Chapter 1
Harry stared at the captives, debating whether or not to just not bother. Ron was floating beside Chang and Hermione, and Harry was half-tempted to take Cho instead. After all, why should he care if his ex-friend drowns? Instead, he waited patiently for Fleur, Cedric, or Krum to get there first.
Krum was the first, his upper body transfigured into a shark. He bit through the rope around Hermione, dragging her to the surface. Cedric was next, glancing at him before cutting his girlfriend out and kicking up to the sky.
Fleur never appeared. Harry sighed, knowing his time was short. He scowled at Ron, swimming towards the little blonde girl, pulling out his knife. The merpeople watched him warily, silently pondering if he was allowed to do what he was about to. Nonetheless, he cut the girl free, uncaring of how the schools would look at him after this. He grabbed her under the arms, kicking upwards harshly.
He gasped at the surface, and the girl floundered in his arms.
“GABRIELLE!” Fleur screeched from the shore, nearly diving back in but being held back by her headmistress. The little girl, Fleur’s little sister, blinked the water from her eyes, then started to swim towards her big sister.
“Fleur!” she cried, finally allowed to be engulfed in her arms when she stood up in the shallows. The two exchanged a panicky conversation in French before Madam Pomfrey shooed them back into the warm tent.
Cedric looked at Harry.
“Together?” he asked, frowning. Harry shook his head, stepping back.
“It’s yours,” he insisted. “You’re the Hogwarts champion.”
“No, we both are!” the Hufflepuff stepped towards him. “C’mon, Harry. On three?” Harry sighed, nodding.
“3…”
“2…”
“1!” Cedric and Harry both grabbed the handles of the cup, only to be transported into a strange graveyard. The younger boy fell, and Cedric froze as he looked around.
“Kill the spare,” a voice hissed, and Harry’s eyes widened as a bright green light shot out at Cedric. He cried out as the Hufflepuff fell to the ground, his eyes staring blankly up.
“No!” he yelled, struggling against the arms that pulled him up. He spat at the man as he was tied to a grave, scowling when he recognized Pettigrew. “Figures you’d fail at kidnapping a single child.” He scoffed, ignoring the pain in his head from his throbbing scar.
“Be quiet, boy!” Wormtail snapped, and Harry flinched slightly, but kept his defiant glare on him. Then, the rat man started to do a ritual. Harry sighed, looking around in disinterest as he blocked out the man’s snivelling.
A sharp pain brought him back into focus, and he hissed as Pettigrew collected his blood in a vial.
“B-blood of the enemy, for-forcibly taken,” he stuttered, pouring in the thick liquid as he stirred. “Y-you will resurrect yo-your foe!” As he said it, the cauldron started to glow from the inside, and Harry had to look away from the bright light.
“My wand,” a newer voice said, low and cruel, and Harry whipped his head back to meet the gaze of Lord Voldemort himself. He shuddered, feeling completely powerless under his judging glare. Wormtail scrambled to hand him his yew wand and robes, and the tall, snake-like man shrugged on the robes – somehow effortlessly elegant, despite being reborn mere seconds ago. Then, he smiled, drifting over to Harry.
“My spy tells me you’ve grown dissatisfied with your Hogwarts life,” he said quietly. “Why ever would the little golden boy have a reason to be unhappy with his perfect life?” His tone changed to mocking, and Harry was unsure if the question was meant to be answered.
“I don’t have a perfect life,” he muttered bitterly, then, even quieter, “I nearly regret passing your offer up in first year.” Voldemort tilted his head, absentmindedly twirling his wand between his fingers.
“Truly?” he asked, and Harry flushed when he realised he had said that aloud. But, slowly, he nodded. The Dark Lord chuckled, raising one hand to Harry’s scar. The boy flinched slightly, but allowed the man to touch his scar lightly. “I can touch you now…perhaps we can find a worthy deal, hm?” Harry looked at him, frowning.
“All or nothing,” he decided, his voice slightly shaky. “That’s what I want.” red eyes narrowed as the pale hand slid down his face.
“Ah, but what is All for you, Harry Potter?” he asked, almost in a coo. “Would you be willing to kneel at my feet, to submit wholeheartedly to a greater power? Or would you want to fight beside me, as prophesied equals?” Harry’s eyebrows furrowed, and he looked at Voldemort in confusion. “Oh, of course the old man hasn’t told you. There was a prophecy concerning the two of us.” Harry blinked, frowning as he looked down.
“Oh.”
“Yes. Although, I will admit that I was not in the proper mind to receive a prophecy and as such, I only heard a small portion of it before rushing off to destroy my enemy. You.” Voldemort smiled wryly, flicking his wrist. Harry was suddenly released from the grave, and he yelped as he tumbled down into the man’s arms. “Be more careful, child.” Voldemort set him on his feet, gracefully ignoring the way the boy’s cheeks brightened.
“So who heard the prophecy?” he asked, tilting his head up at the Dark Lord.
“Severus Snape,” Voldemort answered, earning a scoff and eye roll at the name. “He heard it from a job interview that the headmaster was holding in the Hog’s Head.” Harry narrowed his eyes.
“Isn’t that a pub? In a very secluded area that barely has anyone enter?”
Voldemort sighed at his words, nodding.
