Chapter 39: Inevitable

Chapter Text

Eyes narrowing, Harry turned, glaring at the ex-Auror. "What are you doing here, Mad-Eye?"

The raven-haired youth took in the older wizard before him. A smirk played on his weathered face, his magical eye whirring in its socket, scanning the surroundings with an unsettling vigilance. The dim light from the nearby streetlamp cast long shadows, making the scars and rugged features of Mad-Eye's face appear even more pronounced. His battle-worn cloak fluttered slightly in the night breeze.

Harry shifted his stance, muscles tensing, ready to defend himself at a moment's notice. His wrist subtly angled, primed to draw his wand as he gazed at Mad-Eye who stood there, his own wand hanging loosely at his side.

"My network informed me there was an unusual guest in this area," Moody responded, his gravelly voice laced with a hint of satisfaction. "I never pegged you for someone who'd associate with the likes of Death Eater filth in a place like this. Seems I overestimated you... again."

Harry frowned at the not-so veiled insult. "Having a drink isn't a crime," Harry shot back, his jaw clinched in defiance.

The older wizard chuckled, it was a bitter and hollow sound. "Oh, but I've heard you've been up to much more than just that," Moody countered sharply, his magical eye fixing Harry with a piercing gaze. "The word is, you've been involved in activities that are far from innocent… Far from legal."

Harry's frown deepened. He should have known Snape's playing as a double agent would come back to bite him. A flurry of thoughts raced through his mind. He would have to confront Snape about his network of spying. The last thing he needed was all too real allegations undermining him, especially as he came into the spotlight more and more now that he had a Lordship to uphold. If the potion master wanted to keep his spot at Harry's side, he'd have to start lying about Harry's conduct in the dark circle.

"You have no proof," Harry stated firmly. He had worn a mask when he cast the Unforgivable Curses on Selwyn. Even Snape's memories, or those of anyone else, wouldn't stand up in court. This anonymity was precisely why Voldemort had mandated the use of masks in larger meetings where he didn't trust everyone. "I haven't done anything illegal," he added, refusing to let Moody's provocations goad him into an admission of guilt.

Moody's grip on his wand tightened perceptibly. "We'll find out if you're still singing the same tune after a dose of Veritaserum," he growled threateningly.

"That's illegal, Moody, and you know it," Harry countered sharply, taking a cautious step back, he summoned his wand.

"Why should I play by the rules when you're clearly not afraid to break them?" Moody challenged, his single-eyed gaze locked onto Harry, unblinking… Relentless.

"I haven't broken any laws," Harry reiterated. He glanced to the side, down the alley wondering if someone would stumble upon them at any moment or worse, searching to see if Moody had brought backup. His hand tightened on his wand. A part of him wanted this fight, to see how strong he'd become. Another part feared it, knowing he'd have to use powerful magic if he wanted to win.

Moody let out a derisive snort. "We'll just see how your innocence holds up once you've been compelled to confess," he taunted.

"You can't drag me to a trial without any evidence," Harry shot back, hoping he was right, that being defiant now might temper Moody's aggressions. He suspected the wizard still saw him as a meek child to be bossed around. "You're not above the law. And I'm not a kid anymore. I've taken my Lordship, of two noble houses. You won't be able to get away with this, I'll make sure of it."

"To think you take pride in claiming the Black Legacy just shows the depth of your degradation," Moody scoffed, contemptuous.

"Hardly," Harry taunted in return, his eyes sparkling with a hint of vindictive mischief. He'd had enough of Moody, of the Light trying to dictate his every move. "Now, if I were to brag about being the heir of Slytherin, that would truly be scandalous."

That got the ex-Auror's attention. He straightened, scowling deeply. "There was a time when you used to claim you weren't dark," Moody noted, his voice heavy with accusation.

"I've never said I'm dark. You're the one obsessed with that idea," Harry retorted, his smirk broadening, a clear display of his indifference to the escalating tension. If Moody believed he was confronting the same boy he had once condescendingly dueled at the Burrow, he was in for a massive surprise.

"Then deny it," pressed Moody, challenging him directly.

"I deny it," Harry responded resolutely. He forced out a bitter laugh. "Are we done with this game? I have places to be and you claiming that you can take me under custody is a joke."

It was clear he was getting under the wizard's skin. "You find this amusing? Don't be so sure of yourself. You're not untouchable, Potter," Moody countered, voice dripping contemptuously.

"Am I amused watching you make a fool of yourself? Perhaps," Harry said, hoping maintaing this arrogant facade might lead the wizard to continue believing he was dealing with an overconfident teenager, susceptible to goading into reckless action. In reality, Harry felt surprisingly composed. He knew the outcome of this confrontation, he would not let the Light capture him again. "You've have no leverage over me. You're no longer an Auror. Quit the vigilante act—it's illegal and a complete waste of my time. Drop the wards, or you'll find yourself regretting it."

That got the wizard's attention. "Is that a threat, boy?" Moody's voice grew thick with menace.

Suddenly, a binding spell zipped towards Harry. But with quick reflexes, he dodged it, his body surging with adrenaline.

"What are you doing?" Harry asked, glaring.

"You're coming with me, Potter. Enough of this nonsense, I don't have time for your games," Moody declared firmly, his wand at the ready, clearly prepared to escalate the confrontation.

Harry scowled. "This isn't some game; it's my life—the one I've chosen so stop trying to force me back to the Order." His hand tightened around his wand, ready for whatever came next.

