Harry sat in the darkness of his cell night after night, day after day.
Nobody came. Each minute passed by as slowly as a month, and though he
tried to amuse himself by trying to cast spells, it seemed that Tom was
right and that the cell was completely spell proof. He felt aged by years
when finally he heard Tom's intoxicating voice approaching.
'We will see how much he has given in,' Tom was saying smoothly, 'by now he should be putty in our hands. We must mould him. If he is ready, you will teach him elementary dark magic, the simple spells. Avada kedavra, crucio. Easy stuff. Aah, Mr Potter,' Tom's face glowed beneath his hood from the light of his lit wand. 'And how are you feeling today?'
Harry could not bring himself to speak. Tom was right – he was becoming more submissive. What else could he do? He'd die if he didn't give in to Voldemort now. Tom was his only hope for survival. And in the heavy darkness of the cell, who was to say what was right and what was wrong? Just because he'd been brought up in a biassed White household and school, who was to say that their values were right? Hadn't he suffered enough?
'Perhaps he needs a little longer alone to think,' Tom's voice sliced the silence.
'No,' Harry said instantly, 'no I'm ready. Teach me dark magic. I want revenge on the people who hurt me – the Dursleys, Draco. Cho Chang. It's not fair. I want to get back at them.'
Tom's face changed smoothly into a silky smile.
'You are clever, Harry Potter,' he said quietly, 'Weasley, open the cell.'
A hissed variation of Alohomora swung the door open, and Harry struggled to his feet. He felt weak, and the blood rushed from his head, making him stagger dangerously. Tom caught his arm.
'Some food first for Mr Potter, I think,' he said, 'and then the lessons.'
Harry could see nothing when he first stepped into the daylight; his eyes took what seemed like an age to accustom to it. When eventually he could see what he was doing, he staggered after the other death eaters towards the house.
A long mirror ran the length of the hallways of Tom's house, and as Harry walked past he couldn't help turning to look at it, to see how terrible he looked after his long imprisonment. When he looked, however, all he could see were seven identical figures. He couldn't tell one from another at all.
Now, he was truly one of them.
Sorry, I know a lot hasn't happened yet but it will move faster in the next chapter, I promise!
Please review!
Thanks.
'We will see how much he has given in,' Tom was saying smoothly, 'by now he should be putty in our hands. We must mould him. If he is ready, you will teach him elementary dark magic, the simple spells. Avada kedavra, crucio. Easy stuff. Aah, Mr Potter,' Tom's face glowed beneath his hood from the light of his lit wand. 'And how are you feeling today?'
Harry could not bring himself to speak. Tom was right – he was becoming more submissive. What else could he do? He'd die if he didn't give in to Voldemort now. Tom was his only hope for survival. And in the heavy darkness of the cell, who was to say what was right and what was wrong? Just because he'd been brought up in a biassed White household and school, who was to say that their values were right? Hadn't he suffered enough?
'Perhaps he needs a little longer alone to think,' Tom's voice sliced the silence.
'No,' Harry said instantly, 'no I'm ready. Teach me dark magic. I want revenge on the people who hurt me – the Dursleys, Draco. Cho Chang. It's not fair. I want to get back at them.'
Tom's face changed smoothly into a silky smile.
'You are clever, Harry Potter,' he said quietly, 'Weasley, open the cell.'
A hissed variation of Alohomora swung the door open, and Harry struggled to his feet. He felt weak, and the blood rushed from his head, making him stagger dangerously. Tom caught his arm.
'Some food first for Mr Potter, I think,' he said, 'and then the lessons.'
Harry could see nothing when he first stepped into the daylight; his eyes took what seemed like an age to accustom to it. When eventually he could see what he was doing, he staggered after the other death eaters towards the house.
A long mirror ran the length of the hallways of Tom's house, and as Harry walked past he couldn't help turning to look at it, to see how terrible he looked after his long imprisonment. When he looked, however, all he could see were seven identical figures. He couldn't tell one from another at all.
Now, he was truly one of them.
Sorry, I know a lot hasn't happened yet but it will move faster in the next chapter, I promise!
Please review!
Thanks.
