Darkness Within

by whimsical musings 1

On the fateful night when Ron and Hermione were abducted, the wheels of destiny began to turn. For Harry, the kidnapping of his friends shattered the illusion that the light side could protect those he loved. An ultimatum was presented, and a decision was made. Now, Harry stands at a crossroads: Can he protect those he loves without losing himself in the process?

15. Acceptance and Succession

Acceptance

Chapter Text

Snape strode into the lively-lit living room, his discomfort suppressed as the collective gaze of the Order fixated on him. Being the center of attention in these meetings was a disdainful ordeal for him. Too much hope and distaste alike were directed his way. They either believed he could somehow save them or deemed him the vilest of dark wizards who must have Dumbledore under his spell. Suppressing a snort of disdain, Snape considered them all idiots.

"Please, Severus, share what you have learned," Dumbledore's aged voice cut through the room.

Withheld sigh echoing in his mind, Snape braced himself for what promised to be a long night. "The Dark Lord revealed Potter as his apprentice tonight to all his followers." The response around the room was visceral. Shouts of denial. Shouts of outrage. Strangely enough, Granger and the youngest Weasley son said nothing, exchanging a knowing look that surprised him. He had anticipated that the remaining duo of the golden trio would adamantly vouch for Potter's loyalty.

"Everyone, silence," Dumbledore commanded. The commotion dwindled, but dissent and cries of outrage were still barely concealed among the Order.

"Severus, please continue." Dumbledore looked older than Severus had ever remembered, defeated.

Severus recounted the meeting in detail, describing how Potter had stood behind him and been introduced, seemingly willingly, as the Dark Lord's apprentice. He highlighted the Dark Lord's claim of teaching Potter dark magic and the teen's apparent voluntary acceptance of this life. Providing an update on the Inner Circle meeting, he briefly glossed over the plans to take over the Prophet and expel the Headmaster as Chief Warlock. Dumbledore was already aware that both plans were in the works; he would be a fool not to notice the dark's maneuverings.

"How is he? Is he hurt?"

Snape's eyes narrowed on the plump Weasley matriarch who was dabbing at tear-stained, large brown eyes. Her husband gently squeezed her shoulders.

"He seemed in fine health," Snape provided. Potter had seemed better than that. Probably the best the Gryffindor had ever looked. Dressed as a pureblood, with clothes and posture to match, it was clear the Dark Lord had been working on more than just spells with the boy.

His poise and composure had notably improved, as had his Occlumency. Snape had tried to passively scan him during their talk and found his shields impressive, given the boy must have only been working on them for the last few months. Severus had not pushed them, not wanting to draw attention and inadvertently highlight himself to the Dark Lord.

"And you believe that?" Moody's harsh voice bit out. The imposing aurora smashed an angry fist on the back of the armchair he stood behind. "Maybe he'd spelled the boy, Imperiused him."

"He must have!" Hagrid offered gruffly. "I don't believe for a second dear 'Arry would, give in to such a bastard like that. Poor lad."

"I spoke with him; he appeared as arrogant and immature as ever," Severus drawled, though that was not entirely true. Potter had kept his temper reasonably in check, not succumbing to Severus' more targeted barbs. "Do I think he's been spelled into compliance?" He shrugged. "That seemed unlikely. It was clear he was uncomfortable, both with the Dark Lord and around his followers. He did not seem eager to be there, but he was compliant. Submissive. Perhaps he's been forced, but I think only in that he knows he can't leave on his own free will. This seemed like a choice. He knows what he is doing."

"How could you say that about a sixteen-year-old boy who has been captured by a madman?" Of course, the werewolf would jump to his supposed cub's aid. "We know Voldemort must be threatening him, manipulating him. Torturing him! He did it when they attacked the Order.

We just need to figure out what he's holding over him to make him comply. We need to get him out of there."

Severus found his gaze again lingering on Weasley and Granger, who had maintained their shocking silence. He met Granger's sharp brown stare, filled with sorrow and resignation. It was clear she had her own conclusion. Snape nodded to her, silently bidding her to speak.

"He's doing it for us," she said softly. Weasley's hand shot out, gripping her own tightly. She did not seem surprised by the initiated contact, leaning into it.

"Please elaborate, Miss Granger," Dumbledore prodded.

She ducked her head, eyes firmly on the ground. "It's what he said he would do, exchange us for Harry. He wanted Harry to voluntarily come, to submit. He released us when he had Harry. He saved Professor Lupin when Harry agreed to return with him." She paused, looking up at the room. "None of the students were harmed when he attacked the Express. I'm as shocked as everyone else, but he's seemingly keeping his word. Harry's obedience is keeping others safe. That must be why he's going through with this."

Ever the martyr, Snape thought with a skeptical edge. But, begrudgingly, it did seem like something the foolhardy Gryffindor would do. The boy, despite appearing devoid of the Dark's ideals, had responded to the Dark Lord each time he was prodded, displaying an unexpected degree of compliance. It was not what Snape had anticipated from the usually rash and headstrong teen.

"Do you think he has been practicing dark magic?" Dumbledore asked. Snape barely refrained from rolling his eyes. As a practitioner of dark arts, he loathed the headmaster's narrow-minded bias against the darker aspects of magic. Yes, dark magic could inflict significant harm on the caster and others, but the idealization of light magic by the ministry was, in Severus' view, hypocritical and naive.

"I did not witness him engage in any," he admitted, a note of annoyance in his tone. "Lucius' son had suggested as much, and the Dark Lord echoed the claim. It would be an ill-fated ruse among that group if he was lying. Potter will undoubtedly be challenged to prove himself if he remains at the Dark Lord's side. He now occupies a coveted position among all of the Dark Lord's followers. With his seeming elevation comes a target. Others will wish to challenge his position. Lower it or take it if they can."

Dumbledore frowned. "Is there any way to rescue him?" That was what Snape had been thinking about since the meeting had begun. The weight of the revelation about Harry's allegiance hung heavy in the air. Could they get the boy out of the dark's grasp or was he lost to the light?

"It seems unlikely," he began, his voice measured. "He lives in the Dark Lord's manor, which is untraceable. I didn't see a mark, but the rumors are he has one. After tonight's display, I find myself believing in that rumor more than less. If he's complicit to the Dark Lord's demands, then there is no reason to believe he was able to resist a mark. If he's doing this to save others," he sneered, annoyed that a teenager should ever find himself in a position where he felt he had to protect the school and his friends; it was a disgrace and embarrassing. Adults should be doing that; it should never have fallen to Potter of all people. And he was loath to admit that the boy may have already saved many lives through his actions. The Hogwarts' Express attack should have been a bloodbath, and the Dark Lord had never been known for his restraint. "It is conceivable he consented to a mark which will make it even harder to get him away from the Dark Lord's grasp."

"Can he be tracked? Are you never able to escape, can Voldemort always track you down once you have it?" Severus' eyes narrowed on the Weasley youth. Defiant eyes glared back. Potter's foolishness was rubbing off on the boy, that he dared use the Dark Lord's name so flippantly.

"The Dark Mark isn't a tracking beacon," he scoffed, annoyed to have to discuss his mark in front of everyone. But to avoid the question would look more suspicious than to answer. He made sure his scowl was enough to deter future questions about something so personal. "But that is not to say Potter has a traditional Dark Mark. The Dark Lord could have marked him in any way. And yes," he sneered, already seeing the question forming on the lips of most present. "I believe that the Dark Lord is capable of magic that would enable him to track down another if they consented to the ritual. We have no idea what Potter has on him. I doubt he even knows."

"Then perhaps you could find out," Dumbledore suggested, his gaze penetrating. "Is it likely you will get access to him again?"

Severus' lips thinned. They had not parted favorably. It was clear Potter did not trust him and did not want to interact with him. The memory of their last encounter weighed on Snape's conscience. "Perhaps," he allowed, his tone revealing a reluctant agreement. He knew Dumbledore would expect it.

"We can't leave him there," Molly cried, her body shaking with grief.

"Of course, we won't," Minerva agreed, nose flaring. "We will protect that poor boy. We will get him back."

"If there's anything to get back…"

The werewolf leaped from his seat, his lanky frame closing the distance to the one-eyed Auror with a single, purposeful stride. "How dare you!" he snarled, the raw intensity of his anger reverberating in the air. "So quick to turn on your own!"

