Chapter 9: Interactions
Harry wasn't sure if the hour slipped by in a blur of speed as tends to happen when something that you very much dread is looming before you, or if the seconds inched by mimicking the speed of a snail as he stood there alone in his room, heart-pounding and consumed with anxiety and dread. He could not get his mind off the upcoming evening. It was one thing to deal with Voldemort directly. The wizard claimed he no longer wanted to kill him.
But his insane followers? That was a recipe for disaster, and he wasn't sure he could stomach having to interact with them daily. At least he had his wand, not that he thought it would do much good, outnumbered and under Voldemort's ever watchful scrutiny. He had never felt so alone and vulnerable. His conversation from that afternoon was still whirling in his mind, the thought that witches and wizards are born with cores that could not access all types of magic left him reeling. If that was true, was a cruel to not allow them to practice what was natural?
But dark magic was evil, it harmed innocent people. So can light magic, whispered a soft voice in the back of his mind. He knew there were plenty of ways to harm or kill someone with the classified light or neutrally gray magic he'd been learning in class. He'd seen firsthand just how vicious a child could be with some of those spells which were meant to be light. Even a tickling charm at max power and left for hours could cause irreparable nerve damage, he remembered the lecture well from when he'd learned it in his second year. Was it possible everything he'd learned had been a lie? Propaganda from light wizards who feared an entire spectrum of magic that they could not harness themselves, powerful magic that not only rejected their cores but could cause them pain if they tried to cast it?
He frowned, unsure. He knew the unforgivable were named in such a way because they truly only caused harm, there had to be intent to control, harm or even kill to cast. And he knew intent mattered when casting. He wondered if all dark magic required dark intent? Did negative feelings, hatred and a desire to hurt fuel the power that flowed from all dark casting?
He glanced at the book which he'd discarded since Voldemort left, afraid to pick it up again and have his life views furthered changed. But he suspected the answer to his question existed in there. Or in one of the many other books Voldemort had "gifted" his new apprentice. Shaking his head, he unconsciously swept his hand through his messy hair. He still didn't know if what he read or heard could be believed. He knew the Slytherin heir was a master manipulator. All of this could be a lie to make him have these doubts, question if everything he'd been taught by his beloved leader of the light was a lie. He just didn't know and he hated how confused he was.
He dropped down listlessly on the edge of his bed, staring absently out the now repaired window, dreading each second that passed. But time did pass, and Harry found himself
flinching horrible and spinning on the poor elf, wand drawn, when the loud pop pulled him from his dreaded musings.
"Tipsy is taking Master Harry to dinner now," the elf squeaked fearfully, ducking its head, ears quivering as it found itself on the receiving end of Harry's wand. She had closed her eyes, clearly ready to take the hit.
"I'm sorry," Harry murmured, his cheeks turning an embarrassing shade of red. "I didn't mean to point my wand at you; you scared me." Mortified that he had given the pathetic creature such a scare, harry dropped his wand quickly back to his lap. It probably was used to being horribly abused in a manor like this, where her master was a Dark Lord who harbored wanted fugitives convicted of torture and murder.
"Tipsy is so sorry, Tipsy did not mean to frighten the young master," she quivered, ringing her hands over the cotton shirt she wore, wringing the acid green S into a twisted knot. "Tipsy will punish herself."
"No!" Harry cried, scaring the elf even more. "Please don't do that. You are forgiven. It was really my fault. I was the one being dumb. I knew you were coming." He swiped a hand though his hair awkwardly, hoping he could talk the elf out of doing any damage to herself. That was the last thing he needed, the elf punishing herself because of him. Flashbacks of Dobby being a nightmare in his aunt and uncle's house flashed before him.
"Master is very kind," the small elf squeaked, finally standing up straight again. She seemed cautiously optimistic that Harry actually meant his word.
Sighing, Harry nodded in what he hoped was an encouraging manner. "Good, please don't punish yourself. You did nothing wrong. I'm just very stressed right now."
The elf nodded again, looking at him strangely. "Master Harry is not like the other wizards here," she murmured, almost as if to herself. She seemed to realize she had spoken out loud because she ducked her head again. "But it is time Tipsy brings you to the master. He said you will eats with him."
"Yea," Harry said, letting out a resigned breath. He was not looking forward to it but doubted resisting would bring anything good. He was not eager to be punished again, between his scar and the crucio's he very much doubted he'd survive the first month here, even if Voldemort claimed to want him to. "Do you know how many will eat with Voldemort tonight?"
Tipsy cringed at the name, eyes going wide. "You's should call him master, not that. No one is allowed to speak his name," she gasped fearfully, taking a step back from him. Her eyes were so vast that they consumed her entire face.
Harry's shoulders dropped. Great, even in his own home, the psychopath had the taboo on his name. Well, just like he'd told Voldemort, he was certainly not going to call the man who killed his parents and blackmailed him into staying here master.
"All right, all right," he murmured, already exhausted from dealing with the timid creature, "I'm sorry," he apologized again. The elf's ears popped up, clearly surprised at being
apologized to twice to in one night. "But can you tell me how many plan to dine with him?" He pressed hopefully.
Tipsy bit her lip, glancing around fearfully as if it were a trap.
"I mean, you're about to take me to them, right?" He tried to reason. "I'm just don't want to be surprised again like I was with you, and accidentally make them angry. It's so that I can please your master," he promised, hoping he came across much sincerer than the false words sounded in his brain.
"Oh, okay," Tipsy nodded cautiously, "I is not knowing who will be there, but it is set for six Master Harry. One, of course, being you's."
"Six," he repeated thoughtfully. Who would Voldemort value enough to let them eat with him? He had to assume dining with the Dark Lord himself was some sort of an award for anyone who was not Harry Potter. One was obviously Voldemort, so that left four sets.
Perhaps the Malfoys? He almost pitied Draco if he was stuck spinning his summer with the Dark Lord and his cronies. Not that his summer was shaping up any better.
At least it would not be a whole lot of Death Eaters. Perhaps four he could deal with, if it had been all of them Harry wasn't sure how he could endure such a evening. He hoped it wasn't meant to be some cruel celebration from their attack on the Order. If he heard a single story about them attacking his friends, he knew he would not be able to maintain good behavior.
"We is needing to go," the elf squeaked, dancing back and forth from one foot to the next. She was clearly becoming anxious at their delay.
Seeing zero benefit in fighting something as silly as dinner, especially since he knew the consequences would be no food and then being tortured, Harry nodded and followed the elf to the door. He glanced around curiously as he was led into the hallway. It had not changed since Draco had led him out. They took the same passageways for the first few turns before he quickly found himself in a part of the manor he was not familiar with. He was finding himself increasingly shocked with the size of it. He had seen Voldemort's throne room and the dungeons and now it seemed like they were in an entirely new wing as they moved to wherever they would be dining for the night.
