To thine own self be true
Harry apparated back to Slytherin Manor, entering through the main entrance. As he glanced up at the aging wooden clock standing proudly against the wall, he noted that it was nearing 10 pm. Shakily, he ran a hand through his raven mop of hair, strands falling back before his eyes in disarray. He could scarcely believe what had just occurred.
With a heavy sigh, he sank into one of the plush armchairs that adorned the manor's entrance. Leaning forward, he rested his head against his palms, eyes closed, taking deep, calming breaths. The weight of his thoughts pressed upon him, unsure how he would approach Voldemort. He knew the Dark Lord would be livid, enraged by the attack on his heir, and likely murderous in response to the ultimatum.
Despite his own anger over what he'd just endured, Harry at least could control his fury, show restraint where needed. But predicting, or worse, trying to temper Voldemort's reaction was an entirely different challenge. One he wasn't looking forward to.
As he reflected on the unexpected encounter, he found that Tullos had surprised him. He seemed almost reasonable, a stark contrast to the other two vampires. Harry more than suspected that Tullos could have broken through his shield if he'd wanted to; the ancient vampire's strength and inhuman speed would have posed a terrifying challenge in an actual fight. If he were being honest with himself, Harry felt a wave of relief with how the night had ended, knowing it could have escalated much further. He or Draco could have been easily killed or captured.
But the other two vampires… the first had tasted Harry's blood, which was a significant breach of law and, even worse in the Dark Lord's eyes, custom. Harry was Lord Slytherin's heir, the chosen apprentice to the Dark Lord. And a vampire, on the Queen's order, had threatened him and taken Harry's blood without consent. Despite the promised week of an alleged truce, Harry was all but certain that act alone would start a war. That Voldemort had once taken Harry's blood forcefully almost made it more ironic, more surreal. Harry couldn't envision Voldemort forgiving or showing any leniency to anyone who had crossed such a sacred line against one he clearly considered his own.
And yet, a war right now against the entire nation of the Children of the Dark would destroy everything. Harry was certain they would not distinguish between Light or Dark wizards, the elderly, or children – as he had already witnessed in the Diagon Alley attack. It would be indiscriminate, bloody, and terrifying – everything he was desperately trying to prevent.
He exhaled, frustration coursing through him. What was it about the world that perpetuated this constant need for power at any cost? Harry wasn't naive enough to believe everyone would always be content with the status quo, but was it worth risking the lives of entire populations to gain more control? He truly didn't understand it.
He closed his eyes and focused on the soul shard. He had experimented with it some after using it to summon the Dark Lord when Moody attacked him. He realized that when he was near the master soul, to Voldemort himself, it felt slightly different, as if more alive, like it yearned to be reunited with the whole. While that freaked him out quite a bit, he also could use it a bit like a compass to know instinctively where the Dark Lord was in the manor.
Innately, he could sense the Dark Lord was in his private office in his wing.
With a resigned sigh, Harry rose from the chair, feeling more composed after his brief delay. As he made his way toward Voldemort's wing, the quiet ambiance of the manor enveloped him, the soft glow of magical torches casting shifting shadows along the corridor. If he presented it correctly, he might persuade the Dark Lord to wait the full week before taking action, providing Harry with time to devise a real plan.
He knocked once and was told to enter. The heavy oak door swung open, revealing the torch- lit sanctum of Voldemort's private office.
"Harry," Voldemort greeted, his expression tinged with curiosity but not devoid of welcome.
"My Lord," Harry said. Voldemort's eyes narrowed, the honorific framing the type of conversation Harry sought to have.
Both knew that despite Harry's promise of loyalty, he didn't enjoy overt submission; he would do it when necessary or when it helped him achieve something. It had almost become a bit of a game between them. Harry used "Master" when he wanted to remind Voldemort that he was the wizard's chosen apprentice, seeking either to be taught something he thought the Dark Lord might be resistant to or to gain grace in something he was having trouble mastering to avoid the Dark Lord's ire. Conversely, he used "Lord" when speaking to Voldemort as Lord Slytherin, wanting to remind him that he was his heir, elevated in the dark wizard's eyes above anyone else in both blood and magic, as if reminding the Dark Lord that he was different from all others. Voldemort tolerated and even encouraged it by usually acquiescing to what Harry was trying to achieve because he liked it when Harry indulged him with visible submission.
Voldemort's crimson eyes scrutinized Harry, his demeanor shifting from initial surprise to a more calculated assessment as he acknowledged the use of his title. "What brings you to my wing at such a late hour, my heir?"
Harry's gaze swept over the room, a subtle delay as he gathered himself. "Would you care for a drink?" the Dark Lord offered.
Harry's eyes flicked to the decanter and crystal glasses neatly arranged on the side table. The younger wizard nodded, not out of thirst but out of learned strategy. During his time at Malfoy Manor, he had discovered the power of a seemingly casual drink in hand during conversations – a tactic to gather information or buy time with a discreet sip providing the option for a deliberate pause.
With a silent gesture of his wand, Voldemort filled two glasses, the amber liquid swirling within. Harry took his glass, contemplating its contents with a thoughtful expression.
"Harry?" Voldemort's tone carried a hint of impatience, the Dark Lord's tolerance waning.
Harry raised his eyes, steeling himself as he straightened in his seat. "I had another encounter with the vampires during dinner tonight."
Instantly, the atmosphere in the room shifted, a palpable surge of dark magic rippling through the air. Harry noticed the change keenly, his heightened sensitivity to magic post-ritual allowing him to perceive not just the power but also the underlying emotions fueling it. It was a welcome realization, finding that his newfound abilities gave him a unique insight into the caster's current state of mind. Voldemort's magic felt coiled, clearly aggravated with a hint of eagerness to be used. It was deadly, seeking an outlet.
"Did they attack you?" The question held a dangerous edge, loaded with implications.
Harry swallowed hard, his gaze flickering to the glass in his hand as he forced himself to remain calm. "Sort of. We made an arrangement, a truce of sorts for a week. I'm fine; no one was injured." Well, one of the vampires was dead, but he knew Voldemort cared little about that.
