A/N. Thank you for all the kind reviews!
Suggestion of non-con in this chapter if you squint hard.
I'm aware that in canon, Voldemort forbids Muggle-borns from entering Hogwarts. However, in this AU Voldemort has put in place some sort of caste system, in which Muggle-borns live to serve those of the 'true blood'. Magical power and intelligence also play a role here aside from a witch or wizard's blood status, as was explained by Malfoy in chapter 10. Although blood purity is still the decisive factor here in deciding your fate.
Chapter 13
Harry stumbled through the dining hall doors as Bellatrix shoved him in the back. The huge wall to ceiling windows showed that dark clouds were crowding the skies. After the sweltering heat of the past week, there was thunder in the air.
He'd been kept in the Malfoy dungeon again, without food or water. It was probably the last vestiges of his twisted luck that made him have to wait just one day and night before the Dark Lord was back, and he was being escorted to Voldemort's manor, weakened but otherwise fine – Malfoy senior had been nowhere in sight, thank Merlin.
Voldemort stood next to the dinner table with his back to them, remaining unmoving at the click of the door closing. Harry's scar was quiet except for a dull pain behind his eyelids.
Bellatrix went to her knees. "My Lord, I bring you Potter."
"You have Lord Voldemort's gratitude, Bellatrix," Voldemort declared.
Harry thought he could see Voldemort's hands working on something. Bellatrix looked up from her crouched position. Harry heard her drawn-in breath. "My Lord, thank you," she said eagerly. He looked away from her excitement, disgusted.
"You may go," Voldemort said in a near-whisper.
"Certainly, my Lord." She stood, throwing Harry a last lopsided grin, which settled uncomfortably in his stomach. After the door closed silence took over, like a heavy perfume that spread and tainted the air.
Voldemort was still intent on whatever it was he was holding. Curious, Harry edged closer, skirting the wall to see around the Dark Lord's broad-robed shoulders. As he drew level with the man's right side, the long table now between them, he noticed Voldemort's left hand held a blood-stained wand; his right hand, covered completely in freshly gleaming blood, rubbed at the red colour with a dark blue cloth. Harry felt a chill spread through him as he stared at the sight.
Voldemort stopped his polishing to inspect his work against the light from the windows. Harry wondered how he thought he'd get it clean with only a dry cloth.
The Dark Lord suddenly turned his head to watch him. He noticed Harry's gaze on the wand and his eyes turned back to the red stains still present, trailing the item through his fingers.
"I usually try to avoid that," he remarked.
And the stare was back. After a moment, his bloody right hand went into his robes to pull out a second wand. He held it up between two fingers, leaving red fingerprints against the pale wood. "Yours works like a charm."
Harry's stomach knotted at the sight of his beloved wand in the red claws. He took a step forwards before stilling himself forcefully.
Voldemort smiled at this, holding both wands loosely. He then tapped Harry's wand to his own, which immediately reverted back to its former pale wooden colour.
"Better suited to murder than torture, though," Voldemort continued airily.
"What?" Harry burst out. "You used my wand for… for killing?!" One of his hands grasped at the back of a nearby chair to keep himself from trying to snatch it from him, nails sinking into the soft leather. His scar woke up to a burning pain.
"It is quite rare to find a spare nearly as compatible as one's original wand. Many don't bother getting one."
Voldemort flicked his wrist and Harry was thrown backwards over the table in a burst of pressure, pulled towards the man standing at the other end of the table. His head and back skidding over the wood painfully, his arms flaying to find something to grasp. He came to a stop close to Voldemort, who looked down on his splayed form with hard eyes.
Then an icy feeling spread through his limbs, and they became unmoving at his sides. Harry had never felt more vulnerable as he did then.
His eyes appeared to cut through him like sharp rubies. "I understand Severus better now," he murmured, as if contemplating. "You really are incapable of obeying the simplest of orders. Tortura."
The casual Parseltongue caused a thousand creatures – snakes – to start crawling over Harry's body. They were undeterred by his clothing and bit him everywhere, rupturing the skin with tiny teeth. Harry twisted and turned within the restrains of his frozen hands and feet. He gave a cry of surprise as one managed to bite his mouth. The little bastards hurt!
"Stop!" he hissed but they took no heed. A bunch of the invisible creatures started to work together to make a hole into his stomach, it felt like. Harry swatted at them, but they were simply too many to fight off.
Voldemort watched his movements with a detached gaze, as if studying the behaviour of a disgusting but rare specimen. Harry looked up to see his broad-sleeved arm lift.
The effect was like stirring an ants' nest, as the writhing of the snakes increased tenfold. They were now on a mission, slithering upwards over his neck, onto his cheeks and into his hair. He cried out in terror as they reached his eyelids. He was sure that the ripping sensation on his ears was going to cause permanent damage. One slid into a nostril and he shrieked again, terrified. Would they decide that while his skin tasted good, his brains would taste even better?
