Harry, visibly mentally and emotionally drained, was released for the night shortly after Voldemort's return with an ominous promise that they would have plenty of time to catch up. Tipsy brought him dinner, which he could barely bring himself to eat. His nerves were gnawing at him, tearing away his composure and leaving him feeling numb, shocked, terrified, and yet… strangely relieved. It was over. It was all in the open. The world Harry existed in was no less complex, but at least all his cards were on the table.
That night, when he finally sank into restless sleep, it was no surprise that he was plunged into an assortment of turbulent dreams.
The illusion began with Hermione, Ron, and Ginny frantically calling out for him. They seemed to be wading through the mist, all of them desperately calling out his name. Harry stood before them, shouting back, trying to make them see that he was safe, but it was as though he were invisible. They couldn't sense his presence at all, even with him standing only a foot or two away. Desperation consumed him as he reached out, trying to grasp them, to draw their attention, but they walked past him, their forms dissolving into the surrounding mist. Their shouts faded until silence surrounded him. The teen looked around, heart racing. Where was he? Why couldn't they see him?
Suddenly, Voldemort materialized next to him, eerily calm, placing a cold hand on the teen's shoulder. Harry flinched violently but did not draw away. He met the crimson stare that was staring down at him ravenously. "You did the right thing, Harry," he praised in a voice that sent shivers down Harry's spine.
Confused and frightened, Harry asked, "Why can't they see me?"
Voldemort's twisted smile grew, his eyes seemed like fathomless fire-filled pits. "They are blind. Blind to your power, blind to your potential. Blind to what you will become. Don't waste your time trying to make the blind see; they never will." And just like that, Voldemort vanished.
The scenery around Harry shifted. He found himself in a dark, magical forest, the air heavy with an enchanting yet sinister energy. Harry moved forward cautiously, a growing sense of foreboding weighing on him as he sensed another presence through the fog.
It was Dumbledore, sitting passively on a bench, his gaze empty as he stared into nothingness. As Harry approached, Dumbledore looked up, his eyes hollow. "I failed them; I failed them all," he whispered, a note of despair in his voice. His eyes shifted, focusing on Harry. "I failed you." He paused, and with a sad chuckle, he added, "So I suppose it's only to be expected that you would fail me."
Harry shot up from bed, sweat drenching his brown and the nape of his neck. He was breathing hard, his heart pounded in his chest as the dream slowly released him. Slowly, the blurred lines between reality and illusion faded, leaving him to grapple with the haunting words and images that mirrored his deepest insecurities. He was unable to fall back asleep, he was afraid even to try.
The next morning, Harry rose prior to dawn, feeling exhausted. He nibbled on a piece of toast and managed just one bite of a banana. It would have to suffice; he wasn't sure if he could keep anything more down. He wasn't eager for the day, for the conversations that he knew were to come. His current standing with the Dark Lord was unknown. So much had transpired; he felt like everything had changed, but he wasn't sure how. The unpredictably cunning Slytherin Heir was impossible to read. Fortunately, or unfortunately, he didn't have to wait long, as he received a summons to the library shortly after sunrise.
The walk to the library felt both familiar and foreign. It had only been a week, yet his entire mindset had undergone a profound transformation. He had previously submitted because there was no other choice. He still felt trapped, but now he had chosen this path, and he had done so by openly betraying the light. For the first time, he felt the equal weight of his own decisions pulling on the leashes that tied him to the Dark Lord just as effectively as his mark and apprenticeship did.
He hesitated at the door, a sense of cautious self-preservation holding him back. He hoped he wasn't walking into a brutal punishment for something he'd had little control over. He knocked once.
"Enter," a commanding voice came from within.
Harry stepped into the room. The Dark Lord wasn't seated at his desk but rather on one of the two couches that were arranged in the center of the room, facing each other. The last time Harry had encountered this setup, Voldemort had used an Imperiused letter from Ron to manipulate Harry into learning the Unforgivable Curses.
Harry tensed, hovering at the door, meeting the scarlet eyes. They did not convey anger; instead, they appeared calculating. But something more, something that seemed dangerously lucid.
"Sit. We have much to discuss," Voldemort ordered.
Taking a steadying breath, the raven-haired teen approached and dropped stiffly onto the couch opposite the Dark Lord. The two wizards stared at each other in silence, one deeply uncomfortable, the other clearly in complete control.
"I could inquire about your sleep or how you're adjusting," Voldemort remarked, "but it's quite evident from your appearance what state you are in." The candor, at least, had not changed. The Dark Lord paused, tilting his head slightly, unabashed scrutiny washing over the young wizard. "It's clear you're anxious. Speak your mind."
