Another Friendly Face
Feb. 23rd, 2005 07:01 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
scripsiPairing: Harry/Various
Rating: R
Summary: If your greatest enemy have no fear for death, then revenge will have to be metered out in another way.
Disclaimer: The characters belong to J. K. Rowlings.
Warnings: Noncon and torture, but implied, nothing graphic. Harry is around 17, which isn't underage for me. Darkfic.
Notes: Thank you![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
moshes for beta.
Harry Potter wasn't afraid of death. He was afraid of many things: afraid for his friends, afraid to lose, but death held no horror for him. And when he was defeated, when his friends were gone, and when Voldemort stared into the green eyes of the Boy-Who-Lived, the Dark Lord understood that. Though beyond his own comprehension, driven as he was by the lust for immorality, he understood that for Harry, death was something almost alluring, with those who loved him waiting for him. So Voldemort decided to let Harry Potter live a little longer. What use is it to give your greatest enemy what he in secret longed for? The Dark Lord wanted his enemy to suffer, and so Harry was brought to a dungeon, and left alone, cold and puzzled over this unexpected turn.
Time passed, how long Harry couldn't tell. Some food and water appeared at intervals, and at times the torch on the wall died, and when it was dark he slept some. Why had he been locked up instead of killed? Puzzlement turned to wonder when the door was finally opened, and a man was pushed inside. It was a tall, almost painfully thin man, with long black hair, and Harry suddenly knew who it was. Joy and triumph leaped up inside him. He had been right! Sirius had not been killed. Here he was, evidently maltreated and weak, but he was alive. All this time he had been Voldemort's prisoner, and no one had known.
Sirius looked up, and his bewildered look turned to a joy that equalled Harry's, and he stretched out his arms, dragging Harry into a fierce embrace that the boy answered as enthusiastically.
"I knew you weren't dead," he whispered. "I knew. I knew."
"Harry," Sirius's familiar voice said. "Oh Harry, perhaps you won't be so happy about that soon."
"What do you mean?" Harry released his grip to try to see Sirius's face, but the man's arms were locked around him, and Harry found he could not break free. "Sirius, let go of me!"
A sudden panic seized Harry, as he desperately tried to break free, a panic that intensified tenfold when Sirius took hold of his hair and yanked his head back. Sirius's eyes seemed to burn in his gaunt face, burning with hatred.
"Let me show you just how much I love you, Harry."
For a long time after Sirius had got up and left, Harry lay on the cold stone floor, shivering from shock and pain. Sirius was a traitor. A traitor. The love he had professed for Harry, for James, had just been lies. On and on that thought ran through his head, and Harry held on to it, because he felt that if he let go, the feelings inside him would break him in pieces by their force. Not until the next time the door opened and Ron and Neville appeared did Harry manage to shake himself out of it.
Only to be met by a repeat of what Sirius had done. Harry was so shocked he could not fight this time, though it felt like his heart was being torn out from his living body with the realisation that his best friend had been an ally of the enemy all along.
He finally realised what was happening when he was left alone again. He ought to have understood earlier, the solution was so simple, that he felt ashamed that he had been fooled. Polyjuice. Not Sirius, Neville or Ron, but Death Eaters in disguise. It must have been easy enough to find hair belonging to his friends, and yes, even from Sirius, as Kreacher no doubt would be willing to help in that matter.
Embraced by the knowledge, Harry thought he was prepared the next time. It would only look like a friend, in reality it would only be one of his enemies. He found that knowledge meant nothing, nothing at all, when Remus Lupin's kindly face looked down on him. Though Harry clung to what he in his heart knew, that it wasn't professor Lupin who subjected him to these vile acts, he could not shake off the feeling that it actually was his former teacher. Look, voice, even smell was the same, and though Harry told himself over and over that it wasn't, he could not help wondering if he might be wrong.
No, knowledge meant nothing, as every man Harry had ever loved, liked, admired, was paraded through his cell, leaving behind them a boy that was rapidly losing strength and sanity. It didn't help, because every friendly face that debased him, tainted the memories he had. He could no longer find solace in remembering the good times, because every time he tried, the fresher memory of pain and humiliation was stronger. It was no use in trying to figure out who it really was who tortured him, there was nothing that betrayed the real men. Maybe some really were traitors, and came to him in their real gestalt. Perhaps it was only a few. Lucius Malfoy certainly, Harry was sure, but when and whom was impossible to say.
In the end Harry just waited. Voldemort would kill him in the end, once he had exhausted every source. There was only one left now, Harry knew. Just one, and it took time because it couldn't be easy to manage after so many years. One man left before Harry could die, and then he would die without hope of being embraced by his father on the other side. Because Harry knew that he wouldn't be allowed to die until the door had opened one last time to admit James Potter.
