Chapter 5: Ultimatums
Three days had passed, and no one had entered Harry's room, a fact for which he was grateful. It reminded him somewhat of his life with the Dursleys, when they refused to acknowledge his presence. Moody's threat had been enough to make his portly uncle afraid to do anything but glare, at least for the first part of the summer. For the most part, they had reached an uneasy truce, even with the threat of his convicted felon of a godfather no longer looming over them.
Harry should have known something was amiss. Vernon was not the type to suddenly stop fearing magic, even if he despised Harry. His fear of the fully-grown "freaks" outweighed his desire to expel his no-good, lazy nephew from their house, as it had done in the past. Harry had been such a fool. To think he'd been so eager to throw himself in as the sacrificial lamb to save Ron and Hermione. That was the only good thing that had come of this whole mess; at least they were safe. Or at least he hoped they were. He had no real way of knowing if Voldemort had released them. But he also didn't see a reason for Voldemort to lie, not when he clearly held so much power over Harry. It was almost in the deranged wizard's favor to offer that small kindness if he genuinely wanted to sway Harry to the dark side.
Food appeared three times a day, and each meal was larger than the entirety of a full day's meager rations that the Dursleys had begrudgingly given him. Strangely enough, he also felt reasonably confident that Voldemort would not break his promise and just up and kill him. Not that he could forget the evil glint in the Dark Lord's eye when he told Harry that he would find a way to get what he wanted. Harry had no idea what the dark wizard meant but was positive he did not want to find out.
On the third day, his door opened, and to Harry's dismay, the familiar blond hair and arrogant sneer of Draco Malfoy entered his room.
"Gone crazy from isolation yet, Potter?" he smirked. The youngest Malfoy's skin was still unnaturally pale, and he did not look as arrogant and antagonistic as he did at school. Harry suspected that living out his dream of groveling on his knees before a volatile dark lord with a special love of torture was not shaping up to be the grand experience Malfoy had always dreamt of.
Rolling his eyes, Harry paused his examination of the lengthy Slytherin teen. "Hardly. I would rather remain alone than have to look at your pathetic face."
"Manners, Potter. We wouldn't want the Dark Lord to bring you to your knees again..." Malfoy sneered, flushing. The pink stood out in stark contrast to the white pallor of his drawn cheeks.
Harry stood up so fast that Malfoy actually drew his wand. "Come now, Malfoy; don't tell me you're afraid of someone without a wand. And I thought you could sink no lower."
The blonde's fist clenched in anger. "Shut up, Potter! Sinking lower? Your best friends are mudbloods and traitors. That's as low as it gets!"
"They're a hell of a lot better than what you keep around. I bet those two goons you call friends can't even spell their own names," retorted Harry, feeling his anger rise.
"Draco," came a voice from the hallway with a very familiar drawl. It was deeper and more elegant than the teen's whiny voice, and arrogance and self-pride practically oozed in a way that Harry suspected Draco aspired to achieve. "Stop your childish quarrel. The Dark Lord has plans and will not be pleased if you cause him to be late."
"Yes, father," said Malfoy meekly, dropping his head admonishingly as Lucius Malfoy entered.
Malfoy Senior stepped through the door entrance, casting an arrogant sneer around the room. "I see the Dark Lord has been treating you far better than you deserve," drawled Lucius.
"I could say the same since he lets you live," spat Harry. He knew he was treading dangerous waters, but he had a feeling that Voldemort wouldn't let his Death Eaters harm him. That was a right that he imagined the Dark Lord reserved for himself for the time being.
"Have a care, Potter," Malfoy senior said haughtily. "I may not be allowed to harm you, but I can do whatever I wish with your little friends. Or did the Dark Lord not tell his latest little toy that we're attacking your precious Order today? All of your pitiful friends will be dead before sunrise tomorrow."
Harry glared at the arrogant Malfoy lord, barely processing the threat. "You're lying," he said, at last, the words sounding feeble to his own ears. "There's no way you could know their location."
"Oh, but we do. When that mutt of yours died, the house passed on to you. And since you foolishly did not claim the will," he smiled nastily at that, "without your approval, that home can no longer be used as their hideout. We know exactly where they are meeting. It will be quite the gathering when we arrive." He laughed as he strode into the room and up to the large wardrobe that sat unused in the corner. With a flick of his wand, the doors swung open, and clothes began to fly out and land on the bed beside Harry. "Now, get dressed into some proper garments; I promise you will not like it if I have to force you. The Dark Lord does not wish to be seen with muggle-loving riffraff."
"He's taking me with him?" Harry asked in disbelief. His heart beat painfully in his chest as he vainly tried to squash down the fear he was feeling. What if Malfoy was telling the truth? What if Voldemort knew where the Order was meeting and planned to attack them?
"So, it would seem," smirked Malfoy. "I think he wants you to watch all of your friends die. Now get dressed; we do not have all day." He turned and strode out of the room, his black
robes flailing behind him. Draco gave Harry one contemptuous sneer before turning his back to Harry as if waiting for him to change.
Sighing, Harry obediently began to change out of the unwashed muggle clothes he had on when he left the Dursleys. There was no point in infuriating Voldemort if what Lucius said was true. His only chance of saving his friends would be if he could direct Voldemort's attention away from them in some way. With a sickening realization, Harry understood that this was what Voldemort had meant when he said he would force Harry to join him. He was going to harm all the people Harry loved and cared for to make Harry do what he wanted.
