Chapter 13 Games
A week had passed since their outing, and four days since Harry had reluctantly created the poison potion under Voldemort's watchful eye. True to form, the Dark Lord hadn't given the teen much of a choice, holding to the grim ultimatum: spend the day watching Voldemort torture a prisoner via the mind arts, or assist in brewing the deadly concoction. Harry had begrudgingly chosen the latter. One option guaranteed someone would be harmed, the other, he could only suspect they would be. It truly was no choice, and Harry despised that he was in this position at all and felt helpless to choose any other alternatives.
It was early morning, and Harry had some time before he had to meet the Dark Lord in the library. Sitting at the desk in his room, the teen stared out of the window, recalling their lesson, conflicting thoughts swirling through his mind. He'd been escorted to the potion lab by Tipsy, the skittish elf who had taken him to a new section of the manor, one that was down several levels from Harry's own chambers. He'd thought they were underground but could not confirm it. The room was vast, far larger than any potions classroom he had ever seen at Hogwarts. The air was thick with the scent of various magical ingredients, a heady mix of herbs, spices, and other mysterious components. The room had an intimidating atmosphere, accentuated by the dim lighting and the grandeur of its design.
The walls of the room were lined with shelves, filled with glass vials and jars containing a myriad of ingredients, each labeled meticulously in elegant script. The room itself was adorned with intricate tapestries depicting ancient potion-making techniques and magical symbols. The ceiling was high, disappearing into darkness, and the flickering candlelight cast eerie shadows across the room, making it seem almost ethereal.
In one corner of the room, large cauldrons bubbled and simmered, emitting puffs of steam and creating an acrid yet intriguing aroma that hung in the air. The potions inside were a vivid acid green and dark blue, their colors swirling and mixing together like liquid galaxies. The room was alive with the soft hiss and gurgle of brewing potions, creating an ambient melody that echoed through the space. The workstations were pristine, made of polished dark wood and equipped with an array of tools – silver knives, delicate scales, and crystal phials. Everything was meticulously organized, a testament to the room's frequent use and careful maintenance.
Despite the intimidating ambiance, there was an undeniable sense of purpose and expertise in the air. It was clear that this potions room was not just for show; it was a place where powerful and intricate potions were brewed, a testament to the Dark Lord's mastery of the magical arts. Harry couldn't help recalling a mix of trepidation and fascination as he recalled the lesson.
In the candle-lit potions lab, Voldemort had demonstrated his prodigious skill. Every precise cut of the blade, every stir of his wand was executed with practiced efficiency. As the dark wizard worked, he explained each step aloud, detailing the reasons behind his actions. They
had fallen into a rhythm, Voldemort narrating and demonstrating each task before passing it on to Harry, who followed his lead. The Dark Lord would step back and watch as Harry tried to mimic whatever he'd been taught. It had been stressful at first, but to Harry's immense relief, his lack of expertise did not seem to infuriate the Dark Lord. It almost seemed to have the opposite impact. If he didn't know better, he would have thought that Voldemort almost enjoyed teaching him the potion arts.
As the day progressed, Harry found himself begrudgingly increasingly in awe of Voldemort's knowledge. The Dark Lord easily explained complex potion techniques, describing intricate details and nuances that had Harry wide-eyed with amazement at the ease with which he was able to demonstrate in a way that the teen could easily follow. The Slytherin revealed shortcuts and refinements, teaching Harry methods that were surprisingly effective, yet far more efficient than any laborious instructions Snape had ever provided. And the Dark Lord never once referenced a book. It was all from memory.
"Notice the way the heat diffuses when you stir anti-clockwise," Voldemort had observed. "It ensures the ingredients blend seamlessly without overheating. The amateur text your school follows will tell you to stir a certain number of times and then move to the next step. But that will diminish the potency. What matters is the desired effect; in this potion, the color and vaper emitting signifies the right temperature and breakdown of the ingredients. You should not blindly brew a potion, mindless going from step to step. These are not ingredients you bake. You are creating a magically potent potion, infused with rare and unique ingredients that react differently in each brewing. You should observe and only move on when the potion reveals itself ready. And you should be ready to respond and counter effects if the potion begins to take a turn in a manner you don't desire."
Harry nodded in agreement, understanding the logic behind Voldemort's words. However, his distinct lack of potion knowledge made it impossible for him to observe and react in the way Voldemort described. He had no clue what the potion should look like, aside from what was written in the textbooks. And since they were not referencing any written material, how could Voldemort expect Harry to grasp these nuances?
"Did this potion come from a book?" Harry inquired; his curiosity piqued. Voldemort must have memorized it from repeated brewings.
Voldemort shook his head, his red eyes glinting with pride. "No, it is one of my own creations."
Of course, he had made it, Harry thought cynically. It was a deadly poison, after all, one that was odorless and clear once completed. "Then how did you know the steps, what the potion should look like?"
Voldemort regarded him knowingly; his expression tinged with conceited vanity. "I have a mastery of potions. Once you are so familiar, you can predict how the ingredients will interact, and understand when they are transforming as you desire. Potions with magical properties, like the venom we're using, will react in certain ways. You can anticipate what will draw volatile reactions and what won't. And snake-acquired ingredients are one of my specialties."
Harry glanced skeptically at the bubbling deep purple potion. "Are you certain this won't just explode at any moment?"
Voldemort released a soft, almost amused laugh that surprised the young Gryffindor. "The first time I made this, yes, I was more cautious. I put up protective shields and paid closer attention to each new ingredient. I had to experiment until I got it right. But I did succeed; this potion is safe to make. I won't lose you through something as mundane as a potion's explosion, my young apprentice."
Not sure how to respond to the fondness he was sensing, Harry had returned to the task at hand, slicing mice tails. Throughout the lesson, Harry continued to absorb the instructions, his mind racing from all of the newfound insights. He had always regarded Potions as a daunting subject, partly due to Snape's horrific teaching methods, which were more punitive than enlightening. Under Voldemort's guidance, brewing did not seem as formidable. Harry realized that potion-making, when approached logically and with the right techniques and knowledge, was more about finesse than brute force. Once you understood what you were looking for during each step, there was an odd sense of satisfaction that accompanied the evolution of the brewing process.
