Disclaimer: All recognizable characters, settings, and lore from the Harry Potter universe are the property of J.K. Rowling and her respective publishers/licensees. This is a work of fan fiction intended for entertainment purposes only, and no copyright infringement is intended.
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Important:
Wow. When I started writing in December, I never could have imagined the level of support I'd be receiving by late January. Every sub, like, and comment means the world to me.
Since launching YOU-KNOW-WHAT, that support has felt even more intense. To be honest, I couldn't sleep a wink the other night—I was just tossing and turning, overwhelmed with gratitude and ideas. That's when I decided to write something special for you.
This story is a bit different. It's dark, tragic, and filled with blood, death, and dark magic. My goal is to make sure some of YOU can't sleep either (evil laugh).
The full story is 15,000 words long! This is the first of six chapters, which I've freshly translated and edited into English for you. Thank you so much for being here and for your incredible support!
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I sat upon my throne, my fingers tracing the cold scales of Nagini almost tenderly as I watched the pathetic display before me. Lucius was crawling. A once-proud man was now sliding his belly across the cold stone like a gutted worm. He ruined everything he touched. The fiasco at the Ministry had been the final straw for my patience. He had squandered his political influence, his magical ability was mediocre at best, and I had begun to doubt his loyalty. Yet, he possessed something I still required: contacts. And he had a task.
"This is your last chance, Lucius," I spat through my teeth. My voice echoed in the freezing hall like a blade being sharpened against stone. "It must reach him. He has stood in our way for far too long. Once he is removed, the path will be clear."
"Yes, my Lord... thank you... I won't fail you," Lucius stammered. He struck his forehead against the ground in a humiliating gesture, not a trace of his aristocratic pride remaining. He knew that another failure meant not just his death, but the erasure of the entire Malfoy line from the face of the earth. I decided to sear this realization deeper into his memory.
"Crucio!"
His screams shook the room. I relished it. The wave of pure euphoria that washed over me was addictive. After years spent as a mere shadow, I felt power over life and pain once again. With distaste, I broke the spell. Lucius lay there in a pool of his own urine, a trembling wreck of a man.
"Can I eat him, Tom?" Nagini hissed. Her voice was a gluttonous rasp that promised a slow death. When Lucius heard the sound, he began to sob even louder. His fear was almost palpable, reeking of sweat and desperation.
"No, my dear, not yet," I replied to her in the noble tongue of my ancestors. "He has his part to play." I leaned toward him with a smile that was never intended to comfort. "My dear, slimy friend... this is your last chance."
However, his sobbing was starting to get on my nerves. I hated that sound—it reminded me of the weak children at the orphanage crying into their pillows at night. "Get out!" I barked.
Lucius began to crawl away frantically, leaving a wet, foul-smelling trail behind him on the polished floor. The air in the hall grew heavy with the scent of ammonia. „If you mess up this time, Lucius, I will make you lick this hall clean with your own tongue. And then I will let you spend days dying," I thought with hateful calm.
"You are slow," I noted coldly as the doors remained open. "Do you require another spell to help you?" In mortal terror, Lucius quickened his pace, wheezing like a wounded animal until the doors finally closed behind him with a heavy thud.
I settled back onto my throne of bone. The cold beneath my hands soothed me. "When I get my hands on you, Harry Potter, you will regret ever being born," I spoke chillingly into the empty hall. My voice bounced off the walls, and in the silence that followed, I felt only Nagini's satisfied hissing.
***
"When I get my hands on you, Harry Potter, you will regret ever being born..."
I sat up abruptly in bed, gasping for air. I was shaking so violently that the bed creaked beneath me. Him again. I saw that dark hall and some poor soul crawling away from him like a beaten dog. That last sentence kept ringing in my head like a death sentence.
I felt terribly alone. Sirius was dead, and it was my fault. If I hadn't been so stupid, if I hadn't succumbed to those cursed dreams... if Dumbledore had told me the truth just once. I knew I didn't stand a chance. According to that stupid prophecy, how was I supposed to defeat someone like Voldemort? I didn't possess even a tenth of his power. Even Dumbledore couldn't defeat him.
My throat burned from suppressed tears. I envied everyone who had normal families so much, while I suffered at the Dursleys'. First Cedric, now Sirius... Who would be next? Ron? Hermione? The image of their dead eyes made it hard to breathe. And that prophecy kept playing in my head like a broken record:
"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies..."
I was sure I had no chance. Completely lost.
"Pff, love," I snorted bitterly into the darkness of my room. "Love is supposed to defeat him? The most powerful Dark Lord in the last hundred years?" It sounded ridiculous. Harry Potter, the boy who is barely surviving, is supposed to destroy a monster with the power of some abstract emotion. In that moment, I felt nothing but pure, cold anger toward Dumbledore and his noble speeches. Love didn't bring back my parents, it didn't save Cedric, and it didn't stop Sirius's death.
I wallowed in that foul depression for a while longer until a scream from downstairs pierced the silence.
"Potter! Get down here and mow the garden this instant!" Aunt Petunia shrieked in that disgusting, grating voice that made my teeth ache. "Lazing around all day like a good-for-nothing! Move it!"
