Lines in the sand
On the day of the Wizengamot vote, Harry found himself restless. Today, he would formally assume the mantle of Lord Potter, and the world would be made aware that Sirius had left the Black legacy to his godson. The vote was scheduled for 3 p.m., and it was coming too quickly and yet too slowly, all at once. The entire morning, he felt an unshakeable impatience for it to be done and for the world to know, and yet dreaded how everything would change.
Harry had considered writing in his journal to Hermione, but hesitated, unwilling to provoke a conflict with his friends, especially when he needed to maintain his composure in front of the entire Ministry. He could not afford to appear broken or vulnerable; he had to embody Lord Potter, commanding respect and attention. He was certain that the Dark Lord would expect nothing less from his heir in his inaugural appearance, and truthfully, he wanted the same for himself.
Unlike the previous Wizengamot session, where the Dark Lord had also informally been tried for past war crimes if the vote was not in his favor, Harry's vote was anticipated to be uncontroversial. The Dark faction would support him, wary of displeasing their Lord or his heir. The Grey faction would also be in his favor, as his position subtly balanced Voldemort's extremes, aligning with their neutrals' principles. He suspected even the Light faction wouldn't oppose him, reluctant to alienate their "chosen one" and forfeit any chance of his redemption. Theoretically, the vote should unfold smoothly.
Seeking to distract himself, Harry wandered outside onto the estate grounds, accompanied by Nagini. The increasing humidity of summer and the expansive view of the lush estate provided a temporary escape from the weight of his responsibilities. Nagini, who was shockingly proving to be an increasingly preferred confidante, slithered alongside, her presence comforting. The quiet moment amidst nature contrasted sharply with the political machinations awaiting him, offering a brief respite as he sought to gather his thoughts and steel himself for the performance that was the wizarding world's political system that awaited him.
Nagini glided smoothly beside Harry, her scales glistening in the soft morning light filtering through the trees. She turned her head slightly to observe him, sensing his unusual silence.
"You are quiet today," Nagini remarked, her voice a sibilant hiss.
Harry exhaled slowly, his gaze fixed on the looming trees towering over them. "I'm nervous,"
he admitted, the words feeling heavy in the open air.
"Why?" she inquired, her head tilting in curiosity, her eyes reflecting a deep, intelligent awareness.
He paused, collecting his thoughts. "I'm about to officially take up my lordship. It's a lot of responsibility. The expectations, the decisions I'll have to make... Everyone will want something from me." He felt calmer since his birthday about the path he'd chosen, but that did not mean the rest of the wizarding world would be as accepting of his decisions.
Nagini's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Does this mean you will have less time for me?" she asked, her tone laced with a hint of concern.
Harry chuckled fondly, glancing down at the serpent. "I'll always make time for you, Nagini. You're important to me," he assured her, his words warm and sincere, a hint of surprise rippling through him at how true that they were. He was shocked to realize he'd grown very fond of the Dark Lord's familiar. When she wasn't trying to eat people, she was really enjoyable to be around.
She seemed to consider this, her gaze drifting away for a moment before locking back onto his. "Master used to have more time," she observed quietly, the title rolling off her tongue without consideration. "But not anymore. He's always busy. I do not wish for you to follow that path."
Harry smiled bitterly, not thinking he could avoid it. "I agree, but I have to do this. Taking your Lordship is important in my world."
Nagini hissed in displeasure, clearly less concerned with the complexities of wizarding politics and more focused on her own priorities. With a slightly petulant hiss, she said, "But if you're a lord, shouldn't you get to do whatever you like? Like spend time with me? I like lounging in front of the fire. Why can't you just make time for more important things, like that? I used to do that with master all the time."
Harry breathed out a slight laugh, the image of Voldemort indulging in any type of leisurely comfort a bizarre thought. "I feel like your master has always been busy, always pursuing his ambitions. I can't see him having much free time to lounge around."
Nagini, unbothered, continued in her self-centered vein. "He should have. Maybe he would be happier. You should try it. More fireside naps for us, less worrying about wizard politics."
Her straightforward, snake-like view of the world was charmingly simplistic yet amusingly egocentric "Imagine" she continued happily, "just think of the endless hours we could spend, basking in the warmth, no difficult duties. Isn't that the true perk of power?"
Harry's grin grew wider, beyond amused by the straightforward, self-serving logic. "You make a convincing argument, Nagini. Maybe I should put that at the top of my priorities: more leisurely time for us in front of the fire."
Nagini appeared content, seemingly convinced she had unraveled a great mystery. "Exactly. It's all about your choices. We mustn't let the warmth of the fire go to waste. It's what any wise leader would do."
Harry found an unexpected wisdom in her words, albeit skewed towards her own desires. While he wouldn't necessarily spend his newfound autonomy idling by the fire, the notion underscored a larger truth: with power came the liberty to make choices. As he approached his lordships, he recognized he would have more potential to shape his path, to wield his influence with a degree of independence he hadn't previously possessed. While terrified about the world he was about to walk into, he would just need to focus on the good, what he served to gain.
The afternoon soon arrived. When Harry entered the flow room, he was taken aback to find Voldemort already there, awaiting his heir. The scene mirrored their previous Wizengamot session. Once again, robes had been provided in Harry's room, which he donned without any objections. It was hardly a surprise to Harry that their attire was coordinated; their elegant black robes, adorned with silver and green embellishments, were exquisitely tailored. Though not identical, the robes made a clear statement of their alliance.