They had just finished walking down a long silent hallway lined with armor when the elf paused before two large wooden double doors that each had magical torches floating next to them. The elf glanced from him to the door and nodded. "In here," she whispered, nodding her head. He understood why she whispered. It felt wrong not to in such a sizeable, quiet alcove, like they would be disturbing the manor if they spoke louder.
He swallowed once, taking a breath then pushed the door open. He walked in head high and as confident as could muster. Sweeping his eyes over the room, he had to admit he was impressed with the size. Eight marble columns spaced evenly throughout the massive room held up a high beige ceiling. The center had been cleared out, save a large cherry wood dining table that could comfortably seat twenty. Only the spaces at the far end were set. The space was elegantly decorated but mostly bare, giving greater appreciation to the quality of the columns and the artwork that lined the walls.
His gaze immediately met the red stare that had locked on him the second he entered. "Ah, my favored guest has arrived," Voldemort all but purred, his gaze drinking him he. He felt the eyes briefly roam over his clothes, taking in the simple black pants and collared silver wizard's shirt he had adorn. There, of course, had been snake green and even some red shirts, but Harry had opted for what he hoped was simplest, to not draw attention. His high-quality black cloak hung limply on his shoulders, clasped at his neck with a simple silver snake jewel. All of the cloaks had them, so there would be no escaping the snake décor, and he wanted to wear the cloak to hide his wand better, not knowing what he would be facing this evening.
"Come in, Harry, we won't bite," Voldemort beckoned. A high-pitched cackle drew his attention to the women on Voldemort's right. Bellatrix Lestrange. The woman who had killed his godfather. He stopped, his back stiffening as he stared at the hideously striking form of Voldemort's most loyal and utterly insane servant.
She was in all black, her hair in some sort of complex updo that had stray chunks of dark brown jutting out, the curls and waves cascading down her back. Her blood-red painted lips tipped into a hungry sneer as she stared at him. "Baby Potter has come to stay with us!" She laughed madly, jutting her jaw out as she stared down at him from shadowed eyelids.
Harry's fists tightened, he didn't immediately go for his wand, but it was close. He glanced from her to Voldemort. It was beyond cruel to force him in the same room as the woman who had killed the closest thing he had ever had to a father. He would be dining with the murder of both his parents and his godfather. And he knew he was expected to take is graciously and not attack either of them. He could feel his heart beating fast with each pound; it pushed against his chest tightly as he once again wondered how his world could have flipped on itself so completely in the spam of a week.
Next to her was a man he had never met but recognized from many photos. Fenrir Greyback. The wolf that had turned Rumus. A man who was known to savagely seek out children and force them to turn and claim them for his own pack. He was as bloodthirsty, if not more so, than Bellatrix. He met the amber eyes that studied him just as intently as his own stare.
Where Remus' were filled with humanity and kindness, these were feral. There was a wild hunger mixed with striking intelligence that reflected towards him.
The spot to Voldemort's left was open and set to eat; he was forced to assume that was where he was expected to sit. Next to his space was who he had at least hoped would be present.
There sat Lucius Malfoy, looking as impeccable and arrogant as ever. Beside him sat a very straight-backed and pale Draco. Harry was relieved that at least two of them were Death Eater he knew he could spend five minutes with and not try to kill them. But the other two were among the worst that Voldemort could have picked. His eyes snapped back to the red gaze. He could see from the barely suppressed amusement flashing in the Dark Lord's eyes. Voldemort knew exactly what he was putting Harry through.
"Come now, Harry. You came here to eat, did you not?" The Slytherin heir mocked.
"I came here because that was our agreement," Harry icily countered. He could care less if he ate; not in this company. He would rather starve. But he would not allow Voldemort to go back on his deal and harm his friends. If he had to suffer through dinner with the mentally
insane and deranged, then so be it. He would just sit there quietly until he was allowed to leave.
"Awe it the wittle boy upset?" Bellatrix simpered, her voice taking on the annoying baby tone he had come to associate with the unhinged woman. "Come sit next to auntie. I'll take care of you." She wiggled her fingers at him invitingly, her lips twisting upwards as she grinned at him.
Harry saw Draco barely suppress a frown as he glanced from her back to his empty plate. The blond looked even more unwell than the last time he'd seen him. He was thinner, his pallor flush even for the abnormally white skin tone he was born with. Harry almost pitied his peer, almost.
"Enough, Bella." Voldemort commanded; his voice suddenly bored. "Come, Harry, I won't ask again. Sit." He gestured towards the vacant seat near him. Harry could easily hear the threat in his tone.
One measured step after the other, Harry forced himself forward, across the broad expanse of the hall, past all of the empty seats until he finally arrived at the one designated for him. He pulled out the highbacked, sizeable wooden chair and dropped bodily into it. He clenched his hands under the table, trying to still their shaking. He wasn't sure if it was from rage or discomfort given the present company. Was he surrounded by those of his nightmares and expected to sit here and have a civil dinner with them? It was absurd.
He could feel Voldemort's eyes upon him, but he would not give the Dark Lord the satisfaction of looking up and seeing his discomfort. He had met his end of the bargain. He was there. He would learn from the man and, for the most part, obey. But that did not mean he would dance as an obliging little puppet every time Voldemort decided to play his new toy.
The eyes stayed on him for several uncomfortable seconds before they shifted away. "Let us eat," the velvety voice commanded. With a pop, several house elves appeared, hovering dishes before the six of them. Harry felt his stomach growl as the hot dish was lowered before him. He had foolishly not eaten that day, too caught up in the compulsion Voldemort had put on him then their impromptu lesson then later too upset by their conversations and the awful revelation about his core and how cores reacted to different branches of magic. He was embarrassed to admit that he was starving.
He gazed at the steaming lamb, carrots, and rice before him. It was such a normal meal despite sitting with a table of dark wizards and their master who was determined to take over the world. An elf hovered next to him and suddenly his glass was full of red wine. He glanced from it towards Voldemort before he could stop himself. He was underaged, he had just assumed the wine glass would remain unfilled. He met the amused stare before glancing away.
Voldemort reached forward, gripping his knife and fork gracefully and cut a small piece of meat off the lamb, taking a bite. It seemed like that had been the unspoken command to eat, because everyone at the table immediately picked up their own utensils and began. It was a quiet, uncomfortable dinner, which Harry was grateful for. It would seem that the Dark Lord valued small talk amongst his followers just as much as they desired it, which was not at all.
Resigned, Harry grabbed his own utensils and began eating at a measured pass, all the while he could feel the amber eyes of Greyback fixed pointedly on him.
They were all almost finished when Voldemort broke the silence. Harry was surprised it lasted that long. What was the point of dragging everyone together if the Dark Lord did not at least have business to conduct? Was he truly that bored that he had to command his followers to be with him? Somehow, that did not seem to fit, but he could come up with no better answer.
"Lucius, tell me about your progress in the ministry, have you gained control of the Daily Profit?"
