Disclaimer: Harry Potter will never belong to me. I can only wish.

I'd like to thank everyone who has reviewed, and say that I really appreciate them. I'm sorry for the short chapter last time.

The flower garden was literally paradise. If anything, the cold-hearted Dark Lord had an excellent taste in plants. The garden itself was gigantic, stretching to meet the estate of the manor. Overflowing with elegant blossoms and trees, all equally pleasing to the eye, the garden had a palpable taste of orderliness.

Near the very centre was a marble fountain, characterised by a life-like statue of Hades wielding a staff from which crystalline water spilt. To its right leaned a cherry blossom tree, its delicate trunk slanting towards the fountain.

The outer rim of the garden were guarded by the traditional favourite of cultured gardens; the Bleeding Heart, with its refined, almost fairy-like flowers dangling. The entire expanse of the garden was masked securely by a range of different trees from the sun, creating a dappled or shadowy shade in which a seeker could seek privacy.

Perhaps that was the reason Harry was here … The news of the Dursleys' deaths shook him to the very core. Although he had never been particularly fond of them, he now felt something akin to sadness; they may not have been the most generous type of humans but they did not deserve to be murdered, murdered by the very magic they feared.

Harry knew he should never have involved himself in Lord Voldemort's affairs; it was too dangerous. No matter how much the truth was twisted, the fact still remained that Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon and Dudley had died because of him. He felt sick to his stomach, distracted by guilt and a lingering fear: if he did not fully submit himself to the Dark Lord's wishes, who would be next?

Furthermore, Lord Voldemort was now rightfully his guardian, giving him complete legitimate control over Harry's wellbeing. He had been informed of this new change as early as over breakfast. It gave him a headache just thinking about it; it wasn't likely he'd make it out of childhood alive. He dreaded the next day when the first lessons with his new guardian would begin; he had a feeling it wasn't going to be pretty.

With the worst things hanging over his head, Harry made a feeble attempt to focus on the comparatively better things. Earlier in the day, he had paid a half-hearted visit to Voldemort's prized library, and the multitude and age of the books had been magnificently impressive … Aside from that, he also had an exceptional bed.

Harry gave a bitter snort; Voldemort's wealth would be useless to him in the long run. This was laughable. Moreover, it was impractical to believe he would be rid of the Dark Lord anytime soon; there were still his friends to consider.

With a gloomy future looming over him, Harry trudged through Voldemort's flower garden with a disconsolate expression.

—0O0—

"Young Master must wear dragon hide boots! Master commanded!"

"Spookie," Harry said, in amusement, "there's no need to fret. I'll wear them." He grew less pleased, however, as the house elf endlessly passed him various garments from the enormous pile of fabrics in its little arms.

"Young Master must wear them all!" Spookie declared. "Master said so, therefore, Young Master must obey!"

Frowning, Harry struggled to heave on the cumbersome fur cloak. "This is impossible; it's meant to be our first lesson, and I can hardly walk in this!" The heaviness of the layers were weighing him down, making him awkwardly clumsy.

The house elf darted forward to usher Harry out of the room, saying, "Must hurry, and mustn't keep Master waiting!"

"Spookie, are you sure about this?" Harry gestured helplessly. "I don't believe even Voldemort would be as mad as to order this…"

Instead of receiving an answer, he was rushed to the Duelling Hall, to where the Dark Lord was waiting, by the hassled house elf.

...

The Dark Lord stood up as soon as Harry entered through the doors, his eyes flashing in hilarity while he took in his ward's appearance. "Good to see you, Harry. Unless I'm wrong, you are thirty minutes early."

Harry approached Voldemort warily, inwardly dismayed at the house elf; he did want any more to spend time with his new guardian than to hang himself. "I… I can come back later…" he offered tentatively.

"I personally find house elves fascinating creatures. I believe you have already noticed how they prefer to be early rather than late?"

Harry fought an urge to groan. "Yes, I wouldn't want to inconvenience you. I shall come back later," he said, turning to leave.

"My Lord."

"What?" Harry said.

