I won't waste your time with some useless ranting.

Just enjoy the chapter!

CHAPTER TWO

Silence had been reigning long before they arrived. Who would dare speak in the presence of every single Death Eater and their fearsome Leader?

Mrs. Malfoy quickly made her way over to the right side, where black robed figures were seated and took her place beside a man with equally golden hair, if not a shade fainter. Draco was soon to follow, his gaze flickering over to Harry for a split second, before sitting between his mother and a woman with midnight black hair that fell in dark curls over her shoulders and back. That damned glee was ever present in her onyx eyes as they focused on Harry.

But Harry couldn't bring himself to care.

He hadn't expected the Malfoys to linger with him, but he had still hoped beyond hope. Voldemort wouldn't have allowed it anyway. No, the man wanted him to be alone as he made that final step.

His couldn't, for the life of him, lift his gaze over to where he knew the elder wizard to be standing. Didn't want to see those green eyes gleaming with the immense satisfaction that the man was sure to be feeling. Ah, that's right. He had nearly forgotten that the Dark Lord had had a change of heart on the matter of his appearance. Harry hadn't known that such an extreme alteration was even possible but when, on one of the few occasions the wizard had come to Hogwarts in the past week, he had seen the very same boy that he had met five years ago, striding through the halls, he had nearly had a heart attack.

And the bastard had even had the audacity to smirk at his gobsmacked expression!

But Harry had to give credit when it was earned. The man knew how to handle any kind of situation. Fear and intimidation were a given factor in order to win a war, but ruling a country required charm and respect; something that his former visage could absolutely not provide.

The wizard's actual age though, must have played a role or two, for he now seemed closer to twenty rather than the sixteen year old that Harry remembered.

His gaze suddenly drifted downwards, focusing entirely at the green of his robes as he felt all those stares turn on him at once. It must have been kind of a shock too. Gryffindor's Golden Boy wrapped up in Slytherin colors.

Another message for the world to see, courtesy of the Dark Lord.

When the Death Eater had brought him his dress robes, Harry hadn't known what to expect, but it definitely wasn't this. The formal robes he was supposed to wear were the darkest of green, so dark that in fact, it seemed like he was dressed in black. But no, of course not. Voldemort would never do him such a favor. It was to his greatest horror when he discovered that whenever you placed the clothes some place light, the material would shine the brightest of green. His silver tie was no exception.

A vicious, little sting caused him to cringe involuntary, eyes snapping up in exasperation but still refusing to go anywhere near the source of his discomfort.

He had forgotten the Dark Lord did not appreciate tardiness.

'Better get this over and done with.' Harry thought irritably and forcing his expression to remain neutral, he lifted his chin, posture straightening and then he proceeded forward.

From the corner of his eye, he could see the way all those people gazed at him, feel the weight of all their stares and whatever kind of emotion they held. Pity. Oh, yes, there was that. He, the ever suffering figurehead of all that was Light, the poor boy that paid for all of their mistakes and wrongs, the unfortunate soul that had been dragged into a war in the mere age of one.

Then, there were also those that would tear their gaze away the moment his eyes would seek theirs.

Ah… regret.

They could see, the entire lot of them, how wrong it was to allow someone else to burden all of their weights, to take a little kid and raise it accordingly in order to turn it into the perfect little martyr.

At least, they were aware that he was doing this for their sake. Good, about bloody time to start experiencing some of the guilt their actions guaranteed.

Still…

Sudden movement, somewhere to his left, caught Harry's attention, his steps faltering of their own accord before halting completely. Angling his head accordingly, he could feel the slight widening of his eyes and before he knew it, his whole body had turned to face the horrifying sight.

Sirius… the ever so joyful face of his godfather, that ear splitting grin that would always adorn his face whenever he felt proud for something that Harry did, whether it was a prank or an exceedingly good mark… was now gone. His eyebrows furrowed at the picture the once proud man now was. Cuts, bruises and any other injury an illegal hex or curse could provide, expression scrunched up into one of mind shattering rage, one that would fairly rival that of Lord Voldemort, and hair disheveled, wild locks sticking to his face.

