Warning: Death, slight torture, and betrayal. If you have somehow missed the memo (How!?), whether you like it or not, this WILL be an evil!Harry fic. He WILL kill people. And he, most importantly, WILL join Voldemort.
If you don't like that, please, just leave now. (
Disclaimer: I may own the promise ring on my finger but, well, no luck... guess I don't own Harry ( you sure I can't atleast borrow Snape... for the night? )
Yeah. So, the other day, I was reading about my Climax.
Er, I mean, MI Climax.
Dammit, get it straight! Climax, MI. Apparantly, one of the easiest ways to get to Climax, MI, is to get off at Interstate exit 69.
I'm not kidding.
Ahem.
Chapter Three: What It Is to Betray
SinkingSinkingSinking
Severus Snape was a generally very unhappy man. He had no qualms with his fellow teachers, and certianly none with his employer. Even if his students hated him, for good reason, none of them would wish him dead.
Right?
Even if he did take off a few too many biased points here or there, it wasn't too bad. He hoped.
Lounging on a plush couch in his small, drab London appartment, he took a sip of his Brandy. He'd finished the potion for his 'Master', one that would depending on the intent of the imbiber, do one of the following: one--Render the body in a state of numb for roughly ten minutes--a very popular use for tattoo parlors, as well as the 'first time' potion for women. Two--reshape the structure of the face to, effectively, hide a person in plain sight. It didn't significantly alter the features, but it was enough. This effect could, if taken with helping potions, last a year or two.
There was one more use, ofcourse, but Severus doubted the Dark Lord wanted a somewhat-difficult potion to brew for the simple purpose of growing hair to a longer length.
He'd been asked to brew two vials-worth, and, well, he had.
Needless to say, that was not the reason for the Potion Master's stress. It was a far more life-threatening matter.
Simply put, the Dark Lord did not know that he was a member of the Order of the Pheonix---sure, he was aware that Severus was in the Headmaster's favor, but as far as he was concerned Snape hadn't been confronted yet about joining.
He was a dead man walking. He knew that the moment the Dark Lord knew of his true allegiances---and it was only a matter of time before he let something slip from his Occumulency shields---he wouldn't be thrown a second glance before he got a well-aimed 'AK' to the chest.
Afterall, there were a current other eighty-two Potions Masters in the world. Surely one could be swayed to the Dark Lord's cause.
Curling up in the warmth of the blanket, Severus Snape took a rather large swig of his brandy.
SinkingSinkingSinking
The winds weren't too harsh against the tree twigs; but it was a bit crisp out in that late night of July.
There was a cottage, he knew. He'd been there before. It smelled of cinnamon, parsley, and freshly baked bread. Only one person lived there, although he knew, by smell, that another often visited.
But that wasn't the place that he was going. He wasn't quite sure where he was going, in fact. He was never sure---he'd stroll, run, and stalk in the dark, dreary forest. Ofcourse, unlike most forests, you couldn't hear much when the moon shone brightly through the canopy. Sure, owls hooted as they flew overhead.
Deer galloped around in packs of three, four, sometimes five.
Squirrels made those little clicking sounds, that which they normally did, whenever they found that nutt they just knew they could smell.
But, oddly enough, you wouldn't find a single Human for miles around---not a common practice in the area uninhabited by muggles.
Because, oddly enough, the Ministry of Magic made it knowledge open to the public where a Werewolf lived. And Remus Lupin, curled up in a tight ball of silver fur with eyes tinting from black to blue in the moonlight, resented that fact.
He would never be able to find a good job because of it. He'd never be able to, say, get married---to a non 'half-breed' or into a pure-blooded family---because of it. The old laws were quite clear about that. Cuddling closer to his limbs in the brush, the 'half-breed' whimpered.
He'd never be able to get a flat in London, or, say, a small house in the rural areas.
Under the effects of the Wolfsbane potion, remus Lupin was in his right mind. Perhaps. Under the effects of the Wolfsbane potion, though, he was also unable to focus on any other issue, as he always was.
It was, mostly, under these conditions when joining Voldemort and seeing to a change in the way the country was run seemed the most appealing.
SinkingSinkingSinking
Harry Potter was becoming impatient. It had been two whole days since he'd recieved the letter adorned by the signature of Lord Voldemort. Two days since he'd had that sense of wicked glee clench at his heart.
Two days since, at any given moment, he'd expected his aunt and uncle's front door to fly off his hinges, and the menace of the wizarding world to simply... stroll in.
