Chapter 5: Nox

To say that Voldemort was pleased would be an understatement. Harry could only remember his father being this proud of him one other time in his life. That had been when he had performed his first wandless curse. It felt extremely strange for Harry to see the dark wizard's almost giddy look as he inspected the potion in the cauldron. He understood that Voldemort was proud of his invention, but the man currently looked like an excited schoolboy on his first day of the Quidditch World Cup. Rabastan also seemed to share in Harry's discomfort. The death eater had retreated to the far corner of the room where he now stood quietly watching the duo…waiting to see what would happen.

"You have done very well," the sound of Parseltongue sent a tingle down Harry's spine, "It is not just any wizard who can correctly brew such a dark potion."

The wizard turned to look at Harry, his lips spread wide in a chilling smile that would fill any witch or wizard with immense dread. But for his part, Harry just felt a prickle of anticipation spread through his body. This, accompanied by the slight throbbing in his scar, could mean only one thing. The dark lord was excited about something…something that had to do with Harry and the potion.

"Father," Harry took a step closer to the man, even as the pain in his scar flared at his closeness to the dark lord, "You have planned something. What is it?"

Voldemort's dark eyes came to rest on the red scar that sat on Harry's forehead. His gaze sharpened for a moment and instantly the pain in Harry's head faded to nothing.

"You should have told me it was bothering you again, Harry. You know how much I hate it when I cause you pain."

Harry couldn't stop a small smirk from appearing on his face. For all of his father's immense intellect and foresight, he was perhaps the biggest hypocrite that Harry had ever met. Hadn't the man just last week made him suffer through almost unimaginable pain without a second thought?

Thankfully, Voldemort seemed to ignore the look on his son's face as he continued in Parseltongue, "But you do speak the truth. I have always been rather fond of what this potion can do and I wouldn't want such a pristine batch to go to waste…"

Realization hit Harry like a tonne of bricks. He couldn't help but feel excitement rush through him. "You have someone you want to use it on." Harry already knew with certainty that only this could be what was making his father so pleased.

"Not me, Harry. You. I want you to use it. Someone special was picked up last night," Voldemort's eyes seemed to flash with glee, "And I have already gotten everything out of their weak mind that is useful to me. So I will give you the honor of ending their misery."

Harry stood silently, his mind working to try and fully comprehend his father's words. He watched closely as Voldemort pulled out his wand and carefully siphoned the navy blue liquid into two small bottles. The man reached up and gently took both of the flasks into his hand. He ran a finger along the edges of the bottles in a sickeningly loving way. Harry wasn't sure if love was something Voldemort was capable of feeling.

Yet, from this interaction, one question began to nag at Harry. Was the man actually proud of him for what he had been able to do or was his father actually just proud of the potion he had invented?

"And perhaps," the dark wizard now chose to switch back to English, "If there happens to be some potion left over after you are finished, we can find another use for it."

"As you wish, father."

"Good. Then you will meet me in my chambers in an hour."

Harry bowed his head toward Voldemort and turned to leave the room, sensing the man was done with him for the time being. But as Harry's hand touched the handle of the door his father called out,

"Oh, and Harry…don't bother bringing your wand. You won't be needing it this time."

Harry let the heavy door to his room slam shut with a loud bang. He felt so many emotions clouding his mind that he didn't know what to do or to think. He knew that in just a short while he would be required to report to his father and shortly after that, his latest victim would be brought before him.

This was by no means a new occurrence. In fact, he had been the dark lord's favorite method for killing his prisoners since Harry had turned nine. The methods of murder for each victim were usually varied, but the end result was always the same. In just the past seven years, Harry had already played a part in ending the lives of more than fifteen people. Some of them had been disobedient death eaters or mud-blood wizards, but two occasions, in particular, stood out in Harry's memory.

The second time Voldemort had ever called Harry to kill, had been just after his eleventh birthday. His two victims had been an elderly muggle couple who had been unfortunate enough to be caught in the middle of a raid. Neither had said a word to Harry, seeming to have been in a state of shock.

This was the first time Harry had successfully been able to use the killing curse. He had suffered from magical exhaustion for weeks afterward. But for some reason, he could bring himself to feel bad for what he had done to the two muggles. Instead, Harry found that he was fascinated with the feeling the curse had allowed him to feel. It was exhilarating and intoxicating. And ever since that day Harry had been on a mission, chasing that same feeling.

