Chapter: 18

A/n: This is kind of a short chapter. Not only do I have finals to study for, but also the exams before the finals. Gah. I hate teachers.

Chapter Eighteen: Still in the Dark

Emerald eyes snapped open and then closed with a crinkle. Lips cascaded down his neck, tugging playfully at the bandage wrapped around his throat. Harry was crushed against the mattress and the hard body above him. “You fool,” Harry hissed softly, feeling better talking in Parseltongue than in English. Still, his throat burned, reminding him of what had transpired yesterday. “If you were anyone else, I’d have you convulsing on the floor.”

“I see no problem with that. I’d even do it for you.” Voldemort hissed back, getting playful with his tongue. It moistened the shell of his ear with saliva. Harry shuddered, feeling content and unhappy at the same time. That was what the Dark Lord did to him. He gave him conflicting emotions, emotions that were opposites in each other. Cold and hot, comfortable and uncomfortable, hazy mind and utterly aware…

“Possessive…” Harry scolded. “That’s unbecoming.” Even in snake language, his voice sounded hoarse.

“I see nothing wrong with being possessive of my Match.” Harry opened his eyes, turning around to face the Dark Lord. His hands were clutching the man’s face, holding him back.

“What did you want?” Crimson eyes narrowed on him.

“Whoever said I can’t just…lay with you?” Voldemort pushed away his hands and dived back to caress his sore neck with his mouth.

Harry scoffed, wincing as his throat protested with the hearty sound. Merlin. He was going to have difficulty talking this coming…month. “A Dark Lord doesn’t just lay, he has an alternative motive.” Looking at the ceiling of his bedroom, he contemplated on how long he had been sleeping. And if his parent’s were staying far away from this room as possible. “You want sex, don’t you?”

The Dark Lord hissed in laughter “I always want sex with you, Harrison. But I’m afraid with your throat not working properly; you won’t be able to scream as pleasingly as much as I want you to. And those lovely sounds you make…I couldn’t imagine experiencing your first time without a sound.” Voldemort murmured silkily. “And I need to hear you beg me, Harrison.” Harry grinned, feeling his throat burn with just the prospect of screaming. Merlin, that wouldn’t exactly feel good. Voldemort pulled away eventually, just as Harry started to doze off again.

Crimson eyes stared down at him, the man’s black hair a slight mess. “What happened with Octavio?”

Harry turned away from him, looking at the wall across the room. His room. His thoughts were brought back to the Death Demon. What Octavio had gone through as a child was unfair. Surely Harry would to the same to his enemies if they ate his mother like Octavio’s father had eaten the Seer’s lover, but he would never play with a child like Octavio. Children were rather…innocent in Harry’s mind. They didn’t understand what was happening around them, and they surely didn’t understand why they were being targeted by a Seer for something their father did.

“I…” Harry whispered; his lips barely moving. “That is something between Octavio and I.”

He could feel Voldemort’s anger. “Ah,” he murmured. “I see.” The man’s spidery fingers tugged at the chain around his neck. “You should know that the Demon got away.” Bitter, but he was hiding it rather well. Harry frowned, his face still turned away from Voldemort. There was something off about the Dark Lord. “I will be doing the Cannius Ritual in a week’s time.”

Harry turned slowly to face the man, seeing no expression on that handsome face. “The ritual with Draco and the other four…” Harry hissed, surveying Voldemort’s face, a sign for anything. “You sharing magic,” a grin lifted on Harry’s face. With almost childlike wonder, Harry reached out to touch Voldemort’s cheek. “You promise me, this won’t harm Draco?”

“I promised you before, Harrison.” No flinch, no lie, no emotion. A blank slate.

Harry frowned, his stomach knotting up. Voldemort must have still been angry at Harry for keeping information on Octavio to himself.

Yes, that must be all it was.

With his fingers tracing Voldemort’s cheekbones, Harry breathed, studying the slit crimson eyes. A cold hand curled around his own face, the pad of Voldemort’s thumb brushing underneath the brilliant green eye. A rare touch from the man, so gentle and enticing. Harry chose to savior the tender caress of the Dark Lord and closed his eyes.

Unaware to him, the Dark Lord was watching him almost obsessively as he nodded off. The hand still laid gently on his cheek.

--SSC--

They were all staring at him as if he were an insane wizard. “I’m glad you made it out, Mr. Malfoy.” Dumbledore murmured for the rest of them. The Order, or, the ones how had gone with Harry to gather Lucius where all in Dumbledore’s office. Some where stuffed side by side in chairs, while others practically glued themselves to the walls. Severus Snape, in particular, was dwelling in his shadow. Harry was well aware of the man’s pensive stare at the back of his head.

