...to see yourself become the villain:
The morning after the ritual, Harry found himself seated on one of the plush couches in the library, bathed in the soft glow of the morning sun filtering through the tall windows. The warm patterns it cast on the ancient tomes lining the shelves created an atmosphere of quiet contemplation. Voldemort worked silently at his desk, a familiar sight to Harry by now.
Impatient to understand exactly what the ritual had done to him, Harry had awoken at dawn, his mind buzzing with possibilities. He was ready to experiment, fueled by curiosity and excitement. Voldemort had given him a couple of books to read on magical core manipulation as well as ward breaking, which Harry was slowly making his way through.
Although he could feel the change within himself, the Dark Lord warned that he still needed to master the basics. Jumping straight in without a proper foundation would be dangerous.
Determined to show the Dark Lord that he wasn't as reckless as perceived, Harry grudgingly committed himself to the proper research before he began experimenting.
Alongside his excitement about the ritual's effects lurked the shadow of having killed so many vampires. Reflecting on it, Harry wasn't sure how he felt. They had been ferocious, attacking him, his friends, and others. He didn't exactly regret his actions; there seemed to be no alternative that could have stopped them. What troubled him most was his almost apathetic response, bordering on feeling justified. It frightened him that taking lives might not haunt him as it should. Even using Unforgivable Curses on rats had troubled his sleep for days, yet no dreams had haunted him since the battle.
His response confused him, even scared him. He longed for someone to confide in but knew Voldemort was out of the question. He doubted Hermione and Ron could understand or refrain from judgment, and Draco likely could not handle it. This left him adrift, grappling with these newfound emotions and unsure how to handle them. Did his actions make him a monster, or was he a hero for helping those who could not defend himself? Was it possible to be both?
As he turned another page, Tipsy appeared, holding a silver tray aloft. On it rested two envelopes, one she offered to Voldemort before bouncing over to Harry, offering him the remaining elegant envelope bearing the title "Lord Potter-Black" in shimmering purple ink and the Ministry seal.
Harry took the envelope curiously, opening it, aware of Voldemort doing the same with his own.
"We've been summoned to an emergency Wizengamot session," Harry read aloud, his voice echoing in the quiet library, disrupting the serene atmosphere.
"Likely a result of the vampire attack," Voldemort acknowledged, seeming unsurprised.
Harry reread the missive again, forcing himself to fight the bubbling concern forming within him. It appeared ordinary, almost generic, but that meant little; he had zero trust in the ministry. "Do you think I'm in trouble for the magic I used?" He asked, glancing up.
Crimson met emerald. "It's unlikely," Voldemort reassured mildly; his voice was calm, as if the fear held no true weight. "If you were under investigation, you would have been notified by the Ministry of Law Enforcement, not through a formal session summoning. Do not overlook that you're a lord to two noble houses, still a symbol of the light in many ways, in addition to being my heir; the Ministry will no longer employ the same abuse of power they grew accustomed to when you were a child dependent on the Light. I would never allow it."
Harry frowned, skeptical. The Ministry had never been cautious about slandering him before, and this time he'd actually done something dark which he pointed out.
Voldemort arched an elegant, sardonic eyebrow, a subtle smirk playing on his lips. "Circumstances have changed," he stated, his confidence bordering on arrogance. "Any questionable magic you used was clearly in defense of a village that would have been overcome without your intervention. And they can't prove it was dark magic without a formal inquiry which I won't tolerate. I'm sure those you saved in Diagon Alley have been singing your praises while raising hell at the Ministry since no one came to your rescue them besides us. They would be fools to try and use this event as a way to discredit you. It would backfire spectacularly in their faces."
The Dark Lord shook his head, dismissing his heir's concerns. "No, I suspect this session is to try and discern why the attack occurred and agree on actions to prevent them in the future."
The rationale made sense. And even if the Dark Lord wasn't correct in his assessment, Harry did find some relief knowing that the Dark Lord would respond unkindly to any attacks on his heir. The same fear that had made them accept Voldemort in their presence uncontested likely now extended to the heir he clearly held in regard.
"Do they know about your history with the vampires, that this is in response to the first war?" Harry asked, wondering if the vampire kept attacking, if that would impact the Dark Lord's ability to gain power. He'd been tolerated out of fear of the murders and violence he would unleash if not accommodated, if that same terror still occurred, then that had the potential to significantly hinder Voldemort's progress with gaining control. Which, Harry suspected, was exactly what the vampires were trying to do.
"It is unlikely," Voldemort replied, still appearing indifferent. "Relations between wizarding kind and the children of the dark have always been turbulent. I doubt they have the connections in place to gather that type of intelligence."
"Will you tell them?" Harry asked. If no one knew why they were attacking or what they wanted, then it would be all the harder to stop the attacks.
Voldemort gave him an entertained look, a faint gleam of maliciousness shining in his crimson eyes as he regarded the question with a hint of fondness. "Of course not, my little lion. It is the Ministry's responsibility to protect wizarding kind," he reiterated, his tone tinged with subtle amusement. "As I said last night, we will use their failure to our advantage."
S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S
The time to attend the emergency session arrived swiftly. Harry entered the Wizengamot chambers with Voldemort, the Dark Lord's imposing presence casting a conspicuous shadow that rippled through the gathered wizards and witches like a wave of apprehension. The mood was tenser than in previous sessions; it was clear the attack had shaken those present.
As they stepped inside, the two separated. Voldemort assumed the demeanor of a dark lord masquerading as a law-abiding lord, while Harry navigated the unfamiliar territory of adulthood, awkwardly fending for himself until the session commenced. The Potter Lord couldn't help but notice the wary and fearful glances cast their way, likely wondering if the Dark Lord had played a role in the attack. While Harry couldn't blame their skepticism, the fact that he had been one of the ones attacked made their reactions all the more pitiful; he was beginning to see why the Dark Lord regarded them as sheep, spooked by anything and unable to discern real dangers for themselves.
