Summary: When the road you're on is already in the verge of crumbling, you could either choose to foolishly continue onward, or turn back and change paths. Harry decided on the latter. MoD!Harry

Main Pairing: HP/LV (Marcaunon/Voldemort – not Chaos)

Side Pairings: Pending

Warning: AU, Time-Travel, Universe Hopping, New Identity, Slash (this means Boy/Boy), MasterOfDeath!Harry, Killings/Torture

Disclaimer: If I were the author of Harry Potter, Dumbies would have chocked on a Lemon Drop and drop dead, not AK-ed. So no, I do not own Harry Potter.

"Speaking"

"Parseltongue"

'Mental telepathy'

Chapter 18: Dark Mark and Confession

Date: 30 May 1967
Location: Malfoy Manor, hallway

Voldemort smiled dementedly to himself as he walked ahead of his two newly acquired Potions' Masters – he was powerful enough to show his back without worry. Convincing Weasley to sign the contract and to take his mark was as easy as stepping on a flobberworm. Ignatius Rose however… His smile vanished. The enigma only went with the flow, not even asking a single question in relation to Voldemort or his contract. It was difficult to figure out what the albino was thinking – with the mask hiding the young man's expression, and his body language giving nothing away.

The thoughts concerning Ignatius were then pushed to the back of his mind as they reached the double doors that led to the assembly room, sans chairs. His Knights were already inside waiting for them, with a few extras.

He turned to the two behind him and gave a reassuring smile – he had told them beforehand that there would be an audience when they take his mark, and that it would be a little painful. Weasley only stared back with determination in those baby blue eyes of his, whilst Ignatius ignored him in favor of twirling a snowy lock of hair around his index finger. He wanted to cut said finger off, but refrained in actually doing so. Fingers and hands are the life of Potions' Masters everywhere.

"Are you ready, gentlemen?" It was only polite to ask.

"Yes, sir!" he would need to push them into calling him 'Lord' soon.

"Yess sir…" Ignatius dragged the S like how Voldemort would when he lost his temper. He only continued to smile, as if he took no notice of the albino's strangely familiar accent. He knew another person who spoke similar to Ignatius, but he could not recall exactly who said person was – it felt as if the answer was just there, with him unable to grasp it no matter how hard he tried.

"Excellent." With that, he pulled out a black robe from one of his hidden pockets, and donned it.

He turned back to the double doors and pushed. There was a slight creak when the doors parted, and he took note to inform Abraxas afterwards. It was unbecoming to have creaky doors. He strode forward, his eyes solely focused on his throne even as his followers dropped on one knee with a bow as he walked past them. He gestured for his two Potions' Masters to stand behind another group of newly recruits, and continued onwards until he sat comfortably on his throne.

He crossed his right leg over his left and smirked at the sight before him. It felt wonderful to have all these powerful men and women with varies of talents on their knees, respecting (and fearing) him as if he were a monarch. He took out his beloved yew wand and twirled it around his fingers – a habit of his that he could not rid of no matter how hard he tried.

"Welcome my friends… I thank you all for coming." His expression relaxed into one of tranquil. "Rise – and be at ease."

His followers all stood in attention with their hands firmly clasps behind their backs – like how he had trained them to when in his presence. What perfectly obedient soldiers he has in his disposal. They all looked at him with different levels of awe and admiration, and this made his blood sing exuberantly.

"I have called you all here to welcome yet another batch of recruits that have joined our cause. It is commendable for they have chosen to be here with us – to put a stop against the discrimination we Dark Wizards and Witches have to put up with on a daily basis. We will not allow our Magical counterparts to continue with their arrogance in throwing the old ways any further." He paused for effect. He needed his followers and soon to be followers to be drawn in by his speeches – to be enamored with him.

"We will revitalize, and fortify the old ways. In addition, we will not be leaving a single Muggleborn to be contaminated further by Muggle upbringing – Wizarding children should never be left in the Muggle world, especially orphans." He stood up and spread his arms. "We shall not allow any of our kind of be influence by that world any longer. We will put a stop to their Muggle traditions and religions that they needlessly bring into our world."