Let the man try to understand him. Harry was curious to know if Snape would figure him out by the time Harry figured him out.

Harry nodded at the Headmaster, making a show of cupping his throat with his fingers. Hell, he had a more than good enough excuse to not talk. Already, he had told them in a raspy whisper what happened with his throat. But other than the gory details, Harry didn’t tell them anything about what had happened. Like Voldemort, Dumbledore seemed a little bit put out at the lack of information.

“On behalf of the Order, I’d like to apologize for not succeeding in rescuing you, Mr. Malfoy.” Dumbledore gave a sad smile, fooling everyone but Harry. “They tried their best.”

I’m sure.

Harry shrugged, motioning his head toward the door. His throat really hurt, for talking so much to the old fool. “Ah,” Dumbledore nodded. “If that is all, you may take your leave.” Harry stood up, glancing at the few Order members. He met eyes with Sirius and Lupin, giving them a brief nod. He would need to talk with them at a later date, especially the werewolf. Lupin was giving him devastated looks, looks that Harry knew were flustered and full of embarrassment. Surely he knew the affects of Seer on magical creatures…

Walking down the spiral staircase, he was aware of Snape stalking behind him. The man was as quiet as a shadow, but Harry was hyperaware of the dark emotions in the man. He was a walking sore thumb.

Before Harry could begin a conversation, that would no doubt be interesting, someone hissed at him in the shadows. “Harry!” A tight sneer dropped on Harry’s lips as he caught sight of the Golden Trio. It wasn’t after curfew, so Snape couldn’t take points and send them to detention… meaning, Harry had to deal with them.

The potions master passed, his own sneer directed at the three in the shadows. Harry pursed his lips, pausing to stand in front of them.

With new eyes, he surveyed the three of them. Each one of them was studied under his eye as he scooped his guinea pig. Which one would be Harrison Malfoy’s first victim of Seeds? The Seeds would start off small, granted, but with time- they would bloom into full grown roots, destroying their victim. Unlike Octavio’s Seeds, Harry wouldn’t plant feelings of rejection or loneliness. No, he wanted to try something a little more…suicidal.

After what these three did to him, he saw no fault in his actions. The only problem was picking out his victim.

Out of the three, he knew Granger was the smartest, most logical. She was the least suicidal of all three. To her, life was nothing but a challenge, a challenge that she wanted to strive at. Longbottom came next. He, of course, was probably the most logic one to use. Being the boy-who-lived would be absolutely taxing. Poor child, having to deal with two powerful wizards after him...

But he couldn’t use Longbottom. Not when the Dark Lord’s soul resided inside the boy. Harry grimaced at that notion, wondering if Longbottom was even aware of such a thing as a Horcrux.

So. The only option left was Weasley.

Harry’s grimace turned into a mental smile. Yes, Ronald Weasley had motives to attempt suicide. Being in the shadow to both his friends and his family would be wearing. Harry could work with this…

“What happened in there-,” Longbottom started, but Granger elbowed the boy-who-lived, giving Harry a smile.

“What he wanted to say was to apologize to you about our behavior at the Three Broomsticks. It was injustice of us to degrade you so.” Looking into her brown eyes, Harry tisked. I’m afraid, my dear, that you are a few years late for that apology. “Will you accept our apology?” Granger asked hopefully.

Someone stepped up behind Harry and without turning, he was aware of Zabini’s presence. As a true Slytherin, Blaise stayed silent, giving the Golden Trio a stare down his nose. “Accept your apology…” Harry mused out loud, watching Weasley flush red with impatience. The boy’s eyes glared over Harry’s shoulder at the intimidating height of Blaise. Using his Seer, he poked at Ronald, testing the aura and soul.

He was immediately disappointed.

Ronald’s aura was already…choppy with holes and blackness. Not the type of darkness Voldemort would have, but blackness of self-pity and depression. This would be an easy catch, something that Harry found both disappointing and acceptable at the same time. He would be distracted this year and wouldn’t be able to focus and raise the Seeds as much as he wanted.

His brow started to sweat as he attempt to conjure up Seeds of doubt and suicide. It was difficult, but he remembered what he’d seen inside of Octavio. With that determination, he successfully planted a few in Ronald Weasley. The boy wouldn’t start feeling the affects full blast; instead, he would have to struggle through as they grew inside him, slowly turning him. And Harry would be at a distance, talking sweetly to those Seedlings, urging them to grow.

