A huge thanks to everyone who reviewed the story! All your comments bring a ridiculous smile to my face.
An equally great thanks to FalconLux for being an awesome, fast, efficient and supportive beta! She's great, so you should totally read her stories :D
This chapter has a bit of Voldemort overload. Seriously, it deserves its own warning.
Chapter 10. Feed the Beast
"Let's drink to my lil' Harry-darling killing his first traitor today!" Bellatrix declared loudly.
As soon as Harry dropped on a seat farthest from the Dark Lord, she rose and lifted her goblet with a wordless Levitation spell. The others indulged her by reserved quirks of lips, if that. No one obviously shared the enthusiasm.
Harry forced out a smile. Mr Bulstrode inched away from him in wariness.
"Why not?" Voldemort asked. His eyes lit up with mischievous fire for a second. And no, Harry hadn't just thought 'mischievous'. 'Evil gleam' suited reality better. "The pleasant buzz of firewhiskey after an accomplished mission is the best way to finish a day."
The bottle nearest to Harry flew to his goblet and poured him the golden brown liquid. The teen stifled a grimace again. Firewhiskey and an Inner Circle gathering together were so a no-no. Still, he grabbed the cup and gulped down the thing, throwing his head back.
"I s'pose we're allowed to skip the homework for Monday, My Lord? I mean, you can't bury your newest generation of fighters under a heap of dusty parchment on how to transfigure your armpit into a doorknob," Harry said, charmingly wiping his mouth with his sleeve. The other guests obviously didn't admire his sort of charm; a dozen glares rushed at him at once. "Why would I even want to turn my armpit into a doorknob?"
Well, it was one of the biggest mysteries of their education.
And Harry also hoped to delay the inevitable when he would be forced to explain why the heck he was there instead of the instructor. He'd be happier explaining it in writing, actually. He'd love to leave the explanatory paper to the Dark Lord's house elves and crawl back to Hogwarts. Just because Harry loved adrenaline and fighting didn't mean he hated self-preservation, the latter of which begged him with puppy eyes to break the news as late as possible.
Preferably never.
Voldemort's eyes flashed with anger at his unseemly table manners. Harry jolted when his Dark Mark, that taint he forgot on purpose, buzzed unpleasantly. If he pulled up his sleeve, he was almost certain he would see reddened flesh, a spot as angry in its colour as Harry was.
Drop your eyes to the plate, Harry instructed himself. Submission.
And so he missed the tiny twitch of lips on the Dark Lord's face. The Mark burnt fiercer.
"According to the curriculum," Voldemort responded calmly, "for Monday you have to complete a sixteen-inch long essay on the merits of the Killing Curse in mercy killing for Professor Crouch, memorise the wizarding genealogy of fifty pureblood families for Professor Meliflua, and research lust and love potions for Professor Snape."
Even the swirling thoughts on all the possible explanations fled Harry's head as the teen simply blinked. And blinked again. Did Voldemort truly control even what homework the teachers gave them? That complicated everything. If Harry had underestimated the man's willingness to check such small details, what else could he have missed?
Of course, he didn't show any of it. He showed a hopeful grin which was even partly true; if Harry could act roguishly charming, he could spend the next day off instead of tormenting his quill and raiding the library. Any lie for convenient life.
Just because Harry went through hell and back to not show his prowess in subjects didn't mean that he didn't research the material. Sometimes he did it in the dead of night in the dorms, sometimes he snuck out to the library, but he always wrote even the most ridiculous of essays just because. Perhaps he imagined his mother praising his dedication. Perhaps it was the feeling of accomplishment. Harry never dedicated time to pondering at such actions. He simply did.
"Oh, but homework should be the least of your worries, Mr Potter." Voldemort examined his nails. Harry noted that no one else dared speak, even when their Lord made pauses. The guests, all high-flown purebloods and halfbloods of the Inner Circle, adopted an etiquette of their own, one that perhaps differed from the traditional but pleased the Dark Lord. "The paperwork is waiting for you."
Harry clenched his fork in his fist. Knuckles white, a vein popping on his forehead, the mind unable to wrap around the unfairness of it all. He had been so taken with all the advantages of his new position that this unpleasant little detail had escaped him.
Damn it! Rowle could have died at a more convenient time. After the mission, perhaps!
"Well…"
"Of course, usually this nasty job belongs to the instructor, but his absence clearly states he is in no condition to write any time soon." Voldemort's eyes pierced Harry's. He swallowed. "Where is our esteemed Mr Thorfinn Rowle?"
A grimace twisted Harry's face. The Death Eaters around them traded whispers.
"Enjoying tea and crumpets with Order members, I presume," he replied politely, casting his eyes down, onto his unfinished meal, as a sign of submission. Was the grief clear on his face? He should probably work on his facial expressions in front of the mirror again sometime soon; his skills might get rusty. "Post mortem."
