The winds of change
After the vote, a semblance of normalcy settled over Harry as September merged into October. Fortunately, Lucius and Ambrose still deemed the timing inappropriate to introduce the law that would permanently separate magically gifted children from Muggle parents.
While Voldemort seemed indifferent to the Light's disapproval of his mandate, he too saw the wisdom in waiting for the most opportune moment when considering other changes he prioritized and the perceived Ministry support he needed.
Unbeknownst to Harry, Malfoy's influence on the school board had allowed the Dark to install one of their own as the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. Professor Alaric Knocty was a prolific dark magic practitioner who had taught at Durmstrang before retiring and had only returned to teaching as a favor to Lucius and, more notably, Voldemort. Harry was surprised to discover from Ron and Hermione that the new DADA syllabus included gray magic and some very minor dark magic.
When he questioned Voldemort about how dark magic had slipped past Dumbledore's oversight, Voldemort smugly explained that because of the position's reliably frequent turnovers, he had instructed Lucius to ensure the education board controlled the next hire and controlled the class's curriculum, all under the guise of ensuring that students could pass their annual exams satisfactorily.
It was clear the Dark Lord was pleased over Dumbledore's inability to maintain suitable instructors and even more gleeful that there was nothing the Light wizard could do to prevent another one of the Dark's from infiltrating the school. The inclusion of a broader range of magical spectrums was an additional requirement to the syllabus that had gone unnoticed until it was too late amidst the rapid transformations occurring everywhere else in the magical world.
"Will you ever lift the curse on that position?" Harry asked one evening in the library. He rested on the plush couch, surrounded by stacks of ancient tomes and spellbooks. The soft glow of enchanted candles illuminated the elegant room, casting dancing shadows on the shelves.
Seated in his favorite position, Harry had been flipping through a spell book that delved into the intricacies of projecting senses to hear or see at range. The book also discussed more eccentric aspects, such as how to remotely experience smells or sensations, which piqued Harry's curiosity, seeming oddly fascinating.
Voldemort, seated across from him at his grand oak desk, glanced up from his own research, his crimson eyes narrowing slightly. "No, the curse will remain as long as Dumbledore holds a position at Hogwarts," he replied, the underlying hostility in his voice hinting at his not-so- subtle contempt for the Headmaster.
Harry furrowed his brow. "Even if it means the students are the ones who are punished?" he pressed, his thoughts on the matter evident in his tone as he closed the spell book and leaned back against the couch. It seemed unfair to generations of children that they should get an awful education because Dumbledore and Voldemort hated each other.
"If it bothers you so much, then get him removed. You were quite effective with the Minister position," Voldemort remarked, his gaze fixed on Harry with a speculative gleam, as if considering tasking Harry with such a mission.
Unsettled by the idea of directly confronting Dumbledore, Harry shifted uncomfortably. "How did you even manage to curse the position for so long?" he asked, changing the topic to something less confrontational.
Voldemort leaned back in his chair, his knowing look clearly indulging Harry with the topic change. "It's a combination of ancient blood magic made more potent by my status as an heir of one of the founders," he explained. "I have authority over Hogwarts that even the Headmaster cannot surpass; Salazar made sure that his kin would always find haven in the castle, that we could access its intrinsic magic."
Harry's eyes widened with wonder. "So, the Headmaster really can't remove it?" "No. Hogwarts, as a magical-infused fortress, obeys my commands more readily than Dumbledore's." Voldemort seemed beyond pleased, almost gleeful. "Because the curses' genesis is designed to influence magic impacting education, who and what was taught, the castle embraced my conditions that until an instructor Salazar Slytherin would consider worthy enters, any inept professor won't last beyond a year."
Harry could all but guess what worthy would mean to the Dark Lord. "Is that condition teaching dark magic?"
The Slytherin Lord chuckled softly at the assumption. "Not just dark magic," Voldemort corrected. "But all magic. They've watered down the education at that façade of a school; it is incomplete and inadequate. It is a disgrace. What is practiced today is never what the founders envisioned."
Harry had heard Voldemort's opinion on the curriculum so often that he could recite it from memory. The troubling part was that he found himself in complete agreement. There were many subjects he believed Hogwarts should cover, including gray magic. He could even see himself supporting certain facets of dark magic with minimal moral hesitation. Magic should not be banned just because it is classified as light or dark. It's the intent and how it was used that matters. Even a tickling charm could cause nerve damage if left on too long.
An idea suddenly struck him. "As your heir, would I also have influence over the school?"
Voldemort's eyes gleamed with what seemed like pride. "Now you're beginning to think like the ambitious protege I knew you could become," he said, nodding in approval.
Harry fought the blush threatening to consume his cheeks. "I wouldn't mind working on more things that help the school. I used to think instructing might be something I did once I grew older…" Harry murmured thoughtfully, almost immediately regretting it, knowing the plans Voldemort had for him likely meant he could never pursue what he wanted.
