Come what may
"Were you successful?" The question lingered, the sole sound in the intimate setting of the Dark Lord's personal office. Harry sat across from him holding a glass of amber liquid courage, a sense of relief washing over him that they were alone, without the other three Death Eaters present.
"It went as well as could be expected," Harry replied, suddenly feeling less confident about his bold actions. Although the situation could have turned out much worse, he felt he had succeeded; a war had not erupted, and he had not been attacked or captured. But had he been too reckless? Absently twirling the ring on his finger, he still firmly believed his actions had been part of a calculated risk. He could have escaped if needed... he hoped...
More than anything, his instincts had guided him to trust that Tullos wanted more than his death; otherwise, it would have happened already. No, he trusted his intuition, convinced his actions had been the right ones in that situation. Now, he just needed to present what had occurred strategically, aware that Voldemort likely would not interpret it the same way.
Harry took a sip of bourbon and then set the glass on the table next to his chair. "Only Tullos came, as far as I could sense," Harry continued, pushing forward confidently. If he recounted the night's events in a satisfying manner, perhaps it would placate the Dark Lord enough to not dig deeper. "We spoke; he didn't attack me or act aggressively. I believe he's interested in an alliance or at least reaching an agreement that doesn't have to be a war." He couldn't keep the note of cautious optimism out of his voice.
Voldemort's expression was inscrutable as he leaned back in his chair, considering the young wizard before him. "What did you offer him?"
"Hope," Harry offered stubbornly. He could practically predict the response he would receive.
Voldemort's eyebrow arched imperceptibly, a silent challenge in his gaze as he considered Harry's words. "Hope," he echoed flatly, the word hanging in the air.
Undeterred, Harry maintained the expectant countenance, a spark of determination igniting within him. A faint smirk graced his lips as he continued, "Yes, hope that we can find a way forward, that an alliance can still be achieved. I just haven't figured out what that would look like yet."
Voldemort seemed on the brink of rolling his eyes, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features before he masked it with the cold demeanor befitting his Dark Lord persona. "He likely finds your innocence amusing," he remarked, the faintest hint of exasperation tinging his dry response. "I will caution you not to make promises you can't keep. You are aware of what I won't tolerate. The vampires won't be persuaded by your idealistic notions. There will be a price for their support. And I haven't forgotten or forgiven their last two attacks, nor their betrayal in the first war. Those matters are far from settled."
Harry sighed, knowing he was still a long way from achieving his goals, but it was a starting point. "I know."
Pausing for a moment, Harry regarded Voldemort curiously. "You really want this alliance, don't you? Otherwise, you would never have allowed this meeting. And you think they want it too…" A sudden realization dawned on him. "And you believe they'll respond better to me than to you."
"Are you suggesting I couldn't achieve my objectives alone, my egotistical heir?" Voldemort's response dripped with challenge, his own pride ever-present.
Harry almost chuckled but suppressed it, unsure of the Dark Lord's mood. His words, magic, and posture conveyed conflicting signals, yet Harry could have anticipated the typical reaction.
"No. But, I think I provide a way for you to achieve your goals without you having to get directly involved," Harry offered, his tone measured, becoming increasingly sure of his conclusion as he spoke. "You can maintain your fearsome reputation as a murderous Dark Lord, while I've become known as the negotiator who can help temper a less violent response. You get what you want while keeping everyone guessing about what will finally provoke your full wrath."
He paused, tilting his head slightly, a look of realization dawning on his face. "And they still fear you, despite what happened in the first war. They hate you, but they're not ready to launch a full-on war against you yet. Their pride drove them to attack Diagon Alley, but they couldn't have known I'd be there. That you'd come to my rescue... And then their next move was to send me a message rather than attacking me, even though they had the chance to kill me." Harry had wondered why Tullos had stopped short of harming him and Draco that night, especially if the first war had ended as poorly as both sides claimed.
He had found it even more surprising that the Dark Lord had consented and allowed him to attend the meeting, even with the security precautions he'd demanded. It was a remarkably measured response, especially considering that the Dark Lord could have chosen to attend and eliminate the Queen's second-in-command if he were truly enraged by the challenge.
"And," he continued, his mind racing, "you anticipated that tonight wouldn't end with me being attacked. You were using me either as your messenger," he paused, his frown deepening, eyes narrowing, "or as bait, testing their reactions…"
He should have seen it sooner; it made sense. It aligned with everything he knew about how the Dark Lord operated. Sure, the vampires could have attacked him, could have started a war. But to what end? They must have entered their first accords with Voldemort because they wanted something. At least the previous Queen had before she went insane from dark magic. And now, perhaps Tullos still wanted it as well. Harry just wasn't sure what the new Queen, Lilith, desired. Was it possible to rebuild trust with them after the Dark Lord's actions in the first war, or was it all a sophisticated scheme by the vampires designed to finally settle the score with the Dark Lord? And no matter how sure the Dark Lord might have been, it was still a gamble.
Lilith's assault on Diagon Alley had been deadly and indiscriminate, not a minor incident by any measure. However, her aggression could be interpreted as an assault on the entire wizarding community, not just against Voldemort, a nuance likely lost on those unfamiliar with the detailed history of the first war but not on the Dark Lord. This, Harry realized, was something Voldemort could exploit. Even in the tragedy, it was an olive branch, just one dipped in blood and warning.
As he locked eyes with the Dark Lord, it dawned on him that these immortals might match the Slytherin Lord's cunning, that they were likely engaged in their own intricate scheme. And based on the hunger in the crimson eyes seated across from him, Voldemort seemed to relish the challenge, like a viper scenting its prey. The young Potter Lord couldn't shake the apprehension that, for the first time, Voldemort might not be the sole predator stalking the shadows of this perilous and intricate game of power and control.
Voldemort appeared far too pleased with Harry's realization, savoring his heir's insight. "Does it bother you that I'm using you in such a manner?" he asked, the allusion to the past incident in the Wizengamot, just prior to the Moody attack, casting a heavy atmosphere.
Harry frowned, contemplating the question anew. "Did you ever think I was in any real danger?"
Voldemort looked at him knowingly. "No," he said simply, confidently. "I made sure you were protected, capable of defending yourself, and able to escape." He smirked. "Besides, it was you who wanted to go."
Harry nodded, surprised to discover that he wasn't all that disturbed to once again be a part of the Dark Lord's scheming. In fact, he felt a small amount of pride that the Dark Lord had such faith in him. "Then no, it doesn't bother me," he answered honestly. "I want to be involved, to have the opportunity to shape things my way while getting the results I've promised you." Was this what Draco felt like when Lucius included him in schemes? Did he feel wanted, valued even? It was a strange sensation, different from the manipulation he had felt when the Dark Lord had first begun using him. It left him feeling a mixture of emotions—confused yet oddly satisfied.
The Slytherin Lord considered his heir, weighing Harry's admission. Apparently seeing whatever it was he wanted to see, the dark wizard nodded. "Good. Then you may proceed with this task, but do not meet with any Children of the Night without consulting me first. And I expect you to wear your ring whenever you're outside the manor. The Prince may be willing to humor you, but there are many in their ranks who will seek revenge for what they perceive as my betrayal in the first war. While it goes against their customs to undermine any negotiations that involved their Queen, it would be unwise to lower your guard. The vampires are undergoing a turbulent time, mostly as a result of their dealings with me. I expect you to exercise appropriate caution."
Harry could feel his eyes light up at what he was hearing, did this mean what he thought it meant?
