They had entered what appeared to be a dimply-lit storage room, but once Harry took a better look past all the boxes and crates stacked without care against the walls, he saw a long, shining black table framing the centre of the room, surrounded by chairs. This was evidently a convenient place for Riddle and his friends to gather for their meetings, for it was pretty well hidden and far enough away from anywhere the occupants of Hogwarts might visit… Yet it surely wasn't at all big enough to practice any kind of magic in? Harry felt a little calmer at this quick assumption, hoping that they would do nothing but talk here. Then he saw that the Death Eaters who filed past him into the room didn't take their seats at the table; instead, they made their way instead to one of the three doors at the back of the room, which Harry hadn't noticed previously.

He felt the dread return to him, but forced himself to follow. The next room he entered held even more chairs. In fact, that's all that was actually present. Every seat was facing to the left, looking towards a piece of smooth, clear glass that lined the wall. Behind the glass was a view of a second room, this one much bigger than the one in which Harry stood with the others. This had to be – as Harry knew – a place in which to duel and learn new pieces of Magic in. He felt nerves twist in his stomach, but tried not to show it.

Riddle was standing in the centre of the second room, waiting for all of his friends to sit down. Harry wondered whether he should be pleased with such an easy acceptance to join Riddle's group… but the more he thought about it, the more he felt as though he had been tricked into this. He knew that was an irrational thought, but it was still an honest one. Harry heard the Death Eaters behind him talking about magic, and he tried hard not to listen, hoping not to become distracted and more nervous…

The Death Eaters seemed to have an unsaid rule that stated that when every member of this group was present, they had to fall silent and look through the glass towards Riddle. Harry saw them do so the second the door to this room was closed. Harry felt his hand, which rested on his leg, claw into a half fist as he took in the sight of Riddle standing ahead of him. Riddle's tone was business like and as delicate as always when he spoke, with the Death Eaters hanging onto his every word. Harry felt a familiar drifting sensation, as though this were some bizarre vision or nightmare that did not belong to him. He tried hard to pull himself back to reality with thought, unfortunately only making the sensation stronger. He then ignored it, telling himself this was real and he had to listen.

"Before we start this new lesson, I'd like to make a bit of a update upon the topic of the Dark Arts themselves, which must be explained again in honour of gaining a new member." Riddle paced the room a little, ahead of where Harry and the Death Eaters sat, calmly thinking how best to word the small lecture on the magic that he was about to give.

"To begin, the Dark Arts are not exactly as clearly defined as one new to the subject would think. Although none of you are exactly lost in understanding Dark Magic, this is still an important aspect to remember. The spells that I teach you can often be undecided when labelling 'good' or 'evil', for that is the nature of the Dark Art as a whole. It is – in a short explanation – down to the goals you have with this magic and the uses you can extract from it all to define the Dark Arts from all other fields of Magic. The intention behind the magic is the only true feature to define the Dark Arts, so we must preserve such a rule with all the work that we do.

"Yet there is much one can gain from such a rule, and there are two main upsides that I believe you must all remember. The first being that you should display and interlink what is considered 'lighter' magic with the dark that we learn, so as to get the fullest extent of power in your work. Which leads us to the second aspect we must remember: be sure that you aren't caught for simply performing Dark Magic. Constant Dark Magic will do no good on your reputation for the outside world, and Light Magic put to a dark use can often be demeaned and overlooked, which gives anyone educated in many fields an advantage. This doesn't mean that Light is a better choice in the end, it merely suggests that we shall have to redefine the uses that Magic we learn within this room or out can be put to."

Riddle turned to face the still eagerly listening Death Eaters and appeared to be finished with all that he had to say. Harry was a little curious as to why Riddle would ever claim that the line between good and evil was so thin. From all that Harry knew about the Dark Arts, it was pretty obvious when something wasn't a moral piece of magic. He wondered what Riddle might have meant by it all, and listened to see if he was going to say anything more on the subject. Yet it appeared that Riddle was finished.

"I am sure that most of you can elaborate upon that subject more accurately in your own minds, so I don't see why we shouldn't begin our lesson for the day…"

Harry wondered what the Death Eaters might practice. He wanted to see how it was that they started off, and wanted to know whether or not even those who he did not know – who would surely die under Riddle's order – were any good at the Dark Arts. He was so distracted with wondering what would become of this situation that he was barely listening when Riddle called his name.

"Smith, I do believe it's time for us to see if you have any potential in the Dark Arts," Riddle said.