Harry swallowed, unsure of where to begin, his mind racing as he carefully chose his words. "Does our original bargain still remain intact?"
Voldemort's expression remained inscrutable as he leaned back on the couch. "Do you wish it to?"
"I'm not sure what you mean?" Harry asked warily.
"Just that, do you wish to keep the original bargain, or would you like to reconsider the terms? It is not a difficult concept." Harry frowned at the callousness of the words.
Harry truthfully hadn't expected the question. He wasn't sure if it was a genuine offer. He had no illusions that Voldemort would remove the mark; it granted the paranoid and power-hungry wizard too much control over him. But the rest...
"As in, we could renegotiate?" Harry asked cautiously.
"Perhaps," Voldemort allowed, lips twitching slightly upward. "You pleased me yesterday. Even over the past week, with your determination to return to me."
Harry's mind raced, trying to discern any hidden meaning or motivation. Was this manipulation, or was the Dark Lord actually pleased with Harry's efforts? The situation had undoubtedly played into Voldemort's hands, with Harry openly siding with him. Harry needed to think like a Slytherin, considering what could be achieved through renegotiation and what he might risk losing.
"Did the vote turn out as you expected? Is Ambrose the new Chief Warlock?" Harry inquired, buying himself some time.
Voldemort nodded, "Yes, it went exactly as planned."
That meant the light had suffered significant setbacks. Harry considered what this meant for the Ministry and the state of the wizarding world.
"Is there anything you would demand in a renegotiation of our terms?" Harry asked cautiously. He recalled how he had rushed into negotiations last time, needing to save Remus. He had been fortunate to receive other concessions, concessions that now seemed suspiciously premeditated by Voldemort, given how the trial had unfolded. He had been impulsive again when negotiating Ron's punishment and was punished accordingly.
Voldemort's slight grin remained, his crimson eyes glinting with anticipation. "I would hear your requests first, my apprentice," he replied, causing Harry to nearly groan in response.
"Could I have some time to think it over and get back to you?" Harry ventured hopefully.
Voldemort's smirk widened. "No, Harry, this will be your only opportunity."
Harry frowned, remembering Voldemort's earlier desire for him to learn from his past impulsive actions. "I thought you wanted me to be more careful, not to make hasty decisions."
Voldemort's head dipped in agreement. "Yes, and I am pleased to see you taking that lesson to heart. However, you must also be quick-minded and know what you want. Always keep your goals in sight. I won't force you to renegotiate, but this will be your only chance if you desire to do so."
Harry felt torn. He didn't trust the Dark Lord to do anything that didn't ultimately benefit him, yet Voldemort seemed genuinely interested in hearing what Harry wanted for potential terms.
Voldemort raised an expectant eyebrow. "Perhaps start by stating what you hope to gain at my side. You chose to return because you believe it gives you the best chance to influence this war. What do you hope to influence?" Harry noticed that Voldemort conveniently left out the magical leash marking Harry's arm that could find him or destroy his magic at any time and that the wizard could also visit and torture him in dreams whenever he chose. Only minor details, it seemed. Harry suppressed a sigh.
As Harry contemplated the situation, a sudden epiphany washed over him. Voldemort had cunningly leveraged their previous negotiations to his advantage, presenting himself as a reasonable and rational figure to the wizarding world. He had also openly disclosed to Harry during their last meal together his intention to claim his Lord's seat in the Wingamont. Negotiations involving the savior of the wizarding world undeniably played into Voldemort's hands, serving to aid him in his eventual public appearance. While Harry was certain that Voldemort was manipulating him, perhaps he could seize the opportunity to reverse the roles, gaining concessions that truly mattered to him if Voldemort felt he needed to appear to concede to gain other advantages.
"I want the school to reopen and the students' safety to be guaranteed," Harry declared firmly. "No more attacks on students. No matter what the light does, I want your word that the students will be left out of this war."
Voldemort's expression remained unreadable as he considered Harry's request. "Is that all?" he inquired.
Harry wasn't sure if that was acceptance or not. He took a breath, thinking through his time in the manor. All that he'd seen and heard. "And agree that you won't attempt to pass laws that would forcibly remove Muggle-raised children from their homes," he insisted. "Or just do it without a law being passed," quickly seeing the loophole in his own demand.
Voldemort shook his head in a clear refusal. "No, that won't be on the table. However, I won't prevent you from conducting your own research and providing an alternative that I may choose to consider at a later time."
