Chapter 6:

Harry landed harshly on his knees, unable to catch himself as he was whisked from one hell to another. Dull green eyes stared down unseeing at the cold, rough stone floor. Harry swallowed, his heart beating against his chest. Had he really just agreed to this? Was he truly going to let the Dark Lord who had murdered his parents, who was responsible for both his godfathers' and Cedric's deaths, the man who was waging war against his friends and his very way of life, teach him magic? Was he going to take a mass murderer's mark and promise him obedience?

Harry squeezed his eyes shut, letting out a shuttered breath. It wasn't even a week ago that he had been pleading with Dumbledore to let him sacrifice himself for his friends, so sure he could stand up against Voldemort. He wasn't sure if Snape would be laughing or cursing him; such was his complete failure.

The grip on his arm relented, and Voldemort took a half step away, having succeeded in bringing him back to wherever the Dark Lord resided. The soft flow of his cloak over the stone alerted the raven-haired teen to the wizard's movements as he walked around him, like a predator circling its prey. The footsteps stopped. Harry's eyes shot open; from his bowed position, he could see the black polished dragon leather boots just at the edge of his peripheral vision. He could sense Voldemort's calculating gaze upon him.

Stilling, he struggled to get his breathing under control, to calm his ravaged thoughts. He had agreed to surrender to Voldemort. The realization echoed in his mind. He could feel an eerie ringing in his ears. His life was over. Or worse, it was just beginning but in all the wrong ways.

"Harry," his name was soft, almost a hiss, but he knew the Dark Lord had not switched to the snake language. Stilling, he tensed, steeling his nerves. Harry had never cowed before the man; he would not start now. With every fiber of strength that he possessed, Harry raised his head, emerald meeting fiery scarlet.

The Dark Lord smirked, clearly pleased at the treasure at his feet. "Come now; it is not that bad. I let your wolf live. I am offering you the chance to learn magic that others would kill for. I've been quite lenient with you given our past. I could have just killed them all. Instead, I offer you power beyond your wildest dreams and give you mercy."

Harry felt a strange sound escape his throat. It was the mix of a cry, a moan, and a sob. "I don't want to learn from you," he murmured, his voice more sincere and broken than he cared for. His fists clenched in anger. He was emotionally drained. The attack at the Burrow had been horrific, and his nerves had been on high alert since he had been taken prisoner. He didn't even know who else had been killed. The Weasleys could be dead or dying. So many of his friends belonged to this ill-fated resistance. Were most of them gone now? Snuffed out because the Dark Lord had wanted to prove a point to Harry that the teen was powerless and utterly at his mercy?

Voldemort laughed quietly, the sound raising the hairs on the back of Harry's neck and arms. The sinister quality of it did not match the sharply crafted artistic features staring down at him. It was hard to take in the Dark Lord in this form; he was so much like the intelligent and powerful boy Harry had met in the Chamber of Secrets, yet there was the underlying threat of incomprehensible darkness practically radiating off the wizard. A black snake of dark magic that he knew resided just under the surface, coiled and ready to strike at a moment's notice. The red eyes danced as they studied him.

"Unfortunately for you, you don't have a choice," Voldemort said, cocking his head to the side. "You gave me your word, and it is time to fulfill your end of the deal. I promise that you will not like what happens next if you don't. This attack will seem like child's play in comparison to what I'll do next if you continue to resist me. Your time on the light is over, Harry; you are now mine."

Harry grimaced, his eyes darting to the side of the unnerving dungeon corridor he found himself in. The flames sputtered nearby, their shadows licking up the wall, casting him and the Slytherin heir in a mix of fire and shadows. Silence echoed in between the crackle of flames. It was as if he and the Dark Lord were the only ones in the dark chamber that may as well be his grave. A part of him would die tonight; he was certain of that.

"Will you leave them alone now?" He asked, feeling suddenly foolish. His terms had only required Voldemort to heal Remus. There were no promises that they were protected. Even now, the other Death Eaters could still be attacking them. Remus could be fighting for his life again for all he knew.

