Snape strode into the lively-lit living room, his discomfort suppressed as the collective gaze of the Order fixated on him. Being the center of attention in these meetings was a disdainful ordeal for him. Too much hope and distaste alike were directed his way. They either believed he could somehow save them or deemed him the vilest of dark wizards who must have Dumbledore under his spell. Suppressing a snort of disdain, Snape considered them all idiots.
"Please, Severus, share what you have learned," Dumbledore's aged voice cut through the room.
Withheld sigh echoing in his mind, Snape braced himself for what promised to be a long night. "The Dark Lord revealed Potter as his apprentice tonight to all his followers." The response around the room was visceral. Shouts of denial. Shouts of outrage. Strangely enough, Granger and the youngest Weasley son said nothing, exchanging a knowing look that surprised him. He had anticipated that the remaining duo of the golden trio would adamantly vouch for Potter's loyalty.
"Everyone, silence," Dumbledore commanded. The commotion dwindled, but dissent and cries of outrage were still barely concealed among the Order.
"Severus, please continue." Dumbledore looked older than Severus had ever remembered, defeated.
Severus recounted the meeting in detail, describing how Potter had stood behind him and been introduced, seemingly willingly, as the Dark Lord's apprentice. He highlighted the Dark Lord's claim of teaching Potter dark magic and the teen's apparent voluntary acceptance of this life. Providing an update on the Inner Circle meeting, he briefly glossed over the plans to take over the Prophet and expel the Headmaster as Chief Warlock. Dumbledore was already aware that both plans were in the works; he would be a fool not to notice the dark's maneuverings.
"How is he? Is he hurt?"
Snape's eyes narrowed on the plump Weasley matriarch who was dabbing at tear-stained, large brown eyes. Her husband gently squeezed her shoulders.
"He seemed in fine health," Snape provided. Potter had seemed better than that. Probably the best the Gryffindor had ever looked. Dressed as a pureblood, with clothes and posture to match, it was clear the Dark Lord had been working on more than just spells with the boy. His poise and composure had notably improved, as had his Occlumency. Snape had tried to passively scan him during their talk and found his shields impressive, given the boy must have only been working on them for the last few months. Severus had not pushed them, not wanting to draw attention and inadvertently highlight himself to the Dark Lord.
"And you believe that?" Moody's harsh voice bit out. The imposing aurora smashed an angry fist on the back of the armchair he stood behind. "Maybe he'd spelled the boy, Imperiused him."
"He must have!" Hagrid offered gruffly. "I don't believe for a second dear 'Arry would, submit to such a bastard like that. Poor lad."
"I spoke with him; he appeared as arrogant and immature as ever," Severus drawled, though that was not entirely true. Potter had kept his temper reasonably in check, not succumbing to Severus' more targeted barbs. "Do I think he's been spelled into compliance?" He shrugged. "That seemed unlikely. It was clear he was uncomfortable, both with the Dark Lord and around his followers. He did not seem eager to be there, but he was compliant. Submissive. Perhaps he's been forced, but I think only in that he knows he can't leave on his own free will. This seemed like a choice. He knows what he is doing."
"How could you say that about a sixteen-year-old boy who has been captured by a madman?" Of course, the werewolf would jump to his supposed cub's aid. "We know Voldemort must be threatening him, manipulating him. Torturing him! He did it when they attacked the Order. We just need to figure out what he's holding over him to make him comply. We need to get him out of there."
Severus found his gaze again lingering on Weasley and Granger, who had maintained their shocking silence. He met Granger's sharp brown stare, filled with sorrow and resignation. It was clear she had her own conclusion. Snape nodded to her, silently bidding her to speak.
"He's doing it for us," she said softly. Weasley's hand shot out, gripping her own tightly. She did not seem surprised by the initiated contact, leaning into it.
"Please elaborate, Miss Granger," Dumbledore prodded.
She ducked her head, eyes firmly on the ground. "It's what he said he would do, exchange us for Harry. He wanted Harry to voluntarily come, to submit. He released us when he had Harry. He saved Professor Lupin when Harry agreed to return with him." She paused, looking up at the room. "None of the students were harmed when he attacked the Express. I'm as shocked as everyone else, but he's seemingly keeping his word. Harry's obedience is keeping others safe. That must be why he's going through with this."