A gasp. The clutter of a falling fork. Many hows and whys and whens, all of them coming from the Inner Circle members who dealt with diplomacy instead of battles.
Harry held the garnet gaze.
For the first time that evening, lazy amusement shifted to dark and dangerous emotions. Harry waited for Voldemort to speak, even as his heartbeat broke into tap dance against his ribcage. He hardly dared to breathe, hardly dared to gulp or swallow.
Only Voldemort and Harry existed on the same stage; all the others represented lifeless decorations while Harry played out his role.
He pulled on a grieving face, sighed deeply, and moved his almost untouched plate away. His eyes disconnected from the Dark Lord's, but the man's gaze seared into him. Watching. Recording. Searching for any cracks in the composure to claw them apart and reveal Harry. Adrenaline pulsed in his veins.
Their Lord demanded details.
"It was an accident," Harry said. He contemplated gulping and shedding a tear or two, but such cheap mimicry of grief would disclose untruth better than an actual lie. "Instructor Rowle got too careless while apprehending Mr Bones – and he paid for it. Edgar Bones sought to escape execution by using an emergency portkey, presumably to the Order Headquarters. Instructor Rowle…" Harry's eyelids dropped for a second. "He grabbed the damned thing at the same time as Bones said the keyword. We haven't seen him since."
Tap. Tap. Voldemort's fingers drummed in the wary silence of the Map Dining-room with all the solemnity of a funeral march.
Breathe in. Breathe out, Harry kept reminding himself.
The silence crept on, and the suspicion grew.
He didn't dare turn his eyes to the Dark Lord. If that part failed, if he could not convince them-
"And so you presume Rowle to be dead," Voldemort drawled finally. His voice dazzled with its velveteen quality, never once rising into wince-inducing high pitch nor descending into Snape-ish whisper. Harry stifled the hesitant hope that the man was out of Crucios for him that day, then.
The lack of pity or grief in Voldemort's voice at the death of his servant didn't surprise Harry; no one particularly prized Rowle, and no one shed tears for him. Rowle had lacked the power of magic in life, and he lacked the power to cause heartache in death. Harry supposed that with such failures the man's demise was only fortunate; no use preserving lacking beings.
"Well, it'd be tough for him to escape wherever he's ended up by himself." Harry shrugged.
"Why did you assume the portkey took him to the Order Headquarters?" the Dark Lord continued the interrogation. His fingertips stopped tapping. Lucius inclined his head towards Harry, glowering at the teen with suspicious eyes. "It could be designed to carry him to a secret safe house or another base of Resistance."
Harry blinked.
Oh bloody-! That's the question, huh? All right, how about-
"The keyword was 'Long live the Phoenix'!" Harry blurted.
…Well, he could have chosen something a tad less transparent, but-
"I beg your pardon?" Voldemort's eyebrows shot up to his hairline. The man took a long sip of pomegranate juice from an intricately crafted goblet before setting it down. Harry realised he wanted a drink, too. Preferably something without alcohol in it.
A few stray thoughts, and Harry collected himself in a second.
"I was holding Edgar Bones when he spoke the keyword, so I heard it very clearly. And, well, the obvious assumption would be that it transported him to the Order," Harry reasoned with a shrug. His hand passed over the firewhiskey to grab a goblet of water and drink from it. The liquid flowed down his tongue.
Voldemort hummed noncommittally, not commenting to disprove or agree with Harry's version of events. Instead, the man continued eating. Everyone immediately relaxed, although suspicious glances stabbed into the teen. Had he not been so bloody hungry, he would shove his pork aside. He bit into the tender meat instead.
Unfortunately, Voldemort's relaxation meant tension for Harry. Bella ogled at him with her usual craze – and oh how much Harry wanted to score down her face and get rid of those too knowing eyes – but Lucius threw the first stone.
"Rowle's death is rather convenient for you, isn't it, Mr Potter?" the blond man asked. He amplified his voice a bit so that Harry heard it over the din of the dining room. Didn't bother making his utterances unheard to the others present.
Harry grimaced. "Our Lord has just told me to take on all the paperwork. The paperwork, Mr Malfoy. The paperwork that Instructor Rowle would have been filling up nicely instead of me. How on earth would his death be convenient? Now I'm going to drown in ink and be buried in parchment. At least," Harry added, bowing his head lightly at Bella despite his inner resentment, "I hope my dear Aunt will make up a magnificent epitaph to honour my sacrifice for the state."
"Doll, if you actually manage to die of paperwork, I'll conjure a statue in Lestrange Manor and set up annual festivals around it." Bella crowed in laughter. A curl of black got in her wine, and she swept it aside with a casual flick of fingers. The drops fell in Lucius's plate. The blond went green, queasy, and bug-eyed. "You'll be our whimsical deity, and there will be lots of sky-clad dance involved. Ah, all those younger bodies dancing in the sunlight!"
While her husband's lips tightened, Bella sighed dreamily and leaned on him for support. For a moment Harry seriously feared she would kill him just to make her fantasy come true. Another moment, and he angrily batted away the idea.
