Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, blah, blah, blah. Let's get on with it, shall we?
Voldemort watched as Harry Potter passed out . . . again. It had been a total of two weeks that he'd had the boy in his clutches, and they were making great progress. Every day Potter would be dragged down to the cellar for what Voldemort had begun referring to as "lessons", then when the Dark Lord knew the boy was at the end of his endurance, he stopped and allowed Snape to tend to the boy. He was literally brought to the brink of insanity and back.
Voldemort knew he'd broken the boy. Harry had begged him to stop a multitude of times. He still would not call Voldemort Master, but there was time for that later. Now was the time to take the next step. In a matter of hours, Harry Potter would truly be his to command. Much better, he thought, than killing him. Not only will I break Dumbledore with Harry's betrayal, but the entire Wizarding World. The only one who could beat me at my disposal.
"Severus." Voldemort greeted as Snape entered the cellar. "My Lord." Snape answered with a respectful inclination of his head. "Will that be all?" Snape gestured vaguely at the pale, thin boy on the floor. Voldemort suddenly smirked. "Just give him a Pepper-Up potion to wake him. I have more work to do."
Snape grimaced inwardly. It was no secret that he detested Potter, but he didn't enjoy watching the boy suffer. Nobody deserves this, he thought sadly. It pained him more that he was breaking his promise to Lily. He was watching as her son was tortured mercilessly and broken slightly more each day and did nothing. He couldn't, of course. If he tried to smuggle the boy out he'd be caught and killed. So he did the best he could. He gave the boy dreamless sleep potions so nightmares wouldn't haunt him in the precious little comfort he got from sleep. He also tried to reassure him (albeit grudgingly) that Dumbledore was doing all he could.
Oddly enough Harry scowled at the mention of Dumbledore now. This worried Snape deeply. What kind of ideas was the Dark Lord putting into his head. At this point, with Potter's mind constantly under the strain of torture, he'd believe anything he was told. Especially if Voldemort told him the pain would stop if he believed it.
He produced a Pepper-Up potion from a pocket in his robes and stooped down next to Harry. He gently tipped Harry's head back and drizzled the draft slowly down his throat. The boy coughed violently and his eyes shot open.
Harry hurt. That's all he was aware of at that moment. He sat up slowly. He was still in the cellar. That couldn't be good. Voldemort was leaning against a wall, looking bored. He was twirling his wand slowly between his skeletal fingers. Snape was kneeling next to him, his face expressionless.
Harry was starting to feel nauseous. Voldemort pushed off the wall and crossed the room toward Harry. Harry flinched away. He latched onto Harry's upper arm and pulled him up, dragging him from the chamber. Voldemort hauled him through the manor back to hi—the—room.
"What are you doing?" Harry almost whimpered. Voldemort pulled him to the middle of the room. His grip moved to Harry's wrist, and fast as a striking snake his other hand withdrew from his robes, holding a dagger. Harry weakly struggled to remove his arm from Voldemort's grasp. But considering that he could barely stay standing, it was a futile attempt.
Harry noticed there was a table next to them. Three objects sat on the table. A simple silver goblet, and two wands. He immediately recognized one as his own holly and phoenix feather wand. He suspected the other was Voldemort's. It was really quite unremarkable for the wand of the Dark Lord. It was in many ways similar to Harry's, around an inch longer and made of lighter wood. But a dark energy seemed to radiate from the wand, just as it radiated from its master. It made Harry want to run from the room. At the same time, its magic seemed to lure Harry in.
That scared Harry. Harry was good. So why was dark magic calling to him so loudly? He tried to ignore it but felt his eyes wander to Voldemort's wand every few seconds, fascinated with the power that emanated from it.
Voldemort laughed a high, cold laugh that was more terrifying than his yelling. He set the dagger on the table, watching Harry entranced by the wand. "The dark magic calls to you, Harry. You were meant to serve me." Harry turned his head to slowly look at Voldemort, before he would've come up with some smart-assed answer to throw at Voldemort. But he . . . couldn't. Not when the dark magic was messing with his head. His eyes found his feet. "What are you going to do?" he asked quietly, feeling defeated.