The injustice of it made Harry want to scream in frustration. He could not imagine joining Voldemort, but if it came down to his friends or his freedom? He swallowed, banishing the thought. He could scarcely consider it.
Harry finished dressing and looked into the mirror that had been repaired the night after he had shattered it. The clothes he wore made him want to vomit. He had on long black pants and a simple grey tailored shirt adorned with silver and icy blue stitchings in tasteful locations. He swapped his frayed sneakers for some type of leather boots, probably made from the hide of a magical animal. The garments shouted lavish expense. Shaking his head, he turned back to Malfoy, who he saw was looking at him with some approval.
"I don't know why you don't wear decent clothes more often," said Malfoy with a smirk similar to his father's. "It makes you look less like the mudblood lover you are."
"Just take me to Voldemort," Harry growled, ignoring that Malfoy practically wet himself at the Dark Lord's name.
In silence, the two teens walked through the halls. Harry couldn't begin to guess which direction they were heading; there were too many twists and turns. After about five minutes of walking, Malfoy finally stopped before a large oak door that had two large flaming torches hanging from the wall on either side.
Malfoy seemed to be trying to steady his nerves before entering, but Harry was so angry that Voldemort threatened those he cared about yet again that he shoved Malfoy roughly out of the way and threw open the doors. As he gazed around the large, dimly lit room, he was shocked to see that it was full of cloaked and masked Death Eaters.
"I see you decided to join us, Harry," came Voldemort's soft voice as all heads turned towards him and Draco. "I have a marvelous treat for you."
"The threat you made was against me and me only, and it doesn't involve my friends," spat Harry, marching through the Death Eaters toward the throne that Voldemort was sitting on. His scarlet eyes danced menacingly as Harry approached, but Harry was beyond common sense at that point, missing the sinister posture of the dark wizard and the underlying threat his dark power portrayed as it pulsed through the room. He ignored the hungry and speculative eyes of the inner circle as they traced his movements. Harry straightened his shoulders, forcing his head to be held high. He was without a wand and powerless. The only thing he had was his pride. He would not cower before Voldemort or his followers.
Harry felt a warning flash of pain through his scar, a searing reminder of the connection between him and Voldemort. But he continued to march up to Voldemort, his fist clenched at his side. The torches lining the walls flared up with an angry roar, mirroring the anger surging within Harry. He would not let Voldemort kill anyone else he cared about just to get to him.
He couldn't bear the weight of more deaths on his conscience, no matter the personal cost.
Voldemort's lips curled into a faint smile as Harry stopped before him, trembling with suppressed fury. Harry's defiant glare met the piercing red eyes of the Dark Lord, who observed him with a mix of amusement and challenge. Swallowing hard, Harry kept his head held high, maintaining an unbroken gaze with his captor. He had obeyed Voldemort's summons without resistance, praying that Malfoy's ominous words were untrue, that Voldemort did not intend to attack the Order.
"I gave you an opportunity to accept my offer the easy way; now we'll do it my way," Voldemort's voice resonated ominously, and Harry winced as another wave of pain coursed through his scar. The words had come across as a hiss, Voldemort had switched to Parseltongue.
"I will never bow to you," Harry responded in kind, still struggling to believe that Voldemort's current objective was his submission. The man who had tried to kill him sixteen years ago now wanted him as a servant? Wanted to teach him, even. It made no sense.
"You will," Voldemort promised as the pain in Harry's scar intensified. Harry clenched his fists, determined not to show weakness. The pain wasn't as excruciating as when Voldemort had touched him, but it served as a chilling reminder of the Dark Lord's capabilities.
Voldemort rose slowly, descending from his elevated throne with an air of leisure. Nagini uncoiled herself from the ball at her master's feet, her black eyes gleaming in the torchlight.
Harry took a shaky breath but stood his ground. The overwhelming power of the Dark Lord's presence washed over him, threatening to consume his senses. Voldemort's magical control was undeniably intimidating. "Torture me if you think it will make me submit, go ahead and try. But this has nothing to do with my friends, so leave them out of it," Harry whispered, as the Dark Lord neared.. Although he burned with anger, he dared not do anything to rash, the safety of his friends likely hinged on his compliance. He had no doubt who held the power in this moment.
"I'm afraid, Harry," Voldemort hissed, his eyes never leaving Harry's, "that I am not a patient man. While I derive some satisfaction from your suffering when you defy me, I would much prefer expediting this defiance. I have greater plans to attend to than your feeble rebellion.
Now, it's time you learn what true power is and who wields it." Voldemort had reached Harry, towering over him. His long, thin fingers closed around Harry's elbow before the teen could react. A fresh wave of pain surged through Harry's scar, forcing him to shut his eyes tightly, trying to block it out. The pain became unbearable, as though his head might split in two.
With a deliberate movement, Voldemort stepped closer, his tall figure casting an ominous shadow over the teenager. He switched back to English, his crimson eyes fixed on Harry. "It's time for you to see your friends again; they've been deeply concerned about you."
Harry's eyes snapped open, and he gazed up at the red orbs studying him. "No, don't," Harry pleaded, his words falling on deaf ears.
Voldemort's lips curled in a satisfied smirk as he looked down at the helpless boy. "You will come to understand the extent of my power over your life, Harry. You are mine. Soon, you will accept that."
