The ties that bind us
Harry spent the following morning immersed in study within the quiet confines of the library. As the clock struck noon, he found himself unexpectedly granted a reprieve for the rest of the afternoon. Voldemort, ensnared in his own pressing tasks, had surprisingly granted Harry a few hours of leisure until their planned dinner together. Harry knew this temporary freedom was short-lived. The teen was expected to join the larger Death Eaters later that night, culminating in a private assembly with the Inner Circle afterward.
Nagini, apparently feeling bored and neglected by her master, chose to accompany Harry. Her action elicited nothing more than a dismissive glance from Voldemort, who promptly resumed his affairs after she announced that she would be following Harry because she was not receiving the attention she deserved. Harry struggled to suppress a grin as the serpent trailed after him, her demeanor visibly annoyed.
"The master is overly consumed," she remarked, her voice tinged with irritation. "He should spend more time with me by the fireside, relaxing his scales in its warmth."
Harry, finding the image she conjured amusing, replied, "I'm not sure the fire offers him the same comfort as it does you."
He caught the intensity of Nagini's gaze on him. "Once, it did…" she hissed, her tone laced with a hint of melancholy.
This revelation left Harry beyond curious about the depth of Voldemort's bond with Nagini. He wondered if a younger Voldemort used to show more affection and care towards her. The notion seemed unlikely to Harry, yet the thought intrigued him.
"How long have you lived with him?" Harry asked.
"Many moons," Nagini answered, as if that were an answer in itself. "Do you know how many years?"
She seemed to contemplate the question. "No... He was younger when we first met, and we spent many seasons together. Then one day he vanished, only to return a long time later," she revealed, likely referring to the period following Voldemort's failed attempt on Harry's life.
Surprisingly, Harry found himself feeling a pang of sympathy for the serpent, realizing that his triumph over Voldemort might have left her feeling forsaken and alone. The notion that he could harbor such sentiment towards Voldemort's familiar was something Harry had never anticipated.
"Do you like it here, with him?" Harry wondered. It seemed like Voldemort did hold the snake in esteem; she was certainly favored by the Dark Lord, even if recently, she felt neglected enough to prefer spending time with Harry instead.
"Of course," she said, not embellishing, as if there was nothing else to say. And maybe for her, there wasn't. She was fed, housed, and taken care of.
"What do you want to do?" Harry inquired as they made their way towards his quarters, lacking any better destination in mind. The thought of idling in his room until dinner was not appealing. He had studied all morning and genuinely wanted a break.
"We could visit the forest; I'm hungry," Nagini suggested. At her words, Harry hesitated. His experiences outside the manor had always been under Voldemort's strict supervision. Yet, the thought of simply wandering the grounds seemed harmless enough. Since his initial capture, Harry had not ventured out of the manor on his own, except for direct apparition to the Malfoy estate.
Since his decision to return, it was clear he had been given more freedom around the manor, but he wasn't sure of the limits of his new cage. Could he now roam the entirety of the Slytherin estate freely? Beyond that, he wondered if Voldemort would further permit him to depart its unplottable bounds without a watcher, given his secured oaths to the dark. The question lingered in his mind, untested but prevalent in the whirlwind of recent changes constantly occurring.
"Alright," Harry agreed, his curiosity ignited. "I'll just get my cloak." As they walked down the hallway, Nagini regaled him with stories of her recent exploits, notably a cunning hunt where she outwitted a mouse trying to hide in the crevices of a stone wall. She boasted of anticipating the mouse's emergence and pouncing on it unsuspectingly. Her delight in recounting the successful hunt was evident; Harry found himself amused and endeared by her enthusiastic retelling.
Upon entering his room, Harry was welcomed by the sight of Hedwig contentedly perched on her newly acquired stand. The window was open, modified with a spell to prevent the elements from entering while allowing Hedwig to come and go as she pleased. She greeted him with an affectionate coo and stretched out her leg, revealing a letter attached to her talon.
Seeing the letter, Harry felt a surge of conflicting emotions. The previous night, motivated by his conversation with Mr. Weasley, Harry had penned a note to Ron and Hermione. His message was brief, fueled by a mix of hope and apprehension. He expressed a genuine, though reluctant, understanding if they decided to end their friendship with him. He'd even stressed the importance of making their own choices, driven by his own deep-seated dislike for being manipulated. He didn't want the Order to try and force them to stay friends with him in hopes of his returning to the light because of it. He'd concluded that although he regretted any pain his actions might have caused, he stood by his decision, believing it was the best choice for him and their world. He left it up to them whether they wanted to respond or even stay friends, unsure if they would write him back.
Nervously, Harry gently removed the letter from Hedwig's talon. As he unfolded the parchment, his gaze quickly swept over the familiar handwriting of his friends, their words eagerly absorbed. The text seemed to leap from the page, he could almost hear them as if they were beside him actually speaking. Hermione's scripted cursive mildly reprimanded him, unable to believe he would think they could abandon him. "You're being ridiculous, Harry," the letter admonished, "to even hint we'd turn our backs on you. But you need to be careful," she cautioned, warning there were those on both sides that would not support what he was doing and would try to stop him.
Ron's handwriting then appeared, distinctly different, as he begged Harry to stay alert, expressing frustration at not being there to have his back. Ron's part of the message was tinged with feelings of helplessness that Harry was all too familiar with, a sentiment of being trapped at school, disconnected from the unfolding events of the potential war that they all feared might still occur. It was obvious that the Order was still keeping them in the dark, unwilling to involve them or inform them of the ongoing situation.
The letter's conclusion offered a glimmer of expectation, mirroring Harry's own recent thoughts, asking if they could meet, even if it was short, so they could see with their own eyes that he was safe and well. "We have a Hogsmeade trip this weekend," they wrote. "If there's any way you can make it, we'd love to see you," they promised to keep any potential visit a secret from the Order and assured him it wouldn't be a trap. "We just want to help, to be there for you as we always have been."
