Arriving at the door, Harry paused, his breath hitching briefly in his throat as he collected himself. Once again, he was willingly entering another snake's den, this one filled with Voldemort's most loyal and ruthless followers. And he could scarcely believe it; he was actually going to make them believe he'd genuinely joined the dark. When had the world become so messed up?
Opening the door, he glanced around the vast receiving room. Despite its opulence, a pervasive undercurrent of malevolence tainted the air. Blood-red curtains swayed gently by the tall, arched windows, casting eerie, dancing shadows upon the polished marble floor. The room was adorned with dark tapestries, each depicting scenes of conquest and cruelty, magical creatures, and wizard-kind alike, mirroring the twisted ideals of those gathered within. Candles flickered on ornate silver holders, casting a sinister glow upon the faces of the Death Eaters, accentuating their aristocratic features.
In the corners of the room, he could see a smattering of conversations taking shape among the Death Eaters. Bellatrix Lestrange stood near the grand fireplace, her eyes ablaze with madness, whispering fervently to Yaxley and Dolohov. Her appearance was as striking as it was unnerving — her once beautiful face still gaunt, marred by an almost manic gleam in her eyes. Tangled strands of hair cascaded around her shoulders like a curtain of shadows, adding to her aura of madness. Her robes, while elegant, were equally tattered and stained; the fabric was dark, but Harry suspected it was blood that shifted the color in splotches.
In a corner, Wormtail cowered alone, his eyes darting nervously around the room, looking as though he'd rather be anywhere else. His fear was palpable, and Harry expected nothing less from the pathetic wizard. Seeing him made the teen's blood boil. He wanted desperately to draw his wand and make the rat pay for all the pain he'd caused. He knew he couldn't succumb to using dark magic on another unless in self-defense, but seeing Wormtail standing there, free and alive when his parents were not, made Harry sorely tempted to violate his promise to himself just this once.
Forcing his eyes to move past him, Harry paused, straightening in surprise. Standing near the rat, but clearly with no association, was none other than Barty Crouch Jr. Harry had not seen the Death Eater who impersonated his DADA professor since the fateful night resulting in Voldemort's return. He had been told the Crouch scion had received the kiss. It appeared that, once again, the Order and light had failed.
Harry studied the man in contemplation. He appeared healthier than the teen's previous recollection. A conflicted feeling settled within Harry as he swallowed, unsure of his emotions. Crouch, masquerading as Moody, had been one of the best Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers Harry had ever encountered. The man had also transfigured Malfoy into a ferret. While trust was a luxury Harry couldn't afford with someone so devoted to Voldemort, there lingered the possibility of forming alliances. Crouch was the closest in age among the inner circle, and he had always acknowledged Harry's power in class. Harry had always thought that part had been genuine when the wizard praised his quick study and powerful spell casting. Maybe if Crouch believed Harry had truly embraced the darkness and become an asset to the Dark Lord, there could be a chance to establish an understanding—he could become someone Harry didn't have to fear like the others. He would have to think about it.
Amidst the crowd, there were several unfamiliar faces— some engaged in intense discussions, their voices barely audible in the large room, while others observed the proceedings with a predatory glint in their eyes. Among them, Harry thought he recognized two figures Moody had once pointed out as the Carrow twins from a wanted picture he, Ron, and Hermione had seen.
Alecto and Amycus Carrow, siblings, and devout Death Eaters. Alecto, with her sharp, angular face permanently etched with a sneer, had cold and calculating eyes that glowed with malevolence. Her dark hair was pulled back tightly at the nape of her neck into a long braid. Her robes hung loosely, giving her an almost skeletal appearance. Amycus, on the other hand, was burly and brutish, his face marred by a perpetual scowl. His small, beady eyes were narrowed in suspicion. His greasy hair fell to his shoulders, framing his menacing visage. He moved with a deliberate, predatory grace, resembling a wolf sizing up its prey. The unstable one-eyed and one-legged Aurora had shared stories about them — fearsome and bloodthirsty. Harry had listened with a mixture of fascination and disgust, hoping he would never cross paths with either of them.