"What happened?" Voldemort's inquiry was sharp, probing.
Harry felt a subtle pressure against his mental defenses, not a breach but an evident expectation. He knew Voldemort's methods well enough – it wasn't a request but an implicit demand, albeit one allowing Harry a moment to comply instead of forcefully breaking down his shields and entering on his own.
"Can't I just explain?" Harry asked, frustrated by the standing expectation for him to disclose everything to the Dark Lord. He was finding the breach of his mental shields increasingly annoying and overly invasive, especially since he had repeatedly demonstrated his loyalty.
Initially, he had accepted the dynamic, resigned to the fact that he had first shown up at the manor more as a prisoner than anything else. Later, he did it to try and earn more trust, to prove he wasn't hiding anything. However, as their relationship evolved, the constant expectation became increasingly challenging for him to tolerate gracefully. The intrusions left him completely vulnerable, unable to keep anything to himself, something the maturing young wizard found increasingly intolerable. He wasn't the Dark Lord's object; he was his heir.
"You're clearly apprehensive about my reaction. You expect me to believe you won't filter the truth to suit your own distorted sensibilities?" Voldemort's words were a veiled warning, his expression unyielding.
Harry scowled, meeting Voldemort's gaze defiantly. "Wanting to avoid unnecessary bloodshed isn't a matter of distorted sensibilities," he retorted, dropping his mental shields to emphasize his point. He knew the act was practically petulant, that he was projecting that he wasn't withholding anything from the Dark Lord but was annoyed that he was being doubted and tested.
The Dark Lord's own growing displeasure was evident, yet he refrained from probing further into Harry's mind, respecting the temporary vulnerability Harry had chosen to reveal.
"Then speak," Voldemort commanded, his irritation palpable.
And so Harry recounted the night's events, detailing the initial attack by the first vampire, the not-so-veiled threats against both himself and Draco, and his use of the Black Flames that had earned a subtle widening of Voldemort's eyes and a nod of approval. He described raising his shield and the subsequent encounter with the remaining vampire, concluding with his interaction with Tullos, a name that clearly elicited recognition from the Dark Lord.
"You're omitting something," Voldemort observed, his acute perception not fooled by Harry's controlled demeanor and careful retelling. Harry's brows furrowed in confusion; his surprise evident despite his efforts to mask it.
Voldemort gave him a knowing, unimpressed look. "You've dropped your occlumency shields. While you've learned to control your features, I am still a Master Legilimens. Even without being in your mind, you practically radiate apprehension, and it's not associated with what you've already revealed."
Frustrated, Harry took a sip of the bourbon, the harsh burn feeling good on his dry throat. "The one who attacked me first, the one I killed, he tasted my blood," he admitted, unable to keep the bitterness from his words. The dark pulse of pressure that had been building in the room throughout Harry's narration erupted.
"You thought to exclude that?" Voldemort's voice carried a dangerous, deadly edge. "I took care of it. He's no longer a threat," Harry replied calmly.
The Dark Lord leaned forward, causing Harry to instinctively lean back. His body tensed as dark tendrils of power seemed to reach out, almost caressing him possessively.
"Have my teachings been in vain?" Voldemort's question dripped with disappointment and disapproval.
Harry shifted uncomfortably. This was exactly the reaction he'd anticipated, had feared. "I understand the significance of his actions." In truth, that was likely why Tullos had agreed to the week of peace, partly to address the severe breach of boundaries. Harry sensed that the second in command was not eager for conflict, unlike his own ruler. "That is why I dealt with him so firmly."
The Dark Lord's eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening as he processed Harry's words. "The messenger was sent on behalf of their Queen. The matter is far from settled," Voldemort stated, hostility radiating off him.
Harry's hands tightened on the glass, his knuckles whitening as he met the crimson gaze. "I know," he repeated softly, meeting the crimson gaze. "Please, I don't need you to fight my battle for me."
The tension in the room intensified, tangible in the air. While the Dark Lord had been incensed by the situation earlier, Harry sensed a shift as that anger was now directed squarely at him. He would have to tread carefully if he wanted to maintain any type of control over the conversation.
"An attack on my heir is an attack against me," the Dark Lord reiterated, his voice strained with controlled anger, each word carrying weight. Another pulse of dark energy filled the room, adding to the charged atmosphere. It felt like revenge, vengeance… possessiveness. Strangely, there was present an almost imperceptible sliver of worry that lurked within the magic as well.
"Yes, it is," Harry placated, his tone measured as he chose his words carefully. "But I think even in their clear overstep, there is an opportunity we can take advantage of instead of only seeking revenge."
Voldemort reclined in his chair, the leather creaking softly beneath him as he leaned back. He took a deliberate sip of his drink, his features schooled into a mask of composure that belied his growing frustration with his heir's lack of evident anger and thirst for vengeance. The strain in the room was unmistakable.
"And what, my pacifist of an heir," Voldemort queried, his tone sharp, almost mocking, "do you propose we seek instead of vengeance?" His eyes bore into Harry, searching for any hint of weakness or hesitation.
Hoping this might lead to the breakthrough Harry had desired, the young wizard eagerly pressed forward. "What did you hope to achieve with the vampires in the first war? I think you can still succeed; they're clearly worried you will gain power. They're reacting because they want something; they're afraid."
The Dark Lord tilted his head, a smirk spreading across his features, though it brought Harry no comfort. "You seem to think you know me so well, know how I should respond. You tell me, Harry. What do you think I sought in the first war? What do you believe you can obtain for me if we pursue opportunity over revenge?"
As the Dark Lord spoke, Harry sensed a shift in the room, a dangerous dance unfolding between them. The stakes, already high, escalating with each word. There was a subtle change in Voldemort's focus; it wasn't just about vengeance now. He saw an opportunity, but not with the vampires, instead with Harry.
The realization hit Harry like a bolt. Voldemort might actually be entertaining the idea of negotiating, a shocking yet logical move given the wizard's intelligence and ambition.