Harry felt a surge of emotions: relief, joy, but also a gnawing anxiety. The prospect of seeing Ron and Hermione, of reconnecting with a part of his life that felt both distant and dearly missed, was overwhelmingly tempting. Yet, the risks were undeniable. Would Voldemort trust him to meet with them after what happened in Diagon Alley? Did Harry actually trust them not to try and force him to return to the Order and the Light? It was beyond confusing.
"Are we going?" Nagini asked with a hint of impatience, positioning herself to be eye-level with the raven-haired teenager. Harry, caught off guard, felt a wave of embarrassment wash over him, having momentarily forgotten her presence amidst his deep contemplation. With a nod, he pocketed the parchment, grabbed his cloak, and turned to follow Nagini, who moved forward with an air of eager anticipation.
Together, they left the manor, stepping into the sprawling openness of the estate. Remarkably, nothing hindered Harry's exit; the door swung open freely, and neither his mark nor scar gave any sign of trouble. This newfound freedom to leave the manor without explicit permission was both shocking and profoundly liberating. It might not have seemed like much, but in Harry's upside-down world, it felt like a significant victory.
The outdoor world welcomed them with its fresh, crisp air—a vivid contrast to the manor's stagnant, hushed interior that Harry had become all too familiar with. As they traversed the grounds, the manor's formidable silhouette diminished into the distance, melding into the vastness of the horizon. As he walked, Harry felt like the surrounding land seemed alive, its mysteries whispered by the rustling leaves and the gentle crunch of soil beneath his feet.
Harry wondered at the age of Slytherin Manor; the very land it stood on seemed to vibrate with wild, untamed, and untapped magic.
Ahead, the forest loomed—a dense expanse filled with unknown and ancient enchantment, seemingly calling out to the Potter heir as he neared it. Harry had often found himself gazing out at it from his window, but this would mark his first venture into its depths. A sense of eagerness, rather than fear, filled him. He had his wand and his growing confidence in his own power. And, in the worst-case scenario, he had Nagini by his side—herself a formidable presence should they encounter anything too menacing within the forest's spectral embrace.
Nagini happily led the way, her movements elegant and confident, as they neared the threshold of the forest. Harry realized that it was near here that Voldemort had conducted the dark ritual to sever his ties with the Riddle bloodline, an act that had imbued the area with a palpable sense of magic. Harry felt its influence as they skirted the site—a tingling on his skin, a mute murmur in the breeze that hinted at power, transformation, and an unstoppable magical intent that had coerced nature and lineage to its will. He wondered what it would be like to partake in such a powerful ritual. As the thought struck him, an equal part of him recoiled at the idea, wary of the perilous path it might lead to.
Entering the forest, the atmosphere shifted. The trees, ancient and majestic, stood as solemn watchers. Their intertwined branches above formed a mosaic of light and shadows on the ground beneath, crafting a landscape that was both tranquil and enigmatic. The air was thick with the scent of life and decay, a potent reminder of the endless cycle of birth, death, and rebirth that governed this domain. However, underneath the surface of these natural odors and vistas, there was a more profound, elusive energy at play—a strand of magic that resonated with a feeling that was both eerie and exhilarating.
"Can you sense the magic here?" Harry asked, intrigued by the latent energy that seemed to pervade the air around them.
Nagini paused to consider his question, then looked around the woods thoughtfully. "It's not that different from the manor,"she observed. "It feels like master's magic—but not… Also, it feels like yours in a way… but also not." Harry considered her words, contemplating if she was implying that the magical heritage of Salazar Slytherin and his descendants had an influence over the forest, perhaps the whole estate. The idea that she could detect and differentiate such nuances in magic was remarkable. He regarded her with a new sense of curiosity, realizing that there was much more to the formidable serpent than met the eye.
In an instant, Nagini's demeanor changed; she became alert, her earlier focus on their discussion replaced by a new, immediate attention. Harry, picking up on her sudden change, paused, glancing around guardedly.
"Prey," she hissed excitedly, before swiftly darting off, her movement so quick it seemed to challenge the very laws of physics as she chased after an unseen quarry. Harry watched in amazement as Nagini disappeared into the undergrowth, only to return shortly, triumphantly displaying her catch—a rabbit which she quickly devoured.
Over the next few hours, Harry savored the freedom and the invigorating sensation of being outdoors, meandering alongside Nagini. Their conversation turned out to be surprisingly fascinating. Nagini eagerly shared her insights and opinions on a variety of topics, including the world at large, the Dark Lord's followers, and even Harry himself, with an openness that spared no detail. This forthrightness was both entertaining and unsettling to Harry, offering him a unique perspective he hadn't anticipated. As the sun began to set, signaling the afternoon's end, Harry reluctantly turned them in the direction of the manor, knowing his night was far from over.
Upon reaching the dining room, Harry and Voldemort arrived simultaneously, with Nagini still at Harry's side. Seeing her master, she immediately began animatedly recounting her hunting exploits to the Dark Lord, who responded with feigned disapproval and a mock glare that he directed toward Harry.
"I might have to rethink letting my familiar spend so much time with you," he commented, his voice laced with amusement. "She seems to have become overly lively," he observed, a remark that Nagini immediately perceived as a slight, resulting in her huffing indignantly and slithering off.
As they settled down to their meal, Harry saw Voldemort's nonchalant response to their excursion into the forest as a sign that the constraints previously placed upon him at the manor might have been relaxed. This realization piqued his curiosity about what, if any, limitations still existed. The lack of any reprimand or probing questions regarding their outing offered Harry a glimmer of hope.
As dinner neared its end, Harry gathered his courage to broach a subject that had been preoccupying him since receiving Hedwig's letter. This conversation would serve as a genuine measure of Voldemort's trust. "I've received a response from Ron and Hermione," he initiated, piercing the silence that had settled between them.
Voldemort's interest appeared heightened, his keen gaze encouraging Harry to continue. "They want to remain friends. They're not looking to cut ties with me," Harry revealed.
"That's pragmatic of them," Voldemort commented, the statement frustratingly vague.
