Hello everyone! Thanks for all the reviews and feedback!
Do feel free to point out all the typo errors and awkward phrases that you find in my chapters. I have no beta reader, and while I do try to go through each and every chapter once more before posting, sometimes I don't notice the errors. Ahem, I promise I will amend those errors one fine day, but most probably only after I complete this story. Haha, that's because I'm rather lazy, and right now I'm spending almost all my free time on writing the next chapter.
I'm sure those of you who are working will know that official working hours are just that - it only exists on paper, ha. Since I don't really have big blocks of free time to write nowadays, I'm trying out this method of writing in this story every day, regardless of how short the result is. Sentences will form paragraphs and paragraphs will eventually become chapters, I hope. *fingers crossed*
And yes, I've heard of the fan-made film Voldemort: Origins of the Heir, going to watch it as soon as I find a free block of 53 minutes when I'm not dead tired.
Chapter Thirty-Six: Hogwarts Year Five – Mark
As soon as the other boys had settled themselves in the parlor, Harry nodded at Draco, who was in the armchair nearest to him. He could see that his friend had something to tell him, simply from the way that his eyes gleamed with anticipation.
Draco drawled, "You remember asking Father to look into Ludo Bagman?" Harry nodded in amusement at the smug expression on Draco's face. The latter continued with a sneer, "Father found out that our dear Bagman, impartial judge for the Triwizard Tournament, is an avid gambler. He has placed quite a hefty bet on Cedric Diggory's victory with the goblins. That would explain his rather unfair scoring, wouldn't it, Harrison?"
Having suspected as much, Harry's eyes glinted with malevolence at that. "Why, fancy that. It appears that Ludo Bagman has been a greedy prat. Well, Draco, it appears that we'll have to convince Mr. Bagman of the error of his ways. I'll leave this matter in your capable hands." With his connections, Draco would be just the right person to threaten Bagman a little. Outright violence was, unfortunately, not the best choice at the moment. After all, Harry did not want to replace Bagman; he simply wanted to ensure the man's compliance.
Bowing his head, Draco returned Harry's smirk with one of his own, "It'd be my pleasure, Harrison."
Harry then settled lazily into his armchair before turning to the other two males in the room, who were perched on the couch opposite Harry's armchair. "Aleron, Silas. Your reports." As Silas remained silent, Aleron bowed his head slightly before informing Harry of the latest developments at Durmstrang. While Harry's four years of work at Durmstrang had laid solid foundations for his cult of personality to develop full-blown , so much so that the majority of the students remained under his charismatic influence, it appeared that a couple of the older students had grown a backbone in Harry's absence. The new Head Girl, in particular, had been flexing her muscles.
"And why, Aleron, was I not informed of this?" Harry all but hissed. In all his correspondences to Harry, Aleron had never once mentioned that the Head Girl had been the one causing trouble. He had written of trouble, but he had not conveyed the severity of the situation to Harry. Aleron stiffened at the displeasure in Harry's voice, and then rose to his feet. The next moment, he was kneeling on the soft fur rug in front of Harry.
"My prince," Aleron looked at Harry with earnestness in his dark blue eyes. "I feared to disturb your preparations for the Triwizard Tournament. I took care of the matter; she will not be causing us further trouble."
Harry got out his wand slowly and pointed it at Aleron, all the while watching his facial expression. Aleron's eyes had shown shock at first, but it had quickly given way to confused acceptance. He did not, at any point in time, made any move to defend himself, nor made any excuses. Out of the corner of his eyes, Harry could see Silas make an aborted movement, but the seventh-year soon regained control of himself. Good. Harry would not have tolerated any insubordination right now.
"Crucio." Harry cast the spell vengefully, pouring his rage into the spell. Of all his followers, he had thought that Aleron would be the last one to keep things from him. It appeared that Harry had been wrong.
Screams issued from Aleron's mouth as he fell to the ground in the throes of the Cruciatus Curse. Harry felt a dark thrill of satisfaction run through him as Aleron lay twitching on the floor. His Aunt Bella had been right; this was a great way to vent his frustrations. It was a good thing, Harry mused, that the Malfoys sound-proofed and had strong privacy wards on all their sitting parlours. Cancelling the spell after twenty seconds, Harry allowed his temper to cool as he waited for Aleron to recover. After all, Aleron was a loyal follower and someone Harry considered a friend…Harry opted to restrain himself.
For his first time under the Cruciatus, Aleron recovered quickly. He pulled himself up from the ground and regained his kneeling position within a couple of minutes, even though his muscles still spasmed from the curse. He looked up at Harry compliantly when the latter raised his chin using the tip of his outstretched wand. Dangerously, Harry said softly, "If you withhold information from me again, Aleron, no matter your intentions, consider this a mere taste of what I will do to you."
