The Darkness Within
Chapter 11: Young Gods
One thing that always shows the true value of a person is the amount of trust his friends have in him. In Harry's case, that was not entirely correct for he was about to initiate his best friend to a hellish existence, introduce her to everything she had ever fought against and make her betray all that she believed in.
Well, perhaps not everything - she still had him and her love for him. But even that love was a twisted thing. She didn't even know him anymore, there was the idea of Harry she imagined herself in love with. Hermione, being an organised and logical person, had decided when she first recognised her feelings, that her life would be spent with Harry at her side. No matter what.
And now it was too late for reconsiderations or second thoughts. When Harry pulled her out of that cell she knew what she was getting herself into. She really did.
Hand in hand they exited the little room where Harry had gambled with his soul and lost. The one person, who could have dragged him back from the precarious edge the abyss Voldemort represented, stepped forth and let herself be pulled into darkness alongside him.
They walked the passageway out of the dungeons, Harry gently guiding her through the labyrinth of corridors until they came to a door. Dark, imposing and beautiful - it was the final place she could change her mind. Pull herself from his hold and run as fast as she could.
Run with the devil on her heels, her cloak a billowing mess behind her, breath coming in fast and erratic gasps. She could still make that desperate bid for freedom and sanity.
Harry stared at that door with a terribly nauseous feeling in his stomach. He felt the tiny hairs on the back of his neck curl with moisture.
Impulsively he tightened his grip on Hermione's hand and threw a glance at her over his shoulder. She was looking down at their entwined fingers. Perhaps feeling the eyes on her, she looked up and gave him a small smile.
Then, she pushed the door open.
The first thing that Harry noticed was that the table was gone and with it every scrap of parchment that had been on it. The chamber looked as it had when he first travelled there in the company of Draco Malfoy. How menacing it had seemed to a young boy about to start the performance of his life - for his life.
She shivered at his side, stepping closer so their shoulders almost touched. He wanted to smile: he felt as excited as she did … but, her hand was icy cold and in the brown eyes he spotted a sudden panic as she stared at him, the Dark Lord. It was her first time too see the infamous wizard.
Voldemort was sitting in his rose throne, basking in the warmth of the torchlight. Much like a snake, who draws in the sun on some warm rock during a hot summer. His eyes were half-closed, calculating red slits that casually observed the young pair before him.
He noticed the forcedly confident poise of his heir and the unconscious clinging of the girl. The Mudblood. Yet of whom he knew from his spies and servants and, lately, from his own experience, that she probably was the smartest which of the generation. With an inward smile he noted their closeness: and she could be controlled.
He opened his eyes fully and grinned. Hermione smothered a hysterical urge to laugh - quite suddenly he reminded her of a certain orange Halloween decoration.
"I assume you have some news for me," Voldemort addressed Harry.
"My lord, I have spoken to Hermione and she will not betray my secret. Nor yours," he hastened to add.
"Indeed. She has promised all that and now she expects me to let her walk right out of here, straight into Dumbledore's stronghold." The red eyes narrowed dangerously and the s' in his words became more pronounced.
Hermione spoke up, "Sir, I don't expect anything, I -"
She was cut off as Voldemort lashed out, "Silence! I will not tolerate a Mudblood speaking to me." He reached for his wand, a curse already on his lips.
But as the wand rose Harry stepped in front of the wide-eyed girl and as swiftly the wand disappeared into the sleeve of Voldemort's robes. The terrifying rage gave way to a pleasant smile directed at Harry.
"My boy, surely you understand I am going to need some kind of proof of these changed loyalties."
"She is loyal to me, my lord, and I am to you," Harry answered.
Voldemort was drumming his fingers against the armrest. "It is not her feelings for you, but her devotion to me and our cause I do not believe." He looked straight at Hermione, "You see, smart is always trouble, and clever witch that she is, she might take it upon herself to decide what is best for you. And somehow she might come to the conclusion I am not it. We cannot have her running to Dumbledore, ready to expose everything we want kept secret."
Hermione twitched under his glare and two bright red spots appeared on her cheeks. She looked away.
Lord Voldemort smirked. "You see," he turned towards Harry, "what her loyalty is worth."
Harry was beginning to get frustrated and not a little nervous. "But, my lord -"
"Enough!"
Shocked silence reigned the room after Voldemort's outburst.
"If you think you can convince me by arguing you are mistaken."
The unmistakable menace in that quiet voice reminded Harry of before. Of the time he still hated Voldemort and feared him. He did not wish to return to that era and thus ceased his argument.
The Dark Lord leaned back in his throne, almost lounging. "Better."
He looked at Hermione. "Now, tell me girl, do you wish to swear me obedience?"
"I … I -" she hesitated, took a deep breath and then held her chin up defiantly, "Yes. I'll join Harry."
Lord Voldemort's voice was deceptively amused, "How loving of you.
