Chapter 5
Three days had passed, and no one had entered Harry's room, a fact for which he was grateful. It reminded him somewhat of his life with the Dursleys, when they refused to acknowledge his presence. Moody's threat had been enough to make his portly uncle afraid to do anything but glare, at least for the first part of the summer. For the most part, they had reached an uneasy truce, even with the threat of his convicted felon of a godfather no longer looming over them.
Harry should have known something was amiss. Vernon was not the type to suddenly stop fearing magic, even if he despised Harry. His fear of the fully-grown "freaks" outweighed his desire to expel his no-good, lazy nephew from their house, as it had done in the past. Harry had been such a fool. To think he'd been so eager to throw himself in as the sacrificial lamb to save Ron and Hermione. That was the only good thing that had come of this whole mess; at least they were safe. Or at least he hoped they were. He had no real way of knowing if Voldemort had released them. But he also didn't see a reason for Voldemort to lie, not when he clearly held so much power over Harry. It was almost in the deranged wizard's favor to offer that small kindness if he genuinely wanted to sway Harry to the dark side.
Food appeared three times a day, and each meal was larger than the entirety of a full day's meager rations that the Dursleys had begrudgingly given him. Strangely enough, he also felt reasonably confident that Voldemort would not break his promise and just up and kill him. Not that he could forget the evil glint in the Dark Lord's eye when he told Harry that he would find a way to get what he wanted. Harry had no idea what the dark wizard meant but was positive he did not want to find out.
On the third day, his door opened, and to Harry's dismay, the familiar blond hair and arrogant sneer of Draco Malfoy entered his room.
"Gone crazy from isolation yet, Potter?" he smirked. The youngest Malfoy's skin was still unnaturally pale, and he did not look as arrogant and antagonistic as he did at school. Harry suspected that living out his dream of groveling on his knees before a volatile dark lord with a special love of torture was not shaping up to be the grand experience Malfoy had always dreamt of.
Rolling his eyes, Harry paused his examination of the lengthy Slytherin teen. "Hardly. I would rather remain alone than have to look at your pathetic face."
"Manners, Potter. We wouldn't want the Dark Lord to bring you to your knees again..." Malfoy sneered, flushing. The pink stood out in stark contrast to the white pallor of his drawn cheeks.
Harry stood up so fast that Malfoy actually drew his wand. "Come now, Malfoy; don't tell me you're afraid of someone without a wand. And I thought you could sink no lower."
The blonde's fist clenched in anger. "Shut up, Potter! Sinking lower? Your best friends are mudbloods and traitors. That's as low as it gets!"
"They're a hell of a lot better than what you keep around. I bet those two goons you call friends can't even spell their own names," retorted Harry, feeling his anger rise.
"Draco," came a voice from the hallway with a very familiar drawl. It was deeper and more elegant than the teen's whiny voice, and arrogance and self-pride practically oozed in a way that Harry suspected Draco aspired to achieve. "Stop your childish quarrel. The Dark Lord has plans and will not be pleased if you cause him to be late."
"Yes, father," said Malfoy meekly, dropping his head admonishingly as Lucius Malfoy entered.
Malfoy Senior stepped through the door entrance, casting an arrogant sneer around the room. "I see the Dark Lord has been treating you far better than you deserve," drawled Lucius.
"I could say the same since he lets you live," spat Harry. He knew he was treading dangerous waters, but he had a feeling that Voldemort wouldn't let his Death Eaters harm him. That was a right that he imagined the Dark Lord reserved for himself for the time being.
"Have a care, Potter," Malfoy senior said haughtily. "I may not be allowed to harm you, but I can do whatever I wish with your little friends. Or did the Dark Lord not tell his latest little toy that we're attacking your precious Order today? All of your pitiful friends will be dead before sunrise tomorrow."
Harry glared at the arrogant Malfoy lord, barely processing the threat. "You're lying," he said, at last, the words sounding feeble to his own ears. "There's no way you could know their location."
