Chapter 4
Antonin Dolohov stood before the Dark Lord, the dim torchlight casting eerie shadows across the opulent chamber. The dark lord, now supreme leader of the wizarding world, sat upon a throne-like chair adorned with serpentine carvings, his red cold eyes piercing as though looking through his soul.
"Antonin," The dark lord's voice echoed cold and commanding. "Your report?."
Dolohov, his face impassive but his thoughts racing, cleared his throat before speaking. "My Lord, Hogwarts has been secured under your control," he began, his voice steady. "Resistance from the Order of the Phoenix has been minimal. We've implemented mandatory classes on the Dark Arts, wizarding heritage, and culture from years one to six. Seventh-years can choose between regular classes and NEWTs or apprenticeships in their chosen fields. We are reviewing the faculty rigorously; those with ties to the Order will be dismissed and interrogated at the Ministry."
The dark lord inclined his head slightly, a satisfied gleam in his eyes. "And what of the Muggleborns?"
Dolohov hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "They are being... dealt with, My Lord," he said carefully. "Those who resist are branded with the Mudblood mark and sent to the work camps."
The dark lord's lips curled into a cruel smile which had only ever meant a world of pain for its receiver and for a fraction of a moment Dolohov regretted not kissing his wife and kids goodbye “And the others?"
"Most are sent to the death camps, but those under thirteen are taken to re-education centers, My Lord," Dolohov continued, unease creeping into his voice. "The orphanage you ordered is halfway completed and will be finished within a fortnight."
The dark lord narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. "Ensure it is completed within a week. Arthur Weasley oversees its construction, correct?"
“Yes, your lordship.”
“Keep a close watch on him.”
Dolohov's expression hardened slightly, he would not let anyone of those blood traitors destroy the world that they had paid for in blood, sweat and tears. "Of course, My Lord," he promised.
"Dismissed."
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Harry finally woke up, his body aching and his mind foggy. He blinked against the dim light of the room, trying to make sense of his surroundings. Realizing he was tied to a bed, panic surged through him, and he struggled against the bindings. His breaths came in short, desperate gasps as anxiety took hold. The room was eerily silent, the stillness and absolute silence only intensifying Harry's panic. His heart raced, and he felt as if the walls were closing in on him. He tried to call out, but his voice was hoarse and weak, barely more than a whisper. Just as the overwhelming terror threatened to consume him, the door creaked open, and Voldemort entered with an almost leisurely stride.
"Ah, Harry," Voldemort said, his voice smooth and mocking. "I see you've finally decided to rejoin the waking world. How considerate of you."
Harry's eyes widened in fear and curiosity as he struggled to steady his breathing. "What do you want?" he managed to croak out, his voice laced with overwhelming dread.
Voldemort's smile widened; his eyes gleaming with cruel amusement. "Harry, you must realize that resistance is rather unproductive," he said, his voice a venomous whisper. "But I am not without a certain... benevolence. Swear yourself to my cause, become my loyal servant, and I will ensure your friends' safety. Ronald Weasley and Hermione granger will live, they’ll have excellent opportunities for further education, bright career paths and I’ll ensure they receive a steady supply of funds to sustain them. They will be free to live their lives elsewhere, untouched by my wrath."
Harry's heart ached at the mention of them but he didn't know where they were, didn't know if they were safe. The fear of losing them gnawed at his insides, but the idea of betraying everything they had fought for with every piece of their being was unbearable.
"How do I know you're not lying?" Harry's voice was strained, the panic still bubbling beneath the surface.
Voldemort's eyes narrowed slightly, a hint of irritation flashing across his face. "You have my word, Potter. Your friends will live, far from here, untouched by my reign. But only if you swear your allegiance to me."
Harry's mind raced a million killometers per hour, the thought of Ron and Hermione suffering because of him was unbearable, but the idea of becoming Voldemort's servant was equally as horrifying.
"What kind of allegiance?" Harry asked, stalling for time, trying to find some way out of this nightmare.
Voldemort's smile returned, his expression smug. "You will serve me, Harry, not just as any servant, but as an inner circle Death Eater and my consort. Imagine it: your power would be unmatched, second only to mine. You would have influence beyond your wildest dreams, commanding legions and reshaping the wizarding world. You will obey my commands, act on my behalf, and in return, you will hold a position of unparalleled authority. Renounce your ties to Dumbledore and the Order, and your friends will be safe. They will live, free from harm, as you rise to greatness by my side."
