Disclaimer: Read previous chapters.

Warnings: Some fightings.

Notes: Read previous chapters

CHAPTER FIVE

A man walked through the hallway, head held high as he regally approached his master's domain. He knocked – not really needing to but had to – and entered immediately, not bothering to wait for his master to allow him entrance. The last time he waited . . . . well let's just say, he didn't go unscarred. His master was as ruthless as he was brilliant.

The sight that greeted him was one he was used to; boys and girls sprawled across the floor in various states of undress. The sweet-sour smell of various bodily fluids permeated the air, it was so thick . . . . well you know the rest. He repelled the barf that threatened to spill, swallowing thickly. He didn't want to stain the floor and although the room is already disgusting, he didn't want to risk the consequences it could attract.

He came to a stop and knelt down in front of the figure, his lord. He felt his master's eyes lock up on him and immediately he felt his passion stir. He knew his master did this on purpose, one mistake and he will be punished but he could not help being drawn to his Lord. He can't resist the urge for him to beg his master to take him, to be ordered to open up, to feel his master use . . .

His musings was cut short as his master raised his hand, giving him permission to stand up. He complied with the order and stood up, fully erect waiting for his Lord's order.

"Voldemort has need for a selected few of my best men." His master's suave but firm voice spoke out to me. His voice like music to my ears. "He has expressed a need for me to acquire his thorn." He added.

The man knew of his lord and Voldemort's alliance. He also knew of the snake man's greatest for apart from that bumbling old fool. Every wizard in magical Britain knew of him, heck! He was sure, every magical community had heard of him. He is Britain's magical community most celebrated and hated boy Simultaneously, the boy-who-lived. He was one of the main reasons he was instructed to infiltrate the magical Britain's Ministry Of Magic as Antonin Dolohov; a ruthless follower of Voldemort. His sole purpose their was information and Intel on important figures in the magical community.

But even through all his research, he still haven't found the answer to the forever unanswered question 'how did a one year old with a barely developed magical core survive a one-hit kill spell, the killing curse from one of the strongest wizard of all time with only a lightning shaped scar as a souvenir'. No one can survive it, only block it and that takes a lot of skill and precision not to mention the amount of power needed. The Potter heir was an enigma, one he knew his master will love ripping through.

"You want us to capture him?" He asked unsure of his master's real reason. He didn't think he will be able to successfully capture the last Potter, at least not now he was in Hogwarts, protected by the insurmountable wards and Dumbledore himself. He was good but even he knew he wasn't that good. Only his master was perfect.

He flinched as he met his master's eye. Gone was the calm attitude and in its place was an annoyed expression. The very air stilled as if sensing his leader's change in attitude, his powers leaking slowly but noticeable and before long the room was saturated with his power.

"Wasn't I clear enough servant." It wasn't a question but rather a question. His lord's voice lacked the anger and although he could sense the annoyance creeping up with his words, it was measly. His knees buckled, sending him on his knees. He couldn't take the power again, it's too much. He shouted out in agony and immediately something clamped down on his neck. His master's very own power will soon be his downfall if he doesn't do something fast to quench his master's anger. His body shuddered as the agony hit him again, this one was possibly the worst yet. He couldn't breath.

He summoned his remaining will power and opened his mouth and croaked out a tiny but firm, "it will be done master." His master doesn't condone weakness even in the face of certain death.

His lord's power receded and he was finally allowed room to breath again. He coughed so hard that he spat out little amount of blood. He felt so feeble when in front of his master. He might be strong compared to some wizards alive but when it comes to his lord, It's like comparing a child to a full grown adult. He will not be able to land more than a scratch or at the very least a glancing blow. His leader wasn't a mere human, to him he was a god.

He scrambled back up, trying to rearrange his ruffled clothing to at least maintain his little dignity. He bowed before leaving his master's presence. A good distance away from his master he signaled out for his right hand man.

His second-in-command appeared not up to five minutes later.

"Get your men and meet me in the front lawn immediately." He ordered and left not bothering to wait for a reply. His second-in-command should know to not waste unnecessary time.

