First of all, thank you to everyone who has reviewed and let me know their opinion! You're very appreciated, guys! I'll finish answering you in about an hour; wanted to post the chapter as soon as possible :) Actually, it's your kind words which helped me regain my writing spirit and jot this chapter down sooner than in half a year ;)
Secondly, an even greater thanks to the lovely FalconLux for beta-reading! Especially so quickly and efficiently. Without her support, this chapter wouldn't have seen the light of day for another week.
Warning: a teensy bit of gore in this chapter.
That said, enjoy!
Chapter 9. A Leap of Faith Betrayed
Sometimes it's fated.
When Harry glanced at Susan, a pang of commiseration pierced his heart. He understood the impotence of watching the remnants of one's childhood vanish in the grip of loss.
Her face as pale as death's hands, she let her wand slip from her fingers. Her eyes stared at her mother's corpse, which spread twistedly on the grass in a parody of sleep, vestiges of disbelief forever etched on her features. At least she hadn't suffered. Small mercies were still mercies.
"She's dead," Susan whispered. Harry clenched his jaw and restrained himself from walking over to comfort the girl.
Where is the Order?
"Of course she is!" Thorfinn Rowle threw his hand up into the air and guffawed. Dismissal laced his every gesture along with hints of madness. "You've cast a Killing Curse on her, girl, of course she's dead now! Just a body- nah, a corpse. Wanna say goodbye to mummy now?"
"She's dead," Susan hollowly repeated.
Rowle laughed.
His laugh grated on Harry's hearing. Disgust, anger, and disdain spasmed in him for Susan's sake. Memories flitted through his mind, memories of Greyback's triumph stamped on the werewolf's face after he defeated Harry's father, and the helplessness ripping through him at the time, and the rage he had experienced so acutely that he had launched at him and attempted to attack the ma- werewolf.
And then a different set of memories burst through the dam of childhood recollections.
Greyback's mangled body parts gathered into a neat pile. His head, a victorious grin painted by his blood, stood on top of the pile, a bizarre crown of fingers and splinters of his wand lying on his mane of hair. 'Crown for the winner,' Harry had painted with magic in the air right above the head.
He gazed at Susan and Edgar, both crushed and lifeless, and decided he would help them at least in one thing if his current plan went pear-shaped.
Even if this woman couldn't have salvation… She can have vengeance. I'll assist Susan. I've got little experience in assassination, but it's a skill which comes with intuition and a little bit of research.
"She's dead."
Goyle moved forward, as if wanting to help and comfort Susan, but Harry surreptitiously grasped his forearm with a warning glare. The Order or not, their initial scheme had to continue. Harry knew to think on his feet. They couldn't afford revelation now.
Harry thanked Magic that Rowle was too immersed into goading Susan to pay attention to them now, because Goyle snarled at him and attempted to wrench his forearm away. Harry clutched it tighter.
They couldn't afford disobedience either.
Harry cast a notice-me-not charm on them before leaning on his toes to snap in Goyle's face, "Listen now, Hannah! I've got the solution for this but you have to follow my every order. Your Polyjuice will expire in about forty minutes- we have to be quick! Have to-"
"Her mum is dead!" Hannah boomed in Goyle's voice, and Harry thanked himself for putting up the notice-me-not charm.
"Yes, and we will be, too, if you blunder the entire operation now!" Harry bit out in response. A glance at Rowle told him that the man was getting bored with taunting an unresponsive Susan.
Fast, fast, fast – we have to do something very fast!
Hannah/Goyle/whatever he called that weird hybrid of appearance and soul continued yanking away from Harry, which only added to his overall distress with the situation.
"Can't we distract Rowle and Malfoy and just let him escape?"
"We can't let him 'just escape' because then Voldemort's going to Crucio me into the next century!" Harry hissed. "And then he'll pass me over to his sycophantic groupies to entertain themselves! There's this little thing called 'self-preservation'. Try to acquire it; it helps!"
Hannah looked ready to retort, but Harry threw a look at Hermione, and at Malfoy standing a foot away from Rowle, and an idea already formed in his mind.
"I know how to do it! Listen, attack Malfoy!"
