Author Keynote/Warning: You are either going to love me or hate me. I tried this before and had to take down the fic. I ask you all to please trust me. I will get you through this. Reminders that my favorite books are mysteries and adult fantasy, not just young fantasy.
Chapter 10 - Trust Me
Was Potter adjusting well to the Dark Arts? Yes and no.
Severus didn't know how far he could push the boy. But he was beginning to have suspicions about Moody making the decision for him. Although Potter's latest incident that found him back under the tender care of Madam Pomfrey was certainly a feasible occurrence given the nature of his magic and his lack of control over it. However, the Weasley twins description of the incident was making Severus believe that the Dark Lord's inside man was the Auror.
which made little sense, seeing is Alastor Moody would sooner take a ballet then consider working within the dark side much less for the Dark Lord.
Nevertheless, Severus had his orders, and in an unlikely series of events, Sirius Black, of all people, had presented him with the perfect excuse to bring Potter closer to him.
Occlumency was not a branch of magic Severus enjoyed teaching. He wanted no part in the boy's memories, or personal issues, or Merlin take him, the boy's 'feelings.' But some things were necessary, and it seemed with a bit of encouragement the boy was not terribly dense in advancing. In fact, his strength of will was nearly frightening in its intensity. His direction and order of mind were less so, though that did present different challenges, ones that would not be completely insurmountable.
"You must control your thoughts, Mr. Potter," Severus coached as polite as he was physically able.
He was sweating, his breathing heavy, but he took a deep breath has Severus had taught him and seemed to balance himself.
Severus made one final plunge, the boy defense held for only a moment before Severus was able to skirt it.
He sighed, pulling the spell back, "I believe that is enough for today. You need to start working smarter not harder."
The boy only ran a hand through his sweaty hair, frowning at an internal thought, his gaze distant.
The scars seemed to bother him less now, but after Black's letter, they had begun to worry Severus more. Black hadn't given him details, but he had alluded to enough to make Severus wary, warier than he had already been about exposing the boy further to the Dark Arts.
"I would like you to practice this spell," he said, offering his student a rolled piece of parchment he had copied from a book that if Dumbledore knew he had, he would have likely burned down Severus' entire personal library.
"What does it do?" he asked, taking it and shoving it in his bag.
"A water spell that can control the flow of water," which was the absolute truth. Severus just conveniently left out the part where it was used for starting floods and parting rivers. "Practice on the lake."
Potter scrunched his nose, "Fleur won't like that."
"I don't care what your girlfriend likes, you are not to share the spells I give you with anyone, do you understand me?" Severus snapped and instantly regretted his moment of temper. Ordering the boy to do anything almost ensured the opposite response.
But, surprisingly, the boy didn't rise at his tone, and calmly asked, "Why?"
Severus went with the basic truth, stripped of the possible legalities. "Because these spells are dangerous."
"Then why give them to me?"
"Because you are dangerous."
"Why give a dangerous person dangerous tools?"
Most excellent question. Aloud he answered, "At the rate you are excelling, Mr. Potter, you might just kill someone with a levitation charm. This spell requires a mass amount of power to even activate, and much, much more concentration than you have thus far demonstrated in order to wield it. It is likely that all you will get is ripples, perhaps a few splashes."
"Can you wield the spell, Sir?" he asked tentatively.
Severus nodded, "I am perhaps not the most powerful wizard of my generation, but what I lack in raw strength I make up for in concentration."
"But I thought you said it needed a mass amount of power."
Severus gritted his teeth and just barely kept from growling, "The thing one learns with experience is that smaller amounts of power can be directed at pressure points that can move forces that ordinarily wouldn't be moved."
He frowned, "That sounds like physics."
"You would be surprised how much physics and metaphysics overlap."
"Yeah, you know, except for the whole matter can be neither created nor destroyed."
"Who is to the say the muggles have reached the limits of the scientific understanding? And how do you know so much about muggle physics?"
"I don't sleep well at the Dursleys so I end up reading all of my cousin's books out of sheer boredom."
Severus raised his brow, "As opposed to your summer assignments."
"The Dursleys don't let me have my books, I have to sneak them up to my room and can only write my papers under my covers by wand-light. And how do you know so much about muggle science?" Potter asked before tacking on, "Sir?"
Severus glared, "You are dismissed, Mr. Potter."
The boy left, though not at his usual running pace.