"The boy is the one who turned! I don't like it any better than you. But if he's dabbling in Dark Arts, you and I both know he's lost to us!"

"He's not lost! We're not giving up on him!"

"I'm not going to lose good people to save someone who isn't on our side!"

"Gentlemen!" The headmaster's voice boomed, a sonorous command cutting through the escalating tension. "This is what Tom wants, to sow dissent, to divide us." Yes, Severus thought. This is exactly what the Dark Lord had hoped for with revealing Potter. The discord among the Order played directly into his hands.

"Nothing Severus has revealed tonight makes me think we've lost Harry," Dumbledore continued, his tone thoughtful. He took a step forward, light blue robes glistening in the ambient light. "We all know what Tom is capable of; he is the epitome of a Slytherin and will use whatever means to get his way. Time is of the essence; we must rescue Harry before he feels forced to make any decisions he can't come back from. That is still our priority." Severus thought that ship might have sailed, but who was he to counter the beloved self- proclaimed leader of the light?

"And while we waste all this time trying to break into an unplottable manor, you will be ousted from the Wizengamot. Perhaps we should be focusing on plans that might actually succeed." Severus glanced at the man who spoken out. Elphias Doge leaned forward, a portly man sitting between the thief Mundungus Fletcher and the ever-Dumbledore-devoted Dedalus Diggle, who looked absolutely mortified at the statement.

Dumbledore sighed. "Unfortunately, this vote is inevitable. I've worked with Amelia Bones, and there is no way we can stop it. Tom has his fingers in too many prominent pureblood families. But that is just a minor setback. Harry is our focus. We must get him back. I know you may find it hard to believe that this war will rest on the shoulders of a teenager, but we must not lose faith. Clearly, the Dark Side puts weight into having him. Tom is not one to take on an apprentice lightly. We must get him back."

With that, the remainder of the evening unfolded much like the past three months, a tapestry of deliberation and fervent discussion on how to liberate the Gryffindor teen from one of the most protected manors in the wizarding world. Done with his part, Severus stepped to the side, exchanging a nod with Minerva. She looked as tired as he felt.

"How is he, Professor?"

He glanced to the side; he had not noticed Granger and Weasley slipping from their spots on the couch to approach. It was a testament to how exhausted he was that he'd missed that.

"Treated like a prince," was his quipped reply.

Ron frowned, clearly trying and failing to restrain his temper. "You know that's not true." He spat. "He's with his parent's murderer. A man who loves to torture. You don't think he's hurting Harry to make him obey?"

Honestly, Snape did not know. Potter looked in decent health, well-fed, and provided for. But his countenance had been wary. He'd watched as the teen approached the Dark Lord with caution. His eyes had always been darting around the room, clearly afraid to be around Voldemort's most vile inner circle.

"If he truly is being taught by the Dark Lord, it is unlikely that he is a forgiving teacher," Severus conceded. "However, he did not look tortured, and he entered and left on his own. For now, I think that is the best we can hope for."

Granger nodded. "Do you think we can get him back?"

Severus hated the hopefulness in her eyes. He knew that if anyone were able to rescue Potter, it would likely be him. "Only time will tell, Miss Granger." He had always thought hope was stupid.

S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S

The next day, Harry approached the training room with a knot of apprehension tightening in his stomach. Uncertain of what awaited him, he couldn't shake the lingering unease after the recent meetings. While he had managed not to embarrass the Dark Lord or himself, the memory of his outspoken outburst still haunted him, leaving a question over potential repercussions. Would there be more punishment to come? Voldemort had never tolerated disrespect, and Harry had been livid with how his introduction to the dark had gone.

As he stepped into the dueling hall, he steeled himself for another day in the life of the Dark Lord's apprentice. The room, illuminated by the soft glow of magical lighting, did little to put him at ease. Harry, the first to arrive, took a moment to survey the vast space before hanging his cloak on a clawed hanger that clung to the wall.

Positioning himself across from one of the battle dummies, he tried to focus his racing thoughts. He needed his wits about him in these sessions, or he risked becoming the demonstration, something he was not eager to experience. The silence of the hall amplified his unease, prompting him to initiate his warm-up drills. Casting spells had become a refuge, a means to release the pent-up tensions that coiled within him.

The rhythmic cadence of his casting, the dance of wand movements, and the surge of magic became a ritual he had slowly grown to appreciate. In the absence of such training, he suspected the weight of his circumstances would have driven him to the brink of insanity.

The flow of magic coursing from his core cleared his mind and focused him, something he desperately needed.

His concentration turned through the list of non-verbal spells he had been working to master. With a flick of his wrist, a silent Diffendo tore through the dummy, which promptly repaired itself in an almost mocking manner. A swish and a jab, and his mute Reductor sent the dummy crashing against the wall. Once again, magic reset the room, erasing the evidence of his practice.

Continuing his routine, he cast a Petrificus Totalus, the orange spell slicing through the air. The dummy illuminated green, signaling a correct cast. It was quickly engulfed in flames as his Confrigo followed. A silent Aguamenti swiftly extinguished the fire before the magic could do so naturally.

His next spell, Vorpal Aegis, a dark incantation that rained down acid on the dummy, marked a significant moment. This was the first time he had cast it silently. Pausing to observe the disintegrating dummy, he couldn't help but ponder the spell's light yellow color—a deceptive hue, very reminiscent of the harmless tickling charm whose only difference was a slight hint of mustard coloring on the tail. The thought sent a shiver down his spine. How easily someone might underestimate the danger, thinking it is an innocent spell coming their way, and then be burned to death with acid.

"Excellent work."

Startled, Harry spun around, having failed to notice Slytherin entering the room.

"Your non-verbal casting is improving. You're casting more quickly between spells. The power is increasing as well."

Harry nodded, feeling the compliment wash over him. He watched the Dark Lord approach, bracing himself for whatever was to come during this session.

"What did you think of the meeting?" Voldemort asked, catching him by surprise.

Harry forced himself not to shrug. It wasn't proper etiquette, and he knew it would anger the wizard when he acted too informally during training. "You have more followers than I expected," Harry truthfully revealed.

Red eyes narrowed, a hint of amusement dancing within the stare. "That was the only noteworthy thing you took from the meeting?" He all but drawled.

Fighting back a blush, Harry responded, "I guess I'm surprised at your tactics. It all so hidden, so cautious."

"You thought it would just be a bloodbath filled with torture?"

Harry did shrug this time, unable to catch himself. "That's how the first war was explained to me."

"And I didn't exactly win the first war." Voldemort paused, and the teen felt deeply uncomfortable under the scrutiny. He was the main reason Voldemort did not win the first war, which both wizards were keenly aware of. But that did not explain why Voldemort was changing tactics.

Having seen who was in that room, who was a part of Voldemort's inner circle, he doubted they would be willing to forgo torture and killing in the name of the dark. Especially Bellatrix or followers like Greyback.

"Ask."

Harry straightened, checking his mind shields; he had not felt a probe. Was he that transparent? Voldemort made a show of glancing left and right, raising a sculpted brow. "It is just you and me, my dear apprentice. As you have learned, if you are respectful, you can be candid."

Steeling his resolve, Harry forced himself to push forward. This is what he wanted, an opportunity to shape the war. He'd put his pride aside for this very thing. "Your followers, are they satisfied with conducting this war in the shadows? Not torturing and attacking? That seems unlikely for some of them."

Voldemort nodded. "Do you remember on one of your first nights here, we discussed Bella's inability to control herself?" Harry nodded, remembering all too well the feeling of torture radiating through his body.

"I told you that she would have to learn to obey, that I needed that obedience to achieve my goals. That has not changed." He stepped forward, getting uncomfortably close to Harry, a strong hand, long fingers resting on his shoulder. "You are not the only one to recognize that more flies are enticed with honey. To an extent, I am willing to try that. The fools in the ministry are in denial, wishing I were not back. The longer no deadly war erupts, the less support Dumbledore gets. I can achieve most of my goals without a fight."

"And the ones you can't?" Harry dared to ask.

Voldemort smiled thinly, removing his hand. "Let's just say it is better for all to just submit to me. They will have lost too much standing in the ministry to counter me when I make my move."

Harry shivered at the callous words. "Are you still killing?"

Scarlet eyes met emerald. "Do you truly want to know?"

Harry wasn't sure, but it felt silly to not understand what he was a part of. He nodded.

