章 37: A New Path
Harry went up to his room after his meeting. He opened his door, and Draco jumped off his bed.
"Tell me you said yes," Draco demanded.
Harry looked at him and nodded slowly. His adrenaline was wearing off, and he just wanted to collapse.
"Oh, thank God," Draco said, hugging Harry. "I was afraid you'd—that he'd—"
"Did you know? That he was waiting for us?"
"Not till I arrived home. I think my parents were afraid I'd say something."
"And were we wrong?"
Harry and Draco spun around. Lucius and Narcissa were standing at the bedroom door.
"I—"
"Hush, Draco. We were told to keep it secret until you were actually here. We obeyed."
"Yes, sir," Draco said, abashed.
"Now boys, you should get to bed. I believe He will desire your presence tomorrow."
As the parents left the room, Lucius popped his head back in.
"I don't think it needs to be said that no one is to know about this?"
"No, sir," they both said, shaking their heads.
"Good. Get some sleep."
It was different in Malfoy Manor with the Dark Lord there. He didn't join everyone for meals, preferring Tufty to bring him food in the library or study. That was when he was around. He was often away, on one errand or another. No one dared ask what exactly he was doing. If they were meant to know, they would.
As Lucius had predicted, the day after their meetings with him, the Dark Lord sent Tufty to bring Harry and Draco to the East Ballroom. There, they found him sitting on another throne-like chair, with some simpler wooden chairs a few feet in front of him.
"Sit," he ordered, and they did, barely meeting his eyes.
"You have agreed to serve me, and that is admirable. You will be the youngest ever to join the Death Eaters. This alone would be enough to grant you prestige and respect the likes of which few others know of. More than that, you have been handpicked by me. This is not usual."
He stood up in a swift movement, long limbs straightening.
"Nevertheless, you will be expected to prove your worth. You will not embarrass me. Will you?"
"No, My Lord," they both said, looking down.
"And so, you must be prepared for your initiation. Upon your return to Hogwarts, Severus will be training you. I understand you have a habit of practicing spells and dueling?"
They nodded.
"Good. You will be joined by Severus. He will teach you to do me proud. To show why I chose you. You will work hard, and train, and learn. He is not teaching children, but fledgling warriors."
He stopped his pacing directly before the two boys.
"Which brings us to our current topic. Your initiation. The chance for you to show the rest of your companions why you deserve their respect. Why you are fit to serve me."
"You will be demonstrating your willingness to ignore the decrees of the Ministry. To ignore the shackles they dare to place on Magic."
"What will we actually do?" Harry said, belatedly adding, "My Lord," when Voldemort's head snapped in his direction.
Voldemort gave him a grim smile. "You will be casting the Cruciatus. And the Killing Curse."
Harry felt like throwing up. Haven't I killed enough?
You knew this is what it would mean when you said you'd join. You really think he'll be so happy if you just decide you're backing out now?
"On Muggles, of course," the Dark Lord continued. "In fact, Harry. If you wish, there can be specific Muggles."
I've already killed the ones I wanted to. Although, there still are one or two...
ARE YOU SERIOUSLY THINKING ABOUT THIS? AFTER ALL THE SHIT YOU FELT FOR YEARS? SINCE JOSEPH—
"Regardless, you will learn to cast these spells before then. I hope you will learn to cast them before returning to Hogwarts. You do not wish to disappoint me, do you?"
"No, My Lord."
"You will find that these curses are quite unlike anything the Ministry," he sneered at the word, "deems appropriate to teach you. They require the input of your emotions."
He conjured a rabbit with a wave of his wand.
"Look at it," he told the boys, voice soft, welcoming. "Think of the person you hate most. The worst thing they ever did, that caused you to hate them. Focus on that. Imagine they are this rabbit. Feel the hate, the rage. Feel the desire to cause them pain."
At first, Harry simply imposed Joseph's face onto the rabbit. He forced himself to remember the things the boy had done to him, the things he had said. How he had been forced to spend years with no friends. He was getting angry, he could definitely feel the hate. But it just wasn't enough.
Almost without trying, a different memory popped into his head.
He was nine years old. The hand gripping his hair pulled tight as his head was pushed forward. The back of his throat was being rubbed, and he barely managed to hold back from vomiting. He didn't want to do that again. He still had welts from the last time he had vomited, and it was ages ago. The hand's owner was groaning, and without warning, a thick foul liquid was spraying into his mouth. His head was pulled back, off the groaning man, and his cheek was lightly slapped.
"You're getting good at that. Lucky, it's all you'll be good at. Remember, if you tell anyone, they'll all know what a disgusting little slut you are."
"There is no wand movement required," the Dark Lord said, pointing his wand at the rabbit. "Merely the intention and enunciation. Like so—Crucio!"
A jet of red light shot from his wand, and the rabbit was shaking, twitching. It was making a strange, mewling sound too. Harry and Draco watched, in horrified fascination.
"Are you prepared?" he said, lifting his wand.
They both nodded.
"Harry, the stage is yours." The Dark Lord's lips were twisted in a sardonic grin, as Harry thought of Mr. Roberts. Imagined his face on the rabbit.
