The trio landed in the library with a collective stagger. Harry, feeling beyond drained, leaned heavily against a nearby table, his breathing difficult. Hermione, her face still pale and eyes wide, clutched at a bookshelf for support, visibly shaken from her narrow escape from death. Ron, on the other hand, seemed to stumble more from his natural clumsiness, his long limbs flailing as he tried to regain his balance.
Harry exhaled a deep breath of relief, grateful that his friends had survived. He walked over to one of the couches and collapsed into it, the weight of his exhaustion pressing down on him like a physical force. The magic he had wielded today was unlike anything he had ever tried to control; Voldemort's relentless training sessions over the past year had stretched his abilities, but the intensity and continuous output of power in today's encounter had been on a whole new level.
Looking up, Harry caught the concerned glances of Hermione and Ron. "Do you want to sit down?" he asked, motioning towards the array of seating options scattered around the room.
"Where are we?" Ron's voice was a soft murmur, tinged with apprehension, as he cautiously looked around the unfamiliar setting.
Hermione's gaze flickered quickly over the room, noting the towering bookshelves, the grand office desks, and the plush receiving chairs that spoke of a wealth and heritage that was unmistakably pureblood in origin. "We're in his manor, aren't we?" she deduced, a hint of dread lacing her words.
Harry gave a tired nod. "Yes, his library. But you'll be safe here. Death Eaters aren't allowed in this part of the mansion, not unless summoned." Their expressions remained tense, and Harry understood their fear; their last visit to the manor had been full of danger and despair.
Absently, Harry slipped his wand into his forearm holster, his attention drawn to his wrist. The skin was swollen, the bruising a mottled mix of purple, blue, and black—clear signs of a fracture. The pain was there, a dull throb that spiked with each movement. The thought of practicing more with his non-dominant hand in case this happened again flickered through his mind, a sobering reminder of his vulnerability.
"Are you alright?" Hermione's concern-laced voice broke through his reverie as she approached, her eyes narrowing at the sight of his damaged wrist.
"I think it's broken. And my magic is really depleted. I don't think I can heal it myself," Harry confessed, wincing as he gingerly touched his wrist.
"You know how to heal bones?" Ron, sounding genuinely impressed, had followed Hermione and was peering down at Harry with a mixture of concern and curiosity.
"Yea," Harry responded matter-of-factly. The harsh reality of Voldemort's training, refusing to heal anything that wasn't life-threatening, had forced him to become proficient in quite a few healing spells. He looked up at his friends hopefully. "Can either of you heal it?"
Ron shook his head, a helpless expression on his face. Hermione, her brow furrowed in frustration, seemed upset with herself for not knowing the spell. "No, but it seems silly not to have learned healing, especially given our situation. We're on the cusp of a war, after all." Her eyes sparkled with determination, a clear sign to Harry that she would likely spend the rest of her summer buried in healing spellbooks.
"I can give you some recommended titles," Harry suggested helpfully. Ron groaned, "Don't give her more books to read, it's summer!"
Hermione shot Ron a stern look. "We almost just died, Ron! And not even from the Dark side trying to do it. We need to take this seriously." She turned her attention to Harry, her expression softening. He could see both wonder and unease in her large brown eyes, already knowing and dreading the conversation they were about to have. "If you hadn't been with us today, it would have been so much worse." She paused, her gaze intensifying. "Your magic… it's grown so much. I've never felt anything like it."
She frowned, glancing away. "You used mostly dark magic, right? The way your flames worked, the vampires not getting up after you hit them... and the one that grabbed me..." She trailed off, the unspoken truth hanging heavily between them.
Harry averted his eyes, a twinge of unease creeping through him as he confronted the unsettling similarities between his use of dark magic and Voldemort's methods, that when forced to act, he had killed the vampires without hesitating. "I'm sorry if I scared you," he whispered, his voice so soft it was almost lost in the sound of the rain pelting against the window. Yet, despite knowing he'd crossed a line he could never return from, he stood firm in his decision, unwilling to apologize for doing whatever it took to protect his friends, himself even. He didn't regret his actions, even knowing it might ruin his friendship with them forever. At least they were alive to hate him.
Hermione's voice was low, hard to decipher as if carrying a mix of fear and gratitude. "It's not that you scared me, Harry—well, you did, but you also saved me… It's just, the type of magic... you cast the killing curse… You took their lives so effortlessly."
Harry's gaze remained fixed on the window, watching the relentless downpour. The flames his friends had cast were clearly only able to maim and injure; he knew they had put everything into their casting. That if they could have killed the vampires, they likely would have. It was an all or nothing battle. Their spells were just too weak to do any good again magical creatures compared to his; when he hit his target, the vampires did not get back up again. In a life-or-death duel like that, he couldn't find himself regretting what he'd done, even if the end result weighed heavily on his conscience.
The room's tension thickened, palpable in the following silence until Ron, unable to remain quiet, interjected. "Mate, I think you were brilliant. Scary, but brilliant." Harry turned back to face them, noticing Ron's gaze lingering on Hermione, his expression that of relief and disbelief at her safety. "Hermione, I was so worried... You almost... And I had no idea how to help. I don't care what spell Harry used, it saved your life." The sincerity in Ron's voice was genuine. Harry could feel the raw emotions, ones that Harry himself felt stirring when he thought of how close both she and all of them had been to dying.
"And you weren't scary like You-Know-Who. When he showed up, it was clear how different his power is from yours," Ron continued, his voice dropping to a whisper as he shivered involuntarily at the memory. "That was just darkness, pure black magic." He glanced around the library, then back at Harry, who sat with an exhausted ease on the couch. "I don't know how you stand living here with him. When he appeared, that was beyond terrifying… he just incinerated all three of them from the inside with just a glance."
Harry felt a jolt of realization at Ron's words, recognizing his own desensitization to Voldemort's presence. When the Dark Lord had appeared, Harry's only feeling had been relief, confident Voldemort would save them.
"I'm not sure the Light truly understands how powerful he is," Harry said with conviction. "I've never seen Dumbledore display his full strength, but I doubt he can match him anymore. He's becoming unstoppable."
Hermione watched him intently. "What?" Harry asked, noticing her gaze.
"You're not all that far off, you know. You've only just come of age, and I think you really might be close to him one day if you keep training." She sounded cautiously hopeful.
Harry shifted uncomfortably, the weight of her expectations pressing on him. He would have scoffed at such a comparison not long ago, but now he had to acknowledge his growing power. Despite this, he felt humbled by the recent lessons of vulnerability, his close calls with Moody and the vampire serving as harsh reminders of his limitations, what he still had left to learn. Maybe someday, but he certainly wasn't there yet. And the way Voldemort continued to study and learn, he seriously doubted he would ever catch him.
"I can't beat Voldemort," he said firmly, shaking his head, dismissing any illusions that he could still be their savior, that he could vanquish the Dark Lord. "Trust me, he knows a lot more than me and has a lot more experience." He paused, a shadow crossing his face as he glanced down at his left arm, where the mark was engraved. "And don't forget I took his mark. He can use it against my magic if he thinks I'm acting against him."
Sighing, Hermione settled next to Harry on the couch, pulling her knees close to her chest. Ron joined them, squeezing into the small space. The couch was crowded, but Harry found solace in their proximity. The closeness of his friends brought him a sense of security amidst the turmoil.
"Do you regret taking it?" Hermione asked, glancing at the robed arm.