I clenched my fists so hard my knuckles turned white. "I'm coming!" I shouted back. There was no point in arguing. At least I'd get out of this room for a while, where the walls were starting to suffocate me.
***
On Friday, I woke up unusually early. I only jolted awake once from a dream where Sirius fell behind the veil over and over again. Considering I usually wake up three times a night, it was almost a success. But the pain hadn't gone anywhere. I missed him so much it made my stomach churn.
I had no plans; I just drowned in my own thoughts. I ignored the letters from Ron and Hermione. They lay in a pile in the corner, unopened. What could they possibly write to me? Their empty, sympathetic words would only piss me off. None of them had any idea what it was like to have a murderer's thoughts in their head.
Read books on Defense? Pointless. I'll never catch up to him. I watched Hedwig soaring gracefully outside. I envied her freedom. I wish I could just spread my wings and vanish. This heavy apathy was eventually replaced by exhaustion. Without even realizing it, I fell into a heavy, dreamless sleep.
Petunia's sharp voice drifted up from the ground floor, immediately jarring me awake: "Potter! Come down here this instant. We want to talk to you!"
I snapped out of my daze, put on my glasses, and sluggishly made my way downstairs. My head was throbbing. „What do they want now?" I asked myself. I hated them, but in my current state, I almost didn't care what they did to me.
Petunia stood in the hallway. Uncle Vernon towered beside her. He looked strange. His face was tired and his eyes were glassy, empty, as if he didn't even see me. He held a business card in his hand. As soon as I stopped in front of them, Vernon mechanically reached out his hand. He was handing it to me. I expected him to start screaming, to throw me out, but he just remained silent. That calm was more terrifying than his anger. Hesitantly, I reached for the card.
The moment my fingers touched the paper, Vernon let out a dry rasp: "Mors."
The world instantly tore apart before my eyes. I felt that familiar, violent jerk somewhere near my navel. A Portkey. I tried to throw the card away, but my fingers were stuck to it with invisible glue. Space twisted, colors blurred into a single smear, until the centrifugal force spat me out.
I slammed hard onto the ground. I buried my face in the gravel of some vast, manicured garden. The hysterical screeching of white peacocks echoed around me. Before I could recover, a shout pierced the silence: "Stupefy!"
A bolt of red light struck me in the back. My lungs failed me, the world went black, and I collapsed into the void.
***
Finally. Harry Potter was in my hands. Lucius had found some scrap of usefulness after all and fulfilled his duty. I looked down at that scrawny body in round glasses—he looked more like a ghost on the verge of death than my fated enemy. It was almost insulting that this boy, protected only by the sacrifice of his Mudblood mother, had managed to resist me for years.
"Your arm, Lucius," I commanded coldly. A faint, cruel smile settled on my face. I had decided that my triumph would not be a quiet one. All the Death Eaters would witness this legend finally being extinguished. Lucius proudly offered me his forearm. „Fool," I thought. „Branded like cattle and yet he takes pride in it."
I pressed the tip of my wand to the Dark Mark. The skin beneath it blackened, and Lucius suppressed a hiss of pain. I settled comfortably onto my throne of bone while the limp Potter lay on the cold floor like a discarded doll.
My faithful began to arrive in the hall one by one. Masked figures emerged from the shadows like wraiths, bowing subserviently at my feet and lining up in a motionless rank along the sides of the hall. A deathly silence took hold, broken only by the ominous rustle of heavy robes. I savored this moment. I wanted Potter, when he finally opened his eyes, to see nothing but a motionless army of masks and to feel my presence like a cold blade against his throat. His suffering would be legendary.
Finally, everyone was here. The performance could begin.
"Rennervate!"
With a flick of my yew wand, I pulled him out of the darkness. Potter inhaled with a jerk and immediately began to look around in a panic. His eyes behind his glasses searched desperately through the gloom of the hall until they landed on me.
"Welcome, Potter. Did you sleep well?" I asked, and my quiet, cruel laughter rang through the room.
"What do you want, Tom?" he snapped, though his voice wavered. "Are you going to fail again?"
"Crucio!"
His agonizing screams immediately filled the hall. He bellowed like an animal being skinned alive, thrashing on the floor, his fingernails clawing at the hard stone. I enjoyed it; it was pure, warming euphoria that I couldn't get enough of. With reluctance, I lowered my wand. I didn't want him to go mad so soon. That would rob me of all the fun.
When I broke the spell, the hall became so quiet that only Harry's desperate struggle for breath could be heard. My followers stood there like motionless specters in the shadows. Bellatrix was trembling with excitement, her breathing too fast and loud, while Lucius stared intently at the floor, as if afraid that if he looked up, he would be next.
"Harry, Harry..." I spoke into the silence, where only his intermittent, bubbling sobs were audible. "I'm sorry you don't know how to behave. But don't worry, I shall teach you."
I savored the sight. Harry Potter, the great hero of the wizarding world, lay at my feet. But he wasn't broken yet. Oh, no. That brat still had that disgusting, shapeless piece of courage in him that got on my nerves so much. I stepped closer to him to see the moment when the defiance in his eyes would finally go out. Harry pushed himself up onto trembling elbows with effort. His face was covered in dust and tears, but when he looked up at me, I saw no plea.
