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Chapter 7
The smallest sound easily carried over the numbing silence – if there had been anyone in the Great Hall not frozen in place by Voldemort's words.
The Dark Lord lifted his wand and the students gasped.
'Fear of death holds us back, Tom. Our ability to love is what makes us strong,' Dumbledore explained, as if talking over tea.
'No Dumbledore, that is what makes you weak,' Voldemort spat. Harry could see Dumbledore's wand was loosely held by his good hand and wished he would grip it tighter.
Voldemort cackled a humourless laugh: in the blink of an eye he had shot a curse and Dumbledore had drawn a shield. That was apparently the cue for the teachers to start dueling the black figures along the walls. The students joined in as well and Harry turned towards the Death Eater closest to him. He or she was ready for his debilitating curse and shot back a disemboweling hex. Harry managed the right block. Now more than ever he was grateful for his training.
As they continued to exchange dangerous curses, Aurors charged in at the front, flooding the scene. The element of surprise allowed them a couple of clear shots before they were noticed. Bolstered by this, Harry spun to the side and let loose a burst of bees from his wand. The Death Eater used a water block. As he or she swatted them away from his neck, Harry's disarming curse struck dead-on.
Harry quickly looked around to find his next target. The pain in his scar had abated a little: he couldn't decide whether this was a good or a bad thing. Further along the table Hermione was holding her own against a large bulk of a man. Harry hurried to join her, dodging nasty stray spells as he went. Together they managed to disarm the man a moment later. Harry then saw a Crushing Curse approaching from the left just in time: he had to put all his energy into a matching shield. As he looked up Hermione had disappeared again.
A swirl of robes near the Gryffindor table where Harry stood announced the next masked figure. This opponent was agile and apparently had a thing for burning hexes: Harry barely managed to hold his own, feeling the drain of so much spell work in such a short time. Hermione came out of nowhere and crumbled to the ground next to him. He tensed in shock at the sight of her face screwed up in pain. That was when he felt a burning pain streak his shoulder. The force of it threw him off balance and before he could check on Hermione, someone pushed him roughly down. He rolled onto his back quickly, groaning as he crushed his burning arm in the process. In the next instant his throat met digging wood and he stared up into the cold grey eyes of Lucius Malfoy.
He brought his hand up but an Expelliarmus wrenched his wand from his grip. Malfoy smiled and leaned down, shoving a knee into his stomach. Hermione's notice-me-not charm seemed to have stopped working. Or, Harry thought with a clenching feeling in his stomach, its' owner had stopped breathing.
'Potter.' Malfoy's gaze roved over Harry's face, as if wanting to commit every detail of it to memory. Harry looked around in a panic to find Hermione, but Malfoy's wand dug deeper in response. Sparks of magic burned at Harry's neck where the wand touched and he hissed in pain.
Malfoy suddenly removed his wand and pressed it to the skull and snake tattoo on his forearm. As Harry stared at the flesh that was slowly blackening, he realised something.
With a growl he pushed upwards: Malfoy's split-second surprise gave Harry just enough time to clench a palm over the Mark. Malfoy cried out as Harry experienced the now familiar sensation of the others' magic whirling outwards and meeting his. Trying to focus all his willpower on the Mark, he imagined a tunnel of magic connecting this Mark to all the others. He thought fiercely of his hate as a living force, and of pushing this force into the network of Voldemort's servants.
Screams rent the air on all sides; Malfoy fell while clutching his arm, eyes clenched shut and appearing in great pain. So were others: MacNair, who had been flooding his surroundings with salvos of molten lava was now on his knees, and disarmed by Tonks in the next instant. Harry watched as Bellatrix, holding her opponent under great pain, now began to shriek herself. Finally his eyes found Hermione not far-off. She was unsteadily getting to her feet. Harry's knees felt weak with relief.
'Accio wand.' It slammed into his hand from only two meters away.
Harry wanted to step towards her, but he didn't dare let go of Malfoy's Dark Mark and his connection to the network.
Then a voice bellowed in anger, drowning all other noise: 'Enough.'
Abruptly the flow of magic through his hand stopped, the connection cut off like one would switch off a Muggle light. The pain in his scar reached sickening proportions and he threw up. But his stomach was empty, leaving an acid taste in his mouth. He opened his eyes. The spots in his vision slowly disappeared. Malfoy was no longer next to him. Everywhere Death Eaters came to their feet. The fighting struck up again, more vicious than before.
A streak of black came his way and he blocked, the correct counter on his tongue without a thought. He followed the direction of the spell with his eyes and saw Voldemort striding towards him, his pace unhurried. People from both sides hastily stepped out of his way.