But after years of killing at his father's command, Harry had been forced to wield his wand against a fellow child. From what little Voldemort had told him, Caleb Lyre had been a sixth-year student at Hogwarts. That had made him just a year or so older than Harry at that time. The boy had given Harry such a look of desperation and fear when he had entered the room that, for the first time, Harry had felt a pang of regret at what he would have to do.

Caleb had begun to cry when Voldemort told him what would come next. This caused Harry to battle with himself for several minutes at the sight before finally casting the killing curse. He convinced himself that it was out of pity for the boy. But he had fled the room before Caleb's body had hit the ground, not wishing to see the result. The burning in his scar had told him that his father had been angry with him, but Harry could not bring himself to care. All he knew at that moment was that something inside of him had just been snapped. Something felt wrong like a poison was spreading through his body. But what he did know was that from that day on, he had promised himself that he would never again let himself feel anything when killing.

It was just his job and it didn't do him any good to feel regret about his actions. Instead, he had learned to focus on the rush of power that flooded his body whenever he cast dark magic.

This determination to feel nothing had worked wonders, at least, until the day he had finally been allowed to go out on a mission. He had been eager for the chance to test his use of the killing curse out in the real world. But then he had messed that all up. He had gotten too impatient, too excited. The instant that his spell had missed the auror, Harry was not filled with the usual euphoria. Instead, he had felt an overwhelming sense of longing.

He needed to feel that rush again. It was the closest thing he had ever felt to happiness in his life and so he chased it whenever he got the chance.

Harry let himself fall face-first onto the thick duvet that covered his bed. He let out a groan as his knee knocked against the wooden frame. He had forgotten about the stinging jinx Rabastan had thrown at him earlier. Harry sighed heavily and managed to pull himself back into an upright position. Once there, he gently rolled up the leg of his trousers to check on the damage the death eater had inflicted on his knee. Thankfully, the only visible injury was a thin line of red welts where the spell had brushed against him. He'd had much worse.

This, at least, he could deal with.

Pulling his trouser leg back down, Harry's gaze drifted over to the French windows that covered a large portion of the opposite wall. Growing up, he had always hated those windows because they were permanently sealed shut and never allowed sunlight into the room. It didn't bother Harry at all anymore. In fact, he rather preferred the dark shadows that covered his room. In a strange way, it felt more comforting to him than sunlight ever had.

Probably 'cause I'm so messed up, Harry thought as he fell backward onto the bed again, gazing up at the ceiling.

Harry reached into his robes and pulled out his holly wand. He held the instrument up above him as he ran his fingers over the beautifully crafted handle. He had done this many times throughout the years, always relishing the sense of calm he felt when he had it in his hand.

I wonder why father doesn't want me to bring it with me. Surely there would be no harm in having a wand at my side, even if the actual killing will be inflicted with the draught rather than a spell.

Harry twirled the wand in his left hand listlessly. The entire day had been confusing. Nothing seemed perfectly right, not the potion, nor the interaction with his father…not even Harry himself.

There was something about the way Voldemort had smiled at him that made Harry slightly nervous. It's not that he was anxious for his task; he wasn't afraid to kill anymore. The dark lord had made sure that he had become numb to it.

Harry couldn't help but feel like there was something else his father was hiding from him. And that made him nervous.

Not that that is anything new though. Everyone is always hiding things from me and one day it is going to drive me to insanity.

"Shit!"

Harry cursed loudly as the wooden stick slipped from his fingers and fell, smacking the bridge of his nose. With a frustrated growl, the young wizard flung the wand across the room. It hit the far window and clattered to the ground. Now with nothing to occupy his hands, they fell listlessly to his sides.

I wonder how it will feel to kill someone with a potion. Will it still be able to give me the same rush?

Closing his eyes, Harry tried to imagine the explosion of power he felt whenever he used dark magic. It was followed by a feeling of euphoria, the only thing Harry had ever felt these days. Sometimes he even swore he felt his body ache with the urge to use dark magic. It was like an itch that could only be scratched by one thing. And Harry was only too willing to give in to it. At his sides, his fingers twitched with even the thought of dark magic.

There was a soft pop somewhere off to his side. Harry couldn't help but let out a frustrated groan at the sound. A house elf at this time of day could mean only one thing.

