For the greater good
Harry woke from a fitful sleep, the events of the previous night haunting him in both dreams and waking moments. Still reeling from shock, he felt unable to come to terms with everything that had occurred. He had been attacked, barely escaping capture and torture... If not for Bellatrix's unexpected intervention, he would have been at the mercy of their cruel intentions. The thought that he might have been killed left him feeling numb, torn between reluctant gratitude and deep-seated turmoil towards the witch who had taken his godfather's life and yet, paradoxically, spared his own.
Most of all, he was furious at himself. The realization that he had been bested was a bitter pill to swallow. After everything he'd been through, all that he'd learned, endured, and sacrificed, he'd almost lost everything to a couple of no-named Death Eaters. And it was all because he was afraid to use dark magic; that he was unwilling to use the full extent of his powers, even when it was clearly in self-defense. He knew he'd messed up. He couldn't risk freezing like that again, denying the use of his most powerful spells. The next time, he might not be so lucky.
As he lay there, trying to make sense of his chaotic emotions, Tipsy appeared without warning. She seemed anxious, her small hands trembling as she held out a card to Harry. The message was written in a spidery script, unmistakably from the Dark Lord. Harry's heart sank as he read the summoning to Voldemort's office. Word of last night's encounter must have already reached the Dark Lord, and Harry knew he would not take what occurred lightly.
With a heavy sense of foreboding, Harry quickly dressed, choosing plain black robes that matched his somber mood. He holstered his wand on his forearm, a stark reminder of the constant peril surrounding him. As he made his way to Voldemort's secluded wing, his steps were uncertain; he felt weighed down. He was unsure of what awaited him, certain that the Dark Lord would not be pleased with how the previous night's events had unfolded. Harry hissed the command to open the door and, taking a deep breath, knocked nervously on the Dark Lord's private study door.
"Enter," came the cold, unmistakable command from within.
Upon entering the room, Harry's attention was instantly captured by Voldemort, who sat behind his imposing obsidian desk. A solitary leather chair was positioned before the desk, its orientation making it clear that it was meant for the teen. The order to sit, issued in a callous tone, prompted Harry to quickly take his place. Voldemort's unwavering scrutiny did little to ease the teenager's already frayed nerves.
It had been some time since Harry had experienced such overt hostility directed at him. The atmosphere was thick with tension, signaling not just anger but also dangerous intent. Harry sensed the dark magic emanating from Voldemort, pulsing as if alive and having a fury of its own. The Potter heir was uncertain whether this rage was directed solely at him or was a reflection of the broader situation.
"Would you like to tell me what happened last night?" Voldemort's voice was deceptively composed, but the underlying threat was unmistakable.
Harry hesitated, the memories of the previous night playing in his mind like a twisted reel. Forcing himself to remain calm, he recounted the attack, his words measured and careful. He spoke of the ambush by the Death Eaters, their failed attempts to first capture and bind him, and the escalation of their magic to lethal intentions. He explained how he had managed to subdue two of his attackers but was caught off-guard by the third. It was then that Bellatrix had intervened, her arrival tipping the scales in his favor as she disarmed and tortured the remaining assailant.
As Harry spoke, Voldemort's unblinking crimson eyes remained fixed on him.
"Show me," came the command. Simultaneously, a terrifying force clashed against Harry's mental defenses. He barely had time to lower his shields before the Dark Lord's presence forcefully breached his mind. Harry winced under the assault; unlike previous instances, the Dark Lord displayed no trace of gentleness. The intrusion felt both endless and fleeting until, finally, the oppressive presence withdrew.
"Am I wasting my time with you?"
The callous words struck Harry like a staggering force, leaving him uncertain how to respond. His initial reaction was one of indignation. The Dark Lord had not only abducted him but had coerced him into this, forcing him to learn the dark arts under duress and with threat against those Harry held dear. Harry had not volunteered to be here, to be the Dark Lord's apprentice and heir.
And yet… especially over recent months, Harry had noticed a gradual change within himself. He had become genuinely fascinated by the knowledge Voldemort imparted, increasingly drawn to the potent magic now at his disposal. He found a certain allure in mastering the spells contained within Slytherin's grimoire, and he couldn't deny his desire to be a recipient of the satisfaction—and perhaps even pride—that he saw reflected in Voldemort's eyes when Harry mastered spells that far exceeded the ambitions of the average witch or wizard.
"That wasn't a rhetorical question," the Dark Lord's crimson eyes narrowed. Harry could feel the dark tendrils of his magic reaching out, brushing against his skin, causing the hairs on his neck and back to stand on end. It served as a stark reminder of why this wizard was considered the Dark Lord.
Harry found himself unsure what to say, seemingly at a crossroads he wasn't prepared to navigate. While his initial foray into the Dark Arts had been coerced, he couldn't deny his desire to continue learning and growing more powerful. He didn't want to be weak or easily manipulated. And he certainly did not want to be relegated to the sideline again like the Light side had always done. And yet, using dark magic on another represented a line he was terrified of crossing.
"Our agreement was that I would not have to torture others," his voice sounded hollow, even to his own ears. The fears that had haunted Harry since he had agreed to submit to protect
Draco loomed at the forefront of his mind. Would the Dark Lord now claim their previous negotiations were void?
"You foolish boy," the Dark Lord hissed. "They would have tortured you, leaving you a mere shell of yourself. This was not a lesson, playing with spells and magic; they were out for your blood. Surely, you recognized the danger you were in? This wasn't about torturing others; it was about your own protection."
Harry was taken aback by the intensity of Voldemort's words. The Dark Lord's ire was overwhelming, and Harry found himself shocked by the very real emotions directed his way.
"Do you truly lack any sense of self-preservation?" Voldemort's voice was low and menacing, each word enunciated with chilling clarity. "Are you so terrified of the dark arts that you would have preferred to be tortured to the brink of death—or even killed?" As he spoke, Voldemort's voice grew louder; Harry could feel the unrestrained ferociousness radiating from the wizard.
Swallowing, Harry shook his head. No, Harry didn't want to die, but he also felt unable to escape the constant dangers that seemed to always find him. Threats to his life had become all too familiar. Residing in the Dark Lord's manor, constantly surrounded by those who wished to see him fall, it came as no surprise to Harry that finally an attack had occurred; in fact, a part of him had almost expected it.
"You warned me to expect challenges from your followers," Harry responded, his mounting frustration evident. It wasn't as though he had actively sought out a confrontation. He had never provoked any of the Death Eaters who had attacked him. And yet, even after diligently obeying Voldemort's every command, he remained a target for the fanatics among the Dark Lord's lower ranks.
"I've made every effort to be cautious, not to be caught alone with them…" His anger was growing, fueled by the realization that he would always be at risk within the very halls he was starting to consider his home. Shouldn't he be able to move about freely without fear? Hadn't the Dark Lord promised him such freedoms if he submitted?
Voldemort's expression darkened, his wand twirling irritably in his fingers. "I took measures to ensure you wouldn't cross paths with them until you were capable of defending yourself; there should have been no genuine threat to your safety."
His voice underwent a subtle change; the underlying anger still radiated, but now it was mixed with something else, a nuance that Harry could almost mistake for puzzlement. It seemed that the wizard, who had gone to greater lengths than any other to secure his own immortality, had not anticipated Harry's reluctance to employ any means necessary, including dark magic, to protect his own life. "I never imagined you would willingly remain vulnerable, that you would remain a lamb, offering yourself up indiscriminately to anyone who would cause you harm." Harry felt a wave of denial rise within him but forced it down, wilting under the sharp intensity of Voldemort's penetrating gaze.
"Would you deny this?" Voldemort hissed, his voice a chilling whisper. "The evidence is in what occurred last night. You were defeated by witches and wizards who are weaker and less skilled than you. You should have shown them the consequences of challenging you. Made them fear you. Yet, you fought like a timid schoolboy, hesitating to cast any spell that could have stopped them and saved yourself."