Harry frowned, displeased that the request had been outright denied but not that surprised. Voldemort hadn't seemed to want to budge earlier. But the quick denial did give him some insight into how the negotiations would go. It suggested that Voldemort already had a preconceived idea of the concessions he was willing to entertain, making Harry suspect the Dark Lord had already planned to allow the school to reopen. What else could he ask for? What else had he loathed during his captivity?
"Then, with my first condition, I want that expanded to encompass all children. You and your followers must promise that you won't kidnap or use children. Children should be entirely off-limits, and any children that have currently been abducted must be returned."
Voldemort's eyes sparkled with a sinister gleam as he considered Harry's proposal. "Does that extend to you?" he asked, his tone dripping with both sarcasm and venom.
Harry felt like rolling his eyes, he didn't consider himself a child. Nor did he have anyone he wanted to be returned to. "No, it doesn't include me. I made the choice to be here." The response visibly pleased the Dark Lord, whose eyes appeared to intensify with possessiveness. Harry shifted uncomfortably.
"Why would I abandon such an effective tool?" Voldemort challenged, ignoring Harry's discomfort. "You've witnessed firsthand how efficiently it has furthered my goals."
The image of Ambrose's saddened expression flashed before Harry's eyes. Meeting the wizard in person only reinforced his resolve. "Because it's the morally right thing to do," he replied unwaveringly. "Protecting innocent kids should be a priority. You claim you value magical blood. These children are the future of whatever world you are trying to create. You're fueling their defiance, making them fear you. It'll lead to rebellion and fighting that could be avoided."
Voldemort regarded Harry for a moment, his inscrutable gaze fixed on the young wizard. "Your stance has certainly evolved," he observed, an enigmatic undertone in his voice. "You almost seem to be embracing a future where I hold power."
Harry shifted awkwardly but remained determined. "I've accepted that your victory seems inevitable," he admitted quietly. Or at least that there was very little he could do to stop it. "You've claimed you will value my insight and listen to my ideas. I genuinely believe that making these concessions will improve our world."
Voldemort's lips curled into a subtle, unfathomable smile, seemingly basking in Harry's acknowledgment of his assumed rule. "Very well, Harry," he said, his voice carrying a hint of satisfaction. "Then you are satisfied with what you want added?"
"I have one more request," Harry began, suddenly more cautious. For the last one, he was uncertain of how the Dark Lord would respond but was prepared to fight for this particular request. It wasn't just important to him; it held significance for those he deeply cared about.
Voldemort could clearly sense his shift. His eyes narrowed; he seemed like a shark drawn to blood in the water. "Your list of concessions is expanding considerably. I'll remind you that this is a negotiation, a two-way exchange. You'll need to offer something in return for what you receive," he asserted, emphasizing the nature of their agreement.
Harry swallowed hard, acutely aware of the implicit threat woven into Voldemort's words. He wasn't eager to hear the corresponding demands that might follow. Nonetheless, this final request was important to him. It might be the most important thing he did.
"Promise that half-bloods and muggleborns won't be relegated to a second-class status. They should have equal access to magical schools and job opportunities, and you won't subject them to persecution or expulsion from our world." He shifted in his seat, leaning forward, his earnestness filling his eyes with fervor. "Promise you won't make blood purity part of any criteria to be able to live a good life in our world."
He met Voldemort's gaze, unable to conceal the hopefulness in his eyes. He should have strived for indifference, downplaying its importance to avoid outrageous demands from the Slytherin Heir. Yet, in this moment, he genuinely didn't care. If he secured these concessions, protecting innocent children and making sure people like Hermione might be able to have meaningful lives, the cost of any demands from Voldemort would be worth it.
As Harry awaited the Dark Lord's response, he felt the weight of countless lives hanging in the balance. Voldemort appeared contemplative, intrigued by Harry's choice.
"You do realize that you're nearly half a year away from reaching the age of majority," Voldemort pointed out, his tone measured. "These concessions would only be in effect for six or so months, offering less protection than you might anticipate. Much could transpire during that time." The implied threat was clear: Voldemort might not be inclined to make future concessions when he held more power and had no need to renegotiate.
Harry tensed, realizing that this entire charade likely aimed to extract a more extended commitment from him, one extending beyond his apprenticeship that ended when he came of age. Or worse, Voldemort wanted something even more significant than the apprenticeship. And he wanted it to be voluntary, or he wouldn't be granting any concessions at all.
"What is it that you want?" Harry asked, his unease growing.