Voldemort paused, his expression thoughtful, as if considering his next word, clearly seeing his heir's demeanor brightening at the prospect of the imposed grounding coming to an end.
"I will not impose further restrictions on your movements but don't make me regret this decision. I trust that you're finally beginning to understand your worth; your continued survival is far more important than any act of self-sacrifice." Harry leaned back, straightening. The statement delivered so simply had caught him completely off guard.
As their gazes locked, Harry found himself suddenly overwhelmed by a flood of emotions, grappling with the words he'd just heard. If he were honest with himself, he had long ago resigned himself to the idea that his only worth was in whatever sacrifice he was able to give to help others. On some level he believed he lived on borrowed time, not sure why he'd been spared when his parents weren't. And it had always been clear that the Light expected him to win this war for them, to do whatever it took. They just never imagined that what it took was aligning with his parent's murder to stop the war from ever happening.
He met the crimson gaze, searching for the trickery, the manipulation, even a speck of sinister glee that showcased the Dark Lord's pleasure in deceiving Harry, in making him think he had worth. Yet, it wasn't there. Instead, there was only genuine purpose, certainly possessiveness, but it was clear that in this, his desire was for Harry to stay alive, to remain by the Dark Lord's side.
Merlin help him, but he was beginning to believe that Voldemort actually valued him, not for any potential sacrifice but for what he could achieve. The Dark Lord might actually see him as powerful and competent, worthy of standing at his side. This was a new experience; he didn't think any of the leaders of the Light had ever viewed him this way.
The Dark Lord gaze lingered on Harry with a hint of approval. "You are exceeding my expectations, my heir. Well done."
A flush of pride warmed Harry's cheeks, and he couldn't hide the genuine sincerity in his response. "Thank you."
S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S
Harry walked to the garden, feeling oddly energized about how the night had unfolded. He had succeeded. His meeting had not erupted into a new war, and he had managed to support the Dark Lord while remaining true to himself. He was still concerned that Voldemort might discover the exact details of how his encounter with Tullos had gone, undoing all the favor he had just gained, but he pushed that fear aside. He would deal with that if and when it occurred.
There was still one last urgent matter he needed to address, one that couldn't wait if he wanted to prevent his nightly activities from being exposed to those who could truly sabotage everything he was trying to accomplish.
Reaching the garden, Harry hesitated, realizing that there were few ways to achieve what he needed and uncertain if he should dabble with what appeared to be the easiest and quickest method at his disposal. Not seeing any other choices, he closed his eyes and focused first on the mark on his shoulder, then on the soul shard within him. He could sense the master soul, almost like a beacon of power given his proximity to where the Dark Lord currently resided. Cautiously, Harry avoided directly touching the master soul shard with his magic, keeping his distance to avoid attracting Voldemort's notice.
As his magic explored the strange connection, he was fascinated that he could sense other tendrils of magic emanating from it, wisps resembling webs spreading in every direction, similar to the magic he felt attaching the Dark Lord to the mark on his arm. Having already encountered the unique magical signature he sought before, Harry zeroed in on a familiar web and gently tugged. Then, he waited.
In all, it took less than ten minutes for him to arrive. Harry sensed Snape's approach before he saw him. Emerging from the shadows cast by the surrounding trees, the potion master moved through the garden with a stealth that belied his spy-like expertise.
Their eyes locked, Snape's piercing black gaze meeting Harry's vivid emerald eyes. The older wizard glanced around the garden, noting that it was just the two of them. "Did you truly just summon me, Potter?" he drawled.
Harry could sense the barely veiled anger simmering, but what struck Harry more was the underlying unease and strain evident in Snape's posture.
"Could you tell it was me, not the Dark Lord?" Harry asked, curious what the older wizard had felt.
Snape regarded him with an evaluating gaze, as if weighing whether to answer at all. "Yes," he replied after a moment's consideration. "It was barely discernible, but having felt your magic on my mark before, I knew what to look for."
Harry nodded, filing away the knowledge for future reference.
"I thought you weren't going to experiment with the mark anymore," Snape probed, his tone tinged with disapproval. It was clear he was still mad at Harry over the night's early events, not to mention using the mark to summon the wizard to Voldemort's manor. Harry suspected the wizard hadn't known if the Dark Lord was with Harry or if this summoning was a test of Harry's own selfish desires. Would Snape would come if he knew it was only Harry seeking him out?
Still feeling raw from Snape's earlier scolding during the meeting with Tullos, Harry wasn't in the mood to defend his actions. "We need to talk," he stated instead, his voice harsher than necessary, especially given what he was about to ask, possibly demand, of the wizard who had made a point of trying to help him more times than Harry could likely count.
After a moment's hesitation, during which a myriad of emotions seemed to flicker and be concealed behind Snape's onyx eyes, he nodded. "Very well," he finally relented. "Should I address you as my Lord? Should I have knelt before entering as well?" There was no lack of sarcasm and derision present, telling Harry exactly what Snape felt about both supposed offers.
Harry frowned, already growing weary of Snape's mood. Of all the things he had to deal with tonight, his patience had already been exceeded when it came to the dour potion master. "If that's your preference," Harry replied, refusing to be intimidated or made to feel guilty for embracing the role that the world had thrust upon him.
Harry ran a hand through his hair, struggling to contain his mounting frustration. "I offered you a way out of all this; I told you I wasn't the same boy you once swore to protect. I didn't force you to stay to protect me; that was your decision," he pointed out, his words carrying a hint of anger; his magic was likely seeping out in response to his mood. Yet, beneath the frustration, there was a pang of hurt. He hadn't forced Snape to stay, but he had been moved by the wizard's decision to do so. Now, that sentiment felt betrayed, and Harry couldn't help but feel foolish for allowing himself to hope that Snape would stand by him, accepting Harry in his new role.
Taking a step back, Harry leaned against a nearby tree, forcing himself to engage in an Occlumency exercise to calm his mind and compartmentalize his emotions. He would need to be at his best to get through the uncomfortable conversation they needed to have. "That's why I released you from your oath. I did not want you to be forced into this. If you can't accept the path I've chosen, if you can't support the decisions that I make at the Dark Lord's side, then you need to make up your mind and leave. I don't have the luxury to second guess myself, to have you injecting doubt when I'm trying to accomplish the Dark Lord's tasks. I can't allow you to become a distraction."
Snape studied Harry for a moment, then let out a heavy exhale, a fleeting expression of loss passing over his usually composed features. "Perhaps I owe you an apology," he conceded, surprising Harry with the admission. "I understand better than most the sacrifices required, the toll of standing by his side. Despite my initial anger, you managed your meeting admirably. Your insight into the vampire's motives surpassed mine." His next words seemed to pain him as he spoke. "I will strive to place more trust in you. It's evident you've evolved beyond the boy I once taught."
Harry was momentarily speechless at Snape's acknowledgment, caught off guard by the unexpected acknowledgment. It was a rare moment of vulnerability from the typically stoic potions master.
"I'm not trying to make this harder on you," Harry began, his tone softer now, "and I know you care about me. But being questioned, even belittled in front of other Death Eaters, even the vampire if he'd still been present, undermines me. It makes it harder for me to do what I need to do."
"And what is it you're trying to do?" Snape inquired, his vulnerability now replaced by the familiar demeanor of a calculating and astute spy.
Harry released an uncertain laugh. The potion master's unpredictable mood swings could give a wizard whiplash. "Nothing has changed. I'm still trying to stop another war from starting! It's everyone else who has lost their minds, not me…" Harry said, genuinely exasperated by both the wizard before him and the increasingly difficult positions he kept finding himself in.