Voldemort smiled triumphantly. "Put an end to your misery." Harry raised his head to look at Voldemort quizzically. Voldemort removed his hand from Harry's forearm and pulled up the sleeve of his robes. In one deft movement he slit his wrist and held it over the silver goblet. After the goblet was about a quarter full he healed his wrist and turned to Harry, who had been watching with morbid curiosity.
"Come here." Voldemort ordered.
Harry stayed where he was. "Why?" he asked warily.
Voldemort sighed. "Come here before I make you. Do you still think you could break free from the Imperious Curse?" Harry pursed his lips and shook his head minutely. He walked cautiously over to Voldemort. He felt like he'd lost. He'd given up. Voldemort had won.
Voldemort reached for the dagger.
"You are not cutting me with that." Harry muttered.
"What?" Voldemort hissed.
"You just cut yourself with that knife. I . . . could get AIDs!" Harry had to reframe from rolling his eyes. AIDs, the muggle disease, was the best he could think of. Would Voldemort even know what AIDs was?
Apparently Voldemort knew about AIDs because he laughed and spelled the dagger clean with a wave of his wand. Before Harry could come up with anymore stupid excuses, Voldemort grabbed his arm and slit his wrist. He held it over the goblet for a minute before healing it. Harry snatched his arm away, rubbing his wrist. Voldemort smirked.
Snape came forward with a potions bag. Voldemort let him and led Harry silently to the bed. Harry let himself be pushed toward the bed and sat down when instructed to. Voldemort stood over him and took out his wand. Harry visibly flinched. Voldemort began muttering unfamiliar spells under his breath. Harry felt himself calming down, as he'd been going into panic-attack mode, and at the moment he didn't he didn't care if it was Voldemort who had made him feel relaxed.
Harry seemed to go into a trance as Voldemort finished the last spell, his eyes unfocused and his breathing slowed. Voldemort left him sitting in his trance and walked back to Snape.
"Is the potion nearly finished?" he inquired.
Snape nodded. "It is ready, My Lord."
Voldemort nodded. He called Harry over and the boy walked over, not really coherent or aware of what he was doing. Voldemort drank half the potion and ordered harry to do the same, who again complied unconsciously.
Voldemort grasped Harry's forearm and motioned for Snape to begin. Snape touched the edges of both Harry's and Voldemort's wands to their linked hands.
"Will you, Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, serve me to the fullest of your ability as a loyal Death Eater and assistant?" Voldemort asked.
"I-I will." Harry muttered pensively.
Two thin strings of light emitted from the wands' tips, snaking around their hands.
"Will you swear allegiance to me and accept the Dark Mark?"
"I will."
Two more ropes of light wound around their hands.
"And will you take the assignments I give you seriously, and take punishment when I give it?" Voldemort questioned.
"I will."
The last to tongues of light entwined around their hands, emitting a bright red glow. And then it faded.
The doors to Harry's room burst open. Yaxley stood in the doorway. He bowed deeply. "My Lord." Voldemort told him to rise and speak.
"The Order of the Phoenix has broken through our wards, My Lord!"
"That's alright, Yaxley. They are too late. Aren't they, Harry?"
Yaxley turned to look at the Potter boy. He didn't know much about him except that the Dark Lord had wanted dead a month ago and now wanted him alive for some reason. The Dark Lord had been scarce with the details when it came to The Boy Who Lived. The boy was standing about arm's length away from The Dark Lord with a faraway look in his eyes. He turned his head to look at Voldemort before answering quietly.
"Yes, Master."
And the suspense builds! lol Seriously, I need reviews! Thanks to anyone who sent one, those reviews are seriously the highlight of my day. I'm in high school, I don't have much to look forward to. So make the author happy and review! (please?)
Ok, so a reviewer asked me if I had the rest of the story planned out. The answer to that question is . . .sort of. I have a basic outline of what will happen but no actual writing on it. I'll probably update again tomorrow and Thursday, but not Friday or this weekend. I have to take that stupid baby simulator thing home this weekend for health (blegh!) and a Spanish teacher that would make Voldemort run screaming for his mommy.
And on a completely unrelated note (sort of): Guess who will be returning to Hogwarts with a hidden agenda in the fall?