Chapter 11: Adjusting:
After being returned to his room by the twitchy elf, Harry
downed the two provided potions quickly, then jumped in the shower to rinse the blood dripping freely down his arm and different appendages. Being quick about it, he stepped out, grabbing the rolls of gauze Tipsy had blissfully left outside the bathroom door. The Gryffindor teen made short work of wrapping the more significant cuts and tying them off tightly. Sitting on his bed, he stared at the deepest scar on his forearm, blood already soaking through the white cloth. The potions had done very little to heal him. He knew one was a blood replenishing position; the other seemed to be a light pain medication for the torture curse, but he still felt ill, and his cuts had barely stopped bleeding after he wrapped a few of them.
"How am I supposed to learn healing?" He asked himself softly. He assumed healing was complex magic, or the spells would be more commonly known. Hermione knew a few quick fixes but nothing more. He felt exhausted, but his arm was still bleeding, and he wasn't sure it was a good idea to delay his research any longer and risk getting dizzy from blood loss. Wandering over to the bookshelves, he glanced through the titles pulling out anything that seemed to reference healing. Dropping them on the sturdy cherrywood desk, Harry flipped through the first one, eyes roaming over the different appendixes and table of content hoping for anything that would indicate a spell to heal cuts.
After 30 minutes, he'd found several that looked promising. Tensing his arm, he glanced down again. The bandage was completely soaked through with blood, and his arm hurt. Bellatrix's attack had cut deeply into his forearm, aggravating the muscle and maybe even hitting bone. It was an excruciating cut, one he dearly hoped he'd be able to heal. Worst case, there was a bandaging charm that would at least wrap his wound better than what he'd managed to do one-handed. There was also a neat stamina spell which he thought might come in useful at some point, assuming he survived his current ordeal.
He glanced at the wand movement muttering "Episkey," twisting and dipping his wrist in a quick flick, then cut as the picture showed. It didn't look too complicated and was said to be a minor healing charm that could be used in various ways. He practices the motions a few more times before glancing down at his arm thoughtfully. It felt silly that he'd never thought to learn any healing. He supposed mending broken bones and serious injuries would be advanced. But this healing charm did not seem beyond his capabilities and would be helpful, especially if he was to expect random dueling challenges every time he left his room.
He flicked and dipped his wand in a sharp cutting motion. "Episkey."
Nothing happened. A drip of blood fell from his soaked bandages to the floor. Sighing, he closed his eyes, trying to find his center. It felt weird to learn a new spell without his friends. Usually, it would be under Hermione's critical eye that he tried something like this. He could hear her bossy voice like a whisper in his mind. "You have to mean it, Harry. And calm your mind. Healing is a mental state. It's what the book said."
Lips twitching faintly at her imagined advice, he took a deep breath and let it out. He pushed out the pain in his arm, centering himself inwardly. "Episkey," he said, a little louder this time. Again, nothing happened. Groaning softly, he glanced back at the book, eyes flashing over the wand movement depiction as he read through the guidance again.
Episkey (pronounced eh-PIS-kee) is a simple healing incantation for minor injuries. The caster should focus on the desired healing spot, clearing their mind. Like all healing spells, fortifying your mind and concentrating on the desire to make well is critical as intent matters. A moderate magical level is required for initial use. Greater magical prowess is necessary for repeated uses or more extensive injuries. This healing charm should not be used for severed limbs, bone breaks, or internal bleeding. See a medical practice immediately if you have a life-threatening injury.
Trying to clear his mind again, Harry looked at where the injury was. What did healing intent mean? He knew feelings of joy and love powered the Patronus. Was that the same for healing? He assumed it was a light spell. Even if what Voldemort said was true, that he had a grey core, that meant he could use both light and dark interchangeably, or at least that's what the book had said. So, he should have no issues with healing. He flicked his hand silently, practicing the motion again. Another drip of blood fell to the floor. If he didn't figure this out soon, he'd need another blood-replenishing potion.
He closed his eyes, focusing. He envisioned his arm and the deep cut he knew resided there. He pictured it being stitched together, the skin knitting in smooth healing. "Episkey!"
Something twinged on his arm. Glancing down excitedly, he stared at the bandage. Did it work? Unwrapping it quickly, he stared at his arm. About half of the wound had scarred together. Eyebrows rising, he smiled. He'd done it. Well, he'd started it, at least. Latching on to the feeling of his last attempt, he flicked his wand again, boldly casting the spell. "Episkey!" The remained of his arm stitched together, leaving a thin white scar to his utter delight.
He'd done it. He'd found the spell and learned it all on his own. A sense of satisfaction and pride that he rarely felt washed over him. Smiling, he wadded up the bandage and dropped it in the bin next to his desk. He still ached, and other little scars littered his body, but he'd done it. He'd healed a legitimate injury. He glanced at his palm, which had a less deep cut from when he'd fallen into the vase shards. Casting the healing charm again, he was utterly delighted when it knitted together, leaving only the faintest white line. He loved magic, Harry thought, as he turned back to the book, wondering what other helpful healing charms he could look over.
~~S~~S~~S~~S~~S~~S~~S~~S~~S~~S~~S~~S~~S~~S~~S~~S~~S~~S~~S~~S~~
The following day his door opened with no knock or ceremony. Glancing up from the desk, Harry wearily watched the Dark Lord enter his room. Red eyes glanced over his form, landing on his left arm where the injury from the night before had been.
"You succeeded," it wasn't a question.
Harry nodded, closing the healing book. He'd been reading about a spell that sounded like the muggle Heimlich maneuver called the Anapneo spell, which would clear an object that was being choked on. The wand movement for that looked much more complex than his healing the night before. And he wasn't sure how to practice it without a choking victim. Something he certainly had no intention of bringing up before the sadistic dark lord.
"Which spell did you use?"