Harry paused midbite, glancing towards the senior Malfoy, who stilled at being addressed. He seemed to pause a breath before lowering his fork down resignedly. "We are making progress, my lord," he began calmly, but Harry could hear the strain in his voice. If he could, he was certain Voldemort did as well. "To avoid detection it is slow work, but I am gaining more shares each day."
"That means you have not succeeded then?" The disappointment and anger was clear.
Malfoy swallowed, raising his head slightly as he stared up the table. "I will have it by the end of the month, my Lord, I will not fail you."
The silence was screaming at them. Harry kept his head down but could sense a pulse of darkness accompanying the displeasure from the Slytherins heir. "Let us hope you are right," Voldemort said, his tone clearly indicating how merciless the punishment of failure would be.
Malfoy ducked his head, shakily reaching for his wine. It almost sloshed out of the goblet as he brought it quickly to his lips.
Harry glanced towards his own glass. It was likely unwise to do so in his present company, but he figured he was owed some reprieve from the hell that had become his life. He reached forward and grabbed it, taking a large sip. It was good; slightly sweet with a hint of bitterness. He had only had wine once before, he'd stolen a sip at the Dursley's when clearing the plates one Christmas holiday. He could tell immediately this was a much higher quality. He took another sip, but his enjoyment of the alcohol was paused as the entrance of a new member.
"The tiny creatures did not set the fire in your chambers yet," a female voice declared directly behind him. Harry jumped, eyes wide at how close the voice was. Turning, he watched as the giant black familiar that belonged to the Dark Lord slithered into the room. Greyback had straightened up as well, watching the snake cautiously as it approached Voldemort.
"Welcome, my dear, we are almost finished," Voldemort hissed to the giant snake as it slithered up the back of his chair, resting her head leisurely on his shoulder. She looked comfortable, as if she were used to accompanying her master at dinners such as these. Her black marble eyes swept over him as her head gazed around the room
"Master, I am also hungry. When do I get to hunt?" Nagini hissed. He had not thought it possible for a snake to wine, yet here he was witnessing it.
"Such a lovely serpent," Bella practically cooed from her seat. She was rocking back and forth slightly. If he had not been convinced before, he was certain the Dementors had done more damage than just age the female Black. There was a craziness to her eyes that never dulled.
"You can eat her," Harry hissed morbidly, his voice barely audible as he glared up at the psychopathic witch. Next to him, Lucius straightened in shock. He knew he should not have spoken, but his nerves were on edge being in her presence. She had not spoken the whole night, keeping quiet like the others. But he could feel her eyes on him often enough and the one time he had glanced up, she had been staring at him openly, hungrily. When she caught his eyes, she had grinned madly, clearly trying to invoke a response. It had taken all of his willpower to drop his gaze again, knowing any confrontation under Voldemort's watchful gaze would only end in his suffering.
"Please refrain from commanding my familiar to eat my followers," Voldemort requested blandly. Next to them, Draco dropped his fork much to his father's displeasure. "If you ask her to eat one of mine, I will have her eat two of yours. And I think we both know who she will obey."
"She's insane," Harry responded, resorting back to English since Voldemort was clearly agreeable to his minions hearing the conversation. The night was becoming too much, he could not stay quiet in her murderous presence. His nerves were on full alert. Images of his believed godfather falling behind the veil, eyes shocked but unseeing as he faded into the darkness kept tormenting him with every second that he was forced to endure next to the crazy female Black turned Lestrange. "It would be doing you a favor."
"And since when are you in the business of doing favors for me?" The Dark Lord asked; his tone now had a dangerous quality to it. He glanced at Harry; an eyebrow raised delicately. "If you are feeling generous, I have a list with which I can provide you on how you can best serve me."
"What a mean little boy you are," Bellatrix laughed, tapping her nails rapidly on the table. "I am the Dark Lord's most faithful servant. He would never allow it."
Harry bristled. "You are crazy," he declared softly, warily eyeing the tittering witch. The words made her laughter become all the louder, consummating in a shrill cackle as she shook her head back and forth.
"Awe, don't be nasty, w'il baby Potter, auntie Bella will get her feelings hurt."
"I would have no issue hurting you," Harry snapped, completely forgetting his pledge of silence. It was too much to sit in her presence. She was a criminal who had taken away from him the closest thing he had to a father. She deserved the kiss or worse.
She threw her head back, letting out a roar of laughter that echoed uncomfortable in the chamber. "I have seen you try, little boy. You were not very good at it. Perhaps I need to kill
more of those around you to help you successfully cast an unforgivable? What do you say hmmmm? Think with enough training, I could make you stronger? Give me enough time and I could make even a little terrified boy like you become a man."
"You bitch," Harry hissed, he wasn't sure if it was in parseltongue or English. Regardless, she clearly understood his tone because she straightened, cocking her head to the side as she appraised him with unblinking eyes. The torches next to him flickered ominously as he clearly was losing control of his magic, but he did not care. "You're a coward who attacked him from behind. You're not talented; just a crazy woman who goes around licking the cloak of anyone who might give you power. You're pathetic."
"Watch yourself, Potter," Malfoy senior murmured almost too quietly to be heard.
"Is that so, little boy?" The voice was too calm, no maniacal laughter accompanied it, and that made him all the more afraid. Suddenly extremely lucid black eyes locked on his. "I challenge you to a duel, Potter."
Chapter 10: Conflicts
Harry's head snapped up in shock, his eyes widening as he stared at the deranged witch before him. She was challenging him to a duel? His gaze shifted toward Voldemort, meeting the crimson eyes of the dark lord. Voldemort stared back at him thoughtfully, his mask revealing nothing.
Harry swallowed hard, acutely aware of his inadequacy compared to Voldemort's most sadistic follower. She had dedicated her life to mastering the dark arts, renowned for her creativity in torture. Harry, on the other hand, was barely scraping through his classes. To even consider this a competition was laughable.
"Come now, little boy, are you afraid?" the witch taunted, her voice dripping with malice. "You weren't afraid when I killed your mutt. Or maybe you've finally learned to fear your superiors?"
Harry flinched at her vicious words, memories of his beloved godfather falling into the veil flooding his mind, clouding his vision. The anger he felt when he had cast Crucio on her resurfaced; she had taken away his only hope of escaping the Dursleys and being with someone who cared for him, Harry, not the boy-who-lived. A hollow emptiness filled him as he glared at the woman who had taken so much from him, almost as much as Voldemort.
"You are not my superior," Harry snarled, his fist clenching. "You're lower than dirt. You deserve nothing more than a Dementor's kiss." He glared up at the black-clad witch; if looks could kill, she would be six feet under.
A wicked cackle filled the air. "All bark, just like that pathetic excuse for a cousin of mine," Bellatrix mocked, her eyes widening in insane delight as she looked down at him from her seat. "He got what he deserved. Come, little Potter, let me teach you why your beloved godpup was a fool to stand against us. Let me show you why I am the Dark Lord's most faithful servant! You're not fit to grovel at his feet, but maybe you can learn. Let Aunt Bella teach you a thing or two. Poor little boy, no one in the world to care for you. No one to even care when I make you scream!"