Harry swallowed. Just think of it as another training session.
Voldemort's wand twitched and this time the curse was the yellow one of the Cruciatus. In the next moment a shadow jumped in front of Harry and was squarely hit, falling to the ground with a yell.
'No!' Harry shouted as he recognised Ginny. Voldemort was upon her now and with a slicing motion of his empty left hand, she skidded over the stones, blood emerging from her face and neck before she was out of sight.
With difficulty Harry managed to turn his focus to the man in front of him. Avoiding Voldemort's gaze, he thought:
'Sectumsempra.'
To his surprise the wordless incantation worked, something he hadn't been able to manage in training (which had delighted Snape at the time). But Voldemort lazily stepped aside, undeterred. Harry saw his sparkling red eyes clearly as he drew nearer.
Perditio Harry thought fiercely, and a wall of blue emerged outwards. Voldemort blocked it almost as an afterthought. Crossing the last meters separating them, he chuckled as he came to a stop in front of Harry.
'You have been taught well, little one,' Voldemort said.
Harry froze midway into his next attack. He instantly regretted his moment of distraction as with a flick of his wrist, Voldemort slammed Harry against the nearest wall. Sickening pain went through Harry as the side of his head struck solid stone. He slid down and blinked up at the whirl of black that filled his vision.
Voldemort lowered himself to one knee beside him, his cloak settling around him like drifting shadows. Harry's wand was extracted from his closed fist as pale fingers found his chin, turning his head to meet the deep red eyes. Harry's scar seared as if a flame was being held against it.
He avoided Voldemort's gaze as he willed his churning stomach from heaving a second time.
'It is time to face reality, Potter. The teachers have all been killed or incapacitated, as have the students.'
Harry closed his eyes for a moment in horror at these words. With slow movements he managed to sit upright, the hold on his scar lessening somewhat. The adrenaline in his blood was making him feel light-headed.
He refused to believe Voldemort's slippery words. But as he jerked his gaze around, he noticed most fighting had stopped; Aurors and teachers were being disarmed or had their arms strapped to their backs by large chains. It was clear that the numbers had been against them from the beginning. Harry's breath hitched as he saw bodies of students and grownups alike, unmoving on the cold stones.
This couldn't be real.
Hermione, Ron! He glanced behind Voldemort and met the gazes of students observing them warily, trying in vain to find the faces of his friends among them. With a jolt he thought of Dumbledore: had he surrendered or… ? His chin was squeezed painfully and Harry was forced to look back. Just like the wraith he'd fought in his training session, he thought irrelevantly.
Voldemort's teeth bared into a joyless smile. Harry shivered as the pain in his scar turned into a pulsing warmth.
He couldn't believe this was happening. Voldemort was taking over. The Order had lost. Harry felt like he might faint.
Voldemort moved closer and whispered in his ear: 'I see that you have finally learned to want to cause pain.' Harry couldn't mistake the approval in his tone, or the tingling pleasure skirting over his scar. It made him want to scrub it off there and then with soap.
The Dark Lord stood abruptly in one fluent motion and Harry was released.
'Lucius,' Voldemort hissed, his eerie eyes still on Harry. Harry slowly took his feet with the support of the wall behind him. As Voldemort had implied, Malfoy himself wasn't all that steady either as he made his way over to him.
The Dark Lord whispered something, in response to which Malfoy skirted an unsteady bow. The blond-haired Death Eater proceeded to grasp Harry by the neck and place into his hand something cold and metal-like. In the next moment the both of them were whisked away from the Great Hall in a whirl of sounds and colours.
888
How he hated portkeys, he thought as he looked around warily. They were in an underground dungeon. Harry recognized it at once: it was the same one where he'd been- he broke off that thought.
His paces echoed loudly in the quite of the cave-like surroundings as he observed their familiarity. The glistening of the walls, the ever-present cold clutching at his robes… He was back in one of his old nightmares again. Right down to the man who– Harry pulled at his hair in nervousness. He had to stop thinking about that.
Next to him Malfoy laughed, twirling his wand casually. 'What is the matter, Potter? Are your accommodations not satisfactory?'
Harry clenched his jaw, trying to calm the panic that was stubbornly squeezing his lunges. Malfoy first had to get permission from Voldemort before he could do anything to him. This thought helped a little to release the tension in his shoulders.
Pacing the well-known parameters of the Malfoy dungeon he turned his back on the man and reflected on the battle. What would happen now? Would Voldemort kill all his friends outright? And how did the duel end between Voldemort and Dumbledore? It figured that the Headmaster must be dead, or at least in very bad shape for Voldemort to be able to get to Harry. Voldemort had been none the worse for wear, which did not bode well.