Realisation dawned on Aleron. His leader was furious because Aleron had not told him the whole truth. No matter Aleron's intentions, this was not something that any leader could tolerate. Aleron winced mentally. He should not have made such a juvenile mistake; he was not a child playing at school games. Surprises were not always good, even if there was no ill intention behind them. Nor should his concern for his leader's well-being have been a factor in his performance of the assignment that he had been given. It was, Aleron now knew, something that his prince could have tolerated as a friend, but not when it impinged on his duties as his follower.
"I apologise, my prince, for my lapse in judgement. It will not happen again." Aleron said hoarsely, raising his deep blue eyes to meet his prince's, unflinching at the wand that was once more pointed at him. Aleron then felt a sharp prod in his mind. Startled, Aleron wondered at the sensation, before it dawned on him that it might be his prince attempting to use Legilimency on him. Aleron dropped all his Occlumency shields immediately; he had nothing to hide from his prince. A part of his mind was marvelling at his prince's use of the difficult magic, even as the rest awaited his prince's judgement apprehensively.
Pain, both mental and physical, assaulted the core of Aleron's very being. Not only was he forced to endure the after-effects of the Cruciatus, he had to bear the agony of his prince's rough riffling through his thoughts. Images flashed across his mind as his prince browsed at his own leisure. Then, at last, his leader appeared to be satisfied.
Harry relaxed back into his seat as he left Aleron shivering on the ground. By Merlin, Legilimency was a difficult art indeed. Not for the first time, Harry marvelled at his father's skill at a subject that the average wizard could never grasp. But still, Harry was had managed to confirm that Aleron had been telling the truth; Aleron's mistake had been caused by his overly concerned attitude towards Harry's well-being. Still, Harry was confident that Aleron would not be making the same mistake again.
"See that it doesn't, Aleron. I'll not punish Silas this time, considering that you are the person that I left in charge, as I observed that he at least attempted to dissuade you from this course of action. I'll not be so merciful next time." Harry warned. Aleron bowed clumsily from his kneeling position, but Harry could tell that his subordinate was grateful.
"Thank you, my prince."
At seven-thirty, Harry swept into the ballroom at Malfoy Manor, dressed in his finest dress robes. It was cut similarly to the robes that he had worn at the Yule Ball, save that today he was in dress robes of midnight blue and a white dress shirt. Draco had had to attend the Ball earlier, being the heir of the host, but nothing prevented Harry from arriving fashionably late, and only when the Ball was in full swing.
Harry's arrival garnered the attention of all in the room. It was no wonder, as all the teenagers in the room flocked to him. Many of the Pure-blood students from Durmstrang and Hogwarts were there, as were some of the talented half-bloods. While the need to remain decorous in public restrained them, they still clamoured for his attention. After speaking to his Durmstrang schoolmates, Harry turned to his Hogwarts peers. He was pleased to note that the Ravenclaw fifth-years were there; Anthony Goldstein and Stephen Cornfoot had even turned up with their fathers. The Goldstein and Cornfoot families were traditionally neutral; they had neither fought in the last war, nor in the one before that – the one many years ago in which Grindelwald had been a prominent figure. Even though their presence here did not mean that they were on the Dark Lord's side, it did make a statement, since traditionally, only Pure-blood families that supported the Dark Lord were invited to the Malfoy's annual Ball. The Dark Lord was looking to expand his base of supporters and, as always, the younger generation was the testing ground. And so, Harry confidently left Anthony's and Stephen's fathers to Lucius, while he drew the Ravenclaws even closer into his carefully woven web.
Su Li and Padma Patil had arrived without their families in tow. Harry knew that Su's father was a recluse who hailed from the mysterious and secretive magical China. He soon guessed that Padma had not invited her father, the Indian Ambassador, because she was still uncertain about bringing her father into contact with the boy whom she was interested in. Harry sneered mentally in disgust. Did the girl not know that her father was the main reason Harry was even bothering to charm her? It could be worse, Harry supposed. She at least had the sense to keep her empty-headed twin sister away from the Ball.
After extricating himself from the Ravenclaws, Harry turned to greet his spymistress, one Daphne Greengrass. She was wearing a beautifully diaphanous dress of sky-blue chiffon today, and it quite took Harry's breath away. "You look lovely, my dear." Harry complimented as he silently put up a privacy ward.
Daphne returned his smile even as she twirled her wand in her fingers absently. "But of course, Harrison. Do you think however, that compliments will distract me from the fact that you had not offered me the Dark Mark?" Beneath the mock-sugary tone, Harry detected a note of hurt and dejection.
