A rose by any other name
In the days following the vote, Harry found himself in a state of uncertainty. Life on the surface appeared unchanged. He maintained his routine of training, attending Death Eater meetings with the Dark Lord, and working frequently with Lord Ambrose, Malfoy, and Barty, though more often than he would have liked with that particular trio. They weren't awful; Ambrose and Barty were honestly enjoyable. Their focus had shifted from securing the Dark Lord's title to broader plans for the Wizarding world, such as planning how to introduce new laws and societal changes that would, albeit gradually, ultimately benefit the dark. He hoped there was a way that he could find a balance where the light did not feel as ostracized as the dark did.
As Harry began to see all the subtle strings being pulled, this broader vision was frightening; worse it felt as though he was only seeing the tip of the iceberg. He knew there were other meetings between the Dark Lord and his allies that he did not attend. This wasn't necessarily due to overt exclusion, but practically as Harry remained busy with his studies. Voldemort insisted that Harry had yet to reach his full potential resulting in over half of his days spent studying and training. Sometimes, Harry worried that he was being held to an unreachable standard, that he was compared by the Dark Lord to a teenage Tom Riddle and a magical proficiency he knew he could never obtain. But he was at least willing to try.
As Harry's daily training intensified, encompassing both practices against dummies and duels with the Dark Lord, he noticed a marked improvement in his strength, agility, and breadth of his spellcasting abilities. His skills in magic had now clearly outstripped any standard school curriculum. Harry could sense a subtle sense of pride emanating from the Dark Lord, unmistakable in the possessive scarlet gaze that often lingered on him while they trained.
His relationship with the Dark Lord seemed to have evolved again after the trial. Despite Voldemort's inherent sadism and cruelty, he seemed to have grown not just accustomed to but almost preferential towards Harry's constant presence. Their previously silent and rigid dinners had evolved into engaging discussions on magical theories. Harry had begun to use the secluded time with the Dark Lord as an opportunity to delve into intriguing debates covering all sorts of magic. Voldemort, embodying his characteristic arrogance that only a Dark Lord could manage, seemed almost eager to reveal, and more often than not boast, about his knowledge and achievements. Harry found their discussions both terrifying and fascinating.
It was clear that Voldemort took particular delight in discussing experimental magic, spell crafting, rune lore, and his post-Hogwarts travels when he'd been able to learn and grow unrestricted after escaping the confining and rule-enforcing halls of Hogwarts. It was during these journeys to far-reaching and austere locations that he had refined his mastery of Dark Magic, solidifying his reputation as a fearsome Dark Lord and amassed most of his cult-like following.
Harry, despite his apprehension of Voldemort's darker aspects, was captivated by his profound understanding of magic. The maturing apprentice found himself increasingly eager for their dinners together which he now easily filled with questions and his own observations from his studies. As the Dark Lord seemed almost to enjoy their new routine, it made Harry wonder if Voldemort had ever truly shared the entirety of his dark yet extraordinary genius with anyone else.
Another thing Harry observed was that as Voldemort's schemes to seize control of the Ministry progressed, there was no hint of him slowing down. On the contrary, his presence and prowess as a Dark Lord seemed to grow ever more formidable, the wizard was always studying and experimenting in his spare time. This realization instilled a sense of dread in Harry while simultaneously solidifying his resolve. He couldn't fathom the sheer destruction Voldemort could unleash if he took to the streets in open warfare. Harry doubted anyone, including himself, could defeat him and was all the more determined to prevent a war from ever happening.
Perhaps the most disturbing change was how the Dark Lord's followers had changed after the revelation that Harry wasn't just his apprentice but also his heir. They had become more deferential, always staring at him cautiously, and seemed almost eager to gain his favor. This became particularly evident just two weeks after the vote. Harry had completely forgotten about the approaching winter seasons until one morning when he awoke to find Tipsy bustling excitedly at the foot of his bed.
"Good morning, Master Harry!" Tipsy exclaimed, noticing he was awake.
Still in his bed, Harry jerked upright, surprised by her presence. Suspiciously, Harry greeted her in return. "Is something the matter?" Tipsy usually appeared after his shower to bring breakfast if he wasn't dining with Voldemort, which he knew he was that morning.
"No, but I thought Master Harry would be excited to receive his Yule presents!"
"Presents?" Harry repeated, unsure he had heard correctly. He glanced out the window, where a light snow had dusted the landscape. Surely it wasn't Christmas already?
"Who are they from?"
"From the witches and wizards who serve Master," Tipsy replied, as if it were obvious.
Harry quickly cast a Tempus spell; "December 21st, 0712 AM" appeared in the air before dissolving. He hadn't expected any gifts, especially so early. He doubted the Light would send him anything at all, so perhaps this was a pureblood tradition of early gift-giving.
"Oh," he said lamely, uncertain about receiving gifts from the Dark Lord's servants. Should he check them for curses? Voldemort would be furious if one of his followers cursed a gift meant for his heir. He would be equally angry at Harry for being caught off guard.
"I suppose you can bring them in," Harry said, more bewildered than anything. With a snap of her fingers, Tipsy made a large pile of extravagantly wrapped presents appear at the end of his bed. They dripped with the opulence characteristic of pureblood wizarding families.
There were more gifts on his bed than he had received in his entire life.
"Should I open them now?" Harry asked, wondering if it was customary to open presents before Christmas. He couldn't quite picture Voldemort sitting under a tree, tearing open presents, though the thought did bring an amused smile to his face.
"Of course, Master Harry!" Tipsy exclaimed, her excitement surpassing Harry's.
After casting a few detection charms and finding nothing amiss, Harry started with the first gift from the Nott's. He opened it skeptically, unsure of what to expect from the stern wizard. Inside was a set of hand-crafted potion vials, proudly emblazoned with the Slytherin crest.
They were expensive-looking and quite elegant. He set them aside and moved to the next gift. The Zabini family had sent him elegant black dress robes with silver stitching that resembled stars. The fabric was beautiful and felt light to the touch; Harry knew they would feel exquisite when worn.
As he continued, Harry received a fancy broom cleaning kit from the Goyles, which made him long for his Firebolt. He wondered if it would be possible to retrieve his belongings from the Dursleys, hoping they hadn't destroyed his trunk. He would need to ask Voldemort about that. He had photos and his father's invisibility cloak that he wanted back.
It took him a while to make it through the small mountain. The best gift, unsurprisingly, came from the Malfoys: an ancient tome claiming to be lost spells from Merlin's era, bound in real dragon leather. The book contained a mix of light, dark, and neutral magic, and as Harry quickly flipped through it, he would be lying to say he wasn't eager to explore its contents.
After opening all the gifts, Harry was unsure what to think. Each gift was not only a symbol of the giver's status but also a clear acknowledgment of Harry's assumed rising importance within their circle. While expensive and, at times, rare, Harry couldn't help but feel that these gifts lacked the meaningfulness of those he received from Ron, Hermione, and the Weasleys, stirring a pang of sadness. He wondered what his friends were up to, likely busy at Hogwarts and relieved to be away from him.
In the dining room, Harry found Voldemort reading The Daily Prophet. As Harry took his seat, he couldn't shake off the morning's events. "Your followers seem to be trying to curry favor with you through sucking up to your heir, this morning I was showered with Christmas presents," he remarked.
"It's the Winter Solstice, not Christmas. Try to at least pretend like you care about being a proper wizard," Voldemort responded without looking up from his paper, his reprimand lacking any real bite.
Harry chose not to respond to the comment, grabbing some fruit and bacon slices. He was well aware that his magical education lagged behind his magically raised peers. His knowledge of Yule was vague, limited to what he remembered from the Yule Ball during the Triwizard Tournament. The Weasleys and Hermione celebrated Christmas, so he'd just assumed everyone did. He made a mental note to ask Draco about wizarding holidays the next time they met. Each reminder of his ignorance stung, not because of Voldemort's scolding but because Harry would have been embarrassed to be in the company of other witches and wizards who might have mocked his lack of what seemed like basic knowledge.
