Are people afraid of reading horror?
***
While Bellatrix and Macnair guarded our guest and the other Death Eaters gathered Muggles in Muggle London, I was preparing the ritual chamber.
I erected seven ritual circles around the central altar of black obsidian. Into each of them, I wove immobilizing and numbing spells; the Muggles had to be calm, submissive, and unaware of what awaited them, so that their fear would not taint the ritual blood. I fitted the altar itself with silver chains, enchanted so that any victim in their grasp would freeze in absolute immobility. I carved runes into the stone, which now pulsed with a dim light, suppressing any foreign magic on the altar. Deep grooves—funnels designed to ensure the blood from the victims flowed exactly where it was meant to—stretched from the ritual circles toward the center. To the altar.
Finally, everything was ready. I had a few minutes, so I sank into my memories through deep meditation.
Shortly after my studies at Hogwarts, I traveled the world seeking forbidden knowledge. In the ruins of ancient Alexandria, I stumbled upon scrolls covered in ancient hieroglyphs. I had to completely subjugate the mind of an Egyptian professor to have him translate those bloody secrets into Latin. It was there that I found the foundations for my Horcruxes, but those scrolls hid something else. A ritual so cruel and dark that even the most depraved ancient priests did not dare to perform it.
That is exactly what I will bestow upon my greatest enemy.
I had long since lost the translated scrolls, but thanks to Occlumency, every single symbol, every step, and every effect of the ritual was etched into my mind.
I returned to the main hall. With a flick of my wand, I ripped the nails from Harry's palms; he fell to the stone floor limp and with a heavy thud. I motioned for Bellatrix and Macnair to take him.
As soon as we entered the ritual room, I let his body levitate and placed him on the cold obsidian altar. With a wave of my wand, I activated the silver chains. With a metallic clink, they wrapped around his throat, chest, and mangled limbs so tightly that he couldn't even move. I noticed he was already alert. Even through that unimaginable pain, he perceived his surroundings—he was only playing helpless, desperately waiting for the slightest chance to escape. Fool. There is no escape from this place.
"Bellatrix, forearm," I commanded with a cruel smile. With a brief touch of my wand to her Mark, I summoned the others. It was time. My servants began to pour into the hall, leading confused Muggle victims with them. The Muggles had glassy, vacant stares; under the influence of the Imperius Curse, they walked obediently like cattle to the slaughter.
"Seven Muggles in each circle! Exactly!" I hissed at them.
I watched as my faithful mechanically divided those pieces of meat into the prepared circles. Forty-nine pairs of empty eyes, seven circles, and in the center, Harry Potter. The geometry of the ritual was perfect.
The ritual could finally begin. I raised my yew wand and, in a deep, guttural voice, began to recite words that the world had not heard for millennia:
"Septem circuli, septem fata, ad unum finem coeunt."
The air in the ritual chamber immediately thickened and began to pulse with raw magic. The ritual circles glowed with an unnatural light, and I felt a dark, euphoric power filling me. I closed my eyes in bliss.
"Sanguis quadraginta novem, flumen ad inferos, aperi januam tenebrarum!"
The circles pulsed one last time. At that same moment, blood began to pour from the Muggles with unnatural violence. It flowed directly into the pre-prepared grooves and, with a squelching sound, filled the space around the obsidian altar.
"O, Spiritus Abyssi, exhauri hanc formam fragilem. Intra in vas paratum!"
The magic sucked the last remains of life from the Muggles. All that remained of them were shriveled, dried pieces of meat and bone, tossed in the circles like waste. Potter disappeared. In his place on the altar pulsed a massive bloody cocoon, absorbing all that life essence.
"Harry Potter, non iam puer, sed vinculum daemonis! Fiat lux obscura!"
Immediately after I spoke the last word, the magic in the room grew so heavy it was almost impossible to breathe. All that darkness began to be violently sucked into the cocoon. Its color changed from a menacing red to an impenetrable, pitch black, and its surface hardened to stone.
An absolute, deathly silence reigned in the hall. Then came the first dry crack. The cocoon shattered into a thousand black shards. The enchanted silver chains that were supposed to hold Potter in place could not withstand the pressure and flew apart like threads.
Potter stood up abruptly with a guttural growl. He was no longer that weak boy. His eyes now shone piercingly with the unnatural color of the Avada Kedavra curse. He no longer looked like a phantom on the verge of death—his body was tall and powerful, every single muscle perfectly defined, with bulging veins pulsing under his taut skin.