"I wouldn't want to inconvenience you, my Lord. That being what all my followers call me, you are not special enough as to avoid the usual courtesies. Secondly, since you are already here, you shall not leave until I dismiss you."

Instantly, Harry's wall of self-restraint shattered from the assertion; Voldemort's current actions had been grating on his nerves all yesterday, and this was the final thrust needed for him to be driven over the edge. "I'm not one of your servant Death Eaters," he snapped, against his better judgement.

Instantaneously, Harry found himself on the opposite end of Voldemort's yew wand, and facing his unpromising fate in the eye.

"I overlooked your irksome insolence at Hogwarts. Finding myself on the threshold of redeeming my earlier kindness, I suggest you consider whether jousting with me is worth confronting my wrath, which will eventually result in your begging for mercy," Voldemort forewarned, his pale lips tightening.

Harry's mind took time to assess the situation, weighing up his options. Finally, he backed down, eyes lowered.

"Good boy," Voldemort mocked, letting his wand fall to his side.

Harry had never fully fathomed the circumstances until now, but when he thought about it, he realised there were vast alternations between the Voldemort he had seen for the first time in Diagon Alley, the clever manipulator at Hogwarts, and the Dark Lord he was facing now. The dark wizard had been ruthless in Diagon Alley, charming as well as manipulative at Hogwarts, and now…he was a mixture of the two.

When attempting to successfully bend a crowd to his will, Voldemort would fall back onto his charisma and grace; however, away from the eyes of the beneficial public, the pretence fell away to expose his brutal nature.

One conclusion could be reached based on Harry's observations: he was now in more danger than ever with Lord Voldemort in his own territory and free to abide by his own rules.

"From the time when you arrived, we have wasted nothing but time. Perhaps we ought to get on?" Voldemort said.

"Yes."

"Pardon?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"Very well." Voldemort appeared to be satisfied. "Let us try a warm-up."

"Spookie said you wished for me to wear these…" Harry hesitated. "Is it necessary? It limits my movements."

"Professor Snape told me about your tendency of dodging curses rather than protecting yourself with spells. Although physical agility and reflexes is a must in duelling, it can lead you to becoming too dependent, creating a loophole in your defences," Voldemort stated. "Your clothing hinders your swiftness, and may be able to curb your unfortunate habit."

Figuring it made sense, as irritating as Voldemort's methods were, Harry nodded.

"How do you feel about duelling me, Harry?"

Harry's insides froze. How did he feel about exchanging blows with the darkest wizard of all time, the most powerful of his generation? Surely, he wasn't expected to feel good.

"Aside from not using the Unforgivable Curses, I will not slow down for you. You need to learn to keep up with my pace." Voldemort smiled disturbingly. "On the count of three: one, two…"

His survival instincts kicking in, Harry reacted on the count of 'two', wielding his wand and yelling, "Expelliarmus!"
The spell was intercepted half way by Voldemort's quick retaliation. This was followed by a harsh hiss: "Objecto." It ripped through Harry's clumsy shields with a chilling ease and flung him against the back wall.

"Get up," Voldemort commanded. "Your shields are pathetic."

"Professor Snape said they were passable. I –" With an effort, Harry hauled himself to his feet shakily, counting his lucky stars that he had not injured his head.

"Merely being 'passable' is not sufficient. Tell me again, whose apprentice are you? I will not be humiliated by your incompetence that knows no bounds."

Harry bit down on his tongue to stop a retort from coming out. He wasn't getting any better at this. Taking a few deep breaths, he said, "Forgive me, my Lord. I agree entirely; my abilities are lacking."

"I prefer the silence to your obvious, badly-woven lies," Voldemort said softly. "However, I find your respectfulness agreeable. Remember that what you learn, you learn for yourself."

Harry bent down to pick up his fallen wand from the floor. "Are all of the lessons this rough?" he asked casually.

"My, complaining already?" Voldemort said. "Personally, I do not think you have the right to whine when you cheated on our very first duel."

"What?" Harry gawped.

"You cheated, in case you have not noticed. Who knew you would honourably apply trickery to best your opponents?"

He flushed angrily at the tease. "I did not," he protested.