Voldemort was practical and driven by larger goals rather than petty motives. While Harry knew Voldemort would find a way to exact his revenge in some manner, he might be willing to see if Harry could gain the alliance of the vampires.
As he considered this, Harry forced himself not to be naive, to see this situation for what it truly was. The Dark Lord's willingness to consider peace wasn't rooted in benevolence but rather pragmatism. It aligned with his past desire for a vampire alliance, which now served multiple purposes: neutralizing a threat, showcasing Harry's allegiance, and offering the non-violent solution he had promised to seek as long as his heir remained loyally at his side. Meeting his master's calculating gaze, Harry suspected Voldemort saw this an opportunity it could become, a way to solidify and develop his heir's loyalty even further. This revelation strengthened Harry's resolve to press forward.
"You want power and control," Harry stated confidently. He could see the writing on the walls; if the Dark Lord agreed not to respond immediately, Harry would all but be committed to achieving what the Dark Lord sought with the vampires. This would be another Light- Dark situation where failure meant Voldemort would gladly shift to violence. And after more than a year at the dark wizard's side, it was not all that hard to guess what the Dark Lord wanted.
"You want them to submit to your rule over the entire magical world. For them not to challenge you." Challenging the Dark Lord exactly as they were doing now, Harry left unsaid.
"Do you believe you can achieve that?" Voldemort inquired, his crimson gaze fixed on Harry's emerald eyes. Harry noticed the Slytherin Lord's lack of confirmation regarding whether Harry had accurately identified what the Dark Lord desired.
Complicating matters was Harry's limited knowledge about vampires, including the promises or threats Voldemort had wielded to recruit them during the first war. His understanding merely skimmed the surface of the intricate history between the ancient beings and the formidable Dark Lord. This would be infinitely more difficult to achieve compared to what he was currently trying to do in the wizarding world.
"Is that truly what you want?" Harry pressed, refusing to be manipulated. "Will you refrain from starting a war or seeking vengeance for tonight if they submit to your authority, if they don't challenge your rise as Dark Lord?"
Voldemort's smile was thin, void of warmth, his eyes narrowing slightly "As you know, there is much I desire." Harry wondered if the Dark Lord himself realized he had reverted to the language of his inheritance.
"Avoiding an unnecessary war with the vampires will only help you gain power quicker," Harry suggested softly, mindful that pushing too forcefully might lead to rejection by Voldemort out of principle.
And yet, Harry felt confident that Voldemort would see his point. The Dark Lord stood at a precipice with the Light, consistently edging forward as he secured legitimate control through legal means that would be nearly impossible to challenge in the future. He had largely been successful because Voldemort had avoided openly displaying the cruel and sadistic nature the world knew he possessed.
A bloody and savage war, even if Voldemort emerged triumphant, would provide ammunition to the Light and Neutral factions against him. Could he emerge victorious in both conflicts if they erupted? Perhaps, but at what cost? It would entail the loss of magical lives and precious time. Harry suspected that a war with the vampires could be even more catastrophic than a clash between the Light and Dark sides.
While Harry was furious over the vampire's attacks and threats, he needed more time to develop a better solution. His only hope tonight was to avoid the Dark Lord immediately retaliating and beginning a war that he believed could still be avoided. If he could not find a solution, then the Dark Lord still had the option to handle matters his way. But if the vampires could be reasoned with, Harry wanted to try.
Locking gazes with the piercing crimson eyes, Harry straightened in his seat, striving to exude confidence. "I think we can use this situation to your benefit. Tonight didn't go as planned. They didn't gain any advantage. If anything, they lost it. We hold the upper hand and I think Tullos will consider an offer."
The silence stretched between master and apprentice, lord and heir. The refined features before Harry remained an enigma, leaving him truly uncertain about the direction the Dark Lord might choose to pursue.
"I will take your words into consideration," Voldemort finally replied. "Until I decide, you are not to leave the manor without my permission, and certainly not unaccompanied."
Harry furrowed his brows. Was the Dark Lord... grounding him?
"I wasn't alone last night," Harry pointed out, a hint of defiance in his voice. "And I won." He didn't understand why he was being punished when he had done everything right.
"We both know the Malfoy brat is worthless in a fight," Voldemort stated bluntly, his tone brooking no argument. "Do you honestly believe you could have defeated the ancient one, the one who called himself Tullos, if he had decided to attack you?"
Harry remained silent, both wizards knowing the answer to that question.
Doubting he could change the Dark Lord's mind, Harry returned to what he'd truly sought to achieve this night. "You won't take any actions against them without discussing it with me first?"
Voldemort's gaze sharpened, and Harry felt a fleeting surge of anger emanating from his scar, seeming more instinctual than deliberate.
"You think you can dictate my actions?" The Dark Lord's voice held a threatening edge.
"No," Harry acknowledged, unnecessarily he thought "Of course not. But I brought this to you hoping you would include me in your decision-making. This affects me as well. I am trying to be your loyal heir, and this is what that looks like. It goes both ways."
He realized he might have pushed the boundaries with his last statement but was willing to endure the Dark Lord's displeasure as he sought his own peace of mind. Their relationship had grown exceedingly complex. Harry knew the Dark Lord often accommodated him in ways that weren't strictly necessary. However, any hint that Voldemort wasn't in complete control of Harry still sparked anger, making him difficult to be around. Yet, Harry felt compelled to push those boundaries, seeking acknowledgment from Voldemort that this wasn't merely about blind obedience but mutual commitment, that he was not just a tool to be used and discarded. Everything about it was uncomfortable for Harry. He despised it.
Crimson eyes narrowed; there was another pulse of dark magic, this time tinged with frustration, annoyance, and perhaps a hint of indecision. "We will discuss this later," the Dark Lord concluded, clearly signaling the end of the conversation.
Unwilling to provoke Voldemort further, Harry nodded in submission, though his frustration at the lack of any clear agreement was evident. Setting down his barely touched glass, he stood and turned to leave.
