Chapter 24
Harry went for an early breakfast on Saturday, not feeling like any more social interaction in the dorm than was strictly necessary. More to the point, he could do without seeing Nott's face for the rest of the year.
As he sat down at the nearly empty table, it was strange to consider that pleasant things like Hogwarts breakfast would continue, however the world was governed. Harry was munching on some scrambled eggs when a couple of chatty eleven or twelve year-olds - hard to tell these days - sat down nearby in blue Ravenclaw attire. As if on cue, a handful of early-owl Daily Prophets flew into the great hall.
One of the group received her copy and they burrowed into the front page. As they flipped the cover and stared at the headline, the sudden silence became loud in Harry's ears. He ignored the screaming capitals across from him, his thoughts turning to Hedwig. Where would she be staying now? He hoped she was safe in Hagrid's care. He would already have heard if she were dead… right?
Thinking of Hedwig somehow made him think of Ginny. Needing something to do, he grabbed his school bag to take a look at his class schedule.
The little piece of paper had appeared on his pillow when he closed the curtains of his four-poster last night, a welcome contrast to the chaos of the last few days. Its tidy message was a stark reminder that going to class was a privilege when there was a war going on (at least in his eyes; the deal was sealed as far as Voldemort was concerned).
He eyed it now with growing distaste: the days were just as full as before his little clinch with mortality and evil soul pieces. 'Junior's meeting' it said at one p. Sunday. It was held in the same classroom as the first one, on the seventh floor.
"Oh come on," he murmured.
Across from him the girl and the two boys jerked, lowering their newspaper, then tensed when they spotted him. Harry waved a palm dismissively, and they hurriedly returned to their reading.
"You've got to be kidding," he muttered again. Future Death Eater socializing was now also part of the curriculum?
Let's say he wouldn't go.
He rubbed hard at his eyes. Let's say Draco told Snape when he didn't show.
"Morning, Harry."
Luna appeared next to him, taking a seat, her face brightening. She wore a scarf whose colours changed with dizzying speed through all possible hues of blue. It dawned on him that he was sitting at the Ravenclaw table. Which hardly mattered nowadays: many students felt that whatever differences existed between the three other Houses, they had become insignificant now.
Harry's smile felt a bit rusty when he returned it. Luna turned her head to study him a moment.
"Good," she said. "You look stronger."
His right hand spasmed at that and he quickly put it below the table top. It wanted to draw his wand, as if to prove her point right then and there. "I'd better be, right?" he returned.
She nodded, though he wasn't sure she was agreeing. "You're like Albus in that way. He brings that out, I think. He's a mirror for what you can do."
His scar twinged now. He forced his breaths to stay calm. "You mean Albus is?"
The teapot floated over to fill her cup while she took a serving of mashed potatoes and boiled eggs. "No, Tom."
Harry ate another fork of eggs to distract himself from the jolt in his chestat the name. Still, some of the weight on his thoughts lightened at being able to talk about it, however indirectly. Did she mean Voldemort was a reflection of what Harry might become? Or what he wanted to become?
How could she sound so ambiguous and yet so spot-on?
"You mean," he said in an undertone, glancing around – the group across from them had left, taking the Prophet with them – "he pushes me to become more… like him?"
"No, better!" she said in a fierce whisper. "To become your best self."
Harry couldn't help it: he started laughing. "Next you'll be saying he 'makes me want to be a better man'."
Luna burst into cackles as well. Once the chuckles began it was hard to stop. Soon they were both wheezing with silent mirth, shoulders shaking. Harry bowed his head to wipe away a few stray tears. It was refreshing, rather like coming back from a good hot bath.
He sent a thought to the foreign presence – but all stayed quiet. Luna finally reigned in her chuckles and stood. "Let's take a walk."
Harry took a moment to scan the tables. Luna seemed to read his mind: "Ron is still finishing up his groundwork duties. He'll be back by ten though."
Ah. Quidditch practice. "Wonder what they made of the tryouts," he said as they made their way to the back. Harry had missed the tryouts last week, but Ron assured him he'd be on a team… somewhere. It was all rather vague.
Based on what he could gather from common room talk, when the official game had closed down courtesy of Snape's joyful personality, the Slytherin team had been quick to test the waters. Though half expected, no angry teachers had stormed the grounds the moment they got on their brooms; the signal for everyone to continue practice as usual, whether illegal or not.
"Oh you'll see," was Luna's helpful reply. They passed into the entrance hall just when rush hour started, setting out for the lake.
"How was it, seeing Malfoy… after?" Luna asked.
Oh, just a wee bit satisfying. "Awkward. He seems… uprooted, or something."
"No wonder, with all that's happened. It must be everything he's ever wanted – all he's ever been able to imagine, this pureblood vision of how the wizarding world should look like. And now it's real."
"And reality's a bitch," Harry finished for her. Luna grinned as her long hair moved with the autumn wind.
They rounded the lake, there was no Giant Squid to greet them: the water was a mirror for the sky. They chose a big tree to sit under, and Luna started collecting rocks. She turned out to be a pro in the art of stone skipping. Harry soon learned there was only one right angle to take. A few tries in and he got the hang of it, closing in on Luna's scores.
A shout behind them drew their attention towards the direction of the castle. Dean and Ron were strolling over, spotting them, with Dean holding something large and heavy bundled in a sack on one shoulder. Halting next to them, he put it down with a sigh. "Harvest," he explained when he saw their wandering gaze.