It baffled Harry that Snape, with all his expertise, had never imparted such invaluable knowledge. The thought gnawed at him. If the potion master loved his craft so much, why not teach it in a way that would lead others to want to master it as well? Instead, all the students were terrified of the overgrown bat and dreaded the lessons. It was a sad day when brewing with the Dark Lord was more enjoyable than taking a lesson at a school meant for children.
The day had passed in a blur, and Harry endured the process with a surprising lack of overt conflict with his instructor. Instead, the conflict was internal. Once again, he had learned more from Voldemort in mere hours than any of the Hogwarts staff had taught him in days, if not weeks. Why had no one ever believed Harry was worth investing in, that he should become a stronger and more capable wizard? Had they written him off, expecting him to die in the war? Or had they simply not deemed him worthy of their time and effort? The thoughts cut deep, stirring a mix of frustration and anger within him. He did not understand why no one had tried to help him, tried to make him stronger than any of the other students. It was Harry whom they put the weight of this war on, yet no one except for the Dark Lord, the same one who had always been out for his blood, had made any attempts to teach him the necessary knowledge that might keep him alive.
It wasn't just the potion work that had Harry increasingly confused. Now that Harry routinely dabbled in dark magic in their daily studies, Voldemort rarely deviated into philosophical discussions about light and dark magic. Instead, he focused on practical instruction, guiding Harry with demanding precision. The training sessions were intense, corrections swift and high-demanding, yet Voldemort tempered his emotions, leaving Harry perplexed with every encounter. Over the past week, Harry had grown increasingly confused about their relationship. This was not the mindless madman of his nightmares. Instead, he encountered a genius, harsh and cruel but undeniably brilliant. And this genius was spending a large portion of each day teaching Harry all that he knew.
Under Voldemort's expert tutelage, Harry noticed changes in himself. He began to approach spells differently, considering counters, cancellations, and protective measures before attempting them. Instead of merely choosing spells for their visual appeal, he selected ones that complemented his strengths and unique fighting style. Harry recognized his own abilities – speed and stealth – and learned to leverage them effectively. The Dark Lord guided him, shaping Harry into a more formidable wizard, and Harry would be a fool not to admit that he was becoming both stronger and wiser.
The daily encounters with Voldemort had become a strange routine, yet the Dark Lord's true motives still remained elusive. Harry wondered why Voldemort was investing so much time and effort into his training. Why instruct a boy he had once sought to destroy? Surprisingly, Voldemort hadn't been relentless in his attempts to sway Harry to the dark side. Instead, Harry found himself considering the uses of dark magic, realizing not all of it meant harm. The distinction blurred the lines between light and dark, leaving Harry confused and uneasy. Voldemort had managed to create doubt without explicitly indoctrinating him, forcing Harry to question Dumbledore, the Order, and his own beliefs. The crack in Harry's conviction had been made, and Voldemort was skillfully exploiting it without coercion, leaving Harry to grapple with his own uncertainties.
The weight of Harry's recent choices and the eerie sense of routine gnawed at his mind as he made his way to the library for their next lesson. Two weeks had passed since he became Voldemort's apprentice, and in that time, he had grown more powerful and more conflicted, seeing no path to escape nor stop the domino of dark choices he found himself continuously making. Pushing open the heavy oak door to the library, Harry immediately sensed a change in the atmosphere. The room, once a sanctuary of knowledge, now crackled with tension.
Instead of finding Voldemort hunched over his usual desk, he discovered the Dark Lord seated on a plush couch, scarlet eyes ablaze with barely-contained anger. The air practically vibrated with the intensity of Voldemort's dark magic, sending a shiver down Harry's spine.
Frozen in the doorway, uncertainty gripped Harry. He couldn't fathom anything he had done to provoke this anger. He had been mostly compliant, following Voldemort's instructions and keeping his protests in check. A knot of dread tightened in his stomach as he noticed the clenched letter in Voldemort's hand. Had his friends finally responded to his desperate messages? Fear and hope battled within him.
"Do you think your friends are immune from my displeasure simply because you have agreed to remain here?" Voldemort's words slithered out, laden with menace.
Harry shook his head, swallowing hard, his mouth suddenly dry. He took a tentative step forward, closing the door behind him with an ominous click.
He stepped forward, trepidation filling him as he took the letter from the Slytherin's outstretched hand.
Harry,
Sorry for taking so long to write you mate, we were told not to. That we could not risk it in case it was a trap of some sort. But I can't wait here and let you think we've abandoned youtooldsnakeface.HermioneandIarealwayshereforyou!Ginnytoo.She'dthumpmegood
if I didn't include her. I can't image what you're going through but I know you're strongerthan him. You beat him as a baby! And even as first year. Don't give up, we'll rescue you from that psycho murderer if you don't manage to off him before that. Don't let him trick you and don't do anything irreversible. We're safe, he can't get us again, and I know we can help you. Keep faith in yourself and us. I know we'll get you out. We're always behind you, Harry!
Ron
Harry's hands were shaking by the time he'd finished the letter. What had Ron been thinking? Surely, he knew Voldemort would read his letter? Despairingly, he glanced up, meeting the absolutely burning red stare locked on him.
"Please," he whispered, terror sweeping through him. He'd already sacrificed so much to protect them. And it would all be for naught if Voldemort went after his friends with a vengeance. He felt certain their agreement did not cover Ron for such stupidity. Was he trying to provoke Voldemort into attacking him again?
"You know I won't allow such insolence to go unpunished."
"Let me take the punishment," Harry begged, his heart sinking at the sudden gleam in the Slytherin Heir's eye.
"My silly little lion," he murmured, his tone almost affectionate but no less deadly. Darkness still pulsated against the room. "I will need to break you of this selfless hero's act. It only makes you weak."