"Episkey."
Voldemort nodded in approval, striding over to Harry. A long slender finger hooked under his sleeve, baring the left arm. Red eyes glanced over the thin white scar. "When you have better power control, there will be barely any scaring," the Dark Lord remarked. "Acceptable first attempt."
Confusing pride washed through Harry at the praise. He was pleased he'd succeeded and knew the Dark Lord did not provide praise freely. But on the other hand, this was the man who'd murdered his parents and was leading a war against his very way of life. Pushing away the conflicting feelings for later, Harry nodded his acceptance of the compliment.
"Today, I want to see your spell repertoire. We'll use a training room, and you will cast on dummies. I need to know just how lacking your training has been up to this point to know how to get you to an adequate level."
Not eager to be a lab rat under scrutiny, Harry nodded, pushing himself to his feet and grabbing the wand next to the small stack of healing books he'd been perusing late into the night and as soon as he'd awakened that morning. He was grateful Tipsy had taken it upon herself to magic in toast and bacon unasked as soon as he'd retreated to the desk. He wouldn't have to worry about fainting from hunger.
The Gryffindor teen followed slowly after the Dark Lord, who led him silently through the giant mansion. After several turns and two flights of stairs, Harry followed the Slytherin into an even grander atrium than where they had eaten dinner. Begrudgingly, he had to admit he was impressed with the ancient mansion. Similar to their practical rooms at Hogwarts, this room was created with dueling and spell casting in mind. High walls and domes ceiling expanded over him. At the far end of the room, a row of dummies similar to what the room of requirements had conjured for Dumbledore's Army stood silently and still.
They entered the room, stopping about twenty paces away. Shifting, Harry glanced back at the dark wizard. Their entire walk had been silent, not necessarily uncomfortable but still awkward. Harry was not even close to comfortable with his situation and suspected every conversation was only a moment away from him being tortured for angering the man.
"Cast your strongest attack."
Taking a breath, Harry flicked his wrist. "Diffindo!" The right arm of the dummy dropped with a thud to the floor.
The teen glanced a Voldemort, who nodded. "Another one."
Frowning, Harry ran through what he now felt like a minimal list of offensive spells. Readying himself, he straightened his back and shouted, "incendio!" Flames sprayed forward, hissing and licking up the defenseless dummy. With a wave of his wand, Voldemort silently vanished the fire.
"Another," he murmured softly, eyes intently on Harry.
Swallowing, Harry cast the impedimenta jinx. It would not do much damage but would slow an enemy down.
Voldemort nodded. "Another."
And so they went, Harry cast ropes against the dummy with incarcerous, followed by the leg-locker curse, then the tongue-locking curse. After several more different hexes, jinxes, and curses, Harry paused, sweat dripping down the nape of his neck. "Petrificus Totalus!" The dummy toppled over, frozen.
"Another," Voldemort commanded, the exact phrase he'd said at least twenty times. Harry glanced up at the taller wizard. "I don't know any more attacks," he said after a short pause, feeling self-conscious of the scrutiny washing over him. He felt sure the dark lord would ridicule him, how pathetic he must look to a man who had been creating his own spells in his first few years of Hogwarts.
"Do you think you're spell casting adequate to save you in a life-threatening situation?"
Harry immediately wanted to provide a quipped reply that he'd escaped Voldemort plenty of times but held his tongue. The reality was that he knew he had been lucky each of those times. And many like Cedric had not. It was not skill which kept him alive today. "No," he admitted, forcing his voice to be as firm as possible. He raised his head, meeting his parent's murdered gaze. "I know my knowledge is inadequate, that I would not truly stand a chance against you."
A slight twitch of the Dark Lord's lips irked Harry irrationally. "Agreed," Voldemort nodded. "Though what you lack in knowledge, you do make up for with ingenuity. You are quick, your casting is powerful, and you are innovative in responses, as I've now seen a few times when your back is against a wall. Many would have frozen when faced with Bella last night. Many more would never have dared raise their wand against me. You are not without talent, but you lack instruction and dedicated training. I can remedy both."
Once again, Harry felt strange having any sort of compliment directed his way from the Dark Lord. It wasn't something he wanted to get used to, and he knew he was being subjected to the wizard's legendary manipulation with every hint of praise directed his way.
"I have gifted you several dark arts and defense books," Voldemort continued as if oblivious to Harry's internal dilemma. "I want you to go through them and produce a list of spells you desire to learn. With each spell you select, I want your justification. Include why you want to learn it, specifically focusing on what gap it will fill either in your offense or defensive casting." He paused, giving Harry a knowing look. "I expect there to be dark arts casting included in the list. If you don't, I will assume you are leaving it up to me on which spells you seek to learn. I would think that you'd prefer to have some say, but it matters not to me. I guarantee you that I can come up with some inventive ways for you to broaden your knowledge base," the last was accompanied by a wicked smirk, his red orbs practically glowing.
Tensing, Harry nodded once in acceptance. He was secretly relieved to have some say; he'd assumed the Dark Lord would immediately sweep in and demand the worst of him now that the teen was in the wizard's grasp. "Good," Voldemort commended, seeing no opposition. "The elf can take you back to your room. We will meet for dinner this evening, and I expect to see the beginning of your list. It will only be the two of us dining tonight, so for your own sake, I hope that doesn't result in another dual." Harry's eyes widen slightly at the almost teasing matter the Slythering spoke. Nodding again, Harry followed the Dark Lord back to the door where Tipsy appeared.
"Until this evening, my apprentice," Voldemort bid him farewell, sweeping past the subdued teen. Harry watched him go silently, conflicted. The demonstration had not been what he expected. Voldemort had not hinted at what he thought of Harry's casting except the comment that he needed to know more, which Harry agreed with. It was not at all how Harry expected their interactions to go.