Voldemort, perceptive to Harry's silence, accurately discerned it as ignorance and let out a sigh. "Our customs during this time are meant to pay homage to magic itself," he explained, a hint of exasperation in his tone. "Yule is a time for rebirth, renewal, reflection, and celebration. Has Hogwarts truly taught you nothing about these traditions?"
Recognizing the question as rhetorical, the teen merely shrugged in response, reaching for his coffee. Voldemort's critique of Hogwarts's lack of onboarding had long since resonated with Harry, who was finding himself increasingly interested in wanting to reform the wizarding educational system. It was a subject he had already started to explore with Lucius and Barty, looking at potential changes and improvements that could better prepare students, especially muggle-raised, for the complexities of the magical world.
"I'll add it to my ever-growing list of subjects to study," Harry said, knowing he would be expected to provide some form of a response.
Harry felt a probing gaze upon him and looked up. The earlier trace of knowing contemplation in the Dark Lord's eyes had disappeared, giving way to a more undiscernible expression. Sensing the Dark Lord had more to say; Harry placed his coffee cup down on the table.
"Good, see to it that you do," Voldemort said, as he studied Harry. "While on the topic, there is one more matter we should discuss. You've received several packages from those allied with the Light," he revealed, shocking the teen. "Considering the progress you've made, I see no reason to withhold them from you. However, since you haven't shown any interest in reconnecting with your former acquaintances, I leave the decision to accept them in your hands."
A lump formed in Harry's throat at the mention of the gifts. He felt torn, wanting anything that came from his friends. But also fearful that it might be something worse, what if it was just them expressing their displeasure and hatred for the path he chose?
It only took a few seconds to make up his mind. "I would like to receive them," Harry requested, his voice more resolute than he felt inside. His curiosity and the residual bond with his past, with those he once viewed as his more than just friends but family, overcame his unease. It might be painful, but the urge to know what they thought about him was overwhelming.
Voldemort nodded, his expression remaining indifferent, yet a hint of curiosity sparkled in the depths of his crimson stare. "Very well," he replied. "They will be brought to you later." Harry couldn't tell if Voldemort was displeased with the choice to accept the gifts, wanting Harry to reject them completely.
Voldemort shifted, an uncharacteristic change subtly altering his demeanor in a way Harry had never witnessed before. "I don't give gifts, but I do reward those who merit it, and as I've said, I am exceedingly pleased with your progress." Harry found it challenging to keep his expression neutral, taken aback by the compliment and its potential implication. Could Voldemort be implying that he had a gift for Harry as well? The thought seemed almost inconceivable.
The air between them grew charged with intensity as Voldemort continued. "This is a privilege that can be revoked if you betray my trust. Remember, I will monitor anything entering or leaving this manor. If I find you engaging in questionable activities, you will regret it. Do you understand?" Harry nodded, a sense of foreboding accompanying his curiosity about whatever the Dark Lord intended to present him with.
"I've made my choice," Harry emphasized, easily meeting Voldemort's piercing scarlet gaze. "I won't betray you."
Voldemort gave a nod, and with a flick of his wand, a high window opened. A white ball of feathers screeched, diving towards Harry faster than he anticipated.
"Hedwig!" Harry exclaimed in joy, standing and extending his arm to receive her. She landed solidly, her talons gripping firmly but not breaking skin. She nestled her head against his cheek, affectionately pecking at his hair. Harry stroked her soft feathers with trembling fingers, overwhelmed with relief and delight. He had been so worried about her and thought he might never see her again.
"You have a very loyal familiar. She arrived the same night you did and refused to leave. I am entrusting her to you, Harry," Voldemort said.
Harry turned, emotions swirling within him. "Thank you," he whispered, grateful for this unexpected reunion.
After the emotional morning, Harry dedicated the rest of his day to studying in the Slytherin library. He brought the ancient tome on lost spells from Merlin's era. As he delved deeper into the book, he couldn't help but be fascinated by its contents, despite his reluctance to enjoy anything from Malfoy. The spells and knowledge it contained were unlike anything he had encountered before, and he hated to admit how much he was drawn to it.
That night, back in his room, Harry noticed a smaller pile of presents. His heart tightened as he recognized the more personal nature of these gifts. There was homemade fudge and a red Weasley sweater with 'HP' knitted on it from Mrs. Weasley. He put it on immediately. Ginny had sent gloves, cleverly spelled to prevent his wand from being stolen during a fight. He suspected she'd done the charm work herself. From Lupin, there were a few photographs of his parents from their school days, images that Harry found himself unable to look away from, captivated by the sight of his parents so young and carefree.
Hermione's gift was a book on rituals, which Harry quickly realized contained incredibly useful information that could aid in his research about his mark. And from Ron, a golden snitch accompanied by a short, seemingly hastily written note, stating that Harry owed him a game, a promise Ron intended to hold the raven-haired teen to.
As Harry gazed at the modest collection of gifts, he realized that, despite their substantially lesser monetary value compared to the extravagant presents he had received earlier, these held immeasurably more significance to him. They were strong reminders of a life from which he felt increasingly isolated, yet a life he still craved when he allowed himself to have reflective moments. Receiving these gifts was more painful than he could articulate, but he found himself unable to look away from them for the rest of the night.
A large part of him longed to respond, to send something, even just a letter back. Yet, he felt he had nothing to offer, no words that could adequately convey his feelings or explain his decision in a way they would ever accept. More than that, Harry feared that any show of affection or communication might draw the Dark Lord's ire towards those he cared about.
Glancing at Hedwig, now perched on an owl stand and sleeping peacefully with her head dipped under her wing, he knew he couldn't risk it. He couldn't bear the thought of Hedwig delivering a message that might provoke his unpredictable master, and he did not want to give false hope to his friends that he might someday escape and return to the light.
Extinguishing the candle by his bedside, Harry wrapped his arms around the hand-knitted Weasley sweater, holding on to the comfort it provided. He decided he would be sleeping in it for the foreseeable future. For now, these heartfelt gifts would have to be enough; they served as reminders of the very reasons he'd made his choice and what he was fighting to protect.
S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S
In the following weeks, Harry found himself attending an increasing number of Death Eater meetings. He never had a formal role at the larger gatherings, where he remained near Voldemort's side, masked, imposing, and mostly obedient. However, it was in the smaller Inner Circle meetings where he was expected to participate. Snape was gradually allowed to attend more frequently, but it was apparent he was still out of favor with the Dark Lord, as evidenced by his seat being among those furthest from the head of the long table.
Harry was still uncertain about how he felt regarding the potions master turned spy turned protector. He hadn't seen Snape since his significant revelation, where he had admitted to swearing an Unbreakable Vow to safeguard Harry. Upon Voldemort departing the gathering, leaving the Inner Circle to scheme in relative peace, emerald met black eyes, nodding briefly toward the alcove where they had last exited to speak in private. Snape met his gaze blankly, and then he turned away, giving no indication that the message had been received. Harry assumed the intelligent man would understand the hint and meet him in the garden. He didn't want to make it obvious to the Inner Circle that he and his former professor were on better terms. He certainly wanted to avoid Voldemort knowing that. While the Dark Lord had stated he didn't mind Harry growing his relations with the Death Eaters, Harry suspected that the dubious spy, who was not as loyal as the Dark Lord desired, fell into a different category.
Harry turned back to the gathering, surprised to see Rockwood and Nott Sr. approaching him. He had interacted with them a few times, but it was rare and usually in Voldemort's presence. They had never approached him on their own.