Snape gave him an utterly unimpressed look. "And how, precisely, did you become the Dark Lord's ambassador to the vampires?" He said it almost like he blamed Harry, as if he suspected it was some heroic ploy on Harry's part, all under the guise of seeking more attention.
Harry shook his head, suddenly amused as he realized the absurdity of the situation. "Honestly, I have no idea," he admitted bluntly. "Because no one else is willing or foolish enough. Because the world keeps believing I can tempter this sadistic Dark Lord's actions." He shrugged, feeling some of the tension from their earlier exchange dissipate. It seemed they had moved past their initial conflict, with Snape returning to his sarcastic yet potentially helpful self.
Feeling the need to clarify his earlier actions, Harry reluctantly forced himself to revisit what had resulted in their mutual aggravation, needing to ensure they were on the same page before he could hope to move forward with the spy.
"I truly don't want to lord my new position over you; that was never my intent," he said softly, recalling his earlier words in the alley and feeling a bit silly for pulling the 'I'm the Dark Lord's heir' card, which sounded like something Malfoy would say. He frowned in distaste, vowing never to use such a line again and feeling more than a little mortified. He hoped Malfoy's mannerisms were not rubbing off on him. If he wanted to succeed, he needed the Death Eaters' respect because of his power, not due to their fear of the Dark Lord.
Snape's lips turned down slightly in distaste. "Considering your position, you weren't entirely out of line to not appreciate my reaction, even if your actions were still quite reckless," Snape said, giving Harry an assessing look. "I don't understand why you did it. You could have been killed." His question sounded more genuine, devoid of any scolding tone.
Harry shifted from one foot to the other, suddenly feeling self-conscious, his cheeks burning slightly. "It was mostly instinctual. I had faced him once before, and I didn't believe he would attack me. I needed something to shift the conversation, to gain an advantage. I needed his trust. It was the only thing I could offer him that might make him think twice about what I am trying to do, make him believe that I'm willing to do anything to see this through."
He didn't like the considering look directed his way. "And are you? Willing to do anything?" Snape pressed, the question hanging in the air.
Reflecting on his recent uncomfortable conversation with the Dark Lord, Harry wasn't sure what to say. For once, the idea of sacrificing himself didn't seem like such a practical bargaining chip; he was starting to believe that he might hold far more power to achieve his goals by remaining alive. The realization shocked him.
Worse, it made him question whether Dumbledore had intentionally encouraged such low self-esteem in him, grooming him to be their perfectly compliant golden boy, willing to do anything for the supposed greater good? The Light Lord knew he had a soul shard in him. Was Harry's sacrifice always part of the plan if removing the shard proved impossible? The thought left the young wizard deeply troubled, especially since just a year ago, he could have imagined himself willingly doing anything to see Voldemort defeated. Worse yet, Harry knew Dumbledore cared about him; he had never doubted that. But he doubted the wizard's affection would come at the expense of allowing Voldemort to rise in power.
Harry shook his head, pushing the gloomy thoughts from his mind. Whatever the truth was, it no longer mattered. he'd strayed from Dumbledore's path; he was no longer under the Light Lord's control.
"I'm committed to the choices I've made," Harry replied after a moment of contemplation. "Not just becoming the Dark Lord's mindless obedient heir. But I want to make a difference. I want my choices, this sacrifice of serving as his heir to matter. That's why I'm doing all this. The alliance he forged last time with the vampires was terrifying; he promised them horrible things. If I can be part of these negotiations, if I can lead them, then I can make it better, safer for everyone. I needed Tullos to understand that I'm serious about this." He knew it was dangerous, that it could all backfire spectacularly. But he had to try.
"You're playing with fire; this isn't a game," Snape warned.
Harry fell silent, contemplating Snape's words. "You know that I understand better than most that this isn't a game, that I know exactly who he is and what he's capable of," he finally replied, his voice quiet.
Snape stared at Harry, considering his words, considering the young man before him. "And you think I play a role in all this?" Harry knew he was silently probing why he had been summoned.
Harry sighed, not eager for the conversation he knew he had to have. "I can't afford any mistakes or loose ends," Harry admitted. "You know I'm delving into dark magic, things that could land me in Azkaban. And speaking with the vampires after their attack could have me answering very uncomfortable questions, ones I'm not ready to bring to the ministry…" He paused, shifting his gaze, his eyes drawn to the play of moonlight on the twisted branches of trees that loomed over them. "And you're still functioning as a spy..."
Snape's lips tightened. "I thought you didn't want me bound by an oath."
Harry glanced back at the wizard, meeting his eyes. "I don't."
The older wizard exhaled and took a step back, distancing himself from Harry as he turned and walked towards the pond. Harry observed him in silence. The subdued wizard appeared contemplative beneath the shadowy trees. Fireflies danced around him, their gentle glow casting transient patches of light. In the background, the croak of a distant toad emanated from the murky shadows, lending a melancholic tone to the scene.
"Sometimes, necessity dictates our choices," Snape murmured, almost to himself, his voice carrying a weight of resignation. He turned back to Harry, his features resolved. "I'll swear it."
Harry swallowed hard but nodded. He disliked the situation, but it had to be done. "What words do you require?" Snape asked, his expression guarded.
"What words would make it easiest for you?" Harry countered. Giving Snape a choice in the exact verbiage seemed the least he could do, a small gesture of respect.
Snape thought about it for a few moments. "A life oath, that I won't ever betray you to anyone who could use the knowledge against you. I won't share any knowledge of your magic or deeds with anyone without your expressed permission."
Harry's eyes jerked up. That was more than he'd ever consider asking for. "No, not a life oath. And it's too broad, too dangerous for you. I was thinking of a lesser oath about my dark magic, like what Ron and Hermione took."
Snape frowned, opening his mouth as if to argue, but another thought dawned on Harry, which he quickly voiced, interrupting the older wizard before he could respond. "This would prevent you from talking to the Dark Lord about me too," Harry realized.
Meeting Harry's gaze squarely, Snape nodded, "I am aware."
"Why?" Harry asked, beyond confused. Was Snape truly this desperate to be enslaved again?
Snape's expression turned inscrutable, his face a mask of concealment. His voice dropped as he said, "My initial vow to protect you was driven by regret and self-reproach. My allegiance to the Dark Lord stemmed from feelings of alienation and resentment, serving as an outlet for my anger. I find your vision for the future far more appealing than the paths offered by either of the competing magical lords. Allow me this opportunity. Give my wretched life, one tainted by poor decisions, a purpose beyond the selfishness and hatred that have longed directed it."
Harry shook his head, shocked by the disclosure. "I can't ask that of you, I can't accept it." Harry protested, his voice faltering.
"You know that you must," Snape argued, his tone final. "For me to be of any use to you, for you to be able to trust me, this is necessary."
Harry took a deep breath, locking eyes with the stern wizard. Perhaps for the first time, he was genuinely seeing Snape. He had always perceived him as consumed by bitterness and rage, never truly understanding him. But now, he saw a spark of life in the black depths of Snape's eyes, which looked back at him expectantly. And Harry couldn't deny that he, too, craved reassurance from the wizard if he hoped to have any future of trusting him.
"Are you sure? Do you want time to think about it?" Harry asked.
Snape shook his head. "Time is a luxury we don't have. The Order could summon me at any moment. The oath will make interactions with the Light simpler. This is the right path."
"And what of the Dark Lord?" Harry dared to ask.
A brief grimace crossed Snape's face. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it."
Harry swallowed, not feeling comforted in the slightest. "He could kill you for this."