A hand fell on his shoulder and he jumped, stopped in his pacing. He berated himself for his distraction: although Malfoy couldn't do anything, he wasn't a man to be overlooked for a second. Harry's empty wand-holster felt like an itch in his hands. Malfoy pressed up behind him, his hand moving towards his neck, stroking his jaw line.
'Remember the last time, Harry?'
Harry wrenched free from his hold and stumbled backwards. He hated how Lucius Malfoy always managed to reduce him to a trembling wreck.
'Remember that feeling in your mark, Malfoy? Do you want to feel it again?' he said in a threatening tone. 'Because that can be arranged.'
Malfoy's lip curled. 'You cannot intimidate me, Potter,' he sneered haughtily.
'Yeah? You're wondering how I did that, though, hm? Imitating your master.'
Malfoy seemed to cloak himself in haughtiness. 'Be glad of your little moment of glory, Potter, because it will be the last one you'll ever see.'
Malfoy's left hand clenched into a fist at his side then, and Harry could feel it too: a powerful magical force nearby. Harry narrowed his eyes blocked the impressions of the physical world. Voldemort's magical signature was like an aggressive, icy change in the air. In that other world of magical energies, it seemed to Harry as if the Dark Lord's magic was holding Malfoy's in a tight grasp, as if a hand were clenching down on a small object. Then the magical hand wrenched and Malfoy inhaled sharply. The Manor's owner threw a disgusted look Harry's way before Disapparating with a bang, echoed by the indifferent walls of the dungeons.
888
Three days went by with no change in his surroundings, except for the clatter of a plate of food and a glass of water near the door in regular intervals. Someone had kindly lit one torch on the wall near his sleeping cot. His frayed nerves had been somewhat soothed when no blood-lusting Death Eaters had marched through the door the moment Malfoy had left. After three days of nothing but waiting, though, he was bored out of his mind. And exhausted. The fates of all the people at Hogwarts left him restless. Sleep was a thing of the past now. Constantly he was reliving the sight of all the bodies in the Great Hall, or Ginny's agonized face as she skidded on the ground.
Fingering the chain around his neck for the tenth time, he stared into the flames of the torch. The image would be burned onto his retinas by now. This meant he would be able to see nothing in the darkness for over a minute.
The Death Eaters hadn't known about his poach because they weren't able to see it. Harry had been wondering when the time would be right to draw the sword. Dumbledore had said its use was to destroy Horcruxes: he hadn't said anything about Harry defending himself with it (his throat tightened whenever he thought of the Headmaster). Therefore Harry had decided it should only be used as a last resort: its abilities were too important to risk its capture. He had to wait until he could escape and start hunting down the pieces of Voldemort's soul.
A clang announced the arrival of a visitor and Harry sprung up, regretting his foolish staring because indeed, he hadn't a clue as to who was approaching. As the figure came into the torchlight Harry looked down at his small visitor.
'Harry Potter sir is needing to come with Toddy,' said Toddy, the house elf of the Malfoy's and Dobby's replacement. The nasty blue stains on his right cheek betrayed that Toddy hadn't gotten any better treatment than Dobby had before him. Toddy had been nice to him the last time Harry was here: he'd cleaned Harry's wounds and brought him water at night when the occupants of the house were all asleep.
'Hi Toddy. How are you doing?'
Toddy's large ears flapped as he shook his head repeatedly. 'Toddy is not allowed to talk to Harry Potter sir. Harry Potter is coming with us.' And Toddy snapped his fingers.
Harry blinked at the onslaught of light where the elf's magic had transported him to. It was coming from large windows at the end of the large chamber they had arrived in. The sunlight reflected in the three crystal chandeliers that hung above the prominent dining table in the middle of the vast room. Conversation stumbled to a halt at their arrival. Harry's stomach burned as he recognized many of the figures seated at the dark wood.
As Toddy tugged him towards it, he was momentarily distracted by his surroundings. He hadn't seen this room before. Either the Malfoys had two dining halls, or he was in a different place altogether.
The house elf gestured for Harry to take the only empty seat available about halfway down the table. The high-backed chair shoved Harry tightly to the table edge, where he stared at the golden rim of the goblet in front of him.
Hushed conversation resumed. Harry felt a jolt as he glanced up: Bartemius Crouch was studying him with a lopsided grin. To Crouch's right sat a witch Harry didn't recognize, followed by Macnair and Yaxley. Next to Lucius Malfoy further up the table and on Voldemort's left side, was Bellatrix Lestrange. She smiled as well when his eyes reached hers and raised her glass to him in a silent salute.