Perhaps the Head of Slytherin House was growing soft. But seeing as he had just given a student a spell that was among one of the most highly addictive in Dark Arts, he doubted it.
Severus went back to brewing a potion for the Dark Lord. An appearance potion that was, as far as he could discern, akin to a perminate polyjuice potion, although it was dark and very illegal. Anything the Dark Lord concocted himself was considered illegal. But as far as Severus was concerned, there were few bad things that could happen if the Dark Lord looked like the Dark Lord. If his 'Master' had found a permanent host than making that body look like Tom Riddle could only help them in the long run.
Severus sighed as he dropped a bit of bone -that the Dark Lord had sent him by owl, into the cauldron. It wasn't the case that Pettigrew could have been given this sensitive task.
Now all Severus needed was a way to let Albus know the Dark Lord was back.
Harry was starting to understand Hermione's obsession with school. He loved magic, he always had, but after studying and practicing as much as he had been, the magic came to him easier. This may have been due to the fact that there was no cap on his magic. Harry was beginning to think it was some sort of parasite that had been living in his scar.
Something that Sirius had written to him about without detail, pleading with him to start taking occlumency lessons with Snape.
Who had graciously, and surprisingly, agreed to teach. And though Harry hated the migraines, he had to admit that Snape wasn't an awful teacher when he wasn't trying so hard to be an awful person.
But the water spell he had been given, which Harry had kept from Fleur on account that she wouldn't want anything to do with the lake any way, was incredible.
With a wave of his wand he could make the water move. All he had managed so far was getting water droplets to rise, but they looked like little crystals suspended in the sunlight.
Charms was truly his favorite subject.
Fleur, Harry, and Viktor stood on the Quidditch Pitch that had been transformed into a maze.
"Won't this be fun?" Bagman asked.
The three champions exchanged smirks and they nodded.
An obstacle course? They were all prepared for an obstacle course, they likely all had been since the first task. Of all the tasks they had been presented with, this would be the easiest.
"Good! Well, then I'll be off. See you in a few days." Bagman headed toward the road clearly headed for where the anti-apparition ward ended.
Fleur was nearly skipping on their way back.
Viktor observed her coldy, "You seem to think you can win this, Delacour. I'm still in the lead."
She grinned at him, "I was born for this. I've never met an obstacle course I couldn't conquer."
"Well," Harry chimed in, "I went through my first series of magical obstacle courses in my first year of Hogwarts. I may be the youngest, but I think I'll be champion of this task."
Fleur laughed, delighting in his unusual display of arrogance. Typically the only thing Harry could be arrogant about was his flying.
"And how did that task end?" Viktor asked.
"Voldemort was possessing one of my teachers at the time and apparently due to something my mum did to protect me when she died still worked. I sort of melted his face off and Voldemort's… spirit? Spirit-thing flew off. I woke up in the hospital wing, per usual, but I didn't die and I was the one to get the Philosopher's Stone, not the Dark Lord. So I say it was I won."
At this point, Fleur and Viktor had stopped to gape at him.
"You did what?" Fleur asked.
"You faced the Dark Lord when you were eleven?" Viktor asked, his face a wash of surprise.
"Didn't it make the papers?" Harry asked. "Everyone in Hogwarts was talking about it. Though they seemed to forget in my second year."
"Potter," Viktor began slowly as if he were talking to a crazy person. "No one publishes rumours, aside from your Skeeter woman."
"You don't believe me," Harry said flatly. "Hermione was there, she helped us get through the tasks. Ask her."
"Arry," Fleur hedged, "How could you have faced the Dark Lord and not be dead?"
He shrugged, "I'm the Boy Who Lived, remember? I faced him at the end of my second year too. Some memory or dark curse of his possessed the twin's younger sister, Ginny. Nearly killed her."
"Did you melt his face off too?" Viktor asked.
"Nope," he answered cheerily, "I stabbed his diary with a Basilisk fang."
"Dare we ask where you got the Basilisk fang?" Fleur asked warily.
His grin grew, "From a Basilisk I had just stabbed with the sword of Gryffindor. And before you ask, yes it nearly killed me but Dumbledore's phoenix cried for me and healed my wounds. That's one of the other scars I have."
Viktor and Fleur looked equal parts appalled and astonished.
"Whoever put your name in the Goblet," Viktor declared, "did not have to do anything else but get past the age line. You are Hogwarts best student."
