You lie down with the devil and you wake up in hell …
The Darkness Within
Chapter 7: Deceptions
The strange reality of Harry's life continued all throughout January. Every day he went to his lessons, a couple of times a week he walked down to the Quidditch Pitch with Ron and Ginny, and in the evenings he sat in the common room, doing his homework assignments like every other sixteen-year-old schoolboy.
Sometimes he ran across Malfoy on his way to breakfast, and the boy would demonstrate an uncharacteristic clumsiness by tripping near the Gryffindor table. These were the days his friends noticed an unusual quiet about him all day; they never made the connection to Malfoy, but on these days and more often than not on the following ones as well, Harry made sure to distance himself from all his old friends. Those were the days Malfoy met him at ten o'clock in the Forbidden Forest. The unmarked Death Eater's number of killings had gone up to five. Almost every meeting he had attended ended in a death by his hands.
All his friends felt the subtle change in Harry; none of them could guess the reason. With every passing day, Harry felt more and more like two totally different persons. One was the cruel heir of Voldemort, the torturer and killer. The other was Harry, a person unlike any of his friends had ever known. Carrying all the burdens of the soulless heir that ruled his nights, the daytime Harry was a quiet, shy boy who did his best to keep from being noticed. He barely talked to people anymore, only speaking when asked a direct question.
He looked grumpier than ever. The school robes he wore daily were rumpled, his hair looked as if it had never seen or heard of a comb and his complexion was paler than usual with dark splotches under his eyes. It seemed to be a struggle for him to get through the day without falling asleep in one of his classes. Still, he never answered the worried inquires of his friends and professors. After a while, they left him alone.
In the beginning of February, Harry was walking through the Great Hall doors for breakfast when a blond Slytherin bumped into him with enough force to send him tumbling towards the Gryffindor table, nearly landing headfirst in a bowl of porridge.
"Watch it, Malfoy!" Harry snarled trying to get up from his uncomfortable position halfway on the table.
The Slytherin smirked back, clearly pleased with the embarrassment he had caused the Boy Who Lived and headed for his own table without comment.
Harry swatted away the helpful hands of fellow Gryffindors and settled in for a long day. However, by the time evening arrived, the day seemed an extraordinarily short one as the time to meet Draco in the Forbidden Forest neared with unprecedented speed.
Alone in his dormitory, Harry dug out the black cloak and silver-white mask, hidden deep in the bottom of his trunk and further obscured with notice-me-not spells. He cast an incineration spell on the note Malfoy had dropped on his desk in Transfiguration, watching the magical flames destroy the slip of parchment with a single sentence - Seven o'clock tonight.
Tucking the bundle of cloth under his arms, almost entirely hidden under his open school robes, Harry climbed down the stairs to the common room. It was the first time Voldemort had summoned him this early in the evening and instead of having to sneak out of a room full of sleeping boys he had to pass though a room filled with students enjoying their time of rest and relaxation after a long day.
As he purposefully strolled across the common room, he heard someone call after him, "Where are you going, Harry?"
Looking around the room, he saw Ginny and Ron staring back at him from behind a table covered with their chess set. Harry shrugged and heading for the portrait hole threw over his shoulder, "I feel like taking a walk around the lake."
Ginny gave him a small smile asking, "Do you want company?"
"Not really. I want to do some thinking."
He was almost in the corridor and the portrait swinging shut behind him when he heard her call out, "Don't stay out too late."
"I wish," he muttered to himself while walking down to he Entrance Hall and then to the Forest. Nearing the spot where Draco was waiting for him, he wondered silently why he was being called at such an early hour. Voldemort should know better than to endanger Harry's position of trust he held at Hogwarts. He didn't bother to voice the question to Draco, knowing that the young Death Eater was probably in the dark as much as he. Dreading what was about to happen in Voldemort's mansion, he felt the Apparition wave take him to the Dark Mark's creator.