His followers all nodded to one another, all looking pleased and satisfied. He would always customize his speeches before every new marking commences. It was to prevent his veteran followers from growing bored of hearing the same old talk over and over again. They would only continue to grow captivated by him, and from their faces that would lit up every time he welcomed yet another batch, it worked like a charm. He smiled lightly and raised his left hand to gain their attention – which he did. They all quieted down like well-behaved dogs. He had indeed trained them well.

"Soon… We will fight for our cause – our rights. We Dark Wizards and Witches will overcome and reclaim our position in this world. We will then educate our counterparts that Muggles are the main cause of Gaia's slow, but steady deterioration. We cannot co-exist with them, only rid them and their destructive nature. That time will soon arrive – but for now… We shall welcome our new brothers in arms."

His eyes roamed over all of the people in this room. They cheered in uncontrollable excitement as they murmured to one another eagerly. He would've liked to pretend that it was everyone… but he could not. Ignatius Rose was the only person who looked indifferent – as if he had expected Voldemort's speech. He was irritated, as well as pleased. Ignatius has the potential to be his second in command – a person who would not be his yes-man. A person that would always disagree with him. A person that could debate ideas with him. A person that he could rely on without fail.

Yes… He wanted Ignatius by his side, and perhaps under him as well. Preferably in bed.

"I offered you five a chance to join us. To aid us in our cause for equality and a world where only Magicals will prevail."

He returned to his seat and smirked at the awed faces of his new recruits.

"Let us begin. Corn Yellow."

One of the men he recruited made his way forward, and stopped just before Voldemort. Yellow was recruited because of his ties with many of the Light Magicals that worked at the Ministry. He would be sent to infiltrate the Light side after being trained.

"I pledge my loyalty to you and only you, my Lord, my Master." Yellow was on his knees and bent down before he kissed the hems of Voldemort's robes.

He took great pleasure in seeing such a degrading sight – not that any his followers think it to be such. No, they would love nothing more than to touch any part of him. Even kissing the hem of his robes would be considered a blessing. They wanted to be near him – many with the intention of being his consort.

Yellow then bared his left forearm for him. Voldemort didn't make a move to grasp the appendage, only leaning slightly forward to press the tip of his beloved yew wand to Yellow's forearm. He idly wondered where Nagini was.

"Morsmordre." He hissed quietly and concentrated with injecting his Magic into Yellow's whole left arm, nerves, and core. It only took a few seconds. Practice definitely made it easier.

As soon as his mark was tattooed into the man's forearm, Yellow all but screamed in unbearable pain. Just as he pulled his wand away, Yellow cradled his arm to his chest, whimpering and weeping as he tried to stand on shaky legs. Voldemort was disgusted by the man's weak tolerance to pain. Perhaps he should schedule a training program for endurance in case his followers were tortured for information? A less likely chance of Light Magicals actually doing so, but it wouldn't hurt to be prepared.

He presented Yellow a bronze mask, before he waved for one of his inner circle members to guide the man to where the bronze masks were situated at – the back.

The bronze masks were considered newly recruited Knights, and only those who have proven themselves to him would gain their own individual masks, whilst moving up a rank. There were four ranks in total inside his military. The new recruits were given plain bronze masks, whilst individual silver masks represented their upgrade from the title of 'newbie'. The ones that wore half silver and half golden masks were his outer circle, and lastly his inner circle wore golden masks.

Their positions for each gathering would be – golden masks at the first row due to their limited numbers, followed by the half silver and golden masks, then silver masks, and lastly bronze masks. This was a system created so that they would continue to try and improve themselves – and to be closer to him. For his inner circle members, they would have to further their skills if they do not wish to be demoted.

For him to know whether a person is capable of being promoted or demoted, a tournament would be held every six months to test each individual. If a person were to be defeated in a duel, their rank would be switched with the one who had defeated them. This would keep those in a higher position on their toes, and not slack off.

He mentally shook his head and continued with the marking once Yellow was dragged away from him.

"Flint Beastwood." He had recruited Beastwood due to the man's dueling skills – especially in long range duels.

Beastwood stepped forward confidently and bent down to kiss the hem of his robes, before baring his left forearm for Voldemort. He pressed the tip of his wand to the man's forearm and did the same as previously. Beastwood soon let out a high pitched scream – and it almost made Voldemort howl in laughter at how girly the buffed large man sounded like. Almost. It wouldn't do well for his reputation.

