disclaimer: I am making no money on this fan fiction, I am only borrowing characters from the Harry Potter books.


Rated NC-17 


Warnings-  violence, non-consensual sex, implied child molestation, bdsm, harsh language, hurt/comfort, quite disturbing in the first few chapters, please be warned


HP - DM    HP - LV    AD - and... everyone?  mostly implied





Delusions of Grandeur

chapter 5


Circle of Violence




The sounds of her own footsteps echoing off the corridor walls were having an astounding effect on Hermione’s heartbeat. The droning noise that deadened all other sound caused her to flinch nervously at nearly every step she took. She held the phial and parchment close to her chest in both hands as she began to run, feeling the uncanny dread that someone was following her. Not that she didn’t have a right to be out in the halls this late at night; she was Head Girl after all. Something told her to run though, not to stop. Her conscience rarely lied to her.



Reaching the owlery, she blew several kisses to Hedwig and held out her arm. The beautiful snowy owl hooted affectionately and flew over, more than happy to do anything for the sweet friend of her Harry. “Please deliver this to Lucius Malfoy, Hedwig... I know, I know, I’m sorry, darling, please don’t look at me like that,” she said, averting her gaze from the glare that seemed to set upon the owl’s features. With a rough nip on Hermione’s finger, a slightly angrier Hedwig set off to deliver the letter.



As Hermione left the owlery, the fearful dread returned. It sent unnerving shivers down her spine, alerting her to run once more. With her wand drawn and held at mid-waist, she ran off into the halls as fast as she could.




Remus Lupin looked down at the letter in his hands, searching desperately for any sort of hidden meaning to it. He shook his head to clear the cobwebs, but only managed to make himself feel dizzier.



Professor Lupin,


It is imperative that you seek out Hermione Granger, and ask her about Harry Potter.


Severus Snape




A quick glance to his pocket watch told him it was much too early to actively search for her, but his interest was piqued now. He sat down on his bed and read the letter over once more before throwing it to the floor with a deep sigh.




“I said I’m working on it. Please go back to bed, Draco,” pleaded Lucius. He dropped his head in his hands, shaking it in defeat as his son pressed on about getting Harry back to him.



“I don’t think you understand, Father, I saved his life. That means he owes me a life debt. I want him back, so tell your master to bring him back. He‘s mine!” cried Draco, trying any lowly tactic he’d read about that afternoon to ensure the safety of his new friend.



“Normally, you would be partially correct. A life debt doesn’t give you rights to another wizard, but it could get them away from where they were. I’m afraid Lord Voldemort’s power overrides any legal meaning of it, though. Simply put, he is above the law here. I seriously doubt you want to serve him with papers asking for the boy when he made it quite clear he was keeping him.” said Lucius regretfully.



“You weren’t there! You didn’t see what he did to us!” screamed Draco. His blood pressure began to skyrocket, and his eyes were mere slits of hatred staring down at his father. “He.. He did so many--”



Lucius stood up quickly as his emotions overrode any sense of kindness he was trying to convey. He grasped his son’s arms roughly as he began to shout. “You think I don’t know what you went through? I went through it too! Everyone here has been through it!”



Draco looked over to Snape and Pettigrew, who both tuned their heads away shamefully. Gazing back at his father, his sadness overcame him once more. He fell into the older man’s arms, hugging him tightly. “I’m so sorry, Father. I didn’t know,”



“I know you didn’t, son, I know,” soothed Lucius, hugging his son back. “I’m going to make it better for you. I’m going to remove all those thoughts so you won’t remember,”



Draco pushed himself back. “Will I forget Harry? The Harry I know now?” he asked.



Lucius nodded.



“No. I don’t want to forget him.”



“The master will most likely remove Harry’s memories of it as well. He won’t remember you, so it doesn’t matter. It really won’t serve you any good to keep them other than to bring you pain,”



Draco shook his head in defiance. “It made me realise how much I value life, and the lives of others. It matters, Father.” he replied flatly. “And I seriously doubt anyone will be able to take Harry’s. Dumbledore tried for two straight days before giving up. He won’t forget me.”