Hopeful but equally terrified, Harry dropped his gaze as he shifted his stance nervously. It seemed he had correctly guessed a price that the Dark Lord was willing to bargain Ron's punishment for. But he doubted it would result in the same promised torture that his best friend would have received at the wizard's wand. The Slytherin was too conniving to waste such an advantage on simple torture, not when he could do that to Harry anytime he pleased. But what would Voldemort demand of him now? Their first arrangement had been manageable so far. Even though Harry had sacrificed his freedom, he hadn't been forced to sacrifice his morals to do anything reprehensible. He wasn't sure what choice he'd make if faced with that ultimatum and prayed he wasn't about to find out.
"Even if I agree to allow you to take some of the punishment, this blatant provocation can't be left unanswered," Voldemort's voice was like ice, cutting through the room.
Harry wasn't sure what to say. Staring at the seething wizard, all the reasons the Dark Lord was the most feared being of their time came rushing back. What could he possibly do to make him not go after Ron? He searched for the right words, knowing he had to tread carefully. "He's just a child," Harry said, his voice almost a whisper, the irony of the statement not lost on him. "He was trying to boost my spirits, not challenge you. He knows how powerful you are. I don't know what he was thinking, but it's not like anyone else will ever see this letter. Please, let me take the punishment, and let it be done."
Voldemort regarded him with a cold, calculating gaze. "Then it must be worth my time," he said ominously, the threat hanging in the air.
Swallowing hard, Harry nodded, his heart pounding with fear. He braced himself for whatever punishment the Dark Lord would inflict upon him. He could do this, he thought desperately, feeling an entirely new sense of desolation crashing down upon himself.
Voldemort raised a hand, a sharp pulse of pain in Harry's scar making him flinch. "You will learn the Unforgivables," the Dark Lord declared, his tone final. Harry's immediate denial died in his throat as he felt another warning of pain. "I won't make you use them on another being," Voldemort continued, the implication of 'yet' echoing in the air. "You will successfully master all three. That is my price. No complaints or arguments during the instruction, or you will be forced to cast them on humans."
Frozen, Harry processed the demand. He couldn't comprehend why Ron had written such a reckless letter. Was it bravado? A desperate attempt to show off? It made no sense, and Harry's frustration and worry intensified. Frowning, Harry glanced back at the seated Dark Lord, who was still watching him.
The teen nodded once again, his consent hanging heavily in the air, the weight of his friend's life pressing down on him. Harry felt a strange sense of inevitability settle over him.
Learning spells he hoped never to use seemed a small price to pay for Ron's safety. But as he agreed, he couldn't shake the feeling that he had unwittingly walked into Voldemort's plotting hands.
Voldemort smiled, a smile that never reached his eyes. "We will magically seal this agreement," he said, his tone carrying a chilling finality. "I will teach you to infuse your magical core. While not as binding as other oaths, you will feel significant discomfort for a very long time should you renege on your end of the deal."
Harry swallowed, his throat dry. The sudden agreement felt too swift, too convenient. He eyed Voldemort cautiously, the intensity of the situation sinking in. "And Ron's punishment will be complete? You will take no further actions against him or anyone else?" he asked, seeking assurance.
Voldemort nodded, sticking out his hand. Harry took an involuntary step closer to the wizard, towards the offered appendage. "If you agree to this now, then the punishment for this offense will be considered paid in full."
Harry glanced at the hand cautiously. Was it foolish to agree to this? He's already cast some of the unforgivable before, and it would not be on living beings. Learning the killing curse scared him, but if he'd learned anything in the last two weeks, there were many ways to kill people. If anything, this curse was one of the more humane ways to do it. While he was worried that casting all three would guarantee him a cell in Azkaban, that Voldemort would use this to further divide him from the light as an ultimate act of betrayal, the reality was that his casting had been dipping steadily into darker magic since his training began, he likely had already earned himself a permanent space imprisoned and guarded by the soul-sucking monsters that surrounded the island.
"Okay," he agreed softly, sticking out his own hand.
He was rewarded with a faint nod. "Good boy," Voldemort praised, standing as his eyes hungrily assessed him. "Now focus on your core like when you think of your wandless magic, envision the boundaries holding it back released."
Harry did so, his time practicing the mind arts every night making it an easy action. Sensing the success, Voldemort nodded. "Now you shall make your promise with your core open, I will do the same with mine so that my words are binding as well. Nothing fancy, but state your side of the agreement; the intent is what matters with core magic."
Feeling uneasy, Harry gripped the offered hand. "How do I know this isn't a trick, that this isn't some form of unbreakable bond where you gain more than what you're saying?"
"I suppose you will just have to trust me."
Harry shook his head, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. "I don't." The words were not meant as an insult, merely a statement of fact. Voldemort snorted softly, an unexpectedly human sound coming from the feared Dark Lord.
"Smart boy," he agreed, his tone almost amused. "But in this, I speak the truth. You will feel it as well, and I will allow you to choose your own wording. Sealing it with your core forces accountability, but it's not as dramatic as an unbreakable vow. Lords and Ladies use them often as a sign of goodwill when entering into formal agreements between houses. The Lord book I provided you will have a section on it. And unless you are willing to risk your friend experiencing my wrath, you truly do not have a choice."
Sighing, Harry nodded, realizing the lack of options before him. He knew what he'd be studying for the rest of the day. Once again, he was struck by just how little he knew and understood about the world he was supposed to enter and potentially save. Why hadn't this ever been taught? It seemed like an essential piece of knowledge.
"Good, I shall open my core, and we will begin," Voldemort declared, his voice holding a strange blend of authority and patience.
Harry felt the Dark Lord's magical signature suddenly increase, its intensity washing over him like a tidal wave of darkness. He braced himself, trying to steady his breathing.
"I, Lord Voldemort, Lord and heir of House Slytherin and Gaunt, reigning Lord of the Dark, do swear to absolve Ronald Weasley of any earned punishment as agreed upon with Heir Harry James Potter, on the condition that he upholds his promise to learn to cast the three Unforgivable spells," Voldemort intoned, his voice resonating with power and conviction.