Thankfully, Lucius broke into the conversation that seemed too friendly and family-like.
"The benefits are surely worth this trifle," Lucius pushed. Harry looked at him, but in reality vied to catch an eyeful of the Dark Lord's reserved posture and an earful of the man's conversation with Rudolphus Lestrange. "You will receive more information about missions, mingle with your superiors – our noble Inner Circle, of course – when you report and attend bi-monthly meetings, not to mention that you will be allowed to take on single missions faster than usual, and also be given more opportunities to prove yourself to the Dark Lord. So, it's benefits all around."
"Hooray, thrilled to bits about it," Harry muttered dispiritedly as he nibbled on his teaspoon. Inside he cackled. He hadn't anticipated the advantages to go this far.
"Aww," Bella cooed, once again interrupting her blond counterpart. She loved the sound of her own voice more than anything else, and wasn't even ashamed to admit it if asked. ...Voldemort, though, she never interrupted. Too deadly. She was insanity's lover, not suicidal tendencies' victim. "I'm sure you'll survive, my little darling."
Harry cringed. Despise bubbled up inside at the endearment. The names she called him stank like rotten peaches and evoked memories of her kindly smile and sharp whipping spells. Bella tormented and caressed, soothed and scared, played and served with the same saccharinity.
Probably that's why he disliked sweets.
Play nice and breathe and smile, he thundered in his own mind.
He fulfilled his own orders, and played nice, and breathed, and smiled. Bantered some more, traded a few words with other purebloods, suppressed a glare in Rosier's direction, flirted with Mrs Nott. He hated them. He despised them. He painted his face with love and admiration for them, and silently vowed that no one would dig up the real feelings. Layers of deception with a smile on top – Harry wondered if his mother would be happy. She had to be. She had been the same in many ways, after all.
Harry pulled his lips into a smile at Rookwood's salacious joke. He sort of wanted to smack the man in the face, just because, but restrained himself.
…And this was what he had wanted in his childhood?
Sometimes dreams did change for better ones.
A yelp escaped his lips when thin arms dropped on his shoulders like lead. The smell of berries and sweat overwhelmed his senses. Harry scrunched up his nose.
"Not so hard, is it?" Bella breathed out the smell of raspberries onto his cheek. "To talk with us."
"Yeah," Harry agreed, swallowing discontent at the position. Her hands crawled down his uniform like worms. They stopped for a second at the Death Eater mask hanging from his belt, silently worshipping the holes for the eyes. "Still, I'm not in the element at such dinners. Feels too formal."
"Yes, this one is, my darling." Bella unglued her hands from him. Before Harry exhaled in relief, she accosted him again. This time his lap fell victim to her body dropping on it.
Would it be suspicious if I stick my fork up her eye?
The Dark Lord's gaze that slithered upon Harry's skin advised him against the idea. He resigned himself to the weight and warmth, to the strands of her untamed hair sneaking inside his mouth as if they were Gorgon's snakes seeking adventure.
"Still, it's nothing against the actual balls." She scoffed. Wriggling in his lap, she continued with a smile, "This is our friendly vipers' pit. One wrong step – and Nagini gets her dinner. See? We're friendly and charitable because we love animals and feed them."
Harry did know well where half the executed muggleborns and blood traitors ended up. Not the specific animals, but…
"It all ends very quickly," Bella continued to reassure him. Harry doubted she had the potential to be a mental healer with her… unusual outlook on death, torture, and everything in-between. It must be hard to have such a difficult relationship with sanity. "The formal balls, on the other hand, drag on and on and on until you're about to smash your head into the wall."
She sighed. Harry sighed with her. Wished she'd follow that dream.
"Still," he said and pouted slightly. Was he puffing his lips up too much? Hah, close enough. "I'd rather not waste my time mixing and hopping around like a social butterfly buttering up oldies and nutters with self-assurance issues."
Bellatrix giggled even though Harry pointedly nudged her with his knee to get her up and away from him. He heard a snort far ahead, which distracted him from the Bella-get-the-hell-away-from-me mission.
Malfoy and Voldemort followed his movements intently. The smirk on the Dark Lord's face reminded Harry that albeit the pain in his mark subdued, it never faded. When their eyes met, it only hurt more; squeezed out every wince for the man to devour. Sometimes Harry wondered why Voldemort bothered to eat at all; he kept to his diet of suffering just as fine.
"No imbecile would willingly spend time with you, Potter," Lucius sneered. Harry titled his head slightly. The man paid too much attention to him; perhaps he should arrange a minor problem for him to deal with. Voldemort spoilt his old caste of warriors with free time so much they started going rabid and bother unassuming people.
The teen smirked slightly.
"Oh. I've been spending lots of time with Draco lately…" Harry said innocently. Bella chortled and Lucius paled before throwing him a nasty glower. "We're well on our way to becoming best friends – wouldn't that be jolly?" He batted his eyelashes.