"Excuse me?" A discombobulated expression marred Goyle's face, except that here was nothing to mar there.
Harry shook his head impatiently. Rowle was already twirling his wand and looking at Edgar in contemplation.
"Just attempt it! But don't hit Malfoy, hit Rowle instead! Malfoy's got enough self-preservation instincts to dodge your curse, and Rowle won't be expecting an attack. Do it!"
"Why should I-"
"No. Time!" Harry hissed and almost shoved Goyle out of the notice-me-not bubble.
Goyle glowered at him but obliged and raised his wand to shout a 'Petrificus Totalus' at Malfoy, who noticed it in the last second before jumping to a side. Rowle fell down as still as stone, his eyes half-open and not even his eyelids moving.
"Goyle you bloody moron!" Malfoy bellowed as he staggered to his feet. His hand flew to his hair to smooth it into the sleek shape it had been in. "Congratulations for casting the petrifying curse for the first time in your life for no reason but- argh!"
A sleeping charm banged the blond into the ground again. The hair in disarray and all. Harry snorted.
Susan snapped out of her haze while Edgar rushed to his feet to embrace his daughter while skewering Harry with his gaze. "What are you doing?"
His voice slashed through the air like a whip, accusation clear in it, and Harry responded with a stony look.
"It is not I who betrayed you today," he said softly. Understanding fleeted across Edgar's face before he nodded, his eyes glued to the fallen body of his wife.
"The plan?" the man asked.
"You may go to your wife's side and make her look presentable after her demise," Harry said quietly. He beckoned Hermione, who stared at them in astounded amazement, closer to their little circle of plotters. "Her death wasn't for nought; she bought enough time to save you at least."
Edgar shook his head.
"I would have sacrificed all my time if it gifted her with a chance to live."
"Yes, yes, but you couldn't. Now, before you sacrifice your time without gifting anyone with anything – how about we execute my plan?" Harry asked irritably. Too many emotions warred in him right now to keep his cool, not to mention the ramifications he would have to suffer, and the perfection he would have ensure in the entire enterprise. Failure? Not an option.
And so, Harry donned the mantle of leadership.
"Hermione, start Obliviating Draco. I'll implant false memories with Legilimency later. Susan, step aside and let me do the spellwork on your father. Oh, and drop your father's hair into the Polyjuice. Hannah, help Hermione if she needs it- if she doesn't, just don't get in the way. I'll explain everything in a few minutes."
Commands flew swiftly from his mouth as he acted, too, casting a complicated Human Transfiguration charm on Edgar Bones and witnessing the man changing his form. The Light wizard's features slowly morphed into those of an inanimate object, the face losing its sharpness, the body losing the limbs. His skin colour greyed to the point it became almost metallic. A few tense minutes later Harry stared at an unremarkable pebble.
He crouched and whispered to it, "Remember who the true traitors to your family are, Edgar Bones."
Before lifting the stone Harry cast a Feather-Light Charm on it, because despite the much smaller form the man acquired, the body weight didn't evaporate during Human Transfiguration, and Harry wouldn't have had any chances of carrying the 'pebble' around with his own mass.
Putting on a small smile, he handed the object to Susan. She, still pale and barely breathing, cradled the pebble to her chest, kissing the top. She didn't respond with a smile, but Harry didn't expect her to.
"Malfoy's ready," Hermione called out. She sat on the ground next to the serene blond, his head lying placidly on her knees, and her fingers caressed his scalp. It wasn't out of tenderness. Massaging the scalp helped easing the obliviation process a bit if done masterfully enough. And Hermione had to be at least decent – according to Harry's sources, knowledge of Mind Arts was one of the first things taught to any Resistance member.
Harry waved a hand in dismissal.
"Malfoy can wait. Let's handle Rowle first." His gaze drifted to the petrified man as Harry contemplated what to do with Rowle.
Death awaited the man – Harry was sure of it. Initially, it hadn't been his intention to kill Thorfinn Rowle so early in the game as during their first mission… but someone had to take the place of Edgar Bones. The liquid in the flask with Polyjuice shimmered and lured.
"You act so differently today," 'Goyle' muttered as he watched Harry with wariness. "They never convinced me you could be cool enough as a leader."