Harry shrugged, his emotions tangled. He had faced the decision to accept the mark under threat to all he held dear, lacking any real choice. Yet now, with the knowledge and power he had gained, he wondered whether he would make the same choice again willingly. "I don't regret learning from him or becoming stronger. Taking this mark was a condition of saving you, part of the requirement when I accepted becoming his apprentice," he knew his voice was tinged with both resignation and a hint of defiance, as if he needed to justify his actions to his friends despite their understanding what had happened when he had first been captured.
"He promised to teach me everything he knows, and he has. The only limitation is how quickly I am capable of learning. I've grown more powerful, but it's all been under his guidance." Harry's tone grew bitter. "And it's all the more frustrating that Dumbledore would have kept this from me."
Harry's fists clenched as he spoke, his irritation palpable. "Dumbledore really did prevent me from realizing my potential. Sure, I could have studied harder at school, but every summer I was sent back to magic-fearing, cruel Muggles." He glanced at Hermione, his expression softening slightly. "Hermione, we both were ignorant before our Hogwarts letters, but once you learned you were a witch, you had access to books and could study whatever you wanted. Your parents never made you hide who you are."
Turning to Ron, he pressed on, "And Ron, you grew up in a magical family, surrounded by brothers and parents who could answer your questions. What we encounter daily isn't a surprise to you." Harry's voice grew heavier, angry at the opportunities he missed, the irony not lost on him the role Voldemort had played in creating his childhood, and yet it was Dumbledore who had seen it continued for almost fifteen years. He was no longer sure who he blamed more.
"I didn't know anything about holding a Lordship, I would have been a joke when I came of age. It's humiliating that the only person willing to help me come into my own, with some dignity, was my enemy." His sigh carried a mix of anger and sorrow. "I was left completely in the dark, cut off from my vaults, my heritage, and the magical world I was destined to try and save. Look at what I've done in just a year? What if Dumbledore had taken me under his wing, made me an apprentice to the Light? Everything could have been so different..."
Harry glanced between Hermione and Ron, noticing the discomfort etched on their faces, a complex blend of pity and understanding in their eyes. Thankfully, they did not seem to view him as a monster, nor did his openness about learning dark magic seem to make them want to run away from him. "What I said earlier was true," he continued, his voice firm with conviction, "I don't like using dark magic on others. I don't want to torture or kill. But I will protect myself and others with everything I have. I don't regret the magic I've learned, especially since it saved us and others during the attack today." He leaned back, allowing his gaze to drift upward to the chandelier, which cast a soft, dim light, throwing gentle shadows across the room.
Hermione curled further into herself, resting her chin on her knees. Ron wrapped an arm around her, offering silent comfort that she seemed glad to accept. She leaned into him. "He's still a Dark Lord," Hermione whispered softly. "He murders and tortures those who don't agree with him."
Harry, feeling the weight of her words, continued to stare upwards, unable to meet their eyes. "I know," he murmured.
The room fell silent, the tension simmering. Harry, his head resting against the cushioned back of the couch, felt the exhaustion of the day pressing down on him, the comfort of the couch inviting him to close his eyes and drift away.
After a few minutes filled with uncomfortable silence, Ron spoke up, his voice cutting through the stillness. "So, what's the plan?"
Hermione sighed heavily, her resignation evident. "I doubt we can leave, right Harry? Well, maybe we can, but you won't, will you?"
Harry, his thoughts shifting to the inevitable confrontation with the Dark Lord, nodded. "Yeah, he'll expect me here when he returns." A frown marred his face. "I still have vampire blood in me. I'm not sure how long it'll stay in my system. I'm certain he won't risk me leaving the manor until that's sorted out." He knew that until it was out of him, if he experienced anything fatal, he would be reborn a child of the dark, something he wanted to avoid at all costs.
"If he ever lets you leave again," Ron interjected, sounding more serious than joking. Harry scowled at him, not appreciating the remark.
"What?" Ron defended; his hands raised in a defensive gesture. "You haven't had good luck recently, mate."
Harry rolled his eyes. "Yeah, and I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't bring that up when he returns."
Ron's eyes widened, his freckles standing out on his increasingly pale face. "Whoa, you expect us to be here when he gets back?"
Harry sighed, conflicted. He didn't want his friends close to the Dark Lord, yet he worried about the repercussions if Voldemort expected them to be there and found them missing. He doubted Voldemort would harm them directly, but the risk of provoking him to take action against them was something Harry wanted to avoid. He had learned that confronting Voldemort's displeasure directly was often the lesser evil compared to letting his anger simmer. Perhaps sending Hermione and Ron to his room with Tipsy would be safest, Harry could assess Voldemort's mood when he returned and determine whether he expected his friends to be present.
The sudden sharp intake of breath from Ron signaled that the opportunity for decision- making had passed; Voldemort had appeared from a side door, likely having apparated directly into his wing of the manor. Harry wondered how long he had been back. He stood from the couch, Hermione and Ron tentatively mimicking his movement.
"My Lord," he greeted softly. The two shifted beside him, but Harry ignored them. He wasn't sure what mood the Dark Lord would be in and didn't want him taking it out on his friends.
A few platitudes early, showing Voldemort that Harry was still his submissive heir, might buy him some leniency if he blamed Ron and Hermione for what had happened.
Crimson eyes glanced at him knowingly, the honorific and its purpose clearly not lost on the cunning Slytherin. His lips twitched faintly, always one to enjoy Harry's submission in front of an audience.
"My heir," Voldemort responded, his voice carrying a trace of fondness as he turned his attention to Ron and Hermione. Harry, stealing a quick glance at his friends, felt a surge of pride. Despite their palpable fear, both stood resolutely, embodying courage in the face of the most feared Dark Lord of their age.
"What happened?" Harry inquired.
"I dealt with them." The brevity of his response left much unsaid. Harry nodded, knowing that if the Dark Lord did not want to be forthcoming in front of his friends, there wasn't much he could do to change that.
"And the injured, those who were attacked?" Harry continued, trying to gauge the extent of the aftermath.
Voldemort's expression darkened. "The ones too weak to defend themselves, the helpless sheep?" he sneered. Beside Harry, Hermione tensed, her discomfort evident.
Realizing he was not going to receive a satisfactory update on Diagon Alley's, not without creating a scene that left Ron and Hermione even more fearful of the Dark Lord's true intention and plans for the wizarding world than they already were, Harry decided to drop it. He would ask later, when it was just the two of them. "Thank you," he offered instead, meeting Voldemort's piercing crimson gaze. The intensity and possessiveness in those eyes unsettled him.
"You were almost turned, you could have been killed," Voldemort hissed, his concern laced with an underlying threat.
Harry swallowed, ducking his gaze."I know,"he knew he'd fought well and that Voldemort would be pleased with his use of dark magic. Despite giving his all, he was still forced to acknowledge the fight's near-fatal end. "I can only promise to get stronger.I already plan to do the ritual tomorrow. That'll make sure I'm not caught under anti-apparition wards again. I'm not sure what else I could have done."
"You could have chosen not to recklessly attack an entire coven of vampires with only two inept children at your side," the Dark Lord derided, switching back to English, directing his reprimand at all three of them. Harry exchanged a tense look with Hermione and Ron, who had been observing the hissed exchange with wide eyes.
"Our shop was under attack; staying there wasn't safe," Ron retorted, squirming under Voldemort's icy stare like a defiant child.
Hermione nudged him, her eyes going even wider that Ron was apparently backtalking the Dark Lord. "Ron, shut up," she whispered urgently.