“As I mentioned before, I was not quite in the right mind. Now,” he looked down at the short boy. “I doubt that the old fool has given you any useful information about our cause. And if you truly are considering joining me, then that is essential.” Harry nodded, crossing his arms loosely.
“What are your goals, really?” he asked quietly, tilting his head inquisitively. “And, why are you all so violent?” Voldemort sighed, conjuring a few chairs.
Briefly, the older man explained that he truly wanted to protect magic and its creatures, and that he had tried the political route, Harry, but nothing ever came of it. Harry just nodded along as he also told him how most of the Death Eaters were truly psychotic. That could not be helped.
Harry, who’d had violent tendencies up until he learned to rein it in inside Hogwarts in first year, understood.
“I don’t want to lead anymore,” Harry breathed after a few minutes, looking down at his hands. Perhaps that was the appeal to everyone: they didn’t want to lead the way, either. “I want someone else to take control. Everyone has always looked up to me, and-and I can’t handle that.” Voldemort nodded, uncrossing his legs.
“You wish to take my mark and vow?” he asked, and the boy nodded. Voldemort dipped his head in acknowledgement, then gestured to his feet. Harry took a deep breath, his eyes flicking up from the grass to the man’s eyes before he slid from his seat, sinking onto his knees.
“Do you vow eternal loyalty to me, even in the case of my comprimization?” He asked sharply, taking Harry’s left wrist and shoving his sleeve up. He pressed the tip of his wand to his skin, ready to create the mark once finished. “Do you vow to submit anything you have to me, including your life, mind, or physical possessions, should I ask for it? And, Harry Potter, will you vow to never turn your wand against me?” Harry sucked in a breath, shivering slightly.
“I vow it all, my Lord,” he breathed, and Voldemort smiled cruelly.
“Morsmorde,” he hissed, digging the wand tip into Harry’s soft skin. The boy moaned in pain as the Dark Mark etched itself into his arm, his entire body tensing up. It felt like knives were ripping through him, and he trembled with the effort to keep his arm steady.
Finally, after an eternity, Voldemort lifted his wand, letting Harry’s arm drop to his side as the boy slumped against his leg. He was breathing heavily, too exhausted to notice the gentle hand combing through his hair.
“I am proud of you,” Voldemort said softly, and tired green eyes looked up at him. “I know you shall not fail me.”
“Master! Did you-did you just mark the Potter boy?!” A snivelling screech sounded, and Harry’s head snapped up as he became alert. Voldemort sighed, flicking his wand in Wormtail’s direction and killing him.
“I no longer need the rat,” he decided, stroking one hand down his newest follower’s face. “I now have you, my loyal boy.” Harry relaxed slightly, smiling shyly up at his new master.
“Thank you, m’Lord,” he mumbled, closing his eyes in a show of great trust and leaning against the soft touch. After a few moments, Harry sighed softly and opened his eyes again, looking up at Voldemort. “What do you want me to do about Hogwarts?” He smoothed his Champion shirt as best as he could without looking away.
“I suppose you should return, no?” the man sighed, keeping one hand on Harry’s head. “You should keep my return between us. I will contact you if I should need you.” Harry nodded, standing up when the hand on his head prompted. The Dark Lord also stood and summoned the portkey-trophy. “Tell Barty — or Moody, as you know him — to get out immediately. I will not risk my most loyal followers getting caught.” Harry dipped his head in understanding, reaching for the portkey.
“Wait!” he realised. “Shouldn’t I take Cedric’s body as well, my Lord? I can just say some other Death Eater tortured us slash killed him or something.” He shrugged, and Voldemort hummed in thought.
“I suppose you could. I will have Barty escape now, then,” he held out one hand for Harry, and the teen hesitantly put his hand on his. The Dark Lord sighed patiently, turning his arm over to present the Dark Mark. Harry sucked in a gasp as his Lord pressed two fingers over it. In a crack of apparition, Alastor Moody appeared at the Dark Lord’s side. Harry tilted his head, frowning in confusion, his wand in his hand and pointed at the old Auror already. His Lord chuckled, gesturing for him to lower his wand. He hesitantly obeyed, still on guard.
“You marked him, my Lord?” Moody sounded shocked, and Harry’s frown increased.
“I did, Barty,” Voldemort nodded, placing a gentle hand on Harry's shoulder that made the boy relax immediately. “Now, Harry, we will have to roughen you up.” The boy nodded, tensing slightly. The Dark Lord aimed his wand at him, stepping back slightly.
For a moment, Harry’s anxiety kicked in, and his breathing quickened before he forcibly calmed himself. This wasn’t a dream or a prank, he really was leaving the Light, and his Lord wouldn’t kill him.
Then, a beam of red came, and he fell down screaming.
It lasted for hours, days, years, just a few moments, but he was left panting on the ground, a few cuts across his skin from the sticks and stones. He closed his eyes, letting himself get picked up by Not-Moody. He was placed on his feet, and he opened his eyes to see the portkey-trophy held out with Cedric’s wrist. He grabbed the wrist, barely holding the older boy’s body up as he looked to his Lord.
Voldemort nodded, and Harry took a deep breath before grabbing the cup and the nauseating feeling whooshed him away.