Once again, they were standing in front of the large gothic manor. The cloudy weather and misty air made it stand out like a dark ghost between the shadowy leafless trees. He knew the mansion was occupied, but not a single light shined through the arched windows. Instead, they looked like gaping holes, blind eyes of a monster in the stone walls.
Leaving Draco to follow him at his own pace Harry strode resolutely to the entrance and then taking the path he had walked too many times before to Voldemort's throne room, through corridors dimly lit by scattered, smoky torches set in iron sconces on the walls. He was the image of a strong, powerful and confident Death Eater. The heir of the Dark Lord stepped inside the large hall, pausing for a second at the doors to take in the picture before him. The enormous hall was filled with men in dark cloaks and white masks. Never before had he seen so many of Voldemort's followers in a room, together. His army was vast, bigger than even in Harry's wildest nightmares.
The ruler of this gathered army was sitting in his graceful ebony throne, hands resting at the sides. He was studying the mass of robed figures before him with mild amusement. Voldemort's interest in his surroundings increased as he spotted Harry and Draco hovering in the doorway, his mouth formed into a small, cruel smile. Lifting a graceful pale hand in synch with the smirk, he gestured for the youngest Death Eaters to take their place in his Inner Circle.
The half-circle formed around Voldemort's throne was the other familiar thing to Harry. Since his first introduction to the Dark Lord's most loyal and trusted servants, he had stood in this circle, in this room several times. The large hall was Voldemort's favourite torture chamber; it had enough space for every imaginable type of painful instrument or device, scattered about the walls and littering the magnificent marble floor. After the initial torture session in Voldemort's private audience chamber, Harry had quickly realised that the Dark Lord much preferred the imposing hall for the evening's entertainment. Perhaps he considered the private chamber too intimate. Perhaps the throne room was more frightening to all the victims.
Harry remembered one of the first young Muggles he had seen brought into the grand hall. It had been a young boy, barely ten in his estimate. He remembered standing in the circle around the dark throne in a room of bottomless black when the large doors had swung open to reveal two of his companions dragging in the young child. He remembered the eyes, glazed over with fear staring right into his soul.
Sometimes he woke up of nightmares, even now, in which he was the boy stepping forward onto an altar of death. He imagined what it would be like to be woken up on a dark night by dark figures, then travelling in an eye blink, as though by magic, to the dark castle. In his dreams, Harry could see through the boy's eyes; carried, dragged through dim passages. He could feel being pushed into the hall, a black nothing. He could hear the doors slamming shut behind him, leaving him all alone. He stood in one place, terrified to move; his lips formed words, the fear making his voice tremble and catch when he tried to call for help. The room swallowed every sound he made, except … when he finally moved the steps on a slippery marble floor echoed forever, intensifying the sound of his heartbeat in his ears.
Suddenly torches flared into life and he stopped, looking, hoping. His breath caught in his throat and his heart almost stopped at the picture before him. In the flickering flames and shadows they stood … apparitions in black, demons with white, inhuman faces. As the torchlight made the floor glitter with moving and vanishing sparkles of light the torture began.
Voldemort had always had a flare for dramatics. So it was that what gave Harry the nightmares; never the pain, but the expectation.
Snapping back to the present Harry saw that Voldemort was about to speak. Straightening his back Harry looked around the familiar circle, all standing expectant and then beyond, to the army of Death Eaters filling the hall.
Voldemort opened his mouth. "Welcome, my children, to our dark revel."
Harry's eyes widened with realisation under his mask and all of a sudden, he felt very afraid and very out of place. He had read about these Death Eater gatherings, their celebrations, where blood flowed free and the screams of their victims provided the entertainment. So far, he had succeeded in avoiding any situations in which he would have to enjoy the torture he was inflicting. In the relative intimacy of the Inner Circle, he had just done his part, hurting and killing when it was his turn. It had never given him any pleasure. He had only done what was expected from the man he played. This was different; this was a party.
"Bring in the entertainment!" the Dark Lord ordered and the doors opened.
