AN: Sorry, reposting since the last one had a formatting issue!
Chapter 21: Succession
"Are you familiar with the Rite of Succession?" Voldemort inquired, interrupting Harry mid-bite as he glanced up from his toast. The Dark Lord sat next to him in their usual dining arrangement, looking as formidable as ever.
Harry shook his head, ebony bangs dropping across his eyes at the motion. Emerald met crimson; the teen could sense something in the air. This wasn't a casual question.
"It's less known in today's world because formal duels to the death are rare, and even rarer is not having a designated heir," Voldemort explained, setting his cup of hot tea back on the table. Steam rose into the early morning air. "The Rite of Succession is when magic herself designates the victor of conquest as a magical heir if the right criteria are met. Can you guess what that entails?"
The unsettling feeling in the pit of Harry's stomach grew. He'd been on edge since his arrival, uncertain about the type of mission the Dark Lord would assign him. Duels to the death, conquest, and magical heirs were not what he had in mind.
"I would suspect one has to kill another," Harry hazarded, mindful of his apprenticeship's condition that excluded killing or torturing. He tried to ground himself in that assurance, hoping that whatever task lay ahead would not involve such dark deeds.
Voldemort nodded. "Yes, through magical prowess among other requirements. It can be as simple as the killing curse or more elaborate, but one's magic must, in essence, vanquish the other." Harry's eyes narrowed at the word 'vanquish,' his body going stiff. Memories of the Prophecy Dumbledore had shared, the one that cost Sirius his life, flashed before him. The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord… It had been months since he thought about it. So much had been going on with his apprenticeship that he'd nearly forgotten the dreaded words that responsible for his life being the way that it was.
A push on his Occlumency shields brought him back to the present. Voldemort's scarlet eyes were fixed on him, probing. "What has you bothered?" The Slytherin asked, the force of his intrusion hovering outside without breaking his shields. Despite Harry's growing proficiency in the mind arts, he knew he was no match for Voldemort's mastery. If the Dark Lord wanted to enter his mind, he would.
"Nothing," Harry replied, attempting nonchalance.
"Do not lie to me," the intrusion on his mind intensified. It hurt, but Voldemort had not shattered his barriers yet.
Harry dropped his gaze, knowing eye contact only made the attack easier for the Dark Lord. "I'm not bothered," he murmured, "the topic just caught me by surprise."
A pulse of pain in his scar served as a warning. Harry sighed, turning back to his Master. With his curiosity piqued, Voldemort wouldn't easily be dissuaded. "It was your word choice," Harry confessed. "It brought up bad memories."
Voldemort frowned, leaning back. "Do not ever lie to me, Harry. I thought you'd learned that lesson."
Harry nodded, feeling a pang of genuine guilt. The tone was more disappointed than angry, which struck Harry in ways he did not care to think about. "I was caught off guard," the teen admitted, unwilling to apologize but conceding to having attempted to mislead. Occasionally he had gotten away with it, but it was rare. And never about anything that mattered.
"You need to continue working on hiding your emotions," Voldemort observed. "It was clear to anyone with eyes that you were suddenly distressed." He paused, studying Harry. "And to allay whatever fears are running through your head, yes, I know what the prophecy says in its entirety. It changes nothing. We have circumvented any potential future with your submission to me. Depending on how you interpret it, one can say you already vanquished me when I attacked you that fateful night in Godric's Hollow. Prophecies are fickle things; the criteria could have been met the night I attacked, and you destroyed my former body. Thus, that version of me is no longer among us. It may not even apply to us, despite the variables seemingly aligning. I will not waste another moment with something so unreliable dictating either of our lives, and I recommend you do the same."
Harry found himself speechless. Did Voldemort truly not care that he might have powers the Dark Lord knows not? That they may be destined to fight to the death, and Harry was hailed as the one who could finish him for good? He never would have thought the wizard would be so pragmatic, so dismissive. Dumbledore had placed all his bets that the prophecy mattered, that Harry was the light's only hope, and Voldemort was now going to ignore it? It had driven him to kill Harry's parents; he'd almost lost everything because of it once already. The young Gryffindor wasn't sure what to think. What to believe.