"Lord Potter," Nott Sr. greeted. Harry was unsure how to interpret the address. Sure, Barty called him 'little lord,' but that was mostly in jest, or so he thought. Usually, he was called Mr. Potter. He was still several months from coming of age and had not yet earned his house title. As he faced the two intimidating Death Eaters, he suspected they were showing respect due to his status as the Slytherin Heir and hoped to gain something from him rather than genuine regard for Harry.
"Yes?" he asked, trying to stand taller. While shorter than both men, it wasn't by much. He had hit another growth spurt and wasn't towered over by most of the wizards present; he was actually at eye level with quite a few, he was pleased to discover.
"We wanted to discuss the meeting we had with the Dark Lord last week. Its regarding his desire to introduce more Dark Magic experimentation into the Department of Mysteries." Nott said, getting straight to the point.
"What did you want to discuss?" Harry responded. He had attended that meeting, but most of it was beyond his understanding. He still hadn't grasped how new spells were created, despite studying Voldemort's journals. It was complex magic that required both Latin and rune knowledge that he simply didn't yet possess.
Nott glanced at Rockwood, clearly signaling for the tall, burly man to take the lead.
Rockwood exhaled, seeming annoyed. "Well, there are more light wizards working in the department than dark, and Bones has kept us on a tight leash. Any experimentation would be noticed, and blatantly flaunting it now would put us under a lot of scrutiny. I could lose my access to the experimentation cell if not done correctly."
Harry wasn't entirely sure why they were telling him this. Voldemort had been clear in his directive for Rockwood to begin the research immediately. Did they think Harry could change the department laws? Wasn't that their job?
"And why are you telling me this?" Harry asked, striving to maintain a neutral tone. On one hand, he was surprised they were bringing him a problem; on the other, he doubted his ability to assist. He also wasn't sure he wanted to. He did not know what experimentation in the Department of Mysteries entailed. It could be anything, even experimenting on muggleborns for all he knew.
Rockwood's expression turned to a frown. He shot a pointed look at Nott, his glance suggesting irritation at Nott for starting this dialogue, implying Rockwood's own reluctance to engage with Harry. In response, Nott's face hardened into his own scowl that he directed right back at the other wizards before taking over the conversation.
"We thought you might be able to support our endeavors and… encourage some patience. This will take longer than anticipated. If done correctly, we will soon be able to begin dark experimentation without having to hide it. If we're too hasty, without laying the groundwork and securing the right department officials approvals, it could cause long-term problems."
Harry's expression grew sharp as he read between the lines. Neither wizard wanted to push Voldemort's agenda as boldly as Voldemort desired. Openly aligning with the Dark Lord so soon, before he secured sufficient power, would strain their positions at work. Harry felt an ironic amusement. 'Welcome to the club of doing things that are hard because you have a pushy Dark Lord breathing down your neck,' he thought.
"He won't be pleased if you're attempting to delay his plans," Harry remarked, making a significant effort to maintain a neutral, rather than contemptuous, tone. He understood the dilemma his followers faced. The Dark Lord still lacked the public support needed to advance his agenda without opposition. Although he had regained his seats, marking a significant milestone, in many ways, he was far from having complete and unchallenged control over the entire ministry unless he wanted to use terror and force.
"We aren't trying to delay anything," Rockwood said defensively. "These things take time."
"And he's not known for his patience," Harry added unhelpfully, aware that none of them were oblivious to Voldemort's notorious impatience.
Rockwood and Nott exchanged a meaningful glance, their intentions evident: they hoped Harry would either moderate the Dark Lord's timeline or, ideally, leverage his influence to secure approval for dark experimentation. As Harry grasped their motives, he weighed his options internally. Though outright refusal would satisfy him personally, it lacked strategic foresight. By offering his assistance, he could place them in his debt, possibly earn their trust, and thereby gain greater leverage to potentially counteract the dark's rise.
"I'll see what I can do," Harry said, keeping his response deliberately vague. Both men nodded, seemingly content with his answer.
Reflecting on the peculiar exchange, Harry was finally able to escape, headed towards the garden, curious whether Snape would actually appear. He considered the possibility that the potions master might not show up, just as a point of exerting his own supposed dominance over the teen. As he approached the bench where they had previously convened, Harry was mildly taken aback to see Snape step out from the shadows.
"Potter," Snape greeted.
"Professor," Harry replied. Snape's lips faintly twitched downward.
"We both know I'm no longer that, and you are no longer a student at Hogwarts." Harry hadn't fully accepted this reality, but knew the stern wizard was right. He briefly wondered about his NEWTs and whether an aspiring Dark Lord's apprentice and heir needed to pass exams.
"Then what should I call you?" Harry asked, slightly amused. He knew 'Severus' was off- limits, as indicated by the slight scowl from Snape.
"Snape is fine, or Mr. Snape in front of others until you come of age, as is proper," Snape suggested. Harry nodded in agreement.
An uncomfortable silence fell as Snape looked at him. "I assume you've had time to reflect on our last conversation?"
Harry had indeed mulled it over, more than he cared to acknowledge. Gradually, he found himself trusting the wizard's words. It might have seemed irrational, but he felt that Snape had been more forthright that evening than at any time before.
"Yes, I believe you. I believe you truly want to protect me." Snape's response was a subtle nod; Harry got the sense that tense relief had washed over the wizard at his words.
"But what does that mean for the future? I'm not unsafe here. I don't think the Dark Lord intends to kill me anytime soon. He doesn't even really torture me anymore. Yes, he uses dark magic in our training sessions, but he makes sure nothing too harmful lasts and will heal me if I don't know the counter." As Harry spoke, he saw Snape's demeanor change, growing more strained. "What?" he inquired.
"It's just like you to trivialize being targeted with dark magic by the most powerful Dark Lord in our history as inconsequential," Snape replied with evident frustration.
Harry gave a nonchalant shrug; this was the norm in their training sessions. He had adapted to it and, indeed, his ability to evade or block the most harmful spells had markedly improved.
"Anyway," he resumed, "I'm probably as safe as the situation allows. So, what's your plan? What exactly is there left to protect?"
Snape let out a weary sigh. "Potter, you really lack a sense of self-preservation," he murmured, almost as if talking to himself. "Have you resigned yourself to the idea of being at his side forever?"
Harry's expression darkened. Truthfully, he tried not to think about it. "What other choice do I have? In case it's escaped your notice, I'm his chosen heir, his apprentice, bound by the mark on my arm. Plus, he can target those close to me if I attempt to escape. There don't seem to be any real alternatives."
Severus's demeanor shifted slightly, showing a hint of interest as Harry recounted his predicaments. "Maybe we should take a closer look at that mark of yours. I can't promise much, but it's a starting point. Neutralizing or removing it could greatly alleviate concerns."
Harry glanced briefly at his sleeve, covering the mark, realizing it had slipped his mind. Snape's genuine concern for his safety was apparent. It was also a little endearing if he were honest with himself. Reluctant to extinguish the potions master's sliver of hope, Harry observed Snape's characteristically stern face, the weariness in his eyes, and his more-so- than-usual unkempt appearance, suggesting the wizard had little left to lose.
"Alright," he agreed. "Let's research this mark. Yours as well; perhaps we might uncover something useful." His interest in the magic of the mark was genuine, even if he was skeptical they could do anything about it.
S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S
As the days hastened forward, the chill of winter gradually gave way to the emerging signs of spring in March. Harry was amazed to realize he had already spent eight months at Slytherin Manor. Time seemed to whirl past, days and weeks merging into a blur. His routine mostly consisted of studying and attending meetings, where he watched the Dark Lord deftly orchestrate his influence within the Ministry of Magic. A significant portion of Harry's time was dedicated to observing the scheming of positioning followers in pivotal roles, like on the Hogwarts School Board. There, plans were afoot to revise the curriculum to introduce a broader spectrum of magic, including gray and dark arts.
Another major effort focused on gaining influence over the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Harry found himself genuinely supporting this initiative, buoyed by the promise of the Ministry eventually providing Wolfsbane Potion to any werewolf in need.