Lucius' eyes flared with frost and he opened his mouth to spout a hurtful insult when Voldemort raised his hand. The guests at the table ceased their conversation for a moment, but the man shook his head dismissively. The din returned to its previous force. Harry itched to throw Bella off him. Alas, now it bore more danger than ever.
Strangely, though, it distracted him from the sting of the Mark.
"Now, now, Lucius," Voldemort placated with amusement. "If you are this unsatisfied with Mr Potter's manners, you are very welcome to shape him into a better man. Your first etiquette lesson is tomorrow, isn't it?"
"Lessons?" Bella perked up. Harry sighed in contentment when she deserted his lap to stride to her seat by the Dark Lord's side. "I remember lessons. Harry used to be such an unruly child."
She turned her head and winked at Harry, as if she joked instead of reminded him of the horrors committed.
She would get what she deserved someday, too.
"No, that was 'punishment', Bella," Voldemort chided. "These lessons are supposed to be peaceful and with a minimal amount of victims."
"Supposed to be, huh," Bella parroted. A grin cracked her face in two.
"If I'm allowed to speak, My Lord," Harry butted in, recognising that grin, "my squad would grieve my death. And if I'm tortured too severely, my magic might get out of control. Just saying."
"Don't worry, child, Lucius will be gentle. You are his first. He has never taught anyone before. Moreover... I will supervise your lessons. Isn't it a thrill?"
Razors behind simpering smiles, some hidden better than others.
"Looking forward to seeing you, My Lord."
Lucius was the only one to allow himself the absence of a happy mask. Harry hated the idea of spending too much time with Lord Voldemort and Malfoy both - and honestly, he was just happy to push Bella out of that merry circle - but no one looked more unimpressed with the oncoming lessons than his teacher.
"I feel a wee bit left out." Bella pouted.
Voldemort threw her a patronising glance. "Don't be. You'll get to spend some time with your 'son', too. Wouldn't do to separate families because of duties."
So, it's all right to separate them because of murder, then?
"Let us bring in the pudding!"
House elves popped into the dining-room, carrying plates of strawberry tarts and apple strudels with balls of ice-cream plopped onto them. Harry exhaled.
Bits of conversation filled his ears. The Dark Mark stopped hurting. He himself enjoyed a breath of calm.
…Or, well, was enjoying until something slithered up his leg.
His dear Nagini. Always one to feel his wishes and act on them. Politics, morals, clever manipulations, games... Such notions never bound snakes' desires, and Voldemort envied the species for that. Right now, he wouldn't mind caressing Potter's thighs like his pet's scales were doing. Of course, his envy stretched farther than this urge to Potter-grope.
And Salazar, the boy reacted by paling so deliciously. Did he want to colour that skin with knife scratches? No, that was way overused. Voldemort took care of his toys, especially such important ones. He was a hedonist only so long as it didn't contradict his goals.
Of course, the pain he brought always intertwined with pleasure. Not a lover he indulged in ever complained.
Well, except for those whom he executed, and they were extremely rude. Being burnt alive didn't mean they could scream their lungs out in insults. He would punish them with death, but they were already usually dying.
He reached for the mental link to Potter's mark. He could bring pleasure through it as well as pain, but usually preferred the latter because pain imprinted important lessons into the mind far more effectively.
Bella would react too negatively if he damaged Potter too much, though. He was fond of her, so he restrained from destroying the boy. For now. He trusted Lucius even less than usual nowadays, and with the threat from the Resistance growing instead of diminishing over the years, he needed all the faithful devotees. Bella worshipped him.
...Still, he needed Potter for his plan to progress soon. The Resistance flocked too much to the Order and he caught vague rumours about their potential French allies. United, they could push him off his pedestal.
His eyes grazed Potter's figure again. Courting the boy posed no problem.
But first, a small test. He'd been having suspicions about someone.
His lips twitched.
His decades of living shaped mind-buggery into an art form.
"I have an announcement to make!" Voldemort declared. He didn't bother to stand up, but everyone snapped their mouths shut anyway, Harry included. People stared at their Lord both warily and with curiosity. As if the man were a macabre sculpture which both ensnared and scared, lured in and repelled. Harry leaned in.
Voldemort didn't continue immediately. He scrutinised each of them lazy-snake style, with that twisted little smile on his face that would have looked attractive on a human being but just gave off an eerie feel on the Dark Lord. His eyes were blood red, and his clothes emphasised this with crimson stitching on the collar of his robe. The candles and the decor-thingy with pomegranate seeds reddened the whole picture.
The wizard threw his hands up into the air.
"There is a traitor among us."
Nagini looped around Harry's leg and shackled him to the ground, hissing.
Lucius stiffened, Bella cackled, Rabastan gasped, Rodolphus's eyes turned sharp... All the wizards and witches at the table rushed to pathetically proclaim their vows of loyalty to the Dark Lord, all of them begging and apologising and assuring their ruler of their love. Harry remained silent.