"Which leads us to today," the Slytherin continued as if Harry's world was not being systematically flipped inside out. "Magic considers you my magic heir due to the Rite of Succession."
Harry jerked in his seat, completely taken aback. He almost fell out of it. "Your what?" he stuttered.
"My heir," Voldemort stated, lips twitching downwards in distaste. "I was equally surprised. However, I am finding that it may have its uses."
"How?" Harry gasped. It wasn't possible. Surely he would have known. What did that even mean? Should he have been in Slytherin this entire time? If he was an heir, did that actually make Voldemort his Lord by magical father standards? No, it couldn't! He wouldn't accept that. The teen felt paralyzed with all the competing thoughts simultaneously fighting for prominence. It was beyond overwhelming.
Voldmort, who seemed completely unaffected, continued calmly, "in my arrogance, I failed to take any measures to secure my wealth or inheritance. While I had already ensured my immortality, that brief moment between the rebounding killing curse and my corporeal return rendered me, for all intents and purposes, dead. In that transient state, before I returned, magic deemed you the conqueror and, consequently, my magical heir, inheriting all that I possessed."
Harry, struck speechless, grappled with the implications of Voldemort's revelation. Surely it could not be true. And more importantly, he wondered why the Slytherin was raising the topic now.
"It truly is not that significant," Voldemort asserted, seemingly indifferent to the weight of the revelation. The man was almost as flippant about pronouncing Harry his heir as he had been dismissive of the prophecy. "With you already secured as my apprentice, it is not a far leap to consider you as my heir. It actually stabilizes your role by my side; magic herself has weighed in and confirmed our connection even further."
To Harry, however, it felt like an insurmountable leap. The idea was not only horrific but also carried the weight of disgrace upon his parents' memory. He had no desire to be the Dark Lord's heir. Could he refuse it? Could he just turn it down?
Voldemort, willfully oblivious to the emotional turmoil gripping the young Gryffindor, continued as if this were any normal conversation over a meal between master and apprentice. "I learned of this in recent correspondence with Gringotts regarding my vaults. As the presumed heir, access to both the Slytherin and Gaunt inheritances was given to you."
"I," Harry stammered, still in shock. Had Voldemort just casually announced that Harry had magically been adopted by the Dark Lord? It was absurd, terrifying. It was a life-changing scenario in all the wrong ways. "I've never accessed your vaults, I had no idea," he forced out, glancing up nervously. "Can you just take it back from me? Undo whatever this Succession Rite made happen?"
And worst, did Voldemort think he had been stealing his possessions? The notion was laughable. Harry didn't even have access to his own vaults; Dumbledore or the Weasleys held his key. His only opportunity to retrieve gold was when it was time to shop for school. Now, with a taste for proper clothes and a comfortable bed, the realized restricted access to his wealth irked him, making the situation even more galling.
His parents had left him their legacy, and he could only access it when it suited others. How had that not rightfully bothered him before now? Harry's mind raced with a whirlwind of emotions. Anger, confusion, and a gnawing sense of injustice clawing at him. He eyed the Dark Lord with a mixture of disbelief and resentment, his thoughts buzzing with the implications of this newfound realization, both what the Dark Lord was implying and the realization he never had proper access to his own natural legacy left by his parents.
Voldemort reclined in his chair, observing Harry's internal struggle with an eerie calmness. "I know you haven't accessed it. And no, it cannot be undone. Whether desired or not, Harry, you have become the rightful inheritor of my legacy," he declared, almost seeming amused by Harry's reaction. As if he were contemplating an intriguing twist of fate. "The only way for it to be undone is in your death. So, as you can imagine, I find myself in a rather intriguing predicament. One that presents an opportunity."
Harry's fists clenched involuntarily, his gaze locked onto Voldemort's piercing crimson eyes. "What do you mean, predicament?" he challenged, his voice carrying a subtle edge. Voldemort claimed he no longer desired to kill him, even with the prophecy's content known to both of them. The weight of that revelation left Harry whirling; he knew he would need to spend some time processing it. However, there was little time for reflection as he grappled with the current bombshell – that he was Voldemort's magical heir. A wave of anxiety washed over him, marking this breakfast conversation exceptionally abnormal, even by his already extraordinary standards.