However, not all the Dark Lord's machinations left Harry feeling comfortable. The secretive plans for the Department of Mysteries and the Department of International Magical Cooperation stirred unease in him. He was acutely aware of being kept in the dark about these schemes, and part of him was apprehensive about uncovering the truth, having no illusions about Voldemort's unchanged nature.
Rather than delving into these opaque areas, Harry invested most of his energy in working with the Wizengamot trio – Ambrose, Malfoy, and Barty – figuring out how to sway votes in favor of laws the Dark Lord wished to enact. Voldemort thought Harry had the most to contribute there since he would soon be a voting member. Their collaboration was generally effective, and Harry had yet to find himself in strong disagreement with much of the agenda. However, his stance shifted drastically within just a few days when the law he was dreading came up on their internal agenda.
As the young raven-haired wizard walked towards the training halls, Harry wrestled with his rising anger. He had just left a disturbing meeting with Lucius and Lord Ambrose, where they had discussed implementing a policy Voldemort had mentioned months before. This policy involved forcibly removing Muggle-born witches and wizards from their families at the first sign of magic and then erasing the memories of their families. Harry had vehemently opposed this cruel policy, highlighting its unjustness to the children and their families. Yet, his arguments were met with indifference, the elder wizards seemingly dismissing his concerns as irrelevant.
"Harry, the Dark Lord is adamant about this law," Ambrose stated eventually. "If you have objections, you should take them up with him."
"That's it, then?" Harry retorted, his frustration mounting. "You'll go through with it unless he says otherwise? What if it were your family? If your memory was wiped and you lost a loved one because he decides that those from neutral or light factions shouldn't have children.
Would you still be so eager to support this?"
The older wizard's expression turned to one of alarm. "Is he planning that?" he asked, visibly worried.
Harry shook his head in exasperation. "No, because that would be absurd," he stressed pointedly. "Just like it's absurd to tear muggleborns away from their innocent parents."
"Mr. Potter," Lucius interjected quietly, leaning closer and lowering his voice to a hushed tone, casting wary glances around. "You're openly challenging the Dark Lord's orders. As his apprentice and heir, it's unwise to express such views openly. If you disagree, discuss it with him privately, but I strongly suggest you restrain your opposition here; we could be overheard."
Harry's scowl deepened, recognizing the futility of his efforts with the two intimidated wizards. He had a growing sense that they would go to any length to appease Voldemort, as Lucius had already demonstrated with his own son. The more Harry saw of Draco, the clearer Draco's resentment towards his forced subservience to the Dark Lord became, always uncertain of when he might be punished for an unforeseen transgression. Though the frequency of the Dark Lord's torture sessions with his followers had seemingly lessened since he publicly claimed his title, Harry was aware he didn't witness all interactions. The Death Eaters' fear of Voldemort was as intense now as when Harry first arrived. Perhaps Voldemort didn't torture them as frequently, but there was no doubt he would if he felt inclined.
Harry might not have admitted to sulking for the rest of the meeting, but his demeanor probably suggested as much. He slouched in his chair, arms folded, and remained silent, resolved not to engage further. It wasn't a teenage tantrum; he was determined not to endorse such a reprehensible law. As he sat brooding, the Potter heir became increasingly aware of Ambrose's concerned glances and Lucius's probing stares.
Entering the dueling hall, Harry sensed it was going to be a difficult training session; his focus was elsewhere. After hanging up his cloak, he positioned himself opposite the dummies. His thoughts drifted as he started practicing the spells he had recently been learning. The thought of forcibly removing children from loving parents, who would likely embrace their child's entry into the magical world, seemed monstrous. Hermione and the Creevey brothers were living proof of successful integration into both worlds. Under this new law, would families like theirs be torn apart?
In the torch-lit training hall, Harry stood facing the dummies, torn between practicing his spells and the urge to head to the library to research alternatives that might dissuade Voldemort. He knew Hermione would hate him if he supported such a law, and he would despise himself as well. Although he didn't have voting rights yet, as Voldemort's heir, he was expected to publicly back the Dark Lord's policies.
Worse, in four months, he would become a voting member, inheriting both the Potter and the Black family seats. What would he do when the law came to vote? He suspected the support for this law might be delayed until after he came of age. The idea of actively defying it filled him with dread; his voting against Voldemort might actually divide the wizarding world. It might even trigger the war he had been trying so desperately to prevent.
As he raised his wand to cast Aeroflucia, his concentration wavered. The vortex of freezing air he conjured dissipated too quickly, the gusts chaotically whipping at his robes, failing to maintain the sustained gust and ice shards that the spell was supposed to produce. Sighing, he attempted Luminiscendere, aiming to create dazzling orbs of light. However, his erratic focus resulted in the orbs materializing sporadically, sending beams of light scattering across the room. Feeling disheartened, he switched to Pyroclastica, a spell for conjuring flames. Yet, with his mind divided, the flames burst out uncontrollably, scorching everything except the intended target.
"For your sake, I hope you're merely experimenting with those spells, not attempting their proper execution," came a voice.
Harry turned to find the Dark Lord observing him with a look of disappointment. Standing upright and lowering his wand, he felt a flush of embarrassment at being caught performing so inadequately. His spellcasting had regressed to a level reminiscent of his initial days at the manor.
"I was just..." he began, coming up blank for an explanation. He knew all too well that the Dark Lord would not accept his troubled state of mind as an excuse for poor performance. Distraction was never a valid reason in Voldemort's eyes.
Calculating eyes fixed on Harry with a knowing look."I spoke with Lucius. He mentioned that today's planning session was less productive than usual," Voldemort remarked, slowly stepping into the room. Harry felt a growing unease under that intense scrutiny, noting the casual twirl of Voldemort's wand in his hand.
Harry exhaled, tensing but remaining where he stood despite every instinct screaming at him to step back. It had been a while since he'd been punished by the Dark Lord for displeasing him. But it had also been a while since Voldemort did something that Harry was fundamentally opposed to.
"I wish you would reconsider the decision to separate muggleborns from their parents," Harry said, knowing it would be useless. He'd already tried and failed to get the Dark Lord to see his way. A small part of him felt a sense of betrayal that Lucius had reported him; he had thought the Malfoy patriarch was beginning to respect him, that their relationship was improving. But evidently, Lucius would never risk displeasing Voldemort. In that respect, Harry knew he was still a self-preserving coward.
Voldemort flicked his wand, and the dummies in the room smoothly glided to the sides. Harry swallowed hard, recognizing the familiar setup. This was the typical way the Dark Lord arranged the room for their duels. Recently, when Voldemort was displeased with his apprentice, he had taken to using duels as a form of punishment rather than resorting to outright torture. These punitive duels were usually a response to minor infractions, such as Harry's mind wandering during training, failing to adhere to etiquette in front of the Dark Lord's followers, or not preparing adequately for a lesson and thus failing his master's stringent standards. Harry could feel a throbbing sensation in his scar, a foreboding sign that this duel would be particularly ruthless, given Voldemort's unmistakable anger.
"Do you think it appropriate to question my methods in front of my followers, to attempt to sway them against my orders?" Voldemort asked in a soft, menacing tone.
Harry shifted, adopting a defensive stance. "I wasn't trying to question you or undermine your authority," he defended. However, as soon as he said it, it became clear to him that was precisely what he had done. He found himself caught at a crossroads; he truly hadn't been trying to actively stand against Voldemort, but he was firmly against what Voldemort was planning to do.
The tension in the training hall was palpable as Voldemort and Harry stared at each other. Harry braced himself, anticipating Voldemort's formidable dueling skills. His eyes were fixed on the Dark Lord's wand, knowing it would start suddenly and violently.