"Oh?" Harry asked in fake disinterest. Of course he knew that revealing some of his strength would burst a lot of convenient preconceptions they had of him. Still, with the Order's failure to arrive he didn't have any other choice but to expose his keen mind and quick thinking. "Fascinating. Well, back to Rowle… I think we all know what should be done-"
"The Resistance can take him-"
"I want to kill him," Susan said resolutely, overriding her friend's hesitant suggestions. All eyes snapped to her. Only Harry's shone with understanding; Hermione looked weary, while Hannah's face was painted with horror and disgust.
"You are welcome," Harry told her. He gestured widely at Rowle who lay spreading on the ground, and reminded her before she grasped her wand and Avada-ed the man right away, "We have to make him drink Polyjuice first though. I have to bring the head to the Dark Lord."
"Wait, wait, wait!" Hannah shrieked and stormed up to her best friend, grasping Susan's Death-Eater robe at the collarbones. "You're definitely not welcome, Susan! I don't know why Potter's suddenly decided to grow balls and act like a damn maniac in his prime- but you don't have to do such monstrosity! We can dispose of Rowle peacefully, maybe drop him off somewhere in the muggle world…"
"Abbott," Harry cut in. His Killing-Curse green eyes sliced across her like a sharpest blade. Hannah shuddered. "Step aside."
As if steered by a secret puppeteer, Hannah obliged and lumbered away from the redhead, her eyes going almost aqua-pale.
Hermione watched him like a hawk, to which Harry shot a taunting smile.
"We've got to un-petrify him first." He cast the spell. A second later Rowle sprung to his feet, mad fury clearly readable in his eyes. He fished out the wand from the hidden holster in the folds of his robes, tucked away so that no one else would find it upon inspection.
"Filthy traitors!" he yelled at them before he spat on the ground and hissed obscenities at their plotting quartet. "I should've expected it with mudbloods and blood traitors all in one mix with a stark mad IQ 50 retard! And you, Potter, you-" He angrily jabbed his wand into the air in Harry's direction. "-you're just as traitorous as you fucking mummy and daddy were!"
Harry raised an eyebrow. "Insults are getting you nowhere, Rowle. How about you spare our eardrums and we spare you the torture?"
"Damn right I will!" Rowle spat and his face twisted into a sardonic grin. "Your dear mummy slaughtered my wife, and it seems like you're continuing the little family tradition. What, planning on some grand-scale bloodshed too any time soon?"
"Every word you say about my parents adds to the number of pain curses I'm going to cast on you." Harry glanced at Susan. "Well, ladies first, of course. I think she has a much better claim on your disgusting life than I do."
The redhead gratefully smiled at him, ignoring her friend's eyes drilling into her with the force of enhancing charms.
Rowle snarled at them before his wand started swishing and slicing through the air, a green beam speeding towards Harry, accompanied by an enraged yell of "Avada Kedavra". Harry dodged in a heartbeat and tugged Susan to the ground. The girl fell with the 'pebble' lovingly held in her hands. She stared at Harry.
"I'll duel with him," Harry announced to his squad. He straightened his back and raised his chin. His wand jumped into his fingers. "He can't get away anyway, what with the anti-apparition wards still up. Incendio!"
Rowle leapt away from the curse, so it struck the house instead, flying right into the window. The inside of the house blazed with light; his Incendio must have got on a carpet or some such.
Well, one of the mission requirements is the burning-down of the whole thing. It's a pity we haven't got to investigate it… but it's not like anybody truly cares.
"School-level spells, Potter?" Rowle jeered. "All that talk about you being this great duellist is just that: talk!"
He twirled his wand almost idly as they traded a few more basic spells. Neither of them had ever actually seen each other fight, especially not in a life-or-death battle, so such simple incantations served to find out the opponent's weak side.
Hex, hex, mild curse, jinx, and back to a hex again.
Their wands produced beams and sparkles, thin threads of cutting air and roaring blasts of fire. Some more incantations crashed into the house, hitting both the outer walls and the interior, and now bright flames devoured the quaint house and Mrs Bones' body and illuminated their battle.
Attack, defend, attack, attack, attack.