"Harry."
With his hand on the doorknob, Harry turned back, meeting Voldemort's pensive gaze. They locked eyes for a moment, the silence between them charged.
"You did well tonight," Voldemort said at last.
Nodding, Harry forced himself to show appreciation, sensing that the compliment extended beyond the magic he had demonstrated in defending himself. It acknowledged that he had effectively represented the Dark Lord in a manner expected of his heir. Yet, internally, Harry remained frustrated; their conversation, while not confrontational, left many thoughts and emotions unresolved.
"I learned from the best," Harry replied softly, noting the pleased glint in the Dark Lord's eyes at his words as he turned and departed.
S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S
'What do you know about vampires, specifically during the first war?' he wrote in the journal.
Harry leaned against a tree trunk just beyond the forest's edge, Nagini prowling nearby in search of prey. It had been five days since his encounter with the vampires, leaving a mere two days until the offered meeting with Tullos.
True to his command, Voldemort had essentially grounded Harry. Despite a temptation to test this most recent restriction, Harry restrained himself from leaving. His post-ritual powers were evolving, allowing him to wield magic in unprecedented ways. He could easily sense the manor's protective wards, aware they hadn't yet been altered to prevent his departure in a way that only the manor lord could control. Which he suspected was a test in itself. Although he was physically unimpeded from leaving, the wards were attuned to signal Voldemort of any comings or goings. Harry had decided to save his blatant defiance for bigger matters, aware there would be consequences if he were caught.
The journal in his hands gave a soft pulse of magic, signifying there was a response. Harry glanced down excitedly.
'Not a lot offhand,' Hermione replied in her normal cursive flow. 'Why do you ask?'
'I had another confrontation with them,' Harry quickly summarized the night, skipping most of the details, not wanting to worry his friends or give them too much information in case they told Dumbledore. He primarily focused on the vampires' demands, and his belief that there might be a way to appease them to stop future attacks. Hermione had been rightfully afraid, asking if he thought there would be more attacks, if anyone else would become a target.
'I hope not. I'm trying to find a way to avoid it, to stop it before they truly do something that Voldemort will find unforgivable, or they challenge him in such an open way that his pride will force him to respond. Right now, there's no reason to believe the attacks are associated with him. But if that changes…' he knew she understood what was at stake, that this could evolve into a war, that it would change everything, and not for the better.
As he'd hoped, Hermione readily agreed to assist him in researching the first war. She even promised to delve deeper into understanding past conflicts and the history between vampires and wizards as far back as she could find.
'You are seriously the best,' Harry wrote, genuinely grateful for his friend.
"Be careful," she wrote back. "And don't let them or the Dark manipulate you into doing anything you'll regret."
Harry sighed, expecting the warning but not appreciating it. Their relationship had remained strained since his friend's unexpected visit to Slytherin Manor. The fact that they responded to his journal entries at all indicated that they had not abandoned him, even after he demonstrated the extent of his dark magic. However, especially with Hermione, there was a noticeable withdrawal, the entries were less open, less comfortable.
Harry forced himself not to take it too personally. Voldemort had approached her with an offer to aid the Dark, a proposition that he knew weighed heavily on her. He wished she felt comfortable confiding in him about her thoughts and feelings. Yet, just as he hesitated to discuss the emotional toll of killing members of the coven with them, he suspected Hermione saw his alignment with Voldemort making him someone unable to offer objective advice, someone who might sway her against her own principles. He didn't blame her but hated the chasm that seemed to be every widening between himself and his friends.
Nagini slithered back up to him, her lithe form looking noticeably larger, a bulge protruding partway down her scales.
"You were successful," Harry observed.
"Yes," she hissed contentedly. "Live prey is more satisfying than the dead rodents the annoying elf gives me."
"Why don't you always hunt then?" Harry inquired.
If a snake could look scandalized, that's exactly how Harry would describe Nagini's expression. "I don't want to work for my food every time I am hungry; it should be brought to me. I just wish it was alive."
Harry snorted softly, pushing himself off the ground. The two made their way back toward the manor. It was midday, and he had a few more hours before his scheduled meeting with Ambrose and Barty. That would give him enough time to go to the library and continue his own research on vampires. He'd found some interesting books, but given the short timeframe, he didn't think there were enough hours in the day to acquire the foundational knowledge needed to succeed in his plans. This realization was why he'd finally asked Hermione for help.
What Harry needed was for Voldemort to be upfront and tell him more about the origins of the current conflict. Harry wondered if Voldemort was intentionally avoiding him, genuinely occupied, or if he was still deciding whether to grant Harry this opportunity to broker peace vice yield to his darker impulses and retaliate against the vampires for their attack on his heir.
On top of that, his time was quickly running out for removing Bones as minister. Harry wasn't foolish enough to believe that Dark Lord would be lenient on that task just because an entire race of ancient blood sucking immortals had decided to complicate matters. Harry shockingly found himself missing the days where he just had to survive a year at school with one sociopathic Dark Lord after his life. Now he had to juggle keeping the Dark Lord's favor, manipulating wizarding politics, keeping his standing with Death Eaters, not scaring off his friends with his increasing use of dark magic, and an impending war with an immortal race. Yep, he missed Hogwarts and the anticipatory attempt on his life at the end of the year quite a bit.
Reaching the library, he sank into his favorite couch, curling his legs under him and grabbed the top book on a pile of at least seven different tomes, journals, and publications on vampires and the first war. Sighing, he broke the cover and got to work. It would be another long day. Who knew trying to save the world would strain his eyes so much?
S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S
The night before the meeting with Tullos Harry made his way to the dining room, anticipation coursing through him at the chance to finally have some personal time with the Dark Lord. It was one of the few planned gatherings they'd had the entire week. While Harry had accompanied Lord Slytherin to a meeting at the Ministry and they'd had time for two lessons on ward breaking, none of the events had proved timely for Harry to bring up the vampire problem.