Harry shifted his gaze from Ron back to Voldemort, aware that the interruption would not be well-received. Meeting the Dark Lord's crimson stare, he felt the oppressive weight of his displeasure. "Harry, you expect me to believe you couldn't have erected wards and shields to protect the building making it impervious to the vampires?"
Harry sent Ron a silencing look, hoping he would keep quiet and not make matters worse. Focusing on Voldemort, he felt the uncomfortable burden of his disapproval. "Yes, I could have," Harry acknowledged, hoping to keep the Dark Lord's attention on him, not on his friends who were not at fault for his actions. Truthfully, strengthening the shop and hiding hadn't occurred to him. He'd just wanted to stop the attack, to help those who were being murdered.
"I know I was reckless. As I admitted to earlier, I just reacted. They were killing children and the elderly. It was horrific. What's the point of being powerful if I can't use my power to do what I want?"
Voldemort's gaze seemed to shift, a complex emotion flickering across his face. "Sometimes I truly don't know what to do with you,"he hissed, reverting to Parseltongue, his words intended only for Harry. "You refuse to use what I taught you and almost die at the hands of weak Death Eaters because you fear using your power. And now it's the opposite; you eagerly jumped into the middle of a coven of angry vampires. You're lucky the dark magic you used could easily be mistaken for powerful severing spells or Incendio; that open display of dark magic in Diagon Alley could have had you answering very uncomfortable questions. And don't think I haven't forgotten how close you were to being turned. You would have been lost if I was even a minute later."
Voldemort exhaled, seemingly searching for patience, visibly trying to control his temper. "I've taught you so much, yet you still lack any sense of self-preservation."
Harry frowned. "I have a sense of self-preservation," he defended, albeit weakly. The scowl he received immediately made him reconsider his stance. "I'm still learning, figuring out how much I can handle," he admitted, uncomfortable with the emotional vulnerability of the conversation. "This is part of growing up, learning my strengths and limits. It doesn't just happen overnight."
"And if I'm not available to save you? To bail you out? For someone who claims to want independence, you've been very dependent on me these past few days."
Harry shifted uncomfortably. "I'll be more careful."
"We'll continue this discussion later," Voldemort said, then glanced from his heir to the others present, who were watching the hissed exchange with clear discomfort. "Did anyone else see you cast the killing curse?" Harry followed Voldemort's gaze to Ron and Hermione, taken aback by the sudden change in topic.
"I don't think so," he said. Hermione nodded. Ron, now looking too terrified to speak after his earlier outburst, also nodded.
"I want an unbreakable vow from both of you that you will never discuss any of the dark magic you see Harry use, or that he discloses to you, whether in written correspondence or any other form of communication."
Harry frowned. "I don't think…"
"Silence, Harry," Voldemort interrupted curtly; a sharp pulse of pain struck Harry's scar as a reprimand. The Dark Lord drew his wand, eyeing Hermione and Ron expectantly, clearly anticipating no objections. Both shifted uncomfortably, keenly aware of being under the scrutiny of Voldemort's wand.
"We're not going to betray Harry," Hermione asserted softly, yet defiantly, her eyes fixed on the wand.
"Then this oath should pose no issue for you," Voldemort countered smoothly.
The trio exchanged uneasy glances. Harry, with more experience than he cared to admit with not getting his way, felt at a loss on how to navigate the situation. He was tempted to ask what they would get in return, creating a negotiation scenario similar to how he and the Dark Lord usually engaged, but a prudent voice inside him cautioned that his friends wouldn't be granted the same leeway he received. Choosing silence, Harry recognized that in the grand scheme, the vow was a minor concession if it could protect Harry, who suspected that despite his best efforts, he would be relying on dark magic again. The thought of not having to worry about Ron and Hermione turning against him for becoming akin to a mini–Dark Lord brought a strange sense of relief, if he were being honest with himself.
"If you value Harry's safety, then this vow is necessary," Voldemort continued. "It's evident neither of you can shield your thoughts; your interactions with my heir are an open book to those skilled in legilimency. If you hope to maintain contact with him, this is the minimum safeguard I will tolerate."
Ron appeared as if he wanted to ask whether the Dark Lord was probing his mind at that moment but thankfully remained silent. Hermione frowned, her concern evident as she bit her lip and shifted her gaze between Voldemort and Harry. "So, this is an ultimatum then? To remain part of Harry's life, we must take this oath?"
Harry, feeling uneasy, turned his attention back to Voldemort. He had been granted permission to maintain contact with his friends without the condition of their oaths. This new demand from Voldemort was unexpected, he struggled not to feel a sense of betrayal.
"No," Voldemort responded, his answer unexpectedly mild. "It's not an ultimatum for your continued friendship." Then, the implicit threat became explicit. "However, you are mistaken to think you have a choice in this matter. You witnessed him use an Unforgivable Curse openly. You will either take this oath or I will remove your memories of the day. An oath is an accommodation I will allow only because it will protection him from others who might seek to extract that information from you, and he values you being a part of his life." His patience waning, he raised his wand, clearly expecting them to acquiesce. "Choose now: the oath or your memories."
Ron momentarily opened his mouth, then shut it, mimicking a fish out of water, while Hermione stepped back, visibly shaken. Harry remained motionless and silent, knowing there wasn't anything he could do. As far as threats went, this was tame for the Dark Lord. And it was characteristic of Voldemort to leave nothing to chance. He waited quietly, recognizing that the decision had to be theirs to make.
"Fine," Hermione said, her eyes flicking between Voldemort and Harry. Ron nodded in agreement. "Does this include you as well? Are we forbidden from discussing any dark spells we see or hear you cast?"
The Dark Lord's sinister smile did little to alleviate the tension. "I have never concealed my nature or my capabilities. There is no need for me to start doing so now."
"Then why protect Harry? I thought you wanted him to turn dark, shouldn't you be pleased he used an unforgivable in the open?"
Crimson eyes fell on his heir, making Harry feel deeply uncomfortable. "The world is not ready to see what Harry is truly capable of, but soon they will all understand," he murmured, almost as if to himself. Harry did not like the foreboding, the eventuality that seemed present in the Dark Lord's dark promise.
With no further objections, Voldemort swiftly administered the oaths, binding them upon their lives never to disclose any knowledge of Harry's use of dark magic. Harry felt a twinge of relief, knowing he was now safe to share anything without fearing betrayal. They might still reject him, but his honesty wouldn't come back to haunt him later, unlike when Snape had informed the Order about his duel. The thought crossed his mind that perhaps Snape should also be bound by such an oath. He hated to make the wizard take one after telling him it was unnecessary, but the last few days had changed his perspective on the world and his place within it. Unlike what appeared to be Voldemort's ultimate plans for him, Harry was perfectly content with the world never knowing what type of magic he now harnessed with ease.
Feeling the crimson gaze on him again, Harry forced himself not to shift. He imagined he looked as battered as he felt, covered in bruises and vampire blood, his hair unkempt, barely standing upright as he contended with lingering magical fatigue.
"Let me see your wrist," Voldemort commanded.
Surprised, Harry extended his hand, which now appeared even more swollen and painful than upon his arrival. Vampires truly were vile creatures.
With a flick of his wand, Voldemort mended the bones, and Harry felt the pain ebb away, much to his relief. "You exhausted yourself today, especially with the amount of dark magic you wielded. Your core isn't used to such strain. Refrain from casting spells for the remainder of the day; your magic needs to recover."
Harry nodded, about to lower his hand when Voldemort's fingers suddenly reached out, grasping it. Harry tensed, looking at Voldemort with wary confusion. Physical contact like this was rare; Voldemort usually opted for different types of contacts, like grasping Harry's chin or shoulder.