Raising an eyebrow, Harry commented, "You know as well as I do, dear Daphne, the reason why there are few female Death Eaters. And I believe that Lord Greengrass would prefer that you not take the Mark."
Daphne was silent for a few moments. They both knew that Harry had spoken the truth. Such was the fate of female Pure-bloods. And Daphne was not a rebel at heart. She loved her family too much; she would do her duty. Namely, by wedding the most suitable candidate that could elevate her family's fortunes to greater heights. "You're right, Harrison. As always," Daphne smiled wistfully at Harry before she smoothed her features into a perfect mask once more.
Later that night, Harry pretended to leave Malfoy Manor with the rest of the guests. Then, when the last of the guests had left Malfoy Manor, he returned wearing his black robes and silver half-mask, in his guise as the Dark Prince. The Death Eaters who had attended the Ball remained behind. As they started pulling on their robes and masks, Harry shot Draco a look. Taking that as his cue, Draco led the new initiates into a small antechamber just off to the side of the Ballroom. After the house-elves had tidied up the Ballroom, they brought a large, ornate throne to the centre of the room. The dark, forbidding throne looked quite incongruent amid the lavish white marble floors and delicately carved pillars that characterised the Malfoys' Ballroom, but there were reasons more important than décor that made the Dark Lord decide to hold the initiation in Malfoy Manor. It was a reaffirmation, Harry knew, of the position that Lucius Malfoy held at the Dark Lord's side, something that was occasionally necessary to quell the jockeying for advancement in the ranks amongst the Death Eaters.
When all the preparations were complete, Harry touched his finger to his Mark, sending a pulse of magic through it to signal to his father. Then the Death Eaters who had not been at the Ball – those who were currently wanted by the Ministry – poured into the room. Harry recognised Bellatrix by her shrill cackle as she conversed with other Death Eaters…if one discounted the other Death Eater's nervous shuffling and pained silences, it would have appeared to be a very friendly and enjoyable conversation. Harry snickered mentally.
The Dark Lord arrived in a crackling of magic. It was almost as if a tornado had entered the room, so intense was the magical power that he exuded. Everyone in the room fell silent immediately. As one, they turned to bow before the Dark Lord, as he strode towards the throne.
Harry did likewise. Despite the recent tension between them, Harry still respected the Dark Lord. He had, after all, granted permission for the Withers twins to take up service with the Dark Lord, even though the ritual they had performed at Yule would have prevented the Withers twins from even taking the mark had Harry withheld his permission. By taking the mark, it would mean that the Withers twins now served two masters.
When the Dark Lord was seated, Harry stood in his rightful place at the right-hand side of the throne. After the greetings, where the Death Eaters had all knelt and kissed the hem of the Dark Lord's robes before bowing to Harry, the Dark Lord got to dishing out orders and listening to various abbreviated reports.
The war was going well for the Dark Lord on most fronts, Harry mused. Many creatures had chosen to fall in line behind the Dark Lord, they had control over many government officials in many of the Ministerial departments, the media sang to their tune, and the goblins of Gringotts, who were crucial to the economy of the Wizarding World, had followed the treaty of neutrality to the letter thus far. However, resistance still existed. Harry's lips curled into a vicious sneer at that thought. The Dark Lord, Harry knew, was contemplating killing off a couple of the more stubborn members in the Wizengamot. Persuasion, threats and blackmail had not worked. Perhaps it was time to replace those members. Being the highest form of justice in Wizarding Britain, the Wizengamot held tremendous influence in the magical community. If the Dark Lord wished to rule over Wizarding Britain – not merely to conquer, but to have a lasting reign – the Dark had to subtly widen their sphere of influence, preferably before the actual overthrowing of the Ministry. A coup without the support of the people was unstable at best and a irreversible disaster waiting to happen at worse.
The Order of the Phoenix was a nuisance too. Bills that could be passed quickly in the mainly Dark-aligned House of Lords were somehow slowed down due to the silliest of administrative mistakes. Once passed, implementation of the bills was an uphill effort through a convoluted maze of bureaucratic obstacles and subtle sabotage. The outright resistance during raids was, Harry privately thought, the least troublesome of the Order's actions.
When at last the meeting had ended, Harry was thankful that this was a summarized version of the detailed meetings that the Dark Lord undoubtedly had to go through every day. While he was much more proficient than the average teenager in the subtle nuances of politics and intrigue, that did not mean that Harry enjoyed it to the exclusion of all else. Tonight was the night that his friends and followers would be marked; a much more important event to Harry.
Then finally, after a short speech, the Dark Lord dismissed the other Death Eaters, leaving only his Inner Circle behind. In a lazy drawl, the Dark Lord proclaimed, "Now, my friends, it is time for us to welcome our new comrades; they who shall be the new members of our family." At those words, Draco and the others took it as their cue and entered the room.