Harry paused, having hoped for a more revealing reaction from the Dark Lord. "Would you object to me maintaining my friendships with them?" he inquired, bracing himself for the response.
Voldemort regarded Harry with a thoughtful gaze. "As long as it does not interfere with your training or lead you to act recklessly, it is of no consequence," Voldemort responded, his voice even.
Harry hesitated, struggling to articulate the deeper worry that troubled him. His pause was noticeable, prompting Voldemort to probe further. "What troubles you, my heir?"
Gathering himself, Harry asked the question that had been haunting him. "Does it bother you that I'm friends with those your followers consider to be blood traitors or of impure blood?" He was careful to frame the question in a way that did not presume any bias on Voldemort's part, wary of the potential implications and apprehensive about the response he might receive. Deep down, Harry harbored an intense reluctance to hear Voldemort derogate Hermione as a 'Mudblood' or Ron as a 'blood traitor'. He clung to a fragile hope that Voldemort might somehow accept them, desperate to maintain the unlikely illusion that a world where both could be happy and thrive wasn't beyond reach.
"Does your affection for them compromise your loyalty to me?" Voldemort countered, redirecting the question towards Harry.
Firmly, Harry shook his head. "No, I made the choice to come back to you; I left them for this. I hope my actions have more than demonstrated my commitment to you, my lord," he deliberately added the term of respect to highlight his willful choice, knowing it would please the Dark Lord.
Voldemort's reaction was reflective, his usual response to flattery notably absent as his crimson eyes narrowed, carefully considering Harry's words. "What is it you're actually requesting, my heir? As I have stated, I bear no personal malice towards them as mere students. Yet, should they choose to align against us after their education, committing themselves to Dumbledore's Order and engaging in conflicts they scarcely understand, then my leniency towards them will inevitably change..."
The implied threat hung heavily, causing Harry unease. He forced himself to voice the question that had been looming in his mind since the arrival of the letter. "Am I allowed to meet with them? To preserve our friendship? To try and lead them away from any choices that would provoke your displeasure?"
The silence that followed only intensified Harry's unease. Feeling discouraged but undeterred, Harry continued anxiously, clinging to the slim hope of someday attaining a semblance of the normalcy he craved but feared might forever be out of reach. "You've mentioned that embracing my role here would afford me certain freedoms," he argued, when no response was immediately forthcoming. He shook his head, lowering his gaze. "What is my life to be now that I've chosen this path?"
"Your existence is here, with me," Voldemort declared, leaving no room for ambiguity. He almost seemed perplexed by the question.
Disappointment knotted in Harry's stomach. "I recognize that, accept that it's with you…" he responded, pausing to collect his thoughts. Did that mean he was allowed no other true relationships, the Dark Lord would be his only real companion? The conversation was veering away from the direction he wanted, he wasn't sure how to redirect it without provoking Voldemort.
"What is it you truly want?" Voldemort probed, revisiting the question from their last renegotiation that had previously left Harry at a loss.
Now, Harry found himself better equipped to express his wishes. "I wish to see my friends," he confessed, holding Voldemort's gaze. "They've mentioned a Hogsmeade visit this weekend. I want to meet them there."
"Do you trust them?" This was the heart of the matter. Harry wrestled with his doubts, longing to believe in their sincerity. They had promised not to tell the Order and he had never known them to lie.
"Yes," Harry affirmed, his voice carrying a conviction that belied his internal turmoil.
"Your request is not insignificant. The last time I allowed you to leave, you were captured by the Order," Voldemort pointed out. Harry did not miss the irony of the statement. What a strange world he had found himself immersed in.
Gathering his resolve, Harry projected a confidence he scarcely felt. "And you have multiple ways to still reach me. You can access my dreams, I bear your mark. The ministry knows that I choose to live with you. They can't abduct me like last time. I told Mr. Weasley that I would not oppose you, that you are my legal guardian, and desire to live here with you. Any actions they take would be unlawful that you could use against them."
Voldemort contemplated Harry's plea, the silence between them lengthening as he assessed his charge's earnest request. Eventually, he signaled his conditional agreement with a nod. "I will allow this," Voldemort stated. Harry's heart jumped with joy. "But Barty will accompany you, and the location for this meeting will be of my choosing."
Noticing Harry's look of concern, Voldemort allowed a smirk to cross his features. "This is not a move against your friends—they hold no significance to me, my naïve heir. It is merely a precaution to prevent you from walking into another trap." He paused, ensuring Harry grasped the implications of his stipulations. "Barty need not join your meeting directly, but he will remain nearby, ready to act if circumstances demand it." His gaze met Harry's, emphasizing the importance of his warning. "I will allow this because you have continued to find favor in my eyes, Harry. However, do not presume upon my indulgence. You know the consequences if you falter in your allegiance to me."
Harry nodded in acceptance, excitement coursing through him. He had no desire to provoke the Dark Lord's ire and was acutely aware of the fragility of the freedom he had just secured. This small taste of independence was something he did not want to jeopardize.
"Thank you," he said, genuinely meaning it.
S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S
The rest of the dinner unfolded without any major incidents. Having secured Voldemort's permission for a visit to Hogsmeade that weekend, Harry couldn't help but feel a subtle sense of anticipated freedom that buoyed his spirits. He tried to temper it, knowing he needed to tread carefully to maintain this newfound autonomy.
After their meal, he accompanied Voldemort to the larger Death Eater meeting. As he donned his mask and took his place beside the Dark Lord, he adopted the appearance of an obedient apprentice. The gathering was lively, shrouded in expectation and eagerness. Harry had noticed that since the Dark Lord had overtly resumed his title as Lord Slytherin, the veiled anticipation within the ranks of his followers had evolved into open excitement. It made the teen uneasy, fearful that the Dark might begin acting out on their more sinister desires, sensing that there were fewer restraints imposed on their movements.