It was the chant, the prayer of their fight.
"Still here, Potter boy? My, my, Bella's done a good job training you, it seems! But d'ya really think yourself so mighty now that you can cast a silly curse on me?"
"Less chatting, more hitting," Harry responded coolly before lunging, another incantation on his lips. He smirked. "You know, I've been waiting for an opportunity to do this for quite some time. You're the perfect guinea piggy, Mr Thorfinn Rowle."
"What the fuck are you on about?" The man thrust his wand forward to shoot a nasty lungs-rotting hex, which Harry protected himself against with a timely Protego.
Pages from the book on old Light Arts – true Light Arts, not that ersatz weak stuff they sold students today – filled Harry's mind, coupled with the recollections of the few times he snuck out of the common room to practise what he learnt. Schemes, tables, designs of rituals, rune circles – all of those reeked of potency but were also passive incantations, mostly invented for protection or for mass destruction.
They didn't aid in the battlefield, not immediately.
But in the book, Harry had found techniques which did. He couldn't believe that Light Arts were such a treasure of power unknown to most.
Harry chortled. Looking directly at his instructor whom he considered dead already, he said softly, "Do you know why I started with fire incantations?"
Harry let go of the control over his magic and immersed himself in the realm of pure power. The burning house and the burning body on the ground as well as the few trees they had hit with spells all radiated power. They gave, he took. The Bones' house aided Harry to avenge its fallen inhabitants.
"Very few know that Fiendfyre is a Light spell," Harry said. The fire blazed, agreeing with his words. "Fiendfyre!"
He flicked his wand the way an executioner brought down his axe.
Rowle shrieked and attempted Apparition/ Wards held him in place. Someone cried out, but their voice got lost in the miniature apocalypse of local variety.
Harry knew he was overdoing it. They needed Rowle alive for now, after all, and Susan needed to grant herself peace by dealing the fatal blow-
Yet the song of flames, and magic, and his own anticipation echoed into his ears, spurring him on and on to whisper the incantation under his breath to uphold the inferno of fire. Soon enough whimsical shapes formed from the flames, animalistic children of Harry's Light Magic.
Harry didn't will them to appear the way they did – figures of birds of prey, tigers, lions, snakes, dragons all jumped out because his magic directed them intuitively, and that was one of the main differences between the classical Dark and Light Magicks: the issue of control.
Dark Magic lulled, and murmured sweet nothings, and tempted, and cajoled. Dark wizards educated in the real arts grew up self-contained and full of control because otherwise the Dark devoured them, turning them into beasts.
They had to rule their magic and emotions with an iron fist.
To tame the Light, Harry had to let go of all restraints and direct it by instinct. Sometimes he fought for dominance with the magic's will, of course, but then he had to roar back at it and force it to succumb – and it complied with all his wishes.
And so, when Harry snapped out of it, just as a fire serpent readied itself to sink its 'fangs' into the screeching prey, it complied with Harry's wishes, too, and reluctantly backed away. The fire lingered, but the creatures slowly faded away. Only ashes remained behind.
The house barely survived, so Harry waved his wand to banish the rest of the flames. The charred remnants of the building sadly gazed at them with hollow windows.
When Harry cast a glance at the girls, he was relieved to find out that Hermione, ever the clever and practical one, had grabbed Malfoy and cast a protective shield over them, which the others helped maintain. Rowle whimpered on the ground, drained from the terror and their previous duel. The edges of his robes smoked where the Fiendfyre had caught him.
"Incarcerus!" Harry shouted before Rowle gathered his wits to restart the fight. Invisible binds tied the man up. "Now let's drink a tasty potion. It's called Polyjuice. I guess you've got an idea of what it does, Rowle?"
Harry took the flask from Susan and waved it in front of the instructor.
"You filthy little bastardly traitor!" Rowle growled. "What your parents have done isn't enough for you, eh? You're going to whore yourself out to the Resistance just like them, after all that our side has done for you-"
He didn't finish; Harry shoved the Polyjuice down the man's throat in one swift motion, clutching his nose so that Rowle would gulp the liquid down. After a gurgle his features transformed, and voila – Harry stared at the glowering eyes of Edgar Bones.