Bewildered, Harry turned to the elf, who was shuffling back and forth between her tiny feet. "Is master ready to return to his room?" She asked, glancing up with large round eyes. With a nod, Harry followed her down the winding halls and grand staircases to what had been dubbed "his room."
Entering the room, he closed the door, feeling restless. He was tired from casting, but a tenseness remained from another confusing interaction with the dark lord. Sighing, he walked over to the shelves, once against glancing through the different titles. Hermione would be in heaven, he thought sadly, pulling out a defensive tomb.
~~S~~S~~S~~S~~S~~S~~S~~S~~S~~S~~S~~S~~S~~S~~S~~S~~S~~S~~S~~S~~
Tipsy reappeared in what felt like a blink of an eye, bidding him follow her to dinner. This time he recognized half of the hallways and turns as they returned to the same dining entrance he'd entered the night before. Taking a steadying breath, he pushed the door open. Unlike the previous night, the table was only set for two, the head and the seat directly to the head's left. Also, unlike the previous night, no one else was present.
Harry gave the elf a questioning look. "Where is he?"
"The Master will be here soon; use's should stand at your place until he is coming." She advised in a soft squeak. Nodding, Harry walked slowly to what he assumed to be his chair.
Fidgeting back and forth, Harry awkwardly glanced around the room until movement from the side caught his eye. Voldemort had entered from an obscure passage, momentary stilling the teen's frantic heart. Harry silently watched him near, a long tailored black cloak trailing in the Dark Lord's wake. He looked elegant and lordly with his sharp dragon leather boots, high collared acid green high fashion wizard shirt, and tailored black pants all beneath elegantly stitched black robes with silver accents on the sleeved. Harry wondered where he'd come from requiring such dress and appearance. Did the Dark Lord roam freely under his new face as some unassuming pompous wizard among the average population? Besides the red eyes, not much would give him away unless someone was intimate with the young Tom Riddle and knew the Dark Lord's true origin.
"Sit," Voldemort ordered without ceremony as his own chair hovered back silently. Harry sat. It irked him that he felt like he'd been so complacent but justified that he was merely being rational, staying alive, and avoiding torture. He didn't see any way to escape the monster or avoid his presence. And he'd agreed to learn and be his apprentice. So to act out over such trivial things did not make much sense to the teen. He'd bide his time and figure out what Voldemort truly wanted while seeing if an opportunity presented itself where he could escape.
"Did you research spells you want to learn?"
Harry nodded once. There were many on there he found himself excited over the prospect of learning. The few dark arts Harry had added weren't awful either. He'd found one that was healing in nature, but because it required the sacrifice of blood was considered dark. It only needed a drop of the caster's but could be magnified into a strong healing charm that would be very useful if one of his friends were ever seriously hurt.
"Good. You will meet me in my library tomorrow morning and study from there. Come with your list of spells. Tipsy will escort you."
Harry nodded again, not seeing any reason to resist the command. The food materialized before them, hot steaming roast, potatoes, and carrots displayed on exquisite silver serving trays. Red wine filled his cup in a blink, just like the previous night. He stared at it cautiously, wondering if he dared to tempt fate with drinking again. He didn't think his two sips from the night before had led to the dual with Bellatrix, but he needed to remain vigilant around Voldemort. Moody would have his head if he knew he was even considering it or had engaged the night before.
Without preamble, the dark lord filled his plate, picked up his silverware, and began eating. Awkwardly, Harry did the same. Like the previous night, they had made it through most of the dinner before the first word was spoken. Harry wasn't sure why Voldemort forced others to suffer through the awkward meals with him. He'd understand it if they were discussing something, but to do so in silence seemed odd for the Slytherin heir to endure.
"Your occlumency is abysmal," The dark lord observed, breaking the silence. "What training have you received in it?"
Harry set his fork back down, glancing at the wizard then dropping his gaze. He knew eye contact was essential for Legilimency. After the disastrous training with Snape and the death of his godfather, he'd all but blocked the magical practice from his thoughts.
"I was forced to do several lessons with Snape," he admitted begrudgingly, once again wondering if the slippery potion master was on the side of the light or the dark. He was surprised he hadn't seen him yet, come to think of it. Was it because Voldemort did not trust him to know Harry's location? He'd need to be cautious with what he said in case Snape was actually on Dumbledore's side and could get him out of this nightmare. But as he considered the brilliant Dark Lord before him, he thought it unlikely that someone like Snape, who was openly serving Dumbledore, could have tricked him in any fashion.
"Clearly, you did not succeed at learning it. Why didn't Dumbledore himself teach you?"
Harry shrugged a wave of confusion washing through him. He still did not understand Dumbeldore's reasoning. Given his connection with Voldemort, that was all the more reason that the headmaster should have been invested in him learning the practice. How he thought Harry and Snape would ever get along enough to learn was beyond the teen's comprehension. "He thought my connection with you made Snape a better teacher. If you thought Dumbledore and I were close, you would target me more to get at him."
A derisive scoff drew the raven-haired teen up from his dark musings. "Foolish of him," Voldemort mocked. "I'd spent years seeking you, and you lived in the man's school most of your time. His presence would have changed nothing regarding my desire to have you." The man gave him a considering look. "And you and Severus despise each other as I understand it. The mind arts are incredibly invasive; your instructor has unfiltered access to your innermost thoughts unless you are self-taught. He is an odd choice to select as your instructor in such arts, even if his skills are adequate."
If Voldemort, a self-proclaimed sociopath, could see the conflict of having Snape instruct Harry, how had Dumbledore not? "It didn't last long," Harry muttered, suddenly feeling sheepish as he recalled invading the horrible potion master's privacy. But he didn't feel as bad since he got to do that to Harry's mind every time he attacked him with Legilimency. It was only fair, even if he still felt terrible about seeing his father in such a light. "He despises me, and I never succeeded at blocking him." Shaking his head, he shrugged again, "he ended up kicking me out of his lessons. When you possessed me in the Ministry, I sort of assumed I'd never be able to master it against you anyways." He trailed off uncomfortable, feeling vulnerable discussing his inability to block Voldemort, of all people, from accessing his thoughts.