Voldemort initiated the attack, quickly flicking his wand and hissing, "Vespidae Volatus!" A jet of yellow light shot towards Harry, conjuring a swarm of hornets.
Harry leaped aside, narrowly dodging the spell while casting "Avis Oppugno!" to send a flock of conjured birds after the angry bees. The birds screeched as they swept through the air, catching the quick insects in their beaks. Harry cast a dome-shaped shield to block the menacing hornets until the birds had eaten the last one.
Unimpressed, Voldemort countered with a non-verbal "Flagrante," sending a wave of fiery projectiles towards Harry. The projectiles rained down, scorching the birds, which cried out in pain. Harry felt a searing agony as one of the projectiles grazed his arm, and he quickly conjured a shield of water to block the rest.
Undeterred, Voldemort intensified his assault with a whisper of "Fulminis!" A bolt of lightning shot from his wand. Harry dived to the side, narrowly avoiding the electricity, it was so close that his hair stood on end.
Gritting his teeth, Harry fought back, casting "Ventus," a spell that unleashed a powerful gust of wind aimed at disrupting Voldemort's concentration. However, Voldemort stood firm, silently deflecting the spell with a wave of his wand. The wind turned against Harry, hitting him hard and making him stagger back before he quickly canceled it out.
The duel continued relentlessly. Voldemort's spells were precise and brutal, and Harry, despite his growing skill, quickly found himself struggling under the onslaught.
Voldemort cast a silent, more powerful version of "Confringo!" The spell unleashed a blast of explosive energy. Harry narrowly avoided a direct hit, but the residual force of the explosion threw him back, leaving him dazed. Smoke rose around him, momentarily blocking his view of the Dark Lord.
Pushing himself up, Harry whispered, "Serpentis Umbra," the spell from the grimoire that could paralyze if the serpent's scales touched its target. If it managed to get in a bite, the victim would feel like they were on fire. He cast it near a pillar, conjuring the serpent out of Voldemort's sight. The serpent immediately began circling Voldemort from behind, its eyes wild with hunger.
Distracted by his casting, Harry was caught off guard. He was lifted into the air and thrown several feet back, landing hard on his side and coughing as the air was knocked out of him. He needed to distract Voldemort to allow the snake to get closer. He recast "Luminiscendere," the spell he had struggled with earlier, pouring all his magic into it. A blinding beacon of light erupted from his wand, illuminating the entire room.
Voldemort, in response, cast the room into a dense fog, blanketing everything in a gray haze. Harry hesitated, debating whether to cast a spell to see heat signatures or to dispel the fog entirely. Aware that Voldemort likely anticipated his next move, Harry decided to cancel out the fog so that he would be able to see again. As his vision cleared, he sensed movement behind him and spun around, only to feel a sharp pain as the serpent he had conjured bit into his ankle. The pain radiated through him, his leg going numb. He dropped to one knee, twisting his wand to begin casting the counter before the paralysis could take full effect. But before he could complete the spell, his wand was yanked from his grip, soaring over to Voldemort's outstretched hand.
The paralysis and pain from the bite continued to spread throughout his body. He felt a terrifying combination of suffocation and burning agony. It was an excruciating effect that left him holding back tears of pain.
"You should know better than to use one of Slytherin's own spells against me," Voldemort said coldly. "Serpents will always heed me over you. It's woven into the house's magic; they recognize their lord."
A whimper involuntarily escaped Harry's lips as the pain intensified. His arms and fingers were now succumbing to numbness, unable to fight the spell's relentless progression. He collapsed to the ground, closing his eyes and focusing solely on breathing. The sensation was almost worse than the Cruciatus Curse; he felt as though he was on fire and completely immobilized. "Please, stop," he whispered weakly.
"I think not," Voldemort replied coldly. "This lesson needs to be fully absorbed, my apprentice. You will never publicly oppose me. While I grant you considerable freedom in our private interactions, should you choose to misuse that liberty, then I will need to reconsider my approach to handling you. Allowing you to speak candidly with me is a privilege, one that you can lose. Do you understand?"
Harry's breaths were shallow and labored, the only movement his body would permit. The fear of permanent nerve damage loomed in his mind if he wasn't released soon. He knew the grimoire had warned of it. With great effort, he managed to whisper, "I'm sorry."
Voldemort observed Harry for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, with a flick of his wand, he finally lifted the spell, the fire stopped. Harry gasped as sensation slowly returned to his limbs, accompanied by a dull ache that pervaded his entire body. He remained on the ground, gathering his strength, certain the Dark Lord's displeasure had not been fully sated.
"Get up," Voldemort commanded.
Trembling, Harry pushed himself to his feet, uncertain of his ability to remain standing. He glanced at Voldemort, noticing his own wand twirling between the Dark Lord's fingers in a display of clear agitation. Harry could feel waves of dark anger emanating from the Slytherin Lord. He was conflicted; he did not support the law but knew what the expectation was, and he'd agreed to be obedient. A sense of helplessness overwhelmed him, reminiscent of his initial days at the manor when Voldemort promised him everything at the cost of his submission. Now, that very submission was being demanded of him once more.
Harry was not naive enough to think he could stop the law or that he wielded any real power to oppose it. He was also certain the law's passage would take the floor after he acquired his seats, and he would be force to vote. He would have to choose whether to openly align with Voldemort damning one of his best friends and generations to come, or risk standing against the wizard he had sworn to obey which might spiral into a war.
"I wasn't trying to displease you," Harry said quietly, his gaze fixed on the floor. "But what you're planning... it's against everything I stand for."
Voldemort approached, and suddenly his hand was on Harry's chin, forcing him to look into those piercing crimson eyes. "No one is being killed or tortured. The children will be taken care of by wizarding families. This should not be the issue you challenge me over," Voldemort warned ominously. Harry shuddered at the thought of what worse actions Voldemort might consider that the wizard considered something challenge-worthy.
"And you expect me to support something I believe is wrong?" Harry asked.
Maliciously intelligent eyes hardened. "That is exactly what I expect you to do. You choose this path, Harry. And we both know we are so far down it that there is nothing that will stop me from doing anything that I desire. Defy me again on this matter, and you will regret it."
Harry closed his eyes, breathing out. He didn't see a way out. He wasn't sure what to do, feeling trapped and uncertain. "Can I at least have a say in what happens to the children? They should go to loving families."
Voldemort raised an eyebrow. "I should forbid you from any further involvement just to make my point," he said, but his tone was less harsh.
"Please," Harry pleaded softly, "I just want to ensure they're well cared for, like we both should have been." He wondered if he had overstepped, as Voldemort's expression was unreadable.
Finally, Voldemort released him. "I will consider it. You may yet earn back the privilege, but it won't be easy."
Harry struggled to maintain a neutral expression, frustrated at how Voldemort had twisted the situation to make working on the law seem like the reward. He nodded in acceptance, knowing better than to push further and risk worsening the situation.
Voldemort stepped back, shaking his head. "Just when I thought you were embracing your role at my side, you challenge me like this."
Guilt washed over Harry, hating that Voldemort could make him feel ashamed. He fought the emotion, aware of the manipulation at play. "When I started attending meetings, you said you valued my opinions. I know I acted wrongly, but I thought you wanted my perspective."
"In private and within reason," Voldemort correctly firmly. "Once you've spoken, you must accept and obey my decisions. If you act out again, the consequences will be far worse than a snake bite. Do you understand?"
Harry nodded, the turmoil inside him churning as he grappled with Voldemort's manipulation and control. The conflicting emotions within him were almost painful. On one hand, Voldemort was truly giving Harry everything: care, access to powerful magic, and he wasn't kept in the dark about the Dark Lord's plans. And so far, he had avoided a war and anyone dying. On the other hand, complete surrender was the price, which he still hadn't come to terms with. While this current compromise didn't result in anyone's death, Harry was haunted by the fear of what future concessions might entail.
