August, Friday the sixteenth.
Harry was reading at the bay window. The house elf, Jolly, was busy polishing the silverware. Mrs Pettigrew was coming for dinner that evening. She liked a traditional kind of visit. There were nerves in Harry's gut. The acceptance letter was four days late, that usually meant failure. He didn't want to believe it possible. His entire childhood was spent preparing for the entrance exam. He was probably more knowledgeable on magic theory than the average pureblood.
The chance meeting with the Dark Lord hadn't escaped his mind. It was a conversation that haunted him. The other night Harry dreamed about the dark lord using an origami fortune-teller made from his test paper to predict his grade. Uncle Peter didn't know about anything about it. Harry only told him that the body was confirmed to be his dad.
There was ding from the front door. Jolly jumped almost dropping the platter in her hand. She put aside her cloth and hurried away. Moments later, she reappeared holding the letter tray out to Harry. "Both for you, Young Master."
He took the two letters from the tray. His grip was shaking. One had the Hogwarts shield stamped in wax. The other was in an unmarked black envelope sealed with a snake and skull.
"Is the young master well?" Jolly's wide eyes were looking worried.
Harry swallowed his spit. He gripped the letters harder. "Back to task, Jolly."
She hurried back to her polishing, occasionally glancing back at Harry.
He decided to open the Hogwarts letter. Even if it was a denial of entry, it was a lot less intimidating than the black letter. Harry's hands had gotten slippery. Usually, he could open a letter in a tidy, but he ripped the envelope to shreds. Harry. He was dreaming. It didn't feel right. There was some illusion at play. Four sheets of parchment were in his palm. The first being his letter of acceptance for first year.
His mind twisted. It was painful. His mum and dad would have been so proud. His dad had always talked about how fun Hogwarts was. It wasn't the same school anymore. The times had changed since his parents were teenagers. Hogwarts had strict rules and high expectations. As a half-blood, the expectation was basically doubled for him.
Behind the letter of acceptance was his school supplies list. Then followed a sheet that summarised his exam results. His lowest score paper was history of magic, which he scored sixty-two out of a hundred percent. The rest fell around an average of eighty-five percent. Surprisingly, his highest scoring subject was spell theory followed closely by defensive theory.
The fourth and final sheet made Harry feel ill. It was a notice explaining that he had been approved for the elite defence against the dark arts class. After skim reading the extra supplies required for the class, Harry got the impression it took a hands-on approach to teaching. He put down the parchment and slouched. The world was spinning around him. He felt that same sensation as when he first looked into the dark lord's eyes. He never imagined making the elite class with being the half-blood child of a blood traitor and all. It didn't make any sense to put him amongst future death eaters.
He reached for the black letter. It opened with too much ease. Inside was an invitation for a meeting at the Dark Lord's London office. There was no added explanation, just a date and the time he was expected to arrive at. Ominously, the letter said attendance was mandatory, death being barely an excuse to miss it. Harry discarded the letters on the bay window. He staggered up the stairs and collapsed over his bed.
He was shaken. It was dark outside. Uncle Peter was towering over him with a huge smile spread across his face. "I'm so proud of you, Harry!"
Harry tried to open his eyes to focus.
Peter pulled him upright. "The Elite Defense Class. A meeting with the Dark Lord. How wonderful, Harry. Well done!" He patted Harry's side.
In the doorway, Mrs Pettigrew was dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief.
"We'll go to the quidditch match. You've it." Peter was talking more to his mother.
The scene wasn't really registering with Harry. Mrs Pettigrew came and embraced Harry herself. "Oh Peter, He'll need new robes and everything!"
Uncle Peter was rabidly nodding along as Mrs Pettigrew made plans to contribute for his school supplies. Harry lifted his glasses and rubbed his eyes. Jolly must have read the letters and relayed the news.
"… he must make an impression with the Dark Lord." Mrs Pettigrew was off comparing all the tailors she knew.
The buzz in the air went right through him. Harry moaned. Suddenly, they were both fussing over him. Harry felt a calling for his bed. Peter was off barking orders Jolly. Harry let it play out. Their voices became meaningless noise. He felt charmed more by the idea of rest. Mrs Pettigrew concluded he was unwell and coaxed him into sipping soup. Eventually, peace came, and he was left in bed.
Wednesday the twenty-first.