Tonight was the night. He could feel it. Hedwig was out on her way to Hermione's by now, he knew. Ron had probably already recieved his letter. It had been a nice, pleasant sort of thing. Speaking of Quidditch and how he looked forward to the coming year, that yes, he was feeling better, and no, he wasn't brooding over Sirius' death.
Hermione's letter had been much the same, but in a more conniving sense. Harry knew that if he sounded too happy to her, too cautious, even, that she'd become suspicious. She always had been good at reading his mood. So he'd written a letter about something she could associate with--the trouble he was currently having on Flitwick's essay on the technical aspects of summoning and banishing charms. How he was wondering if they'd be able to meet up later for a trip to Diagon alley--he needed to stock up on potions supplies, withdraw some galleons from his account, and maybe they could stop for some icecream at Floreance's.
All the while, Harry Potter, revered someday-martyr of the Wizarding world, was conniving, just waiting for that red-eyed bastard to stride through his door. Conniving in the things he might say, the way he might act, questioning whether it'd be better to be pelasant or maybe to aggrivate the man and get it all over with.
And then, there was always that hidden, silent voice in the back of his head that he'd began to let speak again: Revenge. Who didn't want it at times? And who, possibly, was in a better potion to get it then a certian half-blood teenager?
He could, possibly... join...no!
That wasn't the plan, that wasn't what he'd promised himself he'd do---wasn't planning the deaths of his relatives enough? Did he need to betray all of his friends, as well?
Friends that cared. Even if there were those times when it could be questioned, he knew it was true.
Sitting there on the fifth step of the wooden stairs, gaze staring blankly between the banister at the flashing TV, ignoring the shout of disbelief as something or another happened on the show, Harry couldn't bring himself to care.
Couldn't bring himself to care about the show, the death of Sirius---he'd come to just ignore that throbbing hole in his heart---, the bark of the next-door-neighboor's dog, or the loud Bang that came from his left.
Wait.
The loud bang that'd come from his left.
You know, the direction of the door.
"Why, hello, Harry." Came the slimy, silky voice of the snake-faced dictator. Nagini, wrapped around the man's shoulders, hissed her greeting as well.
Harry blinked, attention having, amazingly, moved from the TV to the Dark Lord who was, currently, stepping over the fallen mahogany door.
Harry grinned. "Tom. I got that letter you'd sent me. How touching."
the two would-be adversaries seemed to search eachother, from the floor-scraping end of Voldemort's robes, the long, black, beautiful snake draped around his neck and shoulders, to the bruised side of Harry's cheek.
"Massster, I sssmell fat mugglesss." Came the effeminate hiss of the lovely thing that was Nagini. If Harry wasn't quite so intimidated by her, he might have been tempted to go over and stroke her, odd enough sensation that it was. "I think I'll go have a little fun. Get along, Massster, Lightning-Hatchling." Slithering down the form of the tall, imposing figure, tongue flicking out and back in, tasting the air, Nagini made her way into the living room, to the direction of Harry's uncle and cousin who were, currently, staring at the Dark Lord in pure horror. (Such as if to say 'Is it possible to look like that?')
Serpentine eyes glinted in the light as Dudley screeched at the sight of Nagini, and Voldemort, sneering at the seated form of Harry, had his mind working to the end of his limit. The way he saw it, there were several factors swaying the way the boy-who-lived was acting towards him---tht indifferant gaze in his eye, the almost challenging almost-smirk, and the way he simply refused to look afraid.
Harry was looking death into it's face, and challenging it to consume him. Either he'd gone insane, had no intention of putting up a fight, had given into the inevitable... no, that couldn't be it. There wouldn't be that obvious... challenge.
Maybe he wanted to... join him? Ahh, how easy that would make everything.
But, no, Voldemort doubted that. It was almost as if he wanted to die.
Did he?
"I musst appologize for the delay in reaching you, Harry. Ssomething... came up." A grin spread across the Dark Lord's face. "But! Now that we're together, I supposse it's time to become better aquainted. I fear we've never had much time to chat, you see, with all the meager time inbetween one of my little plots and the next. If you would so indulge me, perhaps you'd like to tell me your favorite color? Icecream flavor? What'ss your favorite animal, Harry?"
Rolling his eyes, Harry waited a moment to respond. "Well, you see, Tom, I enjoy long walks in the park, picnics on a beach when the moon's shining, and the way a person's eyes gleam in the light of 'Lumos'. Now, I'm going to have to ask, since it looks like you aren't about to jump the boat, when you're planning on gettin' around to kill me."