He waved for the same inner circle member to drag Beastwood away after handing the beast of a man a bronze mask.

"Ezalor Light." This old man was recruited due to his talent in spell creation. Light's most infamous creation was his charge-up Magic – though only those with above average cores were able to use it. It has a few weaknesses of course. One of them was that he was required to stand rigidly for a few long seconds whilst he charged his Magic, and that few seconds could prove to be fatal.

The old man did what was required of him, and soon was screaming like the previous two. He grew bored and wished that this was Dumbledore that was screaming. Oh how he dreamt of crucio-ing that old fart into oblivion. How dare he be rejected even when he was clearly more than qualified for the DADA position.

Once Light was dragged away after given a bronze mask, he cocked his head at the other two.

"Felix Weasley." One of his beloved Potions' Masters – Madam Malfoy would be out of his hair after this. Weasley would definitely provide him with many more torture potions. The man's Nightmare Potion was genius. Pure genius.

Weasley was shaking a little at witnessing grown men screaming in pain, but he looked determined enough. Voldemort bit back a smirk that threatened to appear on his lips, and smiled reassuringly at the redhead.

"I pledge my loyalty and my potions' making skill to you… My Lord." Voldemort grinned dementedly when Weasley's head was bowed, before wiping his face of any emotions.

He pressed the tip of his wand on Weasley's forearm, his mark soon appearing on the otherwise unblemished skin. There was no scream for a few seconds, and Voldemort thought that the redhead before him was used to pain. He was wrong, of course. Weasley howled in pain as he grasped his forearm tightly, trying and failing to endure what he was feeling.

Voldemort handed the trembling redhead a bronze mask, already knowing that it will only take a few weeks before he would be moved up a rank. He waved for the same golden mask to drag the Weasley away and turned to look at his final soon to be follower for this batch.

Ignatius Rose only tilted his head to the side as he gazed indifferently into Voldemort's crimson eyes – there was no anticipation or fear. Those scarlet orbs were eerily familiar though. Like the ones he had seen in his dream, the one he could not forget no matter how hard he tried.

He remembered 'waking up' drenched under a downpour of acidic rain. He remembered the ground he had walked on, how devoid of life it had felt – as if Mother Earth had lost all hope. He remembered how ugly the sky had looked like – blue was the only color he wished to see when he titled his head upwards, not green and black. It was a disgusting sight and he had wanted out of the lucid dream immediately. He could only continue walking forward, trying to find an exit, before he came across a person on the ground, their face buried into their knees, and hugging themselves in what he knew to be desperation.

He had paused to stare as the person, a male, sobbed and trembled. When he had heard the young male crying for help, his body had reacted on its own and he had instinctively casted a warming charm so that the person in front of him would stop trembling. When the male did, he looked up weakly with dead scarlet eyes, and Voldemort could only narrow his in suspicion when he saw those features.

The man in his dream had his appearance. His first thought was that his mind had created such a dream because he was feeling stressed, but when he closed his eyes, he recalled the person's features and noted how feminine it was, similar yet vastly different from his sharper ones. The person's face was softer than his, and because of the listless and hopeless expression, it made him appear smaller and frailer than he originally was. It grabbed on Voldemort's heart strings and he had this urge to protect that person from harm. He had never felt that way before, and it had frightened him to an extent.

Ignatius's eyes reminded him of that person, and with the information he was provided with, could only come up with one logical answer. The male from his dream was Marcaunon Gaunt. His could be cousin. His cousin that was alone and on the verge of losing his sanity. Marcaunon must have had unintentionally used his Magic to call for Voldemort – Salazar Slytherin had made it so that family members could contact the Lord of their House in dire situations.

He needed to find where his cousin was, and Ignatius was the key. He just knew it.

"Ignatius Rose." The name felt odd on his tongue. The reason was unknown to him, but it felt as if there was another name to this person. He trusted his instincts and made a mental note to investigate Ignatius's background.

Ignatius practically glided forward with elegance that many would envy for, and dropped to his left knee with his right hand across his chest.

"I, Ignatius Rose, pledge my loyalty to you, my Lord."

Voldemort could see that Ignatius was far too proud to kiss the hem of his robes, so he improvised – the albino was special in a way. He stretched out his right hand and as if knowing what he was thinking, Ignatius's slender pale hands grabbed onto it.