"Perhaps with years of training, you might be strong enough to block me, but there are none as competent in the mind arts as myself," it didn't seem like a boast, just a mere statement that Harry found himself believing. "But there is no reason you should not have been taught the skill and be able to block others. As my apprentice, I expect you to be competent in both closing your mind and being able to reach out to others. I won't have you vulnerable in mind arts."
Harry did wish he knew at least how to protect himself, especially against Voldemort. But the way the conversation was going meant Voldemort himself would likely be the one to teach him if he were to learn. The thought of his parent's murderer accessing his thoughts regularly was horrifying, even more so than Snape. "I don't like the idea of you snooping around my thoughts any more than I wanted Snape to."
Voldemort released a sinister chuckle. "First, you act like you have a choice, Harry. I hope you're under no delusions that you do. Plus, I can access your thoughts anytime; I am a master of Legilimens. I have done so multiple times since your arrival, and you've been none the wiser. At least this way, you will be able to sense me and even begin to block me. And I won't have you vulnerable to others. It is a weakness I won't allow."
Swallowing, Harry wasn't sure what to say, how he could even begin to argue with Voldemort on this. It was true; the Dark Lord could attack his mind at any point, and he had no way to protect himself. If he at least had the benefit of learning to defend himself, he at least got something out of it.
"I will have a book on it delivered to your room. You will clear your mind every night and practice the mediations the book prescribes. How painful this is for you will depend on how much effort you put into it. For your sake, I hope you give it the time these arts deserve."
"Alright," Harry reluctantly agreed, seeing no other options. At least this way made it sound like Voldermort wasn't just going to invade his thoughts immediately; he'd get some time to try and prepare. He felt more motivated to self-study this than he'd ever had. It would be the only way to routinely keep the Dark Lord from invading his thoughts.
Dropping his napkin on his plate, Voldemort suddenly stood. Harry mirrored the actions, standing himself, seeing the dark red pointed look. "I have meetings to attend. You're released for the evening. I will see you tomorrow with your spell list."
Nodding, Harry was slightly bemused but mostly relieved at the quick ending of their meal. Watching the older wizard depart from where he'd come, Harry took a small breath. He'd made it through two encounters without being tortured. It was sadly a new record. Tipsy soon appeared, escorting him back to his room. He felt he could almost make the journey on his own.
Walking in, he saw two books resting on his nightstand, Occlumency for Beginners and Learning the Most Ancient Art of Legilmency. Both books looked ancient, and he suspected they would have been dead helpful when he'd tried to learn the art the previous year. Glancing out the window longingly, Harry dropped to his bed and grabbed the Occlumency book. Knowing that Voldemort had unknowingly read his thoughts left him worried and paranoid. For his sanity's sake, he needed to learn this. With that thought, he opened the first page and began to read.
The evening passed quickly. Harry alternated between growing his spell list and reading the Occlumency instruction. There were several meditative techniques he wasn't sure how to practice, but the idea of clearing his mind and finding a state of peace held a lot of appeal to him in his current panic-induced prisoner's existence. Hours after the sun had set, Harry blew out his candles and attempted to fall into a meditative state as he lay in bed. As he awoke the following morning, he could not remember much of it and suspected he'd just been exhausted from the past few days and had just fallen asleep.
Breakfast appeared within moments of his awakening, which Harry ate slowly as he thoughtfully gazed outside. He wished he had a balcony or any way to interact with the outside world. His windows did not even have latches to open. Probably to prevent him from trying to escape, not that he thought he could. He wondered what would happen if he left his room and tried to leave through one of the manor's entrances. Would he be blocked? Would Voldemort know and immediately punish him? He hadn't been forbidden from leaving but suspected that Dark Lord had something in place to prevent him from leaving the manor. It seemed like something the Slyterhin would have accounted for.
Not long after he'd dressed in simple shorts and light cotton blue wizarding top, Harry had settled into his desk again when Tipsy appeared, beckoning him to follow her. "The Master is expecting you, young master!" She squeaked, dancing from foot to foot. "You's will follow me to the Master's library!"
Grabbing his wand and the list of spells, Harry followed silently after the tiny creature. Apprehension filtered through him, wondering what it would be like to study in the Dark Lord's presence. Shockingly, his training the previous day and even dinner had not been an awful affair. But he would be deluding himself if he thought that would continue. Maybe the Dark Lord was trying to sedate him into a false state of ease before the next shoe dropped.
Quicker than he would have liked, Harry was soon presented with the entrance to the manor's library. A sizeable ancient oak door loomed before him, torches held by carved silver serpents decorated both sides. At Tipsy's nod, Harry knocked once against the wood, an echo resounding in the stone corridor.
"Enter."
Stealing himself, the teen pushed upon the door and took in the massive shelves lined with books and tombs. Hermione would have salivated at the thought of owning so many books. A high chandelier with floating candles dangled from the center of the ceiling. Large windows between the shelves basked the room in the gentle morning light. The room seemed eerily similar to the odd dream he'd had before being captured, the one where the voice had reached out to him to get his location. In the center were two large leather couches flanked by armed chairs, all a deep rustic brown. A sizeable beige carpet rested beneath the furniture, with a large coffee table in the center. Voldemort sat behind a cherry oak desk that looked very similar to Harry's own but much more extensive with drawers and shelves.
"Welcome, Harry," the older wizard greeted him, standing. Voldemort was in casual grey wizarding slacks. He wore a simple fitted black top with the sleeves pushed back up to his forearms. Several documents and quills lay spread out before him. He almost looked like a normal wizard doing office work. Almost. The Slytherin heir walked around the desk, meeting Harry near the library's center by one of the large sofas.
