Submission to Darkness
Ch. 1
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"Kill the spare!"
"No!"
Harry moved without thinking, running towards Cedric before the hooded stranger with the bundle in his arms could get him. His wand in a tight grip, Harry jumped towards Cedric, and a gravestone near them sprung into the air, taking the killing curse for them as they fell to the ground. His scar exploding with pain, Harry could barely see what was around him. He and Cedric fell behind a tombstone, however somehow the older boy became unconscious. He knew that the short man in the cloak was coming closer, and he had to do something before he reached Harry and Cedric. Gritting through the pain, Harry jumped up suddenly, and screamed out "Avada Kedavra!"
The Killing Curse shot from Harry's wand like a bullet leaving its chamber. Whizzing through the air, the silent killer missed its mark, instead the curse exploded into a tombstone near the hooded figure, shattering it to pieces. His head burning too much to take another shot, Harry fell next to Cedric. Through the pain, harry felt himself being pulled to his feet.
The short man in the cloak had put down his bundle, lit his wand, and was dragging Harry toward the marble headstone. Harry saw the name upon it flickering in the wandlight before he was forced around and slammed against it.
TOM RIDDLE
The cloaked man was now conjuring tight cords around Harry, tying him from neck to ankles to the headstone. Harry could hear shallow, fast breathing from the depths of the hood; he struggled, and the man hit him—hit him with a hand that had a finger missing. And Harry realized who was under the hood.
"You!" He growled at Wormtail.
Wormtail did not reply; he was busy checking the tightness of the cords, his fingers trembling uncontrollably, fumbling over the knots. Once sure that Harry was bound so tightly to the headstone that he couldn't move an inch, Wormtail drew a length of some black material from the inside of his cloak and stuffed it roughly into Harry's mouth; then, without a word, he turned from harry and hurried away
Harry looked around frantically for his wand while Wormtail busied himself somewhere out of his view. He looked towards Cedric's body, still unconscious some twenty feet away. Don't wake up, please stay sleeping, Harry begged silently. Some way beyond him, glinting in the starlight, lay the Triwizard Cup. Harry's wand was on the ground at Cedric's feet. The bundle of robes was close by, at the foot of the grave. It seemed to be stirring fretfully. Harry watched it, and his scar seared with pain again.
That's where he is… Harry thought. Have to kill him somehow before he kills us.
Wormtail came back moments later, pushing a heavy large stone cauldron into Harry's view. It was full of what seemed to be water—harry could hear it slopping around—and it was larger than any cauldron Harry had ever used; a great stone belly large enough for a full-grown man to sit in.
Harry quickly looked at the bundle of robes and through the pain in his scar, began piecing the two mentally. He struggled, his tongue pushing against the forced cloth in his mouth, opening and closing his mouth and moving his jaw until he was able to spit it out as Wormtail emptied the robes into the stone cauldron. "Wormtail!" He called out.
Wormtail stopped and turned to Harry, scared. Harry's scar was burning almost pass his endurance, but he gritted through it. "I'm going to kill you Wormtail!" Harry yelled. "Let that monster drown, or else I'll make it last!"
Wormtail's voice shook; he was frightened beyond his wits. But not of Harry, of Voldemort in the cauldron. He raised his wand, closed his eyes, and spoke to the night. "Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son!" The surface of the grave at Harry's feet cracked. A fine trickle of dust rose into the air at Wormtail's command and fell softly into the cauldron. Sparks were sent in all directions.
"Stop it Wormtail! You will die!" Harry warned. "I missed the first time, but I won't miss the second!" He did not know where this sudden feeling was coming from, however the angrier he got, the less the pain dulled in his scar. Growling and struggling like a captured animal, Harry continued to threaten Wormtail, who was now whimpering. He pulled out a long, thin, shining silver dagger from inside his cloak. His voice broke into petrified sobs.
"Flesh—of the servant—w-willingly given—you will—revive—your master."
He stretched his right hand out in front of him—the hand with the missing finger. He gripped the dagger very tightly in his left hand and swung it upward. Harry watched with great intensity, his anger making him stoic as Wormtail brought the knife down. His scream pierced the night as the hand fell to the ground. Wormtail had to pick it up through anguished panting and dropped it into the cauldron. "I hope that hurts," Harry snarled. "Every bit of pain you feel will be nothing compared to when I get free."
Wormtail was gasping and moaning with agony as he forced himself towards Harry. The knife was in Wormtail's remaining hand. "Blood of the enemy… forcibly taken… you will… resurrect your foe."