Harry's heart pounded in his chest, his grip on his wand tightening. He longed to teach her a lesson, to shut her mouth and make her understand what a stain on the world she was. But he was just a teenager with barely any training. Fate had cruelly thrust this upon him.
Voldemort leaned back in his seat, a thin smile forming on his otherwise aloof features. Harry knew what the man wanted before he even spoke. He had known Harry would never be able to sit still and accept a meal with the witch who had killed his remaining family. With dread, Harry realized he had played directly into the Dark Lord's hands.
"Wizarding etiquette dictates that you accept or you will bring shame upon your household," Voldemort said, his tone mocking. He gave Harry an amused glance, daring him to do anything besides what the predictable Gryffindor was expected to do. Harry wasn't sure what shame greater than taking a mark from Voldemort could befall the house of Potter, but he knew that was beside the point. The humiliation of not fighting would be unbearable, even if he was all but certain of the outcome.
Gazing boldly from the Slytherin heir to the psychopathic witch, Harry forced himself to hold their gazes. He had never been a coward; he wouldn't start now, even if he had fallen directly into the dark wizard's trap. Inhaling deeply, Harry straightened his shoulders, mentally preparing himself for what he was sure would become his own personal torture session. He forced himself to remain calm; he had survived Voldemort in the graveyard; he could hold his own here if he was smart. Bellatrix was proud and overconfident; he just needed to find an opening.
Voldemort must have taken Harry's resolved stance as consent. "You may not kill each other. No Unforgivable curses, either," he added as an afterthought, his eyes glittering. "Perhaps if you do something to impress me, Harry, I will reward you."
Bella let out a shrill giggle, pushing her chair back with a screech and jumping to her feet in senseless delight. She was like a cat playing with a mouse, barely restrained enough not to want to kill it and lose her entertainment. But Harry had no illusions; she intended to torture him as much as possible. "Are you ready to play, little Potter?" she taunted. "Auntie will teach you some manners. Maybe if you ask nicely, I'll even teach you some tricks!"
Harry glanced once more at the red eyes fixed firmly upon him. The tension at the table was palpable as they watched, waiting in anticipation. Gripping his wand tensely, Harry pushed his chair back and stood up, forcing his legs to obey him and not tremble.
He followed the witch to a larger opening in the room. With a sweep of Voldemort's wand, the table, food, and all accouterments vanished. It would have been an impressive display of non-verbal magic if Harry wasn't aware of the greater feats the wizard was capable of. The simple display made Harry feel even smaller, more out of his league as he took his place across from the murderess. This was all just sick entertainment. He was in a snake's den, the other occupants staring at them in rapt attention. Bloodshed and torture were imminent, all because the Dark Lord wanted it.
Voldemort and his minions loomed ominously to the side, their dark gazes fixed on Harry, watching his every move, calculating. Harry had a sinking feeling that this duel was more than just amusement for the Dark Lord; it was a test, a deliberate effort to put him in his place and remind him he was not safe in this world. Perhaps even worse, it was a lesson, a reminder that he needed what Voldemort could teach to survive in the perilous reality he was thrust into.
Resigned, Harry shifted his right foot back, assuming a stance that allowed him to dodge if necessary, agile yet ready to cast spells. He wished Hogwarts had focused more on actual dueling and defense. It struck him once again how odd it was that Dumbledore had done so little to prepare them for this violent war in which they found themselves. How was he expected to win this war for the light when he'd never had proper dueling lessons? When no
one more experienced than Hermione had taken the time to try and teach him useful spells beyond a child's curriculum?
"Bow," Voldemort demanded, his tone reminiscent of that night in the cemetery.
Harry's eyes focused down the atrium. Bellatrix stood at the opposite end, her wand twirling loosely in her fingers. Her tongue darted out, licking her blood-red lips in a manner that disgusted him. He longed to wipe the proud smirk off her gaunt face.
He raised his own wand, forcing himself to loosen his grip, and inclined his head slightly, unwilling to defy Voldemort and risk humiliation like he had in the cemetery. This time was different; he wasn't a stunned kid who had just been kidnapped. Maybe he had a chance here.
Bellatrix lowered her head even less than he had, then without warning, struck with the speed of a striking snake.
"Congfrigo!"
Harry dove to the side, narrowly evading the blasting curse that obliterated the spot he had just vacated. The wall behind him crumbled, dust and debris flying everywhere.
"Reducto!" He yelled, trying to delay her next attack as he scrambled back to his feet. Keep moving, he thought, sidestepping to the right, forcing her to pivot or be encircled.
She let out a shrill laugh, effortlessly blocking his spell. "Is the baby just going to play with school hexes? That's not much fun. I need to teach you something more exciting!" Cackling, she wordlessly shot an acid-green hex his way.
He had never seen that wand movement or that color before. Unfamiliar with the spell, he couldn't risk a shield in case it passed through and hit him. He dove to the ground again, rolling into a crouch as her malicious laughter followed him.
'Rictusempra,' he thought, sending the tickling charm nonverbally. It was a simple enough spell that didn't require spoken incantations. "I'll give you something to laugh about," he muttered, catching her off guard with the non-verbal cast. She dissolved into humorless giggles, clearly not expecting this tactic. Her eyes blazed with rage and embarrassment at having been hit by such a childish prank.
She canceled the charm, another acid-green hex shooting from her wand. Harry sidestepped it, relying on his superior Quidditch reflexes to keep pace with her. Frowning, she swiped her wand right and then left. Two ruby spells cascaded toward him, both unfamiliar curses.
"Protego!" he shouted, conjuring a silver, transparent wall before him as the beams of ruby light closed in. The wall absorbed the curse but dissolved immediately, unable to withstand more. A bead of sweat rolled down his forehead. She was powerful and fast, her mastery of spells evident. He needed to act swiftly if he didn't want to be defeated right away.
With a wave of her wand, mist enveloped them, rendering Harry blind and deaf. The thickness surrounded his senses, leaving him disoriented. Crouching down, he listened
intently, trying to discern any sounds in the muffled haze.
Harry's heart thudded once, then twice. Laughter echoed through the air, a sound that didn't come from where he'd last seen her. Confusion gnawed at him. What was she playing at? He strained his brain, searching for anything that could dissipate the fog or grant him sight, but his thoughts came up empty.
"Peekaboo!" A brilliant light, like lightning, struck the ground around him, electric tendrils crackling through the mist. Agonizing pain surged through him as he was electrocuted. It was as excruciating as he had imagined. He collapsed, coughing frantically, the pain stopping after a few torturous seconds.
The fog began to lift as he pushed himself shakily to his knees. Burnt flesh filled his nostrils, the hairs on his arms standing on end. Another flash of light warned him just in time. He hurled himself to the side, narrowly evading another surge of the electrical curse.
"I thought you'd want to avenge your mutt," Bellatrix jeered, her figure materializing within the dissipating vapor. "This is pathetic. You're not even worth the pitiful sacrifice he made to try and keep you safe."