The grizzled wizard advanced a step. "I refuse to let Voldemort win, and evidently, he values your allegiance. So, I'm taking you out of the equation," Moody threatened, his voice imbued with a stern righteous conviction. "You'll get only what you deserve. You will face the consequences of using the Unforgivable Curses, for choosing to help a murderous monster." He edged closer, his intention unmistakable.

Harry took a step back, not wanting to give up the advantage of distance between them. The closer they were, the less time he'd have to react. It was clear Moody was trying to take away one of his advantages under the guise of talking. "If you believe I'm guilty, then let the Ministry press charges," Harry countered, eyes darting around the alley, searching for anything that he could use to his advantage. The air was charged with the inevitability of confrontation.

"The Ministry is compromised, overrun with your allies, or should I say, your serpents," Moody asserted, his eyes blazing. "So, no. I think I'll deal with you myself."

Moody unleashed a rapid succession of binding spells, each executed with increasing speed. Harry, ducked, dodged, and deflected each spell in rapid succession. The pace was relentless, rivaling Voldemort when he was in a mood.

"You've improved," the wizard acknowledged with a hint of reluctance. "But that changes nothing. You're coming with me. After a dose of Veritaserum, I'll personally deliver you to the Dementors since you've destroyed any hope that the ministry will take action."

Harry, taken aback by the intense animosity aimed at him, couldn't help but question, "What happened to you?" He had once seen Moody as a mentor, a figure of respect, someone committed to fighting for his beliefs. Couldn't Moody recognize that Harry, too, was fighting for what he believed in, albeit from a different side? "You'd see me Kissed under your own judgment? You're no better than those you claim to fight against."

Harry knew he sounded resentful, and he was. Was this the reality the world was descending into? Voldemort had once claimed that the Light only avoided playing dirty because they were the ones in power. Harry found it hard to believe that Moody's aggressive approach was shared by the entire Order, but he couldn't deny that at least one of them was willing to fight just as dirty as the Dark side did. Was it the same for everyone? Did they all want him Kissed because he'd used Unforgivables on a Death Eater who had tried to kill him?

"No, Potter. It's you who's lost touch with reality by choosing to align with darkness," Moody countered sharply, his one good eye reflecting zealous conviction. "If the Dark Lord considers you a priority, then it becomes my duty to ensure you're no longer at his side. We attempted to rescue you, to persuade you to return of your own accord, but the Order was too blind to see that you had already turned against us. We won't make that mistake again. I won't let them."

"Does Dumbledore approve of your plan?" Harry asked, desperation tinting his voice, seeking a shred of reason in the escalating madness. He knew there were those on the Light who would not approve of his decision, but this went beyond that. Moody was threatening more than his freedom; he was threatening his soul and life.

"He agrees that you need to be kept away from that monster masquerading as a Lord," Moody said, his magical eye whirring and spinning, scrutinizing Harry as if trying to peer into his very soul. "He believes the two of you together are too powerful. He wants you to choose the Light again, willingly." Moody paused, his normal eye fixing Harry with a steely gaze that matched the intensity of his enchanted one. "But you and I both know that's not going to happen. It's clear you're sinking deeper into the Dark every day. I know a dark wizard when I see him; you reek of it."

"So it's either the Kiss or prison, is that my only option?" Harry asked, the grim reality of his predicament sinking in. This wasn't Moody merely trying to capture him; Moody would destroy him. He realized he wouldn't make it out of this unscathed.

"You've made your bed, Potter. You're a dark wizard now, same punishment awaits you as it does for all of them." The cold disdain and dismissal were painfully evident. Moody had already made up his mind about him.

Harry shook his head, taking another step back, preparing to fight. "I won't become a prisoner again."

"You don't have a choice, boy. You think you can take me on?"

Harry smiled bitterly. "I think you underestimate me."

"Cocky kid," Moody muttered, his dismissive snort echoing in the charged air.

And then Moody attacked. This time, instead of using binding charms, he struck offensively, clearly aiming to injure and main. His assault began with a severing hex aimed at Harry's leg, but Harry agilely sidestepped it. Almost immediately, Harry found himself defending against a barrage of conjured rocks hurtling towards him. Erecting a dome-shaped shield, Harry successfully withstood the relentless attack.

Undeterred, Moody fired three additional severing hexes in quick succession – one aimed directly at Harry's midsection and the others towards his sides, leaving evasion nearly impossible. Harry, unwilling to be struck, swiftly summoned a nearby garbage can from the alley's edge, using it to deflect the incoming attacks.

Recalling their first encounter, Harry conjured a thick smoke similar to the one Moody had used, filling the alley with choking ashes. Despite the discomfort, he inhaled deeply before positioning himself against a wall. There, he cast an air-funneling charm to create a small, breathable vortex amidst the smoke. To further cloak his presence, he applied silencing and disillusionment spells on himself, then cast an illusion of the sound of footsteps dashing away in the opposite direction to mislead the ex-Auror.

Taking a moment to steady his nerves and think, Harry forced himself to come up with a plan. He regretted the two drinks he'd had earlier; he felt slower, fuzzier than usual when practicing with Voldemort. Aware that Moody, a seasoned hunter of dark wizards, would be expecting the use of dark and violent magic, Harry felt no reluctance to use his full magical capabilities, but recognized the need for cunning, certain Moody would be just as strategic.

"Stop playing hide and seek, Potter," Moody's voice growled through the haze.

In response, Harry conjured five venomous snakes, whispering sharply, "Bite him." He watched as the snakes slithered away, vanishing into the thick cloud of ash. That should distract him for a few minutes.