The Ministry had arrived at the end; he could only hope that their presence, in conjunction with Voldemort getting what he wanted out of Harry, had been enough for all of the Dark Lord's minions to retreat when Harry and Voldemort had left the fight. The fact that he had given up everything for only a promise that Remus would survive that moment brought him no comfort. He should have ensured his prolonged safety. He had been foolish. He had been desperate, and Voldemort had masterfully taken advantage of his desperation like the cunning Slytherin that he was.

Voldemort let out a soft hmm, shifting forward a step, then two. He dropped gracefully to a knee, reaching out and gripping Harry's forearm. The raven-haired teenager did not resist the touch. He was beyond surprised that it wasn't accompanied by burning pain for once. His shock must have shown on his face.

"My presence doesn't have to cause you pain," Voldemort murmured knowingly, his voice laced with a chilling confidence. He pulled out his wand, using the tip to push Harry's sleeve up, revealing bare flesh. Tensing, Harry didn't pull his arm back. He couldn't. It had been his price; he had agreed to this. To go back would just mean Voldemort would hunt them down with an even greater vengeance. And the Dark Lord had easily proved his dominance over Dumbledore's ability to keep any of them safe. He had captured Ron and Hermione, had penetrated Harry's home, and had even attacked the Order at a location that should have been protected. Harry had to finally admit that none of them were safe against the Dark Lord's growing power. Voldemort had found a way to clearly outmatch Dumbledore; he could find them quicker and more efficiently than Dumbledore could hide them.

"Will you harm them?" Harry pressed, gazing up at the Dark Lord with a mix of desperation and fear.

"They are my enemies," Voldemort responded, tilting his head to the side as he considered Harry. There was no mockery in the statement, it was a simple fact. "I doubt even you could be so generous, or foolish, to not attack an opponent you are at war with."

"My friends are still students; we both know they are no threat to you," Harry argued hollowly, his voice quivering with emotion. He felt dizzy, like the world was spinning. The image of Neville, Luna, and Ginny flashed before him. He could feel Hermione hugging him while Ron put an awkward, comforting hand on his shoulder. How much had they suffered when they had been captured by this monster? How much would they continue to suffer when their only crime had been befriending a lonely, bespectacled teen who didn't have a friend in the world?

He could sense Voldemort's contemplative stare as he drew his thoughts back to the present. He was in a very precarious position; he needed to concentrate; this was his only chance to get any real concession. After this bargain, his fate would be sealed; Voldemort would have his obedience and he would be forever marked as the Dark Lord's.

"A promise not to harm children, will that temper your defiance?" Harry cocked his head, scarcely believing Voldemort would allow him such a boon. He knew his confusion was poorly hidden. He had agreed to come back, to take this mark, and to be trained, and the price had been Remus' life. Voldemort owed him nothing. He held all the power here and zero reason to concede it to a broken young man at his feet.

"I don't want to deal with your futile rebellion against everything I command," Voldemort stated coldly, his crimson eyes drilling into Harry's. The words made his eyes flash with anger, but it was still a concession he had not expected. It was too simple and freely given to be the true motive behind Voldemort's actions. Harry doubted his rebellion would drive Voldemort to do anything. He could effectively torture Harry any time he acted out and had already proven he could easily capture his friends. Concession for cooperation did not make much sense when he had so many other proven tools at the Slytherin heir's disposal.

"You will not harm any of the students at Hogwarts if I cooperate?" Harry confirmed, he had already done a poor job in the negotiations at the Burrow. He had given Voldemort everything he wanted. And he knew he would do it again if it meant saving any of their lives. As much as it churned his stomach, he could not find it within himself to think he'd failed at the Burrow. Such was his need to keep Remus alive that he would still do it all over again, even if the brief moment of Remus living was all he could gain from his failure. But if he could guarantee the others' safety for a few years, all for a price he'd already conceded? Then he would jump all over that.