Voldemort took a step back, his wand appearing suddenly in his hands, twirling between his fingers. "The disappearances are decreasing; it does not suit me when panics arise from families searching for their loved ones. But those who refuse to submit, who are directly in my way. Rarely does that end in their favor."

He flicked his wrist, and all the dummies went up in dark green flames. Harry could feel the heat from where they stood. He took a subconscious step back.

"You kidnapped that girl, the granddaughter."

Voldemort flicked his wand again, and all the blazing dummies vanished. Silence seemed to howl against them after all the crackling flames. It was unnerving. "But she has not been harmed. She will be returned undamaged once our demands are met."

"What are those demands?" Harry dared to ask. That poor girl, he hoped she wasn't held in a cell.

"There are a few laws I want passed. Some dealing with further restricting magic near Muggles. Others to identify Muggleborns earlier."

"Will you take them from their families?" Maybe for a child Tom Riddle, that would have been a mercy. But for Hermione, that would have been a curse.

"Yes," he said simply. "They should be raised in magical homes. Not with filthy Muggles who will never understand them. Who fear them."

Harry's grip on his wand tightened. It was barbaric, inhumane. "Will they ever be allowed to see them again?"

The assessing gaze shifted back to him. "No," was the quiet reply. "The Muggles will have their memories wiped."

"That's horrible," Harry argued. "You're kidnapping them."

"Protecting them," came the quipped response. New dummies appeared with another flick of the Dark Lord's wand. These ones moved, circling Harry and the Dark Lord. Harry raised his wand, looking around as they were surrounded. A bead of red light shot from one of them which Voldemort blocked with a shield.

"You better defend yourself; I won't block any more," he murmured.

Harry jerked his wand up and to the side, barely blocking another beam of red light. "What are you doing?" he cried, shifting his feet into a defensive stance.

"Instructing," Voldemort drawled.

"More like distracting," Harry hissed, blocking two more red beams.

"If you cannot defend yourself from inanimate objects and hold a conversation, then I am clearly wasting my time with you."

Harry shifted, casting a scowl at the Dark Lord as he deftly blocked two shots of red light from different directions. The air crackled with tension, and the room felt oppressive. A third beam quickly followed, and he barely managed to block it. He didn't want to know what would happen if he were hit. The delay between attacks seemed to be decreasing; they were coming quicker and increasing in number.

"It isn't fair; you should not steal children from their parents. Not every Muggleborn was raised like you and I were," Harry declared, sidestepping a red beam. He secretly hoped it would hit the smug Dark Lord standing behind him, but the red light dissolved just before contact.

"What is worse? Risking children growing up unloved and who are harmed and reviled, or protecting all of them?"

Harry shook his head, blocking another red beam. "That's not how life works; you can't control everyone."

He felt the intense focus of red eyes on him and realized that, yes, that is exactly what Voldemort planned to do.

"You could do checkups and home visits and see if they are in danger," Harry suggested. Anything would be better than just stealing all the children.

"That would be a high cost. We don't have the ministry manpower to waste checking on every Muggleborn. From accidental magic to the age of majority, we are talking about hundreds, if not thousands of children. And it just takes one slip, one Muggle feeling insecure or inferior, and we lose a magical child. I won't risk it."

Harry blocked two more red beams. A bead of sweat began to trickle down his neck. He needed to do something to stop the attacks. Voldemort never did anything without reason. He had entered and destroyed all the dummies before starting this particular sadistic exercise. It had been a hint. But did he know a spell that would stop them all? Harry doubted he could mass-produce the acid spell to that extent, and it was a complicated wand movement. He would leave himself vulnerable to attack while he only took out a few of them. He was good with fire. Could he successfully cast Incendio at such a scale?

Sighing, he prepared himself. It was worth a try. If he only continued casting shields, he was certain Voldemort would let the attack continue until he tired and let one through.

"Incendio!" he cried. He cast his wand to the right and his hand to the left. He'd been practicing wandless magic and knew he could cast the flames. But he'd never tried to do both, casting with a wand and wandless. Well, no time like the present, he thought bemusedly.

Fire shot out from around him, cascading against the dummies. He was shocked that all were consumed in roaring hot flames. He'd done it! He lowered his hands, staring in awe at his work. He'd just cast two spells at once. And they had both been powerful. He'd taken out at least twelve dummies.

"Very well done."

He turned; the gaze that met him sent a chill down his spine. It carried an unsettling hunger, a possessiveness that left him uneasy. He nodded his head, accepting the compliment. He was pleased with himself, but the look he was getting left him deeply uneasy.

"And what about wizard families that abuse their children?" Harry inquired, eager to steer the conversation back to familiar ground, for the desire to diminish from those piercing red eyes.

The Slytherin heir cocked his head, his gaze probing. "What do you mean?"

"There are abusive wizard families," Harry pressed on. "Crouch's father harmed him. What about the Snapes? Honestly, I don't think Malfoy is all that kind to Draco. Would you separate them?"

"It is not the same. They are all a part of the wizarding world," Voldemort dismissed.

Harry vehemently disagreed. "Are you trying to protect children from abuse or isolate us further from the Muggle world?"

Voldemort paused, actually looking at Harry as if considering the question. "Muggles harm out of inferiority, out of fear for what they do not know. You are confusing discipline and tradition against those willing to engage in genocide if given the chance. They are not one and the same," he declared, making it clear that, in his opinion, the matter was closed.

"I guess I'll never know," Harry conceded, frustration marring his features. "I did have magical parents at one point, but that option to grow up with them was taken from me. I guess I should not have even had the option to grow up with my aunt and uncle under this new rule."

A dull throb hit his scar; it seemed almost accidental, pulsing with anger rather than punishment. "Alright, Harry, if you want to go down this path, then we will. Let's compare your uncle's treatment against mine. You have better accommodations, food, clothing, and education. Under their care, you were a lamb for the slaughter; you had no ability to control your surroundings or make decisions for yourself. You could not even protect yourself from those worthless creatures you call family. Would you prefer to go back to how it was if given the chance?"

Harry swallowed, sensing the precariousness of the topic. To claim anything other than his stay here was voluntary and assured would anger the wizard. To assert that he was a prisoner would cost him privileges he did not want to lose. And Voldemort knew the extent of the mistreatment Harry had endured from his aunt and uncle. They had practiced too much Occlumency for Harry to deny that he had been starved and beaten. Yet, Voldemort had tortured him and tried to kill him on more than one occasion. Neither situation was one Harry would voluntarily submit to, even if his current one did hint at a future where he had more power to influence his surroundings. It was a lose-lose situation for the teen.

"I think introducing them to the wizarding world early, training them in our heritage before Hogwarts, would be very helpful. I don't think stealing them should be the first option.

Children know if they are safe. If I'd been given the option to stay in the magical world, I would have. I asked to. I know Hermione and other classmates love their families. What about allowing the children a voice? It would not be hard to ask them at school each year if they're safe or if they want to return. Their head of house could do it. No ministry manning required."

The irritated glare directed his way cooled. It transformed into something almost fond, though veiled.

Voldemort's eyes bore into Harry's, assessing the Gryffindor with an intensity that made him uneasy. The silence lingered, thick with unspoken tension. Finally, the Dark Lord spoke, his tone measured.

"Your idealistic notions, Harry, are rooted in a naive belief in the goodness of humanity. Muggles, in their ignorance, pose a threat that cannot be easily measured. Allowing these children to voice their desires would be akin to handing them over to the whims of misguided sentiment."

Harry's frustration simmered beneath the surface, but he kept his voice steady. "But doesn't stealing them from the muggle world mean the world is black and white? It isn't. You taught me that. They may be actually loved; is that misguided sentiment?"

Voldemort chuckled, a sound that sent a shiver down Harry's spine. "Any form of being misguided is a luxury, one that the wizarding world cannot afford in times of war. We must prioritize the preservation of our kind. It requires sacrifices."

The Gryffindor couldn't suppress a retort. "Why punish innocent children for the actions of a few wrong muggles? You would condemn every child to not know their family for the fear of what might happen to only a few?"

Voldemort's eyes glinted with a dangerous glimmer. "Innocence, Harry, is a fleeting concept. As you just quoted, the world is not divided into neat categories of good and evil. Sometimes, to ensure the survival of our kind, difficult choices must be made."

