ꜱᴇʀᴘᴇɴᴛɪɴᴇ ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ | ᴛᴏᴍɪᴏɴᴇ

Whispers from the Past, ch. 30

CHAPTER THIRTY

After she came to, Harmony was somewhere too dark to see any surroundings. There was only Voldemort's face above as he held her in his arms. At once she was overcome with the desire to send her fist into his proportionately narrow nose or wrap her arms around his neck in a furious hug until he choked. All this time, he had been someone he wasn't and was somewhere he never was. Harmony's mind reeled. Voldemort must have noticed her discomfort, for his fingers curled tighter around her back and thighs as though to warn her to keep still. Voices, which she had little care for in that moment, spoke around them in low tones.

Through her whirlwind of emotions, she realized that they were no longer on the boat. The rocking motion was gone and there was the unmistakable rush of grass beneath his footsteps. Her hands rested in her lap and she curled her fingers around the opening to his cloak and tugged to get his attention.

His eyes, which had been concentrating hard on what was before him, eased at her movement. He glanced down and Harmony couldn't suppress the choking sensation when his penetrating blue eyes centered on her. He said nothing. He didn't need to; the corners of his lips curled upward into a teasing smile, and then he looked up again.

Questions boiled Harmony's insides and she knew that no matter what happened she was going to get those questions answered. She has been in the dark for far too long, and it was time she understood all the complexities that has surrounded her life thus far.

Absolutely willing herself to be patient, Harmony took a moment to observe her carrier without hindrance.

She recognized Marek's clothes; they were dark, like any other Death Eaters, and it was strange to now see Voldemort wearing them. Marek was Voldemort, Voldemort was Marek. Harmony said this several times in her mind until it became somewhat conceivable. Voldemort had let his black hair grow and it was untamed with tresses teasing into his eyes. When she had first met him, he kept his hair tidy, clean-cut, and out of the way. It was as though with the new hair came a new person; he was no longer that perfectionist wizard, but untamed, unruly, uncontrollable.

A fire blazed in her middle with startling attraction to this alarming man.

He had lied his way through her dreams, made her believe he was on the brink of execution, welcomed her sexual advances and then denied them! Why? He was a trickster, a manipulator. He had been playing her all along.

Harmony couldn't stop the groan that escaped her mouth and Voldemort looked down at her in concern. She only stared back at him.

There was a large group of people around them as he carried her along. She couldn't see their faces properly in the shadows of the evening, but she knew they were Death Eaters. And there were so many. Had there been this many while she was on the boat? It seemed now the bodies had doubled into a small army.

They walked up a small incline and gravity pulled her tighter into Voldemort's arms. Out of the corner of her eye, a large shadow loomed and soon filled her line of vision. The outline of the shadow was unmistakable; she could hardly forget that beautiful but ominous architecture that belonged to none other than the Riddle mansion.

He had brought her back to where it all began.

A low female voice spoke out through the silence. "Several more have arrived, my Lord."

"Excellent," he replied in a deeply pleased tone. "How many?"

"Ten or so, my Lord," the woman answered after a pause.

Harmony felt against her when his chest quaked with a chuckle that told her he was exceedingly happy with this news.

"Gather all of them in the foyer and after a short respite we shall commence our journey."