However, Harry was unexpectedly startled by a change in the details of his attire. The usual silver serpent clasps he had become accustomed to wearing were different this time. Instead of the singular snake clasp at the center, there were two clasps linked by a chain, artfully crafted into the forms of a snake and a stag. The intertwined initials S and P were subtly incorporated into the design. Harry was unsure how to interpret this change – it was undoubtedly significant, but the full extent of its symbolism and intent was not immediately clear to him. He would need to ask Draco if the combined house symbols showed only an alliance or something more.
"Are you ready?" Voldemort's voice broke through his thoughts.
"As ready as I'll ever be," Harry responded, his mind still partly on the clasps.
"You will do well. You were meant for this," Voldemort assured him, his tone carrying an unspoken certainty.
Harry shot him a skeptical look, finding it hard to align himself with the idea of being destined for the political arena, craving neither the power nor the attention it brought. "I'm not expected to speak, am I? Just to make it through the vote and observe?"
Voldemort's smirk was telling. "Doubting my assurances?"
"You've omitted details before," Harry retorted, a hint of wariness in his tone, but he lacked any real bite.
The smirk widened. "You have my word. Speaking should not be necessary. Should it become so, it would be as much a surprise to me as to you." Harry found a measure of comfort in those words; to his recollection, Voldemort rarely outright deceived him.
They arrived at the assembly room well ahead of time, a full hour before the session was scheduled to start. Voldemort explained that their early arrival was customary for existing seat holders. Since Harry was accompanying him, it was expected that he, too, would arrive early to engage and mingle, setting the stage for his formal introduction to the Wizengamot's intricate ballet of power and politics.
As they settled into the assembly room, Voldemort quickly melded into the crowd, engaging with other influential figures. His conversations, undoubtedly peppered with discussions on legislative subtleties or the undercurrents of his latest covert plots, echoed the complex dance of power typical of such gatherings. This left Harry in an awkward solitude, feeling like an outlier amidst the intricate web of political dialogues and veiled exchanges.
His solitude was broken when a figure strode directly toward him, her purposeful approach clearly discernible. To his slight surprise, it was Minister Amelia Bones, her bearing as determined and steadfast as always.
"Lord Potter," she greeted, her voice pulling him back from his contemplative observation of the room.
"Minister Bones," Harry responded, nodding respectfully, his demeanor aligning with the solemnity of their environment.
Her gaze was just as keen and probing as the time they'd met in her office, quickly reminding him of their last meeting. "I trust we won't be encountering any unexpected revelations today, similar to the last vote?" The memory of Voldemort's startling announcement regarding Harry's lineage as Slytherin Heir hung not-so-silently between them.
He shifted slightly, his response less than reassuring. "Hopefully not..." she echoed, her attentiveness heightening with Harry's lack of immediate assurance that nothing untoward would occur.
Harry averted his gaze, contemplating the impending revelation of his claim to both the Potter and Black legacies that would occur in less than an hour. Would disclosing it to her now be a risk?
"In my office, you expressed a desire to cooperate, seeking mutual trust," she reminded him, her voice maintaining a balance of gentleness and authority. "Trust is not given but earned."
Harry nodded, agreeing with the statement. He did recognize that being transparent in this moment might strengthen the budding alliance between them. Or worse, to withhold information, particularly when she was probing so directly, would only serve to erode any trust she was willing to extend. And she had trusted him before, opening the school on his word. "I agree; trust is earned, and I want us to be honest with each other," he confirmed, her eyebrows raising slightly in surprise at his forthcomingness. He subtly gestured with his finger, weaving a discreet spell. A soft, muffling enchantment blossomed around them, its strength modest but its intention clear, ensuring their conversation remained discrete amidst the buzz of the Wizengamot assembly.
Minister Bones watched the spellwork, her expression blending curiosity with a hint of respect. Although Harry's wandless magic was humble compared to Voldemort's prowess, it nonetheless impressed her.
"You're aware that Sirius was my godfather?" Harry initiated cautiously, intently observing her reaction.
Her expression became guarded. "Do you plan to clear his name as your first act as Lord Potter?" she asked. Knowing her connection to the Order, Harry was sure she recognized Sirius's innocence. Her suggestion piqued his interest; it was a good idea that he should have already thought of. And yet, he was certain that Voldemort would not welcome such a move at his initial foray into his official role, especially considering the broader agenda they were navigating. While the timing in this meeting wasn't right, it was a thought to hold onto for the future; he did want to clear his godfather's name now that he had the influence to do so.
"No," he assured her. "But, unexpectedly, Sirius left me the Black family inheritance. I've become Lord Black."
Her eyes expanded in surprise, almost humorously so. "You must be jesting."
A bitter chuckle escaped Harry. He wished he were. "My life has been one bizarre twist after another," he remarked with a touch of self-mockery. "But this isn't a joke. I discovered the truth when I accessed the Potter vaults. The blood test they performed confirmed my status. It's all legitimate." He hesitated, reluctant to admit the likelihood that his godfather had engaged in some forbidden dark ritual, but it was better to seem upfront and honest as others would likely speculate as much. "It appears to be a blood adoption, though I can't guess when he performed it. He never asked me; I was unaware such a thing was even possible until recently. But the documents are clear, and now that I'm of age, the Black Lordship is mine."