"Good morning," Harry greeted quietly, cautious. It was strange getting used to seeing the man who tried to kill him repeatedly in these very normal environments, without a wand raised on him, being bound and attacked.
"How did you find the Occlumacy instructions?"
"It was fairly straightforward," Harry recalled. He'd had no difficulty reading through the first two chapters. He did not understand how he'd know if he was meditating correctly, and clearing his mind seemed very difficult to do in reality. Snape had always yelled at him to do it, but Harry wasn't sure how to know if he had succeeded. The book had recommended focusing on a calming place and envisioning himself there, so he'd settled on imagining himself in a quiet forest. He'd always found peace in nature, especially when he'd escaped to the nearby trees to escape Harry hunting from his whale of a cousin and his bullying friends. Before falling asleep, he'd picture himself walking through a forest like the forbidden forest at Hogwarts, but lacking any of the creatures ready to kill him. He voiced his uncertainty that he was meditating correctly, prodded by Voldemort's expectant stare.
"That is normal starting out," Voldemort instructed, nodding to the couch across from the chair he elegantly dropped down upon. "Would it be accurate to say you've never tried to meditate before?" Harry nodded.
"Then continue to try, fight to keep stray thoughts from entering whatever space you envision. Immerse yourself in your meditative landscape to the point where you feel present. You need to have a strong foothold in your thoughts. You must dictate their flow and direction. That is the only way to redirect a Legilmens attack to a part of your mind you control. Did you read about the two types of defenses?"
The young wizard nodded, "you can either block them from entering, like creating a wall around your mind, or direct them to a part of your mind where they access any of your thoughts or feelings. Or can only access the ones you allow them," he repeated.
"Correct," Voldemort lauded. "For a beginner, directing them is much easier than blocking them. You need to be stronger than the attacker to keep them out, but if you direct them correctly, they may not even know you are misleading them. Why do you think a meditative landscape is so important?"
Biting his lip, Harry glanced around the room thoughtfully. He hadn't made it that far into the book. "So you can envision an environment to move them to?"
"In part," the Dark Lord agreed. "It is also the foundation for controlling your thoughts. You need to be familiar with your mind, how you think, what makes your thoughts change directions, and how you express feelings. Being thoroughly familiar with your mind will be your first defense to detecting intrusion. Once you detect it, you must have the control to prevent them from pulling thoughts or emotions to the forefront." That all made sense enough and matched what he had read the previous night.
"I will give you a few nights practicing on your own before we have our first lesson where I try and breach your defenses. Focus on creating your landscape and being intimately familiar with it. At a moment's notice, you should be able to draw yourself into it and remain for any length of time. You should have control over every detail of it, to the point where even the slightest change should immediately draw your attention. Do you understand?"
"I think so," Harry confirmed, relieved he wouldn't have to defend his mind immediately.
"Good. Now show me your list of spells."
The teen reached into his pocket, pulled out the folded parchment, and handed it over. Red orbs washed over it silently. Harry had rewritten it three separate times, concerned over what the Dark Lord would think of his selections and what he might be committing himself to learn. He'd written the spell, what it did, and then provided one or two sentences about why he thought it would be worthwhile. Some of the spells he had just thought would be wicked to know but not very practical. Others he thought seemed like strong spells that would help him out in a duel.
"You found Bother's book, I see," Voldemort noted, glancing up. Harry nodded, unsure why the Slytherin took note of that specific author. There were at least seven different books worth of spells he included, but the elemental spells Bother focused on had particularly interested him and were at least half of what he'd listed.
"I've never studied elemental spell crafting," Harry provided when it seemed that Voldemort wanted a greater elaboration than what was written on the parchment. "That you can augment your spell's power and make them stronger through reaching out to the elements looked interesting. Like a way to make yourself stronger while catching your opponent by surprise."
Voldemort nodded, "yes, elemental spells can be quite powerful. But their requirements of needing the elements present can put you at a disadvantage. If fighting outside near a river or a place that is well lit with torches, they can undoubtedly augment your strength. But in a location like a manor, when you fought Bella for example, you would not have been able to use many of these."
Harry frowned, not having thought it through like that. He begrudgingly admitted it was a very valid point. "These three," Voldemort nodded, pointing at a section from one of the last books Harry had skimmed through. "Nebula Murum, Nigrum Larva, and Lux Caeca, all sensory deprivation. A wall of fog, utter blackness, and blinding lights. You wrote it would distract your enemy. I want you to consider them more. Why might they cause you problems?"
Shifting, Harry shrugged. He had picked them because Bellatrix had used her own fog spell on him, and he'd felt very vulnerable. He'd seen the three deception spells and thought it would make sense to take a leaf out of her book and learn something similar. "Well, they have difficult wand movements and I guess they might not be the quickest to cast," he thought out loud, not sure what the Slytherin was getting after.
Voldemort nodded once, clearly waiting for more.
"They'd also make it equally hard for me to see," Harry continued, raking his brain. "So, in theory, my opponent could find a way to see me and cast, and I would not be prepared to defend against them."
"Precisely," the praise once again made Harry feel very weird. "If you had a wider spell repertoire, you could have done several things against Bella the other night, which would have ended the duel in your favor. It was arrogance on her part to cast it. She assumed you'd panic and not know how to respond. You could have cast a spell to magnify your hearing so you could sense her movements and directions. You could have cast a spell on yourself to see heat signatures to find her. I would recommend the latter of the two. The hearing enhancement can be used against yourself if the opponent knows what you did. You may keep one of these for now. The other two are redundant. These spells are only helpful to distract an opponent or a large group if you need time to flee. They're not practical if you're to remain and keep fighting. I would use the fog because the light and darkness can both be quickly countered. And we will add the one which will allow you to sense heat signatures as well."