His mood soured further when the first member of the Wizengamot to notice the Potter-Black heir descended upon him like a vulture spotting fresh prey. "Headmaster," Harry greeted Dumbledore with a forced polite nod, resigned to the fact that a graceful escape was out of the question in this setting. His heart further sank as he sensed movement behind him, turning to see Mr. and Mrs. Weasley approaching as well.
"Harry, it's good to see you," Dumbledore greeted, his expression more serious than Harry was accustomed to seeing. The amiable grandfatherly demeanor had vanished; it was evident that something weighed heavily on the Headmaster's mind. "There's been a lot happening, with the recent attack and another disappearance that's deeply concerning. I was hoping you could shed some light, as I've heard you may have insights into both. As you may know, we've lost communication with Alastor recently..."
Not expecting the Headmaster to be so candid in broaching not just one, but two sensitive topics, Harry found it almost a relief when the two Weasleys arrived mid-question.
Dumbledore's gaze narrowed at their loud interruption, but he managed to force an amiable smile.
"Harry, dear," Mrs. Weasley gushed, her eyes alight with maternal warmth as she moved in for an embrace. Harry subtly stepped back, a silent but clear indication he didn't want her hugging him. He appreciated all Molly had ever done for him but knew it would be a bad look to have her and other members of the Light gushing over him in such a setting. For both the Dark Lord's sake and his own appearance, he wanted to be seen as more than a child.
"It's good to see you, Mrs. Weasley," he said softly, unable to ignore the pained expression in her eyes caused by his avoidance.
"Harry," Mr. Weasley greeted, his voice tinged with strain as he observed the exchange. "Or should I call you Lord Potter-Black now?" There was a hint of reproach in his tone.
"If it's just us talking, Harry is fine," Harry replied, regretting how much of a pureblood he sounded to his own ears but knowing that boundaries were necessary if he did not want to be taken advantage of. "But once the assembly gathers, I would appreciate being referred to by my title, as is customary." Mr. Weasley frowned. Molly sniffed, holding back tears. Harry felt a pang of guilt for making them feel that way while also resenting the way they made him feel, that he had to fear their actions as manipulation even if he suspected the Weasley's didn't fully understand the subtle undertones going on around them.
"Harry, your eyes…" Dumbledore's voice trailed off as he stepped closer, genuine worry suddenly etched across his elderly face as he finally got a good look at Harry. Harry remained silent, offering no direct answer. The headmaster's frown deepened. "My boy, please tell me you haven't…?"
Already weary of the encounter, Harry interrupted, "I'm certain you aren't about to accuse me of something unlawful without proof here in the Wizengamot chambers, of all places." He detested this dance with Dumbledore, with the Light. The elderly wizard had not written to him once and had only approached him in highly visible locations like the Ministry. Harry's tolerance for what he was willing to accept had rapidly decreased now that he had a clearer impression of who Dumbledore was and what he wanted from him.
Continuing, Harry shook his head. "I will not allow my reputation to be insulted in such a way." He knew the retort mirrored what Voldemort had said when Dumbledore accused them of the blood adoption ritual, a similarity not lost on Dumbledore, evident in his disappointed expression.
"Harry, what is becoming of you?" Dumbledore asked softly, though audibly enough for eavesdroppers to catch if they cared to.
"Only what you tried to prevent—that I have become my own man, one powerful and confident enough to save those people during the attack. I didn't see anyone from the Order helping out." Harry's voice was deliberate, louder. He was fully aware that every conversation in these politically charged halls was susceptible to scheming and manipulation, as he was certain was Dumbledore's intent when inferring about his eyes. Fair was only fair; the headmaster had approached him after all.
He was saved from hearing Dumbledore's response as Lucius appeared by his side. He'd never imagined a world where Lord Malfoy's interruptions would be welcomed, yet here he was. "I hate to break up this gathering, but Lord Potter, your presence is requested by Lord Ambrose, who would like a word before the session begins."
Relieved, Harry glanced back at Dumbledore and the Weasleys. He dipped his head fractionally in parting and eagerly left with the platinum-haired Malfoy patriarch. "What does he want to discuss?" Harry asked softly as they began walking in the opposite direction of the room, heading toward where Lord Ambrose was already in deep discussion with Voldemort, who looked every bit the regal Slytherin Lord he had always aspired to be.
"Nothing," Lucius murmured, a faint twitch of amusement playing at the corner of his lips. "I just suspected you didn't wish to spend your time before the session being hounded by the likes of them."
Harry let out a muted laugh. "Ever observant," he conceded, willing to offer a slight compliment to the proud wizard who had saved him from what could have been an uncomfortable conversation with Dumbledore about his new nightly hobbies of late.
"It seemed timely," Lucius agreed, slowing his pace slightly as he glanced curiously at Harry. He lowered his voice and leaned in, ensuring their conversation remained private. "Though I, too, find myself curious about your recent physical changes… One can almost sense the difference in you."
Harry had wondered how his magic had changed, how others might perceive it. Internally it felt different, not necessarily darker, but more eager to be used, his senses heightened.
Detecting magic and picking up on elemental impressions felt like a newfound innate sense to him. He wasn't all that surprised if others could sense the change as well. "I have been learning, Lord Malfoy, as would be expected from one apprenticed to Lord Slytherin," Harry replied, a mischievous glint in his eye.
"So, it would seem," Lucius agreed, his words carrying a deeper meaning beyond the ritual Harry had undergone.
As they approached Lord Ambrose and the Dark Lord, Harry turned to Lucius expectantly since he had orchestrated this interruption. The blonde's amusement and curiosity faded as they neared his lord. He dipped his head submissively, avoiding the crimson eyes, clearly awaiting acknowledgment and entry into the conversation.
"Ah, Lucius, done playing nanny against the Light trying to steal my heir away," Voldemort remarked, his tone neither warm nor cold but carrying an undercurrent of authority directed at the Death Eater who was clearly still on the Dark Lord's bad side.
Harry wished the Dark Lord would overcome his prejudice towards the Malfoys. He felt this more for Draco's sake than Lucius', but in Voldemort's eyes, they were the same. "Dumbledore immediately began questioning me about my eyes," Harry hissed quietly to Voldemort, taking pity on the wizard. As expected, the Slytherin Lord immediately focused on his heir.