Ever the martyr, Snape thought with a skeptical edge. But, begrudgingly, it did seem like something the foolhardy Gryffindor would do. The boy, despite appearing devoid of the Dark's ideals, had responded to the Dark Lord each time he was prodded, displaying an unexpected degree of compliance. It was not what Snape had anticipated from the usually rash and headstrong teen.
"Do you think he has been practicing dark magic?" Dumbledore asked. Snape barely refrained from rolling his eyes. As a practitioner of dark arts, he loathed the headmaster's narrow-minded bias against the darker aspects of magic. Yes, dark magic could inflict significant harm on the caster and others, but the idealization of light magic by the ministry was, in Severus' view, hypocritical and naive.
"I did not witness him engage in any," he admitted, a note of annoyance in his tone. "Lucius' son had suggested as much, and the Dark Lord echoed the claim. It would be an ill-fated ruse among that group if he was lying. Potter will undoubtedly be challenged to prove himself if he remains at the Dark Lord's side. He now occupies a coveted position among all of the Dark Lord's followers. With his seeming elevation comes a target. Others will wish to challenge his position. Lower it or take it if they can."
Dumbledore frowned. "Is there any way to rescue him?" That was what Snape had been thinking about since the meeting had begun. The weight of the revelation about Harry's allegiance hung heavy in the air. Could they get the boy out of the dark's grasp or was he lost to the light?
"It seems unlikely," he began, his voice measured. "He lives in the Dark Lord's manor, which is untraceable. I didn't see a mark, but the rumors are he has one. After tonight's display, I find myself believing in that rumor more than less. If he's complicit to the Dark Lord's demands, then there is no reason to believe he was able to resist a mark. If he's doing this to save others," he sneered, annoyed that a teenager should ever find himself in a position where he felt he had to protect the school and his friends; it was a disgrace and embarrassing. Adults should be doing that; it should never have fallen to Potter of all people. And he was loath to admit that the boy may have already saved many lives through his actions. The Hogwarts' Express attack should have been a bloodbath, and the Dark Lord had never been known for his restraint. "It is conceivable he consented to a mark which will make it even harder to get him away from the Dark Lord's grasp."
"Can he be tracked? Are you never able to escape, can Voldemort always track you down once you have it?" Severus' eyes narrowed on the Weasley youth. Defiant eyes glared back. Potter's foolishness was rubbing off on the boy, that he dared use the Dark Lord's name so flippantly.
"The Dark Mark isn't a tracking beacon," he scoffed, annoyed to have to discuss his mark in front of everyone. But to avoid the question would look more suspicious than to answer. He made sure his scowl was enough to deter future questions about something so personal. "But that is not to say Potter has a traditional Dark Mark. The Dark Lord could have marked him in any way. And yes," he sneered, already seeing the question forming on the lips of most present. "I believe that the Dark Lord is capable of magic that would enable him to track down another if they consented to the ritual. We have no idea what Potter has on him. I doubt he even knows."
"Then perhaps you could find out," Dumbledore suggested, his gaze penetrating. "Is it likely you will get access to him again?"
Severus' lips thinned. They had not parted favorably. It was clear Potter did not trust him and did not want to interact with him. The memory of their last encounter weighed on Snape's conscience. "Perhaps," he allowed, his tone revealing a reluctant agreement. He knew Dumbledore would expect it.
"We can't leave him there," Molly cried, her body shaking with grief.
"Of course, we won't," Minerva agreed, nose flaring. "We will protect that poor boy. We will get him back."
"If there's anything to get back…"
The werewolf leaped from his seat, his lanky frame closing the distance to the one-eyed Auror with a single, purposeful stride. "How dare you!" he snarled, the raw intensity of his anger reverberating in the air. "So quick to turn on your own!"
"The boy is the one who turned! I don't like it any better than you. But if he's dabbling in Dark Arts, you and I both know he's lost to us!"
"He's not lost! We're not giving up on him!"
"I'm not going to lose good people to save someone who isn't on our side!"
"Gentlemen!" The headmaster's voice boomed, a sonorous command cutting through the escalating tension. "This is what Tom wants, to sow dissent, to divide us." Yes, Severus thought. This is exactly what the Dark Lord had hoped for with revealing Potter. The discord among the Order played directly into his hands.
"Nothing Severus has revealed tonight makes me think we've lost Harry," Dumbledore continued, his tone thoughtful. He took a step forward, light blue robes glistening in the ambient light. "We all know what Tom is capable of; he is the epitome of a Slytherin and will use whatever means to get his way. Time is of the essence; we must rescue Harry before he feels forced to make any decisions he can't come back from. That is still our priority." Severus thought that ship might have sailed, but who was he to counter the beloved self-proclaimed leader of the light?