The conversation hung in the air, heavy with unspoken disagreement. Harry knew he was pushing the boundaries, challenging the very foundation of Voldemort's ideology. Yet, he couldn't stand by and accept the path the Dark Lord envisioned.

A faint smirk curled on Voldemort's lips. "Your compassion, while admirable, blinds you to the harsh realities of our existence. It is a weakness, one that I will help you overcome." Harry frowned, not liking the sound of that. He dropped his stare, unsure of what he could say that would sway the Dark Lord to change his mind.

The remainder of the training session proved rather unremarkable by comparison. Voldemort directed Harry to continue practicing the simultaneous dual casting of wand and wandless magic. Frustration gnawed at the Gryffindor as only about a third of his attempts succeeded, and the magnitude fell short of the intensity he achieved against the dummies. However, to his surprise, Voldemort appeared satisfied, and that was sufficient validation for the young wizard. With the training concluded, the Dark Lord granted him the rest of the day off, much to Harry's pleasure.

Returning to his room, Harry indulged in a refreshing shower, shedding his combat robes for something more comfortable. Eager to escape once again to the garden, he stepped outside and took a deep breath, relishing the peace and solitude that enveloped him. The soft hues of the sunset illuminated everything, bathing it in a warm glow.

The garden revealed its hidden beauty to Harry as he strolled along the winding paths, bordered by vibrant blossoms in various colors. The air was filled with the sweet fragrance of magical flowers, and the gentle rustling of leaves created a soothing melody. The enchanting atmosphere offered a stark contrast to the rigorous training he had just endured.

As Harry meandered through the garden, his mind reflected on the day's events. The conversation with Voldemort lingered in his thoughts. He couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that his words would not change anything, but at the same time, a sense of satisfaction simmered within him. He had dared to challenge Voldemort's perspective, even if just a little. And had not been punished when doing so.

The training, too, occupied his reflections. He had accomplished something that he knew to be quite difficult. He felt a small sense of triumph accompanied by the acknowledgment of Voldemort's genuine approval at that moment. It was a peculiar dynamic, a delicate balance between seeking validation from the Dark Lord and maintaining his own principles.

As the sun began to dip below the horizon, casting a cascade of changing colors across the sky, Harry found solace in the garden. The rhythmic patter of water from a nearby fountain added to the tranquil ambiance. He couldn't help but appreciate the beauty that existed even in the heart of darkness. The garden seemed like a paradox, a serene haven nestled within a fortress of shadows. It reflected how he felt.

Leaning against a stone railing, Harry took a moment to savor the calm, the fragrant breeze gently rustling the leaves around him.

"Potter."

His lips twitched in amused frustration at the almost predictable interruption. "Draco," he said, turning.

The blond's eyes narrowed at the use of his first name. "Harry," he replied in kind, seemingly unsure.

"Isn't it a bit late for you to be here? I wasn't aware of a meeting."

"Not a large group one; father was summoned to speak to our Lord." That made sense since Voldemort had said they would not dine together.

"Do you know what it's about?"

The Malfoy heir shook his head. "An update about the ministry, I would suspect. What with the vote to give the old bird the boot coming up. I'm sure that's the talk du jour."

At Harry's quizzical look, Draco laughed. "Talk of the day," he explained. "I forget how clueless you are sometimes, Potter," he mocked without bite.

Harry shrugged, acknowledging his shortcomings. It bothered him, but under Voldemort's tutelage, he knew he was rapidly making up for it. And didn't that truth sting more than he cared to admit.

"What do you think will happen when Dumbledore is voted out?"

Draco leaned against the stone railing, gazing out at the expansive garden. The evening breeze rustled the leaves while the fading sunlight cast long shadows, painting the garden in warm tones of orange and pink.

"Well, it's hard to say," Draco mused, his gaze thoughtful. "Father believes the vote will make it where the law isn't on the light's side anymore. They won't have the numbers. More than they know have either swapped to the dark or at least agreed to stay neutral. We'll be able to push through change with very little resistance. And it'll all be done legally, so there will be little the light can do to stop it without becoming true vigilantes."

"How is he doing this? What could he promise to sway so many?" It didn't make sense why the ministry seemed to not be fighting. They knew he was back even if he was being relatively quiet. The first war had been awful; how could they risk it happening a second time?

"Why were you swayed?" Draco asked.

Harry shook his head, "it's not the same. I was a prisoner; he held my friends. My closest thing to a father would have died. He's promised not to harm them if I stay. If I submit."

"He's promised," Draco echoed, giving Harry a knowing look. "Do you think you're the only one he's pressuring? Threatening and promising? He's targeting anyone with power who isn't firmly under Dumbledore's thumb. You've heard him, his words are elegant, full of what might be. Power and prestige. To old blood that resonates. They want to return to the old ways when magic wasn't tamed. Wasn't muted. We don't even celebrate our holidays anymore. It's pathetic."

Harry nodded, considering Draco's words. The political intricacies of the wizarding world were still somewhat foreign to him, and he relied on conversations like these to gain insights.

"Do you think Voldemort will have that much influence in the Ministry after this?" Harry asked, curious about the power dynamics at play.

Draco arched an eyebrow. "He already does, Potter. The Dark Lord has his fingers everywhere. When Dumbledore is removed, it will provide a clearer path for Voldemort to exert more control openly. Father thinks it's about time the Ministry aligned more closely with our interests. We've grown weak. If something doesn't change, then we have a lot we stand to lose."

Draco's words settled on Harry's shoulders. Was this the beginning of the end? Had the light lost? Was there no resistance left? If Voldemort was not acting like a villain for the light to rally against, would he just slip into a place of prominence, and everyone would just blink one day and realize they'd willingly handed power over to a Dark Lord who desired to be a dictator?

"And what about you?" Draco turned to him, his gray eyes piercing. "What's your role in all of this, Potter?"

Harry hesitated, the weight of his own uncertainty pressing down on him. What did he want his role to be? "I want to end this war. I want to protect those who can't protect themselves. I don't want innocent lives caught in the crossfire. If I stay by his side, I think I can achieve that."

He wanted Voldemort to stop, but he didn't think he had it in him to be the one to do that. How could a sixteen-year-old vanquish someone who was that powerful? And the mark he bore on his shoulder allegedly gave Voldemort the power to stop him from even trying. He frowned, thinking over how much his magic had grown in just a few months. Was it possible that one day he would have the power to stop Voldemort, but he'd naively given up his chance to do so? Had he doomed the wizarding world in his efforts to save those he cared about?

Draco regarded him for a moment, weighing his words.

"I suppose there are worse things to fight for," Draco finally said, breaking the silence. "But you should be a little more selfish. I know your Gryffindor sensibilities dictate you sacrifice yourself, but maybe you can be more than a sacrifice."

He paused, dropping his gaze. He looked more serious than Harry had ever seen him. "I saw you up there with him; you two make a fearsome match. Maybe you can balance him. If he will actually listen to you. You could influence him in ways no one has ever had the chance. He knows how much he gains with your willing support. Consider using that. Please him even. See what that affords you."

Please him. Harry thought back to their practice just a few hours ago. The Dark Lord had certainly been pleased with the power he'd shown.

"Do you think I'm doing the right thing? Submitting to him? I'm not even sure what is right anymore." He hated how vulnerable he sounded. He was shocked the admission escaped his lips.

"Do you have any other choice?" It wasn't dismissive. Steel gray eyes met pained green. "If you can't escape and you can't protect them or yourself on your own, then maybe this is the right decision. You're at least taking matters into your own hands. Not just allowing someone like Dumbledore to make all the decisions for you."

Harry nodded, the words somewhat comforting.

"And Harry," Draco said, meeting his eyes, "I know you didn't grow up in our world, so let me offer you some advice. Choices are rarely between what's right and what's wrong. It's about survival, power, and influence. Sometimes, you have to play the game by their rules to change the outcome."

Harry frowned, absorbing Draco's words. It was a perspective he hadn't fully considered.

"Look," Draco continued, his gaze returning to the garden, "The Dark Lord, for all his fearsomeness, values loyalty and strength. If you can show him that you possess both, you might find yourself in a position to make a real difference. It's a dangerous path, I don't envy you, but sometimes, that's the only path that leads to change."

A silence settled between them, punctuated only by the rustling leaves and the distant sounds of the garden.

