The Darker Side of Me

Chapter Fifteen

Harry stood nervously in the entrance hall of Malfoy Manor, his backpack slung casually over one shoulder. He shifted his weight anxiously from one foot to the other and brought a shaky hand up to loosen the red and gold tie from around his neck. He had been directed to wait there after a young wizard, barely old enough to be out of Hogwarts, had answered the door and skulked off into the adjacent drawing room to announce his arrival. Despite his nerves, Harry felt a pang of agitation for being kept waiting. The sooner he delivered this damned sword, the sooner this whole experience would be over.

"Come in, Harry," a voice called silkily from inside the room.

The fact that he had been called Harry, not boy or Potter, let Harry know that Voldemort was at least in a good mood. Whatever mood he was in, however, told little about what was about to transpire. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Harry forced his numb legs to carry him across the hall and through the open doors into the dark room.

Voldemort was sitting at a small writing desk, a quill poised delicately between his slender fingers. He didn't look up as Harry came to a stop at the edge of the beautifully stitched rug that lined the sitting area. Instead, he seemed lost in thought as he continued to scratch the nib of the feather across the parchment before him. Harry remained quiet, watching as the man stopped briefly to scan his previous words before continuing his sentence. It was almost surreal to see Voldemort doing such a menial task.

The Dark Lord deposited his quill back into the ink well and Harry could see his red eyes scan the page once more. Apparently satisfied, he folded the parchment and spun his chair to face the teenage Death Eater that was standing at attention beside the table.

"I want the owl out tonight. Be sure to use an Impervious charm on the letter, I do not want it getting wet in this rain."

"Yes, My Lord," the boy answered. Taking the letter, he half-ran from the room in his haste to obey his orders.

Harry's eyes followed him to the door and watched as it closed softly behind him. A heavy sigh drew his attention back to the writing desk, but Voldemort was no longer seated there. Instead, he was standing at a small table that held several glass decanters and drinking glasses. Pouring an amber liquid into a small glass, Voldemort continued to ignore Harry as he took a small sip.

Frustration pulled at Harry's lips until they pursed slightly. Voldemort turned to him with a knowing grin.

"Something wrong, Harry?"

" No, I love being kept…" Harry clamped his lips closed, biting off the words that had slipped unfiltered from his mouth. Not trusting himself to speak again, he chose to shake his head instead.

Voldemort chuckled softly and drained the remainder of his glass before setting it down on the wooden surface with a soft clink.

"Our last meeting escalated a bit too far I think, " he said coolly while pacing towards the place where Harry stood. Standing toe to toe with the boy, he reached up and took Harry's tie in his hands. With a sharp tug, he tightened and straightened it until Harry could feel it pressing uncomfortably against his windpipe. Voldemort's red eyes traced their way up to Harry's as he pulled the tie tighter. Harry instinctively tried to take a step back, but the grip tightened further. "So let us save the cheek."

Dropping Harry's tie, Voldemort took a single step back and held out his hands.

"Now, I believe you have something that belongs to me."

Pulling at his collar, Harry reluctantly dropped his bag to the rug and opened the clasp. Digging deep into the depths, he fumbled around until his fingertips brushed the cold steel of the sword hilt. Slowly he withdrew the shimmering blade from his backpack, unable to bring his gaze up to those hungry red pupils. With the sword lying across both hands, he studied it as a heavy weight settled on his stomach. Memories of when he had first pulled the sword from the Sorting Hat filled his head and his fingers curled around the blade in a silent protest of letting go.