"At least I am the most danger prone," Harry muttered.
"What happened last year?" Fleur asked, "I heard there was trouble with your godfather but the rest-"
"Dementors," Harry said shortly, "I hate dementors." He would have said more but just then a figure ran out from the treeline.
A babbling Crouch who looked as if he hadn't rested in weeks fell at Harry's feet, sobbing.
Or at least who would have if the crazy man hadn't jumped three of the most trained students on the Hogwarts grounds.
Three stunners hit the man, and he collapsed in front of Harry.
Which really didn't look good when Dumbledore and Fudge came upon them.
The three of them stared up at the two adults who glared back at them.
Something heavy fell into Harry's gut at the look of deep suspicion in Dumbledore's eyes. True, Harry hadn't exactly been happy with the old wizard of late, but the mistrust he saw in his eyes was disturbing.
"What did you do?" Fudge demanded.
"We stunned him," they said in unison, although it wasn't exactly jointly as their accents made the sentence sound different from each of them.
"Why?" Dumbledore ask softly.
"Because he was mad," Viktor said, his mask going back on. "He went at Potter, he could have meant him harm."
"You don't hit a mentally unstable person with stunners," Fudge berated.
Fleur answered that with a raised chin, "Subduing a madman seems to me to be exactly what stunners are designed for."
Fudge shook his head and levaited the man, "I'll get him to St. Mungo's. I will speak with you later, Albus."
Dumbledore nodded.
They all watched him head off, aside from Dumbledore who was scanning the trees.
"It seems to me," the Headmaster began, "you all should be getting back to your beds for the night."
"We were going to study in the library togethe-"
"Not tonight," he said, cutting Fleur off.
She glared at him, kissed Harry's cheek, tossed her hair, and then marched off.
Harry watched her go, chest tight. The ruder she acted the more upset or worried she was.
Viktor had almost the same tell, only he grew less talkative and people mistook that for lack of intelligence. One had only to look into his eyes to know the gruff exterior wasn't the full package. He left without a word in the direction of the lake, leaving Harry with the Headmaster.
Once they were alone, he said, "I'm sorry. I just acted on instinct. Do you think he'll be alright?"
"That would depend on what state he was in before he was stunned by three powerful young people."
Harry winced.
"As disagreeable as the papers have been of late, Harry, they haven't been completely wrong. You must be careful of who you give your trust to."
Harry stiffened, "Fleur and Viktor are good people."
Dumbledore kept his eyes on the castle as they began to walk back. "Perhaps. But what of your other friends, Hermione and Ron?"
"I see Hermione a lot, she's dating Viktor."
"So you've become closer to the Durmstrang student as opposed to the person who has been your close friend for years from your own house and school?"
He frowned up at the old man, "Hermione and I only have two classes together now. We are still friends, but I've been busy."
"With Miss Delacour?"
Harry blushed and hated himself for that, "When I have time. I think we spend more time in each other's company with me doing homework more than anything else, unless we are practicing duels or new spells."
"And Mr. Ron Weasley? I see that he hasn't been included in your company at all this year."
He stopped in his tracks, not at all liking the Headmaster's tone. "What is that supposed to mean?"
Dumbledore sighed, "Forgive me, Harry. I am very old and some patterns… well, I have learned to expect the best from you, however, I do ask you to be careful. There are many paths in this world to take. I wish only for you to not be misled down a path darker than it appeared to be."
Again Harry felt a twist in his heart. Dumbledore did mistrust him. "Right," he said lamely, "I understand, it's alright."
He didn't understand and it wasn't alright.
They walked the rest of the way in silence and when they parted, Harry felt as if he had just estranged a very dear relative. He shouldn't have felt that way of course. After all, Dumbledore still hadn't revealed the truth about his parents' death.
Lunch with the Delacours was an interesting event in Harry's life that took place the day of the final task.
Fleur's mother was a petite woman with golden blonde hair and a pretty smile. As Fleur had told him, Veela blood often skipped a generation, and walking into a restaurant in London (something McGonagall had to sign a waiver for), Fleur, Gabrielle, and even Mr. Delacour received more glances than their Mrs. Apolline Delacour did.
Harry with his scars got him more looks than all of them put together, which was more than slightly embarrassing. He hadn't thought much about his scars lately, the looks people gave him at school were less astonished and less horrified than those around him now.
When they got a table he made sure to face away from the other patrons.