Her words cut deep, striking a nerve as Harry unsteadily climbed to his feet. Her taunt was true, and he was utterly clueless about how to gain the upper hand.
With a flick of her wand, fiery arrows materialized out of thin air, hurtling straight at him. Sizzling through the air, long bands of fire rained down upon him.
"Aqua Eructo!" he shouted. A forceful jet of water erupted from his wand, surprising even him with its power. Hermione had deemed the elemental spell useful during the Triwizard Tournament. Stronger than Aguamenti, she had argued it could even help with magical creature care, especially against Blast-Ended Skrewts that kept catching everything they touched on fire. The water blasted forth, extinguishing the fire arrows with a hiss, steam rising in their wake. He redirected the torrent of water toward Bellatrix, unsure if it would be effective but lacking an immediate alternative.
She flicked her wrist, conjuring a silver-clear shield that effortlessly blocked the water, which dwindled and stopped as he lowered his wand.
"You'll need to try harder than that!" With a cackle, her eyes darted to one of the two large marble vases that stood imposingly at the atrium entrance. Another flick of her wand sent both hurtling toward him at inhuman speed. Dodging the first, Harry gasped out, "Arresto Momentum!" slowing the second just enough to evade it before both smashed where he had been standing.
His heart pounded as he glanced back, spotting a dark, ugly brown bolt of light speeding toward him. Surrounded by shattered vase debris, he had no time to shield or move. She was too fast, and the brown curse struck him. Harry hissed in pain, glaring at his arm, now soaked in crimson. She raised her wand again, sending another bolt of the same sickly brown color. He narrowly avoided it, throwing himself painfully to the ground. She was accelerating; he had to act fast.
"Serpensortia," he whispered, never forgetting the spell that had turned the entire school against him in his second year. Bellatrix's eyes widened at the giant black kingsnake that shot from his wand, coiling menacingly on the marble floor with an angry hiss.
"Attack her," he hissed at the snake, then immediately followed it up with a "Diffindo," sending the severing charm at Bellatrix with all the power he could muster.
The snake hissed and lunged, distracting Bellatrix enough that the severing charm found its mark on her calf, splattering red onto the floor. Banishing the snake, the witch screamed. "Oh, very good! So, you can play," she cackled, reaching down to wipe her finger across the cut. She lifted the bloodied appendage to her lips, licking it clean, a manic glint entering her eyes. "Then let's play," she whispered.
"Ascendio!" Harry was levitated three or four feet into the air, then thrown violently onto the ground. Shards of the vase cut into his palms and back, pain lancing through him as he struggled onto one arm, staring up in fear as the witch approached.
A new intensity marked her, her anger palpable as blood dripped down her leg, staining her black boots. "Furnunculus," she hissed, the curse striking Harry's shoulder, causing massive, painful boils to erupt. He cried out in agony.
"Expelliarmus!" Harry cast desperately, his shoulder ablaze with pain, boils bursting painfully over his entire left arm.
Bellatrix effortlessly blocked the disarming spell, advancing toward him as he weakly pushed himself up from his back. He stared up at the wand pointed directly at his face, his entire body frozen as he gazed from its tip to the incensed witch before him. "Poor baby, can't even avenge your dead godfather?" she taunted. "How does it feel to lose everything? Your parents? Your godfather? Even your freedom?" With a flick of her wand, he was disarmed, his holly wand flying uselessly from his grasp.
Harry could feel his power bubbling inside him, an inferno of rage. It was akin to the fury he had felt toward his aunt Marjorie, but now it surged with a potency that was overwhelming. Every ounce of it was aimed squarely at Bellatrix. He knew he couldn't harm Voldemort yet; the Dark Lord was too powerful and suspicious of him. But her? He could hurt her, and this might be his only chance.
She was within striking distance, close enough for him to reach out and touch. With a swift, furious motion, he drove his boot into her leg, aiming straight for her kneecap. He channeled his magic through his outstretched limb, willing his foot to inflict as much damage as possible, craving nothing more than to inflict pain upon her.
His kick landed with brutal precision; he felt the crunch of her kneecap under the impact. Bellatrix dropped to one knee, howling in agony.
"How dare you!" she screamed, her voice echoing through the room. "You'll pay for that, you little brat!"
A surge of horror washed over Harry as she raised her wand toward him. He brought his unarmed hand up instinctively, already flinching, unable to muster the energy or control to cast another wandless attack.
"Crucio!"
Pain engulfed him, a searing, torturous agony that tore through every nerve in his body. While Voldemort's torture was worse, this was still unbearable. It felt like his body was burning and twisting, his muscles rebelling against him. Uncontrollable spasms wracked his body as he convulsed on the cold floor.
"Enough!"
Mercifully, the excruciating pain ceased, leaving him sprawled on the floor, panting heavily. Every inch of him ached. There was a persistent ringing in his ears, a throbbing in his flesh. He curled into a tighter ball, fighting to hold back his tears and sobs. He refused to give her the satisfaction of witnessing his complete breakdown.
"Enough," the command came again, more like a hiss than English, the Dark Lord's anger palpable.
Resigned, Harry glanced up. Was Voldemort angry because he had lost? Had Harry proven himself to be a weaker apprentice than the Dark Lord had anticipated?
"You disobeyed me."
Crimson eyes bore into emerald green. Voldemort silently summoned Harry's discarded wand and handed it back to the Gryffindor teen, who took it shakily. Every nerve in his body screamed in agony, his muscles twitching uncontrollably. Trying to regain control, Harry was bewildered by the Dark Lord's words. He hadn't broken any of Voldemort's supposed rules during this impromptu, rage-induced dinner duel. It had been Bellatrix, the murderous psychopath, who had cast the Unforgivable Curse against him. If Voldemort was displeased that Harry had used his limited control of wandless magic against his irrational follower, Harry would remain unapologetic. It had been fair game and purely self-defense.
"I didn't…" he stammered, halting abruptly when the piercing stare intensified, a slight shake of the Slytherin heir's head warning him to be quiet. An oppressive silence settled in the room. Harry seized the brief pause to regain control of his breathing, gripping his wand tightly. He had clearly lost; Bellatrix had held him under her curse for several long moments before Voldemort intervened. It was evident who had been more knowledgeable, faster, and stronger.
But Harry had known he was unlikely to win. He believed he had held his own decently, considering everything. He had even surprised her and landed a few good hits by using Parseltongue and wandless magic. He was swiftly realizing the importance of mastering wandless magic; it could prove a significant advantage. As far as he knew, apart from Dumbledore and Voldemort, no other witches or wizards routinely flaunted this skill. If he could gain control over it, making it more than just a power that surfaced in moments of
heightened emotion, he suspected he could catch many potential attackers off guard in future duels. If he lived that long.
"Bellatrix, you disobeyed," Voldemort declared. The Dark Lord did not turn away, his gaze locked onto Harry's trembling form. The words dripped with disappointment and displeasure. "I told you no Unforgivable Curses."