"M-m-master Harry, sir," the poor creature managed, "The d-dark l-lord requests your p-p-presence in his chambers. I-immediatly."

Harry's right hand stretched out to his side and his fingers curled around the corner of a pillow. Without warning he threw it as hard as he could at where the house elf's voice had come from. There was something about those miserable, stuttering creatures that brought out the worst in him.

From somewhere to his left, there was a frightened squeak and an accompanying pop signaled the departure of the house elf.

Good riddance, Harry thought as he pushed himself up from the bed, I would rather have him summon me with the mark rather than torment me with those things. What's the point of having a method to call me when he never uses it?

Harry glanced up at the clock that hung crookedly beside the door. It read half-past-seven. Thirty minutes early from the scheduled time to meet with his father.

Impatient bastard.

Harry ran a hand through his hair in a futile attempt to smooth it down. He cast one last look toward his wand, which lay forgotten on the floor. Then the young wizard threw open the door and strode out.

It took him only three minutes to arrive at the threshold of his father's chambers. The black door stood imposingly before him, a sight that, as a child, had frightened him considerably.

Now, he associated it only with death.

Harry glanced around to make sure that no death eaters were around to hex him thinking he was trying to break into their master's private chambers. He had learned to do this from experience. To his relief, the hallways remained empty and quiet.

Harry knew what came next. With a slight grimace on his face, he placed his hand on the handle of the door. What felt like an icy chill enveloped his hand followed by a sharp prick to his pointer palm. Harry flinched. He released the cold metal and smeared the bloodied scratch across the top of the handle, trying his hardest not to look at the red liquid. The blood vanished immediately. A moment later the lock clicked loudly before gliding open with a soft creaking sound. Harry took a moment to smooth out any wrinkles in his cloak before he stepped inside.

The door shut behind him with an ominous thud.

"How kind of you to join us early," Voldemort said smoothly from his seat in the center of the room, "I was just too excited to wait any longer."

Harry bowed his head slightly toward the dark lord before allowing himself to scan the room. Unlike the chamber he had been punished in just a week before, this one was smaller and much more empty. It served as Voldemort's torture and execution chamber. Precious few had ever seen inside the secluded room and those that did rarely lived long enough to describe it.

The room was completely bare save for the stone chair that Voldemort had made for himself. Above them, dim lights illuminated most of the chamber. Dark stains coated the stone walls and floor, making Harry feel slightly sick. He had been present when each of the marks had been made. Some of the stains had even come from him.

A pained groan sounded from a shadowed corner of the room, catching Harry's attention. His brow furrowed as he peered into the darkness, trying to make out what lying hidden there. After a second, his eyes adjusted to the dim light and he could make out a dark shape that was slumped against the wall.

"I would like to introduce you to our new guest, Harry. Say hello to Frank Longbottom, esteemed member of the Order of the Phoenix."

Sirius Black stumbled out of the fireplace and was greeted with the familiar damp smell of Number 12 Grimmauld Place. He had never been a fan of traveling via the floo network but the anti-separation wards around his home made it impossible to arrive by any other means save for portkey. The auror coughed harshly trying to rid the soot from his throat. He made a mental note to tell Kreacher to clean out the floo connected to his office. A second later the fireplace flared green again as it deposited a rather sooty-looking James onto the dusty rug floor.

"For Merlin's sake, Padfoot! Do you ever clean?"

Sirius couldn't help but grin at the sight of his best friend who was now picking himself off the floor. The man's dark hair was wilder than normal and his face was speckled with soot and ash.

"Need some help there, James?"

Before his friend could respond, Sirius pulled out his wand with a flourish and vanished the mess from both of their bodies.

"And for your information, I usually do not use the entrance in my office. The one on the ground floor is much better suited for receiving visitors that arrive via the floo."

James muttered something as he ran his hands through his hair in a futile attempt to flatten out the wayward strands.

"So what is so important that you couldn't talk about in my own house? My stomach does not take kindly to being thrown around that much so soon after eating. I should be using this time to be with my kids and wife at home, not out causing trouble with you."

Sirius's face instantly grew solemn, the mischievous glint in his eye vanishing in an instant.

"I didn't want to cause Lily any more anxiety. Merlin knows she's under enough as it is," he motioned to the chair next to the fireplace they had just fallen out of, "Besides Kingsley said this couldn't wait."