Suddenly, Harry felt as if he were being compressed, his chest constricted, and his body squeezed together. With a pop, the sensation ceased, and Harry realized they were standing in a very familiar yard. As he beheld the slanting Burrow, a place he considered his true home, he heard distinct pops as the Death Eaters apparated beside them. There had to be at least twenty of them.
Shoved roughly into the hands of a nearby Death Eater, both of Harry's arms were quickly seized and forced behind his back. He watched helplessly as Voldemort addressed the group. "Remember what I told you," Voldemort said in a barely audible voice. "I will not tolerate failure. Now go and have a little fun." He turned to Harry with an entirely satisfied expression.
"Don't," Harry repeated miserably, his voice hollow, as he observed the Death Eaters, all except the one who held him, rushing toward his best friend's home. They blasted open the door with a powerful curse, the air filled with screams of fear and pain as figures scattering in all directions. Within moments, chaos reigned, spells flying in every direction and agonized cries echoing just out of Harry's view.
Harry jerked against the hand holding him, pulling in vain to get free. "I want you to know that this is happening because you refused me," Voldemort declared before turning gracefully, his black cloak billowing around him as he strode toward the side gate of the house. The imposing Dark Lord vanished from view before Harry could summon his voice. The cacophony of screams persisted, concentrated in the backyard, hidden from Harry's sight.
Occasionally, he caught glimpses of crimson or emerald spells streaking through his field of vision, but he remained clueless about which side was winning or who had succumbed to the unforgivable green killing curse.
Harry struggled relentlessly but could not free himself from the unyielding grip of the Death Eaters who held him captive. The man who clutched him maintained a wordless, vice-like grasp that Harry couldn't loosen. On the verge of despair, Harry watched as an even more chilling sight appeared. Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew entered the front yard locked in a ferocious duel. Spells of every hue flew from their wands, narrowly blocked by each other's lethal counterattacks.
A kaleidoscope of colors streaked through the air, but it became apparent that Remus was the superior wizard. Peter had already lost his mask, and his cape emitted billowing smoke from a fire he barely managed to extinguish while retaining his wand. Throughout their skirmish, insults were exchanged, though Harry could scarcely make out their words. It wasn't until they drew closer that Wormtail uttered the only words capable of breaking Remus's concentration and giving him the upper hand.
"Look behind you, Moony, there's your best friend's precious son, completely helpless while you stand here and fight me," the watery-eyed man squeaked, gesturing toward Harry. Remus cast a quick glance in Harry's direction, and that fleeting distraction was all Wormtail needed to launch a disabling spell. It sent Remus's wand spiraling into the air and knocked him onto him vulnerably onto his back.
"No!" Harry shouted, futilely trying to break free as Wormtail approached Remus, a triumphant smirk stretched across his drawn face.
"Oh, how the roles have reversed, my old friend," sputtered Wormtail. "Now it is my turn to decide whether you live or die. I don't think it will turn out the same way it did when you had me..."
Harry watched in horror as Wormtail extended his silver hand toward Remus's throat. The realization struck Harry with a gut-wrenching jolt—silver kills werewolves. Harry felt an intense surge of white-hot anger, a feeling more potent than anything he had ever experienced. Without even comprehending what he was doing, Harry harnessed that power, directing it at the Death Eater who held him.
With a yelp of pain, the Death Eater released his grip and stumbled backward, terror etched across his dull eyes hidden behind the white skull mask. Harry wasted no time, sprinting across the unkempt lawn toward the man who had been a father figure to him, one of the few who had fulfilled that role in his life. Just as Wormtail's finger was about to touch Remus's skin, Harry somehow concentrated all his anger and directed it at Wormtail with unwavering intensity. It felt like an Expelliarmus, but immeasurably more powerful, raw magic unshaped by Latin incantations, not channeled through the feeble wooden wand that typically served as his conduit. The force surged from deep within him toward the traitorous rat. Simultaneously, as Remus let out a blood-curdling scream, Wormtail was struck by the invisible force, hurtling across the yard and colliding with the house wall. He crumpled to the ground, motionless.
Harry fell to his knees as he reached one of the last remaining links to his parents. One of the precious few who had played the role of a parent in his life. "Please, Moony, don't leave me," he implored in a whisper, searching for a pulse. After an interminable few moments, he sighed with relief as he detected a faint, feeble throb beneath his trembling fingers. "Come on, you're fine. You're going to be okay," he continued to plead, tears pooling in his eyes as he stared at the pale, clammy face before him. "Please, just wake up," he begged, his voice trembling, his gaze locked on the still figure.
"He is still alive, but only by a thread," a figure appeared from behind Harry. Harry flnched, recognizing the voice. "But he will die within the hour if the proper spell is not performed on him. Silver is very damaging to a wolf's interior; even just a touch of it is poison. Only a dark spell can revive your friend, one that I doubt many know."
Harry began to tremble, his gaze locked on the lifeless body of his old professor and friend. He desperately told himself that this couldn't be happening, that it was just a dreadful dream from which he would soon awaken. He blinked away tears, silently begging to escape this nightmarish ordeal.
"Harry," a voice called from a distance, but he didn't turn; his eyes remained fixed on Remus, tears streaming down his face.