"And while we waste all this time trying to break into an unplottable manor, you will be ousted from the Wizengamot. Perhaps we should be focusing on plans that might actually succeed." Severus glanced at the man who spoken out. Elphias Doge leaned forward, a portly man sitting between the thief Mundungus Fletcher and the ever-Dumbledore-devoted Dedalus Diggle, who looked absolutely mortified at the statement.
Dumbledore sighed. "Unfortunately, this vote is inevitable. I've worked with Amelia Bones, and there is no way we can stop it. Tom has his fingers in too many prominent pureblood families. But that is just a minor setback. Harry is our focus. We must get him back. I know you may find it hard to believe that this war will rest on the shoulders of a teenager, but we must not lose faith. Clearly, the Dark Side puts weight into having him. Tom is not one to take on an apprentice lightly. We must get him back."
With that, the remainder of the evening unfolded much like the past three months, a tapestry of deliberation and fervent discussion on how to liberate the Gryffindor teen from one of the most protected manors in the wizarding world. Done with his part, Severus stepped to the side, exchanging a nod with Minerva. She looked as tired as he felt.
"How is he, Professor?"
He glanced to the side; he had not noticed Granger and Weasley slipping from their spots on the couch to approach. It was a testament to how exhausted he was that he'd missed that.
"Treated like a prince," was his quipped reply.
Ron frowned, clearly trying and failing to restrain his temper. "You know that's not true." He spat. "He's with his parent's murderer. A man who loves to torture. You don't think he's hurting Harry to make him obey?"
Honestly, Snape did not know. Potter looked in decent health, well-fed, and provided for. But his countenance had been wary. He'd watched as the teen approached the Dark Lord with caution. His eyes had always been darting around the room, clearly afraid to be around Voldemort's most vile inner circle.
"If he truly is being taught by the Dark Lord, it is unlikely that he is a forgiving teacher," Severus conceded. "However, he did not look tortured, and he entered and left on his own. For now, I think that is the best we can hope for."
Granger nodded. "Do you think we can get him back?"
Severus hated the hopefulness in her eyes. He knew that if anyone were able to rescue Potter, it would likely be him. "Only time will tell, Miss Granger." He had always thought hope was stupid.~Top of Form
~S~S~SS~S~S~S~S~S~SS~S~S
The next day, Harry approached the training room with a knot of apprehension tightening in his stomach. Uncertain of what awaited him, he couldn't shake the lingering unease after the recent meetings. While he had managed not to embarrass the Dark Lord or himself, the memory of his outspoken outburst still haunted him, leaving a question over potential repercussions. Would there be more punishment to come? Voldemort had never tolerated disrespect, and Harry had been livid with how his introduction to the dark had gone.
As he stepped into the dueling hall, he steeled himself for another day in the life of the Dark Lord's apprentice. The room, illuminated by the soft glow of magical lighting, did little to put him at ease. Harry, the first to arrive, took a moment to survey the vast space before hanging his cloak on a clawed hanger that clung to the wall.
Positioning himself across from one of the battle dummies, he tried to focus his racing thoughts. He needed his wits about him in these sessions, or he risked becoming the demonstration, something he was not eager to experience. The silence of the hall amplified his unease, prompting him to initiate his warm-up drills. Casting spells had become a refuge, a means to release the pent-up tensions that coiled within him.
The rhythmic cadence of his casting, the dance of wand movements, and the surge of magic became a ritual he had slowly grown to appreciate. In the absence of such training, he suspected the weight of his circumstances would have driven him to the brink of insanity. The flow of magic coursing from his core cleared his mind and focused him, something he desperately needed.
His concentration turned through the list of non-verbal spells he had been working to master. With a flick of his wrist, a silent Diffendo tore through the dummy, which promptly repaired itself in an almost mocking manner. A swish and a jab, and his mute Reductor sent the dummy crashing against the wall. Once again, magic reset the room, erasing the evidence of his practice.
Continuing his routine, he cast a Petrificus Totalus, the orange spell slicing through the air. The dummy illuminated green, signaling a correct cast. It was quickly engulfed in flames as his Confrigo followed. A silent Aguamenti swiftly extinguished the fire before the magic could do so naturally.