Snape's stare was contemplative yet resolute. "He values you much more than he does me. I believe that pledging loyalty to his heir is a risk I can manage. If you are truly committed to this path, it might not be seen as the betrayal we fear."
Taking another deep breath, Harry relaxed his clenched fists, feeling the weight of the moment. Snape's life hung in the balance, but this could be the solution they needed. "If you're really sure," Harry asked one last time.
With decisive steps, Snape moved closer and extended his hand. After a brief pause, Harry drew his wand and solemnly performed the oath, which Snape accepted without hesitation.
With the pact sealed, an uncomfortable silence fell. Harry, now linked to Snape by a life oath, struggled to find words for the man who had just pledged his allegiance so completely.
Snape broke the silence, his voice carrying a mix of curiosity and contempt. "How did the Dark Lord respond to your reckless actions with the vampire?"
Harry averted his eyes, fidgeting slightly. "He doesn't know how I secured the agreement to keep talking with them, only that I managed to do so."
Snape let out a heavy sigh, his annoyance clear. "Aren't you concerned about the others exposing what happened?"
Harry offered a nonchalant shrug, downplaying his own concern. "Bellatrix won't willingly admit she failed to keep me out of harm's way, and I believe Barty would only reveal it if asked. I don't fully trust him, but he's clever; he won't betray me unless there's something to be gained. Revealing this would only anger both me and Voldemort. He stands more to lose if he brings it up on his own."
After a moment of silence, Snape spoke again. "You've begun thinking like him now," he noted.
Harry nodded in agreement, refusing to see the statement as an insult. The dark wizard was a genius, even if he was a sadistic sociopath. "He's my instructor."
Snape appeared unsettled by the acknowledgment, yet he accepted it. "I suppose he is. I still believe it was a risky move."
Harry stepped closer, raising his hand. "He gave me this; it's meant to protect me. It can withstand attacks long enough for me to get away. I wasn't as defenseless as you thought."
Snape looked at the ring skeptically. "Even against an ancient vampire?"
Harry nodded, lowering his arm. "I think he made it; I can sense his magic in it. If there's one thing I'm certain of, it's his interest in keeping me alive."
"Yes, I would agree with that," Snape conceded, his voice tinged with unease. "However, you should still be cautious with your dealings with the vampires; they are infamously elusive and unpredictable."
"Do you think Tullos and the Queen are aligned, or is he acting alone?" Harry asked, curious to know what the other wizard thought. It was nice to be able to talk about this with someone without the fear of the information being leaked or exploited.
"It's hard to be sure," Snape answered, his expression thoughtful. "Given their newly crowned Queen, their internal alliances might be fragile. I'll look into it. Even if Tullos doesn't openly oppose her, he might have his own objectives. Powerful entities often do." His meaningful glance at Harry carried an unspoken warning, leaving the young wizard uncertain whether he meant Harry or hinted at the Dark Lord's intentions.
Stepping back, Snape surveyed the garden, his gaze sharp against the backdrop of moonlit trees. "I should go. This place might offer you sanctuary, but I find no peace in the Dark Lord's domain," he stated, his voice carrying a note of disquiet. "I'll see what I can find on the vampires. In the meantime, do try to keep yourself alive."
He paused, locking eyes with Harry, the seriousness of his commitment resonating in the stillness of the night. "I meant what I said earlier. Perhaps for the first time in my life I've taken an oath I believe in. Come what may, I intend to stand beside you, Harry. Do not be reluctant to reach out, whether through the mark or other means."
"Will you come?" Harry asked softly.
Snape stared at him; his black eyes unfathomable. "Always."
Not trusting his voice, Harry nodded. Gratitude overwhelmed the young Potter Lord as he watched Snape turn and walk away, his figure merging with the night until he disappeared at the edge of the garden.
S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S
Harry sipped his pumpkin juice, lost in thought, the unexpected results of the previous night swirling in his mind.
"You were active last night," Voldemort remarked, his crimson gaze locking onto Harry.
Harry's eyes shot up, meeting the piercing stare. He tried to keep his expression neutral. "Yes, I've had a lot to do lately," he replied, a statement of fact rather than an admission of guilt.
Voldemort's eyes glinted with amusement at the subtle wordplay, and Harry sensed a hint of indulgence in the Dark Lord's magic. It was a response he could work with. But that did not taper the expectant look that remained on the Dark Lord's features.
"You're referring to my late-night visitor?" Harry pressed, not surprised that Voldemort was aware of everyone who entered his manor. The powerful wards would have alerted him the second Snape arrived, which also meant the Dark Lord had chosen to allow him in. What Harry wasn't sure of was whether Voldemort knew how Harry had reached Snape, that he'd used the mark. Harry might have overstepped an unknown boundary by summoning his follower, but ensuring Snape didn't report him to the Light had felt like a necessary priority.
"Yes," Voldemort responded, clearly demanding more. Harry knew he needed to tread carefully. If he appeared to be hiding something, it would only invite punishment and trouble for himself and Snape.
"I was fixing a problem," Harry explained cautiously. "The Light's continued interference makes it harder to fulfill my role as your heir. I wanted to stop the reports going to them on my actions."
"You would command my spy?" The Dark Lord asked. His words were almost playful, but the magic had darkened, growing vindictive and possessive.
Harry inhaled, taking a moment to gather his thoughts, seeking a way to navigate the delicate situation without compromising Snape's most recent oath.
"If my actions have displeased you, I will undo them," he offered carefully. "Was I wrong to assume that, given my public allegiance to you, it has become unnecessary for the Light to continue receiving updates on me? He reported on me to make them lose hope, to make them think I had betrayed them."
He met Voldemort's eyes, knowing his next words would please the dark wizard. "We don't need to manipulate them anymore. You won; I have betrayed them. Now, any rumors they receive only create unwanted attention, giving them fuel against me. I did not want them to know about the meeting last night, what I am doing on your behalf."
Crimson eyes narrowed, a flicker of amusement shining through. "Oh, very good, my little snake; you are becoming very adept at this game."
Seizing the opportunity, Harry added with a slight grin, "I have learned from a master."
Voldemort's soft and approving laughter filled the room. "Quite adept indeed. Very well, I will allow this. The Light need not be privy to your endeavors by my side. Have you mitigated the problem?"
Harry nodded, relieved. "Yes, I took care of it. There should be no more leaks unless you have a real spy in your midst."
That piqued Voldemort's interest. "And you are certain he is not a spy? There was a time you harbored suspicions about his true loyalties."
"I do not believe he is loyal to Dumbledore," Harry confessed, hoping Voldemort would not grasp the subtle distinction—that while Snape wasn't allied with Dumbledore, he wasn't necessarily in Voldemort's camp either; his loyalty now pledged to Harry. Meeting the cunning gaze, he doubted Voldemort would overlook such a nuance, but did have faith that the wizard genuinely believed that anything belonging to Harry was inherently his as well.
The Dark Lord's expression turned grim. "Don't be too liberal with your trust, my apprentice. Many would exploit it."
Harry felt an impulse to reply, 'like you,' but he held back, not wanting to provoke an argument this early in the morning or, worse, face the potential of the Dark Lord responding in a way that might undermine the slowly growing trust he had for the one he's sworn submission to. Gazing into the crimson eyes, he wondered if the astute Slytherin Lord could discern the confused thoughts racing through his heir's mind without needing to access his mental defenses.
Fortunately, Voldemort was as averse to probing emotional discussions as Harry. "How goes your task to remove Bones?" he inquired, steering the conversation elsewhere.