"He will need to be dealt with; his meddling is becoming an annoyance I grow weary of tolerating," Voldemort responded, his gaze flicking over Harry's shoulder toward the area where the Light faction was gathered. Harry wasn't sure what he'd expected, but he wasn't trying to get the old wizard murdered. Truthfully, he couldn't blame Dumbledore. He knew he would be concerned if Ron or Hermione suddenly engaged in Dark Rituals too; they were dangerous, and a sacrifice was no trivial matter. And yet… He couldn't deny the elation he felt at the power coursing through him, eagerly waiting to be mastered.
The session began, and as Voldemort had predicted, there was intense debate about the attack, its implications, and the necessary response. Lord Ambrose called upon Harry to recount his perspective; a scenario Voldemort had anticipated. Sticking to the plan, Harry shared the truth, omitting only the specific spells he used and avoiding any mention of the Killing Curse. The assembled crowd looked both terrified and in awe by his account.
"You poor boy," McGonagall had muttered, her shock evident. "To think that you, Mr. Weasley, and Miss Granger managed to fend off so many is simply a miracle."
"I have it on good authority that Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley were actually unable to defeat any of the vampires," Dumbledore interjected gravely, clearly laying the groundwork for questioning the nature of the magic Harry had employed.
Unwilling to tolerate the Headmaster's play on words, Voldemort's counter was brisk and unforgiving. "It's too bad you haven't taught anything of value at that school of yours," he said, making his first contribution to the session. "They are all the same age, are they not? Yet my heir managed to hold his own and aid others. Perhaps it's the school that needs reconsidering if it's to be of any real value. Fortunate, indeed, that Harry was there, given the apparent absence of any real defense."
"I think we all agree that it is fortunate Lord Potter was present that day," Minister Bones interjected, halting the escalating tensions between the two factions.
"Yes," Lord Ambrose concurred, "what Lord Potter accomplished is likely worthy of the Order of Merlin for exceptional bravery and a demonstration of magic that saved others."
Harry felt himself flushing, completely unprepared for such recognition and genuinely not desiring it. "I really don't think that's necessary," he murmured, feeling his face turn beet red as all eyes focused on him. "I just reacted; it was probably foolish of me. I could have died. I didn't really know how to fight them."
"Nonsense," Lucius interjected, offering a thin smile. "I think we're all in agreement that you prevented a massacre. That should be recognized."
Harry glanced at Voldemort, noting his amused expression. The Dark Lord likely anticipated, if not orchestrated, this recognition. Well, two could play this game, Harry thought. If Voldemort expected him to be an agreeable pawn in his power play, then Harry decided he would play along, but on his own terms.
"You really think that saving Diagon Alley from vampires is worthy of such acknowledgment?" Harry asked, hoping he was showing the right amount of reluctance but also pride and gratefulness that this distinguished setting would think him worthy.
Shockingly, Madame Longbottom spoke next. "We all know someone who lives there, who was affected by the deaths that occurred. You saved many lives," she stated softly. Next to her, Neville sat frozen, his eyes flitting incredulously between his grandmother and Harry. A murmur of agreement spread through the chamber; it was clear that the consensus was in favor of Harry's heroic actions, acknowledging his role in saving many, that they thought he was deserving of acknowledgment.
Neville's expression was the main reason Harry found his next words difficult to articulate, but he forced himself to say them: "If you think my actions worthy of this type of honor, then we must also recognize what Lord Slytherin did. I wasn't able to defeat them all. He was the one who came to my aid when the coven prince almost killed me; he ensured the vampires were defeated and that the attack ended when it did. I think he equally deserves the same recognition."
Harry locked eyes with Voldemort, whose crimson gaze widened in genuine surprise and unmistakable glee. The chambers erupted into pandemonium.
S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S
In the torch-lit corridors of Slytherin Manor, a tense anticipation filled the air. Remus Lupin navigated the passageways with hesitant steps, his eyes wary as he headed towards the receiving room where his former student and best friend's son awaited him. Tipsy, a house-elf dressed in Slytherin colors, had greeted him at the mansion's entrance, where the portkey he'd received from Harry had landed him. Quietly, she now guided Remus through the opulent halls, her large eyes glancing at him suspiciously from time to time.
The room he entered, with its ornate decorations and somber elegance, epitomized the ancient pureblooded manors steeped in tradition and power. Amidst this grandeur, Remus felt conspicuously out of place. Yet there, by the fireplace, sat Harry, his expression a complex weave of hope and apprehension as he met the werewolf's amber gaze.
"Harry," Remus greeted, still shocked but immensely grateful that Harry had accepted the meeting.
Remus had heard about the Wizengamot session, where Harry had allegedly been rather unfriendly with the Light to Molly's intense disappointment. Even more shockingly, Harry had recommended Voldemort to receive an Order of Merlin, which horrified all those assembled. What was even more surprising was that both Ambrose and Bones had agreed. Dumbledore had explained that Amelia only went along with it under the hope that it might encourage Voldemort to abide by wizarding laws. Remus had asked if anyone believed that was possible, sparking a heated argument within the Order.
It was evident that some members of the Light were starting to entertain the Dark rhetoric that Dumbledore was trying to provoke a war that Voldemort didn't actually want to start. Remus felt lost, unsure of what to believe after a year of Voldemort being openly back, yet no war had erupted. He was certain Harry played a significant role in preventing that.
Nevertheless, one thing remained certain: Remus would not forsake Harry, especially considering the sacrifice Harry had made to save Remus' life. He knew this might be his only opportunity to persuade the wizard he saw as a son to allow him to play a meaningful role in his life, and he was determined not to ruin this opportunity.
As they settled into plush chairs, Tipsy reappeared to serve them tea with practiced ease. Harry thanked her, and she blushed, babbling adoringly back at him, which made the young wizard blush in turn. She offered a timid smile before disappearing as quietly as she had arrived, leaving behind the clink of china on the saucer that amplified the awkward silence between the two.
