"But Master, look at him. He does not have the will to becoming one of us!" Dracius exclaimed in persuasion, making the mistake of challenging Voldemort's authority.
"Silence!" Lord Voldemort bellowed, hands white and face red with unmistakable fury. Never had he been insulted like this. Of being wrong in choosing his own fleet of Deatheaters. "I should kill you, Dracius." He said as he fingered his wand and continued dryly, "But seeing as you have been faithful to me since the day you came, I will make this exception. Do not make it a habit. It is not often you will get such special treatment." Said Voldemort so coldly the dungeon-like room suddenly dropped 10 degrees.
Dracius realized his mistake, but the harm had already been done. By doubting Master, he was no longer Trusted. Despair fell around him, encircling his shivering bodice. He walked to his living quarters, an icy drop of tear slid down his cheek.
No. No matter what, I will never betray my master.
Cornelius Fudge stood firm, bowing his head slightly. His lips curled upward in an odd angle and an unnatural smile splayed upon his pale face. It widened as he saw from the corners of his eyes the combined person of Draco and Lucius Malfoy angrily stomping off.
"So." Voldemort stated, a sense of dark sarcasm filling his tone, "You would like to become a Deatheater."
The sentence hung in the air, waiting for its response. Head still bowed, Fudge nodded solemnly.
"Why." He said in a tone more of a command than a question.
A thousand lies ran through the ex-Minister of Magic's brain. It had taken him 2 days to work up the courage to seek the Deatheaters and their lair, another day to think of the possible questions and carefully choose his answers. However, now that he was actually here, he had nothing to say.
Voldemort saw right away the hesitation and warned, "I can kill you right now. But I won't. You see, I believe in second chances, despite what you might hear from others. Do not attempt to lie to me. However I will not use any potions or spells to make you tell the absolute truth. That is a process I do not go through, for I believe for you to trust me I must first make the impression that I trust you. Or otherwise the bond will be broken and I then must kill you."
Cornelius blinked under his forelock of hair. He was too scared to lie, and knew that somehow You-Know-Who would tell whether he was telling the truth or not. It would be the safest and wisest choice.
I will survive, Fudge mutely told himself before pouring his heart out to his new Master. His guide. Guidance to living.
"You say you ridded Severus?" Lord Voldemort suddenly quipped, leaning forward in a swift motion.
"Yes, Master. I did." Fudge said mechanically, "How surprised he was too. You should have seen his face."
"At last we rid ourselves of that traitor."
From that day on, Cornelius Fudge became the faithful servant of Lord Voldemort.
* * * *
"Fudge did what!" Arthur Weasley exclaimed, fearing his ears have finally failed him at the age of 60.
Percy shuffled his feet before repeating, "He joined You-Know-Who."
Arthur Weasley ran his hands through his thinning grey hair, addressing his son slowly, "You're telling me Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic, became a Deatheater."
His son nodded, "And You-Know-Who's right hand."
"FOOL!" Shouted Mr. Weasley, a vein on the right side of his neck straining against his lightly speckled skin.
There was an awkward silence, then Percy asked softly, "What do we do, Father?"
His expression grim, the elder man said, "To Dumbledore at once."
* * * *
harry potter, The Boy Who Lived. No. Harry Potter, the boy who lived.
Harry contemplated which was better. Emphasizing on his name or his most widely known label.
But they only know my name because I am The Boy Who Lived.
Without hesitation, Harry took the pen by his right hand and encrypted the words The Boy Who Lived Dies on the flesh of his left arm. He was not sick. He did not need to feel his pain. He was merely bored with nothing to do. So why not write on his arm? It'll be just like getting a tattoo.
But he hated facial and body paintings in Hogwarts.
Well. I'm not in Hogwarts, am I Harry?
The little of his mind that still loved the wizarding world cried, Stop with this nonsense, Harry. They're tricking you.
My name is not Harry. My name is Harold Potter.
Harry heard the door jingle and quickly wiped the pen on the underside of his pillow, pulling his sleeve over the words.
Today would be the day. The day he will speak to Her.
The door opened and speedily Harry said the words, "I love you."
But as the white-coated person stepped inside the room, he did not see the dark blue polish on her fingernails. Did not see her confident grey eyes. Instead, he saw flashy pink and piercing blue.
This was not Her. This was not the woman he loved.
"What have you done to her?" He heard himself say.
"I beg your pardon, Mr. Fooper?"
His annoyance turned to irritation as he desperately graveled the other woman where She was.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Fooper. But she had been pulled to another patient."
No. Irritation turned to utmost rage. In frustration, he shouted words of wandless magic. Within seconds, the woman standing crumpled in a heap on the floor.
Harry shooked his head and swiftly made his way down the hall of white, the soft padding of his slippers echoing down the hall. For the first time in his life, he found something as thrilling as riding his Firebolt.
If I do this on my Firebolt… his thought trailed off as he smiled happily for the first time in a month.
* * * *
"It's happened, hasn't it?" Dumbledore asked, nose twitching slightly. Arthur Weasley meekly nodded his head and collapsed into a nearby chair.
"You mean you've seen it coming?"
"Yes, yes. I have. Though I regret fully to have not talked to him about it. The possibility of fear corrupting poor Cornelius stayed inside my mind but I was convinced he would right himself in the end."
Arthur nodded, sighing.
"So it is true, then. Lord Voldemort have came back to power."
Mr. Weasley looked embarrassed to say the next words, "And Harry isn't here."
"Indeed."
* * * *
Harry did not fear Voldemort, but hated him. Hated him because he killed his mother and father. Hated him because he killed those who were not purebloods.
He hated that fascias bastard.
Why do they hate people who are not like themselves? He must end their injustice. He must seek revenge.
Some purebloods hated Hermoine. Well, some of them don't. Like Ron. Or does he in secret?
No. Purebloods could not be trusted. They filled him an urge to defecate. He will kill them, and rid of the fascias views of their hated soul.
Harry knew it was wrong to kill. But this, this task was appointed to him. Besides, he thought, I will be doing something Voldemort wouldn't want me to do. I will prove to the rest of the world that I will never be like Voldemort. I will be the winner. I will always be the winner.
For that is why he was, is The Boy Who Lived, is it not?