“Yes, will you accept the apology?” Weasley urged slowly, as if he were talking to an idiot. Blaise tensed behind him and Harry touched his back to the Slytherin’s chest, silently telling him to stay quiet.

“I suppose I can,” Harry replied scratchily. Three set of eyes looked at his bandaged throat. “And in return,” Harry paused, feeling the strain in his larynx. “You want to know what happened inside that office; am I correct?”

Some of them looked guilty, the other looked happy, nodding. What fools they were.

“I’m afraid Harrison is having a slight strain tonight, Gryffindors. You’ll have to keep your patience and ask him at a later date.” Blaise placed his hands on Harry’s shoulder, guiding him away. Harry didn’t fight the pull. Instead he gave a mocking wave at the three of them. They stared after him.

A little red head oblivious to his fate.

“Not very nice…” Harry whispered, grinning. Blaise scoffed and continued to hold his shoulders.

“I see that you’re almost in one piece.” Dark eyes targeted his throat. “Was your father on his knees, thanking you like the pathetic scum he is?” Harry’s lips thinned, flashing Blaise a dark look. His father had been grateful. After he woke up, Voldemort absent, his father and mother had been beside his bed. Lucius was gracious and furious at the same time for Harry following after him. Having your son being butchered before your eyes would have a slight affect, even on the coldest father out there.

“He was very thankful.” As thankful as Lucius Malfoy could be.

Blaise just gave a hum, leading him toward the Slytherin dorms. As they entered the open wall, Harry curiously looked at the occupants lounging in the sitting room. A few of the older years were studying near the fireplace, while others were herded together, talking lowly among themselves. Draco was among the ones discussing something. Silver and green locked eyes. Draco’s gaze dropped to his throat, studying it briefly before giving him a tight nod.

“Looks like brother dearest is slowly catching up to his actual age.” Blaise remarked, throwing Draco a raised eyebrow. “It’s about bloody time.”

Harry dismissed Draco, settling down on the black leather arm chair. Blaise sat into the one across from him, staring at him through thick lashes. “What?” Harry asked tiredly, picturing his bed waiting for him in the sixth year dorm. It wasn’t until Blaise motioned to the dorm around him that Harry realized he was blocking out the majority of the student’s emotions. The thick feeling of fright and uncertainty filled the air. “What happened?” Harry sat forward, his eyes dancing across the student’s faces.

His brother was in a group, all of them quietly discussing a heated topic. “You were…absent for quite awhile.” Blaise took out a Prophet clipping from his cloak pocket. “Minister Fudge passed away.” From Voldemort’s bug.

Harry took an intake of breath, knowing what Blaise was getting at. “Rufus Scrimgeour was named the new Minister, wasn’t he?” With Blaise’s nod in conformation, Harry wondered why Voldemort hadn’t said anything about his puppet, Thicknesse, loosing the position as Minister. Unless… “When was he named Minister?”

Blaise played with the piece of parchment, looking down at the waving form of Rufus Scrimgeour. “A few hours ago, actually.”

So Voldemort hadn’t known yet.

Eyes were on him. Turning slightly to the side, he saw most of the Slytherins looking at him. “They’re afraid what Scrimgeour will do in office. He’s just as hard headed for the light as Dumbledore is, if not worse.” Harry looked back at the students, giving them a small frown.

“And why are they looking at me?”

Blaise shrugged; his eyes still on the clipping. “They know you and the Dark Lord are rather…close. I’m guessing they’re going to start looking up to you. As the Dark Lord’s successor.” Harry turned away from the stares, unconsciously sending reassuring waves towards the students. Their shoulders seemed to lessen in stiffness. Blaise flashed him a humorless grin. “What do you reckon Scrimgeour will do in office?”

Rufus Scrimgeour was a hard headed Auror in his time. He was powerful, strict, and full of foolish ideas to strengthen the wizarding world. His one main goal, to lessen the influence of dark wizards. “He’ll no doubt try to dispose of the power the dark wizards have over the pureblood world.” Harry winced at the sore in his throat. He’d done too much talking today. “I’m sure the Dark Lord is thinking of something. There is no way we can predict what will happen with Scrimgeour.”

At least not yet.

Blaise tucked the clipping back in his pocket, looking at Harry evenly. “You look like hell.” Standing up, Harry was aware of the eyes once more.

“Good night, Blaise.”

“Sweet dreams, Harrison.”

