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Chapter Text
The encounter with Draco had left Harry shaken on multiple levels. He hadn't had any real contact with other witches or wizards outside of Voldemort's menacing presence in over two months. To have his school nemesis walk upon him in such a normal setting as a garden, a garden within the Dark Lord's manor no less, was surreal. The realization of how secluded his life had become was shocking. And Harry was beyond disturbed to learn what was happening beyond the confines of the manor - a world he now felt utterly isolated from.
Was the light losing? Was Voldemort's reign becoming more likely by the day? Harry could scarcely believe that the Hogwarts Express had been targeted, that the students could have been captured or, worse, killed. He'd known September had come and passed, that he'd missed boarding the Hogwarts Express. He'd all but accepted his fate of not returning to school after agreeing to take the Dark Lord's apprentice mark. But part of the bargain was that students would not be harmed. It was with a grim revelation that Harry realized Voldemort had not so much as hinted at an attack on the train and that Harry was utterly oblivious to any other plans the dark side had in the works since his capture. How foolish he'd been. While it sounded like no students had been harmed and Voldemort had kept his promise to Harry, that it had happened at all and the teen was none the wiser, terrified him. There was a war going on, and Harry had become complacent, accepting his forced apprenticeship with very little thought to what everyone else was still enduring.
Foolishly, Harry realized he hadn't spent any time asking Voldemort about his plans or the war. Despite spending every day in each other's company, Harry had all but buried his head in the sand. Begrudgingly, he allowed himself to acknowledge that he had his own stresses to deal with. Surviving each day, learning dark magic, while trying to preserve his soul and not anger an incredibly volatile Dark Lord was a significant daily burden. He could almost pretend his lack of foresight was excusable, but a small voice in the back of his mind cringed at the thought that he'd barely given his friends and the Order a second thought in the previous weeks. Voldemort had successfully captivated all of the young Gryffindor's attention. It was a revelation that did not sit well with the teen.
The rest of Harry's day was restless, his conversation with Draco replaying over and over in his head. Draco's feeling of being a captive forced to serve Voldemort, the shutdown of Hogwarts, and the looming threat on the Ministry were unnerving. What did it all signify? Was this what Voldemort's rule would look like, or had it barely begun? That he had done so much so quickly did not bode well for his world. What would the new normal look like?
They could not keep the school closed indefinitely, and if the ministry fell, would Voldemort reopen it with a curriculum shaped by dark magic?
The teen shuddered at the thought of a school run by the Slytherin heir and his Death Eaters. Children learning the Unforgivable Curses, like Harry had been forced to, was revolting.
What if they were forced to practice on each other? Harry's bargain to not have to torture people was the only reason the teen believed he hadn't been forced to learn on prisoners rather than rats. The screams of the tortured vermin and the green light that had dulled its scared black eyes continued to haunt his waking thoughts. He could scarcely imagine what he would feel like if that had been a human.
While Harry had slowly begun to accept his captor's convictions that dark magic was unfairly repressed in some instances, he could never condone legalizing curses meant for torture, killing, or control. There still needed to be order and law. Someone like Bellatrix should not be allowed to roam freely, attacking anyone who provoked her, all in the name of unrestricted magic. But he feared under Voldemort's reign, that is exactly what would manifest.
And sadly, Harry couldn't deny the allure of other forms of dark magic – spells that required sacrifice or blood, ones that uniquely drained from the caster... Not all of them were inherently harmful or deadly. Harry could feel his own magical core responding favorably to casting them, hinting at dark-leaning magic within him. As he continued to experiment, he was beginning to believe that to deny those with dark-focused cores the freedom to wield such magic, as long as no harm truly came from it, was, in fact, cruel and stifling. All of it left the teen wary and confused. Everything he had been taught was being turned on its head, and there was little he could do to stop the Slytherin heir from continuing his campaign to take over the wizarding world. He felt securely stuck and incredibly alone.
His dreams that night were turbulent, a realm of chaos and darkness where rats scurried frantically before him, fleeing from an unseen menace. In his sleep, Harry chased them, his voice echoing through the nightmare as he shouted out Unforgivable Curses in pursuit. At first, he tried to control them, to ease their terror, but the rats fought back, their primal instincts overpowering his feeble attempts. Frustration welled up within him, and his desperation manifested in a torrent of curses cast upon the hapless rodents.
