Disclaimer: Harry Potter will never belong to me. I can only wish.
I want to thank everyone for every review I've got so far, and to thank those who read but didn't review. Hope you have a good holiday!
"He's had enough. He has learned a great many things from this valuable lesson." Lord Voldemort hesitated. "I trust he will not commit the same transgressions again."
Harry looked, flabbergasted, as the Dark Lord vouched for him. Did this mean he was free of any more punishment? He was dumbstruck by the unlikely turn of events.
"Clean him up a little and make sure he arrives in my office in one hour's time. I need to speak to him."
Carrow took another nervous glance at Harry, her pupils swaying from left to right, looking considerably shaken.
"Students, you are all to leave the hall in the space of a minute. Staff members, you are to do the same."
Bellatrix, a little more uncertain in her movements than usual, quickly cleared the hall.
Harry saw Snape get up stiffly and without even taking a look at him, he walked briskly out the door – followed by the other Professors apart from one Transfiguration teacher.
McGonagall lingered behind, the deep frown on her face more intimidating than ever. She kept casting concerned glances at Harry, who still stood at the front with a blank mask pulled over his face to cover his pain.
"Professor McGonagall, I can only ask you to leave," stated Bellatrix.
The Gryffindor Head took a deep breath, and her expression grew ever severer – as if to prepare herself for a giant lecturing outbreak. But she seemed to change her mind at the last minute, going for the wiser decision. "By the earlier orders of the Dark Lord, Mr Potter has to be cleaned up. I think I am up to the job," she said firmly.
Carrow, adopting a skittish expression, didn't say anything; it was Bellatrix who replied, "That will not be necessary. We can manage on our own perfectly fine."
"Are you quite sure?" inquired McGonagall, in a sweet tone. "What if your naturally rough handlings result in further pain on Mr Potter's part? Especially when the Dark Lord himself had forbidden you to harm him?"
With her nostrils flaring in suppressed anger, she delivered the threat with a practised expertise. Even Bellatrix looked a little unsure.
"Very well. If you wish to take him from our hands, you may. However, you alone are responsible for Mr Potter's well-being," Bellatrix answered.
Harry scoffed lightly. As if Bellatrix actually cared about his well-being. It made him feel more comfortable knowing McGonagall was now looking after him.
"Here, Mr Potter. You can walk? Yes? Good. Go and get a clean set of robes from your dormitory." Ignoring the two deatheaters present, McGonagall stretched out an arm towards Harry and guided him out of the hall.
"I will leave you here, Mr Potter. If you are in need of any assistance after the conference with Lord Voldemort, please do not hesitate to find me," said McGonagall.
Harry knew she was unhappy about the notion of him spending such a long time with Voldemort, and the possibility that he would curse Harry out of personal revenge.
"Okay," he agreed. Inwardly, he was not feeling so confident; he still had no idea why Voldemort had chosen to spare him. The dark wizard did everything for a purpose, and the thought unnerved Harry.
He lifted a hand to the door of Voldemort's office – shuddering at what awaited him – and knocked lightly.
McGonagall gave him a last encouraging smile and left.
"Come in."
Nervously, Harry opened the door and stepped inside the dim room. Voldemort was waiting for him in one corner with half his face in the shadows.
"Good morning," Harry said in a low tone. From what he could see of Voldemort's expression, he wasn't angry.
"Good morning, Mr Potter," replied the Dark Lord smoothly, stepping towards him.
Harry shrank back slightly, intimidated by the dark wizard's presence.
"I would normally offer you a seat – I am not a discourteous man…" said Voldemort. "But I know you will be in severe discomfort, especially after this morning's drama."
Harry blushed. "Thank you." The words felt false and sour on his tongue, but he couldn't think of anything else polite to say.
"I can see the discipline has indeed taken its toll on you. You're not half as rude as you were. I mean this as a compliment."
"Yes, my lord." Harry took it as an insult but it was better to throw in these respectful titles, just to be on the safe side.
Voldemort sighed lightly. "Will you tell me exactly what you wrote about me? Bellatrix is too frightened to repeat the graffiti. I will not take offense."
Harry stiffened. Voldemort's promises were fickle, but to decline would bring more trouble. "Your family tree should be a cactus because you're such a prick."
To his surprise, the Dark Lord chuckled lightly. "It's not that bad. Bellatrix took it too seriously."