Ignatius leaned forward and closed those scarlet eyes of his, before kissing the dorsum of Voldemort's hand. He could only stare at the crown of the young man's snowy white locks as Ignatius then brought his forehead and leaned it onto Voldemort's knuckles, before opening his eyes and looking up and directly into Voldemort's.

The sight before him made some of his blood rush south, much to his indignation. He pulled his hand away slowly, and brushed his knuckles against Ignatius's clothed cheek whilst doing so. He narrowed his eyes. That mask has to go soon – he wanted to see what Ignatius looked like underneath it, and to touch the surface of the albino's skin.

Voldemort saw his followers looking at him with stunned silence, not at all expected such a display. He didn't blame them. He would've been stunned as well if he had not prepared for such a thing to happen. This was scenario number eight by the way.

Ignatius acquiesced in baring his left forearm and Voldemort pressed the tip of his wand onto the scarred pale skin. He was curious as to how the albino had such scars – they were deep and covered almost every surface of his arm, as if it had once been wrapped by a barb wire for a long period of time without being removed.

"Morsmordre." He hissed and watched fascinatedly as his mark appeared on the scarred flesh. Ignatius was silent, and his muscles had not even tensed up as Voldemort's Magic invaded his body and core.

What a curious sight to behold. His Potions' Master was used to such pain and not even his Dark Mark, that was worse than any crucio, could make the young man scream. Voldemort's licked his upper lip. He suddenly wanted, no, needed this man on his bed, screaming his name like no other, whilst begging for release.

He gave a bronze mask to the albino.

"I welcome you into the Knights of Walpurgis, Ignatius Rose." He purred silkily.

Oh yes, he will be having Ignatius tied to his bed one day. The thoughts on his maybe-cousin were temporary pushed to the back of his mind as his crimson eyes roamed the lithe body before him. Definitely someone he wanted to fuck brutally.

Date: 30 May 1967
Location: Hogwarts, Marcaunon's Study

He landed on his feet and hissed in pain when he accidently bumped his left forearm against the shelves. The sensation made him close his eyes tightly in discomfort. It had been a long time since he had felt such a strong feeling of agony. Even when his limbs were cut slowly with a rusted bone saw did he not blink, but getting the Dark Mark? Painful as hell. It was like the first time he had his arm cut off! Maybe it was because he was unaccustomed to his Magical Core practically being raped?

"Mother?" Chaos's voice made him open his eyes. He tilted his head upwards – when had he kneeled? – and saw the look of pure concern on his little boy's face.

"Where are Suki and Mana?"

"Forget about them. What's wrong? What happened? Did Jellal hurt you? Or was it your new employer?"

As if Jellal (all of people) could lay a hand on him without consequences! And he had forgotten that he has yet to mention that Voldemort was his new employer.

"Nothi–"

"I forbid you say that nothing has happened, mother!" Chaos glared as he strode towards Marcaunon. "Let me see."

He shook his head. He could not allow Chaos to see the mark or his scarred body – it was ugly and he didn't want to appear more of a freak in his son's eyes. Marchosias rubbed the bridge of his nose in exasperation at Marcaunon's stubborn nature.

"You're in Hogwarts, mother. At least rid yourself of that disguise. What if that bitc–… Vevila sees you?"

"I'm alright." He murmured and made to stand up, but Chaos firmly pushed him onto the ground so that he was lying on his back, his stomach used as a seat for his son. "Marchos– don't!"

His right arm shot up to cover his face when Marchosias had removed his mask. He wanted to push his son away, but he was feeling weak and uncomfortable – he needed to get Voldemort's Magic out of his system, and fast. He had a feeling that this would turn ugly.

"… Mum?" Marchosias's voice was weak, and it made Marcaunon pause in his thoughts. "W…why is your neck…" He felt cold chubby fingers on his neck and he closed his eyes in defeat. He knew how disgusting his unglamoured form was, especially his neck area – it was covered by a huge scar, similar to that of a collar. A degrading way to brand someone as theirs.

He dropped his right arm to his side and sighed through his nose. Perhaps it was time he told Marchosias some of his past – his true past. He opened his eyes and stared blankly into Marchosias's ruby eyes. His son's fingers continued to touch his neck and face, as if wanting to memorize all of his hideous scars.