Voldemort nodded. "What else?"

Shocked, Harry could scarcely believe the question. Voldemort, the king of all Slytherins, the master of manipulation, was asking him what else? It made no sense. "What else," Harry echoed dully. "You already said you would not hold back on those you are at war with," he murmured, not even sure what else to ask. He felt foolish, his Slytherin side embarrassed and betrayed by the vulnerable Gryffindor response.

Voldemort shrugged, as if indifferent. "Then if you are satisfied, we shall begin."

"Wait," Harry gasped, he could feel the ringing in his ears worsen. He felt dizzy and weak. He could not waste this chance to get what he could for the price of his soul. And he was in no hurry to offer the payment he knew Voldemort was about to claim. "Why are you allowing this, for me to negotiate? You already have everything you could possibly want from me. It doesn't make sense." Perhaps it was stupid to ask, and he was wasting his chance to demand more. But he knew it did not make sense and was equally worried about walking even further into this trap, somehow giving up more than he'd realized or bargained for.

The thinnest of smirks graced Voldemort's features. "Because I will be your master, and you will be my apprentice. I want you to accept that. In time, I think you will grow to realize what an opportunity you have been afforded, how lucky you are. But until then, I want you to be respectful and accept your position as my apprentice. If a few inconsequential concessions on my part help you to accept your fate, it is a worthy trade."

That was a much more candid response than Harry was expecting. His brows furrowed as he suddenly thought of something, something he should have considered already, a concession that could at least help those most affected by this senseless blood purity war that had claimed so many lives in the name of pride and power. "Will you stop the needless bloodshed? The raids against innocents? Attacking those who are weak and do not oppose you? I can understand why you are unwilling to stop fighting against those who stand against you, but the rest…" Harry shook his head, his thoughts racing. It had never made sense to him that a man who claimed to value magical blood so highly would allow so much of it to be shed. Why let the streets run red with what he deemed superior blood? His father had been as pure-blooded as the Malfoys, and so had Sirius. Yet both had met the same fate due to Voldemort's campaign. If witches and wizards were truly superior, why waste their time on Muggle-borns or even Muggle hunting, encouraging a sadistic nature that only brought out humanity's worst traits?

"You think the weak deserve protection?" Voldemort sneered, his crimson eyes narrowing. "You would shield those too feeble to even defend themselves? Why care for such pathetic souls? They have no value."

"If they have no value, then this concession should not be difficult," Harry reasoned, disbelief washing over him at Voldemort's disregard for human life.

"The raids demonstrate my power; they show how helpless it is to resist my reign," Voldemort replied, his tone cold and calculating.

Harry shook his head. "No, I think they have the opposite effect. People are so terrified and hopeless that they'll join the only side that opposes you. Out of fear, you're creating more enemies. These so-called cowards would never stand against you, but when you attack them, then fighting becomes their only option. Innocent deaths stir rebellion in others, witches and wizards who would never have taken up arms do so because you have harmed or killed their families and loved ones."

Red eyes settled on him in an unnerving manner. Voldemort did not seem mad, perhaps mildly amused but also a little intrigued. It was an odd combination, one that Harry had never expected to be directed his way by the man who had repeatedly tried to murder him. "You have much to learn, but I enjoy hearing you try to reason with me. Perhaps I will concede to fewer raids, focusing only on those of strategic importance. The ones meant purely for my followers' enjoyment, if I temper those, would you be appeased?"

Unsure why Voldemort would care about appeasing Harry or why he would seek his agreement at all, Harry nodded cautiously. He almost wanted to thank the Dark Lord for the concession, but he held his tongue. Actions spoke louder than words, and he would need to see these changes occur. And he would sooner see snow survive in hell before he thanked the madman who had kidnapped him and was forcing him into submission.