Red light shot from his wand, illuminating the grotesque scene as rats dropped to the ground, their tiny bodies writhing in agony. Harry's heart raced as he tried to stop them from darting through the shadows, fleeing his torment. He wanted them to obey him, to stop fleeing. But one rat, a sinister creature with baleful red eyes, turned to face him.
"Kill me," it whispered, its voice eerily human, devoid of true emotions, yet strangely familiar to Harry. It was more command than request, and Harry found himself compelled to obey the demon-possessed rat.
Harry raised his wand, trembling, uncertain of why he was following this unnatural urge.
"KILL ME!" The rat's scream pierced the air, echoing in Harry's mind, and he whispered the dreaded words that had haunted his waking thoughts, the same words that had killed his parents and left him with the lightning bolt scar.
The green light consumed the rat, but instead of dying, it began to laugh, the sinister sound filling the darkness. The rat morphed, growing larger, until suddenly, it transformed into Draco Malfoy, standing before Harry. Draco's eyes held a twisted mixture of malice and sorrow, reflecting the turmoil within Harry's own soul.
"I wished you had it in you to kill me, Potter," Malfoy said coldly. "It would be better than the alternative. You're becoming him. And it will be the death of us all."
With a gasp, Harry awoke from the haunting nightmare. Beads of cold sweat dotted his forehead as he fumbled for his wand and cast the Lumos spell, flooding the room with a soft, reassuring glow. The clock on his bedside table glared 3:52 AM. His heart continued to race uncontrollably, echoing the torment of his dream.
Harry, still trembling, stumbled out of bed and made his way to the bathroom. The cool water from the faucet stung as it splashed on his face, and he stared at his reflection in the dimly lit mirror. His eyes, once filled with unwavering determination, now seemed dilated and hollow. The vivid and unsettling images of the dream lingered, refusing to release their grip on his mind. Minutes or hours passed as he fought to dispel the lingering fear.
Finally, weariness overcame him, and he returned to his bed, crawling beneath the heavy covers. Sleep did not come easily; when it did, it was fitful and restless, haunted by the specter of his own darkness and the ominous warning from his former rival, Draco Malfoy.
The next morning, Harry's breakfast appeared – an assortment of fried eggs, crispy bacon, juicy berries, and warm toast – but he found himself unable to do more than stare at the food. The dream from the previous night still clung to his thoughts, refusing to let go. A small part of him marveled at the irony that Voldemort consistently provided him with better meals than his own relatives ever had.
Taking a hesitant bite of toast, Harry's mind wandered. He realized it was the second night after casting the Unforgivable that seemed to affect him more than the first. Perhaps he had suppressed what he did, but speaking with Draco and truly contemplating the world outside of his reclusive prison forced him to confront the reality of his actions, his loyalties, and his transformation.
The house elf, Tipsy, popped into the room, startling Harry. The elf informed him that the master would meet with him that afternoon in the library, a departure from their usual morning meetings. Following the cryptic information Draco had shared, this change in schedule added weight to the notion that something significant was on the horizon.
Draco had hinted that Harry might be able to uncover what was happening, and Harry, ever the curious soul, was determined to do just that. However, a small part of him was consumed by fear over what he might discover. What if Voldemort's plan involved capturing the Ministry or worse? What if he planned to torture into submission all who resisted him? What if Voldemort required him to accompany the attack? Could Harry just learn of such an attack and do nothing? Even if he wanted to act, he wasn't sure what he could do. He had no means to communicate with anyone outside the manor besides Draco, and he sincerely doubted the blonde would risk Voldemort's or his father's ire with such a risk for a boy who'd been his rival since they first met.
Despite the mounting doubts and fears, Harry mentally steeled himself, quelling the whirling emotions as he began to devise a plan to gather answers. Not knowing was worse than knowing in this instance. Perhaps he could dissuade the Dark Lord from mass killings if there was any hope of an alternative. After all, Voldemort had said he wanted to hear Harry's opinions, and the teen was now determined to provide them. It might be the only way Harry could still be of any good to anyone, and he doubted anyone else was willing to stand up to the Dark Lord in such a way. If that was the only benefit his bondage afforded, he would have to take it.
His fortitude settled; Harry spent the remainder of the morning through lunch concentrating on his assigned studies. The Dark Lord had tasked him with learning about dark creatures. Not in the traditional sense that Defense of the Dark Arts taught, which mostly consisted of recognizing them and counter curses that might be helpful during an encounter. Instead, Voldemort wanted Harry to learn of their history and why the relationship between wizards and magical creatures was the way it was.