Harry guessed he was referring to the night before when Bellatrix had told him about himself.
There were a few moments of silence when Harry did not know what to say. He felt a creeping sensation of disquiet, being in the same room as Voldemort; he had a feeling this idle chat on the Dark Lord's part was only to install a false sense of security within him.
"Don't you want to know how you got caught?" Voldemort said. "One minute, you were painting in the great hall and the next… Bellatrix and Carrow."
Harry swallowed slowly, his eyes fixated on Voldemort's. "I do, but how would you know?" He immediately grimaced at the insolence.
The Dark Lord didn't seem to mind. "Because when Bellatrix came to me last night she told me that a spell triggered one of the personal alarms set around her room. Soundless to an outsider, but they alerted her. Apparently, a student had cast the silencing spell at the portrait of Salazar Slytherin. That was what set Bellatrix and Carrow on your trail."
Harry nodded, feeling a faint spark of anger at the careless idiot who had activated Bellatrix's alarms.
"That was very nice duelling on your part at the competitions," Voldemort commented.
Disconcerted and bewildered at the sudden change of topic, he had a nervous feeling Voldemort was toying with him. "Thank you. I wasn't good enough, though," said Harry, modestly.
Voldemort's eyes suddenly glistened purposefully. "What is your definition of 'enough'?"
He frowned, unsure of how to answer the confusing question. "I don't know…to win the competition would be enough, I guess."
"Ah, to come out on top," said the Dark Lord knowingly. "What do you think of Miss Greengrass' performance? As in contrast to yours?"
Harry was growing more and more uneasy by the minute - these probing questions had a purpose; Voldemort was intentionally steering the conversation in the direction he wanted them to go. "She is powerful…worthy competition. Her footwork and reactions are amazing; she is experienced. I'm nothing compared to her," Harry said, cautiously.
"Yes, but you managed to hold your own against her for an admirable length of time. You even slipped past her shields and landed a hit. Would you say, with experience, you can exceed her?"
"No," said Harry firmly. Maybe he could, but he was determined not to let Lord Voldemort know.
"Have a little confidence in yourself, Mr Potter."
When Harry didn't reply, Voldemort's voice grew more velvety, "I suppose you're wondering why I spared you from your punishment?"
Harry's head jerked up in shock and he opened his mouth to reply.
"Hush." Voldemort pressed his cold wand against Harry's lips. "You don't need to answer."
Gulping at the intimate contact, Harry leaned back as far as he could without seeming ill-mannered.
"I had been the one to give Bellatrix the permission needed for such a severe whipping," said Voldemort, tone merciless. "By rights you should have been whipped until the skin was stripped off your back. If I hadn't stepped in."
Harry remained mute, eyes wide and unblinking. His whole body quivered as he stood, his back rigid.
"Sit down!" Voldemort snarled sadistically, gesturing at a wooden chair.
"But I –"
"I am perfectly aware," he sneered. "Sit!"
Reluctantly, Harry walked slowly towards the chair and planted himself delicately down. As his tender skin brushed against the wood, he let out a small gasp.
"I knew the child was eleven. I knew his price for insulting me would be weeks without restful sleep. I knew he would bleed and he would scream," said the Dark Lord calmly. "What I did not expect was seeing you."
Harry flickered an eyelid.
"Seemingly, Bellatrix had forgotten to tell me you had been the one to paint the graffiti, and you were the one to be lashed. You were the sole reason I stopped the punishment."
"Why?" Harry uttered. "Why me?"
"You have great potential that can be nurtured into great power. You have a natural talent when dabbling in the Dark Arts, you have beaten students years older than you, you excel in all your classes, you can be trained into a formidable figure in the wizarding world under my teachings," said Voldemort. "I want you to become my apprentice."
"What?" Harry yelped. "I thought Daphne Greengrass was your apprentice!"
Lord Voldemort smiled mockingly. "Can one master not have two apprentices?"
Harry knew he would not face likable consequences if he denied Voldemort, but there was no way in hell he could agree to this. He would never accept this apprenticeship, not even under torture. Becoming Voldemort's apprentice equalled betraying his own morality. He would become just as twisted and cruel as the renowned dark wizard; it was inevitable. No, no, anything but this.
Harry abandoned all efforts of remaining polite. "No."
"Would you like to repeat that?" said Voldemort dangerously.
"No. I said no."