Voldemort's crimson eyes bore into Harry's. "I will commit to these conditions, all of them, for as long as you remain on my side, as my apprentice, and openly stand against the light," he declared. "And I will require one more promise that you will fulfill today."
Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his curiosity mixed with a growing sense of trepidation. "And what is that?" he asked warily, not remotely eager to hear the additional requirement.
Voldemort's voice was unwavering. "I require an unbreakable vow. You must swear never to disclose the existence of my Horcruxes to anyone, and you will never take aby action to destroy them. Instead, you will protect them or immediately notify me if you ever learn of one being endangered."
As Voldemort spoke, Harry's heart sank. This would all but secure Voldemort's immortality, ensuring that the Dark Lord could never be defeated. No one else was in a position to try and find them, to destroy them. Dumbledore was clearly failing, and Harry had stupidly told no one of their existence. He wanted to curse himself; he was just as bad as the manipulative old headmasters, keeping secrets to the detriment of the wizarding world. Dread welled up within Harry as he met the piercing gaze of the Dark Lord.
"Surely, you didn't believe I would allow such a vulnerability to persist?" Voldemort inquired, his tone devoid of sympathy. "I demand assurance; there is no alternative. At least you will receive something in return."
Harry wrestled with the magnitude of the situation. This demand would irrevocably alter everything, it would be an unbreakable vow that could doom the wizarding world to Voldemort's eternal rule. Even worse, Harry had inadvertently disclosed Dumbledore's knowledge of the Horcruxes, and he could only imagine what consequences the Dark Lord would inflict upon the Light Lord to ensure his secrecy.
Voldemort regarded Harry with a knowing look, a small, self-satisfied smile playing on his lips. "I could have coerced your compliance by capturing Order members, torturing them until you relented," he mused. "We both know there are many you care about within my reach—individuals not covered by our initial agreement. Yet, instead, I extend to you a gesture of goodwill. I am a gracious Lord to those who prove their loyalty."
Dropping his gaze, Harry swiped a shaky hand through his hair, feeling the immense weight of the choice pressing down on him. Could he truly accept these terms? The knowledge of Voldemort's Horcruxes was one of the few advantages that the light still possessed, a potential key to defeating the Dark Lord. If Harry swore this vow, he would be compelled to protect the very objects that granted Voldemort his power. It was a heartbreaking choice between the greater good and the safety and future prosperity of those he loved.
Harry sensed a shift in the room. His eyes shot up, noticing that Voldemort had withdrawn his wand from the folds of his cloak. Harry straightened in his seat, his gaze moving from the yew wand to the piercing scarlet eyes fixed upon him.
"I will obtain this oath from you, Harry, one way or another," Voldemort promised, his tone firm. "I offer this negotiation as a sign of my appreciation and approval of your recent actions. We both know that it is not within my nature to make concessions, especially ones that could alter my methods of controlling those who have not submitted to me. Consider it a rare gift. So, my dear apprentice, do you accept these terms?"
Harry stared at the wand before him, ensnared in the tangle of conflicting responsibilities and loyalties, with the fate of the wizarding world precariously poised. In all honesty, it wasn't much of a choice. He saw no actual alternatives. Voldemort, unfailingly, always obtained whatever it was he desired, and at least in this instance, Harry achieved something he desired as well.
"I agree," he stated, his voice soft and laden with reluctance as he made the damning promise.
Voldemort nodded, self-satisfaction radiating off the Dark Lord. "Then we shall proceed."
"And your part?" Harry asked bitterly, fully aware that Voldemort would not seal his own promises with an unbreakable vow. The mere suggestion seemed ludicrous. Harry could almost anticipate the Cruciatus Curse for daring to propose it. "How can I be certain you'll uphold your end of the bargain?"
Voldemort rose from his seat, stepping closer to the teen, motioning for Harry to stand as well. Harry complied, albeit reluctantly. "I've honored my commitments thus far, Harry," the Dark Lord pointed out. He extended his wand hand, the slender yew wood held gracefully in his fingers. "You've received more consideration from me than any other living being. Your only option is to maintain faith in your chosen master, my apprentice." A faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips, but the underlying threat in his demeanor remained palpable. "Trust that I will take care of you, my heir."
Harry disliked the overwhelming possessiveness emanating from Voldemort, but he truly saw no alternative. At least he was gaining genuine concessions, compromises he had desperately sought. He extended his hand, palm up, toward the Dark Lord.