Piercing a piece of fruit with his fork, Harry chewed thoughtfully before answering. "You haven't given me much time," he finally said. "I think we have the majority, but it's hard to tell. She's done well as Minister—she seen as fair and competent." Harry leaned back, eyeing the Dark Lord. "Are you sure she can't stay? Her presence might calm the Light and make them less panicked. Once she's ousted, they'll realize they've lost their last grip on any real power in the ministry. That could make them reckless."
Voldemort's smile was cold, not reaching his eyes. "I don't fear the Light's desperation. This was inevitable, my heir. No, she can't remain. Be grateful I'm allowing her removal in a way that spares her life."
Disliking the ominous undertone, Harry backed down, knowing it had been futile to dissuade the Dark Lord from claiming such a prominent position in the ministry. "Can I have more time, then?" The stakes were too high; failing would endanger her life.
"No," Voldemort denied. "This is your challenge. I have taught you to be cunning and resourceful. If you care for her well-being, you will figure out a way to succeed."
Harry frowned. Three weeks had elapsed since he received the task, with only one more Wizengamot session scheduled before the two-month deadline. He wanted to protest the unfairness, but he knew it would be ignored. Or worse, Voldemort might withdraw the task from Harry altogether and eliminate Bones himself.
"I need to meet with Ambrose and Lucius again," Harry sighed in resignation. Voldemort raised an eyebrow sardonically, as if to indicate the use of Harry's time was his decision, then returned his attention to the Daily Prophet that lay discarded next to the Dark Lord's coffee.
As another week slipped away, Harry found himself meeting daily with Lucius, Ambrose, and Barty. Initially, he had been uncertain how Barty would react to his commands and decisions during their vampire mission, but the wizard behaved as though everything was normal, referring to Harry as the 'Little Lord,' displaying his typical blend of playful respect and acknowledgment in his own exclusive way that was uniquely Barty.
Harry was increasingly baffled by the cerebral Death Eater. He always provided insight and recommendations with an eerie intellect that left Harry in awe. He had a cruel streak but rarely displayed it. And he seemed to genuinely enjoy hanging around Harry, going so far as to offer to be backup in future vampire escapades. That comment had made both Lucius and Ambrose raise a brow since it hadn't become common knowledge that Harry was now the Dark Lord's emissary to the Children of the Night.
What struck Harry the most was observing the subtle shifts in Lucius and Ambrose's behavior towards him. Initially, after his declaration as heir, they had been consistently courteous and occasionally deferential. However, as time passed, their demeanor evolved. They began standing whenever he entered or left a room and increasingly yielded to his opinions during discussions—even when Harry knew his ideas weren't the most refined, given his ongoing struggle of trying to develop mature political thoughts and strategies that often contrasted with their seasoned experience. It bothered him that he found himself increasingly coaxing them to provide opposing viewpoints or challenge his ideas. It almost made him afraid to speak up, fearful he wouldn't hear their true opinions if he offered up his own suggestion too early in a discussion.
He was beginning to find it beyond frustrating that despite his own reservations about his youth and inexperience, the adults maintained an indulgent facade. Lucius Malfoy, especially with his aristocratic bearing, had become unusually cooperative. His approach was so nuanced that it almost made Harry believe the ideas presented were his own. However, Harry soon saw through this outward show, seeing the subtle manipulations at play.
"I'm not him," he remarked quietly, fixing his gaze on Lucius. "Flattery and deference won't make me value you more. If you want my approval, assist me in completing this task. Help me bring down Bones before the Dark Lord intervenes." At his words, a faint blush colored Malfoy's cheeks, his eyes hardening. He'd nodded once, and they'd returned to their planning.
Harry's frustration peaked during one meeting on a late Friday afternoon nearing the end of a week of scheming. Exhausted by the lack of clear paths to success and the increasing difficulty in gaining support from the neutral faction to dismiss Bones, he had casually proposed the audacious idea of kidnapping all of the neutrals' loved ones, fully expecting it to be rejected outright. However, to his surprise, immediate rejection did not follow. He could see from the expressions in their eyes that they considered it a tactless idea, yet they had immediately began searching for some merit in the suggestion.
"Come now, that wasn't a good idea, and we all know it!" he protested, sinking back into his chair with a weary sigh, swiping a hand through his hair. The notion that Voldemort might have instructed them to behave this way briefly crossed Harry's mind, but he dismissed it, finding it inconsistent with the Dark Lord's temperament. Voldemort wouldn't simply order Harry the respect of his followers; he would demand that Harry prove his worth and earn it.
The encounter had made him so mad that in the act of defiance, he had chosen sullen silence for the next two hours, hoping to force the other wizards to take more initiative. They hadn't gotten a lot accomplished that day…
S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S
The early September air was crisp and carried a hint of autumn's chill as Harry sat quietly in his room, the thick brick walls of the Manor muting the sounds of the outside world. His surprise was unmistakable when a note materialized in his journal with a soft pulse of magic. The message from Hermione was brief: she wanted to meet, and shockingly, she wished to come to the Manor. They'd returned to school a week ago, but a Hogsmeade weekend was approaching, and they could come to him if Harry sent them the means to do so.
That evening, under the torchlight glow in the dining hall, Harry broached the subject with Voldemort. The air was thick with the scent of roasted meat and spices, casting a sensory sheen over the room. Voldemort, sipping his wine with an indifferent expression, granted permission after a moment's contemplation. He grabbed a fork and silently transformed it, sliding the newly created portkey across the table to Harry. The simple act left Harry feeling a complex mix of gratitude and unease.
The following day Saturday dawned bright and clear, the sunlight filtering through the high windows of the entrance hall, casting long shadows on the marble floor. Harry's heart thumped in his chest as he awaited his friends, his mind a whirl of anticipation and anxiety. They arrived on time and he led them to the receiving room where he had met Remus.
As lunchtime approached, Harry called for Tipsy, requesting a meal. Tipsy, ever eager to please, had prepared a delightful spread ranging from pastries and fruit custard to soups, sandwiches, and an assortment of juices.
Ron, his eyes wide at the spread, bit into a tart, his words muffled, "Wow, I really need a house elf."
Hermione's response was swift, her hand slapping Ron's arm in reproach, causing the tart to tumble from his fingers. "Ron! We talked about this! I can't believe you!" she exclaimed, her brow furrowed in disapproval.
Ron, looking sheepish, glanced at Harry, his eyes flickering to the floor in guilt, settling on the crumbled pastry mess spread across the carpet rug. Harry, suppressing a chuckle at the familiar bickering, banished the remains with a flick of his wand.
"I swear she's mental," Ron grumbled, shooting Hermione a look that mixed irritation with affection. "They like serving wizards. Even Kreacher became happier when Dumbledore started getting him to work more and really tried to clean up that dump of a dark wizard's house." He ducked his shoulder, now casting Harry an apologetic look as if to say he was sorry for inadvertently insulting Harry, the resident dark wizard.
Harry's brows knit together in confusion, a surge of discomfort rising within him. He chose to ignore the remark about the dark wizard altogether. "What do you mean? Why would Dumbledore order Kreacher around?" Harry couldn't mask his resentment at the thought that the Light had commandeered Sirius' elf and home. "Are you still using Grimmauld Place as headquarters?"
Hermione, noting the edge in Harry's voice, hesitated before responding, "Yes, it was left to Dumbledore in Sirius' will." Her voice carried a note of discomfort, acknowledging the delicacy of the subject. She seemed to imply that Harry should have been aware of this fact, a realization that stung him, especially since he had been excluded from the will reading, probably due to Dumbledore's intervention.