It struck him as odd that Moody hadn't attempted to clear the smokescreen; then it dawned on him that Moody was likely comfortable maneuvering within it, that he would have an alternative means to locate Harry, likely through sight or sound. From their first duel, Moody knew Harry could silence himself, so that left heat signature or some other spell that would allow the gruff wizard to see Harry.

With a smirk, Harry decided to escalate the duel. Drawing his wand across his palm, he winced as he drew blood. The beads of crimson pooling in his hand were needed to cast the doppelganger spell. Dark due to its requirement for a blood sacrifice, the spell was powerful, especially for someone of Harry's magical caliber. But it was also challenging to cast and maintain, requiring proficiency in occlumency in addition to the magical reserves to keep them alive and fighting.

The spell's strength lay in his ability to distribute his consciousness among the created doubles, each infused with his magical essence through the shared blood, granting them a portion of his magical abilities. Knowing it would significantly drain his energy, he crafted two doppelgängers, sending them darting in opposite directions, each with a magical signature making them nearly indistinguishable. An onslaught of flames erupted to his left, and Harry sensed his magic responding as one double conjured an ice shield. He dashed towards the disturbance, commanding the third doppelgänger to flank the attacker from the opposite side.

An orange glow pierced the smoky veil his double once again the victim of whatever attack Moody had cast; Harry retaliated by casting an electrical surge towards the light, indifferent to his double's fate. A grunt echoed through the alley, followed by the shimmer of a hastily erected blue shield. He nudged the third doppelgänger to unleash a barrage of magical daggers in that direction. A sharp exclamation resonated, then the obscuring smoke vanished abruptly.

Moody stood defiantly, surveying the trio of Harrys, his expression betraying a flicker of surprise. The first doppelgänger bore the marks of battle, scorched and evidently shocked. Moody, sporting a fresh wound, dabbed at the blood trickling from his cheek, narrowly spared from a dagger that could have claimed his good eye, leaving a gash in its wake.

"This is dark magic, boy," Moody said softly, his gaze shifting between the three figures. "It's perilous. I know you must have split your consciousness to command them. A moment's lapse, and they could turn on you. Or worse, you could inflict lasting damage on your own mind… it wasn't meant to be used this way."

All three Harrys simultaneously raised their wands, mirroring each other's movements with eerie precision. Voldemort had warned him of the same but also said Harry's mind arts were strong enough that he wasn't worried. Only a weak wizard should fear such a spell. Harry had both the magic and the will to execute it. The praise had given made Harry all the more eager to learn the spell.

Moody's eyes narrowed, analyzing the trio before him with a precision honed over decades. "Impressive magic," he conceded grudgingly, yet his stance remained unyieldingly alert, a testament to his relentless vigilance. "But even the most sophisticated magic has its vulnerabilities, Potter."

Without warning, the atmosphere tensed as Moody's wand emitted a pulse of magic so subtle yet potent, it seemed to resonate with the very air around them. The spell was not aggressive; instead, it weaved through the battlefield like a seeker, questing for a truth only it could unveil.

Harry felt a jolt of alarm as the magic brushed against his doppelgängers, an intuitive whisper warning him of impending exposure. Yet, as the spell's tendrils enveloped the figures, they held firm, their illusion perfect. Moody's spell, designed to reveal truths, could not distinguish the real Harry from his magical constructs.

A fleeting look of respect flickered in Moody's eye, quickly masked by his perennial scowl. "Unexpected," he muttered, "using your own blood to reinforce the enchantment. Most wouldn't dare to mingle their essence so freely." It was true, but Harry had risked it, knowing it made them stronger. While harder to control and a greater drain on his magic, the benefit was they were almost as magically strong as Harry was, the blood giving them the same instincts and abilities.

With a mere whisper of his will, Harry unleashed his doubles, guiding them to encircle Moody in a deadly dance of aggression. They surged forward, a suddenly relentless storm of dark intentions, hurling hexes that sliced through the air with malicious precision. Stunners and magical bindings crackled like electric fury, seeking to incapacitate, while more sinister spells—severing curses that whispered death and blood-boiling hexes that promised agonizing pain—unleashed a barrage of lethal force.

Each double moved with Harry's own cunning and ferocity, their movements mirroring his intent, weaving a tapestry of spellfire that sought to overwhelm and outmaneuver the seasoned wizard. The air thrummed with the energy of their onslaught, charged with the raw power of magic unleashed in its most ruthless form. This was more than an attack; it was a declaration, a testament to the darkness Harry dared to command and the depths to which he would go to win. Moody was only just able to defend himself against the onslaught. Despite the impressiveness of the assault, Harry could feel the drain on his magic. Both doubles attacking simultaneously was slowly depleting his core. He needed to finish this.

In the midst of the fierce onslaught, Moody was able to unleash a lethal counterattack. With a whisper-soft incantation and a precise flick of his wand, he unleashed an angry red spell that sliced through the chaos with deadly accuracy. It struck one of Harry's doubles, catching it off guard. Instantly, the double was undone, its form dissolving under the spell's quiet devastation. Harry felt an echo of its death in his mind.

Moody turned, immediately targeting the remaining double. In a one-on-one situation, the double wasn't truly a match, especially without Harry focusing all his magic on it. As he began to tire, he found himself unwilling to do so. Doubting its ability to win on its own, Harry decided to let it do its job of tiring out the older wizard, making it easier for Harry to step up when the doppelganger failed.

A brown light shot from Moody's wand, striking the doppelgänger, which crumbled to the ground and dissolved. Moody turned, his gaze hungry. "Just you and me now, boy. Was that your best?" His tone carried a ferocious edge that unsettled Harry. The spells with which the ex-Auror dispatched the two doppelgängers made Harry question whether Moody would resort to lethal measures against him.

