Harry glanced back down at his hands, the bright glowing hew that had initially sprung up around him had dimmed to a sparkling silver, but it had a dark shadow-like quality to it that flashed a deep royal blue swimming under the surface. "What have you done to me?" He asked cautiously, trying to keep the fear out of his voice. He raised his hand before his eyes, curling his fingers experimentally. He felt normal except for the abnormal glow. He glanced at his arms; they were the same. He was glowing an odd silver-grey-blue, the colors molding and shifting faster than the eye could discern. It had a mist quality to it, the ocean blue-silver haze rolling gently across his skin, it was mesmerizing as he watched it sparkling upon his arms.

"Do you know what that spell was?"

He'd never heard of any type of magic with this effect. Distantly, he wondered if he would be stuck like this. Or worse, would Voldemort gain more control over him from it somehow, would it give Voldemort access to his core?

Reading his wary expression, Voldemort flicked his wrist, casting a silent finite. Blissfully the glow dimmed then disappeared.

"It divulges your core disposition; the Latin translation is to 'reveal the soul'. It shows your casting affinity," the Dark Lord calmly revealed.

Harry nodded his understanding, so did that mean that what Voldemort had claimed was true? Was he grey? That was, assuming that the color related to the aurora he possessed. Again, he was plagued by the doubt that he could take nothing Voldemort said for truth. How was he supposed to sit here and endear lessons day-after-day where every statement that came from the Dark Lord's mouth was likely a ploy to gain Harry over to the dark side? He could not trust the Dark Lord, and yet Voldemort had promised to not keep him in the dark, to tell him the truth. How was he supposed to navigate such a paradox? All this knowledge he desperately wanted but could not trust.

"Would you like to see mine?"

Harry's eyes jerked up; confused emerald orbs stared up at the Dark Lord. "I would assume it's black," he replied, shaking his head. He had no desire to see any part of the Slytherin heir's aurora.

The man smirked, raising his wand and casting the spell over himself. Harry felt his breath catch as a deep royal purple suddenly surrounded the other wizard. It was certainly darker than his own shade of blue-grey had been. Where his had been covered in a shadow-like quality, there was still a translucent feel about it, enough to still see his fingers and limbs through the shadows even if they were blurred. Instead, Voldemort's had a substantial quality to it. It pulsed about the man vibrantly, like waves flowing in and out.

Harry stared, completely transfixed as the man seemed to almost disappear in the deep purple shadows that coated his skin. Harry could barely make out the man's actual outline, such was thickness of whatever pulsing color surrounded Voldemort. With another flick of his wand, he was back to the middle-aged, slightly pale, but otherwise normal-looking man with red eyes.

"So, what have you learned?" The Slytherin heir asked, staring at the stunned teen in amusement.

Harry took a breath, forcing himself to calm. Both his brief period of glowing and the view of the Dark Lords aurora had been more intense than he had expected. With the spell now extinguished, he felt an echo in his soul. Like he'd been exposed somehow and was no longer covered. He felt vulnerable but also strangely free. It made no sense.

"Yours seemed different than mine," Harry said after a minute, shaking his head, trying to put words to what he saw and felt. "And not the color," he added, blushing slightly. He would have been appalled if they had the same color aurora. "The thickness?" That didn't seem like the right word, but he found himself unable to come up with a better one. Where his gray shadows had almost been somewhat see-through, with a tinge to the blue color, Voldemort's had coated his body entirely, making him near impossible to see in the vapor.

"Good," the man praised, nodding his head once. The compliment left Harry feeling strange. "The color is only one aspect of the revealing properties of the spell. The darkness does correlate to the disposition of the core, but the 'thickness,'" his smirked, "as you so aptly described, also shows your core's strength."

Tilting his head, the raven-haired teen frowned. "Strength as in how strong your magic is?" He clarified thoughtfully, unease creeping up in the back of his thoughts. He had felt like he could almost touch Voldemort's pulsing black shadows; it was significantly more substantial than his own. Was the Dark Lord indeed that much more powerful than them all?

He swallowed nervously as he starred back at the man. If that was the difference in their magical strength the wizarding world was even dumber than he had assumed to put all their faith in Harry, a mediocre teen who only had five years of formal magic schooling. How could anyone in their right mind think he could ever compete with a dark lord who had explored magic deeper than any other known witch or wizard? Even if Harry had the potential to grow and become a stronger wizard, he was realizing just how foolish Dumbledore and the order had been to not start preparing him the second he walked into Hogwarts. Or even earlier.