Harry suspected Voldemort was, in fact, avoiding the topic. He'd either given off an impression that he was in a dark mood and not to be bothered, or during their training, had mercilessly quizzed Harry and tested his skills to exhaustion, leaving no spare moments to dive into other matters. While Harry now felt comfortable he could break through an anti- apparition ward, he was no closer to knowing how he should address the vampire problem, assuming he was even given the chance to try.
The only silver lining to his grounding was it seemed like Tullos had kept his word. According to the owl post that Harry read each morning, there had been no new attacks. Equally relieving, there were no indications that Voldemort had taken matters into his own hands and struck the vampires.
Taking his seat beside the Dark Lord, Harry stared at the food contemplatively, his appetite elusive. He could sense the piercing gaze of crimson upon him. Glancing back, he hesitated, unsure whether to broach the topic or wait for Voldemort to initiate the conversation. This was unfamiliar ground for him. The Dark Lord typically appeared to be a step ahead, meticulously planning every move. Yet, in this instance, it seemed that the vampire's aggressive assaults had caught Voldemort off guard. Or at the very least, Voldemort hadn't initially intended to grant Harry the opportunity to negotiate with them and was taking his time to decide.
Or perhaps this was all just one masterful manipulation that Harry was falling spectacularly for — that was certainly always an option the young wizard mused morbidly.
"How has your studying gone this week?" Voldemort asked, initiating the topic as he took a sip of his wine.
In truth, it hadn't gone well. Even with Hermione's help, there was very little published on the vampire's role in the first war. Harry had learned a lot about the children of the night this past week, but very little about what had motivated them to align with the Dark Lord, let alone promise any form of submission if he had won. Everything he'd read was they were powerful and prideful creatures. Many spanning centuries in age. There were periods of peace generations ago with wizarding kind, but that was usually short-lived. More often than not, the two communities could not live in peace, did not trust each other.
"Not as I'd hoped," Harry said truthfully, knowing Voldemort was intimately familiar with the content of the manor's library, trying to mislead the Dark Lord that he was more confident than he was would be foolish. "I could not figure out what you offered then in the first war. I'm not sure what they want now."
Voldemort studied his heir. "What did you learn about their kind?" He pressed.
And so Harry proceeded to share his findings. He explained that vampires were deeply hierarchical, with their King or Queen often wielding uncontested authority. He noted that older vampires, known as the ancients, were highly resistant to magic, with very few spells or shields having an effect on them. More importantly, his readings had led him to conclude that the fact that Sanguina had been challenged and defeated by Lilith was a significant development. Challenging the leader was only done under grave circumstances and usually resulted in a highly volatile time among the different covens.
Equally unnerving was learning that in an all-out war with the Queen, it was expected that vampires from every coven would unite to fight for her honor. Everything he had read pointed to two clear conclusion: the vampire world was in some form of disarray resulting from the first war, and more importantly, he did not want to take part in a war involving all of them. He just hoped the Dark Lord shared the same sentiment.
Voldemort listened silently, neither correcting nor interrupting. When Harry reached the limits of his knowledge and trailed off, silence enveloped them.
Harry shifted uncomfortably under the unnerving gaze. "What have you decided to do?" he asked at last.
"What do you think I should do?" Voldemort's response was measured.
Harry had almost anticipated the question; it felt like one of their lessons, except this time, the stakes were much higher.
"I doubt you will tolerate her challenge against you on principle," Harry admitted, addressing the true crux of the problem. In a way, he felt flattered that the Dark Lord would feel the need to respond solely because his heir had been threatened, even if it seemed archaic and unnecessary.
"That she targeted me at all means she's fully committed to challenging you," he continued with a slight shrug. "But what I don't understand is why Tullos agreed to a truce, even if it was only for a short time, since he agreed to it on her behalf. This makes me think they might not be in agreement. That there might be others who do not want this war either."
Harry paused, contemplating the complexities of vampire loyalty and politics, frustrated at his own lack of understanding. "I don't know enough about vampires and their loyalty to know if it's manipulation or if Tullos, in his position as second-to-the-throne truly does not want this to evolve into an all-out war. That Sanguina even considered making an accord with you means there are vampires who wanted to side with you, that whatever you promised held temptation. Those who felt that way are probably still around; I doubt all of them agree with this new Queen, that they want a war with wizarding kind." Harry's words were largely the speculations he'd been toying with all week. He was testing out ideas he'd been contemplating, hoping to subtly gauge the Dark Lord's reaction to see if the dark wizard agreed. However, the Dark Lord's face remained a mystery, masking his thoughts.
He paused, locking eyes with Voldemort. "What is the betrayal they accused you of? Is it real, or a lie?"
Voldemort raised his wine glass before him, swirling the red liquid almost absentmindedly. The torchlight reflected off the edges of the glass, casting a blood-like glow.
"It was before the first war truly kicked off that I reached out to them," Voldemort began, his voice measured as he recounted the past events. He took a sip, the movement unhurried, looking almost regal. Harry could only hope to someday mirror such poise, such complete composure and authority. "I sought to expand my forces, to bring the Children of the Night under my sway, knowing that if I had them, I would have accomplished what all other Dark Lords had tried but failed to achieve. I met Sanguina and the leaders of the vampire covens, offering them a place at my side in exchange for their loyalty and strength."
Leaning forward, he set the glass back on the table, shifting slightly toward his heir; his gaze intensifying as he spoke. Harry could feel his magic subtly expanding, reflecting the Dark
Lord's darkening mood as he recalled what had occurred between him and the night's children.
"Their demands were audacious, yet not unexpected," he continued. "They craved rights and respect under wizarding law. They wanted the freedom to feed on or convert any muggle or magical being that trespassed on their territory. They insisted that their territories remain under their control and demanded a voice in the ministry's decisions regarding magical affairs impacting them or other magical creatures."
A sardonic smile played on the Dark Lord's lips as he recalled the negotiations. "I began to weave a web of agreements with them, promising these privileges in return for their allegiance. To seal our accord, I provided them with prisoners—magical and muggle alike— captured from those who dared oppose me in the first war. It was a warning to those who fought me, a message that no one could stand against me and live."
