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Regression of a Wizard by Breven
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Regression of a Wizard

Breven

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~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~TWO~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Harry flew as quickly as possible back towards the blackened spires of smoke that was billowing from the town's center. Even from a mile away and at five hundred feet up he could hear the terrified screams of the villagers who were busy fighting for their very lives.

His pleasant afternoon of flying around the Quidditch pitch, playing tag with Luna and Hedwig, had been cut woefully short. It was the smell of smoke that had first gotten his attention. He had watched in horror as the flashes of spell fire gave way to flames and smoke. He had left a confused Hedwig and a worried Luna with orders to go get the teaching staff to secure the school and send anyone able-bodied person into town. He then took off like a rocket towards the disaster.

Damn it, he should have known something like this was going to happen! Damn Snape and damn Occlumency! Was he actually managing to shield himself from Voldemort and his foul temper? Or was the Pale-Scaly-and-Bald-One purposefully using his mental defenses to keep Harry out? Gods it was so confusing! There was no way of knowing the sincerity of the feelings and images leaking through to him. Were they real? Illusions generated to lure him into a trap?

Teeth grinding in anger, Harry sped onwards towards the town. He dropped altitude quickly, the sun momentarily blinding him as he quickly descended to skim the surface of the lake. Spray from his rapid crossing kicked a silvery contrail up behind him as he made the final push towards the shore and the townspeople beyond.

He quickly pulled up to skim over the hill leading up to the main thoroughfare into Hogsmeade when he glimpsed a lone figure standing serenely at the edge of the sandy shoreline. Harry would recognize that balding skull anywhere. With a deft touch, Harry guided his broom around, gliding down to gentle landing. He dismounted smoothly six feet above the ground, landing easily on a large, rocky outcropping.

"Hello Tom," Harry greeted quietly.

Tom Marvolo Riddle, the self-proclaimed Dark Lord Voldemort, stood confidently at the waters edge staring serenely towards the walled castle. He contemptuously ignored the Boy-Who-Lived for a moment before turning his attention to his nemesis.

"Why Mr. Potter. What on earth brings you here?" Voldemort asked, his voice sending an artic chill down Harry's spine.

Harry raised an eyebrow towards the cries of agony echoing behind him over the hilltop. "Oh you know. I was out for a fly, spotted the sun reflecting off your scaly dome and thought I'd pop down for a visit. Been simply ages since we last had a nice heart to heart." Harry kicked his broom over his shoulder and carefully slipped his wand out of its holster. Harry wasn't going to admit it to anyone, especially himself, but he was terrified.

Riddle laughed gaily and Harry warily adjusted his position so that his profile was facing Voldemort and his stance was kept wide. It was a rudimentary dueling position, but it was also the most effective he had been taught so far.

"Oh Harry, how rude of you. Doesn't that bumbling fool teach you kids any manners in that…school?" He snarled the word like a curse as he indicated towards the majestic building with a lingering flick of his wand.

Harry kept his eyes focused on Riddle's, but his mind was very much aware of that wand. A phoenix feather core wrapped in thirteen and a half inches of polished yew; it was perhaps one of the most deadly weapons ever invented by wizards. Especially when wielded by one such as Riddle.

He fought the urge to flinch and duck as the Evil One lowered his wand.

A woman's scream shrilly cut through the afternoon air before cutting off abruptly, its echo lasting for several moments before dying in the expanse over the lake. The rage that welled up inside him ran straight though Harry's core. From his soul to the magical source that gave him his powers, every fiber of his being cried out to release the darkest curses imaginable at this monster before him. He ruthlessly suppressed the desire. Harry's emerald eyes hardened.

"Call off your dogs, Riddle!" he spat.

If Voldemort had any eyebrows remaining, he would have raised them in amusement. "And now just why would I do that? They so rarely get to go out now-a-days. I would so hate to spoil their bit of fun. Besides, we're having such a lovely little chat. Why cut it short?" He asked mildly.

What the hell was he playing at?

"That's a shame. I should have guessed. I mean really, what with the Ministry pulling out all the stops to hunt you and your playmates down and all; I guess it would be kind of hard to get out." As he spoke, he slowly inched his way around the dark wizard, putting the loch against his back and hopefully keeping any of the Dark Wanker's cronies from sneaking in behind him. Cowardly backstabbers they were, the whole lot of them.

His tactics were not lost on Riddle, who looked on with mirth apparent in his slitted red eyes. He let the boy maneuver into the `better' position, clearly unconcerned with letting Potter have the `upper hand.' After all, did one really ever have an `upper hand' when dealing with pure, unadulterated evil?

Harry shook his head minutely, resolving to debate the tactical point at length with Hermione or Moody over a large bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey, assuming he survived this encounter.

Actually, he fervently promised himself he would argue any point with anyone over firewhiskey if he could just live!

Would Hermione even drink the alcoholic beverage?

Voldemort smiled at Harry. "Why, if I did call them off, what would you do then?"

Taken aback at this question, he couldn't help but gape a bit. "Well, I ah…" He blinked stupidly at the man.

"Oh my, what is the matter Harry? Having a spot of indecision are we?"

"Indecision may or may not be my current problem." Harry shot back. For some odd reason that Harry simply could not spare the time to fathom, Riddle found this to be completely hilarious.

"Harry, Harry, Harry…" Voldemort chuckled. "Witty to the bitter end I see. I admire that, truly I do." He sighed dramatically. "However, I am deeply sorry that I can not submit to your request. Once my Death Eaters have been unleashed and have tasted blood, it is not very easy to rein them in until they have had their thirsts quenched."

Harry grimaced as he watched Voldemort stride boldly around the beach with a grace he was sickened to truly envy. He absently noted that he allowed Harry to keep his back against the water.