"I, Harry James Potter," he paused, wondering if he was supposed to include anything about his role as Potter heir. Being unsure, he pushed on, certain Voldemort would make him redo it if he was wrong, but adding his ancestry felt right, like magic herself was guiding him. "Heir and Lord Apparent of House Potter, do swear to learn to cast the three unforgivable, not with the intent to be used against another," he added, giving Voldemort a pointed look, which seemed only to amuse the Dark Lord. "As the condition set to absolve any punishment cast on Ron Weasley."
"Good. Your friend deserves a horrible death, but I am satisfied. Resume your previous studies. I will let you know when I plan to teach you the Unforgivables. I need to make sure your power control is adequate before you attempt them,"
Harry began to turn, feeling numb. He could scarcely believe what had just transpired, that Ron had written that letter, and that he had bartered such tabooed instruction to keep his friend free. It made zero sense. Harry shook his head fractionally, frowning down at the floor. Ron was many things, but even he was not this foolish. Surely, Hermione would have stopped him from sending something so audacious. He sincerely doubted Ron would have taken such a drastic step without consulting their brilliant best friend, especially if his actions were against Dumbledore's direct orders.
Voldemort must have noticed Harry's change in demeanor. "You have something more you wish to say?" he inquired, his head tilted slightly to the side as he studied the teen.
Frowning, Harry hesitated for a moment before deciding to voice his thoughts aloud. There was no escaping the truth now, and he needed answers. "Is this letter real? Did Ron actually write it?" Harry asked, his eyes narrowing as he scrutinized the letter in his hand, then lifting his emerald gaze back up to meet Voldemort's intense red stare. It certainly looked like Ron's untidy scrawl. The words and flow of it sounded like his best friend, even if the content was outrageous.
The crimson orbs seemed to almost glow in intensity as Voldemort considered him. No overt emotions were visible, but Harry was learning to read the subtlest of cues in the Dark Lord's expressions. "Yes, this is from your friend," Voldemort confirmed, his voice as smooth and calculated as ever.
A gnawing suspicion continued to grow in Harry's mind. "Was he spelled to write this?" he asked quietly, his eyes never leaving Voldemort's face. He searched for the truth, desperate for any hint that would confirm or deny his suspicions.
The slightest twitch of Voldemort's lips revealed everything Harry needed to know. He was certain the Dark Lord had allowed him to see that movement intentionally. Harry felt a mix of anger and betrayal surge within him.
"Very good." The praise washed over him like freezing rain, making Harry shiver. All of this was a game, a game that could have cost his friend's life. Would Voldemort have carried out the punishment if Harry had not volunteered to take a punishment in his stead? Would Harry still be held to his end of the deal even though it was made on false pretenses?
Suddenly feeling drained, Harry slowly sank down onto the plush couch across from the Dark Lord, the master he had sworn to learn from and the man who had just tricked him into a promise to learn the Unforgivable curses.
"Why?" Harry's voice was laced with exhaustion, his energy sapped by the weight of deceit and disappointment.
"You will learn to become more discerning, to not be so trusting. Next time, the consequences will be more severe," Voldemort replied, his tone cold and detached.
Feeling utterly empty, Harry shook his head in disbelief. How was he supposed to stand up against someone as powerful and conniving as Voldemort? He felt grossly ill-equipped and unprepared. A wave of failure washed over him once more as he considered how correct Dumbledore had been—Harry was no match for the Dark Lord's mind games.
"I thought you had promised me more freedom under your rule?" Harry asked bitterly. "Instead, I must stumble through your lies and deceit, my friends' lives held in the balance."
"I am fulfilling my end of the bargain, Harry. This is a lesson you can only learn through experience. If you cannot discern traps from reality and believe everything placed before you, then you are a fool, and this weakness will continue to be used against you. Be grateful you lost very little in this exchange. If you had not figured it out on your own, then the next lesson would have been all the more painful, the stakes higher," Voldemort explained, his voice chillingly calm.
"So, you will continue to do this, trick me and use my friends?" Harry's voice wavered between anger and despair.
"Harry, I am your master. I will do whatever I desire, both to you and your friends. You should never take for granted the power I have over you," Voldemort replied with an air of indifference that sent shivers down Harry's spine. "But this time, it was meant to be something you learn from. You must remove the naive lens through which you look at the world. If you hope to no longer be used by everyone around you, then you must grow wiser and stronger. That is the only way you will ever be free."
"Except from you," Harry muttered bitterly.
Voldemort shrugged, his demeanor unyielding. "If you had recognized the trick for what it was earlier, I would have been pleased, and I would not have forced the oath. That you recognized it at all is satisfactory enough that I won't further punish you beyond making you learn the Unforgivables."
"I still have to learn them?" The bitterness in Harry's voice was palpable.
"Yes, as agreed upon in your core oath," Voldemort affirmed, his gaze unwavering. "A consequence of your actions that you will learn from."
Harry shook his head in frustration and confusion. "A consequence? You forced me to take the oath. Anytime I refuse you, I'm punished. Was your desire for me to fight you on the oath as well?"
Voldemort shook his head, his tone measured and composed. The underlying threat of warning that Harry could be punished at a moment's notice was still ever present. "You can't fight me, and I'd advise that you don't try. The test was to see the deception, to not so willingly compromise yourself as you flaunt your weakness of unconditionally caring for others. You immediately and blindly accepted the punishment meant for another. You spent zero time gathering the facts or negotiating the price. And you immediately accepted the means of a core oath which you know nothing about."
The Dark Lord released a measured breath. "If it weren't for the fact that your actions only put yourself more firmly in my grasp, I'd punish you for those missteps as well. This time I'll explain it to you; for your sake, I hope you learn. I will not accept a fool for an apprentice, and if others try to use these weaknesses against you, you will quickly learn that I do not share. You should think twice before compromising yourself in any way that hinders my own control over you."
Harry shook his head, the harsh reality of Voldemort's words crashing down upon him. Voldemort saw him as nothing more than a tool, an object solely for the Dark Lord's control. And Harry did not doubt that Voldemort very much believed that. Anger burned within him at the thought. "Why are you telling me all this?"