Rows of figures were forced in, man after man, women, children, Muggles, Mudbloods - people. The masses of Death Eaters were rippling as they moved out of formation to grab hold of a personal guest. The Inner Circle was disintegrating around him when the more important Death Eaters went in search of their own prey, looking for someone worthy of their attention.
Only Voldemort himself remained in his throne, ruling over the scene before him. The breath of amusement remained on his face as the Dark Lord watched his children play.
Catching his eye Harry felt the compulsion to move closer. He walked in cautious steps to Voldemort, kneeling at the lord's feet. A hand touched his cheek gently, almost caressing him as he was forced to look up into the burning red eyes.
"My boy," the deep voice lingered on the phrase and continued. "I want you to enjoy yourself … do not stand here, observing. Go out among my servants … learn, my child. This is for you."
Harry felt shivers down his spine as the statement set in. For him. All those people, dying because of him. Oh God. What am I doing here? What have I done? At the same time, the beautiful ruby eyes reached something deep in his soul, a longing, ancient as time.
My child … for you. Harry felt himself smile against his will. A gift to him from his lord. Such a grand gesture for him, to please him. He forgot all his schemes, all the plans, his reason for being with this dark wizard. He was happy, he was grateful …
"Thank you, Master," he whispered, for the first time not lying.
Feeling the hand leave his face Harry stood up, still smiling under the mask and joined the Death Eaters having fun in the great hall. Moving through the throbbing black assemblage, he looked for someone to practise on.
The rush of acceptance and gratitude diminished when he spotted a boy about his own age. The other Death eaters had left him alone, obviously considering the obese boy not worthy of their time or effort. As he neared the sobbing mass of lard his light-headedness returned, realising that it wasn't really young Dudley Dursley, but a boy who bared a striking resemblance to his cousin.
He hadn't been sure whether he could actually hurt his relative, but this fellow was perfect. He looked so much like Dudley to fuel the anger in his soul and yet he was a complete stranger easing away any inhibitions Harry would have felt torturing a member of is family.
This boy would make it possible for him to please his lord. His lord, he thought with a sudden lurch in his heart, dismissing the whispers begging him to return to reality and wake up.
Closing in on the Muggle boy, he took out his wand. The emerald eyes shining in the holes of his mask where delirious with something. With a simple spell the end of his wand turned into a sharp blade.
The boy on the ground stopped his whimpering, focusing on the knife, hypnotised by the nearing promise of pain. Harry sat down on the floor next to the Muggle and with an air of calm reached over taking the boy's hand in his own. The boy's attention left the knife at this reassuring gesture and the quiet pleas resumed.
Such a simple motion it was; a gentle movement of the magical blade; a fingertip falling to the ground. A yelp of surprise emitted from the victim, who was too shocked to feel anything yet. He did scream, however, when the next finger fell. And the next.
Letting the mutilated hand fall to the ground Harry moved on, his gaze wandering, deciding what to do next. A sudden twitch brought his attention to the boy's face. Without knowing why Harry let the knife travel to the boy's forehead and watched the blood from the zigzag wound flow down his cheeks. Oh, how loud the Muggle screamed. The Death Eater laughed, giddy with power, intoxicated by it.
Suddenly Harry felt a hand on his shoulder; he jumped up while whirling around to face his interrupter. It was Draco. With the recognition of a familiar figure came reality. The madness receded from his brain and realisation of his deeds hit him hard. Harry changed back his wand, preparing to cast the Killing Curse on his victim.
Before Harry had time to voice the spell, Draco had produced an ornate dirk from somewhere inside his voluminous robes and ran it swiftly across the Muggles throat. He cleaned its blade on the jeans of the dead boy and standing up told Harry, "Come on. It is too late already; we must get back to the school."
Harry could only nod in response and together they made the return journey to Hogwarts.
Nearing the dungeon stairs, Draco looked at Harry and smiled with perverse pleasure.
"Today was fun, wasn't it?" he said, and disappeared down into the dungeons.
That made Harry stop. Fun, he thought, the sudden weakening of his knees making him grab the wall just to hold himself up. When his breathing returned to normal he resumed his journey up to the Gryffindor tower.