"Oh, but we do. When that mutt of yours died, the house passed on to you. And since you foolishly did not claim the will," he smiled nastily at that, "without your approval, that home can no longer be used as their hideout. We know exactly where they are meeting. It will be quite the gathering when we arrive." He laughed as he strode into the room and up to the large wardrobe that sat unused in the corner. With a flick of his wand, the doors swung open, and clothes began to fly out and land on the bed beside Harry. "Now, get dressed into some proper garments; I promise you will not like it if I have to force you. The Dark Lord does not wish to be seen with muggle-loving riffraff."
"He's taking me with him?" Harry asked in disbelief. His heart beat painfully in his chest as he vainly tried to squash down the fear he was feeling. What if Malfoy was telling the truth? What if Voldemort knew where the Order was meeting and planned to attack them?
"So, it would seem," smirked Malfoy. "I think he wants you to watch all of your friends die. Now get dressed; we do not have all day." He turned and strode out of the room, his black robes flailing behind him. Draco gave Harry one contemptuous sneer before turning his back to Harry as if waiting for him to change.
Sighing, Harry obediently began to change out of the unwashed muggle clothes he had on when he left the Dursleys. There was no point in infuriating Voldemort if what Lucius said was true. His only chance of saving his friends would be if he could direct Voldemort's attention away from them in some way. With a sickening realization, Harry understood that this was what Voldemort had meant when he said he would force Harry to join him. He was going to harm all the people Harry loved and cared for to make Harry do what he wanted. The injustice of it made Harry want to scream in frustration. He could not imagine joining Voldemort, but if it came down to his friends or his freedom? He swallowed, banishing the thought. He could scarcely consider it.
Harry finished dressing and looked into the mirror that had been repaired the night after he had shattered it. The clothes he wore made him want to vomit. He had on long black pants and a simple grey, long-sleeved collared shirt, which he left unbuttoned near his throat. The garments shouted lavish expense. There was also a long black hooded cloak of a soft fabric which Harry gratefully donned because it covered much of the pretentiousness of the shirt and pants. Shaking his head, he turned back to Malfoy, who he saw was looking at him with some approval.
"I don't know why you don't wear decent clothes more often," said Malfoy with a smirk similar to his father's. "It makes you look less like the mudblood lover you are."
"Just take me to Voldemort," Harry growled, ignoring that Malfoy practically wet himself at the Dark Lord's name.
In silence, the two teens walked through the halls. Harry couldn't begin to guess which direction they were heading; there were too many twists and turns. After about five minutes of walking, Malfoy finally stopped before a large oak door that had two large flaming torches hanging from the wall on either side.
Malfoy seemed to be trying to steady his nerves before entering, but Harry was so angry that Voldemort threatened those he cared about yet again that he shoved Malfoy roughly out of the way and threw open the doors. As he gazed around the large, dimly lit room, he was shocked to see that it was full of cloaked and masked Death Eaters.
"I see you decided to join us, Harry," came Voldemort's soft voice as all heads turned towards him and Draco. "I have a marvelous treat for you."
"The threat you made was against me and me only, and it doesn't involve my friends," spat Harry, marching through the Death Eaters toward the throne that Voldemort was sitting on. His scarlet eyes danced menacingly as Harry approached, but Harry was beyond common sense at that point, missing the sinister posture of the dark wizard and the underlying threat his dark power portrayed as it pulsed through the room. He ignored the hungry and speculative eyes of the inner circle as they traced his movements into the throne room. Harry straightened his shoulders, forcing his head to be held high. He was without a wand and powerless. The only thing he had was his pride. He would not cower before Voldemort or his followers.
Harry felt a warning flash of pain through his scar, a searing reminder of the connection between him and Voldemort. But he continued to march up to Voldemort, his fist clenched at his side. The torches lining the walls flared up with an angry roar, mirroring the anger surging within Harry. He would not let Voldemort kill anyone else he cared about just to get to him. He couldn't bear the weight of more deaths on his conscience, no matter the personal cost.