Remus took the opportunity to really look at Harry, observing the changes that had occurred since their last encounter. It wasn't just the elegant robes that caught Remus's attention; Harry's bearing and demeanor seemed fundamentally transformed.
Harry, once a boy fraught with uncertainty and burdened by a destiny too large for his shoulders, now sat with an air of strength and confidence. His posture was relaxed yet alert, and there was an undeniable aura of power that seemed to emanate from him. Remus couldn't help but feel a surge of pride mixed with a twinge of unease. This was everything he had hoped for in James's son—a young man who was not only surviving but thriving, commanding respect in a way that James himself would have been proud of.
Yet, this transformation was double-edged. The environment of Voldemort's manor, the very ambiance he could feel with each breath, suggested influences and events in Harry's life that Remus could hardly fathom. The realization that Harry had grown into his potential in such a place and under such circumstances was both heartening and disconcerting. The quiet moment stretched between them, filled with Remus's mixed emotions of admiration, concern, and a lingering sense of loss for the time and experiences they had not shared.
Breaking the silence, Remus asked softly, "How have you been, Harry?" His voice was gentle, hoping the question wouldn't be too probing and cause Harry to regret the meeting. He watched Harry closely, searching for signs of the boy he once knew in the young, powerful man before him.
Harry, fingers wrapped around his teacup, hesitated before replying. The warmth from the tea did not seem to be enough to ward off the pressure they both so easily felt. "I'm well," he finally said, his voice low. He avoided Remus's gaze as if fearing the conversation that might unfold.
After a moment's pause, Harry added, "Can we... can we avoid any tough topics today?" His green eyes, now discretely glowing with an unfamiliar intensity that Dumbledore had suspected was the result of a dark ritual, met Remus's with a vulnerability he wasn't sure would still be present in a wizard groomed to be the Dark Lord's heir. "I'm just... I'm afraid I'll lose you if we touch on something you'll find unforgivable. I know it's unfair of me to ask..." He trailed off, his words revealing an earnest hope was impossible to ignore. The fact that he was willing to voice these concerns spoke volumes.
Remus, deeply moved, felt a pang of sadness, recognizing the profound chasm that had developed between them. He nodded slowly, setting his cup down, his voice imbued with a sorrow he could not disguise. "Of course, Harry," he assured, "we don't have to discuss anything you don't want to. I just want to be here for you. You won't scare me away. I promise."
Harry's emerald eyes sharpened, fixing on him. "Don't make promises you can't keep," he murmured, his tone so mature and weary that Remus felt a twinge of longing for the young teenager Harry once was.
Remus leaned forward slightly, his expression earnest. "Harry, I've faced dark creatures, survived full moons, and lived through a war. I think I can handle a conversation with someone who's practically family," Remus said, trying to inject a note of levity into the somber mood. "I know you've changed, and I can't pretend to understand everything you've been through, but I want to try. How about we start with something simple? Tell me about your day-to-day life now; what's it like living here? Only share what you want."
Harry studied Remus for a moment, seemingly weighing his words. "Life here is... different," he began cautiously, his eyes flicking to the shadows as if half-expecting them to betray his confidences. "There's a structure and a set of expectations I never had at Hogwarts. I'm learning a lot, not just about magic, but about politics, alliances, even history from a perspective I'd never considered."
Remus nodded, absorbing the information. "It sounds like you're getting an education far beyond the typical curriculum. Do you enjoy it?"
"There are aspects I find... enlightening," Harry admitted, his voice carrying a hint of unexpected wonder. A small smile momentarily softened his guarded expression. Remus mirrored the smile, offering an encouraging nod to continue.
"What's been the most enlightening?" Remus prodded gently; his curiosity genuine. "What have you enjoyed learning the most in the past year?" Harry's initial hesitance seemed to ebb as he delved into his experiences, and Remus could see some of the young man's learned wariness start to dissipate.
As Harry spoke, it became apparent to Remus that he was only being allowed glimpses into a vast, hidden world. Harry's enthusiasm shone when he discussed certain magical theories and practices, his eyes lighting up in a way that reminded Remus of a younger, more carefree Harry. It was clear that Harry had not only found subjects that captivated him but had also excelled in mastering them, showcasing a level of aptitude and power that Remus had long suspected but was now hearing firsthand.
Harry touched on various topics: the intriguing books he'd devoured, his unexpected companionship with Tipsy, reflective moments in the garden, and even the peculiar joy of his recent birthday celebration. Remus felt a twinge of sorrow realizing how much of Harry's recent life had been shaped in the company of those who had wronged his family. Yet, through Harry's restrained narrative, it was evident he'd found pockets of happiness, even belonging, in his current world.
Harry's fondness for Nagini, his unlikely friendship with Draco Malfoy, and the continued bond with Ron and Hermione painted a complex picture of his life. Through it all, Remus noted the delicate dance Harry performed, skirting around the more contentious aspects of his existence, a clear attempt to keep the conversation within safe boundaries.
Most endearing was how hopeful and glad he was that Ron and Hermione were still by his side, though it was clear he tried to hide it, that he tried to appear indifferent, fearful he still might lose them. But if there was one thing Remus felt certain of, it was that Ron and Hermione were still stubbornly his friends; it had caused a few fights in the Weasley household, escalating one night shortly after the vampire attack when it was clear both Ron and Hermione had taken some type of oath, making it where they couldn't speak of Harry's actions or magic. Dumbledore had been noticeably disappointed. Molly was lived to the point where Ron and Hermione had angrily fled the Burrow, staying with the twins for three nights. Not that he would tell Harry that since he didn't seem to be aware.
As Harry continued to share, Remus listened intently, the conversation weaving a tapestry of Harry's life that was both familiar and deeply foreign. It was a delicate dance of joy and complexity, of shadows and illumination—a life that Harry was navigating with unexpected grace and resilience. Remus couldn't help but feel a swell of pride, tinged with shock. Never would he have imagined that someone as inherently kind and caring as Harry could fulfill the role of the Dark Lord's heir with such success. It was a paradox that puzzled him, yet he sensed no overt deception in Harry's words.