Harry's grip on his wand tightened. "Hardly."

A streak of white magic zipped toward him while simultaneously, every piece of debris, garbage, and trash cans in the alley hurtled towards Harry. Momentarily engulfed by the barrage, Harry barely deflected the unknown spell, feeling its dangerous power against his shield that he summoned just in time. A half broken brick clipped his arm, forcing him to stagger backwards. A garbage can was coming straight for his head and he could see Moody raising his wand, ready to attack him again.

Jerking both arms out to the sides, palms facing upwards, he unleashed a surge of magic that vaporized the approaching debris. Moody observed, his eyes narrowing at the wandless, non-verbal, almost instinctual display of magic that obliterated the alley's debris-turned missiles. "Pity you chose his path; you could have been a force for the Light," he murmured, a hint of regret in his voice.

"The Light never gave me a chance. None of you were willing to train me, to help me."

"Probably for the best," Moody countered, his scoff echoing his disdain. "I can at least say I played no part in the creation of this dark monster I see before me."

Harry's anger reached its boiling point. Moody was well aware of his past struggles; he had even threatened the Dursleys after Harry's fourth year. Yet he remained indifferent now, standing there so quick to judge. Despite Harry's general disillusionment with the Light, Moody's hypocrisy was unforgivable.

"You know nothing," Harry hissed, venom infusing his voice as he lifted his wand. A deft twirl initiated a spiraling vortex of black flames, a malevolent incantation taught to him by Bellatrix. Teetering on the edge of Fiendfyre, this dark blaze was barely controllable and immensely destructive, resisting nearly any containment the opponent might try to cast. The flames transformed into a fearsome fanged serpent, embodying Harry's chosen manifestation, showcasing his dominance and intention. He channeled his entire willpower into the spell, steering the fiery serpent toward Moody, who cautiously backed away, his eyes fixed on the threatening entity.

The serpent, ablaze with dark, consuming fire, surged forward to strike.

Moody, the ever-vigilant combatant, remained composed as the infernal serpent approached. His battle-sharpened instincts sprang into action, launching a sequence of defenses against the relentless onslaught of black fire. Initially, he summoned a water spout, hoping to extinguish the fiery beast, but the flames, insatiable, swallowed the water with a sizzle, intensifying in their ferocity.

Unfazed, Moody adapted his strategy, his wand etching intricate, swift sigils in the ether, striving to encase the serpent in ice. But the intense blaze rendered the ice to vapor instantly, the cold unable to withstand the searing heat. In a last-ditch effort, he attempted to repel the creature, a potent forceful expulsion meant to thrust it into oblivion. However, the serpent, driven by Harry's steadfast determination, remained indomitable, pressing forward with relentless vigor.

The serpent of black flames, a manifestation of ruin and resistance, relentlessly advanced, engaging directly with Moody. As the creature's fiery maw closed over his prosthetic leg, the magical fire consumed the enchanted prosthetic effortlessly, as if it were mere kindling. Moody, collapsed to the ground, his wand slipped from his hand as he bodily fell. He lunged desperately for it, but the serpent, quick and merciless, intercepted. It enveloped the wand in a voracious whirl of flames, disarming Moody. Within the serpent's fiery, translucent coils, the wand's core flickered and then was extinguished, swallowed by the dark flames. Towering menacingly, the serpent bared its smoldering fangs. Moody, now weaponless, flinched at its ominous hiss, glaring daggers between it and Harry.

"Enough," declared Harry, stepping forward. His flicked his wand and the flames vanished, leaving only a trace of smoke where the serpent had been. Another gesture, and magical restraints sprang from the tip of his wand, ensnaring Moody, thwarting any possibility of a magical escape.

"And, actually, I'm not cocky," Harry said softly, his voice calm, a stark contrast to the tumultuous emotions stirring within him. His words countering Moody's earlier provocation as their duel began.

Moody's response was a baleful glare, heavy with accusation. "You really have embraced the Dark, haven't you, Potter?" His voice was laden with a mix of disappointment and an undeniable sense of anger. There was also a hint of fear.

Harry flicked his wrist, sending a silencing hex at the bound and broken wizard. What was he going to do now? He glanced around, realizing they weren't far off the path. Anyone could walk by. Surprisingly, no one had. Maybe Moody cast something to ensure no one would disturb them, but now that he was bound and captured, Harry couldn't trust those enchantments to hold. Getting caught like this would lead to some very uncomfortable questions.

To secure their privacy, Harry conjured a wall, weaving a visual distortion around the alley. A shimmering, hazy veil materialized, obscuring them from accidental onlookers. It was a makeshift solution, but it effectively shielded Harry from the eyes of the world as he stood over the subdued and broken figure that was Alastor Moody.

"Damn it," Harry whispered, glaring at the ex-Auror who returned his gaze with equal venom. What was he going to do? He couldn't release him; all Moody's threats were too real now that he'd witnessed Harry using multiple dark spells.

"Why'd you have to become such a prick," Harry spat, twirling his wand through his fingers in irritation. He paced to one side of the alley then back, never taking his eye off the captured wizard. "Believe it or not, I don't go around using dark magic on people. I've been trying to stop the Dark side from doing it too. But you forced my hand. Of course, I'm going to defend myself. You were threatening to ruin my life."

He stopped, realizing the futility of his words. Why was he even engaging with the wizard who had just tried to capture him? He needed to act fast; he wasn't sure how long he could keep the powerful wizard subdued. He was certain Moody had something up his sleeve.

