Held: A Story of Redemption

Held: A Story of Redemption

written by Chibikan

Betaed by Neko Kuroban

Night shrouded Privet Drive in its dark embrace. Neither the stars nor the moon shed their light. Everyone was asleep, in a tangled web of dreams.It was an ideal time for a cloaked man to make his move against his enemies. He was flanked by a half dozen dark-robed figures. Each carried a long, polished piece of wood in hand, each different in one way or another. These figures moved with single-minded purpose, a harsh, determined stride toward a house set upon this stretch. It was a typical British suburban rowhouse, with an immaculately manicured lawn, and a sleek, pristine ebony car. The brick home was cold, set some distance from the road. The windows were like all the others on the avenue, yawning black mouths to the tomb. Save for a soft gold light from a lone second story window. It was the only source of light on all the street.

"My loyal followers," the intimidating figure at the forefront began. His voice held an almost tangible quality to it; he spoke silkily, as if he knew much the others did not.

"Tonight, we shall finally make the first of our crowning triumphs over the Mudbloods... the one that is, dare I say, the most important. We will at last defeat the Potter brat. I do understand that we have had prior issues with this. Tonight, my Death Eaters, will be much different. We have the advantage. We have the element of..." Voldemort halted, his words trailing off. Slanted crimson eyes darted to Goyle. An ashen face was marred with an expression of confusion and one could say, embarrassment. He watched mutely as the short, broad-shouldered man played with a red yo-yo. The toy jumped up to his hand and down to about six inches from the ground, repeat ad nauseum. "What an idiot."

Voldemort grated harshly. Eyes narrowed, the Dark Lord pulled out the slender length of his wand. Suddenly, an agonized shout rang out from the lit window that belonged to their target. All turned to the sound. Something was off, even Voldemort could sense it. An unholy chill that something was not right here.

Voldemort felt a sense of sick curiosity. He had not yet attacked, so why was anyone in the house screaming? He motioned with a skeletal hand for his men to follow him. Once outside, he discreetly levitated himself to the window.

"YOU! It was YOUR FAULT!" roared an immense man, his face a horrifying shade of bruised violet. He grasped Voldemort's quarry by the collar of his pajamas, as he slammed the thin boy against the wall. Apparently, this was the source of the screams. For some reason, just watching this made the Dark Lord well with anger. There was not much in the way of wickedness that he would ever dream of objecting to, but this, the beating of one's own relations, one's own nephew or child he did, with a passion. It brought back pain-filled memories of his life in that vile orphanage before Hogwarts, and even during his school years. It made his blood boil to relive the pain he had gone through in that harsh institution. His fury increased just to see another feel it. "My boss just called." Vernon started to explain, his voice false with a sickly-sweet intonation. All pretenses shattered abruptly, as he jerked the boy forward.

"APPARENTLY there was a FIRE at the warehouse, shortly after I left. And I am NOW OUT OF A JOB!" Voldemort listened, and wondered, how could Potter be responsible for that? He listened for more. "Don't think I don't KNOW what you did! You and your freakishness! YOU DID IT"

Voldemort watched as the man yanked the boy from the cramped, ill-lit bedroom, twisting the boy's arm at a painful angle. The Dark Lord levitated downward to the first-floor window and watched in disgust as the man grabbed a metallic baseball bat from the small hall closet and beat the boy across the head and back with it, continuously. He had seen enough. He pulled out his wand and aimed it at the door, whispering an incantation that caused the wooden door to splinter and shatter.

Harry's uncle was distracted from his assault on the boy, giving the victim a chance to regain his breath. "YOU! Who are you! Get out of here at once"

A long-necked blonde woman came down the stairs, a dressing gown draped unflatteringly over her too-thin body. Her pajama-clad son, a miniature of his father, tagged at her heels.

"Be careful, dear," the blonde woman whispered, tugging at a thin strand of pearls with a bony hand. Her brown eyes were almost terrified, "He..." she whispered, looking as if she were about to be violently ill. "He's one of those freaks"

Harry felt a searing pain, as if his forehead was tearing open at the scar. He knew exactly who had destroyed the door, and was stalking into the foyer. Somehow the protective wards had failed. Voldemort was now here to kill him. At least... at least, the pain would end.

Voldemort spoke, voice chilled and forbidding. "I would listen to your wife, you pathetic excuse for a Muggle! No, the term Muggle is still too flattering for the likes of you"

Uncle Vernon growled, low and gutteral. "Again, I ORDER you to leave my home at once! Or I shall call the police"

"Oh, really?" Voldemort's voice was infused with a caustic sarcasm that was more fitting of Tom Marvolo Riddle than the Dark Lord. "And what shall you tell them? 'Oh, you know, some psychotic guy just burst into my house and interrupted my beating my freakish nephew half to death.' Shall I dial that number for you"

Vernon's face somehow darkened several shades, to an almost impossible color of bruised fruit. "YOU! GET OUT OF MY HOUSE NOW"

Voldemort strode forward, robes billowing. "I certainly intend to, but not without Mister Potter. I will not leave him in YOUR care any longer. Dumbledore must think this boy's safety is some sort of disgusting joke to place him with an insect such as yourself"

Harry was confused, his mind awhirl. However, he fortunately did not have long to think, as the blessed darkness of unconsciousness snatched him away.

Voldemort, however, was not finished with his tirade. "How dare you call yourself human!" He hissed, low and hypnotic. "To subject anyone to this torture. Believe me, I know torture. I am the Dark Lord, Voldemort, and I've done far too many things to be considered moral... or even, just. I think a concept can be considered worse than bad when even I detest it! You will never harm this boy again." Voldemort then turned his attention to the trembling blonde woman with the immense, wavering, fearful eyes. "And YOU!" He snapped, livid and furious, "You are just as bad as he! To accept that things like this were happening to your own flesh and blood, and not do anything about it. It's simply sinful. People like you deserve to rot in the ninth level of hell!" He breathed in and out shakilly, his blood still heated with hatred for these people. He cast a summoning spell for the boy's things and sent them to his manor, along with the snowy owl. Afterwards, he lifted the weight of the injured boy carefully and turned to leave.

"A...Aren't you...going to kill us?" Dudley asked, his voice hitching in his throat.

Voldemort turned back and looked at the petrified family. "And wouldn't it hurt worse if I didn't." It was not a question. His words hung behind him, ringing in the dead silence of the paneled hall. He stepped out of the front door into the dark of the night. He was once again followed by his men, who were now glaring at the small family within. They, too, had done evil things in their lives, but never would they harm their own flesh.

But one man, one with a crooked nose that was testament to several breaks and raven-colored hair that hung lank about his pale face, only studied the Dark Lord. His sharp features were awash with confusion. The sorcerer had just done what none would have expected. He had saved the Boy-Who-Lived.