Harry knew that his condition was none other than the result of the Final Battle. The man couldn't have possibly sustained all of those during the past week, for the simple reason that no one was allowed to harm the people, foe or citizen alike.

He could see him opening his mouth, apparently screaming something to him, but Harry was unable to hear any of it thanks to the strong Silencing Charm.

Not bearing to watch those haunting blue eyes any longer, Harry shifted his gaze over to the figure beside Sirius, green instantly locking with brown. The calmness in those gentle, almond colored eyes, such an overwhelming contrast to his godfather's emotions, caught him off guard. It was the calmness of acceptance, of resignation.

His vision was getting blurrier by each second, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from that gaze. Rooted as he was on the spot, he allowed himself this moment, to bask in the affection and love that never faded nor dimmed in those soft, brown depths, but also the pride. So unlike the pride that he was granted with when he did well in performing an advanced spell, and yet, so utterly welcoming. It took away all his guilt for failing in the task that was set upon him, wrenched apart the images from the looks of disappointment he received, and granted him solace.

Remus didn't struggle in his binds like Sirius, didn't speak either, aware of the futile attempt it would be thanks to the Charm that had no doubt been placed upon him as well. And yet, it was as if he had shouted the words.

You've done well.

Harry's eyes were starting to sting from the strain he was putting in them, absolutely refusing to allow the water in them to flow. His scar had also begun stinging somewhere along the way, soon turning into a painful throb after it was ignored for too long. His time was up.

He tuned out the pain for a second, desperate to relish the moment that he knew he would never get to experience again after today.

Gazing at the two figures that he had come to view as family for the last four years, he allowed his lips to stretch ever so lightly, forming a soft, gentle smile that had Sirius actually ceasing in his vigorous struggling. He poured into that one, last smile all the emotions that had welled up inside him, filling him to the brim. And they heard the words he had been unable to let spill from his mouth, like a Silencing Charm had been cast on him too, the words he wanted them to remember forever.

I love you, always.

He whirled around then, face morphing into one of utter stoicism, deprived of any kind of emotion whatsoever but apathy. Only then did he allow himself the first glimpse of that perfectly crafted scene before him.

A mere few feet away, right at the edge of the Lake, four columns stood, proudly looming over the waters and casting an eerie glow on the surface. They were made out of pearl-white marble, the kind that would glisten as the sunrays licked its skin, and were placed squarely. Like four, well trained guardians, they were hovering over an equally pearl-white, obviously marble too, long table.

At a first glance, the scene would seem cut out from a fairytale, what with its peaceful and calming demeanor… and then, just as the spectator would start feeling at ease, his eyes would land on the figure beside the table.

Dressed in particularly dark, crimson robes, as if to separate them from the joyously bright, Gryffindor category, emerald eyes gleaming with a spark that had nothing to do with the sun, seeing as he was in the shade and all, and short black, wavy but neat, hair dancing smoothly alongside the wind as it blew, the Dark Lord seemed like the epitome of nastiness to Harry. A demon, alluring and devious, observing its trapped prey and waiting for the perfect moment to pounce.

Harry didn't realize he had been staring right into those hellish green depths until the contact was broken, the man now facing the other way around, his robes performing a smooth, whishing sound at his sharp turn. Harry wasn't entirely sure, but he thought he caught sight of a curl on the man's lip before it had been guided into a thin line again. Seems like he hadn't been spared the sneering after all.

Well, pity.

Filling his lungs with a much needed breath of air, Harry took the final, necessary steps that would lead him right over to Voldemort, his legs halting of their own accord just as he was a breath away, his instincts kicking in and trying vainly to talk some sense into him. He should have let those people vent for themselves, he still could. An image, brief but vivid, of those blue and brown eyes flashed right before his eyes, and he was suddenly reminded of another pair, or two pairs in specific.

Sirius and Remus weren't the only ones he was doing this for. There were others, equally important people that he wanted to keep safe, his two best friends being among them.

