My Past Will Always Catch Up
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Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male › Harry/Voldemort
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
11
Views:
24,063
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56
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0
Currently Reading:
5
Category:
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male › Harry/Voldemort
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
11
Views:
24,063
Reviews:
56
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
5
Disclaimer:
I do not own Harry Potter. I make no profit from these writings.
Chapter 3
Title: My Past Will Always Catch up
Author: Allanasha Ke Kiri
Summary: After the deaths of both Ron and Hermione in their seventh year, Harry ran. The pressure was too much; they thought he’d be back, after he realized they needed him. But he never returned, just ran and hid in the one place he was sure no one would look for him.
Rating: M
Warnings: Sexual content
/"Phone, of one sort or another"/
Chapter 3
I only retreat two steps, not really that great of a distance, but I do it nonetheless. His smile this time is indulgent. I find I’d much prefer something else. I don’t like him smiling at me.
“Aren’t you curious … Raven, about what I’ve done so far?” he asked. “Why I continue to call you a different name?”
I blink at him, my mind quickly running through my options. He obviously thinks I’ve forgotten. He’s obviously trying to play with that. If I reveal that I remember, well, I’m as good as dead. Not that I would, I’d been playing amnesiac for years now. It was easier than dealing with questions about his past. No one asked if you didn’t have one.
“Harry?”
The voice drags my attention back to him, and I find myself giving a single nod. I didn’t even think about it. I would play along until I had a better option.
“Yeah,” I say. “I’m curious.” My voice is smooth, as articulate as any pureblood’s. They, the Death Eater’s seem surprised. Then again, I haven’t really spoken much since arriving. Just a few words here and there, and most of it when I was in pain.
“You were with us before you left,” Voldemort told me. “One of my number, my most loyal.”
The fuck I was, my mind shouts, but my lips stay firmly shut. A glance over to the Death Eater’s reveal that they aren’t as happy with their lord’s new direction. It doesn’t matter though, because I can see some very serious holes in Voldemort’s logic.
“And that … thing you did, when I first arrived?” My hand made a lazy wave towards where he’d first Crucio’d me. “Doesn’t seem like something you’d do to a ‘most loyal’” My voice was a drawl, obviously disbelieving, vaguely sarcastic. I should really get a hold of myself. It’s not like me. Not anymore.
Voldemort chuckled. A laughing Dark Lord is never a good thing, especially not when it’s directed at me, but I wasn’t supposed to know this, and he knew I wasn’t supposed to know this. My eyes remained on him, calm, blank, uncaring.
“We thought you’d ran, my dear boy.”
That phrase nearly brings a flinch, but it never comes. ‘My dear boy,’ was Dumbledore’s phrase for me, something he’d called me in the past, before I’d ran.
My eyebrow rose, an elegant imitation of the one I’d seen Lucius Malfoy give. They obviously saw that I wasn’t impressed.
“I would hardly say I’m a boy, much less yours,” I reply. I almost want to say his name, but I’m not supposed to know him, and he hasn’t told me his name yet.
This caused the Dark Lord to chuckle again. “No, you are not.”
I didn’t particularly like the tone of his voice as he said that. I’d heard it before, mostly in the form of propositions. I just blink at him, feeling my eyebrow arch once agian. This is probably not the best way to go about things, but I was a Gryffindor, and that will always be part of who I am; whether I like it or not.
“And why would I run?” I find myself asking, voice still sarcastic, laced heavily with my disbelief. “If I was so loyal,” a vague distaste makes its way into my voice and I notice Voldemort’s eyes narrowing, I’ll have to be more careful how I say things. “Then why would I run? Why would you think I ran?”
Voldemort looked at me, silent, as if debating something. “You failed your mission,” he said, finally, a faint pleased look crossing his features. He obviously thought he was doing well.
I gave a slow nod. “You know,” I say, my voice almost conversational, my eyes gazing around the room. “This isn’t the first time people have claimed to be from my past, claimed that they remember me, given me strange names in hopes that I’ll buy their crap. I’ll tell you the same thing I tell them. Unless you have proof, I don’t give a fuck.”