To his surprise, Voldemort nodded, setting his quill down, becoming fully engaged in the conversation. "I once sought to hold a position as a professor at Hogwarts," he reflected softly, the admission shocking Harry.
Voldemort would have made a fantastic professor except for the whole torturing and killing part when he became angry. "What happened?" Harry asked.
"I was refused by the Headmaster, Dipplet, at the time, but I know his mind was poisoned by Dumbledore, who had never trusted me." Voldemort's unrestrained, raw hatred towards Dumbledore pulsed in his magic. Harry actually found that he almost felt sorry for the Dark Lord. Then he blinked and remembered this wizard was responsible for an untold number of murders. It was probably wise not to lock children in a room with him day in and day out.
Calming his magic, crimson eyes blinked slowly, as if truly contemplating the moment, perhaps wondering how his own life might have been changed if he had been given the position. Would he have become a Dark Lord? Would there have just been more and younger children under his command? Or would everything have been different? It was an unnerving alternative reality that Harry didn't enjoy thinking about.
Voldemort continued as if his revelation of being denied something that could have altered his life were inconsequential. "You should continue to think towards the future. With the inheritance left to you by the Potters and Black, you are more than stable, but if instructing interests you, I can ensure you receive the proper education to master your chosen field."
Harry was momentarily speechless. He opened then closed his mouth, his mind racing with the possibilities laid out before him.
"Your words, if you please. Your current attempts at coherent thought have left me in the dark," Voldemort chided, a mocking note in his otherwise dry tone. "Unless you intend to drop your shields so I can read your thoughts," he added, his crimson eyes glinting with amusement.
"I could really become a professor?" Harry whispered, shaking his head, struggling to believe that the idea could ever be more than just a dream. He hadn't given much thought to what he wanted to do when he grew up, and over the past year, he had given it zero consideration, focusing solely on staying alive and avoiding losing himself entirely to the Dark Lord.
Voldemort looked at him as if trying to clarify his words better, then understanding dawned. "I suspect you'd make a rather competent professor," he offered, a touch of pride in his voice. "You led that extracurricular group when that toad of a woman was assigned," he frowned in distaste at the memory of Umbridge. "I had her imprisoned in Azkaban for marking you," he added casually as if it were a minor inconvenience. "I informed you when you first arrived that once you accepted your place by my side, there would be no limit to the opportunities opened to you."
Harry sputtered. There was so much to unpack in that last statement. He didn't know where to begin. "What do you mean she's in Azkaban?" he asked, leaning forward in astonishment. His mind reeled at the revelation. It had been mentioned so casually as if it were not a significant event.
The Dark Lord exhaled; it sounded long-suffering. "What has gotten into you today? You are showing no decorum; I've taught you better," the scolding was acute, a slight pulse of reprimand hitting Harry's scar.
Harry stilled, straightening in his seat. "I apologize," he offered more formally, forcing himself to collect himself. He'd found himself doing that occasionally around the Dark Lord now, slipping into a more casual countenance. The Dark Lord would usually tolerate it at a meal or in his private office. At any other time, there was usually little lenience. "I wasn't expecting this."
"Expecting what, exactly?" Voldemort pressed, arching a brow. His slight frown indicating he was beginning to grow more than tired of Harry's behavior, of not understanding his heir's odd reactions. The Dark Lord's expression had even become a little severe, as if trying to determine if Harry was attempting some form of manipulation. "She touched you, scarred my heir. Of course, I would not allow that to stand. And she was a fraud of a witch, had no business working in the Ministry or at a school," he dismissed with a wave of his hand.
"As for becoming a professor, to do it the right way, the only way I would accept of one carrying my name and legacy, then yes, I would expect you to get a mastery in the subject. That would take time; most masteries take two to three years," he paused, his gaze intense. "Did you think you would just sit in your room and follow me around for the rest of your days?"
Harry hesitated, a mix of emotions swirling within him. "I... I hadn't thought about it like that," he admitted, feeling a strange sense of relief and apprehension at the idea of pursuing a normal career outside of serving Voldemort directly. "I wasn't sure what you would require once you had won." His biggest fear had always been that he would be discarded, that Voldemort would renege on all his promises.
Voldemort regarded him with a measured gaze. "This time of transition will soon come to an end," he stated with a hint of certainty. "My rule will be uncontested. I envision that your time will free up considerably." He paused, tilting his head. "Unless you're inclined towards full-time politics, which you seem to have a knack for despite your reluctance."
Harry scowled. "I definitely don't want to go into politics," he stated firmly, having previously assumed he wouldn't have a choice in the matter. So many of his actions at the Ministry had already been dictated by the Dark Lord; he had all but accepted this would be his life.