His initial fear relinquished its grasp. Voldemort wasn't looking at him; wasn't looking at anyone, actually, but inspecting his damn nails, and the sentence hadn't sounded like the threat of an immediate death sentence.
Could it be a warning?
Harry subtly gathered his magic. Just in case.
The thrum of energy beneath his fingers reassured him enough to observe the people in their moment of panic. His eyes clashed with Lucius, and Harry risked to untangle the coils of Legilimency that lay placid in his mind, all to unleash the mind magic on Malfoy. Perhaps the man would know what all this was about.
Snippets of memories seeped into his mind.
'...Draco smiles and reaches out to him... Both laughing, happy, with no duty to taint their relationship...
...Arguing with Narcissa and Bella... (You can't let the boy live with you! It's dangerous! What if he knows? What if he finds out someday and follows in their footsteps?)(I'll deal with it. I'm very good at dealing with people, sister).'
No, that wasn't it. Harry pushed in further, to the more recent recollections.
'...Yes, Lucius, lessons. Etiquette lessons. Surely, you realise that you can mold Potter to your liking during them? Don't look at me like that. All right, I will help you. The people of Great Britain would be so lost without me... A drawn-out sigh. Smugness.
...Lucius, you and I both know that the Dark Lord and his regime cannot last much longer than now. Faithful people will reap the consequences once even more wizards and witches flock to the Resistance. There are few truly Dark families, and Voldemort is pushing for the eradication of Light Magic - it will be the same situation we had with Dark Magic when Dumbledore was still at Hogwarts and influencing the Minister. The tables will be turned again. Compromise is key-'
Harry grabbed at the last memory. Lucius betrayed the Dark Lord? With whom? The person talking was too fuzzy, and he recognised a glamour combined with an anti-spying charm, but before he unveiled the veneer of spells, Lucius kicked him out of his mind.
Harry hissed and clutched his temples. Raising his eyes, he met with the cold fury of an icy gaze. Harry smiled through pounding headache. He loved infuriating Malfoy. Even more, he loved infuriating Malfoy when the man could not reciprocate the gesture with a curse nor a punishment - after all, Harry could and would reveal that bit of conversation to the Dark Lord. He itched to do so, but...
Well, better keep it as potential blackmail material for the moment.
Meanwhile, panic receded. Silence enveloped the dinner table. Harry pitied the folks who dined there every other day. The atmosphere and the Dark Lord's aura both stifled any positive feelings.
Voldemort, seeing the wary calm, popped a chocolate-dipped strawberry into his mouth before drawling, "It comes as a surprise to me, since you, my Inner Circle - bar Mr Potter, of course - should be the ones most content with your position and with the world we all live in. You are privileged, your children are admired, and you are free to cast your kind of magic without any limitations." He sighed. "Perhaps it is a failure on my part, to believe that this is all you need. Don't keep your thoughts to yourself. Allow me to make this a better world by letting me know of your opinion."
No one responded to that speech. Harry saw that if no one would respond in the next minute, no deity guaranteed their safety.
He thought fast.
The reasons for such a moving speech?
Oh. Voldemort probably wanted to judge how clever the traitor was, how much he valued his goal, and what that goal even was.
Harry could acquire an ally-
But then, he didn't know the reasons for a treason from this potential person. His eyes moved to Lucius. The man impersonated a slab of stone by the Dark Lord's side, a direct contrast to the ever fidgeting and lively Bella. They were fire and ice advising the Dark Lord.
No traitor rushed to announce himself. An idea popped in Harry's head. A dangerous idea... but he had never been a stranger to danger.
He smiled.
He stood up.
Every single pair of eyes in the room snapped to him, including the red one. Harry breathed in deeply and bowed, the self-despise for his submission ever present. The grin Bella wore slid off her face. Rudolphus fastened his grip around her shoulders.
"What I'm going to say is probably not what you're looking for," Harry started babbling, "but it's something I'd still like to share with you. All of you."
An inhalation again. Harry addressed the Dark Lord now.
"I was a child, and I hated you." Angry murmurs rose, a song of fury on their Lord's behalf. Voldemort silenced them with a careless wave of his wand. His eyes never left Harry's face, moving from the slightly too-small chin to the moving lips to the averted eyes. "You ruined my life, or so I thought. For many years I wanted you to pay for the blood my parents shed with your own blood."
He was all guilless eyes and twitches of fingers in his hands locked behind his back. His voice rasped a little.
"And I entered Hogwarts with this goal in mind, and I studied, and I defied all those who wanted to teach me better." Harry looked at Lucius, Bella, Evan Rosier, the many others who proclaimed that the pain they inflicted bettered him. In a way, it had. Harry always acknowledged truths to himself; he merely kept them from others. "On and on, I spent my years rooted in my hatred."