A Death Eater coughed, whether in amusement, or horror I’m unsure of. All I do know is that Voldemort won’t be able to get that proof. I was never sided with him. In fact, the only proof he could give would tell me that I was against him.
I watched as Voldemort’s hand clenched. I’d pissed him off, great. My arms rested lightly on my hips as he fingered his wand.
“Crucio” I was ready for it this time, and allowed every instinct to take over as I dropped and rolled to the side, easily missing the spell. Once in my new position, I allowed myself to stop and blink, as if stunned at what I’d just done.
Voldemort eyed me and I pulled myself into a standing position once more.
“I’m a dancer,” I told him, as if covering something I hadn’t known I could do. “We’re naturally quick.”
“Not the way you do it,” I heard muttered from the crowd.
My eyes flickered over towards them, an eyebrow raised. So some of them had been so see me perform, nice to know. I quickly pulled my attention back to the Dark Lord.
“You will have your proof,” he announced, causing me to blink at him.
“You have proof?” Once again, my voice was disbelieving.
“Of course, Harry,” he replied, almost genially.
I wasn’t fooled, not by a long shot.
“Until then, however, you’ll be staying.”
“Can’t. I’ve got work tonight.”
There was no bloody way I was staying here any longer than absolutely necessary. As soon as I managed to get away, I was going to call Jonathan and leave. Maybe I’d go across the pond(1) this time. I hear the states are rather nice.
Voldemort’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t like being disobeyed.
“You wont be going in,” his voice held a definite order, one that didn’t book any argument. Too bad for him.
I blinked, giving him a rather dead look. “No can do,” I told him, borrowing a phrase a co-worker was fond of. “Jonathan’s got something big planned for tonight. I don’t show, I’m in trouble.”
Not that it mattered either way.
“Do not make me angry, Harry,” he warned, his voice a light growl.
My hands shifted to cross over my chest. “Personally, until I have that proof, I don’t give a shit about you, or your little … family,” I’m surprised I actually managed to say it without sneering, despite the pause. Or maybe it’s because of the pause that I was able to say it without any sneering. It’s a thought anyway.
Voldemort stalked closer, but this time I held my ground. He wasn’t going to intimidate me so easily. I, as Raven, was very hard to intimidate. I never lost my composure, or control of a situation. Then again, I’d also only been Raven for 5 years. Voldemort had been a Dark Lord (and as such regularly practiced intimidation) for more than 50 years.
I blinked coolly up at him as he stopped in front of me, still looking far from impressed.
“If I have found you, then my enemies wont be far behind,” he said, trying to sound reasonable. “And they wont be as accommodating as I have been.”
I found myself wishing he could be the Dark Lord I remember, complete with trying to kill me. It would have to be easier than this.
“Regardless, I have work. I assure you, I am well able to handle myself.”
“Like you did against my followers?” he drawled, sounding amused. “There was a time when they wouldn’t have even gotten close to you.”
Perhaps, but I was out of practice.
“I was surprised,” I drawled. “It won’t be happening again.
Voldemort turned away with a mild sigh; however, he managed to sound as if he was being put upon. “If you insist upon going back to that … muggle establishment, you will be taking protection. I refuse to lose you again simply because you do not remember how to take care of yourself.”
I felt myself bristle. “I’ll have you know,” I told him, sharply. “That I can take care of myself, and without the need to those … sticks.”
“Wand, Harry, and one you will be relearning how to use. Lucius, you will accompany him back and make sure nothing happens to him.”
I cannot help but role my eyes as the tall blond stepped forward, eying me with more than a touch of distaste. I barely give him a glance, dismissing him as unimportant, if for no other reason than to annoy him.
“I hardly think this is necessary,” I told Voldemort once more.
“If you wish to go, he accompanies you. If not, you remain here.”
A sigh of my own passes my lips, letting Voldemort know just how much I disapprove. “Very well. But he waits outside. Jonathan will not have anybody viewing the show before we open.”