Harry headed to the library, finding it mercifully empty of any menacing Dark Lords, a fact that gave him immense relief. Settling in, he resisted the urge to dwell on his previous casting of Unforgivables, the conversations with Draco, or the haunting dream. As he delved into his studies, Harry stumbled upon an intriguing passage in a book titled "A History of Blood and Glory." The passage described a time long before the International Statute of Secrecy when vampires and wizards shared an unexpected alliance.
In those distant centuries, vampires and wizards had an unusual and mutually beneficial relationship. Both groups possessed powers that intrigued the other. Harry couldn't help but wonder how such a relationship had been possible, given the fear and hostility he had always seen.
The book recounted specific examples of their cooperation. One of the most famous stories was that of Lady Seraphina Ravenscroft, a powerful witch known for her skills in divination and potion-making. In the 15th century, she formed an alliance with Lord Vladimir Dracul, a vampire renowned for his knowledge of ancient spells and curses.
Together, they embarked on a journey to unlock the secrets of immortality. Lady Ravenscroft offered her magical prowess, while Lord Dracul contributed his expertise in blood magic.
The result was a series of potions and rituals that could temporarily extend a wizard's lifespan by several decades. The catch was that they required a vampire's cooperation and a regular supply of their blood.
The collaboration didn't stop there. Wizards and vampires found common ground in their pursuit of forbidden knowledge. They exchanged secrets of their respective powers. Witches learned to harness the strength and speed of vampires, while vampires acquired basic spellcasting abilities, allowing them to protect themselves from the sun's deadly rays.
As Harry continued reading, he was astonished by the accounts of vampires attending wizarding schools and witches living alongside vampire covens. They shared resources and protected each other's communities. For a time, it was a peaceful coexistence, despite the darkness that surrounded both species.
However, the harmony couldn't last forever. As the wizarding world grew more cautious about revealing magic to non-magical beings, tensions between witches and vampires escalated. The vampire covens became increasingly secretive, and witches and wizards distanced themselves to maintain their own secrecy.
Harry closed the book, deep in thought. He had always assumed vampires were nothing but dark creatures to be feared. Yet, this passage revealed a different, almost forgotten history of cooperation and understanding between magical beings. Harry couldn't help but wonder if there might still be a way for witches, wizards, and even vampires to find common ground in the crazy world they all inhabited. He'd always adored Lupin, despite his fury problem.
Perhaps it was the same with most creatures; they were just misunderstood and feared for the wrong reasons.
As Harry finished the book, he wasn't surprised that the Dark Lord possessed such historical accounts. Voldemort's obsession with immortality was all-consuming for the Slytherin heir; it made perfect sense that he would explore every avenue, no matter how dark or forbidden, to achieve his goal. Partnering with creatures for power was very much in line with everything Harry knew about his dark master.
The more he thought about it, the more Harry wondered what Voldemort had done to secure the support of vampires during the last war. The passage he had read hinted at the exchange of knowledge and magical secrets, but there were no specifics. Harry knew there must be more to the story; what had Voldemort promised them? There were clear advantages the vampires stood to gain with an alliance, especially since the ministry all but classified them as dumb beasts to be feared and controlled.
As he continued his research, Harry delved deeper, searching for any hidden tomes or manuscripts that might shed light on the dark wizard's dealings with vampires. Many of the journals were handwritten, and Harry wondered if Voldemort had documented his encounters or if they were journals of old that the Slytherin had uncovered in an unquenchable thirst for knowledge and power. During his search, the raven-haired youth came across a cryptic reference to a journal belonging to a vampire scholar named Sanguina Nighthaven, rumored to have had a pivotal role in Voldemort's alliance with the vampire covens.
After another hour of searching, Harry finally stumbled upon the dusty, ancient journal concealed in a hidden alcove in the library behind a shelf of potion books. It was bound in black leather and emanated an eerie aura. Harry cautiously opened it and began to read Sanguina Nighthaven's account of her encounters with the emerging Dark Lord.
Sanguina's journal detailed meetings in the shadiest corners of the wizarding world, where Voldemort promised the vampire covens unimaginable power in exchange for their allegiance. Voldemort had been persuasive, promising vampires access to rare magical artifacts, dark incantations, and forbidden spells that could enhance their abilities.