"You can access anything of mine that is stored in Gringotts," Voldemort said as if it should be obvious.
Harry shook his head, rendered speechless. How had he not known this? Shouldn't there be some kind of official notification when magic decides to upend your life?
"Dear Harry, everything that once belonged to the Dark Lord who murdered your parents is now yours. Oh, and by the way, you're also considered his heir. Good luck! Sincerely, Fate.
P.S. you are truly the universe's greatest joke!"
Harry shook his head, trying to focus. "Do you still have access as well, or only me?" Harry questioned, his apprehension tinged with a touch of curiosity.
Voldemort smirked, the corner of his lips curling. "I'm sure you would love it if I were barred from my own vaults. Alas, no, that is not how magic works in this instance. The rightful blood lord will always have access. Precedence even. But magic now recognizes you as well. Usually, the conquered is dead, so they do not have the predicament you and I find ourselves in. As Slytherin and Gaunt heir, I could prohibit your access, which magic and Gringotts would accept until my death, but that would be a restriction of a lord against their heir. You would still be my heir, just estranged. Upon my death, if I did not designate another magical heir, which would require either a blood or magical ritual, then you would have full access again." He paused, giving Harry a knowing look. "But I assure you, a situation resulting in my death will not happen again." There was no small amount of threat included in the proclamation.
The teen found himself believing him. Voldemort was not the type to make the same mistake twice. Harry's brows furrowed, trying to make sense of Voldemort's unexpected admission. "Then why tell me? I didn't even know I had access to your vaults. I swear I haven't stolen anything." He felt genuinely confused. What was the Slytherin playing at? "And if you can just ban me, then it's not like any of your possessions are unsafe." Besides that, he wasn't foolish enough to entertain the idea of stealing from the Dark Lord, especially at this precarious juncture. And he had no means to access the vaults even if he wanted to.
"I tell you because I am not banning you. In fact, it actually benefits me that my apprentice should have such ease of access to what is mine." Voldemort's calculating gaze bore into Harry, a hint of satisfaction gleaming in his crimson eyes. "That is your task today—I want you to go and retrieve a few items for me. The fact that you are a Parselmouth is even better. The Slytherin vault can only be accessed by a speaker. The Ministry has placed triggers on the vault. If I were to go in person, it would alert them. They are an annoyance that will be removed in time, but doing so now does not suit my plans."
"You don't want to draw attention to yourself right before Dumbledore is voted out," Harry realized aloud as he pieced together the puzzle.
Voldemort nodded, conceding the point. "Yes. And there are items in there that I need that would aid me. You can retrieve them unnoticed."
Harry frowned. "You don't think there will be alerts on me out there?"
"Not on my vaults, perhaps your own. So, you are forbidden from going there on this trip." Voldemort's voice, usually calm and measured, now carried a subtle tone of warning, an implicit threat that hung in the air.
Harry nodded in acquiescence, genuinely unfazed. "I don't have my key; I couldn't access it even if I wanted to."
Voldemort frowned, his surprise apparent. "What do you mean you don't have your key? You're the Potter heir; it's your right." Disbelief dripped from his words.
Harry shrugged, attempting to project an air of nonchalance. "I've never been allowed to keep it. Only when I need money and am escorted." Despite his effort to appear unaffected, a flicker of hesitation betrayed him. "There wasn't that much in there anyway," he said, attempting to brush off the significance of not having access to a link to his past, that his heritage had been withheld from him.
"Not much?" Voldemort echoed, his tone tinged with incredulity. "The Potters were exceedingly affluent, boasting no less than four vaults, alongside expansive estates and properties. I know you grew up beneath your station, but playing coy about this is a stretch even for you." The Dark Lord's penetrating gaze bore into Harry's, a clear indication that his annoyance was escalating. "Or are you attempting to feign ignorance again? Do you fear that I would stoop to the level of stealing your inheritance?"