Voldemort graciously (I cannot help a mental snort at the idea) acquiesces to that.
“Perfect, let’s go then,” I turn to Lucius, waiting.
The blond glanced at the Dark Lord, who nodded, sharply. Lucius glanced at me, the beginnings of a sneer on his lips as he began to stride towards the door. I began to follow him, more than happy to be out of Voldemort’s presence.
I got a total of five steps before a ring tone caught my attention.
/"Sun is in the sky oh why oh why?
Would I wanna be anywhere else
Sun is in the sky oh why oh why?
Would I wanna be anywhere else
When you look with your eyes
Everything seems nice
But if you look twice
you can see its all lies"/(2)
I turn back to Voldemort. “That’s my boss. I need my bag. If I don’t answer, he’s going to be worried.”
“Accio Raven’s bag”
I blinked as my bag zoomed into Voldemort’s hand. He then tossed it to me, and I easily caught it. Digging into it, I easily found and pulled out my phone, flipping it open with easy precision.
“Hello?”
/“What’s going on? It never takes this long for you to answer.”'
“I was in the shower.” I hardly think Jonathan would believe me if I told him the truth. Besides, even if that wasn’t the case, I wasn’t going to tell him right in front of Voldemort and his followers.
/“Oh, sorry.”/
I rolled my eyes. “What do you want, Jonathan?”
/“For you to call me Jon for one thing.”/ When I didn’t respond, he sighed. /“Fine. We need you here in about half an hour, can you manage that?”/
I didn’t respond right away. “It’s short notice, Jonathan.”
/“I called last night but you didn’t answer.”/
“… I was busy.”
/“… You didn’t take a customer did you?”/
“Gods no,” my face contorted into disgust.
/“Good.”/
That stopped me. I frowned. “Good?”
/“The fact that you don’t take anyone rises the tension, makes them not tire of you. You’ve been stringing these guys along for years and none of them have tired of you.”/
“Hmm.”
/“Can you make it?”/
“What’s the occasion? Rehearsal isn’t supposed to start for another …” I pause for a moment, pulling the phone away from my ear to glance at the time. “Three hours.”
/“I told you I had something big planned, weren’t you told?”/
“I was told there was a plan. If I’m coming three hours early, I want to why.” I felt a little odd discussing these things with my boss here, but I didn’t let it drift into my voice.
/“Fine. You remember … oh, it was about a year and a half ago when we did that little show.”/
“Perhaps you can be more specific, Jonathan?” I drawled. “There were a lot of shows a year and a half ago.”
I was well aware of the eyes on me, but continued to ignore them. It was the only way I’d get through this conversation and remain sane.
A sigh sounded over the phone. /“The one where we found out your pain tolerance.”/
“… No.” My voice was firm, an obvious refusal.
/“What?”/
“I said no. I’m not putting my ‘pain tolerance’ on show again.” There, that was a definite firm tone to my voice that I was very proud of. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that I’d gained Voldemort’s attention. Well, shit. I really didn’t want to have this conversation with Voldemort around.
/“Damn … Are you sure, Raven? The customers really liked it. I’m sure they’ll be just as enthusiastic this time around.”/
“I’m not receiving this time. I’ll give the pain, Jonathan, but I wont receive it.” I know I had Voldemort’s attention now.
/“… Give it? Are you any good?”/
I felt a smirk pulling at my lips. “Believe me Jonathan, by the time I’m done with the ‘victim’, they’ll be wanting me to do the same to them. Just set it up, and I’ll make sure they never forget it.”
/“Alright. I’ll set it up. You’ll be here?”/
“Half an hour,” I told him, hanging up before Jonathan could say anything else.
“What will you be doing?” Voldemort asked.
I glanced at him as I slip the phone into my bag. “Making dreams come true,” I told him, continuing across the room. “You’re welcome to come.”
Now why the hell did I say that?
---
(1) Across the Pond: America
(2) LDN by Lilly Allen. She's a british singer. I love her. I do not own.