"My lord," Bellatrix murmured, her voice crestfallen. "He antagonized me. I was merely putting him in his place. It was for you, my lord, to show him where he belongs. He's nothing but a silly toy for you to use at your will. I only sought to protect you, my lord."
The silence that followed her statement was deafening. "And you think I need you to fight my battles? You believe I can't handle Harry myself, that he doesn't belong to me?" Voldemort paused, his voice turning colder. "You think Harry besting you in your arrogance reflects poorly on me? No, Bella. He outmaneuvered you when your pride got the better of you, and you responded in fury."
"My lord," she stammered, her voice barely audible. "My only goal is to serve you. The boy..." She paused, swallowing hard. Her eyes darted between her master's back and Harry's huddled form. "The boy does not respect you or appreciate the incredible offer you have extended to him. He does not deserve your attention or to stand at your side."
"You presume to know what is best for me?" The warning in Voldemort's tone was unmistakable. Bellatrix flinched, her eyes downcast.
"I exist solely to serve you, my lord," she whispered, her voice barely more than a breath. "I desire only to ensure the stability of your rule and to surround you with those who truly value your presence."
Watching her, Harry found himself utterly astounded and disgusted. Such raw power reduced to groveling before this cruel wizard, worshipping the feet that would just as readily kick her. Bellatrix's obsession and madness were beyond comprehension.
"You disappoint me, Bella," Voldemort sneered, scarlet eyes shifting towards the trembling witch. "Your disobedience will not go unpunished."
"My Lord-"
"Silence!" The Slytherin heir turned back to Harry, assessing him coldly. "You have my permission to use Crucio on her," Voldemort declared.
Harry jerked up, utterly bewildered. "What?" he gasped, his voice coming out in gasps.
"I said, you may torture her," Voldemort repeated, his voice carrying an unsettling calmness. "She disobeyed; it is only fair that you are allowed the same power over her."
Harry shook his head, unable to comprehend what was happening. He hadn't disobeyed, but it was clear he had been overpowered. He believed he had put up a decent fight, but loathly he had to admit that Bellatrix was faster and stronger. "I won't torture for you," he murmured,
the words emerging quietly. He was acutely aware that all eyes in the room were on him. Moments ago, he had desired nothing but to see her suffer, but in this context, it felt wrong.
The Dark Lord's lips twitched into a callous smile. "This isn't for me, Harry. It's for you." The words reverberated in Harry's ears, mingling with the image of Sirius falling behind the veil, his face etched in disbelief, the last expression Harry would ever witness. Bellatrix's maniacal laughter had accompanied his godfather's death.
Harry swallowed hard. He despised her. He loathed her for what she had done to him, to his family. She had taken Sirius away from him. She deserved to be tortured. Deep down, he knew that was what he wanted – to make her pay. But he couldn't.
Again, he shook his head, the movement jerky, his body still cringing in pain from his own brief torment.
"No," he whispered, the word barely audible, but he knew Voldemort heard. The crimson eyes regarded him thoughtfully. Voldemort's wand danced expertly through his fingers, a gesture that seemed both project confidence and a movement out of habit when he was in deep thought. Harry wondered if he would be tortured again for refusing, although he hadn't violated any of the requirements imposed by his agreement with the Dark Lord. That same agreement, he prayed, would absolve him from any obligation to torture the groveling witch before him.
Voldemort looked up. "Lucius, take her to the dungeons. She will remain there until I decide her fate. She is to receive no special treatment; treat her like any other prisoner."
"My lord, please! I am your most loyal servant. I do everything for you. Please, my lord, forgive me!" Bellatrix's cry pierced the chamber, its shrillness grating on Harry's ears. He glanced down at the broken woman, sobbing at Voldemort's feet.
"Take her away, now."
Lucius advanced, wand poised. "Bella, come," he commanded softly. "Our lord has spoken." "Please, my lord! I beg of you, I did it all for you!"
"I tire of this," Voldemort hissed, flicking his wand. Bellatrix was struck by an unknown curse, falling forward and convulsing. Her face turned ghostly white as her wand slipped from her trembling hand.
Lucius stepped forward, his wand conjuring ropes that bound her, levitating her a foot off the floor. "Draco, come," he ordered. Harry glanced at the pale youth. The other teen appeared nauseated as he stared at his aunt's convulsing form. With jerky steps, he hurriedly moved forward, coming to his father's side. Both of them bowed quickly to Voldemort before leaving the chamber. Bellatrix, still jerking and quivering in silent torment, floated after them.
"Leave us, Greyback. I will deal with my apprentice alone." The wolfish figure slinked past them, vanishing through the same door that shut tightly behind him, leaving Harry and Voldemort in solitude.
Crimson orbs studied Harry in silence as the teenager fought to regain control over his trembling muscles, slowly pushing himself back to his feet. Harry wasn't sure what mood Voldemort was in; he couldn't discern if he was about to be punished for the outcome of the duel.
"You appear confused, Harry. Ask," Voldemort's voice cut through the tension. Harry swallowed, realizing his emotions were laid bare.
"Why did you decide that Unforgivable Curses could not be used?" The question had been gnawing at him. He knew Voldemort wouldn't allow him to be killed, but the other two Unforgivable Curses seemed like fair game. Voldemort had already used the Cruciatus Curse on him multiple times, and Harry could resist the Imperius Curse, so there was no risk of it backfiring during the ill-fated duel. Unless Voldemort intended to reserve the pleasure of torturing him solely for himself, Harry couldn't fathom the restriction. Moreover, Voldemort had wanted Harry to cast the Cruciatus Curse after the duel, further confusing him.
The Slytherin regarded him thoughtfully. "Bellatrix sometimes struggles with restraint," he said simply, as though discussing the weather. The term 'restraint' seemed like a colossal understatement. "The restriction was for her benefit, to test if she could exhibit control. Her zealotry knows no bounds, and Azkaban stole whatever semblance of reason she had managed to maintain while fighting the Black madness in her youth." He paused, his eyes scanning Harry from head to toe. "While I was evaluating your dueling skills, and you performed better than I anticipated, I was also testing her. I wanted to see if I could trust her when I impose restrictions that contradict her very nature."
"She failed your test," Harry said, his gut twisting uncomfortably. He hated her; she deserved the Dementor's Kiss. And yet, a small part of him squirmed at the thought that Voldemort might kill her for such a failure. She was undeniably unhinged, largely due to Voldemort and the heinous acts she had committed during his first rise. Was it right for the man who molded her into madness to punish her for becoming what he had created?
"She did," Voldemort confirmed.
Harry shifted uncomfortably under the assessing gaze, staring down at his boots. He clenched and unclenched his wand, feeling deeply unsettled.
"Ask," Voldemort prompted, his voice as calm as a snake sunning itself on a rock.