Sensing the subtle undercurrent of threat, Harry defensively shook his head. "I'm not lying," he asserted, trying to hide the vulnerability and apprehension he felt. "I've only seen one vault. There's a considerable amount of gold, certainly more than the Dursleys ever provided me, but probably nothing compared to what the Malfoys or others have."
The Dark Lord shook his head, releasing a disapproving sigh. "Dumbledore is a scheming fool. I'm certain you possess more than you're aware of. To withhold it from you is both an offense and an insult to your family legacy." Voldemort's intense gaze softened momentarily, replaced by a flicker of empathy. No doubt the Dark Lord saw even more of himself in the maturing teen at that moment, having his own Slytherin inheritance hidden from him for most of his youth.
"When you visit the goblins, demand that all keys to the Potter vault are collected and returned to them for safekeeping. Instruct them that none but you are permitted to enter any of the Potter vaults. While you won't access them on this trip, I'll guarantee your rightful admittance when the Ministry falls. You never should have grown up the way you did. You should have lived in one of the Potter estates, at a minimum, or in a proper wizarding home. That you grew up abused and neglected at the hands of magic-fearing muggles is an atrocity."
Harry's heart skipped a beat. "I can do that, reclaim my keys? Won't Dumbledore prevent it? I'm still a minor. He's my magical guardian." A thrill of excitement swept through him, mixed with uncertainty and doubt. He was tired of feeling powerless, never able to access his heritage without permission from adults. Learning that there was much more left to him and that it had been hidden all this time was degrading and insulting. He had desperately sought anything from the past that would bring him closer to his parents. Discovering he had multiple vaults and items that belonged to his parents, kept from him, angered the teen more than he wanted to admit.
Voldemort's smirked, revealing a knowing confidence. "I'm now your magical guardian. In more ways than one. The master and apprentice relationship is an acknowledged position in magical society. I have taken you in and promised to teach and care for you. Part of the mark you accepted magically bound our agreement; it signifies your submission to being my apprentice. That exceeds any claim the old coot would have as Headmaster to a school you no longer attend." Harry didn't like the sound of that. His research on the mark had mostly come up empty. He knew it was a ritual because it left a permanent mark on his skin. And he knew it magically linked him to Voldemort in some ways. But beyond that, he had found infuriatingly little.
"Moreover," the velvety tone continued, "the Rite of Succession takes precedence. As my magical heir, since I regained my body last year, both legally and under the laws governed by magic, I am your guardian. A drop of blood will confirm who you are and establish your right to access the Potter vault, as well as my own. The test will reveal that you are my magical heir, and I am your guardian. The goblins will have no choice but to honor your rightful access and dismiss any claims from Dumbledore. It's a matter of magical law and tradition that even the old man cannot circumvent. I'll provide a letter for you to present to them, articulating my displeasure that another magical being has access to my heir's legacy. They are to retrieve all keys and provide you with your own. The laws governing the vault will mandate their compliance, and Dumbledore will be barred access."
The revelation surpassed Harry's expectations. He would be allowed to keep his own key? After all these years, it would be Voldemort who finally granted him full access to what his parents had left behind, and didn't that realization sting? A thought struck him. "Will you receive a key to my vaults as well?"
The teen shifted under the pressing stare. He would have sworn the Dark Lord was using Occlumency again if he hadn't known better that his shields were still intact. While the Slytherin's face was a mask, Harry had spent so much time with the Dark Lord that he was beginning to read him. There was something in the crimson eyes that left him puzzled.
"No," Voldemort said after an uncomfortable silence. "I will not demand a key. This is your rightful inheritance, and I will honor that. But I expect you to reciprocate the trust I am extending to you. You will uphold our agreement, act as an apprentice to the dark should. If any of the content you inherit is useful to the light, you will not allow it to fall into their hands. I will allow you your inheritance uncontested, but if you use it against me in any way, you will regret it. Are we in agreement?"