Irrational with the pain then, Harry howled, slamming his head repeatedly against the wood.
All of a sudden the ghostly touches disappeared. His nose felt normal and uninhabited. He could move his limbs again.
Voldemort took hold of his collar and pulled him upright. When he let go Harry was held in an invisible grip of scourging dark magic. Harry sunk his teeth into his lips to keep from groaning in pain. He touched a hand to his stomach, which felt weird and sticky with blood.
Without warning Voldemort fisted a hand in Harry's locks and yanked hard. Hary hissed as his face was forced upwards.
The Dark Lord's ire was fearsome to watch up close. His casual manner did not waver, however. "Three layers of shirts, I see you came well prepared. Care to guess what usually happens to those who intentionally thwart me?"
The aura that oozed from the wizard bit into Harry's sore wounds like salt. Harry shook his head with the smallest of gestures, it was all that Voldemort's grip allowed. Their eyes met and he was drawn inwards, pulled into the narrowed pupils. What he saw there made his mental presence recoil. But Voldemort held his mind in a ruthless grip, forcing him to keep watching.
He was looking down from a high vantage point. He saw himself, nailed against a dungeon wall, skin lacerated, right hand cut off, two large hollows where his eyes had been torn out of their sockets, making his face appear skull-like. There was a bloody gash between his legs that ran up to his navel. Every breath appeared to be an agonizing exertion.
After the horrid scene had extended to the point where Harry could have counted the number of gashes in his skin, Voldemort released him. Harry swallowed against the dryness in his throat. He hurt everywhere. He bowed his head, not wanting to see that awful face.
"It would be quite… unbecoming a symbol of the light."
Harry nodded, absent-mindedly studying his layers of shredded shirts, the bitten and bleeding skin underneath. His thoughts were a panicky storm, numbing him.
"I have been very lenient with you, Harry. My patience has run out," Voldemort whispered.
The silence stretched wide in the large dining hall. Harry lifted his head, imagining the other man's wand already in the air, imagining his death. But Voldemort didn't move. The grip on Harry's head tightened.
"Lucius' earlier treatment of you clearly hasn't made the right impression." Harry silently disagreed - the sound of the man´s name was enough to make his back twinge with remembered pain.
With a gesture of the Dark Lord's blood-crusted hand, a side door opened. The sound of footsteps could be heard, a slap of skin on stone. Harry tried to turn his head and Voldemort let him. He had to close his eyes for a moment at the sight before him.
It was Narda. She had been thrown on the floor by Lucius. She was naked up the waist, her back completely lacerated and bleeding profusely. Malfoy came to stand at her side and knelt. His eyes widened fractionally as he took in the scene. But Harry couldn't spare a thought for him.
"Narda!" he said, tugging at Voldemort's grip to get to her. Voldemort released him and he nearly fell from the table in his haste. He crawled towards her, too weak to remain on his legs. She was hunched over on her knees, her hair blocking the sight of her bowed face. The long brown locks were stained dark at the ends.
"Narda?" he said softly. Narda looked up and Harry drew in a surprised breath. Her visage was blue and beaten, both her eyes blackened. Her gaze was unfocused. Without meaning to he glanced downwards, his eyes drawn to all the red, and saw that her breasts were bruised and bleeding.
Harry scrambled to unsteady feet, fury giving him strength – and launched himself at Malfoy.
Lucius had the disadvantage of being on his knees with his head still bowed. He was taken completely by surprise. He fell over on his back, wand clattering to the floor as Harry slammed against him.
Harry got in a weak blow before deciding that with the strength he had, his windpipe would be a better choice. Malfoy responded by yanking at the bloody shreds of Harry's shirts to pull him forward and off balance, then reversed their positions, rolling on top of him. After a beat his wand was at Harry's temple.
"Release me," he said hoarsely. His wand jabbed hard into Harry's cheek. Harry only growled and squeezed harder in response. Malfoy muttered something under his breath. Harry's grip slipped and his arms slammed over his head. He tugged at them but they remained stuck to the floor.
The whole exchange hadn't taken more than ten seconds. Malfoy was straddling him, crushing the wounds painfully. He then shifted his hips and Harry froze, his thoughts melting into a pool of silence. A strange sound left Harry's throat then. It reached his ears as if from far away.
"Go, Lucius." The voice said coldly.
Malfoy straightened and pushed away from Harry's stretched out form. He looked not at all like the composed head of the Malfoy family then, his hair in disarray around his face. He gave a short bow and croaked out through his bruised windpipe: "Of course, my Lord."
The doors closed. Harry focused on the blood roaring in his ears.
"Crucio," Voldemort said – but it was Narda who shrieked. Harry pushed himself upright with an immense effort.
"You see Harry," Voldemort went on conversationally, "Something that's apparently still difficult for you to grasp, is the fact that your disobedience affects others as well. Take Ms. Montbelliard for example. I reward my loyal servants."