"Pity, but not unexpected," Voldemort conceded. "While your votes and continued political backing will remain as it is now, it stands to reason you would seek to engage yourself further in additional pursuits."
"You would allow me to pursue a job of my choosing?" Harry asked, his voice tinged with a mixture of hope and skepticism, scarcely believing this conversation was actually happening. He recalled the discussion during his birthday, realizing that while his peers had plans, he could barely envision his life beyond the upcoming week.
The Dark Lord nodded, his gesture deliberate and measured. "Indeed. I would require that we have a dialogue to ensure that the choice is suitable, given your power and status," Voldemort stated, his gaze piercing as it met Harry's, emphasizing his very clear expectation for Harry to live up to his potential. "As long as you understand that your primary duty remains to support me and our cause, I see no reason why you should not pursue other endeavors once my power is established. Gaining a mastery, especially if you intend to teach, would only enhance your power and knowledge— something I fully support. Moreover, having you embedded in Hogwarts would strengthen my influence over the next generations." Harry knew he was staring at him wide-eyed, unable to fully keep a mask in place; this was too unexpected.
"And, I'm sure there is plenty of doting and such you'd love to expend on all the children coming through," the Dark Lord added, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly in what might be a smirk. He added the last part with a hint of amusement, well aware of Harry's self-professed soft spot for children.
Harry felt an odd sensation coursing through him, a blend of anticipation and uncertainty. He hadn't avoided this topic out of fear of rejection; he had always assumed it was a lost cause, that he was destined to live only to serve. Glancing at the Dark Lord, who seemed satisfied that he'd conveyed his intent and had already returned to studying some ancient texts on Celtic magical lore on his desk, Harry wondered if he could trust that this was true, that Voldemort would grant him this level of autonomy over his life. There was no detectable deceit in Voldemort's expression, no hidden ultimatums lurking in his words. It was a lot to consider, and as Harry watched the play of candlelight over the sharp angles of Voldemort's face, he realized how complex their relationship had become. He thought he understood the Dark Lord, then conversations like this would occur. He knew everything accomplished by the wizard was deliberate. Harry just wasn't sure what he received conceding this huge allowance to Harry.
S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S
As October bled into November, the landscape transformed; leaves shifted from vibrant greens to fiery oranges and reds, and the oppressive humidity of summer gave way to the crisp, invigorating chill of autumn. Amidst this seasonal change, Harry had not heard back from the vampires. When he'd broached the subject with Voldemort, the Dark Lord had reminded him that for immortal beings, the passage of time held little urgency.
"Lilith is likely rallying support for her decision, whether to ally with us or oppose us," Voldemort had explained. "And Tullos will not make a move until his Queen has set her course. Given the recent upheavals in our ministry, they're probably waiting for a more opportune moment to either strike again or propose a new pact."
Harry understood the logic, yet it left him uneasy, dreading that their silence might culminate in an attack rather than a diplomatic gesture. While Voldemort appeared nonchalant, confident that any assault would be met with immediate and severe retribution, Harry couldn't share that indifference. He had friends and loved ones who might be caught in the crossfire, a risk Voldemort seemed to dismiss with unsettling ease.
"Then why did they attack in the first place?" Harry had asked during one of their discussions.
"A reminder," was Voldemort's terse reply.
"That's an awfully shitty reminder," Harry had muttered under his breath.
Voldemort's eyes had gleamed. "Language," he scolded. A hex struck Harry's hand, causing the young Potter Lord to cry out in a very undignified manner. Green eyes glared reproachfully at the Dark Lord, finding no remorse in his gaze. "And, not necessarily. They see me consolidating my power, picking up where I left off before that fateful night I first encountered you as an infant. They want to assert their presence and remind me that they have not forgotten our last confrontation. They know I care little for the lives of the sheep they attacked. Their biggest miscalculation was involving you, which they tried to rectify through establishing a dialogue with you as the conduit."
"I still think an owl would have sufficed," Harry grumbled, unable to mask his frustration as he rubbed the raw mark forming on his hand gingerly.
Voldemort had merely shot him a look of stark disapproval and turned back to his reading. He was deep into research on a complex branch of animal-human transfiguration, exploring spells that could allow a human to temporarily adopt an animal's characteristic—an endeavor that, while fascinating, seemed a world away from the pressing concerns of vampire alliances and potential attacks.
S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S
The fragile peace of maintaining good relations with his two best friends seemed like it was always destined to shatter. So, Harry wasn't all that surprised when it finally did. Lucius had introduced and successfully passed a bill that Harry knew would enrage them, especially Hermione. Harry had been furious Voldemort had supported the bill despite achieving some success in softening the language to make it less overtly biased towards purebloods. Sitting across from Ron and Hermione in a secluded room at a Hogsmeade restaurant, the air was thick with tension.