Voldemort leaned forward, his movement sharp and deliberate. Harry instinctively leaned back, feeling pinned against the leather of his chair. "So, I must ask you again, Harry, am I wasting my time training you? Shall we return to our original arrangement? You will withdraw from meetings and take no part in this war. You will remain locked in your room like a timid coward until I have consolidated my power completely."
Voldemort's face twisted into an even darker visage, a cruel sneer widening as he spoke with a tone dripping with scorn. It was a reminder to Harry of a facet of Voldemort he had nearly forgotten. "Then, when this is all over, you will serve as nothing more than a trophy of my triumph, a symbol to mock the so-called forces of the Light. Is that truly your wish? Because such a bleak future is what awaits you, given your apparent inability to defend yourself, much less fulfill the potential of the heir and apprentice I once deemed you to be."
Harry recoiled, the words hitting him with the force of physical blows, making him feel as though he were drowning in a sea of dread and humiliation. A deep and unsettling realization dawned on him—he could sense Voldemort's disappointment and disdain as if they were tangible forces. The horrifying prospect of Voldemort actually relegating him to nothing more than a display, stripped of purpose and power, ignited a sharp terror within him.
"I..." He found himself speechless. Was he actually considering apologizing for his reluctance to employ Dark Magic? But as he thought about it, he realized that the crux of the issue was not his unwillingness to use Dark Magic; it was his failure to wield the power Voldemort had bestowed upon him for his own protection, to prevent himself from being tortured and potentially killed.
Gazing at the visibly fuming Dark Lord before him, Harry was caught in a maelstrom of doubt. Was this a ploy to manipulate him, or did it stem from genuine concern? Could it be that Voldemort, fearing the loss of his apprentice and heir, was truly upset over the danger Harry had faced? More disconcerting was Harry's struggle to decide which possibility he preferred: the notion that the Dark Lord might harbor genuine feelings of care, or the bleak realization that this could all be an elaborate manipulation. Deep down, a part of him yearned for the former, for Voldemort to truly want him as an heir, to encourage him to fight for his survival. Lowering his gaze, Harry closed his eyes, overwhelmed by the confusing emotions raging inside him.
"Speak," commanded Voldemort, his voice cutting sharply through the heavy silence, pulling Harry back to the grim present. His eyes flew open, a numb sensation spreading through him, accompanied by a persistent ringing in his ears that seemed to dwarf even the intensity of the previous night's confrontation.
The worst part was Harry's bitter realization of his own damning role he'd played in this. Despite possessing considerable magical strength, he had hesitated to use any powerful dark magic, knowing it would have ensured his victory—he could have even used it without resorting to lethal methods.
"I don't know what to say," he whispered, a sense of loss engulfing him. He was torn by conflicting emotions coursing through him, frustrated by his inability to navigate them. The prospect of being dismissed by Voldemort, deemed as inconsequential as he felt under Dumbledore, was unbearable.
"Then it would seem that I am indeed wasting my time with you. You disappoint me. Leave my sight." The words were cold, final.
Frozen, Harry's stricken emerald eyes locked with Voldemort's icy crimson stare. Was this truly the end? Had Voldemort decided to cast him aside? The thought of being excluded from future meetings and plans, all his efforts and sacrifices amounting to nothing because he hadn't properly defended himself against Voldemort's sadistic followers, was devastating.
Enmeshed in the turmoil of his emotions, Harry struggled to decipher his own desires. When faced with the command to leave, one thing was crystal clear: he did not want to leave Voldemort's presence with things as they currently were. Given Voldemort's reputation for neither forgiving nor forgetting, this expulsion could mean the loss of everything Harry had worked towards. He would become nothing more than a captive, devoid of any real value or influence.
"You're right," Harry forced himself to acknowledge, finding the words painfully hard to confess. "I shouldn't have hesitated. It was a mistake."
The Dark Lord regarded him with an inscrutable expression, his potent magic no less oppressive as he silently considered Harry's words, clearly waiting for more.
"It won't happen again," Harry vowed, though he was unsure if he could keep that promise.
"I have no reason to trust your word," Voldemort coldly replied. "Your actions reveal a fear of powerful magic and a lack of ambition for power. When tested, you failed."
Harry hated how much the words affected him, that the Dark Lord's displeasure would have such power over him. He straightened in his chair, trying to muster as much resolve and determination as possible. He had to fix this; otherwise, everything he had fought for would be in vain, leaving him with nothing.
"I won't show weakness again. I will defend myself," he asserted, his statement directed as much towards convincing Voldemort as it was towards bolstering his own conviction. He had to; there truly was no alternative he could live with.
Voldemort regarded the young wizard with a measured gaze. Harry steeled himself, refusing to squirm under the weight of the oppressive silence or exhibit any further signs of vulnerability in front of the dark wizard. Eventually, Voldemort broke the silence, his tone cold yet not entirely dismissive. "Merely professing your intentions is insufficient," he declared. "Bellatrix has delivered to me those responsible for attacking you; their interrogation revealed their intentions towards you. Had they accomplished their goal, you would not have lived through the night."
Harry felt a chill at Voldemort's words. "What will you do to them?" he asked, torn between the belief that they deserved any punishment and a visceral urge to not condone whatever the Dark Lord had in store, knowing it would be horrific.
Voldemort's response was expected. "You already know the answer," he said calmly, eyeing Harry knowingly. "Or will you offer yourself up in sacrifice for them as well? Is your reckless desire to save everyone so strong that you will even try to save those who would have sought your death?"
As the air left his lungs, Harry felt an unusual void within him. He had no counter to that, aware that his silence spoke volumes.
"You won't plead their case?" Voldemort taunted, his tone turning into a mocking hiss.
Harry hesitated, his thoughts drifting to Draco, whom he had recently saved. He didn't condone what Voldemort would do, yet he understood this situation was different. His instincts to protect were reserved for the innocent and those he truly cared about. The attackers had defied Voldemort by targeting Harry, and Harry felt no duty to defend those who had sought his harm. They would have to face the consequences of their actions.
"Will you make it painful?" The question escaped Harry before he could suppress it, immediately regretting it, aware that he was equally still a target of Voldemort's wrath.
"I will set an example of them, as much for your benefit as for mine," Voldemort stated, his gaze dark with promise. "They defied me by attacking what is mine. If you wish to still have a place at my side, to contribute to this war, then you will be expected to partake in their punishment. This will be your last chance to prove to me that you possess the strength necessary to hold the position I seek to give you."
Harry remained motionless; the thought of inflicting pain, even on those who had sought his life, filled him with revulsion. Voldemort's displeasure grew immense as he observed the reluctance and refusal beginning to emerge in Harry's expression.
"So naïve… If you fail to defend yourself, then this will happen again," Voldemort promised. "They'll seek to undermine you and challenge your position until you prove you are worthy of being followed, or they succeed, and you are removed from my side. The next time, it will be better orchestrated. What you experienced was child's play to what some of my followers are capable of planning." Harry knew the words were not mere threats; the Dark Lord had always warned this would be the case, that Harry would have to earn his position at his side.
Voldemort leaned back in his chair. "You are supposed to represent me—as my heir and apprentice, I expect no less than you demonstrating your superiority to my followers. I will not tolerate you becoming a liability or getting killed because you refuse to use your magic and refuse to defend yourself even when being attacked. Prove that you deserve to stand next to me, or you will lose your place at my side."
Harry felt beyond trapped. The ultimatum was worse than he ever could have imagined. "So, that's it?" he asked faintly, struggling to grasp how rapidly his situation had deteriorated. "If I refuse to torture your prisoners, then everything we've agreed upon, all of our training and efforts will amount to nothing? After everything you promised, our negotiations will be gone; you will force my hand to torture against my will or cast me aside?"