Harry drew in a deep breath. He had been wrong earlier. This was what it felt like to be helpless. He could only observe, hands balled into fists on his knees, while Narda's shrieks became higher as she twitched in the confines of her body.
"Do I have to start picking off all your friends one by one, before you'll listen?" Voldemort sounded like he honestly wanted to know the answer.
"Stop," Harry whispered, then louder to be heard over the noise: "Stop it!"
Voldemort's eyes turned his way for a second, then back to his victim. The sharp smell of urine filtered over towards them. Narda was now under the curse for at least two minutes. Harry knew that her sanity would slip away any moment.
He spread his hands in surrender. "I understand, okay? I'm not allowed to escape or others will die. I get it!"
Voldemort continued as if he hadn't heard, hissing now: "This is what happens when you disobey me."
Harry, quite desperate now, yelled above the now inhuman noise: "Stop, please!"
Voldemort considered him for a moment. The shrieking stopped. Narda was still jerking slightly, as if held under an electric current.
Harry felt Voldemort's weighted gaze by the prickling of his scar. "I shall spare her, this once. Remember that Lord Voldemort is merciful."
The statement echoed ominously in the heavy silence. The Dark Lord snapped his fingers and Tadders appeared. "Take her back to her parents," he ordered
Tadders bowed and clasped one of Narda's twitching arms, before the both of them disappeared.
Voldemort tsked. "Harry, Harry. What am I going to do with you?" But the coldness in his tone was gone.
Harry clasped his trembling hands against himself, remaining silent. He was reeling from the fact that against all odds, Narda was going to live.
Voldemort murmured something and Harry flinched. Then he saw the bite wounds on his arms shrink and close, leaving behind only irritated, reddened skin. The searing pain of his wounds started to dull to a throb.
Voldemort had moved to take a seat at the window-side of the table and gestured to the one next to him. Harry forced his feet to close the distance and hoped he held all emotion off his face. Although Snape's betrayal had been a low blow, his hatred for his arch-nemesis was still greater. It was sharper and fresher than the simmering loathing he felt for the Potion's Master.
He hissed as he lowered himself into the seat. He bit his lip forcefully to still his reaction. The snakes had also managed to attack him down there, he realised. It seared and burned. Voldemort had probably been deliberately sloppy in his healing.
"I need something from you, Harry." Voldemort studied him intently. "You see, I've been meaning to get back dear Bella's rightful Black family estate, but apparently it had completely disappeared off the map – until I realised it had been turned into the Order's nest, courtesy of one Sirius Black. Being mercifully dead, he wouldn't have left it to you, has he? How… convenient."
Harry's hands twitched in anger at Voldemort's casual mention of Sirius. His mouth became dry with fear. He couldn't give up the location of the Order's Headquarters!
"Answer me, Harry." Voldemort's tone was light but the threat was clear.
"He left it to Remus Lupin," he said. He squeezed his eyes shut then at the knifing pain of Voldemort's displeasure.
"Don't lie to me."
Harry cradled his forehead and wondered how long he could hold this out. Voldemort took his silence for admission, apparently (he really needed lessons in acting):
"Then you will invite me in, won't you?"
Harry's hands became clammy with sweat. It was all good and well that Dumbledore was the Secret Keeper, but if the owner of the Most Ancient House of Black were to invite the Dark Lord in... Harry swallowed, met the narrowed pupils. "I can't," he said in a desperate tone.
He could have hit himself: since when did a simple refusal hold the man off?
"Summon the house elf." Voldemort's eyes had narrowed dangerously.
Harry shook his head, denying the situation. Pain flashed across his left cheek and he realised he'd been slapped.
"Summon him, now," Voldemort growled in a low tone.
Harry squared his jaw. "No."
One round of torture, coming up.
Another slap, so hard that it threw his face to the side.
"I won't be asking again, Potter," Voldemort said softly. "Your choices are easy. The deaths of your friends, or a few uncertain ones?"
Harry closed his eyes. He should have seen that one coming. It infuriated him that Voldemort was right. If Death Eaters were to barge in on the Order, they would be met by qualified wizards and witches, all of whom knew what they were fighting against. The Order would stand their own. It was the risk of war they were willing to take.
On the other hand, he could let Voldemort kill his friends at Hogwarts or in their homes like pigs for slaughter.
That was no choice at all, really.
"Al right," he whispered. The corner of the Dark Lord's mouth twitched and a wave of foreign pleasure tingled over his scar. Harry scowled, rubbing it vigorously. "Would you mind not doing that?" he exclaimed, forgetting himself for a moment. But Voldemort's only reaction was to curl his lips further. And the buzz in his head increased.
Harry straightened and yelled: "Kreacher!"
