Harry stared blankly at the mask resting on his desk, the morning sunlight filtering through the curtains, casting a faint golden glow upon the room. On the day of his first Death Eater meeting, he had awoken to find this unexpected item added to his belongings. There it lay, an unwelcome guest in the silent chamber. Unlike the traditional silver and gray masks worn by the Death Eaters, this one was unique. It glistened with an eerie combination of gold and black, a puzzling contrast that hinted at his inevitable separation even within the dark follower's ranks.
Cautiously, he reached down and picked up the mask, feeling its cool surface against his fingertips. Upon closer inspection, Harry was taken aback by the mask's intricate, shadowy designs. Serpentine figures, expertly carved, coiled around the edges, their dark forms weaving an intricate tapestry. Its narrow slits for eyes, mouth, and nose added an air of foreboding mystery. It was a work of art, the craftsmanship evident even in its sinister aura. Nausea swept through him at the realization that he would soon be parading around as one of the Death Eaters he had grown up despising.
He wasn't sure what he had expected, but this mask was not it. He detested what it represented in terms of conformity and submission. Moreover, he was confused as to why he would be forced to wear something that made it more difficult to recognize him, the light's savior turned enemy. Was Voldemort intending to keep him hidden? Draco had mentioned that the Ministry was aware of his capture and the mark etched into his flesh. So, why the need for anonymity, if such a thing was even possible? Harry couldn't help but be skeptical. His unmistakable mop of raven-black hair and his piercing emerald gaze would surely give him away, especially since the mask was a different color, one that would quickly draw everyone's attention.
His hands trembled as he grasped the mask, its cool surface offering a stark contrast to the anxiety surging within him. With shaking fingers, he gingerly raised it to his face. The magic woven into the mask ensured it clung firmly to his skin. Slowly, he turned to face the full-length mirror against the wall, anticipation and uncertainty melding in his eyes as he met his own reflection.
Someone he no longer recognized stared back at him from the mirror; his emerald eyes, once vibrant with determination, were now mostly masked by the ominous golden slits of the Death Eater mask. The shadows cast by the mask accentuated the angles of his face, lending him an air of mystery and severity. The light steal hugged his features snugly, shrouding him in an aura of foreboding. His raven hair framed it in a disheveled mess, swept this way and that. With his features concealed, he thought he looked more imposing than childish. His youth was equally masked as his features.
He glanced at the rest of his body. It had been a while since he'd bothered to look at himself in a mirror. Adorned in the luxurious, high-fashion black wizarding robes that Voldemort had left for him, Harry felt the soft weight settle upon his shoulders. The fabric, smooth as midnight silk, clung to his form with an almost sentient elegance. The robe's design was impeccable, tailored to perfection, with intricate patterns of serpents and dark skull symbols adorning the hems, a chilling testament to the world he had reluctantly become a part of. The robes exuded an aura of power and authority, an unmistakable statement of his presumed allegiance to the Dark Lord.
As he gazed upon his reflection, Harry couldn't help but feel a dissonance between the person he had been and the one he was becoming. The mask and the robes seemed to symbolize a tangible representation of the path he had chosen to tread. The juxtaposition of his youthful face behind the mask and the imposing attire served as a reminder of the contrast within him—caught between the innocence of his past and the dark realities of his present.
He no longer felt like Harry Potter, the boy who had once faced the world with bravery and hope, who had blindly trusted in Dumbledore and the light. He was becoming something else, something darker, and the reflection before him was the embodiment of that transformation. The mask and the robes were all parts of the enigma that was becoming his new identity—an identity forged in the crucible of Voldemort's influence and his own reluctant acceptance of the apprenticeship he was forced to live every day.
Harry's fingers tightened around his wand, the familiar holly and phoenix feather core nestled securely within his grip. With practiced ease, he slid the wand into a specially designed holder strapped to his forearm, concealed within the folds of the cloak. It was no ordinary wand holder; it responded to his wandless magic, a mere flicker of desire causing it to shoot out into his hand for quick access. The mechanism was ingeniously crafted, a testament to the Dark Lord's meticulous skills. It was also heavily protected by multiple charms, ensuring that no one could summon his wand or disarm him without his consent.