"Who else knows this?" she probed, her voice laden with a mix of curiosity and concern.
Harry's gaze briefly drifted to where Voldemort was conversing with Nott Sr. and Lord Ambrose, noting the Minister's eyes following his, her brow furrowing slightly at the sight of the Dark Lord. Draco was also in the know, but that was not something Harry planned to disclose.
"Has anyone from the Light side been informed?" she pressed further.
"Only if Sirius told them before his death," Harry responded, feeling a pang of sorrow talking about his late dogfather. "I only just learned of it and am not exactly excited about the controversy it's likely to stir. If someone on the Light knew, they kept it from me."
She nodded in acknowledgment, her expression filled with very real concern. "Then why claim the title now, given the potential fallout? Holding multiple titles is uncommon, and considering the Black family's notorious reputation compared to the Potter's well-known alignment with the Light, it will undoubtedly cause a stir."
Harry fought a sigh, accepting in her words the same apprehensions Draco had expressed earlier. "I understand what will likely happen," he replied softly, the weight of the situation evident in his tone, "but it is mine to claim; I won't abandon my duties, not in this."
Her eyes briefly darted to Voldemort, then returned to Harry, her voice low, serious. "Are you making this choice of your own free will, or is there pressure on you?"
Harry straightened, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features at the implication that he was being controlled. That she clearly assumed Voldemort was orchestrating all his decisions. "We always have a choice," he stated firmly, his tone harsher than he intended. "I'm fully aware of my actions and their consequences."
She observed him intently, her expression thoughtful. "I certainly hope so," she murmured, gradually stepping away, her movement signaling the end of their shielded conversation as the muffling charm faded away. "Your candor is appreciated. Being blindsided at the last vote was not particularly pleasant, but I'll leave the decision to disclose this information any further up to you before the session begins. I must prepare for what's ahead. This exchange has been insightful, Lord Potter."
"It was good speaking with you, Minister Bones," Harry responded with a nod.
As the session prepared to commence, it unfolded in a manner reminiscent of the previous one Harry had attended but with an unexpected twist. His eyes suddenly caught sight of Neville Longbottom, who was seated beside his grandmother, unmistakably aligning with the Light's faction. When Minister Bones started outlining the agenda, she included that both Neville and Harry would be presenting themselves for their respective family seats.
Harry met Neville's steady gaze across the room. The year apart had clearly been transformative for him; he had shed weight, his frame now hinting at newly acquired muscle. There was an unmistakable straightness to his posture, making him appear taller, more imposing. Harry's mind briefly revisited the image of the timid boy who had stood unwavering by his side in the Department of Mysteries during their fifth year. Back then, Harry had felt a burgeoning sense of pride for Neville, witnessing the seeds of courage and determination beginning to sprout. It was evident now, more than ever, that the intervening year had been favorable to him, sculpting him into the much more confident wizard he presented today.
As the chamber buzzed with anticipation for the session to begin, Neville made his way over to where Harry was seated. While not hostile, he didn't exactly appear welcoming either.
Harry greeted him as he sat down.
"Hey, Neville. How have you been?" Harry asked, his voice friendly yet tinged with curiosity over Neville's reserved manner.
Neville shifted slightly, his eyes briefly meeting Harry's before looking away. "I'm alright," he responded quietly, his voice carrying an undercurrent of something unspoken, a subtle tension that had never been present between the two wizards before.
Harry, sensing the change, probed further, hoping to pull him out of his shell. Maybe he was just nervous; Harry certainly didn't enjoy being the center of attention for this large and intimidating assembly. "Are you taking over the family seat from your grandmother?"
This time, Neville met Harry's gaze squarely, his expression resolute. "Yes, she was only holding it until I was ready since my father and mother were unable to carry it. She always said it would be mine once I felt prepared to take on the responsibility. And with everything that's happening, with what the Dark forces are attempting... I think it's time for me to step up."
The earnestness in Neville's voice was palpable, but so was a subtle edge, perhaps unintended, that seemed to hover in the air. He almost sounded accusatory.
Harry felt a twinge of something akin to defensiveness and surprise stir within him. "I see," he replied, carefully measuring his words. "It's a big step. I'm glad you're ready for it."
Harry could sense his friend's nervousness, unsure whether it stemmed from the imminent vote or their current conversation. Nonetheless, it marked a significant departure from the boy once paralyzed by anxiety. "It's important to stand for what's right, especially now," Neville emphasized, his voice carrying an undercurrent of significance. His words seemed to convey more than just a statement—as if they hinted at a not-so-veiled challenge against Harry's own recent actions.
Harry nodded, uneasy. "Yeah, I think you're right. We have to take action. It's important that we each do what we can, in our own way, to protect what needs to be protected."
Neville appeared poised to respond, his gaze intensifying, but just then, Percy initiated the session, cutting off any further dialogue between the two young wizards.
Percy's unmistakably pompous voice filled the chamber, announcing that the first item on the agenda was the initiation vote, followed by a list of legislative items that, to Harry, sounded tediously uninteresting. Percy methodically detailed the forthcoming procedures, his tone imbued with the same self-importance that often characterized his public speaking.
