The Downside of Immortality

serpentclone

Rating: R
Genres: Horror
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 6
Published: 19/09/2007
Last Updated: 19/09/2007
Status: completed

Voldemort, longing for vengeance against Harry and Hermione, is resurrected for the second time. Part five of the “Screams Universe”. Evil Dark H-Hr

Chapters

1. The Downside of Immortality

1. The Downside of Immortality

The Downside of Immortality

by cloneserpents

Standard Disclaimer: Not mine, all characters belong to JKR, I am writing this purely for entertainment, no money is being made. No copyright infringement is intended.

A WARNING TO ALL READERS:

To the people who have read “Harry Potter and the Sword of Gryffindor” and are expecting something along the same vein should NOT read this story. THIS IS NOT LIKE MY OTHER STORY! DARK FIC! MAJOR CHARACTER DEATHS AHEAD!

Author’s Notes: “Screams” was the first in the series, followed by “The Smiling Man,” “Reunion,” and “Cause and Effect”. “The Downside of Immortality” is the fifth installment in the Screams Universe.

Description: Voldemort, longing for vengeance against Harry and Hermione, is resurrected for the second time.

There once was a time that Lord Voldemort thought of Wormtail as nothing more than a sniveling coward; one who would do anything to save his own hide. The rat betrayed his friends simply so he would not have to face Voldemort’s wrath. Then, years later, the spineless rat aided in his master’s resurrection; not as an act of loyalty, but simply out of fear. However, as Wormtail fed Voldemort a bottle of Nagini’s milk, the Dark Lord decided to reassess his view on his last remaining servant.

Lord Voldemort, the most feared wizard in the world, was less than a fetus; held in his servant’s arms like a disgusting mockery of a baby. Voldemort was weak, but he held onto the knowledge that he would soon be strong. And then he would get his revenge against Potter and his mudblood for what they had done to him.

“Wormtail, use the bone from my previous body to resurrect me,” the thing that once was Voldemort whimpered weakly. “As before, I will replace your hand after the ritual. But use anyone’s blood; we do not need Potter this time.”

“Y-yes, M-Master,” the rat-like man stuttered, without looking at his Lord.

Wormtail placed Voldemort in a nearby chair and scurried out of the room without his Master’s approval. This action had become Wormtail’s habit since he sought out the fragment that was Voldemort. The rat would never spend any time with his Master nor would he look his Master in the eye. Voldemort decided he would have to teach Pettigrew proper manners once he got his body back. Perhaps an extended period of time under the Cruciatus would show the rat the errors of his ways.

As he waited on the chair for his next feeding, Voldemort looked around the room for what felt like the millionth time. He easily recognized the room Wormtail kept him in; it was an antechamber just outside what used to be the Dark Lord’s throne room. This was the same castle where Potter and his friends were brought. And it was the same castle where Potter mercilessly tortured Voldemort to death.

When Potter, as an infant, had expelled Voldemort from his body so long ago, the Dark Lord had thought he had known what the pinnacle of pain was. For thirteen years, Voldemort was in agony, drifting about aimlessly without a body. He believed that there was no pain greater than what he had felt during that time.

When he had Potter and his friends captured, Voldemort had wanted to return the pain the boy had caused him. The Dark Lord had smiled as Potter’s mouth was slashed open and his tongue cut out. The boy’s hollow screams touched Voldemort’s foul heart.

But somehow, Potter had escaped. Voldemort remembered the curious expression of affection in the boy’s eyes as he tossed the Dark Lord onto the floor in front of Potter’s nearly comatose mudblood. The girl cracked a smile when Potter began cutting Voldemort’s toes off. When the boy wrapped his fist around Voldemort’s genitals, the Dark Lord realized that thirteen years of agony without a body was nothing compared to what Potter was inflicting on him at that moment. It took days of unimaginable pain for Voldemort to die. In the end, Potter had expelled the Dark Lord from his body for the second time.

Thanks to his many Horcruxes, Voldemort could not truly die. Instead, he was once more turned into less than a shadow.