"Harry," the voice demanded again, accompanied by a blinding pain as Voldemort gripped Harry's jaw, forcing him to turn and meet his scarlet, blood-red eyes. Harry gasped in agony but was too numb to react further. He attempted to turn back to Remus, but Voldemort's grip only tightened. Harry's struggle was short-lived, his strength quickly failing.
"You know what I want," Voldemort said, his voice soft but demanding. Harry tried to avert his gaze again, but his jaw was held firm; he could see no other way to save Remus. He couldn't let Remus die, not the last connection to his parents, not like this, especially when the attack had been instigated because of him.
"Alright, you win," Harry whispered, closing his eyes as fresh tears welled up. "Just don't let him die, please." His words were barely audible, but Voldemort heard them. Releasing Harry, Voldemort rose from his kneeling position.
"Do you understand what you have agreed to?" The Dark Lord asked quietly.
Harry took a deep, shaky breath and nodded, "If you save him, then I will let you teach me." Tremors wracked Harry's body as he said it, but he would do anything to save those he cared about. Even resign himself to a life of unending nightmares. Perhaps this was what Voldemort meant by having power—Harry finally had the power to protect his friends, albeit not through the means he had originally envisioned.
"And what of orders? Will you obey me?" Voldemort inquired softly. "And will you accept my personal mark?"
Meeting Voldemort's scarlet gaze, Harry nodded slightly, aware that his parents and friends might never accept him again. Yet, in that moment, a fierce determination flickered in his tear-stained emerald eyes as he said quietly but firmly, "I won't kill or torture for you. Those are my conditions."
Voldemort smiled a dark, malevolent smile that sent shivers down Harry's spine. "Agreed," he said, extending his hand. Harry stared at the outstretched fingers and then back up at the man, who so unnervingly resembled the Tom Riddle he had encountered in Slytherin's chamber, only a few decades older. A man who didn't look like someone capable of the darkness Harry knew he wielded at will—a man who had killed hundreds, started a war for his own desires, and murdered Harry's parents to thwart a prophecy he didn't fully comprehend.
Pain shot through Harry's scar as their hands met, but he gritted out a begrudging "agreed" before breaking the grip. Voldemort lazily raised his wand and began murmuring an incantation in an unfamiliar language. For several seconds, he whispered softly, his wand tracing intricate patterns before he lowered it and turned back to Harry.
Harry turned, his gaze locking onto Remus, praying for a miracle he hoped that Voldemort had performed the counter-spell in time. Suddenly, Remus jolted and gasped for air.
"Remus!" Harry exclaimed, swiftly moving forward and grasping the werewolf's trembling arms. "Are you okay?"
Remus blinked several times, taking deep breaths as he focused on Harry. "Harry, you're back. Oh, thank Merlin, I was so worried," he said in a scratchy voice, then touched his throat. "What happened?"
"Wormtail touched you with his hand," Harry replied, directing a glare at the still unmoving rat. He hoped Wormtail was dead. "But you're okay now," he added eagerly, mixed with an underlying question.
"Yeah, I'm feeling better," Remus replied, "but if he touched me, then how...?" He trailed off as he noticed Voldemort stepping up from behind Harry. Recognition flickered in Remus's amber eyes as he glared at the dark lord. "You!" he snarled, pushing himself up on his hands and searching for his wand, which lay uselessly several feet away. "Don't you lay a finger on Harry!" Voldemort chuckled darkly but made no aggressive move toward the werewolf.
Suddenly, the yard filled with pops as witches and wizards in Ministry robes apparated around them. At least ten beams of red light, accompanied by cries of "Stupefy!" filled the air, targeting the three wizards. However, just as they were about to strike, the red spells reversed direction as if hitting an invisible barrier, spiraling back toward their casters and incapacitating at least half of them.
"Drop your wand!" one overzealous wizard shouted at Voldemort in a terror-stricken voice. There were only four other Aurors standing beside the one who had spoken, and none of them appeared enthusiastic about confronting the dark wizard.
Voldemort let out a cold, bone-chilling laugh before turning to Harry as if the other witches and wizards didn't exist. "Come, Harry, I have obtained what I wanted. It is time to leave."
"No," Remus cried forcefully, pushing himself to his feet unsteadily and grabbing Harry's wrist. "You cannot have him!"
"And what will you do to stop me, wolf?" Voldemort inquired, taking a step closer. "You have no wand, and neither does the boy, not that it would matter."
Remus let out a low growl and pulled Harry roughly behind him. Harry couldn't help but feel touched by Remus's protective stance, but he also feared what Voldemort might do if Remus provoked him further. They both knew they were defenseless against Voldemort.
"Then take me instead and leave Harry here," Remus said, desperation creeping into his voice. He was well aware of the likely outcome.
Voldemort took another step closer, his eyes gleaming with malice. "As much as I'd enjoy having you, I have unfinished business with the boy. You must fulfill your end of the bargain, Harry, unless you've already forgotten what you agreed to." His words carried a clear threat that if Harry didn't comply, the deal would be off, and Voldemort would likely kill Remus and then force Harry to go with him.
The grip on Harry's wrist tightened as Remus shifted, casting a wary glance at Harry. "What is he talking about, Harry? What deal have you made?"
Voldemort interrupted before Harry could respond. "For now, that's between the boy and me. But don't worry, Lupin, I'll take good care of your cub. Come, Harry, before my patience wears thin and I take you by force."