"Damn it, Moody, you've ruined everything! Why couldn't you just leave me alone..." Harry shook his head in frustration. He considered sending a message, but to whom? Not anyone on the Light side; they would only free Moody. Did Draco know any memory charms? What about Lucius? But Harry didn't want to be indebted to the Malfoy Lord. Even if he was willing, he wasn't sure if he could reach any of them from such a distance with the wards still blocking the area.

Should he...? He didn't exactly have a lot of options. He closed his eyes, running his hands through his hair in exasperation. "Fuck…" He didn't know what else to do.

Taking a deep breath, Harry centered himself, falling into the mind arts. He turned inward, finding where he had bound the soul shard, encasing it in countless mental shields. He peeled them all back and tugged on the soul string, feeling its connection to impenetrable barriers that felt dark and ominous. He'd never tried to use the link to contact Voldemort, unsure if it would work or if he even wanted it to, but he couldn't think of any other choice. The Dark Lord was the only person who Harry knew couldn't gain any more of an upper hand than he already had. He just hoped this risky move would be worth it.

He pushed against the Dark Lord's shields, feeling the weight of his presence like an impenetrable mountain. Immediately, he sensed the Dark Lord's dark curiosity hone in on his prod. He pushed again, feeling the intensity of the Dark Lord's focus increase as he realized Harry was attempting to contact him. Through the link, Harry sensed a question forming, the Dark Lord using the connection to probe against Harry's mental defenses. Harry dropped his shields, granting the Dark Lord access, and pushed an image of Mad-Eye bound before him. In return, he felt a question tinged with concern, almost as if asking if he were harmed.

Harry pushed back a sense of security, but he couldn't conceal his frazzled state, his worry that the Auror might break free and attack again. Another probe followed, this time asking for his location. Harry pushed images of the bar he had left and then the alley. Just as he transmitted the imagery, the link between him and the Dark Lord was abruptly severed, leaving Harry feeling oddly empty. The immense power that had been directed at him through the soul shard suddenly dissipated.

A burst of magic surged, shattering the wards surrounding them like glass. The immense power pulsing into the alley forced Harry to take a step back, his breath catching in his lungs. The Dark Lord materialized next to Harry, wand in hand, still clad in the elegant dress robes from the Wizengamot session.

"Harry," he greeted softly, his eyes scanning over his heir as if confirming his well-being.

Harry stood there in silence, unsure of what to say or do.

"What happened?" the Dark Lord inquired.

"He attacked me, set up wards to prevent my escape," Harry recounted. "He accused me of using dark magic on Selwyn and said he intended to drug me with Veritaserum, and then have me Kissed." The words poured out from Harry, a rapid outburst revealing the gravity of his near fate, now fully hitting him as he recounted the ordeal. He had been really close to losing everything.

"Crucio," the Dark Lord hissed. The ex-Auror fell to the floor, writhing in agony. Harry moved to intervene, to protest, but halted at the glare he received from the Dark Lord.

The torture spell was lifted. "Why didn't you finish him off?" the Dark Lord questioned.

Harry opened his mouth, then closed it. "I'm not a murderer," he finally said quietly, anticipating the Dark Lord's disappointment and even fury.

"Then what do you plan to do with him?" Moody lay gasping on the cobblestones, still under a silencing spell.

Harry shook his head, feeling numb, unable to see any good in the solution. "We could alter his memories, make him forget."

"Do you know how to perform that spell?" They both knew he didn't.

Harry shook his head, shame engulfing him. Despite all he had learned, so much still remained.

"I was hoping you would help," Harry confessed softly, shifting uncomfortably under the Dark Lord's scrutinizing gaze.

"You want me to clean up your mess?" the Dark Lord questioned, his tone imbued with an unsettling calm, as if the chaos unfolding around his heir was merely a trivial matter to him.

Harry winced. "We both know I still have a lot to learn," he acknowledged, swallowing his pride. "This just shows how much I still have to learn from you. Please, help me." He hated begging anything of the Dark Lord, and they both knew it.

"If I fix the problem you've created, what should I gain in return?" the Dark Lord pressed, his crimson eyes boring into Harry's.

Harry's brow furrowed, taken aback by the question. He should have expected it, yet he had already given so much to Voldemort, the prospect of further demands hadn't crossed his mind.

"You seem surprised," the Dark Lord observed.

Harry shook his head, equally bewildered by his own naivety. He should have seen this coming. "I don't know what more I can give," he admitted. He had relinquished everything to Voldemort. The only boundary he hadn't breached was murder, which ironically, he was now seeking Voldemort's assistance to avoid.

"There is always something to be gained from every situation, my heir. Have you truly not learned this lesson?"

Harry stood there silently. Yes, he understood that this was the Dark Lord's way of thinking. He felt naive and foolish for assuming he could receive help without offering something in return. His gaze drifted to Moody's trembling form. Having somewhat recovered from the ordeal, he'd managed to shift his position, casting a defiant glare upwards at the two wizards.

Voldemort's gaze shifted from the former Auror back to Harry, an expectant look in his eyes. Feeling that they were running out of time, that Moody might do something to break free or earn another torturous punishment, Harry swiped a hand through his hair. "Can we decide on the price once we return to the manor?" He could offer a ritual, but the Dark Lord already knew he wanted to do one. What was left to give that he'd been resistant on? It was a sad moment to realize how completely he'd already submitted.

The Dark Lord advanced, deliberately invading his heir's personal space. In his eyes, Harry could see he had determined his terms. "The condition will be your commitment to personally introduce the law to remove magical children from Muggle guardians as soon as they display accidental magic."