Kreacher appeared in a bundle of ragged cloths, bowing low. "Kreacher is here at your master's service," he croaked. He continued to mutter under his breath: "A master who is unworthy of my mistress house, yes he is, a mudblood, we do not want him- " Then he caught sight of the Dark Lord seated next to Harry and went abruptly silent, blinking his big eyes repeatedly.
"Kreacher," Harry said to get his attention. The elf turned slowly towards him. "This is… the Dark Lord. You will welcome him into the house-"
"- and he shall be your new master," Voldemort finished smoothly. Harry scowled at him. "And he shall be your new master," Harry repeated.
Kreacher's eyes widened impossibly and he started to tremble all over his tiny frame. Paper and pencil appeared before Harry. After a moments hesitation, he wrote down the address of 12 Grimmauld Place. The Dark Lord snatched it up to read, then stood.
"Now take the Dark Lord with you, Kreacher." Harry ordered. The elf was wringing his piece of clothing nervously. He probably knew about the man's reputation. "The Dark Lord shall not harm you, I promise," Harry assured him. This time it was Voldemort's turn to sneer.
"If the elf obeys, that is."
Kreacher gave a jerk of his head before touching the back of Voldemort's hand with one finger. Then they were gone.
Harry wrecked his brain for how to let the Order know the Headquarters had been breached. He couldn't come up with anything that didn't need a wand. He put his head in his hands and stared at the pattern of dark wood, feeling sick with himself. Already he ached for the home that would never be the same after this.
888
Time's passage proved fickle. Harry didn't know whether it was just a few minutes or half an hour later that Voldemort returned. Harry gasped as his head felt on fire again. He'd come to hate these encounters with the Dark Lord for just that reason alone: it was as painful as it was dizzying, to constantly be swept up in Voldemort's megalomaniac moods.
He stood as the Dark Lord strode up to him, and masked his own confusion. He thought Voldemort would be pleased, at the least. Maybe the Order had managed to kill all his servants?
"How did it go?" Harry asked, his stomach in knots, then wondered at his own sanity.
Voldemort's anger was right below the surface as he watched Harry for a moment. No facial muscles moved, but Harry's scar was a precise radar.
"Only the Fletcher scum was present. But I have patience."
Harry tried not to show anything of his relieve. He had the weirdest feeling that the sheer amount of annoyance he was sensing from Voldemort came from something else than the scarcity of occupants.
"You shall be enrolled for your seventh year at Hogwarts," Voldemort stated suddenly.
Harry's mouth dropped open. "What? I mean really? Why?"
"Manners, Potter," Voldemort said slowly, pushing a warning pain through the link.
Harry winced and bit his lip, before trying again: "Why, my Lord?" It took something out of him to say it; perhaps it was his liver or spleen, but the pain in his scar dissipated.
Voldemort grasped his chin – Harry was starting to wonder if Voldemort had some kind of obsession with faces in general, or just his.
"I want you to become familiar with the workings of my new empire," Voldemort hissed, sounding almost like he was speaking in Parseltongue. "You are an example of the Light's submission for those rebels who still think to oppose me. And you will work hard. Hogwarts does not allow mediocrity any longer." A nail pressed into Harry's chin.
Harry snapped his mouth closed. He knew it couldn't be what it appeared, when dealing with Slytherins. "Will- will I be allowed to see my friends? My Lord?"
Voldemort tilted his head a fraction. "You may, provided that you do not disappoint me."
Something suspiciously like hope started to bubble in Harry's chest, threatening to spill to the corners of his mouth if he didn't watch out. He was going to see Ron and Hermione again!
"Your behaviour shall be exemplary from now on." His nails dug harder, drawing blood. "I have grown tired of your cheek. If it is not, I shall be pleased to rid the world of one of your mediocre friends. We can start with that Mudblood of yours."
His heart hammered fast against his ribcage. The bubble inside him dented a bit. "I understand, sir." He gritted his teeth at the painful rebuke in his scar. "My Lord," he corrected.
Was it possible, he wondered, to cut the cursed thing out and still keep his scull intact?
888
Watanabe stood at the doorway into the library. Harry hurriedly closed the tome he'd been reading and walked over. The man appeared unharmed, he noticed with relief; that turned into something else, something that gnawed at his lungs when he saw the cold look in the wizard's eyes.
Watanabe didn't bow or greet him otherwise. He silently raised is arm to hold something out to him.
Harry glanced down and recognised his own holly wand, which was being offered handle-first. It still held Voldemort's red fingerprints from earlier. Harry gaped at it. He chanced a glance upwards, but Watanabe's expression remained edged in stone. He took the wand carefully, as if it were made of glass. Warmth spread up his arm as the wand immediately recognised his magic, like an old friend. Harry closed his eyes a moment to savour the feeling. It felt a bit off, though. He'd wonder about that later.