Harry balled his fists and told himself to continue in spite of the drawn wands. A single mistake would kill him. Sometimes mere words caused greatest of problems.
"Yet, the mission today has proven to me that the foe I've been battling all along is illusory. You're what a leader should be and the one we have to fear is the Resistance. They have no sense of camaraderie, no desire to help, and no resources to save their own followers. With them at the helm, we'd be doomed. If they haven't managed to save the Bones family, their own, what hope do other people, people who don't share the Order's opinions, have? My loyalty is with you, My Lord," Harry finished with a flourish and a demure expression. "I've sworn to myself to never betray you, and part of this vow is why I won't keep my former ideas from you. It's up to you to choose my fate."
Harry didn't have an emergency portkey on him, but he had his wand and his magic in case the Dark Lord decided to choose the wrong sort of fate for him. While it wouldn't be enough to hold off the whole room of pestering Death Eaters, Harry knew that
Voldemort preferred to deal with traitors on his own and wouldn't allow to steal his prey. Not that Harry would be the prey in the relationship.
"Would you like to kneel, too, to finish off this passionate declaration?" Despite the cruel edge, Voldemort sounded suitably impressed. As he should be.
Harry hated the man for making him do this. Fuck the revenge quest, he wouldn't-
Automatically, he walked to the Dark Lord's chair and knelt beside it.
-he would. With a small and 'grateful' smile.
He desperately snatched the reminders of his parents' laughing faces, happy memories. For the Greater Good. A voice at the back of his mind snuck in a whisper that it was cowardice, but Harry quenched it saying it was for the Cause.
He flinched when something soft and warm landed on his forehead. Lips.
"Good boy. I forgive you," Voldemort said, almost tenderly, if one disregarded the mockery in the crimson.
The vultures watched him from their seats as Harry marched to his own chair and dessert. Bella's loud applause protected him from the silence of their accusation, while the Dark Lord's eyes burnt a hole in his back. As soon as Harry dropped into his chair, he pierced a heart-shaped strawberry with his fork and popped it into his mouth, meeting the Dark Lord's eyes again. He smiled around his cutlery. Play nice, play docile.
"Is there anyone else willing to proclaim eternal fealty to me?" the Dark Lord said softly. "As you can see, Mr Potter is still alive."
Harry glanced at Lucius, to see whether the man would disclose the conversation Harry discovered with Legilimency. As predicted, the blond sat prim and still and formed not a word to confess. He might use it. Lucius owing a debt to him... He resisted the urge to lick his lips.
He desperately needed to see someone else's humiliation to forget his own.
Bellatrix conversed quietly with her husband, while Lord Greengrass anxiously stared at the Dark Lord over his snifter of brandy. Harry's wandering eyes met Rosier's equally travelling ones. The man raised his glass to him in a silent toast, a smile playing on his lips. Harry ignored the hatred that seared through him.
He never forgot that Evan Rosier had killed his mother. Harry had destroyed Greyback, but death seemed like too little to punish Rosier properly.
Moreover, Rosier's death would be noticed more. Little tears had been shed for Greyback. Rosier, on the other hand, held a position of Voldemort's trusted one. He was much more powerful than Greyback had been, wielding Dark Magic with finesse that the Dark Lord himself admired.
Harry's mind snapped into focus when a figure hesitantly rose.
He was Peter Pettigrew and he was a cunning spy.
Or so he told himself as he bowed before the Dark Lord. His subconscious was telling him he was an idiot.
He had served both the Order and the new government under the rule of Lord Voldemort for a decade now, lasting as a double agent for more time than Lily, James, or Sirius had done - albeit Remus was doing a surprisingly good job of it - and Merlin did it make him smug that he surpassed his former friends in trickery. They had professed him an adulthood of unemployment or poverty, but now Lily and James cooled down in their graves, while Sirius hid in the Headquarters, a prisoner of his own choices.
Peter survived in the luxury of the new order.
Still, as much as his double life boosted his self-esteem... Well, the man wanted a bit of rest, too. An opportunist, he had never been overly fond of working and achieving things. He wanted safety, honesty, and simplicity.
The best way to gain those things? Decide on one Master, of course.
Frankly, Peter found no fault in the world of today. Yeah, mudbloods whined and complained about human rights and what not, but it had never been about human rights. It was about wizard rights from the very beginning, and mudbloods didn't belong in their world. Weren't human or wizard enough. If they didn't vanish by choice, Death Eaters would politely force them out.
That's what Peter told himself anyway. But all that tripe about justification was a bunch of pretty words to wrap the twisted truth that everything happened according to the Dark Lord's wishes. Few really cared about mudbloods. Wizards and witches only cared about themselves.
The Resistance was way too scattered across the country, the Order being the only real organisation with a set of goals and offers of relative comfort in the midst of all those groups of wannabes who skipped around throwing blasting hexes at buildings and hoping that Voldemort would die by choking on a biscuit.
