Harry Potter
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When people asked about it later, he would tell them it had, like at lot of things, started with a curse. If he was being totally truthful, however, he might have admitted that it had really started with his being in the exact wrong place at the exact wrong time or -- if you took the "glass half full" approach to life -- the exact right place at the exact right time.
At any rate, it could have been a whole lot worse, and it was only speed and sheer dumb luck that stopped it from being so. Speed in that it was one Severus Snape who had been the first to reach one Harry Potter after the curse hit and had guarded his dubious prize with the knowledge that no matter how bad Voldemort might be, being thrown straight into Azkaban by Dumbledore himself was far, far worse.
The sheer dumb luck, of course, was merely Voldemort himself. Voldemort, whose megalomania had fed him the brilliant idea that -- while killing Harry would be rather neat -- when all things were said and done, it would be much more fun to make him suffer first. Preferably in the most humiliating and depraved way, and by his own hand. And so he'd found the ideal curse -- a long since outlawed derivative of Imperio -- but had run into a wall because the curse itself required that a certain amount of... physical contact occur, and if there was one thing Voldemort hated even more than Harry Potter and the idea of his own mortality, it was physical contact; especially of the kind this curse required. So, when the boy had stupidly stumbled upon a full meeting of the current Minions of Evil, Voldemort had taken his opportunity, thrown the curse, then thrown the boy to the hordes to share around. He hadn't, he would later admit, counted on Snape's vehement protection of his new piece of property; but, from a strategic point of view -- Snape's best one -- it made prefect sense. Dumbledore would have demanded nothing but the protection of his indispensable poster boy of Light, and now was not the time for Snape to reveal his long-standing triple cross.
Besides, Voldemort rather suspected Snape would enjoy the experience.
In truth, Severus was in the middle of a rather serious aneurysm. He hadn't recognized the curse, but he certainly hadn't liked the way it was followed up with the hiss of "Catch him, and he's all yours." But he decided to worry about that later, since now there were a score of hungry-looking white masks leering down at him.
He drew his wand and hissed a quick hex; just enough to keep them back. "Mine!"
He received several angry hisses, and for a moment it looked as if there would be a fight brewing until an amused command of, "Enough. Get back, all of you!" from Voldemort left him alone in the center of the circle with the dead weight of Harry still in his arms. A quick check revealed Harry to be alive, at least -- and thank god for small favors. He was flushed, though, and slightly feverish. Most disquieting, however, was the way he moaned when Severus touched his face. It sounded almost... sexual. Knowing Voldemort, it probably was.
Merlin's bloody friggin' owl; what the hell have I gotten myself into now...
While dreadful scenarios were unfolding themselves in Severus' mind, Voldemort was busy calling the meeting to a close. Just as Severus was planning on taking his dubious prize and leaving, Voldemort's hiss once again made itself known.
"You will take him back to Hogwarts?"
"Of course, Lord."
A curt nod. "Excellent. It will be yet another fortuitous ‘rescue' to add to your already impressive record."
Severus merely gave a humble bow. "Anything for you, my Lord." A pause. "My Lord?"
"Speak."
"What was the curse?"
Voldemort merely gave a smile -- and if that wasn't the most horrid sight in the world, Severus didn't know what was. "You're a very resourceful man. I'm sure you'll figure it out eventually."
Oh fuck you. Ruddy great nitwit...
"Of course, my Lord." He rose, hefting Harry -- still limp in his arms and emitting the occasional low moan -- gave an awkward bow, and set off for home.
And that, as they say, was the start of it.