His next spell, Vorpal Aegis, a dark incantation that rained down acid on the dummy, marked a significant moment. This was the first time he had cast it silently. Pausing to observe the disintegrating dummy, he couldn't help but ponder the spell's light yellow color—a deceptive hue, very reminiscent of the harmless tickling charm whose only difference was a slight hint of mustard coloring on the tail. The thought sent a shiver down his spine. How easily someone might underestimate the danger, thinking it is an innocent spell coming their way, and then be burned to death with acid.
"Excellent work."
Startled, Harry spun around, having failed to notice Slytherin entering the room.
"Your non-verbal casting is improving. You're casting more quickly between spells. The power is increasing as well."
Harry nodded, feeling the compliment wash over him. He watched the Dark Lord approach, bracing himself for whatever was to come during this session.
"What did you think of the meeting?" Voldemort asked, catching him by surprise.
Harry forced himself not to shrug. It wasn't proper etiquette, and he knew it would anger the wizard when he acted too informally during training. "You have more followers than I expected," Harry truthfully revealed.
Red eyes narrowed, a hint of amusement dancing within the stare. "That was the only noteworthy thing you took from the meeting?" He all but drawled.
Fighting back a blush, Harry responded, "I guess I'm surprised at your tactics. It all so hidden, so cautious."
"You thought it would just be a bloodbath filled with torture?"
Harry did shrug this time, unable to catch himself. "That's how the first war was explained to me."
"And I didn't exactly win the first war." Voldemort paused, and the teen felt deeply uncomfortable under the scrutiny. He was the main reason Voldemort did not win the first war, which both wizards were keenly aware of. But that did not explain why Voldemort was changing tactics.
Having seen who was in that room, who was a part of Voldemort's inner circle, he doubted they would be willing to forgo torture and killing in the name of the dark. Especially Bellatrix or followers like Greyback.
"Ask."
Harry straightened, checking his mind shields; he had not felt a probe. Was he that transparent? Voldemort made a show of glancing left and right, raising a sculpted brow. "It is just you and me, my dear apprentice. As you have learned, if you are respectful, you can be candid."
Steeling his resolve, Harry forced himself to push forward. This is what he wanted, an opportunity to shape the war. He'd put his pride aside for this very thing. "Your followers, are they satisfied with conducting this war in the shadows? Not torturing and attacking? That seems unlikely for some of them."
Voldemort nodded. "Do you remember on one of your first nights here, we discussed Bella's inability to control herself?" Harry nodded, remembering all too well the feeling of torture radiating through his body.
"I told you that she would have to learn to obey, that I needed that obedience to achieve my goals. That has not changed." He stepped forward, getting uncomfortably close to Harry, a strong hand, long fingers resting on his shoulder. "You are not the only one to recognize that more flies are enticed with honey. To an extent, I am willing to try that. The fools in the ministry are in denial, wishing I were not back. The longer no deadly war erupts, the less support Dumbledore gets. I can achieve most of my goals without a fight."
"And the ones you can't?" Harry dared to ask.
Voldemort smiled thinly, removing his hand. "Let's just say it is better for all to just submit to me. They will have lost too much standing in the ministry to counter me when I make my move."
Harry shivered at the callous words. "Are you still killing?"
Scarlet eyes met emerald. "Do you truly want to know?"
Harry wasn't sure, but it felt silly to not understand what he was a part of. He nodded.
Voldemort took a step back, his wand appearing suddenly in his hands, twirling between his fingers. "The disappearances are decreasing; it does not suit me when panics arise from families searching for their loved ones. But those who refuse to submit, who are directly in my way. Rarely does that end in their favor."
He flicked his wrist, and all the dummies went up in dark green flames. Harry could feel the heat from where they stood. He took a subconscious step back.
"You kidnapped that girl, the granddaughter."
Voldemort flicked his wand again, and all the blazing dummies vanished. Silence seemed to howl against them after all the crackling flames. It was unnerving. "But she has not been harmed. She will be returned undamaged once our demands are met."
"What are those demands?" Harry dared to ask. That poor girl, he hoped she wasn't held in a cell.
"There are a few laws I want passed. Some dealing with further restricting magic near Muggles. Others to identify Muggleborns earlier."
"Will you take them from their families?" Maybe for a child Tom Riddle, that would have been a mercy. But for Hermione, that would have been a curse.
"Yes," he said simply. "They should be raised in magical homes. Not with filthy Muggles who will never understand them. Who fear them."