Hermione's eyes were alight with fury as she paced before the window, her lunch untouched, her bushy hair even more unkempt than usual. "These new laws are horrendous," she seethed. "They'll target Muggleborns and anyone from a non-magical background, making it harder to get a decent ministry job. We're being pushed even further aside than we already are."
The recently enacted legislation mandated entry exams for Ministry positions. Ostensibly, this initiative appeared commendable: standardized tests tailored to wizarding politics, designed to discern the aptitude of soon-to-be graduates. The Daily Profit release lauded the law for being proactive in getting the brightest talent into the ministry.
However, the reality was harshly different—the tests were heavily biased, favoring those born and ingrained in the wizarding culture, particularly affluent purebloods who could afford the best tutors for their children. Throughout the past year and a half, Harry had become increasingly aware of the advantages that exposure and access afforded those born into magic. Many of the expected exam topics were second nature to someone like Draco, even Ron if he cared a bit more about his future. Beyond a doubt, the test would favor students who had been steeped in the cherished history of purebloods from infancy. In all likelihood, those raised in magical households would effortlessly outperform their peers from non-magical backgrounds by a significant margin unless the Muggleborn knew such tests would shape their future and found a way to self-study to achieve the desired results.
The only small consolation was that the law that was passed had been significantly watered down from the original proposals, which Harry had vehemently opposed during intense debates with Voldemort in the secluded confines of the Dark Lord's office. Voldemort had conceded on a few points, likely because he acknowledged Harry's fervent objections and wished to appease his increasingly pleasing heir. However, the Slytherin Lord had also emphasized that enacting the law in its fundamental form was crucial to maintaining the loyalty and support of his followers. This compromise, Voldemort had explained, was a necessary skill that Harry needed to master if he hoped to lead the Dark followers effectively.
The whole ordeal reminded Harry of his argument with Hermione, when she'd claimed his followers hadn't changed and would still push for blood superiority. S She was right, but also not entirely correct. Voldemort was now weighing his heir's wishes against the expectations of his followers. Harry was sure that the compromises made would never have occurred had he not switched sides—a nuance Hermione seemed unable to appreciate in her current state of agitation.
"He can't get away with this!" Hermione cried, frustration emanating from her every gesture.
Harry nodded, feeling a wave of shame crash over him. "I know," he admitted, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. "Hermione, I swear I tried. Other purebloods were pushing for laws that would effectively bar Muggleborns from holding any jobs in the ministry at all. They wanted worse requirements; that if you didn't grow up in our world, you'd be disqualified from competing for high-ranking department head positions." It was clear that they didn't want outsiders infiltrating and shifting the traditional balance of power, that these laws were passed in fear of wanting to consolidate power, not recruit the best talent. "It's not much, but I managed to negotiate for entrance exams instead of outright bans. And, there will be prep classes available to everyone—funded by the school. This gives every child a chance to prepare."
Harry knew it was still unfair, that it targeted those who grew up like he and Hermione did. However, there was little more he could do without risking his ability to influence this and future legislation. He had taken Voldemort's lesson to heart: that sometimes, compromising to maintain influence—this time the influence that the Dark Lord afforded him—was better than making a stand and losing all leverage. He just hoped he hadn't lost his moral compass so much that he was becoming part of the problem.
Hermione sighed, her gaze shifting to Harry, her expression a complex tapestry of frustration and resignation. "I know, Harry; I don't blame you," she said with another heavy exhale. "What you achieved does matter. But these classes—they're not enough. It's unfair for their futures to be determined so early. I hate thinking that they won't understand the world they're entering. Who will tell them that their futures depend on these additional classes, that they need to take this seriously from the moment they enter our world, or they might never get the chance to choose a meaningful job? And it's simply not fair that they have to spend extra time and resources catching up to what their pureblooded peers have known from birth—and likely in greater depth? No one will be looking out for them..."
"Maybe you could, 'Mione," Ron interjected, his suggestion catching both Harry and Hermione off guard.
"What?" Hermione asked, clearly surprised by the notion.
"I'm serious," Ron insisted, his enthusiasm building. "They're setting up positions to monitor and contact new students, right? You could be their first point of contact in the wizarding world, guide them, and build relationships. Make sure they know what they're up against. Be their insider."
"I doubt they would appoint me to such a high visibility role in His Ministry," Hermione responded, her voice tinged with a touch of sadness. "They will want to make sure those like me have the worst chance possible. They'll assign blood supremacists over it who will hate the job and the new children…"
Harry disagreed, feeling inspired by Ron's suggestion. "No, that's a brilliant idea, Ron!" he exclaimed.
Ron beamed with pride at the support. Hermione, however, appeared skeptical. "Harry, do you really think…?" she began, uncertainty coloring her tone.