"Don't worry, Moony, I'll be fine," Harry said quietly, trying to sound braver than he felt as he attempted to free his wrist. "But I have to do this; please understand."
"But Harry, what could you possibly have agreed to with that monster?" Remus cried, his gaze shifting between Harry and Voldemort as the boy he considered as a son moved closer to certain misery. Suddenly, realization washed over Remus. He sucked in a large breath, his eyes widening. "Is this why the silver didn't kill me?" he asked, gripping Harry's arm even tighter. "Did you agree to go back with him to save me?"
Harry couldn't bring himself to meet Remus's eyes; the pain of his betrayal was too much to bear. Horror and anger flared in Remus's amber eyes, warring with shock and despair.
"No," Remus shouted, his grip on Harry's wrists tightening further, causing the teenager to wince from the werewolf's strength. "I won't allow it. Voldemort, you've tricked him into agreeing to whatever terms you've set. This entire thing was a setup!"
"It doesn't matter what I did, Lupin," Voldemort declared, closing the last step toward Harry. "The deal has been made, and we have shaken on it. Now it's time to leave this traitorous home. There's nothing further I need here."
Harry continued to stare at the ground as Voldemort reached out and gripped his arm. "Release the boy, or I will take you with us," Voldemort threatened, his anger palpable and his patience wearing thin.
"Then I'll go with you. I won't let you have Harry again," Remus declared passionately.
"Remus," Harry pleaded. "Just let go. If you want what's best for me, do it. I couldn't live with myself if you got hurt because of me. Please." He turned slightly, looking into the werewolf's sad amber eyes.
"Harry," Remus said quietly, "I won't let you go back with him. Not alone."
"Please," Harry implored, his head pounding from the prolonged contact with Voldemort. He knew his fate was sealed. He couldn't let Remus come with him, not after he had just sacrificed his freedom to save him. "I need you to live. You're all I have left. He'll kill you.
But he doesn't plan to kill me. I did this for you; don't make it in vain."
Remus opened his mouth as if to argue again, then, seeing the pained and resolute look in Harry's eyes, he finally nodded and released his grip slowly. "Don't you dare harm this boy," he threatened as Harry felt the uncomfortable sensation of Apparating for the second time that day.
Chapter 6: Costs
Harry landed harshly on his knees, unable to catch himself as he was whisked from one hell to another. Dull green eyes stared down unseeing at the cold, rough stone floor. Harry swallowed, his heart beating against his chest. Had he really just agreed to this? Was he truly going to let the Dark Lord who had murdered his parents, who was responsible for both his godfathers' and Cedric's deaths, the man who was waging war against his friends and his very way of life, teach him magic? Was he going to take a mass murderer's mark and promise him obedience?
Harry squeezed his eyes shut, letting out a shuddered breath. It wasn't even a week ago that he had been pleading with Dumbledore to let him sacrifice himself for his friends, so sure he could stand up against Voldemort. He wasn't sure if Snape would be laughing or cursing him; such was his complete failure.
The grip on his arm relented, and Voldemort took a half step away, having succeeded in bringing him back to wherever the Dark Lord resided. The soft flow of his cloak over the stone alerted the raven-haired teen to the wizard's movements as he walked around him, like a predator circling its prey. The footsteps stopped. Harry's eyes shot open; from his bowed position, he could see the black polished dragon leather boots just at the edge of his peripheral vision. He could sense Voldemort's calculating gaze upon him.
Stilling, he struggled to get his breathing under control, to calm his ravaged thoughts. He had agreed to surrender to Voldemort. The realization echoed in his mind. He could feel an eerie ringing in his ears. His life was over. Or worse, it was just beginning but in all the wrong ways.
"Harry," his name was soft, almost a hiss, but he knew the Dark Lord had not switched to the snake language. Stilling, he tensed, steeling his nerves. Harry had never cowed before the man; he would not start now. With every fiber of strength that he possessed, Harry raised his head, emerald meeting fiery scarlet.
The Dark Lord smirked, clearly pleased at the treasure at his feet. "Come now; it is not that bad. I let your wolf live. I am offering you the chance to learn magic that others would kill for. I've been quite lenient with you given our past. I could have just killed them all. Instead, I offer you power beyond your wildest dreams and give you mercy."
Harry felt a strange sound escape his throat. It was the mix of a cry, a moan, and a sob. "I don't want to learn from you," he murmured, his voice more sincere and broken than he cared for. His fists clenched in anger. He was emotionally drained. The attack at the Burrow had been horrific, and his nerves had been on high alert since he had been taken prisoner. He didn't even know who else had been killed. The Weasleys could be dead or dying. So many of his friends belonged to this ill-fated resistance. Were most of them gone now? Snuffed out
because the Dark Lord had wanted to prove a point to Harry that the teen was powerless and utterly at his mercy?
Voldemort laughed quietly, the sound raising the hairs on the back of Harry's neck and arms. The sinister quality of it did not match the sharply crafted artistic features staring down at him. It was hard to take in the Dark Lord in this form; he was so much like the intelligent and powerful boy Harry had met in the Chamber of Secrets, yet there was the underlying threat of incomprehensible darkness practically radiating off the wizard. A black snake of dark magic that he knew resided just under the surface, coiled and ready to strike at a moment's notice.
The red eyes danced as they studied him.