"What a strong tone," Voldemort remarked, "for a child who tried to take advantage of Lord Voldemort in a duel."

Harry blanched as the comment hit home. "Sorry…" he faltered. "I didn't mean to –"

"I am not displeased," the Dark Lord interrupted. "If truth be told, I am impressed by your tactics. It is only logical you should employ all your means, underhanded or not, to win."

As much as Harry was against unprincipled methods, he could not help but feel a hint of accomplishment at the rare praise. "I suppose it's –"

His sentence was broken off by the entrance of Daphne Greengrass, who arrived sporting weightless robes, perfect for training. He might have known he was given special treatment.

"My Lord, I do hope I am not late," Daphne said, giving Harry a hard stare.

"Oh, no. Harry has been early for once, thus I seized the chance to give him a few pointers." Voldemort raised his eyebrows expectantly. "Why don't you and I warm up while Harry plays audience?"

"Certainly, my Lord."

Harry watched curiously from the side lines as the two took their places. "When you're ready," Voldemort said to Daphne. "Take your time." However, the moment Daphne reached for her wand, he unpityingly threw a spell at her which knocked her clean off her feet.

"You might have prevented that if you had been on your guard at all times. Do not trust the words of anyone but yourself." Voldemort shook his head. "Harry used that same technique against me, unsuccessfully."

With what seemed to be an accepting smile, Daphne stood up and dusted herself.

"In some ways, your duelling styles are contraries; while Daphne is capable of complex footwork and physical agility, she disregards it for the endless use of magic, and you, Harry, having grown up in a Muggle environment, rely too much on your physical assets and clearly not enough on your magical ones."

"Of course, my Lord," Daphne murmured humbly.

"The purpose of today's lesson is to strengthen your flaws, weaknesses, and drawbacks in duelling. With that in mind, Daphne will be making an effort at avoiding curses without any use of magic whereas Harry will face the spells head-on using only magic," Voldemort said. "The two of you can assist each other. Who will be practising first?"

"I will, my Lord," Daphne said.

"Very well," Voldemort agreed. "This means Harry will be shooting spells at you." He stretched out a hand towards Daphne, palm upward.

"My Lord?" she asked.

"Your wand," the Dark Lord said impatiently. "Give me your wand." When the wand was placed tenderly in Voldemort's possession, they were directed to their places.

When they began, Harry tentatively cast only the easiest of hexes, one at a time, all of which Daphne evaded. He was hesitant of hitting Daphne when she was in no position to properly protect herself.

"Harry," Voldemort hissed warningly.

Reluctantly, he picked up the speed, throwing two hexes at a time. For all Daphne ducked and weaved, he could tell she was faltering; stumbling slightly here and there. Shortly, her breathing became laboured, and a hex caught her on the ankle.

Harry stopped immediately and lowered his wand, regardless of Daphne's irritated expression. "I'm fine," she said, icily.

"You are not fine," Voldemort said, handing Daphne her wand. "Your stamina is pitiable. However, it may be best if you switch places with Harry now. We'll see how he copes against your spells."

Daphne nodded humbly at Voldemort's words, and raised her wand with cold composure. She aimed a couple of basic curses, which all vanished upon meeting Harry's shield with satisfying plops. "Reducto!" she cried. "Sectumsempra."

Harry gave a start as the curses that spurted out of Daphne's wand promptly became more and more dangerous. "Contego." He reinforced the shield with another glowing layer, a split second before the curses rammed against it resoundingly; the sheer force of the offending magic vibrated up his arm in waves. In spite of this, the shield maintained its shape and provided Harry with sound protection.

"Daphne, step aside; Harry is more powerful than you think…but…" Voldemort carelessly sent a curse spiralling in Harry's direction, penetrating the shield effortlessly. "But undoubtedly not powerful enough."

Behind the Dark Lord's shoulder, Daphne's tranquil expression distorted into one of anger. Harry saw her lips tighten until they looked like they had melted into one thin line. She swiftly straightened her features when Voldemort turned back towards her. "My Lord?"

"The two of you will accompany me to the library. Your practical training for the day is done."