As loath as he was to have been forced into some form of child-soldier training before turning eleven, the reality was he'd never had any hope of a real future, to grow up as a normal teenage. Dumbledore had said he suspected the Dark Lord was not vanquished that fateful night on Halloween when his parents had been murdered. So why had he left him with magic hating relatives and spent zero time trying to prepare the teen for the war Dumbledore had always expected him to bear? It made no sense.

"Yes," Voldemort confirmed, drawing his apprentice's wandering thoughts back to the present. "The more translucent, the weaker the wizard. While my magic is significantly more developed than yours, for your age, your core is actually quite well established. For most students, or any of your peers, you would have completely seen their bodies. They would likely have a very thin mist, barely present, perhaps slightly more established for the seventh years. The tendrils within yours, the ones that looked like pulsing shadows, that movement and shape reveal that your magic is still growing, that you magic has not come to majority yet. And yet even at your young age, you already are showing advanced power. The thickness as you called it, yours if quite mature for someone who is only 16."

"When do you hit majority?" Harry asked, captivated despite himself. It made sense that their cores were still growing that was the point of school after all. But he found it unlikely his would ever compete with Voldemort's.

"Usually at 17, which is why you are considered of age in the wizarding world that young compared to what you would have seen in the muggle world. While you can always grow your spell repertoire, your core begins to finally stabilize once you hit your majority, you will in essence have peaked and will know the limits of the types of magic you can perform. Casting the spell after you hit majority will give you a more accurate representation of strength, this only hinted at your potential."

Harry wasn't sure how to respond to that. On one hand, he would have to take Voldemort on his word that he was stronger than most, on the other, he seemed so far away from the Dark Lord's power that an entirely new wave of terror washed over him for the fate of the wizarding world. How would anyone defeat such a powerful wizard? He wondered what Dumbledore's looked like.

"And my color?" Harry asked, knowing it would be brought up sooner than later. "That is supposed to reveal my affinity for dark or light magic?" Wasn't that the entire reason behind this discussion, to prove affinities existed, that he had a pre-disposition to either light or dark casting?

Suddenly the man's mask was very much back in place; the Slytherin stared at him with an eerie calm. "Red, orange, or yellow is what light wizard usually show. The closer to pure yellow, the more light the affinity. Red is closer to neutral until turning grey, which it completely balanced." he said after a moment. For some reason, the wizard's shift in persona brought the hair's on Harry's neck on edge. "I am obviously very well versed in the dark arts but have taught myself to perform both light and dark. And I have a very strong core as you saw. That is why mine was purple instead of completely black." Here he paused, his eyes roaming over the boy. "You may not believe me, Harry, but your core revealed a greater disposition for the dark art than those of the light. If it had been light gray or closer to red or yellow, you would have been a grey wizard with a disposition towards the light. Having blue, green, or purple represent colors of dark temperament. While what I suspected is true, that you are grey and balanced to perform light and dark magic with little strain on your core, the fact that there was blue reveal that dark magic is a more natural form of magic than light in your case."

The words felt like a slap in the face. Harry leaned back, shaking his head. He didn't believe him. There was no way he had a higher affinity for dark magic. It was impossible. He was the chosen one of the light! The Dark Lord would say anything to try and sway him or make him lose faith in his standing in the light. He did not even know if that was an actual spell. It could have just been one that played a trick of the light on his form, one that the Dark Lord had created for this very reason.

"I don't believe you," he said quietly, eyes narrowed as the red stared deeply into green.

Voldemort held his stare for several long, uncomfortable moments. Then after what felt like an eternity, he shrugged slightly. The common motion appeared still somehow regal coming from the straight-backed, proper wizard before him. "Time will tell."

Clinching his fist, Harry cringed at the mocking drawl. The only thing time would be revealing was that he was a light wizard and that Voldemort, and his sadistic games could shove it. The red orbs seemed to narrow as if sensing his feelings.

Harry quickly dropped his gaze, wondering if the Slytherin heir was reading his thoughts. He desperately wished he'd learned occlumency. Why had he ever thought it was a good idea to stop? Even if it was an overgrown greasy bat that was responsible for teaching him, the hell of enduring Snape was still better than leaving his mind vulnerable to his captor. He had been an immature fool to quit the lessons so readily and deeply regretted it now.

"I suppose it will," Harry agreed, having nothing better to say. He would need to research the spell on his own and recast it to trust any of it. But even Voldemort had said you could train your core. Perhaps the Dark Lord had been born with a black core, and he made it purple through sheer will. Well, Harry had been forced to endure the death of his Godfather and not to mention the utter horrors of the past year under Umbridge. He had no doubt he was strained. The crucio he had cast on Bellatrix had felt wholly justified at the time. He would even be tempted to do it again, should she ever show her presence.