Harry checked his watch. He was on time. Ornate tall doors of the office loomed ahead. Only idiots kept the Dark Lord waiting. He re-check his watch, there something about the secretary's reaction that made him worry. The balding man addressed him with a raised brow and said that the lord had been waiting, but Harry wasn't scolded for lateness.
Harry reached for his inner pocket. Mrs Pettigrew had gotten a set of robes perfectly tailored for the occasion. It was likely the suit wouldn't fit in a few months' time. His hand retreated as the door opened themselves. He straightened his posture and walked on. His head repeated instructions over and over in his head. He was not going to forget etiquette again. If only Uncle Peter had mentioned the dark lord was a legilimens sooner. Harry would have had more time to practice occlumency. Currently, he had less than a week's practice.
The first thing Harry noticed was the slender figure behind the large bulky desk. They looked up, instantly greeting him with piercing eyes. Harry must have downplayed the feature, seeing them for a second time hadn't reduced their shock value.
The Dark Lord smirked. "A charming effort, Harry." He gestured to the seat before him.
He edged towards the chair. His eyes were wandering over the room. The office was mostly full of antiquities and scripture locked behind glass. He sat and swallowed hard. It was becoming harder to remember the protocol of etiquette. The Lord cleared his throat. Harry decided to look at his mouth rather than his eyes.
"I'll mail you a list of Occlumency tutors, you clearly need one."
The Lord's mouth barely had lips to speak of. The parts which Harry could distinguish were dry and flaking. "Thank you, my Lord."
The Lord hummed with amusement. Harry's eyes darted away from the Dark Lord's face. It was going terribly, he was stiff for no reason. They were literally just having a conversation. He hadn't done anything bad, or had he? His father was the blood traitor who died trying to assault the Lord. Maybe it was about his Muggle-born mother, Harry wished he had different parents.
It dawned on him that he was staring intensely at the Dark Lord's long bony fingers. "How has your day been going?" Instantly, Harry wanted to slam his head against the desk. He had no clue what he was doing or why. He was such an idiot.
The Lord's hands relaxed. "Oh, the usual. I won't bore you with the details, yourself?"
Foolishly, Harry looked up. "It's pretty boring without an exam to study for."
"Don't you have any clubs to fill time?" The Dark Lord's eyes didn't seem so venomous anymore.
"Clubs?" Harry's mind was racing.
The Lord rested back in his chair. "Traditionally, children under eleven attend clubs. It's meant to build skills socially. Never mind, Hogwarts had a vast selection to choose from. I'll also mail you that list."
Harry had lived with Uncle Peter for five years, not once were clubs mentioned. It was probably because his dad had neglected to educate him properly. Harry was always catching up on study, mostly on his own. Uncle Peter thought he was too far behind to be enrolled in prep classes, and a personal tutor was too expensive. Peter probably didn't want to burden Harry with any clubs.
The Dark Lord's fingers were tapping his armrest. "What a shame."
Harry that the Dark Lord saw everything just he thought. He immediately directed his gaze to his knees.
"I reckon your parents must be extremely annoyed with you."
Harry shifted uncomfortably. He knew his mum was proud of him – she always was – or at least, that was what she said. His dad was a bit more vocal about his opinions, but Harry had been good. He never did anything to draw attention to them.
The Dark Lord straitened his seating. "Probably not the best segue…" He took a deep sigh. "I think your parents have done the opposite of what they hoped for. You don't think Dumbledore exists, do you? – And if the man was alive, you wouldn't join him."
He stared at the Dark Lord for a while. "Well, no. That's silly."
The Dark Lord buried his face in his palm muffling out his laughter. He reined in the chuckles but had to wipe off the beginnings of a tear. "You have made my day, Harry."
Harry looked around. He didn't get what was funny. It was probably just Dumbledore, the man sounded like the rebellion's Santa Claus. Still, he did wonder why his parents were so devout to such a person.
His mouth opened but hesitated. He still wasn't sure why he was having this meeting. "Have I done something wrong?"
"No." The Dark Lord waved off the question. "I just wanted to have a more appropriate chat. Speaking of which, I did, in fact, mark your papers and was pleasantly surprised; most entrance papers are sweat-stained messes of thought."
A part of Harry wished had done something wrong. The Dark Lord invited him all the way to his office just to finish a random conversation. Harry struggled to understand it. There was nothing about him that could be of any interest to a Dark Lord.
