Chapter 1
Sirius let out a bark of laughter at the same time as a jet of red light flew out of Bellatrix’s wand. The half-wild joy was frozen on his face as he fell backwards through the veil. Harry screamed. He ran up onto the platform, desperate to reach his godfather, sure he could bring the man back. Strong arms closed round his chest, Remus’ voice spoke low into his ear.
“He’s gone, Harry. You can’t help him.”
“Sirius! Sirius!”
Harry voice broke as he called out the name of the only parent he’d ever known over and over. He wasn’t gone. He couldn’t be gone, not when the veil was right there, the fabric in it drifting with a breeze felt no where else, taunting him.
Bellatrix’s cruel voice cut through his grief.
“Has potty lost his daddy?”
And suddenly the disbelief was gone, and he was left with rage, rage that the only parent he had left was taken away from him and he was so angry, so angry that Remus could smell it on him and the sheer rageful feeling, like pepper and needles, surprised the older man enough that he loosened his grip slightly and Harry stumbled forwards. Bellatrix was right there, right there in front of him and she had killed Sirius, killed her own cousin, and he was going to make her pay. He shot a blasting curse towards her, missing by inches and causing a pillar of marble to fall, crashing down beside her and shattering huge chunks of rock. She looked at him, her usual mania dulled by surprise, and it was that moment she seemed to recognise the hunger in his eyes, and grinned.
“Potter wants to play with Bella does he?”
The infantile voice, though he knew it was intended to, only further fuelled his rage and he pulled out his wand, sending every spell he could think of shooting towards her.
“IMPEDIMENTA, DIFFINDO, PETRIFICUS TOTALUS, EXPELLIARMUS…”
The last spell smashed through her shield and she turned and ran, up through a passageway and he ran after her, needing revenge, needing her to be gone like Sirius and anyone who dared to love the bitch to feel the pain he was feeling now.
He caught up with her in one of the corridors he’d seen before. It had towering pillars and golden statues that reminded him of Lucius Malfoy’s false glamour, Malfoy who lured them here and was the cause of Sirius’ death. He snarled and Bellatrix was distracted by the noise and paused for a second, and he took his chance, yelling the worst spell he could think of, but even it, though it was deemed unforgivable, didn’t seem bad enough in that moment, for this murderous daughter of a whore.
“CRUCIO!”
Bellatrix screamed as she went down, but was back up in a second, laughing wildly, fear gone.
“Aww, is the spell too hard for poor wittle hawwy?”
She sneered, and her voice turned teacher-like, as if helping a hopeless pupil.
“You need to mean it Potter, you need to want to cause pain, righteous anger won’t do it.”
Changing her stance, she dropped her wand to her side, though still gripping it loosely,
“Try again, see if you manage it. Let Dumbledore’s golden boy use a real spell for once.”
Harry lifted his wand, hand shaking slightly. He knew he shouldn’t do it, knew what it meant if he did, knew he should be the bigger person, knew that if he would be no better than them if he did, but it was the face she made, confident, and without a trace of doubt. She thought she knew him, and he wanted to surprise her, show them he was a threat, make her regret what she did, make her hurt.
He pointed his wand at her, and tried to think of the anger he felt and the suffering he wanted her to feel.
“Crucio!”
And she fell and she screamed and it was delicious. He didn’t know how long he stood there, watching her writhe and shriek; it could have been seconds or hours, but for that moment he understood power.
And then there was a high, cold laugh behind him.
“Harry Potter…”
He gasped and spun around to face the owner of the voice. It was Voldemort. His pale skin looked dead as it glinted in the light, and his eyes and nose were as snakelike as it was the last time he saw him. He could hear his own screams, the voice telling the rat to “Kill the spare”, feel the cold air of the graveyard. Voldemort lifted his wand and pointed it at him, but Harry was frozen; he couldn’t move.
“So the boy has finally become a man. Torturing my followers, Harry? Perhaps you need a taste of your own medicine, a reminder of who’s in charge?”
Harry just stood there, the dark robes reminding him of the dark night where he failed and an innocent boy died.
Voldemort smirked.
“Crucio.”