I was going to wait a bit longer to put this up, >.> but I couldn’t. I promised that when I finished a chapter I’d put it up, so here it is. Since I don’t know when I’ll be updating, putting them up when I finish them is the least I can do for you all.
Author: Allanasha Ke Kiri
Summary: After the deaths of both Ron and Hermione in their seventh year, Harry ran. The pressure was too much; they thought he’d be back, after he realized they needed him. But he never returned, just ran and hid in the one place he was sure no one would look for him.
Rating: M
Warnings: Sexual content
/"Phone, of one sort or another"/
Chapter 3
I only retreat two steps, not really that great of a distance, but I do it nonetheless. His smile this time is indulgent. I find I’d much prefer something else. I don’t like him smiling at me.
“Aren’t you curious … Raven, about what I’ve done so far?” he asked. “Why I continue to call you a different name?”
I blink at him, my mind quickly running through my options. He obviously thinks I’ve forgotten. He’s obviously trying to play with that. If I reveal that I remember, well, I’m as good as dead. Not that I would, I’d been playing amnesiac for years now. It was easier than dealing with questions about his past. No one asked if you didn’t have one.
“Harry?”
The voice drags my attention back to him, and I find myself giving a single nod. I didn’t even think about it. I would play along until I had a better option.
“Yeah,” I say. “I’m curious.” My voice is smooth, as articulate as any pureblood’s. They, the Death Eater’s seem surprised. Then again, I haven’t really spoken much since arriving. Just a few words here and there, and most of it when I was in pain.
“You were with us before you left,” Voldemort told me. “One of my number, my most loyal.”
The fuck I was, my mind shouts, but my lips stay firmly shut. A glance over to the Death Eater’s reveal that they aren’t as happy with their lord’s new direction. It doesn’t matter though, because I can see some very serious holes in Voldemort’s logic.
“And that … thing you did, when I first arrived?” My hand made a lazy wave towards where he’d first Crucio’d me. “Doesn’t seem like something you’d do to a ‘most loyal’” My voice was a drawl, obviously disbelieving, vaguely sarcastic. I should really get a hold of myself. It’s not like me. Not anymore.
Voldemort chuckled. A laughing Dark Lord is never a good thing, especially not when it’s directed at me, but I wasn’t supposed to know this, and he knew I wasn’t supposed to know this. My eyes remained on him, calm, blank, uncaring.
“We thought you’d ran, my dear boy.”
That phrase nearly brings a flinch, but it never comes. ‘My dear boy,’ was Dumbledore’s phrase for me, something he’d called me in the past, before I’d ran.
My eyebrow rose, an elegant imitation of the one I’d seen Lucius Malfoy give. They obviously saw that I wasn’t impressed.
“I would hardly say I’m a boy, much less yours,” I reply. I almost want to say his name, but I’m not supposed to know him, and he hasn’t told me his name yet.
This caused the Dark Lord to chuckle again. “No, you are not.”
I didn’t particularly like the tone of his voice as he said that. I’d heard it before, mostly in the form of propositions. I just blink at him, feeling my eyebrow arch once agian. This is probably not the best way to go about things, but I was a Gryffindor, and that will always be part of who I am; whether I like it or not.
“And why would I run?” I find myself asking, voice still sarcastic, laced heavily with my disbelief. “If I was so loyal,” a vague distaste makes its way into my voice and I notice Voldemort’s eyes narrowing, I’ll have to be more careful how I say things. “Then why would I run? Why would you think I ran?”
Voldemort looked at me, silent, as if debating something. “You failed your mission,” he said, finally, a faint pleased look crossing his features. He obviously thought he was doing well.
I gave a slow nod. “You know,” I say, my voice almost conversational, my eyes gazing around the room. “This isn’t the first time people have claimed to be from my past, claimed that they remember me, given me strange names in hopes that I’ll buy their crap. I’ll tell you the same thing I tell them. Unless you have proof, I don’t give a fuck.”
A Death Eater coughed, whether in amusement, or horror I’m unsure of. All I do know is that Voldemort won’t be able to get that proof. I was never sided with him. In fact, the only proof he could give would tell me that I was against him.