And yet, beneath the surface, Remus knew of the dark burdens Harry carried since falling under Voldemort's control. Despite Harry's attempts to keep the conversation light, Remus was aware that Harry had recently taken lives. While he understood the justification in the face of the vampire attack, he also knew that such actions left a lasting impact.
"Harry, do you want to talk about what happened with the vampires?" Remus asked, striving to maintain a neutral and calm tone, not wanting to startle Harry into withdrawing.
Harry frowned, clearly caught off guard by the question. "No, Moony, I'm fine," he replied, though his eyes betrayed a storm of emotions. It seemed as though Harry teetered on the edge of opening up, of releasing the pent-up thoughts and feelings within, yet something held him back. Remus observed the turmoil playing out on Harry's face, a mix of pain and contemplation.
Shaking his head once more, Harry actually turned the tables. "If you don't mind, I actually have a question for you."
Curious, Remus nodded. "Sure," he offered.
"Well, it's about your... furry problem," Harry said suddenly, his posture turning serious.
Remus shifted uncomfortably. Although he had come to terms with his lycanthropy, discussions on the subject still made him uneasy. "Alright," he replied, mustering a semblance of cheerfulness. "You can ask me anything."
Harry nodded, his eyes drifting to the tea that had long since cooled. "If the laws were changed, requiring you to be registered, allowing the Ministry to track your movements in magical communities, but in return, you were guaranteed access to Wolfsbane Potion, ensured that your transformations could never harm anyone, and you were free to pursue any job you wanted, would you consider that a fair trade?
Remus was silent, genuinely taken aback by the depth and implications of Harry's question. "What brought this on, Harry?" he asked, his voice tinged with curiosity and a hint of concern.
Harry's expression softened, and he leaned forward, his expression earnest. "There are ways to improve the lives of those affected by your condition," he explained, his voice faltering slightly as he averted his gaze. "The idea isn't entirely mine," he admitted, the reference to Voldemort hanging unspoken between them. "But there are ways to implement it responsibly. You'd be registered, tracked, but also guaranteed safe transformation, and the ability to hold a job."
Remus, moved yet skeptical, shook his head gently. "Even if you tried, Harry, I doubt such a world could exist. The prejudice is too deep-seated, and the fear too ingrained. It could backfire, leading to werewolves being tracked and worse off than we are now."
Harry's eyes brightened, filled with a mix of challenge and determination. "But if it could exist, Moony, would you want it to? If there was a chance to live without hiding, without fear, would you support it? I wouldn't let it be just a tracking system; I'd ensure it's a change for the better."
The intensity in Harry's gaze and the sincerity in his voice kindled a spark of hope in Remus, a feeling he hadn't permitted himself to feel in a long time. The idea, daring yet straightforward, struck a chord with him. He was acutely aware of the potential dangers such a change entailed. And yet, if anyone could pull it off, maybe Harry could.
"Let me mull it over," Remus said finally. He had been searching for a reason to meet with Harry again, to delve deeper into their conversation. While they had avoided heavy discussions as per Harry's request, Remus longed to become more than just an acquaintance—to be someone Harry could trust and confide in. Given Harry's limited circle of trustworthy adults, Remus felt he owed it to the one who'd saved the werewolf's life at the cost of his own to be there for him in any way possible.
The meeting had highlighted one undeniable truth: despite Harry's increasing association with Voldemort, he remained fundamentally himself. He still valued life, showed kindness to even the humblest house elves, and hoped for Remus to lead a better life, even if it meant enduring a potentially oppressive tracking system under a Ministry likely controlled by Voldemort. Harry hadn't transformed into the monster Moody had ominously predicted before his mysterious disappearance—a topic Remus was also eager to discuss further with Harry.
However, it was also evident that Harry was no longer the innocent boy Remus had taught at Hogwarts. The young wizard sitting before him was intelligent and powerful, evidently comfortable with exploring morally ambiguous and even dark magic without guilt or regret. And yet, Harry was not a carbon copy of the Dark Lord he aligned with. This complexity, this blend of power and compassion, convinced Remus of the necessity to remain connected, to understand and perhaps guide Harry through the murky waters he navigated. If he didn't, then who else could he turn to?
"Maybe we can meet again to discuss it?" Remus suggested tentatively.
Harry's smile was genuine. "I would like that."
S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S
A week had passed since the Wizengamot session, and three days had gone by since Harry's visit with Remus. A semblance of normalcy had returned to Harry's life. He and the Dark Lord had finally brewed the potion to correct his eyesight. Surprisingly, Harry found the experience enjoyable; it was a stark contrast to his usual potion lessons with Snape, replaced by a potion prodigy who genuinely enjoyed teaching and sharing knowledge. While it was a relief to no longer wear glasses, Harry couldn't help but notice that his eyes stood out even more now. For those who knew what to look for, it was all the more apparent the type of dark magic he had been involved in.
Day-to-day, his time was divided between studying and practicing magic, attending strategic meetings with the Dark Lord, and engaging in discreet conversations with members of the dark and neutral factions in the hopes of finding some way to accomplish the impossible mission Voldemort had given him. These discussions often took place in the quiet, secluded gardens of Malfoy Manor or in the Malfoy Lord's prestigious parlor. There, Harry would coincidentally be present when key members of the Wizengamot or Ministry were invited over.
During these gatherings, Lucius and occasionally Lord Ambrose would deftly lead the discussions, ensuring they didn't seem overtly manipulated by Harry. Their expert conversational steering allowed Harry to subtly gauge the loyalty of those present to the Ministry and the current Minister while they integrated the recent vampire attack into the discussions to emphasize that their community wasn't safe and that Voldemort wasn't the real threat. It was fascinating to see what people would reveal when given the correct prod and allowed to run loose.
Harry's role was often more subdued, his inquiries subtle yet sharp, never directly challenging the Minister's position but nudging the conversation in such a way that it invariably led others to voice their grievances or doubts. This strategy was deliberate, allowing Harry to plant seeds of dissent that he planned to hopefully shape into action in the coming month, without it being overtly apparent that he was the one poisoning the well.