Harry's throat tightened. "Do you say that to every death eater that you recruit? Show them dreams of grandeur before milking them for all their worth and discarding them as soon as you get the barest hint that they are not useful anymore.”
Voldemort's eyes flashed with a dangerous glint something which looked like approval, but his smile didn't waver. "Always so cynical," he said smoothly. "But you, my dear boy, are different." Harry visibly flinched at that, Voldemort was trying to emulate Albus Dumbledore of all people and judging by the faint smirk on his face; Harry could tell that it was a calculated barb meant to remind him that
Dumbledore was dead rather than an offhand remark which the dark lord randomly made. "You possess a power and a spirit that none of my other followers could ever hope to match. You are not just another recruit; you are unique, a prize worth more than any other."
He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a silky whisper. "Think about it, Harry. The world at your feet, power beyond your wildest dreams, and all you have to do is swear loyalty to me. Your friends will be safe, free to live their lives. Or would you rather see them suffer, all because you couldn't bring yourself to accept a better future?" Harry's heart pounded in his chest, his mind racing. The room seemed to close in around him, he knew he had to keep stalling, keep pushing Voldemort, but the Dark Lord's offer was insidiously tempting, the promise of safety for Ron and Hermione hanging like a lifeline in the storm and harry being the sailor was so terribly tempted.
"You make it sound so easy," Harry said, his voice trembling slightly. "Just swear loyalty to you, and everything will be perfect. But what happens when I can't do what you want? What happens when I refuse to hurt people for your twisted cause?"
Voldemort's smile widened; his eyes gleaming with dark amusement. "Oh, Harry, you underestimate yourself. You have the strength to do what needs to be done. And if you ever waver, well, that's why I'm here. To guide you, to mould you into the powerful wizard you are destined to be. Together, we will be unstoppable."
"And what if I say no?" Harry asked, his voice steady despite the turmoil within him. "What happens to Ron and Hermione then?"
Voldemort's smile vanished, replaced by a cold, calculating stare. "Then their fate will be less certain, and far less pleasant," he said softly, menace dripping from every word. "But why dwell on such unpleasant possibilities? Embrace the power I offer, and ensure their safety. It's a simple choice, really.".
"I need proof," Harry said, his voice shaking but resolute. "I need to know that Ron and Hermione are safe before I make any decisions."
Voldemort's eyes flashed with irritation, but he nodded slowly. "Very well, Potter. I will arrange for you to see them. But remember, their safety hinges on your choice."
With a flick of his wand, Voldemort conjured a small, shimmering image of Ron and Hermione. They were standing together in what looked like a cell, but they appeared unharmed. Harry's heart ached at the sight of them, and tears welled up in his eyes.
"Make your choice, Harry," Voldemort said softly, his voice dripping with malice. "Serve me, and they live. Refuse, and they suffer." Harry's mind was a maelstrom of fear, guilt, and determination. He knew that Voldemort could be lying, that this could be another cruel manipulation. But the sight of his friends, seemingly safe, was too much for him to ignore.
"I... I need time to think," Harry said, his voice trembling.
Voldemort straightened; his expression unreadable. "Very well, Harry. But remember, time is not a luxury you can afford."
Harry felt a rush of frustration. "Right, because making life-altering decisions under duress is always the best approach."
Voldemort's smile widened slightly, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "I'm glad you understand the urgency. Take your time—just not too much of it. We wouldn't want to keep your friends waiting."
A tear leaked from Harry's eye as the weight of the decision crushed him. The fear of losing Ron and Hermione was too much to bear. Under immense pressure, Harry finally broke. "Alright," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "I'll do it."
The Dark Lord's smile returned, victorious and cruel. "Excellent. Now, remove your shirt and lie on your back. It's time to mark you as mine."
Harry's heart pounded as he reluctantly complied, the cold air biting into his skin as he removed his shirt and lay back on the bed. The Dark Lord raised his wand, and a searing pain shot through Harry's back as the Dark Mark was branded onto his skin. The agony was unbearable, but Harry gritted his teeth and bit his lip, refusing to give the Dark Lord the satisfaction of hearing him scream. When it was done, Harry collapsed like a puppet whose strings had been cut.
Then harry felt the bed dip and someone climb on him. Through his foggy brain he barely registered that it was Voldemort who had slipped into bed beside him and was running his long fingers through his hair. Harry faintly recognized a feeling of pleasure which was not his own before he purred in delight, realizing what he did he promptly went a deep shade of red. Voldemort just chuckled, delighted to see his supposed prophesized equal melt into his arms.
“Sleep well, little horcrux.”