"What is this?" Voldemort inquired, lifting Harry's hand for a closer look.
Leaning in, Harry saw what had caught Voldemort's attention: the scar from Umbridge's blood quill. "Oh," he remarked, surprised by Voldemort's notice of it. "It's from Umbridge, during her time as our DADA instructor. She used blood quills for punishment."
Voldemort's eyes darkened portentously. "What were you lying about?"
Ron's snort drew everyone's attention, causing him to visibly shrink under their gazes.
"Yes, Mr. Weasley?" Voldemort's voice practically dripped with venom at the interruption. Harry made a mental note to make sure Ron and Voldemort spent as little time together as possible.
Ron looked desperate to be elsewhere. "Harry wasn't lying," he said defiantly. "He was telling the truth about your return. That bitch gave him detentions; she was basically torturing him because the ministry is filled with cowards."
Voldemort's gaze shifted back to Harry, his expression contemplatively ominous. "Is that so?"
"Yes," Harry admitted, unsure what to think about the gleam in the crimson eyes. "The Ministry sent her to hide the truth of your return. She hated me and made that very obvious in our detentions..." Harry had seen Umbridge in the Ministry a few times and had always made a point to avoid her. If ever there was a person he felt inclined to voluntarily use dark magic against, she would be high on his list.
"The Ministry has been filled with weak fools for too long. I look forward to eradicating them," Voldemort declared, his voice laden with a dark promise. Harry didn't need to look at Ron and Hermione to imagine the expressions of fear and horror that were likely etched on their faces.
The Dark Lord focused once again on Harry. "You look ready to collapse. It's time you rested. Go back to your room and clean yourself up; you're still covered with vampire blood." He turned, glancing at his friends. "I wish to speak with Ms. Granger alone. You two can wait for your friend in your room. Tipsy will bring her there once we're done."
Harry jerked back in disbelief, not expecting to be separated. "Why do you want to see her?" he whispered harshly.
"This isn't a debate, my heir," Voldemort retorted. "I will return her to you. I recommend you leave now so that you don't leave her with me in a darker mood than I am already in due to your recklessness."
Scowling, Harry gave Hermione a quick look. She appeared terrified yet resolute, stronger than he had anticipated. "I'll see you soon," she whispered, nodding at him to go. She likely knew their hissed conversation was about her and understood just as much as Harry did that, they really didn't have a choice.
Ron moved closer to Harry, murmuring, "Mate, you can't leave her here, not alone with him," clearly not quite quietly enough, given that Voldemort was only a few feet away. Harry noticed the flash of annoyance in the Dark Lord's crimson eyes, a clear sign of his displeasure at Ron's audacity.
"It's okay," Harry replied softly, trying to reassure both himself and his friends. "Just trust me, okay?"
Ron looked back at Hermione, who nodded to him reassuringly, her anxiety palpable at the prospect of being alone with Voldemort. "I don't like it," Ron muttered.
Harry felt another sharp warning in his scar, a clear sign of Voldemort's dwindling patience. "Come on," he urged, gently pushing Ron towards the door and giving Hermione an encouraging nod. Just as they were about to exit the library, Voldemort called out Harry's name.
He turned and was struck in the gut by a yellow curse. Instantly, he doubled over, his insides wrenching as he vomited everything in his stomach. He was appalled to see that much of the vomit was a black, goo-like substance. He doubled over again, certain that everything in his stomach had been expelled. Voldemort, with a flick of his wand, silently cleaned up the mess.
Harry glared at Voldemort, convinced the act was meant as a form of punishment. "That got most of the vampire blood out of your system, but I'm certain some has already entered your bloodstream. I'll summon a mediwizard to the manor tomorrow for a complete blood transfusion to ensure none remains in your system."
Harry frowned, the prospect sounding far from pleasant.
"It's either that or stay in the manor for eight weeks to ensure your blood is fully replenished and free of any vampire contamination."
"The transfusion sounds great," Harry sighed. Ron gave him a sympathetic look.
"Then I will see you at dinner this evening, my heir," Voldemort stated, effectively dismissing them.
With a final, encouraging glance at Hermione, who now looked even more panicked, and a nod to Voldemort, Harry led a reluctant Ron out of the room and back to his own.
After a long, much-needed shower, Harry re-entered the main area of his room. He had left Ron alone and returned to find the youngest Weasley son rummaging through one of his bookshelves, where he had stored the most useful or interesting gifts he had received for Yule and his birthday.
"Blimey, Harry," Ron exclaimed as he greeted the raven-haired wizard. "Is all this yours? Some of these must cost a fortune!" He held up an autographed Quidditch Pro Series poster, signed by every active player in the league. Harry had been informed through a rather pretentious letter from one of Voldemort's sycophants that it was nearly priceless, with less than ten authentic ones produced each season.
"Do you want it?" Harry asked, half-amused, as he flopped down on his bed. He yearned for a long nap but knew he couldn't indulge until Hermione was safely back. He needed to see her safe and sound before he could truly relax.
Ron's eyes sparkled with excitement before dimming slightly. "I couldn't possibly take this. It's serious collector's stuff..."
Harry smiled. "Please, take it. What am I going to do with it? It's not like anyone's going to see it here. Bring it back to Hogwarts with you, hang it, and think of me."
"Are you sure?" Ron asked, his eyes filled with hope, solidifying Harry's decision. "Absolutely, take it. I'll be upset if you don't."
"Wow, mate. Thanks!" Ron beamed, his enthusiasm palpable. He turned back to the array of gifts, haphazardly arranged on various shelves. "Some of this stuff is really cool, though.
Where'd you get it?"
Harry hesitated, aware of Ron's tendency toward jealousy. He doubted that flaunting his Lordships and Heir status to three prestigious bloodlines, not to mention his infamous titles of the Boy-Who-Lived and Chosen One, now the boy-aligned-with-keeping-a psychotic- Dark-Lord-at-bay, would endear him further to Ron.
"It's sort of a long, boring story," Harry offered instead. Ron shrugged, returning to his perusal of the gifts. At moments like these, Harry found endearing the naiveté of his ginger friend.
"What do you think he's talking to Hermione about?" Ron's voice dropped to a quiet, contemplative tone.
Harry's gaze drifted to the window, where the relentless rain painted the glass with streaks of water, and the occasional lightning bolt illuminated the dark, stormy sky in the distance. He lingered in silence, his eyes following the trail of a particularly bright flash across the overcast heavens. The brewing storm outside mirrored the turmoil within him, as he grappled with the weight of his thoughts, reluctant to articulate the suspicions gnawing at his mind.
"Harry…?"
He sighed, opting to be honest. He'd want the same from them if the situation was reversed. "She's smart, Ron, very smart. I wouldn't be surprised if he's trying to recruit her."
Ron paled. "But she's Muggle-born. Wouldn't he consider her beneath him?"
Harry shook his head, his understanding of the Dark Lord having deepened over time. "He cares only about power and control. I think he's less concerned about blood status than everyone believes. He does despise Muggles, and blood supremacy is an easy way to unite his pureblood followers." Harry ran a hand through his hair, pondering the implications. "He wants to take over from within this time, to change laws and make his rule seem legitimate. That would make his control harder to deny, to fight against. If he can get Muggle-borns to support him, then the Light won't have much ground to argue that what he's doing is reprehensible."
"So, he wants to use her," Ron concluded. "Hermione would never back someone like him. He's evil, a murderer, a dark lunatic…"
Harry remained silent. He had once passionately opposed Voldemort too.