Harry nodded with conviction, his gaze fixed intently on Hermione. "I do, Hermione. If this is really what you want, I believe I can convince him. Like you mentioned, no one in his circles will want that job. We have a chance to secure it for you before anyone else even thinks to claim it." He paused, his expression earnest. "However, he will insist that his laws are upheld and that you don't undermine his authority. If you're willing to assure him that you won't challenge his rule, then I think we can get you a position; we can call it the Muggleborn Relations Department. You could be responsible for identifying them at first magic and could set it up so their transition into our world is smoother." Harry hesitated, suddenly unsure if he was overstepping his bounds. "Only if that's truly what you desire, of course. I want you to follow your passions, Hermione."
Hermione's eyes sparkled with a mixture of resolve and excitement as she smiled. "I really think I would like to," she whispered, her face alight with the same determination she had once shown for S.P.E.W. "The Ministry and Voldemort won't know what hit them!"
Harry smiled at his friend; this was the first time in years she had seemed genuinely excited about the future. He hoped Voldemort would agree. And he also hoped that Hermione wouldn't do anything to undermine the new laws or betray the Dark Order, which was slowly but surely gaining overwhelming strength. He forced himself to push aside his fears. He would be by her side every step of the way, and although Hermione was stubborn, he hoped he could help her see the opportunity he now saw in aligning with the Dark.
S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S
Harry couldn't fight the grin on his face as he side-stepped a blurring dark red spell. The stone walls of the ancient dueling chamber echoed with the crackling energy of their spells, casting shadows and explosions of light that danced around them.
Harry knew that particular spell would have made his blood feel like it was boiling if he'd been struck. He'd been hit by it once about six months ago, and it was one of the worst experiences of his life, barely beneath the crucio in pain.
He sidestepped another spell, this one a vicious magenta that would have dropped him unconscious for hours even with the counter. The intensity of the magic in the air tingled against his skin, raising the hair on the back of his neck.
Another fierce barrage of spells erupted between them, the air vibrating with raw magical power as their wands traced intricate patterns. Harry's combat robes, enchanted with spells of resilience, billowed around him like a dark cloak of protection. The fabric whispered against the cold stone floor as he maneuvered—ducking, diving, and shielding. He moved with lightning reflexes, deflecting and narrowly missing spells. His eyes widened as a cerise beam shot straight towards him. In a swift reaction, he conjured a shield that erupted in a cascading explosion of flames, molten lava spilling down around him. The heat seared his cheeks as he squinted through the bright, intense blaze.
"Frigus Barricado," Voldemort cast, a blindingly white spell erupting from his yew wand. The spell, known to freeze the blood in one's veins upon contact, was excruciating on a good day and lethal at full power. Judging by its speed and brightness, Voldemort was not holding back. As the spell surged toward Harry, he raised his shield and chanted, "Glacius Reflexio!" The spell collided with the magical barrier and, instead of penetrating, ricocheted with amplified force.
At the moment of impact, the spell was absorbed into Harry's shield and violently expelled in all directions. It blasted against the surrounding walls of the dueling chamber, causing a spectacular transformation. The walls turned to sheer ice, reflecting the dim light into myriad sparkling fragments. The temperature in the room plummeted, their breaths became visible as puffs of frost, instantly transforming the dueling chamber into a frigid ice cavern.
Across the chamber, Voldemort's crimson eyes narrowed thoughtfully, the dim light reflecting off his pale skin and accentuating the sharp angles of his face. "Don't get cocky," he warned, his voice carrying a dangerous edge that reverberated through the icy air.
Three spells rained down on Harry in rapid succession. He dodged a glacier-blue spell with a swift leap to the side, feeling its icy breath brush against his skin as it passed. He blocked a light green spell with a flick of his wand, the impact sending sparks scattering into the air like a burst of fireworks. The third spell, a barely perceptible yellow flash, sneaked through his shield. He hadn't managed to block it. It hit him on his left forearm, he immediately felt numbness begin spreading like creeping tendrils of frost. His combat robes were seared from the hit; the fabric singed where the spell had grazed him and penetrated the magical protection.
He knew that this spell must have been cast with Voldemort's full force, aimed to breach the protective wards woven into his robes. These robes, recently purchased from the Dark Lord for his heir, came with a stern warning: as Harry's skill in dueling had markedly improved, Voldemort would hold back less of his magic. The robes were enchanted to ensure that if anything too lethal penetrated, Harry wouldn't immediately succumb to the dangerous effects— a terrifying but exhilarating realization.
Harry knew he was improving, but this gift from Voldemort made it undeniably clear that the Dark Lord recognized his progress as well. More terrifying, however, was the implication that Voldemort intended to escalate the intensity of their dueling—a realization that had already come to fruition. The duels had transformed into encounters far beyond anything Harry had ever imagined. And he would be lying if he claimed he didn't relish every second of them.
