Of love and hate the singers tell
But I feel more, more of both,
More than heaven and hell.
I take a bow to destiny.
~~Ravenheart, Xandria
The Darkness Within
Chapter 10: The Darkness Within
The plans were laid out on the table - small scraps of parchment covered with hasty, ink stained notes and musty old rolls, only recently uncovered from hidden vaults.
Harry paused briefly at the door, before striding in confidently to join the two men currently immersed in the various documents. A hiss of breath escaped his lips when he realised what the parchments before him meant. Lucius, who had not reacted to approaching footsteps glanced at him and a cruel smile brushed his face. Scared yet? It seemed to say.
The green eyes narrowed in response and the young wizard reached out to pick up one of the documents, suppressing the urge to pick a fight with Lucius Malfoy.
Satisfied with the self-control demonstrated by two of his most high ranking Death Eaters Lord Voldemort greeted Harry. And looking at the parchment in his hand added, "You see, my boy. Soon our victory will be at hand and the wizarding world will be reminded of their immense stupidity in going against their rightful master. We will rule the world."
It sounded like a rehearsed speech, but Harry was too involved already with the idea laid out before him and far too loyal to the Dark Wizard to even notice. He understood now the impatience that had caused his Mark to flare to life in such a painful and abrupt manner.
"Come," his master said, drawing him into the conversation.
The three of them leaned over the black wooden table that gave Voldemort's audience chamber a more contemporary look. Even though the heavy curtains were still drawn the room was lighted brightly as suitable for a more business-like meeting. With the book and paper laden table this one corner resembled an ordinary wizard office, the kind he had seen in the Ministry on his first visit.
Lucius was tracing a line with his fingernail on a huge, slightly rumpled parchment, carefully as not to smudge the light blue ink, faded by time. Harry stepped closer, looking over his shoulder to the building blueprint in the other man's hands. He pointed to a spot on the edge.
"I think this would be a suitable alternative exit."
He felt the blond wizard twitch with distaste. Probably at the idea of having to listen to Harry's opinions or suggestions. Still he knew his place in the pecking order and reluctantly nodded.
"Yes, I think you might be right." His carefully manicured finger tapped on the place in question, a small rectangle.
At that point a hesitant scratching from the door caught Harry's attention. Startled, he pulled the hood of his black cape over his head and turned to face the windows. And not a moment too soon as the door opened and a grumpy looking old man entered, dressed in a worn grey robe. Fearfully he shuffled closer to the Dark Lord, who was looking somewhat annoyed at the interruption.
Carefully, Harry dared a peek over his shoulder - the old man was whispering something to his master and the red-eyed wizard was looking not at all pleased with the information he had received. He exited the room with the servant without saying a word to Lucius nor Harry.
After a few minutes of uneasy silence Malfoy squared his shoulders and wiping an imaginary speck of dust from his rich velvet cloak followed Voldemort. As the door started to close Harry sprouted to action and left the room to find out what had caused the interruption.
He went stalking through the dimly lit corridors, stumbling on crumbling steps when an ancient torch failed to give enough light. His lord was nowhere to be found. Harry ventured into parts of the mansion he had not visited before, hoping at least to find a servant who could tell him something. When he passed a musty gobelin a hand reached out to grab hold of his cloak. He was pulled into a narrow, dust-filled niche and the tapestry fell back in place leaving him coughing, annoyed and completely in the dark. Both literally and figuratively. Whirling around he grabbed his wand and pointed it at the perpetrator. Before he got out a spell, however …
"My lord has asked me to relay some information to you before you leave for Hogwarts, Potter." The soft hiss sounded awfully loud in the small dark space.
Harry jumped back as if stung. "Do not say my name out loud! Your lord has ordered that no one learn my identity and you gamble with it. I am your lord's heir and you will address me appropriately."
Someone let out a breath.
"Lumos." The spell lit the room, revealing the cold, narrow face of Lucius Malfoy close to his.
Malfoy's mouth tightened with distaste. "My apologies," he paused before adding in a perfectly flat tone, "Sir." It could not have sounded more like an insult if he had called him a Mudblood right into his face.
"Well. What is it?" Impatient green eyes met grey.
A hint of a smirk brushed the older Death Eater's face as he looked at Harry and moved pass him to where the tapestry covered the entrance. Lifting it with one hand he stepped out and turned towards Harry, all in one smooth motion.
"The Dark Lord wishes to see you." He lifted a hand and pointed towards the stairs, almost invisible in the distance of the long corridor. "First door to the left." And walked off in the opposite direction, the knowing smirk still gracing his face.
It made Harry feel uneasy, but nevertheless he moved down the corridor as directed. Nearing the stairs he heard voices, drifting from ahead.
He paused before a rusty old door in what he determined must be the dungeons. The voices where louder there.