The meeting had been typical, following the pattern Harry had come to expect from the larger crowd. It mostly served as a way for the followers to see the Dark Lord up close, to feel favored by being allowed into his mansion. Harry had learned that Voldemort rarely engaged directly with the broader assembly, instead entrusting his inner circle to manipulate them as
necessary for their assigned missions. The prospect of ascending to the inner circle someday acted as an incentive for obedience, encouraging them to accept their positions and feel chosen if someone from the inner circle allowed them to participate directly in one of the Dark Lord's schemes. On even rarer occasions, the Dark Lord might take notice of their contributions and personally assign them tasks. Consequently, these larger gatherings unwittingly held them captive, making them pliable and compliant due to the enchantment of witnessing the Dark Lord's power and abilities firsthand. Each time, it was a masterful performance, if Harry were honest with himself.
Voldemort concluded the meeting by addressing his followers, his voice carrying a tone of assurance and promise. "My loyal servants, our plans are progressing as expected. The Ministry of Magic and the wizarding world at large are gradually falling under our influence, and soon, none will be able to impede our ambitions."
The assembled Death Eaters listened with unwavering devotion, their concealed faces reflecting zealous loyalty and determination. Voldemort continued, outlining their successes, an atmosphere of eager desire swelling in the air. "Our infiltration into the highest echelons of the Ministry continues, and our supporters are growing in number daily. The Light is weakened, fractured, and divided. We are on the cusp of achieving what many believed to be impossible. Continue to be loyal, and you will see your rewards manifest beyond belief."
After delivering his inciting speech, Voldemort dismissed the assembled Death Eaters. It was evident that their devotion to him and the Dark side was only intensifying. The Dark Lord then turned and left the room, with Harry following closely behind, heading toward the room where the Inner Circle would now convene.
As they walked through the corridors, Voldemort glanced at Harry. The teen had removed his mask upon departing the larger assembly, knowing it wasn't expected in the more intimate gathering. "What did you think of the meeting, Harry?" he inquired, his crimson eyes studying his young apprentice.
Harry considered the question for a moment before responding, selecting his words with care. "It's clear that you have a loyal army, and they're eager for your vision to become a reality," he remarked, striving to conceal the unease he had felt upon discerning the more malevolent intentions among those present.
Voldemort nodded in acknowledgment. "Yes, they are loyal and devoted to our vision," he replied. "But remember, loyalty and obedience can be fragile things. They must be nurtured and rewarded."
Harry raised a questioning brow. "How can you hope to do that with so many? They can't each want the same thing..."
Voldemort adopted a self-assured grin, his crimson eyes gleaming with absolute certainty. "Human nature is simpler than you might think, Harry. My followers' motivations are not hard to decipher—whether it's the pursuit of power, ambition, vengeance, or driven by fear, they all yearn for something that only I can provide. Our mission is to channel those desires towards my ultimate objectives and ensure they can envision themselves in the future that I create."
Harry wasn't sure he liked the sound of that. His greater fear was that many of Voldemort's followers might desire lawlessness, relishing the opportunity to torture and practice terrible dark magic without punishment or rebuke. He couldn't forget the horrors of the first war, where some Death Eaters had reveled in torturing and killing. What had happened to the Longbottoms was disgusting, and he didn't want that to become common practice. While it seemed Voldemort had tempered those actions, did that mean his followers agreed? What would happen when the Dark was uncontestably in power? Would they see any reason to restrain themselves?
"The energy seemed different tonight," he observed softly, deciding to be open with his concerns. "It felt more sinister, like there was a bloodlust in the air. Aren't you afraid they might start acting out and damage what you're trying to achieve? I thought you didn't want a bunch of Bellatrix's running around, torturing and causing fear?"
He could feel the Dark Lord's gaze upon him. "They won't challenge my authority," Voldemort said assuredly. As they entered the room where the inner circle would meet, Harry noted the distinction that the Dark Lord had not clarified that such actions would always be against his intent.
Once everyone had arrived, the Inner Circle meeting began shortly after. Seated at the large table dominating the center of the room, the Dark Lord meticulously went through each member, inquiring about the various tasks and efforts they were assigned. While Voldemort displayed overt satisfaction with most of the progress reported, there were a few exceptions that drew his distinct displeasure; Nott and Rockwood notably were among them.
When asked for an update on the Department of Mysteries, the two wizards exchanged telling glances before offering vague assurances of their progress. It was evident they had not made the expected headway, and their promises to improve were accompanied with a hopeful look from Nott toward Harry, a silent plea conveying Nott's expectations for Harry's future involvement to help smooth over the Dark Lord's ire.
Voldemort's patience grew even thinner as he directed his piercing gaze toward Lucius Malfoy, seated halfway down the table. Although Lucius had concise and ready answers for each of the Dark Lord's increasingly demanding inquiries, Voldemort made it abundantly clear that, despite his evident effort, Lucius was not meeting his expectations.
Voldemort's voice dripped with irritation as he addressed the Malfoy Lord, "Lucius, your progress does not satisfy me. I expect more concrete results and fewer empty words. It appears that you have not been as effective as I had hoped."
Lucius squirmed under the pressure, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. He made an attempt to defend his efforts, but the Dark Lord's displeasure was palpable. Eventually, Lucius trailed off, nodding wordlessly and dropping his gaze, promising to do better. They were soon dismissed, the Dark Lord leaving before the rest as usual. Harry, not in a mood to deal with the scheming and plotting of the inner circle, quickly slipped out as well.
As Harry made his way through the torch-lit corridors of Slytherin Manor, lost in thought, the sound of his footsteps seemed to blend with the distant echoes of hushed voices, remnants of the larger gathering that had yet to fully disperse from the main meeting hall. He quickly passed the door leading to that assembly and continued down a side hall that would ultimately lead him to a stairwell and, eventually, his room.
As he entered another passage, the atmosphere noticeably shifted, as if his magic was sending him a warning. Suddenly, a beam of red light shot from the shadows—an incoming stunner that Harry instinctively blocked.
"What the hell?" he exclaimed, immediately adopting a defensive dueling stance. Emerging from the shadows behind him, three masked Death Eaters appeared, wands at the ready.