His skin, however, was no longer human. It was deathly, dark black, as if it absorbed even what little light was in the room. Spikes of sharp black bone protruded from his shoulders and elbows, and from his forehead, exactly where the lightning bolt scar used to be, curved hellish horns now grew. Only tattered rags remained of his clothing. What stood there was not a man, but a wild beast ready to kill.
I smirked. The ritual was a success, and I felt victory in every breath. Without a word, with only a brief nod of my chin, I gave Macnair the command to attack. I wanted to see what this creature could do.
"Crucio!" Macnair screamed.
The red bolt hit the Beast's chest with full force. However, it didn't even flinch. It didn't double over in pain or cry out. It just stood there, watching Macnair with those glowing Avada-colored eyes. The Unforgivable Curse didn't even move it; it took it as a silent invitation.
In a fraction of a second, a black shadow flickered through the space. The Beast was upon him before Macnair could take another breath. It grabbed him by the throat with one hand and lifted him high like a ragdoll. Macnair thrashed helplessly, his legs flailing in the air, pure terror in his eyes. I saw the Beast smile—it was the wide, jagged grin of a creature enjoying its prey's agony.
Then the Beast squeezed sharply. In the silent room, the sound of crushing cartilage and bone rang out so loudly it hurt the ears. Macnair's throat was instant mush. He was left a wheezing shadow of a man, but for the Beast, it wasn't enough.
It opened its jaws unnaturally wide, the joints in its jaw snapping loudly. In one fluid motion, it bit into Macnair's head and tore off a massive chunk of flesh and bone. Warm blood sprayed in all directions, staining the monster's black chest and the obsidian altar. Behind my back, I heard muffled gagging sounds—some of my faithful Death Eaters couldn't mentally handle the sight.
The Beast, however, lapped up the blood and chewed its prey with a squelch. Harry Potter was dead. This was something else.
After a while, the Beast collapsed. It was accompanied by the foul sound of snapping bones and contracting muscles, until Harry Potter lay on the ground again. He was different—tall, strong, and muscular, but his skin had a human color again and the horns had vanished.
This was exactly how it was meant to be. The demon within him would now sleep, feeding on his trauma and gradually taking control. Potter himself would murder his loved ones and eventually, when not a shred of humanity remained in him, he would destroy himself.
"Severus?" I called into the huddle of Death Eaters, who were still reeling from Macnair's death.
My favorite half-blood immediately stepped forward with a deep bow. I respected his abilities, but I never trusted him. He was a true Slytherin—too cunning for me to risk him informing Dumbledore about what happened here today. Potter had to be my secret trump card. A perfectly disguised Trojan horse.
I didn't wait.
"Avada Kedavra!"
A flash of green light illuminated the ritual chamber. Severus Snape didn't expect it; he didn't even raise his wand. He simply slumped dead at my feet with a vacant stare fixed on the ceiling. A murmur of horror rippled through the hall.
"Lucius," I called coldly.
Malfoy literally crawled toward me. Where was that famous pride of his? Now he was just a broken dog.
"Ye... yes, my... my lord? What can I do for you?" he let out in a trembling voice. At least he didn't wet himself this time.
"Apparate Potter to Diagon Alley. But first, discreetly tip off someone from the Order of the Phoenix so they find him there," I ordered with a cruel smile.
"Right away, my lord!" he blurted out and immediately ran to fulfill the order. Once, he might have dared to doubt, to ask if I was sure. Now, however, he knew very well that every hesitation separated him by only a millimeter from the fate that befell Snape.
***
I woke up. My heart was pounding wildly, my ears strained to hear the sound of torture. For a moment, I just lay motionless, but around me, there was only a familiar, quiet breathing. I was lying in a soft bed and could smell the scent of the Burrow—old wood, dried herbs, and Molly's freshly laundered sheets. I was safe.
It must have been just a dream. Voldemort would never let me go, not like that. But what happened? Why am I here? I had to get answers, even though it was the middle of the night.
I started nudging Ron. He only snorted, "Whaat... go to sleep, Harry," and rolled onto his other side. I nudged him harder. He could sleep later; I needed to know if I hadn't gone mad.
"Ron, wake up! It's important!" When he still wouldn't move, I yanked the duvet off him.
"Alright, alright... keep your hair on. You're worse than Mum," he yawned and finally sat up, rubbing his sleepy eyes.
"Ron, how did I get to the Burrow? I was supposed to be at the Dursleys', wasn't I?" I asked tensely.
Ron stared at me for a moment as if I'd lost it, but then he started talking. With every word he spoke, I felt something cruel and alien awakening within me.