"Crucio," he said, voice trembling.
As the rabbit twitched, so did Harry. But he was feeling an almost overpowering pleasure. It was one of the best things he had ever experienced. It blotted out all thoughts except one.
I never want this to end.
"Remove the curse," Voldemort said, cruel laughter bubbling below his words.
Harry lowered his wand, panting.
That was—fucking amazing.
"Well done, Harry," Voldemort said, giving him a warm smile. "Most wizards your age would not manage it on their first attempt."
He turned his head to Draco. "Your chance."
Draco took a deep breath. "Crucio," he intoned.
A very pale jet of light hit the rabbit, which barely moved.
"Not quite. Focus your hatred. Focus it all until you feel nothing but the desire to inflict pain."
Draco's eyes were closed tightly, his face intent.
"Try again."
"Crucio."
Again, the spell hit the rabbit. Again, the rabbit was barely affected.
"Focus it all," Voldemort's voice was low, silky. "Put all your hatred and rage onto a face. Show me why you deserve to serve me. Cast the spell."
"Crucio."
The rabbit twitched much more than it had before, but it was still nothing quite like what it had suffered under Harry's wand.
"Better. But not yet good enough. You will keep practicing."
"Yes, My Lord."
"Before returning to Hogwarts, you both shall demonstrate your ability to cast these on Muggles. For now, we will focus on the other spell you need for your initiation. The Killing Curse."
Beside Harry, Draco gulped quietly.
"The intention is important. Your subject does not deserve to live. Focus on that. It does not deserve to live. Put whatever face to it you like, but that is your intention."
The boys nodded.
Shouldn't be too hard.
"You may find it easier than the Cruciatus. In time, these intentions will be subconscious, and will not require your thought at all. Until then, you will need to focus. The wand motion is—" here Voldemort raised one long-nailed finger to Harry's forehead, "—in the shape of a lightning bolt. Top-down. The incantation is Avada Kedavra," he said, clearly emphasizing parts of the words.
"Harry, again you go first."
Harry looked at the rabbit.
Am I really just going to kill this thing?
And he focused on his memories of the orphanage. His memories of Mr. Roberts, and what he had done to the man. He held his image in his mind until he saw it on the rabbit. You never deserved to live.
"Avada Kedavra."
A green light lit up the room. The rabbit lay on its side. It was clearly dead.
Voldemort actually laughed. Harry was too busy enjoying the feeling of power that rushed through his every inch to even process this.
"Well done, Harry. I see I have chosen well."
With a wave of his wand, there was another rabbit there.
"Well, Draco. Can you cast this one?"
Blushing, Draco closed his eyes for a few moments.
"Avada Kedavra."
The green light hit the rabbit, which simply twitched its nose.
"Do better, Draco. It doesn't deserve life."
"Avada Kedavra!" He all but screamed, voice tight.
The rabbit died.
"Well done. Well done, my students."
Voldemort stood before them, his gaze falling on them.
"You will continue practicing this. Before your return, you will practice on Muggles."
With that, he dismissed the shell-shocked boys from his presence.
The summer passed in much the way they usually did. Many of their friends came over at different times, and for one huge party, and if they found Harry and Draco to be a bit standoffish, well, they suspected nothing too strange.
Every day, Harry and Draco would practice their spells. Halfway through the summer, Draco was able to cast both the Cruciatus and the Killing Curse to the Dark Lord's satisfaction. He decided their education would be incomplete without the Imperius.
Harry found it to be the easiest of the three. In fact, he had a strong suspicion that he had cast it before, albeit accidentally.
He remarked as much to Draco, unaware that Voldemort was standing a few feet behind him.
"Oh? What did you do with it?"
Don't lie. Don't lie.
Don't tell. Don't tell. He'll want to know why you had to do it. Why you did it.
"I—I," he stammered, eyes on his trainers, "I made him hang himself."
Voldemort gave a full-bellied laugh, something no one would have expected from the man who had terrorized and tormented Britain for years.
"Harry, you are full of surprises."
One bright day, the paper was full of pictures of a man that would come to dominate the news for the remainder of that year. The picture, of a man with wild hair and a crazy look in his eyes, his cheekbones almost jutting out of his skin, showed Sirius Black—Harry's Godfather. He had done the impossible and escaped Azkaban.
That day found Voldemort in an absolute fury.
"My followers lie in the dirt, and Black escapes!"
"My Lord?" Harry asked nervously, kneeling before him.
"Yes?" Voldemort said, with an evident effort to not blow the boy to smithereens.
"I—I was under the impression that Black was a Death Eater? That he... betrayed my parents to you?"
Voldemort looked at him. Harry hid his eyes from that crimson gleam.
"Black was never one of mine," Voldemort said finally. "And I will make you a deal, Harry."
Harry didn't say anything. In truth, even though he had been in close contact with the Dark Lord for several weeks now, and was able to speak in his presence without stuttering, he was still terrified of him. The man had an aura about him—one of power, one that demanded respect. Harry was more than willing to give it.
"Over your Christmas break, once you have completed your initiation, I will tell you all about the days leading up to your parents' deaths."
Harry let out a breath he hadn't been aware of holding.