Crimson eyes locked onto him with a penetrating focus. "Our previous agreement remains in effect, Harry. I am a wizard of my word. You will remain here, and I will not attack students or innocents. That was our first agreement when you took my mark." He paused, allowing his words to sink in before continuing.
"But everything I have gifted you since, the power as my heir, that was a reward for pleasing me, for earning a position worthy of being associated with my name and legacy. You swore to be loyal and obedient. It is you who are breaking your promise. If I can't trust you in something as simple as defending yourself, then you are worthless to me. If you had done so in the first place, we would not be in this position. You have no one but yourself to blame."
The Dark Lord shifted his head, his intensity no less diminished, and yet he looked at Harry as if truly baffled. "This is not the punishment you perceive it to be; rather, it is a measure for your protection. The only way I can trust you is if you prove that you truly desire to fight at my side. That you will do what is necessary to earn the place I have given you." He leaned forward, his eyes narrowing to emphasize his point. "I must confess, your reluctance to use dark magic for even self-preservation has left me surprised. An heir who refuses to protect himself is of no use to me. I have made it clear that I will not tolerate any vulnerabilities. You have brought this upon yourself, making it impossible for me to trust you around my followers; you have proven you do not have the will to carry out my orders."
His voice dropped to a low, decisive tone, signaling his final judgment. "I will make an example out of them; they defied me, and such defiance will not go unpunished. You have one chance to prove yourself, to show me and my followers that you are more than just a docile pawn. By our next assembly, you must make your decision, Harry. Will you rise as my heir, embracing the power that comes with it and demonstrate to all what you are capable of, or will you fall, remaining a scared little boy whose only value is to be manipulated and controlled by anyone who seeks to challenge you?"
Harry, feeling the weight of Voldemort's words, clenched his fists, feeling like his world was teetering on the brink. Voldemort's expectation was unmistakable—not just a demand, but a steep price to be paid. Despite all he had sacrificed up to this point, Harry feared Voldemort had finally demanded a price too high. With nothing more to say and too much to think over, Harry simply nodded, excusing himself. He did not like the contemplative stare that followed him as he departed
S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S
The next few days unfolded with an unsettling quietude that Harry couldn't shake off. He sought refuge in the library, burying himself in books and study, hoping to find some solace or perhaps a solution to the greatest challenge he'd faced since coming to Slytherin Manor. Throughout it all, the Dark Lord's detached aloofness was palpable, an ominous foreshadowing of what life might become if Harry failed to assert his worth as a deserving heir. Voldemort's interaction with him dwindled to the bare minimum, a stark contrast to the rigorous training and lively discussions that once filled their days. There were no new spells to master, no directed meetings with the other Death Eaters—just a profound silence that seemed to echo Harry's fears and doubts.
Isolated, Harry spent hours on end in his room, the library, or in the dueling hall where he practiced spells alone, each incantation a feeble attempt to distract himself from the looming decision. The solitude, rather than offering clarity, only magnified the gravity of his predicament. Every moment alone was a reminder of the choice that hung over him, a choice that could redefine his path forever.
Finally, the weekend arrived, the morning of his awaited meeting with Ron and Hermione dawning. The anticipation of seeing his friends brought a semblance of relief to Harry's heavy heart. He wasn't sure that he would still be allowed to go and was beyond relieved when Barty met him and was ready to escort him to the Three Broomsticks, the agreed-upon meeting location. They had reserved a room there, a neutral ground away from the prying eyes and ears of the wizarding world.
As they made their way to the meeting, Harry couldn't help but feel the glaring contrast between the world he was temporarily leaving behind and the one he was stepping into. The familiar streets of Hogsmeade, with their bustling shops and the lively chatter of Hogwarts students, seemed like a distant memory, a reminder of simpler times. The Three Broomsticks, with its warm glow and the inviting aroma of butterbeer, offered a brief respite from the storm that raged within Harry.
Harry and Barty had arrived thirty minutes ahead of their scheduled meeting, allowing them the necessary time to thoroughly inspect the private room they had secured. As they entered the familiar confines of the pub, the bustling atmosphere contrasted sharply with the feelings that had been overwhelming him the past few days.
Barty, with his keen eye and experienced hand, took the lead. He moved methodically through the reserved room, his wand at the ready, as he meticulously checked every corner, shadow, and potential hiding spot for any signs of eavesdropping devices, traps, or any other form of magical surveillance. His actions were not those of paranoia but rather a calculated measure to ensure the absolute safety of his lord's heir. Once satisfied that the room was clear of any external threats, he proceeded to cast a series of complex security charms to create an impenetrable barrier against unwanted intrusion.
Harry glanced up at the knock on the door. He couldn't just yell for them to come in since the room had been charmed to silence any sound from escaping, a precaution against eavesdropping. Opening the door, the sight of the bushy brown hair followed by bright red and two pairs of equally concerned and relieved eyes that greeted him made his heart soar. He warmly greeted Hermione and Ron, embracing them both in bone-crushing hugs. Hermione was the first to notice Barty.
"Harry, who is that?" she inquired, shifting as if to go for her wand. Ron, also noticing the older wizard, stepped in front of Hermione protectively.
Harry glanced from his nervous friends to the Death Eater, who watched them all with a bemused expression on his face. "Oh, guys, this is Barty Crouch Jr. You might remember him better as our instructor during our fourth year, when he was impersonating Mad-Eye Moody,"
Harry explained, suddenly feeling very self-conscious and somewhat worried. He had spent all his time concerned that this might be a trap for him, never considering that they might feel the same way. Having a known Death Eater present was certainly not going to put them at ease.
Ron raised his wand, scowling. "He's the one who put your name in the Goblet of Fire? Who tried to finish you off when you escaped?"
Hermione, too, raised her wand. Barty, his hands calmly at his side, smirked, seemingly pleased at the listing of his deeds.
"Uh..." Harry stammered, running a hand through his hair. He had tried to push those memories aside, but they sounded pretty damning at that moment. He forced himself to press forward, water under the bridge, as Barty liked to say.
"It's good to see neither of you has lost your spunk," Barty observed, looking them over with an amused eye. "The three of you were among the most entertaining at that charade of a school." He turned to Harry, dipping his head slightly. "I'll leave you with your friends, little lord. I'll be downstairs. You know the spell if anything happens."
They had enchanted the room to be secure, no magic could enter or leave it, but there with a hidden ruin carved near the door that would allow Harry to send a silent, wandless message if necessary. A simple "Help" could be whispered directly into Barty's ear—a highly useful spell for discrete communication if one had the chance to prep the environment like they had.
"Toodles," Barty said to the astonished two teens, wiggling his fingers at them as he exited. The door closed behind him.
"Harry, what are you doing with him?" Hermione demanded, her tone a mix of confusion and concern.
Harry shifted awkwardly. "After the last incident, Voldemort doesn't trust me to be out alone; he thought this might be a trap set by the Order to recapture me. I assured him I trusted you, but he insisted on having someone accompany me. Trust me, Barty was the best choice available. Over the past few months, he's proven to be pretty decent."
"If you say so," Ron muttered, casting Harry a look that screamed he thought Harry had gone mental.
Having nothing better to say, Harry nodded to the table set for three. "Want to sit down?" Harry offered, motioning towards the table adorned with sandwiches and pumpkin juice. Ron's expression brightened at the sight but Hermione, still harboring suspicion, wasn't as quick to overlook their close proximity to a notorious Death Eater.
As they seated themselves, Harry couldn't shake off the awkwardness of suddenly just having a normal meet-up with his best friends after months of living with Voldemort. To his amusement, Ron seemed entirely unchanged, immediately grabbing a sandwich and biting into it with gusto. Watching the redhead, Hermione's face morphed from her previous concern to one of disapproval; she let out an audible huff.