"Alright, we are in agreement then. You will formally accept me as your instructor, we will become master and apprentice. You will take my mark and you will obey my commands. I offer you the survival that has already been bestowed upon the wolf from what was a fatal wound. I will not harm students unless it's in self-defense, and I will temper my raids to focus on strategic targets that further my goals. Are we agreed?"

"And I won't kill or torture on your behalf."

Meeting the Dark Lord's gaze, Voldemort nodded. "Agreed, unless you choose to do so willingly."

"I would never," Harry avowed, aghast.

Voldemort's smirk only widened. "Time will tell, my young apprentice. Are we agreed?"

Swallowing hard, Harry nodded, casting his eyes back downwards as the tip of Voldemort's wand pushed into his bicep. The grip tightened marginally, keeping him in place.

"This may hurt."

And it did. Harry lost his remaining strength completely. He would have dropped entirely to the floor if not for the Dark Lord's firm grip keeping him in place. He slammed his fist against the stone, letting out a sob of pain as complete agony coursed through his arm. It felt like all of his nerves were on fire, burning him from the inside out. His brain was in shock. He wasn't sure if he was convulsing or frozen in utter pain. His hiss of pain turned into a grunt then into a louder moan. He desperately did not want to scream, but it was on the tip of his lips. The pain was unbearable.

And then it was over. His arm was dropped, and he landed bodily on the dust-ridden stone floor. His heart pounded frantically against his ribs, threatening to break free. His whole body convulsed in agony.

Trembling, he wanted to curl in upon himself, yet he forced himself not to. He was still at the Dark Lord's feet. He may have lost a lot, but he still had his pride. He blinked away bitter tears, pushing himself unsteadily onto his hands and knees. His arm pulsed with each frantic heartbeat. It felt red and angry, like he had been burned by a cattle prod. Which felt appropriate, that he would be claimed in such a disgusting way, nothing more than property now, marked by Voldemort's symbol.

He cast a furious, delirious scowl at his arm and was shocked by what greeted him. He had expected to see the burned markings of the snake and skull, the Dark Mark that Voldemort's followers bore. What he saw surprised him. He cast a wary glance up towards the older wizard who was observing him silently.

When no answer was forthcoming, he almost growled in frustration. "It's not a Dark Mark?" His voice shook pathetically. He swallowed, forcing moisture down his dry throat.

"It's not," the Dark Lord agreed amusedly.

Harry's stare narrowed. "Then what is it?" He all but spat.

Voldemort's lips twitched into a thin smirk. "It is my mark," he said simply. "The mark fitting of the one I have chosen to bestow knowledge and power upon."

Shaking his head, Harry frowned. "But what does it do?" He asked, glancing back at his arm. An intricate shaded eye stared back at him. He was confident it was a snake's eye, such was the dilated slit in the center of the serpentine circle flowing into scales that seemed to surround the lid. Around it wove a thin but very lethal-looking snake. Its body wrapped around the eye several times before popping up behind it, a hood that looked like a cobra's extended outwards just beneath the skull. The whole thing looked entirely too real. He would have tried to scrub the beast from his arm if he hadn't seen the Dark Lord himself cast it upon him.

"Ah, my young apprentice, that would be telling." Voldemort rose from his half-kneeled position, taking a step back, leaving a seething and very confused Harry before him.

"You won't tell me? I thought you promised to share knowledge. That agreeing to this would be an escape from being helplessly kept in the dark," Harry snapped, knowing it had been foolish to think anything would change, that Voldemort would somehow be better than Dumbledore. It was a foolish dream, naïve and stupid.

"Ahh, my little serpent, trying to manipulate me already? I think I will grow to cherish these moments. But remember, I am the master, and you are barely a novice. While powerful, you still know so little." It came out almost fondly. "In time, you will know. That is part of what I plan to teach you. You will learn to sense magic in ways that will tell you instantly what is at stake.

"Once we are done, you won't have to ask because you will always know. For now, suffice to say that I will always know where you are. That I can use it to summon you, and I expect you to come when I call. And given our fated past, it gives me assurances that you will not turn against me once you begin to master what I have to teach. Can't have the student taking on the teacher, can I?"