Somehow Harry found it hard to lift his eyes to meet Ron's gaze, as if a hand was pressing down on his eyelids. After a beat he did.
Ron stared.
Harry's face felt equally frozen. Luna cut through the tension with her usual weightless commentary.
"You mean the Grigglebonders? They've become huge in my garden."
"Eh…" Dean rubbed at his sweaty forehead with a muddy hand, raising his eyebrows at Harry. He felt relieved that Dean still considered him part of the group. Then he felt annoyed at his own caring, and wondered whose annoyance it was.
Ron's hands and arms were dirty as well, looking like he came straight from Herbology class.
Luna appeared slightly puzzled herself. "I thought that's why you're not using magic."
"Nah, it's not allowed, some of the plants are very sensitive," Dean explained.
Throughout their exchange Ron kept silent, staring Harry down, his expression pained as if there was something he was burning to ask. Harry suddenly realised what it was.
He shook his head and shrugged – I don't know.
Ron's eyes closed, but Harry couldn't tell if he was relieved or not at the news.
"Hey, Ron," he tried to find words, feeling slightly awkward, "get me up to speed with the new team, will you? Practice starts in ten minutes."
Ron jerked his head. "Sure, let's get our brooms."
Harry couldn't shake the feeling that Ron didn't know quite how to deal with him. They left Dean to explain the intricacies of the Hogwarts potions gardens to an avid Luna – which he seemed happy to do, although a certain flatness never left his voice – and trudged up to the castle entrance. There they split up, Ron for Gryffindor Tower and Harry for the dungeons to get his Firebolt. Back outside on the grounds the time was down to four minutes of privacy. They took a roundabout path through tall grass to avoid classmates.
"She knows something that makes her a target," Harry started without preamble. "That's why she fled."
"If that's the case, I think she must be safe then," Ron said. They were silent for a few moments, the different possibilities hanging between them.
"Is it about- him?"
Harry nodded. Something twisted low in his gut and he felt his heart pick up pace.
"Listen, Ron, there's something important I need to tell you," he murmured. "I'm not- you can't-" He tried again. "Something has changed. With me."
His lips closed, refused to obey him any further.
"What do you mean?" Ron's eyes narrowed when he firmly shook his head. "You can't say. Some kind of curse? Never mind. Probably something to do with the scar situation if you're so cryptic and I'm used to that, so… I'll be careful, alright mate? I know what to watch for when you're... getting weird," he finished dryly.
Changing into Quidditch gear just like old times, Harry noticed the corners of his mouth wanted to tug upwards, and it was definitely not Riddle.
At that point the rest of the team trickled into the changing rooms. Harry saw school outfits from various Houses and threw a pointed look Ron's way. His friend's grin turned a bit pain. "New Decree of Snivellus," he said in reply.
By the end of his explanation, Harry felt like tearing some hair out. It turned out Quidditch was also on the list of things that would never get back to how they were. The teams had been forced to adjust to the new rule, which declared that Muggleborns were not allowed to leave the castle outside of regular school duties without the express permission from their Head of House. Katie Bell had bravely tried explaining to Snape their need to use the grounds for practice, to which he had apparently replied:
Miss Bell, haven't you heard my speech at the beginning of the school year, in which I abolished the practice of Quidditch at Hogwarts?
"In short it means muggleborn students are unable to play, since they can't train, or participate in the games," Ron said. "So yeah, Dean took it hard."
He thought back to Dean's listless pose. Working throughout the weekend and no Quidditch to look forward to would put even Dean in a grim mood. Still, he'd switch with him anytime.
He felt a mocking smirk start on his face at that thought, the shape taking form by an otherness pulling at his features. He quickly ducked his head, blood thrumming in his throat. It was a horrible powerless feeling, each time. And maddening, for Riddle to push through the moment Harry had forgotten about him for a second. Half the time he didn't even know what the hell the other meant with his mute commentary.
"You alright mate?"
Harry nodded, straightening. He pierced nails into his arm – but no answer. Riddle reminded him of Malfoy, and he wondered at the boy's stealth. Really, why did they still bother… he was hardly going to be attacked a second time on Hogwarts grounds.
"Alright," Ron went on with a forced lightness, "I see what you mean by the way..."
He had probably been drifting off for too long. To Ron's credit he didn't miss a beat as he went on: "So without the Muggleborns, three of the four teams are dealing with shortages – the exception being Slytherin of course."
He kicked at a spot of grass, shaking loose a clump of earth. "Since we simply don't have the right numbers, keeping our four teams isn't possible any longer. Yes, the second formation we discussed," he told Katie Bell in passing. "We had to cut one out to keep enough players for the other two. Now we have two teams left to fight the snake bastards."
Harry scowled at that, frustration bubbling in his fingers. This would only cause more of a polarisation effect in a school that was already scarring from the fighting between the two factions. Slytherin still had the means to fill up all twelve places and more, never having allowed any Muggleborns on their team, which drew the war lines neatly into the school game.
"Of course they're insufferable about it," Ron sneered. "They have two spots still open – I think so they can get bribes from the candidates or something, it's ridiculous."
The players trickled onto the pitch, a couple of them greeting Harry warmly, but most looking grim as they formed half a circle around Ron. Harry sighed. It was going to be like that again. Like no one wanted to be near him. The worst thing was that he couldn't really blame them.
"On the upside…" Ron was grinning now, and Harry was sure it was meant to distract him, "Now we can make our own schedules! Everyone agrees the old rates were a drag, right. Which means more Quidditch for us!"