“I don’t want to forget, either,” said Severus, walking into their conversation. “I will never forget what he did to me.”



Lucius bowed his head. “Then I will keep my memories, too. Perhaps we can find a way to make the pain stop, at least.”



“I’ll start working on it now. Have you sent the girls the okay to begin testing yet?” asked Snape.



Draco looked at his potions professor in awe. The deep frown lines that etched his face and forehead seemed to have vanished. His hair looked healthy and was shining jet black, giving him a glowing aura to him he’d never noticed before. He looked years younger, and quite handsome.



He looked to his father and marvelled at the sparkle in his once, dull grey eyes. His flat, platinum hair was flowing as if a breeze had picked it up and carried it over his face, sweeping lovingly like soft waves of white. He was once beautiful, he was now radiating.



Even old Wormtail looked livelier. He was slumping in his seat, but holding a posture unknown to him before. His eyes refused to bare the shiftiness they once held and his skin appeared sun kissed now, giving him character to his once sickly complexion.



“Yes. The owl left early this morning, it should reach Miss Granger by this afternoon. I informed her to test Lupin first, she‘ll need his help,” confirmed Lucius.



“Granger, Lupin?” asked Draco.




Lord Voldemort sat back in his chair. His examination and prodding of Harry hadn’t brought the results he’d hoped for. He wanted to feel the anger, the rage the child once gave him, and snap his neck to release pent up frustration. He commanded himself to touch the boy; trying to stir thoughts of unbridled lust, take him forcefully right there, wake him up, make him feel it -- but he couldn’t. He watched the supine form of the angelic boy, feeling nothing but sorrow towards him.



A light tingling over his scalp brought his hand to it unconsciously. He ran his fingers over thick, black hair -- and jumped. With a gasp, he ran to his chambers and looked upon himself for the first time since his rebirth.



He was human again. 



He stripped himself down and looked over his body carefully, praying it wasn’t a dream. His heart leapt into his throat as he saw himself as he once was, the man he had been before that fateful evening. Tears welled up in his scarlet coloured eyes as his hands ran over every inch of flesh; testing it, feeling it, getting to know it once more.



He wanted to tell someone. He was elated at his body and needed to be sure this was real. Throwing on a silken dressing gown, he ran back into Harry’s room and touched his face to wake him up.



Harry moaned lightly as he stirred into wakefulness. With the beauty and grace of a cat, he arched his back and tipped his head, feeling the world blossom around him with his senses. Voldemort stood dazed watching him wiggle around, blissfully enjoying the soft sheets against his skin. Nearly forgetting about his own form, he stared hypnotically at the boy, only seeing him in this light for the first time.



Deep forest green eyes appeared as his lashes parted and looked up at the man through a haze of fog. He opened his mouth to speak; to ask for his glasses, to ask who the man was standing over him; to ask where he was... but the man silenced him by placing his fingers over his lips. “Harry, do you know who I am?” asked the man, but Harry shook his head.



“I can’t see you clearly, I need my glasses,” he said hoarsely.



Frowning, Voldemort pulled out his wand. “I can repair your eyesight temporarily, then we’ll need to get you another pair,” He waved his wand over the boy, giving him sight.



Harry blinked several times, adjusting himself to the change of vision. For the first time in a week he could see again. He looked back at the man standing over him and shrugged. “No, I’m sorry, sir. I don’t know who you are. Should I?”



Voldemort smiled, feeling a sudden surge of pure happiness flow over him. He couldn’t remember ever feeling so cheerful, so genuinely in high spirits about something in his entire life, and he liked it. “No, I suppose we’ve never really been acquainted properly. You really have no idea of who I am? I don’t look like anyone you know?”