Harry's heart sank as he read about the atrocities Voldemort had committed to prove his loyalty to the vampires. He had orchestrated raids on wizarding communities, capturing innocent witches and wizards to be used as blood sacrifices in dark rituals. These actions had solidified the alliance between the vampires and Voldemort's Death Eaters. Never before had a wizard been willing to sacrifice magical blood in such a way. It was clear that Voldemort had used muggle-borns, half-bloods, and pure-bloods who stood against the dark side. It made Harry sick how easily the Dark Lord seemed to barter lives for power, how little he cared for anyone who stood in his way. But this was the same Dark Lord who had murdered
Harry's parents out of fear of what a baby could one day become, the same Dark Lord who had forced Harry into servitude through magical bondage and threats.
As he pored over chilling accounts of her time serving Voldemort, Harry couldn't help but feel a growing sense of unease. The vampire's words painted a picture of a manipulative and sinister Dark Lord, one who used his allies without remorse. It seemed that Sanguina had initially trusted Voldemort, but over time, she began to fear the Dark Lord. Despite what her kind stood to gain, she began to doubt the means to achieve it. If Voldemort could betray his own kind so eagerly, how could she trust him not to do the same to her coven once their use had run out?
Harry turned the pages, his eyes fixed on a passage where Sanguina lamented her decision to side with Voldemort. The journal concluded with a chilling revelation: she believed that Voldemort's lust for power knew no bounds and that he would eventually betray the vampires. Closing the journal, the teen was at a loss as he thought over what he'd read. The journal ended abruptly, and Harry did not know if Voldemort had met his demise on the fateful night he attacked Godric's Hollow or if Sanguina had met a similar fate as a result of her growing doubts. The journal had reawakened all his original fears about Voldemort's intent, that there was no good, only darkness. Lost in thought, Harry stared at the journal pensively.
"Harry."
Startled, Harry jumped, hiding the journal behind his back. Red eyes assessed him calculatingly.
"For your sake, I hope you're not trying to hide anything from me?" The tone was soft and deceptively calm, but Harry knew the danger that hid just under the surface. Cursing himself for being caught off guard, he reluctantly stood from his chair and handed it over to the wizard's outstretched hand.
Voldemort's crimson eyes scanned the aged journal before him, a faint hint of surprise arching his brow. The library, bathed in the eerie glow of flickering torches, exuding an air of ancient wisdom and concealed secrets. "Where did you find this?" He seemed more inquisitive than angry.
"I was doing research on dark creature relations, as you instructed," Harry began, his voice tinged with a touch of uncertainty. The library's towering shelves, lined with dusty tomes, bearing witness to his words. "I grew curious when I discovered that vampires used to have an accord with our world, that we used to cooperate willingly. It made me wonder what you had promised them in the last war to gain their support, to make them trust our kind again. I think the library sensed my interest; that's how I stumbled upon this journal."
Voldemort's crimson eyes gleamed in the dim light as they remained fixed on Harry. "I dare say this is not the most reliable account. Sanguina was not as sane as her penmanship might suggest. It's an interesting choice of reading material, Harry," Voldemort remarked with a knowing smile. He slid into the seat opposite Harry, his fingers tracing the ancient sigil etched into the pad's surface, adding an eerie tension to the room. Then, he handed the worn journal back to Harry.
Harry's heart raced as he fought to maintain his composure. It wasn't an easy task trying ask the very wizard accused of such horrendous crimes if they were true. "There aren't many firsthand accounts of the first war that I've come across; it's been an informative read," he replied, though his voice wavered slightly.
Voldemort's gaze remained fixed on Harry as he spoke, his tone smooth and persuasive. Shadows danced across the ornate tapestries that lined the walls, casting an unsettling atmosphere. "You must understand, my young lion, that accounts like these are often riddled with bias and misinterpretation. Nighthaven was a creature of darkness herself, and darkness can often breed paranoia."
Harry raised an eyebrow. After spending so much time in the Dark Lord's company, he was beginning to pick up on what was left unsaid; Voldemort rarely lied but used his words to mislead. He hadn't denied the account but instead hinted that it was inaccurate, trying to sow doubt in Harry's mind. "Are you suggesting that her account isn't true?"
Voldemort leaned in closer, his eyes locked onto Harry's, the room's silence punctuated only by the crackling torches. "I'm suggesting that our alliance, born of a desire for mutual benefit, was not as one-sided as she would have you believe. I sought a true partnership, Harry, a world where both wizards and creatures like her and her kind could thrive. She does not write of her own ruthless acts against her own kind, actions designed to gain power and expand her covenant, which was her ultimate goal. When she realized her actions were alienating her own kind, that her own greed may have gone too far, she blamed me and attempted to slander my actions to both her kind and mine."