888
After practice – a dull affair compared with last year, now that most everyone was ignoring their infamous Seeker – Harry felt a sudden need to be alone. He trudged up to the Owlery, thinking once more of his old friend Hedwig. She had to be alright. He had to trust in that, or Hagrid would waste no time informing him otherwise.
The slightly musty smell of the attic-like structure and its welcome association with friendly and mundane things made him take a deep breath. He sagged into a corner of straw, head in his hands, listening to the near-silence.
How long could he sustain this… this duality?
By the time he went down he had no sense of the hour. Malfoy was standing at the foot of the staircase, scowling him down silently.
Harry narrowed his eyes, jerking a hand upwards. "What?"
Malfoy kept silent, gaze smouldering like he was ready for a fight. Harry passed him with a shove to his shoulder. The kitchens would be his next stop, he decided. Considering the blonde's hysterics last time he was there, he was sure Malfoy wouldn't follow. He was right.
The ruling powers, it seemed, kept them both tightly in the vices of their fates.
888
Ron was occupied for the whole of the afternoon as well. Which sucked, because his old friend was about the only person he could stand right now. He felt antsy. It was all too much – the mass of students, the oppressive school intrigues. The sizzle of magic seeping from Dark Marks nearby as he slept, old abetters in attempted murders allowed to share his dormitory…
However much he was idling the afternoon away, talking to Dobby, tracking down Nagini or trying to – she was nowhere to be found – evening still came too soon, foreshadowing the dreaded meeting tomorrow.
Neville caught him on his way to dinner with a hand on his shoulder. He forced a smile, which cut through the numbness that was taking hold of him.
"Harry! Looking better I see."
"I am."
Neville's gaze was piercing, almost as much as Dumbledore's. "When you're done with dinner I want to show you something."
"Sure." Neville turned again. "Wait, you're not coming?"
Neville shook his head, padding his bag. Harry realised he had come from the direction of the kitchens. "I have some to go. I'm allowed to assist with managing the gardens."
Harry felt his eyebrows climb upwards. "That's impressive."
Neville shrugged. "Got to keep busy, right?" And off he went.
Predictably, Ron wasn't at dinner either. Harry hoped he had some to go as well. After another sit-down at Ravenclaw table with Luna, where animosity against him was the lowest, rational minds that they were, he took to the grounds again to look for his Gryffindor friends. Parvati, who had shared a meal with her sister, insisted on joining him.
They found Neville at the greenhouses. He didn't mind her tailing along, leading them into a greenhouse crammed with brown-leaved plants.
"Burning bushes!" Parvati explained.
"Spot on," Neville said, glowing a bit with pleasure. "It's dittany," he explained turning to Harry. "It has powerful healing properties."
"Impressive," Parvati murmured. "Aren't they just impossible to keep satisfied?"
"They have a tricky diet, yes." To Harry he muttered: "But lately, rare ingredients have been coming from everywhere, so now we have plenty in stock – and what to do with it all, hm?"
It was clear from his tone it was a rhetorical question. Harry shot a glance at Parvati. Neville gave a solemn nod. She could be trusted.
But then could he? He swallowed. What was Neville going to tell him that the Dark Lord was going to rip out of his mind sooner or later?
Apparently something showed in his face, because Neville said: "Don't worry, it's nothing… illegal. Not quite in the books though…" He grinned. The Voldemort camp was not their sole recipient, then.
Harry grinned back despite the twinge in his gut. "Great work."
Neville jerked his head. "Come on, let's go find Ron and Dean."
The two Gryffindors were just finishing up when they found them. Night was falling, with large shadows seeping around them. "Do you have to work tomorrow as well?" he asked Ron, who grimaced a yes as the four of them turned back to the castle.
Something didn't add up. "Say Dean, if you're not allowed out on the grounds, how come they let you do the gardening?"
"Because they're filthy hypocrites who can't do menial work if it would save their lives, that's why," Dean replied sharply.
"Just a little while," Parvati was saying softly, rubbing Dean's back, clearly referring to something ongoing. Harry clenched his jaw, thinking he needed to get out of earshot soon if this continued.
He needn't have worried: in the next moment they all fell silent at the sight of Draco Malfoy leaning casually against one of the Medieval castle doors blackened with age. He was twirling his wand in a manner that sent prickles over Harry's back.
"So, Weasley, how was gardening today?"
Ron turned sharply at that, but when Neville touched his sleeve he shut his mouth again, crossing the threshold with a determent look.
Malfoy had seen the move. "Ah, Longbottom, I see aunt Bella has yet to find the time to pay you a visit."
Neville blanched.
It's Bellatrix to you, Draco, Harry wanted to say, the thought wafting coldness. His shoulders lost their tension. Nodding towards the others to move along – they hesitated but he insisted with an intense gaze – he waited until they were far enough along before he came to a stop in front of the boy. He knew what would irk him to no end.
"Now Draco, behave."
Malfoy's mouth twisted. "You've got some-"
But Harry's rage sat close to the surface these days. "What does it mean when you talk to Neville about your insane aunt, hm?" He tilted his head, eyes searing. "It means 'Someone has tortured your parents and gave them the most excruciating death possible, and she is going to come looking for you soon.' That's,"- with every other word he jabbed a finger into Draco's chest– "what you mean when you say that."
Malfoy's eyes flashed, though he appeared a bit unsure by Harry's outburst.
"So let's say," – Harry tapped his chin in a show of deep thinking, eyes roaming the shadowed arches above – "we apply that to your situation, what would we get... Ah, I know!"