The proceedings began with Neville, adhering to what was apparently an alphabetical order. Percy formally stated that Madame Longbottom intended to pass her vote to Neville Longbottom, and he requested that Neville present the official documents, certified by Goblin signatures, verifying his heirship and rightful succession to the Longbottom seat.
Neville, with a noticeable tremble, walked forward to present the scroll to Minister Bones and Lord Ambrose. Despite his visible nerves, his actions were steady and determined.
Minister Bones examined the documents, quickly confirming their validity and orderliness before the assembly. She then prompted Percy to proceed with the vote, while Neville positioned himself at the podium in the center, awaiting the collective decision of his now peers.
Unsurprisingly, the vote passed with ease. Voldemort had mentioned to Harry that unless entangled in scandal, it was uncommon for anyone to challenge the transition of seats within families. Challenging such transitions could jeopardize the fragile equilibrium that the Wizengamot maintained. Despite the perpetual undercurrent of tension between the Light and Dark factions, there was a unanimous understanding that maintaining power within the established confines of the Wizengamot was paramount. Thus, no one wished to take actions that might disrupt this balance.
Neville, visibly relieved, promptly took his place beside his grandmother, whose eyes brimmed with pride. Harry, observing the scene, felt a surge of emotion; it was evident that the elderly woman saw echoes of her son in Neville as he settled into the Longbottom family's designated seats.
Harry's moment of reflection was abruptly interrupted as Percy called his name, signaling it was his turn to reclaim the Potter seat. He caught Minister Bones's intense gaze fixed on him before shifting his attention to Voldemort, who appeared eager. The intensity in Voldemort's crimson eyes mirrored the passion in Madame Longbottom's, yet the sentiment was starkly different. Whereas her expression radiated love, Voldemort's carried a sense of possessiveness, a recognition not of familial bond but of the strategic advantage Harry represented, the value Harry added to Voldemort's consolidation of power. It wasn't a new look, and Harry would be lying if he said he didn't crave the approval and pride he often now found in the crimson eyes, but it felt profoundly different after watching Neville's own encounter.
Harry rose, smoothly extracting the goblin-signed scroll from his cloak. "I am petitioning for two seats that rightfully belong to me," he announced, his voice resonating through the chamber. His declaration sent a palpable ripple of surprise through the assembly. Dumbledore leaned forward, his eyes sharp and focused, evidently as surprised by this turn of events as everyone else. Figures like the Weasleys, McGonagall, Dedalus Diggle, Elphias Doge, and Kingsley Shacklebolt all displayed varying degrees of astonishment. Harry deliberately avoided Mr. Diggory's gaze, who had been sending him glaring looks since his arrival.
Meanwhile, those aligned with the dark faction subtly shifted, their reactions more measured as they glanced hesitantly at their Lord, only to find Voldemort wearing a distinctly pleased smile, a rare adornment on his typically impassive face.
"I'm sorry, what?" Percy blurted in confusion and no small amount of annoyance with being caught off guard… Again.
"Please come forward, Lord Potter," Minister Bones invited, extending her hand with a composed demeanor. Unlike the others, she did not seem surprised. He was relieved he had informed her beforehand, granting her a semblance of foreknowledge that subtly positioned her as a confidante of the Boy-Who-Lived, which is what he had hoped for. With Dumbledore no longer a feasible ally, Harry held a burgeoning hope that Minister Bones could represent for the Light what the Headmaster once might have been. That he could work with her to do what was best for all amidst the significantly shifting political landscape.
As Harry passed the scroll to her, Minister Bones studied it swiftly, her glance confirming the details she had been privy to beforehand. She then relayed the scroll to Lord Ambrose for further verification. Once satisfied, she addressed the assembly with a clear, authoritative voice, "Lord Potter, it appears, has been made the legal heir of the Black Legacy through blood adoption by Sirius Black. His documents are in order, affirming his claim."
This revelation triggered a tumultuous uproar across the chamber, sparking a cacophony of outrage from both the Light and Dark factions. Members from the Light side were visibly shaken, their expressions a mix of betrayal and disbelief, struggling to reconcile Harry's newfound association with the notorious Black legacy. Simultaneously, the Dark side erupted in a blend of shock and indignation, perturbed by the unexpected shift in power dynamics and the implications of Harry's dual legacies, that someone who came from such a light lineage would gain control of the Black vote.
"Silence!" Minister Bones commanded, her voice resonating powerfully through the chamber, a spark flashing from her wand to underscore her authority. "This circumstance is rare, yet it is not without precedent. As we speak, we have a member among us who holds multiple votes," she indicated, her gaze briefly turning towards Lord Slytherin. Voldemort appeared particularly pleased, evidently relishing the fact that he and his heir were set to be uniquely distinguished, enjoying a status elevated above all others.
"And while it's true that blood adoptions conducted without Ministry oversight are illegal, the wizard responsible is no longer with us, and Lord Potter has credibly assured me he neither consented to nor had prior knowledge of the ritual, which I am inclined to believe." Harry felt a wave of gratitude for the Minister's bold stance in his defense. "Therefore, unless anyone wishes to initiate a trial against Lord Potter for actions likely beyond his control— accusations that will be very challenging to substantiate—we have no grounds to contest the adoption. The voting will proceed as scheduled, and Lord Potter will be eligible for both the Potter and Black seats. Does anyone contest this?"