And even the Order wasn't that organised now. Peter respected Albus Dumbledore, but chances were that the new upstart brat would usurp the position.
Peter didn't believe that youth would save them. There was nothing to save them from.
And so he chose.
Voldemort forgave Potter, so he would forgive his most loyal as well.
"I have to admit that my treason is a more recent one, My Lord," Peter muttered into the cold marble tiles. Why couldn't purebloods be less ostentatious for once and have wooden floors instead? Those would be warmer. Peter spent too much time on his knees to not be worried about such discomforts.
Thankfully, his Lord didn't kiss his forehead. There were some barriers a master and his servant just didn't cross.
He subtly sought out a glimse of Potter's feet under the table. A boot, dried mud and blood stuck to the sole and the front, nervously tapped the floor.
Harry Potter. James's son. He resembled Lily so much nowadays, even though the hair colour reminded Peter of his fallen friend. Handsome, albeit not much more than an average pureblood. Green eyes reminded him of the poison he carried around, mostly for use on suspected traitors or deserters who didn't deserve the benefit of doubt, or of Avada Kedavra that he fired occasionally, even though Peter preferred the first method of killing - he hated his safety compromised, and battlefield never promised survival.
The little Potter inherited little of his mother's mind though. None of her wit or charm. Little of her mannerisms. Not to mention that Lily would never declare herself loyal to a Dark Lord or anyone against muggles - she had loved her sister to the point of ruin. Peter actually hoped, for an old friendship's sake, that Harry didn't share love for that pathetic species. For all he knew, the boy wasn't even aware of his relatives. Much safer that way.
Peter wondered why Voldemort appointed Potter his position. Many others wondered, too. Their eyes pursued the boy now, and they pursued him when he was at Hogwarts, through their children's eyes. Other squad leaders - all hyenas, Peter shuddered - followed Harry, too.
Most concluded that it was in the power. Harry's mind was worthless, but his magic priceless. A puppet dangling on Voldemort's strings, a pull deciding its fate until its strings snapped. His Lord would play this powerful mannequin so easily.
...And Peter should stop this habit of drifting off when he's in front of his superiors. Everyone was looking at him funny.
"A very recent one, My Lord," Peter mumbled nervously. His hands twisted and danced with each other, but his hunched back and big belly hid them from view. His Lord's eyes judged him. "Nothing serious, of course, nothing vital - just a bit of information dropped here and there. Nothing serious, really, Master."
Voldemort's boot prodded Peter's chin, lifting it up. Legilimency pierced his mind brutally, bringing no mercy even to one as loyal as Peter; an explosion in his mind, splinters of memories bursting and hurting him. When the Animagus tried to twitch away from the Dark Lord's proximity, a hissed Incarcerous nailed him to the marble floor. So cold, not getting warmer.
Violence and cold and disregard - Peter's life in a few words.
He regretted following little Harry's example.
The plumbing of his mind continued until the Vow to the Order blocked it. Even Voldemort would sooner break Peter's mind than pass through the clever shields devised by Dumbledore, which turned every important and serious conversation into a babble of "Today the birds are singing!" and the like. He almost snickered when his brain popped out with a recollection of Dumbledore and Moody, both grim and solemn-faced, discussing the prices of vampire tea-bags instead of the supposed talk about the cost of securing a base in Bath.
Voldemort wouldn't squeeze out a single drop of information out of his mind, not unless Peter volunteered it through tricks and by-ways.
Legilimency retreated.
Before Peter breathed out in relief, an invisible hand kicked him up into the air. A gasp escaped his lips. Voldemort, a malicious quirk of lips on his face, stared up at him. The other guests gazed in solemn silence. In a dramatic moment the dining room morphed into a tomb and the dinner became a rite of tributing the dead with a last feast.
He convinced himself he imagined things. He spent more time in dreams than in reality anyway.
"You thought you could keep quiet on your major betrayals and instead throw me a bone by confessing several minor transgressions?" His Master spoke softly. Peter hyperventilated. Voldemort couldn't know that! He couldn't have read that plan in his mind! "It is called deduction, Peter. I have no need for the mind-reading arts to see your little schemes."
"You- You've known, then, Master?" Peter asked shakily.
He didn't know why, but for a second he sought out Harry. Perhaps he wanted to pretend the boy was James, the good old James who would always come to his rescue, be it saving Peter from a nasty detention in the dungeons or saving Peter from being found out or saving Peter from being murdered. He had never thanked James for casting a Protego when an array of Blood-Blasting spells flew his way.
"Everything that happens in my domain is an open book to me," Voldemort responded. Scarlet eyes gleamed with triumph. "Legilimency did show me that your ties with the Order are far stronger than I would have thought - only established members take the Vow, after all."
Such a stupid thing. Peter was cunning, but he failed occasionally.
He wished he were like Lily had been. Intelligent, charming, sneaky, driven...