"Oh, dear, I was hoping to stall that for a bit."
"Please don't, Tom."
"Ofcoursse, Harry. Now, have I ever lied to you?"
"Nope. I'd come to that conclusion monthes ago, you realize." Unless you counted those fake visions.
And Harry liked to think of those more as being... misled.
"Asss to be expected. Now, I'm not one for long, unneccessary talks, so I'll assume you can take whatever conclusions you will from that. You will join me, or I will kill you."
Screw the screams of pain stemming from the other room as Harry assumed were caused by Nagini, screw that haunting, silent, imposing voice in the back of his head. Screw Voldemort for being so... upfront about it. Screw Dumbledore for always seeming like a saint that to betray would be to betray God himself---screw his friends for making his heart clench when he thought of turning on them!
And, seriously, screw his parents fro dieing and getting him into this mess!
"I will, will I?" Harry asked darkly, not really enjoying being told, even if he knew it in his heart, his two options.
And screw himself for knowing which one he, no matter what he'd been thinking for the past few days, wanted to do. Damn Voldemort for looking so calm!
"Bowing to the inevitable has never really been my thing, you know, Tom. I rather preffer bending it." He didn't want to die. God, he didn't want to die. He could---he could---always join sirius later, right? Yeah. See his parents... later. Not now. Not when he was so young, had so much to live for, so many people to---to---get revenge on.
So many people to kill. To make... suffer.
You know, for what they'd done to him, ofcourse. And maybe the muggles, too. He supposed... he could, well, maybe... go with Tom's beliefs. supposed he could accept the 'kill all Muggles' thing. Afterall, none of them had ever tried to help him. Not when he'd gone to elementry school with bruises, split lips.
Not when he'd... he'd... not been able to sit for the ache from his ass. No one had helped him.
"Fine. But I have conditions." And they had better be met. Or... or...
"I ssee." Voldemort stated, calculatingly. He would only allow 'conditions'... to an extent. Only if this would be worth it---worth more then the severed head of the boy-who-lived sent by owl to the Minister's office. "Sspeak, boy."
Taking a deep, shaky breath, Harry focused on his feet; you know, not the frantic, stomping-run of his uncle out the other door of the living room and towards the back door.
"One--you are going to train me. If you want me to work for you, do whatever, I want you to teach me." This said, Harry was swallowing a lot of pride, refraining from saying something that could, possibly, get him killed.
A nod. Obviously this was acceptable, and Harry felt relieved. He'd expected it to be, but this was an insane Dark Lord we're talking about. "Two--look, I know if I go through with this, I'm working for you, and all, and I get that your word is 'law'. But... don't make me kill anyone I'm close to if i don't want to. Seriously---I... I don't now if I'd be able to."
Another, slow nod. Acceptable, if unwanted.
"And--I think you'll like this one--I don't want it on my arm. Think I could take it on my face or forehead or something?" A long pause followed this, one that filled the boy-who-lived with slight uncertianity. That is, until he could feel, through his (slightly throbbing) scar, a crazy feeling if glee.
"Very well, Potter. We're leaving--now."
"W-wait. Dumbledore---he'll know when I leave. I haven't left all summer, they'll know."
"Ofcourse they'll know. Did you think they wouldn't? Besides, when I introduce you to my Inner Circle, he'll know the extent of things. I know there's a spy, Potter. It matters very little. come along, now. Have you ever done side-along Apparation before?"
It wasn't until later that night, resting upon a marvelously large, comfortable bed that Harry Potter would come to realize that he hadn't, himself, taken care of his relatives. Infact, his aunt hadn't been there, at all. Perhaps he'd... visit them.
Someday.
About the time he'd 'visit' a few... others.
If his now-employer, former-adversary permitted it, ofcourse. Tom Riddle. the Dark Lord. His Lord.
His... Master.
It was a disconcerting thought.
Please, seriously, tell me if I'm moving things too fast. O.o
The mood of this chapter might've been a bit influenced by the music I was listening to while writing it. :P If you want to get a slight idea, listen to Daniel Powter's 'Had a Bad Day'.
Things to look forward to for next chapter: Daily Prophet clippings, snapshots of Harry's training, Nagini happy, and maybe a little Dumbledore or Snape. )
Beware, I'm going to be making a some monthes, maybe a year or two pass in the next two-four chapters.
Rate & Review, my lovelies! Smooches!