As he mulled over the implications, Harry found himself contemplating the significance of what was happening. Voldemort was living up to his promises in every way. He had made Harry stronger, provided for the teen, and introduced him to his inner circle and followers as someone the Dark Lord trusted. Harry was given power. And now Voldemort was returning what was rightfully his, giving him his parents' legacy that no one in the light had thought to do. Draco's words from the previous night rang through his thoughts. 'Show him loyalty, play the game.' He straightened in his seat, newfound determination fueling him. Harry nodded his head acquiescing to the terms, finding himself genuinely grateful for what Voldemort was offering.
"Thank you," the Gryffindor whispered, sincerity coloring his words.
The room hung in tense silence as master and heir exchanged an uneasy moment. Voldemort was the first to break the stillness, turning away with a dismissive air. "You should have already had access," he asserted. "It's an insult to you and your legacy that you did not. Now, back to the matter at hand—what you will retrieve for me." Harry couldn't help but wonder if genuine gratitude unsettled the formidable wizard.
"Within the Slytherin vault, there is an ancient scroll containing the secrets of 'Serpentis Mutatio,' the Blood Shifter's Covenant. It is a ritual that allows one to shed their old identity and embrace a new one. Magic, blood, lineage—all may be permanently transformed."
Harry thought that sounded awful. Would Voldemort force it upon another? Strip them of their identity, perhaps even steal someone else's? Would that affect their magic levels? He voiced the concerns aloud.
"No, there are different rituals that influence your magic, that make you stronger." He gave Harry a knowing look, suspecting the teen's interest in wanting to know more, even if such dark magic did scare him. "There are a few other books in the vault that explore such magic that you may retrieve and read. But in this instance, my goals are more straightforward. It's a blood ritual that will change my lineage so that I won't be recognized as Tom Riddle anymore."
"You plan to adopt a new identity?" Harry asked, his curiosity beyond piqued. He knew the Dark Lord loathed his Muggle ancestry. But would that influence his Slytherin and Gaunt side?
"Yes," Voldemort responded, a hint of anticipation in his voice. "I don't intend to hide in the shadows, but I can't be known in the open as Tom Riddle; too many associate that name with Lord Voldemort, with the first war. I will obtain a new identity, a fresh start." The prospect of transformation shimmered in his eyes.
"How much of you will change? Will you still be the heir of Slytherin?" Harry couldn't contain his curiosity. This was not what he had expected.
Voldemort nodded. "Yes, I will have the same blood that flows through me; I will be Lord Slytherin and Gaunt. I will only shed the Riddle lineage. Lineage tests will only show my magical side, I will be able to claim both Lordships, walk among the wizarding world, and none will be able to accuse me of my previous crimes. My history will be wiped clean."
Harry had finally read the Lordship books the Dark Lord had given him and had an inkling of what he intended. "You'll claim your Wizengamot seats? Your titles?"
The Dark Lord nodded, "among other things." His crimson eyes were glistening with unveiled desire. "You will get these items from my vault and bring them back."
"How will I know which ones they are?"
"I will show you," crimson eyes sought emerald. Harry felt a push on his Occlumency shields. It was gentle, not invasive like the previous times. "Lower your shields and I will push the images so that you will know."
Not desiring the Dark Lord in his mind, but even less eager to go through the painful process where Voldemort dropped the teen's shields through force, Harry reluctantly unbarred his mind. He was proficient enough that he didn't drop everything; his feelings and thoughts were still behind barriers, but he lowered and rescinded his shields enough that Voldemort was able to enter the surface.
Images flashed before his eyes. Two old scrolls and a leather-bound book. They all looked ancient. And he realized that the script was in Parseltongue. He'd thought it was English, that anyone could read them, but as his mind truly absorbed the images, he realized tiny squiggles and lines were actually dancing across the pages. He could just read them perfectly from his gift.
"You will take all three, nothing else. There are cursed objects and other dangerous items. I would advise you to be very careful while in the Slytherin vault. You have no reason to enter the Gaunt vaults. And truthfully, you would be disappointed if you did. They hold nothing of value, having lost their fortune well before I entered the scene." He retracted his mind probe and leaned back in his seat.
"Tipsy!"