His eyes narrowed slightly, memories of betrayal fueling his words and bitterness entering his tone.
"They have their own unique brand of magic, innate to their immortality," he explained. "As you know, I sought anything that would help me conquer death. We exchanged magic, shared rituals. What they gave me was powerful, and I responded by giving them rituals of equal weight. Despite them being dark creatures, not all responded the same to dark magic. Some allowed it to control them, to include their Queen. The rituals twisted Sanguina's mind. She became paranoid and exceedingly power-hungry to a degree where she lost rationality.
Concerned that her leadership would be challenged, by me and by others, she frequently engaged in increasingly complex rituals seeking more power, blatantly disregarding the costs. She gave herself to the darkness, no longer controlling it but becoming controlled by raw emotions, desire, and need"
He glanced at his heir, giving him a pointed look. "I've warned you about what powerful dark magic can do when uninhibited, when one can't handle it." Harry shiverer, the warning not lost on him, ever fearful of his own dabbling. The torches flickered, casting eerie shadows that danced on the walls, creating an ominous ambiance that cloaked the dining chamber.
"Sanguina began to spiral into madness," Voldemort explained, his voice carrying a touch of remorse. "She became ruthless and unhinged, thirsting for greater power. Her aggression was aimed at both her own kind and myself." His tone shifted to contemplation, as if vividly recalling the past memories. The room seemed to chill, tension thickening the air, it crackled with suppressed magic. Harry found himself spellbound by the Dark Lord's narrative, captivated by every word as Voldemort's voice resonated through the quiet retelling.
"She deceived her own, distorting our agreements, demanding more than I would ever concede. The vampires turned against me, attacking my followers. In response, I showed no mercy, striking them down for their betrayal," Harry could vividly imagine it all—the attacks, the betrayal, the Dark Lord's unrelenting power, and the lives lost.
"It was only after I was compelled to act, to protect my own, that I realized the depths of Sanguina's descent and the full repercussions of her actions." As Voldemort continued, his eyes shifting towards one of the nearby torches, gaze momentarily lost in its dancing flames.
"She poisoned her children's minds, driving them to rebellion. After my retaliation, they fled to regroup."
He turned back to Harry. "Shortly after their initial rebellion came the night I sought you out, and you know the rest..." His expression hardened as he concluded his retelling of the tragic alliance. "The vampires learned the price of defying me. They underestimated my power and determination. Their Queen's ambitions, fueled by greed, led to their downfall."
Harry fell into a pensive silence, absorbing the tale. He wasn't certain what he had anticipated or how he felt now after hearing it. The revelation unsettled him. "Do the vampires know that their Queen altered the agreement?" he asked softly. He couldn't shake a lingering doubt about the complete truth of the situation. While he doubted Voldemort had lied, it could simply be his perspective on the truth. It wasn't a question he could directly pose to Voldemort, given the proud and cunning nature of the Slytherin Lord, who likely wouldn't entertain the notion of being mistaken.
Crimson eyes locked onto emerald, their intensity unmistakable. "I never cared to investigate. Whether they acted out of ignorance or intent, it makes no difference. They defied me, altering our accord, and faced the repercussions."
Harry nodded, his mind swirling. "And the one who calls himself Tullos. He's a Prince of the Throne, isn't he?'
Voldemort nodded, "Yes, he was one of the coven princes when I last met with them. If he is Lilthe's first child, that would mean he held her favor and had standing with her even under Sanguina's rule. While my acquaintance with him was limited, I know he was among the coven princes who supported our initial treaty."
The fact that Voldemort didn't express directed anger towards the vampire prince like Sanguina and Lilithe gave Harry hope that a solution could still exist that wasn't war. Although Harry's hope was faint and he doubted Tullos would betray his creator, the young Potter Lord believed that Tullos had granted him the week and a second meeting because he desired something better than what was on the horizon.
However, after hearing Voldemort's story, Harry wasn't sure he could offer the price being asked. He would never be able to negotiate the same deal, condoning the sacrifice of magicals and Muggles. It was a line he could not allow himself to cross, it was cruel, inhumane. The more he learned, the more he realized how hopeless it would be to try fix this.
"And now," he forced himself to ask. "Could you forgive the attacks they've committed if it meant achieving your original goals?"
"What do you think, my heir?"
Harry hesitated, contemplating the complexity of the situation, knowing Voldemort's nature better than most. The dark wizard was not known for his forgiveness, yet his ambitions surpassed mere vengeance. Harry's own experience attested to that; after all, Voldemort had been willing to embrace the one responsible for his thirteen-year exile as a wraith because of what he achieved out of it.
While it spoke volumes about the lengths the Dark Lord would go to achieve his objectives, Harry's conversion hadn't occurred without a significant amount of resistance, time, and suffering. Harry knew he could not recreate that with the vampires, even if he wanted to.
There were no soul shards, prophecies, or forced marks of servitude that could be mimicked with an entire race. He didn't know what it would take for Voldemort to forgive, or at least tolerate, the vampires. Nor did he know what the vampires would need to be able to accept the Dark Lord. But a hopeless cause had never deterred him before.
He met Voldemort's piercing gaze. "Please let me try."
S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S
The Dark Lord agreed to let Harry attend the meeting under strict conditions. First, Harry would be accompanied by Voldemort's elite, a non-negotiable requirement. As soon as they arrived, they would combine their magic into his sunlight-inspired shield, reinforcing it to withstand even an ancient vampire's assault.
Another condition involved Voldemort giving Harry an amulet designed to repel physical attacks, imbued with magical properties to deter anyone with malicious intent from touching him. Harry was surprised by the gift—a finely carved stone fashioned into a ring that he placed on his left hand's pointer finger. Its protection extended to both magical and non- magical threats, granting Harry crucial moments to avoid capture or injury since the vampire would be repelled at least once by a powerful burst of magic.