Yes, he wasn't doing this just for the Wizarding community; he was also doing it for those he held dear to his heart. After all, who else could do the impossible but him? And not because his head had been filled with all those vain ideas of Chosen Ones and Saviors, but because he knew from experience that no one was as foolish as to stand up against the darkest wizard of all time, but him. He had proven that numerous times already in the past, and there was no way in hell that he was going to let the Dark Lord feeling smug about his accomplishment for long.

It was with a renewed resolve that he took his assigned position next to the other wizard.

"You are late." said the man, his distaste quite clear in his icy-cold tone.

"My apologies, your Lordship." Harry replied just as evenly, not allowing his voice to bath with all the sarcasm and hatred he was feeling. "It wasn't my intention."

Lies.

He was speaking nothing but lies, he was aware, and Voldemort was too.

"I suggest you improve your sense of time in the near future." A pause. Harry knew from the sudden urge to cringe that the man was piercing him with one of his glares. "Extenuating your cheek would be wise as well, especially when conversing with your superiors."

Harry's lips thinned as he struggled to keep his jaw from clenching. He was being tested, he knew it. Tested to see if he could act as he was supposed to, after their deal. Holding his facial expressions under firm control, the raven haired boy blinked slowly, once.

"Of course." he answered at last, his voice sounding exactly as he had wanted it. Submissive.

Yet, the Dark Lord wasn't fooled, for he hadn't uttered the two words that were expected of him. My Lord.

He hadn't done so on purpose. They were both aware of course, that even if he had spoken them, they would have been completely meaningless. After all, Harry couldn't fake emotions that didn't come naturally. And pouring respect into those two little words was a task that would remain unfulfilled.

Voldemort didn't deem him worthy of a vocal response. Besides, it'd only be a waste of time, saliva too. And their schedule was already loaded.

Mutely, Voldemort lifted one hand towards the marble table, his long, thin fingers caressing almost lovingly the silver dagger that was resting innocently on its surface, before heaving it with the gracefulness and the adoration of an assassin. He shifted his body then, turning towards Harry fully, the dagger carefully held on top of his outstretched palms. Those steel green eyes that had been watching the ornate weapon with such intensity, suddenly jerked up, and that intensity seemed to reach new heights as they pinned Harry where he stood.

"You know what you need to do."

And Harry did, for the man had taken extra care to drill the procedure into his head. But voicing that thought didn't hold much appeal to him, so he simply nodded.

His gaze then trailed downwards, studying the dagger with something suspiciously related to dreadfulness. His stomach became a tight knot of twists all of a sudden, making it a tad hard for him to inhale. The emerald jewels that were embedded into the hilt appeared to be taunting him as they sparkled, the gracefully curved S they were creating morphing in his mind's eye, taking the form of a green snake as it coiled and readied itself to strike.

Clenching his jaw at his paranoia, Harry had to force himself to swallow as he battled to reign over his racing pulse. With slow, precise moves, he allowed his fingers to close around the jeweled hilt.

It was hard, admitting to himself that there was no going back now. He tried though to do that, as he drew a narrow cut on his palm, just as he tried to ignore all the eyes that had centered on his person. Breath becoming ragged, he held his palm above the silver chalice that the Dark Lord was now holding out for him, balling his hand into a fist and clenching, squeezing his fingers tightly together until crimson liquid made its way downwards, merging with the water that Harry knew resided in the goblet.

One.

Two.

Three drops.

Harry withdrew his hand quickly then, aware that the result wouldn't be pleasant if more than the required drops were to go in.

His eyes focused on the ground then, watching as more bloody droplets fell from his now limp hand and onto the ground. He really didn't need to witness the Dark Lord going through the same process, finding it easier to deal with the whole thing this way.

Soon however, too soon, another chalice was shoved into his line of vision, involuntary capturing his attention. Slowly, his eyes traveled up the length of it, halting at the sight of those pale digits wrapped around its base. He fought the sudden urge that washed through him, the need to shut his eyes nearly overpowering him, so he jerked them upwards, locking instantly with a nearly identical pair of green. It sickened him, scared him too, how alike they were in appearances, something he had come to realize was the Horcrux's fault.