Voldemort's lips curled into a faint smile as Harry stopped before him, trembling with suppressed fury. Harry's defiant glare met the piercing red eyes of the Dark Lord, who observed him with a mix of amusement and challenge. Swallowing hard, Harry kept his head held high, maintaining an unbroken gaze with his captor. He had obeyed Voldemort's summons without resistance. He prayed that Malfoy's ominous words were untrue, that Voldemort did not intend to attack the Order.
"I gave you an opportunity to accept my offer the easy way; now we'll do it my way," Voldemort's voice resonated ominously, and Harry winced as another wave of pain coursed through his scar.
Voldemort had switched to Parseltongue. "I will never bow to you," Harry responded in kind, still struggling to believe that Voldemort's current objective was his submission. The man who had tried to kill him sixteen years ago now wanted him as a servant? Wanted to teach him, even. It made no sense.
"You will," Voldemort hissed, and the pain in Harry's scar intensified. Harry clenched his fists, determined not to show weakness. The pain wasn't as excruciating as when Voldemort had touched him, but it served as a chilling reminder of the Dark Lord's capabilities.
Voldemort rose slowly, descending from his elevated throne with an air of leisure. Nagini uncoiled herself from the ball at her master's feet, her black eyes gleaming in the torchlight.
Harry took a shaky breath but stood his ground. The overwhelming power of the Dark Lord's presence washed over him, threatening to consume his senses. Voldemort's magical control was undeniably intimidating. "If you believe causing me more agony will bend me to your will, go ahead and try. But this has nothing to do with my friends, so leave them out of it," Harry whispered, seething inside. Although he burned with anger, he dared not run, for the safety of his friends hinged on his compliance. He had no doubt who held the power in this moment.
"I'm afraid, my dear boy," Voldemort hissed, his eyes never leaving Harry's, "that I am not a patient man. While I derive some satisfaction from your suffering when you defy me, I would much prefer expediting this defiance. I have greater plans to attend to than your feeble rebellion. Now, it's time you learn what true power is and who wields it." Voldemort had reached Harry, towering over him, and his long, thin fingers closed around Harry's elbow before he could react. A fresh wave of pain surged through Harry's scar, forcing him to shut his eyes tightly, trying to block it out. The pain became unbearable, as though his head might split in two. It wasn't the same as when Voldemort had touched him, but it was a chilling reminder of the Dark Lord's capabilities.
With a deliberate movement, Voldemort stepped closer, his tall figure casting an ominous shadow over the teenager. He switched back to English, his crimson eyes fixed on Harry. "It's time for you to see your friends again; they've been deeply concerned about you."
Harry's eyes snapped open, and he gazed up at the red orbs studying him. "No, don't," Harry pleaded, his words falling on deaf ears.
Voldemort's lips curled in a satisfied smirk as he looked down at the helpless boy. "You will come to understand the extent of my power over your life, Harry. You are mine. Soon, you will accept that."
Suddenly, Harry felt as if he were being compressed, his chest constricted, and his body squeezed together. With a pop, the sensation ceased, and Harry realized they were standing in a very familiar yard. As he beheld the slanting Burrow, a place he considered his true home, he heard distinct pops as the Death Eaters apparated beside them. There had to be at least twenty of them.
Shoved roughly into the hands of a nearby Death Eater, both of Harry's arms were quickly seized and forced behind his back. He watched helplessly as Voldemort addressed the group. "Remember what I told you," Voldemort said in a barely audible voice. "I will not tolerate failure. Now go and have a little fun." He turned to Harry with an entirely satisfied expression.
"Don't," Harry repeated miserably, his voice hollow, as he observed the Death Eaters, all except the one who held him, rushing toward his best friend's home. They blasted open the door with a powerful curse, and the air filled with screams of fear and pain, figures scattering in all directions. Within moments, chaos reigned, with spells flying in every direction and agonized cries echoing just out of Harry's view.