"You've been through a lot," Draco said, his voice strangely thoughtful. "And I won't pretend to understand what all that has been. But you have a choice, even in the worst of times. It may not be a good choice, but it's yours to make. I made mine. And I'm trying to make the best of it that I can. Make yours and stick with it. Nothing is worse than only half committing."

Harry nodded, surprisingly grateful for Draco's honesty and perspective. He'd been terrified that he was slipping, becoming dark. He was good at dark magic and liked the thought that he could be powerful, that maniacs like Bellatrix would not always be able to outpower him. But maybe that wasn't what he needed to focus on. He needed to see the endgame. What did he hope to achieve? Maybe embracing the dark was the best way to achieve what he truly wanted: peace and safety for his friends. But was that even possible in a world where Voldemort ruled?

"I should go," Draco said, pushing himself away from the stone railing. "Father will be expecting me."

As Draco's figure gradually disappeared into the obscurity of the night, Harry lingered against the railing, his mind a tempest of conflicting thoughts. The sun's departure plunged the garden into an abyss of shadows, mirroring the deepening gloom within him.

A heavy sigh escaped the teen as he mustered the strength to push himself upright, embarking on the lonely journey back to his room.

Upon entering his room, Harry's gaze gravitated toward the desk, where a note awaited him. He recognized the handwriting instantly, and with a mix of trepidation and resignation, he retrieved the parchment.

Come to breakfast prepared to depart the manor. You will go on your first mission tomorrow.

~ Lord Voldemort

The ink on the page seemed to carry an unsettling weight, and Harry couldn't shake the feeling that something was about to happen.

Chapter 21: Succession

"Are you familiar with the Rite of Succession?" Voldemort inquired, interrupting Harry mid- bite as he glanced up from his toast. The Dark Lord sat next to him in their usual dining arrangement, looking as formidable as ever.

Harry shook his head, ebony bangs dropping across his eyes at the motion. Emerald met crimson; the teen could sense something in the air. This wasn't a casual question.

"It's less known in today's world because formal duels to the death are rare, and even rarer is not having a designated heir," Voldemort explained, setting his cup of hot tea back on the table. Steam rose into the early morning air. "The Rite of Succession is when magic herself designates the victor of conquest as a magical heir if the right criteria are met. Can you guess what that entails?"

The unsettling feeling in the pit of Harry's stomach grew. He'd been on edge since his arrival, uncertain about the type of mission the Dark Lord would assign him. Duels to the death, conquest, and magical heirs were not what he had in mind.

"I would suspect one has to kill another," Harry hazarded, mindful of his apprenticeship's condition that excluded killing or torturing. He tried to ground himself in that assurance, hoping that whatever task lay ahead would not involve such dark deeds.

Voldemort nodded. "Yes, through magical prowess among other requirements. It can be as simple as the killing curse or more elaborate, but one's magic must, in essence, vanquish the other." Harry's eyes narrowed at the word 'vanquish,' his body going stiff. Memories of the Prophecy Dumbledore had shared, the one that cost Sirius his life, flashed before him. The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord…It had been months since he thought about it. So much had been going on with his apprenticeship that he'd nearly forgotten the dreaded words that responsible for his life being the way that it was.

A push on his Occlumency shields brought him back to the present. Voldemort's scarlet eyes were fixed on him, probing. "What has you bothered?" The Slytherin asked, the force of his intrusion hovering outside without breaking his shields. Despite Harry's growing proficiency in the mind arts, he knew he was no match for Voldemort's mastery. If the Dark Lord wanted to enter his mind, he would.

"Nothing," Harry replied, attempting nonchalance.

"Do not lie to me," the intrusion on his mind intensified. It hurt, but Voldemort had not shattered his barriers yet.

Harry dropped his gaze, knowing eye contact only made the attack easier for the Dark Lord. "I'm not bothered," he murmured, "the topic just caught me by surprise."

A pulse of pain in his scar served as a warning. Harry sighed, turning back to his Master. With his curiosity piqued, Voldemort wouldn't easily be dissuaded. "It was your word choice," Harry confessed. "It brought up bad memories."

Voldemort frowned, leaning back. "Do not ever lie to me, Harry. I thought you'd learned that lesson."

Harry nodded, feeling a pang of genuine guilt. The tone was more disappointed than angry, which struck Harry in ways he did not care to think about. "I was caught off guard," the teen admitted, unwilling to apologize but conceding to having attempted to mislead. Occasionally he had gotten away with it, but it was rare. And never about anything that mattered.

"You need to continue working on hiding your emotions," Voldemort observed. "It was clear to anyone with eyes that you were suddenly distressed." He paused, studying Harry. "And to allay whatever fears are running through your head, yes, I know what the prophecy says in its entirety. It changes nothing. We have circumvented any potential future with your submission to me. Depending on how you interpret it, one can say you already vanquished me when I attacked you that fateful night in Godric's Hollow. Prophecies are fickle things; the criteria could have been met the night I attacked, and you destroyed my former body. Thus, that version of me is no longer among us. It may not even apply to us, despite the variables seemingly aligning. I will not waste another moment with something so unreliable dictating either of our lives, and I recommend you do the same."

Harry found himself speechless. Did Voldemort truly not care that he might have powers the Dark Lord knows not? That they may be destined to fight to the death, and Harry was hailed as the one who could finish him for good? He never would have thought the wizard would be so pragmatic, so dismissive. Dumbledore had placed all his bets that the prophecy mattered, that Harry was the light's only hope, and Voldemort was now going to ignore it? It had driven him to kill Harry's parents; he'd almost lost everything because of it once already. The young Gryffindor wasn't sure what to think. What to believe.

"Which leads us to today," the Slytherin continued as if Harry's world was not being systematically flipped inside out. "Magic considers you my magic heir due to the Rite of Succession."

Harry jerked in his seat, completely taken aback. He almost fell out of it. "Your what?" he stuttered.

"My heir," Voldemort stated, lips twitching downwards in distaste. "I was equally surprised. However, I am finding that it may have its uses."

"How?" Harry gasped. It wasn't possible. Surely he would have known. What did that even mean? Should he have been in Slytherin this entire time? If he was an heir, did that actually make Voldemort his Lord by magical father standards? No, it couldn't! He wouldn't accept that. The teen felt paralyzed with all the competing thoughts simultaneously fighting for prominence. It was beyond overwhelming.

Voldmort, who seemed completely unaffected, continued calmly, "in my arrogance, I failed to take any measures to secure my wealth or inheritance. While I had already ensured my immortality, that brief moment between the rebounding killing curse and my corporeal return rendered me, for all intents and purposes, dead. In that transient state, before I returned, magic deemed you the conqueror and, consequently, my magical heir, inheriting all that I possessed."

Harry, struck speechless, grappled with the implications of Voldemort's revelation. Surely it could not be true. And more importantly, he wondered why the Slytherin was raising the topic now.

"It truly is not that significant," Voldemort asserted, seemingly indifferent to the weight of the revelation. The man was almost as flippant about pronouncing Harry his heir as he had been dismissive of the prophecy. "With you already secured as my apprentice, it is not a far leap to consider you as my heir. It actually stabilizes your role by my side; magic herself has weighed in and confirmed our connection even further."

To Harry, however, it felt like an insurmountable leap. Had Voldemort just casually announced that Harry had magically been adopted by the Dark Lord? It was absurd, terrifying. It was a life-changing scenario in all the wrong ways. The idea was not only horrific but also carried the weight of disgrace upon his parents' memory. He had no desire to be the Dark Lord's heir. Could he refuse it? Could he just turn it down?

Voldemort, willfully oblivious to the emotional turmoil gripping the young Gryffindor, continued as if this were any normal conversation over a meal between master and apprentice. "I learned of this in recent correspondence with Gringotts regarding my vaults. As the presumed heir, access to both the Slytherin and Gaunt inheritances was given to you."

"I," Harry stammered, still in shock. "I've never accessed your vaults, I had no idea," he forced out, glancing up nervously. "Can you just take it back from me? Undo whatever this Succession Rite made happen?"

And worst, did Voldemort think he had been stealing his possessions? The notion was laughable. Harry didn't even have access to his own vaults; Dumbledore or the Weasleys held his key. His only opportunity to retrieve gold was when it was time to shop for school. Now, with a taste for proper clothes and a comfortable bed, the realized restricted access to his wealth irked him, making the situation even more galling.

