Chapter 2
Deadly Consequences
Lord Voldemort stood in front of his son and Draco Malfoy. His handsome, older face scowling with a silent fury, a deadly aura surrounding him as his dark eyes glared at Harry and Draco. Harry and Draco stared up at him with fear, and he tightened his grip on Harry's throat before dropping him unceremoniously onto the floor. A book fell from out of Harry's hand, but Voldemort did not look at it. "It is kind of you to finally show yourself, Harry, Draco," he said, his voice seeping with an icy venom.
"F-Father," Harry said hoarsely, clearing his throat. Voldemort smirked as he heard his son. He squeezed tight enough to set a reminder.
"I've had to torture all of your guests last night, boy," Voldemort said, "after you humiliated me."
"I didn't—"
"Silence!" Voldemort yelled. "You have humiliated me, laughed at my power and influence and caused doubt in my followers. Was it worth it, boy?"
Harry stayed silent. He felt a prickling at his forehead, but not his scar. It was an invasive feeling. Voldemort did not speak, and Draco just stared between the two of them, scared. The pain went away a moment later, and Voldemort smirked. "You intend to kill my followers by poison," he stated. "The Stranger. What a cowardly way, but efficient."
He moved away from the two teens and sat in a nearby chair. Leaning back, he stared at Harry as the boy struggled to catch his breath. "How did you know?" Draco said cautiously. Voldemort's eyes turned from Harry to him.
"You think I would not read the minds of those foolish enough to try to betray me?" Voldemort said.
"We're not betraying you," Harry said, his voice back to normal. He stood tall by Draco, glaring at his father. "I told you what was going to happen. I told you that I will kill your followers. This is how. You may think it's cowardly, but this is how Draco and I will kill them."
"Ohh, is that so?" Voldemort said with a slow chuckle. "And tell me, boys, who is it that you will kill? Whose god will you be to determine life and death?"
Harry glanced at Draco for a moment before reaching for the book on the ground, his eyes never leaving Voldemort. The Dark Lord did not move as Harry got the book and opened it, flipping until he reached the page that Draco wrote on. He glanced down at it for a moment, calming his breath, before looking back up at his father. "Sixteen," he said. "Sixteen people."
"Sixteen people… how ambitious," Voldemort said in a mocking way. "To think you will kill sixteen of my men. Very well, name them." Harry did. He read directly from the list, never once looking up at Voldemort until he was done. The Dark Lord was silent for a long moment, staring down at Harry and Draco. "That is an impressive list of names, I must admit however it is clear whom you are sparing… you wouldn't dare to hurt those related to your friends."
Harry and Draco glanced at each other for a moment.
"I did not hear Nott's name… shame really, since you have been explicit with Greengrass and Parkinson," Voldemort continued. A cold sneer grew across his face. "Come here boy," he said, holding out his hand to Harry. Harry moved towards him, more out of fear than obedience. His legs moved while his mind was telling him to stop. Voldemort just held his hand out patiently as Harry took painful step after painful step until he was close enough for his father to snatch his wrist and pull him the rest of the way. Uncaring, Voldemort grabbed Harry's sleeve and pushed it up, revealing his Mark on his inner forearm, fully formed.
The mark looked as though it bled from Harry's skin, the thick black snake wrapping around his arm and the large skull, resting at it's top with a small crown, much like the crown Harry thought his father would rather wear. Voldemort smirked at it for a moment, "It is complete," he said, and pulled out his wand, "and with it… you are completely mine." He pressed his wand against the mark. Pain rushed through Harry's arm and he screamed as the mark burned an angry red. The pain burned deep inside him, Harry felt tears well up as he screamed, all the while Voldemort just watched with sadistic look. Behind him, Harry could hear Draco's protests, followed by his own voice screaming in pain.
It ended abruptly, and Harry fell from exhaustion. Coughing as he tried to catch his breath, he felt hands on his shoulders and looked over his shoulder to see Draco holding him. Draco helped him to his feet just as a loud cracking noise appeared behind them. They turned to see Theo's father, Nott Snr., kneeling before Lord Voldemort. "My Dark Lord, you have summoned me?" he said, his head bowed in respect.
"Yes, I have," Voldemort said. "Rise, Nott."
Nott Senior rose and finally noticed Harry and Draco. "You," he said, blinking at them. "You're Malfoy… my son's friend."
"I am, sir," Draco said in a strained voice, glancing up at Voldemort, both he and Harry feared for what he was planning.
"They have both disappointed me… however, I am a merciful Lord," Voldemort said, getting their attention. "As such, I have decided to show them mercy. Harry, kill him."
Harry's blood turned to ice. Color draining from his face, he stared at the Dark Lord and turned to look at Theo's father, who looked to be in an equally stunned silence. Draco's hold on Harry tightened, and Harry felt his limbs go stiff. Nott's eyes shifted quickly between Harry and his Lord, a cold sweat appearing as his arms found movement, nervously rubbing his hands. "My Lord," he said, his voice shaking. "This—this must be a joke."