"What?" Ron said defensively, his words muffled by food, "We haven't had a chance to eat. It's delicious—you should try it." He offered the half-eaten sandwich to Hermione as if it were a peace offering.
"Ronald!" Hermione exclaimed, recoiling from the sandwich in disgust.
Harry couldn't suppress a quiet chuckle, waves of affection for his friends rolling over him. "It's really good to see you both," he said sincerely.
"You too, mate," Ron replied, his mouth still full, before taking another generous bite.
Hermione, ignoring the sandwiches, turned her attention to Harry, her brown eyes filled with worry. "How are you?" she asked softly.
Harry gave a noncommittal shrug, his thoughts consumed by the recent Death Eater attack and his falling out with Voldemort. He was at a loss, uncertain how to mend his deteriorating relationship with the Dark Lord and reclaim his position as a favored protégé. Worse yet, he found himself desperate to do so. As he sat here with his two closest friends, he wasn't sure what to reveal as his world literally felt like it was falling apart around him.
"Harry, what's wrong?" Hermione asked, her voice laced with concern, picking up on his unease.
Releasing a resigned shrug, Harry looked away. "It's complicated," he murmured, his gaze falling to the ground to avoid her probing eyes. Despite their assurance of friendship in their note, he questioned whether their support would stretch to helping him win back the Dark Lord's favor. He thought that might be pushing his luck a bit too far.
"Complicated is our middle name," Ron interjected with a light laugh, setting aside his sandwich to focus on Harry. "We've handled worse. You know you can count on us. So, what's really going on? It's been months. How are you?"
Ron's words offered a sliver of comfort, but Harry hesitated, torn. His friends knew only a fraction of his journey since his first capture. His allegiance, his experiences since rejoining Voldemort—it was a world apart from the simplicity of their shared school past.
"Just tell us Harry, I can see that look forming. Don't get stubborn with us now. Please trust us. You need someone on your side, we won't abandon you in this," Hermione pled.
Taking a deep breath, Harry nodded. The worst-case scenario was facing rejection and returning to Voldemort alone, no worse off than before. But in the best case, they might actually be able to help him. Feeling utterly lost and alone, he decided to take a leap of faith and hope his friends would stick with him, even in this.
Harry began recounting the events that unfolded after his trial, touching on Voldemort's unexpected pleasure with his decision and offer to renegotiate, promising to spare all innocents and children, and the role he had given Harry, allowing him to start participating in shaping policy and law. Hermione's interest was visibly piqued at the mention of ministry work. If they remained at his side at the end of all this, Harry made a mental note to try and pick her brain on some of the laws that the Dark Lord was trying to pass. He was certain she could come up with better arguments than he could. That was assuming he could regain favor with Voldemort and be allowed to work on them ever again.
He then spoke of the Malfoy party, the night when things had truly begun to spiral. When Harry revealed Draco's status as the betrayer, Ron started sputtering over his juice; Hermione's face mirrored utter shock.
"The ferret tried to save you?" Ron asked in disbelief, wiping his face with a napkin.
"Are you sure this wasn't just another manipulation?" Hermione questioned, her skepticism clear.
Harry nodded firmly. "It was real. The Malfoys were desperate—Narcissa and Lucius both. Voldemort made no demands of me; he even told me to leave. He was going to kill Draco; I have no doubt about that."
Hermione's concern visibly deepened as she asked, "How did you manage to stop him?" It was clear her quick mind had already jumped to the conclusion that Harry had saved him, that he'd sacrificed something to keep him alive.
With a heavy heart, Harry looked down, fiddling with his hands, a sense of dread enveloping him. "I pledged him my complete loyalty, that I would embrace my role as both his heir and apprentice."
Ron groaned, and Hermione's face turned ashen. "What does that mean?" she whispered.
Harry sighed, having long accepted his decision but finding it difficult to recount it now to his two best friends, who were still staunch champions of the light. "In practical terms, not much has changed. I had already agreed to stay with him to protect everyone else. But now, I'm genuinely trying to be loyal, to be a proper heir, as he would expect of me. I'm still figuring out what that all entails, but I've acknowledged and submitted to his authority over me. I'm not looking for a way out anymore."
Hermione's question came softly, clearly trying to withhold judgment, an attempt Harry recognized and appreciated despite sensing the difficulty it posed for her. "Do you believe that's the right decision?"
Ron, whose face had gone flushed, shockingly remained silent, letting Hermione take the lead in the conversation—it was a subtle indication of his growing maturity; the Ron of a year ago would have exploded upon hearing Harry's choice.
"Yes," Harry confessed, heavy with resignation. "I can't fight him. He has too much power over me, over everyone, and I genuinely believe this is the best way I can prevent a war. By being at his side and getting a chance to shape his plans, I am making a difference. Voldemort listens to me; he even lets me argue against him. He's allowed me to influence some decisions. Not all of them, and I know our goals don't align. It's certainly not ideal, but it's the best I can do…"
He sighed, the words truer than he cared to reflect on. "I never wanted to be captured by him, but I was, and I had to do what I did to keep everyone alive and safe. This is the reality I have to live with, and this is the best decision I can make. I hope you can trust me and know that I'm only trying to do what's right with what I've been given."
He glanced between the two. Hermione looked thoughtful and worried. Ron's face was a tapestry of emotions—confusion, doubt, but ultimately, loyalty seemed to prevail. He nodded, his eyes hardening. He seemed to fortify himself, resolved to stand by Harry in a manner he hadn't during their fourth year when doubts about the raven-haired teen had crept in. "I know you're only trying to help," he agreed. "If it makes a difference, that's what matters. It sounds like you're doing more to fight in this war than we are, so that has to count for something." It was clear his acceptance was shadowed by more than a hint of hesitancy.
Hermione nodded as well, her expression mirroring Ron's uncertainty, as though she, too, was attempting to persuade herself. Harry wondered if both might have entered this meeting committed to supporting him despite knowing they would disagree with many of his choices. "If you're managing to influence his policies and curb the violence, then that's a huge achievement. That's more sway than anyone has over him. We just need to ensure it doesn't cost you more than you can give," Hermione warned, her concern palpable.
At this, Harry's gaze dropped, weighed down by the knowledge of what he hadn't yet divulged.
"What is it?" Hermione pressed gently, picking up on his distress.
"There's more..." Harry began, his voice laced with hesitation, fearful of the weight of their judgment. "I was ambushed by Death Eaters the other night. It was serious; they could have killed me." He quickly revealed the details of the attack, describing how he managed to defend himself without using any dark magic, even though he was certain he could have won the fight quickly if he had. He'd been doing all right until Selwyn got behind him and nearly overpowered him. If Bellatrix hadn't stepped in, it would have been over for him.
"Bellatrix Lestrange saved you? But why?" Ron asked in shock.
Harry still could scarcely believe it. "Because I saved Draco. Bellatrix was there that night when he was caught by Voldemort; she saw everything. Draco is her nephew, and the Blacks are loyal to their family. I think she felt she owed me." He swallowed. "She stopped them, cast some dark magic that drains magic and energy, so they couldn't escape or continue fighting."
"Sounds like they got what they deserved," Ron stated firmly.
"Yeah," Harry murmured uneasily. He paused, torn over whether to reveal everything, but felt compelled to tell the truth and see what they decided, if they really had his back. "After Selwyn attacked me, he taunted me, calling me weak and unworthy; it was clear he wanted to hurt me… Even when Bellatrix intervened, he continued to provoke me. Bellatrix then offered to teach me the spell. I was angry and afraid… still in shock. I wanted him to feel pain, to stop him from targeting me again, so I agreed and used it against him."