Feeling slightly in awe, Harry nodded. The strategy was sound; he agreed with everything Voldemort had said. And most surprisingly, he'd taken the time to explain it to Harry and lead him to his conclusion. Voldemort spent a few more moments working through the page. He crossed out several describing why they were not valuable in practice and added two more, neither of which Harry thought were very dark in nature but would be useful conjurations to distract an enemy and give him a chance to attack.
"Pluviis pugionibus," Voldemort smirked, glancing from the sheet to Harry. "Interesting inclusion of a dark spell; the Latin is to rain down daggers. This one can be very lethal. I'm pleased to see you are not shying away from powerful spells."
Harry had gone back and forth several times on whether to include it. He did not want to use it against others, but in a life-and-death situation, he needed more spells that caused harm. If cast powerfully enough, hundreds of daggers would materialize, falling from the sky and pointing at more than one enemy. He turned away, feeling embarrassed and disappointed in himself but all a weird sense of resolve to learn it and others that would make him stronger. He needed to grow his power if he didn't want to be threatened by everyone with an issue with him. Something like that spell might make it where other Death Eaters were not as quick to challenge him.
"This is adequate to start with," Voldermort handed the parchment back to him. "You will spend the rest of the day researching the spells and writing out the motion and execution of the spell and several paragraphs of their uses. I also want a section on how to counter them. If you can't find specific spells that would counter them, come up in principle with what type of spell or action might, and I will assist you with finding a spell that might accomplish just that. If you become stuck, you may ask me questions, but I expect you to have put real effort into discovering the answer for yourself. Do you understand?"
Resisting a groan, Harry nodded. This was worst than school. But at least the spells on the list interested him, and there were far worse things that Voldemort could be doing to him than helping him learn. Voldemort rose, returned to his desk, and began scratching away on one of the parchments. Harry stood up, wandered towards the bookcase, and selected a few books to start his research. Seeing another large desk on the other side of the library near one of the windows, Harry walked over to it and sat down. It was angled in a way that his back wasn't to Voldemort, but they were not staring directly at each other either. Feeling just as surreal as when Voldemort was instructing him in his given room, Harry settled down and strated his work.
They continued in silence for several hours. A few times, Harry read something he did not understand, but there was no way he would interrupt Voldemort to ask him a question. He'd just wait and see what the Dark Lord thought of his answers. Voldermort, for his part, steadily worked through a pile of papers while occasioning summoning a book or journal. Harry was beyond curious about what type of work had captured his attention all day but against restrained from speaking. For now, there was an unsteady peace that Harry was not eager to disrupt.
His hand cramping, Harry dropped the quill on his desk, leaning back and stretching his back. He glanced down at his work thoughtfully. His research wasn't half bad, he felt like he'd been very thorough in answering the questions and had tried to be creative with his counters. Staring out the window, he was shocked by how interesting he found some of the spells and their uses. Why hadn't he spent more time learning this stuff on his own? He'd tried in the Tri-wizard's cup, but that was because he was terrified he would die in each task and was certain someone was out to get him. But his other years, he'd barely done the minimum of what was required. Granted, someone had been trying to kill him almost every year, but that didn't excuse him from finding ways to defend himself and grow stronger.
Staring out the window, he wondered how Hermione and Ron were doing. What did they think had happened to him? Was the Older still trying to rescue him, or had they given up since he had voluntarily returned with Voldemort after the attack on the Burrow?
"You look thoughtful." Harry jumped slightly at the interruption. Voldemort had stood, making his way over to Harry. Not wanting to be caught beneath the tall wizard, Harry stood as well.
"I was just taking a short break," Harry defended, unsure if he should be concerned that he'd been caught daydreaming. He's spent the entire afternoon working hard. It surprised him that he felt any emotions about how his work ethic would be perceived. The whole day had felt odd. Why was Voldermort spending anytime teaching and helping him at all? He wanted to ask but suddenly felt unsure. Summoning his Gryffindor bravery, he squared his shoulder. "What are your plans for me?"
"You're to be my apprentice."
"I mean… what about my life? Am I your prisoner?"
Voldemort's unnerving gaze ran up and down the length of Harry's slender form. "Do you think you're a prisoner?" It felt like a trick question. He did not want to be here. But to say he felt like a prison introduced him to an even worse existence—one in which he did not have a room and some limited freedom. Voldemort seemed to want him to act like this was a choice, that he'd decided to be here. Would acting that way afford him more freedom?
"If I'm truly your apprentice, then I would think that means I'm not a prisoner."
Voldemort nodded his head as if conceding the point, agreeing. "Give me no reason to treat you like a prisoner, and I won't. I told you when you first arrived that your life by my side could be better than the hampered life you have been living under Dumbledore's inept tutelage."
"Am I allowed to leave?"
Voldemort tilted his head to the side, considering him. "You're room has not been locked since you accepted my mark. But if you're foolish enough to get into another duel, then I hope you have the competence to win next time for your sake."
Grimacing, Harry wasn't sure what to make of that. Could the Death Eaters challenge him anytime? He definitely did not feel confident that he could take on many of them at this point. And Harry had no clue who else roamed the manner. He'd yet to see anyone else in the halls unless in the direct presence of the dark wizard.
"Am I allowed to leave the manor?"
The red eyes gave him an assessing stare. "No."
Harry stared back, eyes drawn in uncertainty. The Dark Lord had only provided a single word, nothing else. "No?" he questioned, his heart falling.
"You have not earned that trust from me yet."
Harry swallowed, his entire body tensing. "And how would I earn that," he asked cautiously, very aware that this was dangerous territory. That it was negotiations like these that he was sure would lead him into positions he did not want to be in.