"Unfortunately for you, you don't have a choice," Voldemort said, cocking his head to the side. "You gave me your word, and it is time to fulfill your end of the deal. I promise that you will not like what happens next if you don't. This attack will seem like child's play in comparison to what I'll do if you continue to resist me. Your time on the light is over, Harry; you are now mine."
Harry grimaced, his eyes darting to the side of the unnerving dungeon corridor he found himself in. The flames sputtered nearby, their embers licking up the wall, casting him and the Slytherin heir in a mix of fire and shadows. Silence echoed in between the crackle of flames. He and the Dark Lord were the only ones in the dark chamber that may as well be his grave. A part of him would die tonight; he was certain of that.
"Will you leave them alone now?" He asked, feeling suddenly foolish. His terms had only required Voldemort to heal Remus. There were no promises that they were protected. Even now, the other Death Eaters could still be attacking them. Remus could be fighting for his life again for all he knew.
The Ministry had arrived at the end; he could only hope that their presence, in conjunction with Voldemort getting what he wanted out of Harry, had been enough for all of the Dark Lord's minions to retreat when Harry and Voldemort had left the fight. The fact that he had given up everything for only a promise that Remus would survive that moment brought him no comfort. He should have ensured his prolonged safety. He had been foolish. He had been desperate, and Voldemort had masterfully taken advantage of his desperation like the cunning Slytherin that he was.
Voldemort let out a soft hmm, shifting forward a step, then two. He dropped gracefully to a knee, reaching out and gripping Harry's forearm. The raven-haired teenager did not resist the touch. He was beyond surprised that it wasn't accompanied by burning pain for once. His shock must have shown on his face.
"My presence doesn't have to cause you pain," Voldemort murmured knowingly, his voice laced with a chilling confidence. He pulled out his wand, using the tip to push Harry's sleeve up, revealing bare flesh. Tensing, Harry didn't pull his arm back. He couldn't. It had been his price; he had agreed to this. To go back would just mean Voldemort would hunt them down with an even greater vengeance. And the Dark Lord had easily proved his dominance over Dumbledore's ability to keep any of them safe. He had captured Ron and Hermione, had penetrated Harry's home, and had even attacked the Order at a location that should have been protected. Harry had to finally admit that none of them were safe against the Dark Lord's
growing power. Voldemort had found a way to clearly outmatch Dumbledore; he could find them quicker and more efficiently than Dumbledore could hide them.
"Will you harm them?" Harry pressed, gazing up at the Dark Lord with a mix of desperation and fear.
"They are my enemies," Voldemort responded, tilting his head to the side as he considered Harry. There was no mockery in the statement, it was a simple fact. "I doubt even you could be so generous, or foolish, to not attack an opponent you are at war with."
"My friends are still students; we both know they are no threat to you," Harry argued hollowly, his voice quivering with emotion. He felt dizzy, like the world was spinning. The image of Neville, Luna, and Ginny flashed before him. He could feel Hermione hugging him while Ron put an awkward, comforting hand on his shoulder. How much had they suffered when they had been captured by this monster? How much would they continue to suffer when their only crime had been befriending a lonely, bespectacled teen who didn't have a friend in the world?
He could sense Voldemort's contemplative stare as he drew his thoughts back to the present. He was in a very precarious position; he needed to concentrate; this was his only chance to get any real concession. After this bargain, his fate would be sealed; Voldemort would have his obedience and he would be forever marked as the Dark Lord's.
"A promise not to harm children, will that temper your defiance?" Harry cocked his head, scarcely believing Voldemort would allow him such a boon. He knew his confusion was poorly hidden. He had agreed to come back, to take this mark, and to be trained, and the price had been Remus' life. Voldemort owed him nothing. He held all the power here and zero reason to concede it to a broken young man at his feet.
"I don't want to deal with your futile rebellion against everything I command," Voldemort stated coldly, his crimson eyes drilling into Harry's. The words made his eyes flash with anger, but it was still a concession he had not expected. It was too simple and freely given to be the true motive behind Voldemort's actions. Harry doubted his rebellion would drive Voldemort to do anything. He could effectively torture Harry any time he acted out and had already proven he could easily capture his friends. Concession for cooperation did not make much sense when he had so many other proven tools at the Slytherin heir's disposal.
"You will not harm any of the students at Hogwarts if I cooperate?" Harry confirmed, he had already done a poor job in the negotiations at the Burrow. He had given Voldemort everything he wanted. And he knew he would do it again if it meant saving any of their lives. As much as it churned his stomach, he could not find it within himself to think he'd failed at the Burrow. Such was his need to keep Remus alive that he would still do it all over again, even if the brief moment of Remus living was all he could gain from his failure. But if he could guarantee the others' safety for a few years, all for a price he'd already conceded? Then he would jump all over that.
Voldemort nodded. "What else?"
Shocked, Harry could scarcely believe the question. Voldemort, the king of all Slytherins, the master of manipulation, was asking him what else? It made no sense. "What else," Harry echoed dully. "You already said you would not hold back on those you are at war with," he murmured, not even sure what else to ask. He felt foolish, his Slytherin side embarrassed and betrayed by the vulnerable Gryffindor response.
Voldemort shrugged, as if indifferent. "Then if you are satisfied, we shall begin."