A muffled statement followed by a loud cry, "That is not true! You are lying."
Even obscured by the iron door he could hear the disgust mingled with disbelief in that desperate shout. In that feminine voice he had heard so often and recognised immediately.
NO. He fought to resist the dark haze threatening to obscure his vision. How?
He knew without doubt that when he stepped through the door that disbelief in her voice would turn to betrayal, maybe denial. He was not sure which would be worse. Suppressing the shudder threatening to mar his posture he opened the door and entered.
It was a dungeon cell, barely large enough to fit two let alone the three people that now occupied the room. The door creaked, the sound of the hinges, un-oiled and rusty with time screeching his ears and catching the attention of the pair.
A mass of black and brown flew to his arms as the cell door fell shut. He felt smothered in the warmth of that embrace, the loose strands of hair tickled his nose, yet he felt comforted and at ease in those arms.
"Hermione …" he whispered stroking the soft locks.
Her body went stiff. The Dark Lord coughed. She looked up and met his eyes.
"Harry," she said. She took a step back, pushing him away with outstretched hands. "You are here. He said … but …"
The girl stumbled backwards in a sudden panic. Something wild flickered in the velvety brown eyes. She pushed herself against the far wall. It was not far enough - she wanted to melt into the stones. Only pure stubbornness or perhaps the vaulted Gryffindor bravery held her up.
Yes, the latter came to play as her breathing calmed down and Harry could almost see the cogs turning in her head, analyzing, evaluating the situation she now faced.
But how could she be in this situation? Harry did not understand. Tearing his eyes away from his girlfriend he finally approached his lord, who until that point had leaned casually against a cell wall, observing the proceedings play out before him with the disinterested air of laziness often found in someone entirely too used to high emotion drama.
"You promised!" Harry yelled to his face, forgetting for a moment who it was that stood before him.
"You promised that none of my friends would be harmed!"
Harry's hands balled into fists on his sides and only the slow, confident drawl stopped him from doing anything rash.
"I remember promising no such thing, my boy."
Perhaps realising that this was not a time to play games with words and intentions Voldemort hastened to continue before Harry could utter a protest.
"However even without making such a promise …" he stopped. "My b - Harry, I would never order the capture of one of your friends." The timber of his voice through the explanation was patient and almost tender, like that of a parent explaining something to his child.
"You are my heir."
The girl in the corner let out a gasp. But she went unnoticed as Voldemort concentrated on his young ward.
He continued, "She found this place. She came here."
Harry's brow furrowed. "But how?"
Lord Voldemort took a small silver ball from his pocket and threw it to Harry. "It's called a Vestigia."
"I'm certain that if you look you will find one somewhere on your person," he added as Harry examined the object.
Harry looked up in confusion. "But what does it do?"
"Aah, I think that Miss … Granger, was it? is perfectly capable of explaining it to you. After all, my servants did find it on her person."
Harry glanced at her. She refused to meet his look and seemed determined to ignore the dark wizards confined with her. Voldemort followed his gaze. "I think we should take this conversation outside," he said, "it is rather damp in here and we wouldn't want to damage your health."
Taking the young wizard by the arm Voldemort guided him outside. And with a wave of his hand the cell door closed, iron bolts clamping to place.
"Where were we? Oh yes - the Vestigia." He took the ball from Harry and showed a small button hidden in it's curve. "When activated it traces the Apparition signature of the person carrying it's companion. Very advanced magic and most certainly not sixth year level. Indeed I wonder …" he trailed off looking at the door.
But Harry had caught on to what he had said. "You are trying to say she followed me here. Hermione placed a tracer on me and followed me here?"
"Yes," Voldemort answered simply, "she did."
Confused and lost Harry asked him why.
"That I do not know." Lord Voldemort seemed almost uncomfortable when he spoke again, "You do realise that now she is here I cannot allow for her to leave. She is a risk to us all."
Harry's eyes widened in horror. "You cannot mean to keep her here!"
"I'm afraid it is necessary. It is for your own good my boy, she is a danger," he explained patiently.
"Then let me talk to her, make her understand. She will listen to me. She loves me!"
Red eyes in a skeletal face glinted in the dim passage. "And do you love her?"
"I don't know … maybe," Harry whispered.
"Then she is not only a danger but a weakness."
Harry's shoulders straightened with new determination.
"Still … If I lose her, I will always blame you." The soft hiss was laced with absolute conviction.
That caught Voldemort's attention. With a movement almost too swift to detect the skeletal hand came close to Harry's throat and then - stopped. Lord Voldemort spoke, but there was nothing tender in his voice anymore, it was cold and harsh and emotionless, reminding Harry that this person was a ruler, a commander of a vast army and he expected obedience. Even from him.
"I see. Then, by all means, try to convince her." And the Dark Lord walked off, down the corridor where torches flared to life and died in his passing.