Harry jerked against the hand holding him, pulling in vain to get free. "I want you to know that this is happening because you refused me," Voldemort declared before turning gracefully, his black cloak billowing around him as he strode toward the side gate of the house. The imposing Dark Lord vanished from view before Harry could summon his voice. The cacophony of screams persisted, seemingly concentrated in the backyard, hidden from Harry's sight. Occasionally, he caught glimpses of crimson or emerald spells streaking through his field of vision, but he remained clueless about which side was prevailing or who had succumbed to the unforgivable green killing curse.
Harry struggled relentlessly but could not free himself from the unyielding grip of the Death Eaters who held him captive. The man who clutched him maintained a wordless, vice-like grasp that Harry couldn't loosen. Almost on the verge of despair, a chilling sight sent shivers down his spine. Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew entered the front yard locked in a ferocious duel. Spells of every hue flew from their wands, narrowly blocked by each other's lethal counterattacks.
A kaleidoscope of colors streaked through the air, but it became apparent, from what little Harry could discern, that Remus was the superior wizard. Peter had already lost his mask, and his cape emitted billowing smoke from a fire he barely managed to extinguish while retaining his wand. Throughout their skirmish, insults were exchanged, though Harry could scarcely make out their words. It wasn't until they drew closer that Wormtail uttered the only words capable of breaking Remus's concentration and giving him the upper hand.
"Look behind you, Moony, there's your best friend's precious son, completely helpless while you stand here and fight me," the watery-eyed man squeaked, gesturing toward Harry. Remus cast a quick glance in Harry's direction, and that fleeting distraction was all Wormtail needed to launch a disabling spell. It sent Remus's wand spiraling into the air and knocked him onto his back, utterly vulnerable.
"No!" Harry shouted again, futilely attempting to break free as Wormtail approached Remus, a triumphant smirk gracing his chubby face.
"Oh, how the roles have reversed, my old friend," sputtered Wormtail. "Now it is my turn to decide whether you live or die. I don't think it will turn out the same way it did when you had me."
Harry watched in horror as Wormtail extended his silver hand toward Remus's throat. The realization struck Harry with a gut-wrenching jolt—silver kills werewolves. Harry felt an intense surge of white-hot anger, a feeling more potent than anything he had ever experienced. Without even comprehending what he was doing, Harry harnessed that power, directing it at the Death Eater who held him.
With a yelp of pain, the Death Eater released his grip and stumbled backward, terror etched across his dull eyes that shone through the white skull mask. Harry wasted no time, sprinting across the unkempt lawn toward the man who had been a father figure to him, one of the few who had fulfilled that role in his life. Just as Wormtail's finger was about to touch Remus's skin, Harry somehow concentrated all his anger and directed it at Wormtail with unwavering intensity. It felt like an Expelliarmus, but immeasurably more potent, raw magic unshaped by Latin incantations, not channeled through the feeble wooden wand that typically served as his conduit. The force surged from deep within him toward the traitorous rat. Simultaneously, as Remus let out a blood-curdling scream, Wormtail was struck by the invisible force, hurtling across the yard and colliding with the house wall. He crumpled to the ground, motionless.
Harry fell to his knees as he reached one of the last remaining links to his parents. One of the precious few who had played the role of a parent in his life. "Please, Moony, don't leave me," he implored in a whisper, searching for a pulse. After an interminable few moments, he sighed with relief as he detected a faint, feeble throb beneath his trembling fingers. "Come on, you're fine. You're going to be okay," he continued to plead, tears pooling in his eyes as he stared at the pale, clammy face before him. "Please, just wake up," he begged, his voice trembling, his gaze locked on the still figure.
"He is still alive, but only by a thread," a figure appeared from behind Harry. He jumped in horror as he recognized the voice. "But he will die within the hour if the proper spell is not performed on him. Silver is very damaging to a wolf's interior; even just a touch of it is poison. Only a dark spell can revive your friend, one that I doubt many know."
Harry began to tremble, his gaze locked on the lifeless body of his old professor and friend. He desperately told himself that this couldn't be happening, that it was just a dreadful dream from which he would soon awaken. He blinked away tears, silently begging to escape this nightmarish ordeal.