Hermione was visibly shaken by the revelation, and Ron appeared speechless. Harry sat there in defeat, struggling with the guilt of his actions, troubled by the thought that he had embraced a form of torture taught by Bellatrix Lestrange of all people. The fear that he might be becoming what he had always fought against gnawed at him. The look in both of their eyes told him they feared the same thing.
"Oh Harry, I'm so sorry…. But, it sounds like self-defense, right?" Hermione said, her attempt at reassurance faltering with her own doubts.
"Was it really self-defense?" Harry questioned bitterly, "He was already disarmed."
"Maybe it'll make him think twice about attacking you again. Now he knows you can defend yourself, even with Dark Magic," Ron tried to offer his own reassurance as if looking for any positive aspect in the grim situation.
Harry frowned, self-loathing consuming him. "Do you think I'm a monster for using that spell on him?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Surprisingly, it was Ron who first overcame his initial aversion. "Harry, he's a Death Eater. He would've used that spell on you, or something even worse. Using Dark Magic in self- defense isn't the same as using it to attack others. You get to defend yourself; you never should have been put in that situation," Ron argued, his conviction slightly alleviating Harry's sense of guilt. Hearing this assertion from Ron felt significantly more comforting than hearing it from Voldemort.
Hermione, although nodding in apparent agreement, seemed less convinced. "This was the first time you've used such a spell, wasn't it?" she inquired, her concern evident in her furrowed brow and the worried look in her eyes.
Harry nodded in affirmation. "I've never used dark magic against anyone before." Encouraged by Harry's admission, Hermione's nod became more emphatic.
"Then Ron's right. You just need to be careful. Don't keep casting it. But faced with the choice between using it or being attacked…" She halted, seemingly wrestling with her principles before arriving at a conclusion. "I would rather you protect yourself; use it if it keeps you alive."
As a wave of relief began to soothe him, Harry attempted to steady his racing heart, though it continued to beat forcefully against his chest. He hadn't realized how desperately he needed their approval, to hear he wasn't suddenly a psychotic dark wizard just because he'd cast that spell on the wizard who had tried to kill him.
"Voldemort was furious that they attacked me," he continued hesitantly. They had reached the crux of the issue, the conversation he had been dreading and the decision that had been consuming every moment of his wakefulness. He suspected they might not be as understanding about what was now being required of him.
"They defied him, attacking his heir in his own home. He's going to punish them. But there's more to it... He wants me to carry out the punishment. He believes it will serve as a warning to his followers, showcasing my strength and making them afraid to attack me again. He's demanding that I demonstrate my power by using dark magic, claiming that if I don't, they'll just keep attacking me until they succeed or I prove I'm strong enough not to be a target."
His gaze lowered, veiled by a layer of resignation as he spoke, his tone becoming detached. "He was furious that I didn't fight with the full force of what he had taught me. He knows I could have won that battle if I'd used dark magic sooner." Harry paused, taking a deep breath as he tried to articulate the severe consequences laid out before him. "If I fail to punish them, if I don't demonstrate to his followers that I am not to be challenged, he said I'll lose my position at his side. He'll just lock me away until the war is over and he's won. I'll go from shaping his actions and helping back to his prisoner again." He glanced between the two, feeling lost. Unsure what to do.
Hermione straightened in her seat, her brows furrowing in concern and contemplation. "Harry," she began, her voice tinged with worry, "this sounds like another trap. It can't just be about revenge and punishment. Voldemort could easily punish them without your involvement, teaching them a lesson. By insisting you carry out this out… I think he wants to draw you further into this, to mold you into his image in front of his followers. He's using this to get around your agreement to not torture."
Harry found it hard to refute her reasoning; he knew Voldemort wanted him to embrace dark magic, and yet, the Dark Lord had seemed genuinely enraged that Harry had almost been killed. A part of him wanted to believe what Voldemort had said, that this demand was as much to protect Harry as anything else.
Seemingly caught in a maelstrom of his own thoughts, Ron's expression was a mix of conflict and contemplation. He glanced between Harry and Hermione, his lower lip caught between his teeth in a nervous gesture; it was clear he didn't fully agree with Hermione's assessment.
Harry stared at the redhead. "Ron?" Harry probed, desperate to see every angle. He was running out of time; the next Death Eater meeting was tomorrow, and he was no closer to a decision.
His friend inhaled deeply, gathering his thoughts. "Well," Ron started, with a hint of reluctance, "if there's a chance of facing another attack, showing that you're not an easy target could be wise. Hermione's probably right about him wanting to manipulate you... but this is how bullies work, isn't it? You need to stand up to them to make them think twice, and his ranks are filled with bullies," Ron mused, his tone reflective, perhaps drawing on his own experiences of navigating sibling rivalries and asserting himself amidst his older brothers.
"I think you're both right," Harry agreed, wrestling with the deadlock. "I don't want to torture anyone, but..." Harry's voice faltered, the internal conflict evident. The alternative was himself always being challenged and tortured or, worse, returning to captivity under
Voldemort. Was it better to use a few spells now so that he could do greater good in the long run?
Hermione, tears welling in her eyes, drew Harry into a tight hug. "Oh, Harry," she murmured. "I don't want you pressured into doing something that compromises who you are. If he gets you to do this, who knows what he'll demand next? You've given him so much; I'm worried that it will never be enough."
Harry swallowed, Hermione's words amplifying his own deep-seated fears. "I just... I don't see any other way," he admitted, his voice laced with frustration. He feared he'd already gone too far, that he'd long ago passed the point of no return. He was tired of being a victim, of being powerless. Was casting Dark Magic on a Death Eater to prevent himself from being attacked in the future really all that bad in the scheme of things?
He leaned into Hermione's embrace. "Help me find another way." He whispered. "I can't become a prisoner again. I can't go back to how it was… I need to stop them from attacking me again; if I don't, I'm worried that the next time, they'll succeed." He knew he sounded desperate… he was.
Ron's eyes seemed to ignite with a sudden idea. "Wait a minute," he interjected, a hint of excitement in his voice. "Okay, hear me out. We all agree you can use your magic in self- defense, right? This will be dangerous, but…"
S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S
As evening fell, Harry found himself seated beside Voldemort in the dining room, the atmosphere heavy with unspoken tension. This was his first dinner with the Dark Lord since the attack; the heavy silence between them was a stark contrast to their last lively meal filled with discussion and debate.
Despite the lavish spread before them, Harry's appetite had vanished, replaced by a gnawing sense of discomfort. His meeting with Ron and Hermione, while reassuring in their faithfulness to staying with him, had done little to ease his concerns about the path he was currently on. He couldn't help but wonder how far he could stray before they realized he was nothing but a mere shadow of the champion of light he once was. What would be the straw that broke their friendship for good?
As the meal progressed, Harry struggled to maintain his composure, his thoughts consumed by the events that had led him to this moment. Beside him, Voldemort remained ominously imposing, his quiet presence making the teen anxious in ways it hadn't since his initial capture. Near the end of the meal, the silence was finally broken.
"How did your visit go?" Voldemort inquired.
Harry hesitated, caught between the desire to share everything and nothing, unsure what the Dark Lord would think. He knew concealing anything would provoke Voldemort to probe his mind, a violation he desperately wanted to avoid. Ron and Hermione's opinions about Voldemort were far from complimentary, even if Harry was certain nothing had been said that would lead the Dark Lord to question Harry's loyalty.
"Harry," Voldemort pressed, his voice sharpening.
Gathering his courage, Harry looked directly into Voldemort's eyes, a silent acknowledgment that he was prepared for Legilimency, should Voldemort choose to employ it. "I told them about the attack and asked their advice on what I should do," Harry confessed, fighting to keep his voice steady.