Now, as Voldemort was so close to again regain his form, he began plotting his revenge. As much as he dearly desired to, Voldemort knew he couldn’t hunt Potter down the first possible chance he got. Unfortunately, all of Voldemort’s followers who had not died were either in hiding or imprisoned. He’d have to build up his forces. Voldemort realized he would need to travel the world in order to rebuild his army of Death Eaters. Only after he had done this would he seek out Potter. For the first time, Voldemort regretted that the blood traitor Weasley was already dead; having his two friends being tortured endlessly would have increased Potter’s emotional pain. He would just have to focus his pain and anger at the two survivors. Voldemort would have the mudblood raped like before, while he and a few of his followers placed Potter under the Cruciatus. And that would only be the beginning of his vengeance.

A few days later, Wormtail returned to the antechamber and scooped up Voldemort. The Dark Lord was bristling with excitement. In a few moments time, he’d be whole again.

Wormtail dropped Voldemort into the cauldron unceremoniously. As he floated in the bubbling liquid, Voldemort could hear his servant begin to chant. Even though Wormtail’s voice was distorted and unintelligible, Voldemort could hear the rat’s fear.

A moment later, a long piece of bone plopped into the cauldron. More likely than not, a femur from Voldemort’s previous body. Since the Dark Lord’s father’s bones had been used up in his first resurrection, Voldemort decided to use his own corpse for the ritual; the effect would be the same.

Next, two fingers fell into the liquid. Voldemort hissed at Wormtail. The fool should’ve used his whole hand. Did he think that Lord Voldemort wasn’t worth the sacrifice? The rat would surely be punished now. Once he regained his form, Voldemort would make Wormtail scream in agony.

Finally, several drops of blood splashed into the cauldron. The concoction began to heat up and swirl around Voldemort. The magic descended upon his weak form and flowed through his body. He felt his limbs lengthen and grow strong.

Voldemort stood, his body dripping the potion that revitalized him. Red eyes opened and looked around the room, expecting to find his whining servant offering him his robe and wand. Instead, the chamber was empty.

“Wormtail!” snarled Voldemort in his cold voice as he stepped out of the cauldron. The rat would pay dearly for such transgressions.

A dim light emanated from the door to Voldemort’s throne room. Obviously Wormtail had scampered to this room. Still naked and dripping, Voldemort stomped into his throne room to find the cowardly Wormtail cringing in the corner.

“Why am I still unrobed, Wormtail?” Voldemort asked as he stalked over to his servant. He ignored everything else in the room, focusing all of his hate and anger at the lowly Wormtail. “Why do I still not have my wand?”

“I-I’m s-sorry, M-Mas-ster,” Wormtail stammered, fearfully. He was shaking so much that Voldemort could’ve easily have thought that Wormtail was having an epileptic fit. “Th-they m-made m-me d-do it.”

“Who made you do this? What are you talking about, fool?” the Dark Lord demanded.

A slow, deliberate clapping drew Voldemort’s attention to his throne. There, sitting upon his regal chair, was a wisp of a witch. Stands of stark white marred her hair and a wide, comical smile graced her pale and gaunt face.

Behind his usurped throne, hanging on the wall, was a wriggling Nagini. The end of her tail was nailed to the wall; she was hung like some kind of living trophy. The snake was obviously alive. She had to have been, since the snake would have been milked just recently, as Voldemort had survived on her venom prior to his resurrection.

“Bone of the Master knowingly given,” the girl quoted in cadence with her slow clapping. “You will renew yourself.”

Voldemort felt his blood grow cold. The last time he had seen this witch, she was laying in front of him, barely conscious, while Potter carved away his flesh. Now, she was sitting on his throne, repeating the words that Wormtail must of just incanted.

“Flesh of the servant, forcibly taken,” she continued. Voldemort looked around the room, looking for the girl’s deadly companion or at least a way out. “You will revive your Master.”

Voldemort rushed at Wormtail and shoved his hands into his servant’s pockets, desperately looking for a wand to defend himself.

“Th-they t-took it,” Wormtail cried. Blood seeped out between his silver fingers as he clutched his ruined hand.

“Blood of the enemy willingly given,” the witch said with passion. “You will resurrect our plaything!”

The mudblood laughed uproariously at the word “plaything.” At that moment, as if on cue, Potter stepped out from behind the throne. The warm liquid of Voldemort’s piss trickled down his leg.

At one time, it was common knowledge that the only person Voldemort feared was Albus Dumbledore. The Dark Lord had feared Dumbledore simply because of the old man’s sheer power. However, even that power was limited. The one thing Voldemort could count on during a duel with Dumbledore was that the light sided wizard would always do what was right. This weakness was something that Voldemort knew he could use that to his advantage. In a fight, all Voldemort had to do was threaten an innocent, and Dumbledore would surrender no matter what. The old fool was willing to sacrifice victory in order to hold to his lofty morals.

