Warning still applies, but if you've read this far, you probably don't care, so…
Author's Note: Thank you to all of my reviewers, I was kind of surprised, actually. I love you guys!
Five hours later, exhausted, dirty, and having used most of his magic to find it, Harry stood outside of an impressive manor. Twin statues of jackals glared at him from either side of the huge door, but he was too tired to be intimidated.
He walked in, startled at the lack of security. The smell of dust and mold and death attacked him, and he nearly gagged. Before he could decide which way to go, Peter Pettigrew appeared from around a corner. His eyes widened at the sight of the unfamiliar teen.
"Take me to the Dark Lord," Harry snarled, unable to keep his fury completely in check. His head hurt a bit, and he was grateful for the salve he'd put on awhile ago. The ache grew as he followed Pettigrew, and when they finally stopped outside a door, he knew Voldemort was inside.
"Well?" Harry demanded.
Pettigrew opened the door, announcing timidly, "A visitor, master."
Harry swept past him, bowing low. "My lord." His heart was pounding furiously at the sight of Voldemort. His head was throbbing, it felt like the world's worst migraine, but at least he could stand. What if my scar starts bleeding? Will the glamour cover the blood? What if the net doesn't work? Gods, this was stupid! It's not working, he knows it's me, I'm about to die for Malfoy of all people! I'm sorry Ron, Hermione, Dumbledore-his frantic thoughts were interrupted as Voldemort scowled, "Who are you? You don't bear my mark."
"Adrian Blackwell, my lord." Harry replied, his voice steady despite the fear coursing through him. "And I do not yet bear your mark, but I have journeyed far to join your ranks."
"Very well. Peter," the rat-like man scurried over, "take him to a guest room." With a sinister smile, he added darkly, "I'll test him when he's rested."
On the way to Dumbledore's office they'd been caught by Snape, who told them in no uncertain terms that whatever they needed to speak to the Headmaster about could wait until lunch.
Now, finally, the rest of their classmates were in the Great Hall eating, and Ron and Hermione were standing outside the door to the Headmaster's office, having realized that they didn't know the password.
After twenty minutes of random words, Hermione was surprised as the gargoyle jumped out of the way for "Ranch Doritos". Ron looked at her in amazement. She just shook her head as they walked in. "Muggle crisps. The most powerful wizard in the world and his password is a brand of Muggle crisps."
She stopped caring as she looked back down at the note in her hand. She'd always been afraid Harry would do this, especially after Ginny's death, but… "He's gone Headmaster. Harry's gone." She handed him the parchment, watching his expression turn grave as he read it. "What do we do?"
"There's nothing you can do now, Ms. Granger," Dumbeldore replied solemnly. "Nothing but wait."
The Gryfindors stared at him in shock for a moment before Hermione turned and walked out, Ron quickly following her lead.
Harry woke for the ninth time, checking the clock. It had been fifteen minutes since the last time looked. Sighing, he yawned, still tired. It was nearly impossible to sleep when someone who had you at the top of their hit list was only a few rooms down, very possibly plotting your death.
Deciding he wasn't going to get anymore sleep, Harry climbed out of bed and walked to the small window. Outside, waves crashed on jagged rocks against a backdrop of a gray, stormy sky. He scoffed. How original.
He wished he could see through the glamour to the actual outside of the manor, or even better, remove it, but he wasn't dead yet, and he wanted to keep it that way. If he was going to be killed, it wouldn't be for something stupid.
His magic had begun to replenish while he slept, and food would help, if he ever got any. With one more longing look at the window, wishing he could jump out and run back to Dumbledore, Harry pulled open the door.
A giant of a man who looked a lot like Goyle was standing outside, apparently waiting for him. He turned and walked down the hall, obviously expecting to be followed.
Harry watched him for a minute, wondering what would happen if he turned and ran in the opposite direction. I'd get lost and die, he told himself, and followed the man resignedly.
Before going to sleep, or at least trying to sleep, he'd put more of the numbing salve on his forehead, though he could still feel a twinge of pain.
Way too soon, an ornately carved door was in front of them, depicting snakes winding around each other. Fangs were bared, and as they walked through, Harry could have sworn one of them hissed at him. He couldn't understand what was said, though it sounded like a warning.
Voldemort, who'd been discussing something with Pettigrew, turned, and pain exploded behind Harry's eyes. Fuck! He thought as he bowed low, biting back a groan. Snape's potion must be wearing off. "My lord," he greeted, thankful that his voice showed nothing of what he was feeling.
"Why have you come here?" the Dark Lord asked, his high pitched voice sending waves of pain through Harry's skull.
"To become a Death Eater, my lord. I hoped to become a spy, because I'm in the process of transferring to Hogwarts."