I watched as Voldemort’s hand clenched. I’d pissed him off, great. My arms rested lightly on my hips as he fingered his wand.
“Crucio” I was ready for it this time, and allowed every instinct to take over as I dropped and rolled to the side, easily missing the spell. Once in my new position, I allowed myself to stop and blink, as if stunned at what I’d just done.
Voldemort eyed me and I pulled myself into a standing position once more.
“I’m a dancer,” I told him, as if covering something I hadn’t known I could do. “We’re naturally quick.”
“Not the way you do it,” I heard muttered from the crowd.
My eyes flickered over towards them, an eyebrow raised. So some of them had been so see me perform, nice to know. I quickly pulled my attention back to the Dark Lord.
“You will have your proof,” he announced, causing me to blink at him.
“You have proof?” Once again, my voice was disbelieving.
“Of course, Harry,” he replied, almost genially.
I wasn’t fooled, not by a long shot.
“Until then, however, you’ll be staying.”
“Can’t. I’ve got work tonight.”
There was no bloody way I was staying here any longer than absolutely necessary. As soon as I managed to get away, I was going to call Jonathan and leave. Maybe I’d go across the pond(1) this time. I hear the states are rather nice.
Voldemort’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t like being disobeyed.
“You wont be going in,” his voice held a definite order, one that didn’t book any argument. Too bad for him.
I blinked, giving him a rather dead look. “No can do,” I told him, borrowing a phrase a co-worker was fond of. “Jonathan’s got something big planned for tonight. I don’t show, I’m in trouble.”
Not that it mattered either way.
“Do not make me angry, Harry,” he warned, his voice a light growl.
My hands shifted to cross over my chest. “Personally, until I have that proof, I don’t give a shit about you, or your little … family,” I’m surprised I actually managed to say it without sneering, despite the pause. Or maybe it’s because of the pause that I was able to say it without any sneering. It’s a thought anyway.
Voldemort stalked closer, but this time I held my ground. He wasn’t going to intimidate me so easily. I, as Raven, was very hard to intimidate. I never lost my composure, or control of a situation. Then again, I’d also only been Raven for 5 years. Voldemort had been a Dark Lord (and as such regularly practiced intimidation) for more than 50 years.
I blinked coolly up at him as he stopped in front of me, still looking far from impressed.
“If I have found you, then my enemies wont be far behind,” he said, trying to sound reasonable. “And they wont be as accommodating as I have been.”
I found myself wishing he could be the Dark Lord I remember, complete with trying to kill me. It would have to be easier than this.
“Regardless, I have work. I assure you, I am well able to handle myself.”
“Like you did against my followers?” he drawled, sounding amused. “There was a time when they wouldn’t have even gotten close to you.”
Perhaps, but I was out of practice.
“I was surprised,” I drawled. “It won’t be happening again.
Voldemort turned away with a mild sigh; however, he managed to sound as if he was being put upon. “If you insist upon going back to that … muggle establishment, you will be taking protection. I refuse to lose you again simply because you do not remember how to take care of yourself.”
I felt myself bristle. “I’ll have you know,” I told him, sharply. “That I can take care of myself, and without the need to those … sticks.”
“Wand, Harry, and one you will be relearning how to use. Lucius, you will accompany him back and make sure nothing happens to him.”
I cannot help but role my eyes as the tall blond stepped forward, eying me with more than a touch of distaste. I barely give him a glance, dismissing him as unimportant, if for no other reason than to annoy him.
“I hardly think this is necessary,” I told Voldemort once more.
“If you wish to go, he accompanies you. If not, you remain here.”
A sigh of my own passes my lips, letting Voldemort know just how much I disapprove. “Very well. But he waits outside. Jonathan will not have anybody viewing the show before we open.”
Voldemort graciously (I cannot help a mental snort at the idea) acquiesces to that.
“Perfect, let’s go then,” I turn to Lucius, waiting.