"But Voldemort attacked the Burrow last summer to target the Order, you all had moved?" Harry asked, his confusion evident as he tried to connect the dots.
Hermione nodded, a flicker of anger passing through her eyes. "I didn't realize it at the time, but they were still sorting through the legality of Sirius' will. I think Dumbledore knew that Sirius had made you his heir, perhaps not anticipating the blood adoption, but certainly aware that, as your godfather, Sirius intended for you to inherit most of his belongings, as you've now come to realize." Open frustration was evident in her tone.
"It was wrong to keep that from you, and I was furious when I found out. But after you were captured by Voldemort, even though Sirius had left his home to Dumbledore, we moved to the Burrow to prevent Voldemort from using your potential inheritance against us. Only you could read the parts of the will meant for you. They weren't certain what Sirius had left for you..." She trailed off, looking at him apologetically.
Ron's laughter, laced with a bitter edge, cut through the tense atmosphere. "Because that worked out so well..."
Hermione met his sarcasm with a sharp glance, her eyes conveying a silent rebuke, yet she held back from verbalizing her thoughts. "They use it occasionally now," she finally said, her voice strained. "The wards have all been changed since it was confirmed that the property was left to the Order. I'm sorry, Harry. I thought you knew..."
Harry offered a noncommittal shrug, masking the turmoil of emotions tied to Sirius and the house that had been more like a cage than a sanctuary to his dogfather. "It's fine," he replied, his tone attempting to convey ease, a stark contrast to the storm of thoughts within. "I was just taken aback, that's all. I wish Dumbledore had let me attend the will reading. Discovering my inheritance while under Voldemort's control wasn't exactly easy."
Ron's look of understanding and sympathy made Harry feel slightly better. Hermione, meanwhile, seemed absorbed in her own thoughts. "I don't think anyone was aware of the blood adoption; it certainly took the Order by surprise," she reflected.
Harry couldn't help but laugh at the irony. "Well, that makes all of us then: you, me, Dumbledore, even Voldemort. Well done, Padfoot. Your last prank really went off with a real bang." He reached for a cup of juice, the cool liquid providing a refreshing contrast as he took a big gulp.
Hermione glanced at him, her large brown eyes seeming uncertain, cautious. "Well, it certainly gives you unique power in the Wizengamot," she remarked thoughtfully.
Harry shrugged. "Yes, I guess. I'd rather not have two votes, to be honest." The words hung between them, heavy with the unspoken truth of Voldemort's influence over him.
"Because he controls your votes?" Hermione asked gently.
Harry was silent for a moment, reflecting on the question. His loyalties—and by extension, his votes—were indeed not entirely his own to wield. However, it wasn't about being controlled; rather, it was Harry, as the Potter Lord, who had chosen to align his votes with the Dark Lord's interests. While the thought of opposing Voldemort in the Wizengamot made him shudder, he didn't foresee such a confrontation. His commitment to their alliance, for better or worse, his decision had been made.
"We overheard the Order talking," Hermione continued, her eyes searching Harry's. "There are rumors of a move to vote Bones out as minister." The sudden intensity of both of their gazes bore into him. Harry met their stares with an unnerving calm, a skill honed under Voldemort's tutelage.
When no answer from the Slytherin heir was apparent, Hermione shifted awkwardly. "Is that likely to happen?" Hermione pressed, her voice laced with concern.
Harry's own expression turned questioning. "Since when have you been so interested in Wizengamot politics?" he asked, his suspicion awakening.
Ron's discomfort was palpable, his face flushing a bright red. It gave him all the answers he needed. "Did Dumbledore ask you to come here? To ask me about the vote?" Harry asked, shock and disbelief flickering through him.
"No, of course not," Ron stammered, his own discomfort tangible, his inability to lie clear as day. He'd never seemed so much like a Gryffindor than in that moment.
Harry turned to Hermione, his voice dropping, tinged with anger. "Please, don't lie to me." His words were softer than intended, carrying an unmistakable edge of threat. As he spoke, he gently probed her mind, testing his developing Legilimency skills that Voldemort was refining. To his surprise, he encountered rudimentary mental defenses existing around her thoughts, a stark contrast to her previous lack of Occlumency skills that were notably absent during their fifth year when Harry himself was forced to learn under Snape's awful tutelage.
Hermione, apparently unaware of his mental foray, replied earnestly, "We wanted to see you." She paused, her bushy hair veiling her face as she looked down. "But yes, he suggested we ask about the vote and what you intended to do. The neutrals will likely follow your lead."
Harry's sense of betrayal twisted like a knife inside him. "I thought I could trust you," he accused sharply, pained.
"Mate, you can," Ron insisted, leaning forward earnestly. "We're not trying to trick you. If you don't want to talk about it, you don't have to. He just suggested we ask. It wasn't a trick. We swear."
Hermione, caught in the conflict of loyalty and concern, looked from Harry to Ron, her own determination solidifying. She shook her head. "No. I'm sorry, Harry, but this is important. We're still your friends, but this is bigger than us. If Bones goes, Voldemort will control the ministry. Who will stop him then? He could make life impossible for Muggleborns. I can't stand by and let that happen. Just because you're okay with what he's doing doesn't mean I am. I'm terrified. You saw what happened at the Quidditch World Cup. They were attacking muggles. Witches and wizards like me! What if he legalizes hunting us?"
Tears welled in Hermione's eyes, her voice shaking. "Harry, I know you think I'll be safe, that you can protect me… But I can't believe he's changed this drastically since the first war. Blood supremacy is fundamental to his followers. Can you truly believe those who killed and tortured for pleasure have changed? That this peace will last? Even if I'm safe, what about everyone else? I don't want to live in that world."
Harry could feel his friend's raw pain and fear. He stepped forward, enveloping her in a hug. "I get why you're scared," he whispered, holding her tightly. "But have any attacks happened since I joined him?" He was genuinely asking, wondering if Hermione had information he lacked.
Pulling away, Hermione walked to the small hearth, her movements stiff with tension. "That doesn't mean he's reformed!" she argued, raising her voice, her anger evident. Harry felt her magic surge, reflecting her inner turmoil. "Clearly, he wants you as an ally, perhaps pausing the attacks to sway you. But once he establishes power over the ministry, what then? Do you actually think you can stop him if he targets Muggleborns or those aligned with the Light once he has complete power?"
Harry's mouth felt dry, his muscles tense. Hopelessness that he hadn't felt in months coursing through him. "Hermione, I've already told you that I can't stop him; that hasn't suddenly changed. He's stronger than me. This past year has made me certain of that. But, as shocking as it sounds, I believe him when he promises not to target those I care about as long as I support him." Harry fought to keep his voice calm, but it was strained with the reality of their situation.
"I can't just gamble my life like you're willing to on the hope of a murderer's words," Hermione whispered, her despair echoing in the stillness of the room.
Harry took a step back, walking to the window, his silhouette framed against the light as he looked out at the serene Manor's grounds, a stark contrast to the internal turmoil within him. "You're right," he sighed, his voice barely above a whisper. How could he have thought otherwise? The fears and doubts that had plagued him, the compromises he had made—they were not his alone, he could not make this choice for her. He didn't fault Hermione for her fear; in truth he still shared them, haunted by the notion that one day Voldemort might deem him expendable. Hoping beyond hope that he wasn't. That this was real. His hope was the only thing keeping him going each day.
"I am?" Hermione asked, her voice carrying a mix of sorrow and tentative expectation.