The Dark Lord raised a taunting eyebrow. "You have no say in this."
"I. Will. Not. Become. Your. Apprentice," Harry gritted out.
"You can either accept this chance to learn from me or you can pick death. I'm sure Bellatrix will have a way of drawing your death out slowly; it's her area of expertise," said Voldemort lightly.
Harry hesitated. "You can't." He stared at Voldemort's punitive eyes in open scepticism.
"Can't kill you? I can."
There was a ringing silence.
"Trouble deciding? I'll give you something else to think about: when you painted the graffiti, you were not alone – I'm not an idiot – you were with several other students. Would you like me to look into your mind and pull out their names? I assure you they will get their rightful punishments," said the Dark Lord. "However, if you do agree to this apprenticeship, I promise I will turn a blind eye to all these illegal groups happening at Hogwarts. They serve as nothing but a minor irritation to me."
Harry gawped, interiorly going to pieces. He knew. Voldemort knew. Was there no secret one could keep from the Dark Lord?
"I…" his voice cracked, "I can't…"
Voldemort scoffed. "Whose judgements are you scared of? McGonagall's? Your mudblood friend's?"
Harry bit his lip until he drew blood.
"If you do not agree to my conditions, you will die. Your friends who participated in resistance against my followers too shall fall. Only you can change that. Their lives are in your hands; one word from you determines whether they live."
A lust for Voldemort's blood settled in the pits of Harry's stomach. This couldn't be happening… His own future wasn't even his to handle. Which of the two options was more sinful? He couldn't possibly decline Voldemort's offer knowing people would die for him. And surely, it was better for him to live than die?
"This is blackmail," Harry stated. "I cannot believe you'd bend so low as to –"
"Silence," Voldemort ordered sharply. "Do not forget who you're speaking to."
Harry glared daggers at him, his emerald eyes shining a green fire as bright as the Killing Curse.
"Does this mean you'll accept my request?"
Closing his eyes for a moment, Harry bit out, "You're not giving me a choice."
A triumphant smirk drifted across Voldemort's handsome face as he entwined his fingers. "A wise choice, Potter. You'll leave with Daphne Greengrass, Professor Snape, Professor Lestrange and myself in three days' time for my manor. It'll be a good idea to start packing today."
Harry nodded grudgingly.
"Soon enough, you'll find being the apprentice to Lord Voldemort is not such a bad thing. There are many luxuries you can take pleasure from, which most wizards cannot even imagine."
"Hurry, Potter!" Snape hissed from the hallway. "I should have known you'd leave your packing till the last minute!"
Harry ignored his Professor and continued to stuff clothing and property into his trunk. In the Slytherin dorm, the Slytherins crowded around Harry – even the girls – and smothered him with words of farewell.
"Hey, Potter!" Blaise Zabini called. "Put in a good word for us in front of the Dark Lord, will you?"
"Harry, may I please have your autograph? Pretty please with cherries on top?" asked a Slytherin girl, waving a notepad excitedly in front of Harry.
"Uh…" Harry bent down to receive his black cloak. "Sorry…just wait…"
"Harry, come back and visit us sometime! Make sure you bring your mentor with you!" shrieked another girl.
"Have I met you before?" he stopped to ask, before fastening his cloak.
"Bye, Harry! Make sure you learn lots of magic tricks, and that you come back and teach us!"
In the most isolated corner of the dorm sat Draco Malfoy and a group of sullen Slytherins. "Didn't you know?" Malfoy sneered. "Old dogs can't learn new tricks, even with an excellent master."
"You're the same age as me, Malfoy!" Harry shouted before he ducked out of the dormitory, hauling his trunk after him.
"My, aren't you popular?" Snape smirked, walking at a brisk pace towards the stairs. "Are you not going to say goodbye to your devoted fans?"
Harry rubbed his temples in annoyance. "They're not my fans. They're Voldemort's fans."
"Potter, you cannot continue calling your master 'Voldemort'. It'll get you in trouble sooner or later," said Snape, seriously.
He glared daggers at the Potions Master. "He's not my master!"
The moment they stepped outside, Harry saw a shiny black limousine parked on the lawn. "Whose is that?"
"It belongs to the Dark Lord."
Even if Snape had not answered, Harry still would have guessed; Voldemort had climbed gracefully out of the limo and was heading towards them. "You're late. Bellatrix is already here with my charge."
