the Death Eater by the neck, choking him, and forced him to float above the ground.

He took pleasure in the bulging eyes and pleading pants, begging for something as simple as breath. This man would learn his breath was his Lord's, the beating of his heart his Lord's.

Everything was Lord Voldemort's.

Power and joy coursed as one through Harry's veins, and he felt sick with it all.

"I wish for her within these walls. I wish for her blood to run within these walls, her screams to sing within these walls, her dying breaths within these walls." His follower nodded somehow, lips tinging blue, eyes bleeding red, and Lord Voldemort almost laughed. He drew the man closer, and whispered, "You are no use to me without these things. Would you like to be of use to your Lord?"