Gabrielle had unabashedly laid claim to his arm the moment they all exchanged greetings. He found her continuous talking adorable and he was fascinated with the way she switched in and out of using French and English. Though he couldn't make out most of what she was saying, here and there, Harry was able to translate a few of the French words.
It seemed Fleur's attempts to teach him weren't completely lost on him after all.
Fleur's mother couldn't speak English at all, or at least not well enough to use it with a native speaker. But she did understand everything Harry said without difficulty, Mr. Delacour translated his wife's questions every now and then for Harry.
He knew that Fleur loved her family and was close with them, but that hadn't really prepared him for how close. The Weasley family was a loud clan of people, the Delacours were a tight knit unit who seemed to adore each other.
And Harry felt very humbled that he was welcomed with them.
"'Arry," Mr. Delacour began, "what are your plans for your seventh year?"
Harry shook his head, "I am just playing it year by year. I am having trouble keeping up with my classes as it is."
"He's doing splendidly," Fleur cut in, "if anything he needs to spend less time on homework." She pouted at Harry.
Harry, in turn, had to look away, when she pouted she both hilarious and virtually irresistible. But he had sworn to himself there would be no more kissing in front of her father.
Mrs. Delacour laughed and said something to Mr. Delacour that had her laughing as well.
Harry tilted his head to the side.
"Mama said Fleur only said that because she wants more of your attention," Gabrielle translated.
Harry flushed but thankfully, so did Fleur, completely ruining her chin raise look.
And so it went. They managed not talk about anything deep or personal or the news or anything that wasn't lighthearted.
Something for which Gabrielle was chiefly responsible.
Fleur and Harry were left to go in Hogsmeade, Mr. Delacour having to pull Gabrielle off Harry and then off her sister.
"Mais, Papa!"
"Non, tu les verras ce soir," Mr. Delacour said.
Ce soir meaning tonight, Harry assumed he'd said they would see them tonight.
They apparated away while Gabrielle was still protesting.
"I love your family," Harry said.
She grinned, "Bon, because they are a big part of my life."
Yet then, Harry wished very much that he could have introduced her to his parents. Which is when an idea struck him.
He grabbed her hand, "Do you trust me?"
She nodded.
He led her down a path.
"Arry? Don't we need to get back?"
"There is someone I want you to meet."
"In the woods?"
"In a cave, but we need to stop to get food first."
"We just ate."
But she didn't protest further, waiting as Harry stopped to get three meals to go. They headed off back in the direction they had been going.
"Snuffles!" Harry called out at the mouth of a cave.
A large black dog came to greet them, his tail wagging like a flag. His coat was sleek and well groomed, unlike the last time Harry had seen him.
"Un chien," Fleur breathed, and immediately held out her hand for the dog to sniff.
Snuffles came right to her, but instead of sniffing her hand, he sat primly and offered her a paw.
She laughed and shook the dog's large paw. "You have him well trained."
Harry grinned, "Fleur this is my godfather, Sirius Black, and Snuffles, this is my girlfriend, Fleur Delacour."
Fleur blinked at him, then the dog, and then the dog transformed into a man, and Fleur was at loss of words as Sirius grinned down at her.
"Lovely to meet you in person, my dear. Harry writes about you all the time."
She regained her poise, "Harry speaks of you highly, Mr. Black. He did not, however, mention you were a dog living in a cave outside of Hogsmeade."
Sirius barked a laugh, "I don't live here, I just wanted to be close by for the Final Task. And please call me Snuffles or Padfoot."
"Now that I have you in person, can you please explain what is going on with my scar? I know you know," Harry pressed
"Don't I get a hug first?"
Harry smiled and hugged him in a tight squeeze. Sirius looked much better than he had done. His hair was longer, likely because it wasn't in matts, his beard was trimmed close to his face, and though there were bags under his grey-blue eyes, they were no longer sunken into his face.
"Also I brought you food."
Sirius took the meals gratefully, "Best godson ever."
He grinned but asked, "Now spill about what you've learned?"
"How are your occlumency lessons going?"
"Well, but-"
"But until you've mastered it, I think it is best if I keep that information to myself."
"Sirius-"
"He's right," Fleur interjected.
Harry couldn't help but glare at her.
"I know you want to know. I want to know, but there is power in knowledge. You just told me not a week ago, that in the last four years you have been in direct contact with the Dark Lord twice. Arry, the less he knows the better."