"You're quick; I'll give you that," acknowledged a deep, familiar voice.
"Who are you? What do you want?" Harry demanded, his grip on his wand tightening as he stared at the three skull masks, which made identification difficult.
"We want you to stop pretending you're the savior of both light and dark. Whatever trick you're playing on the Dark Lord, we're not fooled. You don't belong here, Potter," one of them declared.
Seeking to de-escalate the situation, Harry took a step back, trying to keep his voice calm. "Attacking me is a mistake," he warned. "You're signing your own death warrants." He knew Voldemort wouldn't appreciate his heir being attacked, and his threat might be more true than he wished to admit.
"We're doing the Dark Lord a favor. When he sees how weak you are, he'll reconsider your place among us," retorted a second voice, shorter and stouter.
"You're a disgrace," hissed the third voice, clearly feminine. "The others might be fine pretending like you're suddenly something, but you still have dirty blood. You should have died all those years ago." Harry could feel his anger rising, the insult against his mother bothering him deeply.
"Enough talk, let's get him. Teach him a lesson," the first assailant declared, launching a jet of cerise light and murmuring "Incarcerous Reducto," a spell Harry recognized meant to bind his arms and legs together while causing painful boils.
Harry reacted swiftly, deflecting it with a shield, causing the spell to crash into a nearby portrait. The hallway made dodging and evasion difficult; Harry was suddenly grateful for the extensive practice the Dark Lord had put him through in shielding and blocking. He eyed the three warily. So far, they had used a stunner and a binding spell, making Harry suspect that they were trying to disarm and capture him. He was certain he didn't want to find out what would happen if they did.
The second Death Eater stepped forward, his wand emitting a faint blue glow, whispering "Glacius Duo." If struck, it would encase Harry in ice. Fortunately, he knew a counter for this as well.
With a firm chant of "Calidum Defensio," Harry conjured a wave of warm air that turned the approaching ice into harmless steam, preventing the spell from taking hold.
Not waiting for the steam to dissipate, the third, thinner assailant lunged forward, casting "Obscuro Visum" seeking to blind Harry with dense and inky darkness that permeated the air. Reacting on instinct, Harry used "Luminos Dispello" to create a burst of light, clearing the darkness and momentarily disorienting his opponents who clearly hadn't anticipated a counterattack that turned the tables on them. Harry cast a stunner at their leader, who barely deflected it in time. The three Death Eaters stared at the Potter heir, obviously rethinking their strategy. It was clear they hadn't expected him to counter all their attacks so easily. None of the spells they'd used were typical teenage curriculum. But Harry was anything but ordinary.
"Alright then," the first one murmured, and Harry was even more certain he had heard the voice before. "It seems this will be more entertaining than we thought." Chaos ensued as all three began casting spells at him simultaneously, with rapid succession in the confined hallway.
The hallway transformed into a battleground of spells and counterspells. Fueled by adrenaline, Harry skillfully maneuvered his wand, adeptly dodging, shielding, and blocking, managing to avoid any direct hits. It was increasingly clear that their goal was to disarm and secure him, but fortunately, Harry continued to recognize each spell they cast. The walls of the manor reverberated with the sounds of magic clashing against Harry's defenses.
They were all casting too quickly for Harry to hope to get anything offensive out, but he found a break when he cast a solid shield meant to reflect fire back on the attacker. The three were forced to halt their aggression, bringing up their own shields as the fire not only reverberated but multiplied as Harry flipped it and added to the spell by recasting his own version of it. The one Harry considered their leader barely blocked it in time, while the shorter, stout one ended up with a sizzled robe with smoke rising from it.
Seizing the momentary respite opportunity, Harry unleashed a series of offensive spells. "Stupefy Torrent!" he shouted, sending a barrage of numerous stunning spells toward the Death Eaters, momentarily overwhelming them. The two weaker ones ducked behind the first, who cast a large shield, barely deflecting the storm of stunners. Harry then cast a sleep- inducing hex, which their leader was also able to deflect.
"Maybe you're a bit better than we thought, Potter. But it's still three against one; we have you outnumbered and outpowered. Just surrender and make this easy," the leader taunted, an obvious sneer hidden behind the mask.
Harry forced a hallow laugh, not feeling as confident as he wished. He knew he needed to be cautious; they did have the numbers. Although Voldemort had taught him about fighting multiple enemies, they hadn't practiced it extensively. However, Harry was accustomed to facing more powerful and cunning opponents. He needed to quickly devise a plan to end this confrontation.
The first Death Eater dropped the shield and cast "Confundo Nebula," creating a dense, thick mist. Slightly disoriented, Harry countered with a silent "Ventus Revolutio," summoning a whirlwind that dispersed the fog, revealing his opponents once again.
The second Death Eater, more aggressively, unleashed "Ligatura Luminis," a spell that sent binding beams of yellow light towards Harry. Unsure of their effect upon contact, Harry dodged nimbly, feeling a beam graze his arm and leave a stinging sensation. He countered with "Aqua Ejecto," sending a jet of water to disrupt the light beams. The mark on his arm felt numb; he could still use his arm but was certain he didn't want to be hit by multiple beams.
The third Death Eater, distancing from the other two, tried to distract Harry with an attack from a different angle, aiming to immobilize him by shouting "Petrificus Totalus." Harry deflected it with a quick flick of his wrist and a silent "Protego Maxima," but the force of the spell staggered him, forcing him to take a step back, colliding with the stone wall.
Regaining his balance, Harry knew he needed to find a way to create an advantage. He cast "Fumos Duplex," creating a dense smokescreen with multiple deceptive echoes of his movements, aiming to sow confusion among his attackers. He then attempted to retreat into an intersecting hallway he knew was only a few feet away, but he unexpectedly collided with a solid wall.
"Not so fast, Potter," the leader declared. The smoke disappeared, and Harry stared up at the glass wall that had been conjured before him, blocking his escape.