"Because you are still a child, despite your bravery and survival of experiences that many grown adults would not have been able to navigate. I want you to learn, to be wiser, more cunning so that you will no longer be another's puppet," Voldemort explained, his tone surprisingly earnest.
"Except for you, being your puppet," Harry added bitterly, feeling the chill of realization settle over him. The casual acceptance of his fate as Voldemort's pawn made him shiver with fear and resentment.
"I want you smart enough to recognize my own games. I've always been upfront that I intend to control you, that you are mine. But that does not mean I want you oblivious," Voldemort said, his red eyes locked onto Harry's. The intensity of his gaze was unsettling.
"I want you to understand the intricacies of power and manipulation, to be able to discern friend from foe, truth from lie. I want you to be formidable, Harry. The world we live in demands it, if you hope to survive. You will accept my control, but with it comes power and freedom unlike any you could have achieved under Dumbledore's restrictive guidance." Voldemort's voice was soft, passionate, and heavy with both promise and threat.
Harry, devoid of any immediate response, simply shrugged, his mind racing with the weight of the situation. He turned away from Voldemort's piercing gaze and walked back to his desk, feeling the assessing eyes follow his every movement. As he sat down, his eyes fell upon the stack of books before him, many of them dark or gray titles. It dawned on him that he had stepped into a new realm of manipulation, one he had not anticipated. The Dark Lord's control was not limited to mere commands or magical oaths; it reached into the depths of Harry's thoughts, his decisions, and even his fears.
This realization struck him like a bolt of lightning. He had been naïve and weak, a child who could be molded and manipulated by Voldemort at will. The terrifying truth settled over him: if he ever hoped for freedom or wanted even a semblance of control over his own fate, he would have to become stronger and smarter. Not just in magic but also in cunning. He had to transform himself, shed the innocence of childhood, and embrace the harsh reality of the world he was now part of.
Glaring at the ominous titles before him, Harry resolved not to be tricked again. He would learn from Voldemort, absorb every piece of knowledge, but he would not be a perfect puppet dancing to the Dark Lord's tune. Instead, he would cut the strings that bound him. It might
take time, and he knew he had a long and dangerous journey ahead, but unwavering conviction surged through him.
Yes, he thought, clenching his fists. He would learn from this experience, just as Voldemort intended. But he would use this knowledge as a weapon against his 'master.' Harry swore to himself that he would find a way to keep his friends safe and, someday, break free from the shackles that bound him. Someday, Voldemort would be caught off guard, and he wouldn't see it coming.
Chapter 14: Dark Magic
The next two month passed at an unnerving rate. Harry could scarcely believe how routine his life had become under the Dark Lord's tutelage. For the most part, he had been allowed to select the spells he learned. Initially, he had only chosen only a few spells that dabbled in the dark arts. He knew he would not be able to get away with using only light spells, given his instructor's proclivity. However, as he continued to research and expand his spell repertoire, he was loath to admit that increasingly dark spells had begun to interest him more and more.
He would be a fool not to acknowledge that there were those who genuinely wanted to do him harm. Even if Voldemort seemed to have an invested interest in his livelihood, he suspected duels like the one Bellatrix had challenged him to would become a common occurrence in the snake's den if the Death Eaters were allowed to do so. And it wasn't in the Dark Lord's nature to be overly protective; Harry knew inner fighting was inevitable, that Voldemort would want him to be able to stand up to the rest of his insane followers. In some ways, he wished Dumbledore had held him to the same standards. Voldemort did not hide the truth of the world as the elderly light wizard did. Dumbledore had expected Harry to win this war without providing any training. Voldemort was personally taking it upon himself to make sure Harry did have the power and spell repertoire to not only fight but to win.
Beyond wanting to know spells that would hold up in a duel and actually get an enemy off his back, Harry had taken a strong interest in healing. Surprisingly, almost all the healing spells that were actually useful were dark. When he'd asked Voldemort why that was, the Dark Lord had launched into a lengthy discussion on how most healing magic cost more from the caster than usual spells. It strained and even stole from the witch or wizard's life source. "Life for life," he'd explained, warning that trying too advanced of a spell could completely drain or even kill the caster.
Unlike what Harry had seen from the school medi-witch, who gave potions and healed simple injuries, the spells that interested Harry the most were castings that could actually replenish blood loss or knit together a severed appendage. Spells that could save a life if he didn't have the right potions on hand. But to do so came at a cost from the caster, a cost that could be very damaging if not deadly. Or worse, he could transfer that cost to another to bear, which is why he suspected most were classified so dark. The spells had a price, but it was indiscriminate in choosing who had to pay it.
He hated how the voice in the back of his mind, the one that sounded too similar to a young Tom Riddle for Harry's liking, concluded that those types of spells could be extremely useful in a battle. He could steal raw magic and life force from his opponent. An injury cast on him could become an advantage if he countered with the healing spell correctly, sapping energy and strength from his opponent while healing himself. If the spell used was strong enough, it could completely incapacitate them. And Voldemort had offered to teach him to cast them wandlessly.
Harry shivered, remembering the calculating look the Dark Lord had given him, knowing that the usefulness of the spell would likely outweigh the weight of Harry learning something that was squarely in the dark spell camp. Harry had almost vowed then and there not to dabble in any more dark healing, but the Slytherin had gone off and given Harry another one of his mysterious compliments, saying the teen was particularly strong, even for a teenager, and that he should not fear healing magic.
"You are already powerful enough to cast most of the spells in this book," Voldemort had declared, pointing to the copy of "Beating the Grave: A Comprehensive Guide to Holistic Healing" that Harry had brought with him into the master library. "The magic you seek to learn could save a life; you should not fear that type of power."
"You just want me to learn dark magic," Harry had grumbled in response. He hadn't expected such a seemingly genuine response.