"Wait," Harry gasped, he could feel the ringing in his ears worsen. He felt dizzy and weak. He could not waste this chance to get what he could for the price of his soul. And he was in no hurry to offer the payment he knew Voldemort was about to claim. "Why are you allowing this, for me to negotiate? You already have everything you could possibly want from me. It doesn't make sense." Perhaps it was stupid to ask, and he was wasting his chance to demand more. But he knew it did not make sense and was equally worried about walking even further into this trap, somehow giving up more than he'd realized or bargained for.
The thinnest of smirks graced Voldemort's features. "Because I will be your master, and you will be my apprentice. I want you to accept that. In time, I think you will grow to realize what an opportunity you have been afforded, how lucky you are. But until then, I want you to be respectful and accept your position as my apprentice. If a few inconsequential concessions on my part help you to embrace your fate, it is a worthy trade."
That was a much more candid response than Harry was expecting. His brows furrowed as he suddenly thought of something, something he should have considered already, a concession that could at least help those most affected by this senseless blood purity war that had claimed so many lives in the name of pride and power. "Will you stop the needless bloodshed? The raids against innocents? Attacking those who are weak and do not oppose you? I can understand why you are unwilling to stop fighting against those who stand against you, but the rest…" Harry shook his head, his thoughts racing. It had never made sense to him that a man who claimed to value magical blood so highly would allow so much of it to be shed. Why let the streets run red with what he deemed superior blood? His father had been as pure-blooded as the Malfoys, and so had Sirius. Yet both had met the same fate due to Voldemort's campaign. If witches and wizards were truly superior, why waste their time on Muggle-borns or even Muggle hunting, encouraging a sadistic nature that only brought out humanity's worst traits?
"You think the weak deserve protection?" Voldemort sneered, his crimson eyes narrowing. "You would shield those too feeble to defend themselves? Why care for such pathetic souls? They have no value."
"If they have no value, then this concession should not be difficult," Harry reasoned, disbelief washing over him at Voldemort's disregard for human life.
"The raids demonstrate my power; they show how helpless it is to resist my reign," Voldemort replied, his tone cold and calculating.
Harry shook his head. "No, I think they have the opposite effect. People are so terrified and hopeless that they'll join the only side that opposes you. Out of fear, you're creating more enemies. These so-called cowards would never stand against you, but when you attack them,
then witches and wizards who would never have taken up fighting do so because they have no choice, because you have attacked or killed their loved ones."
Red eyes settled on him in an unnerving manner. Voldemort did not seem mad, perhaps mildly amused but also a little intrigued. It was an odd combination, one that Harry had never expected to be directed his way by the man who had repeatedly tried to murder him. "You have much to learn, but I enjoy hearing you try to reason with me. Perhaps I will concede to fewer raids, focusing only on those of strategic importance. The ones meant purely for my followers' enjoyment, if I temper those, would you be appeased?"
Unsure why Voldemort would care about appeasing Harry or why he would seek his agreement at all, Harry nodded cautiously. He almost wanted to thank the Dark Lord for the concession, but he held his tongue. Actions spoke louder than words, and he would need to see these changes occur. And he would sooner see snow survive in hell before he thanked the madman who had kidnapped him and was forcing him into submission.
"Alright, we are in agreement then. You will formally accept me as your instructor, we will become master and apprentice. You will take my mark and you will obey my commands. I offer you the survival that has already been bestowed upon the wolf from what was a fatal wound. I will not harm students unless it's in self-defense, and I will temper my raids to focus on strategic targets that further my goals. Are we agreed?"
"And I won't kill or torture on your behalf."
Meeting the Dark Lord's gaze, Voldemort nodded. "Agreed, unless you choose to do so willingly."
"I would never," Harry avowed, aghast.
Voldemort's smirk only widened. "Time will tell, my young apprentice. Are we agreed?"
Swallowing hard, Harry nodded, casting his eyes back downwards as the tip of Voldemort's wand pushed into his bicep. The grip tightened marginally, keeping him in place.
"This may hurt."
And it did. Harry lost his remaining strength completely. He would have dropped entirely to the floor if not for the Dark Lord's firm grip keeping him in place. He slammed his fist against the stone, letting out a sob of pain as complete agony coursed through his arm. It felt like all of his nerves were on fire, burning him from the inside out. His brain was in shock. He wasn't sure if he was convulsing or frozen from the agony. His hiss of pain turned into a grunt then into a louder moan. He desperately did not want to scream, but it was on the tip of his lips. The pain was unbearable.
And then it was over. His arm was dropped, and he landed bodily on the dust-ridden stone floor. His heart pounded frantically against his ribs, threatening to break free. His whole body convulsed.
Trembling, he wanted to curl in upon himself, yet he forced himself not to. He was still at the Dark Lord's feet. He may have lost a lot, but he still had his pride. He blinked away bitter tears, pushing himself unsteadily onto his hands and knees. His arm pulsed with each frantic heartbeat. It felt red and angry, like he had been burned by a cattle prod. Which felt appropriate, that he would be claimed in such a disgusting way, nothing more than property now, marked by Voldemort's symbol.
He cast a furious, delirious scowl at his arm and was shocked by what greeted him. He had expected to see the burned markings of the snake and skull, the Dark Mark that Voldemort's followers bore. What he saw surprised him. He cast a wary glance up towards the older wizard who was observing him silently.
When no answer was forthcoming, he almost growled in frustration. "It's not a Dark Mark?" His voice shook pathetically. He swallowed, forcing moisture down his dry throat.
"It's not," the Dark Lord agreed amusedly.