Voldemort's gaze sharpened, his words carrying a mix of curiosity and challenge. "I had presumed that your naive, fear-driven morality would stop you from accepting this task. I doubt your friends, equally guided by such ignorant beliefs, would embrace you reaching your full potential if it means acting against the Light's doctrines," he said, almost daring Harry to contradict him.
Feeling a wave of indignation wash over him, Harry involuntarily averted his eyes. Despite their aversion to the Dark Arts, he had been beyond surprised and appreciative of their support. They deserved better than what the Dark Lord was accrediting them.
"The thought of torturing a prisoner still disgusts me," he started, striving for a steady tone despite his inner conflict. "But I understand they'll keep challenging me unless I show them that I'm your apprentice for a reason. You're right. Selwyn attacked because he underestimated me, thinking he could get away with it." He locked his gaze against crimson eyes, his strategy forming but still wary of Voldemort's response, fearing he might be forced to embrace Voldemort's methods if his plan was rejected.
"Punishing them won't demonstrate my ability to defend myself. It won't show anyone that I'm magically more capable, that they should be afraid to go against me." He straightened, feeling real conviction, for once embracing his next words as true. "And I know that I am stronger than him. Had I used even a fraction of what you've taught me, the duel could have ended in moments, I would have won," he paused, overwhelmed by self-loathing and frustration at his predicament. Winning would have changed everything, but he hadn't—his abysmal display had resulted in more than just losing the duel; it cost him Voldemort's respect and his independence.
"What have you decided, then?" the Dark Lord inquired, his voice laced with a chilling calm.
"What if they're not merely prisoners..." Harry began tentatively, aware of the precariousness of his suggestion.
The immediate response was sharp, anger evident in Voldemort's tone. "I hope for your sake, you're not suggesting I release them."
Harry shook his head, knowing they would never be freed. Truthfully, he didn't want that, not after what they had done and had planned to do. Instead, he was proposing an alternative he hoped would appeal to the Dark Lord, one that would allow Harry a way to redeem himself without having to torture a defenseless prisoner. It was still a bad situation, but one he might be able to live with.
He took a deep breath. This was it, his only chance to do this on his own terms. "No. I propose a duel between him and me in front of everyone. If I just punish him, with you by my side, it won't convince the others of my strength. But if I defeat him in a duel, for all to see..." Harry's voice trailed off, leaving his proposal hanging in the air as he looked at Voldemort with a mixture of hope and determination.
The suggestion seemed to pique Voldemort's interest, as a flicker of intrigue crossed his otherwise impassive features.
"Will you agree to use Dark Magic in the duel? Will you fight him with everything I have taught you?"
Harry nodded; the past few days had cemented his resolve, he needed to regain the Dark Lord's trust and his conversation with Ron and Hermione had helped him accept that using powerful magic in self-defense did not mean he was turning into Voldemort. Ron's idea of a duel struck him as ingenious. It wouldn't just be about inflicting torture; he would be able to get the wizard back but on his own terms. Even better, overcoming an older and more experienced Death Eater would significantly strengthen his stature among the rest. It was a far more acceptable option than being coerced into using the Cruciatus Curse on a man already broken and restrained.
His gaze thoughtful, Voldemort reached for his wine, leaning back in his chair. As if subconsciously, he began gracefully swirling the alcohol in his glass, the dark liquid catching the dim light, creating a dance of shadows and reflections. Bringing the glass to his lips, he took a sip them paused momentarily, accentuating the significance of his next words.
"This won't be like the last duel; he won't be trying to capture you. He is fully aware of the consequences of defying me, of what fate awaits him." The Dark Lord set down his glass, the sound sharp in the quiet room. "His motives will be driven by vengeance; he will be out for blood, determined to end you in the most brutal manner imaginable."
Voldemort leaned forward toward the teen; Harry felt himself unable to look away, "Are you prepared to fight for your life in front of an audience? To do anything to win? To fight in such a way that none will dare to challenge you again?"
Harry had suspected as much, yet the casual manner in which it was voiced aloud as if discussing his potential murder over dinner was an ordinary affair sent a shiver through him. As he looked at the Dark Lord, he was forced to accept that maybe this was his new normal. But at least he would get to use his magic on his terms; he could decide how he wanted to fight and could do it in a way that would show the rest he wasn't just some little teenager to be disobeyed and bypassed.
"I know what I'm asking for, what he will try to do. And I'm prepared to win." "Very well."
S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S
In the spacious receiving room, the atmosphere was charged with anticipation. Harry stood next to Voldemort, his face hidden by the gold mask that shimmered ominously in the
subdued torchlight. Despite the mask, his identity was hardly a secret; his presence was now beyond common knowledge to those gathered. The Death Eaters, adorned with their own skull masks and cloaked in darkness, formed a menacing circle around the young wizard and the Dark Lord.
On the perimeter of the circle, three bound prisoners knelt, their figures bent and marked by bruises, yet seemingly unbroken by any form of severe torture. The other Death Eaters kept a distance from the prisoners. It was a clear indication of Voldemort's unusual restraint; that they had survived an entire week and managed to be alive was a feat in itself. Harry knew that after their initial night of questioning, they had been largely left alone, with the Dark Lord sparing them for the spectacle of suffering he intended Harry to demonstrate tonight.
The air was thick with tension, a mutual understanding that the presence of the three captives heralded a looming confrontation. Voldemort's dissatisfaction was palpable, and it was evident he planned to use these prisoners as a stark warning of the consequences for any perceived disobedience or defiance. Without his mask, Harry could see Selwyn's deadly stare fixed on him.
The meeting began, Voldemort stepping forward, wand in hand, sending a wave of rigid anticipation through the room. "My loyal followers, for the most part, you have met and even surpassed my expectations. Our objectives are progressing as planned, and with each day, we expand our control. This success is in part thanks to the efforts of my heir and apprentice.
When I introduced him to you, I made it clear that he had earned my approval and that his presence on our side would benefit my plans." He paused, glancing pointedly at the three bound prisoners.
"However, some of you failed to heed my warning. As my heir, he is second only to me and rightfully commands your respect and obedience. A few of you mistakenly thought you had the right to challenge him. Let there be no doubt in any of your minds that Harry's position by my side is beyond dispute. While those who sought to harm what is mine deserve nothing less than a painful death, I believe a demonstration is necessary to deter anyone else inclined to defy my orders again."
With a flick of his wand, Voldemort released Selwyn from his bonds. The man, previously hunched over, rubbed his wrists tenderly where the ropes had vanished. His glance shifted between Harry and Voldemort, confusion evident on his face, clearly unaware of the Dark Lord's plans for how his punishment would be delivered.
"Walden Selwyn, a worm who presumed to rise above his station. You dared to attack my apprentice within the walls of my own manor. You are an insignificant fool. However, it will not be I who punishes you; it will be my heir." The Dark Lord threw a wand to the wizard, who caught it and rose shakily to his feet, his expression a mix of surprise and realization.
Voldemort continued, his tone cold. "You do not deserve this privilege, but Harry believes it's time the rest of you witness what he is capable of. You all will see the consequences that await you should you dare to challenge him again."
Selwyn's face twisted into a sinister grin as he grasped the situation—a rematch was at hand.
"Is this a joke," he chuckled, his voice hoarse as he gazed hungrily at the Dark Lord's heir. Harry wanted to wipe the smirk off his face. He was surprisingly eager for the confrontation, excited to test his true powers and see how much stronger he was than this wizard who was twice his age and experience.
"I'll wipe the floor with you, you cowardly child," Selwyn promised cockily, then turned to Voldemort. "My Lord, if I win, will you grant me my life? I won't even kill him, since he's yours to toy with. But if you're making me play this game, then I request mercy for demonstrating just how pathetic this runt is."
The gleam in Voldemort's eyes was terrifying. He looked at Harry, his words laden with an ominous promise of exactly what he expected to happen in this demonstration. "I have no doubt about how this duel will conclude, but yes. Should you manage to defeat him, I will spare your life."