"Thank you." It was best Harry could manage. His mind instantly scolded him for not ending 'my Lord', but that seemed too formal for a chat – Or was everything formal with the Dark Lord? His sense of manners had liquified and dripped out his ears. He knew had to some effort from his side. Currently, a wall would be a better talker than him. "Uncle Peter is taking me to Quidditch on Friday."
The Dark Lord seemed interested. The beauty of Quidditch was that everyone knew it well enough to have something to say. "That's exciting. Who's playing?"
"The Falcons against the Heidelberg Harriers. Uncle got some good seats through work." It was going to be an intense game. Hopefully a quick one, Uncle Peter would only watch a game for three hours. He often said that any longer and the results were better read in the morning paper.
A tea set was levitated over to the desk. Harry assumed an unseen elf had sent it. The Dark Lord reached for a teacup and dropped a raw sugar cube. "Peter enjoys spoiling you, doesn't he?"
Harry watched him drop another cube in his cup. "It's only because I made it into Hogwarts."
"I struggle to believe it, Harry. Pettigrew never struck me as a fatherly kind-of-man." One last cube was added before the cup was filled. "Of course, my legilimens could be at complete fault."
Peter hadn't exactly gone above and beyond, but neither had his dad. What his uncle had provided was a stable home. Harry would choose that over travelling with his dad, handing out propaganda and looking for Dumbledore. "It's fine." Harry added a single cube to his cup before pouring.
"I cancelled his custody request."
Harry went to sip his tea, but the scent of bitter chocolate hit his nose. He glanced down, his cup was filled with an almost black variant of Hot chocolate. The Dark Lord's words finally processed. "Won't they bully me for being a Potter? Peter said that because of my parents my reputation is ruined."
The Lord's grin was wide. "I'm sure your reputation was a contribution to his thoughts." He pushed over the milk jug.
Harry gratefully accepted it, however, the addition of the milk did not lighten the colour of his drink.
"Keeps the dementors at bay." The Dark Lord raised his cup before drinking.
That morning Peter had mentioned something about visiting Gringotts. Harry took a sip from his cup and found it harsh on his palate. He semi coughed-gagged while putting the cup on its saucer.
The Dark Lord was stirring down the sugar in his half-empty cup. "It's not to everyone's taste. I imagine you're a sweet boy?"
Harry was rubbing his tongue on the roof of his mouth to reduce the aftertaste. The sound of a teaspoon scraping around porcelain filled the room. The look in the Dark Lord's eye had changed. He rested the spoon on the saucer then retrieved a slip from his desk. "As for reputations, they are better built with actions rather than titles."
Parchment was placed before Harry. His eyes widened. His gut twisted. The room was growing hotter. It wasn't exactly a contract, but something of a similar vein. He had no clue what to do. He hadn't the rumour was real.
The Dark Lord was nonchalant. He finished his cup and said, "I don't take first years, but from what I marked, you meet my standards."
There had been a major miscommunication. Harry wasn't sure how it happened, but he had to end it. He opened his mouth to decline. Not a sound came out of him. An expectant quill and inkpot was pushed to him.
"Well, go on."
Harry just sat, mouth agape, staring at the parchment. He was lucky his dad was not alive to witness it. How his mother would have reacted did not bare thinking. Across the desk finger tapping had started. The Dark Lord was now waiting. He had to do something.
After managing to clear his throat, he got a decent grab on his voice. "I'll have to give it some thought."
"Excuse me?"
Harry stared at his knees, they were the only safe thing to look at.
"Harry." The Lord's voice was venomous. "People have murdered for this parchment."
The paper stared at him demandingly. In large illustrated letters it read: Offer to Attend the Dark Lord's Private Class. Harry scanned the writing seeking a flaw to escape. The page was mostly about the benefits of attendance. He flipped it and was grateful to find it double-sided.
There were three lines of fine print. Failure to pass the school year at seventy percent or above will result in expulsion. Harry immediately leapt at the requirement. "I don't really think I could do that. I mean, my history paper? It was terrible."
The Dark Lord didn't take a bit of it. "Your marks sit around the eighty-five mark, the distribution evens out. There are also plenty of study clubs that can help." He began refilling his cup with sugar. "Be more confident in your abilities."