"Harry," a voice called from a distance, but he didn't turn; his eyes remained fixed on Remus, tears streaming down his face.
"Harry," the voice demanded again, accompanied by a blinding pain as Voldemort gripped Harry's jaw, forcing him to turn and meet his scarlet, blood-red eyes. Harry gasped in agony but was too numb to react further. He attempted to turn back to Remus, but Voldemort's grip only tightened. Harry's struggle was short-lived, his strength quickly failing.
"You know what I want," Voldemort said, his voice soft but menacing. Harry tried to avert his gaze again, but his jaw was held firm; he could see no other way to save Remus. He couldn't let Remus die, not the last connection to his parents, not like this, especially when the attack had been instigated because of him.
"Alright, you win," Harry whispered, closing his eyes as fresh tears welled up. "Just don't let him die, please." His words were barely audible, but Voldemort heard them. Releasing Harry, Voldemort rose from his kneeling position.
"Do you understand what you have agreed to?" The Dark Lord asked quietly.
Harry took a deep, shaky breath and nodded, "If you save him, then I will let you teach me." Tremors wracked Harry's body as he said it, but he would do anything to save those he cared about. He had resigned himself to a life of unending nightmares. Perhaps this was what Voldemort meant by having power—Harry finally had the power to protect his friends, albeit not through the means he had originally envisioned.
"And what of orders? Will you obey me?" Voldemort inquired softly. "And will you accept my personal mark?"
Meeting Voldemort's scarlet gaze, Harry nodded slightly, aware that his parents and friends might never accept him again. Yet, in that moment, a fierce determination flickered in his tear-stained emerald eyes as he said quietly but firmly, "I won't kill or torture for you. Those are my conditions."
Voldemort smiled a dark, malevolent smile that sent shivers down Harry's spine. "Agreed," he said, extending his hand. Harry stared at the outstretched fingers and then back up at the man, who so unnervingly resembled the Tom Riddle he had encountered in Slytherin's chamber, only a few decades older. A man who didn't look like someone capable of the darkness Harry knew he wielded at will—a man who had killed hundreds, started a war for his own desires, and murdered Harry's parents to thwart a prophecy he didn't fully comprehend.
Pain shot through Harry's scar as their hands met, but he gritted out a begrudging "agreed" before breaking the grip. Voldemort lazily raised his wand and began murmuring an incantation in an unfamiliar language. For several seconds, he whispered softly, his wand tracing intricate patterns before he lowered it and turned back to Harry.
Harry, his gaze still locked on Remus, prayed for a miracle, hoping that Voldemort had executed the counter-spell in time. Suddenly, Remus jolted and gasped for air.
"Remus!" Harry exclaimed, swiftly moving forward and grasping the werewolf's trembling arms. "Are you okay?"
Remus blinked several times, taking deep breaths as he focused on Harry. "Harry, you're back. Oh, thank Merlin, I was so worried," he said in a scratchy voice, then touched his throat. "What happened?"
"Wormtail touched you with his hand," Harry replied, directing a glare at the still unmoving rat. He hoped Wormtail was dead. "But you're okay now," he added eagerly, mixed with an underlying question.
"Yeah, I'm feeling better," Remus replied, "but if he touched me, then how...?" He trailed off as he noticed Voldemort stepping up from behind Harry. Recognition flickered in Remus's amber eyes as he glared at the dark lord. "You!" he snarled, pushing himself up on his hands and searching for his wand, which lay uselessly several feet away. "Don't you lay a finger on Harry!" Voldemort chuckled darkly but made no aggressive move toward the werewolf.
Suddenly, the yard filled with pops as witches and wizards in Ministry robes apparated around them. At least ten beams of red light, accompanied by cries of "Stupefy!" filled the air, targeting the three wizards. However, just as they were about to strike, the red spells reversed direction as if hitting an invisible barrier, spiraling back toward their casters and incapacitating at least half of them.