Harry quickly spun, casting "Sensus Dyneira," sending out a pulse of grey light that would make them go blind, deaf, and mute. The shorter and stout Death Eater was hit, their leader and the woman managed to block it successfully.
The leader laughed, effortlessly dispelling the effects of the spell on his friend. "Your tricks won't save you!" sneered the first Death Eater. Harry frowned, recognizing that facing three opponents meant he had to incapacitate them all, likely simultaneously, or they would continue to aid each other. However, the spells he knew were capable of achieving this outcome were dangerous and potentially fatal. He hesitated, unwilling to bear the burden of causing such harm. This was the dilemma with powerful dark magic – it was effective but also had the potential to inflict irreversible damage.
Harry had mastered several curses capable of permanently maiming or even ending their lives. Spells for disfiguring appendages, severing limbs, or unleashing lethal forces were well within his repertoire. Yet, in that moment, he grappled with the uncertainty of whether he could cast them with genuine intent. He knew that his hesitation would surely infuriate Voldemort, who expected him to employ the full extent of his knowledge without reservation. If he were to be brutally honest with himself, a part of him felt self-critical for his momentary hesitation. He was under attack by Death Eaters who clearly believed themselves above any moral boundaries. What was to prevent them from indiscriminately harming innocent people, they clearly had no qualms about attacking him? Stopping them, perhaps permanently, might be in his and the world's best interest.
The second Death Eater tried "Impedimenta," attempting to entangle Harry, it was the first school-level spell they had cast. Harry quickly countered the spell's effect, his breath coming out quicker.
Suddenly, as if on cue, each of his assailants cast a different spell. Harry recognized the first two; one was a severing charm that could easily cut through muscle and bone, which he agilely side-stepped. The second was a light green bolt of energy that he knew would electrocute him upon contact. Reacting swiftly, he conjured a flock of birds that intercepted the deadly spell. The smell of charred flesh permeated the air as the birds absorbed the deadly energy. It was clear they were no longer playing, this was turning deadly.
Regaining his footing, Harry found himself momentarily disoriented as he was struck by the third spell, which had barely manifested as a wisp of smoke. The third Death Eater had cleverly disguised her attack, concealing a curse Harry was unfamiliar with. The spell enveloped Harry in bands of ghostly energy, restricting his movement and clouding his senses.
Harry struggled against the intangible bonds, but the more he fought, the tighter they seemed to constrict. His vision blurred, and a numbing coldness began to creep over him, sapping his strength. The Death Eater's voice echoed through the haze, taunting him.
"You can't counter what you don't know, Potter. How long can you last, I wonder?" Harry, though physically restrained, refused to succumb to panic. He focused his mind, recalling every spell and counter-curse he had learned, searching for a way to break free. He attempted a "Finite Incantatem," hoping for a general counter-spell effect, but the white bands merely quivered before tightening their grip.
It seemed like the spell was directed more internally against his magic than externally against his body. Realizing that brute force wouldn't work, Harry shifted his approach. He closed his eyes, centering himself, and began to channel his energy internally. He whispered "Serenitas," a spell more meditative than combative, designed to clear the mind and strengthen the spirit. Gradually, the icy grip of the curse began to loosen, the shadows' hold weakening as Harry's inner calm grew stronger.
With a final push of willpower, Harry shattered the remaining shadows, breaking free from the curse. He stumbled momentarily, weakened but not defeated. The Death Eater, clearly shocked that Harry had successfully escaped, hesitated, giving Harry the chance to retaliate.
Even in the midst of the now-deadly duel, Harry still refrained from using lethal force. He put all of his effort into an "Expelliarmus!" aimed not just to disarm but to knock back his opponent with significant force. The heavier Death Eater was thrown against the wall, immediately incapacitated.
Breathing heavily, Harry steadied himself, pivoting to face the remaining two Death Eaters. As they saw their comrade lying unconscious on the ground, their spells grew relentless, weaving a vicious tapestry of dark magic that Harry countered with unwavering skill and determination. What struck Harry was that there weren't many spells cast that he didn't recognize. He was more than prepared to deflect or even reflect them back at their originators. In fact, he found it somewhat satisfying to cast their own malevolent spells back upon them. It was clear that it unsettled them each time he did, and Harry couldn't help but think that it served them right for resorting to dark curses in the first place.
Yet, even in the heat of the battle, he couldn't escape his moral dilemma. He knew for certain that they wouldn't be able to block the Parseltongue spells, the same spells he frequently cast at Voldemort during training. But that was different; he knew the Dark Lord would block them. Casting them now, in this scenario, seemed to blur the line between self-defense and torture, even if it was justified by necessity. Harry hesitated, torn between his desire to protect himself and his reluctance to cross the moral line to never torture or kill that he had drawn when he first agreed to learn dark magic. If he didn't finish the duel soon, they might get lucky and hit him. Of everything, he was certain he didn't want to be captured under their wands.
The shorter, more petite, Death Eaters, growing increasingly frustrated by Harry's resilience, unleashed a series of rapid curses. "Serpensortia!" she shouted, conjuring a swarm of sinister- looking snakes that slithered aggressively towards Harry.
Harry smirked. "Attack her," he hissed. Without hesitation, the venomous serpents turned on their creator, who shrieked in fear as they closed in.
The taller leader, desperate to gain the upper hand, levitated the pictures on the wall and threw them all at Harry. Reacting swiftly, Harry cast "Incendio," setting the frames ablaze and turning them to ash before they could reach him. The dust fell around them like eerie snow.
The snakes were finally banished, but not before delivering several painful bites. Harry hoped they were poisonous; she deserved that. The recovered Death Eater, seeking an opening, tried to blindside Harry with "Confringo," sending a blast aimed to explode upon impact. Harry, however, spun around just in time, deflecting the spell with a powerful "Protego Duo," causing the blast to ricochet and hit its caster instead. The impact knocked the Death Eater unconscious, her body also slumping to the ground.