Something or Riddle's must have come up along with the restless energy coursing through him, because next thing he knew he had them whirled around, left arm nearly clenching off the air in Draco's windpipe, wand pressed against the back of his neck and mouth whispering near his ear:
"We get your mother, screaming in pain from The Dark Lord's Cruciatus, voice turning hoarse, urinating on the floor because she's been under it too long already-"
His thoughts filled with an image of Narda, which only increased the itch in his fingertips, urged on by a Mark so near, the itch to tear and burn-
His head cocked, imagining the scene. "Ah but your father is a proud one, isn't he?"
Draco didn't respond, trembling ever so slightly.
"He turns his head away at the smell, can't stand to watch anymore as his wife-"
"Sh-shut up."
Harry stilled, like a switch turned. "What was that?"
He loosened his grip and took a step back, leaning far to the side to catch Draco's eyes.
Malfoy looked away, squaring his shoulders. "You're exaggerating. I was merely telling Longbottom to watch his back, because you never know-"
"Yesssss – what?" Harry hissed, nearly a shout.
Draco's eyes had widened a little. "You never know who might have it in for him."
"Precisely," Harry agreed. He circled Malfoy, who turned to keep him in view. "Take a leaf from your own book, Draco. Because you never know when I might lose my patience with your pathetic prancing," he went on in a murmur – it was a melodic sound, a distant, pleasant river like the Latin that had flown through him a while back. "And when I do, you better be watching your back, watch it well…"
With that he turned on his heels, light cloak drifting around him as he took the dungeon stairs.
Draco was holding his wand poised. But somehow Harry knew there was no need to watch his back.
888
The next morning dawned at a pleasant late hour for Harry. Yawning, he noticed the dormitory was nearly empty. Draco was away.
He felt a bit weird, thinking about the other boy. It felt similar to an alternative scenario in which he had, in a bout drunken aggression, been spouting nonsense at his classmate. In the clarity of day he considered that most likely he hadn't entirely been himself last night. He could admit to himself – but only for a second – that on a less conscious level he might have welcomed it even, this excuse to lose control.
His cheeks heated up at that thought, while at the same time his stomach clenched.
This thing, this unwanted experiment with the other – it was not going well, all things considered. What would Hermione say, he wondered. Go to McGonagall, probably.
He went up to the kitchens again for a late morning snack, then all the way to Gryffindor Tower. In the common room Ron, Parvati and Dean let him join in on a game of Exploding Snap, and he forgot about his clash for a while. Except for his yearmates everyone else kept far away, which was fine by him. Visiting McGonagall was far from his mind when they went for lunch. Dean told them a story about luring the soldiers guarding the gardens into a nest of snakes.
Their laughter was interrupted by Snape's rigid figure approaching their part of the table. Midstride, Ron was told to follow. Snape did not check to see if he followed. Ron shrugged and went, though not before snatching two sandwiches and taking his half glass of pumpkin juice in one gulp.
When the clock struck one the rest of their group split up, with Dean and Neville going back up to the common room (fortunately they were relieved of their duties for the rest of the day) while Harry once more walked up to the seventh floor corridor with great reluctance.
The door to the classroom stood open – a murmur of voices inside. He was late.
He felt calm return in his limbs along with a drawn-out sigh. Riddle's brand of stoicism smoothed the worry from his eyes. Immediately he tried to tense – couldn't. Annoyance still reached to his balling hands, though. He walked in.
Already there, standing near the back was… Ron.
Harry's tongue lay stuck to the roof of his mouth. What was Ron doing here?
The others had noticed the Gryffindor as well and were quietly speculating about his presence. Draco was smirking. Not for the first time, Harry itched to yank his Mark and hear him scream.
His feet took him to Ron in no time at all. His friend's shoulders were hunched and he was sporting a tense frown.
"Ron," he murmured, catching his gaze. There was fear there, and uncertainty. He felt more than heard his classmates rally closer. The door shut with a low echo. Then, silence. Harry still held his gaze, willing his own to convey confidence and strength.
Footsteps coming closer, soft, Watanabe's.
He whispered the only thing he could think of with so little time. "I'm here with you, Ron."
Ron swallowed, starting to shake a little.
"Children of the revolution."
Harry froze at the new voice. He turned around stiffly.
Lord Voldemort was standing in the middle of the room, having glided in on silent feet. Watanabe stood off to the side. For their impassive faces, they looked almost like brothers, although Voldemort's eyes held an unholy gleam below the surface.
"Some of your classmates think that I value only a select few in the magical population – those most fanatical supporters of my reign. This is a lie that is actively encouraged by the rebels."
Voldemort's cloak drifted in an unseen wind around him, like black ink in water. Harry's classmates looked on tense, some even afraid. An unexpected visit then.
The Dark Lord went on in that mesmerizing soft tone: "Today I will demonstrate that all magical blood is of paramount importance to me, whether it be a soldier's in my army or even a rebel's. The true blood after all, is what makes us the superior human race."
Harry's insides felt like he had missed a step on the stairs. He looked over at Ron from the corner of his eye and found him staring at Voldemort with unconcealed disgust. Was it to conceal the puzzlement lurking there? He wished then that Ron had been sorted into another house, any other house which did not harness itself with pride.
"Ronald Weasley," the Dark Lord drawled, turning towards the red-head standing firm near the opposite wall. Ron lifted his chin in brooding silence.