Harry hesitated before voicing his question. "What will you do with her?" He should be pleased she had failed, that Voldemort was punishing her. Yet, it made the harsh reality of his situation even more real. They were all mere puppets, their strings pulled by this master manipulator, helpless to do anything but react and pray they didn't anger the Slytherin heir.
Bellatrix deserved punishment, but Harry knew Voldemort's twisted sense of justice wasn't what he wished upon her. Moreover, he was painfully aware that he, too, was just moments away from displeasing Voldemort and being dragged away to the dungeons to rot.
"What do you think I should do with her?" Voldemort countered. "She defied me, and she did it by attacking you. She knows better than to disobey me, especially concerning matters
involving you. I have made that abundantly clear to my followers – you are mine."
The possessiveness in Voldemort's tone did nothing to ease Harry's frayed nerves. Now wasn't the time for emotional speeches about how he didn't belong to the Dark Lord. The ghost of the apprentice mark on his forearm twitched, reminding him of how feeble that claim might be now.
"She's a murderer, she killed her own flesh and blood," Harry said at last, the silence between them becoming increasingly uncomfortable. Could he truly advocate for her death, even though she deserved it? Would his words have any sway over Voldemort's actions? Did he even want them to?
"Blood that would have done the same to her without hesitation," Voldemort countered.
Harry swallowed hard. It wasn't the same. Sirius and Bellatrix were not remotely comparable. One fought for the Order of the Phoenix, protecting innocent lives. Bellatrix fought for sadistic pleasure and to help Voldemort enslave the wizarding population. "They are not the same," he murmured, his voice barely audible.
"They both chose sides based on their beliefs. They both elected to fight for a way of life that is under attack. Bellatrix fights for her freedom, to practice magic that suits her, to unleash her full power without hindrance. She refuses to be controlled, her abilities weakened because they fear what they cannot understand. The light side aims to keep her docile, rendering her powerless. Yet they have no qualms about harnessing light powers that the dark side could never access."
Voldemort's matter-of-fact explanation struck a nerve with Harry. It wasn't an impassioned speech; it seemed to be Voldemort's straightforward worldview, which made it all the more unsettling.
"No." Harry shook his head, his every word plunging him deeper into a confusing conversation. With every syllable, he risked Voldemort further clouding his thoughts, deepening the wedge of doubt between himself and the light. He wished he had more confidence in Dumbledore, in those he had always blindly followed and agreed with. He wished he had more faith in himself and his own convictions. "One side seeks to protect, another to control or kill." A hand appeared under his chin, eliciting an embarrassing flinch as his eyes were forced back to meet the appraising scarlet gaze.
"The world is not nearly as black and white as you think, my young apprentice." Harry wasn't so sure. Perhaps the Order used lethal force – Sirius would have tried to kill his cousin before allowing himself to be killed – but the light side hadn't initiated this war. They didn't resort to such deadly tactics; that was all Voldemort and his dark horde. Meeting the dark lord's stare, Harry doubted that any explanation Voldemort was about to provide on morals would leave him feeling any better.
He sensed that they were no longer talking about Bellatrix and Sirius, that somehow the conversation had taken a more personal turn. It was suddenly more profound than the Black family rivalry or even Bellatrix's insanity. This was about Voldemort's ideology, why he
fought, and what he expected Harry to join. "Just because you're kept blindly unaware of the atrocities committed by the light doesn't mean they're as righteous as you believe."
Even if Dumbledore had kept things from him, Harry knew the light side didn't resort to torturing the dark. They didn't commit the same crimes as Voldemort and his followers. "The Death Eaters thrive on terror. You attack innocents, killing them in their homes if they don't join you. You use unforgivable curses and torture to coerce unwilling witches and wizards into joining your side or face death." Harry shook his head, glancing at his sleeve, the hidden mark concealed beneath the black folds. "Even this mark." He closed his eyes briefly, pained that such a thing now stained his flesh, tainted his soul even. "You've forced a magical leash on me. To control me... being here wasn't my choice. I've never seen the light resort to such tactics. If the sides are so similar, then why don't they have to force people to fight for their cause?"
Voldemort's eyes narrowed, and a shiver ran down Harry's spine. He stood by his words, but he was painfully aware of the precarious position he was in; every time he spoke, he risked punishment and torture. "I remember you agreeing to this, Harry," Voldemort said, his voice chillingly calm.
Harry shifted his feet, his grip on his wand tightening as he fought to keep his disbelief from showing on his face. Surely Voldemort wasn't delusional enough to believe Harry wanted this in any capacity? It was absurd. And yet, arguing semantics wouldn't grant him any insight. If he wanted to learn anything about what Voldemort aimed to achieve, it would be foolish to keep flaunting his hatred of being here now that he was seemingly trapped by the Slytherin's side. He had accepted the apprenticeship, and he doubted there was anything that would make Voldemort release him. He had passed the point of no return and needed to learn to navigate the Dark Lord's unpredictable temper if he hoped to accomplish anything.
"I did," he conceded at last, his voice devoid of derision. Voldemort nodded in approval, which only made Harry want to bristle even more. "My point is that if the dark and light are as similar in tactics as you claim, then why do I only hear of the dark side using such horrific measures to achieve your goals?"
"Because the light currently holds power," Voldemort replied, the 'for now' ominously absent, foreboding creeping down Harry's neck. "And the light shapes the narrative. If it were reversed, if I led the wizarding world and dark magic was allowed free reign, if I placed blanket restrictions on light magic like what is done to the dark today, how do you think your precious light side would respond?
"Would they employ the same so-called underhanded tactics if they were fighting for their very magical cores? Even with the light being the majority, your beloved headmaster runs a covert society. He acts outside the Ministry." He paused, staring down his narrow nose at Harry. "And do you truly believe your tactics are much more righteous?"
"We don't torture people into submission," Harry practically snapped. It was abhorrent that Voldemort would even try to compare the two sides. "Your followers tortured Neville's parents into insanity for no reason. I've never seen the light do such a thing."
"And what about the Dementors?" Voldemort asked, giving Harry a knowing look.
"What do you mean?" Everyone knew the Dementors were creatures of the dark, loyal to Voldemort during the last war.
"Your Ministry uses them to detain so-called criminals. Most of them are witches and wizards practicing dark magic. For a side that champions human rights, claiming not to torture people into submission, they resort to a form of emotional control that forces prisoners to relive their most painful memories. All orchestrated by creatures that suck happiness from their souls. If I had Dementors doing such a thing, you would label me unjust, a monster, while preaching about the inhumanity of using such creatures to control witches and wizards. Your own Ministry used these creatures on your godfather to punish him for a crime they could have easily determined he never committed."
Harry opened his mouth and then clicked it shut; he had never really considered the Ministry's use of Dementors. He knew they were horrible; he found their presence at a school beyond reprehensible. "But they're dark creatures," Harry tried to reason.