Steeling himself, Harry stepped forward. The two faced each other, caged by the onlookers who hungrily stood around them in a tight circle.
"Now everyone will know what I know, that you're just a weak little boy." Without waiting for the duel to formally commence, Selwyn stepped forward and bellowed, "Flammaflux Torrent!" Instantly, a massive wave of fire erupted from his wand, hurtling towards Harry with ferocious intensity, its heat distorting the air around it.
Harry held his ground, watching the inferno onslaught with a steady gaze. With a focused concentration and a swift twirl of his wand, he not only deflected the colossal wave of fire but also, with significant control and precision, began to manipulate it. The flames, originally intended to engulf him, twisted in the air, now obedient to his command, swirling and undulating in a mesmerizing dance.
It was useful spell Harry had learned from the Dark Lord early on—a technique to assert dominance over elemental casting if his magical power surpassed that of the caster. By controlling the flames, Harry could turn them against their conjurer while conserving his own magic, as the summoned flames were linked to the magical core of their summoner. Yet, it was a risky maneuver; if Harry's magic proved insufficient, he would have wasted valuable time attempting to control the flames instead of erecting a defensive shield or mounting a counterattack. But now that they were under his control, he could magnify its strength with little use of his own magic since the original caster had done most of the real work.
With a decisive thrust of his wand, Harry redirected the seething torrent of fire back towards Selwyn. The flames, now transformed into a formidable dragon of fire under Harry's dominion, roared as they surged towards their originator. Selwyn, taken aback by the sudden reversal, could only watch in horror as the very spell he had cast to defeat Harry now threatened to engulf him entirely.
Barely managing to block the seething torrent of fire with a wall of water, Selwyn countered swiftly with another incantation. "Lancea Triplex!" he shouted, conjuring three sharp, magically enchanted daggers that streaked toward Harry with lethal speed.
Harry, his reflexes honed from months of training with Voldemort, was faster. He easily dodged each dagger with a graceful sidestep. The enchanted blades whizzed past him, missing their mark by mere inches, leaving a trail of crackling energy in their wake. In an open room, Harry was in his element, his speed and quick reflexes now in play in ways they hadn't been when he was attacked in the hallway.
The enchanted blades whizzed past Harry, hurtling towards the bloodthirsty spectators with alarming velocity. Panic swept through the crowd of Death Eaters as they stumbled backward in alarm, their faces contorted with a mixture of fear and exhilaration. With swift reflexes, one cast a hastily erected shield, narrowly avoiding the lethal onslaught.
Realizing they could be caught in the crossfire, another onlooker recognized the imminent danger of stray spells and, with a quick incantation, conjured a protective dome that enveloped Harry and Selwyn, shielding the rest from becoming unintended casualties of the deadly magical exchange.
Harry's eyes met Voldemort, who arched a brow as if to say he was unimpressed. Having learned from his past mistakes, Harry immediately transitioned to the offensive. It was vital for Harry to conclude this duel decisively, leaving no room for doubt regarding his superiority, that he was not one to be messed with.
He raised his wand, casting "Serpenspectra." This spell, gleaned from the pages of the Slytherin grimoire, required the unique ability of a Parseltongue. Initially, an menacing quiet enveloped the crowd; anticipation hung heavily in the air. Selwyn scanned the area, puzzled by Harry's actions. Suddenly, the shadows, elongated by torchlight against the walls, the darkened contours of the pillars, and the menacing shapes of the surrounding Death Eaters began to shift. They moved as if ink flowed into water, swirling and twisting, merging into serpentine forms that seemed to breathe with life. Out of the darkness, numerous shadowy serpents emerged, their eyes shimmering with an ominous gleam as they targeted the Death Eater bold enough to face Harry.
Selwyn, startled by the unexpected attack, responded with a blend of fear and defiance. He unleashed a barrage of spells, sending flames and lethal curses from his wand in a desperate attempt to obliterate the shadowy attackers. Yet, for each shadow snake extinguished by his spells, two more appeared, spawned from the seemingly infinite darkness enveloping them. Magic charged the atmosphere, the spells' light casting erratic shadows that further empowered the relentless assault of the snakes.
Despite his vigorous efforts, the overconfident dark wizard found himself increasingly overwhelmed. The shadow snakes attacked mercilessly, their bites piercing and painful, drawing blood with teeth that were corporeal, yet their bodies twisted into shadowy mist when struck. Selwyn staggered under the relentless onslaught, his spells becoming more frantic as the hopelessness of his situation became apparent.
Harry forced himself to watch impassively, his wand still raised, as Selwyn fell to the ground, crying out in pain. Releasing his hold on the magic, the shadow snakes dissipated into the air, their purpose fulfilled. A hushed silence fell over the Death Eaters as they watched the trembling man, their own terror palpable. None of Selwyn's spells had succeeded in vanquishing the snakes and with so many conjured that he had been completely enveloped, it was a clear threat that Harry could summon enough to target all those assembled if he chose to.
Aware that Voldemort would demand more from him, recognizing this as his singular opportunity to unequivocally demonstrate that he was a force not to be underestimated, Harry advanced towards the fallen wizard. "Incarcerous Serpentina!" Harry hissed. From the tip of his wand, tangible, sinuous snakes sprang forth, their scales glistening in the torchlight.
Unlike the spectral serpents Harry had previously summoned, these were palpably real, each movement displaying their might as they slithered towards the petrified Death Eater, who watched them with eyes filled with dread.
The snakes converged on him, wrapping around the trembling Death Eater, binding him securely. They acted with intentional precision, winding around his limbs and torso, before anchoring him against one of the hall's stone pillars. Their grip was unbreakable, their bodies forming a living cage against the cold stone. Fangs hovered inches from his neck and wrist, poised for a command to strike.
The other Death Eaters watched with a mix of eager and terrified anticipation, staring at their immobilized comrade. Selwyn's attempts to free himself were in vain; Harry's control over the snakes and his captive was absolute. Though deriving no pleasure from the act, Harry intended his message to be unmistakable: he possessed both the will and the power to subdue those who opposed him.
Harry took another step forward, his black cloak whispering across the stone floor as he approached the bound wizard. He spoke in a soft murmur, barely louder than a whisper, "Mentis Terrorium." The spell he invoked was dark, designed to summon the deepest fears within a person's mind, an assault on the psyche similar to the dread brought by a Dementor.
Upon hearing the incantation, Selwyn stiffened. The effect was instantaneous; his eyes widened in sheer terror as he began to perceive and feel horrors that remained unseen to others around him. A chilling silence descended upon the hall, broken only by the sounds of his escalating panic, as he futilely struggled against the serpents that secured him tightly.
To the onlookers, the man seemed to be combating invisible foes, screaming and striking at nightmares only visible to him. Harry observed with an unyielding expression, fully conscious of the suffering he was causing. The Death Eaters around him shifted uneasily, witnessing the unsettling scene as Harry's magic tormented the would-be assailant's defenseless mind.
As the screams tapered off into faint whimpers, it became evident that Selwyn had been sapped of his strength, visibly weakened by the numerous bite marks adorning his body. With a flick of his wrist, Harry ended the spell and dismissed the conjured serpents, permitting the wizard to collapse heavily onto the floor, his wand falling from his grasp to lie beside him.
The sinister magic's influence gradually receded, leaving the man sprawled on the ground, softly whimpering, haunted by the residual terror of his fears. It was clear he verged on unconsciousness.
Harry turned away from the defeated man with a sense of revulsion, his gaze searching for Voldemort, silently hoping his actions had been enough. The confrontation had been decidedly one-sided; the wizard had failed to land a single spell on Harry and had been effectively subdued through the use of dark magic.