"You have drawn Lord Voldemort's attention – a first for your family."
Voldemort drew closer, a wreath come to collect a debt owed. By now Harry was used to the man's presence, but Ron's freckles had turned white in a beat; he looked to be biting his tongue.
Harry stepped aside, not wanting to draw even more attention and make things worse for his friend. But as the nightmare of their lives closed the distance he wondered if Ron would see it as an act of abandonment. Too late now.
A mere meter from the boy, Voldemort started to leisurely pace up and down the length of the classroom.
The silence in the large space deepened. To his left, Zabini clenched his hands into fists before covering them with his sleeves. Draco had stopped smiling, at least. Watanabe stood off to Ron's other side, hands folded behind him like a soldier waiting for his next order. Harry couldn't tell if the turn of events surprised him or not. He could hear the blood roaring through his temples as he was forced to watch the scene play out.
Voldemort's eyes shot to the side to pin Ron down. His head tilted in a snakelike, almost considerate manner. Harry knew that look painfully well.
He came to a stop. "You have been given fair warning, have you not?"
Ron stayed silent. It looked though, like the Dark Lord could wait all day. Meanwhile, Harry's mind was churning. Why- how had Ron been caught?
Finally Ron spoke: "Did you expect us to just… roll over and swallow every petty torture the Carrows can come up with?"
Harry clenched his jaw hard. The expected Crucio didn't come.
"Of course not," Voldemort answered and he sounded so reasonable… Harry wished he would just start hissing like he used to, lose control like the madman he was – not this… this temperance.
"If the Carrows have misbehaved, rest assured they will be punished accordingly. I believe all those with magical abilities deserves fair consideration in my empire," he continued softly, turning to encompass their audience. "This is why all students at Hogwarts whatever their background or blood status, have signed an accountability contract for their families."
Of course, 'fair' was quite an elastic concept in a country where only a select few in the Dark Lord's favour got all the privileges. The contract was news to Harry, but clearly not to anyone else. It sounded ominous; the student would be held accountable for their family's actions, and the other way around.
This infraction wasn't about the Order, however – at least not on the surface. He wasn't entirely convinced it was about the Carrows' tastes either.
His stomach burned then with a horrible insight: the Veritaserum.
That afternoon last week had been so hazy in his thoughts, not least because of his new passenger – he couldn't remember half the things he'd admitted to. But it was obvious now. He hadn't spared a thought to the betrayal of his friend when he told The Dark Lord of Ron's contact with the Order… whom days ago, Harry had seen securing a mission in the Ministry and generally pissing Voldemort off…
The only real traitor in this room was Harry.
"Speaking of which…" Tom Riddle murmured next, like an afterthought. "You take after your father. I hear he misplaced himself as well."
Ron seemed to fall into a deeper kind of stillness, like this was something expected, his face showing a mixture of fear and pride. All the eyes in the room swung from Ron's frozen form to the Dark Lord strolling back and forth, back and forth.
"And the Weasley's are big on family."
A few of his classmates chuckled, though Harry clearly heard a threat. A shallow smirk slipped over the Dark Lord's features. He raised a hand in a casual gesture. "Now as I explained, I hate to spill magical blood when it's not necessary." Voldemort came to a stop right in front of Ron, and Harry had to strain to hear. "You are still young enough to prove yourself, aren't you?"
Ron visibly swallowed.
"Will you take the Mark?"
Harry heard a few intakes of breath. It wasn't a question – Voldemort didn't do asking. Ron's eyes narrowed, perhaps in pain, before he closed them. When they opened they skidded left to find Harry.
Harry was pinned in place by the gazes that followed. His friend seemed to be urging him for something. His palms were starting to sweat under that stare, the silence drawing out like the dull boom of a giant pendulum. Time slowed to a crawl as Ron's life was about to be ruined.
Voldemort, following Ron's gaze, turned to regard him as well.
"Oh, Harry won't mind."
It was such a casual, out of place reassurance that Harry felt his lips twitch in annoyance. His classmates would surely wonder. The man seemed to be waiting for something, so Harry forced himself to hiss in Parseltongue:
"Will you leave him unharmed otherwise?"
"Ah, that depends… What will you give me instead?"
Harry wreaked his mind. Came up empty.
"Think upon it. I will be at the school next week. Then you will give me your answer."
Voldemort switched back to Ron. "Perhaps this is an honour you are not worthy of." Harry felt dizzy from the sudden change in manner: his tone wafted ice, malice – anticipation. His patience had run out.
"For your sake, let's hope your father will be."
That brought Ron out of his stupor. "No!" he cried in a hoarse voice. "No I'll- I'll do it. I'll take the Mark."
Watching it happen didn't make him feel any more part of the room than if he saw the scene through the glass of a pensive. Ron was led to the centre by Watanabe – such a normal, bright classroom in Hogwarts, where things like this shouldn't be possible – and was told to kneel.
Harry was shaking as well now. Glancing at his classmates he saw their expressions ranged from bafflement to fascination. It probably seemed like far too much trouble, and honour, for a traitor.
To Harry though, it was perfectly obvious. His followers might view the Mark as an honourable brand of membership, or friendship even, but to Riddle its purpose was solely practical: shackle their magical cores, wring them dry if they became difficult.
That's what would happen to Ron, he realised with a jolt, if he betrayed the Dark Lord a second time. Harry had to warn him… He wanted badly to join him on the ground, make this easier somehow – but he knew it might anger the Dark Lord, and make the Marking ceremony hurt worse.