The point penetrated the crook of his right arm and blood seeped down the sleeve of his torn robes. Wormtail, still panting with pain, fumbled in his pocket for a glass vial and held it to Harry's cut, so that a dribble of blood fell into it.
He staged back to the cauldron with Harry's blood. He poured it inside. The liquid within turned, instantly, a blinding white. Wormtail, his job done, dropped to his knees beside the cauldron, then slumped sideways and lay on the ground, cradling the bleeding stump of his arm, gasping and sobbing.
The diamond sparks in the cauldron exploded all at once before simmering into nothingness. Harry watched through gritted teeth as though the mist, Harry saw an outline of a man, tall and skeletally thin, rising slowly from inside the cauldron.
"Robe me," said the high, cold voice from behind the steam, and Wormtail, sobbing and moaning, still cradling his mutilated arm, scrambled to pick up the black robes from the ground, got to his feet, reached up, and pulled them one-handed over his master's head.
The thin man stepped out of the cauldron, staring at Harry …and Harry stared back into the face that had haunted his nightmares for three years. Whiter than a skull, with wide, livid scarlet eyes and a nose that was flat as a snake's with slits for nostrils…
Lord Voldemort had risen again.
"Harry… I do believe I heard you promised to kill my servant," Voldemort said. Their eyes still connected, Harry felt a pain in his head, far deeper than before, originating from somewhere unknown as Voldemort hissed softly. "Yes… plenty of anger indeed… so much darkness that Dumbledore does not know about. So much anger… and a want to submit, but to who?" Voldemort stepped towards Harry. The boy tried to struggle but for some reason he couldn't turn away. All he could do was to stare at Lord Voldemort's red eyes as the monster continued to his into the air. The feeling delved deeper inside Harry. He couldn't understand it.
"Hmm… men is it, powerful men… even though you have power that you are too scared to use… power that…" Voldemort's lips curled and Harry felt a hateful shiver go down his back. "Harry Potter… you do not have to die here, tied to my father's grave. I can see your darkness, boy. I can see your willingness to submit… and your hunger to learn. I can help you there, Harry. I can show you the beauty in the shadows… the power in the darkness. Follow Dumbledore's path, and you will never have him… he will never know you… and you will die alone. However, I can save you Harry, think of it, wouldn't it be better to live and learn by me and have the chance to submit to him… receive all you can from him instead of dying alone?"
Harry didn't know what happened. The more Voldemort talked, the hazier his head felt. His anger was slowly being striped away small layers at a time, along with the pain from his forehead. The things Voldemort was saying was starting to make sense, in fact they were starting to become preferable. He did not want to die, far from it. He was scared of dying, just as he was scared of being alone. He didn't know how Voldemort could find all this out, however he knew… he knew Harry's darkest desires, Harry's preferences… and the more he talked about them, the more Harry wanted to agree.
"I can make you into the perfect one for him, and yourself. Take the darkness within you and mold it into a being more powerful than you or Dumbledore could ever dream of! Join me, Potter, and you will have everything."
Harry did not realize that the rope tying him to the tombstone was done, nor that he was now standing in front of the Dark Lord. All that mattered was the hazy feeling inside his head, mixed with thoughts of the boy he loved. Nothing else mattered, nothing else existed. He wanted him, wanted to submit to him… he was scared of losing him… even if the boy Harry loved did not know his attraction. There was also the power behind the Dark Arts, the sense of thrill Harry felt when he casted the Killing Curse, and the morbid fascination that that spell was his first choice out of instinct.
His eyes had both a sharp yet glassy look as he looked up at Voldemort. The older man smirked victoriously down at Harry. "Bow, Potter, show me your allegiance to the Dark Arts, and I will lead you to him."
Harry found himself moving slowly, his knees lowering as clarity started to come from the fog. He stopped but only for a second before continuing to bow in front of the Dark Lord. I don't want to die, and this is the only way to love him, Harry thought. He knelt fully in front of Lord Voldemort; his head slightly downcast.
"My… so you've been practicing your kneeling, haven't you Potter?" Voldemort mocked. "Stay." Voldemort slipped one of those unnaturally long-fingered hands into a deep pocket and drew out a wand. He caressed it gently; and then raised it, and pointed it at Wormtail, who was lifted off the ground and thrown against the tombstone Harry was once tied. Harry kept his head down, staying in place until he was told otherwise. The twins told him that this was how good subs acted, and now he had the chance to be one.