His thoughts inevitably drifted to his friends, the very people he sought to protect by choosing this perilous path. They would despise him for this. And yet, he would have to do it because at least they would remain alive to hate him. And if he could gain Voldemort's forgiveness, at least he had a small chance to shape these horrible laws into something that just might be more kind and acceptable.
Maybe he could change it where the parents were separated from their children without having all their memories wiped, they would believe that their kids went to year-round boarding school with the hope that they maybe someday reacquainted as adults. It was better than nothing. But he needed to make amends even to have that small hope remain alive.
He lifted his head, resolved as he stared back at the Dark Lord. "I understand; I was wrong in my actions. It won't happen again."
The Dark Lord stared at him in consideration, assessing his genuineness. Finally seeing enough, Voldemort nodded. "Good, make sure that it doesn't." A gleam suddenly entered his eyes that Harry didn't like.
"I think as further punishment, you will attend tonight's social at the Malfoy's estate with me. It is the night of the equinox, a night to pay homage to Magic herself. Lucius is hosting my elect and several honored guests. I expect you to be there and on your best behavior, erratic apprentice of mine." The endearment did not come across as affectionate as Harry had heard in the past; there was clear annoyance remaining.
Harry's lips twitched momentarily in distaste before he suppressed his emotions. Going to a social with Voldemort's elite was not his idea of a good time, which was likely why this was the first time he was hearing about it. The Dark Lord had been surprisingly agreeable with not making Harry socialize with his followers outside of necessity. It was a sadistic form of punishment, forcing Harry to play nice with the sociopaths that had increasingly been bidding to get the teen's favor as his status with the Dark Lord only continued to grow. Voldemort knew it made Harry uncomfortable.
Confronting Voldemort's expectant, vicious gaze, Harry inclined his in agreement. "I look forward to it," Harry lied smoothly, even managing a bland smile. Voldemort huffed in response, and Harry was almost certain he detected a flicker of begrudging amusement.
"Good, have Tipsy prepare your Slytherin-designed robes; I expect you to impress tonight. There will be many ministry officials present, and by the end of the evening, I expect them to be thoroughly persuaded of our united front and shared vision."
Harry nearly let out a groan, realizing that this was going to be more taxing than merely spending time with Death Eaters. Over the past few months, he had visited the Ministry a few times, usually accompanying Lucius Malfoy or Lord Slytherin himself. However, being underage had kept the expectations placed upon him relatively low. The visits were mostly about proving he was alive, healthy, and still aligned with the Dark Side.
Already, this event promised to be a horrible experience altogether. While they would arrive together, he knew he would be mostly on his own, obliged to engage in hours of socializing, knowing that every word he uttered and every subtle expression on his face would be scrutinized and analyzed. The prospect was far from appealing to Harry.
He forced his fake smile to persist, which he knew Voldemort could easily see through. "Even better, I should go get ready then," he said, knowing if his facial expression didn't give him away, his tone did. This would be torture, and from the gleam in the older wizard's eye, he knew exactly what he was forcing on the teen.
"Then you are dismissed. I will see you soon." Eagerly, Harry fled.
S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S
The social event turned out to be exactly what Harry had anticipated. It appeared to be a gathering where half of the attendees were Death Eaters, skillfully masquerading as exemplary wizarding citizens, while the other half comprised ministry officials who dabbled in the dark arts yet maintained a façade of respectability. But one thing was certain: the Malfoys knew how to host a party.
The social was a dazzling display of decadence and wealth, a hallmark of the Malfoy's renowned extravagance. The grand hall was adorned with opulent draperies that cascaded from the ceiling, shimmering in the soft glow of enchanted chandeliers, which cast a warm, golden light over the room. The walls were lined with fine tapestries depicting historical wizarding events, each thread gleaming as if spun from precious metals.
Guests mingled on floors of polished marble, their footsteps echoing softly in the vast space. The air was filled with the rich aroma of gourmet dishes, each more sumptuous than the last, served on platters of silver and gold. Delicate pastries and exotic fruits adorned the tables, alongside crystal decanters filled with aged wines and bubbling alcoholic brews that sparkled like jewels.
The attendees themselves were dressed in the height of wizarding fashion, robes of silk and velvet, adorned with intricate embroidery and sparkling with gemstones. Their laughter and conversation added to the atmosphere of sophistication and elegance.
In one corner, a group of musicians played enchanting melodies, their instruments bewitched to produce sounds that were both haunting and beautiful. The garden visible through the grand windows was a spectacle in itself, spell-casted magical creatures flitting between the trees and flowers that glowed softly in the night.
Every detail of the party, from the grand décor to the exquisite food, spoke of the Malfoys' wealth and their flair for hosting events that were both lavish and impeccably arranged.
As Harry walked through the crowds, he felt a sense of relief that he wasn't the only teenager at the event when he spotted a familiar blob of sleeked-back blonde hair. He changed his direction towards Draco Malfoy, who was strikingly dressed in silver robes with black flames. The flames were magically enchanted to flicker subtly at the tails and cuffs, adding an impressive effect to his attire.
As Harry strode up to the Malfoy Heir, he was interrupted by Pansy Parkinson's familiar granting voice. "Potter, didn't expect to see you here," she said with a smug expression. Pansy's once pug-like face and baby fat were receding, giving way to a more mature, if still rather pretentious, appearance.
Standing beside her were Blaise Zabini, Crabbe, Goyle, and, to Harry's surprise, Marcus Flint. Harry knew Flint's father was a Death Eater, but it still caught him off guard to see the burly Slytherin Quidditch team captain in finely tailored robes, looking quite presentable.
Harry was accustomed to seeing Flint only in his Quidditch gear, so this was a stark contrast.
"Potter," Flint greeted him with a noticeably more polished tone than Pansy had used. Blaise Zabini also acknowledged Harry, giving a dip of his head. From his etiquette lessons that Draco had forced upon him, Harry knew that the degree of the bow was a subtle indicator of recognizing one's status in such settings. Both Flint and Zabini were surprisingly respectful in their greetings.
Harry responded with a nod of his own, deliberately not as deep as theirs. "Zabini, Flint," he replied, consciously choosing to ignore Pansy and not bothering to engage with Crabbe and Goyle, who were amusing themselves with a shared flask, laughing in a rather simple-minded manner.
"Harry." The Potter heir turned to the familiar drawl.
"Draco," Harry greeted, a slight smile tugging at his lips at seeing the teen. Regardless of how annoying the rest of the guests were, Harry at least would have the blonde's amusing voiceover for each attendee. That was certain to be entertaining.
Draco, ever the consummate host, did not disappoint. With an air of subtle pride, he guided the raven-haired teen around the grand ballroom, introducing him to various Ministry officials. Draco seemed to relish the opportunity to showcase Harry, almost as if presenting a prized ally. His demeanor was one of easy confidence, a stark contrast to Harry's growing weariness.
As they moved through the crowd, Draco engaged in effortless conversation with the officials, his charm and politeness evident. Harry observed how the blonde was truly in his element, navigating the social intricacies of the event with the ease of someone born to it. He was articulate, engaging, and seemed to know exactly what to say, effortlessly bridging the gap between the darker undercurrents of the gathering and the more formal, public face of the Ministry. Harry doubted he would ever be that smooth and honestly wasn't sure that he wanted to be.
Harry, for his part, was grateful for Draco's initiative. He found himself able to relax slightly, allowing Draco to take the lead in the conversations. This arrangement worked to Harry's advantage, as it meant he could fulfill Voldemort's directive of mingling with the Ministry officials without having to exert much effort himself. Draco's introductions and conversations provided Harry with the necessary interaction yet required minimal input from him.
Throughout the evening, Harry maintained a polite, if somewhat reserved, demeanor. He contributed to the discussions when necessary, but largely allowed Draco to steer their interactions. This approach not only conserved Harry's energy but also allowed him to observe and assess the Ministry officials and their dynamics more closely.