Last, not far from the entrance and where the young Gryffindor stood, was a grouping of three Death Eaters he easily recognized. Narcissa Malfoy, Nott Sr., and Severus Snape stood together, their conversation breaking off as they noticed his arrival. Emerald's eyes glanced at them cautiously. Despite her pale countenance, Narcissa Malfoy exuded an air of quiet strength. Her platinum blonde hair was pulled back in a severe bun, accentuating high cheekbones and regal posture. She was striking, despite how terrible Harry suspected her to be. Harry could see several features of Draco in her. Nott was mostly unremarkable. Dressed in impeccable high wizard fashion, his hair was trimmed into a stylist goatee, and his hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail at the nape of his neck. Pale eyes under dark brows stare at him unabashedly.
The man who truly caught his eyes was his old potions professor. Snape stood quietly to her right, observing his entrance with calculation; his black eyes met Harry's with a small measure of curiosity, the rest of his feelings a complete mask. Harry once again wondered which side he was truly on. He would have to be cautious around the spy. If he was on Voldemort's side, he could ruin the small trust he'd built with the Dark Lord, losing the teen any freedom he'd earned if Snape went running back to Voldemort with tales of treachery that Harry wasn't converted and was, in fact, still scheming to undermine the Dark.
If he was on the light, then all of this would be reported back to the Order. He could make life even harder for Harry to return to the light if he ever managed to escape. Harry wasn't sure what to do about him. Regardless, he knew he could not confide in the man. He didn't trust Dumbledore to save him, and if he were on Voldemort's side, then everything he said would be under the same scrutiny that it was with the Dark Lord. And Harry very much doubted Snape would have his interest at heart. The man loathed Harry; regardless of side, Harry was certain that truth remained. He would just have to be careful; nothing had changed.
"Ah, my apprentice has decided to grace us with his presence," Voldemort's voice, smooth as velvet, cut through the air. Harry's gaze shifted toward the corner of the room where the Dark Lord stood, breaking away from his conversation with Lucius Malfoy. Lucius stood next to the Slytherin heir with calculated confidence, his long, blond hair cascading down his back. His robes, adorned with silver embroidery, glimmered in the dim light, complimenting his pale eyes. He regarded Harry with a considering look. Harry recalled the low-voiced warning Lucius had given him at their last meeting, cautioning him just before Bellatrix challenged him to a deadly duel. Harry wondered how much Lucius was aware of Harry's and Draco's growing truce. Did the Malfoy patriarch approve, seeking to gain favor for his son by fostering a relationship with Voldemort's apprentice? Was he even aware that his son did not desire this life?
"Harry, come here. Join me," Voldemort beckoned, breaking Harry's musing. His command sliced through the tension in the room. Harry straightened his back, aware of the collective gaze fixed upon him. He realized he was the only one wearing a mask. The inner circle, it seemed, was exempt from such concealment.
The atmosphere crackled with tension as Harry navigated towards his master. He steeled himself, walking further into the room, pushing aside his fear with determination. With each step, he forced his pulse to calm, focusing on his purpose. He had to play the role of an apprentice; he could not allow his mask to be broken and lose this opportunity to influence the war.
"You're among friends. You may remove your mask," Voldemort's voice dripped with amusement, relishing Harry's discomfort. The meeting promised to be another test, a challenge of Harry's resolve. Voldemort had introduced him as loyal and willing, deliberately giving Harry a chance to shape the course of the war. Yet, Harry understood this night would be a trial of his Slytherin cunning, a measure of his ability to maintain composure and seize the opportunity to secure a seat and a voice at the Dark Lord's side.
While he didn't intend to blindly agree with every word, he recognized the need to present himself as an unwavering apprentice devoted to his master's cause. Any misstep could jeopardize the opportunity he had fought for during his months of captivity. Obedience and respect were a minimum; he might even need to be helpful if this was to work. Rebelling might save his pride, but it would leave him still a captive. The only way to gain more freedom was to concede this.