The blond glanced at the Dark Lord, who nodded, sharply. Lucius glanced at me, the beginnings of a sneer on his lips as he began to stride towards the door. I began to follow him, more than happy to be out of Voldemort’s presence.
I got a total of five steps before a ring tone caught my attention.
/"Sun is in the sky oh why oh why?
Would I wanna be anywhere else
Sun is in the sky oh why oh why?
Would I wanna be anywhere else
When you look with your eyes
Everything seems nice
But if you look twice
you can see its all lies"/(2)
I turn back to Voldemort. “That’s my boss. I need my bag. If I don’t answer, he’s going to be worried.”
“Accio Raven’s bag”
I blinked as my bag zoomed into Voldemort’s hand. He then tossed it to me, and I easily caught it. Digging into it, I easily found and pulled out my phone, flipping it open with easy precision.
“Hello?”
/“What’s going on? It never takes this long for you to answer.”'
“I was in the shower.” I hardly think Jonathan would believe me if I told him the truth. Besides, even if that wasn’t the case, I wasn’t going to tell him right in front of Voldemort and his followers.
/“Oh, sorry.”/
I rolled my eyes. “What do you want, Jonathan?”
/“For you to call me Jon for one thing.”/ When I didn’t respond, he sighed. /“Fine. We need you here in about half an hour, can you manage that?”/
I didn’t respond right away. “It’s short notice, Jonathan.”
/“I called last night but you didn’t answer.”/
“… I was busy.”
/“… You didn’t take a customer did you?”/
“Gods no,” my face contorted into disgust.
/“Good.”/
That stopped me. I frowned. “Good?”
/“The fact that you don’t take anyone rises the tension, makes them not tire of you. You’ve been stringing these guys along for years and none of them have tired of you.”/
“Hmm.”
/“Can you make it?”/
“What’s the occasion? Rehearsal isn’t supposed to start for another …” I pause for a moment, pulling the phone away from my ear to glance at the time. “Three hours.”
/“I told you I had something big planned, weren’t you told?”/
“I was told there was a plan. If I’m coming three hours early, I want to why.” I felt a little odd discussing these things with my boss here, but I didn’t let it drift into my voice.
/“Fine. You remember … oh, it was about a year and a half ago when we did that little show.”/
“Perhaps you can be more specific, Jonathan?” I drawled. “There were a lot of shows a year and a half ago.”
I was well aware of the eyes on me, but continued to ignore them. It was the only way I’d get through this conversation and remain sane.
A sigh sounded over the phone. /“The one where we found out your pain tolerance.”/
“… No.” My voice was firm, an obvious refusal.
/“What?”/
“I said no. I’m not putting my ‘pain tolerance’ on show again.” There, that was a definite firm tone to my voice that I was very proud of. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that I’d gained Voldemort’s attention. Well, shit. I really didn’t want to have this conversation with Voldemort around.
/“Damn … Are you sure, Raven? The customers really liked it. I’m sure they’ll be just as enthusiastic this time around.”/
“I’m not receiving this time. I’ll give the pain, Jonathan, but I wont receive it.” I know I had Voldemort’s attention now.
/“… Give it? Are you any good?”/
I felt a smirk pulling at my lips. “Believe me Jonathan, by the time I’m done with the ‘victim’, they’ll be wanting me to do the same to them. Just set it up, and I’ll make sure they never forget it.”
/“Alright. I’ll set it up. You’ll be here?”/
“Half an hour,” I told him, hanging up before Jonathan could say anything else.
“What will you be doing?” Voldemort asked.
I glanced at him as I slip the phone into my bag. “Making dreams come true,” I told him, continuing across the room. “You’re welcome to come.”
Now why the hell did I say that?
---
(1) Across the Pond: America
(2) LDN by Lilly Allen. She's a british singer. I love her. I do not own.
I was going to wait a bit longer to put this up, >.> but I couldn’t. I promised that when I finished a chapter I’d put it up, so here it is. Since I don’t know when I’ll be updating, putting them up when I finish them is the least I can do for you all.