He cast a countercharm on his arm, which failed, a flicker of frustration crossing his face. Attempting another with no effect, his brow furrowed in concentration as he struggled to contain the effects of the unknown spell. With a frown, Harry applied a magical equivalent of a tourniquet, a band of conjured energy wrapping tightly around his limb to halt the spread of the spell's influence through his body. His left arm now hung uselessly at his side, the muscles tense beneath the fabric of his robes, effectively incapacitated for the duel.
"What was that?" Harry asked, his voice tight with a mix of confusion and concern. He raised his wand arm up defensively, eyeing Voldemort warily, unnerved by the pleased glint in the Dark Lord's eyes.
"Finish the duel," Voldemort commanded, his tone strict as he raised his own wand, the polished wood catching the dim light and glinting ominously.
Harry sighed, his breath visible in the cool air of the chamber, tendrils of mist swirling around him. With his arm numbed, dodging would be nearly impossible; he was now at a significant disadvantage. He would have to come up with something clever.
Recalling the ancient pages of the Slytherin grimoire that he often devoured late into the night, Harry found his inspiration. He conjured three brownish-gray serpents, which materialized and began to slither sinuously through the pre-set labyrinth of large, jagged stones and shifting walls within the dueling chamber. These obstacles, designed to increase the complexity of the battle, had been arranged before the duel commenced.
The serpents slithered with unsettling precision, navigating the maze as if they were direct extensions of Harry's will. These creatures were far more than mere snakes; they possessed a malevolent intelligence, embodying what Salazar Slytherin referred to as 'Sleeper Serpents.' Each serpent was engineered to move with calculated intent, constantly adjusting their positions to exploit strategic angles and react to any threat. Their sleek bodies remained tense and ready to strike upon the slightest command. The caster could unleash them and then recall them at critical moments.
As the serpents covertly maneuvered into position among the obstacles, their eyes gleaming like malevolent jewels in the dim chamber light, Voldemort observed their movements, seemingly allowing their presence as if amused and intrigued to see what his heir was up to. Harry suspected that Voldemort likely planned to use these creatures to gain an advantage over him. Time would tell who had the superior plan.
Seizing the opportunity to distract Voldemort, Harry unleashed a torrent of elemental magic. With a rapid incantation, he intensified the wintry expanse, causing ice to creep over every surface, multiplying, blanketing the chamber in even more frost. Before Voldemort could fully adapt, Harry hurled a barrage of ice shards at him, creating a glittering, lethal display.
Voldemort's wand moved with unnerving speed, a quick flick dissipating the icy projectiles into harmless drops of water. But the Dark Lord wasn't finished yet. With another swift chant, he summoned a roaring plume of fire, a wave of intense heat that surged forward, melting the ice and sending a wall of flames hurtling toward Harry.
Reacting instantly, Harry conjured a shield of water, weaving the liquid element into a swirling vortex around him. As the roaring flames met his watery barrier, the intense heat sizzled and steamed upon contact, creating a dramatic clash of elements. The force of the collision sent ripples through the dueling hall, filling the air with a chaotic symphony of crackling fire and rushing water. Harry took a staggering step back, his breath heavy; maintaining the shield had drained a considerable amount of his magical energy. Across from him, the Dark Lord's smirk widened, sensing Harry's fatigue. Voldemort stood tall, unfazed by the magic he had expended.
The gloating made Harry all the more eager to execute his plan. Tapping into the residual magic of the summoned serpents, he prepared for his next move. As the duel progressed, the serpents, now acclimated to their environment, had slithered into positions that camouflaged them perfectly, their scales adapting to blend seamlessly with their surroundings. With a silent prod, Harry initiated a coordinated attack. With deadly grace, they struck as one, launching from their concealed positions with lethal precision.
One serpent, camouflaged against the stone wall, coiled and lunged at Voldemort's arm, its venomous fangs wide in anticipation of its intended bite. Another, cunningly concealed within the room's ornate decor, silently descended from the chandelier, targeting Voldemort from above. The third serpent, hidden among the ice shards scattered around Voldemort's dragon-skinned boots, sprang forward with sudden ferocity, targeting the wizard's ankle. The ambush unfolded like a meticulously choreographed ballet of strikes—silent, swift, and immediate.
Voldemort's crimson eyes widened imperceptibly as the serpents closed in. A fleeting expression of approval flashed across his features, a ghost of a smile playing at the corners of his lips before his face resumed its confident smirk. With a deft motion, he conjured an ethereal hold over the three serpents, their angry hisses reverberating through the chamber as they struggled against his magical grasp, floating in the air only inches away from their mark.
"Impressive," he taunted, his voice slicing through the tension of the duel. "But remember, in the realm of serpents, my command over our gifts is absolute."
Harry, undeterred, focused his magic on the serpents. The creatures stilled, their gaze shifting between Harry and Voldemort as if weighing their allegiance. Voldemort then lowered them to the ground. "Don't introduce magic your opponent can manipulate, my apprentice," Voldemort's voice carried a tone of veiled warning. "I've already taught you this."