"Thank you, My Lord," he said shakily.
As Harry's ability with the Unforgivables grew, he noticed that, like the Dark Lord had said, he didn't have to spend as much time focusing on the hated memories. Draco, on the other hand, while having improved, still had to spend almost a minute thinking before he could successfully perform them. Harry tried not to think about it, but the reason for their disparate abilities was clear to him. Draco had lived a sheltered life, spoiled by his parents. He had never really been hurt, never had a reason to feel true hate. The closest thing to it Draco felt was probably his animosity towards Weasley or the other Gryffindors.
Harry, however, had not been sheltered or protected by any definition. He knew what it was to hate, what it was to wish a slow, painful death on another person. He knew, even though he had spent so long hating the fact, what it was to kill.
The two Muggles were on their knees in front of the boys. Their mouths were gagged, but their fear was clear to see.
I don't have a choice. I have to do this.
"Well, Harry. Are you ready?"
I can't.
"How can I do this?" Harry whispered. Long fingers gripped his chin, gently tipping it back until he was looking the Dark Lord in the eyes.
"Would these creatures have lifted a hand, expended the tiniest amount of energy to even lessen the suffering you experienced at their compatriots' hands?"
"No."
"Did any of their kind ever try to help you? Even once?"
"No."
"So what do you owe them? Why should you allow their fates to determine yours? Are they worth more than you?"
"No."
"Then they are not worth your hesitance."
THEY'RE PEOPLE! NOT JUST SOME TOY—
"Right now, they are obstacles. Obstacles in your way to power. You said you would serve me?"
"I did."
"I demand obedience. Cast the spells."
Closing his eyes, Harry called to mind Mr. Roberts' face.
"Crucio."
Through the gag, muffled screams made their way out. But the pleasure flooding Harry was even more than that of cursing the rabbit. He had gotten used to that. This? This was even better. Far better.
"Lower the spell."
The words meant nothing. He was shaking with the sheer joy of it. This is power. I can do anything.
"Lower the spell, now."
It broke through his mind. He hurriedly dropped the curse.
The Muggle was lying on the floor, in a growing puddle of urine, shaking as spittle made its way around the gag. Tears streamed down his face.
Harry looked at his work, sickened and entranced. The remnants of the power he had felt still shuddered in him, and his stomach was doing flips. He wanted to throw up. He wanted to cheer.
"End its suffering."
He held his wand steady.
"Avada Kedavra."
The Muggle's eyes glazed as his breathing stopped.
The feeling of absolute power flooding through Harry was enough to make him ignore the fact that he had just committed cold-blooded murder. He had spent literal years agonizing after the last time he had killed, arguably in self-defense, and now he listened to his Lord laugh at his kill and felt pride.
Draco threw up after he managed to do it.
The Dark Lord cleaned Draco's vomit with the slightest movement of his wand.
"You will not do that at your initiation."
It wasn't a question. Draco stared at the floor, cheeks burning. "No, my Lord," he managed.
"Many people have the same reaction after their first kill. Take heart, you share the company of Mulciber and Rosier."
Draco nodded, still resolutely looking down.
"Be proud. You are men. You have taken the ultimate power—wielding power over another's life. I am proud to have men such as you joining my service."
Harry's chest felt warm, his Lord's words filling the rapidly emptying pit of power within him.
"I have decided that in addition to the training in spell casting, Severus will also be instructing you both in Occlumency. Besides allowing you to avoid mental manipulation, it will aid you in controlling your emotions. The greatest danger in the use of the Dark Arts has ever been its ability to twist its casters' emotions. I have no use for lieutenants who are unable to control themselves."
Harry slowly raised his hand, still not quite meeting Voldemort's eyes.
"Yes?"
"My Lord, Sev—Snape once told me that he believed I would be able to study Occlumency only in my fifth year and onwards?"
"Perhaps I have greater faith in your abilities than Severus does. In any case, you are not aiming to master it at this stage. You are aiming for a basic level—to be able to sense if someone is in your mind and rudimentary control of your emotions. For you, Harry, that will be particularly important."
"My Lord?"
Voldemort sighed and adopted a lecturing tone. "Some people react more strongly to the Dark Arts than others do. Everyone who casts true Dark spells will feel some pleasure and power, but some feel it much more strongly than others. No one is sure why, even though theories abound. Some claim it is due to the age one begins their use, but yourself and Draco are the same age and you react strongly, while he does not."
So the amazing way I feel after the Cruciatus isn't exactly normal.
"The cause does not matter. The outcome does. Tell me, Harry. Why does Dark Magic twist the emotions of its caster?"
"Um, because to cast it requires strong feelings of hatred and rage, and, uh, you start feeling those subconsciously more often, which makes you more likely to cast them? Which makes you reckless?"
"Indeed. And for those who react strongly, the subconscious push to use these spells is far stronger. These spells may be far more powerful, but they are not suitable for every occasion. I will repeat myself: I have no use for lieutenants who cannot control themselves."
After their dismissal, just before the boys (who were now enjoying thinking of themselves as men) left the ballroom, the Dark Lord called to them.
"It goes without saying that no one is to be told. No exceptions."
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