"Drop your wand!" one overzealous wizard shouted at Voldemort in a terror-stricken voice. There were only four other Aurors standing beside the one who had spoken, and none of them appeared enthusiastic about confronting the dark wizard.
Voldemort let out a cold, bone-chilling laugh before turning to Harry as if the other witches and wizards didn't exist. "Come, Harry, I have obtained what I wanted. It is time to leave."
"No," Remus cried forcefully, pushing himself to his feet unsteadily and grabbing Harry's wrist. "You cannot have him!"
"And what will you do to stop me, wolf?" Voldemort inquired, taking a step closer. "You have no wand, and neither does the boy, not that it would matter."
Remus let out a low growl and pulled Harry roughly behind him. Harry couldn't help but feel touched by Remus's protective stance, but he also feared what Voldemort might do if Remus provoked him further. They both knew they were defenseless against Voldemort without their wands.
"Then take me instead and leave Harry here," Remus said, desperation creeping into his voice. He was well aware of the likely outcome.
Voldemort took another step closer, his eyes gleaming with malice. "As much as I'd enjoy having you, I have unfinished business with the boy. You must fulfill your end of the bargain, Harry, unless you've already forgotten what you agreed to." His words carried a clear threat that if Harry didn't comply, the deal would be off, and Voldemort would likely kill Remus and then force Harry to go with him.
The grip on Harry's wrist tightened as Remus shifted, casting a wary glance at Harry. "What is he talking about, Harry? What deal have you made?"
Voldemort interrupted before Harry could respond. "For now, that's between the boy and me. But don't worry, Lupin, I'll take good care of your cub. Come, Harry, before my patience wears thin and I take you by force."
"Don't worry, Moony, I'll be fine," Harry said quietly, trying to sound braver than he felt as he attempted to free his wrist. "But I have to do this; please understand."
"But Harry, what could you possibly have agreed to with that monster?" Remus cried, his gaze shifting between Harry and Voldemort as the boy he considered as a son moved closer to certain misery. Suddenly, realization washed over Remus. He sucked in a large breath, his eyes widening. "Is this why the silver didn't kill me?" he asked, gripping Harry's arm even tighter. "Did you agree to go back with him to save me?"
Harry couldn't bring himself to meet Remus's eyes; the pain of his betrayal was too much to bear. Horror and anger flared in Remus's amber eyes, warring with shock and despair.
"No," Remus shouted, his grip on Harry's wrists tightening further, causing the teenager to wince from the werewolf's strength. "I won't allow it. Voldemort, you've tricked him into agreeing to whatever terms you've set. This entire thing was a setup!"
"It doesn't matter what I did, Lupin," Voldemort declared, closing the last step toward Harry. "The deal has been made, and we have shaken on it. Now it's time to leave this traitorous home. There's nothing further I need here."
Harry continued to stare at the ground as Voldemort reached out and gripped his arm. "Release the boy, or I will take you with us," Voldemort threatened, his anger palpable and his patience wearing thin.
"Then I'll go with you. I won't let you have Harry again," Remus declared passionately.
"Remus," Harry pleaded. "Just let go. If you want what's best for me, do it. I couldn't live with myself if you got hurt because of me. Please." He turned slightly, looking into the werewolf's sad amber eyes.
"Harry," Remus said quietly, "I won't let you go back with him. Not alone."
"Please," Harry implored, his head pounding from the prolonged contact with Voldemort. He knew his fate was sealed. He couldn't let Remus come with him, not after he had just sacrificed his freedom to save him. "I need you to live. You're all I have left. He'll kill you. I did this for you; don't make it in vain."
Remus opened his mouth as if to argue again, then, seeing the pained and resolute look in Harry's eyes, he finally nodded and released his grip slowly. "Don't you dare harm this boy," he threatened as Harry felt the uncomfortable sensation of Apparating for the second time that day.
AN- There you go! Chapter 5 is complete. Please let me know what you think. I have chapters 6 and 7 nearly finished, so the next update will be coming shortly!