"Why have you only come now?" Voldemort demanded.
"I didn't think I would be of any use to you, before, my lord, and I'd heard you didn't accept students," Harry explained, hoping he sounded sincere. Did he sound too sincere? It was hard to think with his head hurting so badly.
Voldemort seemed to fall into a trance, and before long, Harry could feel a probing at the shields he'd automatically thrown up when he arrived at the Manor. Wishing there was some other way; he slowly let them down, and felt his mind being invaded.
Finally, after what felt like forever, the probes retreated, and Harry threw up his strongest shields and looked expectantly into glowing red eyes.
"You speak Parseltongue."
Eyes widening faintly, the only outward show of horror, Harry realized that he'd either let a memory slip past his net, or it hadn't worked at all. Taking a deep breath, he realized that he would have been dead if it didn't work. "No, my lord. Someone from my mother's side of the family could, and it's been passed down since then, but none of us can make it work."
Harry Potter, Voldemort hissed, suspicion and anger lacing the cold, metallic voice.
Harry looked at him blankly for a few seconds before asking, "What was that, my lord? I told you I don't understand snake-speak."
He instantly regretted the arrogance in his tone as Voldemort raised his wand, saying, "Crucio!" There was a dark pleasure in his eyes as the spell was cast, and then Harry couldn't see anything at all as he closed his eyes against the pain.
He was awash in a sea of agony, a thousand burning knives cutting him from the inside out as he sank to his knees. Silent screams tore at his throat, but he'd learned well over the summer, and refused to make a sound. Blackness rushed towards him as he fell the rest of the way to the ground.
His body was convulsing, his head slammed against the stone floor, but he didn't know. He was lost in the pain of the spell as unconsciousness crept closer and closer. It would take him from this torment, but he couldn't succumb, couldn't…give…in…
"Finite Incantatum," the Dark Lord called, sounding faintly disappointed.
Aftershocks still flowing through his tortured body, Harry stood. His whole body shook, it was taking all of his strength just to stay upright, and he could taste blood from where he'd bitten through his lip. "I deserved that, my lord, and I apologize." His voice was hoarse, and he wanted nothing more than to use whatever was left of it to cast an Avada Kedavra on the monster in front of him.
"You have power, and strength of will. Your arrogance can be…cured." Voldemort smiled his dark smile as he asked, "Any requests?"
Harry knew the answer was supposed to be 'whatever my lord wishes,' but he had not just suffered the worst Cruciatus Curse in his life for nothing. "Yes, my lord."
Surprise and curiosity played across snake-like features as Voldemort motioned for him to continue.
It hurt to breathe. Gritting his teeth, Harry continued, "I hear you have the Malfoy traitor here." A nod. "I've also heard there are some things even your most loyal Death Eaters refuse to do." Well, not so much heard as experienced.
At first, Voldemort looked angry at the implication, and Harry braced himself for another round with the Cruciatus Curse. Then, understanding dawned, and Voldemort nodded again.
"I would be willing to do it, with the right potions. What matters more to a Malfoy than pride? It would break him." Harry knew it would have broken him, if the Death Eaters had raped him. He wouldn't do it to Malfoy, but he needed some way to get the blonde in his possession.
"A touch of twisted darkness," the evil wizard muttered to himself. "Yes. Yes you may take him. But be warned: I do not give such responsibilities over lightly."
In other words, he's going to want proof. What the hell was I thinking? I can't do this! No. One step at a time. "Yes my lord. May I see him; perhaps bring him to my room?"
"You will be given your own set of rooms to stay in until you are initiated, on Thursday. My servant," He motioned towards Peter, who practically flew to his side, "will take you to the dungeon to receive your new…slave."
Harry bowed low, and tried not to scream. Broken rib, maybe more than one. "Thank you my lord," he panted.
"And Blackwell?"
Nearly at the door, Harry turned, trying not to groan. I was almost out.
"Those who betray me live to regret it. But not for long."
Hoping Voldemort said that to all new recruits, Harry nodded and followed Pettigrew down to the dungeons. Idly, he wondered what it said about his life that he was used to dealing with this much pain.
By the time they reached the first cells, Harry was gasping, each shallow breath hurting his chest more as he laid a hand against the rough, moldy wall for support.
Turning around, Pettigrew smirked. "Hurry up Blackwell."
"At least I shall never be a submissive rat," Harry spat.
The smirk faded as the Death Eater turned around, purposely speeding his pace. A few cells from the end, he stopped, muttering, "Here."