The gift from Voldemort, who had presented it one night during dinner, had left Harry with a strange mixture of emotions. On the one hand, it was a testament to the Dark Lord's dedication to Harry's education as his apprentice, showing his ability to provide Harry with the tools that would aid him in becoming a skilled wizard who could defend himself. On the other hand, it highlighted the stark contrast between his current situation and his past life. The Dark Lord took care of him, providing him with resources that the light side had never offered. It left Harry feeling oddly empty and frustrated. Why had the light so thoroughly neglected him? Did they not care that he was so weak, so foolish? The more he learned under the Dark Lord's tutelage, the more he realized how woefully behind he had been. How little help anyone had been willing to provide him to help him grow stronger and survive.
With a faint pop, Tipsy materialized before Harry. "It is time, Master Harry, for you to join the Master and his followers," she squeaked, her voice quivering with anxiety. Harry could see the nervousness in her wide, bulbous eyes as she shifted back and forth from one small foot to the other. He couldn't help but mirror her nerves. The prospect of being surrounded by the insane Death Eaters wasn't something he looked forward to either.
Harry nodded, signaling for Tipsy to lead the way. His steps echoed softly in the dimly lit corridor as he followed her, the flickering torches on the walls casting dancing shadows that created an eerie atmosphere, mirroring his own unease. They traversed the familiar path, passing the large wooden door leading outside to the garden he had visited the other day. Harry couldn't help but glance at it, yearning for the perceived freedom it represented. How he wished he could escape the impending encounter, finding solace beneath the swaying branches of the ancient magical trees.
As he walked, his mind whirled with questions. Would he be expected to actively participate in the meeting? Would Voldemort acknowledge him in front of the Death Eaters? Harry suspected that the Dark Lord would seize the opportunity, not just to gloat about defeating the Boy Who Lived, but also to flaunt his prized possession—a former champion of the light, now entangled in the dark arts under his tutelage. But the mask had thrown him for a loop. On one hand, he was grateful he might not be immediately recognized, but on the other, he feared what Voldemort had up his sleeve.
The weight of Voldemort's scheming bore down on Harry, making his footsteps heavier as he continued to walk. As they neared the meeting chamber, Harry couldn't shake the feeling of being led to the snake's den. What if he was challenged to another duel? He knew his power had grown considerably, but he wasn't sure he could face someone like Bellatrix and win. The more he learned, the more he appreciated how little he actually knew, and how much magic was still out of his reach.
He clenched his fists, summoning as much courage as he could muster. The air grew colder, and a chilling draft swept through the corridor, sending shivers down his spine. As Harry approached the end of the corridor, Tipsy came to a halt before a massive door. With a submissive motion, she indicated for Harry to enter. "I is not allowed in here, Master Harry," she whispered. "You is, and must continue alone."
Steeling himself, Harry pushed open the door, and as it creaked open, he stilled, his emerald eyes widening in astonishment as they swept over the room before him. The chamber was vast, basking in the light from the flickering candles hung magically around the room. Cloaked figures, their faces hidden beneath dark hoods and masks, filled the space. Harry's quick estimation put the number at close to fifty, a formidable assembly of Voldemort's devoted followers. Over half of them had hoods pulled up, fully concealing their features, a precaution Harry wished he had taken, but his cloak did not have a hood. It would have made it harder for them to identify him if they couldn't see his unruly black hair.
His heart raced as he stepped further into the room, the golden mask he wore setting him apart from the rest. The air grew heavy, and a hush fell over the already low murmurs that had filled the chamber. Harry could feel the weight of their collective gaze settling upon him, the intensity of their scrutiny sending a shiver down his spine. Despite the concealment the mask provided, he sensed their eyes dissecting him, assessing the newcomer in their midst. Noting his different mask, that he was adorned in expensive wizarding clothes. Did they know he would be joining this meeting? Did they already know who he was?
The door magically closed behind him. The click of it sealing made him tense further. He was literally in a room surrounded by his enemies. It was more unnerving than training with Voldemort. For a moment, time seemed to stand still, the silence stretching taut. He contemplated grabbing his wand, but thought better of the action; it might encourage others to do the same. As of yet, there were no wands drawn.
The Death Eaters were spread out, some in groups, clearly having been talking before he entered. Others stood apart, whether from preference or exclusion, Harry did not know. He was struck by how very little he knew of Death Eater meetings. He had no idea what to expect. How did they interact with their master? Did all speak? Was there a rank structure? He knew Voldemort had an inner circle, but outside of that, he was very much in the dark.
Hoping to diffuse the stir his presence was causing, Harry glanced around, spotting an alcove that was mostly shadowed. He forced himself to slowly walk towards it, keeping his eyes on the room occupants with his back mostly to the wall. If he could get out of the center of attention, maybe they would forget he was there. He didn't sense or see Voldemort, not that he was in a hurry to go running up to him either.