Watanabe spoke, his tone businesslike: "You can hardly continue your classes without a proper wand. However, if this leaves school grounds, I shall immediately know about it." The tall wizard held on to the wood a moment longer. He raised an eyebrow. "Do not make him regret this."
"No sir, I won't," Harry stumbled over the words in his surprise.
Watanabe finally relented his hold and took a step back. Only his eyes seemed to be alive. Harry felt his insides crawl at the disappointment he saw there.
"Sir, are you-"
"He has been remarkably lenient with you." Watanabe said, cutting off Harry's compassionate query. Then he Disapparated, leaving Harry to stare at the empty doorway for a long time.
888
Harry decided he'd better use his time before Hogwarts started well. He figured this year just might turn out a little tougher than the others. And so he reacquainted himself with his wand. After all, he was now of age in the wizarding world: he could utter all sorts of spells and not be caught out. This gave him a wonderful feeling of freedom.
Aside from studying, he now spend the largest part of his days practicing the spells they had been going over in Snape's training sessions. Hours on end he threw hexes and curses at the boundary wall, the sun at his back, revelling in the feeling. He was surprised that his shields had only grown stronger during his wand's absence.
His feverish dedication of course had nothing to do with the fact that he wanted to stop thinking in general, about anything, be it Narda's condition, or Watanabe's flat words, or the punishment he had received for letting his ward escape. Though he found no clues as to what it had been, this in itself was more worrisome than any visibly evidence.
After all he was well aware by now of Voldemort's tactics of invisible torture: it still hurt when he sat, in fact the pain there had become worse over the last few days. Bathroom breaks were a special kind of torture now. He worried about the wounds having possibly been infected.
He'd tried hunting the ground floor rooms, with their weird odds and ends, for lotions, or even a secret potion's laboratory and stores, but found nothing. The toiletries in the bathroom adjacent to his bedchamber were the closest thing there was to any kind of personal comfort, but he doubted that soap was going to help.
And now, a week later, Watanabe had yet to show up to escort Harry to his next lesson. Harry caught himself worrying about the man.
He must now be missing out on the remainder of his summer classes, but there was no one around to inform him if he did. The guilt he felt was awfully familiar. Whatever the situation, Harry could always be trusted to get the wizards and witches looking out for him in all kinds of trouble
The slightly weird feeling that his wand gave off distracted him from his dark musings. It must be its interim owner, Harry considered. He shuddered to think what results a Priori Incantatem would produce. He hated the fact that Voldemort had meddled with it, actually killed with Harry's own wand. It was a deep-rooted betrayal and it wouldn't go away. He found that no matter how many spells he produced with his wand, the strangeness of it never left from his wand arm. It was a disorientating feeling, like the one you got when you thought you had reached the end of a stairs, only to stumble when there was still a step to go.
His theory was confirmed by the ease with which all manner of dark spells leaped from it. Lighter spells, in contrast, now took more of his energy and concentration than before. This annoyed him even further. When he used a mending charm on his spell-singed robes, it didn't work as impeccable as it used to, leaving small tears in the fabric. Heating up his old tea pot left the pot cracked and the tea cold. He had decided to ask Tadders for a fresh pot instead.
As the days of August slid by, Nagini sought him out more and more. She was probably bored without her master around. She had forgiven him his earlier slight, apparently, and would come up to him at all hours of the day to ask weird and disturbing questions ("Are you my master's son? You smell like him") or to tell him about something she discovered ("A nest of chickens has hatched near the forest's border. My belly is very full now. Go and sit in front of the fire so I can rest on your soft limbs."), while Harry would explain to her the workings of the spell he was practicing, if she asked.
She comforted him, in a strange way.
On September first, which to all appearances was turning out exactly like any other day (he was keeping track by counting off the days from their trip to Switzerland), Tadders appeared before him. He was in the middle of studying a bronze, worn wizarding coin in what he'd come to call 'the coin room.'
"Tadders is here to bring Mr. Potter to Hogwarts, sir."
"What, right now?" Harry asked, carefully placing the coin back into its blue silk holder.
Tadders nodded, cloth-covered hands clasped in front of him. "Tadders is having your belongings ready in your dormitory."
Harry blinked. Now that he was finally allowed to be rid of this place, it all seemed to happen very fast. "Okay, thanks."
"Mr. Potter is being welcome, certainly," the elf murmured, head bowed shyly. Then he stretched out a black-clad finger and in just a wink of a second, they stood right next to a huge four-poster.
Its sheets were green.
"Till we meet again, Mr. Potter." The elf bowed. Harry turned around and bowed his head as well. "Bye, Tadders."
The elf was gone and Harry slowly turned back to study the bed. It had silver linings. Glancing around, he saw that all six beds had green and silver sheets, the walls having stretched to accommodate the extra inhabitant. Six, five Slytherins and him.
Tadders must have gotten him confused for a Slytherin.
"Tadders!"