END
Rating: R
Summary: If your greatest enemy have no fear for death, then revenge will have to be metered out in another way.
Disclaimer: The characters belong to J. K. Rowlings.
Warnings: Noncon and torture, but implied, nothing graphic. Harry is around 17, which isn't underage for me. Darkfic.
Notes: Thank you
moshes for beta. Harry Potter wasn't afraid of death. He was afraid of many things: afraid for his friends, afraid to lose, but death held no horror for him. And when he was defeated, when his friends were gone, and when Voldemort stared into the green eyes of the Boy-Who-Lived, the Dark Lord understood that. Though beyond his own comprehension, driven as he was by the lust for immorality, he understood that for Harry, death was something almost alluring, with those who loved him waiting for him. So Voldemort decided to let Harry Potter live a little longer. What use is it to give your greatest enemy what he in secret longed for? The Dark Lord wanted his enemy to suffer, and so Harry was brought to a dungeon, and left alone, cold and puzzled over this unexpected turn.
Time passed, how long Harry couldn't tell. Some food and water appeared at intervals, and at times the torch on the wall died, and when it was dark he slept some. Why had he been locked up instead of killed? Puzzlement turned to wonder when the door was finally opened, and a man was pushed inside. It was a tall, almost painfully thin man, with long black hair, and Harry suddenly knew who it was. Joy and triumph leaped up inside him. He had been right! Sirius had not been killed. Here he was, evidently maltreated and weak, but he was alive. All this time he had been Voldemort's prisoner, and no one had known.
Sirius looked up, and his bewildered look turned to a joy that equalled Harry's, and he stretched out his arms, dragging Harry into a fierce embrace that the boy answered as enthusiastically.
"I knew you weren't dead," he whispered. "I knew. I knew."
"Harry," Sirius's familiar voice said. "Oh Harry, perhaps you won't be so happy about that soon."
"What do you mean?" Harry released his grip to try to see Sirius's face, but the man's arms were locked around him, and Harry found he could not break free. "Sirius, let go of me!"
A sudden panic seized Harry, as he desperately tried to break free, a panic that intensified tenfold when Sirius took hold of his hair and yanked his head back. Sirius's eyes seemed to burn in his gaunt face, burning with hatred.
"Let me show you just how much I love you, Harry."
For a long time after Sirius had got up and left, Harry lay on the cold stone floor, shivering from shock and pain. Sirius was a traitor. A traitor. The love he had professed for Harry, for James, had just been lies. On and on that thought ran through his head, and Harry held on to it, because he felt that if he let go, the feelings inside him would break him in pieces by their force. Not until the next time the door opened and Ron and Neville appeared did Harry manage to shake himself out of it.
Only to be met by a repeat of what Sirius had done. Harry was so shocked he could not fight this time, though it felt like his heart was being torn out from his living body with the realisation that his best friend had been an ally of the enemy all along.
He finally realised what was happening when he was left alone again. He ought to have understood earlier, the solution was so simple, that he felt ashamed that he had been fooled. Polyjuice. Not Sirius, Neville or Ron, but Death Eaters in disguise. It must have been easy enough to find hair belonging to his friends, and yes, even from Sirius, as Kreacher no doubt would be willing to help in that matter.
Embraced by the knowledge, Harry thought he was prepared the next time. It would only look like a friend, in reality it would only be one of his enemies. He found that knowledge meant nothing, nothing at all, when Remus Lupin's kindly face looked down on him. Though Harry clung to what he in his heart knew, that it wasn't professor Lupin who subjected him to these vile acts, he could not shake off the feeling that it actually was his former teacher. Look, voice, even smell was the same, and though Harry told himself over and over that it wasn't, he could not help wondering if he might be wrong.
No, knowledge meant nothing, as every man Harry had ever loved, liked, admired, was paraded through his cell, leaving behind them a boy that was rapidly losing strength and sanity. It didn't help, because every friendly face that debased him, tainted the memories he had. He could no longer find solace in remembering the good times, because every time he tried, the fresher memory of pain and humiliation was stronger. It was no use in trying to figure out who it really was who tortured him, there was nothing that betrayed the real men. Maybe some really were traitors, and came to him in their real gestalt. Perhaps it was only a few. Lucius Malfoy certainly, Harry was sure, but when and whom was impossible to say.
In the end Harry just waited. Voldemort would kill him in the end, once he had exhausted every source. There was only one left now, Harry knew. Just one, and it took time because it couldn't be easy to manage after so many years. One man left before Harry could die, and then he would die without hope of being embraced by his father on the other side. Because Harry knew that he wouldn't be allowed to die until the door had opened one last time to admit James Potter.
END