The tiny house elf immediately appeared, bouncing up and down eagerly. "Yes, master? How can I assist you?"
"Bring me the leather bag in my office, the black one."
She popped away and was back within seconds, gripping a small leather pouch. Harry had seen similar ones. They had expansion charms inside them and were used to secure items when traveling. Voldemort took it and handed it over. "Stick out your finger," he commanded, his wand appearing in his free hand.
Skeptically, Harry raised his hand towards the Dark Lord. With a slight flick, Harry winced as a small bubble of blood appeared on his finger. The teen grimaced as Voldemort extended the leather pouch. "Touch the blood on the lips of the pouch's mouth. It will register to you, and no one will be able to pull the contents of the pouch without your consent."
Harry obliged, touching the lips of the worn leather. He immediately felt a pulse of magic wash over him, tying his magical signature to the bag. "You may keep the bag after this mission. There are already anti-summoning and destruction charms on it. And it is charmed large enough that you should not run out of space anytime soon."
Harry nodded, accepting the gift. Similar to when he'd received his wand holster, he wasn't sure how to feel. How to respond. He knew it was a practical gift, that it was given because it served Voldemort's purpose. But he couldn't help but feel conflicted that he would be given it, that something so useful and nice would be his even after the mission. It was the type of item that he knew Malfoy would have boasted at school if given to him by his father. Expensive and useful. And it indicated trust because he knew they could only be keyed to one magical signature. He gazed at it awkwardly, an uncomfortable feeling catching in his throat.
"Good, now you will go with two of my inner circle. I don't anticipate any trouble to occur, but they will be there to assist if anything goes wrong."
Or to prevent me from running, Harry thought, but didn't say it aloud. Truthfully, he wasn't sure what he would do if given the chance to run. He honestly did not think he could escape. He still knew too little about the mark on his arm. And nothing had changed regarding his fears that he believed Voldemort could reach his friends. That he could make the streets run with blood to punish Harry if he truly wanted.
"Who will come with me?" Harry asked instead.
"Severus and Barty." Harry straightened, staring at the Dark Lord incredulously. He didn't mind Crouch, but Snape?
"You seem surprised."
Harry wasn't sure how to phrase it, and he'd already gotten in too much trouble trying to be discrete or reserved, so he decided to go for it. It was something he'd wondered for years. "Do you trust Snape?"
Voldemort's lips twitched. "Do you?"
Harry shrugged. He wasn't sure which side he even hoped the slippery potion master was on anymore. The Gryffindor had too much going against him and for him on both sides. "I don't know," he admitted. "He's obviously trusted by both you and Dumbledore. One of you has to be wrong." He thought that conclusion was obvious, that he didn't risk much by saying it out loud.
The Dark Lord chuckled. It sounded so normal that it was odd. "Yes, he is quite convincing. I trust him in this, Harry, that should be enough for you."
Harry nodded, sensing the dismissal of that line of questioning. Severus Snape and Barty Crouch Jr. Harry wasn't sure how he felt about being in the company of both. Snape, in particular, confused him. Was this a test of Harry's allegiance or the potion master's? Snape may lie and try to tempt him to flee, then report it all back. Or if he was on the side of the light, that meant Voldemort was certain enough of his control of the teen to risk Snape trying some type of rescue. Harry knew if he tried to run and failed, the consequences would be severe. It had taken three months to be allowed this. If he betrayed Voldemort and wasn't successful in escaping, he did not want to know what the punishment would be. He was certain it would be at least one of his friends' deaths.
"Good, if that is all, then you should depart."
"How will I travel?"
Voldemort reached into his cloak, pulling out two items. One was an emerald jewel, the other a sapphire. Both beautiful in their own right. They looked expensive, precious. The Dark Lord flicked his wand, and the sapphire was suddenly wrapped in a gold chain, making it into a necklace. "Two portkeys. The green will take you to Diagon Alley, the red will return you to my manor. I will teach you to Apparate when you return so you are not limited in the future. Keep the sapphire on you at all times. It will work more than once, always bringing you back to Slytherin Manor."