With deliberate precision, Voldemort touched the tip of his wand to the center of Harry's palm. The wand felt cold against Harry's skin, and he could sense the magic gathering around them, forming the unbreakable bond.
Voldemort spoke the incantation, his voice steady, "On your magic, and life should I choose to take it, do you, Harry James Potter, swear an unbreakable vow to keep the existence of my Horcruxes secret from all, and to never take actions to harm or destroy them? Do you swear to protect them or to promptly inform me should you learn of any threat against them?"
Harry felt a surge of magic coursing through his veins, "I swear it."
As the vow took hold, a faint, ethereal light enveloped their joined hands, sealing the pact with an irrevocable magic that bound them together. Harry couldn't help but feel the weight of his decision, knowing that he had just solidified Voldemort's immortality. Had he just unwittingly doomed the wizarding world to an even darker fate than he ever could have imagined?
Voldemort withdrew his wand, and the glow gradually faded. He regarded Harry with a satisfaction that sent shivers down the young wizard's spine. "It is done, Harry, I am pleased," he declared.
Harry merely nodded, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. If he had needed a stark reminder of what it meant to be in Voldemort's service, this unbreakable vow was a disturbing testament.
The Dark Lord glanced towards the large grandfather clock in the corner of the library. "There is more to discuss, but that can wait; I have several meetings to attend." He paused, his crimson eyes studying Harry. "These meetings involve restructuring key positions in the Ministry and creating new departments within several different ministries. Would you desire to join?"
Harry, feeling drained and overwhelmed after the events that had just transpired, met Voldemort's sharp gaze. It seemed like a genuine invitation, an opportunity to gain insight into the workings of Voldemort's budding regime. However, after the weight of the unbreakable vow and the recent decisions he had made, he felt the need for some time alone to gather his thoughts.
"Can I decline?" Harry asked, his tone shaded with exhaustion.
Voldemort nodded in acquiescence. "Yes, this time, I'll allow it. But I will expect your presence in my future meetings."
Harry nodded, expecting nothing less and grateful for this rare respite. "Then I'd prefer to take some time for myself to sort through my thoughts."
The Dark Lord conceded with a nod of his own. "Very well, my apprentice," he replied. "I shall see you at dinner. Take this time to prepare yourself. Tomorrow, we will resume our regular routine, and I expect nothing less than your unwavering commitment and dedication going forward."
With that, Voldemort turned and left the room, his thick cloak trailing behind him as he departed, leaving Harry alone to grapple with his heavy thoughts. As the door to the side entrance of the library closed behind Voldemort, Harry felt a mixture of relief and trepidation wash over him. The air in the room seemed heavy with the weight of their recent negotiations, and he needed some solitude to process everything that had transpired.
With measured steps, Harry exited through the ornate double doors and slowly walked toward the magical garden, his one place of refuge in this forsaken manor. He pushed open the large wooden door and stepped into the lush, secluded paradise—a haven of tranquility that stood in stark contrast to the tension-filled area he had just left behind.
The sun hung high in the sky, and Harry was surprised at how much of the morning had already passed. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves of the ancient magical trees, carrying with it the soothing scent of blooming flowers. This garden seemed to exist in defiance of the darkness that shrouded the wizarding world.
Harry found solace on a stone bench nestled beneath a blossoming tree, its silver and pink flowers swaying gently in tune with the slight breeze. He gazed out at the garden, allowing its natural beauty to calm his racing thoughts. The weight of the morning's events pressed upon the young man, and he couldn't help but wonder if he had done the wrong thing.
He absentmindedly touched his palm, where the lingering sensation of the unbreakable vow still pulsed faintly. The thought of safeguarding Voldemort's immortality in such a way scared him. He tried to clear his mind, pushing those horrible thoughts aside, and instead remind himself that he had at least secured important concessions in return.
As he sat there, lost in thought, a familiar voice broke the silence. "I heard you were back."
Startled, Harry glanced up to find Draco Malfoy standing a few paces away. Weariness weighed heavily on the raven-haired wizard, and although he had numerous questions for the blonde—questions about lordships, heirs, and the outside world—at that moment, he felt too drained for any type of extensive conversation.
"Draco," he greeted, not liking how tired his voice sounded.
The Malfoy heir took a cautious step forward, his sharp eyes assessing the solemn Gryffindor. "Are you alright?"
"As good as can be expected," Harry responded, his gaze shifting to a butterfly flitting from a bright red flower to a luminescent blue one.
"I heard the Order rescued you; how did he manage to steal you back? Is Dumbledore truly that incompetent?" Draco chuckled at his own jab, though it sounded forced.