The young Gryffindor raised his hand and removed his mask. His emerald eyes met Voldemort's crimson gaze. As he approached his master, he nodded respectfully, as expected of an apprentice entering his master's vicinity. Turning, he gave Mr. Malfoy a nod as well, acknowledging the pure-blood customs. It wasn't a deep nod, and he knew his eyes must reflect the opposite of meekness and timidity, but willingly doing so to both wizards would undoubtedly be noted by those present.
"Potter," Malfoy acknowledged, nodding his head in turn. A sarcastic remark seemed poised on his tongue, but he refrained. Instead, he turned to Voldemort, seemingly unwilling to mock his apprentice so soon after the pronouncement in the main hall. And this was exactly what Voldemort had forewarned, Harry realized. His followers were too afraid of the Dark Lord; they would not be bold enough to immediately stand against Harry after he was hailed as all but next in command. They would watch and wait, and if Harry proved as formidable in his growing powers as Voldemort had claimed, perhaps they would not openly resist as long as he continued to earn Voldemort's supposed favor.
"I think you are already acquainted with most of my inner circle. If not, you would do well to familiarize yourself with everyone in this room. You will be working closely with them in the time to come," Voldemort declared, pausing to take in everyone, holding the entire room's attention. "My faithful, my words from earlier stand. My apprentice has my favor and should have your respect. Expect to see him in the future. He will take an active role in our planning and the winning of this war. Isn't that right, Harry?"
Forcing himself not to shift as he became the center of attention, Harry glanced at Voldemort, intensifying his hatred for him and this twisted game. He nodded, acknowledging his lack of choices. "I look forward to the discussion and contributing to your plans," he said, forcing himself to appear calm and exude confidence. "It is a privilege to know my words and ideas will be valued by you."
Voldemort's lips twitched in amusement, a subtle sign of satisfaction at Harry's compliance. The Dark Lord's crimson gaze bore into Harry's emerald eyes, dissecting every nuance of his expression.
"As it should be," Voldemort murmured, his voice cutting through the tension in the room. "Now, let us proceed with the matters at hand. Let us sit." He motioned to the table, the ornate piece in the center of their gathering surrounded by high-backed cushioned chairs that mirrored the ambiance of the room.
The Death Eaters, accustomed to following their master's lead, took their seats with an air of anticipation. Harry, too, joined them, selecting a chair to Voldemort's left, similar to where he sat at every meal. As he settled, he observed the varying expressions around the table — Bellatrix, her eyes burning with fanaticism; Malfoy, his features a mask of aristocratic indifference; and Snape, his inscrutable countenance betraying nothing.
Unlike their dinners that were often filled with silence, Voldemort wasted no time. "Lucius, when will Dumbledore be dismissed as Chief Warlock?"
Harry's eyes widened in surprise. The Malfoy heir leaned forward in his seat, radiating satisfaction and pride. "The vote is set for next Thursday, my Lord. We have the numbers; he will be dismissed with a vote of no confidence. Lysander Ambrose is primed to succeed him. While he hasn't openly supported your cause, I am confident he will uphold his end of the bargain. He won't risk his granddaughter. The Wizengamot will soon be firmly under our control."
Harry shifted uncomfortably, his gaze darting between Malfoy and Voldemort. If this was true, the the Wizengamot's impending decision bewildered him. Without Dumbledore in a position of authority, how did they expect to oppose Voldemort? Was the ministry already so fallen that the numbers were now against the light? Even if Dumbledore was proving incompetent, he was still the best chance the light had to fight and resist Voldemort's rise.
"And the well-being of his granddaughter?" Voldemort inquired, a note of satisfaction underlying his words. Harry dreaded what had happened to this girl to make this old pure-blooded wizard succumb to Lucius and the dark so thoroughly.
Malfoy nodded confidently. "Her health remains intact. We've secured her at one of our summer estates. She lacks for nothing. Ambrose is allowed to visit her once a week to ensure his compliance."
"Well done, Lucius," Voldemort complimented, his pleasure evident. The blond was practically vibrating with delight from the praise. It made Harry sick.
Voldemort turned, a predator looking towards his next prey. "And Alaric, have you secured the cooperation of those within the departments we selected?"
