You could never know me

Chapter 7: A broken soul

Foreword: Didnt write so much this time because honestly I'm drawing a blank. Should I carry on? We haven't got to the good bit yet. It's up to you my readers. Should I carry on? Comment if I should or shouldn't. Anyway, enjoy!

Oh Merlin. Oh Merlin OH Merlin OH MERLIN! Harry felt like he couldn't breathe and the room started to spin. No one could know, no one could see how weak he had been. He chanced looking up and was surprised at the look of outrage on His face. Lady Malfoy asked him to take his shirt off and at this point he gave in. Taking a deep breath he lifted his head, a blank bored expression on his face, before removing his shirt. It took all his will power not to flinch at Cissa's gasp and Voldemorts growl of anger.

Voldemort growled low in his throat. Even he and his death eaters wouldn't do such a despicable thing, especially not to a magical child! How dare they! HOW DARE THEY? Filthy muggles. It was by now clear that Harry had been abused. "How?" Voldemort asked. Harry shook his head, indicating he didn't understand. "How can you sit there so calm, how could you not tell anyone what happened? Your precious Dumbledore wouldn't have allowed his chosen one to endure such treatment!" At this the room turned deathly cold. Ice crept along the windows. The curtains were open yet darkness enveloped them, the lights flickering, shaking at the face of this powerful beings wrath. Voldemort didn't know what he had said to make Harry so angry but he instantly regretted it.

Harry couldn't help it. But those words, Voldemort being so arrogant to assume he did nothing. He was so angry his power began to fill the room, a swirling blackness. "You truly think I said nothing. That after all those years of hell, I'd just sit there and take it?" Harry's voice never raised beyond the low whispering tones, but from the look on the other two inhabitants in the room, he could have been screaming. It was the look on Voldemort face that stopped him from killing him where he stood. The concern and slight regret on the face of the cruel and emotionless Dark Lord shocked him out of his homicidal state. Releasing a long slow breath he shook his head and sat back down, the light returning to the room and warmth slowly returning to the fresh summer day.

Narcissa released a breath she didn't realise she'd been holding. All she could do for a moment was look at the strong, yet somehow fragile looking boy and admire him for surviving (in the loosest definition of the word) all that he had been through. This reminded her. What did the paper mean the boy had died? Slowly, cautiously she sat beside the boy before wrapping an arm around his shoulders. He tensed but didn't turn her away. She looked up, and her Lord returned her gaze. In just one look they agreed. No one would ever lay a hand on this boy again if they had it there way.