Harry straightened, dread pooling in his gut. It was the biggest point of contention between them. "It's not ready yet," Harry argued; Lucius had said it still needed several months of socializing before it would even be considered.

"I am a patient Lord," remarked the Dark Lord, his emerging smirk not sitting well with Harry.

Harry's expression darkened. "Before it's formally presented, may I continue to research it to find an alternative to present to you?" He had been passively searching for other options, but now it would have to become his primary focus.

"Only if you concede to fully support it should you fail to persuade me otherwise," the Dark Lord stipulated. Harry, drawing on a year of frustrating experiences regarding this issue, knew that finding another way was becoming increasingly improbable. But he didn't see another choice and had always known he would have to at least vote in the law's favor if he wanted to keep his position at the Dark Lord's side.

He took a deep breath, his gaze shifting back to Moody's incapacitated figure. This was entirely his fault. If only he had allowed Harry to make his own decisions, had not tried to control him, then none of this would have occurred. "Alright," Harry conceded.

"So, we are in agreement. I will clean up your mess, and you will introduce our law when the time is right?"

Harry nodded, reluctantly agreeing to the terms.

The Dark Lord raised his wand. "Avada Kedavra." A flash of green light ensued, then darkness.

Harry recoiled in shock as Moody's body slumped to the ground.

"What have you done?" Harry hissed, darting forward to check for any signs of life, only to find none. He turned his glare toward Voldemort, his heart racing with a tumultuous blend of fear and indignation.

"I cleaned up your mess," Voldemort replied calmly.

"We agreed you'd wipe his memory," Harry protested, his mind reeling from the sudden turn of events.

"No, you wanted to wipe his memory. I agreed to make the problem go away. You don't think someone like Moody would recognize if he suddenly lost an entire night? He's too paranoid. I would never expose you to such a risk," Voldemort explained, his tone betraying a hint of frustration.

"That didn't mean you had to kill him," Harry retorted, looking numbly at the fallen body.

"He would have relentlessly pursued you; you must see that," Voldemort stated, his gaze fixed intensely on his heir.

Harry shook his head, fighting off a tremor as he grappled with the harsh reality unfolding before him. He had employed dark magic against Mad-Eye Moody and had just passively stood there as Voldemort, whom he had called for assistance, ended Moody's life. This was not how he had expected the night to go. On some level, he knew he should be upset, probably overwhelmed, curled up in the corner of the alley crying, yet he felt only numbness, dissociated from the events transpiring. Was he even to blame, or had Moody orchestrated his own downfall?

"Why were you here? Were you here drinking alone?" Voldemort's incisive voice sliced through Harry's somber reflections.

Harry felt a wave of panic, aware he must have paled. Draco would be in serious danger if Voldemort found out he had been here just before Harry was attacked. Was there any way to hide it?

"I hope you're not considering lying to me," Voldemort warned, his patience visibly waning. He reached out grasping Harry's chin, forcing him to meet his gaze.

"It's not what you think," Harry said uncertainly, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I'll determine what I think," came the icy reply.

Harry closed his eyes, frustration coursing through him.

"Please," he murmured, his plea scarcely heard.

"You were with the Malfoy brat," Voldemort reasoned, sounding more accusatory than inquisitive.

"I had just two drinks. I wasn't intoxicated. He was the one who suggested we head back for the night. We acted responsibly," Harry explained, striving to maintain his composure, desperate to not let the situation further escalate beyond his control.

"He left you alone," Voldemort pointed out, his voice laden with an threatening edge.

Harry fought to control his racing heart, the reality of how the situation must look sinking in.

"Please, if I've ever pleased you, can we just return to the manor and sort this out tomorrow? He did nothing wrong; we were both using our Portkeys; I told him to go. I'll do what you require to fix this, but it's not his fault." The events were becoming overwhelming. He had just witnessed a man's murder without intervening. The possibility of Draco meeting the same end was unthinkable.

Voldemort shook his head, his voice barely audible. "Still so weak," he muttered.

Harry's fist tightened, the derogatory remark igniting something within him. The Dark Lord's frequent disparagements echoed in his mind. He had done everything required of him. "I am not weak," he argued, straightening despite Voldemort's dominating hold on his neck. "I beat Moody. I've mastered everything you've taught me." A wave of resentment washed over him, frustrated that something as simple as going out with a friend for a drink would lead to one, possibly two deaths. "You move around freely, unaccompanied, not needing a babysitter. Why shouldn't I? I've proven my loyalty to remain at your side. And I've proven my strength to be able to defend myself. Draco did nothing wrong; I commanded him to leave. As your heir, you've declared them all inferior to me and told your followers to obey me. That is precisely what he did."

Voldemort raised his yew wand, positioning it just beneath Harry's chin. A complex array of emotions flickered across his face—a blend of anger, curiosity, and an elusive sentiment Harry couldn't quite decipher. Despite all that, the warning was clear. Voldemort did not tolerate backtalk.

Emerald eyes steadfast, Harry held his ground. "Will you punish me for turning to you when I needed help? I used everything you taught me, I used dark magic, I defeated a formidable opponent. And in my time of need, I turned to you, like an obedient heir should. I've become exactly what I promised. Will you punish me for that?"

Dark crimson eyes locked onto him, shimmering with a trace of curiosity. "I've been wondering when you'd begin to exhibit some backbone," he murmured, his earlier anger dissolving, veiled behind the Dark Lord's stoic facade. The wand previously pressed to Harry's neck retracted. "Do you believe this night's actions merit reward rather than reprimand?"