Letting out a soft sigh, he released his fists, wanting nothing better than to run his hand shakily through his hair or just curl up in a ball and cease this confusing conversation. He could feel the Dark Lord's stare still resting on him, but he refused to return the gaze. His thoughts were in too much chaos. Undoubtedly the Dark Lord had lied; he could not have a dark affinity. It went against everything he had ever believed about himself. His friends would be appalled. His head jerked up.

"What happened to my friends?" He asked, disgusted with himself that he hadn't asked that first thing when Voldemort entered. He knew he'd been charmed to read that book, but that was no excuse given the last time he'd seen them; they were being attacked at the Burrow.

"Do you not trust their ability to defend themselves?" Mocked the dark wizard. His tone was cold; Harry suspected Voldemort was annoyed over his denial and lack of response to the core declaration. Not that they was much Harry could say.

"I don't trust your followers," Harry countered. He felt his gut clench, guilt flooding him over what may have become to the Order due to Voldemort's schemes to get him to agree to remain here and be taught.

The Slytherin let out a soft chuckle, "Harry, you wear your heart on your sleeve; you almost make it too easy to control you." It came across amused, but Harry could hear the sneer in the words. It was clear that Voldemort thought his compassion a weakness.

The words hurt all the more because he knew the truth that rang so clearly. "And yet you got what you wanted. I am here with your mark. So, I ask again, what happened at the Borrow?" His voice had become sharper; the terror of not knowing making him angry and anxious.

Voldemort tilted his head to the side, considering him. His long fingers flipped the wand through them, twisting it slowly through each digit, pinky to thumb, then back to the pinky.

"Have a care, boy," he hissed the last word. He paused the wand twirl, the yew facing him. Harry would be a fool to admit it wasn't intimidating.

Swallowing, he pressed forward, trying to keep his voice neutral. He knew getting angry would get him nothing with the temperamental wizard. "You said if I cooperated, they would not be harmed," he tried.

The Voldemort's lips twitched minutely. "I said I would not harm your school friends," he clarified, the Slytherin Heir quickly seeing through the semantics. "It those fools in the Order are senseless enough to fight against me; then they will feel the Dark Lord's wrath."

He could feel his heart begin beating louder and louder in his chest. He swallowed again against his parched throat. "Did Lupin survive?" He hated how unsure he sounded, how weak and young. But the rational voice that sometimes was loud enough to be heard had to admit that he was. He was a sixteen-year-old boy whom the world had put their hopes on since he was one and was now facing the darkest wizard of the age. He was desperately scared despite the lion front he was barely able to hold on to. He'd allowed himself to be marked by the man who murdered his parents and to rub salt on the wound, agreed to become his student where he would likely be learning the most vile of dark magic.

"Yes, your pet wolf is fine," Voldemort all but sneered. "I left after you agreed to cease your foolish rebellion; I did not order my followers to stick around. I'm sure your pathetic group of light champions are fine, off licking their wounds at some new poor attempt of a headquarters."

While it wasn't the most reassuring statement he had ever heard, it did relieve some of the tension. He at least knew Remus had survived. If he had not, he did not know what he would do. Everything he had agreed to had been for him. He nodded tightly. It would have to do for now. Perhaps if he were able to get the Dark Lord in a better mood, he would be more willing to share information. He wondered if he would even be allowed to see any of them again but sensed now was not the time to start making demands for any supposed freedom.

"And this mark?" He asked quietly, his eyes dropping to his concealed forearm. "Will you now tell me what it does? I have a right to know; it's my body."

The heartless laugh felt like ice being poured over his body. "Oh, Harry, you know that is no longer true, Harry," Voldemort sneered. "You accepted my mark; you accepted my magic over you. You gave yourself to me."

"I did not give myself to you; I am a person. You can't own me!" Harry snapped, his emerald eyes flashing in rage. He was almost certain his parents would be rolling over in their graves at the mere thought that Harry would accept anything from the Dark Lord. He shivered at the idea that he allowed himself to be marked.

"But I can, and I do," Voldemort pressed. "Just like those who take my Dark Mark. I had tried to do this the easy way. I offered you a position to learn at my side. You rejected me. So, I needed assurance you would not have a change of heart."

"Change of heart?" Harry bit out exasperated. "I want nothing to do with you! You forced this on me; I despise you!"