"My—my Lord…" Wormtail choked, "My Lord… you promised… you did promise…"
"Hold our your arm," Voldemort said lazily.
"Oh Master… thank you, Master…" He held out the bleeding stump, but Voldemort laughed.
"Your other arm, Wormtail."
"Master please… please…"
Voldemort bent down and pulled out Wormtail's left arm; he forced the sleeve of Wormtail's robes up past his elbow, and Harry glanced over to see something on the skin there, something like a vivid red tattoo—a skull with a snake protruding from its mouth—the same image Harry saw floating in the sky at the Quidditch World Cup: The Dark Mark. Voldemort examined it carefully, ignoring Wormtail's uncontrollable weeping.
"It is back," he said softly, "they will all have noticed it… and now, we shall see … now we shall know …" He pressed his long white forefinger to the brand on Wormtail's arm and Wormtail let out a fresh howl of pain. The mark on his arm turned jet black. A look of cruel satisfaction on his face, Voldemort straightened up, threw back his head, and stared around at the dark graveyard. "How many will be brave enough to return when they feel it?" he whispered, his gleaming red eyes fixed upon the stars. "And how many will be foolish enough to stay away?"
His eyes fell on Harry. "Stand, boy."
He obeyed, ignoring the pain as he stood to his feet, his head still looking down. "Look at me." He finally looked up. "You seem a natural Harry," Voldemort chuckled, his red eyes twinkling with a forbidden knowledge Harry wasn't privy to. "You did not scream or try to escape… I feel you should be rewarded."
"Thank you, Sir," slipped out of Harry's mouth before he could even think of a response. It's coming so naturally, he thought, will it be the same with him?
"Go get your wand, Potter, and hold your head high," Voldemort commanded.
Harry nodded, he moved silently towards Cedric and knelt down to pick up his wand, quickly checking to see if Cedric was still breathing. Good, stay sleeping, please, this will all be over soon, he thought as he stood up, wand in hand. He returned to Voldemort.
"I believe you've mentioned something about killing Wormtail," Voldemort said, amused. "His usefulness has just run out. Take care of him. Think of all the woe he has caused you… your parents… Black and Lupin. All those lives he destroyed from his own cowardness. He is too weak to live Harry… end him."
Harry did not need any more encouragement. His thoughts on Sirius and Lupin, he raised his wand and aimed it directly at Wormtail. He did not notice the air around them, now suddenly full of swishing cloaks. Between graves, behind the yew tree, in every shadowy space, wizards were Apparating. All of them were hooded and masked. And one by one they moved forward… slowly, cautiously, as though they could hardly believe their yes. Harry ignored all of this as he said with such anger, and such malice that it broke his soul and heart, "Avada Kedavra."
A burst of green light, and Wormtail was dead. Voldemort's chuckles filled the air. Harry felt Voldemort's hand on his shoulder. "Good… good Harry," he said. "Now… take the cup and leave. I will contact you later."
Harry nodded and went towards Cedric's body. Before Voldemort could object, or even notice, and before the Death Eaters could comment on Harry, he fell on Cedric's body, holding tightly as he whipped his wand towards the Triwizard Cup, "Accio!"
The cup went flying towards Harry. He caught it, and they were gone. The graveyard vanished in front of them, as he felt the familiar tightening sensation of using a Portkey. His hazy mind and exhaustion reached up to him as he and Cedric fell in front of the roaring crowd in the Quidditch Pitch. He remembered yelling about Voldemort being back, about looking frantic about it. He and Cedric were rushed to the hospital wing but Professor Moody intervened. Harry remembered Dumbledore bursting in… Moody becoming someone else, but he couldn't keep track as his hazy mind kept him from focusing. It was as though he was in a tired, dream shuffling foot to foot towards some unknown destination.
The next moment he was conscious, Harry saw that he was in the Hospital Wing. Cedric was up next to him, it was late at night, well pass midnight. "Harry… Harry, are you up?" Cedric asked.
"Hmm…yeah," Harry groaned.
"What happened?" Cedric asked. "The cup, it was a portkey, right? There was a guy there, what happened?"
"It's a long story," Harry said, his head becoming clearer and clearer. He sat up straighter and turned to look at Cedric more clearly. "If you can't sleep, I'll tell all of it."
"Yeah," Cedric nodded. "I want to understand what happened."
"Well," Harry sighed, "It began before the Third Task, Cedric. It all started with my love of Draco Malfoy."