...

Lord Voldemort elegantly pulled two books of the same cover from the bookshelf and handed one to Harry and the other to Daphne. "I do not wish to overexert you on the first day, but I do expect you to read through the first six chapters of the book and report to Lucius, who will be your tutor tomorrow."

Harry goggled like a rubbernecked duck. "Approximately how many pages are in each chapter...my Lord?"

"There are two hundred and seventy-six pages in the first six chapters precisely," Voldemort answered.

"And we have to read through all of it today?"

"I think you can answer that question yourself," Voldemort rebuked. "I do not tolerate failure to complete homework, and I will make sure Lucius does not either. Run along now, and entertain yourself for the rest of this day."

—0O0—

Three weeks had passed since Harry's first lesson, and he supposed he had settled down, in an odd way. Voldemort was working them like slaves, regardless of whether they were exhausted to the bone; studying with the Dark Lord required maximum concentration and drive.

On the other hand, Harry's magic had improved in great bounds, shooting up the scale. Ironically, under Voldemort's guiding hand, Harry's power had flourished, perhaps not miraculously, but still remarkably.

At the end of every lesson, Voldemort would assign them their 'daily homework', loading them with a mountain of new spells they had to practise. Despite Harry's resentment at the intolerable strictness, he still had yet to defy his tasks.

Unexpectedly enough, Voldemort had also stayed his hand and had not cursed Harry thus far, even with the provoking of frequent squabbles.

By now, Harry had gone through not only the teachings of the Dark Lord, but also his other tutors, who each had different styles. Lucius was despicably polite, but more often than not, he would trade subtle jabs with Harry. Bellatrix's style was wild, and she was infatuated with the Dark Arts, making her a demanding instructor when it came to dark magic, and Snape was just the ordinary Snape, habitually taxing on his nerves.

Harry currently was in his bedroom, grumbling about the injustice of his guardian to the portrait of Tom Riddle. "This is ridiculous! I'm expected to non-verbally summon an object of any weight in this room by tonight! This isn't even on the study schedule at Hogwarts until fourth year, and even then –"

"Please, Harry," Tom Riddle remarked lightly, his voice embedded with laughter. "Hogwarts is hardly something you should compare yourself with; you will never succeed if you follow the average student level."

"Urgh," Harry groaned in frustration. "Are those supposed to be words of consolation?"

"No." Tom smiled smugly. "When I was your age, I could not only perform non-verbal spells but also human transfiguration. I imagine Lord Voldemort soon be teaching you that."

"You were a genius, I give you that," Harry gritted out. "Any useful advice?"

"Perhaps the best advice for you right now is not to anger the one person who controls your life."

"Oh, yeah? I don't think I need you telling me that. My new guardian is going to skin me alive when he realises I did not complete my homework assignment," Harry spat.

"If it's any comfort," Tom said, "I don't think he'll kill you; I have no doubt you're of more use to him alive than dead – and although Lord Voldemort is not known for his patience, I can assure you that he can be more forbearing than anyone if he wishes."

"I'm sure you were the intellectual mastermind in your time," Harry said, desperately. "Please help me, if you can, that is."

"My, the great Harry Potter begging for my help? I shall have to oblige," Tom teased.

"Thank you, thank you so much."

"I'm sure when you are in the right state of mind and the right arm frame the spell will come naturally. Show me how you're performing it at present," Tom commanded.

...

Two hours later, a tired but jubilant Harry emerged from his room, now fully qualified to execute a non-verbal summoning charm. He had discovered that Tom Riddle was not only an intelligent companion but also a magnificent teacher; firm but charismatic.

He was interrupted from his thoughts when he nearly collided with Daphne Greengrass, whose eyes flashed in annoyance. "Oh, sorry!" he said, in surprise. "Are you alright?"

When Daphne looked up, Harry was taken aback by the intense, penetrating look. "Harry, we need to talk," she said decisively. It sounded unfamiliar, hearing his name arise from her lips.

"I don't see why not," Harry said, uncertainly. "Is it important?"

"Very." Daphne glanced at him again and gracefully walked away, with Harry obediently following.