Nott Sr. nodded, his confidence not quite matching Malfoy's. "Yes, my Lord. It is progressing as planned. Your supporters are increasingly placed. We have faithful in key positions within the Department of Accidents and Catastrophes, Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, International Magical Cooperation, and Magical Transportation. I will soon have the rest."
Voldemort frowned, tilting his head slightly. Sharp features focused on the paling wizard. "What you have neglected to include speaks volumes. You have not succeeded in infiltrating Magical Law Enforcement, the Department of Mysteries, and what of Magical Transportation? Your progress is not as impressive as I anticipated."
"I apologize, my Lord. I am working on it. Vulnerabilities have been identified in each department, and I am confident of securing support to hire ours in their wake. And the others are performing admirably. They are sowing dissent against Bones and fully backing your inspired ministry-wide changes. I will succeed; you will have an internal coup, and they will be none the wiser that you orchestrated it. It simply requires time to ensure they are trusted and won't arouse suspicion."
Voldemort's crimson gaze lingered on Nott Sr., a subtle threat underscoring his disappointment. "Time is of the essence, Alaric. Ensure your efforts are expedited. We cannot afford any setbacks."
Nott Sr. inclined his head in acknowledgment, a bead of sweat forming on his forehead. "Yes, my Lord. I understand the urgency."
A voice cut through the air, drawing all eyes. "My Lord," came a smooth and measured tone. Barty Crouch Jr., who had been silent until now, leaned forward with a look of deference that barely masked a simmering intelligence in his eyes.
Voldemort observed him with a curious tilt of his head. "Speak, Barty. You have something to add?"
Crouch inclined his head, a slight twitch of his lips gracing his features. "Indeed, my Lord. I propose a parallel approach to access the Department of Mysteries. We should exploit the vulnerabilities of the members already there. Many within the department are driven by intellectual curiosity and ambition. Ravenclaws through and through" his eyes flashed in self-depreciation at the intellectual drive of his own house. "If we can manipulate their desires for knowledge, steering them toward our cause, it could yield more subtle, long-term results."
The tables stared at him, the Death Eaters a mix of intrigued and skeptical. Voldemort, however, seemed to be considering Crouch's suggestion.
"Continue," he allowed.
Crouch pressed forward with confidence, "If we were to discreetly feed certain members tantalizing hints of ancient and forbidden magical knowledge, perhaps under the guise of exclusive invitations to gatherings or publications, we could create a network of informants within the Department. They would be unknowing conduits for our influence, gradually eroding the Department's steadfast secrecy. Their insatiable hunger for knowledge will be fed; we can gain their trust and obedience with the release of a few select guarded secrets of the dark."
Voldemort's eyes gleamed with a flicker of approval. "Infiltrate their minds before we infiltrate their walls. A subtle approach. I find merit in your suggestion, Barty."
It was a good idea. Harry couldn't help but be impressed by the cunning of the man who had once masqueraded as Professor Moody. Crouch's idea added a layer of sophistication to Voldemort's plans, exploiting the intellectual weaknesses of those tasked with guarding the deepest mysteries of magic. He suspected that would be the way to reach Hermione, through the bait of knowledge, if she were to ever be enticed to the dark.
"Do so, I expect a report of your progress at our next meeting." Voldemort's attention shifted back to Lucius. "And the Daily Prophet? How goes the propagation of our narrative?"
Lucius nodded, his eagerness still palpable. "The transformation is underway, my Lord. We have successfully integrated our sympathizers within the editorial board. And I own a controlling share, but the papers do not reflect it since part is owned by the Blacks and Narcissa by default. The paper has become a bastion of our influence, shaping public opinion in our favor. It is almost too easy to discredit those who stand against you. The public is eager to direct their ire and hatred, and we have given them a target."
Voldemort leaned back in his chair, satisfaction crossing his aristocratic features. "Excellent. I'm pleased. After Dumbledore loses Chief Warlock, I want full attention on Madame Bones. We will force another vote of no confidence and place one of our own in her stead. Then I will make my move and take the ministry. They won't be able to resist." A sense of eagerness and anticipation swept across the table. Harry could hardly believe that it seemed like all of Voldemort's efforts were coming together. He truly was winning.