Her gaze methodically swept across the room, meticulously observing the varied reactions from each faction. The Light side, clearly stunned by the announcement, exhibited little surprise that Sirius Black might have engaged in such a defiant act, perhaps perceiving it as his final rebuke to a family he notoriously scorned. On the other hand, the Dark faction's members displayed a spectrum of emotions, ranging from disbelief to indignation, at the thought of Harry Potter claiming a seat traditionally held by the Dark. Yet, their reactions were somewhat moderated by Voldemort's clear pleasure at the developments, his satisfaction serving as a silent directive to his followers. Narcissa looked notably pale, while Lucius eyed Harry with a renewed sense of curiosity. Despite the undercurrents of shock and murmurs of dissent, there was no vocal opposition to the Minister's proclamation.
"Good," Minister Bones said, satisfied with the silence. She gestured to Percy to resume the proceedings.
Regaining his composure, Percy initiated the voting process. Harry, similar to Neville, was confirmed unanimously. However, his confirmation was set against a subtle chorus of murmurs and covert signs of disapproval. Once his standing was affirmed, he made his way to his designated seat. Unlike Neville, who sat with his grandmother and the Light, Harry walked to the opposite side of the room, acutely feeling the intensity of the assembly's gaze as he settled next to Voldemort, boldly marking his new role in this changing world.
"Well done," Voldemort praised with a subtle hiss, his voice barely reaching Harry's ears.
Harry nodded, relieved it was over. As the session progressed, it unfolded just as Voldemort had anticipated. He wasn't compelled to participate actively; instead, he took a step back, adopting the position of an observer. He sat through the discussions of various legislative proposals, most of which he found tediously dull and of little personal significance, allowing the drone of the ongoing debates to wash over him as he contemplated the implications of his newly affirmed positions. He'd done it, he'd officially taken both his seats, and could scarcely anticipate what that now meant for his life.
After sitting through the two-and-a-half-hour session, which proved to be as mind-numbing as Harry had anticipated, it finally concluded. As the members began to mingle, he found himself awkwardly isolated, torn between the expectation to stay and start gathering power and allies, and his reluctance to engage in conversations with either faction about his recent ascension as the Black Lord. Unexpectedly, it was Neville who made his way over to Harry, a rare determination visible in his eyes—a look Harry had seldom seen in him before.
"You're the Black Lord now," Neville stated, more as a fact than a question.
Harry nodded, unsettled by the intensity he saw in his peer's gaze.
"And you live with him, at Slytherin Manor, right?" Neville pressed, referring to Voldemort.
Harry gave another nod, seeing no reason not to acknowledge the well-known fact of his residence.
"Do you see her often?" Neville asked, his voice lower.
"Who?" Harry responded, his heart sinking as he anticipated the direction of the conversation.
"You know who," Neville accused, his tone heavy with unspoken implications.
Harry exhaled deeply. "Yes, sometimes. She doesn't stay there, though," he admitted, feeling the weight of Neville's expectations bearing down on him.
"And you're okay with that, with her being free?" Neville's question was loaded, his growing anger becoming increasingly apparent.
"No," Harry replied honestly. He understood what Neville was insinuating but also recognized his own limitations in the matter. That he was now receiving weekly lessons from her would infuriate Neville if that ever got out.
"She killed my godfather," Harry reminded him softly, his voice laced with pain. "My feelings towards her haven't changed—I despise her."
Neville's expression hardened. "You have a weird way of showing it," he challenged, his tone cold, accusing.
Harry's gaze followed Neville's to where the Dark Lord was engaging with various members of the dark and neutral factions. The tone of Neville's accusations did not sit well with him. "If you've got something to say, just say it," Harry responded, his patience wearing thin.
Neville's glare intensified. "I don't understand how you can stand beside the wizard who killed your parents and choose his side. Or how you can tolerate being around the witch who tortured both of my parents to madness. They destroyed our lives." His voice had gone quiet, broken. Harry could feel his magic pulsing in frantic spurts of raw emotions. "Yet here you are, sitting beside He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named as if none of it ever happened. Taking on the Black Lordship where you could actually do something to punish her, yet I doubt that you will."
"My actions have always been to stop the violence," Harry retorted, his voice firm. "I'm not pretending all of that never happened, but I'm choosing my battles to instead stop a war."
"And do you really think you can stop him?" Neville asked, hurt skepticism lacing his words. "The war hasn't started yet," Harry pointed out.
"But you're aiding him! This is still war, even if you've helped convince everyone otherwise. You're just as guilty as he is," Neville accused. "Look around. Maybe no one is dying, but the dark is winning. Do you not see it?"