"Polyjuice is really one of the best productions of wizards," Harry muttered to himself, marvelling at the swift transformation.
"It's my turn now," Susan said behind him. Harry turned around, surprised to find her determined despite the grief that haunted her eyes.
"If you want it so," he easily agreed and stepped aside. "Do you know how to do it?"
"I- Not really." Susan's gaze drifted away from him. Fear painted her face white. "I've never killed anyone before."
Harry smiled in understanding. It was a real smile in many ways, since she reminded him so much of himself some time ago that he empathised with her. Too much, for his liking.
"I have to bring the head to the Dark Lord. He loves his trophies, supposedly."
He advanced forward, ignoring Hermione's stare and Hannah's – who looked like herself again now that an hour had passed – gasp of fear, and dug out a sharp blade from the folds of his robes. He wasn't stingy. Not if he lent it for such a noble goal.
Susan stared at his outstretched hand with terror. Harry sighed. Took a step forward.
"It is done like this," Harry murmured almost tenderly as he wrapped his fingers around Susan's, both clenching the handle with different emotions and different levels of resolution. Susan's hand shook under his.
"You bring it down, you thrust it in-" He directed her hand in the air. "-and you slash. See? Not very hard, is it now?"
The girl nodded and, arming herself with resolve, marched towards Rowle, who attempted to inch away from the looming death in her pale face.
She thrust it in and slashed, very obedient. Harry knew he bagged himself another one there; a nice fledgling pawn who would be his spy amongst spies in that game of non-existent loyalties. A plea faded from Rowle's lips with his last breath, his soul bleeding out of his mouth and throat along with red liquid. The light in his eyes diminished. It had never been a pretty pair of eyes, anyway.
Silence stretched until a retching sound broke it. Harry whipped his head to observe Hannah dropping to her knees and heaving, her entire body in trembles.
Weak. Disgustingly weak.
After his blade had sunk into Greyback's flesh, he hadn't vomited once.
Light Arts granted power, but what good did it do when Light softies failed all the tests of deserving to wield it?
"Monster…" Hannah sobbed, her face covered with her hands, letting only the sound through. The stench of nausea lingered in the air and mixed with the stink of ashes. "You're a monster…"
"You are a Death Eater; get used to it," Harry said callously to her. He didn't care much about keeping up the pretences for now since no one of the people present would breathe a word of his slip. "Let's implant false memories into Malfoy, bring the anti-Apparition wards down, get Row- Edgar's head, and get the hell out of here."
At his cold look even Hannah picked herself from the ground and complied.
Eventually, only Harry and Hermione were left. Malfoy had gone 'fixing his hair' while Susan had carried Edgar to where she was supposed to, and Hannah had fled his presence as soon as possible. Ah, how idyllic.
"You looked a lot like Voldemort there," Hermione interrupted his contemplation of the broken home. "Are you sure you hate him?"
"Believe me, Hermione, my feelings towards him are as burning as the oven of a crematorium," Harry soothed her with a bitter half-smile. The girl – the young woman, really – regarded him closely.
"You lied to me," she suddenly said. He had expected it.
Harry tilted his head and searched her eyes for a hint of betrayal swimming in them. He found a tiny trace, but reproach and sadness overpowered it.
Oh my, it seems like today is the day of revelations, is it? Although... from the very beginning I was planning on the Order to find out about my loyalties. Or what my loyalties are supposed to be- Anyway, they're aware of my enmity towards Voldemort, and everything else doesn't matter.
"I'm as clear as a baby's tear," he still tried. Unsuccessfully.
"You aced that Human Transfiguration – and during all our lessons you never showed more promise than a lovechild of Crabbe and Goyle!" Hermione accused, even going as far as poke a finger at him. "And right now- You never employed Light Arts in a duel before!"
Harry clucked his tongue. "Of course I didn't. I'm not so stupid as to flaunt my heritage in front of Voldemort's cronies for no reason other than to show off. Show off until they cart me off to Bella for homeschooling and instilling 'proper values into my worthless traitorish hide', more like."
Hermione closed her mouth.
"Oh. It slipped my mind."