He turned towards Snape, who had been silently observing the proceedings. Harry had sensed the piercing gaze of the potion master on him multiple times before this moment but had ignored him. "Severus, enlighten me about the Order. What insights have you gained?"
The potion master subtly adjusted his position, sitting with a newfound poise as he responded, "Regrettably, my Lord, there is nothing significant to report. They persist in their disorganized efforts. Dumbledore is encountering challenges in recruiting new members. With the knowledge of Potter's capture, the light is losing faith in him." Pausing for effect, he cast a brief glance in Harry's direction. "I suspect that if word of his professed allegiance to you were to reach them, it would instigate an even greater state of panic. Their cohesion has relied on the hope of rescuing him, a belief that has fortified their unity. They think he is still a prisoner, even if the rumors of him taking your mark are true. They argue it was out of duress, that he was forced. And Dumbledore's authority is under constant scrutiny, with dissenting voices growing more pronounced as he continues to fail any rescue attempts. They are crumbling while you are at your strongest."
The Slytherin heir shifted, glancing at Harry. This was the first time Voldemort had intentionally addressed Harry since the meeting began. "And what do you think of this, my dear apprentice? Do you think the order is fractured? That they are no longer a threat?"
Harry was unsure how to respond. He hadn't seen or heard from them in months, he honestly had no idea what they were feeling. Likely hatred towards him if the truth came out. Which was exactly what Voldemort wanted to hear, he realized.
"News of my betrayal would wreck them," he was pleased his voice came out sounding normal. That it didn't betray the despair curing through him as he heard all of Voldemort's plans coming to fruition.
Voldemort's lips curled into a satisfied smile, "yes, I suspect that it would." The Dark Lord leaned forward, steepling his fingers in front of him as he addressed Snape, "Continue to monitor their movements, Severus. The Order is a thorn in my side, and I want every advantage we can gain. Use Potter to break them. His continued presence at my side will unsettle them further. They will lose all faith in their leader when they learn he has turned."
Snape nodded in acknowledgment, his eyes darting briefly toward Harry before returning to Voldemort. The young wizard resisted the urge to squirm under Snape's scrutiny, maintaining a neutral expression that masked the turmoil within him.
Voldemort leaned back, exuding calm and control. "Our next move will be to consolidate our power within the Ministry. Lucius, continue with the plan to undermine Bones. Use the Daily Prophet to intensify public resentment against her and Dumbledore. Our victory in the Wizengamot will pave the way for her removal."
Lucius nodded, a predatory glint in his eyes. "Consider it done, my Lord."
Voldemort turned his attention back to the room, addressing all the inner circle present, "Tonight, we have achieved significant progress. Our influence is spreading like wildfire, and soon we will have complete control over the wizarding world. But our work is far from over. Each one of you plays a crucial role in this grand design. Stay vigilant, and we shall emerge victorious. Until next time my faithful."
As Voldemort concluded, the Death Eaters erupted in a chorus of fervent agreement. Harry felt a chill run down his spine as he witnessed the unwavering loyalty these witches and wizards displayed toward the Dark Lord. The reality of the situation weighed heavily on him; Voldemort was winning. These were not cowering witches and wizards fearful of their lives. They were smart and powerful, working with everything they had to achieve the Dark Lord's goals.
Voldemort rose from his seat, signaling the end of the meeting. Briefly locking eyes with Harry, he nodded in dismissal before turning and departing the room ahead of the rest. The Death Eaters began to disperse, engaging in eager but hushed conversations. Harry remained seated for a moment, contemplating the gravity of the situation. The Dark Lord's organization was more formidable than he had initially thought. Their plans were not mere wishful ideas; they were set in motion with calculated precision.
If Dumbledore were to lose his seat as Chief Warlock and if Bones were voted out, it would be a significant blow to the forces of light. And Voldemort was orchestrating these moves without resorting to overt violence—at least not explicitly mentioned in the meeting. The absence of talk about torture and killing was unsettling, leaving Harry to wonder if such acts were happening quietly behind the scenes. Regardless, the methodical approach of the Dark forces was proving to be a formidable adversary. It would make it harder for the light to rally support if the Dark was not committing overt acts of terrorism.