Harry took both, draping the sapphire over his head. He was about to tuck it under his shirt but paused at the raised wand pointed directly at him. It spoke to how accustomed he'd grown to the Dark Lord that only the slightest shiver went through him at the act. He hated that he trusted the wizard wouldn't suddenly start torturing him for no reason.
With a complicated twirl of his wrist, the Dark Lord softly incanted Latin that Harry had never heard before. The sapphire heated then went cold. "No one will be able to remove that from you. Keep it on you at all times. As I continue to trust you and allow you more freedom, I want you always to have a means to escape. Never hesitate to use it."
Harry's fingers ghosted over the cool stone before he tucked it under his shirt. It didn't surprise him the possessive Dark Lord would want a way to bring the teen back to his manor; Harry wondered if the Dark Lord could activate it from anywhere without Harry's consent. But more than anything, he wondered why the Order had never given him something like this. Would he have used it the night his uncle attacked him and kicked him out of his home? Could this entire situation have been avoided if Dumbledore and the Order had taken even this smallest step to protect Harry during the summer? Harry forced the thoughts aside; it did nothing to brood on them now. This was his life, and he had to figure out how to navigate the present, not waste time wishing on the past.
"Is there an activation word?" Harry asked.
The Slytherin's eyes glistened. "Safety," he hissed in Parseltongue.
Harry couldn't resist the slight snort that escaped unbidden. "Alright," he conceded, the slightest smirk gracing his lips at the irony.
The Dark Lord stood, and Harry followed suit. His forgotten toast remained on his plate. He'd lost his appetite since Voldemort revealed Harry was considered by magic herself to be the Dark Lord's heir, not to forget the wizard seemingly knew about the prophecy saying Harry could defeat him and had uncharacteristically decided to dismiss it entirely. That, coupled with the teen being allowed to leave the manor without Voldemort, had made the morning altogether chaotic and unusual, even by his crazy standards.
"You will go meet Snape and Barty in the foyer. I will send Tipsy with the Gringott's letter shortly. The emerald will activate with the word 'loyalty.'" The Dark Lord took a step nearer the teen, reaching out a hand and grasping his shoulder. "Do not make me regret this trust I am showing you. Retrieve what is mine and return. Don't do anything that will jeopardize your standings with me. You will not like the repercussions."
Having already suspected so, Harry indicated his understanding with a quick dip of his chin. He had no intention of using this brief moment of freedom to escape. He would bide his time, be smart about it. If he was going to risk destroying Voldemort's faint trust in him, it would only be after he had a plan that he was certain would work.
The teen soon made his departure, parting the dining hall and making his way to the entrance. He had passed by it before but never had a reason to test it, to see if he could leave. He suspected it was one of the few places the Death Eaters could apparate out of, since he rarely saw them in any other parts of the manor. Arriving, he saw two taller forms already awaiting him. He reluctantly approached them.
"Potter."
"Snape." Harry's response carried a subtle edge; he wasn't inclined to bestow any honorifics on the man who had made his years at Hogwarts an unending struggle.
"And I'm Barty," Barty Crouch Jr. chimed in, a wry smile playing on his lips. "Glad we all haven't developed amnesia in the 48 hours since we were last together." His comment carried a touch of humor, attempting to diffuse the palpable tension in the room. Despite the attempt at levity, there was an unmistakable undercurrent of unease.
Harry raised a bemused brow, acknowledging the quip with a hint of a smile. The comment lacked any actual sting, like Barty was intentionally trying to lighten the atmosphere. After a moment of assessing glances, Snape broke the silence. "Let's not waste any more time. We have business to attend to."
"I need to wait for Voldemort's elf; she has something for me." Both men stared at him with wide eyes.
"What?" He asked in confusion, glancing behind him in case it was something more sinister that had caught their eyes.
"You call him by his name?" Barty asked incredulously. Snape was shaking his head in disapproval, scowling.
"Same arrogant child as always."
Harry frowned. Occasionally, he called Voldemort master when necessary for the apprenticeship, but the honorific was rarely needed. It was almost always just the two of them, and the Dark Lord didn't create environments where it was required. He certainly wasn't going to call him "my lord" in front of these two.