He walked through the Victorian styled house and into the front lawn. He closed his eyelids, simply enjoying the warmth the sun provided him. He opened it and saw his right hand man and his men already there. He was not surprised. His men are far better and more adept at using magic than those Auror in the ministry.

"Our lord has given us our next assignment," He said. A smirk creeping its way on his face as he hears the admiration and support behind their voices. They would die for their lord, an aspiration he greatly approved. "we are to bring for him Britain's magical community most iconic hero, Harry Potter!" He finished and instantly, they men apparated.

He did so shortly after, landing gracefully on the Hogsmeade ground

Harry Potter plowed through the snow, walking down the road to the Hogsmeade ground. It was the Hogsmeade weekend and he rather spend it in the 'three broomstick' than in school. He entered the familiar pub, choosing to settle down in a chair far from the occupants yet being close enough to monitor everyone at the same time without craning his neck and looking suspicious.

He was about to order his butterbere when he was stopped by them. Neville, Ginny with Ron and Hermione stood in front of him, each with a hopeful expression on their face.

"Harry, we have come—" he didn't give Hermione a chance to complete her sentence since he brought his foot down on Ron hard, eliciting a pained yell from the red-haired confusing everyone thereby allowing him to make his move. He walked out of the pub.

"Harry! Please wait." He ignored her as he began walking faster.

His fast walk turned to an even faster jog and before he knew it, he was sprinting. He passed through shops, restaurants and various witches and wizards of different descent. He didn't bother stopping until he was miles away from them. He was so occupied with escaping them, he failed to notice the increase in speed. He rested his head against a tree's bark and promptly fell asleep.

He woke up later to the clear night sky. He sighed, he must have slept for too long. He needed to go back to Hogwarts or else, every single Auror will be sent to find him and although he enjoys a good hide-and-seek game, he didn't want to play with the ministry. Especially not now.

He began his trek back to school.

Only to stop and duck as a spell struck his previous position. He was on high alert and instantly brought out his wand ready for any attack. He was not discouraged as five cloaked men came out and promptly began firing spells.

He was forced to go on the defensive, using shield spells and occasionally his environment to block their overpowered spells. The boy-who-lived approached one cloaked wizard, and made a slashing motion with his wand along with a muffled, "sectumsempra." The wizard jerked to the side but was hit effectively cutting off part of his leg. He retaliated by sending a spell at him.

A shield materialized from Harry's wand just in time to intercept the spell but it was all for not as the spell obliterated the shield slamming into the hero's side. He knew at once that, that was the blasting curse, confringo. He was bound tightly by a muttered " incarcerous." He was then punched,and before he knew what was happening, he was unconscious.

Harry woke up with a gasp. He was drenched in water and currently wearing nothing apart from a black cloak. He tried moving his hands but failed as his hands were bound to the floor by chains. The same was for his legs.

He tried shaking his bound appendages. Instead of freeing himself, he only succeeded in injuring himself. He tried the wand less spell he thought could help him escape but it didn't work so he stopped. He realized that it's futile for him to continue. It was at this point that a man came up to him.

He distantly noticed the cloaked men from before surrounding him. He was part of another ritual and if he remembered, certain rituals needed blood. He just hoped this wasn't part of those. Well . . . . it was part and he found out in the worst way ever. The man sunk a silver dagger deep into his chest dragging it from the starting point, his chest, to his neck and down his back, etching special runes on his body.

He shouted himself hoarse. Pain filling his system as his body tried to cope with the pain. His body shuddering as he laid on his own blood. It felt like hours before the man seemed satisfied with his work. Then the chanting began.

He didn't want more pain

"No more pain!" he screamed in his mind hoping his magic responded. And it did.

But instead of his magic numbing the pain, it increased it, dissolving his world in pain.

Notes: Sorry I took time but I had a lit and I mean alot of things to do like getting a job. I need some extra cash.

Notes: I hope you like it. It was a tedious work to do. This is the true starting point of the story and I need you guys help.I want to turn this fic into a fairy tail crossover but I am not sure if you guys will like it. So I need you to tell me what you think in the reviews.

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