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Author: Zaterra02 ——————————-/ An aged Dark Lord Harry Potter sends his soul and that of his most loyal friend back in time to prevent multiple tragedies. This time, he won't be forgiving everybody who wronged him. Warnings: The story has a total of 28 chapters, only the first being short, the other chapters are quite long. Harry Potter is quite "dark" in this story, but he's not evil. The romantic partner for Harry is Daphne Greengrass. Unlike many other stories, here Dumbledore is nice, he's just an old man who thinks he's doing the right thing. ———————————/ Note: English was not the author's first language, and as good as the story is, the spelling, grammar, and language issues can make it difficult to read. The fact that it's still so popular in spite of all the errors is actually pretty impressive. With that in mind, I decided to take the story and try to clean it up. I haven't changed anything from the original plot. Zaterra02 doesn't seem to be around anymore, but I want to make sure proper credit is given to the original. If you want the original Paid In Blood, search Fanfiction.net, there is the original author's post and several repost from other users
The Dark Lord finished the last line in his circle of runes and rose from the floor to behold his work. He had used a mixture of diamond dust, unicorn blood, and the Elixir of Life from his own Philosopher's Stone to create the paste he used to draw the rune clusters, producing a runic circle one hundred feet in diameter.
The markings were perfectly designed, the result of decades of study and trials and errors uncounted, all leading up to this moment. Depressions had been carved into in the floor, designed in a way that any liquids spilled around the periphery would flow into the centre of the room, where the Dark Lord would be positioned during the ritual.
The Dark Lord was an old man, nearly one hundred years of age, though he didn't look much older than forty. He looked over his shoulder and noticed the presence of his most loyal servant, the one who had stood by him through nearly ninety years of life, wars, happiness, loss, and death. His servant looked back at him with his held head high, as his master had ordered him all those years ago. He too was old.
The difference between him and his master was that he was an elf. He had once been a house-elf, but after making a bond of friendship, allegiance, and loyalty with his master, he had become much more than that. He was a dark elf, his life and the Dark Lord's connected for all time. He alone held his master's ear. He alone served as his master's banner-man, ruling over wizards, goblins, elves, and other magical creatures in his lord's name.
Both he and his master would be considered tyrants, but their world had seen peace for nearly seventy years, both within the Wizarding World and between wizards and muggles.
A cruel grin appeared on the elf's face. He knew what his master was thinking, in fact, he shared the very same thoughts.
"Send them in," his master ordered, his voice ragged, having not spoken in days.
"Wouldn't it be wise to rest first, my lord?" asked the elf, not out of defiance, but out of care and concern. "You should eat and rest before the next step."
The Dark Lord sighed. He truly was weary. He simply nodded and levitated himself from the centre of the rune cluster and sat down on his throne, his servant offering him a plate filled with fruit and a cup of water. The Dark Lord ate, drank, and closed his eyes.
He knew he had fallen asleep when he saw a blue-eyed, blonde beauty smiling sadly at him. He wanted to hold her in his arms and never let her go, but even in his dreams he could never catch her. For nearly eighty years, he'd been haunted by the same vision. Every night he would run after her until he couldn't run anymore, only to wake up in a cold sweat. Adding to his torture was the way she called to him, begging him to catch her. To find her. To hold her. To save her. TO SAVE HER!
The Dark Lord's eyes flared a radiant green as he opened them, his swirling magic filling the room with an eerie glow as he rose from his seat.
"Bring them in!" he ordered. At once the dark elf popped out of the room, and moments later a door opened. Through it came thirty people, spreading out and taking their pre-determined positions around the rune cluster. They crossed their arms behind their backs and awaited their master's commands. Those thirty were under the Imperius Curse, of course. There was no reason why the Dark Lord would allow stupidity or disloyalty to ruin the ritual, important as it was for him. He had been preparing this for decades, and he would not permit any disruptions. The Dark Lord picked up his wand and levitated himself back to the centre of the rune cluster.
"Come, my loyal friend. It is time," he called to his servant, who popped in front of his master, kneeling.
"I will be forever indebted to you for this gift, Master," the dark elf said, looking up at his lord. The Dark Lord smiled and handed his second wand to his friend. Being an elf, he didn't need a wand, but as the Dark Lord learned elven magic, so did the elf learn human magic. Besides, there was no spell in elven magic for what they needed.
"Slit your own throats and bleed into the cavities before you," the Dark Lord ordered the thirty people around them. At once, they all reached for their silver daggers and brought them to their throats. Some simply opened a gash and let the blood flow, while others completely mutilated themselves to allow the blood to flow more quickly. Within minutes, every one of them had bled to death.
The blood slowly flowed down the carved channels towards the centre of the cluster, as the Dark Lord and his elf began chanting in a long-forgotten language. More people came in, taking the places of those who had entered before them. They too slit their own throats, letting the crimson liquid flow into the cavities before them.
The pattern was repeated several times, as the corpses piled around the periphery of the room. The runes started to shine a dangerous red colour as they began to absorb the blood, powering the cluster. When the Dark Lord and his servant had finished chanting, the runes were glowing incandescently, bathing the entire room in an eerie, blood-red glow.
"See you on the other side, my friend," the Dark Lord said, hope in his voice.
"I shall be there, my lord," the dark elf replied, equally hopeful. With one last smile at each other, they raised their wands and pointed them at themselves.
"AVADA KEDAVRA!" they intoned simultaneously, green light erupting from their wands and hitting themselves in the chest.
They did not die, however. Instead, they were both assaulted by excruciating pain, as if they were being ripped apart. They soon found themselves watching their own bodies wither and become dust, only to be blown away by the winds that had lifted in the room. They, or their souls, as the Dark Lord theorised, were in agony, as they too were ripped from existence and absorbed by the blood-powered runes. The last thing the Dark Lord saw before everything became a void was the face of a blue-eyed, blonde beauty.