Harry looked up, wondering whether he had heard incorrectly at first, but he knew he couldn't have been wrong when all the Death Eaters turned to look at him, and Riddle told Nott to enter the duelling room as well. Harry stood up, having no other choice, and walked with Nott to the room outside, and back around to the room where Riddle stood. Harry saw the Death Eaters watching the two Slytherin boys and him through the thick sheet of glass, but he soon forced himself to look at Riddle, who seemed unconcerned with Harry's nervous expression, but he could never guess the extent and reasons behind why Harry felt so sickened.

"To begin, I believe the Unforgivable Curses are in order," stated Riddle, with a lack of emotion. His words made Harry's heart pound, as he comprehended what it is that he would have to do. "I see no point in starting with anything less or more. But, of course the Killing Curse must be excluded."

Nott seemed to have expected as much, but it was eerie to Harry that the all the Death Eaters on the other side of the glass seemed so calm and familiar with even the idea of practicing these curses. He remained silent as Nott asked, "Who'll cast them?"

"Jonathan, of course," Riddle replied. "It would be simply cruel to make our newest arrival suffer so soon."

Harry felt sick. He didn't know how to perform the Unforgivable Curses, and he couldn't see himself succeeding tonight. He wondered how on earth Nott could be so calm. It was true that he seemed to be bracing himself, but anyone Harry had known would have been screaming and fleeing the scene at the mention of practicing the Unforgivable Curses. Harry was glad that the Killing Curse was ruled out, but he was still unsettled about the idea of the one remaining Unforgivable that he hadn't ever succeeded or attempted in casting…

"The Cruciatus Curse is a pretty difficult spell to complete, but I'm sure you'll get it after some tutoring," Riddle said to Harry, as if to try and make him reassured at the idea that they'd stay here until he completed this task. When Harry tore his gaze away from Nott to look at Riddle, the latter seemed to assume that Harry was only scared of failure. "I don't believe it will be hard for you… you never seem anything but angry."

Riddle turned away, leaving Harry to wonder about these words for a moment. Riddle then backed away from the centre of the room completely, choosing to stand watching Harry and Nott from the complete opposite angle of the Death Eaters seated behind the glass. "In your own time, you can cast the spell," Riddle said calmly. "I daresay you know the incantation?"

"Yes," Harry responded, using his voice for the first time in what felt like hours, though it can't have been more than ten or twenty minutes. He turned to face Nott, while the Death Eaters were silent. Nott wasn't armed; instead he stood in front of Harry almost bravely. Harry felt it was ironic that he as a Gryffindor should stand here, preparing to curse the courageous Slytherin, standing defenceless. But then again, was he really a Gryffindor anymore?

Reflecting on School Houses made Harry think of Theodore Nott, the blatant son of the boy who stood in front of Harry. Theodore hadn't been a particularly pronounced bully at Hogwarts; in fact he had been a loner at times. He had still been a dedicated Slytherin, and had been a part of a lot of incidences that Harry disapproved of, but such weak disfavours weren't even close to being enough to make Harry feel the hatred he needed to feel towards Nott for this Curse to work. Theodore was innocent in measures of what so many other people Harry knew had done.

This led Harry to think about Nott's future. The boy who stood in front of him seemed innocent enough, but the fact that he was about to meet the Cruciatus Curse so willingly suggested guilt, or resistance to the Dark Arts from experience. He had probably been as twisted a Death Eater as any, in Harry's past. All that Harry knew was that Nott avoided Azkaban in later years, but had also been summoned to Voldemort's rebirth party.

This told Harry that he was a survivor… He had also been in the Battle of the Department of Mysteries, Harry remembered, because Hermione had stunned him. Every Battle Harry had even fought seemed etched into his mind, replaying when he tried to work out where on earth he went so wrong. Harry felt his fist clench on his already drawn wand, but not because he hated Nott. This was only because he hated himself.

He couldn't be angry with this one Death Eater, for he didn't know him well enough. If it was someone like Bellatrix, he could do this without hesitation. Or, better yet, Riddle himself… Oh, how Harry would love to stand here with Riddle ahead of him, defenceless for even a second while Harry was prepared. Newborn anger filled Harry's throat and pulsed through his veins at this thought, causing his hands to curl into tighter fists. The boy who was, one day, to be responsible for all those deaths… Riddle of all people deserved to be punished, tortured under the Curse he taught to so many others…

Harry raised his wand in a split second, pointing it to Nott without thinking – yet he only saw Riddle in his blind rage. He counted the silenced milliseconds it took him to say the incantation as Nott closed his eyes.