"As you can see… I used glamours to hide these since they're unpleasant to look at." He pulled Marchosias so that his son had his face was buried into his neck. He wanted to avoid looking into those ruby eyes – afraid of being judged and deemed worthless. "I used to be suicidal." He heard Marchosias's breath hitch, but only tightened his one arm hug when his son struggled to escape from his grasps.

"However I could not die. Some Parasites found me fascinating. I was taken, and I was experimented on. The scar you see around my neck is their way of branding me." He laughed mirthlessly as the memories of being helpless invading his mind. "They would wrap any sharp bendable objects around my neck, and drag me around similar to that of a leashed dog. My regenerative abilities may be considered amazing, but having those things for more than a year? Healing so that I could stop the bleeding was more than enough for me. I needed to save my strength to escape."

"Let go." He trembled at the rejection and released Marchosias. Marcaunon covered his eyes with his right arm. "Look at me." He did not. "I said, look at me, mum."

His arm was pushed away, and his chin grabbed in a firm grip.

"I will not leave you no matter what you may say." Marchosias scowled and looked at him in resolution. "So tell me. What happened to your face? Your neck? Everything, mum. Everything."

"My face…?" He murmured as he traced the scar that ran across his cheeks and nose. "They didn't like how I looked like. They told me that they wanted me to appear like every other human being –imperfect."

"And your neck?"

"A collar for me to 'know my place', as they put it."

"And arm?" Marchosias pushed the sleeve of his right arm up.

"Barb wires. They wrapped it around barb wires, and electrocuted me if I even so far as to twitch." When they did… things to him.

Marchosias reached for his left arm, but he grabbed the small wrist. "You're in pain. The cause is your left arm. Show me."

"It's nothing I can't handle."

"Show me."

"Chaos…"

"Show me!" His eyes widened when Marchosias shouted, desperation lacing in his tone. "I… I just want to confirm that I'm being overly paranoid. Let me confirm it with my own eyes."

He sighed and allowed his son to push up his sleeve. He saw Marchosias's eyes widened in horror and his lower lip trembled at the sight of the Dark Mark engraved into Marcaunon's flesh, still warm and burning horribly. He patted his son's head and smiled in reassurance.

"Don't worry."

"Don't worry…?" Marchosias repeated softly in disbelief. "Don't… worry…?" The room they were in began to shake violently, as Chaos's eyes bled into crimson – murderous intentions seeping out of his very being. "You ask me… not to worry…?"

Marcaunon pushed himself off of the ground so that he was sitting, with Chaos on his lap, and whispered reassurance into his son's ear. The books on the shelves soon started to fall, one by one onto the floor, whilst the essays he was grading tore themselves and burnt into ashes. He could not find it in himself to care about the death of his paperwork, more worried about Marchosias.

"N-not permanent!" He finally yelled, which caused the room to cease its shaking. "The mark isn't permanent."

"Explain." Was hissed out with venom and anger. He saw malice in Marchosias's eyes, and he just knew that Voldemort will die a gruesome death if Marcaunon did not explain properly.

"Voldemort, my employer, recruited me into his group – called the Knights of Walpurgis. I sent Mort to spy on Voldemort and your godfather informed me that the Knights have a mark on their left forearm. I was already prepared to gain the mark–"

"And to dispose of it afterwards. But how will you do it?"

"Shall I show you, Chaos dear?" At least now Marchosias was distracted by the Dark Mark rather than interrogating how he had been experimented on when was supposedly still young and living at an orphanage. Having a genius of a son was troublesome. Maybe a holiday was needed? He was still worrying about the reason as to why his son had remained eerily silent for the past two weeks – him crying over Bella wasn't something to sulk for so long.

He gestured for Marchosias to stand, before doing so himself. He pulled his son to their secret study that could only be opened by a Parselmouth, and seated himself on the settee, with Marchosias by his side.

"The Dark Mark is a bastardize version of a tracking and summoning spell that Salazar made in his youth – both involving Parselmagic. It involves connecting my nerves to my core, and my core to Voldemort's so that he would know where all his followers are. This way, if a person wanted to rid themselves of the mark, Voldemort's Magic that resides in that person's core would react – bringing forth unimaginable pain. However there is a way around it."