Harry watched with pride and joy as his friends and schoolmates filed into the room. Draco, Theo, Aleron, Silas, Emlen, Francis, Alexei, Korbin, Septimus and Octavius. Intelligent, powerful and loyal. The first of his followers. Tonight was the culmination of the bond that they had forged many years ago, some of them going as far back as his childhood years. Harry allowed his lips to curl into a smile.
"My lord, my prince," they murmured, kneeling in front of the Dark Lord and the Dark Prince. The other Inner Circle Death Eaters formed a semi-circle behind them. The mood was solemn and ceremonious as the Dark Lord began the ritual.
"Come forth, Draco Lucius Malfoy." The Dark Lord said sibilantly. Draco moved forward until he was kneeling right at the Dark Lord's feet. Harry smirked mentally. The order in which they were marked was not a coincidence. Being the first of his peers to be marked would give Draco status and even more influence over the others. It was, Harry mused, quite proper for the honour to go to Draco. Lucius Malfoy was the Dark Lord's right-hand man and Draco had been Harry's second-in-command since they were children.
"Do you swear your loyalty, obedience and service now and forevermore, to me and to the Dark?" The Dark Lord's voice resonated in the Ballroom as he began the words of the ritual. Harry listened to the words with interest; it was longer and more restrictive than his own vows.
"Yes, my lord. I, Draco Lucius Malfoy, do so swear," Draco replied clearly and smoothly, betraying none of the excitement that Harry was certain his best friend felt.
"Do you swear to respect, obey and serve me as your lord and master?" The Dark Lord asked. This, Harry noted, was another part of the ritual that his father had left out when Harry had sworn himself to the Dark. After Draco had replied in the affirmative, Harry thought the ritual was over. The next words out of the Dark Lord's mouth surprised Harry.
"Do you swear to serve my heir as your prince?" Harry stiffened in surprise even as Draco replied to the Dark Lord. He had not expected his father to include a vow of servitude towards him in the ritual. Sure, it was understood that Harry would lead the next generation of Death Eaters as the Dark Lord's heir. The Dark Lord had, after all, officially announced Harry to be his heir. Yet, Harry had not anticipated this. This, this was more than an understanding. It was a ritualized and open acknowledgement that was far beyond Harry's expectations. The Dark Lord did not share power. Period. Sharing power was an invitation to be back-stabbed. That was what his father had taught him, and Harry had accepted that, content in his place. For now. Any possible power struggles Harry had envisioned in his idle moments (for he was too much of a Slytherin not to wonder about it) had all occurred far, far into the future. And yet, here was his father, voluntarily sharing the same power as part of a magical ritual…Harry was touched and grateful, and even felt regretful about his recent mood swings and abysmal behaviour.
"Morsmordre." The Dark Lord cast the spell that soon engraved the Dark Mark on Draco's skin. Harry shook himself out of his thoughts and watched, pleased, as Draco bore the pain gracefully and silently, with a mere almost-imperceptible flinch. Then he frowned. As the Mark was completed, he could feel the slightest tingle in his magic.
"Rise and take your place as a Death Eater, Draco Lucius Malfoy," The Dark Lord commanded. Draco stood slowly, undoubtedly still in pain from the Marking, but he soon retreated to stand behind the Inner Circle Death Eaters.
Glancing at Harry, the Dark Lord hissed in Parseltongue, "I was wondering how long it would take for you to notice, Harry. I have modified the Mark. And this is the most significant modification: the next generation shall bear Marks with dual links; not only to me, but to you as well." It was all Harry could do not to gape in shock. This, this went beyond Harry's wildest dreams. It surpassed an acknowledgement, it was a recognition and a gesture of trust that struck Harry to the very core.
"Thank you, Father." Harry managed to choke out. A few days prior, he had been greatly worried over the prophecy, brooding over the lack of reassurance from the Dark Lord. And indeed, simmering with no little resentment over that fact. And the Dark Lord had now brought all his concerns smashing to the ground with a simple gesture. For if the Dark Lord was indeed distrustful of Harry, or planned to kill him, he would not have gone to the trouble of modifying the Dark Mark for Harry's use. It hit home, once again, that the Dark Lord was no ordinary parent. Harry supposed that he would have gotten the verbal reassurance that he had craved had the Dark Lord been a typical parent; empty platitudes that would have soothed him, at least on the surface. But while the Dark Lord had not deigned to give Harry that, was this not a far better and more convincing move? All of Harry's doubts had melted away, only to be replaced by conviction and trust. Trust Father to teach me a lesson about my temper tantrum without saying a single word about it…Harry was chagrined, yet appreciative. Looking back, he knew that he had been foolishly emotional; Harry would not make that mistake again.