Harry took in a deep breath then sighed, "I guess you're right."
"Do you need to start learning Occlumency too?" Sirius asked Fleur.
She shook her head, "I am human but in some ways I am more Veela to certain magicks. I am not saying if someone worked at it, they couldn't get through my natural shields, but my natural shields are probably better than what Arry could learn in three years."
Sirius grinned at her, "I like you. You've got a good mind on your shoulders. I'd invite you over for the summer, but Harry and I will be in hiding."
She looked at Harry sharply, "You truly aren't returning to the Dursleys?"
"Nope," he said, popping the p. "The papers are going to have a field day with 'Sirius Black Kidnaps the Boy Who Lived.' I plan to laugh my butt off at them all."
"Best be careful that your Ministry doesn't drag you into court for an investigation when you return in September."
"He's a minor. But that's another thing you'll be working on this summer, the law. It didn't help me, but people will listen to a Potter if you speak up for yourself."
Harry looked at his godfather with tired green eyes, "That sounds like wishful thinking."
Sirius clapped him on the back, "One day at a time. Now, tell me, which of you is going to win the Triwizard Tournament?"
"Viktor's in the lead," Fleur began, "Mais ce sera moi."
Harry shook his head. "I might not win this tournament, Delacour, but I am so going to win this task. Hagrid is going to release all sorts of beasties in there. I know most of them, also I was born running. You don't stand a chance."
"I am top of my class in Fitness Pratique."
"And I'm now top of my class in DADA and we happen to be in the same year now."
"I meant to ask you about that. Fleur, aren't you of age?" Sirius asked.
"I am on the young side of being a seventh year and my parents decided to keep me home an extra year. I am the oldest girl in the sixth year."
"Interesting," he said, his grey-blue eyes alight with some thought or mischief.
"What?" Harry asked, suspousily.
Sirius waved the question away, "Nothing, you two best be getting back. It was wonderful to meet you, Miss Delacour, and Harry-" he pulled him into another bear hug, "you stay safe, you hear me? We are going to be a family, you and I. We just have to get you through school."
Harry held onto the only adult who had ever listened to him, who cared about him because of him not just because of his parents or what he had to offer the wizarding world.
The lineup at the last task was exhilarating.
All three of them were close friends at this point, and beating each other meant ultimate bragging rights. For the first time this year it felt like a game, it felt like fun.
They were prepared and each of them was likely more dangerous than anything crawling around in there.
The whistle blew and Viktor sped off into the bushes first. The second whistle blew and Fleur who had been smiling when they arrived on the field, didn't so much as give Harry a backward glance as she darted into the hedgerow.
When the whistle blew for Harry, he ran as if the hounds of Hades were on his heels. He paused intermittently to use the point-me charm. He knew he had to go Northeast to reach the cup.
The obstacles started up almost immediately around every other corner, and a couple nasty ones at the dead ends. At times it felt like a classic adventure movie, with projectiles shooting out from the hedgerow and the ground shifting under his feet. The amusing thing was that he avoided half of them by running faster than the spells could ignite, obviously it had been adults not teenage boys designing the speed of the traps.
When he got to a cloud of mist he wondered if it was poisonous. But he could feel the mental timer ticking in his mind. He held his breath and sprinted through it. The world tilted and for a moment he was running on a starry sky, his glasses nearly falling off his face, then the world righted, giving him a moment of vertigo that almost did him in as a blast ended skrewt found him.
It sent a blast at him that he only just avoided. It jumped at him, and Harry's reducto caught it on its soft underside. It didn't even have time to screech as it turned to a pile of ash.
Harry winced, "Sorry, Hagrid."
He went on, happy that he hadn't run into the others yet, though he thought he had heard them a few times around a hedge along the way.
The Sphinx was a pretty cool creature, and her riddle brought to mind Aragon, who Harry sincerely hoped wasn't running around the maze. Hagrid might forgive him the skrewt, but the spiders were the groundskeeper's friends.
"Spider," Harry said with a smile, the Sphinx smiled back and stepped aside with an eerie warning.
"It is best you win, but no matter the outcome I fear you will all lose."
He nearly tripped over his own feet. Looking back at the creature, he asked her, "What?"
She looked at him with fathomless eyes, and she warned, "There is someone else in the maze, young wizard."
"Who?" he asked.
