Arbor Vitae (arbor_vitae) wrote in parsel_fest, @ 2008-10-09 05:33:00 |
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Entry tags: | 2008_fic, 2008_round |
Happy Parsel Fest, Loony Lucifer!
Recipient: loony_lucifer
Author: dysperdis
Title: Scratch My Itch
Length: ~7,400
Rating: NC-17
Summary: One year after the final battle, Harry Potter's scar began to itch.
Author’s Note: Hope you enjoy, loony_lucifer! Thanks to Ind. for the excellent beta work!
One year after the final battle, Harry Potter's scar began to itch.
Harry, focusing intently on the report on his desk, absently reached up to scratch it, unconcerned.
By the next day, he was no longer so unconcerned. His scar had not stopped itching since the previous afternoon. His skin was raw from his scratching, and none of Ginny's home remedies had done anything to ease the stubborn itch. His Healer had warned him that scars have been known to itch for years after they had healed, but this was getting a bit ridiculous.
By lunch time, he had had enough. His head was sore, he couldn't concentrate, and several of the senior Aurors had made snide comments about head lice and other parasites. He rose from his desk to fire-call his Healer, intent on getting an appointment, and froze. A small part of his brain noted that the itching was suddenly gone, but the majority of his attention was focused on the ghost in front of him.
“Potter.” It was impossible to mistake that sibilant hiss. Harry panicked for a moment before remembering that his long time nemesis was dead and no longer posed a threat to him, or to anyone, for that matter.
“Voldemort. I thought I'd gotten rid of you for good this time.” The ghost opened his mouth to retort, but was prevented from responding as his features began to twist, eventually settling into the form of Tom Marvolo Riddle as he must have appeared in his 18th year.
“So, you're the child who defeated Us. Pity, I thought you'd be taller. Allow me to introduce myself, I'm-”
“Tom Marvolo Riddle.” Harry did his best to imitate Snape's infamous glare. “Now, what the hell are you doing here?”
The ghost glared right back at him. “As I was saying, I'm the portion of Tom Marvolo Riddle's soul that was stored in my family's ring.”
Harry stared for a moment. “Yeah, that's nice, but again, what the hell are you doing here? Why aren't you rotting in Hell, or where ever it is that the souls of former Dark Lords go?”
“Well obviously, We have some unfinished business-” Suddenly, his features began twisting again, forming into his 16 year old visage.
“What he's trying to say is, We aren't sure. We were happily ruling a small tribal village in the Amazon rain forest that considered Us a god, when something dragged Us back to Britain.” Again his features twisted, forming into a bald, but mostly human looking man.
“Now, why did you have to tell him that! You never give away a potential advantage like that!”
Twist.
“No, you just become overconfident in your own ability and overlook potential advantages and allies!”
Twist
“Both of you! Knock it off!” Turning to Harry, this newest version of Voldemort– about thirty years old, and rather handsome, Harry noted absently– looked over the younger man. Harry, already uncomfortable after witnessing the argument, shifted under his gaze. “We have a proposition for you. Help Us determine why we have been drawn to you and how we can solve this- little issue-” he sneered, “and you'll never have to see us again. You can continue on with your life, and we'll continue on with our death.”
Harry looked at the dead man standing in front of him. There was no way he could trust the ghost, yet there really didn't seem to be much else he could do.
“Let me think it over. I'll have an answer for you tomorrow.”
The ghost thought it over for a few moments before nodding. “That is acceptable. I'll expect an answer from you in twenty-four hours.” With that, he floated through the door.
Harry reached into a drawer and pulled out a box of Floo powder. It looked like he still had a fire-call to make, after all.