Even the man's memory self had commented on it, the Horcrux that resided in the diary recognizing somewhat the Horcrux in him.

But clearly, that uneasy familiarity that had been woven between them wasn't enough to quench the lust for vengeance that had taken over his counterpart's green eyes. Eyes that even now were glowing just as fiercely, only with a different type of feelings in the background.

Immense satisfaction for one, and apparent gloating for another.

Harry didn't even bother to glare up at him. What difference would it make anyway? The man had won after all, as much as Harry loathed to admit it. Continuing to deny that fact would only make him appear childish, foolish too.

So, it was with a final sigh that the raven haired youth took hold of the goblet, scowling at the sight of the scarlet water, and noticing from the corner of his eye the Dark Lord doing the same with the second chalice, the one he had put his blood into. The taste didn't worry him, it'd be a little bitter, but nothing he couldn't handle; it contained, after all, only three drops of blood. However, what did worry him was the identity of the person they belonged to, and more importantly, the kind of outcome that would follow.

He brought the chalice to his lips, swallowing quickly under the ever watchful eye of the Dark Lord, as he himself mimicked the auction in a much more leisure pace. Harry had merely wanted to get over and done with it.

He raised one hand, wiping with his thumb a stray trail of the liquid from the corner of his mouth, closing his eyes wearily once Voldemort began the chanting, weaving the spell that would seek the other's blood in them and tie together the souls of those that owned that blood; their souls.

Harry felt nauseous as the foreign magic surged through him, gleefully identifying the blood he had swallowed as Tom Marvolo Riddle's and then pulling at him with vigor, as if hurrying to bind his everything to that person.

And next thing he knew, Harry was panting hard, reclaiming the wind that had forcefully been knocked out of him. Instantly, his eyes sought out his hand, locating what he was looking for within seconds. There, curled around his wrist, was a golden bracelet of sorts. The jewel represented a serpent that was biting viciously its own tail, emerald gems in the place of its eyes.

Ouroboros…

That was its name. Voldemort had said it was the sign of eternity. It had worked then, the ritual. An inaudible, choked sob slipped past Harry's lips at that though, before he could stop it.

He needn't have worried however, seeing as no one had witnessed it. They were too busy paying attention to the words that were spilling out of their new ruler's mouth, words of a brand new era, words of prosperity and evolution. Harry couldn't, for the life of him, focus on the man's speech but from the entranced, almost bewitched looks on the people's faces, he was abruptly reminded of something that Slughorn had told him once.

"You have no idea how he was like…even then."

But Harry knew. The charisma and skill the man possessed was unlike any other's. He could alter one's view with a handful of carefully crafted, silky words. And his acting skills were plausible too, Harry concluded as he observed him work the crowd into some kind of trance.

Not all of their guests however, were transfixed; hanging from the man's every word as if they were a blessing. Quite the opposite, in fact. A bunch of red heads were glaring pretty vividly at the Dark Lord, their eyes aflame with the emotions that couldn't possibly be put into words. The consequences of that would be much too severe. And it made Harry love them all the more for that. The way they refused to bend under the dark wizard's firm grip was truly exceptional, as was their clear loathing of the deal that had been forced on Harry.

Those people were the first family that Harry had ever had. They treated him as their own flesh and blood, and felt the enormous weight he had to carry on his shoulders as their own. And each of them, in their own special way, had tried to lessen that burden as much as they could. He truly appreciated them, the Weasleys.

But when his gaze connected with the two people that had been there for him through thick and thin, he really felt ashamed for not having requested to see them sooner.

It had been seven days, a whole week, since the last time he saw Ron and Hermione. It felt surreal actually, the fact that only a few days ago they were fighting together in the battle field, armed and prepared to defend their school, their friends, and their very beliefs. Months they had spent hunting shadows, believing in the maybe that would turn the war in their favor should they succeed. And to think that it had all been for naught.