When the last of Harry's peers had been marked, the Dark Lord called for the second part of that night's festivities to begin. Muggles, ten of them in all, of varying age, shapes, sizes and gender were brought into the room. Harry knew that they would have been people that no one would miss, taken off distant streets for tonight's sport. Soon, Bellatrix had the Muggles arranged in a formation that pleased her. As the Dark Lord watched lazily from his chair, Harry remained standing next to the throne, content to observe from a distance. Bellatrix would start the festivities. Dear Aunt Bella…Harry fondly shook his head mentally. She does show such enthusiasm...
Harry himself had little taste for senseless torture. Which was not to say that he did not enjoy causing pain to those who angered, annoyed or irked him. But when it came to holding a random stranger under his wand…sure, Harry could do it coolly, were it necessary, but he simply would not derive the same pleasure as he would were that person an enemy. Still, that did not mean he was bothered by it in any sense of the word. Amused, he watched as Bellatrix shrieked and laughed in evident enjoyment, before gesturing for the newly marked Death Eaters to take their turn. Of course, the Dark Mark would automatically have broken the Trace on any underage wizard, even if their families had not already done so – most Pure-Blood families did so immediately the first holiday after their first-year children returned home from school. Still, this was, Harry knew, to be a test and a pledge, all in one. The new Death Eaters had to show a willingness to set aside their morals and to obey their lord's will. And of course, performing the Torture Curse on a human automatically earned one a life sentence in Azkaban. It was a symbolic gesture on the part of the new Death Eaters; that they literally were willing to sacrifice their lives for their lord.
Harry watched as his friends and followers took turns to cast the Cruciatus on the Muggles. Alexei and Theo somehow managed to remain distant, emotionally miles away, even as they cast the curse. Draco, Francis, Silas, Septimus and Octavius appeared appropriately neutral and dispassionate. However, Harry was mildly surprised by the level of enthusiasm that Aleron, Emlen and Korbin showed. Especially Aleron. The older teen had seemed so docile earlier that day, suffering meekly under Harry's Cruciatus. Yet, he was now revelling in causing the Muggles the same pain, judging by the light of relish in his eyes. Bemused, Harry was pleased nonetheless, for it only served to highlight Aleron's loyalty to him.
When the night's festivities finally ended, the Dark Lord announced that it was time for the final test. Each of the newly marked Death Eaters had to cast the Killing Curse on a Muggle. Harry knew that this was the ultimate test that any normal human would face difficulty with. "May I speak to them first, Father?" Harry asked in Parseltongue, bowing slightly to his father. He prayed to Merlin that his father would not see it as yet another sign of weakness.
The Dark Lord steeped his fingers together and regarded his heir with tolerant amusement. "I shall indulge you this once, my son." Grateful, Harry smiled at his father before heading towards the small gathering of Death Eaters.
"My friends," Harry begun smoothly, in subtly comforting tones designed to lay their anxieties to rest, ignoring the mess of bodies that lay quivering on the floor. Although they did not show the slightest hint of it, Harry knew that some of them were nervous beneath their mask. And no wonder. Other than Draco, none had ever killed before. It would be difficult for them to have to make their first kill in front of an audience and their lord, but Harry had the utmost confidence in his friends and followers. "Show us all that you are willing to kill for our lord." Harry finished his sentence with a confident, ringing voice.
"Yes, my prince!" As one, the new Death Eaters acknowledged the order and straightened their spines.
True to his position as Harry's second-in-command, Draco stepped forward unhesitating, taking up position in front of a tall and bulky Muggle. "Allow me the honour of going first. Avada Kedavra!" Draco proclaimed in an elegant and poised manner. A bolt of green light hit the Muggle and the man immediately stilled, his face frozen in a terrified rictus.
Smiling with approval, Harry inclined his head at Draco. Gone was the boy who had hesitated, albeit merely for a split second, before casting the curse. In his place was a hardened fighter, willing to kill upon command. Harry sighed mentally with relief. As their leader, it would have reflected badly on Harry, if his second-in-command had not shown the level of fortitude that Draco had. The Dark Lord would make allowances for the age of his new Death Eaters, but that leeway would only stretch so far.