"CRUCIO!"

Harry watched the boy in front of him screech in suffering as he twisted and coiled on the floor, blinded by the pain of what Harry knew would feel like white-hot metal against his skin. Harry felt a smile curl on his lips as he watched the boy in his Slytherin robes and dark hair, the curse being fuelled by memories; happy and terrible memories of people Harry once knew from his previously guiltless mind, people he had laughed and bounded with so long ago. People who didn't deserve to die so young…

The boy on the ground twisted to face Harry, and for the first time since seeing the figure in front of him hit the floor, Harry recoiled, finishing the Curse. He became confused as Nott's face looked up at him, but he then remembered that he had only imagined it as Riddle. He blinked many times, his smile long gone. The room was silent. Barely a drop of emotion filled Harry, even as he implored his blank mind to comprehend what this all meant. His thoughts appeared to have frozen.

"Very impressive, Smith," Riddle's voice called from a distant place. Harry watched as Nott got off the ground, avoiding everyone's eyes as he brushed off his robes. "That lasted around fifteen seconds… Have you preformed this Curse before?"

Harry tore his gaze away from Nott to look at Riddle. He heard some of the Death Eaters behind the wall of glass talking in approval about what they had just witnessed. "What?" asked Harry, disoriented.

"The Cruciatus Curse, have you preformed it before?" Riddle asked again.

"Yeah," Harry answered, barely knowing what he was saying. "Yeah, once before…"

Riddle seemed to take something from these words, but Harry didn't care to understand what that meant. He was starting to feel nauseated. Riddle seemed to see this too, for he asked, "Would you like to take a break?"

"Yeah…" Harry managed, "erm, Bathroom…"

No one stopped him as he made his way out of the headquarters. They had expected as much from Harry's unknown character, and were too impressed by his success to care whether or not he didn't wish to finish celebrating with them. They carried on, knowing he would come back some time.

Harry made his way down the dark dungeon corridor, clambering up stairs at a quick pace, desperate to get onto the upper floors. He was surprised to see it was dark outside, but made no hesitation for the nearest bathroom. It was empty as he entered it. He ran over to one of the sinks, vomiting barely after placing his hands on the cold, dark marble. He made a noise of disgust, standing over the sink for over a moment before the putrid smell of his own sickness met his nose, pleading for him to wash it down the sink properly. Harry turned the tap, closing his eyes as the water ran. When he was finished with that, he opened his eyes again, peering at his reflection through the chipped, ancient mirror. He felt as though he was about to be sick again.

He had just tortured a boy he barely knew. Harry understood what it was to suffer under the weight of the Cruciatus Curse, and he suddenly felt like a monster for having caused that pain for someone who was innocent to him. He couldn't comprehend the idea fully; he couldn't grasp the idea that Nott had felt what he and so many others had. The Longbottoms… but Harry couldn't finish thinking about the Longbottoms now, even if they hadn't suffered the Battle of Hogwarts.

He had been able to perform that spell only because he thought about all who had suffered under Voldemort's wrath, but was Harry any better now? He felt cracked, broken. This was almost worse than the Battle… but Harry wouldn't think about that. He couldn't. He felt his hands shake as he held onto the marble structure of the sink, his eyes now closed due to the green irises in his reflection reminding him of all who had suffered from the failing of the Boy Who Lived…

Harry wasn't sure how he was going to get over this new wave of horror that was trapping him with in his own body. All he knew as that he wasn't going to return to the Death Eaters, not tonight. He couldn't go through with suffering that much again. Memories of his friends were haunting him even in this space of time… Harry's hands clenched into fists as burning tears began to fall from his closed eyes.

Two weeks had passed since Harry joined in with the first Death Eater meeting. The lessons that followed the one in which Harry tortured Nott were a little less stressing, to Harry's relief, but he was still being forced to learn a lot of Magic he strongly disliked. What was more, he didn't seem to be making any progress with Legilimency. He knew that Riddle would not be so obvious in confronting Harry with the idea of the skill again, but Harry had the nagging feeling that one of these days Riddle might ask him a question as an inside joke about the minds of one of the Death Eaters, and he wouldn't be able to answer. The last thing Harry wanted was for Riddle to think over his story and situation again.