Cocky wanker.

It was a deliberate slight against Harry and he knew it, however subtle it might have been. It told him exactly what Voldemort thought about him and his dueling ability. If only Dumbledore had given him more training! What was a few measly months of defensive lessons compared to years immersed into the blackest arts?

Apparently, Riddle was thinking this as well because…

Or, no, surely not, Harry thought as his realization settled like a lead ball in his stomach. He narrowed his eyes in concentration and he felt the tale-tell whisper of magic as it glided effortless across his thoughts, completely bypassing his mental shielding. `Oh naturally,' he thought bitterly, `he also has years of Occlumency and Legilimency training to compliment said Dark Arts.'

Riddle laughed out loud as he read the young wizards thoughts. "Yes Harry, you actually thought your elementary attempts at an Occlumens Barrier, while quite impressive for a few months of half-hearted training, is impressive," he even managed to sound condescending as he gave compliments, "it cannot compare to the abilities of someone who has truly struggled to bring themselves to the level of a Master!" He sneered at Harry's shocked expression.

"Oh, do pull your head out of the sand Potter and look around you! You're an apprentice at best and a novice at worst! That old fool has inflated your ego ridiculously. Thinking that you could pit yourself and your meager abilities against someone who's Mastery has exceeded decades is not only pointless, it is downright foolish!"

Harry growled low in his throat. Damn the man. He was right of course, but damn him anyway! Dumbledore had coddled him and praised him for his progress so much that he had, for a while anyway, actually thought that he stood a chance. Not knowing what else to do, he fell upon the experiences of youth.

"Well do us all a favor, Riddle, and please do go bury your head in the sand! Then inhale!" Witty comebacks are, after all, a youth's specialty.

With a disappointed look, Voldemort casually flicked his wand in Harry's general direction.

"Infloranndas."

Harry reacted as quickly as possible, conjuring a ghost of the same silvery shield Voldemort had used to defend himself from Dumbledore in the Department of Mysteries. It was a pale imitation of the true shield, made painfully apparent as Riddle's curse blasted through it in mere seconds.

His back arched so much that it felt like he was going to break in two, his mouth open in a wordless scream. The pain, oh Merlin, the pain! His insides felt like they were being stretched and twisted unmercifully before, just as suddenly as it began, it was over. Harry dropped to his knees gasping for breath. At least he had kept a grip on his wand.

"Ow." He said, unnecessarily.

"Indeed," was all the comment that Riddle offered. "I understand your anger Harry, but do try and keep in mind that you are talking to the most powerful Dark Lord in centuries." His sneer was Snape-worthy. "After all, it says so specifically in Hogwarts, A History."

Harry's head snapped up so fast that the crack was audible from where Riddle was standing several feet away. Shooting to his feet, Harry's wand automatically trained on where Riddle's black heart would be. He could hardly see though the red haze of rage that was clouding his vision.

"What have you done?" he demanded. His blood had gone cold at the phrase. There was only one person in the world he knew that read that book, much less quoted from it.

"Why I haven't done anything, Potter. I've been here conversing with you this entire time."

Striding forward a step, Harry's wand never wavered. "Then what exactly was it you came here to do?"

In answer, Voldemort's wand moved so fast it was a blur that even the youngest seeker in a century could hardly follow. The sand at Harry's feet erupted in a shower of pebbles and small stones, blowing him clean off of his feet. He flipped arse-over-teakettle before jerking to a halt in midair, his limbs immobilized and his wand held in Voldemort's other outstretched hand. With another jerk of the wand, Harry's limbs were yanked unceremoniously spread eagle and he was rotated until he was upside down and face to face with the Dark Lord.

"What I want and why I'm here, you little, insignificant brat, is my own business," he snarled. "You're here and alive at my convenience until at such time as I see fit to dispose of you in whatever manner I see fit." Harry was hardly in any position to argue the point, especially since he was frozen and unable to even blink his eyes.

"You know exactly what I want boy, and make no mistake, you cannot keep it from me. And, after I rip the information from that tiny orifice you call a brain, I will render you incapable from ever interfering in my plans until I figure out exactly what I want to do with the information."

Voldemort stepped back a moment before coolly walking around the suspended boy, surveying him as one would look at a choice steak. It was really, really unnerving having those red eyes trailing along his body. He could almost feel the weight of his gaze. If Harry wasn't so terrified of dying at the moment, he might have been suitably disgusted.

"Tell me, Potter," Voldemort said from just out of Harry's line of sight. "Bellatrix informed me that you attempted to use the Cruciatus Curse on her that night in the Ministry. Isn't that right?" He continued around until he was once again facing the boy. "She said it tickled. She also requested that I tell you that if you had kept it up, you might have even brought her to orgasm." Harry looked horrified despite the paralysis.

"Yes," Voldemort readily agreed. "Bella is such a twisted little thing isn't she? Her little duel with her cousin had her thoroughly hot and bothered before your little scuffle in the Atrium. She wanted you to know that you were welcome to try it again the next time you meet." He paused dramatically, his head tilting to the side thoughtfully. "After she is finished properly educating you on its usage, of course."

Harry could only gurgle deep in his throat as a response.

"Excellent! I'll let her know it's a date." Voldemort's robes whispered roughly in the wind as his wand suddenly disappeared into its dark folds.

Harry only had a brief moment to think `Eh?' before Riddle's arms spread wide, pale fingers outstretched to either side.

"This won't hurt me one bit," He hissed.

Legilimens!

Harry's head snapped back as if a sledgehammer had struck him. White hot nails raked across the exterior of his mind unmercifully as his memories were dragged forcefully to the surface. He was vaguely aware of his scar bursting open, blood obscuring his vision as his screams tore through his throat.


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