Snape inclined his head politely. "Forgive us, my lord. The packing took longer than intended."
Voldemort cast an eye over Harry in a critical way. "Make sure it does not happen again. Come, we must hurry."
Once they got into the limousine, Harry noticed an unfamiliar man in the driver's seat.
"That is my chauffeur and bodyguard," Voldemort introduced.
Harry looked at the dark wizard incredulously, his jaws dropping. "Your bodyguard? Why would you need a bodyguard? Who on earth, in their maddest dreams, would dare to rob you?"
Voldemort chuckled softly. "No one I can think of, but having a bodyguard mixes well with the public image and media."
The car was fired up and the chauffeur steered it down the path and towards the gates.
Nonchalantly, Voldemort threw a glance at Harry. "Speaking of what mixes well with the media, I forgot to tell you: the moment this limousine passes the gates, Hogwarts' grounds, we're going to be swarmed by the media."
His words were proven true a moment later, when camera flashes blinded Harry from all sides, who instantly drew back from the window. "What's this?" he said anxiously.
Indeed, the limousine was driving slowly through a sea of cameras, photographic equipment and eager reporters who were waving frantically at them to stop.
"My lord," Snape delicately put in. "Perhaps with all your media attention and your apprentices' inexperience with the public, it may not be the best idea to stop."
"Drive on!" Voldemort ordered the chauffeur. "But slowly enough for the photos to be taken."
It was late afternoon when they finally arrived at Voldemort's manor. A precious half-hour had been wasted by attempting to drive slowly through the crowd of reporters. Not to mention that Voldemort, intent on gaining back the time they had lost, had commanded his chauffeur not to stop the car for rests, drinks, or even for the toilet.
To say Harry was in a grumpy mood had to be the biggest understatement of the year. He clambered clumsily out of the limo, dragging his heavy trunk after him, feeling the full scorch of the burning sun on his back. He glanced at Daphne Greengrass and Bellatrix. Bellatrix seemed to be in high spirits, contented that they were here while Greengrass' expression mirrored his own mood perfectly.
The Dark Lord, elegant as always, stepped out to join them, seeming completely unaffected by the heat. He strode towards the giant doors and tapped his wand on it three times. With a booming crunch, the doors opened to reveal the grandest corridor Harry had ever seen.
The small company followed Voldemort through the doors and into the hall. The hall was gigantic, rivalling Hogwarts' in all areas of magnificence; the sparkling chandeliers, the polished dance floors, the tables clothed in white… There was even an antique grandfather clock on the wall, which ticked to signal the start of six o' clock.
"Welcome to my humble manor," Voldemort said unhurriedly. "As we're quite late already, we shall have dinner at eight. Between now and eight, you're welcome to settle into your appointed bedrooms, take a shower, or ask the house elves for some needed refreshments."
He clicked his fingers. Immediately, four house elves in clean towels appeared out of thin air. "You will lead my guests into their bedrooms, where then you will do everything they ask. Go now."
Harry stared at the house elf that scuttled forward to greet him. It was small and wrinkly and had giant, endearing eyes that seemed ever so expressive. His house elf smiled lopsidedly at him and curtsied politely. "Hallo, Young Master," it squeaked. "My name is –"
"That's enough!" Voldemort whirled around, and coldly eyed the elf that had spoken to Harry. "Your job is not to pathetically engage Mr Potter in idle chatter, nor to introduce yourself. My orders were perfectly clear."
Flustered, the elf scrambled to bow, before it turned to Harry and muttered, "Follow me, Young Master."
Harry threw a baleful glare back towards Voldemort who didn't even seem to notice it.
As they walked through the corridors, Harry tried to engross the little elf in a casual conversation. "What did you say your name was? I couldn't quite catch it," he asked kindly.
The elf put a finger to its lip and shook its small head agitatedly. "Master forbids Spookie from conversing! Spookie obeys!"
Harry smiled warmly. "So your name is Spookie?"
"Not conversing!"
He got no more responses from the elf after that. Sighing, Harry dismissed the little creature as soon as he was shown into his room. Voldemort had trained the house elves into obedient little servants that mindlessly did whatever he requested; there was no more point making the elf stay when it clearly did not want to.
Closing the door behind him, Harry got a first glimpse of his bedroom. It took his breath away. The splendour of the shining lattice windows beamed down as him while he quickly ran an eye over the white walls, bare but for a lone empty portrait hanging adjacent to the four-poster bed, bedded down with the finest eiderdown money could afford.