He felt eyes following him, but some had turned away now that they saw he wasn't about to speak or act. With his head tilted down, his unique mask did not stand out quite as much. A soft murmur began again in the room, some of the Death Eaters returning to their conversations.
He stopped at the alcove, putting his back to a giant pillar that further helped him slip out of notice, slightly more in the shadows. The teen's emerald eyes darted around the room, trying to recognize anyone, but the masks and cloaks made it impossible.
"Potter?" a soft voice asked, coming up beside the pillar. Harry glanced to the right; platinum blond hair and a masked Death Eater just a few inches taller than himself, but equally slim and lithe approached.
"Malfoy?" Harry guessed, keeping his voice similarly quiet; he did not want others to overhear and was grateful Draco appeared to be using discretion, not drawing immediate attention to his identity.
"What are you doing here?" the Slytherin-teen asked, stopping closer than was socially acceptable.
Harry gave a half shrug. "I was told to be here," he said, not desiring to go into any specifics with so many listening ears nearby.
"Your mask?" came the questioning probe.
Again Harry shrugged, "It is what I was given."
Behind Draco's silver and gray skull mask, Harry sensed the assessing gray eyes of the Slytherin, clearly attempting to comprehend why Harry was suddenly attending and why he looked different from the rest.
"And you?" Harry asked, eager to shift the topic away from himself. "I thought you said you didn't attend these?"
Draco responded with a shrug of his own. "I was commanded to be here today; Father specifically said so. There are other classmates here as well, Crabbe and Goyle. Probably Pansy. I think I saw Zabini too."
Harry frowned. "Are they all marked?" He realized he wasn't sure if Draco was.
The blond glanced away, avoiding Harry's gaze. "Yes, all the sixth and seventh years with parents who follow him were marked this summer. Father said in the first war, he had waited until students graduated, but not this time." Gray eyes met his again, and Harry recalled Draco mentioning in the garden how he felt forced into this life, that he had not wanted to be here. Harry had countless questions about the mark—whether it was a traditional one or if they had received unique ones like his own. He wanted to know what control it gave Voldemort over them. But he suspected now wasn't the time to ask, especially considering Draco's agitated demeanor.
Harry scanned the room. He was still the focus of many eyes, but more had turned away. The murmur was growing louder. A few more Death Eaters had arrived, entering through multiple entrances on the other side of the room. Perhaps they came from outside of the manor? Harry again chided himself for his lack of knowledge about the dark organization's size. He was in a war and had zero idea what the size of the opposing side had been.
"How many usually attend these?" Harry inquired.
Draco turned, glancing around the room as well. "It varies. Today everyone has been instructed to attend, which can only mean the Dark Lord has something significant he wants to reveal." The blond teen gave Harry a considering look. Harry fervently hoped it had nothing to do with him. "And our numbers continue to grow by the day. Since this summer, the meetings have nearly doubled in size."
Harry wondered what caused the shift. Was Voldemort viewed by more and more as the stronger side? Was Dumbledore losing the light's faith? And how much of it had been influenced by Harry's own capture and submission? He hoped not much but suspected it had. Too many had misplaced faith that he could save them all. Being captured for over two months had probably instilled fear that the ministry and Dumbledore could not protect them if they could not even protect the boy-who-lived.
A disturbance caught both of their eyes. Death Eaters were swiftly parting, making space for an unseen presence. Shouts of surprise and squeaks filled the air. Craning his neck, Harry resisted for a second time drawing his wand. The disturbance seemed like it was heading his way. A hiss came before a large giant servant was revealed on the cobbled floor, slithering directly towards him. Draco jerked in fright, taking a half-step behind Harry. "Merlin's tits," the blond exclaimed, his voice an octave too high.
Bright, poisonous green eyes lifted to eye level before the raven-haired teen. Her remarkable size was all the more impressive as she stretched across the floor. Death Eaters had hurriedly moved out of her way and were now staring fearfully at both him and the giant snake.
"There you are. I was instructed to bring the hatchling to the Master when you arrived," she hissed, her tongue darting out, tasting the air before them.
Draco squeaked again, taking a further step back. Great, Harry thought. If there had been any doubt about who he was, that would quickly be solved. There were only two living Parseltongues, and he was clearly not Voldemort.
"Come, I will take you to him," she turned, shifting to the right in a new direction. Death Eaters quickly parted again, creating a path for the massive snake as she moved over the polished granite floor, her scales glinting in the candlelight. Harry couldn't help but marvel at her sheer size and power. The terror she instilled in the room was impressive. She even snapped at one or two unsuspecting Death Eaters who were not quick enough to move out of her way. Harry would have found it funny in any other situation.