"Well, that doesn't bode well for our budding master and apprentice relationship," the Dark Lord mocked darkly. He went back to flicking his wand through his fingers again, but there was an increased agitation to the movement. It was done with more precision and speed than the casual flow of grace he had going before.

"So, you won't tell me about my friends or this mark?" Harry asked at last when no more information appeared to be forthcoming. How had he gotten himself in such a mess? "You're not a very informative instructor."

He yelped as a hex stung his arm. Eyes flashing, he gripped the inflamed appendix as his grip on his own wand tightened. It took every ounce of restraint not to raise his wand against the Dark Lord. He was almost positive that was what the other wizard wanted for him, to take the bait and try and fight back. That would undoubtedly earn him another crucio, if not worse.

The red eyes narrowed slightly. "Lose the tone, or I will remove your tongue and wand," Voldemort snapped, his own wand froze again, pointing at him and immediately drawing Harry's focus. "You'd be wise to remember that I am still the Dark Lord. I will not tolerate childishness or insolence Potter; is that understood?"

The wand hovered, pointed at his heart. The promise of pain screamed in the uncomfortable silence. Harry could feel his heart pounding louder against his rib cage. He had voluntarily put himself in this position; he had accepted a life under the power of the Dark Lord who had killed his parents and harmed his friends without hesitation. He only had himself to blame that he was staring up the tip of his brother wand and was expected to concede. Had in fact agreed to obey Voldemort.

"Fine," he mumbled softly, composing himself as much as possible.

The Slytherin arched an unimpressed brow expectantly.

"Yes, sir," Harry conceded in a muttered tone when the stare did not drop. Voldemort nodded minutely.

"Why must you test me with even the simplest of things? You submitted, you're here on your own volition, or have you already forgotten that this was the price of your wolf and friends?"

Harry sighed; it would do him no good getting tortured over something so petty. He would have to plan his rebellion, be smart. And he would have to learn about the mark and see if he could counter it or override it. There had to be a way. There was no way Voldemort could lay claim to a magical being just through a mark. He would not accept it.

Voldemort exhaled at his tone; it was clearly not a sigh because that would be beneath the wizard, Harry thought dejectedly. With quick movements, The Dark Lord stood, his red eyes still staring at him unconvinced. "We will get you to the point where respect is second nature, or your time here will be very uncomfortable," he promised, his wand disappearing within the folds of his dark robes.

"What is your plan for me?" Harry asked softly. He dreaded the answer but needed to know.

"As I've already told you, I intend to teach you, make you powerful."

"To what ends?" Harry asked. None of this made sense to him. Even if the dark lord had decided Harry should not be killed, that did not explain why he suddenly wanted to teach him, make him stronger. Even with Harry being marked, it seemed like an awfully big risk to take since everyone thought he had some crazy power that could kill the Slytherin heir.

Scarlet eyes swept over him, "to whatever ends I desire," Voldemort murmured, staring at him with almost a hungry glint in his eyes. It was a non-answer that was entirely unsatisfying. Harry wasn't sure how to respond, to challenge the Dark Lord again on his lack of information seemed foolish. To not fight seemed weak. He wasn't sure what to do next, whether to embrace his inner lion or previously dormant snack. But he wasn't eager to be tortured again and also did not desire to make Voldemort mad enough to retaliate against his friends or something equally horrid.

"So, what's next?"

With a quiet whisper of his robes, Voldermort turned and began walking back towards the closed door. As he reached it, he turned back, eyes roaming unnervingly over the teenager.

"You will take dinner with me each night Harry, from there, we will determine the schedule of your next day. You will dress appropriately, and I expect you to be civilized with both myself and anyone I allow to dine with us. My admonishments today have been kind in comparison to what I will do to you if you disrespect me in front of others. You have chosen to stay here, Harry, you have no one but yourself to blame. I expect you to behave. I will tolerate zero disobedience when we are in public, I hope you take that too heart. I can tolerate you being more candid in private, but to the world you my apprentice and will act the part." He paused, a slight twitch of his lips, revealing the ghost of a smile on his elegant features. "Prepare yourself my dark little lion; it's time for you to experience the snake's den."

He turned and was gone, leaving Harry to his dark thoughts as he sat frozen on his bed, gripping his wand. The emerald eyes glanced towards the window; the shadows of dusk were already stretching across the sky. Swallowing, he turned back towards the door. Dinner and thus, his new life would begin soon. He'd be a fool to say that he was not afraid.

Chapter 8! Thank you SOOO much for the reviews! They were really encouraging. I hope you like this next chapter. As always, please let me know what you think or if there is anything you want to see. I'm enjoying writing this!