Voldemort was intrigued by this. Sitting face to face with The Boy Who Lived; engaging in conversation with him as if they were acquaintances. He knew once the boy figured his secret out it would end, but he wanted it to last for whatever reason. It felt good to speak normally with someone as an equal, without being feared or worshipped for some odd reason. Maybe it was the boy himself he enjoyed talking to. Whatever reason, he wanted to explore it, and he could; Harry was his now.



Again, Harry shrugged. He pulled his sheet up to his chin, and began tracing circled patterns over his bracelets as a feeling of unease swept over him. “What are these?” he asked nervously, finding them solid, yet fluid around his wrists, with no visible way to remove them.



“Magical inhibitors. They are necessary, I’m afraid. You are too powerful to be able to do magic any longer.” replied Voldemort. Harry looked up at him again, this time into his eyes.



He felt his heart thump against his ribcage as the realisation set in. Scarlet irises with crescent shaped pupils were visible on the chiselled features of the older man.



This was Voldemort.




Blaise caught sight of Professor Lupin wandering along the hall aimlessly. A quick scan of the area showed no one else, and she dashed over to him and grabbed his arm. “Please come with me, Professor,” she said softly, feeling guilt-filled pity over what she knew they had to do to him. Lucius’ letter arrived only moments before, explaining the spell and potion in great detail, preparing them both for the torture they’d have to inflict on several students and staff.



“You know where Miss Granger is?” he asked, and she nodded quickly.

“I’m going to take you to her. She’s in Professor Snape’s chambers. We must hurry, sir,” she begged. She dragged him along peacefully, rubbing his forearm for support, feeling him tremble under her hold. She knew he had no idea what was about to happen, but he sensed something, something awful, and her heart broke for him.



Hermione waved them both into the sitting room and knelt down next to Remus as he sat heavily in a chair. “We have to tell you everything, first. Then it’ll be up to you if you’d like to help us,” she said, giving off a sad smile.



She and Blaise confessed everything into his ears, stunning the tired werewolf into disbelief. Remus began to whimper, letting his greying hair fall into his eyes as his head fell forward. Hermione showed him all the letters, the potion ingredients, the spell, and the books they were found in. She told him where Harry was, thinking he was still in Malfoy Manor with Draco, and that they were both safe now.



“I’m afraid,” he said in a trembling half-whisper. “I’ve always known there was something hidden, some reason why Albus treated my special. I just don’t know if I can face this.”



“Professor, you don’t have to. You take some time and think it over. I’ll go find Ron and get him down here. The letter said some terrible things, and I’m worried about him,” said Hermione.



“Let me get him, I need the walk,” requested Remus. He stood up as Hermione agreed, and left the room.



Blaise bit her lower lips, she was worried about her friends, too. “I’m going to get Vince and Greg, stay here. I’m sure old Dumbledore knows about you now since he chased after you. It’s best you stay hidden, Hermione,”



“Yeah, I felt the oddest sensation when I mailed that letter last night. Like someone was watching in the shadows. I’ll stay put, go get them,” she said. She watched the other girl walk towards the door, and the feeling of dread crept into her mind again suddenly.



“Blaise!” she cried, stopping the girl at the door. “Be careful,”



Blaise smiled broadly back at her. “I will, thanks,” she replied, and closed the door behind her.




Lord Voldemort straddled the hysterical 17 year old and pinned his hands above his head. “Relax! Stop fighting!” he hissed. His fury resonated out into the room, darkening it, casting frightening shadows over the bed. The child beneath him was screaming, uncaring that it was tearing at his throat. Harry bucked his hips repetitively, yanked at his wrists and writhed about with all his strength as the older man tried to control him.



A forceful slap across his face dazed Harry for a moment, but the struggling commenced soon after. Voldemort hit him again, harder this time to stun him longer. Harry heaved in several deep breaths, tasting the blood that ran into the back of his throat. He couldn’t think about it, he didn’t want to be raped again. He knew he’d be raped again, he knew Voldemort was a monster. He’d prepared for this moment. Albus told him this would happen; informing him of what this man was capable of. He wanted to die instead. He would never give in.