As time drew on, Harry began to worry if he could even learn Legilimency at all. He had been terrible at Occlumency, but even with that now covered he wasn't confident that he could gain a skill so close to it. With learning Occlumency it had been particularly difficult due to Snape not getting along with him, but surely his hate for Riddle should fuel him forwards in Legilimency, rather than away from it? Harry felt as though he couldn't take in any information at times, however. It was only when he found the energy to think about the future that he could bring himself to continue on with all the books. He simply couldn't let this fail…

As Harry sat in the Library doing homework, however, it wasn't lack of motivation that was distracting him from work. Riddle and the Death Eaters were sitting around him, all reading books or else talking and joking quietly amongst themselves. Harry had the horrible feeling that, as he looked down at the book in front of him, Riddle was watching his every move. Drumming his fingers on the ancient volume in slight stress, Harry avoided eye contact with anyone around him… After what felt like ten solid minutes of being seemingly watched, he decided to close his book and looked up.

Riddle was indeed staring at him. He didn't drop his gaze even when Harry stood; he stood up too.

"I was wondering if I could have a word with you, Jonathan?" Riddle asked, in the same way he had asked this question what felt like a million times before.

"Sure," Harry said apathetically, not caring what this would turn out to be about. He began walking out of the library, Riddle following. Once they were on the corridor outside, Harry turned to Riddle. His voice was still lacking some emotion when he spoke, but he didn't care to change it. "What is it that you want to talk about?"

"I was wondering if I could ask you something," Riddle began, "but first I think we should go somewhere more private."

Harry glanced at Riddle for a second, in half a mind to question this offer. The taller boy led him down a corridor before he could find a protest, however, and brought him to where an empty classroom stood. Riddle was, after all, supposed to be his leader, Harry mused idly. The room they entered was gloomy and neglected, but Harry only cared about what Riddle had to say.

"So what did you want to ask me?" Harry pressed.

Riddle, who stood leaning on one of the desks in front of Harry, surveyed him carefully.

"I was merely wondering what you might be able to tell me about your parents," he started in a light tone.

Harry stared at him in silence.

"I mean, I understand if you don't want to share such information," Riddle clarified quickly, "but… I merely feel as though it would help me in getting to know you better. It is, of course, somewhat of a similarity we share, that our parents weren't around in our early lives… You could begin, for example, with telling me exactly how it was that they died?"

Harry paused for only a second upon hearing Riddle's words – a new test, he was sure. For the last two weeks he had been under the impression that Riddle was trying to suss him out in some way, and this was a confirmation. It brought up a lot of questions: should Harry take on this challenge, and declare himself smart enough to understand characteristics as well as Riddle did? Harry was sure that he had no option other than to accept, for a refusal reeked of fear. But then, how much should he lie? Harry wanted to keep it somewhere close to the truth, for he knew a complete lie was another opportunity for mistakes, while complete truth was out of the question. The answer to give Riddle came to Harry quickly…

"They were murdered…" Harry responded carefully, "by a man I wish very much to kill."

Riddle gazed at Harry for a long moment, and Harry stared back with equal persistence. This answer appeared to either confused Riddle deeply or confirmed some assumption he had made previously, but Harry couldn't tell which. He had barely known a time in which Riddle remained silent for so long, thinking over the many possibilities of this answer, and as another rarity, Harry spoke to ask Riddle a question, to watch for Riddle's reaction.

"What about your parents?"

Riddle blinked once or twice at these words, and seemed to stop thinking of Harry's parents in order to spare thought for his own. "My mother died when I was born. I don't know about my father…"

As Harry listened, he thought he heard a shadow of a mistake in the way that Riddle said 'father'. He heard a hissing sound too pronounced in the 'f', which suggested bitterness in the word as a whole. It was far too slow and delicate to have no meaning. Harry knew that by this time – at seventeen – Riddle's father was long since dead, murdered by Tom himself. The ring upon Riddle's finger told Harry as much. It almost amused Harry to think that the Dark Lord as a young adult made mistakes as such. He wondered whether Riddle was regretting the way he said 'father', or whether he didn't notice it at all.

"That's all I really wanted to ask," Riddle said, standing up fully and turning away from Harry. "Unless you have something more to ask?"

He turned to face Harry again, and the latter knew this was a rhetorical question.

"No… Nothing."

Riddle nodded, before pausing. "The next meeting is at nine."

"Yeah… thanks."

Riddle left without another word.