He sensed more than saw someone approaching. Glancing up, he was greeted by Snape, who advanced with a measured pace, his black eyes penetrating. "Potter, a word," he instructed, his voice low and commanding. It wasn't a request.
Resigned, Harry pushed his seat back and stood, following the potions professor to an unpopulated corner of the room near the fire. Snape flicked his wand, a muffling charm surrounding them.
Both men stood there silently assessing each other. If Harry had expected a scolding, he was beyond surprised with the tactic Snape took. "How are you?" he asked quietly, seemingly genuinely.
"I'm alright," Harry responded automatically. It had been months since anyone had asked about his well-being, and the question felt almost unfathomable. Snape rolled his eyes, shaking his head slightly.
"Of course, you're not," he argued. "You've been held prisoner here for months. Are you harmed?"
Harry thought back to just a few hours ago when he'd been dropped to his knees in agony for acting out. Truthfully, his punishments had decreased significantly over the past few weeks.
The teen shrugged, feeling deeply uncomfortable. This was the last conversation he wanted to have with Snape. The man had always mocked him, loathed him. Vulnerability was not a luxury he could afford. And he did not trust Snape.
"I'm surviving." Harry's response held a hint of defiance, a proclamation of resilience amidst the suffocating darkness that surrounded him. His words carried the weight of months spent navigating the treacherous waters of his captivity. And in a strange twist of fate, he found himself not just surviving but potentially playing a pivotal role in shaping the very war that consumed him and his world since the day he arrived.
"Looks more like surrendering," Snape observed, his tone cutting through the air like icy daggers. There was a coldness in his words, a calculated cruelty that sought to pierce through Harry's bravado. "I'm sure your hero-worshipping followers will be thrilled to see you bowing and obeying the man who killed your parents."
Harry's fists clenched involuntarily, a surge of anger coursing through him. "How dare you," he seethed, the words laced with bitterness. "Dumbledore left me. Everyone abandoned me. I had no choice."
He turned away, realizing that Snape had succeeded in unraveling his composure. This was precisely what Snape wanted—to force open the layers of Harry's defenses. Snapping his mouth shut, the young Gryffindor released his clenched hands, taking a deliberate, calming breath. He could almost feel the weight of Snape's curious gaze upon him, probing, dissecting.
"What is it you want?" Harry asked instead, choosing to deflect from the previous comment. His voice, now composed, held a steely edge. "To gloat? To spy? I don't know which side you're on. I don't trust you. So, whatever it is you want, go ahead and say it, then leave."
The tension in the air was palpable as the two locked eyes. Snape's gaze remained unwavering.
"I don't seek to do either, Potter," Snape finally spoke, his voice carrying an unusual absence of venom, yet still holding an edge of authority. "You hardly hold such prominence in my mind. Arrogant as always. However, it's a shame to watch you squander away in misguided defiance."
Harry shot him a skeptical look; wariness etched his features. "Misguided defiance?" he asked, releasing a hollow laugh. "Against whom, the light side? I'm not some chess piece to be moved around on your board. And this isn't some act of teenage defiance. You, of all people, should know better than that. Should know what he's capable of."
Harry had hoped for something telling, a response that would give him some idea of where his former professor stood. He received nothing. Instead, Snape's response was measured, his words carrying a sense of curiosity. "And what exactly is he capable of? What did he do to you, Potter? While not the brightest, I never took you as someone to take bribes and power to turn your back on everyone else."
The Gryffindor's eyes narrowed, a flash of irritation cutting through his skepticism. He had been manipulated by Voldemort for months, honing a keen ability to see through veiled tactics. Snape's attempts to goad him into revealing more were transparent, and he wasn't about to dance for the potion master.
"Why do you ask? Playing the double agent as always?" Harry's voice held a hint of defiance. He had grown accustomed to the careful dance of words and intentions in this dark and twisted place. If Snape sought answers, he would not readily provide them, definitely not without something in return.