The elf was back immediately. "Yes, Mr. Potter?"
"Sorry to bother you again, but I've got the wrong dormitory. I would like you to move my suitcase to Gryffindor Tower. Do you know where that is?
Tadders tilted his head. "This is being the correct dormitory, sir, as ordered."
"By Vol- by him?" Harry stumbled – he was determined to keep to Professor McGonagall's advice not to use the name.
"Of course. Does Mr. Potter wish to confer with Master?"
Harry swallowed. "No, that's alright. Thanks, Tadders."
After the elf had left he led himself sag onto the covers. He would be staying in Slytherin. That must mean that Slytherin would be his new House from now on, for his entire seventh year. He rubbed tiredly at his hair, then his eyes. That… was precisely the sort of thing that the Dark Lord would come up with.
A year of living with Malfoy, of sleeping next to Malfoy.
He contemplated asking Dobby to help him move. But if Voldemort found out… He'd rather keep on the wizard's good side as much as possible, if there even was such a thing, and this was not a battle worth gambling Hermione's life over.
He sighed, sinking backwards into the soft cushions. Unbelievable. Did Voldemort want to drive him insane? Did he want to punish Harry in a more permanent fashion for his attempted escapes?
Likely. Then again it was just as likely that he'd had this in mind all along. Of course Harry Potter wasn't going to be allowed to live in rebellious Gryffindor, House of the traitors. Where he could stage a rebellion, where many would be eager to assist him with another escape attempt. Where Ron and Hermione might not even be allowed to live anymore. He slammed his head back once. Ugh, he was so naïve.
He had to come to grips with the new situation, and fast, before the Slytherins would be storming in and sniffing him for weaknesses. This delusion that he would somehow get his old life back was never going to happen. Hermione would never be considered a full citizen again, Ron would always be a blood traitor. And he would always be the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Fail.
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Harry had gone up to the Gryffindor common room to wait for his classmates. The Fat Lady, though glad to see him, refused to budge. He didn't mind, perfectly content to wait on the floor in front of her portrait. He asked her how things were going in Hogwarts but she shook her head, finally demanding he be silent.
Harry had wanted to call on Dobby, starved to see a friendly face, but held himself back at the last moment: he didn't know whether Dobby was at Hogwarts or somewhere more sinister. Or if the elf was being watched, or he himself for that matter. He needed to get a lay of the land first. And to do that he needed Ron and Hermione.
It had been the trio's tradition, along with that of most other students, to wait for each other in the common room before they descended together for the beginning of the year feast in the Great Hall. Although Harry didn't know if they were allowed to be at Hogwarts at all this year, he couldn't prevent his heart from beating fast against his ribcage in anticipation.
Murmurings at the far end of the landing indicated the arrival of the first students. Harry stood and hid behind the statue next to the portrait of a fierce lion standing on his hind feet.
Gryffindors from all years (except of course the firsties, who'd be crossing the lake in boats) came up to clog the space in front of the portrait. One of the newly appointed fifth-year prefects greeted the portrait and uttered the password (dragon wings). Gradually the common room filled. Squeals of laughter could be heard through the open portrait hole.
Peering through the lion's limbs, Harry was glad to see so many of them and in such high spirits. He estimated that at least most of the Gryffindors had been allowed back for another year.
Then, unmistakably, a familiar redhead.
"Hey! Ron!" he whispered harshly as Ron was about to climb through. Ron backed off. Seamus behind him frowned in confusion.
"I forgot something, you go ahead," Ron told him, waiting until Seamus had gone inside. He looked around for any intruders but he and Seamus had taken up the rear, and they were alone. He then turned towards were Harry stood and a smile broke over his face. "Harry," he whispered back.
Harry for his part felt his mouth fall open in shock. He was drawn in a fierce hug before he could get his bearings.
He closed his eyes and held tight to his friend, while the much taller Ron cupped his head against his collarbone. Ron shook against him, drawing in shaky breaths.
Harry drew back to study him at arm's length. Up close Ron was a real sight to behold: his face, deeply tanned by the sun, was covered with bruises of various shades and colours. His cloths were tattered: the sleeve of his right arm had been completely ripped off, revealing a muscled arm that was covered in large scar tissue. A knife-like cut ran all the way from his cheek into his hairline, barely healed.
"Ron, what have they done to you?" Harry exclaimed.
Ron shook his head, tears still gliding over his cheeks. "Not here. Come, I know a place."
He proceeded to walk the length of the seventh floor landing, glancing over his shoulder. Harry followed. They turned the corner, ignoring the stairs downwards. Ron suddenly went up to an inconspicuous bit of the huge tapestry that covered one wall of the next corridor. This part led to the Headmaster's Office and was seldom used by the students.
Ron trailed his fingers over the fabric, then stopped and stretched his little finger and thumb in a practiced move. The tapestry fell back to reveal a hidden corridor beyond.