His friends' eyes were fixed solely on him and no one else, studying his form carefully and taking in every possible detail, probably checking to see if he was properly taking care of himself. They knew first handed how quickly he could lose his appetite when there was something serious enough to trouble his mind.

His lips curved into the tiniest of smiles at that, an action that immediately captured their attention. Hermione's kind, chestnut eyes began filling with sparkling, crystal-like tears. It pained him; seeing such desperation in them.

A jolt of fear coursed through him though, when the witch turned her distressed eyes towards Ron, told him something that Harry couldn't possibly hope to hear from such a distance, and then to his greatest horror, she made to leap out of her seat. Harry's pulse had sped up at an impossibly fast pace in those few seconds, and he nearly shouted at her to stay put. Most thankfully though, Ron's fingers had latched around her wrist at the exactly perfect time, pulling her back down before she had even started to stand.

That was it. If Harry didn't die from a heart attack today, he doubted he ever would.

Taking deep, calming breaths, his eyes narrowed to the angriest of glares, feeling no remorse whatsoever when the girl flinched from being at the receiving end of it. And damn right he was to feel furious. She had nearly gotten herself killed! Demonstrating such kind of defiance right in front of all the Death Eaters and, most importantly, the Dark Lord himself was downright suicidal. And he cerainly hadn't agreed with Voldemort's terms only for her to throw away her life so carelessly.

He felt so exhausted all of a sudden. The entire week's and today's events were finally beginning to take their toll on him.

Letting his eyes soften back, he met Ron's stare dead on. His blue gaze swept over Harry meaningfully, silently asking the very question that Harry had seen coming.

You ok?

He gave a nonchalant shrug, appearing to the common eye like he was easing the tension out of his shoulders. Knowing that Ron had gotten his message, Harry tilted his chin upwards ever so slightly, throwing back a question of his own.

You?

His best friend nodded curtly as he continued to rub soothing circles on Hermione's back, mutely comforting the girl that was sobbing softly on his shoulder.

Harry felt awful then. This was the last time they were seeing each other and he had managed to distress her further, rather than sooth her turmoil, the turmoil that they were all feeling. And Harry didn't like that notion in the least. Dragging his eyes purposely slow from Ron to Hermione, he waited for his ginger haired friend to catch on. Ron's blue eyes widened a fraction, instantly bending his head until it was right next to Hermione's ear. He whispered something and the very next second, the witch's head had jerked off his shoulder, her bright eyes boring into Harry's own.

Smiling gently at the silent apology that was clear in her stare, Harry raised his arm, completely ignorant to any other spectator as he laid his open palm right above his heart. It could be interpreted in many ways, all of them fine by him.

Thank you.

I'll never forget you.

Hermione's eyes watered even more if possible, but it was the radiant smile she sent his way that told him she had understood both meanings. Ron's smile was just as brilliant, both of them mimicking his auction by bringing their own hands up and resting them on their hearts. There was no mistaking the message they wanted to get across.

We'll always hold dear the memories we made together.

This was their parting gift to him, their final goodbye.

He didn't even have time to return their smiles, though. His arm was suddenly seized by another and yanked him forward roughly, eliciting a sharp gasp from him as he raised startled, wide eyes to look into the narrowed ones of Voldemort, not missing the raging fury that was displayed in them. Had the man caught the exchange between him and his friends?

"Seems like our time here is up." the Dark Lord hissed while his lips curled into a snarl, his iron-like grip on Harry's wrist tightening to further his point.

His insides froze all over as the implication behind those words registered in Harry's mind. He snapped his head to the other side, just barely catching a last glimpse of his loved ones' faces, as well as the terror in their eyes or seething rage in Sirius's case, before he felt the only too familiar tug behind his navel that whisked him away.

END OF CHAPTER TWO

Ok, so who thinks that this sentimental crap was totally not necessary? *grins*

No, seriously. I had just finished writing it when I realized just how sentimental it had become. Angsty too.

Now that I think of it, I should probably change the genre into angst if this keeps up.

Anyway, tell me what you think!