Harry waited a while and then entered the cell and closed the door. He looked around. She had was an unmoving heap in the corner.
"Hermione." One word. A breath escaping his lips, a plea, a prayer; an admission.
He fell onto the floor next to her, positioning himself as close as he could get to the silent girl. The black cloak he wore pooled into a fan around him as he settled in. Not looking at the unmoving, closed eyed figure beside him Harry began, hesitantly at first and then picking up speed as confidence and passion grew.
"Do you know that old saying about the world being a stage and all the men and women players. People play a part. That is what I have been doing ever since learning I was a wizard and came to Hogwarts. I was told who I was and who the bad guys were and I made a choice. An eleven year old made a choice based on what people I saw as my rescuers had told me, what was expected of me. I never asked for it, I was thrust into a strange world where I was a hero. You know, it did not take me long to understand that heroes have a bad habit of getting hurt or worse. But I made friends, good friends, and kept on going; there was really no other choice open for me. But there is now …
"Hermione you must understand I did not do this to betray you. I took this mark to find myself … never to hurt you. I love you," He reached out a hand to force the girl to look him in the eyes. She struggled a little, backing further into the corner, but with his touch the deep brown eyes opened and gazed right into his. The face staring back at him was cold, expressionless, there were salty stains of dried tears on the pale cheeks, but the eyes. The eyes … There was something there he was sure of it. A burning deep flame, rage, fire, sadness, hurt, pain, loss, understanding, love. His heart hitched. The emotional spectrum shining in those dark orbs ignited a spark of hope. He unfolded the other arm sitting in his lap intending to use both his hands to cup her beautiful face in his hands, to cover the soft skin with his kisses, to beg understanding, to rejoice in understanding.
But as he moved so did she. The dark eyelashes fluttered when a curtain covered his hope for redemption and flinching away she pulled her knees closer to her body, the knuckles on the hands binding her legs turned whiter with pressure as she forced herself into a tighter ball against the damp grey wall. With those closed eyes that shut the world out she could have been a light marble statue, crammed into a dark corner, but for the occasional shiver that ran through her body that found no warmth in the stone-walled chamber.
"I love you," the dark man next to the girl repeated. "Whatever you understand, or think you understand you must believe I love you. You must!"
He got no response.
A fear crept around the heart he had thought to be a block of ice by now. But the ice was shattering as a colder, sharper presence made itself known. He was not supposed to feel like this ever again. The frosty tendrils of loss slithered around his heart, looking for a way in. He could feel them there, waiting. No, he wanted to crush those treasonous feelings, that betrayed his weakness.
He loved her. Besides laughter love could bring pain. Why hadn't he understood that before? Pain and loss. He would loose her.
NO! I can't, I will not.
'Just like everyone you have loved. You will lose her too.'
"I cannot lose her." He did not seem to realise he was repeating that phrase out loud, rocking back and forth. "I cannot lose her … "
He did not pay attention to his surroundings anymore, so lost was he inside his own mind … in the battle in his mind. He would not have heard a breath nor felt a touch if not for the warmth. The warmth of human contact that heated the daggers around his heart until they melted. Suddenly he heard the breath of words on his neck and felt a slender arm around his shoulders.
He leaned in closer, wrapping them both in the rich velvet cloak, hugging her so tight that he would have almost expected her to cry out in pain. But all she did was hug him back, all the while continuing the mantra she had begun in response to his own desperate pleas:
"You won't lose me. You will not. You will not … "
He felt the wetness of new tears against his cheek; he was not sure whether they were hers or his. It did not matter, she had forgiven and understood. She knew and she was still with him.
A flickering thought crossed his mind. What would have happened had she not embraced him at that crucial moment. He knew now that he would not be able to bare loosing her and if it had come to the choice between Hermione and Lord Voldemort, between family … It did not matter anymore. The thought was banished from his mind almost simultaneously with its unwanted arrival.
He didn't let go of her when the feverish whisperings subsided and the suddenly clear frightened eyes bore into his.
"Harry," she seemed almost afraid to speak, clinging to his presence, drinking it in.
"Harry," she began again, "what now? What do we do know? What happens now?"
His gaze was intense, his grip on her hands painful. "We will be together," He wasn't letting go of her. "No matter what happens we will be together … and we do what we must. What it takes."
Her hands slipped down into his as they stood up face to face. Slowly, she nodded. "Whatever it takes."
He could feel the liquid warmth in the palms of his hands as the half-moon impressions of her fingernails dug deeper into the flesh.
My soul is dark with blood and so will be yours. Do you understand that, my beautiful girl? If you truly understood you would run, screaming. He did not voice those thoughts. He had everything he ever wanted now and he had learned selfishness. He would not give up what was offered.
Still holding his hand she asked, "Will it hurt?"
"Yes."
... to be continued ...