Harry's fists clenched, his frustration mounting. How could Neville insinuate such a thing? Harry, more than anyone, knew the true extent of Voldemort's malevolence, the truth of the Dark Lord's power. "You can't begin to comprehend what we're truly facing here," he all but hissed, his voice low, intense. "You don't understand how bad things can still become. You think I'm ignorant of who he is, of what he's capable of? I've lived with him; I've seen his power firsthand. I've felt it…"
He fought off the feelings of his initial capture, the torture, the pain, the helplessness. He never wanted to go back to that. He never wanted anyone else to have to endure that. "Dumbledore hid from everyone how strong he is. The dark magic he possesses exceeds anything you could have ever imagined. And he left it up to me, a mediocre and weak teenager, to try and stop him, to stop this war. Well, guess what? I did. I've made more sacrifices in the past year than any of you could ever know. This isn't a war. Trust me. If a second war breaks out, you will know. It'll be terrible."
He glanced around, a bitter laugh escaping, but he made sure to keep his voice low and his face a mask that did not reflect his words or feelings, aware that there were inquisitive eyes on their two newest members. "This isn't war," he repeated. "This is political scheming and maneuvering. And if the Light can't put up any opposition within the confines of the laws that govern us, maybe they deserve to lose."
"How can you say that," Neville gasped. "How can you believe that?"
"Because I'd prefer a battle within the walls of this Ministry over the bloodshed on our streets if the outcome is inevitably the same. Look around, Neville. In an actual war, who do you think will come out on top? It's not Dumbledore; he had his opportunity and accomplished nothing. All he did was make a whole bunch of kids targets to a Dark Lord who wouldn't hesitate to kill or torture any of them to get his way." Harry's words were heavy with grim reality, causing Neville to physically recoil.
"So, you'll just stand by him, help him succeed? You've given up and surrendered to the wizard who killed your parents." Neville challenged, it was clear Harry's words had shaken him, but he wasn't ready to stand down, to cast aside the foolish hopes and beliefs that had been indoctrinated in him since his birth. Harry couldn't blame him; he'd felt that way once too.
"I haven't surrendered. I'm more dedicated to this than you can possibly know," Harry insisted, his own irritation increasing.
"It doesn't look that way from here," Neville shot back, there were tears forming in his eyes. He looked hurt, betrayed.
Harry suddenly found himself at a loss for words, stung by Neville's reproach. The fact that these doubts came from Neville made it even harder to bear.
"I'm doing this to protect everyone," Harry finally said, his resolve firm. "And you think you can control him?" Neville pressed.
"No," Harry admitted, knowing the truth of his limitations. "But I'm his heir. He wants me by his side, and I'm ensuring I remain there on my own terms. I'm at least in a position to influence him, to influence this war. Better so than the Light ever allowed me to be."
Neville's expression hardened. "Seems like he's getting more out of it than you are."
Harry wasn't sure what to say, struggling to articulate the complexity of his situation, beyond aware that before Voldemort's resurgence, he had been powerless, unprepared, a potential martyr in the making, not the empowered wizard he had become through his uneasy submission to the Dark. "You may choose to believe me or not," Harry said, weariness creeping into his voice, "but you know me, Neville. You know my character. I hope you can trust that I'm doing this for the right reasons—to stop the unthinkable from happening."
"And what will you do when he commits the unthinkable?" Neville asked, his tone desperate for understanding. A tear fell from his eye. It took everything in Harry's power to maintain his own mask, to appear unaffected by the accusations being flung at him by one of his friends who he thought would always believe in him.
"I'll do everything within my power to stop it from happening," Harry affirmed. Neville shook his head, dropping his gaze. "And if you can't?" he whispered.
"I have to believe that day won't come."
Neville's voice softened, tinged with a personal plea. "Harry, you've always stood by me, taught me, helped me be strong. I can't bear to watch you walk this path. You know the horrors he's capable of—your parents, mine. How can you stand with him? Aren't you betraying their memory, betraying me?"
Harry shook his head, fighting off his own doubts. "I'm not becoming him. I'm stronger now, making choices for myself. You might not agree with them, but what would you have me do? Pursuing vengeance blindly and getting myself killed wont help anyone." Harry glanced around pointedly at the room they stood in, at the assembly both had just been voted into. "Both of us are fighting this to the best of our abilities."
"It's not the same, Harry. We're not the same, not in this," Neville countered, his gaze intense.
"Only time will tell," Harry responded softly. "I've never wanted you as an adversary, Neville. I've always seen you as a friend."
Neville's response was heavy with emotion, his eyes still glistening. "I used to think the same," he whispered, his words laden with a sense of loss before he turned and walked away, leaving Harry alone with the sudden, sorrowful gap that had opened between them.
Feeling a hand rest upon his shoulder, Harry recognized the distinct aura of magic enveloping him and instinctively knew who it was.
"Your friend seemed less than pleased," came the observation, smooth and calculated.
Harry gave a noncommittal shrug, striving to maintain a composed exterior, though internally he was grappling with the sting of the confrontation. "He might not be my friend anymore."
The pressure on Harry's shoulder became more pronounced, a firm, insistent squeeze guiding him to turn and face Voldemort. As he complied, Harry was acutely aware of the many eyes fixed on them, observing the interaction between the newly established Lord Potter-Black and the enigmatic Lord Slytherin.
"You seem less upset than I would have anticipated," the Dark Lord Voldemort remarked, switching to Parseltongue, causing an involuntary shiver among the onlookers straining to overhear.
"Did you hear what he said?" Harry inquired, his concern for Neville surfacing, fretful that Neville's harsh words about the Dark Lord could endanger him.
