Broken Down Sonata

Rating: R for language, imagery, and adult themes.

Title: Broken Down Sonata

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters, settings, and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling as published by, including and not limited, to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. The use of these characters and settings is for entertainment purposes only; no infringement is intended or should be inferred.

Spoiler Alert: Books 1—5. Yep, Books 1—5.

Summary: …why aren’t you crying on such a terrible night?

even though I've hurt you more than you should be able to handle?

Pairings: Harry/Hermione (most definitely in spirit)

Author's Notes: One-shot. This is from Voldemort’s POV (for the most part). Yes, that’s right. Voldemort. POV. So, gentle reader, you have been warned. If one should not like to read something in Voldemort’s POV, one should hit the back button on one’s browser…wait for it…now.

Another 1,300 word job. Again, didn’t plan it, it just stopped there.

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BROKEN DOWN SONATA

[] OR, ONCE UPON A FORTNIGHT DREARY…

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...why aren't you crying on such a terrible night,

even though I've hurt you more than you should be able to handle?

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

I will never understand you, Potter.

I should never want to understand you.

Perhaps it is a matter of you being far too simple to be affected properly by my…visitations. For all of your internalisation, all of your heroic, stoic posturing, all of the adolescent angst you have bottled up within you, perhaps you are too simple after all. Careful ministering of images, directed remembrances of failures and losses, projected dreams of what is yet to come for you and for your friends as you continue to defy me…my efforts to break you…

This is not what I had planned.

How is it that you continually defy me? How is it that a baby with no extraordinary magical talent was able to defeat me? Is still able to deny my power? You are unskilled as a wizard. You are equally unskilled in Occlumency. Your attempts to obfuscate your mind are pathetic, Potter. Your hopes and your fears are fully realised before my mind. I can see your heart plainly, as though it were splayed open within you. I know every secret you hold dear.

I know every person you hold dear.

I know of…her.

Yes, your angel with the broken wing…Dolohov performed admirably, he served me quite well indeed. He struck down your angel of vertigo before your eyes. You thought her to be dead. How your heart ached at that thought. So very thrilling, Potter. Her body lying like a dog at your feet, silent, still. You truly thought her dead, I know this, it is writ plainly in the bleakest recesses of your mind. You thought you lost your little Mudblood love. Let there be much grinding and gnashing of teeth! Let the lamentations begin! I wanted to see you smote your chest in agony, see you collapse under the enormity of your grief. What sport that would have been. Oh, yes, I know all about your terror, such delicious terror, in the Department of Mysteries, Potter. I know that you love her. I knew before the thought was born into your mind. It cannot be helped. You are your father’s son. He too loved a Mudblood, and look where it got the both of them.

You writhe quite a bit when I bring that up, almost more so than when we revisit the wounding of your angel or the extermination of Sirius. Hmm, sore subject, Potter? The death of your parents? It was so very easy. They were simple as well, trusting Pettigrew. Perhaps the simplest of them all was that fool Black. To trust Peter Pettigrew with your parents’ secret! The thought of it still makes me laugh, boy. Such a perfectly formed plan. Pettigrew exposes your parents, and on the same night convinces the Wizarding world that your godfather is their killer. Oh, what a perfect night. The kind of night that makes me want to…

No, it was not perfect. It would have been perfect if you had perished as well.

HOW ARE YOU STILL ALIVE, BOY?

No matter. It will end soon. You will end soon.

And I will be certain to dispatch your sweet Mudblood filth love before your eyes. Oh, I should think I would make you watch this, yes, indeed. I would take such time with her…Hermione is her name, isn’t that right? Ah, yes, it must be, for the way you are struggling beneath the bed sheets now. Hermione…Hermione Jane Granger, that is her name…your angel. So simple, Potter, so transparent. It’s as though there were nothing standing in my way. Your mind is as open to me as my Hogwarts’ diary was to you.

How is it that you continue to resist me? I have ensured that your mind be caught up in an endless sea of torment. I have set such images upon you, forced you to revisit such dark memories for a fortnight now and yet you still withstand the onslaught. How is this so? You are far too simple, boy; you are not clever or strong enough by far to refuse me.

With every assault, you bow, but you do not crack. I mean to break you, boy. And I will.

You cannot withstand me for much longer.

I have sung to you the same song of death and despair for years now. I have repeated the familiar refrain every evening of this fortnight. I have hummed the tune every time you have closed your eyes. You sing this song without realising it.

You cannot continue to hide in the thought of your little Mudblood. Your so-called paradise. The filthy little dream stealer. You are so very like your father, Potter. Yes, I see that now. She is the one who stands in my way. Your Hermione. Your darling queen. This love…yes, I see that memory, Dumbledore telling you that love is what saved you, that your Mudblood mother’s love is what protected you. What a miserable lie. Love saved you. Is this what you believe, that your love for your angel is what is saving you? Is what will save you when you are finally on your knees before me? What do you know of love, boy? You haven’t even kissed her yet. Such strong feelings for a woman child you’ve yet to touch. So very simple. Let us see if your adolescent mind has thought of…oh, yes…the boy has thought about rutting his angel. So simple indeed! Love and lust, how utterly boring and base…you are an endless source of amusement for me, Potter. Does she know that you’ve thought of her in such a way? Does she know that you have fouled her pristine wings with your smutty thoughts? What would your Hermione make of that? The Boy-Who-Lived now the Boy-Who –

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Shut the fuck up.” Harry’s eyes flew open and he stared into the darkness of his canopied bed. He heard the malevolent voice rattle in his head briefly. “I said, shut. The fuck. Up.”

There was movement to his left. He heard mumbling, and then Ron’s voice. “Harry? You okay?”

Harry was grateful that the curtains on his bed were drawn. “Yeah, Ron. Just had a dream is all.”

“It wasn’t –“

“No, mate,” he lied, “it was just a dream. Go back to sleep.”

“You’re okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Right. ‘Night, Harry…” He heard Ron lay back down and begin snoring almost immediately.

He lay in bed perfectly still, focusing his thoughts. The last fortnight had put a tremendous strain upon him. But, thanks to the latest barrage, he now knew something about himself. He used this something and concentrated on the sound of his heart beat. When he felt that he was sufficiently calm, Harry allowed his eyes to close.

“I’m going to sleep now,” he murmured, to one who was not present in the room but heard him all the same. “I am going to sleep and you are not going to concern me. I am sick of you. There will be no more of it. Furthermore, you will not touch her, nor breathe her name, nor even think of her ever again.” His eyes opened and he stared into an imagined face. “Because the next time you do, Riddle, I will hunt you down and I will kill you.” His mouth twisted into a smirk. “Because I am simple. And you will never understand the power that she has given me. I don’t need to touch her. She’s touched my heart; she cares about me. That is enough. That, Riddle, is perfect. That is love.”

With that, Harry rolled over in bed, pulled the covers snugly around him, and drifted off to a dreamless sleep.