They ended up in Voldemort's secluded flower garden, where Daphne led him straight for the thickest, most sheltered area.

"Harry Potter… I have heard of your name a long time ago," said Daphne lightly. "Harry Potter, son to a traitorous Death Eater, a substandard Half-Blood, and yet selected by Lord Voldemort to become his junior apprentice."

Harry was caught off guard by the expression of superiority and aggression. "Excuse me?" he said.

"Do I have to repeat myself?" Daphne snarled, loathing etched across her fine features. "I am not to be trifled with, and especially not by a young boy of inferior birth, of no importance to the world, member of a prominent light family, and unfaithful to the Dark Lord in every respect!"

Utterly bewildered, Harry looked at her blankly while attempting to figure out what was transpiring. "What are you –?"

"You mediocre fool, you are but an inconvenience to me; if I do not eliminate you, my mother undoubtedly shall…" Daphne paused. Perhaps the Dark Lord will even remove you himself when he realises you are of little value."

By now, Harry had recovered somewhat enough from his shock to ask,"I do not understand. Can you please be a little clearer?"

"Oh? You still do not understand?" Daphne hissed. "You are competition. Competition for the Dark Lord's attention. I shall conquer you, just as I did when we duelled."

"What is this? Jealousy?" exclaimed Harry in disbelief. "I am not challenging you, merely coexisting beside you."

"Jealous of you? No, I don't think so." Daphne sneered. "You overrate yourself."

"I was only imitating you," Harry snapped. "Do not tell me you consider me a threat."

"I do not share," said Daphne coldly. "I fight to rid my opponents." She produced her wand from under her sleeve and levelled it at Harry's throat. "Do not move a step."

He scoffed. "You want a duel to take place right here? Aside from wrecking Voldemort's precious flower garden, do you really want him to know of what you've said?"

"Your death can be entirely silent. You have heard of the third Unforgivable Curse, haven't you?"

"You're going to kill me? Do you not think my corpse would be suspicious? You think you can keep your secret from Voldemort, a powerful mastermind?" Harry was not daunted in the least.

"You are absolutely right," Daphne said softly. "The Dark Lord has to kill you himself."

"What makes you think I will not tell him of this incident?" Harry said. "Maybe you will find your plans backfiring."

"It is fairly obvious you detest the Dark Lord. Somehow, I do not think you will bring this matter to him."

"I can find several faults in your plans. How will you make Voldemort kill me himself?"

"Oh, I don't think we need to worry about that," said Daphne. "You will get yourself in trouble, in due course. The Dark Lord does not tolerate followers who are disloyal, and you present a very nice representation of unfaithfulness."

"This is ludicrous. You cannot possibly be absurd enough as to suggest I jeopardise your position," Harry said, again. "I do not even feel comfortable in the same room as Voldemort."

"Pray, tell me something I do not know already."

"As you said yourself, my root is with a prominent light family. I have no desire to be his apprentice, I promise you. He is corrupted, stained with the deaths of hundreds of innocents." And Harry was telling the truth; he wanted nothing more than to be miles and miles away from Voldemort.

"You shall not besmirch his name!" Daphne cried harshly. "You will not insult the Dark Lord."

"If I can find a way out of this, I will take it!" Harry said. "I am losing control of my own life. First, he became my master, and then my guardian." Voldemort had gained too much control over his life than he could handle.

"What can a poor, insignificant Half-Blood do?" Daphne mocked.

Harry gave a smile. "I don't know, you tell me."

"Now…" Daphne's eyes glistened sharply as she mused over Harry's words. "You will feign incompetence." She breathed excitedly. "No matter how many times you attempt a spell, no matter what methods the Dark Lord uses, you never do it right."

"He will be suspicious," he warned, simply.

"It is your job to act out your part well," she said. "Over time, he will throw you out."

"Or kill me," he said dully, "and my friends."

"That will be your only way out. It all depends on whether you take the chance."

"This foolish," Harry said. "But I cannot answer you just yet."

"Remember," Daphne said chillingly, "it is either Harry Potter or Daphne Greengrass."