Dabbling With The Dark

Chapter 14

Saturday Morning

"All right," Harry said the second his feet settled on the ground, "whomever's idea this was," he continued holding up a stuffed animal phoenix by the throat that was the portkey he'd found waiting for him at the Shrieking Shack, "I not only hate you, but I hope your next blood relative is sorted to Hufflepuff," he huffed and dropped the stuffed animal to the floor to hilarious laughter.

"You don't like my gift? I'm hurt, Potter. And here Draco has told me for years that he was sure you wanted one to emulate the beloved headmaster of Hogwarts," Lucius Malfoy said with a chuckle. He rolled his eyes and kicked the animal clear across the room setting off the group of Death Eaters in the sitting room all over again. While they laughed, he walked over to a free armchair, pulled a bag of candy from his pocket, and sat down.

"He definitely has the touted Gryffindor courage, doesn't he?" another Death Eater chuckled. He looked at the Death Eater and then around the rest of the room pulling chocolate frog from the bag.

"The Dark Lord isn't here at the moment, Potter," Bellatrix grinned playing with her wand.

"I know," he replied with a casual nod ripping open the package. "I also know just like you do that he'd kick any or all of your arses for hurting me or letting me get hurt without him telling you to."

"How do you know he hasn't?" another Death Eater asked.

"Because if he did you already would've cast curses at me," he chuckled and bit the legs off of his chocolate frog. A second later he dropped the frog hissing is pain, his hand flying to his forehead. "Now he's here," he panted pulling his feet up onto the chair and pressing both his hands and forehead into them against the pain.

"We didn't touch him, my Lord. I swear we didn't," Narcissa said nervously.

"Move," was all Voldemort said. He heard people move, probably those on the sofa closest to where he was curled up in a chair, but the sound of Voldemort's voice boomed in his head intensifying the pain he was in ten times as much. "Crabbe, Goyle, move him to the sofa, stretch him out, and hold him down."

He didn't know how long it took, but the next while felt like forever as his scar felt like it was engulfed in flames and his brain felt like it was exploding inside his skull. He struggled against whomever was holding his hands over his head and holding his feet down, but the pressure they were putting on him was nothing compared to what happened when his scar was touched and Voldemort spoke a spell. He screamed, he couldn't help it, white-hot pain surrounding his entire head and making every muscle in his body shake violently. Over and over again Voldemort said the spell. He knew he blacked out for at least a few minutes, but when his conscious mind started to work again the pain was dimmer, though his muscles still quivered. He panted for breath as Voldemort said another series of spells. Finally, blessedly, the pain stopped almost completely, nothing more than a minor headache remaining.

"Sit him up," Voldemort said. He was pulled up by his arms and eased into a sitting position and a glass was put to his lips. His throat dry and aching from screaming, he swallowed it not even caring what it was. He knew a minute after the glass was pulled from his mouth as he started to feel a little better, though he still mostly felt like shit.

"What in the bloody hell is wrong with him?" someone asked.

"Light magic protection spells don't mix well with Dark Arts Horcruxes, especially when they're all inside of one person," he whispered leaning forward and resting his forehead on his hands.