Harry considered his answer. "I only want you to acknowledge that I'm strong enough to defend myself, that we both know I will do what's necessary to not be defeated, and that I will return to you, that you trust me. I don't need a reward, but I don't think I've earned a punishment. You promised me that embracing my role at your side would grant me freedom. That was all I sought tonight."

Harry shifted, the weight of the evening's events suddenly bearing down on him. Had all of that truly transpired in just a few hours? "I claimed both of my Lordships and publicly deferred to you before the entire Ministry. I distanced myself from Dumbledore and my friends to align with you. And I fought off the Light when they tried to take me back tonight. This is the life we both agreed to. Let us call tonight complete; no more rewards or punishments for anyone," he added pointedly, meaning Draco.

Harry could hear voices walking down the main street but wisely kept his full attention on the Dark Lord before him. He could sense that his magical obscuring wall was still up.

"You think you're strong enough to stand alone, to no longer require a minder," Voldemort mused thoughtfully.

"Yes," Harry replied without hesitation.

"That I can trust you to act autonomously as my heir."

This time, Harry's "yes" emerged more hesitantly, his voice tinged with a trace of unease as he noticed an unsettling gleam in the Dark Lord's eyes.

Voldemort gave a single, decisive nod. "Very well, if you wish to be regarded as an adult, as a Lord to two distinguished houses, as my heir, then I expect you to act like it."

"I have," Harry countered. All of his recent actions had been aimed at proving his worth, securing his position.

"Then explain your resentment at the Wizengamot earlier. You seemed upset that I was using you."

"Because you were using me."

"Yes, I was," Voldemort replied, his tone devoid of regret.

Harry looked at Voldemort, baffled, feeling as if they were conversing in different tongues. The Dark Lord's acknowledgments appeared to concur with him, what was there to discuss?

"Do you believe the Malfoy boy is upset when Lucius involves him in his plans?" Voldemort's asked, jarring Harry from his thoughts.

"What?" Harry uttered, bewildered.

"If Lucius were to include his heir in a strategy at the Wizengamot, would the Malfoy brat be displeased, or would he have played into it, assisting him? Would he be grateful to have a way to support the Malfoy name and help his father accomplish whatever his aims were?" Voldemort elaborated.

"You're twisting this," Harry denied, feeling a sense of unease creeping over him. "It's not the same."

"Am I?" Voldemort questioned, his eyes gleaming. "Or was I including you in a display for all those other fools? You said you submitted, that you are loyal to me. A loyal heir would want to further my goals, for me to strengthen my position, which is exactly what I was doing until your childish tantrum."

Harry scowled, feeling his anger rise. He hadn't thrown a tantrum; he had been perfectly respectful. It was one of the few reasons he suspected they were having a conversation about it instead of him just being punished.

"I grow weary of these debates, Harry. This display of weakness is unbecoming of you." At Harry's scowl, Voldmort released a pulse of dark magic in warning. "Weakness is exactly what it is. Stop playing the victim. You've just declared your strength, claiming your capability to stand alone. Maybe you can, but that's not what I require in my heir. The real question is, do you have the strength to stand with me?" Voldemort's words hit Harry like a physical blow, his simple query stirring a whirlwind of doubts and insecurities within him. It almost sounded like Voldemort was equally irritated with Harry for not wanting to be a part of his scheme.

"How do I know this isn't manipulation? It's all you do. You've said so yourself," Harry retorted, his voice laced with frustration, struggling to suppress the turmoil of confusion swirling inside him.

"I ask again, does Lucius need to manipulate his heir to be obedient, to be of use? Or does he eagerly seek to be so?"

Voldemort's penetrating gaze fixed on Harry, making the young wizard feel utterly exposed and vulnerable. Harry glanced at his shoes, swallowing hard. It wasn't the same thing. Lucius was Draco's father; he would do anything to protect him.

Fingers again gripped his chin, forcing Harry to meet Voldemort's gaze once more. "The ministry wasn't about manipulating you; it was about asserting our power and influence over them. You can't have it both ways; either you are loyal and will support my goals and deserve autonomy, or you are not, and I will have to direct my efforts to controlling you as much as them. I thought we were beyond this, that you'd chosen my side."

Harry stared at the red eyes before him, feeling his heart pounding in his chest. "It's not the same. You're not my father. I don't trust that you have my best interests at heart, not like Lucius does with Draco."

"Do you consider Lucius a superior protector? A more adept mentor? A more generous provider?" Voldemort's voice had dropped to a low, menacing timbre. "I have provided you with power, imparted knowledge of magic unmatched by any other. My attention, my guidance, is devoted to you. You want for nothing. You bear the Slytherin name, representing me in both the Dark community and the wider wizarding world. Tell me, my heir, what does Lucius offer Draco that I have not provided for you?"

Harry forcefully pulled his chin away, stepping backward, his fingers tightening around his wand. His eyes flickered, silently hoping to awaken from this bewildering nightmare he seemed to have stumbled into. This conversation could not be happening.

Crimson eyes narrowed. "Harry, you made this choice. You chose me," Voldemort's voice pierced the night air, imbued with unwavering certainty. "Whether for the pursuit of power or to prevent needless slaughter, the reasons no longer matter. I have fulfilled my promises, and I will continue to do so. But there is only one way this balance remains, one way you get what you want," he paused, fixing Harry with a knowing gaze. "I must win. I know you're aware of this; you haven't deluded yourself regarding my ambitions. You don't want war. I've told you it does not have to happen. But to prevent it, I still must gain complete power. Embrace that or end this pretense. Be my heir, fully loyal to my goals, or admit now if you cannot."