Kneel, old friend.
The words formed close to his ears, echoing weirdly.
A memory tried to take hold. He shook his head, willing himself to be in the present, but his resolve faltered when he saw who it was kneeling down to receive the Mark. Watanabe, smiling.
"This will hurt, but only for a moment," he murmured, excited but nervous as well this time. Nervous!
He nearly chuckled at himself – he was never nervous. But this was the person who had aligned a much respected country towards his vision of wizardom. This was his- ally, not really a minion.
But no, he couldn't afford to think like that. He was after all superior to all of them, even this ageless samurai…
"Extent your left arm."
Harry shook loose and back into himself. Beads of sweat were forming on Ron's forehead. Harry felt a sudden wild anger: why here, in view of their bullying year mates?
The Dark Lord's claw gripped his friend's wrist and turned his palm upwards.
His friend would be serving the man who had killed his sister. The itch to go for his wand was nearly unbearable then. Harry's magic drifted outwards, a physical presence like a layer over his skin. A hot rush of something sunk down in his belly – the same feeling he had before, with Bellatrix.
Voldemort placed his wand over the tender flesh just below Ron's wrist.
Breathe, he thought to himself, don't make a scene. Later. It was a small mercy that the Tom in his head was still quiet.
"Morsmordre," Voldemort murmured, and it was like something ripped through Harry's head, an electrical current. Harry hissed in pain but it was drowned out by another sound: Ron screaming.
Inky black threads crawled from the wand down Ron's arm, pooling into the shape of a skull. A snake oozed from its mouth, shivering and shimmering for a moment before the Mark stilled, the black turning dull underneath Ron's skin.
The sound that came from his friend's throat hit Harry like a bone-scraping curse. He almost hurled himself forward to try and get Voldemort's sticky magic off of him. His scar seared like the skin would flake off any second…
He swayed on his feet. Someone caught him.
"Steady there Mr. Potter," Watanabe whispered behind him.
Harry looked down to where Ron was curling into himself. Voldemort had let go of him in the same way one let go of an empty bottle of wine that was no longer of interest. Watanabe's grip seemed to tighten, as if he was afraid Harry was going to do something foolish. His scattered thoughts went back in time, to Lupin's fierce hold when all Harry wanted to do was follow Sirius through the Veil.
Ron lay very still. Voldemort walked out without a word, Watanabe on his heels.
888
Monday morning Potions class.
A new and creepy habit of Slughorn's was to stand at the back of the class during brewing time, when all students might feel his critical gaze burning in their necks. Harry wondered if perhaps this was because of the reputation of the Slytherins.
One desk ahead, Neville doused the fire underneath his cauldron with a routine-like gesture. The smoke still drifted as a painful reminder of his – was it his third? – failed attempt at the Draught of Living Death. Behind Harry, Draco sniggered.
Harry squeezed his eyes for a second, trying to keep the soft pull of sleep at bay. His own potion was simmering blue-grey, with large bells of air welling up to the surface every few seconds. According to the textbook this meant the potion was nearly done.
It was no wonder really, that he had managed so well this time: Zabini, who had offered to partner up, was a natural. If only Harry could rub off that constant weight on his eyelids.
Ron was absent.
After tending to Ron lying near-catatonic on his four-poster for all that remained of Sunday, he hadn't slept a wink in his own dormitory. When his roommates came in, Ron had quickly covered up the 'atrocity' as he called it. Neville was persistent though. News of what happened travelled fast of course. No praise of his bravery and success in keeping the Order's secrets seemed to matter to Ron, or reach him.
Ron was cursed and trapped now to a monster, like Harry was. Harry was surprised that Voldemort would leave it at that, but then realised the Dark Lord could summon Ron for interrogation any time he wanted.
Hermione, he thought again. We need Hermione.
Slughorn coughed delicately. Harry jumped a little at the sound: the clock read the hour, class was over.
Beside him his class partner was just finishing up their supplies. Zabini glanced at Harry but didn't say anything. It took a beat before Harry realised he was frowning, and it was real concern. He quickly focused his gaze back on the teacher.
Slughorn said: "I would like to remind those of you who are Muggleborn that this will be the potion on your brewing schedule for Saturday afternoon. If you still feel that you may need some assistance, my door is always open to you in the evenings for questions, except of course during the weekend. I might even have some excellent crystallised pineapple for the occasion.That is all, everyone."
Outside, Neville fell into step beside him, as Zabini merged with the Slytherins.
"Bless him for saying 'Muggleborn'."
"Yes," Harry agreed.
"Say, let's take some hot cocoa in the kitchens. You look like you could use it."
Harry nodded, thinking since he went so often he should make camp there, with only House Elves to bother him. In the large open space of the kitchen the elves were busy getting the food transported to the floor above.
They sat down on two tiny footstools in the corner. Dobby was away, probably cleaning a mansion or other.
"Ahrg!" Neville jumped up from his stool next, backing away in fear.
They had forgotten to close the little kitchen door, and it was now filled with snake – pounds and pounds of snake.
"Nagini, hello," Harry greeted, strolling over to her. "You know you're scaring the elves right?"
"Harry?"
"It's all right Nev," Harry said over his shoulder, lifting her up when she commanded it. "She likes to sit near the fire."
"I suppose," Neville muttered back. "Ehm, you'll be alright? I think I'm off to lunch, then."
Harry waved him off with a reassuring smile. He conjured a more comfortable fauteuil and sat down with the snake's cold weight around his neck. The elves kept a wide distance.