Voldemort smiled thinly. "I'm afraid that will take many instances of demonstrated sustained obedience and compliance. And an oath. How do I know you will not try to run the first chance you get?"
The raven-haired teen ducked his head, not liking the sound of an oath at all. "Isn't that what the mark is for? So, you can always find me?" He asked bitterly.
The dark lord's smile stretched mirthlessly. "You're telling me you would not attempt to run? If Dumbledore assured you that he could hide you from me, you would not take him up on that offer?"
Harry shrugged, a sense of actual helplessness consuming him. "You've made it pretty clear that none of my friends are safe," the teen murmured. "You've captured my two best friends, attacked the Order's safe house, managed to get me from my relatives. Whatever you may think about my IQ, I'm not foolish enough to think you wouldn't have a plan in place if I ran."
The Slytherin dipped his head, perhaps in acquiescing that he had a plan, perhaps in acknowledgment of Harry's IQ statement, the teen wasn't sure. "In time, you will earn my trust. For now, unless you are with me, you will not attempt to leave this mansion. Do you understand?"
Miserably, Harry nodded. He needed to place researching the mark at the top of his list. Until he knew the full scope of what powers it gave Voldemort over him, he'd be foolish to try anything anyways. "May I write to my friends?"
Voldemort gave him an assessing look before nodding. "That may be a privilege I allow you," he conceded, shocking the teen. "Anger me, and it will be lost. I will monitor any correspondence; it would be ill-advised to use it for anything nefarious."
Harry had assumed as much but was surprised to hear the Dark Lord voice it. It was a tiny gesture of honesty he hadn't anticipated. He would have to warn his friends to be very careful with anything they wrote, not to put them in danger or lose Harry the opportunity to correspond with them. "You won't use it as a trap to target them?" He asked, suddenly wondering if this was a terrible idea.
Voldemort released a breath of amusement. "You overvalue them, Harry. I have many more important things to focus on than cursing your little friends. The only benefit they provide me is keeping you from acting out. Do not anger me, and you don't need to fear for them."
"I thought agreeing to learn from you and taking your mark was the price for their protection?" Harry didn't welcome the threat that they might still be at risk, even with everything he had already sacrificed to protect them. It was frustrating to think they could still be targets if the mood suited the Dark Lord.
"Then you have nothing to fear," the Dark Lord countered, a gleam in his eye.
Frowning, Harry was confident he was missing something. "Promise you won't use it to attack the Order." His friends may be protected, but those they stayed with were not. He would be devastated if somehow Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were harmed by him reaching out to Ron.
The older wizard chuckled. "Finally starting to use your brain," Voldemort lauded sardonically. "Alright, agreed, I won't use any of your correspondence to target the Order. But if I catch even a hint that you are scheming, all promises are off, and they will feel the full weight of my retaliation."
Harry nodded slowly, surprised at what seemed like another concession by the Slytherin heir that he did not need to give Harry. It confused him, but he didn't want to tempt the man to put more restraints on it, so he let it stand.
Voldemort turned, glancing towards an ancient-looking standing clock that read that it was half past four. "I have an engagement tonight. You may have the rest of the night to yourself. Continue to study, Harry. You are woefully behind where you could be, and I won't tolerate mediocracy. Be ready."
Harry shifted awkwardly, nodding his head again in acceptance. This hadn't been an awful afternoon. He received permission to write his friend and felt like he'd made leaps and bounds in discovering some spells which would actually protect him. Seeing the dismissal for what it was, Harry turned towards the door.
"Etiquette, Harry."
Dropping his shoulders, Harry turned back to the wizard, trying to keep the irritation free from his face. There went Harry's hope he could have one interaction with the Dark Lord without getting a wand turned on him. He was mistaken if he expected him to start dropping 'My Lords' after every other sentence like the Malfoy's.
"What do you mean?" He asked. He knew the Dark Lord loved seeing his followers gravel on their knees but, for the most part, seemed to have accepted Harry's lack of decorum except when he was being particularly rebellious, which Harry hadn't been today.
"I expect you to observe apprentice and master protocol, Harry. I've already been generously allowing you not to have to call me lord yet, an honorific I have earned as reigning Dark Lord, but the rest is not beneath you."
This caused Harry to honestly be confused. He had no clue what apprentice protocol was. His uncertainty must have shown because Voldemort frowned.
"Did Hogwarts not provide you with etiquette lessons?"
Harry shook his head in the negative. Why would they? He wasn't some pampered little prince like Malfoy, strutting his nose up like he was better than everyone else. He knew how to be polite, not that Voldemort deserved such a courtesy. Attending fancy dinners and acting like a pureblood was the last he would want. He couldn't image his Gryffindor mates sitting through something like that next to the Slytherins, who would make fun of them and act better.
Flicking out his wrist, a book gracefully soared from one of the looming bookshelves into the outstretched hands. It was a slender but tall book bound in deep blue leather. The Dark Lord held it out, giving Harry a pointed look.
Stepping forward, the young Gryffindor grabbed it, looking down bemusedly. Madame Myytlebunce's Modern Manners Made Magical! Proudly was scripted into the rich deep blue leather.
"I find myself surprised at you. You're one year from your majority and the heir of a noble line," he paused, giving the teen a sharp look, "to have received no formal lessons at all?" He shook his head, genuinely confused and somewhat disappointed. "Do you not intend to claim the Potter's seat on the Wizengamot? Have you zero pride in the line that you bear?"
Harry shrugged, feeling rather foolish. He knew next to nothing about wizarding governance and the parliament which ran their world except that they'd called a full session in his second year, and Ron seemed to hold them in disdain. But that did not mean much, given Ron's impoverished background and hatred of anything that highlighted a lack of standing or wealth in his eyes. Hermione likely could have filled him in on all sorts of reasons why he needed to study the high court's history.