But Potter was something different. He was merciless and relentless, much like how Voldemort pictured himself. Once the boy had someone in his grasp, he would not stop. No amount of threats or begging would cause him to cease his movements. Potter would torture with passion, seemingly with more passion than Bellatrix ever displayed. And Voldemort knew he was the cause for this change in the boy. Before Potter and his friends were captured, the silly boy was a fool just like Dumbledore; always willing to do the right thing. But a few weeks under Voldemort’s “care” had turned the boy into something vicious and cruel. And even though Voldemort had created the thing that was now Potter, the boy had exceeded the Dark Lord in his cruelty.

The boy was similar in skill to Bellatrix when it came to inflicting pain. Voldemort’s own experience showed that the young wizard could keep his victims alive for days. This skill was something that Bellatrix had possessed; in fact Voldemort had used her talent to his own ends many times in the past. Voldemort knew he could control Bellatrix; she hurt people out of hate and anger, emotions the Dark Lord knew well. He could easily coerce and manipulate the witch by tapping into her innate hatred. But Potter was different. He didn’t torture out of anger or hatred at all; he did his evil out of compassion. He did those unspeakable foul deeds to help his remaining friend. Voldemort realized that during his own torture that the mudblood seemed to come alive, to gain some sense of self when hearing his cries and pleas He recalled the expression Potter gave Granger as he ripped and tore at his victims’ flesh; they boy had love in his eyes. Unlike rage and hate, Voldemort had no real grasp on love and affection. Such feelings, especially connected to torture, were alien to Voldemort. He couldn’t comprehend Potter’s motives or actions. Because of this difference he could not coerce or manipulate Potter like he had done with Bellatrix. And that terrified him. The boy had made the most feared wizard scream and beg for mercy for days on end. Voldemort was chilled with the knowledge that the young, pitiless wizard was about to do it again.

“I was talking with Harry the other day about you, Tommy - or was it a few weeks ago? Oh well, it doesn’t really matter,” Hermione said to Voldemort in a high and child-like voice. “Anyway, I remembered that you had cut up your soul into pieces and hid them away in a bunch of Horcruxes. And until we find them and destroy them – which was what we and Ron were trying to do when you had your peons drag us here – you’re effectively immortal.”

The witch stood up with trembling knees and walked to her companion. She wrapped her arms around his midsection and nuzzled her face into his chest.

“It was then that I realized because of this blessing of immortality, we could still play with you – even though we had already killed you,” she continued. “All we’d have to do is find Wormtail - which wasn’t that hard, just look in the shadows for a rat that trembled the most – convince him to help us resurrect you – again, it wasn’t hard, I just threatened to put out his eyes and he jumped at the opportunity.”

The girl left her companion and slowly staggered to Voldemort. Granger spoke in a slow and easy tone, “I don’t think we repaid you enough last time for what you did to us.”

She eyed the Dark Lord, appraising him. Her stare slowly turned cold. In a flash, her hand flew through the air and she clawed at his face. Four deep gouges were ripped into Voldemort’s face. He fell backwards clutching his cheek.

The witch half stumbled and half sauntered back to Potter, while licking the blood from her fingers. She paused and her gaze fell upon a nearby chair. The mudblood pulled out her wand and waved it at the piece of furniture. With a loud crack, the chair’s leg was broken off and it flew into the witch’s open hand.

“I say this time, before you rip his bollocks off, you shove this up his arse,” she snarled. She spoke so heatedly that spit flew from her lips. “Make him know what it feels like to be violated!”

She handed the makeshift cudgel to Potter. Before taking it, the wizard looked into her eyes for a moment. The wizard then turned his gaze toward Wormtail.

“You’re right, Harry. That’s such a wonderful idea. My beautiful Smiling Man is just bristling with ways to make me so happy,” she cooed at Potter lovingly. She turned to Wormtail, who was still trembling uncontrollably in the corner. Addressing the cowering wizard, she said in a kind and pitying tone, “I’m going to cast a little Unforgivable on you. It won’t hurt you, well not in a physical sense. But this way, you can show our snake-like friend what it feels like to be raped. Okay?”