His parents had left him their legacy, and he could only access it when it suited others. How had that not rightfully bothered him before now? Harry's mind raced with a whirlwind of emotions. Anger, confusion, and a gnawing sense of injustice clawing at him. He eyed the Dark Lord with a mixture of disbelief and resentment, his thoughts buzzing with the implications of this newfound realization, both what the Dark Lord was implying and the realization he never had proper access to his own natural legacy left by his parents.

Voldemort reclined in his chair, observing Harry's internal struggle with an eerie calmness. "I know you haven't accessed it. And no, it cannot be undone. Whether desired or not, Harry, you have become the rightful inheritor of my legacy," he declared, almost seeming amused by Harry's reaction. As if he were contemplating an intriguing twist of fate. "The only way for it to be undone is in your death. So, as you can imagine, I find myself in a rather intriguing predicament. One that presents an opportunity."

Harry's fists clenched involuntarily, his gaze locked onto Voldemort's piercing crimson eyes. "What do you mean, predicament?" he challenged, his voice carrying a subtle edge.

Voldemort claimed he no longer desired to kill him, even with the prophecy's content known to both of them. The weight of that revelation left Harry whirling; he knew he would need to spend some time processing it. However, there was little time for reflection as he grappled with the current bombshell – that he was Voldemort's magical heir. A wave of anxiety washed over him, marking this breakfast conversation exceptionally abnormal, even by his already extraordinary standards.

"You can access anything of mine that is stored in Gringotts," Voldemort said as if it should be obvious.

Harry shook his head, rendered speechless. How had he not known this? Shouldn't there be some kind of official notification when magic decides to upend your life?

"Dear Harry, everything that once belonged to the Dark Lord who murdered your parents is now yours. Oh, and by the way, you're also considered his heir. Good luck! Sincerely, Fate.

P.S. you are truly the universe's greatest joke!"

Harry shook his head, trying to focus. "Do you still have access as well, or only me?" Harry questioned, his apprehension tinged with a touch of curiosity.

Voldemort smirked, the corner of his lips curling. "I'm sure you would love it if I were barred from my own vaults. Alas, no, that is not how magic works in this instance. The rightful blood lord will always have access. Precedence even. But magic now recognizes you as well. Usually, the conquered is dead, so they do not have the predicament you and I find ourselves in. As Slytherin and Gaunt heir, I could prohibit your access, which magic and Gringotts would accept until my death, but that would be a restriction of a lord against their heir. You would still be my heir, just estranged. Upon my death, if I did not designate another magical heir, which would require either a blood or magical ritual, then you would have full access again." He paused, giving Harry a knowing look. "But I assure you, a situation resulting in my death will not happen again." There was no small amount of threat included in the proclamation.

The teen found himself believing him. Voldemort was not the type to make the same mistake twice. Harry's brows furrowed, trying to make sense of Voldemort's unexpected admission. "Then why tell me? I didn't even know I had access to your vaults. I swear I haven't stolen anything." He felt genuinely confused. What was the Slytherin playing at? "And if you can just ban me, then it's not like any of your possessions are unsafe." Besides that, he wasn't foolish enough to entertain the idea of stealing from the Dark Lord, especially at this precarious juncture. And he had no means to access the vaults even if he wanted to.

"I tell you because I am not banning you. In fact, it actually benefits me that my apprentice should have such ease of access to what is mine." Voldemort's calculating gaze bore into Harry, a hint of satisfaction gleaming in his crimson eyes. "That is your task today—I want you to go and retrieve a few items for me. The fact that you are a Parselmouth is even better. The Slytherin vault can only be accessed by a speaker. The Ministry has placed triggers on the vault. If I were to go in person, it would alert them. They are an annoyance that will be removed in time, but doing so now does not suit my plans."

"You don't want to draw attention to yourself right before Dumbledore is voted out," Harry realized aloud as he pieced together the puzzle.

Voldemort nodded, conceding the point. "Yes. And there are items in there that I need that would aid me. You can retrieve them unnoticed."

Harry frowned. "You don't think there will be alerts on me out there?"

"Not on my vaults, perhaps your own. So, you are forbidden from going there on this trip." Voldemort's voice, usually calm and measured, now carried a subtle tone of warning, an implicit threat that hung in the air.

Harry nodded in acquiescence, genuinely unfazed. "I don't have my key; I couldn't access it even if I wanted to."

Voldemort frowned, his surprise apparent. "What do you mean you don't have your key? You're the Potter heir; it's your right." Disbelief dripped from his words.

Harry shrugged, attempting to project an air of nonchalance. "I've never been allowed to keep it. Only when I need money and am escorted." Despite his effort to appear unaffected, a flicker of hesitation betrayed him. "There wasn't that much in there anyway," he said, attempting to brush off the significance of not having access to a link to his past, that his heritage had been withheld from him.

"Not much?" Voldemort echoed, his tone tinged with incredulity. "The Potters were exceedingly affluent, boasting no less than four vaults, alongside expansive estates and properties. I know you grew up beneath your station, but playing coy about this is a stretch even for you." The Dark Lord's penetrating gaze bore into Harry's, a clear indication that his annoyance was escalating. "Or are you attempting to feign ignorance again? Do you fear that I would stoop to the level of stealing your inheritance?"

Sensing the subtle undercurrent of threat, Harry defensively shook his head. "I'm not lying," he asserted, trying to hide the vulnerability and apprehension he felt. "I've only seen one vault. There's a considerable amount of gold, certainly more than the Dursleys ever provided me, but probably nothing compared to what the Malfoys or others have."

The Dark Lord shook his head, releasing a disapproving sigh. "Dumbledore is a scheming fool. I'm certain you possess more than you're aware of. To withhold it from you is both an offense and an insult to your family legacy." Voldemort's intense gaze softened momentarily, replaced by a flicker of empathy. No doubt the Dark Lord saw even more of himself in the maturing teen at that moment, having his own Slytherin inheritance hidden from him for most of his youth.

"When you visit the goblins, demand that all keys to the Potter vault are collected and returned to them for safekeeping. Instruct them that none but you are permitted to enter any of the Potter vaults. While you won't access them on this trip, I'll guarantee your rightful admittance when the Ministry falls. You never should have grown up the way you did. You should have lived in one of the Potter estates, at a minimum, or in a proper wizarding home. That you grew up abused and neglected at the hands of magic-fearing muggles is an atrocity."

Harry's heart skipped a beat. "I can do that, reclaim my keys? Won't Dumbledore prevent it? I'm still a minor. He's my magical guardian." A thrill of excitement swept through him, mixed with uncertainty and doubt. He was tired of feeling powerless, never able to access his heritage without permission from adults. Learning that there was much more left to him and that it had been hidden all this time was degrading and insulting. He had desperately sought anything from the past that would bring him closer to his parents. Discovering he had multiple vaults and items that belonged to his parents, kept from him, angered the teen more than he wanted to admit.

Voldemort's smirked, revealing a knowing confidence. "I'm now your magical guardian. In more ways than one. The master and apprentice relationship is an acknowledged position in magical society. I have taken you in and promised to teach and care for you. Part of the mark you accepted magically bound our agreement; it signifies your submission to being my apprentice. That exceeds any claim the old coot would have as Headmaster to a school you no longer attend." Harry didn't like the sound of that. His research on the mark had mostly come up empty. He knew it was a ritual because it left a permanent mark on his skin. And he knew it magically linked him to Voldemort in some ways. But beyond that, he had found infuriatingly little.

"Moreover," the velvety tone continued, "the Rite of Succession takes precedence. As my magical heir, since I regained my body last year, both legally and under the laws governed by magic, I am your guardian. A drop of blood will confirm who you are and establish your right to access the Potter vault, as well as my own. The test will reveal that you are my magical heir, and I am your guardian. The goblins will have no choice but to honor your rightful access and dismiss any claims from Dumbledore. It's a matter of magical law and tradition that even the old man cannot circumvent. I'll provide a letter for you to present to them, articulating my displeasure that another magical being has access to my heir's legacy. They are to retrieve all keys and provide you with your own. The laws governing the vault will mandate their compliance, and Dumbledore will be barred access."

The revelation surpassed Harry's expectations. He would be allowed to keep his own key? After all these years, it would be Voldemort who finally granted him full access to what his parents had left behind, and didn't that realization sting? A thought struck him. "Will you receive a key to my vaults as well?"

The teen shifted under the pressing stare. He would have sworn the Dark Lord was using Occlumency again if he hadn't known better that his shields were still intact. While the Slytherin's face was a mask, Harry had spent so much time with the Dark Lord that he was beginning to read him. There was something in the crimson eyes that left him puzzled.

"No," Voldemort said after an uncomfortable silence. "I will not demand a key. This is your rightful inheritance, and I will honor that. But I expect you to reciprocate the trust I am extending to you. You will uphold our agreement, act as an apprentice to the dark should. If any of the content you inherit is useful to the light, you will not allow it to fall into their hands. I will allow you your inheritance uncontested, but if you use it against me in any way, you will regret it. Are we in agreement?"

As he mulled over the implications, Harry found himself contemplating the significance of what was happening. Voldemort was living up to his promises in every way. He had made Harry stronger, provided for the teen, and introduced him to his inner circle and followers as someone the Dark Lord trusted. Harry was given power. And now Voldemort was returning what was rightfully his, giving him his parents' legacy that no one in the light had thought to do. Draco's words from the previous night rang through his thoughts. 'Show him loyalty, play the game.'He straightened in his seat, newfound determination fueling him. Harry nodded his head acquiescing to the terms, finding himself genuinely grateful for what Voldemort was offering.

"Thank you," the Gryffindor whispered, sincerity coloring his words.

The room hung in tense silence as master and heir exchanged an uneasy moment. Voldemort was the first to break the stillness, turning away with a dismissive air. "You should have already had access," he asserted. "It's an insult to you and your legacy that you did not. Now, back to the matter at hand—what you will retrieve for me." Harry couldn't help but wonder if genuine gratitude unsettled the formidable wizard.

"Within the Slytherin vault, there is an ancient scroll containing the secrets of 'Serpentis Mutatio,' the Blood Shifter's Covenant. It is a ritual that allows one to shed their old identity and embrace a new one. Magic, blood, lineage—all may be permanently transformed."

Harry thought that sounded awful. Would Voldemort force it upon another? Strip them of their identity, perhaps even steal someone else's? Would that affect their magic levels? He voiced the concerns aloud.

"No, there are different rituals that influence your magic, that make you stronger." He gave Harry a knowing look, suspecting the teen's interest in wanting to know more, even if such dark magic did scare him. "There are a few other books in the vault that explore such magic that you may retrieve and read. But in this instance, my goals are more straightforward. It's a blood ritual that will change my lineage so that I won't be recognized as Tom Riddle anymore."

"You plan to adopt a new identity?" Harry asked, his curiosity beyond piqued. He knew the Dark Lord loathed his Muggle ancestry. But would that influence his Slytherin and Gaunt side?

"Yes," Voldemort responded, a hint of anticipation in his voice. "I don't intend to hide in the shadows, but I can't be known in the open as Tom Riddle; too many associate that name with Lord Voldemort, with the first war. I will obtain a new identity, a fresh start." The prospect of transformation shimmered in his eyes.

"How much of you will change? Will you still be the heir of Slytherin?" Harry couldn't contain his curiosity. This was not what he had expected.

Voldemort nodded. "Yes, I will have the same blood that flows through me; I will be Lord Slytherin and Gaunt. I will only shed the Riddle lineage. Lineage tests will only show my magical side, I will be able to claim both Lordships, walk among the wizarding world, and none will be able to accuse me of my previous crimes. My history will be wiped clean."

Harry had finally read the Lordship books the Dark Lord had given him and had an inkling of what he intended. "You'll claim your Wizengamot seats? Your titles?"

The Dark Lord nodded, "among other things." His crimson eyes were glistening with unveiled desire. "You will get these items from my vault and bring them back."

"How will I know which ones they are?"

"I will show you," crimson eyes sought emerald. Harry felt a push on his Occlumency shields. It was gentle, not invasive like the previous times. "Lower your shields and I will push the images so that you will know."

Not desiring the Dark Lord in his mind, but even less eager to go through the painful process where Voldemort dropped the teen's shields through force, Harry reluctantly unbarred his mind. He was proficient enough that he didn't drop everything; his feelings and thoughts were still behind barriers, but he lowered and rescinded his shields enough that Voldemort was able to enter the surface.

Images flashed before his eyes. Two old scrolls and a leather-bound book. They all looked ancient. And he realized that the script was in Parseltongue. He'd thought it was English, that anyone could read them, but as his mind truly absorbed the images, he realized tiny squiggles and lines were actually dancing across the pages. He could just read them perfectly from his gift.

"You will take all three, nothing else. There are cursed objects and other dangerous items. I would advise you to be very careful while in the Slytherin vault. You have no reason to enter the Gaunt vaults. And truthfully, you would be disappointed if you did. They hold nothing of value, having lost their fortune well before I entered the scene." He retracted his mind probe and leaned back in his seat.

"Tipsy!"

The tiny house elf immediately appeared, bouncing up and down eagerly. "Yes, master? How can I assist you?"

"Bring me the leather bag in my office, the black one."

She popped away and was back within seconds, gripping a small leather pouch. Harry had seen similar ones. They had expansion charms inside them and were used to secure items when traveling. Voldemort took it and handed it over. "Stick out your finger," he commanded, his wand appearing in his free hand.

Skeptically, Harry raised his hand towards the Dark Lord. With a slight flick, Harry winced as a small bubble of blood appeared on his finger. The teen grimaced as Voldemort extended the leather pouch. "Touch the blood on the lips of the pouch's mouth. It will register to you, and no one will be able to pull the contents of the pouch without your consent."

Harry obliged, touching the lips of the worn leather. He immediately felt a pulse of magic wash over him, tying his magical signature to the bag. "You may keep the bag after this mission. There are already anti-summoning and destruction charms on it. And it is charmed large enough that you should not run out of space anytime soon."

Harry nodded, accepting the gift. Similar to when he'd received his wand holster, he wasn't sure how to feel. How to respond. He knew it was a practical gift, that it was given because it served Voldemort's purpose. But he couldn't help but feel conflicted that he would be given it, that something so useful and nice would be his even after the mission. It was the type of item that he knew Malfoy would have boasted at school if given to him by his father.

Expensive and useful. And it indicated trust because he knew they could only be keyed to one magical signature. He gazed at it awkwardly, an uncomfortable feeling catching in his throat.

"Good, now you will go with two of my inner circle. I don't anticipate any trouble to occur, but they will be there to assist if anything goes wrong."

Or to prevent me from running, Harry thought, but didn't say it aloud. Truthfully, he wasn't sure what he would do if given the chance to run. He honestly did not think he could escape. He still knew too little about the mark on his arm. And nothing had changed regarding his fears that he believed Voldemort could reach his friends. That he could make the streets run with blood to punish Harry if he truly wanted.

"Who will come with me?" Harry asked instead.

"Severus and Barty." Harry straightened, staring at the Dark Lord incredulously. He didn't mind Crouch, but Snape?

"You seem surprised."

Harry wasn't sure how to phrase it, and he'd already gotten in too much trouble trying to be discrete or reserved, so he decided to go for it. It was something he'd wondered for years. "Do you trust Snape?"

Voldemort's lips twitched. "Do you?"

Harry shrugged. He wasn't sure which side he even hoped the slippery potion master was on anymore. The Gryffindor had too much going against him and for him on both sides. "I don't know," he admitted. "He's obviously trusted by both you and Dumbledore. One of you has to be wrong." He thought that conclusion was obvious, that he didn't risk much by saying it out loud.

The Dark Lord chuckled. It sounded so normal that it was odd. "Yes, he is quite convincing. I trust him in this, Harry, that should be enough for you."

Harry nodded, sensing the dismissal of that line of questioning. Severus Snape and Barty Crouch Jr. Harry wasn't sure how he felt about being in the company of both. Snape, in particular, confused him. Was this a test of Harry's allegiance or the potion master's? Snape may lie and try to tempt him to flee, then report it all back. Or if he was on the side of the light, that meant Voldemort was certain enough of his control of the teen to risk Snape trying some type of rescue. Harry knew if he tried to run and failed, the consequences would be severe. It had taken three months to be allowed this. If he betrayed Voldemort and wasn't successful in escaping, he did not want to know what the punishment would be. He was certain it would be at least one of his friends' deaths.

"Good, if that is all, then you should depart." "How will I travel?"