Harry glanced at Moody's lifeless body, guilt weighing heavily on his heart. While he had no love loss for the wizard after this night, his goal had not been for him to be killed. "I'm not a murderer," he whispered. "It's not who I am."

Voldemort reached out, his fingers gripping Harry's shoulder. "I'm fully aware of who you are. What you are capable of. The difference between Lucius and I was when his son was at the mercy of another, he was helpless, had no power. When you were in trouble, you came to me, and I made your problems go away. Tell me, Harry. Who would you rather have on your side?"

Harry shook his head, uncertain of what to say, but certain it wasn't the same thing—surely it couldn't be? He wasn't sure what was real, what was manipulation. Even more troubling was the realization that he might not have a choice. He understood the path he had chosen, and with the corpse of Moody lying nearby, he knew there was no turning back.

"Promise me you won't force me to kill for you," Harry pleaded, desperation seeping into his voice.

"Only if you prove unwavering loyalty to me, dedicate yourself to ensuring my victory," Voldemort countered.

Neville's earlier accusations flashed through Harry's mind: what would Voldemort's uncontested victory look like? Would the world survive? He was a Dark Lord, and Harry had just witnessed him kill Moody with no remorse. Harry was only barely keeping his own panic attack at bay. How could he trust him? Worse, could he afford not to? He couldn't let Voldemort be unleashed upon the Wizarding world unconstrained. Everything he had done had been to prevent a violent war. Voldemort was still offering him a path to peace; the cost remained embracing the Dark by his side.

His gaze flickered once more to the body lying beside him. Had anything changed? Moody had tried to capture him, had threatened imprisonment or worse. Should Harry be upset by his death? After all, Selwyn had met a similar fate when he posed a danger to Harry. While Selwyn's death was not something he'd wanted, he'd accepted it as the consequence of defying the Dark Lord, of trying to attack his heir. Was this any different? Did it matter? He turned back to Voldemort, who was watching him intently.

"I am your heir. Nothing has changed," he stated, his voice barely above a whisper yet firm with resolve.

Voldemort released Harry, taking a step back. A satisfied smile formed on his lips. "Good, that was the response I was hoping to hear. If that is the case, then I have a task for you, my loyal heir."

Tension twined with curiosity inside Harry, his mind raced as he braced for Voldemort's impending command. "What task?" he inquired cautiously.

"The removal of Madame Bones from her position as Minister," Harry did not like the expectant look that had appeared in the Dark Lord's crimson eyes. "I want you to ensure that Pius Thicknesse becomes Minister. You have two months. Your methods do not matter to me, but if she is not removed, then I will be forced to act. You want a war without casualties, free of bloodshed? Very well. We shall attempt your way first. Her life is now your responsibility. Preserve it while fulfilling my goals. However, if she remains the Minister by the 1st of October, I will assume control over her fate, and I suspect you will find my methods far less agreeable."

Harry had not been expecting that. Amelia Bones was beginning to place her trust in him, a trust he would now have to betray. Could he engineer her removal, replacing her with a surrogate loyal to Voldemort? It would guarantee the Dark Lord's control over both the Wizengamot and the Ministry.

Voldemort's voice broke through Harry's deep reflections, unexpectedly soft yet laced with a sense of expectancy. "This was inevitable; you knew it would come down to this, that you would have to pick a side. However, I must acknowledge, Harry, that your conduct today has impressed me," his voice was imbued with a rare note of pride. "You bested a formidable opponent and demonstrated your loyalty to me. At the Ministry, you handled yourself with poise and strength. You are maturing into the heir I envisioned, earning my respect and fortifying my trust."

These words echoed in Harry, igniting a whirlwind of emotions. They represented the validation he had longed for: recognition from the Dark Lord, affirmation of his capabilities. Yet, amidst the burgeoning sense of validation, a small, insidious voice of self-reproach whispered in the recesses of his mind. He detested that part of himself that craved Voldemort's approval, that sought affirmation from a source so darkly tainted.

His eyes inadvertently drifted to the lifeless form nearby, a grim reminder of the cost of power and allegiance in this sinister world. The death wasn't by his hand, yet his inaction had been just as condemning. Was he losing himself, or had he already lost, morphing into the very entity he once vowed to fight against? Was Neville right about him?

The certainty he once clung to was slipping away. Was it a descent into darkness or a necessary evolution for survival? Harry felt like he stood at the precipice, haunted that he might already know the answer.

Voldemort cast him a probing look, his crimson eyes shimmering with an inscrutable intensity that was hard to decipher. "It has been a long day," he remarked. Surveying the dimly lit alley, he raised his wand, and with a swift motion, the body was banished, leaving no evidence of the conflict or the casualty. "Come, let us return home."

The word 'home' echoed in Harry's mind, stirring a surge of disquiet that constricted his heart. He caught Voldemort's searching look, feeling the weight of the Dark Lord's expectations. His eyes lingered on the now-empty space where Moody's corpse had lain, erased as if it never existed. Would the world ever learn of Moody's fate, did it matter to Harry if they never did?

With a slow, almost reluctant nod, Harry braced himself, resolved to accept the future that awaited him. "Let's go home," he echoed, his tone betraying none of the inner conflict raging silently within. Casting a final, lingering glance back at the desolate alley, it was almost a symbolic graveyard of his former life, Harry stepped forward to follow Voldemort. Together the two dark wizards apparated into the night.

AN: Thanks for reading, please leave a review/comment if you like this fic 😊