Meanwhile, Harry's interactions with Bellatrix Lestrange took an unexpectedly productive turn. Her reaction to his role as the Black Lord was almost fervent, her eyes gleaming with zeal as she spoke of leveraging the Black family's magic to bolster the Dark Lord's power. Their training sessions became more intense and had begun taking place in the secluded confines of the Lestrange estate, where ancient artifacts and portraits of long-dead Blacks and Lestrange's whispered secrets of old. Bellatrix, with her ever-present eagerness that bordered on fanaticism, was thrilled to impart knowledge of obscure, family-specific spells, happily improving Harry's magical arsenal.
While some of the spells scared Harry, with the emergence of a new, faster, and stronger threat, he had become less resistant to learning them. Dark magic had saved his life and the lives of countless others. The killing curse had saved Hermione. He was no longer sure if it was morally wrong to use dark magic for what he believed to be a good cause. This question often kept him up at night as he recalled the horrible attack, the vampires burning under his dark flames, Hermione nearly dying, and his own narrow escape from being turned.
He didn't like the conclusion he kept arriving at. Dark magic still filled him with dread, but mastering it gave him power and control over his life, freeing him from being a mere victim. He was beginning to believe that the benefits outweighed the risks. No longer feeling compelled to learn it solely as a condition of his apprenticeship, he started seeking out darker and more powerful spells on his own.
Overall, the week since the attack had brought life back to a semblance of normalcy, for which Harry was immensely grateful. On a quiet Thursday night in mid-August, Harry decided to owl Draco to see if he wanted to go out for dinner. It turned out to be a pleasant evening, with Draco guiding him to a secluded restaurant that Harry had never heard of before. The delicious food and live music created a delightful ambiance that made Harry long to do something similar, albeit less pretentious, with Ron and Hermione.
As the thought crossed his mind, Harry hesitated, unsure of what, if anything, had changed between them since the attack and their unexpected trip to Slytherin Manor. They had communicated through the journal, but neither had suggested meeting again, leaving Harry uncertain if they wanted him to take the initiative or preferred that he didn't, finally sick of the danger and darkness that friendship with him brought. He pushed it aside for later contemplation, his mood too happy to be soured by such depressing thoughts.
"I never realized you were engaged to Astoria Greengrass," Harry remarked casually, leaning against the rough stone of the alleyway. The evening air enveloped him in a comforting temperature, and he wasn't ready to end the evening just yet.
"It's not an engagement, not yet. And yes, it's been planned since our births. It's a common practice among old families," Malfoy replied, his expression guarded behind a mask of nonchalance.
"How do you feel about that?" Harry asked, searching Malfoy's features for any sign of real emotion.
"She's tolerable," Malfoy said elusively, his silver eyes betraying a flicker of something deeper. Harry couldn't help but smirk, suspecting that such a lukewarm response was probably high praise from the usually snobbish blonde.
"What?" Draco moaned, a touch of frustration creeping into his tone. "That's a normal response. She's still young, I don't know. It's weird to think of. I need to graduate school. So does she. But I think we're a well-suited match."
Harry's smile broadened at the subtle pink that flushed through Draco's otherwise pale features, a hint of vulnerability shining through the mask of indifference.
"You're impossible, Potter," Draco snapped, his glare softening slightly as he averted his gaze.
"I think…" Harry began, his words cut off as a blurred figure suddenly appeared before him, a hand reaching out and gripping his neck tightly, pushing him against the wall with a harshness that stole his breath.
The vampire before him was a daunting figure, tall and lean, with sharp, angular features that spoke of centuries of existence. His skin was pale, almost translucent, adding to his eerie presence in the dimly lit alley. His eyes, a piercing blood-shot red, glinted with malice as they locked onto Harry's.
"Don't even think about going for your wand," the vampire threatened, his voice a cold whisper that sent shivers down Harry's spine. Draco froze next to him, watching with wide eyes, his hands remaining empty. Harry felt a surge of panic as the vampire's grip tightened around his dominant wrist, where his wand holster was tucked, rendering him unable to summon his own wand.
As Harry extended his senses, he detected another presence at the alley's end, concealed within the shadows, likely serving as a silent backup to prevent any interference. It became clear to him that this encounter was far from random. Struggling for breath under the vampire's tightening grip, Harry's thoughts raced as he tried to push the grip from his neck with his left hand. Tightening in response, the vampire's long, jagged nails pierced Harry's skin, drawing blood that trickled down his neck and soaked into the fabric of his cloak.
"What do you want?" Harry managed to ask, his voice strained. A sharp pain radiated from his neck and back, where he was gripped. The vampire's smile widened, revealing slightly protruding fangs that glistened in the dim torchlight.
"Heir of Slytherin," the vampire murmured, his voice closer to a hiss than word. "I have a message for you to take back to the Dark Lord."
Harry's mind raced, weighing his options as he fought against the vampire's grip. The thought of summoning Voldemort for assistance flickered through as one avenue to take, but he also retained his wandless magic. With a moment to gather himself, he could easily retaliate now that he understood the nature of the threat.
"And what message is that?" Harry forced himself to remain calm, his eyes locked with the vampire's, searching for any hint of weakness or opportunity. The vampire's grip on his wand arm remained firm.
"Our Queen knows what the Dark Lord values. We will take it from him, just as he took from us what was promised during the first war," the vampire vowed, his eyes scrutinizing Harry's face as if assessing his worth. The notion that he might be considered one of the Dark Lord's threatened prizes made Harry feel uneasy. "If he doesn't compensate for what he owes, make amends for what was lost, then he should be prepared for all-out war. He will lose everything."
Still maintaining a vice-like grip on Harry's wand arm, the vampire released his hold on Harry's neck and delicately trailed a finger under his chin, following the thin trail down to his hairline. Licking the blood from his finger, the vampire wore a disturbing smirk as he locked eyes with the young wizard.
Harry had no clue what the vampire meant by what was owed or taken, but as he stared into the predatory eyes, a defiant spark ignited within him, pushing aside any fear or uncertainty. He was beyond done being a victim.
"Are you threatening me?" Harry's voice held a hint of challenge.