"Master always fetches me eggs to digest in front of the fire."
"Raw probably," Harry said to himself, and asked one of the elves for them. Content with her eggs and her fire, Nagini nestled into Harry's lap to sleep. Harry looked down at his charge.
"Uhm, I have class you know," he said but she didn't stir. In the end he managed to carefully fold her onto the chair before slipping out.
He saw Ron again later that afternoon in Transfiguration. He was early, sitting at the back, and McGonagall was leaning down towards him. Ron shook his head at something she said.
"Potter," their teacher took Harry aside. She looked at him for a moment, sad.
"It is very unfortunate what happened to Mr. Weasley. I tried assuring him this doesn't mean we regard him any less than before. He seems to think he is the 'enemy' now. Could you tell him that we all continue to have the utmost confidence in him? You know better than anyone what this means - and more importantly, what it doesn't," she finished in a whisper.
It seemed McGonagall read his look. She padded his shoulder a few times: "It needs a bit of repeating – you'll get through eventually."
Harry nodded. "By the way, I thought Ron's not doing Transfigurations this year?" It slipped out before he realised his possible mistake, as he remembered that Ron's score had been insufficient.
McGonagall winked. "He is now." She gave him one more pat and said: "Very well, class is about to start. Please be careful, you two."
With that she went to her desk to begin a lecture on animate to animate transfigurations. Neville had taken the seat next to Ron, so Harry sat down one place over, beside Hannah. She said nothing, but forced her gaze to the front with a grimace. It drew up something murky in his thoughts, which he hastily squashed.
Transfiguration was just as difficult, if not more so, than last year. And Harry was further behind than anyone else, having missed two months of the school year. The gap between him and his year mates was most obvious with the subjects he'd always had some trouble with. He sighed, digging into his sixth year tome for the duration of the lesson.
Neville was trying to push through Ron's petulance all day, once again without success. Not even dinner managed to rouse him from his grim state. Afterwards, when no more than three bites of food had found their way into Ron's stomach, Harry led him through a rarely used tapestry on the fourth floor. It ended at a random classroom. Harry waited a beat – they had effectively shaken Malfoy from their trail.
He sat Ron down on a desk and took the one opposite, hands under his knees.
"Listen, Ron. This is not the end of the world."
Ron shrugged, pushed up his sleeve to uncover the reddish Dark Mark. All day it had been giving Harry a weird tingling feeling, which he tried to ignore. "Disgusting."
"And you think this" – he pointed towards his scar – "isn't?"
"That's different and you know it."
Ron proceeded to pull out his wand and point it at the disfigured skin. He whispered a spell.
The skin started smoking.
"Ron!" Harry shouted, ripping the wand from his grip. He felt at the damage – and both of them sucked in a breath.
Something pulled and pushed at the part where there skin touched – an invisible cord. The tingling feeling spread. His legs turned to jelly. His hand slipped when Ron jerked his arm away.
"Damn it Harry, what was that?" Ron bellowed, short of breath.
"I'm sorry!" It came out more like a squeak. Harry closed his eyes. It was like an itch that you finally get to scratch. "What did you feel?" he asked.
"Warm, it feels warm. Not too bad. What'd you do?"
He finally opened his eyes. It didn't look like Ron's experience had been similar, to his relief. He was glad his own face was blank. The sensation was nothing exciting, thank Merlin, but there was a closeness to it that was altogether embarrassing. Something private.
He imagined the Mark's use, and the answer fell through his thoughts like the mental shapes of objects. Skin contact closed the conduit between master and servant. Through direct contact with their magical cores, Voldemort was able to sense his servants' emotions towards him, and so take the measure of their loyalty.
His mind leaped then to Snape's privileged position, and how worshipful the man must be. "Good – what?"
Ron was waving a hand in front of him. "You been listening?"
"Right, you were saying?"
It was the first time today that Ron really looked at him. His eyes were bloodshot, bags underneath. His gaze was serious.
"I said thanks, the pain is almost gone now. So what did you do?"
"I think it's because of the scar, that's how I feel some kind of connection when I touch it. Through the Marks Voldemort can sense what his servants feel towards him." He left out the part about measuring their strength, not comfortable with the question that would surely follow. "In this case it feels… nice, because we're friends of course."
Ron shuddered. "He can sense what I'm feeling now?"
"I don't think so. He would have to physically touch it."
Ron nodded. He glanced towards the door and his voice turned to a whisper: "So… does that mean you can also, you know, punish one of them, like him?"
"Yep."
Ron grinned weakly. "Neat! Have you tried it yet, with say… Snape?"
Harry smirked. "Yes actually. Really hurt the bastard."
Ron whistled. "Wow, that's… Wait, how'd he take it?"
Harry laughed. "Not well. Boy, that was scary. You don't really want to mess with Snape."
Ron's mouth hung open slightly. "No shit."
Harry's eyes found a bit of mud from the gardens on his robes. "Yeah… he Crucio'd me."
Ron sucked in another breath. "You mean that time you were practically crawling up to Gryffindor Tower? Yeah I remember, your lips were blueish. Thought that was weird."
Harry nodded, still staring at the stain.
"Didn't think you two could get any worse."
"Yeah. He's going to be my supervisor in this Junior Death Eater class I have to take. And he's my Dark Arts tutor, at least I guess he still is. Imagine the fun we will have together."
Ron grimaced. "That sucks mate."