Harry crept into the common room, silently moving through it. The screams he had inflicted were still echoing in his ears. He was midway between the portrait hole and the boys' staircase when he was interrupted.
"Harry."
He flinched, hearing the familiar voice behind him. Slowly turning around, he saw Hermione lounging on a couch near the glowing logs of the dying fire. He stood his ground, arms folded across his chest. Tiredly he asked, "What?"
Hermione yawned and, sitting up straighter, shook off the plaid, covering her from the waist down. Looking at him, she noticed his dishevelled appearance and the carefully controlled timbre of his voice. Noticed it and decided to ignore it for a more immediate concern.
"Where have you been, Harry? It's long after curfew," the Gryffindor perfect asked. "I should report you to Professor McGonagall."
"It's none of your business, Hermione. If you weren't such a teacher's pet you would not be here monitoring everything I do," he snapped.
Hermione seemed abashed. "I was worried about you. Still am."
"Why?" Harry looked at her, with no emotions showing on his carefully composed face. "There is nothing wrong."
"Nothing wrong? You go sneaking around at all hours. Don't come back before dawn, all grimy and smelly. It's obvious you have been out all night. Outside. Doing god knows what." Hermione had stood up from the couch somewhere in the middle of her rant and was shaking with indignation now.
"So? It's nothing I haven't done before. With you, I might add."
Hermione's eyes were flashing. "But you were doing it with us. Me and Ron. No you go about it all alone. You don't talk to anyone."
"That's it, isn't it? You're jealous! I don't have time for you anymore and now you want to get me into trouble with McGonagall. I don't spend my evenings with you anymore, so I shouldn't spend them with anyone else? What do you want Hermione? That instead of doing what I want, without you, I spend my time in detentions with Filch?" He turned his back on her to leave the room. Looking over his shoulder he added with barely concealed anger, "Go on then, report me to McGonagall. See if I care."
In the silence following his declaration, Harry heard Hermione sniff suddenly and a hand grabbed him by the elbow. He felt Hermione step closer, her body nearly touching his.
"Harry, wait. I'm sorry," she whispered softly.
He stopped, standing completely still and listening.
"I - I was not waiting here to get you in trouble," she stumbled on. "I just wanted to talk to you. Talk to my friend Harry. My friend whom I miss very much. I worry, Harry. Do you know how you have been acting lately? You are so quiet, almost scared to be noticed sometimes. You are so cold. I feel as though I don't you anymore."
She pulled the boy away from the stairs, towards the couch she had been laying on before. Not letting go of his arm, she forced Harry down next to her. He was still oddly unresponsive as Hermione went on,
"Harry, talk to me. Let me be your friend again. Tell me what's happening to you."
"Nothing. Nothing to do with you," he mumbled under his breath.
Hermione didn't seem to hear him going on with her speech. "Are you acting this way because of Sirius? Do you still blame yourself? You didn't kill him. It's not your fault."
That got Harry's attention. Ripping his arm from her grip he shouted into her face, "This is NOT about SIRIUS!"
As Hermione jumped back a little, startled, he said it again forcefully as if trying to convince himself that what he was saying was true, "Nothing to do with Sirius." When speaking the last word his voice crackled and his shoulders started shaking. He was a killer.
Hermione leaned closer, putting her arms around the grieving boy. She collected him in a fierce hug, letting Harry find relief in her warm embrace.
"Shh…" she whispered into his soft hair. "I'm here, it is going to be all right. I will always be here for you."
A crying whimper near her chest - "Don't let go Hermione."
"I won't Harry." She fell quiet, still holding on to him.
Moved by the need to touch him, to bridge the barrier of silence, she traced the curve of his jaw with a feather-light finger and lost in his scent and the closeness of his body she whispered softly, almost unconsciously, "I love you."
A pin drop could have been heard in the deafening silence that followed. Hermione felt the boy freeze, his shoulders tensing as the watery green eyes looked up at her so incredibly happy.