"Are you certain, you can't do without her?" he glanced at Harry. Without waiting for a reply he continued, "Very well, consider her a gift. And," the timbre of his voice dropped lower, to that almost caressing tone he often used with Harry, "remember, even you can run out of favours and gifts my boy."
Harry instinctively responded to the soft hiss of his voice. His hand untwined from Hermione's and his feet carried him to the ebony throne. In relief, in gratitude he fell to his knees on the first step.
Voldemort, focusing solely on him, slowly reached out with his hand and Harry grabbed it, fervently kissing the parchment-dry fingers.
"Thank you," he whispered, and smiled.
He had almost forgotten Hermione, standing alone in the middle of the room, when the dark wizard spoke.
"Girl," he told her, "come here."
As she walked closer Harry got up to stand in his usual place at Voldemort's right side. When she stopped hesitantly at the foot of the throne he gave her an encouraging smile.
Her gaze flickered from Master to heir, caught somewhere between trepidation and trust.
Voldemort pulled a wand from the folds of his robes. He held it temptingly before her, but she did not reach out to grab it. Instead she waited. And after a while the wizard gave a sudden laugh. In the instant it started and stopped she jerked back with a shudder, the tension of the situation had her nerves high-strung.
"So you will serve me out of loyalty to my heir? So be it. But understand girl, this boy is my heir. We are connected, he and I, betray one betray the other."
That jump started her brain and pushed her into the inquisitive student mode. "What do you mean - connected?"
The thin line of Voldemort's mouth twitched, either in amusement or annoyance.
"As the famous prophecy says: Neither can live while the other does not…"
Her mind went blank. Merlin. Looking at Harry's uncomfortable expression she thought she finally understood everything.
Startling her out of her thoughts, her wand came close to her face.
"Take it," the Dark Lord ordered.
As her fingertips closed around the familiar polished wood a skeletal hand flashed out, closing in an iron grip around her wrist. Holding her hand tightly in place Voldemort turned towards Harry, hissing,
"She did choose to serve you."
With the other hand he tugged up the tattered sleeve of her robes.
Harry gulped.
His eyes locked with Hermione's, the message was clear - trust me - and placed the tip of his wand on her skin.
The smell of pine torches and living fire hung in the air.
Brown eyes bore into green.
He said the incantation.
And magic came to life, darkness burning itself to innocent skin.
There was so much pain in her eyes, betrayal and trust.
When she started screaming Voldemort laughed. And did not stop, but the burning did. The smell of pine was still in the air and her eyes were still beautiful and trusting. But everything was different now, everything.
"Go home, children," the Master ordered between bursts of cruel mirth.
They went. He was still laughing as the door closed.
Time flew by. They were not called to Voldemort and, deciding that it would be too dangerous to discuss anything related to their night jobs while at Hogwarts, it was easy to pretend it had never happened. The marks on their arms did not exist.
The Easter Holidays were fast approaching and Ron kept on pestering Harry with requests to join him and the assorted Weasleys at the Burrow, but Harry was adamant in his refusal and finally the redhead gave up, throwing his hands in the air and using the - Fine. But you'll regret it. - statement.
Hermione received an owl from her parents, asking her to come home. She wrote them back, telling that since the end of year exams were fast approaching she would need the lesson-free time for studying.
Her decision to stay at Hogwarts also relieved Ron's conscious over leaving his best friend alone again. Easter was different from Christmas, however, in the fact, that during this holiday the majority of students remained at school. The Weasleys were one of the few students leaving for home. Them, and Draco Malfoy with some other Slytherins. But that was knowledge Harry was not supposed to have, or could not admit to having to any of his fellow Gryffindors.
On the second night of Easter his Mark burned after a long respite. He squirmed in pain, the crisp white sheets twisting around his legs when he bit his lip to keep from crying out and alerting his sleeping roommates.
When the scorching pain subsided, leaving him gasping for air, Harry silently eased himself out of the bed. He took his wand and cast a silencing charm around the near vicinity of his bed and trunk. Fumbling in the darkness he gathered his school robes and the Death Eater attire, meant to disguise and distinguish him from all the other members of Voldemort's Inner Circle. He bundled up the ball of cloth and crept downstairs to the Common Room.
Hermione was already waiting for him there, all the sleepiness drawn out of wild brown eyes that stared questioningly into his.
"What do think he wants?" she whispered, her voice breaking with fear.
Harry looked over his shoulder while struggling into his robes, "I cannot know for sure, but it's better we get there soon." He finished his dressing by throwing the black cloak Voldemort had given him over his usual attire and took her hand, kissing her fingers sweetly, "Come on. Hurry," and helped her out of the Portrait Hole.
On their way to the Entrance Hall, they had to dodge Mrs Norris out and about on her usual student-hunting spree, but made it to the Forbidden Forest without discovery.