Harry turned his heel and went up the dorm steps. His mind was reeling at the affects Scrimgeour would have on the wizarding world. Was Voldemort coming up with ways to eliminate the new Minister?

Crimson eyes were desperate, wild, and frantic. “No,” his tone was full of pain. “No, please no.” It was so pathetic and pitiable; Harry ripped his wrist out of the Dark Lord’s frantic hand. Such betrayal…

Harry stumbled, holding onto the wall. He could usually control a vision when it was coming. He must have been more tired then he originally thought. And what was that? The raw feelings of pain, desperation, and betrayal were strong; Harry had an upset stomach. But there was nothing solid he could remember in that short vision. Only the Dark Lord’s hand clutching at his wrist, trying to hold him back from walking away.

There was something off about… something….

Harry frowned, closing his eyes. His Seer wanted to tell him something, to warn him of an upcoming event. And Seeing Voldemort look so…pathetic made Harry’s suspicions heighten. It was dangerous to trust a Dark Lord and once Voldemort broke that trust, it would be difficult to form that bond again.

What was it?

Was there something more to this Cannius Ritual?

Hoping he’d receive more visions during his sleep, Harry went to bed, closing his mind to nothing but the ritual.

He slept dreamlessly.

--SSC--

Green eyes stared at the five empty spots at the Slytherin table. It was exactly a week ago today when Voldemort said he would be completing the ritual. And true to his word, the Significant Five was absent. It was Saturday today. It wasn’t unheard of to have students visit their parents over the weekend at times. Harry drummed his fingers on the table, unusually agitated. His Seer was hyperactive today, warning him that something was off.

And he knew it, without a doubt, that there was something wrong with the ritual.

But before he charged head first into the middle of the ritual, he needed to know what was wrong.

Sitting in the Great Hall, his eyes swept across the hall at Ron Weasley. The boy was pushing his food around on his plate, dismissing his friend’s worried quires about not eating. Harry saw the Seeds grow as small shrubs. It had been a week and Ronald Weasley’s life was slowly ticking down. At the moment, Harry could care a less. He needed to think.

It all started with Voldemort telling him about the Cannius Ritual. Sharing magic. It was completely suspicious. The Dark Lord didn’t share magic, he took it. But… Draco and the others weren’t powerful, so why would Voldemort even want to use them for a ritual? But Harry had to remember there was a significance to all five of them. The five students were all children of loyal Death Eaters. And not just any children. But the firstborn.

Harry narrowed his eyes, staring unseeingly across from him. “You look pretty intense, Harrison.” Blaise remarked. “Are you alright?”

“No,” he whispered, his voice slowly coming back over the weeks time. “I’m not.” He had a Dark Lord under handing him. Cheating and betraying him. He stood up abruptly, frightening a few students around him. The air around him cracked from his magic. “I need to leave, I’ll see you later.”

Turning out of the hall, he quickly made his way out of Hogwarts. Sirius Black had the tome he remembered over the summer. He had tried to look up what type of ritual the Dark Lord would use on the five of the children… but then Voldemort had told him what that ritual was and Harry had dropped his research. What a fool he’d been. Trusting the Dark Lord. He should have kept up with his research, looking for an alternative ritual he would use.

And Harry remembered a certain ritual that required a loyal sacrifice’s first born child. It was a cousin to the Cannius Ritual, but opposite in their affects. For the life of him, he couldn’t remember much about it, but he had to go to the House of Black to find it.

Hopefully he’d get there before Voldemort started the ritual.

His father’s words from a week ago rang in his head, warning him. He should have seen it then.

“Does it bother you…” Lucius hesitated, his silver eyes piercing Harry’s own. “That you will not be able to share the magic with the Dark Lord? If you had the power to be the firstborn, would you want it?” He had looked so curious; Harry didn’t really pay attention to the odd words. Sleep was overwhelming him.

“Of course, not, father. Draco is the Malfoy Heir, it does not bother me.”

His father knew something. There was guilt in his eyes when he had asked Harry that. He remembered now.

Warnings. They were all warning him. All those signs…he had dismissed them, trusting the Dark Lord.

Harry sprinted off the grounds of Hogwarts, feeling something akin to fright curl in his stomach.

A/n: From here, there will be more…angst for Harry. But for those of you who cringe at that stuff, and hate it with a passion, just know that seventh year will be much better for Harry. Yes? That was just a brief warning. Other than that... I’m excited to write the next chapter! Again, I apologize for the short chapter, but I need to study D: