Disclaimer: Characters are property of J.K. Rowling. Story by me. Harassment by the FBI.
Author's Note: I realise that the core idea of this story is not the most original, but this is meant to explore a dark side of Harry hitherto never explored much cannon wise. It's a kind of 'what if?' since I believe J.K.R said Harry would never be tempted to the dark side. I wanted to produce a very interesting and different piece and I hope that you will find it so.
Summery: The war has ended, evil has triumphed and it is not only Voldemort who is reaping the rewards.
Rating: R – Yes, HP/DM slash and implied HP/Voldemort. Implied because it squicks me, although that is actually the intention. If you have any objections whatsoever then leave and don't just leave a flame telling me I'm sick and evil because I will merely look at it, laugh, save it to my computer so I can laugh at it again.
Hermione Granger wrenched open the door to her home with considerable difficulty, as the howling wind and accompanying blizzard of snow seemed to be locked in a cruel battle of wits with her and attempting to force the door back shut. Probably with the hope of locking her out permanently till she froze to death.
Ha, you can't get rid of me that easily!
She struggled into the house and practically dropped right into the nearest squashy chair with an exhaustive sigh.
"Is that you Hermione?" Called the voice of her husband.
"Well, it's not Santa Claus."
Ronald Weasley popped his head around the door that led into the kitchen. "Who?" He asked with a frown.
"It's another name for Father Christmas Ron," Hermione explained wearily. Ron took in her rather haggard appearance with a look of sympathy. They had managed to escape relatively unhurt from the war and were now part of a resistance network, which Hermione was in charge of and that so far Voldemort didn't seem aware of – or at least, didn't seem to think them a threat in a show of his complete arrogance. It was amazing how life could go on after such horror and yet...not.
After all, Ron had always thought that when they won the war, Harry would be with them. He withdrew back into the kitchen so Hermione would not see his ugly scowl and deduce what he was thinking of. He hated the mere thought of the boy with the famous scar who had once been his best friend, a person he thought he knew more than anybody else. One of the few distinguishing things he had had at Hogwarts – Ron had known the famous Harry Potter.
But the cruel joke was that he didn't know him, not at all.
Sighing deeply he poured out some tea from the pot and brought it into the living room of their somewhat ramshackle house that reminded Ron so much of the house he grew up in, The Burrow.
"Thanks," Hermione murmured appreciatively as she took her warm drink and cupped her still cold hands around it. Ron seated himself into the chair next to her and began threading his fingers together, wondering whether or not he should ask Hermione a question that had been pestering him all week.
"Erm...Hermione?" He piped at last, cautiously.
"Hmmm?"
"Has erm, well, do they know if well…You-Know-Who is really behind this weather yet?" Hermione shot him a look and Ron flinched, fearing he had enraged his somewhat hot-tempered wife. However Hermione was not angered, merely surprised, as Ron had been the biggest dissenter of that theory.
"We don't know," She answered quietly. "I'm personally beginning to doubt it, why waste his power on such a frivolous activity?"
"It makes us all terribly miserable," Ron pointed out. Hermione nodded in agreement. However, she still didn't believe this was Voldemort's doing. Nature had a way of reacting to circumstances and after the horror of the past summer... Hermione shuddered and she and her husband remained silent after that and supped their drinks, both lost in their own separate brooding.
Draco twitched nervously when he heard a loud scream echo from the dungeons, or what had once been the dungeons and was now Voldemort's personal chambers of torture. He knew Harry would be down there too, and the knowledge made him feel physically ill. It didn't matter which part of the castle he would be in, somehow those screams of terror, pain, horror a whole myriad of human wretchedness would seem to somehow follow him.
Or perhaps that is merely my conscience.
He wandered away, heading for his own room, which was located where once the Ravenclaw dormitories had been. It was escape enough for now. Escape from the horror he was far too cowardly to stop.
Harry walked up out of the dungeons nonchalantly, as if he had not just witnessed the sickening torture of a perfectly innocent Muggle. Harry had long since stopped feeling anything but hate for Muggles, his aunt and uncle had seen to that.
And I paid them back Harry thought sneeringly.
One of the ways Voldemort had tested Harry's word about joining him was to force him to watch such brutal torture, thinking that if the boy was deceiving him, he would be both sickened and also inclined to save the suffering souls. At first Harry had been sickened but had hid it very well, his stubborn streak making him stay and watch.
However, he had never felt truly inclined to save anyone, even when those faces became increasingly familiar...
Harry past that test, and the next part was a thoroughly logical step; he'd have to torture someone himself. "Kill them, if that is your one darkest desire," the Dark Lord had told him.
Then he unveiled the victims and Harry had let out an audible gasp...
He had done it though, no hesitation or anything and Voldemort had indulged in an extremely rare show of delight at this.
He nodded in acknowledgement as he passed several Death Eaters on his way to his quarters (almost right next to Draco's). He passed the stone gargoyle and scowled at it, it would always remind him of Dumbledore and Harry despised the memory of that foolish old man, who had manipulated a young boy because he couldn't fight the battle against Voldemort himself.
Or at least, that was how Harry saw it. As he had felt more isolated he had felt more cynical until eventually, everything seemed jaded to Harry, still did.
He climbed a winding staircase and reached what appeared to be a blank wall. Harry took out his wand, tapped the very central brick and murmured something. The wall slid back to reveal an entrance to a long corridor that at once upon a time been decked out in dark blue hangings but was now utterly stripped and bare.
Harry knew what the decorations had looked like not only because he'd been there when they'd stripped and destroyed but also because he'd actually attempted several times to sneak in there and talk to Cho Chang, the girl he thought he'd loved, an idea that was entirely laughable to Harry.
What does that matter now, she's old meat, let her rot.
Harry found his room and lay on his bed without bothering to undress, one arm lying over his face. He knew at some point that Draco would join him; he rarely slept in his own allocated room. Although they did not officially share a room (Voldemort's generosity did not stretch that far where Draco was concerned – he'd let him live on Harry's request but sharing a room with him was completely out of the question).
He gently drifted off to sleep without meaning too. When Draco came in and saw Harry there asleep he had to clamp back a gasp – he looked so beautiful...and innocent. It was alluring even if it was a deceptive illusion. It had been a very long time since Harry had been anything close to innocent.
Draco walked over and saw his face a bit more clearly. His arm had slid slightly down and was not obscuring as much of his face as it was before Harry had fallen asleep. Draco saw that while Harry was very handsome that there were also lines etched under his eyes, the mark of both hardship before he'd turned and all the fighting that had gone after that. It made him look so much older than has was.
Not that I look much better.
At one time the very idea of Draco being disheveled would have had the whole of Hogwarts in gales of laughter – it was simply that absurd a thought. Malfoy always had every strand of silver blond hair exactly where it was ordered to be and he had always made doubly sure it never came out of place. It was no secret that he was incredibly vain, but what would you expect from a boy whose mother was called Narcissa?
Draco allowed himself a self-mocking smile as he remembered this. He lay down beside Harry carefully so that he would not disturb him, closed his eyes and tried to forget what once was. Remembering the past could not change the future after all.
Hermione stared around at those that had gathered for the meeting. Most of them she knew from Hogwarts, some she had met after the war and the reign of human misery had begun in earnest. But all had suffered equally and therefore not prepared to lie down and let Voldemort rule over them just yet.
She cast an eye over them, identifying them one by one – There was the remainder of Ron's family, both his father Arthur and brother Bill had been killed. There was Dean Thomas, who had lost his best friend Seamus Finnegan, Parvati Patil, who'd lost her twin sister and so many more. Hardly any of the teachers remained, as they had almost all been wiped out when Voldemort had taken Hogwarts after he had won the actual final battle and killed Dumbledore. Only two of them were here – Professor Serena Sinistra (who'd lost her husband Chit) and Professor Veronica Vector. Both were content to let Hermione lead them, as through her association with Harry Potter she had learned quite a lot about fighting the dark side.
She shuddered at that, but nevertheless it was the truth. Sinistra and Vector were both people very much absorbed in their professional areas (Astronomy and Arithmancy) and really weren't too skilled when it came to actual fighting and their survival had more to do with blind luck, as Sinistra had even admitted herself to Hermione
Hermione shot sparks out of her wand to get everyone's attention and cleared her throat importantly.
"As usual," She began, "I have good news and bad news to give to you all. Firstly, the bad news – I'm afraid our attempts to find a way to communicate with someone I am certain would help us inside the castle are still not getting anywhere. He Who Must Not Be Named seems to have prepared well for such things. However I won't give up trying." A smattering of cheering and clapping greeted that.
"The good news is that we have successfully halted a recent attempt to gain control of Diagon Alley – it is still a safe place for now but no doubt You-Know-Who will try again." More enthusiastic cheering and clapping greeted this. Hermione couldn't help but smile a little. Voldemort may not think them a threat yet, but one day he would come to fear the name Orpheus just as much as they currently feared his.
Hermione would never let those involved with Orpheus (the name the resistance group went under) come to any harm – this wasn't just about taking down Voldemort, it was about revenge for the worst kind of betrayal any could suffer from a friend who had once been closer than a brother to her.
Both she and Ron had made a vow – Harry was going to pay for what he did to them and wizarding world in general.
Pay very dearly.