Harry turned to Hermione, his gaze sincere. "Of course you are, Hermione. Whatever you might think is happening, I'm not oblivious to who he is, what he's done, and what he's capable of doing. Your fears are valid." He paused, considering his next words carefully. "But I truly believe that his goal isn't blood supremacy. He promised me that there would be no discrimination based on blood status. Yes, he has horrendous plans for Muggleborn parents, and I won't downplay that. But it doesn't mean that Muggleborns themselves won't be allowed to live good lives."
Tears filled Hermione's eyes, her voice trembling. "Harry, listen to yourself! I don't even know what laws you're talking about, and you're talking about them affecting my parents as if it doesn't matter!"
Observing Ron's unusual pallor, Harry suddenly realized how detached he had become. Hermione's reaction brought to light the very real desensitization that had settled over him.
"I don't know what I can say to make this right," Harry admitted, swiping a hand through his hair. "I'm trying to make the laws fair, that Light wizards, Halfbloods, and Muggleborns can all have good lives. It's far from perfect, and many parts are downright awful, but believe me, it could be much worse."
He turned back to the window, his next words quiet. "And I don't think we have any other choice. This is the best of even worse options." He turned back to his friends. Ron's expression was one of disbelief and fear, Hermione's suddenly unreadable.
"I'm serious," Harry sighed, walking towards them and sinking back into his chair, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. "We can't stop him. He's going to win, with or without my help. I'm using my position to influence what I can to prevent Pureblood supremacists from shaping his laws, taking that role instead." He looked at Hermione, her eyes red-rimmed with tears. "It's hard to believe, but his current actions are proving that he is different from the first war. He's recognized your talent, Hermione. He's asked you to support him. You could become invaluable to him; make him see your worth. That's what I'm attempting to do. The more he wants me at his side, the more he's willing to let me be involved, to shape things. He values power more than anything. You're not as hopeless in all this as you think."
"And if it's all a trap?" Hermione's voice was a whisper, her panic evident.
Harry shrugged, his mind swirling with conflicting thoughts. "There are many ways to be brave," he finally said. "Certainly, fighting him head-on looks heroic, but it's also rash; it could cost you everything. I think there's also bravery in standing beside him, trying to influence less horrible results. Every day, I choose to stand beside the Dark Lord who killed my parents. It's a gamble, but it's what I've chosen, the path I believe will allow me to live the life I want." He glanced at Hermione, meeting her brown eyes. "Only you can decide your own role in all this. I can't decide for you. Whether you choose to oppose him or work alongside him, both are choices only you cant make. Pick the one that gives you the best chance at a life worth living. That's what I ultimately did."
Ron gazed at Harry, while Hermione, with silent tears streaming down her face, appeared struck by disbelief at Harry's claim that there was courage in acceptance, in submission.
"If I choose to do this, to help you, to help him…" she shuddered, the weight of her decision hanging between them. "If I want to come back, can I just apparate here or meet you in your room?"
Harry shook his head. "No, you'd need to be keyed to the wards. Or take his mark." Their immediate look of revulsion spoke volumes about their feelings about that option.
Hermione frowned, her voice hopeful. "I'm not ready to go through him, I don't want his mark, I only want to see you. If I do this," there was a big 'if' in that statement, "then I want to work with you. Not him. I still don't trust him."
"I can't give you access," Harry admitted, "But I can coordinate, just like I did for this visit. Just send me a message in the journal."
Hermione gave him a long look, her skepticism evident. "I'm surprised he lets you keep it. I'm pretty certain it can't be broken into."
"Yeah, your runes were great, Hermione," Harry praised, enjoying the pleased flush that colored her cheeks, grateful for the shift to a lighter topic. "I don't think he realized what you had done initially; he didn't know it was a two-way magical journal," Harry confessed, smiling at the memory of the Dark Lord praising Hermione's craftsmanship.
Ron leaned in, his curiosity piqued. "How did he discover it, then?"
"I told him," Harry said simply, seeing their bewildered expressions. "I didn't think he'd take it away. Trust me, hiding it would have been worse."
The bafflement was evident on their faces, unable to grasp the complex nature of Harry's relationship with Voldemort. Harry suppressed a chuckle, feeling a mix of amusement and sadness at their confusion. As the conversation shifted, the tension in the room eased considerably. They reminisced about their first week back at school, with Filch making futile attempts to ban all the products from the Weasley twins' flourishing joke business. Laughter filled the air as they shared anecdotes, the twins' latest remote mischief painting vivid scenes of chaos and laughter in the corridors of Hogwarts. Sitting there, surrounded by his two best friends, Harry momentarily let go of the heavy burdens of war and politics, basking in the light-hearted moments that reminded him of simpler times.
S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S
The day of the Wizengamot session had finally arrived, the air thick with expectancy, rumors afloat about the expected vote of no confidence. Murmurs had reached a fever pitch, with many uncertain of the outcome. Despite Harry's covert efforts to influence opinions from behind the scenes, open reluctance to oppose Amelia Bones was evident, given her beyond commendable performance under such challenging conditions. Harry couldn't help but feel a tinge of relief that not all were as oblivious to the rising dark forces as he'd thought, with so many desiring to keep Bones in power, making it clear the wizarding world knew what was on the horizon if she left. Yet, his resolve remained firm; it was the only way to keep her alive.
In the Wizengamot chamber, an electric buzz of anticipation filled the space. Ambrose, standing up, broke the tense silence with a voice that resonated through the ornate chamber. The sound of his chair creaking mingled with the grandeur of the room as he spoke. "We have a petition for a vote of no confidence against Amelia Bones for removal as Minister."
In the brightly lit chamber, adorned with ancient, high-backed chairs and heavy purple velvet drapes, speculative glances darted around. Many eyes inevitably settled on Voldemort, whose presence dominated the room with an eerie blend of authority and menace. His slight smirk showed his own anticipation of the imminent challenge to Bones. It was clear many expected him to initiate the vote, distinctly respected by all the darkest circles and feared by the rest.
Ambrose's voice stood out amongst the expectant stares. "The house responsible for such claims, please stand and make your case."
Feeling a wave of nausea, Harry stood up, the scrape of his own chair on the stone floor cutting through the hushed whispers of the room. With his wand raised, he declared with as much steadiness as he could muster, "I, representing House Potter-Black, wish to initiate the vote of no confidence." His words rippled through the assembly, sparking astonishment and a flurry of murmurs. No one had anticipated that he would be the instigator. In fact, many had planned to keenly observe him, waiting to gauge his vote, their own decisions hanging in the balance influenced by the actions of the alleged Chosen One. That Harry initiated the vote was a startling twist, upending expectations and sending currents of surprise throughout the chamber.
Amelia, her voice a sharp blend of disbelief and anguish, countered, "On what grounds?" Rising to her full height, her authoritative presence was slightly marred by the weight of the accusation, her eyes cutting through the tense air.
Harry held her gaze, his voice gentle yet clear in the quiet chamber. "On several," he declared, the heavy curtains stirring as though reflecting the room's tension, "but most serious is the vampire attack. It's plain that, despite a significant threat looming over us, your efforts have been distracted towards a nonexistent conflict with the Dark forces."
A heavy silence fell over the room. Prepared by Lucius Malfoy, Barty Crouch Jr., and Ambrose, Harry stood resolute, prepared to make his case.