As the night wore on, Harry observed a subtle shift in the atmosphere of the party. The grand hall, once buzzing with the mingled voices of Ministry officials and Death Eaters, began to quieten. He noticed that many of the guests who held positions at the Ministry had discreetly taken their leave, their departure almost imperceptible amidst the ongoing festivities. The crowd had thinned, and the remaining guests were predominantly those bearing the Dark Mark –Death Eaters.
The shift in the audience brought a change in the tone of the gathering. The conversations grew more intense, the topics shifting from general niceties and veiled political talks to more direct discussions about their dark agenda. Laughter and music still filled the room, but there was an undercurrent of something more serious, more sinister.
Harry stood somewhat apart, his observant eyes scanning the room. He noted the way certain groups clustered together, their heads bent in close conversation. The flamboyant display of wealth and refinement gradually gave way to a more authentic representation of the Dark Lord's followers – a gathering of allies in a cause much darker than what the earlier, more diverse crowd had been privy to.
Draco had slipped away from the party not too long ago, his departure marked by a casual yet considerable comment. "I have a private meeting with my father," he had said, his tone carrying an undercurrent of importance that Harry had come to associate with the wizard. "It is with the Dark Lord."
"During a party?" Harry asked, surprised.
With a confirming nod, Draco explained, "Actually, it's quite usual after the festivities, when only close followers remain. Being granted a personal audience with him in such an intimate gathering is a mark of distinction, he uses it as a reward for those who have pleased him.
Originally, it was to be just my father, Bellatrix, and me, but my father managed to include Professor Snape. My father and Snape are quite close. In fact, Snape is my godfather. Lately, my father has been in high favor with the Dark Lord, so he suggested Snape's inclusion as a means to restore his standing; he wanted to help him."
As Draco spoke, a sense of pride in his father's influence and strategy became evident. "The Dark Lord consented," he concluded, his posture reflecting his admiration for his father's accomplishments.
As the evening continued, a few members of the Dark Lord's inner circle approached Harry, engaging him in conversation. Despite his fatigue, Harry entertained their dialogue, responding with polite but noncommittal remarks. His participation in the exchange was more a matter of etiquette than genuine interest. The topics ranged from veiled discussions about their dark activities to thinly veiled attempts to gauge his loyalty and intentions.
Harry, however, couldn't shake off the weariness that had settled over him. The weight of the day's training and the intensity of the surrounding discussions had left him feeling drained. He found himself glancing towards the grand entrance periodically, hoping for Voldemort's return so that he could take his leave. The prospect of departing from the oppressive atmosphere of the party was increasingly appealing.
As he was lost in these thoughts, Narcissa Malfoy materialized beside him, her sudden appearance almost jolting him. She looked striking in her formal gown, but her usually composed countenance was marred by an expression of sheer terror. Her eyes were wide with fear, and her voice carried an urgent tremor as she spoke.
"Mr. Potter… Harry, you must come with me, quickly," she implored in a hushed, frantic tone. "The Dark Lord... he's furious. I think he's going to kill Draco."
Without waiting for a reply, Narcissa turned on her heels, her elegant gown billowing as she swiftly navigated through the dwindling crowd. Harry's heart raced, thudding loudly in his ears as he hurried after her. The opulent corridors of the Malfoy Manor, usually so imposing and grand, now felt like a maze as they moved quickly, their footsteps echoing sharply, a stark contrast to the faded echoes of celebration.
Harry's mind swirled with worry and confusion as he followed Narcissa. The idea of Voldemort targeting Draco was almost unimaginable, but the sheer terror on Narcissa's face was undeniable. He quickened his pace, desperate to understand the situation.
"Ms. Malfoy, wait!" Harry called out, attempting to get her to slow down and explain. She turned, her face filled with desperation. "There's no time!" she urgently exclaimed.
"Please, I need to know what's going on. I can't go in there blindly," Harry insisted, trying to soothe her frantic state. "What happened?"
Narcissa glanced back at him, not slowing down. "I'm not entirely sure," she admitted, her voice trembling. "It was going well, then Bella started on the Order, mocking their incompetence. It clearly annoyed the Dark Lord, he noted they were competent enough to get you; he's still angry with Severus... Having him there seemed to remind him of the day he lost you... He said that you believed you were betrayed, that they knew you would be there..."
She shook her head, tears streaming down her face, gasping for breath. She spoke rapidly, her usual composure gone. Her heels echoed loudly in the corridor as she ran. "I thought Severus had been cleared, but then... the Dark Lord questioned his usefulness, accused him of failing to identify the real spy, of knowing one existed. Severus looked genuinely surprised." She shook her head in distress, recalling the scene. "The Dark Lord tasked Severus with finding the spy, threatening that if he failed then his use would be over. Then I don't know what happened... Draco had gone pale, he began to tremble. I know he's frightened by the Dark Lord's threats, but..."
She paused, visibly struggling to continue, tears streaming down her face. "It caught the Dark Lord's attention; he turned on Draco, seemingly realizing something. He demanded my son come forward, that he lower his mental defenses. Draco was visibly nervous, especially after watching Severus being interrogated..."
As they approached ornate double doors leading to a receiving room, Narcissa finally slowed down, casting anxious glances between the door and Harry, silently pleading for him to follow her inside, knowing that he might be her only hope.
Harry slowed to a walk and asked, "What happened next?"
Narcissa let out a desperate moan, extending a manicured hand toward Harry, urging him to hurry and help. "I don't know what he saw. He called my son a traitor, threatening to kill him for his actions. Lucius tried to intervene, offering to take his punishment, but he was thrown aside and restrained. While the Dark Lord dealt with Lucius, I managed to slip away. The manor's protections sensed my distress and helped mask my escape. So, I came to you; please, you have to help him. He's my son..." Narcissa's plea was filled with desperation.
Harry nodded, taking a deep breath, steeling himself for what awaited beyond that door.
Harry entered the room alongside Narcissa, his eyes quickly scanning the horrible scene before him. Lucius Malfoy was on the floor, magically bound and kneeling, his proud demeanor crumbling under the weight of the situation. Next to him was Severus Snape, also in a kneeling position but not bound. Snape's usual calm and controlled façade had given way to a look of palpable fear and paleness. Harry had never seen the potions professor look so frightened.
On the other side of the room stood Bellatrix Lestrange. Harry found it difficult to decipher her expression. She was worried; that was clear as she shifted from foot to foot, her hand twisted around a wild lock of hair, her knuckles white. Yet her face also bore a conflict, torn between her familial concern and her allegiance to the Dark Lord, who was clearly enraged.
At the center of the room, the source of the tension was unmistakable. Voldemort stood there, his wand raised, exuding an aura of overwhelming power and deadly intent. Dark magic and anger radiated from him like a palpable storm, filling the room with a sense of terror and imminent danger.
And then Harry's gaze fell on Draco. He lay at Voldemort's feet, writhing and crying out in agony, clearly under the excruciating pain of the Cruciatus Curse. Harry's heart clenched at the sight, fear and anger intertwining within him. Draco's cries echoed forcefully in the room, the pain that was destroying his body and mind apparent to all.
For a moment, Harry stood frozen, taking in the harrowing scene. The cries of his friend, the fear in Snape's eyes, the bound figure of Lucius, and Bellatrix's fraught demeanor – all of it painted a picture of a nightmare that Harry had stepped into. But it was Voldemort, with his cold, ruthless eyes and the dark power he wielded so effortlessly, that anchored the scene.
Red eyes glanced up, meeting Harry's. The spell was momentarily lifted, and Draco's weak whimpers filled the air. Voldemort's gaze shifted from Harry to Narcissa. "I did not instruct you to bring my apprentice," he said, his voice carrying a deadly edge. Narcissa trembled beside Harry, looking on the verge of fainting.