Harry's grip on his wand tightened. It was barbaric, inhumane. "Will they ever be allowed to see them again?"
The assessing gaze shifted back to him. "No," was the quiet reply. "The Muggles will have their memories wiped."
"That's horrible," Harry argued. "You're kidnapping them."
"Protecting them," came the quipped response. New dummies appeared with another flick of the Dark Lord's wand. These ones moved, circling Harry and the Dark Lord. Harry raised his wand, looking around as they were surrounded. A bead of red light shot from one of them which Voldemort blocked with a shield.
"You better defend yourself; I won't block any more," he murmured.
Harry jerked his wand up and to the side, barely blocking another beam of red light.
"What are you doing?" he cried, shifting his feet into a defensive stance.
"Instructing," he said.
"More like distracting," Harry hissed, blocking two more red beams.
"If you cannot defend yourself from inanimate objects and hold a conversation, then I am clearly wasting my time with you."
Harry shifted, casting a scowl at the Dark Lord as he deftly blocked two shots of red light from different directions. The air crackled with tension, and the room felt oppressive. A third beam quickly followed, and he barely managed to block it. He didn't want to know what would happen if he were hit. The delay between attacks seemed to be decreasing; they were coming quicker and increasing in number.
"It isn't fair; you should not steal children from their parents. Not every Muggleborn was raised like you and I were," Harry declared, sidestepping a red beam. He secretly hoped it would hit the smug Dark Lord standing behind him, but the red light dissolved just before contact.
"What is worse? Risking children growing up unloved and who are harmed and reviled, or protecting all of them?"
Harry shook his head, blocking another red beam. "That's not how life works; you can't control everyone."
He felt the intense focus of red eyes on him and realized that, yes, that is exactly what Voldemort planned to do.
"You could do checkups and home visits and see if they are in danger," Harry suggested. Anything would be better than just stealing all the children.
"That would be a high cost. We don't have the ministry manpower to waste checking on every Muggleborn. From accidental magic to the age of majority, we are talking about hundreds, if not thousands of children. And it just takes one slip, one Muggle feeling insecure or inferior, and we lose a magical child. I won't risk it."
Harry blocked two more red beams. A bead of sweat began to trickle down his neck. He needed to do something to stop the attacks. Voldemort never did anything without reason. He had entered and destroyed all the dummies before starting this particular sadistic exercise. It had been a hint. But did he know a spell that would stop them all? Harry doubted he could mass-produce the acid spell to that extent, and it was a complicated wand movement. He would leave himself vulnerable to attack while he only took out a few of them. He was good with fire. Could he successfully cast Incendio at such a scale?
Sighing, he prepared himself. It was worth a try. If he only continued casting shields, he was certain Voldemort would let the attack continue until he tired and let one through.
"Incendio!" he cried. He cast his wand to the right and his hand to the left. He'd been practicing wandless magic and knew he could cast the flames. But he'd never tried to do both, casting with a wand and wandless. Well, no time like the present, he thought bemusedly.
Fire shot out from around him, cascading against the dummies. He was shocked that all were consumed in roaring hot flames. He'd done it! He lowered his hands, staring in awe at his work. He'd just cast two spells at once. And they had both been powerful. He'd taken out at least twelve dummies.
"Very well done."
He turned; the gaze that met him sent a chill down his spine. It carried an unsettling hunger, a possessiveness that left him uneasy. He nodded his head, accepting the compliment. He was pleased with himself, but the look he was getting left him deeply uneasy.
"And what about wizard families that abuse their children?" Harry inquired, eager to steer the conversation back to familiar ground, for the desire to diminish from those piercing red eyes.
The Slytherin heir cocked his head, his gaze probing. "What do you mean?"
"There are abusive wizard families," Harry pressed on. "Crouch's father harmed him. What about the Snapes? Honestly, I don't think Malfoy is all that kind to Draco. Would you separate them?"
"It is not the same. They are all a part of the wizarding world," Voldemort dismissed.
Harry vehemently disagreed. "Are you trying to protect children from abuse or isolate us further from the Muggle world?"
Voldemort paused, actually looking at Harry as if considering the question. "Muggles harm out of inferiority, out of fear for what they do not know. You are confusing discipline and tradition against those willing to engage in genocide if given the chance. They are not one and the same," he declared, making it clear that, in his opinion, the matter was closed.