"The Order brought you in last night. They found you dumped and tattered in Diagon Alley. Thank God you're alive!"
The blood froze in my veins. Ron didn't notice; he just stared vacantly into the darkness. "Dumbledore got a message from Snape that Voldemort had gotten you. We were all out of our minds with worry." He paused for a moment and then added with admiration, "How did you escape him? You're bloody lucky, mate. But... what the hell were you doing all summer? You look different. You're huge, all muscle. Was Hagrid sending you some kind of supplements?"
A single thought exploded in my head.
"Fuck, it wasn't a dream."
I felt the darkness rising within me. It clawed its way to the surface with an insatiable, animal hunger. I looked at my hands, and although they were smooth and clean, I could still smell the scent of Macnair's blood.
"By the way, Hermione is here too. When she found out you'd been kidnapped, she came immediately!" Ron blurted out with relief in his voice, completely unaware that death was already sitting on the next bed.
"Ron, please... run! Get away!" I screamed, but in that second, agony paralyzed me. I felt my bones breaking and knitting back together at unnatural angles, my skin turning black under the onslaught of darkness. I lost control. The demon within me took the helm, and I was pushed into the background, trapped inside my own head.
Instead of running, Ron did the worst thing possible—he lunged toward me and started screaming desperately, "Dad! Dad, something's happening to Harry!"
I pleaded desperately in my mind, screaming in that dark void my mind had become: "Please, leave him! Get away from him!" But the demon ignored me.
Stupid, loyal Ron... he believed it was me. He should have given up on me; he should have left me alone like he did during the Tournament. Now his kindness would kill him.
With horror, I watched as my own body grabbed him by the waist and lifted him high. My mouth opened unnaturally wide and, with a violent, wet snap, tore out his entire throat. Hot blood sprayed onto the walls, onto Ron's posters, onto everything. A shocked Ron just stared blankly ahead while his soul escaped his fading eyes. He died within seconds.
I could taste the iron and salt of Ron's blood flowing down my throat. In every crushing snap of his bones, I heard the end of my old life. I had killed him. My best friend, the brother I chose. And the Beast just purred contentedly.
Suddenly, footsteps echoed in the hallway. Rapid, frightened. I heard the thumping of feet on the stairs, but the Beast didn't care. It continued to feed contentedly on the body of my best friend as if it were just some prey in the forest.
The door burst open. Molly and Arthur were standing there. Mrs. Weasley immediately began to scream—it was a sound that tore at my ears and my soul. Arthur just stood there, incapable of word or movement, staring in shock at the bloody remains of his youngest son.
"Please, please, leave them..." I prayed in my mind, desperately trying to regain control over at least one muscle. In vain. Mrs. Weasley's scream was only an annoying noise to the demon, one that needed to be silenced.
The Beast lunged. Its speed was unnatural, just a blurred black shadow. With one violent swing of a hand tipped with claws sharp as razors, it decapitated Molly Weasley. A geyser of hot blood immediately erupted from her neck, which I could feel all the way inside. The room filled with a heavy, metallic smell of blood mixed with excrement and the scent of pure terror.
While Arthur watched this bloody spectacle motionless, the Beast savored the sight of her collapsing body. Why wasn't he running? Why didn't he pull out his wand and hit me with a curse that would end us both? He should have killed me.
But he just stood there, a broken man in petrified horror.
In a second, the Beast was behind his back. Arthur didn't even have time to scream. A sharp claw sliced his back open from his neck to his tailbone. I felt the resistance of bones and tendons as, with one brutal yank, it tore out his entire spine along with part of his ribs. Arthur fell to the ground like a deboned rag.
In the bloody silence that followed Arthur's last rattle, the Beast paused for a moment. A deep, rhythmic growling came from its (my) chest. It surveyed the massacre with satisfaction—the room that was once a sanctuary had turned into a slaughterhouse. Blood dripped from the ceiling to the floor in regular, heavy drops.
But the hunger within me was far from satisfied. That alien intelligence now controlling my limbs was only just warming up. It felt other lives in the house. The sweet, pulsing warmth of blood hiding behind the thin walls of the Burrow. It felt their fear—and that tasted the best.
"Enough! Stop it! Please, leave them!" I screamed in the darkness of my mind, but my voice was only a quiet whisper against its hunger.
***
Author's note:
Darker than you imagined? What are your theories? How will the story unfold, and more importantly... will anyone survive the night?
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Upcoming Chapters:
3. The Demon's Feast
4. The Symbiosis of Terror
5. The Last Enemy
6. Epilogue: A World Apart