Harry proceeded to tell the tale of Severus Snape going down on his knees for him – along with detailed descriptions of the various expressions that passed over the man's face when he'd realised it wasn't Voldemort standing in front of him. By the end of it, Ron was laughing so hard he had to take gulps of air in between. Harry was grinning as well, glad to distract his friend.
888
After the shock of the weekend – Harry was starting to dread them – Ron seemed back to his usual spirit on Tuesday, though he was still prone to bouts of gloominess. He had been allowed to visit his family last night by flu. It seemed to have bolstered him, at least.
Snape had dragged Ron out of the Gryffindor common room onto the seventh floor corridor when he had come back that evening, which Ron explained colourfully at breakfast. At Snape's orders and with an affronted Filch on his heels Ron, walked up and down the stretch of wall three times… and nothing happened. Harry had smiled at the story, feeling relieve chase away the tight feeling in his chest when Ron joined in. It was through Harry's own Veritaserum-numbed lips after all, that Ron's hideout had been compromised. Best not tell him now, Harry quietly decided. He wondered then how Snape could not know about the Room, considering Umbridge's antics last year.
Harry dreaded Dark Arts class: Ron would be there, Snape was the teacher and Slytherin was overrepresented.
The same students that were disappointed or angry at Harry for not being away fighting for the Order, or dead, or both, were also sympathetic towards Ron's situation – perhaps because it looked more helpless than Harry's, he thought. He was glad though, because it clearly meant the world to his friend: he still had a penchant for sinking into a grim mood, but someone always managed to pull him out of it. Ron was well liked.
The Slytherins were a different matter. They had seen or heard of his 'initiation' and could hardly understand it – in his vicinity they became a jealous, vengeful lot. Harry would have rolled his eyes, except for the fact that he'd almost gotten killed for vengeance himself, and the spoiled children of Death Eaters could get away with nearly anything.
And so it was with a heavy feeling that he sat down next to his friend at the back of the classroom.
Malfoy sauntered over, leaning towards Ron. "I'd say welcome, but…" He looked Ron up and down derisively. "Had your initiation yet?"
Ron tensed. "What do you mean?"
"That means no, then." Malfoy smirked
"Malfoy, move along," Harry drawled frostily, eyes drilling into Draco's. Remember last time?
Draco scowled. "Don't think you're doing him any favours Potter. He's going to get a hazing soon, all the new initiates-"
"Draco."
One person in the classroom could pull off coldness even better: Snape was standing behind Malfoy, gaze drilling down on Ron.
The blond turned warily. "Yes, sir?"
"Class has started. Sit down."
Harry gave Draco a wide smirk before the boy was whisked away to his seat at the front of the class.
Ron meanwhile, was looking a little green around the edges.
"You should ask Takumi Watanabe about it, when he's here," Harry whispered. "You know, my guard during summer? He's not so bad, really."
Ron was nodding a bit too hard but his jaw was set, and that's what Harry was going for.
Harry was relieved there was no duelling this time – he didn't fancy getting anywhere near Nott, who sat at the front. Today's subject was curses: different creatures and objects were stowed in boxes in the corner, and each held a different curse, which they had to remove.
Ron had his own Remembrall restored to a crack-less form in no time, to which Harry raised his eyebrows.
"Bill's been coaching me," Ron whispered. Harry punched his arm, grinning. His grin faltered when he realised Ron could probably never set foot into the Room of Requirement again.
Elemental Magic was just as weird as it was the first time Harry attended. Except now there was no chatting at the start: everyone immediately paired up to try spells on each other. Harry asked Zabini where they were at. The class had moved on from the shape of the Dammāḵā, the Mother curse from first class, towards the son and daughter curses.
Finch glided closer to guide Harry through the different spells he'd missed. He left him alone to practice, which Harry was perfectly fine with. There was still something off about him.
"Have you felt anything from it?" Harry asked Ron during lunch.
Ron shook his head. "No. It's not like I will get unexpectedly called for something though, Bill told me – that's very rare. Besides," he added in a whisper, "the Marks are only given to Inner Circle members of course, exception being me. I'm not sure he's even going to want me there. You think…" Ron faltered.
"Yes?"
The people around them were in deep conversation over the next bloody retaliation in the papers – the best time for stealthy topics.
"You think he did it because of you? He could have just… "
"I think if he kills every rebel kid that's plotting against him, soon he would have very little of that precious 'true' blood left. And it wouldn't help his popularity either, although I'm not sure he cares about that."
"See that's just it, though. I'm from a large family. He doesn't need me around."
Harry thought of what to say: You're his blackmail. In case I escape or endanger the Horcrux that's inside me, he can summon you from wherever you are and kill you in retaliation. Torture would probably also work. sounded a bit harsh.
"I guess he wants to keep me in line – and now he's got you on a short leash, in case I misbehave."
Ron nodded with narrowed eyes. "He's got me to get you to do what he wants."
"Exactly."
"Let's not antagonise him for the time being, then," he finished with a weak grin.
Soon they were drawn into the conversation around them: the tables were abuzz with the 'unofficial' Quidditch game that would take place tonight. Twice a month was the frequency everyone could agree on for the new games – which was twice as many as before. Ron lit up at once, explaining tactics to whoever wanted to listen like a seasoned general. Harry felt some anticipation himself: he couldn't wait for the even playing ground of the Quidditch pitch to thrash a few uppity Slytherins.
A/N: Thanks everyone for sticking around. Your support makes all the difference in the world. For all those leaving a review: you're the best!
Chapter 25 is underway.