"I guess I'll never know," Harry conceded, frustration marring his features. "I did have magical parents at one point, but that option to grow up with them was taken from me. I guess I should not have even had the option to grow up with my aunt and uncle under this new rule."
A dull throb hit his scar; it seemed almost accidental, pulsing with anger rather than punishment. "Alright, Harry, if you want to go down this path, then we will. Let's compare your uncle's treatment against mine. You have better accommodations, food, clothing, and education. Under their care, you were a lamb for the slaughter; you had no ability to control your surroundings or make decisions for yourself. You could not even protect yourself from those worthless creatures you call family. Would you prefer to go back to how it was if given the chance?"
Harry swallowed, sensing the precariousness of the topic. To claim anything other than his stay here was voluntary and assured would anger the wizard. To assert that he was a prisoner would cost him privileges he did not want to lose. And Voldemort knew the extent of the mistreatment Harry had endured from his aunt and uncle. They had practiced too much Occlumency for Harry to deny that he had been starved and beaten. Yet, Voldemort had tortured him and tried to kill him on more than one occasion. Neither situation was one Harry would voluntarily submit to, even if his current one did hint at a future where he had more power to influence his surroundings. It was a lose-lose situation for the teen.
"I think introducing them to the wizarding world early, training them in our heritage before Hogwarts, would be very helpful. I don't think stealing them should be the first option. Children know if they are safe. If I'd been given the option to stay in the magical world, I would have. I asked to. I know Hermione and other classmates love their families. What about allowing the children a voice? It would not be hard to ask them at school each year if they're safe or if they want to return. Their head of house could do it. No ministry manning required."
The irritated glare directed his way cooled. It transformed into something almost fond, though veiled.
Voldemort's eyes bore into Harry's, assessing the Gryffindor with an intensity that made him uneasy. The silence lingered, thick with unspoken tension. Finally, the Dark Lord spoke, his tone measured.
"Your idealistic notions, Harry, are rooted in a naive belief in the goodness of humanity. Muggles, in their ignorance, pose a threat that cannot be easily measured. Allowing these children to voice their desires would be akin to handing them over to the whims of misguided sentiment."
Harry's frustration simmered beneath the surface, but he kept his voice steady. "But doesn't stealing them from the muggle world mean the world is black and white? It isn't. You taught me that. They may be actually loved; is that misguided sentiment?"
Voldemort chuckled, a sound that sent a shiver down Harry's spine. "Any form of being misguided is a luxury, one that the wizarding world cannot afford in times of war. We must prioritize the preservation of our kind. It requires sacrifices."
The Gryffindor couldn't suppress a retort. "Why punish innocent children for the actions of a few wrong muggles? You would condemn every child to not know their family for the fear of what might happen to only a few?"
Voldemort's eyes glinted with a dangerous glimmer. "Innocence, Harry, is a fleeting concept. As you just quoted, the world is not divided into neat categories of good and evil. Sometimes, to ensure the survival of our kind, difficult choices must be made."
The conversation hung in the air, heavy with unspoken disagreement. Harry knew he was pushing the boundaries, challenging the very foundation of Voldemort's ideology. Yet, he couldn't stand by and accept the path the Dark Lord envisioned.
A faint smirk curled on Voldemort's lips. "Your compassion, while admirable, blinds you to the harsh realities of our existence. It is a weakness, one that I will help you overcome." Harry frowned, not liking the sound of that. He dropped his stare, unsure of what he could say that would sway the Dark Lord to change his mind.
The remainder of the training session proved rather unremarkable by comparison. Voldemort directed Harry to continue practicing the simultaneous dual casting of wand and wandless magic. Frustration gnawed at the Gryffindor as only about a third of his attempts succeeded, and the magnitude fell short of the intensity he achieved against the dummies. However, to his surprise, Voldemort appeared satisfied, and that was sufficient validation for the young wizard. With the training concluded, the Dark Lord granted him the rest of the day off, much to Harry's pleasure.
Returning to his room, Harry indulged in a refreshing shower, shedding his combat robes for something more comfortable. Eager to escape once again to the garden, he stepped outside and took a deep breath, relishing the peace and solitude that enveloped him. The soft hues of the sunset illuminated the garden, bathing it in a warm glow.
The garden revealed its hidden beauty to Harry as he strolled along the winding paths, bordered by vibrant blossoms in various colors. The air was filled with the sweet fragrance of magical flowers, and the gentle rustling of leaves created a soothing melody. The enchanting atmosphere offered a stark contrast to the rigorous training he had just endured.