Snape's lips curled into a thin smile, a sardonic glint in his eyes. "One might say my penchant for double agency has kept me alive. For now, Potter, consider this a rare moment of actual concern. You could even call it a moment of self-interest, perhaps." The masked admission hung in the air, leaving the Gryffindor to unravel the cryptic layers of Snape's motives.
"How is this self-interest?" Harry asked, his confusion evident.
"Because it is believed, however misguided it is, that the side that has you will win. So let me ask in a way that your feeble brain can comprehend, which side are you actually on?" Snape inquired, a mix of mocking and sincerity.
Harry regarded Snape, frowning, ignoring Snape's question. "Believed by who? And why would it matter to you? Surely you have picked a side, even if no one knows it."
Snape rolled his eyes. Harry suspected it annoyed the man to admit that anyone cared which side he was on. That he actually could influence this war. "Believed by many within the ranks of both light and dark. As for why it matters to me, you may find, Potter, that survival often involves aligning oneself with the side that has the upper hand."
The cryptic nature of Snape's response only fueled Harry's frustration. "Survival?" He scoffed. Of course, the man only cared for himself. "Does that mean you've chosen to align yourself with Voldemort because you think he's winning?"
Snape's smirk was subtle but present. "Winning is a matter of perspective. I choose to align myself with the side that affords me the best chance to survive, regardless of who claims victory in the end."
Harry's eyes narrowed, a mix of irritation and disbelief coloring his expression. "So, you're a survivor. A traitor on whichever side suits you best."
Snape's response was unapologetic. "Call it what you will, Potter. Labels hold little weight in a world where power is the ultimate currency."
Harry released a hollow laugh. His words reflected Voldemort's, leaving him deeply uncomfortable. "Even in this, I don't know what to believe. I can't trust you. I have no reason or desire to. You could be saying this to benefit both sides. Maybe you're a free agent. But I somehow doubt that. One side has your loyalty. Maybe it is you who needs to be careful. You are so successful in your manipulation that no one knows what the truth is. Maybe you're the one being used by two powerful wizards — you're the puppet."
Snape gazed at him with new consideration. "Is that how you feel, Potter? Like a puppet between the two of them?"
Sighing, Harry shrugged, beyond tired of the day and this conversation. He certainly owed Snape nothing. "I'm done with this conversation. I hope you got what you needed because I don't intend to repeat this. I don't trust you, Snape. Whatever side you're on, stay away from me."
Harry turned, walking away from the potion's master, escaping the room before any of Voldemort's other insane followers could corner him. He'd had more than his fair share of the dark for the night.
~s~s~s~ss~s~s~s~ss~s~s~ss~s~s~s~s~ss~s~s~s~ss~s~s~s~s~s~s
Lucius Malfoy observed from across the room as Severus Snape concluded his conversation with Harry Potter. A subtle gleam of curiosity danced in the aristocrat's piercing eyes as he discreetly monitored the interaction between his fellow Death Eaters. The dimly lit room bore witness to the concealed exchange. As raven-haired teen hurriedly distanced himself from Snape, Lucius, driven by of intrigue, decided to approach his longtime associate.
With deliberate strides, Lucius navigated through the lingering Death Eaters, still immersed in quiet conversations about the night's proceedings. Adjusting the cuffs of his robes, the silver embroidery caught the ambient light, adding a touch of elegance to the dimly lit surroundings.
"Severus," Lucius greeted, his voice low and smooth. Snape turned to face him, his black eyes meeting Lucius's gaze with a subtle hint of scrutiny. The tension between them was palpable, a history of intricate alliances and personal ambitions lingering beneath the surface.
"I couldn't help but notice you were engaged in a rather... candid conversation with young Potter. Anything of interest?" Lucius inquired, choosing his words carefully, maintaining an air of casual inquiry.
Snape arched an eyebrow, a gesture hinting at his skepticism. "Why the sudden interest in my conversations, Lucius? Surely you have your own matters to attend to."
A smirk played on Lucius's lips as he leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone. "Oh, but Severus, when it comes to matters concerning our esteemed Dark Lord's chosen apprentice, I believe we share a mutual curiosity."