Everything he said, Marchosias already knew – he was of course the older and wiser version of Voldemort. Marcaunon knew that, but it was for appearance sake that he explained it fully.

"Do you trust me, Marchosias?"

"… I do."

"Then do not interrupt what I will be doing." He took out a crimson red rubber wrist band that had the dark mark on it, and placed it on the small tabletop in front of them – it was made by his blood and Magic. "This might be impossible for anyone but I, so I do not recommend you ever trying. Am I clear, Marchosias?"

"Yess, mother."

With that confirmation, he stretched out his right hand with the palm facing upwards, and mentally summoned the Elder Wand to him. The wand heeded his call and materialized within a second, and floated lazily above his palm. He snatched said wand from the air and pointed it at his torso, where his Magical Core resided, and narrowed his eyes in concentration.

When his Magic reacted to his commands of pushing the taint from his core, his muscles tensed up at the agonizing sensation he felt throughout his body. Sweat formed on his forehead as his breath labored. Well, this was definitely worse than labor pains – and he had previously thought that nothing was worse than that hellish experience.

He slowly yet steadily directed Voldemort's Magic out of his system, and directly into the rubber wristband that was sitting innocently on the tabletop. The pain vanished almost instantly and he sighed in relief, before he pointed the elder wand at his left forearm. He gritted his teeth in preparation and commanded his Magic to flush out all of Voldemort's left over Magic residue in his nerves. The pain was that of a numbing and pulsing one, not as dreadful as the previous, but enough to bring even grown men to tears.

When all of Voldemort's Magic had finally left his body, he focused on the tattoo on his left arm and winked at the baffled Marchosias. He actually gained this idea thanks to Death – indirectly anyway. Death would've sulked if It knew. When Death had dropped him into the wrong dimension, he had mind raped a man by the name of Hisoka. Marcaunon had actually learnt two things from the man – how to stick his Magic onto surfaces, and how to directly turn his Magic into a thin cloth-like material that could change its appearance depending on the surface it was on.

He pinched his inner wrist, and peeled the Magical cloth-like material from his skin, before he dropped it on the tabletop next to the wristband. Now he could wear the dark mark during meetings, whilst taking it off when at Hogwarts – like a sticker!

He really needed to thank Hisoka – maybe he should treat him to dinner some time.

"What do you think?" He smiled at Marchosias's (who was frozen with shock) as he slipped the rubber wristband through his left hand. It settled on his wrist comfortably.

Whilst Marchosias was busy trying to comprehend what the hell just happened, Marcaunon mentally commanded the Elder wand to return to Dumbledore – who was currently digging through his wardrobe to find said wand – and patted Marchosias's head.

"I told you there was nothing to worry about." He said confidently.

"… Oh." Marchosias replied smartly, still too astonished and bewildered to think of a more suitable reply.

A/N: There's a link to my FB (Facebook) group on my profile. Join if you feel like it~

Hmm… Many of you dislike the idea of Marc being branded as a Death Eater… Though I don't blame you all for not wanting. I too don't like the very idea of him being marked too. I'm unable to come up with any alternate way for him to skip the whole meeting and not take the mark, so this is the result. I already planned for him to use Hisoka's technique, so that was the reason for my making Death drop him into the wrong dimension. Surprised? I planned ahead! Gehehehe. Told you guys that crossovers are not simple fillers! Don't underestimate me. Insert shakes butt here.

I won't be going back to Resident Evil just yet, so… sorry RE fans! There's one more dimension he has to go to before returning to solve the Zombie problem. Oh yeah, before I forget. Marcaunon's not gay… or straight. He's not interested in humans in general, both female and male. To put it simply, he's asexual, with Voldemort being the only exception.

Story recommendation for today: The Black Bunny by Windseeker2305. This is a really popular fic, so I'm sure many of you already know this one. Harry wants to be left alone, not wanting to be involved with both sides of the war. But when did he ever get his way anyway? Buahhaha. He ran away from the Order of the flaming flamingos, and hid in a random apartment for the time being. What many did not know is that he was already on the verge of death because a dark spell was casted on him. Voldemort came, took interest in him, saved him, and now Harry's living with the big bad Dark Lord. HP/LV Pairing, AU, MPreg.

Rainbows and Branding,
GenderlessPerson