"I better follow her," Harry told Draco as a way of excusing himself. He did not want her to turn back and try and force him. His peer, who was clearly horrified that the snake had come so close to them, nodded silently. Once again, all eyes were on him. He hadn't spoken to her, but Harry suspected his cover was more blown than it had been.
The wary teen silently followed Nagini, his steps echoing softly on the cold stone floor. As he approached the far end of the chamber, his eyes were drawn to the imposing sight of a massive throne, crafted from blackened wood and adorned with ornate carvings of serpents and skulls. It was perched atop a dais made of polished granite, the surface gleaming dully under the dim light. The throne itself seemed to pulse with malevolent energy, its dark aura seeping into the air around it. Harry couldn't help but feel a shiver crawl down his spine as he studied the intricate details of the carved serpents, their eyes glinting with a wicked gleam. The dais, too, held an air of foreboding, its smooth surface marred only by the occasional flicker of candlelight.
Amidst the eerie silence, Harry whispered to Nagini, his voice barely audible amongst the quiet rustle of robes, "Where is he?" His eyes darted around, searching for any sign of Voldemort, his heart pounding in his chest. The anticipation hung in the air like a thick fog, suffocating and heavy. Others in the room clearly sensed their Dark Lord was near if his familiar was present.
"This way," she hissed back, leading him past the empty throne and through a dark stone passage he had not originally seen. It was a testament to how dreadful everything had become that Harry felt more at ease going to a room where he knew Voldemort would be waiting than being left in the chamber with all his crazy followers.
The torches hissed and flickered, casting eerie shadows that danced along the passage as the two of them passed. Nagini halted before a large wooden door. Harry knocked once and entered, following the customary protocol he'd been taught each time he joined his master. The apprentice-master decorum had gradually become routine for Harry, who was relieved he was required to do little more than show basic respect. If he had been expected to bow and beg like the other followers, he was certain that would have resulted in a lot more torture.
He stepped into the room, pondering just how vast this manor was. He'd entered a blend of a receiving room and a library; towering shelves lined the walls, filled with books and tomes. There was a desk in front of a large ceiling-length window. The rustic brown curtains were pulled back, revealing the last traces of fall scenery. To one side was a small receiving area with two thick plush armchairs, a sturdy wooden table, and a couch. Voldemort stood before the window, his back to the teen, gazing outside pensively.
"You and the Malfoy heir seem to be on more amenable terms," Voldemort observed, not turning.
Harry stepped further into the room, the door closing behind. Nagini slithered over to her master, her massive form coiling at his feet at the base of his elegant, long robe. The Dark Lord was wearing Slytherin jade and black today, his presence exuding an aura of sinister elegance that matched the grandeur of his surroundings.
Taking a moment to collect his thoughts, Harry chose his words carefully. "It's more of a necessity, I suppose," he replied, his voice laced with caution. He didn't want Voldemort to target the Slytherin just because he was being somewhat kind to Harry. There was a constant worry that Voldemort might grow possessive and territorial if he saw Harry on good terms with anyone else. The Dark Lord clearly enjoyed the fact that Harry was dependent on him for everything. "It makes sense for us to at least tolerate each other for now."
Voldemort turned to face him, his scarlet eyes glittering with curiosity. "Indeed, a complicated situation," he mused, his lips curling into a faint smile. "You see, Harry, I've always believed in the power of alliances, even those formed out of necessity. They can be quite... enlightening."
A chill ran down Harry's spine as he tried to decipher Voldemort's underlying message. He had learned the hard way that everything his master said had layers of meaning, and he couldn't afford to underestimate any of them.
"Of course," Harry responded carefully.
Voldemort's smile widened, and he turned back to the window, his attention seemingly drifting to the outside world. "It's good to see you further adapting to your new reality, even in something as small as this, Harry. I have no qualms with you solidifying power within my ranks. You are my apprentice; I expect you to interact with my Death Eaters and earn their respect."
Harry nodded a mixture of relief and resignation swirling inside him. The last thing he wanted was for Voldemort to use any weakness or attachment against him, but it was a relief to know that, at least for now, Voldemort would not punish him or Draco for their interactions.
"There are a lot of your followers in the meeting chamber," Harry observed, wanting to shift the topic away from Draco. It wouldn't do for Voldemort to dwell on Harry's only source of the outside world. It was enough that the Dark Lord was aware that they were talking and did not seem to want to forbid any alliances or, dare Harry think it, friendships forming.