Sirius watched as his friend whirled around to see the senior auror sitting in the old-fashioned panel chair. James's handsome face instantly went an interesting shade of white as he realized the man had been sitting there the entire time. Sirius didn't care much about what the other aurors thought about him but James certainly did.

"Kingsley," James managed to stutter out a greeting, clearly mortified.

But for his part, Kingsley did not seem bothered by their arrival. Instead, he sat perfectly still in the high-backed chair, deep lines of worry creasing his face.

"I apologise for disturbing your evening, Potter," the auror's piercing gaze flickered between the two friends, "Trust me, I would have waited until morning and called an official order meeting if I felt this could wait. However, this matter is extremely urgent."

Sirius had been about to floo over to Pottor Manor when the senior auror had come stumbling out of his fireplace. To say that Sirius was startled would be an understatement. Kingsley had been vague about the reason behind his sudden appearance. All that Sirius knew was that the man had just come directly from Dumbledore's office at Hogwarts and had insisted on speaking to James and himself as quickly as possible. Needless to say, Lily had not been particularly happy when a breathless Sirius had come crashing into their house insisting upon taking her husband away for an unknown reason.

"What is it, Kingsley?" Sirius asked, "Has there been another attack?"

"Possibly worse," the knuckles on the auror's hands whitened as he gripped the edges of the seat, "Frank Longbottom is missing."

"What?!"

"Since when?!"

Kingsley let out a deep sigh and pushed himself to his feet clearly too anxious to remain seated. "We are not exactly sure. The department had him out on duty in Hogsmeade since Sunday to respond to any suspicious reports. We haven't heard from him since."

"What about his tracker?"

"His tracker was found just hours ago in a forest near Surrey. We aren't sure what he was doing down there or even how he got there. We aren't even sure if he was there to begin with or if his tracker was taken off of him and placed there on purpose."

Sirius's entire body had gone numb by this point. He couldn't believe this was happening. He had seen both Frank and Alice just a few days prior when they had invited him over for supper. How could Frank, an experienced auror, just go missing without anyone realising?

"Dumbledore fears he's been taken by death eaters," Kingsley continued, "We can't really be positive of anything at this point as the investigation is just starting. The department is already sending out a team to Surrey as we speak, but I'm sure Frank's long gone by now."

Sirius still couldn't believe what he was hearing. First, there was the attempt on Mad-Eye last week and now Frank was missing. Sirius could only imagine how Alice must be feeling knowing her husband might already be dead.

"Dumbledore wanted me to tell you both in person. He felt it would be better this way than having you both hear about it via other means," the senior auror turned toward James, "I know you are off duty tomorrow, Potter, but I'm going to need you there to support me in the investigation. Black, I know you are scheduled to report to Hogsmeade. I may need you to elsewhere, but I'm not sure who else is assigned to patrol that area besides yourself."

All of the information was coming too quickly for either of the two wizards to fully comprehend.

"Once again, I am sorry for disrupting your evenings in such a fashion. Now if you will excuse me, I need to go and speak with Alice."

Kingsley gave a grim nod to them both before grabbing a handful of floo powder from the mantel. A second later he disappeared with a flash of green flames.

Sirius was the first to break the deafening silence, "How did no one notice sooner? I just don't understand how this could have happened right under our noses without us realising."

He looked toward James, expecting a response, but the auror just stood there, his eyes staring sightlessly at the empty fireplace. Sirius sighed before coming up beside his friend. He grabbed the man's cold hand and guided him gently to the nearest chair.

"It's alright, James," he murmured softly, "He can't get to Lily or your children. They are in the safest spot they can be."

James didn't respond but instead sat down heavily in the plush armchair.

"We'll find out what happened to Frank," Sirius continued, "We'll find him and we'll make sure that whoever's responsible will pay. They won't get a chance to get anywhere near Will or the twins."

Sirius put his hand comfortingly on his friend's shoulder. He had never been particularly good with giving reassurance or helping people deal with their emotions.

After an awkwardly long bout of silence, James finally looked up at Sirius, his brown eyes portraying an unknown emotion.

"You don't understand, Padfoot. Everyone around us is dying. Benji, Hestia, Harry…Frank. It feels like we are just waiting until it's finally going to be our turn."

Sirius felt his heart sink at the hopelessness in his friend's voice.

"But you know what gives me a little sense of peace?" James's voice caught in his throat, "The only thing that comforts me is the fact that Harry never had to live to see all this."