Thirty minutes later, a tentative knock sounded at the door. Both Harry and Ron rushed to open it, relieved to find Hermione unharmed and intact. Ron enveloped her in a tight hug, bombarding her with questions. "Are you okay? What happened? What did he want? Did he hurt you?"
"Let her breathe," Harry interjected with a fond laugh, locking eyes with Hermione. She wasn't smiling, yet she showed no signs of pain or distress.
Ron, looking sheepish, stepped back, his cheeks flushed with color.
"How did it go?" Harry asked, ushering her inside. He would have conjured a chair for her, but heeded Voldemort's warning against using magic. Instead, he offered her his desk chair while he and Ron settled on the bed.
"I don't know how you manage to be around him every day," Hermione began, seating herself and shivering slightly. She looked out the window, her expression contemplative. "He's terrifying, brilliant… but incredibly dangerous."
Harry exchanged a glance with Ron, both uncertain of how to proceed. "Did he threaten you?" Ron pressed.
Hermione seemed to search for the right words, her gaze returning to them. "I'm not really sure," she confessed softly. "Maybe? Actually, yes, I think he did. But it was done so subtly, it wasn't overt."
"What did he want?" Harry probed, dreading the confirmation of his fears. "He wants me to commit to helping you more," she revealed.
Ron, puzzled, asked, "What does that even mean?"
Hermione looked at Harry, her eyebrow raised, silently prompting him to shed light on the matter.
Harry sighed, "My guess is he's offering you a chance to influence his laws, probably even suggested you could shape some of them. But I'm guessing it requires you to publicly support him, right?"
Hermione looked uncertain. "We didn't get into a specific negotiation of terms. He began by asking what changes I wanted in the world, my hopes for the future. So, I was honest with him. I said that blood purity was nonsensical, that magical creatures deserved fair treatment, and that purebloods shouldn't have unchecked power, that everyone should be treated with dignity. I expected him to be furious, but instead, he seemed pleased, perhaps even amused. He didn't oppose my views. He just listened, asking probing questions, occasionally steering the conversation in certain directions."
She paused, frowning slightly. "But it was strange. I didn't realize how long I'd been talking until he ended the conversation, remarking that if he didn't return me soon, his heir might get upset." Her large brown eyes turned to Harry, seeking his insight. "Was he serious? He mentioned that I was intelligent and had potential. He was clearly trying to butter me up. He suggested that I visit a few more times this summer to assist with some laws and policies you'll be working on to see if it interests me."
"Hermione, you can't come here; it's not safe," Ron interjected, visibly alarmed.
Hermione chewed on her lip, conflicted. "I'm torn. If there's a chance to influence his laws for the better... But I know it's manipulation, the same kind he's used on Harry. He finds out what you want and offers it as a bait. I want to defend the rights of those marginalized in the wizarding world. He's proposing a way to do that, but I'm sure it will be strictly on his terms, and he'll end up using me. There's no way I can trust him…"
Yes, Harry was convinced that Voldemort would use her, just as he manipulated everyone to serve his purposes. And yet, if this was the future, then was this what he wanted for Hermione? To have a place of significance, to feel valued? Ironically, it was the Dark Lord offering her this opportunity. The dilemma for Harry was whether he could trust Voldemort not to exploit her excessively, to not merely use and then discard her. He was uncertain of the fate that befell Voldemort's followers when they ceased to be useful. Were they simply allowed to fade away, or were they completely destroyed?
"Did he give you a timeline? And ultimatum?" Harry asked.
Hermione shook her head. "Nothing concrete. He just hinted at the possibility of him, or you acting as a conduit on his behalf, proposing some projects soon."
Harry's brow furrowed, troubled by the terminology used. "Hermione, I swear I won't trick you into doing anything against your will. I'm not sure what he means by 'conduit,' but I won't manipulate you."
Their eyes met, and Hermione nodded, though a trace of doubt lingered, suggesting she feared that Harry, having already made numerous concessions, might ultimately do just that if he thought it ensured her safety.
They spoke for a few more minutes, but it was clear to all that Harry was struggling to stay awake, despite his objections.
"Harry, you're suffering from magical exhaustion; you need sleep, to recover," Hermione advised softly.
"I won't sleep while you two are still in this manor," Harry countered, stubbornly resisting the need to rest.
Hermione reached into her pocket, retrieving a white stone. "He gave me this Portkey; it'll take us to Hogsmeade, and from there, we can get back to the Burrow," she explained.
Ron eyed the stone with skepticism. "How do we know it's not a trap?"
"Ron, we're already in his mansion; he doesn't need a trap to catch us," Hermione retorted, clearly skeptical.
Ron's scowl deepened. "He's sly, you both have said so. What if it's a complicated trap, designed to lower our guard?"
Hermione looked at Harry, clearly wanting him to weigh in.
"I seriously doubt it's a trap." He offered. "If he wanted to keep you here, he wouldn't bother with such schemes; he'd just do it. Besides, I don't think he's worried about a couple of seventh years doing anything to harm his plans. I'm not sure there is much anyone can do to stop him from doing exactly as he wants."
"That's not very reassuring, especially if Hermione is considering returning," Ron countered sharply.
Harry gave a resigned shrug; it wasn't meant to be comforting. It was just a fact.
"I believe it's safe," Hermione said, offering the Portkey. "And the Order is probably panicking about the attack by now. We should head back."
"Promise you'll write me in the journal as soon as you get to the Burrow," Harry requested.
Hermione nodded, her eyes welled up with tears as she moved forward to hug him tightly. "Be careful," she murmured. "I'm starting to understand what you're up against. Please, promise me you'll be careful."
Harry nodded into her hair. She pulled away, replaced by Ron. After a brief, awkward hug with the first real friend he'd ever had, they activated the Portkey and vanished. A few minutes later, his journal confirmed their safe arrival at the Burrow. Exhaling a weary sigh, Harry collapsed onto his bed, still fully dressed, and fell asleep almost instantly, his head barely touching the pillow.
S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S
Harry awoke with a start, his vision blurry. Grabbing his glasses, he glanced out the window to see the sun in full blaze. Springing from his bed, he muttered a curse under his breath. He had missed dinner with the Dark Lord and the lessons planned for that morning. Snatching the pocket watch from the nightstand, he saw it was 2 p.m.; he had slept through half the day, missing two planned engagements with Voldemort. Anxiety prickled at the thought of the Dark Lord's displeasure, especially after everything that had occurred the previous day. Why hadn't Tipsy woken him?
On the verge of dashing out of his room, straight to the library where he suspected the Dark Lord would be at this time of day, he paused turning back to survey his appearance in the full-length mirror. His reflection showed him in disheveled, slept-in robes, his hair a tangled mess. He closed his eyes and focused his magic inward. At least his magic felt like it had returned to its normal level. Since he'd already missed the two meetings, he felt he shouldn't add icing to the cake by showing up in complete disarray. The Dark Lord prized punctuality and decorum… on top of his exceptionally demanding standards of loyalty, power, complete submission, willingness to take a mark that gave complete control of his magic to another, among other things…
Sighing, he rushed to his wardrobe, selecting a fresh set of clothes. It was Sunday, with no events planned except the ritual, which he hoped hadn't been canceled because of his exploits. He chose simple black trousers and a dark green top, complemented by a lightweight wizarding robe with cooling charms, appreciating the soothing sensation against his skin. After a quick spell to somewhat tame his unruly hair, Harry now looked at least presentable.