Voldemort laughed, his voice slicing through the air like a cold wind. "All the more proof that the light is not beneath using anything to enforce their will. Perhaps I use Unforgivable Curses to achieve my goals, but the light threatens their own compliance through the enforcement of creatures designed to consume souls. I won't claim I don't want Dementors on my side, that I don't intend to use them to my advantage. But at least I'm open about it. The Ministry uses these tactics while championing their 'higher ways.' The same Ministry that won't let your beloved werewolf hold a job or provide him with a potion known to make him safe to be around. The laws in place force him to be an outcast and ostracized. They could help him and don't. He could live a normal life, with the right safety measures, he could have even raised you. But instead, he's been shunned from society and you were abandoned to magic-hating mudbloods."
Harry cringed, the truth washing over him. Snape had given Remus a potion every month, making him safe around children. And yet that had been an exception; how many other werewolves were forced to turn each month with no support? Was the light responsible for Remus being as outcasted as Voldemort claimed? He knew the man was one of the kindest souls he'd ever met. If he were given the potion and allowed an actual job, how much better would his life be?
"And in your world, it would be better?" Harry challenged. "I can't see you caring all that much about werewolves outside of just using them,"
The Slytherin gave him an assessing look. "I was the only one who knew the spell that saved the wolf's life when he encountered silver. It was dark magic. I doubt anyone else could have performed it, even if they knew it. Was that evil?" Voldemort's tone was cutting, his words like shards of ice. "The spell's only purpose is to save the werewolf infected by silver; I clearly care enough about their kind to have taken the time to learn it."
Harry wasn't sure how to respond. He knew Voldemort was twisting things, only showing the light's worst side while making the dark look better. His words did not represent the Weasleys or his other friends, whom he knew to be good people. All of them would advocate
for Remus and would want him to have a full life. And yet a small voice in the back of his head whispered that very little had been done to help the wolf, that Dumbledore only cared about him when Sirius had allegedly escaped from Azkaban. When he suddenly had a use.
Seeing that Harry had no instant rebuttal, the Slytherin heir smiled knowingly. "You think I'm the horrible blood purist, but look at what is practiced today. It's the same Ministry that hurls eleven-year-olds into a completely foreign world and does nothing to alleviate the strains of coming from a non-magical world. They offer no help even when guardians hate or despise magic; they give children no way to protect themselves."
Scarlet met emerald; Harry could practically feel the passion radiating off the Dark Lord. "We are similar, Harry, both thrust into the magical world with no guidance. You may think people like the Malfoys are bigots for upholding the traditions of old, but how arrogant is it to expect magicals to change their ways and accommodate the minority of Muggle-born students? And your beloved headmaster is the worst of them all. How much better would your transition have been if you had received any history, any education on this world before being thrust into it? It's naive and dangerous. It harms children while putting us at risk for exposure. The current system only deepens the gap between pure-bloods and others, a system that isn't run by dark practitioners."
Harry stared at the man, speechless. He knew the last statement had struck a nerve with the once young Tom Riddle. How must the magical world have seemed to a boy, fearful to return to his orphanage in a time of war? A boy who had no one in the world. It was how Harry had felt when he had entered the wizarding world. No one had explained anything to him; an experience that had never improved as he grew older.
"I…" Harry paused, shaking his head. "I mean, well, you're right on some points," he conceded quietly, noticing the flash of shock that crossed the Slytherin's aristocratic features. Harry found himself surprised he was agreeing with the murderer of his parents out loud so readily. "Dementors are awful; they should not be used against witches or wizards by either side." He hesitated, unsure if he should voice the next piece. But he sensed Voldemort had revealed a rare moment of vulnerability. One that had hit home for Harry. "And the Ministry does do an awful job of introducing Muggle-raised children into society," he conceded, flashes of his own childhood flashing before his eyes. "I won't argue that the Ministry is filled with fools."
A smirk lit the tip of Voldemort's features. "Perhaps this is the first time you and I have agreed, Harry."
Harry felt his cheeks pulse, a blush sweeping down his neck at the almost affectionate remark. "But I do disagree that the light uses the same tactics as you. Your methods are violent and filled with bloodshed," he said, feeling better returning to these grounds, ideals that did not align him with Voldemort.
Voldemort arched a brow. "I think I will enjoy proving you wrong."
Dropping his gaze back to his body, Harry cringed, pushing his hand against his bleeding arm. His body was riddled with scrapes from the broken vase, a deep cut that bled freely
caused by that brown hex, in addition to the torture that still made his muscles spasm. He could readily admit he felt awful.
"You should tend to your injuries. Tipsy will bring you some ointments and potions," Voldemort remarked, taking in Harry's wounds. "There are books on healing in your room that I recommend you review. I won't heal you unless it's life-threatening. You should learn from your mistakes."
Nodding, Harry stared at his cuts and scrapes thoughtfully. He thought he had held up as well as could be expected. He had at least managed to land a few hits on her.
"Will you kill her?" He asked, daring to voice the question he had wanted to since she was floated from the room.
The Dark Lord released a sardonic chuckle. "I don't trust her, but I certainly would not throw away such a valuable asset."
"You don't trust her?" Harry asked, utterly surprised. It seemed obvious to him that the woman was crazy, but he never expected Voldemort to admit it, especially to him of all people. Or that Voldemort would care. She was a powerful fanatic whom he could unleash on the wizarding world, a force with very little chance of fighting back.
The Slytherin heir's lip twitched slightly at Harry's unhidden disbelief. "I would have thought you'd be the first one to declare her unstable. Are you so dubious of my own ability to assess my followers?"
Harry frowned, shrugging. "I guess I just assumed you wouldn't care about her insanity. That you probably encouraged it. She'd do anything for you, even if it got her killed. It seems like the type of follower you'd want."
"She is powerful and loyal. Both qualities I admire and reward," he emphasized the two, giving Harry a pointed look which he promptly ignored. "But that does not mean she is the right instrument for every plan. I intend to take over the wizarding world, make it better. Not destroy it. I need followers I can trust. Kill her? No, at least not for this error. But she failed this test and will be punished. And she will either learn, or I will have to reconsider her role in my plans."
"And what are your plans?"
Red orbs glanced over him. "In time, Harry, I will reveal all to you. I enjoy our conversations, but there is still much you must learn." Harry wasn't sure he liked the foreboding tone he heard.
"Tipsy." With a crack, the tiny elf appeared.
"Yes, master?" She asked, glancing from Harry to Voldemort. Her eyes took in his cuts and blood, reeling back in concern.
"Take Harry to his room and treat his wounds, no magic. You may give him light pain relievers but nothing more. He's expected to heal himself."
The elf nodded, stepping nearer to Harry.
"You pleased me today," Voldemort murmured, gazing down upon the raven-haired youth. "You have much to learn, but the potential is there. Now go, you're released for the night. I won't lock you in your chamber, but there are Death Eaters about. I recommend you don't wander too far unless you are prepared to defend yourself. Study healing; I expect you to have found the spells to heal your wounds before we meet again." He nodded his head, clearly dismissing them. "Your training has begun, Harry, and remember that I am not a patient master."