Title: Golden Luck
Warning: past abuse, nudity, language
Summary: Felix Felicis, better known as the luck potion, has the ability to gives its users a high sense of confidence, opportunity, and allows most endeavours to succeed. Voldemort should be so lucky.
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters herein. They, and the places, all belong to the talented J.K. Rowling.
Written for prompt #81:
Riddle-Voldemort takes a dose of Felix Felicis. Gen, slash, or het. (suggested by mctabby)
From the HP-Lexicon Encyclopedia of Potions:
Felix Felicis: Until the effects wear off, all the drinker's endeavors will tend to succeed (HBP9). Once consumed, the potion gives the drinker an exhilarating sense of confidence and a tremendous sense of opportunity (HBP22). However, if taken in excess the potion causes giddiness, recklessness, and dangerous overconfidence, and it is highly toxic in large quantities (HBP9).
1) Colour of molten gold; while exposed to air large drops will leap like goldfish above the surface without spilling (HBP9), 2) A "miniscule" glass bottle can contain enough Felix Felicis to last 12 hours (HBP9), 3) The potion is a banned substance in organized competitions such as sporting events, examinations, or elections (HBP9), 4) Desperately tricky to make and disastrous to get wrong (HBP9).
Voldemort looked at the tiny vial in his hand that Severus had just delivered to him and smirked. The small tube held enough doses to last him through the night. Finally he had a way to get to his nemesis without worrying about the old man getting in his way, especially since Dumbledore didn’t realize that Snape was loyal to him. Since his servant was a potions master, he was positive that the gold liquid was a perfect brew. The Dark Lord popped the cork and took the first dose before disapparating with a crack.
He appeared in front of a plain looking house on Privet Drive and his grin grew. He could feel the wards and immediately felt his confidence soar. They were so weak it was a wonder that he hadn’t tried this before. He stood on the road and cast several spells to fool the wards before strolling up to the door and knocking.
A thin-necked woman answered and Voldemort pointed his wand at her before moving forward into the house. He presumed that she must be one of the boy’s relatives.
The woman shakily pointed up the stairs and started backing away. A quick stupefy sent her to the floor.
The dark-haired wizard slowly climbed the stairs and stopped in front of a door with various locks in it. A whispered Silencio masked the sound of Alohomora being cast consecutively. The eerie grin on his face widened more as he pushed to door open to find a limp body on the bed by the door. He walked silently to the side of the bed and grabbed the boy’s shoulder, shaking hard. Emerald eyes opened to look at him and then quickly looked away. It angered Voldemort that he didn’t get a more lively reaction. He watched as the Boy-Who-Lived got out of the bed and stood in front of him, arms to the side.
“Kill me then. That’s what you’re here for, right?”
The dull, empty tone rattled him just slightly and he scrutinized the boy more carefully, understanding dawning on him as he saw the welts, bruises, and still-open gashes on his bane’s body.
Anger boiled inside him. “You’re already half-dead. What’s the point in killing you if you’re not going to fight back.” He took a deep breath and smiled. “No, I’m not going to kill you because you’re going to help me win this war.”
The green eyes narrowed at him and Harry sneered, an expression that didn’t look right on his face. “You don’t honestly think I would help you, do you? I’m already constantly knocked off the pedestal everyone else has put me on because of what I did unconsciously so why would I put myself in a position to be permanently brought down?”
Voldemort grabbed Harry and pulled him towards his chest, noting how he flinched at the grip. “What makes you think you have a choice?”
The Avada Kedavra eyes snapped up to his as he summoned all Harry’s things. He stuffed the shrunken luggage in his pocket and pulled Harry fully against him. He heard a dull roar coming towards him and looked at the door as another of the boy’s relatives came bursting into the room.
“Boy, what the hell did you do to Petunia?”
The tall wizard looked down at Harry as the petit teenager started shuddering and looked back up at the whale-sized Muggle in front of him.
“Who the hell are you, freak?”
Voldemort smirked. “None of your concern,” and disappeared from the room with the 16-year-old in his arms.
Voldemort appeared in his rooms and quickly summoned his house elf. “Go find Severus and bring him here right away.”
He put Harry on the bed and set to removing the blood-stained clothes. He thought the boy would’ve been fighting him but he was just laying there, not moving.
He heard Severus’ gasp from behind him and turned so that the potions master could inspect the damage himself.
“I didn’t realize the abuse was this bad. I know Potter had begged the Headmaster not to sent back there year after year but I figured he was just acting like his father, after more attention.”
“Well, heal him and then we’ll see where this goes. After all, I have plans for him, none of which involve him ever going back to Dumbledore.”
“Yes, my Lord.” Severus ran scans to determine how badly the boy was injured before prying Harry’s mouth open and pouring healing potions down his throat, rubbing his throat to get him to swallow. He knew the Dark Lord was watching but he couldn’t imagine Potter agreeing to any kind of demand from the man who had killed his parents. He uncorked various salves and creams before rubbing them onto some of the worst wounds. “That’s all I can do, my Lord. When he wakes up again, have him take this,” he held up a vial of calming draught, “and please don’t do anything that might rip open his wounds again.”
Voldemort gave him a dark smile. “Why Severus, do you really think I’d do that?”
Severus looked away before leaving.
Harry woke up and cringed as his whole body started yelling at him. He looked around the room and didn’t recognize anything so he racked his mind for what last happened.
“Glad to see you’re awake.”
Harry looked at his side and saw the Dark Lord standing right by the bed.
Harry grabbed the vial and looked at him oddly before downing it. He figured if the Dark Lord was still going to try to kill him, he’d have done it by now. “What do you want from me?”
Voldemort smirked at him. “I told you before. I want you to fight with me, help me win this war.”
“I thought I told you no.”
The Dark Lord knelt on the bed and started speaking Parseltongue. I thought I told you that you didn’t have a choice. I saved you from your retched relatives and I’m not going to let you go back to Dumbledore when you obviously don’t trust him.
So you’re going to let me stay here unharmed?
Well not completely. You’ll train with Severus, Lucius, and myself. Any harm you suffer will be from the training.
Harry saw the bandages on his body. You healed me. Why?
It made sense to me. I need you whole. So will you join me? Voldemort watched as Harry looked at his hands and then around at the room.
Yes I will.