Voldemort smiled knowingly as if Harry's worry was predictable. "I didn't have to hear it. Despite your improved masks, Longbottom's emotions are transparent. His constant glares at me were quite telling."
"Bellatrix destroyed his family; his parents are both in St. Mungos. He has every right to be furious, to despise what's happening."
Voldemort's gaze narrowed slightly. He looked thoughtful. "Andyet, you don't share his intensity regarding past grievances."
Emerald eyes locked with crimson. "Sometimes, it's necessary to release the past to focus on future."
Lord Slytherin smiled. "Well said, my heir."
Harry blinked, suddenly realizing what they were doing, the show the Dark Lord had masterfully orchestrated. Lord Slytherin had just engaged Harry Potter in an extended, seemingly congenial dialogue in a tongue exclusive to them, under the watchful eyes of the wizarding elite, right after Neville's heated confrontation.
Surveying the room, Harry felt a weariness settle over him. "You turn everything to your advantage, don't you?" he remarked, his hissed tone more resigned than accusatory.
Voldemort's hand returned to his shoulder, mimicking a warm gesture. "Would you expect any less from me?"
Instead of answering, Harry glanced to the door. "I'm tired of being on display. I'd like to leave now," he said, wanting more than anything to take a step back, for Voldemort to remove his hand. This wasn't like their personal training when the Dark Lord would approach him genuinely pleased with a feat of magic. This was manipulation; he was being exploited.
"You're upset," the Dark Lord observed, his voice carrying a hint of intrigue.
"You're using me."
"I use everyone," Voldemort responded unapologetically.
At Harry's slight shrug, Voldemort finally retracted his hand, his gaze sharpening, as if trying to decipher Harry's abrupt change in demeanor.
"It doesn't mean they enjoy it," Harry stated, taking a step backward, eager to put physical and emotional distance between them. "As previously planned, I should depart if I'm to complete my errands on time," he continued, reverting to English, aware that Voldemort would avoid causing a scene in front of the Wizengamot, provided his pride remained intact. Offering a brief nod in respect as a sign of departure, Harry turned to leave, fighting the weary resignation that coursed through him. He was nearly at the door, hoping for an uneventful exit, when another voice halted him.
"Harry, my boy." The familiar tone made Harry inwardly sigh, his expression carefully neutral.
He turned to see Dumbledore approaching, his demeanor seemingly open but with an outstretched hand aiming for the same shoulder Voldemort had just clasped. Harry instinctively stepped back, his tolerance for being manipulated reaching its limit.
Dumbledore's eyes, tinged with a hint of sadness, followed Harry's retreat, his hand falling to his side.
Harry's scowl was involuntary, recognizing the displayed hurt as yet another layer of performance.
"We have nothing to discuss," Harry declared, taking another step back.
"I think, on the contrary, we have quite a bit to discuss," Dumbledore countered, his tone calm yet insistent. "My congratulations on your new seats, a truly unexpected development. I understand the responsibilities now placed upon you are immense, challenging for anyone.
Of course my experience and any knowledge you may need is at your disposal. Having such a short time to prepare for your Lordship, I'm sure you will have questions."
Harry's frown deepened as he shifted his gaze from Dumbledore to Voldemort, who remained observant from a distance. Voldemort's eyes held a distinct flash of annoyance, clearly displeased with Dumbledore's public overture seeking to undermine his tutelage of Harry.
Harry found himself agreeing with the Dark Lord's ire. This overt offer of assistance not only challenged Voldemort's mentorship but also insinuated Harry's incapacity to handle his responsibilities, a notion that irked Harry considerably.
"You had fifteen years to guide me," Harry said, letting his voice carry, not worried who heard. "You've never tried before to help me understand my Lordship. I don't see a reason for that to change now." He paused for effect, meeting intent crimson eyes. He was mad at Voldemort, but in this, he was angrier at Dumbledore. If not for the Headmaster, he never would have been in this position, under the Dark Lord's control. "I already have an instructor, unless you've forgotten. I am Lord Slytherin's heir, and he has thoroughly prepared me for this role."
"Harry…" Dumbledore attempted to interject, a hint of conciliation in his voice.
"It's Lord Potter now," Harry corrected him sharply, taking another step back. He didn't take any joy in the admonishment, but he would not be taken advantage of by the Light. "I have pressing matters to attend to, so I must excuse myself."
He didn't have a plan; he just knew he needed to leave. And he wasn't ready to return to Slytherin Manor, not wanting to be cornered by Voldemort after his abrupt departure, where he'd only shown enough courtesy to the Dark Lord to likely avoid being tortured, but knowing he probably would not be pleased. With limited options available, he found himself apparating to Malfoy Manor.
"Is Draco in?" he asked the house elf who met him at the entrance.
Draco appeared shortly after, his expression etched with concern. "Is everything alright? I thought you'd still be at the session," he inquired, his gaze searching Harry's face for signs of distress.
Harry exhaled, the day's events weighing heavily on him. "It went... well, I suppose. But Dumbledore and Voldemort were both in full form, each trying to outmaneuver the other, using me as their chess piece," he admitted, his voice laden with frustration. He consciously chose not to mention his altercation with Neville; it was just too much to unpack at the moment. "I just needed to escape, so I ended up here."