“Why are you fighting me? Why are you forcing me to hurt you?!?” roared Voldemort. “Listen to me! Give me one minute, Harry. Please, that‘s all I ask. I won‘t hurt you anymore. I won‘t strike you again,” He forced the boy deeper into the mattress, holding him steady, but softened his features.



Harry quivered in terror. His teeth chattered non-stop, but his body relaxed a bit, hearing the words from Voldemort sound almost pleading in his ears. His uncontrolled hyperventilating began to subside as The Dark Lord waited patently for him to calm himself.



Taking a deep breath of his own, Lord Voldemort centred his attention on the boy’s face. His flushed cheek made him cringe, knowing he had caused that. “I’m sorry for striking you. I’ve never been in this situation before and I didn’t know what else to do,” he confessed.



Harry stared back at him in fear, in awe, and in confusion all at once. His panting and hiccupping were merely harsh breaths now; baited, wanting to hear more of what this supposed evil Lord was trying to convey to him.



“What he did to you, I know all about it. Draco told me everything. I saw it... in a vision, as well. I know what you went through, and Lucius and I saved you from death. We didn’t want you to die, Harry, I hope you can believe me.” he said calmly.  



“Why?” dared Harry, letting his Gryffindor bravery show.



Voldemort grimaced. “He did it to me, too. Dumbledore... he... I was 11 years old, I think, maybe 12...”



Harry blinked. “He did, to you? When you were in school?” His voice cracked, the torn vocal cords barely vibrated anymore, but he strained against it, needing to know everything.



“He was my professor. It lasted three weeks and it was a living nightmare. He did everything you can imagine to me, and then cursed me over and over until I couldn’t remember it any longer. There were other boys in there at times; he forced them to do things, like he made Draco Malfoy do. Don’t you see? He made me what I am today...” A single tear ran down his cheek in remembrance.



Harry began whimpering again, but this time in sadness. He knew the words were true. He had lived them now, too. He could feel his pain, see his sorrow, and taste his tears.



“There’s more. We weren’t his only victims. Lucius Malfoy, Severus Snape, Peter Pettigrew... your father, your Godfather... to name a few that we know of. The werewolf, too,”



“No...” said Harry, unable to believe the words. “No, you can’t mean that. My father...”


Voldemort nodded, and slowly began to ease his grip over Harry. He had gotten his attention, and didn’t want to disturb the boy any further at the moment over petty control. He released his wrists and sat up, letting Harry cover himself once more with his sheet. They stared nervously at each other, waiting for something to happen, not knowing what to do.




Ron sat quietly on his bed as the door to his dorm room opened. Remus entered quietly, taking a seat next to him. “Hullo, Mr. Weasley,” he said, trying to sound brave.



Ron looked ill. His skin was pale, as if the blood had drained away from his face long ago. He smiled back at his professor though, and scooted over a bit to give him more room to get comfortable. “Hey, Professor, what are you doing here?” he asked curiously. “You don’t look well, are you feeling all right? Is the full moon coming?”



“I’d ask you the same, but you’re not a werewolf. Did something happen, Ron?” asked Lupin.



Ron shook his head confusedly. “No. I... I just don’t remember how I got here. I don’t remember coming to bed,”



Remus shot up and stood over the redhead, grasping his upper arms with his clawed hands. “What do you remember? What’s the last thing you remember doing?” he demanded.



Ron stared up at him in shock. “Err... dinner in the Great Hall. Hermione... did something, and... I don’t remember,” he said, feeling the black spot that covered his memories grow larger. The hands gripped over him tugged him up, and pushed him across the room, past the common room, and down to the dungeons. Remus said nothing, but shook with furious anger as he dragged the tall Gryffindor along with him.