With two adversaries down, Harry turned to face the last remaining Death Eater, but he was nowhere in sight. Harry's senses heightened, he spun around, wand at the ready, searching for any sign of his opponent.
Then, without warning, he felt the cold press of a wand against his back. The third Death Eater had somehow circled around him undetected. Harry's heart raced as he heard the chilling words whispered into his ear.
"I'm going to enjoy torturing you, Potter. Let's see how long you last under my curse."
Harry's mind raced, analyzing his options. He wasn't facing his attacker, and any sudden movement might provoke a spell he couldn't deflect in time. What could he cast that would still hit him? The situation was dire, but Harry fought to remain calm. He had faced perilous situations before and had come out ahead. With a deep breath, he prepared himself for whatever came next, ready to react with the full extent of his growing skills and wit.
As the word "Crucio!" rang out, a shiver of anticipation ran down Harry's spine. He braced himself for the excruciating pain he knew all too well, the pain that the Unforgivable Curse was infamous for. But, to his astonishment, the pain never came. Instead, there were screams – not his own, but those of his would-be tormentor.
Harry cautiously turned around and saw a sight that took him a moment to process. His assailant was on the ground, writhing and screaming in agony. Standing over him, wand pointed menacingly, was Bellatrix Lestrange. Her face was twisted in a grotesque semblance of joy, relishing in the pain she inflicted.
After a few torturous moments, she ceased the spell, her victim still shivering in residual pain. Bellatrix then lifted her gaze, her dark eyes locking onto Harry's. Harry, still reeling from the sudden turn of events and exhausted from the battle, was slow to react. He tensely awaited her next move, unsure of her intentions.
With a flick of her wand, Bellatrix sent a spell not at Harry, but past him. Shadowy chains and shackles materialized out of thin air, ensnaring the other two Death Eaters. With a violent jerk, they were dragged against the wall, where the shackles bound them tightly. Moans and groans filled the corridor as the chains tightened, causing them pain and immobilizing them effectively.
Harry stood there, stunned by the unexpected intervention. He stared in disbelief at Bellatrix Lestrange, the deranged Death Eater responsible for his godfather's death, who had inexplicably intervened on his behalf, incapacitating his attackers in a manner that was both efficient and cruel. Harry's mind raced with questions wondering why she was helping him. Was this some twisted game she was playing?
The silence in the corridor was palpable, broken only by the muffled groans of the restrained Death Eaters and the pitiful cries of the one who had been tortured, who lay crying and trembling on the stone floor. Knowing better than to let his guard down, especially in the presence of Bellatrix Lestrange, Harry's wand remained readily in his hand, his body tense in anticipation.
"Little Potter is learning to play," she whispered, her intense eyes focused on the teen. Her lips twitched in a half-smile. "Our Lord has taught you some tricks… But I wonder… why were you holding yourself back? Are you still afraid to use dark magic?" She stepped forward, tilting her head in an unsettling manner. Harry felt deeply uncomfortable with the way she was looking at him; he took half a step back. This was the first time they had been alone together, without Voldemort present to intervene. "Why didn't you punish them? I know you know how…"
Regaining his breath, Harry wasn't sure what to say. Yes, he did know more potent magic, spells that could have easily killed or permanently maimed his attackers. While part of him felt that they deserved such a fate, he couldn't ignore the moral weight that came with it. The prospect of taking a life or disfiguring someone for the rest of their days was not a decision he took lightly. However, it was clear the same couldn't be said for his attackers; they had shown no hesitation in their casting the more he was able to fight back. Was he a fool to have allowed the duel to go as long as it did? He knew he would have been tortured if it weren't for her unlikely intervention. He couldn't help but wonder if he should have unleashed the full strength of his magic in the first few seconds to stop the attacks.
The silence grew, and when it was clear Harry wasn't going to respond, Bellatrix let out a shrill, unbalanced chuckle. "Still so much to learn," she whispered, her eyes glancing past him to the two on the wall. Whatever those shadowy chains were, it was clear they were inflicting some form of torment.
"What is that spell?" Harry asked, still cautious about being in close proximity to the formidable witch. It didn't seem like she wanted to attack him, given that she had just saved him, but he couldn't be entirely certain of her intentions.
Bellatrix's lips curled into a sinister smile, her eyes gleaming with malice. "Ah, Potter, this is one of my favorites," she said with a tone of twisted pride. "It's called 'Umbra Vinclum.' A lovely piece of dark magic, don't you think?"
She stepped closer to the struggling figures, her wand tracing lazy circles in the air. "It conjures chains and shackles of living shadows," she explained, her voice dripping with delight. "Not only do they bind and immobilize the victim, but they also leech away their magical energy. It's quite draining, very painful."
Harry watched with a mix of curiosity and unease as the chains, resembling living shadows, tightened their grip around the bound Death Eaters. The moans of the captives grew louder, a testament to the spell's debilitating effects.
"The beauty of Umbra Vinclum," Bellatrix continued, her eyes fixed on her suffering victims, "is in its subtlety. It doesn't just restrain; it torments, feeding on the victim's magic and fear.
The more they struggle, the more they suffer. It's a perfect blend of physical and psychological torture. Impossible to escape from once cast."
Harry felt a chill run down his spine as he listened to Bellatrix's description. The spell was indeed a cruel piece of magic, reflective of the darkness that Bellatrix embodied. He watched as the shadowy chains continued their sinister dance, draining the life and magic out of their captives, and he was reminded once again of the dark and twisted world he was up against. If given the chance, would she cast that on him?
She paused, her gaze locking onto Harry, her eyes nearly glowing with an unsettling intensity. "Do you want to learn it?" she asked, a hint of eagerness in her voice.
Harry was momentarily taken aback. The offer seemed surreal. He felt a deep-seated aversion to learning anything that came from this witch. This was Bellatrix Lestrange, a woman who had shown no remorse for her countless atrocities, including the death of his godfather. How could he accept anything from her?