Harry moved to the second clause. Attendance is mandatory, failure to appear in class could be punished with isolated study, detention or expulsion with a discredited social score. It read like skipping class was akin to treason. "I'm very prone illness, basically bedridden over winter. There's only so much you can learn with a fever."
More Hot chocolate was poured into the Dark Lord's cup. "I'm sure a nurse can wheel you into class."
It all rested on the last condition. Harry read it carefully. His brain was working overtime to find an escape. Instead, he was greeted with confusion. If a student wishes to withdraw from the class after accepting the offer, they will be withdrawn from Hogwarts and excluded from the related benefits. Harry was left wondering what was taught in the Lectures. The consequences were too high. An idea crept into his mind and went mad in his imagination. The elite defensive magic class didn't prep future death eaters, that happened in the private lectures. He had to hand it to the Dark Lord for the effort he made personally grooming his future servants.
He pushed the parchment back. He wasn't his dad, he wouldn't run around chasing Dumbledore, but Harry could never envision himself wearing the silver mask. It wasn't in his nature to attack, he more likely to defend – but even then, there were doubts. He needed to know what was worth defending before he started waving around a wand. His time with his dad had shown him that the tensions between right and wrong were exhausting. Harry didn't have a side; his plan was to follow the system well enough to be comfortable.
"I worked really hard to get into Hogwarts." Harry raised his head, bracing for the eye contact. "These lectures could sabotage that."
The Dark Lord sipped his drink. His eyes were digging into Harry's mind.
Harry's heart was pounding in his chest. "I'll have to talk it out with Uncle Peter and see if he thinks I can handle it." He didn't wait for a response. He just stood, took the offer and left. The balding secretary eyed him as he made a b-line for the exit. Peter wasn't waiting for him outside so Harry just picked a direction and walked. The entire time he couldn't ignore the offer in his pocket.
Friday Evening
There was a time when Harry would have been excited to be invited to a ball. He slouched in the carriage. Opposite him was Uncle Peter. He was wearing the black and white robes that made him look like a penguin. His scowl was reaching for his chin.
"Henry James Potter!" He was shaking his fancy walking stick. "Why didn't you say anything. They said you left to talk it over."
The Dark Lord had conspired against him. While Peter was at work, a death eater general waltzed up and asked if Henry had accepted his 'offer'. Peter didn't have a clue what they were talking about, which was a highly embarrassing experience for him.
"Well?" After the discovery, Peter decided to cancel quidditch and interrogate him instead. Harry had managed not to a thing slip and even began coaxing some of Peter's favour back. Then a black invitation arrived. Peter forced him to read it aloud. The Dark Lord had enough cheek to address it to Harry with his uncle as a plus one. In the rush to get ready, Peter's rage had returned twice as strong.
The carriage lurched to a holt. Harry still didn't say anything. Without any better robes to wear, he was dressed in same robes Mrs Pettigrew had gotten – which still had the offer folded up in its pocket. The door opened, Peter was the first to leave. He didn't make an effort to wait for Harry. By the time Harry was out, his uncle was out of sight.
Before him were wide tiers of steps, then a massive gilded entrance way. He looked back to see their carriage had moved on. He could see no other carriages approach the Lestrange Estate, they were the last to arrive. After a deep breath, he made his way up the steps. The chirp of insects filled the air. Harry couldn't hear any music or chatter. The servants opened the doors without a word or announcement. Harry walked on through vast halls adorned with marble and sculpture. There wasn't a single guest, the servants seemed sparse as well. The final pair of doors Harry had to open himself.
In the ballroom, masses of people stood facing him. They were a rich lot, it was evident from their dress. Every eye was scrutinising him. No one said anything. It was clear Harry's journey had not yet finished. A path lined with spectators had been carved across the dance floor. Harry walked on with his head low. Aside from a cough in distance, it was just him and his footsteps. The path brought him into a short corridor. There were only three doors to choose from. It was obvious his destination was the pair of walnut doors at the end. A few steps down and he heard the ballroom roar with noise. He ignored the sound and pushed on.
As he had expected, the Dark Lord was sitting by the fire, waiting for him. The grin smeared across his face was horrid. Harry forced himself to take the chair beside him. The quicker he got it over with, the quicker he could go home.
"That's three times you've forgotten to bow to me."
Harry forced his head down, avoiding eye contact was the best way he could protect his mind.