Encouraged she repeated, this time looking at him, "I love you, Harry."
She watched the emotion vanish from Harry's face, as it closed up again. "No"
"But I do," Hermione protested, "I can't help it." She couldn't take back the confession anymore, even if she had wanted to.
"You will be in danger, Hermione. The Dark Lord will come after you … I can't protect you." I don't deserve you.
She was angry now, the uncontrollable mane of brown hair flowing around a face tinged with pink. "I don't need you to protect me. I only need you to love me."
"I cannot." He left the couch to put some distance between himself and the furious, disappointed young woman.
"You cannot?" she echoed, "Don't you love me?"
"I said I can't," he told Hermione. "You have no idea what Voldemort would do if he found out I was involved with you."
Fury was still lighting her brown eyes. "I am already involved with you! I am your friend."
"So you are already in danger! Do you want me to put you into even more? Do you want to be killed?" he shouted back.
He continued, "Voldemort hunts down, tortures and kills your kind."
The words had barely left his mouth, when Hermione looking at him in disbelief questioned, "Your kind?"
"Mudbloods," he hissed the insulting expression.
Hermione collapsed on the couch, sobbing. Tears glistened on her red cheeks.
Harry left her there, retreating to the boys staircase. Having made his way almost to the dormitory door he heard a determined feminine voice call after him, "I am not giving up on you Harry Potter."
Once safely inside he took off the dirty Death Eater robes and fell onto the four-poster bed exhausted. Before succumbing to a restless sleep he whisperedto the closed bed curtains, "I love you too, Hermione."
The morning dawned bright and sunny, annoyingly contrasting Harry's mood. He climbed out of bed and struggling to put on his jumper walked down to the common room. Doubting that he could hold down any food Harry decided to forego breakfast and sat in his chair planning to do some extra studying. He felt that with all the sleepless nights he was starting to fall behind on his homework.
That idea was shot to hell as Hermione jumped into the armchair next to him. Tucking her feet under herself she settled in comfortably. Harry shifted in his chair, trying to decide if he still had time to make his escape. No such luck, just as he had started to get up Hermione turned towards him, with a light smile on her face.
"Morning, Harry. Did you sleep well?"
Harry was confused because she was acting like the night before had never happened. Shaking himself out of the momentary stupor he replied with, "Morning," hoping that the one worded answer would discourage her from further conversation.
Instead, Hermione leaned over the side of her chair, getting uncomfortably close to him. Brushing an imaginary speck of dust away from his shoulder, she continued softly, "Miss me?"
Harry's face turned red enough to honour any Weasley as he tried to disappear deeper into the armchair. He could not understand why Hermione was acting so out of character and he had no idea what to do or say around this new girl.
Smiling at his apparent unease, she brushed her lips to his cheek, before getting up. Calmly walking out of the still empty common room, she left behind a completely dumbfounded teenage boy.
The truth was, Harry grudgingly had to admit to himself, he had missed her. Not just the girl who just last night had told him that she loved him, but also his best friend. With everything that had been going on in his life lately, all the secrets he had to keep, he abandoned all his former friends.
Harry was still sure he had made the right decision by keeping them, her away from him, but now some small part of him was starting to regret it. He wished there were a way to compromise; he could have his friends when he wanted them and at the same time, they would leave him alone when needed. His hand balled into a fist. Selfish, I'm too selfish. In frustration, he hit the sides of his chair with a loud, satisfying thump.
Yet … maybe there was a way to protect them all. Harry didn't understand why he had not thought of it before.
'Because you have been too wrapped up in your own life, your own problems. Don't you remember? The only condition you put on your actions was that your friends must be safe. Perhaps you have been having too much fun lately?'
There it was. The annoying little voice inside his head again. And this time … could it be right? Harry shook his head, NO, denying the possibility. He allowed himself a minute to calm down.
It was a very determined young man, who left the Gryffindor tower some time later in search of a certain Slytherin.