Harry's stare narrowed. "Then what is it?" He all but spat.
Voldemort's lips twitched into a thin smirk. "It is my mark," he said simply. "The mark fitting of the one I have chosen to bestow knowledge and power upon."
Shaking his head, Harry frowned. "But what does it do?" He asked, glancing back at his arm. An intricate shaded eye stared back at him. He was confident it was a snake's eye, such was the dilated slit in the center of the serpentine circle flowing into scales that seemed to surround the lid. Around it wove a thin but very lethal-looking snake. Its body wrapped around the eye several times before popping up behind it, a hood that looked like a cobra's extended outwards just beneath the skull. The whole thing looked entirely too real. He would have tried to scrub the beast from his arm if he hadn't seen the Dark Lord himself cast it upon him.
"Ah, my young apprentice, that would be telling." Voldemort rose from his half-kneeled position, taking a step back, leaving a seething and very confused Harry before him.
"You won't tell me? I thought you promised to share knowledge. That agreeing to this would be an escape from being helplessly kept in the dark," Harry snapped, knowing it had been foolish to think anything would change, that Voldemort would somehow be better than Dumbledore. It was a foolish dream, naïve and stupid.
"Ahh, my little serpent, trying to manipulate me already? I think I will grow to cherish these moments. But remember, I am the master, and you are barely a novice. While powerful, you still know so little." It came out almost fondly. "In time, you will know. That is part of what I plan to teach you. You will learn to sense magic in ways that will tell you instantly what is at stake.
"Once we are done, you won't have to ask because you will always know. For now, suffice to say that I will always know where you are. That I can use it to summon you, and I expect you to come when I call. And given our fated past, it gives me assurances that you will not turn
against me once you begin to master what I have to teach. Can't have the student taking on the teacher, can I?"
Voldemort said it so matter-of-factly that Harry almost didn't pick up on the gravity of what was being said. "You think one day I will have the power to match you?" He asked softly, "to have a chance at killing you?"
Solemnly, the Slytherin heir nodded. "With what I plan to teach you, I think you will become very powerful indeed. None will be able to match you, not even Dumbledore. But do not ever allow that to turn into arrogance, to think you can wield that against me. I will ensure that I always have the upper hand. Should you ever try to become uncontrollable, this mark, which you have freely accepted, I might add, will give me the control to end you before you have a chance to even comprehend what is happening."
Flinching, Harry glanced back down at his arm, suddenly much more weary. It was a bomb just waiting to go off, if he understood that correctly. A guarantee that Harry would never run and that he would never turn against Voldemort. Did Voldemort truly see him as such a threat? And if so, why teach him and make him even stronger? Even with the mark, it did not seem the Dark Lord's style to suddenly want to invest in a protégé. Voldemort had never shared anything; by all definitions, he was a power-hungry sociopath. And there were countless dark sociopaths who would kill for this opportunity.
"Why me?" he asked, "and why now? You've never taken on an apprentice before."
The Slytherin heir tilted his head as his gaze swept over Harry's still huddled form. The teen was embarrassed to realize he was still pitifully prone on the ground, pathetically weak before the man who had murdered his parents and who had just gained Harry acceptance to become his apprentice.
"My reasons are my own, Harry. While I don't intend to keep much from you, you should know that I am a private man. I would advise against prying too deeply into what makes me tick; you may not like what you find." While said as a simple statement, the threat washed over Harry, sending a shiver down his spine. It reminded him anew of just who exactly he had bound himself to.
Dropping his gaze, he wasn't sure how to respond to such an ominous statement. What was there to say when the man you claimed as your teacher, your master, was a Dark Lord bent on taking over the wizarding world? It made Harry feel sick.
"Enough, I know you are tired. Rest; tomorrow is a new day and the beginning of the rest of your life. As you've likely already inferred, I'm not a patient master, and I have high expectations. I fully expect you to meet all of them; I will not be embarrassed by my protégé. Do you understand?"
Lacking a better response, Harry nodded. He didn't even try to fight the bitterness that simmered in the back of his throat over such an arrogant statement. He had no idea how he was going to succeed at being cordial daily with the man who killed his parents. It was ludicrous. And yet it was what he had agreed to do.
"Good. Tipsy." With a pop, a bobbing house-elf appeared before him. Harry was shocked to see it had on a proper uniform, a tight green and silver top and simple black shorts. It was nothing exceptional but of high quality and allowed the elf some level of modesty and professionalism. The acid green embroidered 'S' was stitched proudly across the center of the shirt.
The elf danced back and forth between them, dipping her head. "Yes, Master? How can Tipsy assist you?" The skittish elf asked, wringing her hands over each other in a continuous circle. While not as terrified as Dobby, Harry could tell the poor thing was cautious and overly attentive, as if she knew the wrong act could end in its demise.
"Take the boy back to his room, see to it that he is brought food," Voldemort ordered. "And bring a salve for his arm; I want you to make sure it is treated."
"Yes, Master, Tipsy will do it at once," the elf nodded earnestly, bobbing its massive head up and down.
As the elf moved towards Harry, the teenager caught the Dark Lord's stare. He had so many things he wanted to say, to demand, to ask. He still did not understand the mark fully. And he wanted to be assured that Remus and the Weasleys were alright. He opened his mouth to protest, but in that second, he was whisked away, that movement signaling the start of a life he could scarcely comprehend.