As Harry meandered through the garden, his mind reflected on the day's events. The conversation with Voldemort lingered in his thoughts. He couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that his words would not change anything, but at the same time, a sense of satisfaction simmered within him. He had dared to challenge Voldemort's perspective, even if just a little. And had not been punished when doing so.
The training, too, occupied his reflections. He had accomplished something that he knew to be quite difficult. He felt a small sense of triumph accompanied by the acknowledgment of Voldemort's genuine approval at that moment. It was a peculiar dynamic, a delicate balance between seeking validation from the Dark Lord and maintaining his own principles.
As the sun began to dip below the horizon, casting a cascade of warm colors across the sky, Harry found solace in the garden. The rhythmic patter of water from a nearby fountain added to the tranquil ambiance. He couldn't help but appreciate the beauty that existed even in the heart of darkness. The garden seemed like a paradox, a serene haven nestled within a fortress of shadows. It reflected how he felt.
Leaning against a stone railing, Harry took a moment to savor the calm, the fragrant breeze gently rustling the leaves around him.
"Potter."
His lips twitched in amused frustration at the almost predictable interruption.
"Draco," he said, turning. The blond's eyes narrowed at the use of his first name.
"Harry," he replied in kind, seemingly unsure.
"Isn't it a bit late for you to be here? I wasn't aware of a meeting."
"Not a large group one; father was summoned to speak to our Lord." That made sense since Voldemort had said they would not dine together.
"Do you know what it's about?"
The Malfoy heir shook his head. "An update about the ministry, I would suspect. What with the vote to give the old bird the boot coming up. I'm sure that's the talk du jour."
At Harry's quizzical look, Draco laughed. "Talk of the day," he explained. "I forget how clueless you are sometimes, Potter," he mocked without bite.
Harry shrugged, acknowledging his shortcomings. It bothered him, but under Voldemort's tutelage, he knew he was rapidly making up for it. And didn't that truth sting more than he cared to admit.
"What do you think will happen when Dumbledore is voted out?"
Draco leaned against the stone railing, gazing out at the expansive garden. The evening breeze rustled the leaves while the fading sunlight cast long shadows, painting the garden in warm tones of orange and pink.
"Well, it's hard to say," Draco mused, his gaze thoughtful. "Father believes the vote will make it where the law isn't on the light's side anymore. They won't have the numbers. More than they know have either swapped to the dark or at least agreed to stay neutral. We'll be able to push through change with very little resistance. And it'll all be done legally, so there will be little the light can do to stop it without becoming true vigilantes."
"How is he doing this? What could he promise to sway so many?" It didn't make sense why the ministry seemed to not be fighting. They knew he was back even if he was being relatively quiet. The first war had been awful; how could they risk it happening a second time?
"Why were you swayed?" Draco asked.
Harry shook his head, "it's not the same. I was a prisoner; he held my friends. My closest thing to a father would have died. He's promised not to harm them if I stay. If I submit."
"He's promised," Draco echoed, giving Harry a knowing look. "Do you think you're the only one he's pressuring? Threatening and promising? He's targeting anyone with power who isn't firmly under Dumbledore's thumb. You've heard him, his words are elegant, full of what might be. Power and prestige. To old blood that resonates. They want to return to the old ways when magic wasn't tamed. Wasn't muted. We don't even celebrate our holidays anymore. It's pathetic."
Harry nodded, considering Draco's words. The political intricacies of the wizarding world were still somewhat foreign to him, and he relied on conversations like these to gain insights.
"Do you think Voldemort will have that much influence in the Ministry after this?" Harry asked, curious about the power dynamics at play.
Draco arched an eyebrow. "He already does, Potter. The Dark Lord has his fingers everywhere. When Dumbledore is removed, it will provide a clearer path for Voldemort to exert more control openly. Father thinks it's about time the Ministry aligned more closely with our interests. We've grown weak. If something doesn't change, then we have a lot we stand to lose."
Draco's words settled on Harry's shoulders. Was this the beginning of the end? Had the light lost? Was there no resistance left? If Voldemort was not acting like a villain for the light to rally against, would he just slip into a place of prominence, and everyone would just blink one day and realize they'd willingly handed power over to a Dark Lord who desired to be a dictator?
"And what about you?" Draco turned to him, his gray eyes piercing. "What's your role in all of this, Potter?"