Harry closed his eyes briefly and then looked away. "I chose to return."
"What?!" Draco's voice rose in surprise.
Harry flinched, casting a guarded glance around the garden, fearing that their sanctuary might be discovered. "Quiet!" he hissed.
Draco quickly lowered his voice, a pink flush creeping onto his cheeks. "I apologize," he said sheepishly. The apology caught Harry by surprise. He never would have expected it to be so easily given. For a second, Harry truly wondered what toll living under the Dark Lord might be placing on his old-school nemesis.
"Did I really hear you correctly? You voluntarily returned to this?" Draco asked, his curiosity mixing with disbelief. Harry felt the weight of Draco's gaze, and it only intensified his discomfort.
"Yes," he snapped, directing a glare at the Slytherin. "It's complicated, alright? You probably mean well, or as well as someone like you can mean," Harry added, casting a skeptical look at the Malfoy heir, recalling the many times Draco had made his life a living hell in the past. Draco frowned at the callous words, appearing hurt before a cold mask cemented itself over his haughty features. Harry sighed. While they may have had an uneasy truce, Harry wasn't in the mood to engage with him. He was tired and beyond stressed. Worse, he feared he might say something to inadvertently jeopardize whatever fragile truce the two of them were forming. He needed Draco for more reasons than he was comfortable admitting, even to himself.
Harry swiped a hand through his messy hair, his frustration abating. "I'm sorry, that came out wrong," he admitted, deserving Draco's reproachful stare. "This has been an incredibly stressful week. Being back is… well, it's complicated. And I have a lot I need to answer to Voldemort for. Can we continue this conversation another time when I'm not as worried? I'm just trying to keep it all together..." He shook his head, releasing an awkward laugh in self-deprecation. "And clearly failing."
Draco's expression softened slightly, though he still appeared shocked by Harry's admission of voluntarily returning. "Alright, Potter," he agreed, taking a step back. "I hope you figure out whatever you're working through," he added softly, "for all our sakes. I guess I'll see you around."
Harry nodded, feeling grateful when he sensed he was once again alone. He leaned back on the stone bench, closed his eyes, and allowed the sounds of the garden to envelop him, hoping it would provide the clarity and calm he needed to navigate the complex path that lay ahead.
After several hours, Harry eventually roused himself from his contemplation and made his way back to the manor's interior. The sun had begun to dip below the horizon, casting long shadows across the grand hallways.
As Harry navigated the familiar corridors, he wasn't sure what he felt as the hour for dinner with his decided master approached. The events of the day weighed heavily on his mind, he couldn't shake the unease that had settled in his chest. He arrived first, standing beside his chair as expected. The Dark Lord soon arrived, and they both sat down. Similar to how it had been set every night he'd lived in Slytherin manor, the opulent dining table was adorned with fine crystal, polished silverware, and porcelain plates.
Harry stared at the masterfully prepared steak on his plate. The aroma of the perfectly cooked meat, vegetables, bread, and potatoes wafted up to his nose, but he wasn't particularly hungry. Nevertheless, he knew that he should eat.
Voldemort, on the other hand, seemed unfazed by the recent events. He picked up his silver fork, gracefully cutting off a portion of the steak. As he raised the piece to his lips and took the first bite, a sense of normalcy settled over the room. It was as if nothing had ever happened, as if Harry had never been gone.
The Dark Lord continued to eat with measured grace, savoring each bite of the exquisite meal. Harry watched him for a moment, then reluctantly followed suit, forcing himself to take one bite after another.
After the meal was halfway complete, the Dark Lord broke the silence. "Tell me about your time with the Order," Voldemort invited, though it was more like a demand.
Harry set his fork down. "What do you want to know?" Harry asked warily, not wanting to reveal anything that would make those he cared about even more of a target.
Voldemort took a slow sip of wine, the red liquid nearly matching the color of his eyes. "What did they think of your training in the Dark Arts? Did they inquire about what you had learned?"
"Not past the first day, but you already saw that in my mind. Dumbledore left me mostly alone, except to look at my mark. But whatever he cast clearly wasn't able to stop you from reaching me," it was reminiscent of his previous year at Hogwarts, actually. When Dumbledore feared Voldemort would use the link to his mind to get at Dumbledore. That had worked out gloriously for everyone, Harry remembered in frustration.
"Mad-Eye was the only one besides my friends to take any real interest in me," he realized as he thought back to the week in the Burrow.
"The ex-auror Alastor Moody?"
