47

Harry groaned as he came round, scrunching his eyes up against the light and trying with all his might to ignore the pounding in his skull and figure out where he was. The last thing he remembered was falling off of his broomstick near the forest. Was he still there? He groped around the floor with one hand, finding it hard and wooden- floorboards, maybe? So the forest was out. As was Gryffindor tower- that was carpeted, along with the dungeons- stone floors. Where the bloody hell was he? Any normal person would be beginning to panic around about this time, but Harry was somewhat used to waking up in unknown places these days. Granted, he could usually force his hangover-addled brain to figure out where he was in a matter of minutes, but still. It wasn't a catastrophe quite yet.

"Blood of the enemy... forcibly taken," a snivelling voice said, and Harry snapped his eyes open. Okay. Now it was a catastrophe. He was in a run down living room; dust and dirt covered the floor and walls, but that was the least of Harry's worries despite the fact that his face was pressed into the filth. A large, smoking cauldron stood in the centre of the room above a small fire and Wormtail was advancing on Harry with a knife in his hand.

"You!" Harry spat and Wormtail quivered slightly, flicking his gaze to Lucius and Draco Malfoy who both stood calmly at the edge of the room. Harry followed the rat's gaze, catching sight of Draco at the same time that his last memory from the night before slotted into place. Draco. Draco had brought him here? Harry's lips unconsciously formed his ex-boyfriend's name, but the eyes that stared back at him were far colder than he had ever seen them before. Even when they had been enemies, there was a sort of amusement in the Slytherin's expression. Now there was nothing- nothing but contempt, and Harry was almost glad when Wormtail sliced his arm with the knife- anything to take his attention away from the hurt Draco had caused him.

"Fuck," he hissed, trying to stand up, intent on hurting Wormtail as much as possible. He only succeeded in flailing around on the floor a bit though, realising too late that his legs were tied together. Harry put it down to the rat's incompetence that he hadn't bothered with Harry's arms. Or a stunning spell. He watched furiously as Wormtail backed away from him, carefully holding the knife so as not to spill the drops of blood hanging onto its tip. He dropped them into the cauldron and it began to bubble, smoke billowing from the surface. Wormtail began to speak again, but Harry was no longer listening.

Instead, he was listing every swear word he could think of in his mind. How did he get into these situations? Why had Draco brought him here? What had happened to hisDraco? Did Wormtail find Voldemort? How did Lucius get rid of the paint splatters? What was with the cauldron? Would anyone find him in time? Was he going to die? Did anyone have a hangover potion? He snickered slightly at the last question that flew through his mind; he could just imagine their expressions if he asked them for one. He sobered quickly though, when a figure began to rise from the cauldron. Seconds, later, he was screaming and clutching his scar as red-hot pain shot through him. The creature that climbed out of the cauldron was tall and almost skeletally thin, with greyish skin and two slits where his nose should have been. His eyes caught the sight of Harry, tied up and helpless on the floor, and they flashed red as a sadistic smirk quirked the creature's lips.

"Tom," Harry hissed through gritted teeth, but he was ignored, Voldemort turning his attention away from the boy at his feet to the man cowering beside him, his gaze flickering across the Malfoy's in the room before ignoring them as well.

"Robe me, Wormtail," the newly-arisen Dark Lord commanded, and Harry had to hold back a snort, even through the pain in his head, when Wormtail immediately shuffled to do his master's bidding. He was pathetic. More to test out the use of his vocal chords with this amount of pain than anything else, Harry decided to vocalise that thought.

"You're fucking pathetic, Wormtail. You betrayed your best friends. They loved you, would have died for you. But you chose to be a snivelling slave to a half-blood instead," Harry snapped, his voice quiet but commanding as he continued to struggle against his bonds. Wormtail flinched as if he had been struck, but Voldemort chuckled; a strange, high-pitched noise that didn't sound natural.

"Harry Potter," he smiled, "The Boy-Who-Lived. You won't be living much longer, I'm afraid. Wormtail, untie him. He is no threat. Lucius, my wand?" Harry bit his lip to stop himself from crying out in pain as Wormtail sent slashing charms at the ropes around him, creating gouges in his legs. Harry stood as soon as he was able, surreptitiously checking his holster for his wand. It wasn't there. He needn't have bothered being discrete though, as no-one's attention was on him. The other three occupants of the room were all fixated on the dark lord in their midst, who had rolled up Wormtail's sleeve and had his wand pressed hard into the skull and snake tattoo etched in the rat's forearm.