Voldemort reached into his cloak, pulling out two items. One was an emerald jewel, the other a sapphire. Both beautiful in their own right. They looked expensive, precious. The Dark Lord flicked his wand, and the sapphire was suddenly wrapped in a gold chain, making it into a necklace. "Two portkeys. The green will take you to Diagon Alley, the red will return you to my manor. I will teach you to Apparate when you return so you are not limited in the future. Keep the sapphire on you at all times. It will work more than once, always bringing you back to Slytherin Manor."

Harry took both, draping the sapphire over his head. He was about to tuck it under his shirt but paused at the raised wand pointed directly at him. It spoke to how accustomed he'd grown to the Dark Lord that only the slightest shiver went through him at the act. He hated that he trusted the wizard wouldn't suddenly start torturing him for no reason.

With a complicated twirl of his wrist, the Dark Lord softly incanted Latin that Harry had never heard before. The sapphire heated then went cold. "No one will be able to remove that from you. Keep it on you at all times. As I continue to trust you and allow you more freedom, I want you always to have a means to escape. Never hesitate to use it."

Harry's fingers ghosted over the cool stone before he tucked it under his shirt. It didn't surprise him the possessive Dark Lord would want a way to bring the teen back to his manor; Harry wondered if the Dark Lord could activate it from anywhere without Harry's consent.

But more than anything, he wondered why the Order had never given him something like this. Would he have used it the night his uncle attacked him and kicked him out of his home? Could this entire situation have been avoided if Dumbledore and the Order had taken even this smallest step to protect Harry during the summer? Harry forced the thoughts aside; it did nothing to brood on them now. This was his life, and he had to figure out how to navigate the present, not waste time wishing on the past.

"Is there an activation word?" Harry asked.

The Slytherin's eyes glistened. " Safety," he hissed in Parseltongue.

Harry couldn't resist the slight snort that escaped unbidden. "Alright," he conceded, the slightest smirk gracing his lips at the irony.

The Dark Lord stood, and Harry followed suit. His forgotten toast remained on his plate. He'd lost his appetite since Voldemort revealed Harry was considered by magic herself to be the Dark Lord's heir, not to forget the wizard seemingly knew about the prophecy saying Harry could defeat him and had uncharacteristically decided to dismiss it entirely. That, coupled with the teen being allowed to leave the manor without Voldemort, had made the morning altogether chaotic and unusual, even by his crazy standards.

"You will go meet Snape and Barty in the foyer. I will send Tipsy with the Gringott's letter shortly. The emerald will activate with the word 'loyalty.'" The Dark Lord took a step nearer the teen, reaching out a hand and grasping his shoulder. "Do not make me regret this trust I am showing you. Retrieve what is mine and return. Don't do anything that will jeopardize your standings with me. You will not like the repercussions."

Having already suspected so, Harry indicated his understanding with a quick dip of his chin. He had no intention of using this brief moment of freedom to escape. He would bide his time, be smart about it. If he was going to risk destroying Voldemort's faint trust in him, it would only be after he had a plan that he was certain would work.

The teen soon made his departure, parting the dining hall and making his way to the entrance. He had passed by it before but never had a reason to test it, to see if he could leave. He suspected it was one of the few places the Death Eaters could apparate out of, since he rarely saw them in any other parts of the manor. Arriving, he saw two taller forms already awaiting him. He reluctantly approached them.

"Potter."

"Snape." Harry's response carried a subtle edge; he wasn't inclined to bestow any honorifics on the man who had made his years at Hogwarts an unending struggle.

"And I'm Barty," Barty Crouch Jr. chimed in, a wry smile playing on his lips. "Glad we all haven't developed amnesia in the 48 hours since we were last together." His comment carried a touch of humor, attempting to diffuse the palpable tension in the room. Despite the attempt at levity, there was an unmistakable undercurrent of unease.

Harry raised a bemused brow, acknowledging the quip with a hint of a smile. The comment lacked any actual sting, like Barty was intentionally trying to lighten the atmosphere. After a moment of assessing glances, Snape broke the silence. "Let's not waste any more time. We have business to attend to."

"I need to wait for Voldemort's elf; she has something for me." Both men stared at him with wide eyes.

"What?" He asked in confusion, glancing behind him in case it was something more sinister that had caught their eyes.

"You call him by his name?" Barty asked incredulously. Snape was shaking his head in disapproval, scowling.

"Same arrogant child as always."

Harry frowned. Occasionally, he called Voldemort master when necessary for the apprenticeship, but the honorific was rarely needed. It was almost always just the two of them, and the Dark Lord didn't create environments where it was required. He certainly wasn't going to call him "my lord" in front of these two.

"I can call him the Dark Lord," Harry conceded; it was mainly Barty's aghast look that had him relenting, wanting to appease the man in some way. If he hoped to create any type of bond he could use in the future, he didn't want to completely ostracize himself.

"Sure," Barty agreed, glancing cautiously from Snape back to the teen. "Whatever agreement you have with our Lord is between you and him anyways."

A moment later, Tipsy appeared, a letter clasped in her tiny hands. "Here, young master," she squeaked, holding it out.

Harry grabbed it. "Thank you, Tipsy," he said, depositing it in the pouch he'd just been given. It quickly disappeared into the dark opening. He tied it around his belt inside his traveling cloak. A giant blush filtered across the elf's cheeks as she bobbed her head in adoring appreciation of the compliment before popping away. Barty looked confused, Snape looked disgusted.

"What were you given?" The potions professor asked, eyeing where the pouch had disappeared to.

"It's for my mission," Harry said evasively. He certainly had no intention of revealing to Snape of all people that he was the Dark Lord's heir, magical or through apprenticeship, nor that he was going to get his Potter vault keys back from Dumbledore. He hoped he could get a private audience with the goblins. Since they did not speak Parseltongue, he'd already assumed they would not accompany him to Voldemort's vault. While the Dark Lord had not explicitly stated it, it made sense to Harry that he would not want anyone else rummaging through his stuff.

Snape released a long-suffering sigh. "Don't play coy, Potter. We're supposed to ensure your success. You will have to reveal all the details for us to do so. You are not as special as you think."

Harry frowned, glancing between him and Crouch, who was also eyeing Snape speculatively. "Actually, I don't have to," Harry drew himself up to full length, which he knew wasn't all that impressive, but it was still all he had. He was the Dark Lord's apprentice, heir even.

While he wasn't proud of it, he was certain that meant he didn't have to be bossed around by Death Eaters. "I know what my mission is. You're only coming along to make sure nothing awful happens. I was tasked to go to the Dark Lord's vaults and retrieve something. That is all you need to know, and you will not be accompanying me in them."

Snape puffed up, taking a step forward, clearly about to argue. While his form was no less menacing than it had always been, after spending months with the Dark Lord, Harry did not find him half as intimidating as he used to. Harry was no longer the weak child he had been. He was not going to cave to Snape and his bully tendencies.

Barty chuckled. "Well, sounds like we have our orders from the little lord!" He turned and began walking to the door. "You can fight with him if you want, Severus, but I think we should get going. I'm sure we got the same instructions. Make sure he succeeds. If that's all the information Lord Harry wants to give us, I say we head out."

Lord Harry? The Gryffindor hadn't expected an honorific, but it also hadn't been said with any admiration. He wasn't entirely sure if the man was mocking him or not. But he had provided an out to end the debate with Snape, which was more than he'd hoped for. He pulled out the emerald gem from his pocket. "I was given a portkey; do you want to use it or travel by yourself?" he asked, holding it up.

"I'll see myself there," Snape drawled, cape twirling as he turned and began walking out the door.

"Right sourpuss, that one," Barty observed with a slight grimace. He turned back to Harry. "I'll travel with you if you don't mind. Don't want to get separated too early in all this since I'm supposed to have your back an all."

Harry nodded, holding out the emerald stone. Barty took a step nearer, placing a finger on it. Harry took that moment to look at the young man. His actual appearance was a striking difference from the one he'd masqueraded as for the year at Hogwarts. How much of the real wizard had been revealed versus how much had just been a show? Harry had trusted the imposter; he was the only reason he made it through the second task. Did the Death Eater feel anything for the teen he'd instructed for a year, or had it always been an act to get Harry before the Dark Lord to be a sacrifice in the graveyard as they had originally planned.

"Ready?" Barty asked, cocking his head to the side, his intelligent stare glancing at the young Gryffindor.

Harry nodded, glancing back at the stone. "Loyalty."