Encouraged by Draco's example, the rest of the new Death Eaters killed their targets successfully, with at most a few seconds of hesitation shown by some of the more squeamish, like Theo, Francis and Silas. Harry felt his lips curve up at the sight. His friends had not disappointed him. Looking back at his father, Harry noted that although the Dark Lord's expression was neutrally blank, he was quite pleased with his new Death Eaters, judging by the way the way he was tapping his long, spindly fingers on the arm of his throne. And I'm glad, Father, that I have not disappointed you…
Before Harry left for a new term at Hogwarts, he had one final meeting with his father. After the previous night's events, the breach between Harry and his father had healed. Enough for Harry to stroll into the sitting room jauntily and perch on the armchair facing the Dark Lord. "A moment of your time, Father?"
After the Dark Lord raised one hairless eyebrow pointedly, Harry straightened his spine and sighed. He took on a serious tone as he grimaced, "I'd like to apologise for my abysmal behaviour, Father. Looking back on it, it was quite disgraceful. I don't know what came over me."
The Dark Lord levelled a formidable stare at Harry. "Yes, it was quite deplorable. You, my son, are quite lucky that I am a tolerant father. See that it does not happen again." Harry kept his face blank but mentally spluttered at the mere idea of the Dark Lord being a tolerant anything. He wisely kept that thought to himself, beneath thick layers of Occlumency shields. Harry could admit however, that his father had been more lenient than usual, and that thought warmed him.
"Yes, Father." Harry bowed slightly and answered gravely, before cocking his head with a smug tilt of his lips. "But you like me anyway, don't you?"
"Cheeky brat." The Dark Lord muttered darkly, but made no move to curse Harry, not even with a Stinging Hex. Harry supposed the Dark Lord too treasured these last few moments that he would have with Harry, before Harry left for the new term at Hogwarts.
"By the way, Father, I've been meaning to speak to you about something. The old coot has been sporting a mysterious ring recently…" Harry told the Dark Lord about the strange phenomenon that was Dumbledore's withered hand and his own theory that it was somehow linked to the ring.
The Dark Lord's eyes narrowed as he hissed, "Describe it." Even without his magical sight, Harry could tell that the Dark Lord was now in a foul mood. Now concerned and wary, Harry carefully blanked his face and described the ring as best as he could, even going as far as to tell his father about the strange sensation that the ring had caused him.
When Harry had finished describing the ring, a thick, suffocating silence blanketed the room. The Dark Lord's magic had grown exponentially more tempestuous as Harry spoke, and was now akin to a full-blown, destructive typhoon. His rage palpable, the Dark Lord wordlessly flung a hand outwards. Everything else in the sitting room disintegrated, including the chair that Harry had been sitting on.
Reacting instinctively, Harry's reflexes saved him from an ungainly fall. He found himself crouched on the floor in a bare sitting room, with only thing intact being a towering Dark Lord and well, himself. Harry blinked and was quite surprised to find himself unharmed, despite the devastation around him. The amount of control that the Dark Lord had over his magic, and wandless magic at that, was indeed remarkable.
"Dumbledore." The Dark Lord spat out, as if the name was a foul, oily and disgusting word.
After Harry had gotten to his feet warily, he waited silently until the Dark Lord appeared to regain some control of his temper. "Father?" Harry questioned softly. Whatever it was that had gotten the Dark Lord so worked up, Harry wanted to know what it was.
The Dark Lord hissed agitatedly as he paced the room, "That interfering fool has gotten his hands on my Horcrux! He dares to put on my ring!"
Stunned, Harry's jaws dropped. This was major news indeed. Icy cold fear gripped Harry as he thought about the implications of that – what if Dumbledore destroyed his father's Horcrux?! It struck Harry hard then; the Dark Lord was, contrary to all appearances and impressions, human, and thus not infallible. Were his fail-safes destroyed, the Dark Lord would be as mortal as any human. Worry and anxiety flooded Harry until the Dark Lord snapped irritably, "Shut your mouth, Harry, you look idiotic."
Harry bristled slightly, but closed his mouth, reminding himself that the Dark Lord was understandably not in the best of moods now. Then, he opened his mouth again, ready to swear that he'd get the ring back for his father come hell or high water, but thought better of it. What the Dark Lord needed right now, Harry knew, was to feel that he was still in control. "What would you have me do, my lord?" Harry asked softly.
The Dark Lord stopped pacing and regarded Harry appraisingly. Harry stared back unabashedly. He knew that his father was aware that Harry was attempting to manipulate him into a better mood. In fact, Harry was probably the only person who even dared to try such a thing on the fearsome Dark Lord. For a moment, the Dark Lord's features seemed to soften. Then, with an edge in his voice, the Dark Lord commanded, "Retrieve the ring, Harry. Make that your foremost priority, while keeping your identity secret." Harry bowed solemnly in acknowledgement of the order. He would obtain the ring for his father at all cost. "Yes, my lord."