She threw him a sharp look still, though, for his earlier performance with Susan but didn't ask for the details.
Harry, at the same time, felt relieved.
So, they didn't know everything, didn't know about his scheming and the ability to manipulate. Moreover, his exposure today – and he had no doubt that Hermione would be reporting most of it – would entrust him to them, painting him in a good light if he was willing to 'betray' Death Eaters and his guardian's chums for the Resistance's sake. Of course, they might also know that the reason was not the Greater Good or some higher purpose but a 'petty' revenge… but details, details, details.
"Why didn't the Order arrive?" An idea popped into his mouth and he balled his hands into fists. "It was a test, wasn't it? A test of how far I'm willing to go and how much and many I'm willing to betray to help your people-"
"It was necessary!" Hermione screamed back at him. A few pale tears appeared in her eyes and she didn't blink them away. "Do you think I liked watching it? Liked having no means to help that poor woman and no means to help Susan who is one of the few people not looking down on me? Do you think it's easy? Enjoyable, maybe?"
Hermione panted after her tirade, her cheeks a dark red colour.
"You still did it," Harry reminded her.
"Yes," she whispered. "There wasn't any other choice for me. If I refused to stand aside this time, they would have forced me into a similar mission the next. This one is already a punishment… Nowadays they say we have to be ruthless, just like Voldemort, to topple him in this war."
Harry tilted his head, his long hair falling into his face like a curtain, which prevented from reading his emotions.
He didn't understand the purpose of following in the enemy's footsteps to defeat him. Didn't it destroy the entire reason of having two sides, this similarity between them?
Well, Harry didn't share either party's beliefs, so he guessed such matters shouldn't bother to him. He had one job: thrust in and slice. Reverse order was possible.
"Do you truly believe you can win with ruthlessness and brute strength?" Harry's voice trailed off into a murmur full of recollection. "The Dark Lord is tricky. It's not about brute force only, not really. Goyle is powerful, but do you see him enthroned? It's all about allure and charm, too. He can weave ornaments with words that enchant more than a siren's song. An Imperius without the incantation."
Her forehead scrunched up. "You seem to hold him in high esteem."
"Hostility and hate never exclude admiration," Harry replied quietly. He hated the truth in those words.
And everything is so tangled in my mind that I don't know when one starts and the other ends.
But I'll never forgive him for his words.
Little Harry wiped his nose with a sleeve of his expensive robe, purposelyspreading the snot across the material. If he saw a chance for any little nastiness, he executed it, just to see them fume at his 'barbaric' manners and 'repulsive' behaviour. Then they – his tutors and stuck-up blokes his father had gossiped about – berated him loudly and insistently, but Harry went into trance for the entire length of the preaching harangue: he didn't understand half the fancy words they threw anyway.
Bella was the worst though. She had insisted he call her 'mummy' once but he had spat at her with such ferocity that she never dared to mention that again.
His first acquaintance with a real punishment had happened around those times, too, come to think of it… well, Harry didn't dwell on such matters. Punishments were too raw of a subject for him.
And he didn't understand how those 'duel' thingies differed from punishments. Bella cast curses on him in one case and cast curses on him in the other case. See? No difference at all.
Merlin, he hated her.
Some other people, too, bore the target of his intense emotion. He hadn't found out the name of one of them yet, but knew of the others. And, of course, he knew about Voldemort. The Dark Lord instilled fear in everyone when they weren't too busy lusting after or fawning over him like half Bella's cohorts did. Voldemort-worshipping was very much in vogue, and Harry even sometimes felt inadequate that he couldn't bear such intense love towards the man.
He didn't hate him as much as he did Bella. Justslightly. His mum had told him – or his father? Harry always forgot such unimportant facts when he eavesdropped – that rulers had to commit ghastly deeds for the greater good of all involved. Harry didn't understand the greater good in his parents' death but the Dark Lord had to know better, right?
And then he glimpsed Him and knew whom he could ask.
Of course, he had to find out the answer directly!
Voldemort looked rather irked, like usual, and very busy. He stalked the corridors of Lestrange Manor expertly, knowing every tiny detail of the house, and Harry hardly kept up.