In protest, Wormtail blubbered weakly.

Voldemort sneaked over to the exit and clasped the doorknob, hoping that it wasn’t locked. His hopes were dashed when the knob wouldn’t budge. His hands trembled like leaves in a storm. Without his wand, he was defenseless against Potter, and the knowledge terrified him. In a few moments time, Voldemort knew that he’d be screaming in pain.

“Imperio!” the witch sang, pronouncing the “oh” in a crescendo, as she waved her wand at Wormtail. Suddenly, he stopped whimpering and stood. In a dazed and blank state, Wormtail loosened his trousers and let them fall to his ankles.

Granger bit down on her closed fist to suppress a childish giggle. “Oh, that won’t do,” she said with humor as she looked at Wormtail’s exposed manhood. “That won’t do at all.”

She removed her fist from her mouth to hold it in front of her face and slowly extended her pinky. “Look, I’m Wormtail getting excited,” she said with a trill to her voice. She wriggled her little finger, fascinated by the motion. “Is that why you became such a backstabbing bastard? Because you’ve got a miniscule pecker?” Her smile slowly changed into an exaggerated pout, “I’m sorry, Peter, but that just won’t do. It’s not the correct size to teach Voldemort a proper lesson about pain.”

She canceled the Imperius. Wormtail fell back into the corner, not even bothering to cover his shame.

“I suppose we’ll just have to stick to the original plan,” Granger said and handed Potter the chair leg. He took it and waved his wand over the piece of wood. It took to the air and rocketed toward Voldemort.

Voldemort knew it was pointless to beg; and he had every intention not to give his tormenters the satisfaction. But his resolve vanished when the offending weapon ripped into him. He screamed in agony and collapsed to the floor. The blood flowed from his destroyed anus and poured down his legs. As the fire of pain raged through his body, Voldemort sobbed pathetically, “Please. Please, stop.”

Granger gritted her teeth and smiled broadly. Her eyes bulged and happy tears sprang up. Clapping her hands together rapidly, she cheered; “This is going to be so much fun!”

She hopped over to Potter and spoke excitedly. “Rip his manhood off! No, no, break his fingers! No, wait! Bite his ears off!”

It was as if Granger was a little child on her birthday and couldn’t decide on what activity they should do first on her special day.

“I know, I know; take the stick out of his bottom and shove it down his throat!” she continued. “Oh, no, wait. I know, ram your thumbs into his eyes first!”

Potter calmly placed a finger on her lips, silencing her. Granger nodded her head in understanding. Potter slowly walked to Voldemort. The disfigured wizard tossed Voldemort onto his back. A wave of Potter’s wand and Voldemort’s hands were pulled up into the air by invisible ropes. They pulled until Voldemort was forced into a sitting position. The blood spilling from his rectum pooled on the cold stone floor. Another wave of the wand and Voldemort’s legs were pulled apart.

Potter bent over and traced the tip of his wand around Voldemort’s nipple. Suddenly a fountain of blood erupted from Voldemort’s chest. Potter plucked the Dark Lord’s nipple from his chest and dangled the piece of flesh in front of his face.

After placing his wand on the ground, Potter wriggled a finger into Voldemort’s circular wound, working it between his flesh and bone. A sick squelching noise could be heard under Voldemort’s high pitched scream as Potter forcibly separated his victim’s skin from his ribcage.

The disfigured wizard paused and walked back to Granger. Potter held up his bloodied hand and the witch began to lick the gore off of his fingers. The red sticky liquid dribbled down her chin. The mudblood rubbed his palm on her cheek, smearing the still warm mess onto her face. She looked up at Potter, her eyes shimmering with adoration. It was an intimate moment shared between the two.

Potter left his witch and picked up his wand. He leaned over Voldemort once more, drawing another circle around the Dark Lord’s other nipple. As Potter dug his finger into Voldemort’s chest, the most feared Dark Wizard of his time vomited on himself.

“And just think, Tommy, once you die – which won’t be for a while; I mean we’re prepared – we have loads of healing potions to keep you alive for days and days and days,” Granger said as she twirled in a circle happily. “We’ll just have Wormtail lob off another piece of his body to resurrect you and we can do this all over again! And again! And again!”

As Potter pried his victim’s skin from his ribs, Voldemort cursed the day he had ever heard of Horcruxes.

End