"I can call him the Dark Lord," Harry conceded; it was mainly Barty's aghast look that had him relenting, wanting to appease the man in some way. If he hoped to create any type of bond he could use in the future, he didn't want to completely ostracize himself.
"Sure," Barty agreed, glancing cautiously from Snape back to the teen. "Whatever agreement you have with our Lord is between you and him anyways."
A moment later, Tipsy appeared, a letter clasped in her tiny hands. "Here, young master," she squeaked, holding it out.
Harry grabbed it. "Thank you, Tipsy," he said, depositing it in the pouch he'd just been given. It quickly disappeared into the dark opening. He tied it around his belt inside his traveling cloak. A giant blush filtered across the elf's cheeks as she bobbed her head in adoring appreciation of the compliment before popping away. Barty looked confused, Snape looked disgusted.
"What were you given?" The potions professor asked, eyeing where the pouch had disappeared to.
"It's for my mission," Harry said evasively. He certainly had no intention of revealing to Snape of all people that he was the Dark Lord's heir, magical or through apprenticeship, nor that he was going to get his Potter vault keys back from Dumbledore. He hoped he could get a private audience with the goblins. Since they did not speak Parseltongue, he'd already assumed they would not accompany him to Voldemort's vault. While the Dark Lord had not explicitly stated it, it made sense to Harry that he would not want anyone else rummaging through his stuff.
Snape released a long-suffering sigh. "Don't play coy, Potter. We're supposed to ensure your success. You will have to reveal all the details for us to do so. You are not as special as you think."
Harry frowned, glancing between him and Crouch, who was also eyeing Snape speculatively. "Actually, I don't have to," Harry drew himself up to full length, which he knew wasn't all that impressive, but it was still all he had. He was the Dark Lord's apprentice, heir even. While he wasn't proud of it, he was certain that meant he didn't have to be bossed around by Death Eaters. "I know what my mission is. You're only coming along to make sure nothing awful happens. I was tasked to go to the Dark Lord's vaults and retrieve something. That is all you need to know, and you will not be accompanying me in them."
Snape puffed up, taking a step forward, clearly about to argue. While his form was no less menacing than it had always been, after spending months with the Dark Lord, Harry did not find him half as intimidating as he used to. Harry was no longer the weak child he had been. He was not going to cave to Snape and his bully tendencies.
Barty chuckled. "Well, sounds like we have our orders from the little lord!" He turned and began walking to the door. "You can fight with him if you want, Severus, but I think we should get going. I'm sure we got the same instructions. Make sure he succeeds. If that's all the information Lord Harry wants to give us, I say we head out."
Lord Harry? The Gryffindor hadn't expected an honorific, but it also hadn't been said with any admiration. He wasn't entirely sure if the man was mocking him or not. But he had provided an out to end the debate with Snape, which was more than he'd hoped for. He pulled out the emerald gem from his pocket. "I was given a portkey; do you want to use it or travel by yourself?" he asked, holding it up.
"I'll see myself there," Snape drawled, cape twirling as he turned and began walking out the door.
"Right sourpuss, that one," Barty observed with a slight grimace. He turned back to Harry. "I'll travel with you if you don't mind. Don't want to get separated too early in all this since I'm supposed to have your back an all."
Harry nodded, holding out the emerald stone. Barty took a step nearer, placing a finger on it. Harry took that moment to look at the young man. His actual appearance was a striking difference from the one he'd masqueraded as for the year at Hogwarts. How much of the real wizard had been revealed versus how much had just been a show? Harry had trusted the imposter; he was the only reason he made it through the second task. Did the Death Eater feel anything for the teen he'd instructed for a year, or had it always been an act to get Harry before the Dark Lord to be a sacrifice in the graveyard as they had originally planned.
"Ready?" Barty asked, cocking his head to the side, his intelligent stare glancing at the young Gryffindor.
Harry nodded, glancing back at the stone. "Loyalty."
AN: And voila! I already have most of the next chapter written, it's going to heat up 😊 Thanks for the reviews they mean a lot!