These were the Dark Lord's most devoted, the infamous 'Inner Circle' Harry supposed, honoured with a place at the conqueror's celebration feast. A quick count told Harry that 12 seats were occupied. Most Death Eaters openly stared at Harry, verifying the symbol of their Lord's success. It was no doubt as Voldemort had intended.
'My loyal followers.' Voldemort softly began. All whispered conversation was silenced as suddenly as if Voldemort has used a silencing spell on the table. 'Our goals have been achieved. At last we will bear the fruits of what is rightfully ours to inherit.' His eyes glided slowly over every attentive face as his voice rose in volume. 'I have delivered a new era of pureblood rule, in which magic will claim its rightful place, and muggles will fear us for the gods we are!' Voldemort fell silent and this was the signal for the Death Eaters to exult over their leader with fevered cheers and raised glasses.
Voldemort's lips twitched. 'Let us eat.'
Similar to the custom in Hogwarts, the huge dinner table was at once filled with all kinds of familiar and exotic delicacies: roasted lamb was found next to foie gras, exotic fruits freshly cut glistered in deep bowls, Harry smelled spicy rice dishes and he even spotted a serving plate filled with sushi, which somehow struck him as thoroughly Muggle although it probably wasn't. He dejectedly loaded his plate with the nearest foods. Voldemort's speech had robbed him of his appetite, but he didn't want to add to the attention he was already getting.
'Say Potter, how does it feel to be a witness to our Lord's ascension to power?' Rockwood said next to him.
'How does it feel to be sitting three chairs removed from the Death Eaters who actually matter?' Harry shot back. Crouch snorted.
'Watch your mouth Potter, you know nothing about me,' Rockwood hissed.
'Oh don't blame Potter for your demotion in our Lord's eyes Augustus,' Crouch said. To Harry he elaborated in a helpful tone: 'Don't mind him, he's in a snit because his last mission was, shall we say, a disaster.' He shot Rockwood a grin, who looked annoyed.
Harry focused his attention back on his plate, hoping to discourage any more attempts at conversation. Unfortunately, Rockwood's dented ego needed more sustenance. He casually leaned towards Harry while snatching a bowl of rice and whispered in his ear: 'We're not done yet, Potter.' The rough-bearded man slowly sat back and picked up his fork, engaging in conversation with the witch next to him.
The reassuring tone made Harry's spine tingle. He willed himself to shrug if off and continue eating as if he hadn't heard. Suddenly a hand was laid over his own and he jumped lightly at the contact. He scowled as the owner of the hand, Crouch, smiled and said: 'I know his type Harry. I can protect you, if you want.' His thumb was making slow circles over the back of his hand. Harry snatched it back as if Crouch was contagious.
A cackle of laughter sounded to his left and Bellatrix winked at him. Harry felt another unpleasant coldness crawl down his back as he looked at her. Her eyes widened at his inadvertent stare and she licked her lips slowly.
Right. Harry swallowed, determined now to keep his attention on his food.
The evening dinner was a leisurely affair. After plates were cleared and vanished they were replaced with a wide selection of desserts and casks of liquor along the length of the table. Drinking glasses sparkled into existence in front of Harry. He poured for himself a dark brown liquid, sniffing the spicy content. As the less formal part of the evening began, all tension seemed to dissipate from the room. Harry heard a piece of classical music start up behind him. Chairs were shoved back as one after the other, witches and wizards stood to mingle around the salon tables. Harry took a sip of his drink and grimaced at the heavy taste of alcohol on his tongue. Dumbledore would not have approved, he thought randomly.
The table had nearly emptied; aside from two witches discussing the merits of revoking the laws for underage magic, only Voldemort remained, conversing with Snape on his right. As Harry looked his way Voldemort caught his gaze and gestured towards the seat Bellatrix had vacated. Harry hoped he had smoothed away any expression as he steeled himself to close the gap between them. He slowly lowered himself into the seat on Voldemort's left. His right hand twitched as he felt the urge to grab his absent wand.
The Dark Lord searched Harry's face for a moment then said: 'Severus.'
Snape drew from his robes a small vial which he placed in front of Harry. Harry glowered at the man. At that moment he almost hated Snape more than Voldemort himself. Of course the Potions Master would be right at home as Voldemort's right hand man, Harry thought darkly. At least with Voldemort you knew what you where in for, somewhat.
'Drink, Potter,' Snape said.