Draco nodded, his expression reflecting sincere sympathy and understanding. After a momentary pause, he offered a sly smirk. "Do you want to go get a drink?"
Harry tilted his head, curious. "Where?" He had never really gone out for drinks before.
"I know the perfect spot. It's discreet, accustomed to accommodating the right kind of clientele," Draco assured him, his tone suggesting a blend of exclusivity and secrecy. His chest puffed slightly at the boast, that of course he would be able to take Harry to such a place.
Harry felt a moment of hesitation but quickly dismissed it. Now that he was of age and officially a Lord, indulging in a simple night out hardly constituted as a direct defiance of any of Voldemort's directives. Besides, he would be with Draco, so he wasn't even going out alone. And it was highly unlikely anyone would anticipate that Harry Potter would be out enjoying drinks at an upscale bar frequented by the pure-blood elite. What could go wrong?
"Sure," he responded, a spontaneous grin spreading across his face. "Let's do it."
The night turned out to be unexpectedly enjoyable. Draco led Harry to an opulent bar, a place radiating a sense of exclusivity and refined taste. It was evident that Draco was well- acquainted with the establishment—the owner greeted them with immediate recognition, ensuring they received VIP treatment. Draco, exuding a comfortable confidence, navigated the menu with an almost boastful knowledge, eloquently detailing the rare and exquisite liquors and the sophisticated ingredients that enhanced each drink. In the moment, Harry was starkly reminded once again how different their upbringings had been.
The bar allowed Harry to taste test a variety of the exceptional drinks, affording him time to savor small sips of different concoctions before deciding on his choice. Each beverage was presented with a theatrical flair, adorned with vibrant colors and embellished with enchanting effects like swirling smoke or effervescent bubbles, transforming the act of drinking into a captivating spectacle. The drinks were not just visually stunning but also gastronomically satisfying, introducing Harry to a spectrum of sophisticated flavors previously beyond his experience. The night was an adventure in taste and elegance, a welcome departure from the ordinary, offering Harry a glimpse into a world of luxurious indulgence.
Despite the temptation presented by the intriguing menu, Harry found himself exercising a restraint he hadn't always managed in the past. He limited himself to just two drinks, a decision that filled him with a small sense of pride. He was experiencing a warm, pleasant flush from the alcohol but remained far from the level of inebriation he'd encountered on previous occasions. It seemed he was finally learning the art of moderation, savoring the experience without overindulgence. The evening was a perfect blend of relaxation and revelry, offering Harry a much-needed respite and a moment of genuine enjoyment. It was exactly what he'd needed.
"Come on, Harry, we should head back. It's getting late, and even Lord Potter-Black shouldn't risk missing a curfew, especially with the Dark Lord possibly waiting," Draco suggested. He said it was a smile, but there was a hint of very real concern in his voice. It was clear he didn't want to do anything that would inadvertently make the Dark Lord angrier with him.
Harry agreed with a nod, hoping that Voldemort wasn't indeed waiting for him. He made a mental note to request a sobering potion from Tipsy as soon as he got back to ensure he was fully alert for any potential interactions.
They stepped out into the refreshing coolness of the evening, a pleasant contrast to the day's hot August sun, now replaced by a comfortably mild night.
The raven-haired wizard paused outside, glancing at the blond thoughtfully. "Draco, thank you," Harry expressed, his gratitude genuine.
"Don't get all sentimental on me, Potter," Draco quipped, his gaze shifting away in a rare display of awkwardness.
"No, seriously," Harry insisted, feeling the warmth in his cheeks, partly from the residual effects of the drinks. "I don't think I could have navigated all this without your help. It's all so surreal – taking up my Lordship, the Dark side… Everything. I couldn't have done it without you."
Draco seemed to squirm under the weight of the heartfelt acknowledgment, his silvery eyes darting around, avoiding Harry's earnest gaze. "You're drunk," he dismissed, trying to deflect the sincerity of the moment.
Harry, sensing Draco's discomfort, decided not to press further, regretting that he might have made his friend uneasy. "Maybe," he conceded, wanting to keep the mood light. "But I'm glad I didn't have to go it alone. You should come by more often; I think it's safe. You being invited to my birthday has to count for something, right?"
Draco gave a noncommittal nod, unwilling to commit to anything that would put him in the proxy of the Dark Lord whom he had betrayed. "Yeah, maybe. We'll see. You're using your portkey, aren't you?" he asked, giving Harry a pointed look, clearly doubting Harry's capacity to apparate safely in his current state.
"Yes," Harry confirmed, reaching for the ruby stone pendant he always kept around his neck. Draco, reassured, activated his own portkey and, with a nod, vanished.
Smiling slightly at the blonde's awkwardness, Harry reached under his shirt, fingers closing around his own portkey, preparing to use it to return to Slytherin Manor, the place that he was beginning to think of more and more as his home.
"Potter, fancy seeing you here."
At the sound of the gruff voice, Harry spun around. He immediately sensed a shift in the magical atmosphere, reminiscent of what he had experienced that day in Diagon Alley—a net of magic unfurling through the air, casting anti-portkey and apparition wards.
"Shit," Harry muttered under his breath, his heart sinking as he turned to face the source of the voice. The last thing he wanted at that moment was an encounter with Mad-Eye Moody.
AN: Muhahahaha Reviews are welcome!