Snape's expression remained guarded, his black eyes narrowing slightly. "Curiosity killed the cat, Lucius. Be cautious where yours leads."
Lucius chuckled, a sound echoing with a touch of arrogance. "Rest assured, Severus, my curiosity is always cautious. But this is a unique situation, isn't it? The Boy Who Lived, now willingly at the side of the Dark Lord. It's not every day we witness such a turn of events."
Snape's gaze remained unwavering, revealing nothing of his thoughts. "It serves our purpose," he said cryptically.
Lucius tilted his head, studying Snape with a calculating gaze. "Does it, Severus? Or does it serve a different purpose entirely? I can't help but wonder about the true nature of your conversation with Potter. After all, alliances can be fragile, and loyalties can shift."
Snape's lips curved into a thin smile, a blend of amusement and irritation. "You overestimate the influence of a mere conversation, Lucius. Potter is a tool—a means to an end. The Dark Lord's end."
Lucius's eyes glinted with intrigue as he leaned in, his voice barely above a whisper. "And what end might that be, Severus? Has Potter truly swapped loyalties?"
Snape refrained from releasing an undignified snort, casting a bemused glance at his friend. "He is an arrogant child, playing an adult's game. Nothing has changed."
Lucius frowned, directing his gaze towards the door from which Potter had hastily departed. "He seems to be doing quite well for himself. Not many have received direct tutelage from one so powerful."
"You think he has truly mastered dark magic, exceeding even myself or you?" Snape appeared genuinely invested in the response, focusing his attention entirely on Lucius.
The blonde shrugged. "I know the Dark Lord has spent close to every day with Potter since his capture. Draco spoke with him the other day. He appeared resigned to his fate, showing no signs of resistance. Perhaps he has turned." Lucius glanced over at the fire pensively. "If he has, that truly would be a win for our side. The light would crumble if they had to fight against Potter and the Dark Lord."
Lucius could sense Severus' contemplative gaze. "Yes, they truly would, wouldn't they?" It seemed like he spoke more to himself than to the blonde.
Severus Snape's dark eyes flickered with a glint of something indecipherable as he nodded his departure from Lucius with a curt nod. "Excuse me," he said tersely before turning on his heel, robes billowing as he made his way through the remaining Death Eaters.
As Snape exited the receiving room and out through the entrance they were allowed to use, he Apparated away, leaving the foreboding atmosphere behind. Moments later, he materialized near the Burrow, the home of the Weasley family, concealed under the newly enforced protective enchantments of the Order of the Phoenix.
The night was cloaked in darkness, with only the faint glow of windows breaking the shadowy landscape. Snape approached the Burrow slowly, his black cloak blending seamlessly with the night. The crunch of gravel beneath his boots echoed in the quiet surroundings as he ascended the front steps. He was not eager for this meeting.
The door swung open before Snape could even raise his hand to knock. Albus Dumbledore, his long white beard cascading down his chest, greeted him with a knowing twinkle in his eyes. "Severus," Dumbledore said, his voice warm but laden with the weight of the times.
Snape inclined his head in acknowledgment. "Headmaster."
Without waiting for an invitation, Snape stepped inside, the door closing behind him. The Burrow's interior was cozy and lived-in, a stark contrast to the cold austerity of the Death Eater gathering he had just left.
The members of the Order were gathered in the sitting room, their expressions a mix of anticipation and concern. Snape's gaze met those of familiar faces, including Molly and Arthur Weasley, the werewolf. Even the one-eyed aurora who he knew did not trust him. The room was full, but not nearly as full as what the Dark Lord had assembled earlier that night.
His eyes lingered on Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, who sat side by side on the faded couch. They had been clearly waiting for him to return, their expressions a mixture of impatience and worry. Ron's freckled face tightened in anticipation, while Hermione's eyes, filled with intelligence, bore into Snape's, silently demanding an update on Harry Potter.
Dumbledore gestured for Snape to take a seat. "Severus, do you have any news?"
Sighing, Severus nodded. "Yes. We have much to discuss."
AN: Voila. Sorry for the wait. I was traveling a bit. Please let me know what you think. Thanks for the reviews, and I welcome requests!