The Death Eater on the ground, beginning to recover, had pushed himself up on one arm. During his torture, his mask had fallen off, and Harry was shocked to see it was Walden Selwyn, the same Death Eater he had met in the Department of International Cooperation when Voldemort had taken him to the meeting the other day. Selwyn glanced from Bellatrix to Harry, a dark laugh escaping his lips despite the pain he was clearly in.
"See, Potter, this is what a real follower of the Dark Lord can do. You're just a boy playing at his apprentice. You're weak and an embarrassment," Selwyn taunted, his voice laced with pain and defiance.
Bellatrix raised her wand, clearly about to attack him again. Selwyn shuddered but looked resigned, as if he had accepted his fate. "At least I know there are those with real power at his side, not those just pretending."
Harry felt a surge of anger amidst a sinking realization. Selwyn's taunts weren't just infuriating but a stark reminder of the very real battle he faced within the ranks of Voldemort's followers. How many of them, like Selwyn, didn't take him seriously? They saw him as a weak, inexperienced boy who was unworthy of the power and position he held.
How was he supposed to prevent the Dark Lord's followers from descending into bloodthirsty chaos at the first opportunity? Hope worked with the light, but he realized it would not work against those who operated in the shadows. Instead, he had witnessed firsthand how fear worked to the advantage of the Dark Lord. It raised a disturbing possibility – could it be that instilling fear was the only way for his own leadership to take hold? It was evident that Voldemort's followers respected power and dominance. Would Harry need to employ similar tactics if he hoped to command their loyalty and prevent future challenges? How could he ensure that they didn't act independently, indulging in torture and killing? While it seemed unlikely that Voldemort would explicitly command them not to harm others, Harry wasn't certain that the Dark Lord would forbid it either. Did that mean that Harry would need to give them a reason to hesitate?
As these unsettling thoughts raced through his mind, Bellatrix seemed to sense his inner conflict. "A gift," she murmured softly, yet with a dangerous edge, as she stepped closer. "For saving Draco. For pleasing our lord. I can teach you, so that dogs like this won't come yapping ever again."
Harry weighed his choices carefully. He understood that learning this type of dark magic from Bellatrix contradicted everything he believed in. It felt different from what he had accepted from Voldemort, which he had always seen as a necessity. However, he couldn't ignore the immediate benefit. By accepting, he wouldn't just be gaining a new skill; he'd be turning a potential enemy into a less immediate threat. If Bellatrix saw him as an ally, even briefly, she might hesitate in the future, especially when she discovered he was the Black Lord. Furthermore, there was the pressing issue of Selwyn, who might attack him again and spread the word that Harry wouldn't fight back with all his power. How could he be the Dark Lord's apprentice and heir if it was evident he was hesitant to use dark magic?
With these thoughts in mind, Harry slowly nodded. "Show me," he said, his voice steady but his mind in turmoil. He knew he was walking a fine line, but in the grand scheme of things, it was a risk he had to take. He forced himself to think of it no differently than the dark magic Voldemort had already taught him. If he had been willing to use any of that during his duel, he wouldn't be in this position at all. She turned her attention to the trembling wizard on the floor, who had suddenly gone pale. "Nothing better than a live volunteer," she cackled, lifting her wand. Harry felt no sympathy for the Death Eater who had just attempted to torture him.
Bellatrix proceeded to explain the incantation and the wand movement required for the Umbra Vinclum spell. It was a complex and demanding form of dark magic, demanding precise movements and a strong intent to control the intended prisoner. Harry was determined to learn it quickly, his focus unwavering as he listened carefully and absorbed every detail.
After successfully casting the spell, Bellatrix's unsettling smile remained. "Well done. Want to learn some more tricks? Aunty Bella can teach you even more fun ways to play," she offered, her tone laden with an eerie enthusiasm.
Harry had cautiously declined Bellatrix's offer. "No... I'm glad to learn this spell, but... I should probably go," he said, still stunned by how their encounter had unfolded. He couldn't help but realize he might be in shock from the attack and the entire encounter. The awareness hit him that he could have been tortured or even killed if the three Death Eaters had managed to capture him. He didn't remotely trust Bellatrix, but he couldn't deny that her intervention had been timely and shockingly helpful.
As he backed away, Bellatrix had smiled knowingly, her parting look leaving Harry perplexed, as if she believed he might change his mind and accept her offer at some point. Retreating back to the safety of his room, Harry allowed himself to consider the idea of accepting more of her teachings, weighing the potential benefits of making her think of him as an ally. Could he stomach such an encounter again? He couldn't help but think of Sirius and how he would be turning in his grave at the mere thought.
Yet, Harry reasoned that if Bellatrix began to help him, it might make her want him to succeed, potentially reducing the threat she posed. He would also gain knowledge of her dueling style in case they ever faced each other in a real combat situation. He knew he would have to discuss the idea with Voldemort, bearing in mind the Dark Lord's prohibition when Harry had previously requested to duel Barty. Voldemort had denied the request, reasoning that Harry shouldn't reveal too much of his skills to other Death Eaters until he was certain he could always win.
Harry recalled the day he had asked, remembering the peculiar manner in which Voldemort had acknowledged his rapid growth in skills and magic. The Dark Lord had praised his progress but had also emphasized the importance of restraint, cautioning against initiating duels or practicing with other Death Eaters until Harry had unquestionably surpassed them. In those moments, Voldemort's gaze had held a hunger, suggesting his confidence that Harry was nearing that lofty goal. Several months had passed since that encounter, and Harry couldn't help but wonder how the Dark Lord would currently assess his power.
As he thought back to the recent duel, Harry was certain he had been stronger than the three Death Eaters he had faced; he hadn't almost lost because of skill. It was because he had been hesitant to wield his full power. If he were attacked again by even stronger opponents, he needed to know how he would respond; he could not make the same mistakes again. As loath as he was to use dark magic on others, he realized his hesitation could have truly cost him his life. He would have to rethink his promise to himself; perhaps dark magic was acceptable as long as it was in self-defense. He had come too far and sacrificed too much to lose now.
AN: Thanks for the awesome reviews! Let me know what you think