Harry made his way through the castle, occasionally checking the Marauders Map to make sure his target hadn't moved. Thanking his luck that the beautiful weekend day ensured most of the students were outside walking around the lake or just strolling on the vast Hogwarts' grounds Harry neared the unused classroom next to History of Magic.
With a last glance at the map, this time to make sure nobody was nearby, he folded it and put it in his pocket. The map and his father's Invisibility Cloak were one of the things Malfoy couldn't find out about.
It was a shame really, the cloak would make it much easier for him to go about the castle, when travelling to his meetings with Voldemort. Shaking off the thought Harry reached out and opened the classroom door. Like he had expected Malfoy was inside. The boy was sitting cross-legged on the teacher's desk, absentmindedly munching on a pastry while concentrating on a book in his lap. He was so interested in whatever he was reading that he didn't even notice Harry entering the room.
Only when Harry let the door fall closed behind him with a small bang did he look up. Seeing that he was alone with Harry an attentive look appeared on his face and he put away the book. Arranging the robes around him into a more respectable appearance, he asked Harry to take a chair and sit down.
Still standing near the closed door Harry declined the invitation, stating that he had only stopped by to ask him something.
"What can I do for you then?" Malfoy asked in a sickeningly sweet tone.
Harry wasn't sure what was worse. A hateful Malfoy or one aiming to please. No wait, at least he had respected the enemy.
"Meet me in the usual place at nine. I want to see our lord."
After the brief order, Harry swept out of the classroom not allowing Draco time to respond.
Some time after nine o'clock, Harry stood behind the ornate door of Voldemorts' audience chamber. Telling Draco to stay outside he knocked, a brief rhythmic tap against the hard wood. The familiar voice asked him to enter.
Closing the door behind him Harry saw Voldemort standing close to a window, looking out onto the haunting landscape around the mansion. A hesitation; then Harry walked up to the dark wizard and came to a stop beside him.
Both powerful wizards remained there for a while, in silence. One was putting off a conversation, the other waiting.
The silence was broken when at last Voldemort spoke, "My boy, back so soon? I had not hoped to see you for some days at least."
"I wanted to see you my lord." Harry's eyes were still locked on something in the distance. "I needed to talk to you," he added, eyes flickering to his master.
It was a terrifying sight to behold, a creature of darkness trying to smile with pure joy.
To Harry it was oddly comforting and he felt himself relax, a responding smile coming to his lips.
There they stood … two dark figures with identical expressions. A quest for immortality fulfilled in a trusted heir, a loving boy with a desperate need to be wanted, to be loved. The twisted bonds born out of death and destiny wove their web around the two wizards, bringing them closer together than even fate had intended. To kill a father is to become one and the want for family makes one look in the strangest of places.
Not wanting to break something, dreading to loose this moment the young wizard didn't speak again for a long time. He was afraid of the happiness he felt in the Dark Lord's presence … suddenly he realised his mission was hopelessly lost. He could never betray someone that cared about him, someone who had time for him. A lord, who let him do whatever he wanted, let him be himself.
No, this is not real … a game … nothing but a game. I'm pretending. I am. This is not me.
Yet …
The Dark Arts, the secrecy, the lies, the deaths - he himself had corrupted his soul enough for this. He couldn't feel guilty anymore. After everything he had done, there wasn't room for guilt. He was someone else now; the Harry Potter of the past was the pretender now. The Dark Lord's heir, killer because of choice not for destiny, was an actor. He was the one who was real and he played the part of a Hogwarts schoolboy, a young hero.
Feeling himself start to tremble, Harry took a calming breath. The boy, who had travelled into the presence of his predestined enemy did not exist any longer. Funny, how a moment can change history. How make-believe can become reality.
The question he had come to ask, the favour to beg was irrelevant.
Harry didn't need the Dark Lord's protection or his help. He had it. He was Voldemorts' heir and no one would dare to defy him. He could be happy.
And now … he was ready.
Harry spoke.
"It is time my lord. I will do it."
There was so much conviction in his voice.
… to be continued …