"No, it is not. Harry, kill him," the Dark Lord repeated.
"I won't," Harry said, finding his voice. He shook his head and stood shakily. "He's not on the list, I won't kill him."
Voldemort sighed and stood up slowly. He looked at Harry. "Must you always be a disappointment?" he asked. Slowly he moved his wand, letting it linger on Draco before moving it to Nott, then finally Harry. "Imperio!" he snarled.
The Imperious Curse hit Harry far more powerful than ever. It felt stronger than Barty Crouch's, and instantly Harry fell in a mindless void that made him feel light. He felt every worry and thought slowly wiped away, and a small shock inside him hated this. He tried to fight back, reaching out for those stray thoughts. As he struggled to keep his thoughts at hand, a voice, soft yet demanding, started to whisper around him. "Kill Nott." No, a small voice said inside him, I won't kill him. "Kill Nott!" the voice said again, becoming sterner. No! the voice yelled again. A blast of sensations overcame Harry, and he fell to his knees as his anxieties and thoughts were blown away. "Kill Nott!" the voice repeated again, filling Harry's mind. No, the protesting voice inside Harry cried out, growing weaker with each push. Harry felt like he was floating on a cloud, he stood up awkwardly, a dazed look in his eyes. He could hear someone yelling at him. Was it Draco? He could not tell. Through misty green eyes Harry stared at Theo's father. He groveled on the ground in front of Harry and the Dark Lord, begging for his life, but Harry could not hear him. All he could feel was a joyous, calming sensation, floating along on his personal cloud as the voice overtook him. "Kill Nott. Kill Nott. Kill Nott." All around him the voice whispered until it was the only thing Harry could hear and feel. The whispers felt deep inside him, vibrating his very core. "You know the words… raise your wand." Harry felt his arm move, his hand slipping his wand from his pocket and aiming it at Nott. "That's it… now cast it. Avada Kedavra."
"Avada Kedavra!" Harry's words broke through his cloud. The Killing Curse exploded from Harry's wand, hitting Nott Snr's chest and Harry watched as the body fell. Then his thoughts came back. Followed by his feelings. And an intense fearful guilt took over him as he fell, hearing in the now colder room Lord Voldemort's cold laughter.
"My mercy!" Voldemort cried out. "Thank me boys, for it is your friend's father and not yours, Draco!"
Harry felt cold. He shook as he stared at Nott's body. No, no I couldn't have—I couldn't. I killed him. Tears streamed down the teen's face. He felt a hand on him and shuddered away from it, only to see Draco's broken face. He looked scared; he was staring at Harry with fear. No, please don't fear me, Harry thought as Draco's eyes glanced from him to Voldemort. Harry turned as well,
"I will give you three weeks," Voldemort said, not caring about the troubled, depressed looks the teens had as they were filled with despair. "You will first visit my oldest and most loyal of followers, Yaxley. Have your potion by then if you can, for it does not matter. You will go to him and beg for his forgiveness and show your loyalty to your Lord as you have done just now. That is all."
Harry had no time to respond, no time to say goodbye to Draco or process what happened. For the next thing he knew, he was falling in darkness. He did not know how long he was falling. Harry just felt numb, the cold despair of his actions overtaking him. His sleeve fell, thankfully, hiding his mark but he did not notice. He did not notice his surroundings at all, until he was on top of the kitchen table at Grimmauld Place, falling with a crash that shook the table violent, breaking its legs.
Harry curled around himself, shaking as he cried silently. There was a rush of footsteps, and a moment later Harry heard one of the twins yell out, "Mum! Mum! It's Harry!"
Commotion exploded around Harry. The portraits woke up, their screams filling the house, Mrs. Black's screams the shrillest of them all. Mixing with running footsteps, Harry could not understand what was going on around him, his mind only seeing the lifeless body of Theo's father in front of him, especially when he closed his eyes.
People around him were screaming his name, but he did not hear. There were hands on him, helping him off of the broken table, and soon he was facing the face of Mrs. Weasley, who looked at him dreadfully worried. She said something but Harry did not hear. Her hand on his arm made him think of his mark and he felt bile rising inside him. He did his best to swallow it back.
Harry was passed from Mrs. Weasley to Remus and finally Sirius, all of their faces looking tired and worried, it was obvious that none of them slept last night and that only made Harry feel guilt on top of his hollow grief. Sirius grabbed him by both shoulders and stared at him. "Harry, Harry," he called out, "where were you? What happened? Are you alright?"