Releasing his hold, Voldemort commanded, "Attack your caster." The serpents struck—but not at Harry. Their quick, lethal strikes targeted Voldemort with rapid precision.
Voldemort hissed in pain as two serpents struck his left calf, while the third sank its fangs into his right ankle. A jolt of agony shot through him; his stoic facade momentarily shattered as he dropped to one knee in surprise, his wand still clutched tightly. Harry knew that paralysis was beginning to grip his calf, rendering it temporarily immobile, while his other foot equally faltered under the venom's effects. Confusion clouded Voldemort's features as he glanced down, only to realize that the attackers were not snakes but scorpions, their venomous blows delivered with deceitful precision.
Seizing the moment, Harry unleashed a relentless barrage of spells. His wand was a blur of motion, keeping Voldemort from organizing a counterattack. He could sense the venom working its way through Voldemort's veins, the slow-acting poison taking its toll. In response, Voldemort unleashed a powerful blast of raw magic, which Harry barely managed to block. The force pushed him back three steps and caused the dueling hall to shake with the impact. It was a terrifying display of raw power.
Crimson eyes met emerald; the playfulness that once colored their exchanges now vanished, replaced by cold calculation and a silent promise of retribution in the Dark Lord's gaze.
"Do you submit?" Harry's voice was steady. He kept his wand trained on Voldemort, ready for any retaliatory spell.
A Crucio curse hurtled toward Harry, but he swiftly conjured a metal box to intercept it. The spell dissipated harmlessly against the conjured object, but Harry could feel the power of the unforgivable curse still in the air. He shivered at how fast it had been cast, how painful it would be to fall under its control, especially given the Dark Lord's current mood.
"What have you poisoned me with?" Voldemort's words dripped with barely contained control, his anger palpable in the charged air. Harry could feel the brutal power of Voldemort's magic pulsating like a living thing, eager to be unleashed, to annihilate the one who had dared to strike at the Dark Lord.
"The venom and scorpions are a creation from the Black family grimoire," Harry explained, his voice even despite the turmoil coursing through him. He could not believe his plan had worked. Looking at the irate Dark Lord, he was almost afraid that it had. "It's a rare family poison with a counter known only to the Black family."
He knew the poison wouldn't kill Voldemort, thanks to the Horcruxes, but it could severely weaken his physical form. Harry was also curious about whether Voldemort's magic could counteract the poison's effects on his own body. Bellatrix had said no one had ever managed to cancel the scorpion sting, but she clearly wasn't considering the Dark Lord in that boast. She'd be horrified to learn Harry had used it on her beloved master.
"Counter it, now," Voldemort demanded, his eyes narrowing. It was clear he was straining to conceal his struggle against the venom's effects. Harry was stunned to see him still upright, even if kneeling. According to the grimoire, the victim should have succumbed within seconds.
"Do you submit?" Harry repeated. The rage in Voldemort's gaze intensified, piercing through him. Suddenly, the mark on Harry's arm flared up, a surge of dark energy severing his connection to magic. Harry gasped as a wave of cold and nausea washed over him, leaving him feeling utterly powerless. It was as though his magic was being torn from his fingertips, leaving behind a void as profound and essential as the air he breathed being violently ripped from his lungs.
"Cancel the effects, now," Voldemort commanded imperiously, his wand directed unwaveringly at his heir. The demand brooked no argument. Harry nodded once, his breath coming out in shuttered gasps, such was his reaction to his magic's brutal withdrawal.
As the oppressive shield over his magic was lifted, Harry regained access to his magic. Trembling, he quickly cast the counter-spell. In almost no time, the Dark Lord looked recovered, managing to regain his footing, though he swayed slightly as he stood upright.
Harry could sense the dark aura radiating from the displeased Dark Lord; it was clear that this wasn't the moment for triumph. Straightening his posture, Harry met Voldemort's menacing stare. There was an undeniable intensity in those crimson eyes, the silent acknowledgment that Harry had briefly gained the upper hand hanging between the two wizards.
Harry felt a wave of uncertainty wash over him, unsure of what the Dark Lord would do next. He was certain that gloating would only provoke Voldemort further. With caution, Harry lowered his gaze, his initial elation at outsmarting Voldemort tempered by the looming potential consequences. He knew Voldemort wouldn't take defeat lightly and braced himself for a possible demonstration of the Dark Lord's superior power, suspecting Voldemort would want to re-establish his dominance.
As he waited, Harry found that he didn't regret casting the spell, finally managing to get one over on Voldemort. The Dark Lord had gleefully, consistently, and painfully demonstrated his magical superiority in each of their duels. However, that didn't mean he wanted this to become an invitation for Voldemort to remind him why he had ceased fighting against him.