"Nice," Harry commented before following him inside. It was completely dark, but Ron was already moving.
"Lumos," he said and a chandelier sprung to life above their heads, illuminating the bare surroundings. It turned out that what he thought was a corridor was actually a bare, square room.
Ron tilted two rickety chairs that stood in the corner into the circle of light and took a seat. Harry carefully lowered himself into the other one.
"I imagine I know Hogwarts better than even you, now," Ron said with a wink.
"So you've been here all this time?"
"Yeah," Ron said, studying the walls. "Yeah, I've been here." His tone was off.
Harry touched his arm to get his attention. "Ron, I'm so sorry."
Ron ducked his head. "Yeah, me too."
"How are you?"
"I'm- I'm good. We're, well we're trying to get used to it, but... Everyone is a bit touchy now. Mom is taking it real hard. She's grown a bit… fanatical with everything. Dad's trying to cheer her up."
He raised his eyes to meet Harry's. "But what about you, Harry? You guys were… " he trailed off.
Harry closed his eyes a moment, his expression crumbling with pain. "I- I miss her," he confessed. After a long moment he managed to compose himself. Ron had his face buried in his hands. They both sat silently for a while, sunk deep into their own thoughts.
"What happened?" Harry said to distract himself.
Ron straightened. "Oh you mean this?" He gestured with a hand over his face. "That's me being stupid, I guess."
Harry looked at him pointedly when nothing more was forthcoming. Ron stared back with a haunted expression.
"It's Hermione. I've been trying to find her - they're keeping her somewhere, I don't know where." Ron's eyes were round and fearful as he went on in a rambling manner. "I saw her, Harry, a week ago. Some scum Death Eater was escorting her, here at Hogwarts. I tried to talk to her, to find out what they were doing to her but- "
"Hang on a second," Harry interrupted. "Let's start at the beginning. After the battle, what did you do?"
Ron chuckled hollowly at that, startling him. "Nothing, we did nothing. We were allowed to just continue our studies like it was any other day."
Harry felt relief flood through him. "So he didn't capture anyone?"
"Oh You-Know-Who took the teachers alright, for questioning. You probably know that Dumbledore escaped?" Harry nodded. Ron stared at him grimly and continued: "They were tortured for information on his plans and whereabouts. Or at least that's our theory, since not all the teachers who had survived the battle got back and Professor Flitwick was in the hospital wing for weeks. He's fine now," he added at Harry's worried look. "Professor Sprout was killed in the battle, though."
Harry nodded that he knew this.
"Everything was chaos. Parents came to take their children home. The Slytherins strolled around like they owned the place. The school closed not long after that, because the staff had decided there were not going to be any exams due to circumstances."
Harry's body was strung with tension. Finally he would know what had happened over the summer.
"Me and Hermione, we thought that we'd be killed or punished because of you, you know. So we were prepared to run for it, but we were left completely alone, like all the others. It was strange. Guess he got his most important prize already, huh?"
"I guess." Harry didn't think it a good time to point out that their lives were used as leverage for Harry's good behaviour.
Ron scraped his throat. "The day after I got home, we held G- Ginny's funeral. We kept it small. We were all there, Bill, Fleur, Charlie…"
"Percy?"
Ron set his jaw at hearing the name. "Yeah, him too. He didn't say anything though. He didn't allow mum to give him a hug, the git. He just patted her shoulder. Other than that he was silent. He was gone right after."
Harry took that in, trying and failing to understand how anyone could shun their family.
"It all got a little tense from there. Everyone was jumpy, but we didn't want to get back to what we were doing and leave mom and dad alone. But mom was insistent, she said she'd expected us to all get jailed or worse, and that we're lucky we're not being targeted by the Death Eaters. And so she would be fine knowing that, she said. So we all moved out again."
"I went to Hogwarts because I wanted to stay with Hermione," Ron went on. "She couldn't go home. The Muggle-borns are not allowed to leave for the holidays, you see. It's because of the new bullshit laws. They state that Muggle-borns are to be separated from their parents. So, for the whole summer they were set to work here. Well, me too because I decided to stay."
Ron shrugged then, which for some reason made Harry's chest ache. "It wasn't all that bad. It was just maintenance to the castle, the grounds, the greenhouses now that Professor Sprout is gone. Some of us were instructed to work on potions for the potions stores and the infirmary. Sometimes Snape was there, Hermione told me." He gave a light shudder. "Glad I didn't take Advanced Potions."
"The Carrows were giving out the orders. They were… harsh, in the beginning, but we found that if we did our work they kept off your back. We all got to stay in our dormitories. So it was me and Dean in ours. After a few weeks though, some of us got separated to go and work somewhere else. Hermione, Justin, a few from the other Houses. All upper years."
"Wait, Dean is a half-blood, right?"
"Yes, but he can't prove it. You know that his father left him at an early age? And he was a wizard."