"Harry, leave us." Harry's gaze shifted from the Dark Lord to Draco's tormented form. His heart pounded in his chest. Having already displeased Voldemort earlier, he knew the Dark Lord's patience for him would be razor-thin.
Harry bowed his head in a show of submission. "Please," he whispered. "Can we discuss this?"
"Harry, leave us now," Voldemort commanded more firmly, leaving no room for defiance. Harry glanced at Draco, whose silver eyes were squinting open, staring tearfully in his direction. Harry had never seen him look so terrified. There was blood on the floor next to him.
"Can we negotiate?" Harry asked, switching to Parseltongue, knowing Voldemort would already not be inclined to negotiate with an audience present.
"The price is too high," Voldemort hissed back, taking a step forward. Narcissa let out a pitiful gasp. Lucius shifted his head slightly, his body clearly immobilized and silenced. Snape met Harry's eyes, giving the barest shake of his head, aware of what Harry was contemplating.
Harry struggled to understand what Draco could have done to provoke such murderous rage. He knew that killing Draco could jeopardize Voldemort's plans involving the ministry, plans that Lucius was instrumental in. Beyond that, despite all odds, Draco had become a friend, and Harry, above all else, protected those he cared for.
"What did he do?" Harry hissed, desperate to know the accusation.
Voldemort switched back to English, his scowl deepening. "He informed the Order of your presence at Gringotts. His betrayal led to your capture."
Harry was stunned, his gaze flickering between Voldemort and Draco. The accusation seemed unbelievable.
"Why?" Harry barely managed to ask, reeling from the revelation.
"He thought he could rescue you," Voldemort sneered with contempt.
Harry looked at Draco, broken and trembling, struggling to process this new information. Snape had believed he would die as the accused traitor. Harry wasn't sure how to defuse the situation, what he could do so that Draco might live.
"His family is loyal to you," Harry said softly, "They're your biggest allies. And you can bind him with Unbreakable Vows to ensure his loyalty."
Voldemort laughed harshly, devoid of humor. "You think a vow can save him?"
Harry closed his eyes, having anticipated this response. "What is your price?" he whispered, meeting Voldemort's cold, hateful gaze.
"Why do you care? He was your childhood nemesis. You've only just started tolerating him," Voldemort challenged. "I thought I had broken you of this tendency to sacrifice yourself."
Harry shuddered, his emotions swirling tumultuously. "He has been invaluable to me, teaching me… I know how to be a Lord and Heir because of him. He's taught me about politics and how to act in this world. Everything he has done for me has furthered your goals." He paused, unsure what would convince the violative Dark Lord, who did not forgive, to do just that. "He made a mistake, but his family is beyond loyal to you; doesn't that deserve a second chance? They will become even more loyal. Please..."
Switching to Parseltongue, Harry swallowed, trying to keep his voice firm. "If I have pleased you at all, I ask for this mercy. As both your apprentice and as your heir, please..."
Voldemort's gaze shifted from Harry to Draco, who lay feeble and pathetic at his feet. "The price for such betrayal is death," he declared in English, his words resounding with finality, a cruel blow for the boy's parents. Narcissa let out a soul-felt cry. Even Bellatrix looked stunned. Lucius had gone beyond pale, no longer struggling against his invisible bonds, his sorrow-filled eyes focused on his son.
Voldemort sneered. "What payment could you possibly offer, Harry?" His voice was cold, mocking, as if knowing what Harry's response would be before he even offered the terms. "I will accept nothing less than a life for a life. Would you sacrifice a life to save his?"
The question hit Harry like a physical blow. Was murder the price of Draco's life? The thought left him reeling, a sense of lightheadedness washing over him. He knew he couldn't do it. Committing murder would be crossing a line from which there was no return, a line that had already become dangerously blurred in his life. He could feel Snape's intense gaze on him, a silent plea not to agree to this hellish bargain. Lucius, on the other hand, looked a mixture of hopeful and resigned, as if he couldn't envision a scenario where Harry, the savior of the wizarding world, would make such a dark sacrifice for his son but desperate for that world to exist.
Harry repeated the grim phrase, "A life for a life," his eyes steadfastly meeting Voldemort's. He noticed a shift in the Dark Lord's demeanor; the seething anger seemed to ebb, replaced by a speculative, almost analytical gaze. It was clear he had presented the grim proposition without truly expecting Harry to entertain it.
"You would be satisfied with another life?" Harry pressed, his heart pounding as his mind whirled. Voldemort's wand twirled aggravatedly through his fingers before coming to a sudden stop.
In the suffocating silence, Voldemort finally answered, "Yes."
Harry took a step forward, coming even with Draco, but he did not look at the broken teen, only having eyes for Voldemort, the wizard he had chosen over the Light. The Dark Lord had always given him a surprising amount of leniency, not forcing the teen to show overt reverence or submission beyond normal respect. But Harry knew he desired more. The Dark Lord had all bust said it the night Harry had learned the unforgivable curses. Truthfully, Harry had long harbored suspicions that Voldemort believed he would eventually submit willingly, driven by a combination of gratitude for the knowledge imparted to him and a resignation that true allegiance to the Dark Lord was his inevitable path in this increasingly bleak world.
"Then will you accept mine?" As the words left Harry's lips, there was a gasp in the room; Harry ignored it. He dropped down onto both knees, he had never knelt before the Dark Lord before, not voluntarily. Only when injured, tortured, or forced, and he was always quick to get up. He did so willingly now. Voldemort's eyes widen slightly.
"Please, spare him," Harry requested, his voice heavy with emotion. "I fully submit to you. I acknowledge you as my master and Lord, openly and without reservation. I will stand by your side, becoming everything you desire in an apprentice, in your heir. No one needs to die because of me; you will never have to fear the light getting hold of me again because I choose you, and I will make that clear in whatever way you require."
Voldemort's eyes widened slightly at the sight of Harry kneeling, a gesture of submission he had clearly not expected that night. This, from the stubborn and headstrong teen who had fought him every step of the way. Who had never truly given in, no matter how hard the Dark Lord had pushed the teen to submit. Harry knew it was clear to the Dark Lord that this was a real sign of voluntary obedience.
"You would do this for him, a spoiled brat who is a coward and a betrayer?" Voldemort asked, his voice cruel. Harry felt a glimmer of hope; the Dark Lord had not immediately dismissed the offer.
Harry knew he had to navigate this situation cautiously, ensuring Voldemort believed his submission was genuine, not born of fear that would fade. As he searched himself, he felt at peace with his decision. There was no regret in the words that came next. "I do this because I want to stand beside you, to demonstrate my commitment to this path. I am yours. Draco is only in this position because of me. We both know he wasn't raised to betray you, that if given the chance, he would never displease you again. Forgive this, and I promise you so much more than what you will gain from his death," he paused, took a breath, and bowed his head low in submission. "Please, my lord, grant me this mercy as a reward to your obedient heir." The silence was deafening.
A hand lifted his chin, guiding his eyes upward. "Do you understand what you are agreeing to?" Voldemort asked. It was the same question he'd asked that day in the Burrow, when Harry had agreed to become his apprentice in exchange for Moony's life. It was so similar, yet so entirely different. This time Harry nodded unwavering, understanding exactly what he was promising, what he was getting himself into.
In some ways, he'd known this was coming, a fact made all the clearer during their argument this afternoon. Harry had no escape; he truly had no means to challenge or change the Dark Lord except by pleasing him. If Harry couldn't get what he wanted through force and dispute, then he would do it the only way that might have a chance. Lord Voldemort was a gracious master when pleased. And Harry knew, in this instance, what it would take to please him.
"Yes, master, I know exactly what I am agreeing to."
A faint flicker of satisfaction crossed Voldemort's face. "Very well," Voldemort whispered softly, eyes only for Harry.
AN: Voila, please let me know what you think!