But she had already turned her back on him. He didn't waste time arguing with her. He hadn't managed to get answers out of Centaurs, he doubted he would get them out of a Sphinx. He ran faster, suddenly the darkened maze seemed far more sinister than it had done moments earlier. He came to a semi-clearing and the familiar feeling of being watched came upon him.
He didn't call out, but he scanned everything in sight. He saw the cup, approaching it warily he did some scanning spells that Flitwick had taught him. Honestly, Flitwick was better at Defense Against the Dark Arts than Moody was.
A chill ran down his spine at the thought of Mad-Eye Moody. There was something very wrong with the ex-Auror. Something that reminded him of Snape at his worst and most suspicious. Although Snape, the ex-Death Eater, was a lot easier to get along with of late, which just made his unease around Mad-Eye the more worrisome.
Finding nothing on the cup, Harry reached out and grabbed it.
A pulling sensation yanked him up by the navel.
Harry felt sick as he landed on his hands and knees in the dirt. Looked up, he watched the world swirl around him. His vision was spinning but he still got a glimpse of his surroundings before he shut his eyes tight.
Was that a tombstone?
"Stupify!" a familiar voice -that Harry didn't have the time to place, shouted.
The world winked out of conscious thought.
Fleur was beginning to get frustrated, she had been over the same row of hedges several times. There was a clearing that she assumed one would place a cup, but nothing was there.
"Fleur!" Viktor called out to her as she decided to press forward on the other side of the maze. 'The center of the maze' had apparently been a lie.
She paused, Viktor approached her looking as pissed as she felt. "They lied to us," he said, echoing her thoughts.
"If it's hidden in one of the hedges I am going to beat whoever designed this course with the cup."
"We've been in here for what feels like hours," he said, "We have no way of telling if we are anywhere close to finding it. And who decided it was a good idea to design a course where the spectators can't see what's happening?"
Fleur sighed and they walked around another corner, she was fully prepared to push Viktor into the bushes if she saw the cup. Which gave her the advantage because she knew Viktor was too chivalrous to do the same to her.
Harry would have probably shoved her into the hedge. "Have you seen, 'Arry?" she asked suddenly worried.
"No, but perhaps he is running back with the cup, seeing as I heard him ahead of me an hour or so ago."
"What if something happened to him?" she asked.
"He will be fine," he soothed, but Fleur could see the dawning concern on his face.
They began to search the maze with renewed earnest. And it wasn't for the damned cup.
When Harry awoke he found himself sitting propped up against a tombstone, in the middle of a circle of cloaked figures in masks.
Death Eaters.
In the circle with him was a man who looked like an older version of the Tom Riddle Harry had seen emerge from the diary in his second year. He was perhaps in his mid-thirties, with a handsome aristocratic face, a narrow upturned nose, large brown eyes, arched eyebrows, and thick brown hair that fell to his jawline. He was notably pale but looked more human than the memory of Tom Riddle had.
But Harry would recognize Lord Voldemort no matter what he looked like.
Using the stone behind him for support, Harry found his feet and was very pleased to find his wand was still in his pocket.
Not that it would do him a lot of good. He was outnumbered nearly a dozen to one -by fully grown wizards and the Dark Lord himself.
He was going to die. But he was going to go out fighting like his father had.
Poor Sirius. Poor Fleur. They would never forgive him, or likely, themselves. A vain hope rose in him that his new found strength and wild magic that had been causing him so much trouble would save him.
It was a slim hope.
Voldemort, who for whatever reason seemed to be waiting for Harry to regain his barings, spoke at last, "Welcome Mr. Potter."
Harry said nothing, the Death Eaters said nothing, they waited together in an awkward silence as Voldemort smiled pleasantly at him.
Voldemort continued as if Harry were a dear friend and was being greeted for afternoon tea, rather than him being kidnapped and where now standing in a dank graveyard in the middle of the night surrounded by a bunch of terrorists. "I've just re-acquainted myself with my supporters, but tonight isn't about me, it's about you, Mr. Potter."
Harry braced himself, spreading his feet shoulder width apart and held his wand ready at his side. Tonight would be revenge for his thorating him, for delaying the inevitable that was the evil of the Dark Lord.
"I do not mean you harm, Mr. Potter. I see it in your eyes, you think I mean to avenge myself, to kill you. I assure you that I want nothing of the sort."
Harry felt the suspicion on his face, his utter disbelief. Does he think I'm stupid?