The vampire let out a mocking laugh. "I'm not just threatening you. I will make you regret the day you were born. It's unfortunate that you're necessary to convey a message. But we only require one messenger," he added, casting a suggestive glance towards Draco, who, paling, took a cautious step backward.
Harry reached his breaking point. It was clear the vampire was taking joy in this, that he was seriously considering attacking Draco just because he could.
"It's too bad I'm not a messenger," Harry said, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper barely audible in the silence of the alley. Draco whimpered softly, his eyes wide with fear.
The vampire's laughter cut through the air, a chilling sound. "Foolish boy, who do you think you…" His words were abruptly cut off as a piercing scream tore through the night, black flames erupting from within the vampire's body. Harry watched in grim satisfaction as the creature writhed in agony, its form consumed by the dark flames until all that remained was a pile of dark black ash. Bellatrix's teachings on the Black Family Flames had proven invaluable sooner than he'd anticipated. It was a power innate to the Black line, made all the easier for him to wield wandlessly in his position as the Black Lord. While not as powerful as some of the magic Voldemort could do, it was up there in efficiency and deadliness while not imposing a heavy drain on his magical core.
With his wrist released from the vampire's grasp, Harry summoned his wand from his holster and flicked it, conjuring a giant shimmering silver dome that encased both him and Draco just as the other vampire charged. The dome emitted a radiant light mimicking sunlight, it was a special shield Harry had learned after his previous encounter with the Children of the Dark. The vampire jerked back, hissing in pain.
Draco trembled beside him, visibly shaken but safe within the protective dome. He stepped closer to Harry, pulling out his own wand.
"Are you going to attack me as well?" Harry asked, his tone laced with anger and frustration. He was beyond tired of being attacked and forced into life-threatening situations. He didn't relish taking the vampire's life but knew that with a creature as fast and strong as he, there were not many ways to safely subdue him—especially after the vampire had already shown a willingness to harm Harry or Draco to achieve his goals.
"I can kill you now, just like your friend. Or perhaps you can relay a message for me?" Harry continued, his voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through him. He forced himself to remain calm, ignoring the ashes before him that whispered of recent violence. He could freak out later when he was back at the manor. He and Draco were still not safe.
The vampire's eyes narrowed in anger, a predatory glint flickering in her gaze. "Foolish mortal. You will regret this. What message could you possibly want to send?"
"Pass on to your Queen that she doesn't want to start a war with me, and she definitely doesn't want to start a war with the Dark Lord," Harry declared, his tone unwavering, his gaze locked with the vampire's. His wand remained steadily extended, betraying none of the turmoil within him.
"You think you can tell me what to do?" the vampire snarled, her fangs glinting in the dim light.
Harry's expression hardened, his confidence evident but devoid of arrogance. "I don't think. I know."
"Foolish wizard, so proud. You will be dealt with," the vampire sneered, her voice dripping with disdain as she circled outside the protective dome, eyeing Harry with predatory intent.
Harry shrugged nonchalantly, his wand twirling between his fingers in a fluid, instinctual motion he didn't even notice. He hoped the vampire wouldn't breach his shield; he'd read that the older the vampire was, the more powerful and resistant to magic they would be. It was difficult to gauge the age of immortal beings, making it risky to test their capabilities. They needed to leave quickly; he wasn't willing to find out.
"I'm giving you a fair warning. This is the second time you've attacked me. This is personal now. The Dark Lord won't tolerate this, and neither will I. Quit while you're ahead. You don't have to make an enemy out of me if you want to find a solution," Harry stated firmly, his tone carrying genuine conviction.
The vampire laughed mockingly, shaking her head in disbelief. "A solution? Like we will ever trust wizards again; your Dark Lord betrayed us once. We don't forget."
Harry frowned, considering her words. While Voldemort wasn't blameless, he also never shied away from the truth. He had seemed confident that the vampires had equal blame in past conflicts. "Maybe you should check your facts before you get into a war you can't win," Harry advised, his gaze steady as he met the vampire's defiant stare.
The vampire hissed again, her fangs bared in frustration, then abruptly vanished into thin air, leaving an eerie silence in her wake.
Draco, who had been standing nearby, dropped to his knees with a soft whimper of relief. Concerned, Harry turned to him, reaching out a hand. "Draco, were you attacked? Are you alright?"
Draco shook his head, his expression a mix of fear and disbelief. "We could have died," he whispered, the gravity of the situation sinking in.
Harry kneeled beside his friend, his thoughts racing over what had just occurred. He was about to drop the shield when he paused, sensing one more magical signature lingering nearby. It was almost completely masked, but he felt a faint shimmer of something, a presence that hadn't revealed itself.
"I know you're there," Harry said softly, turning his attention back to the dark alley.
With a blurred motion, a third vampire appeared just before the shield. Unlike the others, this one seemed calmer, his posture less aggressive as he regarded Harry with curious eyes.
"Your senses are impressive," he observed, his voice carrying a tone of genuine intrigue as he cocked his head and regarded Harry with deep consideration. "It is rare that I'm noticed by your kind."
"Who are you?" Harry asked, his curiosity piqued by the vampire's demeanor, which seemed markedly different from the aggressive nature of the other two vampires.
"I am known as Tullos," he introduced himself, dipping his head slightly in acknowledgment. "Child of Lilith, first to the throne."
Harry didn't possess extensive knowledge of vampire hierarchy, but he recognized the significance of the name Lilith from his conversation the night he'd conducted his ritual and could infer the rest. Draco let out another faint sob, but Harry chose to ignore him for the moment.
"I would introduce myself, but it seems that you and your friends already know who I am," Harry remarked, straightening with his wand held loosely at his side. Tullos's presence hinted at ancient power, making Harry even more cautious. If he were in line for the throne, this was likely one of the ancient vampires. One that could likely break through his shield.
"Yes, they were quite presumptuous. I would offer my apologies, but I suspect they would not be well-received," Tullos acknowledged, his tone neutral yet tinged with a hint of amusement.
"I don't take kindly to threats," Harry stated firmly, his gaze unwavering as he met Tullos's eyes.