With one last check in the mirror, he hurried towards the library, bracing himself for the confrontation with Voldemort. Since he was late and didn't want to intrude unannounced, Harry knocked once, heard a clear "Enter," and stepped inside. As expected, Voldemort was at his desk, engrossed in his work.
"I'm sorry, I lost track of time," Harry murmured, approaching the desk.
Voldemort's crimson eyes scrutinized him, his expression unreadable. "I was curious when you would awaken," the Dark Lord commented.
Harry felt a flush of embarrassment. He was irritated with Tipsy for not waking him but refrained from mentioning the house-elf, fearing Voldemort might punish her.
"I suppose I was more exhausted than I realized," Harry offered.
Voldemort raised an eyebrow, seemingly finding Harry's statement to be an understatement. "Indeed, you expended more magic yesterday than you have ever before in a single day." His demeanor wasn't overtly angry, which suggested he might have played a hand in Harry's undisrupted recovery.
"Regardless, I won't miss our sessions again," Harry asserted, understanding that some acknowledgment was needed. The Dark Lord surprisingly tolerated a lot from him in private, and Harry suspected that was in part because Harry was now willing to play the game of apprentices, heirs, and purebloods.
Voldemort gave a nod of approval. "Ensure it doesn't become a pattern. Neither missing sessions nor recklessly thrusting yourself into danger."
Harry struggled to maintain a neutral expression, fighting the urge to scowl. He had sensed that the previous night's leniency was too light. "Next time a coven of vampires attacks me, I'll ensure I seek proper backup before engaging," he stated, his tone borderline sullen.
Voldemort appeared unamused. "Alternatively, and this might surprise you, you have the option to avoid the confrontation entirely."
"The town needed help," Harry reiterated, echoing their previous discussion.
"You are not their savior, Harry. You don't need to sacrifice yourself every time there's trouble," Voldemort replied sharply, clearly frustrated at having to reiterate this point.
"But I can't just stand by and do nothing," Harry insisted.
Voldemort's expression was a mask of barely contained irritation, his voice sharp as he addressed his apprentice and heir. "Rushing into a battle you are not sure you can win is not merely reckless—it's a squandering of the potential and power I've spent considerable effort cultivating in you. Rather than impulsively reacting to one isolated incident, one where you were outmatched and lacked experience with the attackers, you should have formulated a plan and used that cunning I've endeavored to instill in you."
His crimson eyes narrowed, exuding a cold intensity that made the air around him seem to freeze. A pulse of dark power rippled through the room, accentuating his reprimand and causing Harry to flinch slightly. "You had no strategy, Harry," he said, his voice low and controlled. "You could have alerted me, organized the villagers to distribute the risk, waited for backup, or taken any number of sensible steps. As my heir, you are expected to be more than an impetuous youth. Don't you realize the unique position you hold? No one else possesses your combination of influence, magical prowess, or political leverage. Running headfirst into that type of battle was a beyond foolish, you risked exponentially more than you could have gained."
He paused, letting the words sink in, as Harry absorbed the gravity of the situation. "Sometimes, conceding in a minor skirmish will strategically position you to triumph in the larger conflict. An attack like this provides the ammunition to implement measures that could prevent such incidents entirely in the future. But you have to be alive to see it through!"
Harry, reeling from the criticism, struggled to understand how refraining from defending the town would be more advantageous in the long term. Voldemort's frustration only grew when it became clear that his heir did not understand what he meant. "You could block unwanted magical creatures from accessing wizarding establishments entirely, Harry. We could establish wards around major magical locations to prevent creatures like vampires from entering without authorization. There are plenty of ways to prevent something like this from happening again."
"That's possible?" Harry asked, intrigued. His curiosity making him perk up even though he was in the middle of being scolded. "How would those wards work?"
"Yes," Voldemort confirmed flatly. "It involves complex magic, but it's feasible. Diagon Alley could be safeguarded against dark creatures like dementors, werewolves, and vampires where none could enter."
Harry raised an eyebrow. "But wouldn't that be indiscriminate? Could someone like Lupin enter?"
"He could be given access to the wards. Once the proper system is established, it would be as simple as obtaining permission from a specific ministry department."
"He would be controlled by the Ministry, stripped of his rights," Harry argued. "He's already without rights. He can't secure employment, nor is he provided with
Wolfsbane," Voldemort countered. "Contrary to what you believe, establishing wards and a
structured system could benefit him. He'd be officially registered, receive the necessary potions, and wouldn't have to fear unintentionally harming anyone during the full moon. The wards would restrict his access when he's a danger to himself and others, ensuring safety for both werewolves and the wizarding populace. This could actually grant him a more dignified life, offering protections he currently lacks, and the wizarding populace would have no need to fear him, knowing they are protected by the safety measures we put in place."
Harry's frown deepened. "You've considered this already, haven't you. Are you already planning to implement it?"
Voldemort confirmed with a nod. "I've been exploring methods to prevent repeats of such attacks. I knew it was only a matter of time, but I hadn't expected them to be so bold so soon."
"If the threats has always been there, why haven't these wards been put up before?" Harry asked.
He didn't like the knowing look he received. "Because there's a fear of the Ministry wielding too much control. If the wards can selectively allow or deny creatures, the same could apply to witches and wizards."
Harry's eyes widened as he grasped the full implications of Voldemort's scheme. He could exclude or, potentially, entrap anyone within their community. If such wards could target werewolves and vampires, what was to stop them from being used against halfbloods or Muggleborns?
"Can these wards be tailored to specific magical characteristics or bloodlines?" Harry asked cautiously.
Voldemort's smile was thin, not reaching his eyes. "Good, you're beginning to think with cunning, my little serpent. Perhaps, such wards don't currently exist in that form, but they could certainly be adjusted."
Harry took a tentative step back. "So, you could prevent anyone who opposes you from entering Diagon Alley? The Ministry? Even Hogwarts?"
"In theory," Voldemort conceded. "However, in my current plans, I am not pursuing such extreme actions."
The unsaid 'yet,' seemed to scream in the silence. Harry remained skeptical, not easily mollified by the placating tone. "But it would be a simple modification, right? If you set up wards to exclude vampires, for instance. What's to stop you from specifying certain magical signatures? You could prevent Dumbledore from entering Hogwarts."
The evaluating look in Voldemort's eyes was unnerving. "Yes, my heir, theoretically, that is possible." Harry detected the pointed use of 'heir' and the challenge in Voldemort's gaze, prompting him to either oppose or align.
"Is that your desired end, what you will ultimately do?" Harry asked. If Voldemort wanted unquestioning obedience, Harry felt he deserved transparency and trust.
Voldemort regarded Harry with an unreadable expression, the silence stretching between them like a taut wire. "My ambitions," he finally spoke, "are not so simplistic as to be defined by mere control of locations. My endgame transcends the immediate gratification of such power."
Harry's gaze hardened. "But control is a significant part of it, isn't it? Securing power, ensuring loyalty, and eliminating opposition."
Voldemort leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. "Power is a means to an end, Harry. True control comes from influencing the very fabric of society, from altering the perceptions and beliefs of its people. My plans involve more than just warding off enemies or seizing lands. It's about reshaping the wizarding world's future."
Harry, trying to process everything, asked, "Was your offer to Hermione genuine?" Voldemort responded with a knowing smile. "Would you prefer it to be?"
Yes, Harry realized, he did want it to be. He could see the interest brimming in his friend even while she had resigned herself to it likely being a trap, believing the Dark Lord would never see value in her brilliant mind but not seeing any other way to try and make a difference in this falling world. "Is she receiving your attention because she's my friend, or do you genuinely acknowledge her intellect?" Harry pressed.