Given Harry's success in bypassing anti-apparition and portkey wards, Voldemort was confident in the combination of the sunlight shield, the ring, and Harry's escape abilities. While these protections wouldn't endure an ancient vampire's attack indefinitely, they should hold long enough for Harry to escape, which he promised under threat of eternal grounding to do immediately if he felt threatened.
"You must exercise utmost caution and avoid reckless risks," the Dark Lord commanded in the serpent's tongue as Harry prepared to depart alongside Barty, Snape, and much to his chagrin, Bellatrix. "Should anything seem amiss, you are to withdraw immediately."
"I understand," Harry replied, struggling to contain his frustration. The Dark Lord had repeated his warnings at least three times since he agreed to allow Harry to attend the meeting. Harry felt like an untrusted child, one who had already been grounded for a week because the Dark Lord feared he might be attacked again. What was the point of learning all this magic, conducting the ritual, having this power if Voldemort was going to treat Harry like he was fragile, ready to break at any moment?
"You have ensured I will be safe. I will be fine. This is our best option if you want an alliance with them," Harry said, his tone tinged with barely concealed exasperation.
Voldemort met his eyes. "I would not trade you for an alliance with them."
Unsure how to feel at the statement, Harry nodded. "You won't. I will return to you."
He held the stare for a moment longer, and finally, Voldemort nodded, turning to the three Death Eaters. "Do not disappoint me," he said, switching back to English. All nodded in acknowledgment.
Harry soon arrived in the same alley where Draco and he had been ambushed. Immediately, he cast the shield that would prevent vampires from penetrating it. With the three Death Eaters at his side, they all channeled their strength into it, amplifying its protective power. Harry could feel the magic pulsating, radiating with strength. He doubted anyone could breach it, at least not without a struggle that would buy them all enough time to escape if needed.
"I don't want any interruptions; allow me to speak with him freely," Harry said quietly, addressing the three Death Eaters accompanying him. Barty nodded in agreement without complaint. Bellatrix grinned, appearing eager for a confrontation but refrained from arguing. Snape, on the other hand, wore a worried expression, as if he believed Harry was venturing into something far beyond his capabilities. It irked the young wizard, seeing the wizard's doubt and clear concern. He was reminded that he still needed to discuss with Snape the importance of not reporting him to the Order and taking an oath of secrecy. He would have to do it when they returned, assuming the night wasn't completely derailed.
As Harry glanced up, he sensed a shift in the magical aura around him. Someone was approaching.
"Tullos," Harry greeted quietly.
"Heir Slytherin," the vampire replied in kind, stepping out from the shadows.
"Do you prefer that over calling me Harry?" Harry asked, genuinely curious.
"We meet to discuss the Dark Lord, the one who goes by Lord Slytherin these days. It is appropriate to address you in the capacity in which you seek to speak to me."
"Should I address you as Prince to the Throne?" Harry asked, gazing at the vampire as he stopped directly outside the shield.
Tullos smiled. "It depends on what you hope to achieve today. We all wear many faces."
Harry frowned at the cryptic words but acknowledged their truth. As he observed the immortal figure before him, he couldn't deny the man's striking appearance. With elegant features, a strong build, dressed in quality soft ivory silk shirt and black slacks, sharp brows, a pointed chin, dark hair, and ancient eyes tinged with red, he exuded a commanding presence. Yet, it was his aura of deadliness that stood out the most to Harry. He wasn't eager to see how strong he was, how resistant to Harry's spells and magic he might be.
Tullos glanced behind him, arching a brow. "No Dark Lord, but plenty of his watchers."
Harry expanded his own senses and sensed no one. Either the other vampires were exceptional at hiding themselves or Tullos had come alone. Since he could still only barely sense Tullos, he suspected it was the later, that he'd come alone. But if he was as proficient as Voldemort had warned, even with the three dark wizards Harry had brought, there would be little chance of killing him. Likely only the Dark Lord could do that until Harry became stronger. No, Harry's only hope was to either come to a new truce, or escape before the vampire broke the shield, something Harry found himself primed to do at first aggression.
"My last few encounters with your kind haven't exactly been welcoming," Harry replied, a smirk playing on his lips despite himself. It was an involuntary reaction; he couldn't help but like Tullos. It might have been a mistake, but Harry had always trusted his instincts.
"That is true. Do you believe we are destined to repeat our circle of conflict?" Tullos asked, raising an eyebrow, his thin smile carrying a hint of danger, hunger, and challenge.
"I'd prefer not to," Harry admitted.
Tullos chuckled. "Perhaps we won't. So, what news do you bring, young Child of the Dark?"
Harry started at the address, unsure what to make of it. "Hopefully, news of hope," he said, glancing at the vampire, unable to gauge his intentions. He wasn't sure if he had granted him a week's truce out of genuine interest in finding a solution, or if Tullos was merely humoring him.
"And what hope is that?" Tullos inquired.
"I want to find a lasting solution, a permanent agreement that both your kind and mine can live with," Harry stated.
Tullos frowned, bitterness reflecting in his eyes. "We've attempted that before."
"You've never tried it with me," Harry countered. He couldn't blame the vampire. If what Voldemort had said was true, they believed the Dark Lord had massacred their kind and reneged on their deal, unaware of the actual truth—a truth that Harry sincerely hoped was accurate.
"How can I trust you, Heir Slytherin?" The question seemed genuine, like the vampire wanted to. Harry glanced behind him; Bellatrix looked eager for a fight, while Barty and Snape appeared concerned, their eyes locked on Harry. He knew they would be livid at what he was about to do. Taking a deep breath, he flicked his wand, dispelling the golden dome. Since he was the primary caster and the others had joined in, the entire spell dissolved.
Behind him, he heard cries of outrage and confusion, accompanied by quickly approaching footsteps.
Harry flicked his wand again, conjuring another dome, this time a different one. It was a spell Voldemort had taught him a few months ago, one that kept magical spells out and prevented anyone from entering. He made it large enough to encompass himself and Tullos but block the others out. They would be unable to reach him unless they dismantled the dome, something he suspected none of them were capable of without risking harm to himself, a prospect that would give them pause.