"I admit I've made mistakes. But together I believe we can overcome all. The road to greatest is wrought with trials and the road to immortality… well, few have walked as far as I."
He talks a lot, Harry mused. Throughout the crazy person's monologue, he let his eyes scan the crowd. One stout figure, Harry assumed was Wormtail. The silver hand was new. A wisp of white blonde hair peeking around one of the masks let him know that Lucius Malfoy was among the onlookers.
"Tonight," Voldemort drawled, his voice thick and seductive as honey.
If he didn't die soon, Harry thought he might be sick.
"Tonight, Mr. Potter, you join us. I mean to make you my heir, my right hand. I will bestow upon you what I shall pass on to no other, immortality."
Harry laughed, an abrupt burst of sound.
"You laugh, but I speak only truth. You have but to trust me."
Harry shook his head, "You murdered my parents, you evil piece of skrewt scat."
Weirdly, Voldemort's pleasant expression didn't falter, which was not the short tempered Voldemort Harry had come to know and despise.
"That was a mistake."
Everyone else was masked, but that statement had to be as much a shock to them as it was to Harry. "A mistake?" he asked, annoyed. "Yes, quite the mistake, murdering two people to slaughter a baby. Yeah, a real oopsie there."
"Did Dumbledore ever tell you why I believed you to be such a threat to my power?"
He said nothing. Voldemort definitely had spies at Hogwarts.
"He didn't, of course he didn't. He doesn't trust you. He believes you are nothing but a child, a weapon to be sheltered until the hour you are needed most."
Harry couldn't help himself, "Why then? Why did you kill them? Why did you want to kill us?"
"A prophecy," Voldemort said gently.
Harry felt revolted, "Divinations? You ruined my life because of freaking Divinations!? Who in Merlin's name did you get a prophecy from?"
"Sybill Trelawney, who Dumbledore has protected for all these years."
For a moment the world went slack beneath him. Drunk, bumbling, fraud Professor Trelawney had gotten his parents killed. The feeling betrayal ran deep, he had taken a class with her. She was no better than the Death Eaters around him. She was a hack who had destroyed lives carelessly and without regret.
"What was the prophecy? I want the truth before I die."
"You shall never die, Harry, you shall join me and never know death."
But Harry had died at the start of this stupid tournament, had felt his soul depart his body. He didn't want to die, but he didn't fear death, not like Voldemort seemed to. "Tell me," he demanded.
"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... born(e) to those who have thrice defied him, born(e) as the seventh month dies."
"That's it?" Harry asked, "How do you even know that referred to me? My parents couldn't have been the only people to defy you three times."
"You weren't, that's why Crouch and the Lestranges tortured the Longbottoms into drooling shells," one of the Death Eaters spoke up.
Voldemort shot a spell at the one who had spoken. The figure fell down to the ground screaming.
"Quiet, McNair," the Dark Lord said shortly.
And there was the Voldemort Harry remembered. This polite, informative, pleasant faced man was all for show, nothing but an illusion.
Neville… Harry's heart broke for him. He had lost his parents just as Harry had, for the same pathetic reason. He wished he could have told him. He would have liked to know. Not that knowing made it hurt less but still, he would have liked to know.
"Harry, it was a mistake," Voldemort said coaxingly.
"You certainly are," he responded drily.
"I give you only truth tonight. I believed a prophecy when I should not have. Prophecies only have the power we give them. I hear you are powerful. But not as powerful as I. I hear also that you have no control. Join me, Harry, and I will teach you control."
He shook his head and raised his wand, "Thanks, but I would sooner die. And unlike some people, I know there are worse fates then death."
"Where there is life there is hope, Mr. Potter," Voldemort said, for all the world sounding and looking like a father trying to give his son advice.
Harry realized for the first time that he was being serious. It was probably still a trap of some sort, but he truly wanted him on his side. For the moment.
What would Fleur have done?
She would have played him like a fiddle.
Could Harry do the same? Could he play the Dark Lord who was playing games on him? Could he beat him at his own tricks? He had bested him twice already. Maybe, just maybe…
"Your eyes, Harry, so expressive, you want to trust me, I see it. Dumbledore gave you not but lies. Locked you up with a family of muggles who hated you, allowed your godfather to be sentenced to a lifetime shared with Dementors, all the while asking you to fight me, raising you to sacrifice your life at the megeriest of chances you might be able to harm me."