"Let's see who will return," Voldemort smiled at Harry, sending a shiver down the teenager's spine. For all of Harry's bravado when fighting muggles, and even your average (or slightly above average) wizard, he felt his confidence slipping when faced with his parent's murderer. A spark of rage jolted through him as he remembered his mother's screams, how she had begged for Harry's life and how Voldemort had carelessly slain her anyway. His mother and father had died for him, and he would not let this creature cause that sacrifice to be in vain. The throbbing in his head from his hangover began to subside, replaced by calm determination.

"I'm going to kill you, mudblood," he spat, an evil smirk curling his lips as a look of shock and rage appeared on the dark lord's face.

"You dare!" Voldemort screamed, storming across the room, "You dare call me, who's ancestry can be traced back to Salazar Slytherin himself, a mudblood?" He opened his mouth to continue his rant, but was cut off by the arrival of an owl, who dropped a letter unceremoniously on Voldemort's head. And then another flew through the open window, and another and another, until an entire flock of owls had been and gone, each dropping their letters on the dark lord before swooping back out of the window.

"What is the meaning of this?" Voldemort screamed, startling a few death eater's who had just apparated into the room. Their arrival was quickly followed by others and soon the room was beginning to get a little crowded, with everybody surrounding Harry and Voldemort in the centre of the room with a pile of letters in between them.

Harry peered at the pile; quickly having his suspicions confirmed when he saw his own handwriting. He bit his tongue to stop the snort of laughter that bubbled up; he had wondered what had happened to those letters. He had been rather worried when none of the owls had reappeared after a few weeks, concerned that they had all met a rather nasty end because of his joke. He was gladder than he could say to learn that that was not true. Of course, a lot of his good mood at the sight could be attributed to the fact that he would now be able to see Tom's face when he opened them.

"So, Tommy boy," he said, scanning the room for any sign of his wand. He needed to get it back as soon as possible if there was to be any chance of getting out of here alive. "Aren't you going to open your mail?" Voldemort looked for a second like he was considering avada-ing Harry out of annoyance but he seemed to think better of it as curiosity overtook him and he reached into the pile and took a letter out at random.

"Wormtail," he said, thrusting the letter towards the cowering man, "Read it. As young Harry is son interested in it's contents, it's only fair that we allow him to listen before he dies." Harry wasn't quick enough to bite back his snort of laughter this time; he couldn't believe that the dark lord could be that stupid.

"Y-yes, master," Wormtail stuttered, throwing an uncertain glance around at the assembled (and very confused) death eaters.

"Dear Tommy," he read.

"How are things? Still all ghosty? That must really suck balls. I mean, I know that I would just hate it if I didn't have a body. I mean, it must get really frustrating sometimes, if you know what I mean.

How's Wormy? Tell him that Sirius and I said hi. I'm sure he'd like that.

Lots of love from Harry James Potter, Boy-Who-Lived and all-round good guy.

P.S. I heard the other day that Voldemort means 'flight from death' in French. Bet you feel stupid now, eh?"

The room was silent as Wormtail finished. More than one death eater was wishing that they had turned up late. Harry frowned, looking down at the pile of letters.

"That wasn't even one of the funny ones though! There was this one where I listed all the other famous people called Tom. And another one that was just a picture of Crabbe and Goyle having sex. Junior, not senior, don't worry," he added with a nod in the direction of two boulders in masks who had shifted at the mention of their names.

"Crucio!" Voldemort screamed suddenly, having snapped out of his shocked daze. Harry grunted, falling to one knee but refusing to give the man the satisfaction of screaming again. And then, as suddenly as it had come, the pain was gone and Harry rose to his feet again, staring at Voldemort with apprehension and hatred.

"Draco," Tom hissed, never once taking his eyes off of Harry, "Give the boy back his wand. We'll see if he has any skill behind his brave front." The death eaters around them chuckled and Voldemort smirked, "Somehow, I doubt it." Draco approached Harry with an expression of disgust on his face, holding his ex-boyfriend's wand by the tips of his fingers as though it was diseased. Harry snatched it from him without even looking, refusing to acknowledge this Draco.

"Come on then, Tommy," Harry taunted, twirling his wand in his fingers, "Let's get the fuck on with it."