Harry couldn't answer. He opened his mouth several times but no noise could come out. He felt cold. His eyes darted around, looking at every face that stared back at him. They can't know, do they know? They can't know, his mind went wild. Murderer. Killer. Victim. Dead. A man is dead. I killed him. I was not myself. I was myself. Did I do it? Voldemort? I killed him. No it was Voldemort. Me. Voldemort. Me. Voldemort. He lost it. Held by Sirius, Harry screamed.
He screamed and screamed as Sirius's hands held him tighter. He pulled Harry into a hug and would not let go as Harry continued to scream, his voice growing hoarse and dying. He coughed, gagged and made unhuman gargling noises as his voice broke. His mind was slipping between something and reality, he didn't want to be touched. He was dirty.
Clean, Harry thought. I need to get clean.
He breathed heavily, mustering whatever strength was inside him and croaked out, "Clean… bath…"
"Are you sure? Harry, what happened? Where were you dearie?" Mrs. Weasley asked.
"That can be answered, after Mr. Potter is cleaned." It was Dumbledore. Harry did not know when he arrived. "Sirius, if you would watch him on his way? I will make something for his throat and voice."
Sirius gave a curt nod. He looked at Harry and moved to have an arm around his shoulders, "Come on Harry," he said gently. Harry's feet moved sluggishly, dragging across the floor. He kept his head down. He didn't want to see their faces. He couldn't. Harry couldn't handle their pity, their sleepless worry, their anxiety. It would only add, only depress him even more. Sirius talked, but he barely listened. "I wish you would tell me," Sirius whispered, "where you were. I was so worried for you Harry, we all were… when we realized that you weren't here, that you weren't anywhere… I felt so scared."
Harry frowned. He hated this, hated himself. He should have been stronger. He must be stronger. He shouldn't have killed Nott. He should have killed Voldemort. He didn't feel himself. Where was the boy who faced Voldemort? Faced the Basilisk? Faced Quirrell and turned back time to save Sirius? Where was he? He wasn't here. He wasn't being escorted to the bath by Sirius. He was somewhere else. He was the voice who protested and died away and now all that was left was… what? Harry did not know.
Sirius left him inside the bathroom and closed the door behind him. Harry moved to the bathtub automatically and took off his clothes, sitting in the empty tub for a while before turning the hot water facet on. He looked down at himself. His skin looked normal, hints of puberty peppered around his body, the starting of chest hair growing as well as hair on his legs and arms… except for where the Dark Mark laid. Burn it away, I have to burn this spot away, he thought. He allowed the water to become hotter, the water slowly filling the tub. Harry scooped the water and got his arm wet. Out. Out get out! He grabbed soap and started to scrub. The water rose, growing hotter and starting to burn, but he didn't feel it. I deserve this, I need this pain if only to get this out! OUT DAMN SPOT! He kept scrubbing. But through the soapy suds, Harry could still see the Dark Mark, black as night. It was mocking him; Harry could hear its laughter, his father's laughter.
Out, out get out! He pleaded, pushing against the Mark, rubbing violently. The water was still rising in the tub. Seething hot, he dunked his hand in the water, groaning at the pain, and pulled it out to see the Dark Mark, perfectly clear among the reddening skin. No, no… Harry could feel himself crying. He needed this mark off. He needed it gone. To be the person he was before this blasted mark! He kept scrubbing. The water steamed, fogging his glasses. Out of frustration, he threw his glasses away, a small cracking noise soon happened after. He did not care. He kept scrubbing. Then he saw red. He stopped and stared at his hands. In his deluded mind, he could see blood. His hands were soaked in Nott's blood. He had to clean those off too. He pushed his hands in the water, rubbing fiercely with the soap. He was shaking, feeling cold despite the hot water. The water stopped automatically but Harry kept scrubbing. "Out," he said hoarsely, "Get out… I have… to clean…" He scrubbed all over. Everywhere felt dirty, vile. He remembered the look of horror that was on Draco's face and he scrubbed harder, tears falling freely, joining the water. His skin started to hurt, he could feel his nails dragging against it, but he did not stop. He was starting to feel the pain from the hot water and thought that he deserved it. He gave in too easily; he allowed his father to control him so easily. And yet that damn spot would not get out.
He kept going back to his arm. Kept scrubbing and staring at the blackness that won't fade, no matter how hard he rubbed and how red the surrounding skin became.
There was a knock, but Harry kept scrubbing. The door creaked open and Sirius started to come in. "Harry, I have a drink that will help your throat," he said gently. He stopped and stared. Harry kept scrubbing at his Dark Mark, tears still flowing openly. "Harry!"
Harry jumped, water splashing out of the tub. He turned slowly to stare in horror at his godfather. "Harry… what happened?"
He broke down. He dropped the soap and cried openly, shaking as his tears blurred his vision even more. Sirius rushed to Harry and pulled him tightly into his embrace. Harry cried on his shoulder, "I messed up," he said weakly. "I'm sorry Sirius, I messed up."