Harry nodded. "I didn't share anything that would compromise you; he was the reason Dumbledore was so willing to allow me to go to the ministry."
"He's alleged to be highly paranoid; he just trusted you?"
Harry snorted. "Hardly. He didn't trust me at all. We did a practice duel once, I had to make sure I played it straight and narrow, nothing dark." It had been harder than the teen had thought it would be to only use neutral and light spells.
"You dueled him?" Voldemort asked, his red eyes gleaming with interest.
"It wasn't very long; neither of us went all in," Harry responded, unsure why he suddenly felt defensive. The Dark Lord's entire attention was now on their conversation. Harry had the sense that he'd displeased Voldemort. "I didn't reveal any of the powerful spells you taught me," Harry defended. Was Voldemort afraid of him revealing some alleged dark secrets?
"Of course you revealed something. You've given an enemy insight into your power and how you duel. It was foolish of you. Have I taught you nothing? Magic isn't a game, Harry."
Harry straightened, not liking the pulse of dark magic he felt radiating off the Dark Lord. "I know it's not a game," he said stubbornly.
"I was careful; he didn't get anything of value from me."
"I will decide on that," Voldemort murmured, leaning in, his crimson eyes locking onto Harry's.
Harry sighed, knowing the Dark Lord was demanding access to his thoughts, to see the duel. "Do you still not trust me?" Harry asked. He'd done everything the Dark Lord required. He'd shunned the light and returned to the dark. He hoped that might have meant something, that he would not be immediately relegated back to a prisoner-like apprenticeship where not even his own mind was safe.
"Trust can be an unstable thing," the Slytherin Heir observed, reaching out a hand and tilting Harry's chin so that their eyes met. "You have proven your loyalty by aligning with the dark side, and that, in itself, is commendable, even if your choices were limited. But I don't trust your insight, your ability to understand and decipher risks. In this, my young apprentice, you still have much to learn, and I remain the master. Now, does this need to be painful, or will you submit?"
Knowing he couldn't resist the Dark Lord's intrusion, Harry lowered his mental defenses. Like a wisp of smoke, he felt the subtle entry into his mind, a sensation that was both foreign and strangely familiar. Shivering, Harry wondered if the soul shard within him played a part in this eerie connection.
The Dark Lord found the memory, then, to Harry's immense shock and relief, withdrew from the wizard's mind. Harry had expected him to search through more memories.
"And you believe he gained nothing from that duel?" Voldemort inquired, his tone darkening. Harry felt a small bead of sweat drip from the nape of his neck. He'd only used light spells during the duel, and it had lasted a mere few minutes. What could he have possibly revealed?
Harry glanced down, feeling a sense of frustration building within him. He detested how the Dark Lord could elicit such meekness from him with just a few well-chosen words. "I'm not sure what I did wrong," he admitted, his voice more uncertain than he liked. He had felt confident about the duel, even proud. He hadn't expected that it would draw the Dark Lord's ire so greatly.
Voldemort leaned back in his chair, his fingers idly tracing the rim of his wineglass as he appeared lost in thought. It seemed as though he was attempting to compose himself.
"Tell me about what you observed in your opponent's dueling style," Voldemort questioned. "Then I will share with you what I believe he learned about yours."
Harry furrowed his brow in thought, recalling the details of the duel. "Well," he began, "Moody started with a formal bow, almost as if to create the impression of honor, perhaps to make me pause if we ever face each other in a real duel. And he allowed me to cast the first spell, even though I'm certain he could have acted faster if he had wanted to. So, he was intentionally slow," Harry remembered.
The Dark Lord nodded, signaling for Harry to continue.
"He mainly used spells from the standard student curriculum, but he deviated a bit when he destroyed the birds and cast the smoke. The smoke wasn't just for concealment; it was also an attack. I couldn't breathe, and he used it to cover his movement," Harry explained, feeling somewhat satisfied with his analysis. "He also kept himself hidden from me, not revealing his position openly. Given his injuries and age, that's probably a tactic he likes to use, especially against a younger and faster opponent."
Voldemort nodded, offering a measured response, "Adequate." It was clear that he was still too irritated by the fact that the duel had taken place to offer any type of praise.
"Now, I wonder," Voldemort pressed, his tone growing even darker, his crimson eyes drilling into Harry's with intensified displeasure, "did you take the time to reflect on the duel afterward? To assess both your strengths and weaknesses, as well as his? Or is this the first time you've thought about it?"
Harry's gaze dropped again, this time laden with genuine shame, and he shook his head in response.