"My young apprentice, I wouldn't dare deprive you of anything that would make you stronger, that might aid you as you continue to grow into the formidable wizard I know you're capable of." Voldemort paused, giving him an assessing look. "As we discussed during your first days here, you have a gray core, a highly versatile aptitude. While it would be limiting to study only light magic, if I thought you would be stronger using only it, I would not press you so hard to learn both sides of magic. But you are exceptional with dark magic, I know you've noticed that you pick it up quickly. To not explore it would be to handicap yourself.
You should never fear power. To do so would make you weak."
"I've never wanted to be powerful," Harry muttered back, frowning. He hated it when Voldemort took the conversation down these paths. Not because of the words, but because of how they resonated with the teen. Harry was finding it harder and harder to disagree with the Dark Lord's logic.
"Even if it could protect you? If you could protect your friends?" Voldemort asked knowingly.
"The only reason they need protection is because you've forced them into a war."
Voldemort had actually laughed; it was so human that it was unnerving. "Do you think I'm the first Dark Lord to try and drive change? The first witch or wizard to have a dissenting opinion from the sheep? Or that I will be the last? What about the creatures that roam the dark forest? The murderers and thieves waiting in the alleys to rob and leave you for dead?" Red orbs met emerald, Harry could feel the seriousness of the wizard's words settling on and around him. "The world is dangerous with or without me. I simply seek to make you strong enough to survive it."
Not having a response, Harry had turned away from the Dark Lord, returning to his studies. He hadn't crossed the healing spells off his list. And as he thought back to that day, he could not find himself regretting learning them.
Setting his fork and knife on his emptied plate, Harry leaned back in his chair, waiting for Voldemort to dismiss him. The dinner they had just shared had been a quiet affair. Harry had grown used to the Dark Lord having stretches of silence; the wizard seemed more than
content to not force conversation when it did not suit him. At first, it had made Harry worried, suspecting the Dark Lord was drawing him into some form of false comfort. But now that it had happened many times, often multiple nights a week, Harry had begun to accept that Voldemort might not have some ulterior motive, that the Slytherin usually preferred silence.
This made Harry wonder all the more why Voldemort forced the teen to dine with him, if for no other reason than he wanted Harry to become increasingly more comfortable in his presence. Which, begrudgingly, Harry had to admit, might be the case. Between nightly meals and their now-daily routine of studying and training, Harry felt much more at ease around the wizard than he had ever thought possible. Voldemort was stern and would threaten him whenever the mood suited him, but for the most part, he was patient and their arguments had become fewer and further between. While not entirely comfortable, Harry no longer felt their relationship was as antagonistic or precarious.
Setting his utensils aside, Voldemort lifted his wine glass, gazing at it pensively. Harry's own glass remained untouched before him. Every evening, he was offered wine, but he had grown too cautious to let even a drop touch his lips. Since the dark wizard had cunningly used Ron's letter against him, Harry had taken to heart the belief that the Slytherin would only use him, with no genuine care beyond his usefulness. The raven-haired youth had made an internal vow – he would do everything within his power to grow stronger, to regain control of his enslaved life on his terms. If that meant hard work and resisting senseless temptations like alcohol, so be it. He had learned the hard way, having taken even a sip on the night when Bellatrix and others had dined with them, the same night he had been challenged and defeated in a duel.
The room's atmosphere grew heavy, a silent tension enveloping Harry and Voldemort as they sat across from each other. The Dark Lord's unwavering gaze remained fixed on his wine glass, the crimson liquid swirling within, mirroring the intricate thoughts that churned within the dark wizard's mind. Harry's eyes, though averted, couldn't help but occasionally steal glances at the enigmatic wizard who held him captive.
Harry's mind drifted back to the beginning of his dark magical studies. Despite his initial resistance, he was beginning to see the logic behind Voldemort's arguments. Survival in a perilous world demanded more than just light magic. Voldemort's unsettling words seemed to offer a way to protect himself and those he cared about.
The silence in the room was finally disrupted as Voldemort placed his wine glass down and fixed his piercing gaze on Harry. "You are making excellent progress in your studies. I am pleased with how quickly you grasp new spells and how well you've adapted to this situation."
Harry looked up, meeting Voldemort's intense gaze. The red orbs that stared back at him held a depth that was hard to ignore. The compliment unsettled him. He debated whether to simply nod and accept it, but the deeper meaning bothered him. "I'm not like you," Harry said, his voice carrying a mix of defiance and uncertainty. "I don't want to become a dark wizard."
Voldemort leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, his fingers steepled beneath his chin. "I am well aware," irritation tinged his tone. "You are not like me in many ways. I would not hesitate to master this power at my fingertips. You, on the other hand, are afraid of it, avoiding it. If not for me, you'd remain a lamb waiting for Dumbledore to offer you up for slaughter." He paused, seemingly in thought. "But you are also more like me than either of us cares to admit."
Harry's thoughts turned as he considered Voldemort's words. Confusion battled within him. Their childhoods had striking similarities, and they both spoke Parseltongue. Harry had doubts about his intellectual prowess compared to the Dark Lord, but he was resourceful, quick to devise creative solutions. And Harry couldn't deny that he was becoming powerful. The spells he was mastering were not mere teenage jinxes; they had started to tap into potent, ancient magic that few knew existed. It was both exhilarating and terrifying.
"Perhaps," Harry allowed, preferring to avoid an argument. Ultimately, he hoped his choices would define him, not his power or casting repertoire. He increasingly feared that Voldemort's way of thinking was clouding his own.
His contemplation was interrupted as Voldemort took another sip of wine, then turned his gaze toward the young Gryffindor. "You recall the bargain we made, I presume?" Voldemort inquired.
Harry arched a brow. Did he mean their apprentice and master promise? How could Harry forget? He lived it every day. "Of course," he replied, his confusion evident.
"Then you will not resist when I teach you the Unforgivable Curses tomorrow?" Voldemort's question hung in the air.
Harry swallowed, his gut hollowing. Of course, he chastised himself, remembering the other promise he had made – the one to protect Ron, even though Ron had never been in any real danger. Scowling, Harry glared at the table. "I thought I wasn't strong enough to learn them," he quoted back to the Dark Lord.