"You're claiming she betrayed you?" Harry's thoughts echoed through the cavernous library, every whispered word amplifying the tension. It was hard to hide the skepticism in his voice. There wasn't much Voldemort could say that would make Harry forget the vivid depictions of sacrifice the vampire had painted in her journal. She had genuinely seemed to fear the Dark Magic Voldemort was introducing to her coven, all in the name of power.
Voldemort leaned back, the shadows of the ancient texts seeming to envelop them. "Mistakes were made by both of us, Harry. In the pursuit of a greater vision, sacrifices had to be made. But my goal was always a world where magic could flourish without limitations." He paused thoughtfully. "I will not make the same mistakes this time. I was overzealous in my desire to swiftly end the war. I now recognize that to succeed, I will have to change some of my tactics this time."
A disbelieving noise escaped Harry's throat. "Overzealous," he echoed faintly, holding up the leather journal. "She writes of bloodbaths; you kidnapped and killed dozens of Muggles and Muggle-borns. You slaughtered magical families that stood against you."
"Yes, I did."
Harry leaned back, the weight of their discussion pressing heavily upon him, every word echoing through the ancient stacks. "I'm sorry, what?" He had not expected Voldemort to readily agree with him. He had expected denial or at least manipulation of the facts.
Scarlet eyes bore into emerald, the room's shadows emphasizing their intensity. "I've never claimed to be something that I'm not, Harry. I want to change our world, for our society to stop hiding behind light-guided tyrants who are too fearful of real power. They have weakened generations of witches and wizards; the wizarding world has become sheep, hiding from the Muggle world, fearing magical creatures, and reluctant to explore the true potential of magic." There was a gleam in his eyes, a fervor in his voice that unsettled Harry. He could feel the Dark Lord's manic desire, and it frightened him.
Harry swallowed, thinking back to the night he had allowed Voldemort to mark him, the concessions the Dark Lord had allegedly made. "Are you still killing innocents?" His voice was barely a whisper. He wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer.
"Do you question our deal? Do you doubt my word?" The air felt charged; Harry knew he was treading on dangerous ground. Draco had said that none of the students had been harmed, and that had to count for something.
His fist tightened on the leather journal. Harry shook his head wordlessly, at a loss for what to say. He felt so alone, so unprepared. "How can I trust anything you say?" There was no fight in his voice; it was more contemplative than argumentative. "I've heard enough about the first war to know it was horrible, and accounts like these just show how bad it had gotten. You killed my parents to get to a toddler." Harry sighed, dropping his gaze from the older wizard, staring morosely at the flickering flames that licked the torches lining the library walls.
"If you win this war, what will happen to the light, to those who oppose you?"
Harry had always asked what Voldemort's plans were for him, what a lifetime of servitude would look like for the Gryffindor. He felt selfish for never wondering what it meant for everyone else. How would Hermione and Ron be treated? The Weasleys? Tonks? Lupin? Moody? Would they all be enslaved? He had promised to spare some of their lives, but Harry was quickly coming to realize that a spared life did not guarantee a good one.
Voldemort's voice pierced his thoughts. "I will give them a choice," the older Slytherin said, his tone surprisingly gentle. "I have no desire to spill more magical blood. Those who submit to my rule will be allowed to live."
Harry couldn't help but question, "And what kind of life will they lead? What will happen to Hermione? Will her blood status render her unfit for any worthwhile position?"
Voldemort regarded him curiously, dark intelligence swirling behind his scarlet gaze. "And what role do you envision for your friend under my reign?"
Harry was caught off guard; he wasn't certain. He doubted Hermione would want any position that brought her into close proximity with this monster or his followers. However, he didn't feel he had the right to make that choice for her. Even in a world governed by Voldemort, he suspected that his brilliant friend's spirit would remain untamed, her relentless pursuit of knowledge and protection of the vulnerable undiminished.
"I would not want to speak for her," Harry said quietly. "But I know I would want her to have options. She's brilliant, smarter than any of your Death Eaters; I know that's a fact. She should be able to do something meaningful and not live in fear of being murdered by some blood purist."
"I've already promised you that your friends would be spared."
Harry shook his head. "Spared doesn't mean given a chance to live a real life." "And I just asked you what type of life she should be allowed?"