"The old fool's days are numbered." The Dark Lord stated with finality. At Harry's questioning look, he told Harry about the Dark curse on the ring that was meant to kill any other who put on the ring. "Even if he had managed to stop the curse from taking effect immediately, it is but a matter of time. There is no cure. Dumbledore will die," the Dark Lord said confidently. Some might call it arrogance, to declare thus of the Light's leader, but Harry believed the Dark Lord unhesitatingly.
"Half the war would be won, Father," Harry could not suppress a tendril of excitement from colouring his voice.
Scowling thunderously, the Dark Lord said bitingly, "Our priority is to minimize the amount of damage that he can do before he succumbs to the curse."
Harry felt himself deflate at that. It was true; Dumbledore could decide to give his all to taking out the Dark Lord before he passed on. If he started destroying the Horcruxes single-mindedly, if he found out and revealed the Dark Lord's secret to immortality…Dumbledore and his Order might be the Dark Lord's worse enemies, but they were not his only enemies. Harry shook his head slightly; he must have had been more rattled than he thought, to make such a juvenile mistake. Intellectually, Harry knew that his father was only human. But the Dark Lord had always been a bastion of stability and invincibility in Harry's worldview; it was jarring to have it driven home that he was not invulnerable.
Clearing his mind with Occlumency, Harry took a deep breath before speaking, "You're right, Father. What can I do?"
Perhaps influenced by Harry's outward display of calmness, the Dark Lord finally calmed down enough to sit. His eyes narrowed as he stared off into the distance. Harry knew that his father was quickly thinking up new plans and discarding old ones – if there was some trait of the Dark Lord that Harry admired above all else, it would be his genius-level intellect.
Finally, the Dark Lord shook his head and levelled his gaze on Harry. "For you personally? Nothing at the moment. What that old fool needs right now is…hope. Treacherous and deceptive, hope will blind even the most intelligent to the truth. And the most delightful thing about it is this – those who have hope will never resort to desperate measures." High, cold laughter resounded throughout the room.
Platform Nine and Three-quarters. Having strolled through the deceptively solid-looking barrier casually, Harry stood to one side with Draco and Narcissa, watching the crowd with a thinly veiled disdain. He felt the same ingrained disgust that most Pureblood supremacists felt at walking through the crowded train station full of Muggles. And to think that Draco and Narcissa had to do so at the beginning of every term! No wonder Narcissa was sporting a wrinkled nose like she could smell something foul. But such was the affection that she held for her son, that she always braved the crowd to see him off. It was something Harry admired about his Aunt Narcissa. After the very first time, the Dark Lord never accompanied Harry again. Not that Harry would even dream of asking his father to accompany him…
Harry turned to regard the bright red locomotive resting at the platform. It had been a long time since Harry had been confronted with anything so obviously…Muggle. Even in his Muggle Studies classes, Harry had merely interacted with such objects by viewing them in photographs…but that was nothing, compared to experiencing it personally. It struck Harry then; how out of touch with the Muggle world he had become. And that was a dangerous thing indeed. Know thy enemy, the renowned ancient Chinese wizard Sun Tzu had once said. Since the Dark Lord would eventually aim to conquer the Muggles, it would be unwise if none of the Death Eaters knew much about them…Even if the Muggles were worthless worms, Harry thought that they should at least know what those worms were capable of.
Still, that was food for thought for another day. As Draco and Narcissa said their final goodbyes, coolly neutral as befitted Pure-bloods in public, Harry flashed a charming smile at the Pure-blood lady. "It's almost time, Aunt Narcissa. We should board the train." Vincent, Gregory, and the Withers twins had already found them, and were currently patiently waiting for them to make a move.
"Of course, Harrison. Have a good term, boys." Narcissa replied gracefully, stepping back. Harry and the rest then boarded the train with little fanfare, their trunks having been shrunk down so that it fit into their pockets. Nuit was curled up beneath Harry's cloak, shrunk down to a less obvious size.
After Harry and the rest entered the train, they were greeted by a few upper-year Slytherins. Casually acknowledging their greetings with a nod, Harry ignored the stares and glares from students from the other Houses and allowed Vincent and Gregory to shove their way to an empty compartment that was, as Draco loudly proclaimed, his usual compartment. After Harry had settled down next to Draco, he unshrunk Nuit with a careless wave of his wand.
Soon after, Daphne Greengrass entered the room. Seeing that the only occupants were Harry, Draco and the twins, she dropped her icy façade and bestowed upon them a genuine smile. "Harrison and Draco. It's great to see you again." Draco snorted mock-disbelievingly. "It has only been several days, Daph." Harry remained silent, amused at the banter between the two. Daphne did not deign to answer, choosing to settle down right next to Harry instead. Soon after, the rest of Harry's inner circle entered the room. Theo, Emlen, Francis, Alexei, Korbin, Pansy and Blaise trickled into the compartment one after another. By the time the sixth person had entered the compartment, Harry had concluded that the tiny compartment on the Hogwarts Express was not going to be large enough to hold everyone. With a silent wave of his wand, Harry cast a variation of the Undetectable Extension Charm on the compartment, which immediately tripled in size.