Then again, her only mistake had ruined her. Peter made lots of smaller ones and always came out alive. Unlike her, he never stood proud. He found his place at his Master's feet, kneeling and begging. His only goal in life was to live, and he succeeded.
"It's not what you think, M-My Lord- Master!" Peter cried, going down the habitual route. His plea resonated within the walls of Slytherin manor. "They- they forced me!-"
He found no mercy in his Lord's face.
"-It's not like I'd want to betray you, they gave me no choice! They held me at their wands, half the Order at once and-" Rabastan snickered somewhere far away.
As Peter begged, he fleetingly thought that he should have thanked Lily, too, for covering for him when Rabastan discovered his double life first. Then again, Peter had his doubts regarding Rabastan, too-
"Silence!" Voldemort hissed, his eyes flashing. Invisible hands pressed down on his Adam's apple. He choked. "You could have at least bothered to make up a better excuse than tell tall tales about being forced to take a Vow that can only be taken willingly."
Peter paled. He didn't know much about the workings of vows and oaths, he just avoided taking them in general except for a fatal one.
The Dark Lord hissed something. At first Peter thought it would crush his throat with that same invisible power, but he heard hissing from another source, and then he saw the creature slither.
Voldemort smiled serenely. "My pet is getting quite the share of treats today. Must make her diet if things continue going this way."
Nagini would be a pretty thing if her fangs weren't glistening so near his dangling feet.
"Please, Master, stop-"
A final hiss, and the magic holding him released Peter to his death.
"It seems like we can rest in peace for now - all the deserters have been found out and dealt with," Peter last heard before falling into an eternal daydream.
He would thank everyone there.
Malfoy Manor always surprised Harry whenever he had the joy of apparating there. The statement wasn't sarcastic. The sheer light and cheer of the place - barring the gloomy dungeons, of course - always astounded him. He just wished he went there under less stressful circumstances.
A portkey transported him to a majestic lounge done in Greek style, from where an elf accompanied him to a chamber that he recognised as Draco's study room, wherein Harry had been a few times before. Spacious and light, it included several desks, chairs, bookcases, a floating blackboard of crystal, on which the tutor usually wrote with Ignis spell, as well as a vast and empty area to the side, where little Draco used to practise incantations.
Right now, Voldemort sat in a winged armchair, his fist beneath his chin and legs crossed, and supervised Lucius and Narcissa who both traded harmless charms in a duel-like fashion. The Malfoys didn't notice Harry's arrival, consumed in their little game of sparring. Both wore small smiles on their faces, and Lucius's didn't vanish even when Narcissa got him with a mouth-washing charm. The Dark Lord's eyes snapped to him immediately, though. The man beckoned Harry with a tilt of his head, and Harry sauntered to drop on the armrest. He ignored the warmth that Voldemort's skin radiated.
"Not fashionably late this time, child?"
Harry resisted a grimace at the 'endearment'. Almost worse than Bella's. Harry actually wondered if her habit of calling everyone darlings, dears, dolls, and whatnot derived its roots as a parody on Voldemort's 'child'.
"The portkey was designed to activate at a certain time. I wouldn't be late even if I wanted to, My Lord." Harry's eyes widened when he realised the breach of protocol he committed. "Oh, and good afternoon. Should I bow now or wait until Mr and Mrs Malfoy finish?"
Voldemort tsked. "You'll be spending an hour on your knees for forgetting to greet me." Before Harry could pretend that the horror on his face was a pleasant sycophantic smile, the wizard continued, "Joking, of course. Contrary to the popular opinion, I do not punish my followers for every small transgression they make." He smirked. "I merely keep a tally of them and punish them once and for all."
Harry swallowed and regained control of his wobbly smile.
Aren't you a cheery little thing, he thought dryly.
He cursed himself when the Dark Lord noticed his discomfort. He felt way too compromised in the presence of the man, too edgy and nervous, and he sometimes felt a tingling sensation in his belly-
Voldemort licked his lips, still holding Harry's gaze. The pink tongue narcissistically stroked the bottom lip.
Harry's heart beat faster. Had to be the thirst for murder, surely.
"You should relax and watch this little performance. Narcissa's grace never ceases to astound me," Voldemort murmured, scarlet eyes gleaming. Harry's eyes widened when a hand twisted around his waist, bringing him closer to the source of heat and all that delicious magic. The Dark Lord's aura embraced them both. "I bet on her winning."
Harry, fighting the rawness of his throat, found the voice to say, "If you'd allow me, I'd prefer not to bet with you when both of us know the outcome."
Lucius shone in the field of politics and diplomacy. Yet when wartime demanded them to grab a wand and fight, Narcissa far outshone her husband. A fair angel of death leaving trails of killing curses behind her, often by her sister's, that mad battle goddess's, side.
"Indeed," Voldemort agreed. Harry tossed him a suspicious look. He never quite expected the man- monster to agree with him so much. "Then, I suppose, we have the time to get to know each other more while Narcissa maims Lucius."