"There are," Voldemort agreed, aggravating Harry by not expanding.
"Why have so many assembled?" Harry pressed. The last large gathering of Death Eaters Harry had entered into had been when Voldemort was attacking the Burrow. He hoped an attack was not imminent.
"Because they should all know that I have an apprentice, that you have a special position in their ranks," Voldemort said, his tone laden with implications. Harry shifted uncomfortably, glancing from the tall Slytherin to the window beyond. He reached up, pulling free his mask, which he'd almost forgotten adorned his face. His fingers absentmindedly traced its intricate design as he pondered the hidden meanings in Voldemort's words.
"Why the mask, if you intend to introduce me?" Harry questioned; his voice steady despite the turbulence of his thoughts.
"Because you will wear it when outside of the manor," Voldemort replied calmly, his crimson eyes piercing into Harry's. "They should grow accustomed to obeying you both when you have it donned and when not."
Harry stilled, his heart racing with a mixture of hope and fear. It was the first time Voldemort had alluded to letting him leave the manor. Did this mean he would not be just a prisoner anymore? If he was to command Death Eaters, then he clearly would not be the one being controlled.
"You will let me command them?" he asked cautiously, his hands unconsciously clenching and unclenching. He wasn't sure how he felt about the prospect. The idea of having power over Voldemort's followers was both exhilarating and terrifying.
Voldemort nodded, his sharp features uncharacteristically serene. "Eventually, if you continue to please me and prove trustworthy."
Trustworthy. The word hung in the air, heavy with significance. It was such a simple yet complex concept. Harry doubted the Dark Lord was capable of true trust, and he wondered if he could ever trust Voldemort in return. The thought sent a shiver down his spine.
Not having a response, Harry nodded. He hadn't been expecting that. Within the span of a few days, he had gone from daily, mundane training to learning the Unforgivable Curses, him suggesting he might give Voldemort real submission, and agreeing to participate in a Death Eater meeting. Worst was his first meeting was about to begin shortly. It all felt like it was spiraling out of control. Was Voldemort doing this on purpose? The thought gnawed at him, adding to the unease settling in the pit of his stomach.
"Are you prepared for the meeting?" Voldemort asked, his attention fully concentrated on the teen.
Harry shrugged, his uncertainty palpable. "I don't really understand what is expected of me. What you want me to do," he admitted, his voice tinged with a mix of confusion and apprehension.
"For now, you will enter with me and stand beside my throne, to the right and one step behind," Voldemort instructed, his voice a low, commanding murmur. "It is a place of honor, reserved for a second in command and fitting for my apprentice. Wear the mask; I will tell you when to remove it. I do not expect you to participate in the large group. I will address my followers and then dismiss all but my inner circle. We will retire to a less formal meeting room. You are expected to actively observe, but if you have something to say, I will allow you to speak when in that setting."
Voldemort tilted his head; his next words carried a warning, emphasizing the delicate balance of power that still existed. "But I will caution you, Harry, do not anger me in front of my followers. I am granting you a glimpse of the freedom and power I want you to have. But if you act out against me, I will see it as betrayal, actions unbefitting an apprentice before his master. I will respond in kind. I have no qualms about punishing anyone who steps out of line, especially my apprentice. And your punishment will not just reach you, do not forget that there are many you care about who are easily within my reach. Do you understand?" Voldemort's eyes bore into Harry's, demanding compliance and understanding, leaving no room for doubt or hesitation.
Harry nodded; he doubted he would want to speak at all. It was already too much that he would have to attend. He was just grateful he wasn't being asked to do anything, whether it be a duel or professing his supposed loyalty or some other such horrific gesture. It was all the worse that his former classmates would be present, watching his every move. Were they all truly loyal to Voldemort, or would they carry their own rumors back to the light saying that he was more firmly on the dark side than any had suspected?
"With your words, if you would," Voldemort demanded, stepping forward. He raised his hand, fingers ghosting under Harry's chin, forcing him up straighter.
"I understand." Green eyes balefully narrowed at the encroachment into his space, at the familiarity in which Voldemort maneuvered the teen to do his will so deftly.
"Good." The Slytherin stepped back, moving towards the door. Nagini slithered after him. "Then I think we have kept them waiting long enough. I'm certain they are eager to meet you. There have been plenty of rumors circulating over what I've done with my prize; it is time we put those to rest."
AN: Next chapter is the meeting 😊 Any requests for Death Eaters Harry should run into? I wonder if he'll be able to keep his temper!