"First," he began, surveying the gathered witches and wizards, "under Minister Bones' leadership, Hogwarts remained shut for months." He paused, knowing the shutdown of Hogwarts transcended a mere administrative issue; it symbolized a disruption in the magical community's lineage, endangering the future of their youth. He knew it had been contentious and that many wanted to open it weeks before she'd finally relented. That there was a very real Dark Lord threat that Harry conveniently ignored remained unspoken. "This decision has damaged the students', creating setbacks that could take years to correct," his words found echoes of agreement and concern in the faces of his audience, mostly from the Dark.
Moving to a darker topic, he addressed the vampire attacks. "Under your leadership, Diagon Alley was massacred," Harry's tone intensified, his fists tightening. "Seventeen lives were lost, stopped only by the intervention of Lord Slytherin and myself." The room buzzed with whispers, the horror of the attack rekindling fears and uncertainties that threatened their collective sense of security. Harry almost snorted. The Dark Lord was right; they were sheep.
Next, Harry argued the broader consequences of Amelia Bones' term. Her administration has misdirected the wizarding community, squandering time and resources preparing for a confrontation with the Dark forces that would not occur, clearly inspired by Albus Dumbledore's delusions. The elder wizard returned his look, his face a complex mix of surprise, pain, and brewing indignation, in stark contrast to Amelia Bones' more composed yet visibly strained demeanor.
Harry fought to keep his voice strong and calm, articulating each point with precision, the result of meticulous preparation that had occurred once they'd realized the only way to guarantee the votes in their favor was for Harry to openly lead the inquiry. Lucius and Barty's research had been thorough. Each accusation was a thread pulled from the tapestry of Amelia Bones' career, unraveling the narrative that she was incompetent, had never deserved the position and that Harry thought she would lead them to ruin. Harry laid everything he had on the table, listing each concern and grievance one after the other.
Because this was a ministerial vote, not a Wizengamot seat, the rules were different. She was an elected official, voted in. Just as easily, she could be voted out. Although she was given a chance to defend herself, it was evident that opinions had been swayed against her; many would side with Harry, their beloved savior, whom they believed to be the only one capable of tempering the growing darkness encroaching upon them.
When the moment of decision arrived, the tension in the chamber reached its peak. The air was thick with anticipation as members of the Wizengamot cast their votes. The grandeur of the room, with its towering ceilings and the solemn portraits of past leaders looking down, added a solemn gravity to the proceedings.
The voting began, and it quickly became apparent that the scales were not in Amelia Bones' favor. Not by a long shot. As the members raised their wands one by one, it was clear that none of the neutral parties were inclined to support her. Their wands, acting as silent arbitrators of her fate, pointed decisively away from her, casting shadows that seemed to elongate in the dim, spell-cast light of the chamber. Even more telling was the behavior of the Light families. Their movements were hesitant, faces etched with great mortification, as some of them, too, raised their wands to signal their vote for her removal. The significance of their action was unmistakable; despite everything, they had aligned with Harry, the Boy Who Lived, hoping he might still lead them to a safer path, a peaceful life.
The shifting alliances and the silent, yet profound, acknowledgment of Harry's influence were emblematic of the changing tides. The chamber, once a place of measured debate and traditional proceedings, had become the stage for a pivotal moment in their history. The soft murmur of robes, the whispered consultations, and the subdued clink of wands against wands as votes were cast, all contributed to the sense of a world teetering on the brink of a new era.
The deed complete and feeling wretched for his actions, Harry had no desire to linger, unwilling to endure the scrutiny of the present Order members or receive accolades from the Dark faction for a decision he found vile. He could sense the Dark Lord's approving gaze but couldn't bring himself to return it. With the session concluded, Harry only sought a swift, unobstructed exit, but fortune was not on his side.
"I knew something like this was in the works, but I never thought you would lead it," Amelia said, halting in front of Harry. Her voice carried a tone of disbelief as if she couldn't believe she'd just been voted out. "I believed we had reached an understanding, that there was mutual respect between us. I thought you were interested in work together with me."
Harry exhaled deeply, feeling compelled to offer her some explanation. He owed her that. "It wasn't personal," he murmured, his finger tracing a silent, wandless circle in the air to cast a muffling spell around them. Amelia's eyes briefly followed the silent magic, her lips pressing into a thinner line.
"I do respect you," Harry stated plainly, his voice tinged with sincerity. "You're a powerful witch with a good vision for our world."
"Then why orchestrate this? If you hadn't led the charge, I doubt he would have secured the necessary votes," she articulated, her voice wavering between confusion and a sense of betrayal.
Harry nodded, acknowledging the truth in her words. "I know," he admitted quietly, the weight of his decision heavy in his voice. His involvement had been strategic, fully aware that few would dare oppose the united front of him and the Dark Lord, especially when the reality of the vampire attack loomed large, and they were the ones who had quelled it.
"He was determined to see you gone, one way or another," Harry added, his tone somber.
Her eyes narrowed. "Are you threatening me, Lord Potter?" she demanded, her sharpness cutting through the muffled silence.
Harry offered a bitter smile, shaking his head. "The opposite, in fact," he murmured. "I did what I did to ensure you remained unharmed."
Amelia's lips tightened further. "By orchestrating my removal? You think I would cower before his threats?"
"No," Harry responded firmly, his own confidence in her bravery evident. "I'm actually so sure of your bravery that I knew you wouldn't back down, especially under threat. My actions were to prevent Susan from losing her aunt. It's so you can continue leading a life that she and others would be proud of. I was given a chance to make this transition happen peacefully. I took it. I'm sorry you were left in the crossfires, but this was inevitable." He gave her a knowing look. "But your death wasn't."
She recoiled slightly, as if his words had physically impacted her. "These aren't the words I'd expect from a wizard who values life, who claims to still have Light ideals. If he had ordered it, would you have been the one to stage that accident?"
Harry hesitated, grappling with the moral lines that had become so blurred that he was no longer sure where they were drawn. "I did what I had to," he finally said, his voice steady despite the turmoil within. "You might think I was wrong, but I did this to help you. And, I don't regret it. If the vote was so fragile that a seventeen-year-old could tip it overwhelmingly against you, then perhaps I am not the real issue here." With those words, Harry took a step back, the spell of their private conversation breaking.
"I'm sorry for how this ended, but I do not regret my actions. Give Susan my best," he added, nodding respectfully before turning away, his steps quickening toward the exit. The thought of Voldemort's potential displeasure for him leaving early was secondary to his need for solitude, for a space to untangle the knot of thoughts and emotions crowding his mind.
"Harry, what have you done?" The voice stopped him in his tracks.
Looking up, Harry saw Neville Longbottom's large figure blocking his path.
"Move, Neville. I don't have the time for this," Harry said, his voice strained, having no patience for this confrontation.
Neville's expression was a mix of sadness and bitterness. "Who are you?" he asked, the question loaded with disappointment. "I don't even recognize you anymore."
Harry paused, his eyes sweeping across the room, catching glimpses of various expressions, including the intense gaze of Voldemort and the lighter, questioning, and considering the eyes of others. Turning back to Neville, he replied, "Then that makes two of us," he said, stepping around the stunned Gryffindor.
Reaching the exit, Harry couldn't resist looking back, feeling the weight of Voldemort's expectant stare on him that hadn't wavered since the vote. He met Voldemort's eyes, nodding, a silent acknowledgment passing between them in full view of the assembly, before he hastened out of the Ministry. The cool night air was a relief as he made his way back to the manor, the image of Amelia's betrayed gaze haunting him. He dreaded the replay of this moment in both his waking thoughts and nightly dreams. Even worse, he was terrified by the possibility that, one day, her betrayed eyes might cease to trouble him at all.
AN: Voila! It's a bit of a longer one; I hope you like it!