Voldemort said it so matter-of-factly that Harry almost didn't pick up on the gravity of what was being said. "You think one day I will have the power to match you?" He asked softly, "to have a chance at killing you?"

Solemnly, the Slytherin heir nodded. "With what I plan to teach you, I think you will become very powerful indeed. None will be able to match you, not even Dumbledore. But do not ever allow that to turn into arrogance, to think you can wield that against me. I will ensure that I always have the upper hand. Should you ever try to become uncontrollable, this mark, which you have freely accepted, I might add, will give me the control to end you before you have a chance to even comprehend what is happening."

Flinching, Harry glanced back down at his arm, suddenly much more weary. It was a bomb just waiting to go off, if he understood that correctly. A guarantee that Harry would never run and that he would never turn against Voldemort. Did Voldemort truly see him as such a threat? And if so, why teach him and make him even stronger? Even with the mark, it did not seem the Dark Lord's style to suddenly want to invest in a protégé. Voldemort had never shared anything; by all definitions, he was a power-hungry sociopath. And there were countless dark sociopaths who would kill for this opportunity.

"Why me?" he asked, "and why now? You've never taken on an apprentice before."

The Slytherin heir tilted his head as his gaze swept over Harry's still huddled form. The teen was embarrassed to realize he was still pitifully prone on the ground, pathetically weak before the man who had murdered his parents and who had just gained Harry acceptance to become his apprentice.

"My reasons are my own, Harry. While I don't intend to keep much from you, you should know that I am a private man. I would advise against prying too deeply into what makes me tick; you may not like what you find." While said as a simple statement, the threat washed over Harry, sending a shiver down his spine. It reminded him anew of just who exactly he had bound himself to.

Dropping his gaze, he wasn't sure how to respond to such an ominous statement. What was there to say when the man you claimed as your teacher, your master, was a Dark Lord bent on taking over the wizarding world? It made Harry want to become sick.

"Enough, I know you are tired. Rest; tomorrow is a new day and the beginning of the rest of your life. As you've likely already inferred, I'm not a patient master, and I have high expectations. I fully expect you to meet all of them; I will not be embarrassed by my protégé. Do you understand?"

Lacking a better response, Harry nodded. He didn't even try to fight the bitterness that simmered in the back of his throat over such an arrogant statement. He had no idea how he was going to succeed at being cordial daily with the man who killed his parents. It was ludicrous. And yet it was what he had agreed to do.

"Good. Tipsy." With a pop, a bobbing house-elf appeared before him. Harry was shocked to see it had on a proper uniform, a tight green and silver top and simple black shorts. It was nothing exceptional but of high quality and allowed the elf some level of modesty and professionalism. The acid green embroidered 'S' was stitched proudly across the center of the shirt.

The elf danced back and forth between them, dipping her head. "Yes, Master? How can Tipsy assist you?" The skittish elf asked, wringing her hands over each other in a continuous circle. While not as terrified as Dobby, Harry could tell the poor thing was cautious and overly attentive, as if she knew the wrong act could end in its demise.

"Take the boy back to his room, see to it that he is brought food," Voldemort ordered. "And bring a salve for his arm; I want you to make sure it is treated."

"Yes, Master, Tipsy will do it at once," the elf nodded earnestly, bobbing its massive head up and down.

As the elf moved towards Harry, the teenager caught the Dark Lord's stare. He had so many things he wanted to say, to demand, to ask. He still did not understand the mark fully. And he wanted to be assured that Remus and the Weasleys were alright. He opened his mouth to protest, but in that second, he was whisked away, that movement signaling the start of a life he could scarcely comprehend.

There you go! A writing spree...took ahold of me...Hee hee! ;) Hope you like it. Would love any reviews to know what you think! Thanks to those who have! The next chapter is already written, just in the review stage and shall be posted soon!