He coughed. It was a wet, gagging sound. Before I could react, Potter spat a thick, bloody glob of saliva onto my boot. A deathly silence fell over the hall. I heard Bellatrix gasp in shock and Lucius freeze completely beside her. No one dared to move. Slowly, I lowered my gaze to my foot and then back to him. My smile didn't vanish. It just became something much, much worse.
"Crucio!" I screamed hatefully.
The spell pinned him to the ground with even greater force. He began to thrash like an animal again, digging his nails into the hard floor until blood seeped from beneath them. His screams echoed through the hall, gradually losing their human sound and turning into a helpless, wet rattling. Again, I lowered my wand. I was waiting for that look. I was waiting for him to break.
"Still, Harry?" I asked quietly.
"Go… go… f-f-f… fuck yourself, Tom," he rasped. The words left his mouth only with great effort, mixed with blood and foam, but the same fire still burned in his eyes.
I gripped my wand so tightly my knuckles turned white. How was it possible that this brat had more pride in him than the adult wizards who crawled at my feet and kissed the hem of my robes? He was just an ordinary boy, and yet he defied me in a way that was starting to unsettle me. After a moment, however, I burst out laughing. The sound was unnatural in the freezing silence of the hall.
"Your suffering will be legendary, Harry Potter. We have only just begun," I promised him, dark excitement burning in my eyes. "Spatha Cutis!"
A sickly yellow beam shot from my wand and hit his forearm. A pleasant, tearing sound shook the hall, like old canvas being stretched. Harry's skin slit and, with a squelching, wet sound, began to slowly peel away from the raw flesh. I began to skin him alive.
He screamed like a pig at a slaughterhouse, his shrieks bouncing off the high walls until they nearly tore at my ears. But even through this unimaginable agony, even as his muscles trembled in the exposed meat, he still didn't beg. He still didn't give up. His entire left forearm was flayed. The red, wet muscles glistened and pulsed under the hall's light. Fortunately for me, he had a second one.
"Spatha Cutis!"
Again, that delicious, tearing sound. With a squelching rip, I peeled the skin from his right forearm as well. His screams didn't last long, however; after a moment, he fainted from the pain.
"Rennervate!"
He woke with a jerk, gasping for air like a drowning man, so I happily continued where I had left off. I hadn't even finished when the brat escaped into the darkness of unconsciousness again.
"Rennervate!"
The spell woke him for only a second, but his mind was already refusing to cooperate. He fainted again. It was starting to become a bore, but I had promised him his suffering would be legendary, and I keep my promises. With a wave of my wand, I pulled a chair from the corner, smashed it to pieces, and transfigured them into long, thick nails.
I conjured his body against the wall and, with blunt strikes, nailed him by his bloody palms to the stone. I didn't want him running off anywhere once he finally regained full consciousness. He hung there now like some twisted monument to my victory.
After a moment, I turned to my Death Eaters. The room reeked of blood and the animal fear radiating from them. None of them dared to move; none of them wanted to be next. The only ones finding pleasure in this bloody spectacle were Macnair and Bellatrix. I saw a morbid hunger for more violence reflected in their eyes. It didn't matter to me, though; servants are meant to serve, and the entertainment belonged to me.
I had promised Potter legendary suffering and I intended to keep it. For an enemy who refused to break even under my wand, I needed to bring out something worse.
"Bellatrix, Macnair. You will stay here and guard our precious guest. Don't you dare let him escape," I commanded them. Their faces lit up with twisted joy. Then I fixed my gaze on the rest of the masked crowd. "The rest of you... you have two hours to bring me forty-nine adult Muggles. They must be in good condition, without a single scratch. Whoever fails me, dies."
A movement swept through the hall. No one asked questions. Fear of my power was stronger than any compassion for the worms they were to lead to the slaughter.
"Dismissed!"
In an instant, they hurried off to fulfill my orders. Only the thundering of feet followed by the quiet cracks of Disapparition could be heard until the hall was empty. Satisfied, I settled back onto my throne and stretched my fingers across the armrests. I enjoyed the view. Potter hung there on the stone wall like a broken doll, his blood slowly trickling down the cold masonry, forming a dark puddle beneath him. Bellatrix and Macnair stood below him like an honorary guard in hell. Bellatrix occasionally touched the hem of her cloak as if trembling with anticipation, while Macnair just quietly, appreciatively observed my work on the boy's forearms.
It was just us. The silence in the hall was broken only by the occasional heavy drip of blood hitting the floor. Two hours. That was plenty of time to fine-tune the details of what was to come in my mind. Potter had no idea that being skinned was only the beginning of the lesson I had prepared for him.
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Author's note:
So, what are your thoughts on this horror story so far? Did it catch your interest? This is just the first chapter out of six. I'm really curious to hear your reactions—let me know in the comments!
It's going to get even more horrific; we're just getting started.
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Upcoming Chapters:
2. The Trojan Beast
3. The Demon's Feast
4. The Symbiosis of Terror
5. The Last Enemy
6. Epilogue: A World Apart