"Brave wizard," Tullos murmured, his inhuman speed blurring as he appeared directly before Harry, close enough to touch him.
"Brave or stupid," Harry quoted, memories of a different time echoing in his mind. Despite wearing the ring that should prevent anyone from touching him, he suspected Voldemort would not be pleased with this unnecessary risk once word got back to him. Yet, Harry believed this gesture was necessary. He lifted his eyes, meeting the vampire's gaze as Tullos towered over him by almost a head in height.
"Our week is over, and you're no longer bound by a truce," Harry declared. "I stand before you as the heir of the Dark Lord you seek to go to war with. However, I offer you an alternative. I'm not certain what it will entail, but I ask that you take a chance, work with me, and I genuinely have hope we can find a solution that we can all live with."
"Promises have been made before," Tullos repeated, his voice tinged with harshness. Despite his earlier calm and playful demeanor, Harry could sense the underlying power, anger, and frustration radiating from the vampire.
"None like the ones I offer," Harry asserted.
"Arrogant," the vampire whispered, leaning forward. Harry felt the urge to step back but held his ground. Spells collided with his shield, but it held strong, muffling the yells and pleas from outside. Inside the dome, it was just him and Tullos.
"No," Harry shook his head firmly. "I may be many things—reckless, perhaps even delusional, but I am not arrogant. I take no pleasure in any of this. Everything I've done since entering the wizarding world has been to help others, to achieve peace. I don't believe in any type of supremacy; I believe no one is inherently better than another. I do not want war with you and your kind."
"I doubt your Dark Lord shares your sentiments," Tullos countered. It was clear he was listening, considering Harry's word, though his suspicion was equally apparent.
"My Dark Lord," Harry emphasized, his voice growing more resolute, "has chosen me as his apprentice, his heir, his representative. I am here on his behalf. While we may have differing methods, if you trust anything, trust that this is not a trick. If we can find a peaceful path forward that both sides can accept, I am confident he will honor it."
"What is it, then, that you offer, Heir Slytherin? What can you provide that would rectify past grievances?" Tullos pressed.
And there lay the challenge; Harry still didn't have a clear answer. "You called me arrogant," Harry said, his tone somber. "True arrogance would be me, barely an adult, coming here and dictating what I think you want to hear, making promises I can't keep." He offered a bitter smile. "Honestly, I don't know what can make things right. But I am willing to try and discover it. I am willing to learn and fight for it. That's all I can promise."
Harry took a deliberate step back, easing out of the intense confrontation. "Continue this negotiation, continue working with me toward peace. Help me understand you, and perhaps you'll also uncover something about my kind that could lead us both to a solution we can both accept."
"And if I decline?" Tullos questioned, his tone dangerous. Harry looked at the immortal being, seeing his own mortality reflected in the red-tinged eyes.
"I hope you won't," Harry said softly. "Why else give me the week if you didn't have hope it could amount to something?" He gazed at the vampire, searching the ancient visage before him. "I'm fairly certain you could have killed me the night we first met. Even now, with no shield in place, we both know you could do as you please with me. Death doesn't frighten me; what I fear is not giving my all to try and create a world worth living in. You've witnessed centuries; I hope you also desire a future worth living for."
Tullos stared at him, seeming to see Harry anew. "You are indeed a unique wizard, Harry Potter," he murmured. "We will be in touch." With a swift motion, he vanished, effortlessly breaking through Harry's erected shield as if it were nothing, leaving the remnants of his magic shattered.
He heard footsteps approach; another shield of glowing sunlight encompassed him.
"Harry! You reckless fool! What were you thinking dropping the shield?" Snape spun him around, his black eyes glaring with boiling disapproval. The potions master trembled, his complexion ashen.
"You could have been killed! Why would you do that?" Bellatrix's voice was a mix of fury and fear, clearly dreading the prospect of reporting to Voldemort if his heir met his demise under her watch.
Harry shrugged off Snape's tight grip, surveying the three minders before him. Bellatrix appeared both enraged and apprehensive, while Barty seemed utterly dumbfounded, unable to comprehend Harry's audacious gamble. Snape, however, radiated a different kind of anger—a deep concern that spoke of genuine care for Harry's well-being, above and beyond duty.
"I did what was necessary," Harry replied bluntly, annoyance coursing through him at having to justify him actions. Still processing the intense moment, he could scarcely believe what he had just accomplished. "I completed the task assigned by the Dark Lord. And you completed yours, given that I'm not dead." The last remark carried a hint of irony and self-deprecation. However, the lack of amusement or relief mirrored back at him in their unimpressed and even angry expressions showed they were experiencing very different emotions from Harry himself.
Composing himself, forcing his heartbeat to calm, Harry met each of their gazes squarely. He had done what he believed was required to gain Tullos' trust, and he had no regrets. His words held truth; everything he did was in pursuit of a world he wanted to live in. If he had not convinced the vampire to trust him, this would have all been for nothing. Finally, he felt he like he was finding his own path. It was invigorating, empowering. He felt alive. And he refused to be intimidated by these three Death Eaters after surviving an encounter with an ancient vampire.
"That was a reckless risk; we had a plan, and you disregarded it," Snape hissed, his frustration evident. The potion master looked like he wanted to grab the young wizard again and shake some sense into him. It made something in Harry snap. A week of being kept inside, the repeated warnings from Voldemort. He wasn't a child.
Harry took a step back, allowing his magic to pulse out angrily. "I did what was necessary," Harry asserted firmly. Pausing for emphasis, he continued, "You serve the Dark Lord, which means you serve me. Your task tonight was to accompany me and ensure it wasn't a trap. I won't be spoken to like this." He paused, glaring, allowing his magic to pulse out further. "I don't expect you to question my methods again." With that, he took a deep breath and disapparated on the spot, returning to Slytherin Manor, his home. He had plans to make and a war to avoid.
AN: Voila! Thanks for reading and engaging