Barb Sheridan Writing Exercise #30
bsher213@yahoo.com
Disclaimer: All character belong to JK Rowling and affiliates. The idea is Barb's. Everything is non-profit.
Rated PG-13

Harry's blood pounded in his veins as he turned in a slow circle trying to find where Voldemort had gone. Pain stabbed him in the back and he spun around, feeling blood trickle down beneath his sweater.

Cruel laughter echoed off the walls of the subterranean chamber.

"For all his promise the boy who lived is still nothing but a frightened boy."

"I'm not the one hiding," Harry muttered. More invisible blades pricked and cut him and though he knew it was a stupid move he had no choice but to back himself against a wall to keep Voldemort in front of him wherever he was.

"It's all true you know, about the polyjuice. Your mother was quite the hot little number, my boy, and we all had at least one turn in her bed, courtesy of your father's trusting face."

"Stop it!" Harry hissed.

The laughter echoed again.

An unseen blade cut a mark on Harry's forehead opposite his scar. More blood trickled into his eye.

"There. Now you have a matched set. It's quite fetching actually."

Harry held his wand at the ready.

"So brave, so bloody inviting, too. Did I mention I had your father a time or two? Quite a good little piece of tail he was."

Don't listen! Harry told himself as he struggled to get his raging emotions in control. This was what Voldemort wanted. He had to remember what Snape told him. Under no circumstances lose your control of the situation.

He was in control. He was, otherwise why would Voldemort be afraid to face him in the flesh?

Spying something he knew would be useful, Harry inched away from the wall, looking around and around. "Snape told me a few things, Tommy. He said he drugged you a time or two and made you his whore." He eyed a small metal cylinder. "He said you screamed like a girl and begged for more."

An angry growl rumbled from everywhere, reverberating though the chamber like an echoed explosion.

Voldemort began to materialize and Harry took his chance, transfiguring the metal into a Muggle assault rifle. In a blazing hail of bullets the Dark Lord was cut down like an ordinary man and lay dead in a pool of blood.

Harry kicked the lifeless body to be certain and shot it once more for good measure. "Rather anticlimactic but nonetheless satisfying, eh, Tommy?"

He transfigured the rifle into a sword and cleaved Voldemort's head from his body then hoisted it by the hair and made his way to the Great Hall wondering what in the bloody hell was happening up there.