"Use your words, apprentice," Voldemort prompted, his displeasure seeping through.
Harry fought to mask his grimace, his voice carrying an undertone of self-reproach. "No, it didn't occur to me."
"Exactly," Harry had not missed this part of the instruction when Voldemort viciously made his points. At least they were at the dinner table, if they'd been in the dueling hall Harry suspected a welt or worse would have been inflected. "But I'm certain it occurred to him. That's why he did it—because he didn't trust you and wanted to learn about you in case you ever find yourself in battle again." The Dark Lord leaned in closer. "What have I always told you about your strengths?"
"Speed and stealth," Harry quietly recited. "And that I'm clever, using spells in unconventional ways." He felt no pride as he recounted it.
Voldemort nodded in agreement. "If your opponent knows those strengths, don't you think he will adjust his tactics when facing you in the future? In a duel that won't be a game in a friend's backyard?"
Harry considered this for a moment before replying, "But I didn't use any particularly inventive spells; he doesn't know my actual skill level."
Voldemort exhaled audibly, and Harry could sense the mounting frustration in the Dark Lord's demeanor. "You didn't cast a single shield. You evaded, dodged, and rolled multiple times. When he cast the smoke, you immediately shifted into a stealth defensive mode. You disillusioned and silenced yourself within seconds of clearing the smoke. It was instinctual, demonstrating that you're accustomed to facing more formidable opponents, so you have to move and be unpredictable, he will know that you and I train frequently and that I am training you to perfect those techniques."
Voldemort paused, his intense crimson gaze fixated on Harry's, unwavering and relentless. "Your performance in that duel was impressive considering your age and the experience of your opponent. But. He. Is. Not. Your. Friend." His voice was low and deliberate. He emphasized each word as if etching them into Harry's consciousness.
"You must accept, Harry, that he is your enemy." Voldemort's gaze bore into Harry's, unyielding and uncompromising. "He will use every piece of information he gleaned from that encounter to either recapture you or, even worse, defeat you. You have committed yourself to the dark side. You truly have no other options. You must be better than this. You are my apprentice and heir. I demand better."
Harry nodded, chastened by the Dark Lord's words. "I understand." He did. He felt foolish that he'd missed all of that. It made perfect sense when laid bare before him. It was exactly the type of thing Moody would do.
Voldemort took another sip of wine, his eyes never leaving the teenager as he contemplated his next words. "Tomorrow, you will arrive prepared to practice shields. If you persist in exposing your vulnerabilities, we shall have no choice but to eliminate them. I suggest you dedicate extra time to your studies tonight. In the afternoon, we will practice, and you will not be permitted to dodge my attacks. I will immobilize your feet to the floor if necessary. I hope, for your own sake, that you prove to be a quick study in this matter. I will not temper my spells."
Harry swallowed nervously, unease creeping in as he observed the glint in the Dark Lord's eyes.
"You are dismissed," Voldemort proclaimed, his attention returning to his meal. Harry glanced down at his half-eaten dinner, somewhat taken aback by the sudden dismissal. Pushing his chair back, he stood and offered a nod to Voldemort, who barely acknowledged his departure. As Harry left the dining hall, he couldn't shake the unsettling feeling that permeated through him. The conversation had left him feeling a mix of emotions—confusion, embarrassment over his lack of foresight, and apprehension about the upcoming lesson. Yet, there was a strange sense of anticipation too.
Voldemort was going to spend the next day instructing him on a known weakness. It was bound to be challenging, and Harry knew it would hurt. But he was certain it would make him stronger. He wouldn't be caught by surprise if the ex-auror ever attacked him. It left Harry feeling strangely grateful. No one else had ever bothered to help Harry in this way. More conflicting was all this had transpired after a morning where Voldemort had coerced him into an unbreakable vow, albeit with concessions to protect Harry's friend and innocent children. The Dark Lord remained an enigma. He was just as demanding as ever, but Harry did feel like something had changed. He just wasn't sure exactly what.
Back in his room, Harry approached one of the bookshelves, selecting a few titles that delved into the intricacies of shield charms. He then made his way to his bed, dropped onto the covers, and opened the first texts, determined to absorb as much knowledge as he could before the rigorous lesson with Voldemort the next day. Sitting there, hunched over a book in the Dark Lord manor, Harry felt strangely more at peace than he had in weeks.
Author's Note: Alrighty! Plenty of Voldemort and Harry moments for all you adorers out there 😊. Harry will start to see a lot more of what his expected role will be on the dark side in the next few chapters.
Thanks for the support / reviews 😊