"Impressive spell-work, my prince," Korbin whistled appreciatively. Harry merely looked at his year-mate with dry amusement. He decided to ignore the overt flattery however, as he had more important matters on his mind. After casting a privacy ward on the train compartment and proximity alarms in the corridors, Harry beckoned for Vincent and Gregory to join them.
Then, Harry leaned back against his seat, casually stroking Nuit, who was hissing contentedly on his lap. "My friends, it's the start of a new term once more. Yet, does that mean that we should allow old transgressions to be forgotten?" Pausing, Harry made sure to meet the eyes of all gathered in the compartment. With a cruel smirk, he continued, "Towards enemies, I do not forgive, nor do I forget. And Ronald Weasley has earned my enmity." Malicious grins appeared on the faces of those gathered around him.
"Alas, I'll be somewhat busy this term, and I fear that I may not be able to devote an appropriate amount of time to devising punishments of a suitable severity for the Blood-traitor." Harry said with feigned disinterest. Then, he slyly looked at his followers. "But then, I have friends, don't I?" Appreciative chuckles and gleeful smiles appeared on his followers' faces.
"Of course, my prince, we're here to share your burden," Emlen declared with a mock-straight face.
"Yes, that's what we're here for," Korbin seconded eagerly, with a spark of mischief in his eyes.
Harry was pleased. He had not forgotten his decision to make Ronald Weasley regret his actions, but he also suspected that he would have his hands full between his task to retrieve the Horcrux and the Triwizard Tournament. Well, that was what delegation was for. "Well then, my friends, I declare open season on Ronald Bilius Weasley. No killing, maiming or any grievous injuries. We don't want Dumbledore to get suspicious." Smirking, Harry added as an afterthought. "And don't get caught."
"Pffft," Daphne sniffed. "Don't worry about that, Harrison. If anyone here is foolish enough to get caught, they're not worthy of being in your inner circle." Murmurs of agreement could be heard at that. Harry suppressed an inner smile. Somehow, what would come across as being condescending from any of the others, even from his second-in-command, sounded perfectly natural coming from Daphne. His Spymistress had, Harry realised with a start, somehow removed herself from the chain of command, yet held a high position in his court. And Harry was surprised to find that he was not in the least displeased by it.
Just as Harry was about to respond, the proximity alarms flared. Frowning slightly, Harry raised a hand to silence the occupants, and gestured for Septimus to get the door. The door slid open to reveal an elderly, squat woman pushing a trolley full of sweets.
The woman appeared somewhat surprised at the size of the compartment and the number of occupants, but she did not say anything about that. "Anything sweet for you, my dears?"
Harry raised an eyebrow at Draco, who merely commented, "It's just the trolley witch, Harrison. She has some of Honeyduke's best. Want some chocolate frogs?"
Harry inclined his head at that, amused at how pampered Hogwarts students were, compared to Durmstrang students – there was certainly no trolley witch or equivalent on the Durmstrang ship… Harry watched as Draco proceeded to buy out almost one-third of the snacks on the trolley, which Pansy then threw out to the occupants, who called out their preferences light-heartedly. It was only at moments like this that these teenagers could let down their guards and relax as teenagers would. Harry was struck by the irony of it all. To the Light-supporters and many of their victims, those in this compartment would one day be feared and reviled, but at this moment, Harry felt a sense of fondness for all of his friends and followers. For he knew that they would soon lose what innocence they had left in the coming war.
When they had all settled down to finish their food, Harry ripped apart the packaging of his own chocolate frog, caught the frog by its leg and devoured it slowly. Picking up the card, he noted with a sneer that it was one that featured Albus-too-many-names-Dumbledore. Turning the card over in his hand idly, Harry longed for the day when it would show instead one of the Dark Lord Voldemort. After all, if wizards and witches like Uric the Oddball and Wendelin the Weird could be on the cards, why not the greatest Dark Lord of all time? If the only criterion was fame, why then, no one could claim that they surpassed the Dark Lord at that.
But that was an idea to be implemented only in the future…For now, all Harry could do was his best, to ensure that such a future came to pass…And to do so…
"My friends," Harry began in a thoughtful manner. "What do you think of the creation of a Dark Arts Association?"
Children generally realise that their parents are not invincible when they reach a certain age. For Harry, I guess it's been a long time coming, since the Dark Lord is practically invincible.