Unconsciously, he walked towards the alluring comfort of the sleeping furniture and ran a hand over the black satin drapes. It was smooth and cold to the touch, flowing like a black river under his fingertips.
Unable to resist the urge any longer, Harry collapsed on top of the bed after kicking off his shoes; he groaned in pleasure as he rubbed his face into the soft duvet. This could not be better.
He tugged the black drapes free and drew them, letting darkness shroud himself. This really could not be better.
At least Voldemort had got one thing right – even if it was just his bed. Harry closed his eyes and allowed sleep to take him.
After what seemed only like a few moments, a sharp sound made his eyes jerk open in alarm – he bolted forwards and yanked the curtains back.
Harry scanned the room. Nothing, there was nothing. This was odd; he had been almost certain the sound had come from elsewhere in his bedroom… perhaps he had been dreaming.
"Hello. So you're his new apprentice."
Harry whirled around in shock.
"I'm over here," came the voice, amused.
It was the portrait. In what had been an empty, blank canvas now perched the depiction of a young boy only a few years older than Harry himself. "Hi," he said cautiously. "I'm Harry Potter."
The boy smirked. "I know your name. Lord Voldemort had all of us well-informed about the coming of his two new apprentices. Pleasure to finally see you for myself," he drawled. "I was away when you first came in."
Harry looked curiously at him. "You're not like the other paintings. At least not the ones I've seen around Hogwarts."
"I should hope not. I'm actually rather intelligent if you still can't tell by my looks."
Harry smiled a little at the boy's dry humour, but he had a point; his looks indeed portrayed him as an intelligent young man – glistening blue eyes, cultured ebony hair, and pale lips that quirked upwards into a perceptive smile. "What is your name? How old are you?" he asked.
"If you want to do business, you have to show your offer first. Tell me about yourself."
Harry was slightly taken aback. "Uh, alright… I'm a first year at Hogwarts, and I'm…um…really bad at making potions."
"What a poor attempt at introducing yourself, barely adequate." The boy looked at Harry in amusement. "Nonetheless, my name is Tom Marvolo Riddle. I'm sixteen."
"Tom Riddle," murmured Harry, trying it. "It's very charming."
"In my opinion, it's rather common and dull but thank you."
"The 'Tom' part, perhaps." He grinned. "But definitely not your last name. Riddle… I've never actually heard anyone called that. I wonder if you're as much of an enigma as your name suggests."
"Some people would regard me as complicated… but I'm not a mystery; everyone thinks they have me figured out. No, I'm not a mystery – at least not one such as yourself."
"Me, a mystery?"
"Hmm, even Lord Voldemort cannot predict your next move."
Harry shrugged. "Say," he started, "have you been in this manor long? Do you have a life outside of this painting?"
Tom mirrored his shrug. "I suppose I've called this frame home for many, many years. As for your second question, if you mean whether I'm still alive, I can confidently say I am."
He nodded in satisfaction at Tom's answer. "Do I know you in real life? You look like someone I've seen. I just can't put my finger on it."
Tom looked faintly surprised. "I honestly don't think so," he said.
"How did you end up here?" asked Harry. "Why would Voldemort –"
"The Dark Lord wanted to preserve my youth…despite how much he loathes the very mention of my name."
"Okay. Are you –?"
"It's nearly eight," Tom interrupted. "Don't you need to prepare for your dinner? Lord Voldemort doesn't forgive lateness."
"Oh," said Harry, "okay. Do you know where I can shower?"
"Just step outside your bedroom and open the door of the room to your right," Tom replied, shrewdly. "Oh, and when you're done I recommend you check your wardrobe."
In less than ten minutes, Harry was standing once again in his new bedroom, dripping water on to the floor and wrapped in a white towel. He spared the portrait a look as he passed, to find Tom gone again.
Tom had told him to check the wardrobe. Why ever not? He had been here longer than Harry, after all.
As Harry pulled the wardrobe doors back, he was greeted to a pleasant surprise. The entire wardrobe was armed with flowing fabric weaponry, and flooding with more. There were materials of so many different types – silk, cotton, satin, lace, furs. Because he didn't want to waste time, he tugged the set of dark green robes from its hook and quickly dressed.
Soon enough, he was ready and on his way to the dining room.
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