Blaise slid along the walls to the Slytherin common room, ducking out of sight whenever she heard a noise. Never once had she felt worried down here, but it was different now; someone was watching her.



As she turned the corner looking behind her she bumped into someone very tall, and fell into his arms.



“Miss Zabini, I was just looking for you-- how convenient,”



Blaise looked up slowly, knowing her worst fears would be confirmed. Albus Dumbledore looked down at her with a gentle smile as his grasp over his tightened significantly, crushing her lungs. In a heated panic she tried to scream, tried to struggle- but only managed to fall dizzy from lack of air.



“Let’s take a walk, shall we?” said Albus. He twisted her arm behind her, and placed his other hand firmly on her shoulder, giving her a shove.




“Professor Dumbledore?”




Albus’ hold on the girl dropped immediately as the voice called out, and he turned quickly, smiling back at Remus and Ron. “Ah, good afternoon, Professor Lupin, Mr. Weasley,” he said cheerily. “I was just escorting Miss Zabini to her room; she seems to have gotten lost.”



Remus faked a smile and thought fast, seeing the pretty girl next to the headmaster shuddering from fright. “Oddly enough I was looking for her myself. She and Mr. Weasley here have detention with me right now. It seems they both forgot about it and I was rounding them up,”



“Oh,” said Albus, “Do you think I could perhaps borrow her for a moment?”



Remus shook his head. “I really must have them complete their potions, sir. The ingredients will only last another hour. I could send her by afterwards, unless of course this is dire. Is it?” he asked challengingly.



Albus frowned visibly. “No. No, it can wait I suppose. Perhaps you and Mr. Weasley could join her in the visit afterwards. And if you see Miss Granger, I’d like to speak with her,” he growled lowly.



Yes, of course, sir. We’ll see you later then,” replied Remus. He waved Blaise over to him, and gathered her up in his arm, guiding both students away from the dungeon as quickly as possible.





Lucius fidgeted around nervously until his master entered the foyer. His eyes scanned over him slowly, taking in the masculine beauty of Voldemort. “My Lord, you look wonderful!” he exclaimed, and the older wizard smiled. He looked perfect for his age, perhaps around 50, wearing simple trousers and a linen shirt. Never before had Lucius seen the man wear anything but robes, but he looked amazing in his simplicity.



“You look good, yourself, Lucius,” he replied, astonished at the light surrounding the elfish looking man. He literally glowed, lighting up the room in an aura of pure warmth. “Why have you come to see me? I’m quite busy at the moment with Harry,”



Wincing, the elder Malfoy hoped he hadn’t killed the boy yet. “It’s my son. He won’t relent on his pursuit to see the boy. He’s deathly afraid for his safety, no matter how many times I’ve explain to him that Potter is yours now,”



“Send him over,” said Voldemort. “He can see Harry after we’ve finished our talk.”



Lucius froze. “Are you sure, my Lord?” he asked nervously.



“Yes, I’m quite sure. Harry’s asked to see him as well. I figure we owe them both that much,” he replied. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, he’s still very upset, and doesn’t like to be left alone for too long.”



“Thank you, my Lord,” cried Lucius, bowing low as he backed up into the fireplace.



Voldemort walked back to the sitting room, and sat himself down next to Harry on the overstuffed couch. “That was Mr. Malfoy, he’s sending Draco over. The boy is desperate to visit with you. Will that be all right?” he asked.



Harry’s eyes lit up with glee as he nodded anxiously back at the older man. “Yes! I want to see him. He’s okay, right? He’s doing well?” asked Harry. He pulled his knees up to his chest and cradled them with his arms while he rocked himself back and forth with excitement.



“Yes, he’s doing fine.” replied Voldemort. He shifted himself to face the boy so he could watch him more closely. Harry looked normal enough; physically, at least. He was wearing a roll neck jumper, woollen shorts that hung nearly to his knees, ankle socks, and black leather shoes. He looked so young and sweet sitting there rocking himself back and forth for comfort. It was the sadness that crept back onto his features that worried him.