His mind was spinning, how do you play someone who had been manipulating others for decades? "You said where there is life, there is hope. If you truly believe that, if you believe that killing my parents was a mistake, then you will heal the Longbottoms."
There was stirring among the onlookers, mutterings, and a single chuckle.
Voldemort smiled slowly, clearly believing he had caught him, "The Longbottoms were Aurors who locked up many of my followers."
"No one deserves to be tortured into insanity." Except you. "Besides, you want me to join you, and I'm probably less likely to join you than even they are."
Voldemort laughed, "So to prove myself to you my sincerity, you want me not only to cure the Longbottoms but convert them to my side?"
What he wanted was to get away safely and for Voldemort to crawl into one of the graves and stay there. But that wouldn't be very playful, would it? "Yes," he said with more bravado than he felt, "I want them healed. If after they have been rejoined, safely, with their family, and they then tell me to trust you, after they are allowed to live out their lives in safety and sanity, I'll trust you."
Which seemed about as likely as Voldemort marrying Albus Dumbledore.
"Consider it done, Mr. Potter."
He blinked, this was all too surreal.
Voldemort took several steps forward.
Harry took several steps back, bumping into the tombstone.
"Give me your arm."
"No," Harry said instinctively.
Voldemort sighed, looking like a disappointed teacher. He raised his bone white wand at him, "What you ask will take time, but you must bare my mark before I return you to school."
Harry was done talking. He lashed out, silently casting a reducto that Voldemort just managed to side step. McNair wasn't so lucky, the spell caught his left arm, and it along with a tombstone behind him, exploded in blood and stone dust.
Voldemort laughed, sounding utterly delighted, as McNair began screaming again.
"Very good, Mr. Potter, very good. You will be an excellent Death Eater."
Again, Harry's only response was a spell, and another and another.
The other Death Eaters wised up, getting out of the way who calling up shields.
Voldemort flicked aside each of Harry's spells as if he were batting away tennis balls.
"Straight back, Mr. Potter. Don't forget to breathe, Harry. Keep your focus on me but use your peveril version to keep track of your surroundings." Voldemort kept giving him advice as Harry kept pushing the attack.
Merlin take him if it wasn't good advice.
Harry almost scored a shot, his disarming charm catching Voldemort in the chest, sending him stumbling back a few steps.
Which is when the 'duel' changed, and Voldemort began to press the attack. Harry's shield charms were damn near invisible, and nothing Voldemort threw at him got through.
That was until he used one of the unforgivables.
"Crucio."
Harry yelped, but before he could fully register the pain, the curse was lifted. It was akin to a love tap, only with cattle prod.
"Only physical objects or beings can stop an unforgivable, Harry, remember that," Voldemort instructed, quickly crossing the distance between them.
Harry raised his wand, but he was too slow. Voldemort struck him with a spell that paralyzed him, so that he crumpled to the ground. Still awake, still conscious, as the Dark Lord grabbed Harry's left wrist, carefully folding back the sleeve of his robes.
"Maybe not tonight, Mr. Potter, or tomorrow, or even within the next month or two. But soon, very soon you will see where you belong. You will come to me of your own volition." The tip the bone white wand touched his arm.
He would have screamed if he could have, the other Death Eaters closed ranks around them, they began chanting, and when Voldemort ceased branding his arm with molten-hot-needle-like pain, they clapped.
Harry could move again, he looked down at his raw arm, where a tattoo of a skull and snake was now permanently ingrained into his skin. He looked up at Voldemort's smiling face.
"Welcome home, my son," the Dark Lord said to him, and bent to kiss his forehead.
At this point, Harry was going into shock. He was as paralyzed now as he had been under that spell. Metal touched his hand. As the Dark Lord stepped away, Harry was again yanked by his navel, and thrown unceremoniously through space.
He landed on a heap on the ground, back on the Quidditch pitch, back in the middle of that damned maze. He had just enough presence of mind to turn onto his side as he threw up into the grass.
He hurt, he was afraid, and he did not have the foggiest of ideas about what had just happened to him or what it would mean.
Where there is life, there is hope.
Harry became re-acquainted with lunch the Delacours had so kindly treated him to. It did not taste better a second time.
AN: There goes the fluff. That was a long chapter with weeks of forethought, this story has a hefty plot now. Please share with me your thoughts and reactions, pretty please?