"Why can't it be both?" Voldemort replied smoothly.
Feeling a surge of frustration, Harry pressed on, coming to the heart of what was bothering him. "What happens when you win, when you have total control? What's the fate of the halfbloods and Muggleborns?"
Voldemort arched an elegant brow. "We are both halfbloods."
"But you erased your father's lineage so no one would know," Harry countered, their eyes locking intensely.
"If they are compliant and valuable, they will not be discarded under my reign, you and I already agreed they would retain their basic rights, and I have previously told you I value all magical blood," Voldemort asserted, as if that conclusion were obvious, as if he weren't talking about the fate of over half of the wizarding population.
Recalling Hermione's question the day before, Harry's expression turned serious. "Would you consider implementing a class at Hogwarts that allows purebloods to learn about the Muggle world, similar to how we plan to educate those unfamiliar with the magical world?"
"No," Voldemort responded bluntly.
"Why not?" Harry leaned back, taken aback by the stark dismissal.
Voldemort's tone was firm. "My goal is to separate our world from the Muggles'. The association brings only risk and danger. You've seen it in your Muggle upbringing— You grew up there, you know about their World Wars, what they will do to those who are different. They tried to beat the magic out of you. Out of me. I don't advocate for exterminating them, not because of mercy, but due to practicality. But coexistence is not in our interest. I won't allow it."
Harry's eyes widened. He was shocked by Voldemort's casual contemplation of genocide, seemingly deterred only by its impracticality. The gravity of Voldemort's words hung heavily in the air, a dark shadow cast over the conversation. Harry struggled to reconcile the charismatic leader who spoke of law and order with the ruthless tyrant who could coldly calculate the logistics of severing their world in two.
"Your vision for the future," Harry began cautiously, "it's built on segregation and superiority, not just power and control?"
Voldemort nodded, his gaze piercing. "Power is the means, Harry, but the end is a world where wizards no longer hide or diminish themselves because of Muggles or for any other reason. Where no branches of magic are denied or feared. A world where our kind can thrive without the dilution of our heritage and the constant threat of exposure and persecution."
Harry felt a chill at the clinical way Voldemort outlined his utopia, a world cleansed of Muggle influence, isolated and 'pure.' One where he suspected that despite the Dark Lord's claim, the Light would endure similar, if not worst, restrictions to what the Dark felt now. The ideology was stark, he wasn't sure how it could be achieved without conflict and bloodshed.
"And what of those who disagree with this vision?" Harry asked, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside him.
"They will be given a choice," Voldemort stated flatly. "Align with the new order, or face the consequences. Opposition cannot be tolerated in the world I will create. It's not just about ruling, Harry. It's about transforming our world, remaking it in a vision that will ensure its survival and supremacy."
Harry suspected he knew what the consequences would be: banishment or worse.
"Does this truly surprise you, my heir?" He felt the crimson eyes on him and knew that the wrong response now could cost him the favor and freedom he'd earned.
"Surprise?" he echoed, his voice tinged with resignation. "I suppose not…" Harry's shoulders sagged imperceptibly, a weight settling in his chest as he observed Voldemort's composed yet imposing figure seated at the ornate wooden desk. Voldemort's revelations were consistent with the tyrannical persona he had come to understand and expect. Yet, acknowledging these harsh realities in the solemn silence of the library was jarringly different from the abstract knowledge of them. He clenched his fists at his sides, the tension in his muscles betraying the calm facade he tried to maintain.
"But I don't share your view of Muggles or the vision you have for our world," Harry continued, his gaze drifting to the ancient tapestries adorning the library walls, depicting scenes of battles and conquests from centuries past. "We've coexisted for generations. Not all Muggles are like those who raised us."
Voldemort's response cut sharply through the air, his disbelief palpable as he reclined in his high-backed chair, the sunlight streaming through the library's windows casting a play of light and shadow on his angular features. "How can you be so forgiving, so naive?" His voice carried an incredulous edge that seemed to strike against Harry, the Dark Lord's frustration with his heir evident. "You and I, two of the strongest wizards alive, were nearly destroyed by Muggles. We were shunned, outcast, beaten, ridiculed, and belittled. To them, we were less than dirt. How can you defend them?"
As Voldemort's fury unfurled, a chill coursed through Harry at the unexpected exposure of emotion from the Dark Lord. Hearing Voldemort articulate the injustices of his past was a rarity; his turbulent history had only been hinted at before, despite Voldemort's intimate knowledge of Harry's own past from their mind arts lessons. Internally, Harry wrestled with his thoughts, the dichotomy of his experiences with the Dursleys clouding his judgment.
However, unlike Voldemort, Harry did not channel his bitterness into a desire to completely sever the Muggle world from the wizarding community. He did not share Voldemort's radical resolve to destroy them if he could.
"Do I scare you, my heir? Are you questioning your decision to stand by my side?" Their eyes met—emerald clashing with crimson, a complex dance of emotions unfolding.
Voldemort's eyes, usually filled with cunning and calculation, now held passion, conviction, and a strange hint of something akin to desire and hunger for Harry to not only understand but embrace his point of view. Harry's commitment to his place on the Dark side had been challenged before, but this time felt different, more personal. Voldemort had revealed a part of himself and seemed to be challenging Harry not just on his acceptance of his place in this world but Harry's acceptance of the Dark Lord himself.
Could it be that Voldemort recognized a kindred spirit in him—a powerful and wronged individual, similar to how Voldemort viewed himself? In many ways, Harry realized that Voldemort showed him considerable consideration, unlike anything he'd ever given to his other followers. Voldemort had never before considered recruiting a Muggle-born, yet he offered Hermione a role, acknowledging Harry's esteem for her. He even discussed how new laws and protective wards could benefit Lupin, showing a willingness to accommodate those Harry cared about. Harry harbored no illusions about Voldemort's authoritarian nature, but these gestures, these deviations from his usual ruthlessness, seemed tailored to gain Harry's favor, not just his submission.
Harry didn't share Voldemort's vision, yet he felt powerless to alter Voldemort's ultimate goals of both separating from the Muggle world and reintroducing dark magic. But for the first time, he believed that maybe he could influence Voldemort's darker impulses and guide a more tempered leadership. As Voldemort's gaze fixed on him, heavy with expectation, Harry's throat tightened. Despite the conflict within him, he finally spoke, "No. I'm your heir, I stand with you, even in this."
Perhaps he was naive, but the more time he spent around the Dark Lord, the more he was beginning to think Voldemort wanted him for more than just a tool against the Light. He had dropped everything to save him not once, but twice. Harry was coming to believe that Voldemort's commitment to him matched his own growing dependence on the Dark Lord.
A sense of genuine surrender mixed with determination settled over him. This time, it felt less like a burden, less like a compromise. He wanted to see this through, holding onto hope that the Dark Lord would not betray his trust, that his willingness to help the Dark achieve victory would create more good than horror. After what the Dark Lord had done this past week to keep him out of harm's way, to keep him alive, he found himself increasingly amendable to being on the Dark Lord's side.
Voldemort's subtle nod served as the only indicator of his approval. Harry wondered whether this uncharacteristic openness made the Dark Lord feel exposed, uneasy with the extent of personal history he had laid bare before his heir, having never before divulged so much about his early life.
They soon left to meet the mediwizard, who shockingly quickly, with just a few spells and a couple of vials of blood replenisher, had Harry's blood literally as good as new. Harry didn't know the witch, but she ducked her head and muttered, "My Lord," when she left, clearly showing her alliance.