Harry had long accepted that he stood a better chance by Voldemort's side than as his foe. Despite this brief triumph, he knew nothing had fundamentally changed; Voldemort remained his master in magical prowess, and he still had years, if not decades, of studying if he hoped to ever catch up. He wasn't deluding himself into thinking that this duel marked a shift in power dynamics or signaled his superiority. Instead, it validated his growth and testified to his growing ability to learn from his formidable instructor and master.
Swallowing hard, Harry flipped his wand, offering it handle-first to Voldemort. It was the ultimate gesture of submission, a sign that he meant no actual challenge. He silently awaited Voldemort's next move, feeling his pulse quicken as uncertainty hung heavy in the air.
As Voldemort stepped closer, Harry held his breath, bracing for the unpredictable reaction he expected. Fingers ghosted under his chin, gently lifting his head. Facing the crimson stare, Harry stood firm, resolved to hold his ground, to not cower at whatever would come next. Despite the apprehension about what might follow, he couldn't deny a sense of pride in having finally stood toe-to-toe with Voldemort in a duel.
"How did you change those snakes into scorpions?" Voldemort inquired, his voice calm but underlain with the volatile, deadly edge of his magic.
"I used a Metamorphosis Spell so they still appeared to look like snakes," Harry replied, his voice soft.
Voldemort's surprise was evident. "I could not detect the change. Where did you learn such a spell?"
"Bellatrix taught it to me," Harry explained, "from the Black Grimoire." She had been delighted when she taught him, proud that he would be using their family-inherited traits to serve the Dark Lord. Metamorphosis ran in the Black lineage beyond just shifting appearance; it was an innate skill inherited into their bloodline, a tool for their magic. It was undetectable, completely masking the true form beneath the magical layer.
Something changed in the simmering red eyes; they now held a glint of something unreadable. Harry couldn't quite identify it, but he sensed that this encounter had altered something between them, though he wasn't sure what.
The ensuing silence was almost unbearable. Seeking to ease the tension, Harry spoke again, using a title he knew would please the Dark Lord. "My Lord?"
Voldemort released Harry's chin and stepped back. "Sheath your wand," he ordered, nodding toward the holster on Harry's forearm. Having been caught in Voldemort's intense gaze, Harry had almost forgotten his wand was still extended in surrender if required. As he complied, Harry sensed the complex currents of magic in the air changing—volatility mingled with possessiveness, desire, and a hint of annoyance. The emotions were so layered and conflicting that Harry doubted his own ability to interpret them accurately.
"Your magic is getting stronger," Voldemort finally broke the silence, his voice low and contemplative.
The Dark Lord scrutinized him, looking at his heir as though seeing him anew. When Harry had first arrived at the manor, Voldemort had promised that if Harry learned what he intended, he would one day be strong enough to match him. Harry had never fully believed in that possibility—he now wondered if Voldemort himself had ever truly expected Harry's growth to reach such heights.
"Because you taught me well," Harry responded, his words heavy with sincerity. The words weren't even flattery designed to appease; it was a genuine recognition of Voldemort's role in his progress. Their journey had been filled with challenges, harsh lessons, and no small amount of pain or misery. And yet, for the first time, Harry now knew he'd do it all over again. If he knew what he did now, what he would become, he would have accepted that offer to become the Dark Lord's apprentice that first night he'd arrived. And he hoped in this demonstration, he had finally proved himself a worthy apprentice, deserving of this instruction.
Voldemort nodded, his expression tinged with reflective consideration. "You still have more to master," he stated, his voice carrying both a challenge and a hint of expectancy.
Harry met Voldemort's gaze with determination, his eyes sparkling with anticipation. "I look forward to learning it."
A glint of something like amusement flickered across the Dark Lord's features. "Then there's no time like the present, dear apprentice of mine. Since you're in the mood to demonstrate new tricks, allow me to unveil a few more of my own."
Harry regarded the Dark Lord, wariness resurfacing at the hungry look directed his way. Despite Voldemort's teasing tone, the ever-present threat, akin to a viper poised to strike, remained unmistakable. Yet, he didn't feel the same tense fear that he had felt moments ago. They had returned to something Harry knew, had come to expect. This form of Dark Lord deadliness Harry could handle.
Re-summoning his wand, Harry returned to his position across the dueling hall, feeling anticipation coursing through him. While he wasn't eager for Voldemort's live demonstration of magical prowess, the prospect of witnessing exceptional magic he hoped to master one day was undeniably exciting.
"Show me your worst," Harry said, forcing a cocky grin to mask his unease.
Voldemort smirked, raising his wand. The promise of delivering exactly that shone in his crimson eyes as the Dark Lord began to cast.
AN: Voila! This one was a lot of fun to write. It's a bit less angst, lol. As always, please let me know what you think and THANK YOU for reading and supporting this fic.