Draco entered the room quietly and cleared his throat to announce his arrival. Harry jumped and snapped his head to the noise, then sighed in relief as his eyes landed on his new friend. He smiled and waved him over to the couch. Voldemort stood up, excusing himself so they could talk.



“Oh, Harry. You look okay. He didn’t hurt you?” cooed Draco, checking Harry all over his body for any marks. “I was so bloody worried about you, and here you are... you prat!” He smacked Harry’s knee lightly and stuck his tongue out at the boy, who simply giggled back at him.



Harry shifted his legs over the couch cushion so he sat facing Draco. “This place is so odd. Everything is really strange. I’ve only been here for a day, but Voldemort and me talked the whole time about what happened... and he was kind of nice. Isn’t that mental?”



Draco brushed his fingers across Harry’s cheek. “I’m so glad to hear that. I kept thinking about how scary it would be for you here. He didn’t... you know, touch you, did he?” he asked wearily, feeling quite motherly to Harry now.



Harry shook his head briskly. “No. Absolutely not. I doubt he’ll ever... I mean, he got it too. I don’t think any of us will ever be able to be intimate with anyone. I don’t think I could ever do that, you know. I was a virgin and all. I only kissed a girl once. He can’t either, he says it terrifies him. He was only 11 or 12 when it happened to him. We‘re all ruined and used, all of us. He destroyed us, Draco. He killed us, even if we‘re not dead.”



Feeling the tears spring forth in his eyes, Draco held his arms out to the smaller boy. They climbed into each others arms and hugged tightly. They curled up like they used to in their cell, feeling cold despite the warmth of the fire in front of them. Shuddering breaths emanated out every few minutes, but both eventually calmed, and they drifted off to sleep with Harry in Draco‘s lap.



Lord Voldemort re-entered the room. He stared down at the boys for nearly an hour, wishing someone would have held him like that after his trauma. He would fix it, make the pain stop. He’d talk to Lucius and Severus about it. Perhaps there was a cure for the heartache.



Knowing he couldn’t allow Draco to stay, he woke the blond quietly, and picked Harry up from his lap. “Your father is probably very worried about you. It’s almost dinner time now, I should wake Harry up to eat something, anyways. You may return tomorrow, Draco. Bring your father and Snape with you,”



Draco smiled weakly, but was honestly grateful that Harry was all right. “If you don’t want to take care of him, I will... Anyways, good evening, sir,” he murmured, and walked out to the fireplace.



Voldemort waited until Draco was gone, and sat down on the couch. He held the sleeping boy in his arms snuggling him tightly, as he’d never snuggled with anyone before. It felt as heart-warming as it looked, even if Harry was still asleep.



Only 10 minutes into the snuggling, Harry stirred in his arms and whimpering softly though parted lips. Slight flinches quickly turned violent as Voldemort watched in confusion. Harry’s back arched and he screamed out into the room, filling it with his agony. “A nightmare,” mused Voldemort. He shook Harry lightly, then a bit harder until his eyes opened and the screams ceased.



“Wake up. Come on, its okay,” he said softly, and Harry sat up quickly with heavy sobs. He wrapped his arms around the man’s neck instinctively, needing the comfort and safety he craved so much.



Taken aback, Voldemort sat frozen for a moment. With slight trepidation, he wrapped his arms around the boy and pulled him in closer.



“I’m sorry...” whispered Harry into his ear. “I didn’t mean to be so loud. I won‘t do it again,”



Voldemort felt awkward and strange, yet he held on. He rocked Harry in his lap, shushing his worries, petting his hair softly. Soon after, the sobbing changed into soft, puffy breaths against his neck. He decided the boy could eat later and carried him off to his room. Voldemort laid him down on his bed and removed his shoes and socks. He sighed, looking down at the metal on his ankles, but shook the feelings away. He still couldn’t trust Harry with magic-- not yet.





Part 6