He had been surprised when the Unforgivable Curses were not immediately added to his training. After the first week, his surprise had grown into deep-seated anxiety, not understanding why Voldemort had made him agree to something and then delayed the instruction. Voldemort had explained that his magic wasn't strong enough, that the Unforgivables were dark magic that could harm his core and mental stability if he rushed into learning them. All three required significant intent and conviction, and the cost to the caster could be immense if they were not adept in the dark arts. This was why light witches and wizards feared them – not only for what they did to the victim but also for what they could do to the caster. As Harry very well knew, there were plenty of ways to torture and even kill.
Voldemort had explained that it was what the Unforgivables cost the caster, which made them firmly on the dark end, but he had not gone any deeper than that, and Harry wasn't exactly eager to learn more.
"I've been monitoring your use of dark magic; your ability to cast it is increasing at a satisfying rate with no adverse impact on you."
"Adverse impact?" Harry echoed, his concern evident. This sounded far more severe than the ordinary cost of energy associated with magic.
Voldemort nodded, considering the young Gryffindor. "While what I told you about the alignment of cores with light and dark was true, there are aspects of dark magic you don't yet understand."
Harry frowned, his eyes narrowing. He held his tongue, knowing Voldemort would continue.
"As you know, dark magic exacts a toll on the caster, one that can sometimes be transferred to another. But the cost is unique. Light magic does not impose the same kind of costs."
"Light magic doesn't impose costs?" Harry interjected, puzzled.
"Of course it does," Voldemort reprimanded. "Even casting light magic tires you out. On our first day of training, you were exhausted after demonstrating the spells you knew. That's a cost, just like the fatigue you experience when casting gray or dark magic. All magic taps into your core; the more powerful you are, the more you can cast. When your castings do not align with your core, you deplete it faster. I have already explained this, Harry."
Harry's cheeks tinged with embarrassment at the reminder. While they had touched upon this, they hadn't delved deeply into core magic. He was realizing his negligence. He had agreed to learn dark magic without ensuring it wouldn't harm him – he had simply trusted Voldemort's word that he could cast it and was strong enough, that his core aligned with it.
"So, what's the difference then?" Harry asked, intrigued. "If both types of magic have a cost, why is dark magic considered so much worse?"
Voldemort's gaze remained fixed on Harry as he explained. "It's because of what casting dark magic imposes on the caster. Light magic is cast with intent and takes something from you.
Take the Patronus, for example. Strong light magic relies on feelings and intent, just like dark magic. However, strong light magic actually depletes a part of you. If you have an endless supply of happy memories, casting a Patronus would never be an issue. But if you rely on the same memory repeatedly, it weakens with each casting. If it's particularly potent, you may be able to use it your whole life since the average wizard or witch does not usually have to fight dementors and sustain it for a long time. But you could use it to an extent that the happiness is drained; eventually, that memory would no longer be strong enough."
"Do you mean to say the spell takes away the memory itself?" Harry asked, a furrow forming on his brow.
"In a sense, yes, it takes something from the memory, not the memory itself. You won't lose the memory, but the joy it once brought you will diminish over time," Voldemort explained. "The more potent the spell, the more it extracts. The simpler spells taught in school usually have little to no effect; that's why they're taught to children, and they tend to lean towards neutrality or the light. Neutral magic neither gives nor takes. Stronger spells aren't introduced until later years, and dark magic isn't taught at all. Truly potent light magic takes a toll, while dark magic leaves an imprint."
Harry found it hard to believe that a Patronus could deplete the happiness from a memory. "So, if I use the same memory over and over, it won't bring me as much joy?"
Voldemort nodded, "Precisely. You use a memory to fuel that particular spell, but there are other light spells that draw upon different sources. Intent always guides the magic. Be it a memory, hope, love, or whatever you channel, strong light magic chips away at it. Not everyone can cast such powerful spells, but those who do pay a higher price than those sticking with neutral or weaker magic."
A sneer momentarily twitched on Voldemort's otherwise stoic face. "This is yet another reason why forcing light magic on those with a darker aptitude is both cruel and inhibiting. Not everyone has experienced the emotions required to power light magic. Your magical core, while predisposed towards one of the three branches, can marginally shift. Those with harsher lives will naturally gravitate towards their strongest state. Not all are as fortunate as the people you call friends and live in ignorance with."
Thinking of Snape or even Draco, Harry could see the truth in Voldemort's words. Even Sirius, with his ancestrally dark background, made Harry wonder if he was at a disadvantage when attempting to cast light spells. Harry frowned, thinking of his own upbringing. Was this why dark magic seemed to come easy to him, why he ever preferred gray spells now that he knew what to look for. His childhood had been lonely and rough. It had taken him a very long time to find a memory happy enough to produce a Patronus.
"That same principle applies to dark magic. You've mostly encountered simple dark spells that leave you fatigued, but their cost to you is not significant. However, with more potent dark spells, like the Unforgivables, the price is much higher. Instead of simply sapping energy like the Patronus, these spells amplify and intensify the emotions within you. If you're not careful, they can begin to change you," Voldemort clarified.
Harry's voice lowered in unease as he asked, "Change me how?"
"Consider the purpose of those spells: control, harm, and death." Voldemort's red eyes bore into Harry, assessing the increasingly anxious teenager. "To cast them successfully, you must genuinely mean it, truly desire to inflict those actions. You must believe that the casting of the spell is justified. However, unlike the Patronus, which draws from a memory to cast, the Unforgivables strengthen the emotions you harness. You'll be left with those amplified emotions—whether it's hatred, satisfaction, envy, passion, fear, desire—these are all emotions that fuel dark magic. With each casting, it becomes easier. You'll find yourself less averse to casting them because the emotions needed for the spell will be closer to the surface of your mind, easier to access."
"And does this apply to all dark magic? The more I cast, the less I'll resist it?" Harry asked incredulously, running his hands through his disheveled hair, attempting to absorb the overwhelming information.
"Only with powerful dark magic. Just like light magic, the stronger the spell, the more it influences you. You've mainly encountered weak or borderline gray dark magic. Very little residue would have remained with you," Voldemort clarified.