Harry hesitated, the weight of his own uncertainty pressing down on him. What did he want his role to be? "I want to end this war. I want to protect those who can't protect themselves. I don't want innocent lives caught in the crossfire. If I stay by his side, I think I can achieve that." He wanted Voldemort to stop, but he didn't think he had it in him to be the one to do that. How could a sixteen-year-old vanquish someone who was that powerful? And the mark he bore on his shoulder allegedly gave Voldemort the power to stop him from even trying. He frowned, thinking over how much his magic had grown in just a few months. Was it possible that one day he would have the power to stop Voldemort, but he'd naively given up his chance to do so? Had he doomed the wizarding world in his efforts to save those he cared about?
Draco regarded him for a moment, weighing his words.
"I suppose there are worse things to fight for," Draco finally said, breaking the silence. "But you should be a little more selfish. I know your Gryffindor sensibilities dictate you sacrifice yourself, but maybe you can be more than a sacrifice."
He paused, dropping his gaze. He looked more serious than Harry had ever seen him. "I saw you up there with him; you two make a fearsome match. Maybe you can balance him. If he will actually listen to you. You could influence him in ways no one has ever had the chance. He knows how much he gains with your willing support. Consider using that. Please him even. See what that affords you."
Please him. Harry thought back to their practice just a few hours ago. The Dark Lord had certainly been pleased with the power he'd shown.
"Do you think I'm doing the right thing? Submitting to him? I'm not even sure what is right anymore." He hated how vulnerable he sounded. He was shocked the admission escaped his lips.
"Do you have any other choice?" It wasn't dismissive. Steel gray eyes met pained green. "If you can't escape and you can't protect them or yourself on your own, then maybe this is the right decision. You're at least taking matters into your own hands. Not just allowing someone like Dumbledore to make all the decisions for you."
Harry nodded, the words somewhat comforting.
"And Harry," Draco said, meeting his eyes, "I know you didn't grow up in our world, so let me offer you some advice. Choices are rarely between what's right and what's wrong. It's about survival, power, and influence. Sometimes, you have to play the game by their rules to change the outcome."
Harry frowned, absorbing Draco's words. It was a perspective he hadn't fully considered.
"Look," Draco continued, his gaze returning to the garden, "The Dark Lord, for all his fearsomeness, values loyalty and strength. If you can show him that you possess both, you might find yourself in a position to make a real difference. It's a dangerous path, I don't envy you, but sometimes, that's the only path that leads to change."
A silence settled between them, punctuated only by the rustling leaves and the distant sounds of the garden.
"You've been through a lot," Draco said, his voice strangely thoughtful. "And I won't pretend to understand what all that has been. But you have a choice, even in the worst of times. It may not be a good choice, but it's yours to make. I made mine. And I'm trying to make the best of it that I can. Make yours and stick with it. Nothing is worse than only half committing."
Harry nodded, surprisingly grateful for Draco's honesty and perspective. He'd been terrified that he was slipping, becoming dark. He was good at dark magic and liked the thought that he could be powerful, that maniacs like Bellatrix would not always be able to outpower him. But maybe that wasn't what he needed to focus on. He needed to see the endgame. What did he hope to achieve? Maybe embracing the dark was the best way to achieve what he truly wanted: peace and safety for his friends. But was that even possible in a world where Voldemort ruled?
"I should go," Draco said, pushing himself away from the stone railing. "Father will be expecting me."
As Draco's figure gradually disappeared into the obscurity of the night, Harry lingered against the railing, his mind a tempest of conflicting thoughts. The sun's departure plunged the garden into an abyss of shadows, mirroring the deepening gloom within him.
A heavy sigh escaped the teen as he mustered the strength to push himself upright, embarking on the lonely journey back to his room.
Upon entering his room, Harry's gaze gravitated toward the desk, where a note awaited him. He recognized the handwriting instantly, and with a mix of trepidation and resignation, he retrieved the parchment.
Come to breakfast prepared to depart the manor. You will go on your first mission tomorrow. ~Lord Voldemort
The ink on the page seemed to carrier an unsettling weight, and Harry couldn't shake the feeling that something was about to happen.
AN: Alighty, here's a pretty quick update! I finished it, so I wanted to post instead of waiting 😊 Thanks again for the reviews and Kudos! Harry gets to leave the manor! Who should accompany him? Any requests on what should happen?
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