Voldemort had accompanied him, ensuring his heir was back to perfect health. Harry almost would have felt touched if he wasn't certain that the Dark Lord's possessiveness was equally to blame, unwilling to see his heir's health delegated to the hands of another. It was nearing evening when it was all said and done.
"Do you still seek to complete the ritual tonight?" Harry met the crimson eyes, the request almost feeling more personal, more genuine after what felt like a very candid and almost exposed conversation with the Dark Lord earlier.
"Yes," Harry replied, his voice resolute. And it was true, he did. He wanted to have the strength and magical control the ritual would help him achieve. He wanted to guarantee he could never be held against his will again by wards. It had happened three times now, with the Order, Moody, and with the vampires. Even here, when he'd been first taken by Voldemort, he knew he'd been initially restricted to the manor. This ritual would mean freedom in so many ways.
Beyond just the magic, he felt excited, eager, for once not afraid of this step into darker magic. He knew something within him had fundamentally changed. Voldemort had given him back his life, had rescued him when he needed help. His life could not have been further from what he'd anticipated it would be, and yet it had meaning. He still had his friends, for as long as they would stay by him. And he genuinely had hope that he might be able to make the world a little better at Voldemort's side.
"Good, then we will spend the rest of the evening preparing," Voldemort stated, his tone confident and assured. "There are parts of the ritual that are agnostic to who is performing the magic. I will perform those parts, but as you read the final incantation, the actual solicitation and acceptance of this power must come from you and your magic. But I am confident you will do well."
Harry nodded in understanding. "I will be ready."
S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S
In the center of the secluded clearing, bathed in the cold luminescence of the full moon, Harry stood still, his body etched with blood runes that glowed faintly against his skin. Around him, the air vibrated with the power of the dark ritual about to commence.
Voldemort, cloaked in the shadows of the night, began the chant, his voice resonating deep and clear, merging with the nocturnal energies that swirled around the clearing.
As Voldemort's incantations grew in intensity, the runes carved into Harry's flesh pulsed with a luminescent light, drawing the ancient magic from the earth and air into their crimson lines. The atmosphere thickened with the gathering power, charged with the potential of unbridled elemental magic. The shadows seemed to converge on Harry, responding to the rhythm of Voldemort's chant, moving with a purpose that was both terrifying and mesmerizing.
As the ritual progressed, Harry felt the magic intensify, coursing through the blood runes etched into his skin, creating a network of pain and power that intertwined within him. The sensation was overwhelming, as if the very essence of the dark magic was testing the limits of his endurance, the energy so potent it bordered on agony.
Voldemort's voice, unwavering and powerful, guided the forces converging upon them. Around Harry, the night air thickened, charged with the impending convergence of arcane energies. Shadows danced and twisted as if alive, drawn to the epicenter of power that Harry had become.
Amidst this maelstrom of dark energy, Harry found his own voice, adding to the incantation, his words an invocation of acceptance and desire for the power being offered. "I call upon the ancient forces, the hidden depths of magic's realm. I accept this power; let it flow through me," he chanted, his voice growing in confidence and strength. The blood painted on him was that of a dove, one he'd sacrificed just before they began the ritual. "I pledge myself as a willing vessel, my magic ready to bind with the forces called forth. Let this pact be sealed."
The blood runes on his body blazed brighter with each word he spoke, the pain intensifying as the magic filled him, testing his resolve and willingness to embrace magic in entirely new ways. The air pulsed with the power of the ritual, a tangible force that thrummed against the very fabric of the night. Harry, bound by the ritual's intent, was at the heart of a tempest of dark magic, forging a bond that would forever change his magic. In this moment, Harry was not just a participant but a conduit, willingly offering himself to the ancient powers that answered his call, his body and magic aligning with the forces he sought to harness.
Harry blinked, not sure when he'd fallen to the ground. Looking around, he slowly pushed himself up onto his elbow, the ache in his muscles a reminder of the intense magic that had coursed through him. The clearing seemed quieter now, the air heavy with the aftermath of their arcane undertaking.
Voldemort's gaze lingered on Harry, a mix of curiosity and something akin to satisfaction flickering in his crimson eyes.
"Did it work?" Harry asked. He felt different, more alive. The magic around him felt unlike anything he'd ever experienced before, he could sense it in entirely new ways.
"It was a success." There was clearly something more that Harry could sense had been left unsaid, it was clear in the way the Dark Lord looked at him.
"What?" Harry probed.
"Rituals can sometimes change your appearance," Voldemort explained calmly, his voice a contrast to the whirlwind of emotions still swirling within Harry.
Harry felt deep-seated dread creeping in, his mind conjuring images of grotesque transformations. Did he have red eyes now? Or what if he had a snake nose like Voldemort used to have? The uncertainty gnawed at him, a knot forming in his stomach.
The Dark Lord breathed out a sigh that sounded almost genuinely fond, a rare moment of warmth from the usually stoic figure. "Nothing along the lines of what you're thinking." With a wave of his wand, he conjured a mirror and a ball of light, directing Harry to look. Blinking intently against the sudden brightness, Harry examined his reflection, a mixture of anticipation and apprehension in his expression. His eyes were a brighter, more vibrant green, resembling the killing curse but pulsing ever so slightly. It was nothing as dramatic as he had dreaded, but he could tell the difference.
"Will others know what it's from?" Harry asked, already bracing himself for potential judgment and scrutiny.
"Those who are knowledgeable in the dark arts will suspect," Voldemort replied, his tone carrying a note of assurance that bordered on pride.
Harry fell silent for a moment, the weight of their recent actions settling heavily on his shoulders. The events of the night had brought him face to face with the darker aspects of magic and power, leaving him with more questions than answers. How had this ritual changed him? He felt like his magic was different, more alive. It felt powerful. He liked it.
Harry remained quiet for a moment, contemplating the implications of his newfound strength and the alterations to his appearance. Then, with a nonchalant shrug, he stated, "I don't care. Let them think what they will."
"Precisely," Voldemort approved, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes.
They began the walk back towards the manor, the quiet rustle of leaves underfoot punctuating the heavy silence between them.
"Why did the vampires attack?" Harry inquired, still beyond shocked by the recent violent events.
Voldemort's response was tinged with a cold logic that sent a chill down Harry's spine. "They are challenging my ascendancy, sending a dual message to both me and the broader wizarding community." His words held a weight to them, a reminder of the power struggles that simmered beneath the surface of their world.
Harry, recalling his readings and the snippets of history he had pieced together, pressed further. "But didn't they side with you during the first war?" His brow furrowed in confusion.
Voldemort's lips twisted in a semblance of a smile, not of amusement but of bitter reminiscence. "You've read part of the historical accounts. Ultimately, Sanguina, the previous vampire queen, failed to harness the power I offered, leading to dissent within her ranks. She failed them and she failed me. According to their customs, she faced a challenge and was defeated, executed by her own daughter of the dark. Lilith ascended as the new queen, and her animosity towards me runs deep. She blames me for corrupting her maker, even though Sanguina was the one at fault."
"So, this attack was personal?" Harry asked, a growing sense of unease forming.
"Yes," Voldemort confirmed, there was something that shifted in his posture and tone, something that was more predator than prey.
"And what will be your response?" Harry ventured. Emerald eyes narrowed slightly as he studied the Dark Lord's expression for any hint of his intentions, curious about Voldemort's next move.
Voldemort's eyes gleamed with a dark intensity, a glint of anticipation dancing in their depths. "I will demonstrate why it is a fatal mistake to oppose the Dark Lord."
AN: Thank you for reading and the support