Harry found that revelation staggering, struggling to believe it was true. Yet it resonated with him, like magic herself was attesting to its truth. Why had no one told him before that casting a Patronus could deplete the happiness from his memories? He voiced this thought aloud.
"Not many can cast truly potent spells, so it's largely irrelevant to them," Voldemort reminded. "Besides, for most people, losing some happiness from a memory is a small price to pay for avoiding the alternative—having your soul sucked out. It's not like you cast these spells every day. Potent spells serve a specific purpose; you don't use them casually. And you can always draw on different memories. But they do consume your magical core, just like any other spell, but to a greater extent. And on the light side, mustering and sacrificing positive emotions is largely viewed as a sacrifice worthy to make. They are biased, claiming the dark should not be allowed to make the same personal decision. They fear what changes dark magic can make while utterly ignoring the cost of light magic."
Harry couldn't help but point out, "You enjoy torturing people, I could see them wanting to deter you from using strong dark magic. Wanting to use it more often."
Voldemort smirked, "Indeed, but I don't fear the emotions that fuel it. I hold most people in contempt, and I have no qualms about harming those who obstruct my path. As you're aware, I possess extraordinary power, and I don't easily tire from using magic. Dark magic does not change me, instead I am empowered to act more true to the character I was born with."
Harry frowned, not entirely buying that explanation. It seemed like a deflection. "So, the same will happen to me?" he pressed. "I'll start to dislike people more, feel contempt if I learn the Unforgivables?"
The Slytherin chuckled lightly, gazing at the teen with a shocking display of fondness. "Given your stubbornness, you're unlikely to feel much change unless you use them daily. These feelings aren't your natural state, as they are mine. I'm not telling you this to persuade you to attempt the Unforgivables; you've already committed to learning them. I'm explaining so that you comprehend what casting them entails, so you don't fear them for the wrong reasons."
Sighing, Harry glanced down at his mostly empty plate. "Why are you explaining this now? Why did you delay me learning them?"
He glanced back up, meeting musing scarlet eyes. "Because I want you to be informed. I'll require that you learn them, and I'll force you to do many things that you will fight. However, as I've told you, I won't keep you in the dark. I won't conceal the truth from you. Regarding the timing, I wanted to observe how you reacted to dark magic. Most of the dark spells you've learned weren't exceptionally powerful, but a few were stronger. I needed to see how you handled them to ensure that teaching the Unforgivables wouldn't endanger you. It was unwise for you to learn the Patronus at such a young age; it's a highly potent spell, and your magical core wasn't fully developed. Your instructor put you at risk of magical depletion.
Fortunately, you're exceptionally powerful, or you could have been harmed."
Harry reflected on this revelation, once again questioning his magical education. No one had ever explained the cost of magic to him, what strong magic, light or dark, could do. It seemed
like such a foundational thing. Why was it neglected so completely? Did Hogwarts not want students to test the limits of magic? Were they afraid of what might be discovered?
Breaking the silence, Voldemort's tone softened slightly. "Knowledge is power, Harry. I've shared this with you not to manipulate or frighten you but to ensure you grasp the complexities of magic, its costs, and its consequences. Thankfully, I am highly skilled in magic. I won't endanger you during our training; I understand your capabilities and limits. However, I won't allow you to remain in ignorance. You possess immense potential.
Together, we'll unlock it, and then you can decide who you want to be: the ignorant and vulnerable boy who arrived in my manor with no means to protect himself or his friends, or the strong, intelligent, and shrewd individual you're becoming—someone whom others will think twice about crossing, whether from the light or the dark side. You are not a puppet, Harry."
Harry nodded slowly, the weight of the conversation settling heavily upon him. The world he once knew had transformed into something far more complex, and he was no longer the naive boy who had entered Hogwarts years ago. "I don't want to become like you. I don't want those emotions to dominate me."
Voldemort responded with a sly remark, "From what I've heard, you've already cast the torture curse willingly. You weren't as concerned when you had your godfather's murderer at wand-point."
Harry's mind raced back to the day in the Ministry, the night when Sirius had been lost to the veil. He had cast the spell, even if just for a fleeting moment, on Bellatrix, and he couldn't find it within himself to regret that decision.
"I cast it recklessly. I didn't understand what I was doing or the cost of dark magic," he admitted quietly.
Voldemort regarded him with an assessing gaze. "Then you prove my point. No one has taught you; no one has guided you. That's where the true danger lies. I won't allow the dark arts to turn you into an empty vessel, craving pain and running around on raw hate-filled emotions like Bellatrix. Under my instruction, you'll learn to appreciate the power at your disposal, to control it. It will not control you."
The Dark Lord rose from his seat. "Our training has barely begun, Harry. Tomorrow, I will instruct you in the Unforgivable Curses. I intended to teach you powerful light magic as well, nothing will be outside of your reach. And I will teach you to no longer fear power. That is my promise to you."
Voldemort turned, heading to the exit that led to his wing of the manor. His soft black robes whispered over the stone floor as he silently departed, leaving Harry alone with his thoughts. The young Gryffindor remained seated for a while, his mind abuzz with questions and uncertainties.
Eventually, Harry stood up, beyond confused. The world was no longer simply black and white; he had to navigate the shades of gray. He would have to learn how to control magic, not let it control him and he could see no way to escape it.
As he made his way to his sleeping quarters, a sense of foreboding loomed over him. It seemed preposterous that a teenage boy could hold so much influence, but he was beginning to accept the possibility that maybe he might. The two most formidable wizards of their time were vying for control over him. Both had sacrificed much time and effort to have him in their grasp. And right now, the dark side had a much firmer grasp on him, and was shaping his training, maybe even his destiny. And he did not know how to stop it.
Sighing, Harry entered his quarters. He did not see a way out of learning the Unforgivable. Would they change him. Was this the beginning of the end? Dropping heavily onto his bed, Harry did not find himself eager to meet the next day.
AN: Thanks for reading, drop a review if you're enjoying this fic 😊