As Harry's eyes met Voldemort's piercing crimson stare, he noticed the Dark Lord's attention momentarily drift over his shoulder, towards the location of the incapacitated wizard. Feeling a surge of magic reminiscent of the stunning spell he had encountered in the corridor when first attacked, Harry's reflexes surged. He swiftly turned around, wand at the ready. Despite the wizard's evident injuries and the enduring impact of the psychological torment he had suffered, he had somehow retrieved his wand. Propping himself up unsteadily on one arm, he aimed his wand directly at Harry, defiance etched in his weakened stance.
"Avada Kedavra!" The spell hurtled towards Harry with extraordinary speed; the glow of green light momentarily made Harry's heart stop. Narrowly twisting out of its path, Harry could feel the lethal energy brush past him by a mere inch. Shocked, Harry stared back at the murderous gaze fixed upon him, the wielder's knuckles white as he clutched his wand, trembling with exertion, on the brink of collapse. It was evident that casting that final spell had drained him completely. Harry quickly disarmed him; his wand ripped from his weakened grasp.
A commotion broke out, momentarily distracting Harry, who turned to see why there was suddenly shouting from the onlookers. The fatal spell had penetrated the protective barrier, striking with lethal precision. On the floor lay a lifeless body, encircled by Death Eaters whose anger and uncertainty were palpable. Harry's gaze settled on one of the figures kneeling to check on the fallen Death Eater for any signs of life. Finding none, the Death Eater glanced over at him, shaking his head, signifying the unfortunate wizard was dead.
Harry felt his mouth go dry. He instantly recognized the pale gray eyes behind the mask and the distinctive blond hair of Draco Malfoy. With dread, the raven-haired teen realized that had he been standing just a step to the left, the deadly curse would have hit his friend instead.
A surge of unparalleled rage swept through Harry. As he turned back to Selwyn, he was met with a venomous sneer. "I'll get you one of these days," Selwyn hissed, his eyes alight with malevolent joy, reveling in the notion that, despite his defeat, he had nearly succeeded in killing the young wizard.
A red haze seemed to cloud Harry's vision, fueled by the realization that this wizard would commit murder indiscriminately, betraying even his own without hesitation. Harry's disgust was palpable, a feeling more intense than any he had experienced before. Selwyn could have ended Draco's life; the thought of how many others he might have tortured or killed was chilling. His intent to kill Harry was clear. Selwyn deserved to face the repercussions of his heinous actions.
"Crucio," Harry hissed, his voice carrying a lethal sharpness. A burst of red light shot from his wand. Selwyn fell to the ground, seized by convulsions, emitting screams of sheer torment as the curse relentlessly ripped through his body. The magic, driven by a sincere desire to punish the one who dared to threaten him, flowed with unprecedented ease. Harry maintained the curse for several long, excruciating moments, his anger righteous and unyielding, before finally terminating it.
"No, you won't," Harry declared, taking a steadying breath. "And I won't let you harm anyone else." As he raised his wand again, Selwyn flinched curling in upon himself, his body still convulsing from the aftermath of the torture.
"Imperio," Harry whispered, pouring every ounce of his strength into the spell. Selwyn initially fought back, trembling visibly as he struggled against the spell's hold. But Harry refused to relent; for him, in this, failure was not an option. With unwavering determination, he overwhelmed Selwyn's resistance until the wizard submitted completely. His body went still as he stared blankly up at the teen who now controlled him.
"Kneel," Harry ordered, and Selwyn immediately obeyed without question, twisting to his knees in submission.
"Apologize for ever thinking you were superior to me, that you could challenge the Dark Lord's heir," Harry demanded.
"I'm sorry, my lord," Selwyn uttered, bowing his head in defeat. "I am weak and beneath you."
As Harry's gaze shifted beyond Selwyn, he met the approving gaze of the Dark Lord. And yet, this still wasn't enough for Harry. He needed to make sure that Selwyn could never target him or anyone else again. Spotting Selwyn's discarded wand, Harry summoned it with a nonverbal spell; it soared back to its master. With a nudge against Selwyn's mind, Harry prompted him to grasp it.
"Lift your wand," Harry commanded; again and without hesitation, Selwyn obeyed.
"Snap it." Harry instructed, watching as Selwyn wand split in two, the crisp snap echoing in the silence. Seeing the broken wood drop worthlessly to the ground, Harry felt a deep sense of satisfaction course through him, knowing that a part of Selwyn would now always be irreparably damaged. Like his wand, he would be shattered, a constant reminder that it was Harry who had wielded the ultimate power over him, who had severed his primary connection to magic.
With a flick of his wand, Harry bound the bewitched wizard with ropes, and then, with another gesture, dispelled the curse that had him completely controlled under Harry's will.
Selwyn blinked, emerging from his daze-like state. He glanced around bewilderedly, then noticed his shattered wand. "You little shit! What have you done?"
"You got what you deserved," Harry seethed, his voice thick with anger over how narrowly Draco had escaped death and how close he himself had come to the same fate.
"I'll get you; you'll regret this," the restrained wizard spat venomously.
"I doubt that; you've already tried and failed," Harry retorted, his gaze shifting to the advancing Dark Lord. Voldemort seemed immensely satisfied, yet Harry could discern an undercurrent of expectation in his demeanor.
"Will you finish him?" Voldemort hissed, his voice slipping into the sibilant tones of Parseltongue. His followers stirred, unnerved by the switch to the snake-like language.
"You want me to kill him?" Harry hissed back, trying to hide his disbelief and dread. He'd already cast two unforgivables and demonstrated significant dark magic. He couldn't help but recall Hermione's warning that Voldemort would take this as far as he could, that molding him completely in the Dark Lord's image before all his followers remained one of his goals. He could not let that happen; he had already transgressed more boundaries than he ever thought possible.
Harry's eyes shifted from Voldemort's intense red stare to the man shaking before him, aware that their grim exchange was determining his fate, a decision oscillating between the Dark Lord and his heir. Despite the wizard's multiple attempts on his life and the lingering threat he posed even without his wand, Harry found himself still incapable of taking a life.
Turning back, Harry locked eyes with Voldemort, witnessing an unmistakable blend of satisfaction and possessiveness in his gaze. It was beyond evident that the Dark Lord was pleased with Harry, that he had displayed his power precisely as required. Switching back to English, Harry spoke, his words directed more at the gathered audience than Voldemort himself.
"He is your follower, my Lord. I leave his fate in your hands." Harry stepped back, lowering his wand, silently hoping his actions would be enough and that Voldemort would allow him this reprieve, sparing him from crossing yet another line.
Seeing the supposed submission for what it was, the Dark Lord's eyes sparkled knowingly. Voldemort nodded, willing to allow Harry this. "Well done, my heir," Voldemort proclaimed, his voice resonant and designed to reach every ear present. "Should there be any question of his power, let today's display serve as proof. Rest assured that he has learned more than he revealed tonight. I have personally instructed him in the ancient magics belonging to our illustrious Slytherin heritage. This duel was merely for my amusement, not because the vanquished was worthy of our attention."
"My Lord," Selwyn gasped, his limbs trembling as he attempted to turn towards the Dark Lord to whom he had pledged his loyalty. "Please, he doesn't deserve—" His plea was cut short by a flash of green light; his body slumped to the ground, lifeless. Harry fortified his resolve, maintaining a stoic expression as he gazed upon the motionless figure before him to the Dark Lord's outstretched wand.
"Would anyone else question what my heir deserves?" Voldemort asked softly. The silence that followed was heavy with implication.
"Then let this be a warning to all," the Dark Lord continued, his pleasure and pride in his heir unmistakable. "My faith in my heir is absolute. He ranks second only to me, not just in position, but in magical might. Today, you've seen but a glimpse of his potential. Challenge him, and you will not receive any mercy. From him or from me."
AN: EEK! Thoughts? let me know :)