Assuming, they were not the only Death Eaters Voldemort had called, they were early: the audience chamber was empty. Harry followed Hermione into the room she had visited only once before and closed the heavy wooden door with a thud behind them.
It was a strange feeling to be alone with her in a room that to him was always associated with the Dark Lord. This was the place he had first fallen to his knees in front of a man he had born to hate and, somehow, learned to serve. He had killed in this room. He had betrayed in this room, and he had taken her soul in it and bound Hermione to him for all time.
A lot had happened to him in the audience chamber, choices had been made, paths chosen and lives altered.
The round, document-laden table stood in the corner, like on that day, weeks ago - he lowered his eyes in realisation that the time had arrived. The corner of his mouth twitched. No going back now. Nothing can save her. Hermione was walking towards the table, her natural curiosity getting the better of her.
He stood still, watching as she stopped and picked up a roll of parchment. He did not need to see it, to know that her eyes were devouring the contents, her mind stitching pieces of information together and coming to the inevitable conclusion. He could pinpoint the exact moment realisation dawned: her mouth formed into a precise little 'o' and the parchment dropped from suddenly trembling fingers. She stared ahead, unseeing and moving closer he could see the large blue vein on her neck pulsing rapidly.
He touched her arm, she jumped, whirling around to face him.
He lifted a questioning eyebrow and bent down to pick up the fallen document and place it back on the table.
Her fingers dug into his biceps almost frantically.
"He can't," she said. Shaking her head, she added, "I can't …"
Harry pried her fingers from his arm and took both her hands in his, forcing her to look him in the eye. Hers were wild and lost. "Harry, we cannot do this. It's -"
"War, Hermione. It's war. And this is our best chance to win it."
Hermione bit her lip. "But -"she seemed to have to trouble expressing herself. "But we can't actually do this."
He dropped her hands. "What do you think this is? A game? Did you get yourself into this, thinking it was like changing political parties in the Muggle world? Swift and painless and nobody is going to get hurt."
He yanked up her sleeve, hissing, "And what do you think this is? A membership card?" As his fingers brushed the black skull, Harry felt it warm under his touch and he felt an irresistible urge to press his hand to it, to squeeze it, to scratch it, to hold it until it burned with magic and pain and his will.
He felt emptiness envelop him, until only the darkness remained, the throbbing red and orange and black thing that connected him to Hermione. I am connected to her. I control her. I -
He felt her breath on his skin, hot and erratic. Soft locks tickled his cheek, and he opened his eyes.
She was so close he could smell her soap and count the tiny freckles on her nose. Calmness flooded into him, her will soothed him.
He felt like himself again.
"You know, what is at stake," he coughed, "we cannot lose this war. And when this battle is won everything will be easier."
She had collected herself with remarkable skill and even managed a smile. "Then we will win it."
He moved closer, hugging her, when the door banged open.
Lord Voldemort strode in smirking as he saw them jump apart. He carelessly threw them a couple of golden stars tangling on chains. "They're emergency portkeys back here. Use them only in a very dire emergency. Otherwise go straight back to your dormitories; we cannot have you suspiciously absent, when Dumbledore comes looking. Understand, only in an emergency."
When they both nodded, sliding the chains over their heads, he told them to, "Follow me."
The young couple walked behind him through the corridors, carefully adjusting the silvery white masks to hide their faces and the deep-hooded black cloaks to hide their forms.
The doors of the Great Hall fell open before them, their steps echoed on the floor. In complete silence, they walked to where the rest of the Inner Circle stood. Lord Voldemort settled on his throne and Harry went to his usual place at his right hand, pulling Hermione with him and ignoring the looks he was getting from the rest of assembled Death Eater royalty.
When all movement stopped, the room was bathed in light. And as he had expected, and somewhat dreaded, it was filled with people - the army he remembered form the revel. Only, this time they were not here to party, they were here to work.
Their Master opened his mouth and spoke.
His voice growled with quiet thunder, reaching the hearts of men standing before him, infusing them with purpose. "Tonight we fight, tonight we win," he said. "Tonight is the beginning of the end. We will take the Ministry."
Cheers erupted; chants for their Lord swept the room. An army in black, an army of hundreds of wizard and witches stood, shouting for victory. Harry felt the emotions boiling inside him, his heartbeat became faster, and faster. Standing beside the commander of this noble army, he felt Hermione shiver with excitement as her hand brushed his. He closed his eyes, feeling the moment.
The collective magic of mass Apparition making him weak on his knees. When he opened his eyes once again, the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic came to view.
He heard someone start screaming, she would not be the last this night. The black-robed figures moved to connecting corridors, spreading like the tendrils of a giant octopus. Strangling, blinding, killing everything in its way.
A blue-robed Auror had somehow managed to make it close to them. He had his wand pointed at Hermione. She froze, and Harry shouted out the cutting hex.
Blood splattered on her white mask.
Noise and action around them resumed.
The thick, musty smell of blood hung in the air.
... to be continued ...