"Neither do we," Tullos replied evenly, his demeanor composed yet unreadable.
Harry frowned, puzzled by the vampire's words. "If defending myself when your kind attacked last week is considered a threat, then perhaps you need to reconsider how you come across to others," he remarked dryly since he could think of no other encounter that would have led to the vampires feeling threatened by him.
The vampire smiled thinly, a subtle expression that did not quite reach his eyes. "You are amusing. I can see why the Dark Lord favors you. It was not you who threatened us, but your sire."
Harry snorted in disbelief. "He's not my sire," he clarified, shaking his head.
"You carry his name," the vampire pointed out. "It is one and the same; blood matters not."
Not willing to engage in semantics with the ancient being, Harry simply shrugged. "Agree to disagree, but I doubt my parentage is what you came to discuss. It's obvious your warning is for the Dark Lord. Since you seem more willing to speak beyond just threats, is there a more useful message you have?" His voice remained steady, betraying none of the turmoil and uncertainty swirling within him.
"I thought you weren't a messenger," Tullos quoted back, a hint of glee in his voice.
Harry smirked in response. "No, not unless it benefits me."
"And what benefit do you seek?" Tullos inquired, his manner neutral yet curious.
"Understanding," Harry responded truthfully. "It's clear that whatever 'this' is between your Queen and the Dark Lord is escalating, possibly spiraling. I hope there is a solution where both sides don't have to go to war."
"There were rumors that you act as his arbiter; perhaps they hold truth," Tullos remarked, his gaze probing.
Harry masked his surprise, unfamiliar with the term 'arbiter' but choosing not to show his ignorance. It didn't sound like an insult, at least not explicitly.
Tullos regarded Harry with a calculating gaze, his ancient eyes betraying centuries of experience and wisdom. "We seek reparations for past grievances, promises unfulfilled," he stated cryptically, his words carrying weight and history.
Harry furrowed his brow, trying to decrypt the vampire's cryptic message. "Could you be more specific?" he asked, hoping for clarity, something substantive that he could actually work with.
The vampire's expression hardened slightly, a shadow of frustration crossing his features. "Our kind suffered losses in the previous war. Promises of recompense were made but never delivered. We demand restitution and assurance of non-interference in our affairs. We were told we would live in peace. That we would have more rights. We sacrificed to make this happen and have been left worse off. We will not let it stand."
Unwilling to make any promises on the Dark Lord's behalf and knowing he didn't know the whole story, Harry nodded fractionally. "I can relay your message to the Dark Lord," he offered cautiously, choosing his words carefully.
He paused, studying Tullos, uncertain if the ancient vampire could be reasoned with. At least he had plenty of practice negotiating with the Dark Lord to see if he could make any headway with stubborn, prideful beings.
"Is your Queen willing for a truce, to enter formal negotiations?" Harry inquired, hoping to find a diplomatic solution. There was no way a war with the vampires would end well for anyone.
The vampire's gaze hardened. "You and your sire killed an entire coven; you killed another one of my brothers this evening. I see no reason to offer a truce," Tullos stated bluntly, his words echoing with a hint of bitterness and resentment.
"Both times were in self-defense," Harry pointed out, calm yet firm as he fought to keep his own annoyance and indignation in check. He had long learned that maintaining a composed demeanor was fundamental when dealing with powerful yet stubborn beings.
"Perhaps there are past injustices; I honestly can't speak to them, nor can I speak for what, if anything, the Dark Lord is willing to do to make amends," he added as the vampire glowered at him. "But I'm certain that the way both sides are currently handling things will only lead to disappointment. Your continued attacks on witches and wizards will enrage the Dark Lord, and any further deaths of your kind at our hand will only escalate tensions. Unless you are already committed to all-out war, then it makes sense to call a truce. I'll deliver your message to the Dark Lord and see if we can find a solution you can live with."
The vampire looked visibly irritated. "You are young, even by your kind's standards; you can't understand the magnitude of his duplicity in the first war," Tullos countered, his gaze intense as he assessed Harry's words. "There is no way you could find us peace while he still walks."
Harry stared back at him flatly. "If you are even remotely familiar with my history, you would know that I understand better than most the injustices he could have committed during the first war." He paused, a bitter smile crossing his lips. "And I might be uniquely positioned to help find a way forward that both sides can live with; I found one for myself, after all."
Tullos gave him a considering look. "You are a unique wizard," he murmured softly, almost to himself. "I will give you one week to discuss with the Dark Lord. I will speak with my Queen. We will refrain from hostile acts against you and your kind if you promise the same. In one week's time, I will meet you back here to see if we can find a path forward without more bloodshed."
"How do I know it won't be a trap?" Harry asked, not trusting the vampire at all.
The vampire smiled thinly. "Bring your Dark Lord if you are too afraid to come alone."
Harry frowned, sensing the bait in the vampire's words. It was clear the vampire saw him as a young, headstrong wizard, likely hoping to provoke him into acting arrogantly and coming alone.
"I haven't survived this long by being a fool," Harry retorted, his tone firm and unwavering despite the weariness and concern he felt in the presence of such an old vampire. He forced a smirk, though there was no joy in it. "If I bring the Dark Lord, you'll only have yourself to blame for inviting him."
Tullos laughed genuinely. "I like you, Harry Potter. Until next week."
With that, Tullos vanished into the shadows, leaving Harry and Draco alone in the alley, the tension hanging heavily in the air.
Draco finally stood up, his expression betraying his shaken state. "You seriously have zero luck," he whispered, shaking his head. "What's our next move?"
"I think I have a meeting with a soon-to-be very angry Dark Lord," Harry sighed.
"Do you think you can avoid a war?" Draco asked, clearly concerned.
Harry shrugged. "I've managed so far; what's one more complication?"
Draco shook his head. "I've reconsidered; I don't think I want to be your friend anymore…"
Harry chuckled softly. "Too bad, we shook on it." He winked at Draco before apparating away, confident that Draco, in his panic, would follow suit without hesitation.
AN: Thanks for reading! Feedback, thoughts, and reviews are always welcome!