"Sir! Hey, Sir Dark Lord sir, could you please answer a question?"
Voldemort stopped, his eyebrows exploring the highest points of his forehead as if he didn't believe that the snotty tiny thing dared address him. "And do you know who I am, brat?"
"Lord Voldemort, the Dark Lord, of course," Harry said, now full of doubt. He never asked others who he was. Was it a Dark Lordly-thing? "And it's because you're him, I'd like to ask you a question... how did you feel about my parents deaths? Were you sorry to have killed them?"
A veneer of ice covered Voldemort's eyes.
"Nothing," he told Harry coldly. "I felt absolutely nothing. Stop pestering me with infantile questions and get lost. Don't pester me with such trivial matters ever again."
He walked away, but the cold still lingered. It seeped into Harry's body and took over his heart and his mind and his goals.
Fine. Perfect, in fact. It was making things so much easier for Harry. No more of his dilemma.
If he couldn't love Voldemort like other citizens, he would hate him like no other person.
Rowle's head hung from Harry's hand as he strolled the halls of Slytherin Manor in search of the Dark Lord. In the absence of an instructor it was his job as a squad leader to report, even if he was just a beginner in his role. Tired of searching for the man throughout the public parts of the castle (and Harry knew the red-eyed menace hid on purpose, since the wards must have notified him of Harry's arrival ages ago), he called for a house elf.
"Master is dining with Lords and Ladies in the Map Dining-room," the creature squeaked. "Does Mister Potter wish to join them?"
Harry didn't want to contemplate why the house elf knew his name. Not right now, at least.
"Uh, no, I'll drop by sometime later then, when the Dark Lord is finished-"
Harry didn't have the time to finish his phrase because the elf grabbed his head-free hand in determination, and the wizard was travelling through a second-long whirlwind of colours. When he opened his eyes, he inwardly groaned at the sight that greeted him.
He appeared in a vast dining hall with a Hogwartsian ceiling and most remarkable walls: every inch of them was covered with a map of sorts, a map of a city or a country, or the world; some old, some new; some moving and almost liquid and some static like muggle photographs; all of different colours from yellowish beige to bright blue to azure of a shade which rivalled the enchanted skies above.
The table in the middle of the room astounded with its length; Harry had a bizarre feeling that guests sitting on the opposite sides would have to shout or use voice-enforcing charms to be heard. It was set rather practically, too, with hardly any decorations except for small black candles with circles of pomegranate seeds around them.
Yet, Harry didn't worry about the decorations.
As if dealing with one monster wasn't enough, he had to get into a roomful of them. Harry felt like a Red-Riding Hood, and no, he didn't enjoy the comparison.
Bella, who sat on Voldemort's left opposite Lucius, cackled when she saw him standing stiffly in his dirtied robes and with a head in hand. Other's reactions weren't quite so favourable: Lucius thinned his lips in disgust, Rodolphus turned away, Rabastan snorted, the Nott couple gasped…
And the Dark Lord…
Voldemort simply leaned back in his seat and turned to his snake who coiled around his shoulders, petting her scales with his long fingers.
"Oh, look, Nagini; Mr Potter is so gracious as to bring a treat for you."
The snake slithered towards him like an eager puppy, while Harry stepped back.
"My Lord, it's Edgar Bones's head-"
Voldemort waved an impatient hand. "Yes, yes, exactly what I say: a treat for Nagini." A mocking smirk tugged at his lips. "If I truly collected all the body parts of my slain enemies, my manor would not have the room for me to sleep and eat."
Harry tossed the head to Nagini who lunged at it with her maws wide open, and watched dispassionately as the snake devoured the man. If snakes could purr and/or smirk, this one bloody would.
Justthe show I'd love to see while eating.
"Well, bon appétit, My Lord, I don't want to intrude-"
Yet, when Harry shifted his gaze to the Dark Lord, his eyes clashed with crimson ones devouring him. He stiffened. Did the man know? What if he had found out about the deception or-
"Say, child, would you like to join us for dinner? This is not a suggestion."
AN: Reviews are always appreciated ;)
By the way, from this chapter onwards there will be a lot of Voldemort and a lot of time-skips. Not necessarily in this order.