Harry screamed, his nerves were aflame and he couldn’t think for the pain, someone was screaming and he realised belatedly that it was him. The pain had been going on forever and it had only just started, he knew it was too much to bear, he was going to die here.
And then it stopped.
He gasped for air, trying to draw it into his shrivelled lungs, his whole body shouting. Voldemorts voice cut through the daze.
“Look at you. Kneeling by my feet. As you should be.”
Harry lifted his head and leant on his hands.
“I will never bow to you, Tom.”
He spat the last part of the man’s name and wasn’t surprised when he was crucioed again. The pain had to be worse than the last time it was used on him, by the graves, and he wondered disjointedly if it was a result of Voldemort being in his new body for longer.
The pain cut out and started again and again till he lost count and he just lay there, regretting past him’s decisions, and trying to silence his wheezing breaths. Fabric rustled near his head and he sensed Voldemort’s mouth close to his ear.
“Go on, Harry, just call me your lord and all this can be over. Just accept me, and you won’t need to hurt again.”
Harry stayed silent. Did Voldemort truly think he would bow to man who killed his parents?
Voldemort stood.
“Very well then. Perhaps you need more… teaching. Crucio.”
And the pain came back, worse than before if possible, and he though he might not survive, thought that he’d do anything to escape this, and he prayed to any god, anywhere, that it would stop soon.
“Well, Harry, you know what you have to do if you want it to stop,” the cold voice said.
Harry did know, and he knew he would do it, if only he could move his jaw from its clenched position to speak. The man seemed to realised this, and ended the spell. Harry opened his eyes into a squint, squashed down the feeling of betrayal, and said
“Please, my- my Lord.”
Bellatrix let out a shrill giggle behind him, and Voldemort’s lip curled into a smile.
“Oh how the mighty hath fallen indeed. But I tire of this game. Avada-“
But he suddenly had to swivel round and shield against the spell coming at his back, and Harry found himself dragged along the floor by a summoning charm towards a tall man in a blue robe- Dumbledore!
“Hello, Tom.”
Harry winced, the word reminding him of his torture earlier. Dumbledore looked down at him in concern, but continued speaking.
“In the Ministry of Magic itself? That’s quite a risk you’re taking.”
“Don’t all to me about risk, old man,” sneered the Dark Lord, “You’re here too, and you’re not welcome either according to the latest issue of the prophet.”
He suddenly dramatically swept his wand, sending red light towards Dumbledore, who parried expertly. What followed was the most impressive duel Harry had ever seen. The two men used magic more creatively than anyone else he knew, using spells he’d never even heard of and even transfiguring parts of the room to use against each other. In this moment, with Dumbledore’s eyes flashing dangerously and his wand moving faster than he could see, he understood why people said he was the only wizard Grindelwald ever feared. And he was winning too, little by little, he was beating down on the Dark Lord-.
Harry paused his inner commentary. When had he started thinking of him as the Dark Lord? He tried, but calling him Voldemort in his head filled him with dread, and he wondered if it was legilimency the man had used to change his thought process.
Suddenly, all thoughts of that went out of his head as his skull split open. Pain radiated through his body, starting at his scar and he screamed. It was worse than the cruciatus, worse than anything else he’d ever felt before and it was made worse by the presence he felt within him, speaking through his mouth.
“Kill the boy, Dumbledore and be rid of both of us.”
‘Yes, kill me,’ he thought ‘Kill me and let this end.’
‘And I’ll see Sirius again,’ he realised, and it was with that that the pain retreated, though the after effects stayed, his limbs shaking his breathing ragged.
He looked up to see the Dark Lord apparating away with Bellatrix, and ministry employees coming in through the floos. Dumbledore was helping him to his feet, he knew someone was speaking to him, but he couldn’t understand it, the only thought in his head was that he wanted to be with Sirius again. He staggered away from the professor’s grip, barely registering the concerned, kindly voice calling after him. He had the vague impression of being squeezed through a tube and the archway swam into view. He didn’t remember getting here but there it was, the whispers as taunting as ever, the light curtain moving from a breeze that wasn’t there.
He stood next to it, staring inside. Sirius was in there, he knew it. He staggered through, and felt the world go dark.