"Right. Sorry, go on."
"As I was saying we were separated, and they never returned to their common rooms. Apparently they are being held somewhere else now."
Harry could see how Ron would go berserk at the news.
"That was about three months ago. So when I saw her again the week before, I asked her what was going on. The guard told me to shut up. Then she started crying and he shook her, he shook her real hard, Harry. That's when I punched him in the face. His retaliation was a bit heavier than I had estimated."
Harry snorted. Ron smiled. "Yeah, apparently he's some high-up hot-shot, and he didn't like that his nose was bleeding all over his precious pure-blood cloths."
Harry shifted self-consciously, hoping Ron didn't notice the gleaming stitches on his own robes. "Why haven't you asked someone to heal your bruises?"
"We're not allowed to have wands now."
"What? You mean they've taken all of your wands? Why?" Harry exclaimed, affronted.
"Well, there is this crappy new system of wand papers, something about needing to get a licence to practice spells... They were kind of vague about that."
"Oh that's right, I heard about that," Harry said, annoyed with himself. "You have to prove you can master a spell before you're allowed to use it. I guess because there's no one to test you on your magic, you're not allowed to use it at all for now. I expect you will get you wand back though, when classes start."
Ron's eyebrows had gone up towards his hairline. "Really? Where did you hear about that? For that matter, where have you been all this time? McGonagall told us you were safe and sound thank Merlin, but…" he trailed off with a frown.
Harry scrubbed at the back of his head, looking away from Ron's gaze to gather his thoughts.
"I've been locked up at his manor."
"Shit!" Ron burst out. "At You-Know-Who's? What did he do to you? Scratch that, why are you still alive again?"
Harry chuckled. "He hasn't been around much, fortunately. As to why I'm still breathing, well... I'm to be some kind of symbol of his victory, that's what he told me. So he showed me off to everyone important at some fancy ball thrown in his honour, about two months ago. I need to, what was it? Be an example of the Light's submission. And I've been attending a summer school for all the" – he made air-quotation marks with his fingers – " 'promising young witches and wizards' of our generation at Hogwarts, and some graduates as well. We learned about the important changes that are taking place under the new administration."
Ron's face had wrinkled in distaste from Harry's words.
"I tried to escape, twice," he confided to Ron with a rakish grin. "I'll tell you the details later."
"Merlin's balls." Ron swallowed hard, eyes round. "What happened when you got caught?"
He thought of Narda and the grin slid off his face like melted butter. "I got punished," he whispered. "And someone else, the second time."
"Who?"
He really didn't want to go into that now. "I'll tell you later."
"Al right," Ron agreed quietly. Then a grin burst through. "So, both of us back at Hogwarts, how about that!"
It was an obvious attempt to change the subject, but Harry was grateful for it. "It's still hard to believe," he told Ron, shaking his head. "I kind of suspected they would allow me back, I guess. If I'm to represent the failure of the light, what better way to rub it in then to have me on display here at Hogwarts, right? But I didn't want to get my hopes up."
"Hey! You're not a failure, you're a survivor," Ron said firmly.
Harry heard an echo of Snape's words at Ron's remark. "I don't know, Ron."
"You don't know? Of course you are, we all are! And we're not going to just take this! Already there is an underground resistance going on. They're busy right now, making plans. The Order is- "
Harry hastily threw up his hands at the sudden dangerous turn of the conversation. "Ron, he has already Legilimised me once, a few weeks ago. He can do it again if he suspects something, or whenever the hell he feels like it. I don't think it's a good idea to tell me this, all things considered."
Ron clapped a hand over his mouth. "I, I didn't think…" to which Harry's response was a raised eyebrow which clearly said: no kidding.
His friend gave him a playful push at that, laughing. Then Harry jolted in his seat as Ron suddenly sprung up. "The Feast! We have to hurry." Ron wandlessly waved out the chandelier – Harry was going to have to ask him about that – then the both of them stormed out. They took the stairs downwards at a firm pace, encountering other stragglers along the way.
Portraits all around them greeted him warmly. It felt like he was home again. But Harry knew that things were different now. This wasn't like any other Hogwarts year. This was the first year of Voldemort's reign, and Harry had been kept alive to remind everyone of Voldemort's superiority. His presence here proved just how insignificant a threat he was to the power that Lord Voldemort wielded.
But Ron was right. He was not going to just take this hands down. Even if things were dangerous now, that had never stopped them before. This was a castle full of like-minded spirits, and most of them were repulsed by everything Voldemort stood for. They could use that.
Most importantly, he had his best friend back. And through some kind of divine miracle Harry was allowed to use his wand again. He twirled it happily for a moment, enjoying its warm feel. Next to him Ron gave an appreciative noise, which got Harry to start in on the details of how he got it back.
They continued to chat warmly all the way down from Gryffindor Tower to the large double doors of the Great Hall.
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