"I've been sort of busy trying to stay alive," he responded flatly. What did Voldemort care about what he did with his family's line? The dark wizard had only sought to kill him up until recently.
"Foolish child," the Slytherin scolded though without any real bite. "Before my resurrection, you have no excuse. For someone who claims to champion the light and has such high ideals, I would have thought you'd jump to have a chance to influence your Ministry. You could have the Ministry on a silver platter with your famed background.
"The ministry despises me," Harry argued. "They called me an attention-seeking liar, made half the school think I was insane last year."
The Dark Lord's lips twitched in amusement. "Yes, I did take pleasure in seeing Dumbledore's named drug through the mud. But you're a minor. Once again, your guardians failed you. That was slander and personal defamation of a child. Coming from the Potter line, a wealthy pureblood household, you could have easily sued them."
Feeling uncomfortable, Harry shook his head. He'd never known, never even thought to try and stop them. And none of the adults in his life had done anything except tell him to be a good little boy, keep his head down and take it.
"Regardless," Voldemort continued, nodding to the book. "You should have received proper training fitting of a lord's heir. You may look at our traditions with disdain. Still, even under Dumbledore's foolish views, it would be impossible to navigate the Ministry completely ignorant of the customs expected of your station. You'd be a laughingstock. If you can't demonstrate even the most basic values and traditions, you're as good as a mudblood child in the Ministry's eyes."
Biting his tongue at the slanderous word, Harry forced himself to remain calm. He glanced down at the book, thumbing through a few pages. Chapters on how to eat and proper ways to greet suitors or to suit danced across the pages in an elegant script. "Well, it's not like I'm about to be married," he observed, unsure why Voldemort was making such a large deal about this.
"There is a section on master and apprenticeship. You will read that before I see you next. I expect you to work through the entire book and suspect you will have questions about what's expected of a lord. We will discuss those finer points once you've finished the book."
"You plan to teach me how to be a lord?" He asked quietly, suddenly feeling hollow. His mouth had gone dry. This was something his father should have done. Or perhaps Dumbledore or Mr. Weasley. Swallowing painfully, he realized Sirius would have been a good candidate as well, being pureblooded and one of the sacred twenty-eight. But his now deceased godfather had never brought it up, never once breached the topic of what it meant to be the Potter Lord. Never once had any of them thought to mention what would be expected of him once he completed his schooling. Did they not care that he would be a fool in their world? Or perhaps they all never honestly expected him to live that long.
Something about his shift must have been obvious, judging by the Dark Lord's knowing look. "No apprentice of mine will be ignorant of wizarding customs; I won't let you be embarrassed for not knowing things first-year wizards know entering Hogwarts."
"I have no desire to become an arrogant bully like Malfoy," Harry argued, fighting to control his erratic emotions. The man who killed his parents would be taking on the role any of the other adults in his life should have filled but never did. It made him want to cringe.
"Your friend Longbottom would have received this training. And Madam Bone's niece. It's standard for all families of statue." Voldemort tilted his head, his intelligent stare taking in all of Harry, every twitch of his hands and shift of his feet. The Gryffindor felt pathetic that this conversation was causing his emotions so much chaos. He didn't want to be some pureblood bastard, but he suspected this ran deeper. This was the wizarding culture he should have been aware of. Once again, he was struck by just how ignorant he was. How had he been so content to walk blindly into this world, knowing nothing? And then, upon learning of his ridiculous fame and all the absurd expectations the world had upon him, why had he still been so content to walk around blind and ignorant? He didn't even know about his own heritage, what the Potters had stood for. What mantle he could take up in their honor? It cut him straight to the core.
"It's not like it matters," he muttered mulishly. "I'm here with you now. It's not like I'm going to continue the Potter line and take up my lordship."
Standing, Voldemort gazed down at him. "Harry, I told you. As my apprentice, the entire world will be open to you. And unlike Dumbledore, I won't let you walk blindly into it."
Blinking once, then twice, Harry dropped the scarlet gaze, having no clue how to respond. Everything about this was surreal. It felt very wrong. The man who was responsible for him being an orphan was now offering to provide what everyone else had never thought to do. He dared not even begin to hope that there was some sort of future ahead of him. He couldn't see how, not with a murdering psychopath like Voldemort wanting to rule the world. And yet, somehow, this same madman was giving him books on how to carry the lord line that ran through his blood. He didn't know what to believe. What to even hope for.
"As an apprentice," Voldemort continued as if Harry wasn't having a deep internal breakdown about his world views which were shattering around him, "whenever you leave formal education with your master, it is appropriate to ask to depart. You should nod your head respectively when I grant it, then turn and leave. If there are other lords and ladies present, you should nod to each in order of rank, stating their title. It is the barest form of respect expected to be shown. Anything less is to project that you think you're better."
He held up a hand as Harry opened his mouth to argue precisely how he felt about Voldemort claiming to be his better. "This isn't some childish spat between the hero of the wizarding world and Lord Voldemort, Harry. This is basic etiquette for one who has agreed to enter an apprenticeship. I haven't asked you to kneel or call me lord in public. But I demand basic respect, and you will do so. And you will continue to learn proper etiquette and practice it. Do you understand?"
With a clipped nod, eyes burning, Harry took a step back. "May I leave?" He asked bitterly. He could see no reason to argue the demand, not when he had agreed to this to save his friends.
"Yes, you may go. I will see you tomorrow morning."
Ducking his head in what could almost be a respective nod, Harry spun and fled from the room. The etiquette book was clenched tightly in his fists.
~~S~~S~~S~~S~~S~~S~~S~~S~~S~~S~~S~~S~~S~~S~~S~~S~~S~~S~~S~~S~~
Wow, I really felt like writing. This is a new record for chapter length. Thanks for those who reviewed, it means a lot! Please feel free to drop a note if you have feedback on want to see something in particular. Thanks!