Harry looked in and felt his eyes go wide. Though Malfoy had been there less than a week (Harry had seen him in classes Wednesday), he looked as though he'd been starved for months. Lank blonde hair covered one silver-blue eye. The other eye was swollen shut, a dark bruise marred one pale cheek, and Harry thought he saw blood dripping down the other side of his face. The rest of the skin he could see was covered in cuts or bruises, and blood had soaked through his dirty robes in more places than he could count. "Look at me, traitor," he growled, feeling sick.
A hand with at least three broken fingers rose slowly to push the hair away from his good eye, and Harry could see the long jagged wound down the side of his rival's face. The edges were black, as though it had been burned into his skin.
"Well, you're new," a hoarse voice drawled thickly. Draco studied the two people standing in front of his cell. One he recognized as Voldemort's sniveling right hand. The other couldn't have been more than a year older than Draco himself, and didn't look too good.
A swollen, bloody lip, dark circles under red rimmed, deep blue eyes, black hair tipped with silver that he suspected was coated in blood from a cut near the boy's temple. His breath was shallow and he was leaning on the wall for balance. "Who're you?"
"Adrian Blackwell, your new master." The words felt strange as they crossed Harry's lips, but it was all he could say with Pettigrew standing beside him.
Draco knew he was supposed to be killed in a few hours, and after the last few days, the knowledge had come more as a relief than anything. The dead didn't feel pain, after all. Now, though…this was someone on the other side, another torturer. Voldemort wanted him broken. And this was to be the one who did it. Perhaps if I can anger him enough to kill me outright…Draco didn't finish the thought, surprised at himself. He used to be someone who'd never give up, and here he was, hoping for death.
Looking at Pettigrew, Harry ordered, "Open his cell and bring him to my rooms." He drew his wand and mumbled a few words under his breath for show. In reality, he was silently using his wandless magic.
Draco felt the spell hit him, and weakly braced himself for the pain. Instead, it felt as though most of his wounds, like his right arm hanging uselessly, broken in four places, were numb.
"That spell will keep him from fighting," Harry lied, a brief glance at Malfoy ordering him to play along.
Draco nodded almost imperceptibly. The door to his cell was opened, and he, Blackwell, and Pettigrew made their way slowly to Blackwell's rooms.
Snape was in the middle of a first year lesson, Hufflepuff and Gryffindor. He couldn't tell if he was actually teaching them anything, and their fear of him was rather annoying after two months.
With a puff of smoke, a piece of parchment appeared on his desk. Picking it up, he read it, rolling his eyes. "Class dismissed," he announced exasperatedly. What can Albus want now?
Five minutes later, walking into the Headmaster's office, he could tell something was wrong. "What is it Albus?"
"Harry Potter is gone. I need you to keep an eye on the situation with Voldemort, make sure he hasn't been kidnapped."
They both remembered what it had been like a few months ago. It had been they who saw him first, burned, bruised, bloody. Whispering one thing, as he'd obviously screamed himself hoarse days before. "Ginny."
"Is he-"
Knowing what Snape was asking, Dumbledore replied, "It looks as though he left on his own, willingly. He left a note, telling Ms. Granger and Mr.Weasley he was 'off to save the world'." He allowed a small smile to cross his face.
"Bloody hell," Snape muttered, pressing a hand to his temples. "I should have known."
"Should have known what?"
"Last night Potter heard what was said between you and I. He had a dream last night, and came to me, saying Draco was alive. I told him to go to you in the morning."
"Last night…but how-Great Merlin! Do you realize, Severus, that if he was in the room undetected, he's surpassed even me in Occlumency?"
"He's powerful," Snape allowed. "But what are we to do? After Draco, there are no other Death Eater students, as you know, but we cannot hide something as big as the Boy-Who-Lived going missing."
"The situation in the wizarding world right now is…turbulent. We'll say he's gone into hiding, a safe house of sorts." The lie came easily to Dumbledore-Hermione wasn't the only one who'd feared that this would come to pass.
Snape nodded, promising to keep an ear out for any information from the Death Eaters. "Who'll tell McGonagall?"
With a sigh, Dumbledore said, "She's been told and…isn't pleased." Wincing, he motioned towards a broken portrait frame. "I've rarely seen her magic out if control, but before it was never so powerful."
"Who will know the truth?"
"You and I, Ms. Granger, Mr. Weasley, and Minerva. She informed Mr.Potter's friends of the need to keep this quiet, though I suspect they already knew. We'll have to inform Remus Lupin and Sirius Black."
Neither man relished that task, imagining the hot temper of one and the cold fury of the other.
"Owl them from an undisclosed location," Snape suggested, and they shared a small humorless smile.
"Yes, I believe that would be the safest plan, though not very practical. I'll write them tonight." Checking a clock, Dumbldore sighed. "Supper. We'll announce the news now. May as well get it over with."
So, tell me what you think…