Harry almost wanted to laugh hysterically. Were they genuinely discussing Hermione's fate as if she had no say, as if the two of them had the authority to dictate her future? It was repulsive.
"I believe she should have the opportunity to decide for herself," he asserted. "She should have the freedom to choose."
Voldemort smirked lightly. "I see that we have returned to our conversation from the other night, and that's why I believe you're ready to take your place by my side. If you wish for the light to have any influence, Harry, it will fall to you. As my apprentice, you hold a coveted position, with unfiltered access to me and the chance to shape my plans."
Harry's mind wrestled with the implications of what was being proposed. If he agreed and fully accepted this offer, it would mean embracing his destiny by Voldemort's side in the war. Having a voice would require participating in meetings, listening, and comprehending the Dark Lord's designs. It was precisely what Voldemort had always wanted, but Harry had to grapple with whether his compliance could truly pave the way for him to help his friends and save his world.
This choice went beyond the oath he had made. It entailed submitting to Voldemort and acknowledging the impossibility of escape. The ominous Dark Mark ensured that Harry could never again oppose Voldemort. Yet now, Voldemort was urging Harry to actively join the dark forces, to become a participant in their nefarious plans. Harry understood that these plans involved dreadful acts of violence, but a faint voice in the recesses of his mind whispered that he might be the only voice of reason left. Perhaps he needed to seize this opportunity to make a difference; it seemed there were no other viable options left for him.
"I won't partake in any raids, and I won't raise my wand against anyone."
"Our agreement was that you would refrain from torture. I can think of numerous alternative ways for you to contribute," Voldemort responded darkly. Harry could sense that maintaining even a semblance of resistance, acting as though Voldemort had anything less than absolute control over him, was perilous. Harry hadn't entirely succumbed to Voldemort's manipulations, but he had learned the harsh lesson that voicing dissent often led to anger and suffering.
"Will you genuinely consider my input? Will my opinions hold any significance?"
"If you conduct yourself respectfully and your suggestions aid in securing my rule, then yes. I am not averse to recommendations that also save lives and quell resistance."
Harry could scarcely believe his ears. He dared to entertain the notion that this offer might be sincere. Deep-seated skepticism still lingered, suggesting it could be just another ruse to bind him more securely to the dark side. Yet, there was a glimmer of hope that this could be his chance to effect some positive change. And based on their conversation the other evening, Harry doubted he had much of a choice. The Slytherin heir had said he would start bringing Harry to meetings. It was up to the teen to see what good he could do if he was forced to participate.
"Alright," he agreed softly. "I'll do this." He looked up, his emerald eyes gleaming with determination. "I don't say this to start an argument with you, but surely you realize that the previous war was filled with unnecessary death and destruction? You divided the wizarding world, treating the light side worse than they had ever treated the dark. If, as you claim, there are many witches and wizards who are dark or gray, and there is so much untapped potential in how we use magic... Well..." he paused, his words cautious, unsure how to continue. His last few months had left him feeling anxious and confused. Voldemort had nearly convinced him that his views on magic were wrong. If he could do that to the boy whose parents he had murdered, there was no telling how persuasive he could be to the masses.
"You're a genius, both in mind and with your wand. If you were more like the Tom Riddle I saw in the Chamber, I doubt anyone could stand in your way. But the horrors you've unleashed on our world have left people with no choice but to fight. Surely there is a way for you to achieve your goals without an all-out war?"
Voldemort appeared amused at the idea while also pleased with the compliments his apprentice bestowed upon him. "You think I could achieve my goals without bloodshed?"
"Have you ever tried to do so?" Harry wasn't sure what could be achieved, but he knew that what Voldemort sought in the current war was wrong. There had to be another way.
"No, little in my past has revealed that you can achieve anything by being meek and pliable. The weak are taken advantage of; only with power can I impose my will. But I will allow you to try. Listen, learn. And if you come up with any plans that achieve my goals within your own morality, then I look forward to hearing them."
The Dark Lord stood, his tall figure looming over Harry, who quickly jumped to his own feet, disliking being towered over.
"I look forward to seeing what you come up with, my dear apprentice. You will join the meeting tomorrow. You may have the rest of the night to yourself. Return to offensive spellcasting; I think you've studied creatures enough for one night. Until tomorrow, my little lion."
Harry nodded, acknowledging his master's departure as he'd been taught, watching the tall Slytherin depart. He stood there for a long time, staring pensively at the torches that lined the room. What had he just committed himself to?