Harry glanced around, unconsciously seeking escape. His eyes widened: where moments before the hall had teemed with people it was now deserted.
'A privacy wall Potter,' Snape drawled across from him. 'The host activates it when he or she wishes to withdraw from social nuisances. ' It seemed this was another pureblood custom Harry didn't know about.
'Potter.' Harry couldn't manage to suppress a flinch at the proximity of Voldemort's voice. Feeling a warmth come to his cheeks at his own jumpiness, he glanced back down at the vial and set his jaw. Desperation tried to set it's claws into his lungs again.
He could not get himself out of this one. There was no Hogwarts leeway here, no place for acting the Gryffindor. He had to let go of that Harry. He would have to present an inscrutable front and not let any emotion surface, to at least have a hope of surviving here. There was something to be said for Draco Malfoy's aloofness and arrogance after all, he thought wryly. Among these snakes power was the currency, and the lack thereof was gobbled up just as eagerly.
The opaque vial was cold against his fingertips; it gave no hint of the colour or substance of the potion within. 'What will happen if I take this?' he asked the tabletop.
A nail scraped his cheek and he flinched again. His eyes caught Snape's for a second, who looked a little tense himself.
'It will not inflict any damage,' Voldemort asserted as if Harry was an object he had an insurance on. The long pale finger lifted his jaw. As Harry stared into the red irises Voldemort did not breach his mind as expected.
In this frozen tableaux they sat for some time. The silence impressed upon Harry the futility of refusal. Harry threw back the vial and swallowed. The thick substance tasted earthy, of roots and spices. After a minute or two in which the men watching him didn't move a muscle, Harry felt his head becoming lighter and lighter as if any moment it would float away from his body. Then blackness seeped in and the room tilted violently on its axis.
888
Lord Voldemort stood before a huge slab of grey stone. The body that lay across it was enveloped in a black cloak. Only the face of the figure could be seen from underneath the fabric if one looked closely, the hood of the cloak pulled up around it. Voldemort approached the head of the figure and stared down for some time. At last he drew back and strolled away. At the vault-like entrance he turned briefly to flick his wand, activating the charms that kept the room at a constant temperature of minus 273 degrees Celsius.
888
Night found Voldemort reclining in a leather-backed fauteuil, a glass of Chianti red on the table near his elbow, an old tome across his lap. The light was low, the hearth nearby cold. He was scanning pages with near-inhuman speed. At last he set the book aside, annoyance making his mouth twitch. He stood and wandlessly noxed the light. The elegant play of his robes was unnoticeable in the darkness as he made his way over the landing to the second door on his right.
This door opened onto a library with rows upon rows of bookshelves. He stalked the shelves for a moment before he apparently found his subject of interest, as he pulled out several books in one section and floated them into a stack. Something drew his attention in the corridor opposite as he peered through the now considerable gap in the shelve. One eyebrow went up and he walked around his corridor to the next, his wand drawn.
'Oh, it's you,' the figure in the next corridor said. The man previously rummaging through a shelve slowly turned towards him. The only remarkable thing about him was that he appeared to be a ghost or otherworldly being, permeated as he was by a translucent light. His face was handsome, with a straight nose and strong jaw line. Shock flooded Voldemort's expression before he managed to mask it. The being in front of him laughed.
'Yes, it's me.' The sound coming from it's transparent lips was like an echo of a normal person's voice.
'You,' Voldemort responded in a dangerous low tone.
The being lifted an elegant eyebrow.
'You,' Voldemort continued, 'will go back from whence you came.' This was clearly meant as a threat.
The ghostly man turned back towards the shelves. 'I think not.'
'You hold no power here.'
At this statement only the being's eyes moved to lock with his. He gave an eerie smile. 'I will, soon.'
'How did you–'
The man apparently knew what was being asked because he broke in with: 'I got bored.'
Voldemort's fist shook around his wand at this.
'There was nothing to be doing or seeing,' the ghostly figure explained, turning around again towards Voldemort and leaning casually against a shelve, his arms folded. 'You have made that quite certain.'
'It was necessary!' Voldemort hissed. 'Surely you must understand that!'
'Oh I do. I understand your cowardice.'
Voldemort looked outraged at this. 'Cowardice? Insurance, you mean!'
'There were many ways to ensure your… safety, but you had to take this one. Robbing me of all the fun.'
'I had thought this was not possible in the first place,' Voldemort returned icily.
'And what will you do, now that you know?'
Voldemort stared at the ghostly man for a moment, before abruptly turning around and stalking towards the library doors.
Condescending echoes of laughter followed him out, and the being shouted after him: 'Still a coward!'
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