"No matter, Hot chocolate?" The Dark Lord didn't wait for a response, he began pouring Harry's cup before his own. "Two nights was plenty of time to think it over." He put down the pot and held out his hand.
Harry's back crawled. It would be easier if he just did what he was told, but there were long term consequences. He could risk expulsion over a single missed Lecture. His eyes had squeezed shut. He would have to endure the backlash. Declining the offer was the best thing to do. Harry was not a death eater. He was not going to push the European front or support the American assault. He was going to study hard at Hogwarts and get himself a decent job so he can live happily. War and politics would have no role in his life
His hand fumbled its way into his robe pocket. He gripped it for a moment. If he was going to do it, he would have to look the Dark Lord in the eye and be certain of his words. At least he knew it was his decision, there was some power with that thought. He raised his head. The Dark Lord didn't seem angry, Harry was thrown by it. He refocused and cleared his mind. "I have to decline your offer."
The Dark Lord smirked, then sniggered. His laughter evolved and broke into hysterics. The noise batted around Harry's mind. He couldn't comprehend what was funny. He was certain he had done something bad.
The Lord was slouched in his chair. His chuckles were subsiding. From his own robe, he pulled out a roll of parchment then bent over to scribble it. Harry shifted around to get a better look at it. The Lord's floor-length sleeves of the made it impossible to see anything. He looked at his offer sitting neglected in his hand. "Aren't you annoyed?"
The Dark Lord rerolled his parchment and returned it inside his robe. "No. Are you?"
"Kind of." Harry wished he had legillimens so he could understand the Dark Lord's mind.
"I pull this hoax to filter out the awful ones." The Dark Lord pointed at the offer. "When it began, I only lectured the scared twenty-eight. Over two years, I knew it would be better to accept students worth teaching. Of course, my old supporters still think they're entitled to exclusivity, hence the 'offer'."
Harry looked at his offer. If it was a hoax, then he never had the choice to decline. His grip tightened, creasing the parchment. He had wasted so much energy over something that ultimately didn't matter.
The Dark Lord was smiling down at him. "I've never had someone decline an offer. Most people cave into it."
Harry was back to staring down. He could feel a swirl of rampant emotion expose his mind. He wanted more explanation. "What about me, where do fall in this?"
The Dark Lord chuckled again. "You're one of the few half-bloods to get on the list. The offer never mattered, you have already earnt your place."
So, Harry was to be funnelled down a path of death eater training. He threw the offer into the fire and stood. He made sure to keep his back to the Lord. It was like their first meeting; the decision had been made for him.
"Do you always walk away?"
Harry was halfway to the door. Yet, impulsively, he glared back at the fire. The Dark Lord's jaw rested against his hand, his eyes were void of emotion. The room became red. Harry sunk into an infinite void of endless unblinking eyes.
People were stomping up the stairs. His dad was yelling profanity between curses. Harry turned on the spot, there were just eyes everywhere. Above, his mother squealed. Her screams grew louder when men began shouting. His dad gave a final scream. The voice of his mother died away. Harry sealed his eyes and forced an imaginary silence.
He felt someone roughly shake his shoulder. "I've got to go, Harry." The voice came from his own mind. It was some kind of possession. He could feel his dad walked out the door as he used to years ago.
It was cold, large drops of rain were pouring over his body. Ahead he sensed the annoyance Uncle Peter was having with the papers. Harry forced himself into nothing. He existed in darkness. His senses were blind, the noises were silenced, there was just Harry – and two red slitted eyes.
"Get out."
Harry was the floor. One wipe across his forehead showed he was sweating horribly. The Dark Lord was towering him, his mouth had the slightest curve of amusement.
Harry dragged himself upright. He wanted to scream, run, destroy and sleep all at the same time.
"You did very well, now..."
It was at those words that Harry stormed from the room. He made it halfway down the hallway, then remembered the ballroom. There would be all those privileged purebloods who weren't worth a galleon. Harry didn't need their stares. He paced a faction of the corridor. His mind boiling over. Hot water had broken from his eyes. He would jump from a window if it meant getting out of this situation. He burst through a side door. A wave cold air flooded from the games room. Some voice said something about rashness. Harry wasn't in the mood to listen. Ahead was a vast window looking over a courtyard. Noises were shifting, growing louder and coming closer. The world was blurring again. Harry wouldn't have it. There would no more red eyes. He sprinted forward.